* ◟ : 〔 kristine froseth , cis woman + she/her 〕 damn ! is that GABRIELA “GABBY” WESTBROOK ? last i heard they were making a name for themselves as a BARTENDER for THE RED LION . i heard that the TWENTY-SIX year old is a bit MERCURIAL but can also be QUICK-WITTED . sometimes you can hear them humming GOD SAVE OUR YOUNG BLOOD by BØRNS & LANA DEL REY , though people mostly associate them with BLUE BUBBLE GUM, THE ARROGANCE OF YOUTH, & EXCESSIVE ENERGY .
(TRIGGER WARNINGS for mental illness, alcoholism, dysfunctional family stuff, & very brief mention of religion)
BASIC STATS.
Full Name: Gabriela Michelle Westbrook
Nickname(s): Gabby, Gabs
Gender: Cis woman
Pronouns: She/Her
Age: 26
Birthday: (tba)
Zodiac: (tba)
Ethnicity: White (Scandinavian, German)
Nationality: American
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
Religion: Agnostic
Hometown: Baltimore, Maryland
Current Residence: Queens, New York City
Education: Three semesters at Baltimore City Community College
Spoken Languages: English, Danish
PHYSICAL.
Height: 5′6
Tattoos: (tba)
Piercings: Two in her left lobe, three in her right lobe
Scars: (tba)
FAMILY.
Mother: Helen Foughner (48)
Father: Dennis Westbrook (50)
Step-Mother: Francine Westbrook née Harvey (42)
Siblings: Conan Westbrook (16, half-brother), Guilliana Westbrook (14, half-sister)
Pet(s): A turtle called Mrs. Washburn, named after her seventh grade math teacher
PERSONALITY.
Pos. Traits: Enterprising, artistic, quick-witted, energetic, perceptive, self-sufficient, intelligent
Neg. Traits: Reckless, mercurial, childish, sarcastic, unorganized, pretentious, indecisive, self-indulgent, flaky
Likes: Fresh fruit, candy, bubble gum, weed, warm summer nights, swimming, boxed wine, rollercoasters, experimental cinema, milkshakes, Lord of the Rings, sitting on surfaces that aren’t meant to be sat on, quesadillas, poetry, sex, playing devil’s advocate
Dislikes: Sports, ice cubes in soft drinks, ranch dressing, her middle name, Harry Potter, being lectured, taking things seriously, talking about emotions, her dad, her half-siblings, steamed vegetables, the human race
Quirks: Always has pocket change amounting to no more than a dollar or two, weirdly good at guessing amounts of things (e.g. pennies in a jar), weirdly bad at directions, doodles on napkins and receipts, speaks in metaphors, can solve a Rubik’s cube, cracks her back and knuckles loudly and in public, uses hot sauce on everything, both afraid of and obsessed with the idea of intimacy
Fears: Ending up like her mom, never becoming comfortable with being an adult, having no direction in life, disappointing people, being abandoned
BACKGROUND.
Her dad was an alcoholic when she was little. He left Gabby and her mom when she was about eight years old and when she was fifteen found out he’d gotten sober, become a Born-Again Christian, and started another family
She has a half-brother and a half-sister from her dad’s second marriage
Her mom has a major depressive disorder that constantly fluctuates. Gabby had to do a lot of taking care of herself when she was little, especially after her dad left, because her mom often couldn’t get out of bed
Acted out a lot in school and was arrested when she was 19 for trying to steal a couple hundred dollars worth of clothes from a Nordstrom with her friend. Her mom had to bail her out and she ended up with six months of supervised probation
Did three semesters at a community college after that before deciding she had no idea what she wanted to do and that school wasn’t for her, and at 20 moved to New York with her boyfriend at the time
Like with most of her relationships, he ended up being an asshole, and also like most of her relationships, it didn’t last long. She spent a few months couch surfing with friends until she found a small apartment in Queens with a roommate she found on Craigslist
Goes back and forth feeling like her mom isn’t her responsibility and being consumed with guilt for leaving her in Baltimore. She visits her a couple times a year but she doesn’t like being back there
Bartends at the Red Lion and has no idea what she wants to do with her life
WANTED CONNECTIONS
Co-workers at the Red Lion or any other bar tbh, she’s definitely bar hopped
A few besties
Weed smoking buddies and a dealer
Someone who tries to parent her
Someone who’s super chaotic with her and encourages all her poor choices
Some exes (would pretty much all have been toxic in some way, maybe ONE that wasn’t and probably ended with them breaking up with her bc she’s like dating a tornado)
Someone she absolutely idolizes and lowkey tries to emulate
Enemies baybeeeeee
Gimme like a cop who’s caught her stealing or smth before or just like has an Eye On Her u know
Would love someone she used to be rly close with and they hate each other now
Also would love the opposite, someone that started off on a bad foot with her but now they’re close
Frenemies!!! Friends only when they’re drunk vibe
Apartment building neighbors that she’s probably annoyed
Maybe one neighbor who kinda sees through her bullshit tho and lowkey is rly helpful like helped her go down to the basement when she blew a fuse or smth
There weren’t many people who were able to keep speed with Valentine, but Gabby was one of them. It was as if Lucifer himself had breathed the same air of defiance and spontaneity into them. The way she snatches a drink, simply because she could, downing it and discarding it as if it were a simple, refreshing gulp of water; It really drives home her affection for the girl. “Please, when have I ever bought my own drinks?” The answer was never, and that sure as hell wasn’t about to change now. With swift, dainty fingers, the redhead slips a tab from its hiding spot to delicately drops it on the tip of her tongue, allowing it to dissolve and dwindle slowly into her system.
“Shall we scope out our prey?” Idly, her body begins falling victim to the pounding music, her hips effortlessly finding the rhythm as umber hues start to work the crowd. Sweaty, nearly naked frames move like a sea of waves, gliding under the twinkling multi-colored stars. Scanning the surface, she settles on a small group making their way towards a makeshift bar opposite the DJ booth. “Them.” Plenty of pickings, plus they looked like the type that would enjoy the attention.
.
Val has an eye for losers — the misogynistic men at bars and clubs who are so up their own asses they’d never guess they’re being played by two pretty girls, who only ever accept it at face value that women want them, when in reality there’s very few who’d ever be interested in anything more than their money. The ones Val points out now could have almost been considered cute if their personalities weren’t likely so abhorrent.
Indeed, all she and Val have to do is sidle up to the bar, tilt their heads back and fake some tinkling laughter, and suddenly Gabby feels a hand on her lower back and smells the unmistakable scent of expensive cologne to her right. She’d have liked to punch him in the throat, but instead she leans into the touch with a free drink on her mind.
“Ladies,” he says, while his friend harasses Val. They look like the sort of men who were probably in a fraternity in college. “You look like you could use a couple of drinks.”
“Desperately,” says Gabby, with an exaggerated pout. “I should warn you, though, my friend and I have very expensive taste.” She looks him up and down. “I’m not so sure you can help us.”
“That’s a very long winded way of saying you don’t like that man’s hat.” He replied after he blew the cigarette smoke from his mouth. “I’m not sure any of my thoughts are ever hinged.” Maybe he shouldn’t admit that to her, after all they were just making small talk, right? “So does that mean werewolves are a total myth too?” He entertained, obviously knowing the answer already. Or so he thought.
.
Gabby merely rolls her eyes, bored by the reduction of her musings to the comment about the hat, but she decides not to correct him because he seems like the type who chooses to be boring. “Oh?” she says airily, doubtful of the claim. Again — too boring, probably, for anything truly unhinged to be going on up there. “Um, no,” Gabby scoffs, and because she’s feeling extra turbulent today, she plucks the cigarette right out of the man’s hand and takes a long drag. “Werewolves are real, I don’t know what planet you’re living on. If werewolves aren’t real, what exactly do you call Jared Kushner? Still waiting for evidence that he’s ever been outside during a full moon.”
Boba in one hand, a lock of hair twirling around her finger in the other, she listens as Gabby not only rambles off her latests nonsense, but berates a man in the same breath. “Gabby, you can’t say shit like that, it’s how you get dragged into a van and never heard from again.” She chastises but with a light laugh, trying to keep her voice down. The man wanders off and she just rolls her eyes, setting her drink down as she props her feet. up. “But, no I haven’t been like… Truly out of the ordinary lately.” She shrugs, trying to think if anything exciting had actually popped up. “I was offered an audition at some gentlemen’s club, that’s about as spicy as it gets.” She snorts. “Might take it, might be good money?” She muses, though other than the possibility of more money, there wasn’t any real interest there.
.
“Oh my god,” Gabby deadpans, “Reagan, please, you know it’s my dream to get kidnapped by a man in a panama hat. It’s so callous of you to use that against me.” As the man starts walking away, she reaches right into her own tea, plucks out a boba bead, and chucks it at his head, but he’s already too far for the aim to be true. Mirroring Reagan, Gabby puts her feet up on the coffee table as well and goes a bit farther with it, intentionally knocking a book to the floor belonging to someone sitting nearby, who is too absorbed in his conversation to notice. “Wait, what?” she laughs, turning a raised brow on Reagan, “seriously? That’s hysterical, of course you have to do it. Bet you’d make killer tips. Those nasty old geezers have literally nothing else to spend their money on, it’s probably been thirty years since any woman could stifle her vomit long enough to go near them without being paid an exorbitant sum for the mental and physical health risks involved.”
status: closed
location: outside a bar in harlem
for: @domcarrizos
Getting kicked out of bars isn’t new; what is new this time is the specific situation, which is that the dude Gabby had been hanging out with had gotten super wasted and ditched (the bar and Gabby) without paying, and now she’s being held responsible even though this was only her second time hanging out with the moron. She almost can’t believe her eyes when, in the middle of this middle-aged man yelling in her face about the hundred-something dollars she owes, she spots Dom-from-the-jazz-bar walking past. In spite of the warning she’d gotten from him last week, he’d also been pretty decent to her in comparison to most other men she’s ever known, so she decides to take the risk of involving him.
“Dom!” she calls out, praying that he’ll not only remember her but go along with it. Turning back to the bar owner (or maybe it’s just a manager...she can’t remember), she says, “I paid you what I owe you, now leave me alone or my big scary friend here will totally kick your ass.” And in what seems like a completely disproportionate reaction, the man stops yelling and looks at Dom with obvious subservience and maybe a little fear. Jaw clenching, he mumbles a quick and bitter “never mind” before going back into the bar. “Whoa,” Gabby comments dryly, “that was easy.”
“I see.” Is all that leaves his mouth. He is calm. He is cool. He is collected. There is not amount of threats or unmatched apathy that could phase him right now. So Kai takes a seat on the toad stool and rolls over to the computer, asking some general question before pulling on the gloves and rolling back over to her. They’d need a tetanus shot more than likely, but his CNA was getting that prepped right now. “Alright, let’s take a peek.” He hums, moving back some of the gauze.
It’s a nasty cut. The doctor might actually want to stitch this one up given the depth. Muscle, adipose, blood, but his face remains clean and calm as he assesses the wound. “No amputation needed. I am going to clean this, and then once we’ve got you stitched up we’ll get you a tetanus booster too, okay?” He puts the gauze back, standing up and disposing of his current gloves, resanitizing and then grabbing some cleaning supplies from the cupboards and prepping those, making quick work to also draw up the lidocaine, leaving it on the mayo stand as he pulls it over and takes a seat. “Hopefully this didn’t ruin any of your plans tonight.” Small talk. Some like it some don’t, but he’d find out real quick what she preferred.
.
“Whatever,” Gabby says again, not really bothered by the idea of the stitches or the tetanus shot, even though she’s pretty sure that’s supposed to be one of the ones with a big needle that actually hurts. Physical pain is pretty much a joke, though, if you put it up against other kinds of pain, like the kind where you’re constantly remembering how ultimately alone you are in the world, or how you’re probably unlovable going by the amount of people who have left you. I’ll take seventeen tetanus shots if you can make someone love me, she doesn’t say. Instead she pulls out her phone and opens the Kim Kardashian game.
Drawn into a simulated photoshoot with her B-list celebrity, it takes a second for the nurse’s words to penetrate her brain. “Oh, it annihilated them,” Gabby fibs, setting her phone down next to her, the game instantly forgotten in favor of something potentially more stimulating. “Yeah, I had, like, so much going on tonight. Anyway, how many stitches you think?” She tilts her head, contemplating the large gash in her leg that the nurse is currently cleaning, wondering if it’ll leave a scar. “In fourth grade my friend cut her leg open on some rocks we were climbing and got seventy-five stitches, it was so cool.”
“Arwen, my sweet little kumquat, tonight we toss caution to the wind-” as if that wasn’t their M.O any other time they decided to terrorize the streets. “-and lose ourselves in the lunacy of the symphony.” The ear-shattering beat could be felt underneath their feet, a dungeon of strobing lights, dingy dank walls, and neon glow sticks awaited the pair. The rave summoned them deeper into its stronghold, daring them to swallow the tiny beads of joy slipped into the waistband of her skirt.
Hand in hand, a swirling steel staircase takes the beauts plunging into the underbelly of the metropolis. The music quickly becomes deafening, a sea of technicolor conjuring in the distance as the redhead all but skips towards their nirvana. A doorman greets them just before they’re able to pass through heaven’s gates, but a secret word is shared and the two fallen angels are allowed access to Eden.
“Drinks?!” Valentine calls out, spinning to flash her partner in crime a kittenish grin.
This is truly one of Gabby’s favorite places to be in the whole world; clubs are like another dimension, one full of sweaty bodies and epileptic lights and music so loud you can’t think. The molly already in her system makes her feel at once insubstantial and totally connected to everything around her, a living paradox, and she’s more than happy to surrender herself over to Val’s will as she drags her below the city into another world.
“Yes!” she shouts, turning herself sideways to squeeze through a group of people in their way. One of them is holding a drink she can’t make out in the dark but Gabby snatches it anyway and they’re already gone before her unwitting victim knows what happened. She downs the whole thing and throws the cup into the crowd, heart thumping in time with the bass line she can feel vibrating beneath her feet. “But let’s make other people buy them, I feel like running a scam tonight.”
status: open
location: anywhere you want! a bar, a museum, a park, a building lobby, a store, a mall, etc!
“You know, it’s a total myth that the freaks come out on the full moon. Yeah, it’s actually just after the full moon, during the waning gibbous phase,” says Gabby, and as if in emphasis blows a large blue bubble with her gum until it pops. This claim has no basis in either reality or fantasy — she’s made it up on the spot, as she’s wont to do, after having heard some rando talking about the moon’s waning gibbous phase earlier and taking a liking to the term. “That’s why he’s out tonight,” she points to a man wearing a panama hat, who notices and gives her a dirty look. “What about you? Have you been having any freakish thoughts lately? Feeling any urges to do something unhinged? You can tell me.”
it easy to stare at them for a moment, then let his usual charm drop. a glimpse at the man behind the mask generally let them know that backing out wasn’t an option ❛ don’t run , that hurts my feelings. i thought we were having such a good time together ❜ he already did the damage, leaving them to crawl their way back home from the hidden dark alley behind the golden lily. ❛ .. you’re going to crawl faster than that ~ ❜ he sings in mockery to the running steps of his fallen victim. there’s something hidden inside of him that enjoys walking his victims to death. in the midst of approaching the male on the floor, and getting ready to give him his last blow, his ride with an old familiar face in the driver seat stops him. BEEP BEEP BEEP ! ❛ tsk , why do you always ruin my fucking fun … ❜ he stares them down, before leaving his victim on the floor and making his way towards the passenger seat of the vehicle. ❛ you couldn’t wait for me huh ? ❜
Sometimes Gabby can’t quite tell if it’s her that attracts chaos, or if chaos is actually the one attracting her. Either way, it feels very apropos that she stumbles across such an unhinged scene on her walk home from work. The man speaking sounds literally deranged and she only catches a short glimpse of someone inside the alley gaining their feet and stumbling away as fast as they can. There’s a small thrill of fear that comes from the understanding that she’s probably just witnessed something she shouldn’t have, but it’s eclipsed by curiosity and the arrogant, juvenile notion that she’s ultimately untouchable.
“Whoa,” she says, sucking on her cigarette as she surveys the scene. She looks to the car and then back to the man, whom it appears only paused in his relentless pursuit because of the honking. “My ex-boyfriend used to do that to hookers in GTA five. Your intimidation techniques are a little rusty, though — I can teach you if you want.”
open to: all !!
location: New York Presbyterian Hospital, evening/late night/early morning take ur pick
Typically lucky enough to be vetted into the dayshift, his rotation call for night shift killed him every time. Falling back into the routine was second nature, it was reminding his body he had to stay awake that was the hard part. So he takes a second before he enters the patient room, sucking in a deep breath to put on his work voice and the perfect gentle smile before squirting some hand sanitizer into his palm and entering the room.
“Hey there, friend, my name’s Kai I’m gonna be helping take care of you tonight.” He greets, setting down the vile of lidocaine on the mayo stand and rubbing the sanitizer between his palms and his hands. “Looks like you’ve got quite the injury, is it okay if I take a look at it?” He nods to the bloodied gauze covering the area before going for some gloves.
This isn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence; some of the staff at the NewYork-Presbyterian hospital’s emergency room actually know her face at this point because Gabby has been here many times, both for herself and for her friends. It’s the inevitability that comes with constantly doing dumb shit because she’s bored, or because she’s angry, or high, or trying to impress someone. Tonight, it’s both of the latter: a little bump of coke and a junkyard meant tumbling off a pile of trash and lacerating her leg on a rusty old quarter-panel on a decomposing Chevy Sonic. Looks cool, feels terrible, although the coke in her system has at least numbed her to the worst of it. She likes the look of the blood all over her legs and staining the ends of her sundress.
“Whatever,” she says, affecting a bored tone of voice and leaning back on her hands on the ER bed, as if this is all sort of routine and time-consuming. “Just don’t amputate my leg while I’m not looking, alright? I’ll totally sue you. My dad’s a lawyer.”
𝐖𝐈𝐏𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒, hands decorated in gold rings clashed against the bar’s surface with an exasperated sigh, “ no- not olives, the other one. ” legs meticulously crossed while an emerald green blazer hung behind her. a moment away from her real job to focus on what she’s truly passionate about. eyes behind cat-like glasses, rosalía reveals a pout as the bartender stares with knitted eyebrows. hands outreach towards the next seat over, bearing an apologetic smile as a greeting, “ so sorry to disturb you, but just- what are those little, sweet fruit things called ? the ones you usually have with the drink. ”
She’s waiting for someone who won’t come. That unknowable, inconceivable stranger who — were this a book, or a bad movie — would feel not like a stranger at all but the home she’s always wanted in another person. It won’t happen because it doesn’t exist and she knows it, believes it with her whole bitter heart that there’s no such thing, but sometimes it’s fun (not fun...satisfying) to sit at random bars and lounges in the city and look at people and wonder if maybe she’s wrong. Especially ones like this, where the patrons look like they have more money than Gabby’s ever had in her whole life put together, and she can pretend to be one of them and laugh until she’s crying (really crying, not crying from laughing) when they see through the guise and kick her out because she can’t pay.
“Cherries,” Gabby interrupts, though the woman who’d asked had been speaking to someone on her other side. Everything about her is intriguing, from her gold rings to her expensive-looking blazer, and Gabby is a moth to the proverbial flame. With an audacity bred into her by the lack of any rigid structure growing up, she reaches over the bartop while the bartender isn’t looking and plucks a cherry from a bowl of them. “Maraschino cherries,” she amends, “they bleach actual cherries until they’re all gross and yellow and flavorless and then put food coloring in them to make them neon red and soak them in a bunch of sugar.” She pops it in her mouth and plucks the bud off the end. “Super gnarly. Want one?”
