but I howl like a wolf at the moon And I look unstable Gathered with a coven 'round a sorceress' table A greater woman has faith But even statues crumble if they're made to wait i'm so afraid i sealed my fate
saffron enjoyed getting out of the home she shared with birdie often. when the other was gone, the walls sometimes felt like they were closing in and she'd had a hard time breathing after that. left alone with her thoughts, her memories, she snuck out the front door and walked down the street. often enough, walks helped clear her head. she'd forgotten what day it was - that that farmers market opened today. sinking easily into the crowd, just a woman in a sundress with all the rest of the people out here, she fit in. she liked the anonymity of it all, the way her feet carried her closer to the stalls to view fruit and vegetables. she picked up a bouquet of pretty pink peonies because they made her think of birdie, paid for them at the counter before she turned on her heel and made her way out into the vast crowd. her eyes traveled over a few people she thought she recognized but she did not stop her slow gait to say hello. it would have taken a miracle to pull her away from her thoughts - khadija prescott was one such miracle. everything sort of just... halted, came to a stop, when she heard the woman's voice. saffron too had stopped walking, something she didn't think about so much as instinct guiding her. she turned gently on her feet, facing the woman as she surveyed the bread. she already knew her answer but her eyes lingered over the woman's face. "rosemary makes my tongue feel weird," she shrugged, as if the words had little weight. it wasn't her bread, after all. "an unfortunate occurrence. so naturally, i would pick the tomato and mozzarella." her head turned downwards to the bouquet of flowers she held, plucking one vibrantly pink flower from the vase before presenting it proudly. "for you."
if you ask them later, khadija will insist that they were incredibly cool about saffron smith, nonchalant, even. they loved getting to the truth of everything, no matter what it took, but when it came to this, she was fine, more than, even with telling a lie. harmless and a form of self-preservation. there was something khadija couldn't quite put their finger on, couldn't quite figure out that made their head tilt and their brain itch to know more. somewhere in the pursuit of figuring saffron out, khadija had sort of realized saffron disarmed her in a way that was maybe a little confusing for someone who just last year stood infront of a motorcycle gang just to get a story. all that did was make her want to find out more. still though, she was cool about it, even when saffron is next to her on a warm weekend morning bouquet of pink flowers in her arm. khadija shuffles from one foot to the other, and lets out a soft breath. "tongue feel weird?" she questions through a laugh but she does pull her hand away from the rosemary bread, hovers it over her other option. "tucking that away for future reference, but we can't have any of that, now, can we? tomato it is" and suddenly she's disarmed again, because a bright pink floweer is being thrusted her way, a simple act, and yet. "for me?" maybe khadija is too cynical, a thought she'll have to pick apart later, when alone. she takes the flower, brings it to her face to sniff instinctually before pushing it into her hair "well, you have to let me buy you a coffee, or a pastry, or something, for the flower, and because i'd love the company," untrue, mostly, she thinks, she had kind of liked wandering alone, but this was saffron.
khadija found that early morning farmers market runs always made her feel more human. she spent so much time at the tide building, or at her desk, and so getting out and breathing fresh salty-sea water air made her remember how alive she was. there a lot of things about mirabella that khadija could complain about, living here all of her life, she has a grievance or two, but weekend farmers markets were such a sweet spot. she's got a tote bag that is far too big for her thrown over her shoulder, and there's already far too many punnets of blueberries in it, her favorite of all the berries. she's standing in front of a selection of breads, mouth already watering, when she let's out a theatatrical huff of breath "okay, i can't decide, garlic and rosemary or sun-dried tomato and mozzrella? this is life or death, as you can see."
☀︎ no way is that KHADIJA PRESCOTT .ᐟ rumor has it they’re 28 born on OCTOBER 30TH, a true SCORPIO .ᐟ seems like they’ve been in mirabella for ALL THEIR LIFE, working as a JOURNALIST. i’ve seen them around SEABROOK POINT lately; they’re notoriously known for being ARGUMENTATIVE & OBSTINATE but some people have seen them being CONFIDENT & INTREPID when the island is quiet and the ferries stop running .ᐟ if you ask me, they remind me a lot of EARLY MORNINGS WRITING BY THE WATER, DIRTY, FILTHY MARTINIS, THE SCENT OF ENGLISH PEARS AND FREESIA, CHERRY STAINED LIPS, just keep an eye on them & see if their true colours shine through .ᐟ
full bio 𝜗𝜚⋆₊ pinterest
BASIC INFORMATION
FULL NAME: Khadija Noelle Prescott
NICKNAME(S): Dija, Didi
AGE: 29
DATE OF BIRTH: October 30th 1998
CURRENT LOCATION: Seabrook Point, Mirabella Island
PLACE OF BIRTH: Mirabella Island
ETHNICITY: Mixed (Black and white)
GENDER: cis woman but has been saying “queer” more often lately.
PRONOUNS: she/they
SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual.
RELIGION: raised catholic and her parents were strict about it. She’s spiritual and practices herablism.
LANGUAGES: Englsih, French
OCCUPATION: Investigative Journalist at the weekly tide, has a blog for fun!
CHARACTER PARALLELS: lois lane, carrie bradshaw, kat edison,rory gilmore.
FACECLAIM: Daniella Taylor
PHYSICAL TRAITS
HEIGHT: 5’1
WEIGHT: 120 lbs
HAIR COLOR: black
EYE COLOR: brown
PIERCINGS: both ears are pierced twice
TATTOOS: this tattoo here
SCARS|MARKS: //
SIGNATURE SCENT: English Pears and Freesia by Jo Malone or any of the Glossier perfumes, depending on their mood.
LIKES: the bubbly feeling a glass of champagne gives you, and the same bubbly feeling having a crush gives you. The smell of crisp, dewy, early morning air, late night drives with your favorite songs blasting, rooftop bars, dancing on table tops.
DISLIKES: ignorance , feeling like she always has to be on (a mess of her own making), pickles when they’re soggy.
HOBBIES: pilates and yoga as ways to connect with her body, vintage shopping instead of buying full price if possible, making her own clothes out of pieces she finds, knitting and needle point, ready smutty romance novels, lately she’s been taking herbalism classes. She also takes classes at the community college for fun whenever possible.
aesthetics: dirty, filthy martinis, piles of unused journals, the scent of english pears and freesia, staying up late talking to your favorite person about nothing, and everything, herbal magic, farmers' markets and fresh fruit, the eternal youngest daughter, sitting outside of bars sharing your emergency drunk cigarette and chatting with a stranger, breathing a new life into vintage clothing, a curated playlist for a night out. Wondering where your worth truly sits.
☀︎ no way is that EMERSON ROCKWELL .ᐟ rumor has it they’re 35 born on JUNE 23RD, a true CANCER .ᐟ seems like they’ve been in Mirabella for SIX YEARS, working as a DOCTOR/OWNER OF THE MED CLINIC. i’ve seen them around VALENCIA COVE lately; they’re notoriously known for being COCKY & HEDONISTIC but some people have seen them being LIONHEARTED & CHARISMATIC when the island is quiet and the ferries stop running .ᐟ if you ask me, they remind me a lot of ESPRESSO SHOTS IN THE MID-AFTERNOON THE SCENT OF WARM WOODY COLOGNE AND ANTISEPTIC, SCRUBS AND DESIGNER SUITS, COUNTRY DRAWLS AND STRESS-INDUCED SMOKING, just keep an eye on them & see if their true colours shine through .ᐟ
full bio ᝰ pinterest
BASIC INFORMATION
FULL NAME: Emerson Samuel Rockwell.
NICKNAME(S): “E”, Doc, Em.
AGE: 35
DATE OF BIRTH: June 23rd 1991
CURRENT LOCATION: Valencia Cove, Mirabella Island
PLACE OF BIRTH: Austin, Texas
ETHNICITY: Caucasian (english/jewish)
GENDER: cis man
PRONOUNS: he/him
SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual.
RELIGION: was raised in a dual religion household, he has faith in something, he just doesn't take it seriously.
LANGUAGES: English, some Hebrew, and Spanish (not fluently, but it was the only language they offered in school, at the time, and it was Texas!)
OCCUPATION: doctor, neurosurgeon.
CHARACTER PARALLELS: derek shepherd, conrad hawkins, frank langdon, clark kent.
FACECLAIM: David Corenswet
PHYSICAL TRAITS
HEIGHT: 6'4
WEIGHT: 235 lbs
HAIR COLOR: brown/black
EYE COLOR: blue
PIERCINGS: none.
TATTOOS: here, here on his leg, here
SCARS|MARKS: a scar on his knee from falling as a child, freckles across his body and face.
SIGNATURE SCENT: Santal 33 or Tom Ford tobacco vanille.
PHOBIAS AND DISEASES
MENTAL ILLNESSES/DISABILITIES: anxiety, ASD
RELATIONSHIPS
MOTHER: Rachel Cohen-Rockwell.
FATHER: Benjamin Rockwell
CHILDREN: n/a
SIBLINGS: Levi Rockwell (40), Eden Rockwell (35, twin), Freya Rockwell (30)
LIKES: a tumbler of whiskey after a long day, sci-fi and fantasy, history, craft beer, especially a fruited sour, music (rap, country, classical, musicals, rock, pop), cars (something he spends a bit of money on, impulsively), pastries/sweets.
DISLIKES: cold weather, micromanagement, and formal events, which he excels at, but dislikes nonetheless.
HOBBIES: Outdoor activities such as hiking, fishing, and horseback riding, cooking (a novice, but he likes trying new recipes), baseball (he’s on a league!), running (he runs every morning, and has done a marathon!), aviation, though this is new to him.
negative traits: hedonistic, cocky, restless, a people pleaser.
aesthetics: baseball caps, pick-up trucks riding through the mud, the scent of antiseptic cleanser and woody warm cologones, lego sets on display, espresso shots in the mid-afternoon, a collection of crushed red bull cans, vintage levi's and button downs, scrubs and three piece suitis, the snap of rubber gloves, sirens and nerdy jokes, packs of ‘emergency’ cigarettes, strong hands wrapped around warm skin. country accents in stressful moments. The ache of knowing that no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be enough.
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