name: nixie caldwell hafsfrun
age: 27 ( tbh she will be 27 in 5th, november )
species: mermaid
title: princess
powers: mist and fog weaving: she can summon sea mist or fog, useful for hiding herself or disorienting others, aquatic communication, very limited illusion
deity: amphitrite
labels: the explorer
gender, pronouns, sexual & romantic identities: she, her, heteroromantic, heterosexual
residence / years: two months
affiliation / years: ???
job / workplace: being princess, but currently unemployed.
relationship status: single
.positive traits: kind, enigmatic, open-minded
negative traits: obsessive, compulsive,contemplative
birthplace ⏤ under the sea, nordic sea.
characters inspo ⏤ mera ( aquaman 2018 , comics )
𝚁𝙴𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚂:
mother — queen of nordic sea
father — king of nordic sea
siblings — 6
marital status — single.
issues — n/a
pets — kai, a kelpie.
𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾 + 𝙷𝙲:
𝐓𝐖:
Youngest princess of the northern seas, Nixie was never one to stay within the walls of her father’s palace. Curiosity always carried her beyond safe borders, into shipwrecks and deep trenches that whispered with forbidden songs. She loved her life beneath the waves, yet stories of the surface world drifted to her like tides—strange, alluring, and frightening. Raised to mistrust humans, she still found herself fascinated by the mysteries she was told to fear.
When tensions rose between her kingdom and the world above, Nixie took it upon herself to travel to New Orleans. Not as tribute, not as exile, but because she wanted to see for herself. She arrives factionless, unbound to any gang, wandering through the city like a traveler between two worlds.
Her powers are still raw, growing like storms on the horizon. She can bend water in small ways, summon mist thick enough to hide herself, etc... None of it is refined, and much of it frightens her as much as it intrigues her.
Nixie has no allegiance, though Desire’s name lingers in the air around her. For now, she walks freely, trying to adapt to land, studying its creatures, its dangers, and its pleasures. Whether she seeks belonging or intends to remain untethered is uncertain, but her presence has already begun to ripple quietly through New Orleans.
CURRENTLY
tbd
𝚃𝙻𝙳𝚁 + 𝙷𝙲
more to add...
𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝙲.
party buddies ⏤
bad influence ⏤
good influence ⏤
childhood friends ⏤
inspos ideas. ⎯
click anywhere here.
Hearing her soft laugh before he moved to nibble on his lower lip listening to her response and nodded yes as a way to answer her. He was well aware of what she had observed, the comments he wanted to make probably would not put their world in a good spot for her. "Predictability can be boring, the things you mentioned about burning the ocean and poisoning the air do not always happen, I can assure you." The comment about the beignets was a really good observation yet not a reason to worry, in his eyes. "Wait a second, why do you think I would choose food to help me entice you to stay?"
Nixie arched a brow at him, lips curving into something caught between amusement and challenge. Her tone came velvet-smooth, but the words cut with that queenly wit. ❛ Because men always choose food. ❜ She gestured lightly toward his empty plate, eyes glinting as though she had caught him red-handed. ❛ It is either that or some speech about freedom, opportunity, adventure, things your kind loves to promise, but rarely deliver without a cost. ❜
She shifted her weight, folding her arms with a deliberate elegance, gaze steady on him. ❛ Predictability may be boring, but at least it is honest. Your world feels like a beautiful song played on an instrument about to break. ❜ Then, just to soften the edge, her smirk returned. ❛ But perhaps I will let you try, Jackson. Convince me with something other than fried dough and poetry. Surprise me. ❜
Jackson did not mean to startle the mermaid, he just was hoping he could help her. As he listened to her answer and watched her body language he nodded softly at her last few words about looking for a reason to stay longer. "I have to say I would give this crazy world more of a chance. Do you want to talk about whatever has you thinking otherwise?"
Nixie let out a soft laugh, low in her throat, tilting her head as if amused by his question. ❛ You make it sound so simple. Stay longer. Give this world a chance. ❜ Her eyes sparkled as they caught his, teasing yet edged with something sharper. ❛ You do realize your world is the one constantly setting itself on fire, yes? ❜
Her fingers drummed against the strap of her bag, as though keeping rhythm with the music spilling from Frenchmen Street. ❛ Where I come from, things are not… safer, but at least predictable. Sharks bite, storms rage, kings command. Here? Your kind burns the ocean, poisons the air, and then eats fried dough covered in sugar as if none of it matters. ❜ Her gaze flicked pointedly to the remains of his beignet, lips curving in a smirk. ❛ So tell me, Jackson, why should I give it more of a chance? Convince me. And no, you cannot use food as an argument. ❜
The mist curled at the edges of her vision, foreign but familiar in the way fear always was. Kestrel’s head turned, eyes catching on the woman by the water, her voice uncertain, her feet planted when most would already be gone. Brave or foolish, Kestrel didn’t have the time to decide which. “The sea don’t,” Kestrel agreed soft, though her knife cut another corpse down mid-sentence. “But necromancers? They don’t care what’s meant t’be.”
Another groan rolled out of the reeds, closer now. Kestrel’s wind snapped sharp, knockin’ three of them back into the muck. She stepped toward Nixie, air drawing tight like a shield between them and the oncoming dead.
“You wanna help?” Her voice stayed even, low, but it carried over the noise like a tide. “Then listen close. Try not to let ‘em get a grip on you. If you can knock ‘em off their feet, do it. If not do what you can to make sure they can't get back up. Getting the brain is best.”
Her eyes flicked back to Callum’s ruined face, that whisper spilling out his slack mouth like dry leaves. Desecration. “Stay behind me if you falter,” she added, almost kind, but not indulgent. The silver of her knife flashed as she raised it again. “Don’t got room for martyrs. Since you'll just end up part of the hoard most like.” The wind rose harder, slicing reeds, buying a few more precious breaths of space. “We slow ‘em down. We keep ‘em from the music. Tha’s all that matters.”
Nixie’s throat tightened, fear pushing at her chest, but she forced herself still. Mist bled off her skin like breath in cold air, faint at first, then spreading low to the ground. It wasn’t much, not yet, but enough to blur outlines, to make corpses stumble as the reeds and roots turned harder to see.
❛ I can’t stop them! ❜ She admitted, voice hushed but steady. ❛ But I can make their way harder. Slow them, confuse them. ❜ Her fingers curled, pulling more of the haze forward, though it wavered where her focus slipped.
The nearest corpse jerked sideways, disoriented, its steps heavy and uneven as the fog thickened around its legs. Nixie swallowed hard and shifted closer to Kestrel, knowing the blade would do more than her half-formed tricks. ❛ If they reach us, you strike. ❜ She said, a tremor in her words but her chin lifted. ❛ I will try to keep them blind. Just… Don’t let me falter. ❜
One thing that Jackson has always told his clients at the gym was you deserve a cheat day every so often. Today was going to be one of those days for him. He had just picked up an order for his employees at the gym and was eating the last of his beignets with his coffee sitting at one of the tables outside the cafe as he noticed Nixie looking around for someone or something. He called out to her, "Who are you looking for, Nixie? Maybe I can help."
Nixie’s fingers traced absently along the strap of her bag, her eyes drifting over the crowd as though she were chasing a face that slipped just out of reach. At the sound of Jackson’s voice she blinked, caught in the moment, then tilted her head toward him with a faint smile.
❛ I do not know yet. ❜ She admitted, voice soft but carrying that lilt of the sea, strange and melodic. ❛ Perhaps no one. Perhaps someone who does not even exist. ❜ Her gaze flicked to the powdered sugar dusting his lips and the warm drink in his hands, curiosity glinting in her eyes. ❛ Or maybe I am only looking for a reason to stay a little longer. ❜
⸻ The city throbbed with sound. Brass horns tangled with laughter, drums carried through the heat, and the air tasted of spice, smoke, and sweat. Nixie moved along the edge of the festival, watching with wide eyes as humans pressed together in joy and rhythm. Every step felt like stepping deeper into another world, one where no one looked behind them and no one looked beneath the water.
Lanterns swung overhead, colors spilling across cobblestones slick with spilled drinks. Music wrapped around her like a tide, overwhelming, intoxicating. She stood still in the current of it all, her chest tight with something she couldn’t quite name. Mist gathered briefly at her ankles before fading into the crowd’s steam. A nervous habit. She smoothed her palms down the skirt she wore and lifted her chin, curious gaze drifting from the stage to the strangers dancing as though no shadow could touch them.
❛ Do they always celebrate like this? ❜ She asked softly, the words slipping out as though to herself, yet loud enough for anyone nearby to catch.
Where: Somewhere between the Bayou and Frenchmen Street
The music from Frenchmen Street carried faintly through the trees, laughter and brass horns rising like a tide over the bayou. Kestrel had slipped away for a breath of quiet, leaning against the old cypress roots where the air felt cooler, cleaner. Festivals had a way of turning the city inside out. Too many people pressed together, too much noise. And even with her years in security, sometimes she needed the wind at her back and still water in front of her. That was when the air shifted.
Stagnant, heavy, the way it had the night she was twelve, when she saw her father’s eyes gone hollow. She straightened, curls tugged by a breeze that wasn’t hers. The smell hit next... rot carried on damp wind. And then the sound: dragging steps through the reeds.
Her heart stilled as the shapes came into view. Dozens of them, waterlogged and slack-jawed, stumbling in a broken rhythm. A hoard. And at their head. "Lourghty."
The name slipped out before she could catch it. The missing leader of the Lightless, eyes clouded, skin stretched too tight across his face, moved with the unnatural pull of necromancy. His jaw lolled open, a whisper of command spilling from what was left of him. The dead followed. And they were heading straight toward the festival.
Kestrel's hand went to her phone. Sending out a distress message to her team and to the rest of the Lightless. She lifted the phone and hit record. They all had to know. What had been done to him. The sacrilege that had been committed against them. Once the call went out she knew that people would sound the alarm. Start trying to evacuate civilians. Kestrel’s hand tightened around the silver-inlaid knife at her belt, wind already spiraling low around her feet. Her voice, though soft, carried like a blade through the night. “Not tonight. Not here. Not now.” She turned her head to a few people standing around and she let her wind carry her usual soft voice, "Run!"
⸻ Nixie hadn’t strayed far from Frenchmen Street, just enough to breathe without being swept away by horns and human chatter. She lingered near the water’s edge, comforted by its steady pull, when the air shifted. It was subtle at first, like a tide turning. Then it hit her fully, stagnant and wrong, the scent of rot mixed with bayou reeds. Her nose crinkled. She wasn’t the only one who noticed. A woman stood nearby, tense, eyes sharp as she called a name Nixie didn’t recognize. Lourghty. Nixie’s gaze followed hers, and what she saw made her stomach twist. Corpses dragging themselves out of the water, their eyes glazed like fish long dead. But the sea didn’t give back what it had taken. Not like this. Not with command on their tongues. The woman’s voice cut like wind, sharp and steady. Run!
Nixie’s feet stayed planted. Every instinct screamed at her to dive back into the bayou, but she couldn’t, not with the crowd just streets away, blissfully unaware. Her palms grew damp, mist swirling faint around her as if her own fear were seeping into the air. ❛ The sea doesn’t raise the dead. ❜ She whispered, more to herself than anyone. Then, louder, to the woman braced with her knife. ❛ They’ll reach the music before anyone even sees them. ❜ Her voice faltered as another corpse lurched forward, skin stretched too tight over its face. She clenched her fists. ❛ Tell me what to do, I won’t just run. ❜
