while it wasn't something bee had set out to do, she’d taken it upon herself to collect fae. if she didn’t have family, she’d find it. her fae family had an eerie amount in common thus far: perhaps one could call it research. medical inquiry. to see if all fae were fated to the same lonely end.
someone should look into it, at least. so bee, pink tresses piled atop her head in a hasty clip, nursing a coffee at the yin&yang, attempting to journal, apparently took that task upon herself, in this very moment. because she, connoisseur of pink hair, spotted someone hesitating at the menu with the most wonderfully pastel hair, and she was up and darting over in a moment. when she slid up next to the other, it was with a trained, casual expression and crossed arms.
“mm, yeah, tough choice. i mean, this place does everything so well, though...oh— sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on ‘ya there. it’s just— fae palates are so finicky, right? ugh, and don’t get me started on the whole dairy thing...”
✒ most of bee’s clothing comes secondhand, from thrifting, or some older pieces from lifting. for the most part, it’s practical: she loves her stevie nicks-esque shawls and lace, but bell sleeves and medic work don’t mix. those dresses, embroidered with the stars and as breezy as the sky itself, are saved for special occasions. so she makes do with a compromise: oversized sweaters, hoodies, and flannels, items that hide her form more and, for that same reason, make her a bit of a fashion-outcast in amaranthine. her hair is the one color-accent she needs with a closet comprised of earth- and monochrome tones !
opaque black eyes shift, left to right, a lonely sigh of relief, because seemingly, and finally, mei ling had located the infirmary. the winding halls blind the fae, directions never her strength, and as her pointed shoulders lighten, she is faced with a new task: introducing herself. an enchanted voice barely creeps past rosy lips. “ i-identification ? “ it squeaks, accompanied with a head tilt to the left. identification … the word is new to the mandarin-trained ears, but seconds later, an airy “ aaahhh “ escapes. with full hands, she sets the jam-packed bins down on the desk, the same desk denying any access.
distraction; for a moment, her eyes take in the woman before her. soft lips, round cheeks, a confidence all-consuming. she glowed the way only a fairy could, unnatural eye- and hair-color in tow. but finally, mei reaches for the id card in her pocket, the one forged by amaranthine themselves, to offer her a singular identity. “ calendar ? “ again, repeated. “ i don’t have a calendar. i just remember. “ eyes blinking, face blank. “ i was told to buy a phone and put reminder things in there, or something, but i didn’t get one yet. i should. i- probably. “
bee takes the offered card with a grin and a removal of the pen behind her ear. blindly, against any material beneath her ballpoint, bee sketches blossom’s name, and a little star. she’s halfway to giving it back when blossom says she doesn’t have a phone, and bee can only blink in disbelief. “you don’t have a phone? where are people to reach you, blossom!” the name is adorable. it shapes bee’s lips in a way that forces her to smile— she’s sure this is due to the pronunciation and positively nothing else. “you just remember...wow. you must have quite the memory, then.” at this, bee’s pen taps the side of her temple and her legs fold beneath her. she looks like she intends to be here awhile.
“oh! i got it.” bee leans backwards to find a sticky note and doodles her name and an accompanying picture, then her phone number. “let me go with you to get one, so i can make sure this,” it’s stuck to blossom’s id card, which she finally forks over, a big, cheesy smile in place on her pink, (very soft) lips. “is the first number in. cross my heart, i know plenty about technology. i’ll teach you very well.”
there is no denying the fact that she’s a glutton. and this isn’t something that’s hard to miss; open any of her drawers in the amaranthine offices and you’ll find a plethora of snacks of all shapes and sizes. it makes her an easy candidate for bribery, but accepting a few extra sweets here and there is entirely harmless. the almond-encrusted pepero stick dangling from her lips is a product of such bribery — all she had to do was erase the record of some parking ticket for one of the girls, too many of those and you have to serve some time. see? harmless.
she’s almost done with the box when a new figure enters her peripheral vision, and kamon’s fingers halt their movement over the keyboard. the fae is quickly shoving the rest of the cookie stick in her mouth and tossing the empty box into the trash bin below her desk. when she turns towards the new arrival, the smile on kamon’s face is warm, “mm…bee, hi!”
kamon’s eyes sweep over bee’s face for just a moment, before she’s focusing on the container in the pixie’s hands; there’s no ounce of shame in her body when her eyes and ears perk up. they look like lotte’s margaret cookies…one of the naiad’s favorites. kamon doesn’t skip a beat as she goes for one of the cookies closest to her and bites into its sweet goodness. it tastes just like the margarets ( and kamon isn’t saying that these are the exact same margarets you would find in a box, but she’s not going to say that they aren’t — for all she knows, bee could put the best bakers to shame ).
“these are really good,” she says, mouth full, crumbs on the corner of her lips ( those she’ll wipe off when she remembers her manners ), “thank you for letting me try these!”
and without missing a beat, “so bee…to what, if anything else, do i owe the pleasure?”
bee is instantly soothed by the way suriya perks up at her appearance. first of all: it’s precious. secondly, her process of pre-payments is working— suriya both likes her and likes the bribery. the former is more important, in the grand scheme of things, and it actually makes her smile to realize. what a sweetheart.
spurred on by the success, bee shifts her weight more fully onto suriya’s desk, daintily crossing her legs at the knee and giving a laugh. “anytime! thank you. you’re too sweet to me.” she puts the lid back on the container and sets it on the opposite side of suriya’s keyboard, giving the silent these are yours now signal before resting both hands on her knee and giving a sigh. one that falters at the end in a way she didn’t intend.
“i actually...did have a favor to ask of you, my naiad.” idly scraping beneath her stained nails starts; only nervous people fidget, and she tries to reign it in. her butterscotch eyes flick from suriya’s desktop to the naiad herself, earnest and bared as they may have ever been, and it comes out in a rush. “i’ve got some old files that’ve been causing...issues lately. old news articles and some detainments. is there...anything i can do to get those offline? or— heh, i guess the question is, is that something you’d be...willing to help me out with?”
record scratch. freeze frame. yeah, that’s me. so, you’re probably wondering how i got myself into this situation. well...
it started by accident. she swears! yeah, yeah, that’s every thief’s excuse, but who in their right mind would purposefully steal from their own gang’s assassin?
she’d walked off with ruby’s phone. they were both at the siren, bee was a couple deep, ruby’s was the same model. bee slept on a cot in the infirmary: no need to call a lyft, or stare listlessly at twitter until she was able to fall asleep. it wasn’t until the next morning and asked someone who’s phone it was that, dun dun, she realized. danger. girl, you in danger. the phone returned to ruby that morning, through channels bee did not care to inquire more details about.
things were fine for awhile. bee opened her windows again. but that was just what ruby wanted. oh ho, the fool she’d been played.
ₓₒ⋆:°* memories colder than ice | past!plot | beemon
@maneokamon
it’s not a process she’s proud of. she’s here, in the bookkeeping offices (gross), greasing the palms of a fellow gang-member because she needs a favor. they both know it — or at least, it’s painfully obvious to bee, considering how awkward she is during every conversation with suriya — and the latter is stringing her along to watch her squirm, she fucking swears it. granted, it’s not like it’s much of a loss on her part; her “bribes” thus far have consisted of a large tea, a muffin and another drink, then a “leftover” half-dozen of donuts, when she just happened to be in this part of the building. now, it’s storebought cookies in a tupperware (bought just for this occasion!) to make them look homemade.
fucking christ. she’s disappointed in herself. but suriya is extremely skilled, everyone knows it, and bee insists this’ll be the time. no more faltering. she was going to ask for a favor.
such a simple task, and such an unnecessary build-up. ugh. “hey, suriya!” ugh. bee brandished the red-topped container with a smile as she picked her way to the elemental’s desk and propped herself against the corner of it, peeling back the corner of the lid. her hair was pulled back, her tattoo on display, just in case suriya called her out on how un-gang-like this was. “since you’re basically med team’s official snack-tester now, tell me; i can’t figure out how i feel about these. thoughts?”
❀ sweeter than cherry wine | past!plot | beelossom
@maneoxmeiling
you’d think — truly, you would — that bee, past her six-month mark with amaranthine, would’ve learned professionalism with her pretty co-workers. or that she would’ve learned to expect having pretty co-workers at all. and yet, when blossom floats into her infirmary with bee’s latest delivery of opiates and anesthetics, all sense of decorum bee may have ever possessed flees.
she sets down what appears to be a whiskey glass full of espresso on the desk she’s pulled across the entryway to serve as a sort of reception area and swings her legs over it, holding her palm out flat. “sorry, ma’am, you’re a new face ‘round these parts. can i get some identification? can’t be too careful with protected substances.” it’s stupid; bee’s aware, and so is every conscious amaranthine within earshot. everyone knows blossom couldn’t have gotten a third of this far being anyone else, but bee needs a name to put to this new face, and stupid is far from the lowest she’s willing to stoop for it. sitting on her own desk, legs crossed, completely un-acknowledging, isn’t even where the stupid begins! “your calendar as well, if you please.”
✒ bee’s apartment is eclectic. she’s filled it, in the short time she’s had it, with all the best furniture and decoration that thrift stores and the sidewalk can provide. it’s cozy enough, and filled with plants installed and maintained (mostly! not entirely!) by blossom, to “keep her company.” they do their job. while the one-bedroom shoebox is an upgrade from her previous no-bedroom shoebox in general, bee loves two things in particular about it. one: her desk. it’s always littered with textbooks or medical journals, a coffee mug or three, her notes, and whatever project she’s currently head-deep in. something about that, having a space that’s entirely your own, it’s...nice. new. two: her windows. some have those beautiful, gauzy curtains that sway on the breeze. most don’t. all of them, however, can be found open, unless there is a torrential rain or threat of freezing weather. if you spend the night here: hope it’s during spring or summer.
what is your muse’s full name and do they have any nicknames? briar lim, aka bee, has a three letter name, and as we all know: short names are notoriously hard to nickname. bb (or was it beebee?) has been heard, and bug. submit yours now!
what do they look like? include hair, eyes, skin tone, tattoos, etc. ! bee’s has shoulder-blade length hair varies anywhere between strawberry blonde to candy pink, depending on where she is in her dye cycle, and honey-coloured eyes. she’s short — 5′4, impassably short, if you ask her — and generally small, though agreeing with that sentiment likely won’t end well. currently, she has only two tattoos: her amaranthine one, hiding in plain sight behind her left ear, and a large nettle tattoo on her right forearm.
do they have any distinguishing features such as scars, unique birthmarks, etc.? aside from the eyes which, let’s be honest, are quite distinguishing, bee could stand to vanish, if needed. she has scars, sure, some that could be from childhood tumbles, and some that resemble circular burn-marks, but who doesn’t?
what is your muse’s friends and family like? who do they usually surround themselves with? briar stopped associating with her “family” quite awhile ago, but that’s pretty standard for folks in this business. those two earth-and-water elemental fae roommates, however, would be the closest thing to family she has now; lord knows she spends enough time with the fae squad and in their apartment to make that true.
who would you consider the closest person to your muse? see above: choosing one over the other could result in tears or bodily harm.
where was your character born and what was their living situation growing up there? bee is born-and-bred korean! she grew up in the suburbs, of course, in a big, non-child-friendly home before migrating to the city proper, but the exact details of where she was born have been lost to time.
what is your muse’s biggest fear and does anyone know? if so, who, and if not, why not? only the witchdoctor. 🤫
has your muse ever fallen in love before? if so, with who? did it end well? bee hasn’t fallen in love before, no. there have been romantic relationships, after a while of struggle for platonic ones. they didn’t end well for...perhaps obvious reasons. after she began to master the concept of romantic relationships, now, she can begin to learn the concept of love, vis a vis falling in.
what would you find in your muse’s refrigerator right now? half-drank coffee -- because she always thinks she shouldn’t waste it if she doesn’t finish it, and it’s never good the day after. she’s not a great cook, so mostly staple, frozen things, and dairy-free milk for tea.
what does your muse usually wear? you can describe, link pictures, etc. ! bee loves loose-fitting things. for one, it masks her size. for two, they flow in the breeze that tends to follow her around, making her feel like stevie nicks. often blacks or neutral tones, but there are a couple pastel sweaters or blood-reds in her closet she can break out when the time’s right. her makeup is typically minimal as well, with a lack of lipstick, thanks to her constant lip-biting or sweet tooth.
what is your muse’s strongest memory that they carry around? likely not one specific moment, but a collection of small feelings. glass cutting into skin, or tar. maybe the taste of her first drink at amaranthine, the feeling of her bandaged tattoo pulsing behind her ear. first time petting a cat. y’know; that sort of thing.
stormborns
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