Zakary had delivered the final package to a house in the middle of nowhere, and while he hated having to bike for twenty minutes just to deliver one small package, the two old ladies who had greeted him seemed nice, and he got a whole lot of fresh air. He biked past Green Ridge Park on the way back, slowly down since he was technically off the clock, and taking a few deep breaths.
From afar he saw someone trying to hitchhike, a term he had heard from an American who once visited Maga by accident after riding along with a farmer from the territory. Her hand clearly up, the first car to pass drove past her while actively honking, very unwilling to help. He cocked an eyebrow, and came to a slow stop a few meters away from her, walking towards her with his bike next to him. “Hey, are you okay? I can give you a ride? If you want. But I only have my bike,” he added. He smiled then, because he knew it wasn’t comfortable, and it was still about fifteen minutes back. Might be a little more if he was carrying someone with him, especially with how tired he already was.
~*~
Dahlia could hear the tick-ticking of the wheels on the bike turning as it approached her and when it suddenly came to a halt, she wiped at her face, hoping the evidence of her crying (stupidly enough) hadn’t been too obvious. And then the notion of this person offering a hand crossed her mind and she sighed - what on earth would someone with a bike offer her? She was clearly exhausted, stressed, miles from home, couldn’t see in this stupid fog and her stupid phone had no service - the resentment of the moment got the better of her.
Turning to face the voice, Dahlia looked at the figure approach through the haziness of the fog, glancing back, her eyes landing on the bike then on him again, she crossed her arms against her chest, “I mean, I appreciate the offer, but...where exactly am I going to sit?”
“Ah, lattes. All the more reason where I work here rather than in coffee, then I would never sleep and always burn others with my lack of composure,” he joked, more about himself than anything else as Bash remembered what it had been like the first time that he tried coffee beans. It had been quite an experience, One that he and a small town in Colombia would not soon forget, yet he had done little to repeat the experience as he tinkered with other endeavors. “At least here I can be in good company with those that taste test too many and choose to spend their night here with me.” He thrived on those nights, to hear the whispers of stories and lives of regulars and the tourists that came through to taste the new and old kinds of beer that he brought to life in the back.
Not to mention, his employees that reminded him when he was supposed to be there to open or close. Closing was easier than opening, having lost himself in thought and his work elsewhere to remember what time of day it might be and open accordingly. “What ideas do you write down? Mine are of flavors I wish to try or incorporate, always remembering an old spice in the midst of cleaning down a table or checking the tanks in the back.” He chuckled then but sobered up quickly, realizing that he might be interrupting her as he filled his arms with the rest of the glasses to take to the bar for cleaning later. “Unless it is private. I can excuse myself if you wish to be alone, there is plenty of work for me to do either way.” Bash smiled with a nod.
~*~
“You know what, now that you say, that sounds a lot like me,” a small chuckle left her at the realization, remembering suddenly the abundance of times where she’d mistakenly poured boiling water over her hand as opposed to the cup it was meant to be poured into. That and the fact that ever since moving to Nova Pangaea, insomnia took residence in her life like some sort of old pal wanting to know what she was up to - the bastard.
She listened to him go on about flavours and spices and all the rest of it, a half smirk tugging the corner of her lips - clearly, this guy was passionate about what he did and passion, man was that something so many in this day and age lacked. She often felt she’d been born in the wrong era. Too much technology, not enough eye contact. Suddenly hearing the latter of his words, she shook her head, straightening her posture, “oh no, no, please, you’re fine!” She paused, smiling again, “I’m a writer. A screenwriter. I’m writing a romantic tragedy that takes place in Paris in the mid-1920s,” she shrugged a shoulder, watching him for a moment before continuing. “What sort of flavours have you been experimenting with lately?”
It was probably the food that suddenly distracted Topher, most likely the food. Also the person eating the food was very pretty, so that helped. They looked up at her and shook their head. The ghosts were gone now, it would seem, and they were glad they were. Because it hadn’t been pretty cool. They grabbed their shirt and pulled it closer to them. “Yeah, uhm, but not here. They’re gone now,” they said, hoping that if they said it out loud they would be. “They were here earlier… uhm. Wasn’t really cool, they’re kind of… personal?” they shivered a little, shook their head again, trying to get out of their own head.
~*~
Dahlia noticed their demeanor, the way they clutched at their shirt like some sort of prop that would offer them stability - she got that, jeez, did she get that. It seemed all life was as of late for Dahlia was uncontrolled instability and the thought made her think of a meme she saw on Facebook that morning of a burning car with an old man standing in front of it, thumbs up like hey, my car’s on fire, everything’s gone to shit but the sun is shining! Dahlia could relate - Dahlia was that old man.
“Oh,” she began, taking another bite of the waffle cone, chewing and studying their features when suddenly - that’s where she knew them from! That was it! The park! She’d just left her house for a stroll and saw them there - and then she remembered another detail, the changing, the shifting. “Hold on,” Dahlia said suddenly, waving a pointed finger in their direction. “I saw you the other night, you were different though, you changed into some redhead. I remember now! Hold on,” her eyes lit up at the sudden realization, “you’re a shapeshifter, aren’t you? Haven’t met one of you yet.”
Arthur wouldn’t have been surprised if the patron had asked him to quietly move along and leave them in peace, as would be expected in a library, nor would he have been offended by it, but he was grateful to the woman for entertaining him and it was evident by the smile on his face. “A correct assumption.” He nodded, eyebrows arching. He didn’t hide the fact that he was a vampire in Astoria, he liked not having to keep it a secret and he would rather have it out in the open so that people could make their own opinions. However, it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt his feelings when it made someone uncomfortable. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” He offered his condolences, even if she wasn’t being completely serious.
Truth be told, she wasn’t wrong. The smell of blood hadn’t left his nose since the moon nearly reached its full shape, and it didn’t seem to be going anywhere fast. Coming to work was a risk in itself, but Arthur was determined that he could fight through it, foolish as it may have been. “If it helps, I can also smell their blood.” He pointed out a figure across the room. “And if it doesn’t help, well… I suppose you’ll have to trust me.” He threw a dashing smile her way, as if that would help somehow. If she agreed to trust him then at least he would feel more confident in being able to trust himself.
~*~
Dahlia chuckled lightly, half shrugging. “I mean, you don’t have to apologize if you don’t plan on helping yourself to my blood, so I think it’s safe to say we’re cool.” She glanced back at the figure he pointed out, tall and lanky with a pompous air about them - but most of all, she noticed the distance between she and where they stood. Turning to the man again, she cocked her head a bit, arms crossing against her chest, remembering suddenly the conversation she overheard at work the day prior.
“Why is that? Does it have to do with the coming full moon?” She watched his expression. “I overheard a few customers at work talking about it. Aren’t full moons supposed to affect werewolves?” She slid the Common Herbs for Natural Healing book she’d been holding back into it’s original spot. “Unless that’s totally wrong? I’m only just learning about supernaturals so, yeah, there’s a lot I’m kinda coming to grips with.”
Laurel had finished her yoga class that day earlier than usual, with the lack of students heading to the studio due to the cold day and how the fog was silently making its stay in the city, she had almost the entire day to herself, after that the decided to head to the grocery store, grab something to eat at a restaurant and then head back to the dance studio, enjoy the silence in it to finish some paperwork. The latter was exactly where she was heading to, when Laurel noticed someone standing in the middle of the road.
Just the idea of someone being alone near the Green Ridge Park and needing help, caused a shiver down her spine. Parking her jeep at the side of the road, she reached for the other woman, offering a brief smile before focusing on how she could be helpful. “Are you okay? What happened to you car?” She should question, after all, Laurel knew nothing about cars. Whenever she needed help, she’d go for Logan or even send questions for Topher.
~*~
Seeing the jeep pull up on the opposite side of the road, it felt like both a blessing (finally, she could get the hell out of here, granted the driver wasn’t a serial killer) and a curse - not wanting whoever this person was to see that she’d been crying. Crying over something as stupid as her car breaking down. It felt like her emotions were just getting the better of her more and more as of late - culture shock? Sure, maybe. Abandoning everything she knew to move to a brand new country alone? That’ll do it, more than likely.
“Crap, crap, crap,” Dahlia whispered to herself, aggressively wiping the residue of tears from her eyes and cheeks. “I’m fine!” She called out to the woman, hearing her approach closer. “I’m okay, I just need a ride back into town or something, my car just broke down in the middle of the road, I don’t know a single thing about cars, gosh,” she sighed, rambling, “I don’t even know if any car shops are open,” pulling out her phone from her back jean pocket, she noticed the time, “yeah, definitely not open. You know what, I’d just really appreciate a ride back home where I can just take care of this tomorrow morning instead, if you could do me that favor??”
After a flustered Gary was banished to the far end of the bar and the smashed glass was cleaned up, Atlas had stricken cocktails off the menu. Simply with Gary behind the bar anything that took more than two steps to make it wasn’t going to be made. Atlas just hoped Gary knew not to pour heavy-handed when using liquor. Whilst he had been cleaning the glass up, Atlas’ mind once again drifted to how easy it was the make a human bleed; all it would have taken was Gary to knick himself on one of the many pieces of glass Atlas now had in his hand. Fighting the urge to call the human back over he finished up with the mess and excused himself to the office. Maybe he needed another blood bag, which he stored in his office when work kept him busy and he needed a top-up. A blink and the club owner went from one part of the building to another, stopping short in the doorway of his office when he found an unexpected body inside.
It was an unfamiliar face that greeted him. She was dressed for the occasion, head to toe clearly having planned her night around his venue. A flapper dress was not necessarily uncommon on the guests, some people went all out whilst others hadn’t a clue. Atlas himself loved to sport a flapper dress now and then, they were a lot of fun to play with movement. It was that moment that had his ears twitching now, the crystals tapping against one another with every movement the woman made. For such a small thing it felt as loud as the woman’s voice belting out on the stage to the sensitive vampire ears. Her voice catches him off guard, adjusting his focus to higher on her body. Lips painted red, slightly faded right where glass would rest on them. A pen? He’d been caught up assessing her he had almost forgotten where he was, that he should be concerned as to why she was in the room.
“Does this look like a stationery store?” he asked a little shorter than usual, stepping into his office though blocking the girl’s exit. His hand reached out for the nearest surface to keep him anchored to it as his eyes moved down to the pearls resting on her neck. It was never a good idea to be stuck between a hungry vampire and his blood. Atlas forced himself to look away from her neck to where his fridge was hidden behind a cabinet by his desk, only then noticing what she had done on her hunt for a pen. “Didn’t anyone tell you not to go through people’s things?”
~*~
Immediately, it all clicked - particularly after she had witnessed the way he looked at her - studied her, watched her like predator to prey; he was a vampire, apparently. And as much as she’d wanted to meet one, live and in the flesh! She didn’t want to meet a hungry one. She’d heard rumours (eh, unintentional eavesdropping) that the corn moon had been making a few of the supernaturals act in a way unlike themselves but she wondered just then, was it unlike themselves? Vampires had to eat. She had blood coursing through her veins and she was standing right in front of him - food on display (an image of him shopping for groceries suddenly coming to mind). This just seemed like natural instinct.
“Uh, no, but it does look like an office and offices usually carry pens, so.” She cleared her throat, brown eyes watching the way his took her in and, feeling exposed, she backed away from the desk, hearing him highlight the mess she’d made. “It’s just a few papers...you know...scattered here and there, look, I just needed a pen to write down this dialogue I’ve got going on in my head right now,” can we do this later? She wanted to say but didn’t. “I’m sorry about your desk and your papers and, you know, the sneaking in part but,” she remembered her phone - preferring actual pen and paper but if she had to choose between that and a hungry vampire, she’d choose the former. “You know what, I have my phone,” reaching into her handbag, she pulled it out and gave it a little shake, “I can just type it up on here and I won’t be in your way.”
“You’re making it very hard not to fire your ass right now.” Atlas was running short staffed with the wolves out for full moon, and now he was dealing with Gary. Gary was the guy he staffed behind the bar when no one else was available. Usually he was on clean up duty in the kitchen, but desperate times where here and making an absolute mess of a basic cocktail. “Any other week Gary I’d have the patience for this mess. Any. Other. Week.” With the other rushing to clean up the liquid he’d spilled Atlas took a moment to scan the room.
The jazz band was in full swing; the notes of a deep base danced along with a talented piano players hands as a woman’s voice sang across the room. Seats were filled though less than usual due to part of the population staying away from crowds like Atlas should be. His eyes danced from shadowed figure to the next, catching the beat of hearts raised by the excitement of the show and the cold of the night. It would be so easy to fall into habits he’d long left behind, and the fact he was thinking of them so eagerly had him rather concerned. His eye caught a man sitting on his own, seemling expecting no other guest to join him. Atlas mind started mapping out ways to get the other alone, how easy things could be if he just went along with his natural desires. The Corn Moon was a hell of a week, and truth be he wasn’t sure he was going to get through it at this rate. It was the sound of a glass breaking behind him that broke the spell and he was both thankful and annoyed once more at the hopeless bartender. “Gary- For crying out loud!”
~*~
Granted, she’d been just a little drunk off absinthe - Green Fairy, Original Czech Absinthe, it was what she normally ordered when at a place like this, a cabaret-style bar that felt like she’d been living in the early 1900s. She’d had her flapper inspired dressed on and everything - pearls around her neck, crimson lips and a casual yet sophisticated black gown with faux dangling crystals. She felt right at home.
Then, without warning, as it usually happened - she saw it all in a flash: her protagonist overhears conversation at Lewis’ speakeasy, discovering that the man she’d been seeing, the one she promised herself to, had been married and never said a word of it. Her big brown eyes well up with tears, she grabs the hem of her dress and runs out of the estate, down by the river near the old stone bridge and she sees him, standing there -
“I gotta write this down,” Dahlia muttered, coming out of her trance. She stood suddenly and made her way through the crowd, arriving at the bar just a few seconds later. She watched as a flustered looking man yelled at the bartender. Poor guy. But it was just her luck, it seemed, as he turned away enough for Dahlia to reach over and grab a few cherries and a napkin. Then, popping one of the cherries in her mouth, she tossed the stem in a nearby bin as she sauntered about the bar in search of a room, any room that offered just a little peace and quiet for her to write this damn dialogue down before she forgot it.
And just there, in front of her, was an old oak door with the word Office written on it. Smirking, she made her way inside cautiously and shut the door behind her. Did she care that patrons more than likely weren’t allowed in the room she currently inhabited? Nope. Not even a bit. She would’ve - if she weren’t tipsy. “Okay, where the hell do they keep the stupid pens,” she breathed, opening drawer after drawer of the desk. She stopped suddenly, seeing photos of the man she’d seen just a moment ago yelling, except here, in the pictures, he’d been smiling, shaking hands, wearing a nicely tailored suit in some of the photos, as if they’d been taken as a vintage - wait, this was vintage, she thought, before hearing someone approach. Glancing at the door, Dahlia gulped. Shit. The man in the photos appeared before her in the threshold of the door, jazz music filtering through the gap. “Uh,” she pointed at the desk, “I was looking for a pen.”
location: on the road just near green ridge park
time: early evening
to: anyone! @astoriastarter
It was just her luck. Dahlia loved adventure, loved exploring but only when it had been on her terms - her ‘95 Toyota Camry breaking down at night on the side of the road, in the middle of no where in this insane fog was definitely not her idea of an adventure. She’d just left work, her hair still smelled of espresso, she was tired and being the impulsive idiot she was decided on taking the long way home. Well, this is where it got her - standing out in the middle of the road, holding her thumb up desperately for help and watching car after car go by without a stall. Did hitchhikers actually hold up their thumbs? Anyway, it was what she saw in the movies.
She watched another car speed past, honking aggressively at her, “yeah well! If one of you people would just stop and help me out, maybe I wouldn’t be standing in the middle of the damn road!” She could feel her eyes well up with tears, the desperation clearly getting the better of her - she wanted to go home, she wanted a shower, she wasn’t sure how long she’d be stuck out here and she wiped away at her single tear, she’d be damned if anyone saw her lose her shit in the middle of nowhere. “God,” she muttered to herself, “this is so stupid.”
Location: Memorial Park Entrance, 8 pm
@astoriastarter
Topher was incredibly shaken. Though, given the circumstances, it was such a fine line between happiness and creeped-out, that they weren’t even sure what they were feeling. They had seen their parents. The day before someone had warned them about Ghost appearing, they hadn’t known what to think. Now they had seen it with their own eyes, and still had trouble believing it. They almost hadn’t recognised their father, who looked like he had in the pictures, not the face they had last seen before he had died.
Their mom had been just as wonderful, like always, and asked all the important questions about Topher’s love life mostly. It had been wonderful, and weird, and scary. And now Topher was sitting on a bench, four feet away from the exit to the park, hands deep in their pockets, tense, and confused. They shot up when someone walked into the park, grabbing at their heart. “Sorry, I thought you were a ghost!”
~*~
Just like that and a kid no older than eight years of age broke Dahlia’s fragile heart. “Ah, shit,” she muttered, hearing him run off with giggles, completely oblivious to the fact that he had made the entire top half of her strawberry and chocolate swirl ice cream with Oreo crumble plummet to the hard pavement by her cat-themed flats. Stupid kid. “Really cool!” She called out to his parents, who’d been scrolling through their phones, totally unaware. “Pay attention to your kid, idiots.”
With a sigh, she proceeded to finish what was left, ambling her way through the gates, her eyes set on the beautifully tarnished stone of a fountain ahead of her when she heard someone’s startled voice - “a ghost? No, definitely not. Haven’t seen one of those yet. Though it’d be pretty cool to.” She took a bite of the waffle cone and chewed before continuing, “Why? Have you seen one here??”
location: nova pangaea public library
time: afternoon
status: open! @astoriastarter
“Did you know,” Arthur began, rather matter-of-factly, in a tone that any librarian ought not to have employed in his place of work. This was a library after all, and speaking above a decibel of thirty was highly scandalous, but when Arthur found himself on a tangent almost all other parts of reality slipped away. “That this isn’t entirely accurate?” He waved the book in his hand as he stared at it, almost as if he was talking to the book itself, but anyone willing to listen would have been appreciated. “Sharks can’t smell blood up to a mile away, it’s far less than that. Vampires on the other hand…” He joked, finally looking over at the person beside him with a smirk on his lips. “I’m kidding. But really, I wouldn’t recommend this book.”
~*~
Being surrounded by books and flourishing in it was a bit of an understatement when it came to Dahlia. She had majored in English Literature and minored in Film - stories were her escape, her first love and the fact that Nova Pangaea’s public library was amply littered with them made her feel better than she did that morning during her shift at Myriad Cafe. She could still smell that stupid House Blend.
It was eerily quiet that day - granted, it was a library and there hadn’t been too many visitors but still, too quiet, until it’d been broken by a voice, one mentioning vampires - the supernatural she’d been most eager (and equally terrified) to meet. “Okay?” She huffed, offering a half-smirk. “Assuming you’re a vampire, it’s a little unsettling learning you can smell my blood while I’m standing right next to you.”
where: pangean beer brewery (the bar side)
who: open to everyone @astoriastarter
It wasn’t often that Bash found himself surprised or startled, but there were still moments that left him paused in his day ― eyes alight with a certain softness that wasn’t always so easily found. Or seen. Young love was one of those moments, seeing a couple finish what sounded like their first date and leave the brewery with a bit more quickness to their movements than when they entered, hours earlier. He didn’t mind it then, watching from afar, but others often did love better than Bash ever did as he had stopped to watch them. And now he was in the way of another as he picked up the empty flight of beer glasses and gracefully moved backwards a step. “Apologies. I suppose this is why they don’t often let me out often, because I get distracted and don’t get my work done.”
~*~
Dahlia watched the bartender wave an arm towards the back of the brewery like some show woman presenting someone at a circus. It made her smile, a small, barely audible chuckle leaving her under her breath. She’d been taking in as many sights as she could through-out the country, wanting to discover all it had to offer. Moving had left somewhat of an imprint on Dahlia. It was weird - in New York, all she wanted to do was lock herself away in her apartment and write, but here, there was just something about the air, the fact that she was surrounded day in and day out with other witches, vampires, shapeshifters, werewolves and ghosts - it was wonderfully riveting.
The bartender bade a goodbye to the tasters and went to greet others that had just made their way in. Coming to a stand and taking hold of her notebook, she watched as a man came by, standing beside her near the bar to clean up. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ve got all the time in the world today so please, go on,” she gestured towards the glasses with a smile, turning back for a glance at whatever it was that distracted him. Not seeing anything special, she turned to him, “you should see me at work. Constantly having to pause whatever it is I’m doing to run to the back and write whatever idea it was that distracted me from pouring someone’s latte.”
"Part of her mystery is how she is calm in the storm and anxious in the quiet.”
aesthetics: old marble statues of goddesses, “a sweet disaster”, dusty books on ancient history, ‘intersectional feminist’ pins, chapstick and rouge blush, sunshine filtering through the trees, half finished mugs of coffee, the smell of rain in the air, bare feet in the mornings, film scenes written on napkins in coffee shops, louis armstrong and ella fitzgerald on records, rolled-up sleeves of an over-sized sweater, “courage, dear heart”, spirited debates, romantic tragedy films, reading in the bathtub, losing track of time
Name: Dahlia Wood
Nicknames: Lia
Date of Birth: March 24th, 1988
Zodiac Sign: Aries
Age: 32
Place of birth: Hartford, Connecticut, USA
Sexual / Romantic Orientation: Heterosexual, Pan-romantic
Gender / Pronouns: Cis female, She/Her
Relationship Status: Single
Species: Natural born witch, but she’s just discovered this
MBTI: INFJ
Occupation: Barista at Myriad Cafe while she works on her debut screenplay (aspiring film writer)
Current Neighborhood: Ashville
Length of Residency in Astoria: About a month now, she’s very much a newcomer
tw: racism, drug addiction, foster system abuse, abuse in multiple forms
Dahlia was born in the east coast of the US to pretty much a single father.
Her mother was a heroin addict, who she hasn’t seen since she was 2, though she can barely remember her. Dahlia was mostly raised by her aunt and father until she was 9 when the courts decided he wasn’t making enough income as a single father, though he was trying his hardest.
They basically threw Dahlia into the foster system until her aunt was able to gain custody of her when she was 14. Before her aunt gained custody, Dahlia went from foster home to foster home, where she was mistreated/abused physically and emotionally. This is something Dahlia hasn’t told anyone, not even her aunt. She still displays some signs of PTSD due to this.
When she was 21, her father (a black man, there’s some racial prejudice involving the court system) was framed for a crime he didn’t commit and was sentenced to 12 years in prison without barely a glance at the evidence.
Dahlia used to visit her father regularly in prison where they’d have 10-15 minute conversations. So one day just prior to her move, she starts talking to her father about some dreams she’s had and some instances of “strange occurrences”.
These strange occurrences are pretty much her magic showing up in various ways, but without realizing it’s actual magic. She hasn’t used her power all her life so it’s somewhat ‘suppressed’ and kinda rusty??
Her father and aunt haven’t used their power due to fear. Even though it’s 2020, they still feel that sense of paranoia any time they think of bringing up the truth to Dahlia or even casting a simple spell. Though her aunt has done it once now and then for small things and in hiding.
So, while Dahlia’s visiting her father in prison this one afternoon, their conversation time is up and as he’s being escorted back, he calls out ‘Nova Pangaea’.
Dahlia knows about it, of course, so she goes to her aunt and tells her about her dad having mentioned it, as well as how she found it odd and random. With a sigh, her aunt pretty much opens up about their family history and what/who they actually are. This is when Dahlia learns she’s descended from a long line of voodoo witches and that she’s got some extended family in Nova Pangaea.
The reason her father and aunt are still in the US is because they're both low income and live in a very low income neighborhood so they just don't have the funds to afford to move. So Dahlia’s plan is to move her aunt out when she can afford it, as well as her father when he’s out of prison.
So basically, she’s been living in a brownstone apartment in Ashville, working at a cafe while she finishes her debut screenplay. She’s moved to Nova Pangaea to potentially find her extended family as well as learn about her family history and her own powers/identity.
Possible Connections:
If you have any ideas that aren’t written below, please don’t hesitate to reach out. I’m a big plotter and I love angst and tension and all that juicy stuff so definitely don’t be shy! Let me have it fgdfg 👀👀👀
a brand new friend that for some reason feels like she’s known this person forever. maybe it’s cause they’re really similar, maybe it’s cause they feel the same way about things and move about the world like two peas in a pod, whatever it is, dahlia knows immediately that she can trust them and being herself around them comes pretty easy.
a witch who visits the cafe dahlia works at often, they find one another intriguing and when they discover dahlia’s a sort of ‘witch-in-training’, they decide to help a girl out and teach her how to control her powers/use them.
a vampire who dahlia’s a little weary of, cause although she knows they exist, it’s still just a little weird being around them cause she’s only heard stories and vampires make her think of Queen of the Damned and Lestat. anyway, who’s she to deny the romanticism of it all with all. that. history?!
a werewolf, shapeshifter, ghost, etc. who has the same connection as the vampire one above, minus the history aspect but just all the ‘woah, an actual insert supernatural being’, kinda weird, kinda scary, kinda cool and what not
dahlia’s a writer, a screenwriter, in particular and it’d be cool if she had some film career friends, actors, directors, other writers and so on. she’s totally unknown at the moment but is working on her debut film. it’d be neat to have some connections, if ya know what I mean.
extended family through dahlia’s father side (more info in her bio above about this), this would obviously have to be plotted out quite a bit if they’re more recent, ie: cousin, uncle, etc.
