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Rockette
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Exactly, I'm glad you understand and see it that way. To me, they are like references for myself, but nothing concrete and to be taken entirely as the truth and final construct of the character.
I'd love to work up a playlist of sorts for The Badlands, characters, events, all sorts of details. With contributions from the both of us, I don't doubt inspiration and motivation will wane. Hell, I managed another post, because I was too excited and thrilled to wait and since I had the time, I immediately began composing.
So, here the song Alexia first hears, before the band comes onto the stage. From one of my favourite movies.
Only Lovers Left Alive - Taste of Blood.
I find that the mood of the song encompasses a lot of what she's feeling in this post and her fear and confusion and drug addled state that drives her to sick out the darkest of her sins at the Church.
No worries, I studied creative writing in High School, but it has been such a long, long time since then. Hah!
I'd love to work up a playlist of sorts for The Badlands, characters, events, all sorts of details. With contributions from the both of us, I don't doubt inspiration and motivation will wane. Hell, I managed another post, because I was too excited and thrilled to wait and since I had the time, I immediately began composing.
So, here the song Alexia first hears, before the band comes onto the stage. From one of my favourite movies.
Only Lovers Left Alive - Taste of Blood.
I find that the mood of the song encompasses a lot of what she's feeling in this post and her fear and confusion and drug addled state that drives her to sick out the darkest of her sins at the Church.
No worries, I studied creative writing in High School, but it has been such a long, long time since then. Hah!
[ β ]
a l e x i a f i t c h.
now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it. already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it.
It had been days, no, months. No. Maybe it had been only some hours. But, Alexia couldn't configure how long it had been since she'd been swarmed by flesh and sweat, bodies and people that laughed, smiled, all swathed in a pungent aroma of lust and longing. The intricacies of socialism bled out in clumps of quivering blood and mass, when she had indulged just too much or was crumbling in the shattering void of withdrawals. It felt like an eternity since music and song had swindled favour over Alexia's heart and soul, and she blamed her recent excursions and lack of initiative when compared to her previous years. A younger time, a more golden sun, a more frantic plea, she mused silently as bass and chords thrummed through her being. The Badlands made women grow old, quickly, matured them from the cusp of babe hood and gave no warning or headlining view into what they would become. Alexia was despaired at her accosted innocence, but it wasn't like she had fought to to prevent it from happening either.
So, did that lay the blame at her feet?
She temporarily blamed the music for her misconstrued thoughts all strung out across a slab of tainted steel, she blamed Danny's priorities and his absence. She blamed the people against her, twisting and bending to the chords that possessed no lyrics but deep, vibrating strums from a guitar, droned out melodies that required one to appreciate the simplicity of the recording. Her jacket had fallen from her shoulders, a view of smooth flesh barren of cloth, the plunging neck of her blouse revealing series of chains, thin links of metal decorated with minuscule charms. Gathered in the crook of her elbows, Alexia allowed her barrier, her shield, to wane in favour of submitting to the wiles of the producer, the beat that pounded and summoned a series of slow dips, turns, and sensual performances of every patron on the floor. She could almost replace the crippling dependency with just musk and touch alone, go back to her former days of peddling her own flesh, but Alexia knew it would only be a temporary fix and one that was never guaranteed.
She didn't want to go back to that.
Too soon the music was interrupted, prompting shuffling feet and bodies as darkness descended, and there, in her breast, she felt the sudden breath of anxiety and fear. Alexia's hands fumbled, trembling in acute terror, there was no distinction of the people next to her, the club had gone and descended into pitch and gloom. They murmured in their silent wonder, some vocalizing confusion until a voice poured from the shadows, assumed from the stage really and caressed over her anxiety with velvet tongues and soothing invitations. Alexia had attended concerts before, gatherings, venues, had seen stars rise and fall, burned and snuffed out by the demanding contract The Badlands reaped on those who proffered song and talent. Everyone had gone silent and still, as if heading the beckon of this man who spoke not just to their presence, but reached downward and tugged on soul tendrils and heart strings. Her breath hitched somewhere in her throat, no longer fogged and pained by her crippling fear of darkness and the anxiety, but instead viced by the swift shudder that pooled from her breast and swept down to her thighs, calves, toes, and shimmered up the path of her spine.
He painted a world of wonder and freedom, and for a moment, she felt and saw that world.
As the song began though and carried on through the tantalizing melody, the connection was severed by the weight of arms curling and threading around her quaking middle. Alexia released a slow breath, lights slowly returning, rising in luminescence until the dull glows and amber settings gave brief impression of those that took up the stage. So this was the band Danny had mentioned.
"They call themselves Wither, fitting, yeah? Perfect for The Badlands."
"I couldn't imagine a better name," she breathed, her rejoinder laced with breathless wonder.
Danny nestled his chin into the crook of her shoulder and beck, his breath fanning against the waterlogged rosewood of her tresses and nuzzled pieces away, that he could, to find the shell of her ear pierced thrice and tinged pink.
"You like them? They play here, their only venue I think. I could introduce you one night." His arms cinched tighter, a brief glimpse to the glamour Danny shelled, the possession, the nurturing touches he gave to ensure that she would never leave. Alexia's chest heaved with her inhales, the exhales sputtering out in fascination when she glanced over the vocalist strumming away easily, comfortably, swift gesticulations over every chord and string summoning a similar ping inside her. She had never been enamoured or enthralled by simple appearances before, or even the swindles and touches of song, but there was a deeply seeded sadness and wonder in his music. She couldn't deny the tug and pull, the peculiar sensation that bid her to thrust her way closer to the stage where fans and admirers too had gathered in their awe.
"No..." Alexia finally answered, leaning back against him, sharp shoulder blade digging into his chest. "That's okay." It was unsettling and exhilarating to be so effected by one man, or rather the entire symphony, and the confusion lacing tight over her rapidly thrumming heart turned, quickly, into a ominous poison of dread. She could feel the Cheshire grin of Danny's blooming within her hair, nestled against her ear where his chuckle breathed and he spun her around in his arms, his dark eyes were wide, eclipsed, obviously under the influence of his own wares and that slick smile splintering wide, so perverse and oh so cruel.
When the broken azure fled into those inky pits, Danny's mouth descended, prying her mouth apart, a slow slide of heat and tongue, his mouth a cavern of sin and a void of drink of smoke. When he brought his teeth onto the pout of her lip, the paper he had slid into her mouth was already dissolving, the liquid promise and honey of euphoria blotted onto the sheet, a potent dosage that would last her for hours. Alexia's gaze immediately hazed, her face beamed into a simper of endearing proportions before Danny slid the rest of the drugs into the pocket of her jacket. Her usual supply, pills, papers, vials of liquid wonder and dreams. She laughed and stood up to press a kiss to the edge of his mouth, the music pulsating and grinding through her before she turned back to the stage, eyes wide, glimmering depths of blue as she gazed at him, the man who sired unease and bewilderment within her deadened being and proffered a smile that she had not given Danny. It wasn't appreciation, it wasn't a thankful grin towards any gift or drug, but a small wealth of connection, it spoke of mystery, wonder, and was tinged in small touches of excitement.
And then she was turning, giving nothing but her back and nearly sprinting out from the darkness of Passion.
"Alex - hey, what the fuck?" Danny called after her, snagging a few pieces of her hair, something that went completely unheeded by her euphoric stupor.
"I gotta get out of here. Things to do, people to see!" She waved, a chaotic mess of fingers and hair before the rain and darkness suddenly swallowed Alexia Fitch whole.
Later, she would never be able to fathom why she had retreated like she had, why the walls and bodies of the club had become suffocating and terrifying. Maybe it was the lingering effects of having not indulged in so long, they void of nothingness that had been settling inside her heart, she could not accurately say or pin point that reason but that speculation remained with her for the rest of the night. She wondered aimlessly in the Rain, her home across town, her mind somewhere with the stars where a voice spoke to her, painting a world of freedom and wonder, of love and promise, to feel the music he sang.
"Tomorrow... Surely the world ends." She repeated, her tongue rolling over the syllables of each, tasting and feeling the velvet of his voice pouring over herself until she was left flushed despite the chill of the rain against her skin. If that was the case, then how would she live her last night alive, if she had no other choice to spend it within these Badlands. Passion would've been a wonderful end, with all those strangers, with Danny's arms around her, with that man's voice touching her being in ways that had nothing to do with the psychical. However, she couldn't exactly run back, leap into the fray and sway her body in content to his songs, and if she were entirely honest - she thought, leaping into puddles of rain water, letting it splash against her thighs - she was a bit fearful of his sway and pull over her. If he had stepped down from that stage, the plane of difference, and sought her out, Alexia wasn't sure what she would have done. Leap to him, bound against him like a sycophantic fan desperately clutching against his clothing, attempting to rut against his flesh beneath. Or would she have begged him for more songs and music from his guitar, to not only touch her, but sing to her and let his voice and the notes sweep against her very soul...
Alexia kicked and stomped her way through more puddles, drenching her clothes, letting the rain soak and numb her as the golden liquid from before continued to spin and drum her heart into a frantic overdrive. Claps and circulations of thunder rumbled, bidding her azure gaze heavenward where the pinnacle of her memory was illustrated in the greatest, most manipulative spire of this city, the Church. She had mindlessly wondered her way up North, perhaps on old habit, old whims and careless dalliances... The storm, the eternal wreck of nature, picked up in a frenzy, whipping her clothes against her frame, wracking her bones in a chill before she approached those doors, one small entryway propped open, the depths of the Church dark... Depressing.
Turn back.
"Alexia?" A deep voice uttered, drawing her in further, closing the door behind her as thunder protested against the Church's brick exterior. "I never thought you'd return to the Church." St. Patrick loomed over her, typically dressed, all black, proper, combed appearance and eyes of tumultuous green framed in glasses of black and reflective contacts. Alexia shuddered, rain water pooled at her feet, the carpet bearing the water stain for many hours and days to come.
"I seek confession, Father." She breathed, leaning in close, her smile one of secrets as Patrick too smiled, his grin more akin to a vulpine manipulator, teeth and all and laden with lies. He gestured from the foyer, nudging her gently, coaxing her forward with hands poised on her shoulders, digging through the fabric of her jacket and leaving a burning grasp against her body quivering beneath. From the cold, or fear, she couldn't say. The confessional was a bedlam of fear and taint, a means of catharis, a potent seat of denial and renewal and darkness. The booth seemed even smaller as Patrick entered before her, seated, arms awaiting her eagerly, his fingers akin to claws of the Devil tempting her into Hell. Alexia stepped forward, dropping her jacket, fingers trembling against cloth and clasps, tears beading in her eyes against the sensation of being helpless.
"Come then, my child, tell me your sins."
That night, terrible, poisonous green was replaced with molten pools of earth, and blonde replaced with brown. That night Alexia embraced another Sinner, dreaming of a tomorrow that was painless and bathed in music.
So, did that lay the blame at her feet?
She temporarily blamed the music for her misconstrued thoughts all strung out across a slab of tainted steel, she blamed Danny's priorities and his absence. She blamed the people against her, twisting and bending to the chords that possessed no lyrics but deep, vibrating strums from a guitar, droned out melodies that required one to appreciate the simplicity of the recording. Her jacket had fallen from her shoulders, a view of smooth flesh barren of cloth, the plunging neck of her blouse revealing series of chains, thin links of metal decorated with minuscule charms. Gathered in the crook of her elbows, Alexia allowed her barrier, her shield, to wane in favour of submitting to the wiles of the producer, the beat that pounded and summoned a series of slow dips, turns, and sensual performances of every patron on the floor. She could almost replace the crippling dependency with just musk and touch alone, go back to her former days of peddling her own flesh, but Alexia knew it would only be a temporary fix and one that was never guaranteed.
She didn't want to go back to that.
Too soon the music was interrupted, prompting shuffling feet and bodies as darkness descended, and there, in her breast, she felt the sudden breath of anxiety and fear. Alexia's hands fumbled, trembling in acute terror, there was no distinction of the people next to her, the club had gone and descended into pitch and gloom. They murmured in their silent wonder, some vocalizing confusion until a voice poured from the shadows, assumed from the stage really and caressed over her anxiety with velvet tongues and soothing invitations. Alexia had attended concerts before, gatherings, venues, had seen stars rise and fall, burned and snuffed out by the demanding contract The Badlands reaped on those who proffered song and talent. Everyone had gone silent and still, as if heading the beckon of this man who spoke not just to their presence, but reached downward and tugged on soul tendrils and heart strings. Her breath hitched somewhere in her throat, no longer fogged and pained by her crippling fear of darkness and the anxiety, but instead viced by the swift shudder that pooled from her breast and swept down to her thighs, calves, toes, and shimmered up the path of her spine.
He painted a world of wonder and freedom, and for a moment, she felt and saw that world.
As the song began though and carried on through the tantalizing melody, the connection was severed by the weight of arms curling and threading around her quaking middle. Alexia released a slow breath, lights slowly returning, rising in luminescence until the dull glows and amber settings gave brief impression of those that took up the stage. So this was the band Danny had mentioned.
"They call themselves Wither, fitting, yeah? Perfect for The Badlands."
"I couldn't imagine a better name," she breathed, her rejoinder laced with breathless wonder.
Danny nestled his chin into the crook of her shoulder and beck, his breath fanning against the waterlogged rosewood of her tresses and nuzzled pieces away, that he could, to find the shell of her ear pierced thrice and tinged pink.
"You like them? They play here, their only venue I think. I could introduce you one night." His arms cinched tighter, a brief glimpse to the glamour Danny shelled, the possession, the nurturing touches he gave to ensure that she would never leave. Alexia's chest heaved with her inhales, the exhales sputtering out in fascination when she glanced over the vocalist strumming away easily, comfortably, swift gesticulations over every chord and string summoning a similar ping inside her. She had never been enamoured or enthralled by simple appearances before, or even the swindles and touches of song, but there was a deeply seeded sadness and wonder in his music. She couldn't deny the tug and pull, the peculiar sensation that bid her to thrust her way closer to the stage where fans and admirers too had gathered in their awe.
"No..." Alexia finally answered, leaning back against him, sharp shoulder blade digging into his chest. "That's okay." It was unsettling and exhilarating to be so effected by one man, or rather the entire symphony, and the confusion lacing tight over her rapidly thrumming heart turned, quickly, into a ominous poison of dread. She could feel the Cheshire grin of Danny's blooming within her hair, nestled against her ear where his chuckle breathed and he spun her around in his arms, his dark eyes were wide, eclipsed, obviously under the influence of his own wares and that slick smile splintering wide, so perverse and oh so cruel.
When the broken azure fled into those inky pits, Danny's mouth descended, prying her mouth apart, a slow slide of heat and tongue, his mouth a cavern of sin and a void of drink of smoke. When he brought his teeth onto the pout of her lip, the paper he had slid into her mouth was already dissolving, the liquid promise and honey of euphoria blotted onto the sheet, a potent dosage that would last her for hours. Alexia's gaze immediately hazed, her face beamed into a simper of endearing proportions before Danny slid the rest of the drugs into the pocket of her jacket. Her usual supply, pills, papers, vials of liquid wonder and dreams. She laughed and stood up to press a kiss to the edge of his mouth, the music pulsating and grinding through her before she turned back to the stage, eyes wide, glimmering depths of blue as she gazed at him, the man who sired unease and bewilderment within her deadened being and proffered a smile that she had not given Danny. It wasn't appreciation, it wasn't a thankful grin towards any gift or drug, but a small wealth of connection, it spoke of mystery, wonder, and was tinged in small touches of excitement.
And then she was turning, giving nothing but her back and nearly sprinting out from the darkness of Passion.
"Alex - hey, what the fuck?" Danny called after her, snagging a few pieces of her hair, something that went completely unheeded by her euphoric stupor.
"I gotta get out of here. Things to do, people to see!" She waved, a chaotic mess of fingers and hair before the rain and darkness suddenly swallowed Alexia Fitch whole.
[ β ] [ β ] [ β ]
Later, she would never be able to fathom why she had retreated like she had, why the walls and bodies of the club had become suffocating and terrifying. Maybe it was the lingering effects of having not indulged in so long, they void of nothingness that had been settling inside her heart, she could not accurately say or pin point that reason but that speculation remained with her for the rest of the night. She wondered aimlessly in the Rain, her home across town, her mind somewhere with the stars where a voice spoke to her, painting a world of freedom and wonder, of love and promise, to feel the music he sang.
"Tomorrow... Surely the world ends." She repeated, her tongue rolling over the syllables of each, tasting and feeling the velvet of his voice pouring over herself until she was left flushed despite the chill of the rain against her skin. If that was the case, then how would she live her last night alive, if she had no other choice to spend it within these Badlands. Passion would've been a wonderful end, with all those strangers, with Danny's arms around her, with that man's voice touching her being in ways that had nothing to do with the psychical. However, she couldn't exactly run back, leap into the fray and sway her body in content to his songs, and if she were entirely honest - she thought, leaping into puddles of rain water, letting it splash against her thighs - she was a bit fearful of his sway and pull over her. If he had stepped down from that stage, the plane of difference, and sought her out, Alexia wasn't sure what she would have done. Leap to him, bound against him like a sycophantic fan desperately clutching against his clothing, attempting to rut against his flesh beneath. Or would she have begged him for more songs and music from his guitar, to not only touch her, but sing to her and let his voice and the notes sweep against her very soul...
Alexia kicked and stomped her way through more puddles, drenching her clothes, letting the rain soak and numb her as the golden liquid from before continued to spin and drum her heart into a frantic overdrive. Claps and circulations of thunder rumbled, bidding her azure gaze heavenward where the pinnacle of her memory was illustrated in the greatest, most manipulative spire of this city, the Church. She had mindlessly wondered her way up North, perhaps on old habit, old whims and careless dalliances... The storm, the eternal wreck of nature, picked up in a frenzy, whipping her clothes against her frame, wracking her bones in a chill before she approached those doors, one small entryway propped open, the depths of the Church dark... Depressing.
Turn back.
"Alexia?" A deep voice uttered, drawing her in further, closing the door behind her as thunder protested against the Church's brick exterior. "I never thought you'd return to the Church." St. Patrick loomed over her, typically dressed, all black, proper, combed appearance and eyes of tumultuous green framed in glasses of black and reflective contacts. Alexia shuddered, rain water pooled at her feet, the carpet bearing the water stain for many hours and days to come.
"I seek confession, Father." She breathed, leaning in close, her smile one of secrets as Patrick too smiled, his grin more akin to a vulpine manipulator, teeth and all and laden with lies. He gestured from the foyer, nudging her gently, coaxing her forward with hands poised on her shoulders, digging through the fabric of her jacket and leaving a burning grasp against her body quivering beneath. From the cold, or fear, she couldn't say. The confessional was a bedlam of fear and taint, a means of catharis, a potent seat of denial and renewal and darkness. The booth seemed even smaller as Patrick entered before her, seated, arms awaiting her eagerly, his fingers akin to claws of the Devil tempting her into Hell. Alexia stepped forward, dropping her jacket, fingers trembling against cloth and clasps, tears beading in her eyes against the sensation of being helpless.
"Come then, my child, tell me your sins."
That night, terrible, poisonous green was replaced with molten pools of earth, and blonde replaced with brown. That night Alexia embraced another Sinner, dreaming of a tomorrow that was painless and bathed in music.
[ β ]
Note - I'm thinking of particular mood-setting songs for different pieces and such for the story and The Badlands. I don't know about you, but music assists me when I'm writing, and I like to use them in role plays for themes and such.
@Redrum - Thank you for the update, it's always appreciated, regardless of time or schedule. I tend to worry, that's my penchant. Or well, one of many. But you sound like you have a lot on your plate, take it one thing at a time, so long as you update us on conditions in the ooc, the IC time parameter can be increased to encompass what availability you do have. β₯
β β β
How's the rest of you peaches doing? Been quite barren here lately.
a l e x i a f i t c h.
i think there's a flaw in my code. these voices won't leave me alone.[ β ]
Dreamer β Detached β Addict β Prostitute - retired. β Sinner and The Sin.
[ β ] F E A R S / P H O B I A S
Abandonment Complex, Drowning, Nyctophobia.
[ β ] A P P E A R A N C E
Every impression of Alexia is waterlogged and deluded, as if drowned and suspended in a eternal fixation of being dampened and haggard. Deepened and hidden beneath her exterior though is the glimmer of the woman that exists, the crippling creature of the Sin with a slender face, pooling down to a waif form of pallid, bitten skin and compiled into the slight height of five-three; boots and all. Her debut hosts intense eyes of blue, broken and fractured, with the lingering touches of sparkling interest that foretells of a childhood of dreams and wonder, but has become long accosted by tragedy and woe. Alexia's penchant for dark clothing that swallows her frame has become universally trademark, mostly by the shield of one particular jacket: threadbare and ebony, and usually framed with waterlogged rosewood tresses that cut over her brow and wave chaotically past too-thin shoulder blades. If not for the deceptively charming, bow shaped mouth of her always impaled with a cigarette of clove, her smile would be endearing, if not described as woefully tragic. Her only saving grace.
[ β ] P E R S O N A L I T Y / H I S T O R Y
Alexia was, has, always been one of many crippled by The Badlands and all who associate within the spires. She frequents every district, every party hosted by accomplices of Sin, and once upon a time frequented their beds just as much. Plummeting to a near early death, she reaped her own heart and emotions, finding solace beyond drink and found love and devotion in euphoric drugs. Her dependencies of narcotics and numbing trends has severely damaged her psyche, seeing to her retirement from peddling flesh, and instead saw her to become indebted to her providers. Her detachment of reality provides a protective nature, the ability to perform through the motions, the shell of a dreamer waning in place that once was ridiculed for dark devil antics. Alexia, like many, was a former orphan of the St. Patricks Church that marks the beginning of the North District and where many of the sinners congregate to confess, and then to turn to pillage with Sin once again. The orphanage is all gleaming polish and warmth, with a darker underbelly of depression and depravity, and where enigmas akin to Alexia grew and festered until released from the bindings of the mock-saints.
She's emotionally unstable, undone by her dependencies and drowns beneath her own states of critical anxiety and complex that brings an irrational fear of separation and abandonment. If not for her ritual intake to numb her soul, Alexia would have plunged herself far over the ways of the Hopeless, despite all fears of drowning in the dark.
She's emotionally unstable, undone by her dependencies and drowns beneath her own states of critical anxiety and complex that brings an irrational fear of separation and abandonment. If not for her ritual intake to numb her soul, Alexia would have plunged herself far over the ways of the Hopeless, despite all fears of drowning in the dark.
[ β ] K E Y F I G U R E S
β¦ danny stonem.
The dark prince of The Badlands; any and all know his name and his Sin. Being the sole provider of Alexia's need in sweet candies and promises, the two individuals communicate regularly, hinting to a deeper bond of association that various amounts of their peers have speculated on. But lack of evidence and testimony has seen the pair to be coloured in lights of wonder and curiosity instead. Danny is the only known person to call her Alex as well, if not some other pet name of endearment. Despite being her dealer, he wields a soft spot due to their connected past, both having been brought up in the lies of St. Patrick's Church and living in the Eastern District. Whilst fond of another, Danny has a terrible notion to keep Alexia on a leash of sorts, propelling her dependency on him further and nurturing her downward spiral and complex of anxiety and abandonment.
β¦ st. patrick.
The false priest of the Church in the Northern District; he offers confession, solace and comfort and in turn peddles out offers of Sin and flesh. He operates the orphanage which saw both Alexia and Danny to and from his doors, raised by his guiding hand and the influence of his father, in which he inherited the Church from at a young age. Though having seen Alexia to her own place in The Badlands, Patrick is known to frequent her doors, calling her on a rate based on obsession and was the initial introduction in her former years of prostitution. Patrick remains as a chain on Alexia's soul and spirit, despite all attempts on severing the link by herself and even Danny. To him, she owes him her life and that includes every intricacy and posession therein.
I had thought of a template, but nothing concrete. Seeing how most of my musings and notes on Alexia are notes and conceptual pieces of her history and personality. I glanced over what you have, so I'll probably mimic the order of things.
Alex is still coming together for me in my head, kind of like I keep seeing glimpses of her when I write down minimal ideas. Honestly I feel like through IC she might come out differently than I originally intended, but it's all the more exciting when a character "writes themselves" - in a way that coincides with The Badlands. In the post I have drawn up, I know she'll see Cadian and feel the music, but Danny is a constant, terrible figure in her life, so it won't last long. But Danny is well known anywhere and everywhere, with connections to anyone. We'll establish the relationship and connections when we get to them.
Hm, then I definitely suggest it's reserved for the third scene, since I plan another visit to Passion for Alexia. The party could be held in the upper districts of The Badlands or in one of the many warehouses in the city. The setting isn't so important as the people within it. But I love the potential of them finding one another but unaware, promotes mystery and wonder, a purpose of an inquiry why she feels an immediate connection and draw to a stranger gilded within a mask.
So, for the moment I'll put together my musings and notes for Alexia, and Danny as well. At least to give him a face and a minor summary of his supporting role.
Alex is still coming together for me in my head, kind of like I keep seeing glimpses of her when I write down minimal ideas. Honestly I feel like through IC she might come out differently than I originally intended, but it's all the more exciting when a character "writes themselves" - in a way that coincides with The Badlands. In the post I have drawn up, I know she'll see Cadian and feel the music, but Danny is a constant, terrible figure in her life, so it won't last long. But Danny is well known anywhere and everywhere, with connections to anyone. We'll establish the relationship and connections when we get to them.
Hm, then I definitely suggest it's reserved for the third scene, since I plan another visit to Passion for Alexia. The party could be held in the upper districts of The Badlands or in one of the many warehouses in the city. The setting isn't so important as the people within it. But I love the potential of them finding one another but unaware, promotes mystery and wonder, a purpose of an inquiry why she feels an immediate connection and draw to a stranger gilded within a mask.
So, for the moment I'll put together my musings and notes for Alexia, and Danny as well. At least to give him a face and a minor summary of his supporting role.
@Hexaflexagon - Least you're not dying in the infernal grip of Summer.
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