⸻ sea breeze trapped with a morning mist, promising a storm / the song of an arrow piercing through the air / freshly-polished boots with the laces tied in haphazard loops / the warmth of ground espresso with a hint of amaretto / blood-speckled tank tops and thick fur pelts. the photo on the missing poster is of reagan bardales. they are thirty eight, and have been missing for one year. when the sun rises, they work as leader of the hunters. rumors in town say they can be sardonic and loyal. they chose to live in the town, cinema, and have an uncanny resemblance to wynonna earp (wynonna earp), kara thrace (battlestar galactica), vi (arcane) . can they survive another night ?…
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&. BASICS
full name: reagan cara bardales
age: thirty-eight
gender, pronouns, sexuality: cisfemale, she/her, bisexual
hometown: gloucester, ma
job position: hunter leader
&. MORE BASIC INFO
zodiac sign: cancer
mbti: intp - introverted (69%), intuitive (70%), thinking (64%) prospecting (58%) assertive (63%)
scars: various scars of scattered origin, most notably three long claw marks running from her left shoulder blade to her thigh and a small scar on her wrist from the plane crash
secret talent: she's great and knot-tying and sailing
fears: flying
five + traits: loyal, charismatic, inventive, dedicated, protective
five - traits: sardonic, impulsive, cynical, stubborn, irreverent
pets: a seventeen hand friesian gelding named figaro
&. BACKGROUND
tw: death, family illness
well, you don't know me, but i know you.
the hand first visited reagan bardales at an early age. in the quiet of a warm september night, it seeped around the doorframe and coiled beneath her bed, permeating every inch of what should have been a safe space.
an unfamiliar disquiet settled across her shoulders, a cold restlessness that starkly contrasted the comforting warmth of her blankets. it felt sinister, and it had sunk its roots in her.
and i've got a message to give to you.
then, just weeks later, an accident. her half-brother, george, twelve years her senior and fresh out of flight school, had loaded them up in his new piper cherokee 140. he was eager to show her the skills he’d learned — "maybe one day we can see the world" — just like her hero, amelia earhart.
so you better get ready. ready to go.
from there, the rest is a blur. one moment the siblings were cruising down the runway, broad smiles on their faces, and the next, they were canting downwards, weightlessness tickling at their stomachs. each one walked away with their lives that day, though neither returned to normal.
you can come as you are, but pay as you go.
reagan paid with her childhood. george had suffered a stroke, the spontaneous rupture of an artery causing him to have severe brain trauma, leaving his sister to face the daunting fragility of the human condition. he was unable to speak for months and, when he did, he was unrecognizable—the brother she had known was gone.
this is the hand, the hand that takes.
the loss of her brother, along with the sudden disappearance of the chill, unsettled the young girl. her mother reassured her daughter that a curse hadn’t taken down her brother’s plane. it was a freak medical accident. to distract her, the two developed a routine of walking to the beach each evening and painting the sunset. that helped reagan sleep well enough, until…
hello? this is your mother. are you there? are you coming home?
her name rang out over the crappy grocery store intercom – “reagan, we have a call for you on line one.” could she bring home a pack of hotdog buns? fourth of july, the annual family cookout. her mother was exhausted planning for it all, graveyard shifts at the hospital draining the last of her energy. at least the house was quiet enough for the woman to rest; her son had gone to live with his father, her husband was down at the docks, and her teenage daughter was at work. so busy, that the latter didn’t notice the chill seeping into her bones.
smoking or non-smoking?
it didn’t matter when or where reagan became aware of her unease. time stops having a meaning when met with such finality. when her bike came careening to a halt in the driveway sending the buns clattering to the ground, ash and soot were all that greeted her. someone cried out, a piercing, haunted sound. and then she was on the ground.
the warm embrace of rough hands and the faint smell of the sea drew her back into her body, clearing her bleary eyes enough to find an explanation in matching brown irises.
neither snow nor rain...
the fire rattled the close-knit community. fruit baskets were delivered daily to listless stares and halfhearted ‘thank you’s. most of the food went bad, spoiled due to the excess that poured in. the bardales’ were grateful, but lasagna held little interest when it symbolized the loss of a matriarch.
by the time the chill returned, reagan was ready. she pleaded for her father to remain home, to call in sick if he had to — they had to stay together, to stay safe. but what could he do? it was still early in the season and it wasn’t unusual for new england to have a chill in the air; it would be fine. the rain pelted the roof of their small apartment, the best he could afford on his meager income, and yet the tuna wouldn’t catch itself. his wife had left behind a sizable life insurance policy, but he insisted that reagan keep it for college; it was what her mother wanted.
... nor gloom of night…
it took a week for his ship to wash in with the tide, scattered bits of hull and mast littering the beach. neighbors left wreaths at the fisherman’s memorial in the town square — a green-tinted bronze statue forged in honor of the souls lost at sea. where once reagan had ridden her bike around it, now she dodged the seafaring man and his wheel.
... shall stay these couriers... from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.
at fifteen, reagan nearly became a ward of the state of massachusetts. her parents had forgotten to update their wills after george’s accident and he was deemed unfit to take full custody. without an apparent next-of-kin, reagan was slatedto be delivered to the foster system.
it was by an unusual stroke of luck that a woman with oversized tinted glasses, a cherrywood cane, and a star-speckled navy coat called an emergency courthouse hearing. that was the first time reagan met her grandmother.
cause when love is gone, there's always justice.
the woman, a chef by trade, was deeply superstitious and took reagan’s concerns seriously. if a curse had taken hold, she would have to be crafty to evade it, thus she taught her recipes that incorporated mugwort, chamomile, and sage. lavender was reagan’s favorite herb, and she quickly became proficient at lavender-based muffins. in another life, she might have been a baker herself.
and when justice is gone, there's always force.
by the time she moved out for college, she was seasoned in jinxes, hexes, and breads. reagan’s hands had always been her best asset. grandmother suggested culinary school, however, the sentimentalist in her was fascinated by the arts. weekends spent at the movie theater with her brother had instilled a love of the filmmaking process, and her mother’s talent for painting carried over to her daughter. a major in fine art with a minor in film studies suited her best, and reagan found her niche among the art students.
and when force is gone, there's always mom.
she graduated at the top of her class, a recreation of one of her mother's paintings earning her honors at the college's spring show. some professors argued her that her ability to convey her opinions —both through her paintings and her written thesis— and sway an audience would make her a strong lawyer, but she had little desire to find herself back in a courtroom. so, she found a job at an art museum in chicago and settled into life as a curator.
so hold me, mom.
reagan never quite shook the desire to belong. all she had known was ripped away: her brother, her mother, her father, and the seaside town they once called home. her losses created a longing that could never quite be sated by the revolving door of partners she found herself with. she ended up in europe by accident, a surprise trip with a soon-to-be-ex partner gone awry after the extent of her aerophobia was revealed. regardless, it was an opportunity to experience the world, which she embraced with open arms. and that was how she landed in the arms of one ophelia arsene only a day before her ship was set to sail home.
in your long arms.
ophelia was different, likeminded yet enough of a spitfire to match her energy and call her bluff. she was brought to her knees that day, knelt before a pore of startling familiarity, and burned. reagan’s ship left without her, and so began the best four years of her life.
in ophelia reagan found what she’d always sought — belonging with a kindred creative spirit. their art fed off of one another, ophelia’s songs a backdrop to reagan’s brushstrokes. when she held her first gallery show, she dedicated it to ophelia.
in your automatic arms.
the loss of her relationship caught the brunette off guard and shattered her sense of stability. an open window carried in the sharp chill of fall, but a disquiet settled in the pit of reagan's stomach as she spotted a gold chain on the ground. ophelia never removed that necklace. ever. the hand had dealt its final crushing blow — and she refused
in a grief-stricken haze, she quit her job, sold her apartment, and set off in pursuit of ophelia. yet there was no trace of the woman at the hotel she sang at, nor the town where she grew up. It was as though she’d vanished from the face of the planet. reagan spent a year searching before the tree claimed her.
in your electronic arms.
reagan fell in step with the hunters quickly. a shared restlessness and rebellion against the underlying feeling of doom that befell the fog-covered town sent her racing through the woods each day. it was a hellscape of her own creation — each day holding out hope that maybe she'd stumble across her in the bramble, waiting patiently as if no time had passed. that was the thing, there was no telling how much time had passed. not for reagan. she attacked the terrain every morning with the same fervor, systematically turning over each quadrant of the woods for as long as the sun would allow.
still, her hopes faded the longer she remained in arcadia — hell town— which only made her push herself harder. if her search for ophelia was to truly be in vain, she needed something to keep her mind busy. to exhaust her body to the point of collapse, a dreamless sleep the only way to escape the hopelessness of knowing that she was out there somewhere and it was all reagan's fault.
there was no leaving hell town, and so, gradually, reagan made peace with reality. yet again she found herself relying on her hands, years of practicing archery in her high school having left her with a skillset the hunters coveted, and she excelled.
your petrochemical arms.
she impressed the hunters' leader with the accuracy of her shot, and the sureness of her movements. most importantly, she didn’t balk in the face of danger — a starving bobcat caught her and her partner from behind one morning, having stalked them from the trees before pouncing.
that day she bore deep claw wounds across the left side of her body, which would later turn to lasting scars down her back — but she managed to escape with her life, as well as her partner's. that night, arcadia ate well, and reagan earned a place hunting alongside the leader from then on. she was also given a black gelding to ease the strain on her leg, though in time the two were rarely seen apart.
your military arms.
reagan and the leader worked well together, him teaching her the ropes and her taking the risks required to bring them success. the night he rode into the woods after a missing scout and never returned, reagan was devastated.
the others turned to her for guidance and, for the first time in a life of escapism and running, she dug her heels in and took charge. reagan wasn’t looking for control or glory, and perhaps it was that mentality which endeared her to the other hunters and scouts. under her lead, the rules were simple: don’t be stupid, don’t get killed, look out for each other, and don’t come back empty handed. beyond that, she left them to their own devices. arcadia’s one for all mentality made her job simple, and she found herself enjoying the unpredictability of each day.
she was returning from an early morning’s hunt when the thought struck to stop at the cinema. reagan had developed a habit of seeking the building out when she needed to feel grounded. it reminded her of her brother, of life before, and she often spent more time there than her home. she didn’t notice the door opening, the light spilling across the red carpet. but, when she saw her, reagan felt the ground shake.
at first, she mistook her for a mirage, the result of a mind in decay playing tricks on her. but as her hand brushed against the warm skin of the woman’s cheek, reality clicked into place. all she could say was, “you made it.”
in your arms.
since that day, reagan's life has taken on renewed purpose. she helps ophelia where she can, tentatively piecing together what can be salvaged; reconciling who they had been with who they are now. when she’s not at the cinema — ophelia's presence presenting a reason to finally relocate from the docks— Reagan can be found astride figaro venturing through the woods or mentoring the other hunters.
bold which habits your muse has
nail biting | throat clearing | lying | interrupting | chewing the ends of pens | smoking | swearing | knuckle cracking | thumb sucking | muttering under their breath | talking to themselves | nose picking | binge drinking | oversleeping | snacking between meals | skipping meals | picking at skin | impulse buying | talking with their mouth full | humming/singing to themselves | chewing gum | leg jiggling | foot tapping | hair twirling | whistling | eye rolling | licking lips | sniffing | squinting | rubbing hands together | jaw clenching | gesturing while talking | putting feet up on tables | tucking hair behind ears | chewing lips | crossing arms over chest | putting hands on hips | rubbing the back of their neck | being late | procrastinating | doodling | shredding paper | peeling off bottle labels | forgetfulness | running hands through hair | overreacting | teeth grinding | nostril flaring | slouching | pacing | drumming fingers | fist clenching | pinching bridge of nose | rubbing temples | rolling shoulders
&. HEADCANNONS
how did your muse spend their first night in arcadia, and where?
bruised and battered after several attempts at finding her way back to the car and running into the same damn tree, reagan’s first night was spent at the cinema. it was a stupid game she and her brother used to play — walk into a random theater and buy tickets for the next showing, regardless of the movie. they saw their fair share of blockbusters, but also some terrible duds that would haunt her for the rest of her life. part of her was seeking that familiarity when she stumbled through the cinema’s doors. she spent the night flipping through old film reels, trying to recall the movie’s plot from its title and, when it escaped her, making one up.
why did your muse choose to live where they do?
reagan grew up by the sea in a house that held the smell of salt and sand. she loved that house, until it was little more than a pile of burnt lumber. as such, when she arrived in arcadia the docks called to her. but she wasn’t a fisherwoman, never had been, and so her purpose there was always in flux. until she found her again, and something clicked into place. reagan moved into the cinema a month ago, helping where she can to justify her presence there. it’s a second chance at… something, and in hell town, that’s more than anyone could ask for.
what was your muse doing when they came across the tree?
reagan was in search of her missing love. the other woman’s necklace clutched in her hand, she packed her life into a beat up jeep and set her gps for nowhere. the only realistic place for the cult to be was abandoned and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was running out of time. a sharp turn after hours on the road, her engine sputtering to a stop, and slowly setting sun spelled the end of her roadtrip. when she stepped out to pop the hood, the fog enveloped her until there was nothing but her and the tree.
has your muse left anything behind that they are desperately trying to return to or escape?
reagan believes wholeheartedly that she’s a harbinger of misfortune. her own cursed manifestation, the hand, introduced itself when she was eleven, claiming the life of her brother, then her mother when she was fourteen, and finally her father at fifteen. so, she ran, and when she finally stopped running, it took the one closest to her. now, despite her fears, she clings to her amulet like a lifeline, daring to hope it might tether her to safety and stay the hand’s grasp.
