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alias: Ellie
age in ##: 26
story: Moby Dick
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Last Seen: Apr 30 2018, 04:48 PM
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Permanent Rose Owens

Enchanted Forest

My Content
Apr 8 2018, 02:39 PM
[dohtml]<div class="n-sea">

<h1>Suzie Queen</h1>

<div class="n-p-main">
<h3>Permanent Rose Owens</h3>
<h2>Cursed Personality:</h2>
Once upon a time Suzie was the kind of person people would look at and make OCD jokes about, what with the colour coded revision plans, sensible and practical clothing and her habit of panicking if she couldn’t meet her set goals in her five-year plans. These days Suzie is the young lady who’ll be walking home from a friend’s house after a night out dancing, heels dangling from one hand, stockings laddered, makeup smudged from falling asleep on said friend’s couch, someone’s jacket draped around her shoulders and texting or calling her husband on her mobile.
These days Suzie is focused on trying to do what she thinks will make her happy, not what she thinks everyone else expects of her, and it’s a work in progress but trying new things, going out dancing, singing in the kitchen while burning scrambled eggs, telling people she likes their hair or becoming a volunteer tutor at the community centre… these things make her happy, so these things she does.

<h2>Cursed Life:</h2>
Due to a slight miscommunication with her family Suzie grew up thinking that she had to be perfect. Perfect grades, perfect hobbies, perfect college attendance, perfect career preferably as a doctor or lawyer and running a department or at least being a recognised specialist by the time she was thirty and perfect hair, makeup and clothing throughout all of it… and then she met Leyland. A few years older than her, really sure he was gay but faced with the prospect of having to get married to a genuine girl to inherit his grandfather’s company and he would have said screw it only it was a pharmaceutical company and he knew, just knew, that his cousin’s first steps as the new owner would involve massive price hikes on medication across the board.
So, here’s Suzie now. Trophy wife, party girl, beard (though who they think they’re kidding she doesn’t know), kind of bored, not exactly on speaking terms with her family who are assorted degrees of baffled and disapproving of her life choices but enjoying being married because she can actually talk to her husband and be spoken to like she’s a rational human being who doesn’t have to be perfect or have a five year plan and who can screw up without it being treated like it’s the end of the world.


Feb 28 2018, 09:46 PM
Today, the docks could sort themselves out. It was perhaps not the most responsible thing a harbourmaster could say but it was true - today Permanent Rose was going to enjoy the Valentines carnival with her girlfriend, a girlfriend she'd hardly got to see over Christmas due to the harbour's disasters getting in the way, to say nothing of the ship's captains and crews, and she was not to be contacted unless they were actually on fire. And by fire she meant uncontrollable blaze that the fire department were struggling to contain, not someone's cooking fire. An invasion by sea was also an acceptable disaster, as was a beached whale but only after they'd called animal rescue first. Admittedly she wouldn't be much use against a fire and limited use against an invading army or in assisting beached whale all on her own, but the point still stood.

She was not to be contacted unless it was a dire emergency and her phone was on silent. She was out wearing nice clothes that did not smell of saltwater the the unmentionable things thy'd been coated int he last time they'd had a beached sealife situation. Admittedly she was pretty sure the new jeans were going to turn her legs blue and she should probably have worn the long top with leggings rather than jeans anyway but she knew the knee length denim jacket suited her at least and as her younger sisters had attacked both her hair and face (she was pretty sure she had a whole can of hairspray holding the intricate braids, curls and spikes in place and she had no idea makeup was so complicated before they'd made her sit on a chair for an hour) she knew those looked amazing at least.

Her older sister had also sprayed her with perfume as she walked out the door, which had made her sneeze but she had to admit that she smelled nicer than she normally did as well.

Honestly, right now she could have been wearing rags and soot and been just as happy. Drizella's hand was in hers, they were together, she had a stick of candy floss in her other hand and she was certain, really certain, that she could win her lady love a few stuffed animals and hearts at the game booths if she wanted them. What she'd do with them Permanent Rose didn't know, it just seemed to be a given that you proved your love by winning them in feats of hand-eye co-ordination she knew herself to be good at after a career in a royal navy that used sailing ships.

And then, there was another sort of booth.

"Drizella look!" She pointed, utterly forgetting she was holding the candyfloss and narrowly avoided hitting someone with it before dragging them both over to the booth, bouncing up and down with excitement as she took in the sign and information sheet and the person running it, hand clasped tightly on her girlfriend's the whole time. "I was thinking when we found each other again that we needed something like this, so we never lost each other again." She turned to face her, face shining with delight and candyfloss entirely forgotten. "Shall we try it?"

Oct 21 2017, 02:53 PM
This, Permanent Rose thought as she edged along an oddly greenish corridor with cutlass in one hand and service pistol in the other, was one of the stupidest things she’d ever done. And she’d run away disguised as a boy and joined the navy as a pre-teen before going on to sail with an obsessed whaling captain after a ship-sinking, man-eating whale, so she’d made some really stupid decisions in her life and knew what she was talking about.

But what else was she meant to do? Drizella would have gone in with or without her, determined that this would be a fantastic work opportunity, and she couldn’t let her Drizella go into a greenish, zombie-infested castle all on her own even if she did promise to run straight back out at the first sign of trouble. What if they cut her off? What if she had to fight her way free? Permanent Rose knew she barely registered as a fighter in terms of the other Storybrook residents, men and women who’d slain dragons, led armies and could withstand all but a direct nuclear blast with scratches at best, but damnit, she’d still fought with the navy for nearly half her life, she knew how to handle her cutlass and pistols and how to watch for ambushes and their retreat getting cut off. It was more than Drizella, a lady to the core and Permanent Rose oved her for it even as she wished she’d talked her into taking a self defence class or two with her, could do.

She’d have felt better backed up by a contingent of marines, true, but at least the familiar weight of her uniform jacket on her shoulders and the weapons in her hand were comforting as she quietly paced along after Drizella, eyes darting all around and ears straining for any indication that they weren’t alone in here. She’d even wrapped her hair back in a queue, a gesture she’d started making with a stray bit of ribbon purely out of habit after settling the coat on her shoulders, wrapping it around and knotting it as neatly and firmly as if she expected to be assessed on her smartness or buffeted by a gale. Admittedly the ribbon was a red one that clashed with her hair rather than the customary black or navy, but still. She’d have worn her hat if she’d been able to find it as well.

Under her guidance they’d slipped in around the back, near where the kitchens should have been and therefore nothing terribly important from the opinion of the uptops. She’d slipped in first through a narrow window, sword and pistol at the ready and almost hoping that they’d meet a zombie straight off and she’d be able to convince Drizella to abandon this mad plan of hers, but no such luck. Her lover had slipped in behind her and after a whispered debate they’d taken the stairs leading up instead of the corridor to the left, both deserted at the time, and Permanent Rose had taken moments at every turn to pause and apply red lipstick arrows to mark their progress, in case they needed to run back out too fast to have any sort of debate about which corner or passage they needed to take.

Drizella Tremaine
Oct 21 2017, 02:11 PM
She’d kissed Drizella goodbye and slipped out of the apartment just as the sun was coming up, turning the word from deep blues and blacks to soft greys as she walked the short distance to the harbour with a spring in her step and a sea shanty she’d learned as a cabin boy on her lips. Not a popular one with the officers, it being about the pirate gods of matelotage and mutiny, but Jackrum had taught it to her all the same as part of her transition from landlubber to able seaman. After all, you never knew who you’d run into on a dark and stormy night and it was best to be prepared.

The sky was definitely lighter but the sun wasn’t yet fully risen as she set foot in the harbour proper, sparing a bit of her time on her walk to her office to make sure the place was in some semblance of order – this being Storybrook the standards were regrettably low, seeing as nothing being obviously on fire or under the influence of unexpected or hostile magic being the starting point – before stepping inside. Once there she grabbed her jacket and gloves, changed her boots over, armed herself with a thermos of coffee and her work toolbelt – which included powerful torch, whistle and radio, amongst other things – and finally picked up the keys to the boat shed.

Once there she could have set herself up in a motor boat, there were two at her disposal as harbourmaster and they were both in good working order, but she settled in the dingy instead, the Swallow, stowing her thermos before getting the oars out and casting off, carefully steering the small craft out of the shed and then – with longer and more powerful strokes – towards the exit of the harbour. There was something about the act of rowing that pleased her sailor’s heart even though these days she didn’t really have the calluses for it and definitely needed the gloves to protect her hands no matter how warm it got wearing them. In fact despite the coolness of the air she was warm from the exertion before she’d cleared the harbour and by the time she was getting the sails up she’d stripped off her waterproof jacket although she left her cardigan on, a grey one Drizella said had looked good on her once.

With the sails up and a fair breeze her small craft began almost skipping over the water, responding to a touch of her hand on the tiller or sail easily as she began the hunt for her friend, the notoriously bad tempered whale Moby Dick.

Will Graham
Oct 21 2017, 02:05 PM
The next wave hurled the ship upwards again, sending men staggering and a few of the more recently pressed flying from their feet. In the seconds it took them to right themselves the second lieutenant’s voice screamed at them to move, the ship came to something approaching level and then began to plunge. The man at the wheel turned it frantically so the ship was once more facing into the waves – being hit side on would have them over on their side in no time and then there’d be nothing but a trip to the bottom of the sea in store for them – but Ishmael, fifteen-year-old midshipman and artist’s daughter masquerading as a boy after running away from home, wasn’t even sure how often the rudder was in the water as she scrambled up the mast along with her fellow riggers to try and get the sails in.

A witch’s storm, that was what the men had been shouting between curses when it hit them out of the blue and all hands were turned out to man the ship. Someone magical, somewhere out there, was playing silly buggers with the weather and out here on the ocean whatever alterations they’d made had combined to whip up a storm with not so much as two minutes warning. The sky had turned dark, the heavens had opened, the seas heaved and Ishmael, along with every other sailor in the hold, had been alerted to something going on as the ship shook with the sudden impact of waves moments before the second lieutenant had bellowed at them to get up and the bell had thundered overhead.

Lightning cracked as Ishmael started scrambling out instead of up, the thunder a deafening roar as the rain hammered down as an almost physical push on her thin shoulders, as if it was trying to shove her off the rigging as she edged along to her post, feet braced and hands clinging tightly as gravity shifted from one gasped breath to the next. She didn’t dare look down – it was one thing to see nothing below you but the sea when it was calm, in weather like this only lightning would show where the sea was and she’d no wish to see it, to realise that there was nothing but air between her and its fury.

Beside her other men – actual men as far as she knew – slid into their posts, grasping and clinging with the same single minded ferocity she was as with hollers and shouts they began their work, fighting the wind, the rain, the sails themselves, all as the ship heaved and shook until Ishmael could almost imagine it was trying to shake them off like a dog might try to shake loose fleas.

They were nearly done when it happened – when her foot slipped and handholds were wrenched away from her with a heave of the ship and she was falling through the air, the ship flashing past her and the waves reaching up for her and the terrible, awful crash as she hit the water and what little air her wailing scream had left in her lungs was smashed from them.

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