ASPIRING BEAM OF LIGHT

PENELOPE CARTWRIGHT. xxvi. murderer. house stager and interior designer.

[penelopecartwrite-blog]

where: calderwood beach ( idlewind ) when: late morning, july 20 who: penelope & OPEN

Penelope adored the beach, it was the half the reason she moved to the coast after the untimely incident after her graduation. The other half was more pressing but that’s neither here nor there. Frankie, the rescue dog she adopted shortly after moving to Calderwood, also seemed to enjoy the beach, as he dragged her out to the beach nearly every day she was off. As he was nearly her size, it wasn’t that difficult. Not that Penelope minded, of course; she liked laying out while the pitbull jumped in the waves. 

Nearly dozing as she laid back on her towel, Penelope was brought back to reality when Frankie came back to her, panting and soaking wet. She opened her eyes to see his head looming over her own, giving the appearance of a slobbery smile as he stared at her. “Can I help you?” She asked, pushing her sunglasses back as she sat up to scratch behind his ears. She glanced behind him, looking for a trail of paws and water droplets. As the trail winded from her ocean to another beach goer before ending up in front of her, Penelope arched a brow, glancing over at said beach goer. “Hey! Sorry about him,” she called, pushing herself up and walking over to the person in question. “Did he bother you?” She asked, gesturing to the large dog next to her.

[penelopecartwrite-blog]

int. chester holliday

Being first to respond to someone’s purse being swept off their side and the thief running off without a trace, all Chester could do was try his best to round up as many witness accounts as possible. An older gentleman managed to sidetrack Chester for a good ten minutes and somehow ended up on the subject of crocs. Cautious that remaining witnesses could disperse, Chester cut it short and met the gaze of someone nearby. “Did you see anyone take the purse? They were possibly wearing crocs…” Chester shot an annoyed glance at the older man now and then back to the other. “But more than likely were definitely not.”

Stupid little bitch; The moment her bag was ripped of her arm, that was her first thought, her instant berating comment on her mind - though, if she was being honest, the voice in her head sounded a lot like Alexander’s than her own. She’d been sitting on a bench, right on Clary Street, responding to work emails; her free arm had been lip against the strap as her fingers typed rapidly to soothe her clients worries for the fifth time in that email chain. As she felt the fabric start to pull from her grasp, she glanced up, only to spot the thief’s fleeing form with her bag, running away with what nearly her previous paycheck. It had been Prada, for fuck’s sake. 

She’d remained at the scene, writing notes on her phone as she attempted to remember everything about the thief. Penelope had quite the photographic memory, something she’d developed throughout college and through merciless critiques to her intelligence by her ex-boyfriend’s family. She glanced up at the officer’s voice - she’d been patiently waiting for him to finish up with the older man going on and on about crocs for a while now. “He wasn’t,” she commented, still not sure where the man got that idea in his head. “I did see him, though. Only the back of his head, he was really fast,” she said, glancing down at her phone, reading off her notes. “White man; dark blonde hair with a manbun; plaid over shirt, red and black; skinny jeans, dark navy, looked like Levis; boots, so not sure where the croc idea came from, looked like Doc Martians, solid black.” She finished, scanning her notes once more, as if hoping her gaze would suddenly create more clues. “The bag, by the way, was Prada, 2019 collection, off white and cross shoulder.”

[penelopecartwrite-blog]

int. wes mccoy

“We have an IPA on tap.”

Although Wes would be the first to say he didn’t typically work behind the bar at his own brewery, more often than not he found himself doing just that. It wasn’t as though he had to control every aspect of the business; after all, he hired smart employees for a reason, for them to use their brains and clear up bandwidth for him. Rather, he liked being hands-on and present, for both the brewery’s sake and the customers. 

He faced the patron sitting in a bar stool and gestured to the taps. “It has hints of grapefruit. Pretty damn summery, if you ask me.”

Despite not being the biggest fan of beer, Penelope found herself at the Idlewind Brewing Company quite often. Perhaps it was because she wanted to support a local business, which was the reason she told herself when she spent an extra half hour working on her hair and make up. The more realistic and truthful reason was that she’d grown more interested in the owner after they started hooking up. 

It was purely casual, of course - another thing she repeated to herself whenever she felt herself get a bit too emotional about the whole thing. She had never been good at casual; she never knew how to half ass literally anything, much less anything concerning her own emotions. But she restrained herself - or she attempted to, at the very least - willing herself to play it cool. As cool as someone with absolutely zero chill could be. 

She slid onto the high rise chair, pushing her hair to one side as if that action alone would make the perfume she’d dabbed behind her ear more recognizable. She smiled as Wes spoke, nodding as she mulled over actually trying a beer. Even when she came to the brewery, she usually stuck with ciders. She hummed in response, leaning forward as she sat her elbows on the bar. “How grapefruity are we talking here?” 

[penelopecartwrite-blog]

ft. raven moffitt

The more it heated up the more Raven longed for the cold. She loved the bitter chill in the air and getting to bundle up in sweaters and overall aesthetic of Fall and Winter. Her favorite thing, however, was that the cold weather made drinking nice hot coffee perfect, not like now where her beverage had her threatening to sweat. Still, she was too stubborn to tolerate iced coffee, so she sat in the coffee shop ready to die with pride for her coffee. It was pretty crowded given the time of day, and though Raven wasn’t exactly known for her overall friendliness, when someone held their drink and looked around for a free spot, Raven found herself kicking the chair across from her out from under the table with her foot as a non-verbal ‘ you can sit here’.

Okay, so. Penelope liked the idea of coffee, she really did. She liked the look of her lipstick smeared of a coffee mug, liked the aesthetic and feeling of coffee shops, liked the camaraderie of moaning about how she couldn’t live without coffee. But she hated the taste, absolutely fucking loathed it. It was too bitter and it burned her tongue more often than not. Which is why, she adored ice coffee - well, as much as someone could enjoy something the didn’t really enjoy the taste of - because it took some of the bite out of the whole experience. It seemed to be expected, with ice coffee, for her to order more frilly add ons - extra milk, whipped cream, sugar, as in as much sugar as you can possibly put on it, thank you. The end result resembled a milk shake more than it did coffee, much to her delight. 

Penelope beamed at the barista, noting their obvious judgement and offering them a charming grin despite it. She turned, glancing around for an open seat. Her face fell as she found none, not entirely looking forward to braving the intense heat. At the sound of a chair being pushed backwards, Penelope’s gaze met the other patron’s gaze. Face immediately brightening, she walked over to them. “Thank you,” she said, smiling at her. She set down her cup, peeling off her light cardigan as she sat down. “Lovely day, isn’t it?” She commented, never one for awkward silences. 

[penelopecartwrite-blog]

ft. lacey harris.

There were very few things that annoyed Lacey more than locking herself out of her apartment. It was even worse when it was already dark outside and any attempt to get back inside by helping herself to it was going to look like she was breaking into the place because how in hell would anyone explain that? It was too bad that she currently found herself in that exact situation: kneeling in front of her door while trying to unlock the door with bobby pins. She was in the middle of her attempt when she heard someone come up behind her. Without turning around, she explained, “Listen, I know what this looks like but I swear I’m not trying to break in.”

Rosmont was a market that Penelope had yet to explore, partially due to the fact that no one hired her and Baird Realty didn’t usually send stagers to Rosmont, and partially due to her own internalized prejudices. Pen had been raised in a “nice” neighborhood by a wealthy family and nearly married into an even wealthier one, so less than pristine homes weren’t something she was exposed to until she graduated college. At first, the idea caused her lips to curl into a grimace but she’d gotten over that as time went on. The ideals that had been pressed into her mind since birth were hard to shake. Those ideals had taken on a masculine voice, the voice of her ex-boyfriend, making her all to willing to get over her old ways. 

Perhaps that’s why Penelope jumped on the chance to stage a house for Baird on the edge of Rosmont. Most of the furniture she’d ordered was already in the house when she arrive and she’d spent the better part of the afternoon perfecting the image, tousling the throw blanket just so, carefully fluffing the pillows, wiping down the windows ( which wasn’t, technically, part of her job description but she always enjoyed making things look nice and clean ). It wasn’t until later that she got to the room upstairs and found it missing a dresser. Calling over to the warehouse, she made her way downstairs and walked out to the patio. She glanced over to see a redhead crouching before a door, attempting to pick the lock. The sight caused Penelope’s eyebrows to disappear into her hairline, quickly looking away. She glanced over again, lips curling into a confused frown; she remembered her siblings using lock picking kits and tweezers to break into her room. Perhaps this woman didn’t have sinister intentions. She walked over to her, attempting to keep some distance in case her gut feeling was wrong - as it so often was. At the sound of her comment, Penelope relaxed ever so slightly. Not completely convinced that she wasn’t breaking in, but it wasn’t a hostile reaction, which was something. “Right, of course,” she replied. Never contradict them, a voice in the back of her head told her, you don’t know what they’re capable of. “Is there something I can do to help then?” She asked, cursing herself immediately for offering to become an accessory in a crime.

[penelopecartwrite-blog]

an introduction to PENELOPE CARTWRIGHT

TW: mentions of physical and emotional abuse, death, allusions to murder

pinterest coming soon. biography page.  

twenty six ( turning twenty seven next week tho! ), ciswoman ( she/her ), bisexual, interior designer and house stager for baird realty group, lives in idlewind, arrived in calderwood in jan 2015

born and raised in pennsylvania to a fairly rich family. both her parents were in publishing and she grew up on classic lit but she was far more interested in romance novels and poetry

wanted to get the fuck out bc she had dreams of being an actress or model or really anything where she could be famous and get the attention and love she craved

went to college in south carolina and fell for an absolute fucking asshat - verbally and physically abusive - and it took her ages to leave. she did, eventually. after he died.

she might have pushed him off a balcony but she’ll never tell.

booked it across country and ended up in la for about six months. then she saw a familiar face and moved to calderwood

worked “odd” jobs and kept everyone at arms length until about a year ago bc she’s still trying to heal

got a job at baird realty group house staging - she’s the one who makes the house look all pretty and HGTV ready - and has been there for a year or so

as her life is getting more stable, she’s opened up more so therefore more friends!!

but she’s always looking over her shoulder and is willing to get up and leave at a moment’s notice

Possible connections!! 

Penelope lives in Idlewind and could always use a roommate - unofficial or otherwise - because she doesn’t like to be alone that often. 

Of course, neighbors could also fill that role. 

She could use former co-workers - she’s worked all over Calderwood including but not limited to Calypso’s, Epoch Yoga, La Vie En Pointe, Vivacious Branding, Haven Indigo, Calderwood Gazette ( the last three as a receptionist / secretary ). 

She could also use current clients as she works as an interior designer at the moment. 

She could use gym buddies - she’s a pro at yoga and spin but she’s gotten into boxing and self defense because she feels the need to learn how to defend herself after everything that happened in SC. 

She’s been in Calderwood for about four years now so she’s naturally gone on a few dates and had a few one night stands - fair warning though, she’s skittish but a romantic and is more attracted to serious relationships than flings. 

HOWEVER, that could be a fun plot if she moved to fast and your character wasn’t into it bc I’m always a slut for angst

FRIENDS! This lil angel needs friends. She’s been in town for a while, like I said but she’s only just opened up so they could have just become friends, been one of the ones to drag her out of her shell, thought she was uppity and grew closer when she opened up

ENEMIES??? Penelope is sweet to a fault - mostly to avoid people hating her and therefore not, like, hurt her - but there’s always room for antagonistic connections

Obvi i would love anyone connected to her family or her ex’s family but those will probably be official wanted connections

I’m up for whatever though!! Please hit me up for plotting!!

[penelopecartwrite-blog]

ft. sid james

“I really hope you’re heading somewhere important,” Sid asked the passerby from her cozy mound of sand overlooking the beach; steps from home but she felt immersed in the outdoors. There were some evenings that required a setup, a sculpted sand ‘couch’, a crate of beer and a fresh pouch of tobacco. As much as she enjoyed fast-paced traveling and bouncing around from state to state she had no issue offering moments to stillness. The setting sun had dashed pink across the sky, clouds splitting between oranges and dandelion yellows, the heavens alight and Sid just happy to be its audience. “You’re missing out on the best view on the whole beach.” Not true, but Sid often thought of herself as a pretty decent salesperson. 

“There are some things you just can’t miss out on in this world.” And Sidney James knew she was without doubt one of those things.

Frankie was always rambunctious, it was what drew Penelope to the rescue dog in the first place. She needed an active pet, one that wouldn’t allow her to sit and wallow in her house all day, and she was appreciative of the fact that she had to walk him every day. However, as Frankie was full grown Pitbull and Penelope could be considered tiny on the days she’d forgone her heels, the dog would often drag her wherever he pleased. Which, currently, was the beach at the edge of Pen’s house. Frankie eagerly sniffed the sand before him, pulling Penelope towards more populated areas of the beach. Penelope snorted as she followed, stopping only at the sound of Sid’s voice. 

Turning towards Sidney, Penelope felt a blush rush to her cheeks. Even in her age, she wasn’t well accustomed to one night stands and the sight of Sidney was enough for her giggle behind her hand. She restrained herself from laughing or completely stilling at the comment. “Frankie seems to be in charge of our destination this evening, though, I can’t help but suspect that it’s not terribly important,” she said, looking at her dog to distract herself. She blushed once more at Sidney’s following comment. “I recall the view quite well,” she replied, her rose tinted cheeks making the phrase less teasing. “Unless you’re offering a repeat performance?” She quipped, shocking herself at her own boldness.

[penelopecartwrite-blog]

ft. chrissy delarosa

“I mean, it looked way easier on HGTV.” Chrissy stepped back from the upended dresser and crossed her arms, oblivious to the paint she slathered all over them. “Good thing I wiki-how’d it, or I’d be totally lost. But I think it’s coming together,” she added, a hint of eagerness to her tone. The whole look of the house she was staging was hinging on this piece, after all. “Don’t you think?”

Eyebrows shooting into her hairline, Penelope schooled her features into something between neutrality and supportive. “It looks great, Chrissy,” she said, making her way toward her co-worker and her project. “We should probably get the paint off first,” she said, breezing past the problem and into her support, “but it’s a lovely statement piece for the master.” She finished, remembering her mother’s statement about editing - sandwich the critiques between two compliments - and was reminded, not for the first time, that her advice worked outside the world of publishing. 

[fatbitchwrites-archived]

[dogmotifs]

archive mb for @patrohclus

x x x x

[leda-asuddenblow]

Vita & Virginia dir. Chanya Button (2018)

[jemmasimmons]

“live fast, die young. bad girls do it well” I sing as I organize my sock drawer before going to bed at 9:30pm on a Friday night

[swimmingpoolmp3-archive]

and this is a piece of performance art called “i take everything personally”

[vanish]

[thelovejournals]

I am figuring out which parts of my personality are mine and which ones I created to please you.

Lora Mathis, The Dust On This Poem Could Choke You (via thelovejournals)

[coltre]

I feel so stupid sometimes because I fantasize too much about the people I like; I invent stories with them, I imagine entire days with them and how nice the future will be with pictures and letters and other tender things that makes a lot of sense in my mind. then the reality turn to be so much different and meaner and maybe the reason why it’s so difficult for me to accept it and letting people go it’s because I just want my future to be happy. in all my stories and castles I build inside of my mind, sadness just does not exist

[waxenneat]

Never grow a wishbone, daughter, where your backbone ought to be.

Clementine Paddleford (via givemeajobplease)