"Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it." — Terry Pratchett ✖ Eleanor Nell Clarke
✖ Psychotherapist
✖ 34 years old
“Terrible, horrible, other than that, I’m doing great.” Lilliana answered. She had been working all day and into the night, trying to get her shop back together, but slowly but surely it was coming back to normal. She just need to do a couple more things, and she’ll be back to work again. “Trying to get my shop back open, you?”
Nell couldn’t help but smile sympathetically at Lilliana’s answer, “well at least there’s some great in there,” she joked. The terrible horrible part was really the answer she’d been expecting, after all everyone had just been through a natural disaster, and it didn’t take a psychologist to read the room. “You own Lilli's Alterations, don’t you?” While Nell spent most of her time in the village at the pub, she was still vaguely familiar with the other businesses in the area. “Just trying to help where I can, really. If you need an extra pair of hands getting your shop up and running, I’d be happy to offer mine.”
Another week and another therapy appointment. Eamon could be hit and miss about how he felt towards them, sometimes he enjoyed the working through of emotions and other times he loathed it. Either way after ten years of it he was more than used to it.
Having farewelled Niamh he made his way towards Nell’s office quarters at the designated time, pausing in front of her door. Taking a deep breath to try and calm himself as he always did he raised his hand and knocked. “Nell? It’s Eamon.”
Upon hearing the knock, Nell rose from her chair and made her way over to let Eamon in. She paused, hand on the door handle, and put on a smile. “Eamon,” she greeted, “punctual as always, come in.” Stepping to the side, she pulled the door open wider and gestured into the room.
“So,” she began as she sunk back into her chair, “how have you been since our last appointment?” Nell always preferred to have physical copies of her patient’s files, digital felt oddly impersonal to her, likely a mindset picked up from her older mentor during her uni days. She held his file in her hands and glanced up from it, giving Eamon an encouraging smile. “Would you like a drink? Water? Tea?”
“Well, there is your answer.” At least she knew now. Maybe it would stop stupid questions from being thrown around in a time like this. Or maybe it would just emboldened her to continue with words he didn’t want to hear which he sincerely wished would not happen. Unfortunately for him, it seemed it would be the latter. He knew people were trying to be nice, he did, but none of it helped. It only seemed to make things worse.
“You would be correct.” His words had lost a little of their gusto, Lexi trying to hold back his aggression as much as he could right now as he tried to remember that he didn’t know this woman and she was trying to be comforting. It was more than he could say for most. “I am not sure I would like more of my secrets finding their way around the castle. Anything that gets said in that place rages like a wildfire through the occupants.”
“Secrets are safe with me at least,” she nodded towards him, “doctor-patient confidentiality and all that. Wouldn’t be much of a professional if I went around telling everyone whatever I’m told.” She’d heard people whispering about various things in the castle many times, rumours with little to no basis, silly gossip, but that wasn’t really her thing. She’d had enough of that back in the UK.
“Up to you though, whatever you’re comfortable with,” Nell smiled softly, “I’m Eleanor by the way, Nell to most, just in case you ever change your mind.”
Nell ran a hand through her hair, fingers catching on stubborn strands at the back which resulted in a sigh. It had been a long, tiring day of revising and organizing files in between seeing patients, but Nell ultimately enjoyed it anyway. She liked to be busy all day, every day.
She glanced at her watch, noted the time, then quickly retrieved her next appointment’s file. Eamon O’Rourke. She spent quite a bit of time worrying about the Irish prince both on and off the clock, mostly because in her relatively short career as a psychologist she’d only encountered persistent depressive disorder a few times. Although that technically didn’t matter, as no two patients were ever exactly the same.
He tried his best not to take breaks if he could help it. Breaks meant time for thinking and thinking was something he did not want to do at the moment. But eventually his body would scream out to be hydrated which would lead to awkward conversations in the ‘break’ area as he tried to fix it with water. Most people were content leaving him alone but today someone seemed brave.
His eyes traveled over to the woman he had seen around the castle on occasion. He didn’t know her, she didn’t know him, it was an easy mistake to make at this point but it didn’t stop him from giving her a hard stare. “Let us see…my father just died, I lost my house and all of my belongings, and the rest of my family is now stuck in a makeshift shelter at the church until we figure out what to do. How would you be holding up?”
Nell raised the water bottle to her lips and nodded slowly as she took a sip. It certainly didn’t take a rocket scientist, or in this case a psychologist, to work out the man was having a rough time. Rough likely being an understatement. “Probably really fucking badly,” she answered. Her complaints paled in comparison, and she couldn’t help but feel a little silly for wishing this all to be over for the sole purpose of never having to paint again.
“Saying I’m sorry for your loss likely sounds empty coming from me,” she spoke, quite hesitantly. After all, they really didn’t know each other. Whatever words of comfort she offered now wouldn’t mean much, so she decided on something a little more practical. “But....if you ever feel you need to talk to someone,” she shrugged, “it’s literally my job to listen.”
“We should just stick to the bare brick walls. Keep it all authentic and leave it looking as close to its age as possible.” James mused lightly. It was exhausting rebuilding everything, but it was the least that could be done after the devastating tragedy. And getting it right the first time was the best thing they could do.
“I don’t blame you for longing for the mundane. It’s what we’re all used to, and even if people wish for everything they haven’t done before, at the end of the day, most crave to go back to their normal.” He shrugged then at her question. “I would lie to you if I gave you the date, but I can assure you that we’re getting there. A lot of the affected areas have been cleared out.”
“I agree, if only for the sake of saving us the repetitive strain injuries,” Nell rolled her shoulder and smiled. It would all be worth it in the end when things were back to the way they were, or at least some form of it.
Nell nodded slowly at his answer. At least he was honest, even if it was a little more vague than she was hoping for. Still, it was better than no answer at all, and it put a dim light at the end of the paint covered tunnel. “Well, the truth is better than a comforting lie, though I wouldn’t have objected if you’d told me everything would magically fix itself overnight,” she smiled, “in fact, I would have wholeheartedly believed you, but that may be the paint fumes getting to me.”
Casper’s first proper day of work at the castle was finally done and after returning to his currently bare quarters to attempt to shower off the dirt and grime he had decided that he would celebrate down at the village pub. If he was honest he was feeling pretty proud of himself, having managed a successful ten hours of doing something other than guard work. Which was probably why as he ordered a drink and a basic meal to an empty table he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face.
Seeing the figure at the table beside his he focused the smile their way, attempting to remember the very basic Russian he was trying to master. “Привет. Um… у тебя был хороший день?”
After all the hard work she’d been doing, Nell felt that she absolutely deserved a drink or two, possibly even three. She sat alone with a half empty glass of whiskey sour and a head full of thoughts, at least until someone chose to speak to her.
She looked up, expression blank for a moment while she took in the language, then furrowed her eyebrows. “You’ve lost me,” she said, “the only Russian skill I have is being able to tell when it’s being spoken to me, sadly not what is being said.”
Cassandra spent as much time in the village helping out after the avalanche as possible. Most of the times she provided refreshments to those doing the physical labor or came to bring monetary help from what was collected in the palace but there were times where she herself got her hands dirty. Her skill from archaeological excavations meant that she was quite handy with a shovel, though the snow gloves did make it more difficult.
Deciding that she needed a drink, Cassie slipped into Sweet Blinis where refreshments were being kept. “Better than most,” she replied to the woman who spoke to her. Reaching for a bottle of water, she opened it and took a long drink. “My arms are a bit sore but that is nothing. Are you doing well helping out?”
Nell nodded in response, at least they both mostly had their health, others weren’t so lucky. “Sore arms? As far as I remember it’s ice for swelling, heat for muscle soreness or stiffness,” she smiled, “if you need the advice, anyway.”
She looked down at her bottle of water, peering through the top at the liquid inside, “I’m doing fine, my help hasn’t been denied so I assume my painting skills are fine, too. They leave a lot to be desired if you ask me but I suppose any help is better than none.”
Kat, like many others, had been contributing to the cleanup efforts in the village. Perhaps unlike many others, however, she’d been doing it irregularly: physical labor didn’t exactly agree with her, so her days had been relatively short, and she’d taken the previous day to herself, staying in her room rather than helping within the village or the castle.
Today, however, she’d been helping with repainting, and her blonde hair was streaked with the paint to prove it. Taking a break for water, she looked up when she heard a voice. “I’m alright. I’m not sure I’m cut out for this, though,” she admitted with a light laugh. “How are you?”
Nell could certainly relate to that; she didn’t think she was cut out for it either. Usually she spent her days with patients, books, or both, none of which ever really required more than sitting in a chair. “I feel the same, when I applied for this position painting wasn’t exactly in the job description,” she smiled. “I’m fine though. I likely won’t be saying that tomorrow when the repetitive strain of painting catches up with me but...” she trailed off with a shrug, then took a sip of water.
The paint in Kat’s hair caught Nell’s eye and she nodded toward it, “I hope that washes out easily for both our sake’s, I’m sure I have paint in places paint was never supposed to be by now.”
As an advisor, James still had more than plenty to do with his regular work, yet that didn’t mean that he didn’t spend plenty of time helping others with restoring some sense of normalcy. He was already exhausted, but there was light at the end of the tunnel, and he was hoping for the best.
Pausing for a quick moment to get a drink and check his emails, he was met by another person by the little set up drinking station. “Well, I cannot complain and say that I have nothing to do.” He replied with a smile, putting his phone down. “How are you?”
The moment Nell took a sip of water she swore she could hear every cell in her body rejoice. Admittedly she might have been a little dehydrated, but other than that she had no complaints. She ran the back of her hand across her lips and gave a slight shrug, “starting to resent the existence of paint, especially the way it ends up everywhere it should not be but other than that, great.”
After another welcome sip of water, she screwed the cap back on the bottle and tilted her head, “I suppose you're the right person to ask, any idea how close we are to getting things back to normal? I’m beginning to long for the mundane, as weird as that sounds.”
Nell set down her brush with a sigh and attempted to wipe flecks of dried paint from her cheek but to no avail. She, like so many others, had been doing all she could to get things back to some level of normality. The avalanche had taken a lot from Khatanga and she was sure rebuilding would be the easy part. After all, people weren’t so easily fixed.
Deciding to take a short break, Nell went in search of something to drink. Whiskey would’ve been her first choice but water was the only thing she found and thus would have to suffice. As she opened up the bottle she glanced to her left and nodded in greeting, “how are you holding up?”
— ♙Pawns must leap into the fray and for ELEANOR ‘NELL’ CLARKE, the THIRTY-FOUR-year old PSYCHOLOGIST, that is a tradition SHE intends to keep. To others, SHE looks an awful lot like FELICITY JONES and has been described as being A KNOW-IT-ALL but behind closed doors, SHE is MEDDLESOME and WELL-MEANING but also EARNEST and INTELLIGENT. Most importantly though, SHE is a loyal STAFF MEMBER. ( em / 27 / gmt+2 / she&her )
!! tw: child death, alcoholism
Nell spent the first few years of her career after graduating from university focusing solely on family psychology. She was hired as an Expert Witness by an understaffed and underfunded Family Court in the UK and was immediately thrown in the deep end despite her age and lack of practical experience. She was given the cases nobody else wanted, which usually entailed making house calls to parents who saw their children as nothing more than a hindrance, who’d parrot “I have a life too!“ while their kids suffered. After about two years, all the heart-breaking stories, disgusting living conditions, and the children who deserved better started to get to her. Having never really been a fan of alcohol, she turned to the occasional drink as a way of coping with her job.
Nell always regarded herself as a strong person but one particular case finally broke her. She was sent to see a worried mother who refused to let her ex-husband see their son. Nell was told about the series of death threats, dead pets, and damaged property the woman was sure her ex was to blame for. There was no concrete evidence for any of it however, meaning the police could do very little to help. It took so long for anyone to catch the father out that by the time he made a mistake Nell could prove, both mother and son had been killed. Cut brake wires led to a fatal car accident, killing four in total: driver, passenger, and two pedestrians. The father fled and remained on the run for three months before he was finally caught. After that, Nell’s drinking became a problem.
Angry at the system but mostly at herself, Nell left her position as an Expert Witness not long after her worst case. She decided to chase a fresh start and chose to apply for the position of psychologist at the castle in Khatanga.
Nell excels at solving other people’s problems but has always struggled with her own. They’re either pushed aside, swept under the carpet, or completely denied. For example, she’ll deny how dependent she is on alcohol, instead choosing to see it as an occupational hazard rather than a personal problem. She is, however, good at hiding her problems and usually comes across as someone who’s in control and put together.
CONNECTIONS
A close friend, someone Nell can show her weaknesses around without worrying she’ll be thought less of.
A patient, someone Nell is particularly dedicated to helping, on and off the clock.
BASICS
First Name: Eleanor
Family Name: Clarke
Nickname: Nell (prefers this over Eleanor)
Date of Birth: 30/12/2085
Age: Thirty-four
Nationality: British
Religion: Atheist
Current relationship status: Single
Family: Parents, younger brother
PHYSICAL
Height: 164cm / 5'4"
Hair colour: Currently dark brown
Eye colour: Green/Hazel
Distinguishing features: Slight buck teeth she used to hate as a child but has grown to accept
Typical clothing style: Very “office chic” while on the clock, opts for comfier clothing when off the clock
PERSONALITY
Traits: Meddlesome, well-meaning, earnest, intelligent, stubborn to a degree, confident
Accent: Almost non-descript unless she’s angry or excited in which case the Yorkshire comes through
Do they curse?: Yes.
Education level: Graduated from the University of York, has a PhD in Psychology
Hobbies: Writing, hiking, swimming, watching old movies (especially alfred hitchcock)
It’s Em again, add me on discord maybe if you’d like to plot: G R e m L I N#5011
