Atrophy

Carvings of the Galaxy

Ya'll are the best. I really dig this RP, and you dudes made some rad characters. If we gotta go slow for awhile, we gotta go slow for awhile. I've been in RPs where a month goes by without a post while people slowly work on collabs, other games, and real life, but we all come back to move the story on when we're able to. Of course, I get @Deserted's concern. I think we've all been in too many cool RPs that die off before they meet their full potential, and I sure as hell don't want that to be this one.

Beyond the Storms

No worries, then: throw her in the cs section and let's get to work :D

Ps, I hope Constance has a strong stomach, she'll need it for what's comin soon

@Mercenary Lord

...Champagne?

Beyond the Storms

"Very good friend", in this case, can roughly translate to "Person whose name I forgot, but will pretend to remember, and will definitely say it just slightly after they do to make it seem as if I knew it all along".

Beyond the Storms

Although the story had yet to be picked up by the press, a historical event had already occurred earlier that morning: Constance Holloway had arrived early. Before the late reporter had been dropped to the ocean below, before the crew had taken the lift down, even before the bureaucrats had unlocked the office doors, the founder of H.H. Industries had been waiting outside of the DOC between the small mountain that was her “essential” luggage. Constance was a firm believer in the idea of being fashionably late; she had even shown up to her last birthday party three hours late (and then left thirty minutes later, much to the dismay of her guests). It was a power play, a way of showing one’s supposed importance without directly stating it.

However, excitement and giddiness had gotten the better of her on the eve of their departure, and she had left her hotel suite before the gold beams of the raising sun had broken through the dark storm clouds. She had passed the hours by smoking cigarettes, fussing with her hair, and peering through the front doors to look for a clerk to let her in. It had all been dreadfully exhaustive, but any weariness that had begun to creep up on her was struck down when she heard the click of the front door unlocking.

Constance was informed by some pencil pusher trying to make a living for himself that she would have to wait until the majority of the crew and passengers had arrived before they descended on the lift. She informed him that it was absolutely critical that she be the first one to arrive at the bottom. He told her that was impossible; the lift would not move until the others had arrived. She laughed, and said that was good, because she wanted to take the Drop anyway; much more exciting. Again, he tried to claim that it could not be done, mumbling some excuse about the Captain. She clarified her previous statement: it was absolutely critical for his career that she be the first one to arrive at the bottom. Perhaps she mentioned knowing Rick Garrloch, and how disappointed he would be to hear the rough time his friend had been given on her way to his boat.

Of course, the word “friend” was a bit of a stretch, but how could the poor man had known that? This is assuming any of this had happened, obviously. Constance would say that the nice gentleman at the door had been sweet enough to let her ride the Drop as soon as possible, and he would confirm her story if he knew what was good for him. Irregardless, minutes after the doors had opened, the self-styled world traveller found herself careening to the sea with her hair flipping wildly about and her stomach in her throat. If an excited hoorah escaped from her throat, it was stuffed back in her gaping trap as her blurred vision corrected itself. Copper eyes reflected gold over blue; the first clear sunrise of Constance’s life, accented by the steel behemoth of human ingenuity that was the UIS Garrloch. Constance wasn’t certain which of the two, the scenery or the ship, that was more beautiful. She decided to call it a draw.

A few dockhands were around, but they had been too busy with their duties to pay the woman much of a mind. The gangplank had yet to be put up, so Constance sat cross-legged on the edge of the dock and studied the horizon beyond her. It seemed absolutely endless. A cool breeze crossed over the water, hitting her with the unfamiliar smell of ocean air; it was nothing like the putrid smell of pollution and tourism that came off of Lake Marum when the breeze blew the wrong way. The urge to dive in the blue swell below her was overwhelming, and Constance wasn’t one for denying herself pleasures and she knew that nobody would dare tell her no; she had even worn her swimsuit underneath her outfit in preparation. Stripping off her outer layers and neatly folding them into a pile on the dock, the woman took the plunge.

Later, she’d receive an earful from the Captain about her carelessness, but as she lounged alone on the dock drying her body and swimsuit off while sea water pooled around her Constance found herself at peace. A small smile crossed its way across her face: who else in the world could say they had swam in the ocean, tasted the salt in their mouth and felt its sting in their eyes? A dozen, maybe less? To think, less than a century ago six daredevils jumped from an island with nothing but a parachute and a dream to take on the world; now, almost a hundred years later, one of their own was actually going to do it. She laid back on the dock, staring at the mess of land and dark clouds above her; in a way, it was all her’s. Her view shifted as she rolled onto her side, staring back across the horizon. In a way, this would all be her’s too. Manifest destiny.

“Absolutely fantastic,” she muttered, as she felt her eyelids grow heavy.

---

After being awoken from her doze by a sharp shake and a barking respite from Conway, Constance dressed and cleaned herself up from her swim. By the time the others had begun to arrive, she looked as if she had been invited out for a pleasure cruise or a game of polo instead of an expedition into the vast unknown. Somehow, the woman had managed to already acquire a highball as if she was aboard a party yacht, despite there being no apparent source and the time being well before five o’clock. She sipped slowly from the sweating glass to avoid smudging her lipstick, and a small straw hat cast a shadow over her eyes. The only hint that she had gone for a swim earlier was her hair, crisp from the salt, and the not completely unpleasant smell of ocean on her skin.

The socialite had posted herself at the absolute front of the ship, leaning lazily against the railing. Of course she would take that spot: it was visible by everyone, as if the rest of the ship acted as an arrow pointing in the direction of the esteemed Constance Holloway. She occasionally dipped from the spot, mostly to greet her fellow “conquerors”, as she was starting to call everyone, and seek out business ventures, but always managed to elbow her way back to the front. It was there that she was standing when one of the latecomers finally found his way to the Garrloch. He was smartly dressed, although she raised a questioning eyebrow at the unmanaged growth that had infested his jawline. However, a wolfish grin flashed on her face as he mentioned the Winged Gazette, and the tycoon slinked across the deck towards the man.

“What a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Samick,” said Constance as she forcefully grabbed his hand and gave it a light squeeze and a shake. “It’s so nice to see that the Gazette is finally making use of its talent. I’m Constance Holloway, although I’m sure someone like you would already know that. Your boys ran a story about me a few months back, after all. It was quite…”

She tilted her and looked up, as if she was searching for a polite word for it. The article that had been ran did not paint her in the best picture, although to react strongly against it would give it even the most meager form of validation. It wouldn’t be ruinous, but it would be inconvenient.

“...entertaining. I would be more than willing to provide a correction for you chaps, but we both know that wouldn’t sell papers,” she said, throwing her head back with a loud, piercing laugh.

“Oh!” Her eyes widened and her drink splashed against the rim of her glass as if she had been startled by an animal darting in front of her. “How thoughtless of me. Let me introduce you to the others, darling,” she said, brushing her hand against Ed’s elbow as if to lead him like a child, stopping as she came upon the nearest person that did not shy away from her glance.

“This is Eddy—may I call you Eddy?—Eddy Samick. He’s a reporter for the Winged Gazette, so be on your best behavior,” she said with a wink as she took a sip from her refreshment, as if this person had not just heard Ed introduce himself. “Eddy, it is my utmost privilege to introduce you to my very good friend…”

Beyond the Storms

My money is on dinosaurs...with laser beams! Make it so, Mercenary Lord =P

@Lexicon

Please don't get my hopes up like this; my poor heart won't be able to take the disappointment if it doesn't happen.

Beyond the Storms

I literally just Googled to see if islands are connected to the ocean floor.

I am an idiot.

Carvings of the Galaxy

So, are we waiting for something?

@Deserted

Next up to post should be Rend, but it seems like @Eru Iluvatar has been pretty busy the past few days because of gross real life stuff as well.

Beyond the Storms

@LexiconGotta say, I'm pretty pumped to be in a RP with you again.

<Snipped quote by Lexicon>

Yeah, i am pretty excited for this too. I've always been a sucker for worldbuilding adventure.

@Mercenary Lord

Aw crap, worldbuilding? Adventure? You mean we weren't just gonna go on some pleasure cruise sipping mimosas, playing blackjack, and gorging on all-you-can-eat buffets.

Beyond the Storms

I'm also working on a character for myself, and after that...we might just have enough people to get this whole thing going. I'm pretty excited actually.

@Mercenary Lord

Nice! We got our salty soldier, our daring pilot, and our robber baron captain of industry. Can't wait to see how we round out the Drop Boys.

Beyond the Storms

Constance Holloway
25 | 5’6” | Female

[ S Y N O P S I S ]

Constance is an ambitious, self-aggrandizing woman with a questionable lineage and a dubious, newfound wealth. A true master of none (although she prefers the term “polymath”), Constance seems to be motivated by flights of fancy, whims, and impulses that serve her one woman assault against the boredom and mundanity that comes with living a posh life. Foolhardy and stubborn, her latest obsession, like any good member of the nouveau riche, is seemingly centered around leaving behind a legacy.

[ A P P E A R A N C E ]

A slender woman with a thin, angular face, Constance has seemingly grown well-accustomed to holding her sharp chin high and peering down her nose at others. Her eyes are a light brown, like copper, while her long, straight hair is a few shades darker and pulled back in a loose ponytail. Her skin is fair, seemingly untouched by the sun thanks to her assortment of hats and parasols, and a practiced application of makeup effectively hides her many imperfections—the scarred pores on her cheeks and forehead of a childhood of poor hygiene, the crow’s feet and dark circles that line her eyes. She speaks with a measured cadence, like somebody who is reading from a play’s script, and has a voice that demands attention due to the confidence, and volume, that flows with it. Still, no amount of makeup can hide the fact that her nose, broken once in youth, bends with a slight offset, nor can any practiced speeches hide her hideous horse laugh.

While Constance has a wardrobe full of gaudy jewelry and elaborate dresses, she typically dresses these days as if she were an equestrian. Fitted jackets, typically a dark shade of blue with large buttons, are worn over white blouses that are tucked into high waisted pants of neutral browns and tans. It’s uncommon to see her without some sort of sun hat or kerchief. Black riding boots that almost cover her knees give her a few more inches and, coupled with her already wiry limbs and confident posture, makes her appear taller than five foot six. The newest, and almost permanent, addition to her wardrobe is a small lump underneath the left side of her jackets. A strong wind or the right angle would reveal that the lump is semi-automatic pistol resting in a leather shoulder holster.

[ P E R S O N A L I T Y ]

Constance drips confidence. Armed with an almost infectious optimism and a dangerous ambition, she seemingly never shows doubt, fear, or regrets. She actively seeks out new challenges and welcomes sudden crises with a smile and a jolt of energy. She’s a textbook thrillseeker that always seeks out new experiences and follows her gut over the minds and mouths of others. However, she lacks dedication and is quick to move on to the next whim once her current one has shown even the slightest hint of mundanity. This has left her with a bit of a reputation of being unreliable and frivolous, overshadowed only by her reputation of being a person who practically throws away their money.

Constance is warm and friendly to people, although it’s hard to say if it’s a genuine kindness or just the practiced niceties a person must acquire if they wish to survive in high society. Still, she prefers company over being alone, and is mindful enough in conversations to not completely dominate them. She’ll never openly insult an individual, and when she praises something it is always “absolutely fantastic” regardless of the situation. Despite her openness, people sometimes can feel a vibe coming from her like she is looking down upon them or judging them for some reason they can’t quite say. As well, word around town is that the woman is quite conceited and a bit of a know-it-all; it was once hypothesized that she was full of enough hot air that her ego could keep the islands afloat if the obelisk failed.

[ H I S T O R Y ]

There are two stories about Constance Holloway: hers and theirs. Hers is the one that she shouts from the rooftops, and theirs is one that is whispered behind her back at soirees and dinner parties. However, the tales both start at the Bottoms, the nickname for the slums of Edgenook. In her version, Constance would admit that she was luckier than most growing up in the Bottoms. She had parents, although they were good-for-nothing, and most nights she had a roof over her head, although one that leaked and let bugs in. However, like any child living in the Bottoms, she had to work to help feed her family. She could recount the horrors seen in FFS factories where she started working at the age of five, climbing inside the great machinery to remove jams in the gears caused by faulty material and other children, but those stories are not for decent company.

Their version would say that she did, in fact, work for FFS. She also worked as a seamstress, waitress, cook, maid, shoeshiner, and, if the person truly dislikes her, as a streetwalker. She couldn’t hold down a job, they say, because she was so unreliable, or because her parents were drunks and addicts, or because she was one too. She clung to gangs of street urchins like many poor children and animals do to survive, knowing that they are safer in numbers than they are alone, and overturned shops of the middle class to steal money, food, and clothes. Both versions agree that at some point she made enough money to travel to Argos, and at some point she met a man that would change her life for the better.

This man was a wealthy businessman who operated a mining company in both versions, and an elderly, rich, and lonely one at that. In her version, she paints them as merely friends, a companion, somebody to talk to, although she always suggests that about suspected lovers. In their version, she was a harpy, a leech, a gold digger that extorted him through various means. Regardless of which version you choose, the results were the same: the man passed away one day, and in his will his inheritance and his company was left completely to Constance. Considering he had sons who had been training to take over the business, this was quite a scandal—what would soon become the first of many for Constance Holloway.

Even in their version do they agree that Constance made the wise decision in making peace with the snubbed heirs and hiring them on to run the businesses that they should have rightfully inherited, although not before redubbing the company Holloway Heavy Industries. Although Constance would admit that she didn’t have a mind for business, she did have a mind for people. In her version, she sought out talented individuals and proved them with the initial investment to start their business. In their version, she was little more than a loan shark that exploited desperate and poor inventors. Either way, H.H. Industries began hooking its talons into other markets outside of mining, namely electricity, aviation, and the newly booming business of shipbuilding. Constance filled her coffers, quickly picking up on the rules of a society where the rich get richer.

With the sudden rise in affluence and through smart hiring of individuals to do the work for her, Constance was able to,in her words, stop working and start spending. She bought a mansion at Lake Marum. The household was never empty, always full of her friends and people who were trying to win her influence and vice versa. In her version, these people were the next generation of artists, engineers, and philanthropists. In their version, these people were there, and so were counterfeiters, con artists, and anarchists. Yet still, even those that talked down about Constance and her parties were elated when they received an invitation, because to be invented to a Holloway soiree meant that you truly were somebody.

But a life of constant partying, like a life of constant working, had its doldrums. Constance began travelling to combat this boredom, taking up and giving up on new hobbies as she went. Eventually, in her words, she had seen it all—foregoing her failed attempt to scale the Rallamachers. In her version, she had been turned away by her guides before they reached the summit once the elements got the better of their foray (despite her desire to brave the storm and continue). In their version, she had grown tired of climbing and called for a helicopter to escort her down from the mountain.

At parties she spoke of how their world was too small, and made it known to all that would listen that she planned on travelling to the world below, claiming that she had been consumed by a sense of adventure. They claimed that her fortune was drying up, that she was being abandoned by the board of trustees that ran H.H. Industries, and that she was fleeing to the surface to save herself from the embarrassment once the news struck of her ruin. Some of them even claimed that she owed quite a sum of money to certain criminal organizations and was running to save her life; why else would she start carrying a gun?

Whatever version of the life of Constance Holloway one listens to, be it of the lucky socialite or the cutthroat blackmailer, they all end with her on the Garrloch. It’s a new beginning and, in her mind, a chance to be on the cutting edge of the next big thing. The world below is just another investment to her, or perhaps just another thing for her to extort. Truthfully, it doesn’t matter which; all that matters is that it will be hers.

[ N O T E S / O T H E R I N F O ]

-She claims to be a descendant of the Devil Diver James Holloway, although there have been no records dug up that prove or deny this.

-It is a well-spread rumor that Constance proved she was fit to be dropped aboard the Garrloch by greasing the right palms to beat her rivals to the world below.