Charelee Liverwort

[    80] Charelee: Un-Publishable Headlines
Date:    Tue Mar 21 18:24:19 2006
To:      all
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Running hands across her face, Charelee stares into the small mirror and
makes a face.  Sliding fingers into hair, she grips it as she adds a hanging
tongue and muted "Muwwwaaaaa..." to the twisted expression she already wears.

Sighing, she drops her hands and goes back to pacing. She was *not* hiding.
No, sir!  She happened to be spending excessive amounts of time in the
Corthander Inn's smallest, most tucked away room for a purpose.  And that
purpose was *not* hiding.  She was....

A glance around the room was required at this point.  She was... She was
working on the next Tattler!  No, blast it!  Thinking about the next Tattler
lead her close to the thought of how she was hide- how she was *not* hiding
up here.

Really, there was no reason to hide.  No reason at all.  Cotswald hadn't
run her through with a sword and she had said several... 'controversial'
things about him.  Charelee pauses to gulp loudly and again rubs her face.
No, that wasn't a happy thought either.  But the memory still attempted to
rear its ugly head-

-trapped! Somehow he had managed to edge them both away from the thick
of nobles in the room and he had her trapped off to the side where no one
would notice.  And there was the knife tip- far, far too close to her throat
for her liking!  Tap tap, it went on her stack of notes.  Stab! Stab! She
imagined it to go in her pretty little heart.  And he was talking to her,
just quietly enough for the two of them to hear. Oh where, oh where were the-

-a solid head-shake and good stomping of the foot on creaky floor boards
eventually dispels the memory.  "The sword is mightier then the quill,
indeed" Charelee grumbles to herself before mentally moving on.

No, it wasn't the Lord Cotswald- Cotsy as she liked to mentally refer to
him to dispel any power he may have over her.  Unable to actually continue
repressing the truth she knows, Charelee throws herself into a chair.  No,
it was the blasted Lord Tsang and the exceptionally disturbing Knight Gorvan.
Small fists pound on rickety wooden chair arms.  A splinter is earned and
the next three minutes are pleasantly free of court-intrigue worries as
she digs the offending thing out.

Standing up, she resumes her pacing and alternates between sucking on the
wounded edge of her hand and ranting. "Here I am with a masterful lead
story! 'Lords Blind to Growing Evil in Their Midst'!  No, no, even better
'Mad Knight Keeps Cursed Robe'!" A wild smile and broad arm gesture convey
to her reflection the awe that surely comes with such a headline. "Who
doesn't love a story of corrupted good.

"But then there's Lord Tsang... While Cotswald may rant and wave and point
a sword at my nose, he didn't actually stab me when I wrote..." A moment
to chew the lip and glance around the empty room.  "Um... the unpleasant
'truths' about him."  Another pause, before an aside is added for the
reflection's benefit.  "In fact, he seemed quite happy with the last story..."

"But Tsang..." Another sweeping gesture and she's back ranting, voice
angry and raising.  "Ah, what a cold fellow he is.  A pat on the head
and a handful of coins and a 'run along and play' nearly! He's the one
who'll knife me in the back if I wrote two wrong words about his mother.
Didn't pull none of that fancy quill vs sword nonsense, but he spoke words
clear enough for a lass like myself to understand.  Oh, a cold fish indeed!"

Shaking her head, she sighs and wanders over to her poor man's audience.
Her reflection simply stares back with the slightly worried expression she
herself wears.  The gloom is broken for a while again as she squints and
leans in closer.  Why, yes, those roots really are starting to show.

Settling herself down before the mirror with a basin of water at her side,
Charelee goes about re-dying her hair while administering a healthy scolding
to her reflection for cowering like such a ... coward! Yes, tomorrow she'll
head back out on the street in full force and whip up some news!

Tomorrow... or... perhaps the day after that...



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[    87] Charelee: Just a little Me time...
Date:    Sat Apr  1 03:31:59 2006
To:      all
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With blue-stained hands, Charelee finishes patting her hair and simply
drapes the towel around her neck.  Limp curls hang damply about her face,
the purple coloring strong from the recent dying and almost the blue she
once innocently thought she could obtain.  The halo of curls has left for
a while and with it some of the innocent airs she wears.

Weak light filters through the room's slanted windows but does nothing to
weaken the gloom the small room contains.  Charelee runs her hands over her
face and leans forward to confront her reflection.  It does make her sad,
to see the now jaded face that looks back at her.  Where is that fresh
faced youth who came to Devenon those five years ago?

With a hand, she traces her lips and draws them up into a smile.  Yes,
perhaps it is just the missing bounty of curls and her usual perky smile.
The look is still there, but in Corthander Inn's smallest, most tucked away
room, she realizes the girl is not.  Something within her has twisted and
she observes it in the gloom.

Oh she was not unpleasant, not even unhappy.  The Devenon Tattler was doing
just fine and almost everyone knew her name now, just as she had told her
mother it would be before storming out all those years before.  But innocence
was long gone, even if she still had it in the technical sense.  How could
any creature slink about all day, listening to words and trying to extract
secrets others did not wish to share from them, and not become a bit stained.

Now the hand reaches forward to trace the reflection, as if to tweak the
other Charelee's nose for being such a wicked girl.  The thought fills
out her smile a bit more, making it honest.  Oh, but being wicked was so
much *fun*.  Her tour through the Orum House trills her still, though she
can barely recall what it looked like, so much did her head spin!  And Cotsy,
oh what a conundrum he was.  The push and pull of feelings she felt from him
confused her and delighted her like no other.  There was a well of infinite
gossip and stories.  A mortal fountain of the substance she lived for.

Time passes as she sits and observes her reflection.  The tension build-up
from the latest Tattler publication drains from her and yet she already
begins vague mental outlines for the next issue.  O' the impish delight
she feels at the thought of the upcoming masquerade!  It wells up within
her and eventually bubbles out in a girlish giggle.  By now the curls have
slowly started to dry and lift up once again.  They bounce in their customary
manner as she throws back her head and lets out a full peel of laughter.

Tugging the towel from her neck, she tosses it to the bed and stands to
dance a simple waltz about the room.  Oh what a wicked girl she will be!
Spinning to the mirror she pulls up to stare at her reflection again.
With curls back in place and a dimply smile under all those freckles,
she looks a again the picture of youthful innocence and joy.  She leans
in close to the reflection and the smile extends further, twisting into a
knowing smirk.

"Oh what fun times we shall have!"


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[   100] Charelee: Bad choices given bad options....  (illus.)
Date:    Fri Apr 14 13:28:19 2006
To:      all
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Last time the L'shar had bruised her wrist, this time it was her ego.
The first had taken over three days to fade away and she bitterly wonders
how long the one now will last.  Thoughts about future wounds inflicted by
the creature flickers at the edge of her mind and causes her to occasionally
flinch as she paces back and forth.

It was a short track she had, around Corthander Inn's smallest, most tucked
away room.  Four steps to the left, four steps to the right- six if she was
willing to duck under the slanted roof and make the most of the space at
each turn.  The mirror was again propped up and the bed had papers scattered
about it.  There was a sort of clearing near the foot of it however, with
one single sheet laying in the middle of the space.

"Oh, and talking to Loka surely made *everything* better!"  With a quick turn,
an accusing finger is pointed towards the mirror.  "What a *brilliant* idea
you had! 'Oh, lets go get advice on how to fight against the nasty Shadow
Ward'..." Her voice has turned sing-song as if mimicking someone else's.  "
'For surely embracing violence will solve *all* these problems.  But lets not
go to stoic yet noble Azshan for useful advice or even protection.  Oh *no*!
Lets go seek it out from one of its most _unpredictable_ **Member** of the
*Ward* ITSELF!' " Anger and volume has built up in her words and she ends
with a shriek.

A turn is made, as if to resume pacing, but the frustration is clearly
too much.  Spinning back around, a quick two steps brings her up to the
mirror and she slams clenched fists against the wall on either side of it.
There is a yell, followed by muttering from the customer on the other side,
but Charelee does not listen for she is locked in an fierce gaze with
her reflection.  Neither girl on either side looks willing to back down.

"So what now, huh?  A confession?  An admittance? Fess up to the lies,
prejudices, and horrifying grammatical errors?"  Both girls apparently
find these ideas or the angry gaze of the other to be too much and close
their eyes as they rest their forehead against the mirror's cool surface.
"What else have I?  To make weak allies with Ekur and a bad foe of Warington?
Perhaps it's all too late and I've botched it beyond repair..." Fingers are
brought to rest against the smooth glass.  "Alas, a non-choice is too much
to hope for.  Loka said I could still print it as part of the next issue
to surely please his master."

Eyes still closed, she pushes away from the mirror and walks the familiar
eight step loop around the room.  "To willfully make a foe of a powerful,
ugly, vile, and a times useful L'shar, or to ally myself with such scum in
*hopes* of avoiding excessive amounts of pain and trouble?"  Despairing at her
choices, she tries to sit down on the bed, but misses it due to closed eyes.

Landing on the hard wood floor with a thump, she feels tears welling up in
her eyes both due to the pain in her tail bone and the wretched prospects on
life she has.  Loka spoke of a growing attempt at twisting Talianna into some
Ward puppet and Charelee felt her stomach turn, both at the idea of such a
fate for herself and forever serving the same master the uppity other little
bard did.  Anger flashes through her mind momentarily, how dare the little
piece of fluff steal the undivided attention she used to get from the demon!

Running fingers through her weak-purple curls, she stares up at the ceiling
and leans back against the bed.  Her hands rest on her head for a while
before she reaches back and feels around for *that* sheet of paper on the
bed behind her.  Pulling it into her lap, smoothing it out, she returns to
studying the horrifying mockery of her past seven years life work.

"It is getting harder and harder to remain unaligned and neutral these
days..."

[An earlier encounter with Warington, in which he informs
Charelee of what she shall be writing and pays her for it:
http://students.washington.edu/sithel/art/AR/new/WaringtonThreatensCharelee.jpg
]


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Your goals are:

"I would think it's quite clear by now" She grins as she leans back in
the chair.  "Obviously I'm an attention whore.  Oh, don't look so shocked
at the phrasing, it's true isn't it?"  Of course she laughs at this point.
"Relating to some childhood trauma or hang-up? Perhaps, but I'm not prepared
to confirm or deny anything at this point in time.  But everyone wants
attention, you say?  What makes me different from the rest of the herd?"
Purple curls bounce as she shakes her head sadly.  Reaching into her scroll
box, she pulls out a sheet of paper with the familiar letterhead of the
Devenon Tattler.  She taps it with a finger and grins widely again.

"I've got a plan, you see?  I'm here to redesign the battle front, to make
people responsible for their actions, to stroke their egos, and make everybody
a somebody!"  Again she laughs, clearly more amused with her wit then you are.
"If you had asked me seven years ago when I first got to the city, I would
have given you a more starry-eyed answer.  But now?  I've realized that
keeping your head above the water and a little attention every now and
then isn't enough.  I want more then a handful of coins for hard work,
the love and devotion of a single person, the solitary satisfaction of hard
work done."  The grin is gone now and a serous look has settled across that
freckled face of hers.

"I will *make* them notice me and respect my power.  And I'll do it my own
damned way.  They will learn to fear me and what I can do.  The threat
is no longer death, I'm raising the stakes now, and everyone had better
watch out..."


Your description is:

A mass of curls hovers like a cloud around this girl's head and frames a
round youthful face.  The curls are a deep shade of purple, although the
color seems to fade to red near the roots.  Her cheeks and nose are littered
with freckles and there are definitely dimples at the corner of her mouth.
Youthful, full lips curve up into a smile and her green eyes positively
twinkle with mischief.  Babyfat, or possibly mother's good cooking, clings
to her short figure and saves her from any possible threat of being called
thin although she is by no means too plump.  A long quail feather protrudes
from the halo of purple hair and scrolls poke out from every pocket.


Your characteristics are:

"Oh you can't be serious! You are?  Bah, you are!  What makes me me... This
sounds like some question from a match-making service... Well, lets see.
On the physical level there's the hair of course.  You know, no one in the
city has asked me about it?" A hand touches the brilliant purple locks and
she looks almost sad for a moment.  "No one has asked... I'm always the
one doing the asking.  There's another characteristic for you.

"Every time I see a new traveler I hail them with all sweetness and
smiles.  Ask them for news, ask them about themselves.  I listen, I look.
Always outward do I reach and never once have I felt the brush of someone
reaching back towards me... " She looks away now, lower lip bitten perhaps
keep further words back.

"I am done talking about this now, next subject..."


Your personality is:

Charelee stretches, lacing her fingers and resting her hands at the back
of her head, at the question. As usual, she grins although this one is
has different feel to it then the others.  "The grin?  What's special
about it?  Oh, this is my wicked grin.  I've been developing it ever
since I came to the city.  Was I like this always?  I don't think so, but
surely the attitude had to come from somewhere.  But I'd say the combined
pressures of The Bastards have certainly warped me into the creature I'm
slowly becoming."  There is a laugh, but it is bitter. "My 'personality'
could once have been described as innocently inquisitive.  These days the
jaded and wicked elements are too pronounced to ignore."

There is a pause here as she looks away and takes a sip from the courtesy
glass of water. "But what is wicked?  Wicked is being selfish.  I write
for selfish reasons and I care little for other's feelings these days.
Keeping myself alive is important, but being there, being relevant,
being edgy is more so.  I seek out strife, might even go out of my way to
cause it, for a good story.  Nothing depresses me more then the thought
of a sudden peace settling over Devenon."  A cold gaze is turned on you.
"That is why I have become wicked."


Your background is:

Again she offers you a sad head shake.  An apologetic grin follows and a
shrug is thrown in as well. "What can I say?  I'm sorry, it's just not going
to happen.  Oh, don't get me wrong, *I* know where I came from.  All those
childhood memories are still there, try as I might to repress them.  Ah,
see, now don't go jumping to conclusions there.  I said the word 'repress'
and surely you mind made the connection that there are bad memories there."
The playful smile is back, dimples showing and eyes sparkling.

"Lets see, what am I willing to divulge at this point in time... Well,
my last name is Liverwort and I hope you try not to infer anything of my
father's profession or actions from it.  My mother played an active roll
in raising myself and my sisters.  Ah, yes, my sisters.  There are many
Liverwort girls, each of us having our own exciting story to tell.  I dare
not reveal them all now, for fear of taking the fun out of future stories,
and their names I hope never to divulge in order to protect their privacy.
And mine.  I wish no one to know about my history since I understand the
power one can gain from such knowledge.  Excuse me, all this talking does
try my throat."

Another sip of water is taken as she continues to smile to herself.  A stray
lock of hair is tucked behind it's ear and the shirt-sleeves straightened
before she continues.  "I came from a small town somewhere near Devenon
and I hope never to return.  I had an early reputation for being a gossip
and was quickly shut-down, given the cold shoulder and all that.  My words
don't work well in a small town.  You need a large city like Devenon where
the focus can shift about to run something like the Tattler.  The oldest
Liverwort girl once said I used words like a Trundlar uses tools- to create
utter madness."  She laughs at this joke, and hopefully you do as well.
But as it often the case, jokes from one's childhood memories can easily
by funnier to the teller then the audience.

A hand is waved now and she shoos you off.  "I'm done talking about myself
and I already know you've no juicy gossip to give me in return for further
efforts of conversation.  So be gone with yourself and be thankful I've
told you as much as I have."