All beauty is temporary

Jane Porter, 21. Daughter of Archimedes Quentin James Wallace Porter III (Marquess of Ever After). Art student at Ever After University and member of the court of Her Royal Highness Queen Margaret Yensid, the first of her name. Long may she reign. This RPer took the Roleplay Anti-Hate Pledge

[ladyjane-porter-blog]

“I’m sorry,”

[ladyjane-porter-blog]

george-ferdinand:

“Oh, no its not that, dear. I was just wondering why you’re painting here. Is it inspirational to you ma’am?”

“You could say that,” she shrugged, straightening her spine briefly to stretch before resuming her awkward posture before the canvas. “People are fascinating to watch. The slightest head tilt from a single person can mean any number of things and can be as valuable to a painter as the right brush.”

[ladyjane-porter-blog]

misslaylapalmer:

“It’s very warm!” Layla grinned. “Perfect for swimming.”

"Oh...” she said, eyeing it more than a little warily. She didn’t know the first thing about swimming and even if she wasn’t absolutely terrified of the prospect, she had no appropriate garments with her in which to change. Perhaps it as a shame; the girl seemed to be enjoying herself. Jane would just have to use her imagination. 

“I’ll have to take your word for it, miss,” she said at last, sending a beaming smile to the girl.

[kim-wonshiks-blog]

[hnahooksman-deactivated20170614]

Somehow,

[ladyjane-porter-blog]

hnahooksman:

“Yes, but unless you have a list of names brought down by the Queen, or are here to confess your crimes and go straight to the noose, I fail to see what I can do for you, Miss.”

“I’m not here for you...?” she said, quite confused for the moment. “There’s a shortcut to where I’m going that happens to pass along here, sir.”

“Such arrogance. Do you always think the world revolves around you?”

[ladyjane-porter-blog]

henrycoulter:

As Henry noticed he’d hit someone, he immediately looked down to be sure that she was alright. He knew he was quite a large person and was a hazard to other people a lot of the time. Looking down at her, he pouted at her, hoping she really was alright. “I am so sorry, Miss. I didn’t mean to bump into you. I’m in a good mood this morning and sometimes I get distracted… actually I get distracted all the time.” He looked down at her with a kind smile. “Can I make it up to you somehow?”

Jane inhaled slowly through her nose, determined to not lose patience. It wasn’t his fault that he’d struck a still-healing and tender bruise on her shoulder when he’d smacked her. It wasn’t his fault that she hadn’t slept well the night before and was therefore a touch cranky. “It’s alright,” she said, forcing a small, yet polite smile onto her face. “No harm done, sir.”

“What uhm, what has you in such a chipper mood? If you don’t mind my asking, that is?” she asked, getting the distinct feeling that she’d asked this before of this man. Or maybe it’d just been another happy-go-lucky gentleman.

[ladyjane-porter-blog]

anastasia–moore:

“This may sounds weird, but do you know where I can buy a broken chandelier?”

"Broken? How odd. It uh, it's none of my business. Apologies, your highness. I think there'a a shoppe in town that might be able to help... oh what's it called... 'Something Emporium'?"

[ladyjane-porter-blog]

finn-bradshaw:

“What do you think it would be like to live on an island?  No people; just you and whatever might also be living there.”

“I think it would be lonely, sir. I’m used to being alone, but there’s a difference between being solitary and being completely isolated.”

[ladyjane-porter-blog]

“I’m sorry,”

“but is there a problem? You look like this is the first time you’ve seen an easel.”

[misslaylapalmer-blog]

“Beautiful day for a swim, wouldn’t you think?”

[ladyjane-porter-blog]

“I uh, I suppose it is. Is the water actually warm?”

[hnahooksman-deactivated20170614]

Somehow,

I find it hard to believe this is where you’re supposed to be right now.

[ladyjane-porter-blog]

Oh? Bu- but why? I was completely forthcoming in regards to my presence and reason. I wasn’t sneaking about, nor did I even try to pretend I was lost. I’ve done nothing to uh, to earn your suspicion.

[ladyjane-porter-blog]

henrycoulter:

Henry grinned brightly and spun around in circles. “The sun is shining. The sky is blue. The air is warm.” As he was spinning, he didn’t notice someone behind him and bumped into them, practically knocking them over, thanks to his size. “I am so sorry! Are you okay?”

That was one of the problems with going into town: you could never be sure who would be where, doing what. She noticed the happy man and determined right away that she would give him a wide berth. The last thing she needed was to be distracted from her purpose. What she wanted, however, didn’t seem to be spelled out for her in the cards. She was just passing by him when he erupted into a dizzying dance of spinning in circles which were getting ever closer to her. The next thing she knew, an arm had smacked into her and she was stumbling back, nearly falling over.

“Ye-yes, I believe so, though no thanks to you.”

[ladyjane-porter-blog]

veronica-peterson:

“Oh, um… yeah, you can sit down, I guess.”

“Oh thank-you! It’s so crowded today, normally I have no problem finding a seat of my own.”

[ladyjane-porter-blog]

Goal Within Reach || Task 002

He was getting away. Later, Jane would have to consider the implications and consequences of her actions on a deeper level. For now, she could only process the most basic meanings. For one, she had aided a suspect of a crime that was, at most, punishable by death. At the least, she would likely be imprisoned for her actions. At the worst… well, she’d led an okay life. It hadn’t been “great”, mind, and certainly not long, but it’d been decent and she’d lived longer than the doctors had thought. In her short time, she’d known love and happiness. She’d experienced loss and heartbreak. She knew success --

Her ears would be ringing for the rest of the day from the explosion of gunshot.

-- and she knew failure.

It was baffling, how things could change so quickly, like in the blink of an eye. One minute, she’d been strolling along the perimeter of the woods, minding her own business, and in the next, she was locked in a struggle for control of a gun, of all things.

Her head felt simultaneously squeezed and enlarged. It was like someone or something was pressing on all sides of her skull, pushing ever harder as if trying to crack it open. At the same time, however, it was like her brain was actually expanding -- like at any moment it would burst from her skull like the foam from a shaken fizzy drink bottle.

Jane stared at her palms, stained red with the sticky, still drying blood. No. No. They couldn’t be. How many times had she washed and scrubbed? A curtain in the form of eyelids slid over her eyes and when they re-opened, all she saw was the clean porcelain of her palms. Even still, the feeling lingered. Even now, she could smell it. Rust and salt -- they were seared into her nostrils and danced on her tastebuds. She grabbed another washcloth and began once more wiping her hands on it. Still, the sensation lingered -- that thick fluid, thicker than water and sticky as hot syrup. Jane stuck the washcloth under the faucet and held it there to soak up as much water as it could physically hold. She squeezed it, like she wanted to squeeze the memory from her mind, but the water gushing out was like the blood that shot out when the man coughed.

The gun went off and Jane screamed, jumping away. Her hands snapped over her ears as if pulled by magnets.

She scrubbed her palms for what felt like ages. She couldn’t see the blood, but she could feel it. She dug her fingernails in through the cloth as she scoured her palms and the little canyons that ran over them. She stuck the cloth under the running water once more, and tried to wait. It was torture. Every moment that her hands remained sullied, the more it ate at her. She washed and she scrubbed between her fingers and under her nails, but it did no good. Her hands looked clean. They were becoming raw and they hurt, but she could feel it. It was still there, no matter what she did! God, why?

She chanced a look up, at the man who had been running. For a brief, shining moment, Jane’s heart soared. He wasn’t in sight. He’d gotten away. A life was spared. But the moment ended, just as they all did. Just as they had to for the natural progression of time.

Her eyes watered from the pain. Her hands stung and burned. The flow of blood through her body roared in her ears. Her headache was seriously considering becoming a migraine of epic proportions. Already, the lights seemed to be burning too brightly. Failure, despair, and shame burned through her very soul.

The man was crumpled on the ground and a sick gurgling sound limped through the air.

“STOP IT!” she screamed, dropping the cloth into the water and clamping her hands over her ears, her eyelids squeezing shut. It did no good. The body was still lying there, struggling for breath -- struggling for life. Jane wailed and crouched down on the bathroom floor, the cold marble seeping into her skin in the reverse of the blood that had been seeping out from the man’s body. Her muscles contracted as a silent scream contorted her features. She couldn’t breath and she couldn’t stop. Tears streamed down her cheeks and every so often her voice broke through the barrier, creating a high-pitched, yet quiet, whine of despair.

She ran to him, stumbling along the way several times and then finally collapsing at his side. Blood trickled from his mouth, but the real problem was his chest. A large splash of red was growing on his left side, right where Jane was sure a lung was located. Every breath he took (or tried to take) was a wet gurgle. “No,” she whimpered, laying a hand on his forehead. “No!” she placed her other hand on his chest. Putting pressure on the wound was supposed to help, wasn’t it? A small voice of reason told her it was useless. The man was a goner. Shot in the lung from the back, and blood pouring out the front? It’d gone clean through him -- he would be dead in minutes. Still, Jane placed her palms over the wound and pressed as hard as she could. She was probably going to break one of his ribs at this rate.

Air finally whooshed into her lungs with a strangled-sounding gasp and she relaxed just enough to roll on her back. The lights of the bathroom seared through her eyelids and the hard floor made the ache in her head that much worse.

It’d been an accident. That was not just a defence, it was the truth. But it was also the truth that if she hadn’t interfered, if she hadn’t tried to stop him, the man would still be alive. In the end, he had been a thief -- the evidence had been found not even a metre from his corpse. In all likelihood, he would have been sentenced to death anyway. But his last moments wouldn’t have involved staring into Jane’s eyes with a look of betrayal and a plea for help. She wouldn’t have had to gaze into the eyes of a dying man and know that she had a hand in his demise -- that his death was her fault.

“I was just trying to do the right thing,” she’d pleaded with him. She wanted forgiveness. She wanted understanding. She wanted to know that she wasn’t a murderer. “I was trying to help.”

But like so many other times, Jane failed.

She would always fail.

[clyde-jenner-blog]

“Do you mind?”

[ladyjane-porter-blog]

clyde-jenner:

“He’s a thief and he’s running.” Clyde pushed Jane away and took aim again.  If he hit the thief in a leg, the young man would go down, stolen wallet likely flying out of his clenched hand.

“We all work hard to be where we are,” he muttered, “What makes you think you have the right to just snatch away what was earned?”  Clyde’s focus was trained on the running thief, narrowing down to what he could see down the barrel of his gun.

“Wait!” she cried, regaining her balance and throwing herself at Jenner and his gun. “He needs to stand trial and put up a defence! Maybe it’s all a misunderstanding! You can’t just kill him right away!”

[ladyjane-porter-blog]

Courted by Death || Self-para

She was perched high in the tree, in a very unladylike sort of way, with each leg dangling off either side of the branch. Her sketchbook was lying on her skirt, the fabric held taut and keeping the book from falling. A half-finished drawing of a squirrel was on the page, a nut in his hands (paws?). For the past several minutes however, Jane had been staring at the animal, her pencil touching her lips as her mind wandered.

What was a squirrel’s life?

Sleep. Eat. Chatter. Play. Her lips spread into a smile as another squirrel came running up to the first and sent the pair on a merry chase along the trunk of the tree and then to the next, and the next…

A laugh bubbled from Jane as she watched them. It was a foreign sound and she bit the end of her pencil to silence the noise. But oh! What fun! There had been many an afternoon where she had stared out over the palace grounds and watched children her age or older playing as those squirrels just had been. Jane had always held back and simply watched from a distance, fascinated. She’d been a sickly child, always commanded to stay in bed or at least in her room. Art had been her escape -- her way of bringing the outside to her.

She’d been in so much trouble the first time she had left the castle grounds on her own. She’d almost gotten away with it, though. That was what made it all so terribly upsetting. Jane had slipped away from her tutor in the gardens and managed to squeeze through a tiny little gap in the hedges, which had put her on the very edge of the forests. She’d gone no further that day. She’d been terrified of getting lost and of never being found. There was the additional fear that came from being told that it was especially dangerous for her.

“You’re a weak child, Jane, you can’t go outside!” “Maybe another day you can go outside, Jane. But not today, you’re already too weak and it will just make you sick.” “You’re sick, Jane. You need your rest. You need to get stronger, and then maybe you can explore the town. Another time, alright?”

And so Jane had huddled right outside the palace gardens, staring at the big, outside world. She wondered how far it extended. Kilometres and kilometres, it was said, but what was a kilometre? Just how many were in these forests? 10? 20? 50 kilometres? Maybe that -- 50 kilometres.

The excitement took a toll. She wasn’t out for very long before her eyes began to droop. The sun was warm on her shoulders and the breeze light. Her cheeks felt warmer than they should, however. They felt just like they did right before she was sent for days of bedrest. Scared that she would be in trouble for sneaking away, Jane stretched out at the foot of the hedge and slept.

She was feeling sleepy now, actually, much in that same way. The day wasn’t especially warm (she was feeling rather chilled, actually, sitting so still in the shade for so long), but her cheeks did feel warm and she was sleepy -- so very sleepy.

A doze was beginning to overtake her when she heard it. No, not heard it. There was nothing to hear. She noticed it. Sensed it. Her eyes, so heavy from the want of sleep, shot open. The squirrels were gone; how long ago, she couldn’t be sure. The birds were gone too. There were no chirpings, so songs, not even a battle cry could be heard in Jane’s vicinity, in stark contrast to the state of the forest only minutes before. It wasn’t right. It was eerie and it was unsettling and Jane didn’t like it -- not one bit.

She sat up straight and looked down. She knew that form immediately.

‘Don’t look up here. Don’t look up here. Don’t look, don’t look, please God, don’t look up here.’

She covered her mouth to muffle her breathing as she watched her “beloved” walk past. His gun was out and he was ready to shoot. His footsteps were deathly quiet, but the forest seemed to be able to feel his presence that day and fled. Even from up in her perch, Jane thought she could feel the aggravation and animosity rolling off of him in waves. It was probably just her imagination.

“Oh sweet Jane, all you lack you make up for in creativity, don’t you?”

She’d awoken that day, all those years ago, hours later, her cheeks still hot and a general feeling of weak shakiness overcoming her body. The sun wasn’t ready to set yet, but it wasn’t far off, that was for sure. It was with a jolt of panic that she’d scrambled to her feet and tried to sneak to her chambers. She’d nearly made it. She was so very close to the safety of her room when she was grabbed and held hostage by a fit of violent coughing. She’d been discovered by one of the servants and her parents summoned. She’d spent the next two weeks in her room, drawing, reading, and thinking of those forests she’d been too scared to enter. She wanted to touch them and study them. It was a torturous two weeks. By the time she was allowed out and into the rest of the castle, she had been quite sure that she was losing her mind.

She had snuck out again, of course. This time, she went into the woods. Not far, but far enough. Jane had found a tree that day. The branches were close together and looked, to a young Jane, much like a ladder. She’d read and heard of people climbing trees and without thinking, reached for the lowest branch available. It was still too high for her, so she jumped for it. On the third try, she finally caught onto it. It was rough and it scratched her palms, but she held on. The problem, however, was that she couldn’t pull herself up. She was weak and too small for her age. She kicked her feet for some reason, as if that would somehow help her get any further from the ground. Eventually she figured out that holding onto the branch and walking up the trunk got her onto the branch completely. After that, it was easy.

She went back every day for a while, until she could climb the tree as high as she wanted. It wasn’t that high, not at first, but she got better, with time. And then she’d met the boy. Just Tanner. She watched him climb -- he seemed much more of a natural at it than she could ever be, and so she tried to learn. She was a strange boy. He didn’t seem to know much about… well, anything, even though he was older than she was. Even still, she liked his company. He was nice to her, he taught her of the forests, and he was a good-looking boy (once you got past the dirt and mud). She looked forward to her afternoons with him. Until it happened.

She woke up with a raging fever -- the worst she could remember. When she wasn’t under layers of blankets and covers, she would shake violently with the worst chills of her young life thus far. She had no appetite at all and struggled just to sip the water and broths brought to her by her parents, doctors, and servants. She confessed to her outdoor adventures and they said that it all made sense -- that she had overexerted herself and brought on this illness with her stubborn and rebellious ways. The doctors told her parents that they needed to be more firm with her and to discipline her for such recklessness. She was scolded and she was lectured, but not punished. She was too tired, too sick, and too weak to do anything anyway. She was asleep for a long time. Every so often she would awake to find a nun or priest in her room, but usually there was just a doctor or her parents.

It was over a month before she was allowed out of her bed and another two weeks before she was permitted to leave her rooms. She was escorted at all times by either her parents, a servant, or a tutor, to make sure that she stayed within the castle walls. It was another month until she could go outside to the gardens. The first chance she got, she ran to the meeting place she had with the boy -- the trees with the marks on them, one with JP for Jane Porter and then JT for Just Tanner. She climbed as high as she could and waited eagerly for him to come. She kicked her feet in the empty air and relished the smell of pine, leaves, and warm dirt. The birds sang and the wind rustled the leaves and she waited. She found an abandoned bird’s nest a little higher above and picked out a pretty piece of old eggshell to look at while she waited. Mostly, she looked all over below her, searching for that mess of brown hair and that friendly smile with the dimples in the cheeks. But he never came. She went back the next day, and then next, but she never saw him again. It was like he was just a figment of her imagination, like she had just dreamed him up one day to pass her time in the woods.

Eventually, she stopped waiting for him. She explored the woods and looked for new things to draw. She memorised the trails and mastered the terrain. She climbed any and every tree she wanted, reaching heights that even some of the small critters didn’t try to ascend. She fell ill less and less and though her parents and tutors tried to stop her from going to the woods, they did seem to accept the inevitability of her making her way there.

Today, she was about as high up in the tree as she could imagine just about anyone getting. He couldn’t climb up to where she was sitting, she was pretty sure of that. But he could shoot her, and that was worse. And so, Jane stayed silent. She kept her hand over her mouth and forced herself to breath slowly and quietly. She watched as he walked past, stalking anything and everything that existed. She watched that man -- that creature of complete fear, pass beneath her and then disappear into the brush. ‘Complete fear’. That seemed right. It was his language, his presence, and his very being.

Just as she had been her whole life, Jane was being courted by death.

[ladyjane-porter-blog]

All those details || Task 001

Part I: The Basics

01. What is your full name? 

Jane Temperance Porter

02. Date and location of birth? 

December 16th in Winterwood Cottage (it’s a very unreasonable use of the word “cottage”).

03. Who are/were your parents? (Names, occupations, etc.)

My father is Archimedes Quentin Wallace Porter, PhD and technically Marquess of Ever After. He didn’t have to work, strictly speaking, but even so, he was a professor of Ecology for a long time at Ever After University. He retired a few years ago and now works as a private tutor for the children of court members and some of the upper class.

My mother, God rest her soul, was Charlotte Emily Porter, née Charles. She never worked, per sé, but she was a life-long member of the court. She died when I was 17.

04. Do you have any siblings? 

No, I do not. I wish that wasn’t true -- that I had a brother or even a sister, but it just didn’t work out that way.

05. Where do you live now, and with whom?

I live with over one hundred other people in the castle of Ever After. My family has had a wing to ourselves for several generations. It’s absolutely lovely. When I need even more solitude, I will stay in our ancestral home, Winterwood Cottage.

06. Write a full physical description of yourself. You might want to consider factors such as: height, weight, race, hair and eye color, style of dress, and any tattoos, scars, or distinguishing marks.

I’m a little below average in height and weight, always have been, actually. I have incredibly pale skin and medium-dark hair that waves and curls to my lower back. I have blue eyes that people say are a strange shape. They’re… small? Or slanted or something? My mouth is a little small, I’m told, and supposedly I smirk too much. I’ve overheard people saying that I have a “rat face”, which isn’t terribly nice to say. I dress modestly, most of the time, and I’m only permitted to wear skirts, dresses, and heels, which is a real bother when I want to go outdoors. I have no tattoos (to suggest such a thing!) and no significant scars, but my ears are pierced, as is the style.

07. Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses?

I have no allergies, but I was rather sickly as a child. I don’t really remember what I had - my parents tried to shelter me from it all. I’m prone to migraines, still, and sometimes if I try to do too much I find myself growing feverish and needing rest.

08. Are you right- or left-handed? 

I’m left-handed. My tutors always tried to make me use my right hand (because it’s “proper”), but I just couldn’t get used to it.

09. What does your voice sound like? 

I’m told it’s quiet and timid, but pleasant all the same.

10. What do you have in your pockets? 

I have… let’s see… a small pencil and eraser, my tiny pocket-sized sketchbook, and a key to Winterwood Cottage.

Part II: Growing Up

11. Did you enjoy school? 

I didn’t go to the standard public school, mind you. Even if I had been perfectly healthy, I would have received private lessons from court-approved tutors. That being said, I loved all of my lessons. It was wonderful hearing about the outside world, even if I so rarely got to experience it for myself.

12. Where did you learn most of your skills and other abilities? 

From my tutors or from watching other people do things. I love to sit in one of the cafes in town and watch the people go by. They’re all so fascinating.

13. Did you have any role models? 

Both of my parents. My mother was a court-favourite and my father was always doing something. He was always learning and teaching and helping others.

14. What did you want to be when you grew up? 

A painter. That hasn’t changed.

15. When and with whom was your first kiss? 

An old friend of mine, Bastian. My father arranged for us to go out, I suppose hoping that Bastian would begin courting me. I think I ruined all of that though, because after he kissed me goodnight I er… well, I sort of panicked and punched him. Things have been incredibly awkward since then.

Part III: Past Influences

16. What do you consider the most important event of your life so far?

When my mother died.

17. Who has had the most influence on you?

My father. He’s always been a mentor of sorts to me, teaching me about ecology, cartography, the world… everything. I would always go to his study before dinner and he would tell me about fantastic beasts found all over the world or just in Ever After. I used to look forward to those times more than just about anything (other than my art sessions, that is), but I stopped going around when I turned 17.

18. Do you have a criminal record of any kind?

Excuse me? Absolutely not! How dare you even think something like that? No.

19. What is the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you?

It was a dreadfully hot day and I was in attendance at an outdoor garden party in a long-sleeved sweater and long skirt, whereas everyone else was in short-sleeved, tea-length sundresses. It was uncomfortable, unbearable, and humiliating because I was not at all styled correctly. I didn’t truly have much of a choice, however. It was that or raise questions and risk Jenner’s anger by exposing bruises (that he left, mind you).

20. If you could change one thing from your past, what would it be, and why?

I might reconsider how I treated some of the men my father tried to set me up with. Perhaps one of them might have turned out to be more agreeable than I gave him credit for and would be courting me now instead of Jenner.

Part IV: Beliefs And Opinions

21. Are you basically optimistic or pessimistic?

Optimistic, probably. It’s a good attitude to have and will make me more likeable to the other court members. Optimistic, but not overly dreamy or idealistic.

22. What are your views on sex?

Sex? You mean… mating? It’s a normal biological imperative necessary for the continuation of the species. These days, it’s all about producing an heir to carry on family names and fortunes. It’s perfectly fine, within the acceptable setting of marriage or love.

23. Are you able to kill? Under what circumstances do you find killing to be acceptable or unacceptable?

Me? I am absolutely not able to do that. The only time it might be anywhere remotely near acceptable is if your own life is in danger from another party. Self-defence! That’s what I was trying to say.

24. Do you believe in the existence of soul mates and/or true love?

No, I don’t think I do. Love exists, but I’m not sure I believe in “true love”.

25. Who or what, if anything, would you die for (or otherwise go to extremes for)?

Well that’s awfully dramatic talk, isn’t it? I can’t see a need for such heroics in this day and age. Things like that are long gone from the world.

Part V: Relationships With Others

26. How honest are you about your thoughts and feelings (i.e. do you hide your true self from others, and in what way)?

I dislike lying a great deal. I might not reveal all of my thoughts or feelings, but I won’t lie about them. No one really questions it, however, since I tend to be so private anyway.

27. In general, how do you treat others (politely, rudely, by keeping them at a distance, etc.)? Does your treatment of them change depending on how well you know them, and if so, how?

I was taught to treat others as I would like to be treated. I keep my distance, but if they’re okay opening up, then I will allow them. If I get comfortable around them, then I might not be so distant, but I will always be polite, because it’s all I ask from them in return. Well, maybe not “always”. If someone is being too forward or intrusive, then they’re just asking for conflict.

28. Who is the most important person in your life, and why?

I suppose, right now, it’s Clyde Jenner. He’s courting me and may propose marriage sometime soon. He may someday be my husband and the father of my children. He will become my father’s heir and will inherit the Porter titles, land, wealth, and status in the court. He’s very important to me, my life, and my future.

29. Do you have a spouse or significant other?

Uhm, well, as I’ve already said multiple times, I’m being courted by Clyde Jenner.

30. Have you ever been in love?

No, but I’m hoping that’s something that might change in the future.

31. What do you look for in a potential lover?

Well, all sorts of things, really. I want to make sure that I would be happy with this man, that he would treat me well, and that we have compatible ideas about how to raise a family. However, I can’t afford to be particularly picky. As long as it’s a suitable match in the eyes of the court and the Queen, I will accept it.

32. Who would you turn to if you were in desperate need of help?

Some of these questions are very melodramatic and I don’t feel they are relevant to my life. I suppose if I desperately needed help, I would turn to my father or Melissa or Bastian.

33. If you died or went missing, who would miss you?

Well, my father would certainly miss me and perhaps a few other court members. I have friends, you know, if that’s what you’re asking.

34. Do you tend to argue with people, or avoid conflict?

Few conflicts are worth getting so worked up over that it will cause a great argument. It’s better to just breathe, stay calm, and let it go.

35. Do you care what others think of you?

As much as I hate to admit this, I do. Surviving in court is all about who you know and who likes you. Projecting the wrong self-image can be a death sentence.

Part VI: Likes And Dislikes

36. What is/are your favourite hobbies and pastimes?

Art, reading, wandering the woods… spending time in some of the shoppes in town… I don’t really know what you’re looking for.

37. What is your most treasured possession?

A locket from my mum containing a lock of her hair and a photo taken of the two of us shortly after I was born.

38. What, if anything, do you like to read?

Everything, but I generally prefer classic literature and fantasy.

39. What is your idea of good entertainment (consider music, movies, art, etc.)?

I tend to entertain myself and always have. I enjoy exploring the forests of Hundred Acre Wood, drawing in the palace gardens or in Wonderland Park, and painting in my room while records play in the background. Classical music is preferred – a lot of the newer jazz stuff just doesn’t appeal very much.

40. Do you smoke, drink, or use drugs? If so, why? Do you want to quit?

A lot of court members smoke and it’s important to fit in. I try not to do so often, but I’m afraid that I have gotten rather used to the smell and it helps me relax. The same goes for drinking. I tend to only partake at fancy dinners or parties, but sometimes a glass of wine helps me with my painting. I don’t use tobacco or alcohol often, so there’s no need to worry about “quitting”.

41. How do you spend a typical Saturday night?

Well, it all starts off with dinner. Always, there is a big, fancy dinner with my father, Jenner, and any number of court members or upper class people trying to charm their way into court. This isn’t a simple meal. We arrive before the sun is even set and start with cocktails. The men discuss business (how droll), and the women share gossip (…enlightening…). Then, we sit down to eat. And we eat. And we eat. The men continue to discuss business, the women continue to gossip, and sometimes the conversations mesh, but not necessarily. The whole affair takes the greater part of the night. When it ends, if Jenner was not present, father escorts me back to the castle. If Jenner was present, then he is the one to take me back. Once I’ve returned to my chambers (no telling when that is), I usually take a long, hot bath, slip into my favourite nightgown, and spend several hours sketching or reading on my window seat. Sometimes I call for tea, cocoa, or wine to be delivered to me, but I try to avoid too much sugar before bed.

42. What would you do if you had insomnia and had to find something to do to amuse yourself?

I would draw. No offence, but that’s a bit of a no-brainer.

43. How do you deal with stress?

I draw. Or I read. Usually, I draw and let the back corners of my mind grapple with whatever problem is bothering me.

44. Are you spontaneous, or do you always need to have a plan?

I need to know what consequences to expect from my actions. I need to know what arguments I will need to rebut and what will happen if my arguments are accepted or struck down. I need to have a plan, a backup plan, and then a backup plan to the backup plan. Sometimes, I’ll come up with another contingency plan, just in case. It really depends on the situation.

45. What are your pet peeves?

I’m supposed to be gentle, understanding, and have an open mind. I don’t lecture, snap at, or in any way scold others. Anything that other people may do that bothers me isn’t worth thinking about, let alone divulging to the entire world.

Part VII: Self Images And Etc.

46. Describe the routine of a normal day for you. How do you feel when this routine is disrupted?

Let’s see… I wake up early, every day. I call for breakfast consisting of black tea, buttered toast, two eggs, and cottage cheese. I dress and then go to the University campus, either to class, or to one of the art studios. I return to the castle for morning tea and spend an hour or two in the gardens or my chambers before returning to campus. Some days, I’ll return to the castle once more for lunch. Other days, I’ll stay in town for lunch. Either way, after eating, I spend a few hours painting, either in my room or in one of the art studios. If I have an afternoon class, I go to that, or I go to the woods. A few hours after lunch is afternoon tea, and so I once more go back to the castle to socialise in the expansive parlour with other castle inhabitants and court members. There’s a few more hours between afternoon tea and getting ready for dinner, which I use to work on homework or projects. After the ordeal that is dressing for dinner and the meal itself, I have the rest of the evening and night to myself. I spend it either in my chambers or in the palace gardens before sliding into bed, ready for sleep and a new day. My routine is so flexible that I hardly notice disruptions. As long as I’m in attendance for tea and supper, I’m alright.

47. What is your greatest strength as a person?

I don’t know if I truly have one, but I’ve heard that I’m very flexible and adaptable. Perhaps that is my greatest strength? Or perhaps it’s my observant and intuitive nature that allows me to strategise my efforts to getting my own way.

48. What is your greatest weakness?

I suppose… I’m something of a coward, you see. I was raised to be polite, peaceful, and calm. I was taught not to cause trouble, not to be selfish, and to do unto others as I would have them do unto me. Unfortunately, I suppose all those lessons have only made me a bit of a “doormat”. I can stand up for myself and be rude on occasion, but it doesn’t mean that I enjoy doing it or that I do it often.

49. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

I would make myself stronger, in every sense of the word. I wouldn’t be so afraid of everything all of the time and I would just live how I want.

50. Are you generally introverted or extroverted?

Introverted. That shouldn’t be such a surprise by now.

51. Are you generally organised or messy?

Both. It just depends on the situation and context.

52. Name three things you consider yourself to be very good at, and three things you consider yourself to be very bad at.

Let’s see… I’m rather good at reading people, I’ve discovered. It’s rather well known that I’m good at art, but few recognise that I excelled in all of my classes, which is ridiculous and unfair. I’m surprisingly good at tree climbing, when I’m doing it my way and not trying to imitate the people in the woods. Things I’m bad at… well, there’s a lot more than three things. I’m bad at standing up for myself. I’m bad at talking about feelings and other things like that. I’m bad at knowing when to stop talking and to stop angering people.

53. What goal do you most want to accomplish in your lifetime?

Finish school and actually have a degree. I’d be the first female Porter… well, ever, to have that. No other female in my lineage attended University, much less earned a degree.

54. Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

Probably right where I am now, except married. Maybe with child, but I doubt it.

55. If you could choose, how would you want to die?

…That’s incredibly morbid of you to ask, you know. I suppose if I had to choose, it would be warm in my bed, in my sleep, when I’m a very old woman.

56. If you knew you were going to die in 24 hours, name three things you would do in the time you had left.

There’s nothing I care about more than seeing outside of Ever After before I die. I would find a way to get out of the kingdom and see something more before I left forever.

57. What is the one thing for which you would most like to be remembered after your death?

My art, I suppose. I can’t really think of anything else I might contribute to the world.

58. What three words best describe your personality?

Uhm, well… maybe… studious, passionate, and kind?

59. What three words would others probably use to describe you?

Quiet, strange, and frigid. Those are what I’ve heard, at least. There may be others, for all I know.

60. Do you like yourself?

What a strange question. It varies, actually. Sometimes I like myself a great deal. Other times… well, not so much. It’s not a good way to live one’s life, though, is it?

Optional/for the player: If you could, what advice would you, the player, give to your character?

It’s okay to be afraid -- just don’t let it consume you or dictate your life.

[clyde-jenner-blog]

“Do you mind?”

[ladyjane-porter-blog]

clyde-jenner:

“you’re in my shot.”

“In your.... that’s a person, Clyde! You can’t shoot him! What’s going on?”