â˝ [ diana silvers, she/her, cis female ] âž [ drew bishop ] has lived in [ the waterhole ] for [ her whole life ] now. the [ 24 ] year old [ untriggered werewolf ] is a [ member ] of the [ hellhounds ]. but they also make an honest earning as a [ gas station attendant ] for [ the gas station ]. truthfully, they remind me of [ mud splattered across white converse, sinking sharp teeth into sickly sweet red candy, scraped knees bleeding through denim jeans ]. whenever itâs their turn to be the getaway driver, they blast [death wish by LĂLĂ ] on full volume. âźâź ooc info; chester, 25, they/them, gmt+10.
BASICS
Name: Drew Bishop
Gender: Cis Female, she/her
Species: Untriggered Werewolf
Age: Twenty-four
Sexuality: Bisexual
Gang: Hellhounds
Occupation: Gas Station Attendant
PERSONALITY
Myers-Briggs: ENTJ ( â Commander â )
Zodiac Sign: Aries Sun, Gemini Moon
Four Temperaments: Choleric
The Enneagram Types: The Achiever
HISTORY
Drew was born the youngest of the Bishop family. That would have been her own curse to bring to the family. Born out of order, born too young. Born at the wrong time three years too early, she broke the pattern. Perhaps thatâs why she always felt so estranged in her family.
Her siblings did the best they could to raise her after their parents died on the year of her 7th birthday. Just old enough to remember them in fleeting moments, brief memories that learn to escape her over the years. Replaced with the comfort of her older siblings.
There was always a divide within Drew, something soft wanting to be loved. Parchment pale skin, tender bruises as she stumble from her bike. Crawling into her brother's bed those nights she canât sleep, and nightmares of sharp teeth swallow her whole.
A brother sheâd see as this replacement parent he tried his best to be.
A brother sheâd lash out at, resentment for the way she never got to be them. Envious. Those were days where she let those emotions that claw at her insides, bubble over and spill into the air around them.Â
It was never something she understood, why she would always feel like she was never quite a Bishop. Never belonging, even in her own family. Why she never got to experience the same things her siblings did.
Her whole life, she felt as if she was fighting to prove her place. Especially to Nathan Bishop. A man who would always be just out of reach to her. A man always wrapped up in her siblings' lives, but didnât care enough to even be disappointed in her. To glance in her direction. It was like she was invisible. And it gnawed at her, constantly. Why wasnât she enough?
She would have given anything to be given his guidance, no matter how desperately she seemed to fight for it.
School was a place Drew got to come to life, a world that was hers to mold and shape. Lacquer glossed lips, and glittered eyelids- she learnt what it was like to be in control for the first time in her life. Or close to it.Â
Sheâd join the cheer squad, make it up to captain by her final years. Sheâd find herself lost at parties, sneaking out in the middle of the night, only to crawl back into bed in the early hours of the morning after she was certain her siblings heard her. This world was her domain, everyone wanted to sink their teeth into her- and she loved that feeling. She loved that control.
Leaving town was never something he had dreams of, which meant her youth came and went. Her school graduated, and sheâd end up staying in her same job working at the Gas Station on the edge of town.Â
Despite her first job being at the bike shop, it was only a matter of time until she felt the need to somewhere other than constantly around her family all the time.Â
What she wanted the most was what Arden has, to have been shaped- molded into the perfect leader. But she always knew she was never as malleable, she was never something so willing to be handled.
By now she should have triggered, at least it would put that clawing creature inside her to rest. The one that keeps her up at night and catches in the back of her throat. The constant stirring that never lets her know peace.
But god, sheâs afraid. And sheâd never admit it.
Sheâs always biting off more than she can chew. Always confident sheâs ready for a situation, only for her to need help getting herself out. But most days she refuses to call for help.
 The motorcycle came to a stop with a sputter, and Arden stepped off of it with a stumble in his step. The whiskey had just started to take effect, but it would leave as soon as it came. Damn his tolerance, and damn the healing of his body against any threat even if he tried his best to welcome it. Heâd preferred to ride it out with the wind cutting into his cheeks, let his skin burn just as much as his throat had under the sip of that amber fire, but he hadnât taken into account just how far heâd gone his last ride.Â
As he removed his helmet, he saw that it wasnât a trick. He knew that voice and that silhouette in front of him.
âIâll be back for family breakfast, Drew, donât you worry,â He muttered, teeth gritted together as he watched her fill the motorcycle. He didnât want to involved his siblings in his whereabouts outside of Hellhound duties, and even then, he kept the details vague. This was personal, but she didnât need to know that.
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Tacky gum between her lips, a faint strawberry scent mixing with the gasoline and oil spills. Thereâs something sweet on the nightâs air, there always seemed to be out here. Despite the decay that gets kicked to roadside, and picked at during this hour of night by those creatures that stick to the shadows. But even through the saccharine night, the alcohol on Ardenâs breath is unmissable. But that wasnât different to any other day, not that itâs something Drew would ever come to voice. Even now as she witnesses her brother stumble to his step.
Her foot stomps down in an almost childish protest, as she pops a bubble between her lips. âItâs too late to be going anywhere.â As if Drew hadnât snuck out of the house at this hour countless times before, but that was besides the point. The point was she was curious as to where her brother was going. On his bike. Drunk. At this hour.
location: bishopâs bike shop
status:Â @chronicxwanderlustââ
Oil slicked floors, and dust coating every bench top in site. Some tools rusted, lying untouched in decaying boxes for as long as she was a child. Once with her soft hands reaching to touch everything in site, playing with the same tools as she watched her family use. On those days she couldnât be left home alone, too young to care for herself- with siblings too young to have to parent her.
Not an ounce of the bike shop had changed, she was certain even old pictures with their parents would line up the exact same. Her once white shoes now caked with mud and oil stained gently kick at Grahamâs side to get her brotherâs attention. âItâs such a boys club in here.â
The morning air hadnât found the warmth of a beating sun yet, that lingers just on the horizon. Mornings was always one of those times where Drew felt like the world was in her hands, empty and silent with her breaths deep and drawn. Even through the main streets of town, a tumbleweed passing as the only sign of life. That was except for the poor souls who were forced with the unfortunate task of opening business at this hour.
Perhaps it was because she wasnât looking, or paying much attention at all after ordering her coffee. Or the sheer fact that she didnât expect another person to be in sight, but she stepped back and stumbled right into another. âWatch it.â
The days had been slow recently, and the nights even slower. Moth beating against shop front windows, fluttering towards the glowing light. Coyotes cross the long stretch of road where no other life seems to stir. She watches them, eye lights catching off the reflection of the giant illuminating light that just says âGASâ.
Bored, resting chin against her hand on the counter just waiting, sheâs thankful to see a customer pull into bays outside. Gum popped between her glossed lips, she makes her way outside, grabbing the pump to start filling the otherâs vehicle. âWhere are you off to this time of night?â
