Apoalo

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

_{Location: Main Street Pines Holler - Mercer Home // Interacting With: Oliver Steele, Philippe de Lyon, His Security Team}
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Gideon kept his pace measured as he moved farther down Main Street, the hum of the Husker's generator and the low murmur of conversation trailing behind him. Pines Holler carried on the way small towns always did, through inconvenience, through heat, through quiet frustration masked as patience. He passed a group of children gathered around a melted patch of asphalt, one of them laughing as they tried to peel their shoe free. A woman fanned herself with a folded newspaper on a shaded porch. Somewhere, a screen door slammed with unnecessary force.

Life, continuing.

For now.

His phone vibrated once in his pocket. Gideon didn’t check it immediately. He let it ring its full measure before retrieving it, glancing at the screen as if he already knew who it would be.

He did.

“Steele.”

His voice was even, conversational, as though the man on the other end wasn’t one of the most powerful political figures tied to his operation.

“Gideon,” came the reply, smooth and familiar. “I trust you’ve finished adjusting to your new estate?”

“I have,” Gideon said, stepping off the curb as the SUV eased forward to meet him. Joel was already moving, opening the rear door without a word. “The situation is progressing as expected.”

A brief pause on the other end.

“I’ve had a call this morning,” Oliver Steele continued. “Energy oversight. They’re asking questions about the outage.”

Gideon slid into the SUV, the door closing with a soft, insulated thud that cut the heat and noise of the town away instantly. Cool air wrapped around him, controlled and precise. The vehicle began moving before he spoke again.

“And your response?”

“That it’s an unfortunate but predictable failure in an overburdened rural grid,” Steele said easily. “Deferred maintenance. Increased seasonal demand. Nothing outside normal projections.”

Gideon allowed himself the smallest nod, gaze drifting out the tinted window as Pines Holler began to recede behind glass.

“Good,” he said. “Keep it there. Natural failure invites assistance. Interference invites scrutiny.”

Steele exhaled faintly, something almost like amusement threading through it. “You always did prefer gravity to force.”

“Force attracts attention,” Gideon replied. “Gravity is assumed.”

The SUV turned off Main Street, the road narrowing slightly as it began to climb. Trees thickened along the edges, pine and oak casting long shadows that cooled the asphalt in uneven patches.

“The acquisition board is pushing for acceleration,” Steele continued. “Now that the lumber yard’s closed, they want to capitalize before the county reorganizes.”

Gideon’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened slightly.

“They will wait,” he said.

A beat.

“You’re certain?” Steele asked.

“Yes.” Calm. Certain. Final. “The closure created instability. Instability creates resistance before it creates compliance. If we move now, we unify opposition. If we allow pressure to settle, the outcome remains the same without the noise.”

Another pause. This one longer.

Steele understood. That was why he was useful.

“I’ll temper expectations,” he said at last.

“Do,” Gideon replied. “And remind the board we are not buying land. We are shaping conditions under which it is surrendered.”

The line went quiet for a moment, the weight of that statement settling even across distance.

“Sometimes I forget,” Steele said, quieter now, “why they call you what they do.”

Gideon didn’t ask which name he meant.

“They won’t,” he said simply.

The road curved again, climbing higher now. Through the trees, glimpses of the valley opened, Pines Holler small and contained below, its inconveniences already reduced to abstraction.

“Keep me informed,” Gideon added.

“Always.”

The call ended without ceremony.

Gideon lowered the phone, resting it lightly against his leg as the SUV passed through a gated entrance that opened without pause. No guards visible. None needed to be.

The property beyond stood in stark contrast to the town below.

Power hummed here, steady, uninterrupted. Lights glowed behind expansive glass. The architecture was modern but grounded, built to command the landscape without appearing to challenge it. Clean lines. Stone and steel. Intentional silence.

The vehicle came to a smooth stop at the front of the house.

Gideon stepped out into air that felt cooler, quieter, controlled. Somewhere inside, systems ran flawlessly, climate, security, infrastructure operating exactly as designed.

No improvisation. No strain.

He paused briefly, looking back toward the valley, toward Pines Holler, where generators still sputtered and people waited for things to return to normal.

They wouldn’t.

Not in the way they expected.

Gideon turned and stepped inside, the door closing softly behind him.

Inside, the air carried that quiet precision Gideon preferred. Cool, balanced, untouched by the strain gripping the town below. The door shut behind him with a muted click as Philippe De Lyon appeared almost immediately from the adjoining hall, as though he had been expecting the exact moment Gideon would cross the threshold.

At seventy, Philippe moved with the patience of a man who had long ago mastered efficiency. His posture remained straight, silver hair immaculate, dark suit pressed with the same care he had applied every day Gideon had known him.

“You’ve returned earlier than expected sir,” Philippe said.

Gideon slipped his phone into the inner pocket of his jacket as he stepped further into the foyer.

“The town is exactly as described,” he replied. “Which means the next steps can begin.”

Philippe gave a small nod, already understanding.

“Shall I gather the staff?”

“Yes.”

It took less than ten minute.

When Gideon entered the main sitting room, the core of his household was already assembled. Joel Hagerty stood near the wide window overlooking the valley, arms folded loosely across his chest. The rest of the tactical team lingered nearby with the relaxed alertness of men who never truly stood down. Andrew Barns had arrived from the office wing, a tablet tucked under one arm, expression thoughtful. Even Philippe remained just off Gideon’s shoulder, hands clasped neatly in front of him.

Gideon didn’t sit.

He rarely did when speaking to them.

“The power outage in town will continue for several hours,” he said calmly. “Possibly longer.”

No one looked surprised.

Barns nodded once. “County grid’s been stretched for years. Summer spikes push it past tolerance.”

“Exactly,” Gideon said.

He paced slowly toward the window, hands resting behind his back as he looked down toward Pines Holler. From here the town looked almost peaceful.

“Which means,” he continued, “this is an opportunity.”

Joel raised an eyebrow slightly, though his expression remained otherwise neutral.

“Sir?”

Gideon turned back toward them.

“We will be helpful.”

The room was quiet for a moment. Not confused, simply waiting for clarification.

“Joel,” Gideon said, his tone unchanged, “have two trucks loaded with generators. Big ones, Smaller ones. Quiet ones. Everything we have. Enough to keep refrigeration running and fans moving.”

Joel tilted his head slightly.

[gray]“You want them sold?”[/gray]

Gideon gave the faintest shake of his head.

“Given.”

Barns looked up from his tablet, interest sharpening.

“Free distribution?”

“Yes.”

Gideon began moving again, slow and deliberate as he spoke.

“Deliver them personally. Bar, general store, church, and any households housing elderly residents. If asked, explain that Mercer Strategic Systems keeps emergency supplies on hand for disaster response and felt it would be irresponsible not to assist. Supply that biker gang so they can distribute as well.”

Joel gave a short nod. “Understood.”

“Be polite,” Gideon added.

A faint smirk tugged at Deacon Deeks’ mouth somewhere behind Joel, but he said nothing.

“No uniforms,” Gideon continued. “No visible weapons. No company insignia beyond the vehicles. You are not here as contractors you are neighbors with resources.”

Philippe watched him with quiet approval.

Barns spoke next. “Word will travel.”

“That is the intention.”

Gideon paused again at the window, gaze settling on the distant line of rooftops.

“People remember who helped when systems failed them.”

He turned back toward the group.

“They do not need to understand the larger picture yet. They only need to know that when the lights went out, we showed up.”

Joel nodded once more, already mentally organizing the logistics.

“We’ll get the trucks moving within the hour.”

“Good.”

Gideon straightened an imperceptibly crooked picture frame on the nearby wall before continuing.

“And Joel—”

The security leader paused.

“Yes, sir?”

“Smile.”

Joel blinked once.

Then, faintly, he did.

Gideon allowed himself the smallest hint of satisfaction.

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

_{Location: Main Street Pines Holler and Caldwell's Family Practice // Interacting With: N/A}
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Morning came early to Pines Holler, whether it was invited or not.

Eleanor Caldwell had already been awake for nearly an hour when the power went out, though she didn’t register it right away. Habit carried her up before dawn, before the cicadas gave way to birdsong, before the heat had fully settled into the bones of the house. She was halfway through reviewing patient notes at the kitchen table when the ceiling fan slowed, stuttered, and then fell silent, the sudden absence of sound almost louder than the noise had been.

The air thickened immediately.

Ellie leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes for a moment, sweat already gathering at the base of her neck. Somewhere down Miners Street a screen door slammed. A dog barked once, sharp and irritated, and then went quiet again. Pines Holler, half-awake and already uncomfortable, shifted uneasily.

“Well, that's a lovely start to the day,” she murmured.

She checked her phone out of reflex. No service alert. No outage notification. Just a dark screen and the faint reflection of her own face, tired but composed. She set it down and pressed her thumb against the inside of her wrist, thinking.

Electricity usually came back quickly. The lines out here were old, temperamental, but familiar. Still, she’d learned better than to trust usually.

She stood, pushing the chair in with care, and moved through the house with the quiet efficiency of someone used to being alone. The place was modest, worn in rather than worn out. Books stacked where she meant to organize them. A folded sweater draped over the back of a chair she hadn’t bothered putting away. Lived-in, but steady.

Coffee came next. Black. Strong. Brewed on the gas stove the same way she’d watched her mother do when storms rolled through and the lights went dark. She poured a second cup into a thermos without thinking, then paused and set out cream and sugar on the counter anyway, arranging them neatly. Someone would end up needing them later. A patient. A neighbor. A town that ran as much on habit as it did on hope.

By the time she dressed, light blouse, slacks, hair pulled back, the heat was already pressing in through the windows. She wiped her forehead, grabbed her keys, and stepped out onto the porch.

Main Street was stirring despite the outage. Kids rode bikes barefoot down cracked pavement, laughter echoing in that loose, summer way. Old men occupied their usual spots outside the general store, rocking chairs creaking in rhythm as they speculated loudly about how long the power would be out this time. A pair of tourists stood squinting at their phones like they might magically reconnect if they stared hard enough.

Ellie’s gaze drifted, unbidden, toward the old lumber mill. The sign still hung crooked in the distance, paint peeling, letters faded by years of weather and neglect. Parton’s Lumber Company: closed, but not forgotten. Neither was the ripple effect it had left behind.

She didn’t linger. There wasn’t time.

The drive to her practice took less than five minutes, but she made a mental list the entire way. Refrigeration times for medications. Which patients relied on powered medical equipment at home. Who would refuse to call the hospital even if they needed to. Who she would have to check on personally if the outage stretched into the afternoon.

Her clinic sat on Main Street like it always had, clean lines and wide windows that made it feel almost out of place among the rot and rust. Ellie unlocked the door, stepped inside, and flipped the switch near the back hallway.

A low hum answered her.

The generator kicked on smoothly, lights flickering once before stabilizing. She exhaled, relief measured but real. Emergency power would keep the essentials running, refrigeration, basic equipment, enough air circulation to make the place tolerable.

But the fuel gauge told a familiar story.

Not much gas. Enough for an emergency. Not enough for comfort.

She made a note to call Husker's later, see if they’d spare a few gallons from the bar’s supply if things dragged on. Another quiet favor to be repaid eventually, though Pines Holler rarely kept track of who owed who anymore.

Ellie moved through the clinic, checking systems, opening blinds, straightening chairs that hadn’t been disturbed overnight. Her stethoscope lay where she’d left it, old leather worn smooth by years of use. She picked it up, draped it around her neck, and felt something settle into place.

Power outage or not, Pines Holler would still need a doctor today.

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

_{Location: Main Street Pines Holler // Interacting With: Various townspeople}
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Gideon Hale Mercer did not notice the heat the way the town did.

The power outage registered as a data point before it ever became an inconvenience. A fluctuation. A predictable failure in an aging grid pushed beyond what it had been designed to handle. Summer stress. Increased load. Deferred maintenance. Gideon sat comfortably in the back seat of a black SUV, the climate control humming at a steady, deliberate temperature, eyes tracking the road as Pines Holler unfolded ahead of him.

It was exactly as the reports had promised.

Main Street looked like a postcard trying very hard not to notice the cracks. Kids darted barefoot across asphalt too hot to forgive mistakes. Old men rocked lazily outside the general store, hats tipped low, watching the world with the quiet confidence of people who believed it would always look roughly the same. The bar down the way buzzed louder than usual, generators compensating where infrastructure had failed, laughter rising a little too forced, a little too defiant.

Gideon watched it all with professional interest.

He did not sneer. He did not romanticize. He cataloged.

Tourism spikes. Seasonal returnees. Overburdened utilities. Community reliance on informal solutions. The town functioned not because it was resilient, but because it was improvising. Improvisation always failed eventually. Systems either adapted, or collapsed under the weight of nostalgia pretending to be stability.

The SUV rolled to a smooth stop near the curb. The driver didn’t ask if Gideon was ready. He already knew. Joel Hagerty exited first, scanning without hurry, posture loose but alert. Two more men followed, spreading out just enough to be polite about it. Gideon stepped out last, suit immaculate despite the heat, dark jacket unbuttoned, sleeves crisp. He adjusted nothing. He never did.

People noticed him immediately.

Not because he looked threatening, because he looked like he belonged somewhere important. Men like Gideon always did. Clean-cut. Calm. Expensive without being flashy. The kind of man who could sit at a town meeting or a senate hearing and sound exactly the same in both places.

Someone inside the bar glanced up, curiosity flickering before recognition failed to land. Gideon was not a face from memory. He was a face from the future.

He paused on the sidewalk, breathing in air that smelled like pine, asphalt, and something sweet he couldn’t quite place. Honeysuckle, maybe. He made a note of it without caring. Sentiment was not the same as attachment.

This place would change.

Not today. Not loudly. Not all at once.

But the grid would be upgraded. The roads would be widened. Property values would shift. Taxes would rise. Offers would be made. Some would be generous. Others would be inevitable. People would complain, organize, resist, right up until staying became harder than leaving.

Gideon clasped his hands behind his back, gaze lifting to the ridge line beyond town. Stable rock. Good elevation. Clear lines of sight. Poor legal defenses. Excellent long-term positioning.

Someone inside laughed too loudly. A generator sputtered, then steadied.

Order would come. It always did.

Gideon moved through Pines Holler at an unhurried pace, as though he had nowhere else to be and all the time in the world to get there. He walked the length of Main Street with Joel a few steps behind and the rest of the security team dispersed loosely enough to appear coincidental. To anyone watching, they might have passed for businessmen, consultants, men in town for a meeting that would never quite involve the people who lived here.

He paused outside the general store, eyes drifting over the hand-painted sign, the bench worn smooth by decades of waiting. A man tipped his hat in greeting. Gideon returned the gesture with a polite nod, his expression warm in a way that invited no further conversation. He listened without listening, to fragments of complaints about the heat, jokes about the power being out, speculation about when the lights would come back on. The rhythm of a place accustomed to enduring small failures with good humor.

It reminded him, briefly, of how things used to be before intervention.

The lumber yard sat at the edge of town, quiet now. It had gone dark three weeks earlier, officially due to “safety violations” and “environmental noncompliance.” Gideon remembered the file precisely. Outdated equipment. Improper runoff containment. A workforce operating on grandfathered exemptions no longer protected by updated regulations. The inspection had been thorough. The citations had been accurate. The fines had been impossible to absorb.

It had been a clean closure. No drama. No confrontation. Just paperwork, deadlines, and the slow realization that reopening would cost more than the business was worth.

He had driven past it once already that morning, noting the way the lot looked emptier without trucks idling and men lingering with cigarettes and coffee cups. The absence had weight. The lumber yard had been more than an employer, it had been a social artery. Men who once met there now scattered, some leaving town for work elsewhere, others waiting for something that would not return.

Gideon did not feel regret.

The lumber yard had been inefficient. Poorly managed. Environmentally vulnerable. It occupied land better suited for other purposes, and its closure had accelerated conversations that were already overdue. Progress required momentum. The yard had simply been the first thing to give way.

He resumed walking, stopping now and then to glance into shop windows, taking in handmade signs advertising summer sales, antique trinkets arranged with pride, history framed and priced for tourists. The irony was not lost on him, communities preserving fragments of themselves for outsiders while insisting nothing should change.

A generator coughed somewhere down the street. Gideon checked his watch out of habit, not concern. The grid would stabilize. MSS had already submitted proposals. Infrastructure always followed disruption.

As he reached the far end of town, Gideon turned back toward Main Street, the sun beating down without apology. Pines Holler was resilient, he would give it that. But resilience without adaptation was just delay.

He adjusted his stride, already moving toward his next appointment, the next conversation, the next step in a process that would unfold whether anyone here was ready for it or not.

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

The 'Prodigal' Son || Rowan Shaw || TW: Mentions of Child abuse, Suicide

_{Faceclaim: Ethan Church // Color Code: EB38E5}

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_{Full Name:}

Rowan Elijah Shaw

_Nickname(s):

• Ro(w) (Mostly Close Friends, Callie, and Ettie)
• Elijah (Father)
• Preacher Jr (Despises this)

_Age:

Twenty-four // October 28th

_Gender:

Male

_Sexuality:

Undecided / Unlabeled — music has always come first (He's gay lul)

_Occupation:

• Previously at the Lumber Yard during the day, recently offered a remote session drummer position
• Plays shows during the evening and night. Does solo singing with Guitar, Piano, and also Drums for a local band.

_{Place of Residence:}

444 Miners Street.

_{Family and Close Connections:}

• Father: Waylon Shaw || Age 63 || Local Business Owner & Preacher at Pines Holler Southern Baptist Church || FC: Pierce Brosnan.
• Mother: Natalie Shaw || Age 56 || Pines Holler Mayor || FC: Carla Gugino.
• Siblings: Calypso Aikaterini Shaw (Sister)
• Friends: Ettie Willoughby (Aunt) || TBD.
• Significant Other: None currently other than music.

_Appearance:

• Height: Six feet, 1 Inch.
• Hair: Dark brown
• Eyes: Hazel
• Body Type: Tall, lean, obvious wiry build. Looks Athletic and healthy
• Clothing Style: Random Graphic Tee || Blacks, purples, greys, and pinks mostly. patterned, torn, or faded jeans, No shirt at all || Worn Sneakers.
• Body Markings:

• Jason Voorhees Tattoo on his left arm and Michael Myers one on his fore-arm
• Mandalorian Tattoo on his right fore-arm

_Personality:
Rowan Shaw is quiet, observant, and deeply emotional beneath a guarded exterior. He listens the way musicians do, not just to words, but to what sits underneath them. He notices changes in tone, pauses in speech, the things people don’t say. This makes him perceptive, empathetic, and occasionally overwhelmed.

He is gentle by nature, but not weak. Rowan’s anger is slow-burning and internalized, expressed more through music than confrontation. When pushed too far, he withdraws rather than explodes. Conflict makes him uneasy, not because he lacks conviction, but because he has seen how power is abused by those who claim moral authority.

Rowan is fiercely loyal, especially to Callie. She is his anchor, his proof that escape is possible. At the same time, her success intimidates him, not out of jealousy, but out of fear that he will never measure up in ways that matter. He struggles with impostor syndrome, convinced that his talent only exists because no one has truly tested it yet.

Music is where Rowan is most honest. Onstage or behind a kit, he is confident, expressive, and fearless. Offstage, he is uncertain, self-effacing, and deeply cautious with his heart. He wants more from life, but doesn’t know how to want it without betraying the people and place that shaped him.

Despite everything, Rowan loves Pines Holler. He loves the land, the late nights, the way sound carries through the hills. His conflict isn’t whether to leave, it’s whether leaving would erase him, or finally let him exist fully.

_History:
Rowan Elijah Shaw was born into a house where appearances mattered more than safety and silence was mistaken for obedience. As the preacher’s son and the mayor’s child, he grew up under a microscope, expected to be grateful, God-fearing, and invisible all at once. He learned early which parts of himself were acceptable to show, and which needed to be hidden.

Music found Rowan before language ever did. He could hum back hymns in perfect pitch before he understood what pitch was. Rhythms stuck to him like instinct, patterns snapping into place the moment he heard them. When he first sat behind a drum kit, too small to reach everything properly, something in him settled. Sound became structure. Noise became safety.

Unlike Callie, Rowan did not excel in ways that adults found respectable. He wasn’t valedictorian. He wasn’t polished. His brilliance was loud, emotional, and inconvenient. Teachers called him distracted. Church elders called him unfocused. His father called him undisciplined.

The abuse in the Shaw household did not spare Rowan, but it shaped him differently. Where Callie learned to endure and plan, Rowan learned to disappear. He spent hours locked in his room with headphones on, tapping rhythms against his legs, humming melodies under his breath. Music was the only thing that made him feel real without making him afraid.

Callie leaving was the first fracture. Her attempt, her removal from the house, and then her eventual escape carved something hollow into Rowan. He stayed, not because he wanted to, but because someone had to. He absorbed the pressure, the expectations, the unspoken command to be better behaved, less visible, more manageable than his sister had ever been allowed to be.

After high school, Rowan drifted. He worked wherever he could, played wherever he was allowed, and never quite left Pines Holler. Opportunities passed close enough to touch but never stayed long, money problems, family obligations, fear of failing somewhere that mattered. When Parton’s Lumber shut down, it felt like confirmation of a truth he’d been avoiding: the town that raised him was shrinking, and it might take him down with it.

Still, he stayed. Still, he played.

_{Extra Facts // Headcannons:}

• Rowan truly doesn't know what to think about the expansion. He's mostly worried about himself, and feels like he's lost.
• Has perfect pitch and assumes everyone else does too.
• Can pick up any instrument and play it passably within minutes.
• Drums are his primary language; singing is his second, and guitar his third.
• Writes music constantly but finishes very little.
• Uses rhythm to regulate his emotions.
• Went no-contact with his parents more slowly than Callie; guilt kept him tethered longer.
• Ettie and Callie are his emotional safe harbors.
• Still flinches when people quote scripture aggressively.
• Has complicated feelings about church music, loves the sound, hates the source.
• Sleeps with headphones on, and music on. He can't sleep without music
• Rarely drinks to excess; hates feeling out of control.
• Smokes occasionally but more for the ritual than the high.
• Taps out rhythms on every available surface.
• Keeps old drumsticks long past when they’re usable.
• Knows which buildings echo best.
• Plays free shows at protests and fundraisers.
• Feels protective over the town, even as it suffocates him.
• Deeply wary of outsiders who “discover” Appalachian talent.

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

The 'Prodigal' Son || Rowan Shaw || TW: Mentions of Child abuse, Suicide

_{Faceclaim: Ethan Church // Color Code: EB38E5}

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

_{Full Name:}

Rowan Elijah Shaw

_Nickname(s):

• Ro(w) (Mostly Close Friends, Callie, and Ettie)
• Elijah (Father)
• Preacher Jr (Despises this)

_Age:

Twenty-four // October 28th

_Gender:

Male

_Sexuality:

Undecided / Unlabeled — music has always come first

_Occupation:

• Previously at the Lumber Yard during the day, recently offered a remote session drummer position
• Plays shows during the evening and night. Does solo singing with Guitar, Piano, and also Drums for a local band.

_{Place of Residence:}

444 Miners Street.

_{Family and Close Connections:}

• Father: Waylon Shaw || Age 63 || Local Business Owner & Preacher at Pines Holler Southern Baptist Church || FC: Pierce Brosnan.
• Mother: Natalie Shaw || Age 56 || Pines Holler Mayor || FC: Carla Gugino.
• Siblings: Calypso Aikaterini Shaw (Sister)
• Friends: Ettie Willoughby (Aunt) || TBD.
• Significant Other: None currently other than music.

_Appearance:

• Height: Six feet, 1 Inch.
• Hair: Dark brown
• Eyes: Hazel
• Body Type: Tall, lean, obvious wiry build. Looks Athletic and healthy
• Clothing Style: Random Graphic Tee || Blacks, purples, greys, and pinks mostly. patterned, torn, or faded jeans, No shirt at all || Worn Sneakers.
• Body Markings:

• Jason Voorhees Tattoo on his left arm and Michael Myers one on his fore-arm
• Mandalorian Tattoo on his right fore-arm

_Personality:
Rowan Shaw is quiet, observant, and deeply emotional beneath a guarded exterior. He listens the way musicians do, not just to words, but to what sits underneath them. He notices changes in tone, pauses in speech, the things people don’t say. This makes him perceptive, empathetic, and occasionally overwhelmed.

He is gentle by nature, but not weak. Rowan’s anger is slow-burning and internalized, expressed more through music than confrontation. When pushed too far, he withdraws rather than explodes. Conflict makes him uneasy, not because he lacks conviction, but because he has seen how power is abused by those who claim moral authority.

Rowan is fiercely loyal, especially to Callie. She is his anchor, his proof that escape is possible. At the same time, her success intimidates him, not out of jealousy, but out of fear that he will never measure up in ways that matter. He struggles with impostor syndrome, convinced that his talent only exists because no one has truly tested it yet.

Music is where Rowan is most honest. Onstage or behind a kit, he is confident, expressive, and fearless. Offstage, he is uncertain, self-effacing, and deeply cautious with his heart. He wants more from life, but doesn’t know how to want it without betraying the people and place that shaped him.

Despite everything, Rowan loves Pines Holler. He loves the land, the late nights, the way sound carries through the hills. His conflict isn’t whether to leave, it’s whether leaving would erase him, or finally let him exist fully.

_History:
Rowan Elijah Shaw was born into a house where appearances mattered more than safety and silence was mistaken for obedience. As the preacher’s son and the mayor’s child, he grew up under a microscope, expected to be grateful, God-fearing, and invisible all at once. He learned early which parts of himself were acceptable to show, and which needed to be hidden.

Music found Rowan before language ever did. He could hum back hymns in perfect pitch before he understood what pitch was. Rhythms stuck to him like instinct, patterns snapping into place the moment he heard them. When he first sat behind a drum kit, too small to reach everything properly, something in him settled. Sound became structure. Noise became safety.

Unlike Callie, Rowan did not excel in ways that adults found respectable. He wasn’t valedictorian. He wasn’t polished. His brilliance was loud, emotional, and inconvenient. Teachers called him distracted. Church elders called him unfocused. His father called him undisciplined.

The abuse in the Shaw household did not spare Rowan, but it shaped him differently. Where Callie learned to endure and plan, Rowan learned to disappear. He spent hours locked in his room with headphones on, tapping rhythms against his legs, humming melodies under his breath. Music was the only thing that made him feel real without making him afraid.

Callie leaving was the first fracture. Her attempt, her removal from the house, and then her eventual escape carved something hollow into Rowan. He stayed, not because he wanted to, but because someone had to. He absorbed the pressure, the expectations, the unspoken command to be better behaved, less visible, more manageable than his sister had ever been allowed to be.

After high school, Rowan drifted. He worked wherever he could, played wherever he was allowed, and never quite left Pines Holler. Opportunities passed close enough to touch but never stayed long, money problems, family obligations, fear of failing somewhere that mattered. When Parton’s Lumber shut down, it felt like confirmation of a truth he’d been avoiding: the town that raised him was shrinking, and it might take him down with it.

Still, he stayed. Still, he played.

_{Extra Facts // Headcannons:}

• Rowan truly doesn't know what to think about the expansion. He's mostly worried about himself, and feels like he's lost.
• Has perfect pitch and assumes everyone else does too.
• Can pick up any instrument and play it passably within minutes.
• Drums are his primary language; singing is his second, and guitar his third.
• Writes music constantly but finishes very little.
• Uses rhythm to regulate his emotions.
• Went no-contact with his parents more slowly than Callie; guilt kept him tethered longer.
• Ettie and Callie are his emotional safe harbors.
• Still flinches when people quote scripture aggressively.
• Has complicated feelings about church music, loves the sound, hates the source.
• Sleeps with headphones on, and music on. He can't sleep without music
• Rarely drinks to excess; hates feeling out of control.
• Smokes occasionally but more for the ritual than the high.
• Taps out rhythms on every available surface.
• Keeps old drumsticks long past when they’re usable.
• Knows which buildings echo best.
• Plays free shows at protests and fundraisers.
• Feels protective over the town, even as it suffocates him.
• Deeply wary of outsiders who “discover” Appalachian talent.

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

The Caregiver || Eleanor “Ellie” Mae Caldwell

_{Faceclaim: Lily Collins // Color Code: B3EB3F}

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

_{Full Name:}

Eleanor Mae Caldwell

_Nickname(s):

• Ellie
• Mae
• Doc

_Age:

Thirty-five // July 15th

_Gender:

Female

_Sexuality:

Heterosexual

_Occupation:

• Board Certified Doctor
• Currently runs a family practice in Pines Holler, on Main Street

_{Place of Residence:}

448 Miners Street.

_{Family and Close Connections:}
With the deaths of her parents Ellie doesn't really have anyone in the town that are blood related. But she treats all the residents as extended family.

_Appearance:

• Height: Five feet, five inches.
• Hair: Dark brunette || Deep expresso/Chocolate
• Eyes: Green with Gold
• Body Type: Slim, petite build with an athletic, somewhat angular frame.
• Clothing Style: Simple layered outfit. Single color blouse, pants or skirt, scrubs, coat or Doctor's coat, Stethoscope
• Body Markings: None

_Personality:
Eleanor Caldwell is not loud. She does not announce her convictions or posture for moral authority. Her presence is steady, deliberate, and deeply disarming. She listens more than she speaks, and when she does speak, it is with precision.

At her core, Eleanor is deeply compassionate, shaped by a lifetime of witnessing suffering that could have been prevented with resources, attention, or simple decency. She believes medicine is as much about dignity as it is about treatment. This belief guides her practice: she charges when she must, waives fees when she can, and never humiliates a patient for needing help. To her, care is not transactional, it is relational.

That compassion is paired with a quiet, controlled anger. Eleanor is keenly aware of how systems fail people like those in Pines Holler, and she harbors little patience for those who profit from that failure. She despises exploitation dressed up as progress and has a particular disdain for outsiders who treat the land as expendable. While she rarely confronts injustice directly, she is meticulous in how she counters it, through documentation, legal pressure, strategic alliances, and the careful use of her financial independence.

Eleanor is fluent in multiple social worlds. She can navigate boardrooms and back porches with equal ease, adjusting her posture, speech, and silence as needed. This adaptability is not duplicity; it is survival refined into skill. Still, it leaves her somewhat isolated. She belongs everywhere and nowhere at once.

Grief has settled into her like a second spine. She loved her husband, though she does not romanticize the marriage. His death changed her not by breaking her, but by clarifying what she would no longer tolerate, inaction, complacency, or living someone else’s version of a meaningful life.

Ultimately, Eleanor believes in choice. In the right to stay, to leave, to fight, or to rest, without coercion.

History:

Eleanor Mae Caldwell was born into a town that taught endurance before it taught ambition. Pines Holler did not raise dreamers so much as survivors, people who learned to work around what was broken, to make do with less, to hold on to what mattered because there was no guarantee it would still be there tomorrow. Her childhood was marked by routine hardship: early mornings, hand-me-downs, the hum of exhaustion that settled into the bones of adults long before they were old. Yet it was also marked by community. Neighbors who watched one another’s children. Shared meals when money ran thin. A deep, almost spiritual connection to the land and to the people who had bled into it for generations.

Eleanor stood out early. She learned fast, asked questions adults couldn’t always answer, and absorbed books like they were lifelines. Teachers noticed. So did classmates, some with pride, others with quiet resentment. By the time she graduated valedictorian, there was a collective understanding in Pines Holler: she was leaving. Scholarships carried her away from the hills and into ivy-league institutions that were clean, efficient, and indifferent. There, she learned to sand down her accent, dress for credibility, and translate herself into something palatable for people who had never known hunger or powerlessness. She did it well, but never without cost.

Medical school was relentless. Eleanor excelled not because it was easy, but because she refused to fail. She watched classmates burn out or fracture under pressure and learned early how to compartmentalize grief, exhaustion, and fear. During this time, she married into old money, a man whose family legacy opened doors she had been knocking on her entire life. The marriage was built on mutual respect and genuine affection, though never complete equality. His world assumed permanence; hers had always been provisional. Still, they made a life together, one defined by shared ambition and the belief that good could be done with the right resources.

His death came suddenly. An accident. No drama, no villain, no one to blame. One day Eleanor was a physician with a powerful surname; the next she was a widow and an heiress. The inheritance was vast, complex, and quietly transformative. Trust funds, properties, investments, wealth that insulated her from consequence and granted her a freedom she had never known. For a time, she drifted. Worked. Traveled. Consulted. Grieved in private.

Then Pines Holler began appearing in the news she read between cases, and on her social media. Land acquisitions. Plant closures. Environmental concerns buried under corporate euphemisms. And finally, the closure of Parton’s Lumber Company, the last reliable source of work for many families she had grown up with.

Eleanor returned home not as a prodigal daughter, but as a physician with credentials, capital, and intent. She opened a family practice and began consulting at the regional hospital, framing her return as practical, even nostalgic. But beneath that simplicity was a deeper purpose: to serve, to document, and to protect. Pines Holler had been forgotten before. This time, it was being targeted. And Eleanor intended to make that expensive.

_{Extra Facts // Headcannons:}

• Eleanor despises any mention of the 'evil creatures of hell' that she says is destroying more than just homes. She actively opposes them as much as possible.
• Eleanor still wakes up early, even when she doesn’t have to. Years of farm-town mornings and hospital rounds have wired her to greet the day before the sun fully rises.
• She drinks her coffee black and too strong, but keeps cream and sugar on hand for patients and visitors, hospitality matters to her.
• When stressed, she cleans. Her clinic is immaculate, but her house is lived-in, cluttered with books and half-finished thoughts.
• Has a habit of pressing her thumb against the inside of her wrist when thinking hard—a self-soothing gesture she’s unaware of.
• Knows most families by surname and history, even if she hasn’t seen them in years.
• Still uses old landmarks when giving directions (“where the mill used to be,” “past the Johnson place”) rather than updated maps.
• Feels a pang of guilt every time someone thanks her too profusely, like she hasn’t quite earned the reverence some locals give her.
• Quietly funds community repairs through shell donations: school supplies, clinic upgrades, emergency fuel assistance during winter.
• Keeps her parents’ old land untouched, even though developers have offered obscene amounts for it.
• Board-certified in family medicine with additional specialization in internal medicine, pediatrics and toxicology, skills that are becoming increasingly relevant.
• Has testified as an expert witness before, though never locally. She knows how to speak carefully under oath.
• Keeps copies of patient records offsite, encrypted and duplicated, just in case.
• Treats undocumented workers, drifters, and “unofficial” residents without question.
• Has a standing agreement with the hospital administration that allows her significant autonomy due to her reputation and connections.
• Eleanor doesn’t live lavishly. Her wealth shows in stability, not excess.
• She owns property she doesn’t advertise, land that strategically blocks certain development routes.
• Old-money connections still call her, especially when rumors circulate about Appalachia becoming “the next investment frontier.”
• She knows exactly how much leverage she has and uses it sparingly, which makes it far more effective when she does.
• Has turned down multiple offers to sell patient data or consult for corporate healthcare initiatives.
• Suffers from occasional insomnia, especially when cases involve children or environmental illness.
• Keeps her late husband’s last voicemail saved but hasn’t listened to it in years.
• Has never remarried and avoids the topic with practiced ease.
• Struggles with asking for help, she gives it freely but accepts it reluctantly.
• Sometimes wonders who she would have been if she’d stayed in Pines Holler the first time.
• Wears her wedding ring on a chain tucked beneath her shirt rather than on her hand.
• Keeps an old high school yearbook in her office drawer
• Drives a practical, slightly battered vehicle rather than anything flashy.
• Has a stethoscope older than most of her colleagues, gifted to her by a mentor who believed in her early.

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

@SouffleGirl123 Anywhere from 20-26

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

Eleanor 'Ellie' Mae Caldwell | Color: tbd | FC: Lily Collins
-Doctor who runs a family medicine practice and works as a consultant at the closest Hospital. Married into old money, and is known to 'lose' track of billing sometimes.

Rowan Eli TBD | Color: tbd | FC: Ethan Church
-Actively looking to be a sibling, child, etc of a character. If you want thst as a plot please poke me. Otherwise I'll move forward with him with a created family. His basic plot is thst he works various handyman jobs around the town by day and does music by night. He's a great singer\songwriter and an even better drummer.