*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: my eyes are made of acid & my tongue is sharp with spite
i fucked the reaper 'cause i knew my time was coming - can't you see?
sidney st. clair ✧ the final girl ✧ introduction ✧ posts ✧ muse
resourceful, perceptive ; reticent, aloof ; photog @ magnus records
*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: the buzzing fills my headspace, i'm aware they're seeking flesh
carolina reaper, it hurts but you'll be back for more
bambi james ✧ non-rift ✧ introduction✧ posts ✧ muse
lively, silly; naive, impatient; dancer @ poison apple
LOCATION: their apartment.
OPEN TO: @rvivifies + bambi!
" look, i've tried every single concoction you've made ... ain't a damn thing putting this guy down. " in reference to: the cranberry magnesium sleep mocktail. truth be told, shiloh was doing everything they could to avoid sleep. though, luckily, melatonin and that 'mocktail' genuinely didn't work anyway. bless whatever gods haunt the mist.
the last thing shiloh wants is to be admitted to the hospital for a 'coma' because bambi finds them unconscious for three days. maybe, just maybe, living with someone else was his worst decision made to date. " i'm fine, bambs. really. don't look at me like ... that. promise. "
" it's not working because — " there came a long pause while she searched for the right words, maybe a reason, her fingers fiddling with the cap to the juice " — you don't think it will work. you won't give any of it a chance ! "
saying that was likely the closest thing to being mean bambi ever got, and still it was tempered by the sleepy girl mocktail she held in her own hand and the comfy flower-printed pajamas she wore.
until just now, bambi had not realized that it had become a sort-of mission for her to try to help shiloh fall asleep. though, thinking on it, it shouldn't have come of any sort of surprise. it'd be a lie to tell herself ( or anyone ) that she wasn't unfamiliar with finding projects ( read : persons with any sort of problem she thought she might be able to solve ).
she nearly asked how she was looking towards them but it would have been a waste of breath. she could feel that the corners of her mouth had been pulling downwards, nearly a frown, before quirking them back up to a neutral expression, and she just knew how her eyes must be wide and doleful.
" fine, fine — i concede. you win. insomniac one, bambi zero. " she sighed, raising her hands up in defeat " just help me finish off the cranberry juice, yeah ? i actually don't think i like it much anyways, " her nose wrinkled " and i don't want to hear complain you're tired. "
◟✧⡀ ( ella purnell. cis women. she/her. ) … there’s a figure off in the distance, do you see it? wait is that … BEATRICE “BAMBI” JAMES ? how long have they been standing there? if that’s really them, i believe they're 26. do i know them? no, but i hear they're SILLY and LIVELY, but also NAIVE and IMPATIENT. i do know that they’ve been in the City for FOUR MONTHS. it’s crazy that they’re just standing there … shouldn’t they be working at POISON APPLE as a DANCER ? maybe they’re off today, i couldn’t tell you. hope they get moving soon. hey, do you think they’re aware of the strange people around here?
quick facts
doe-eyed with a light smile, bambi exudes youthful naivete. she seems like someone who hasn't had much hard life experience (untrue) and seems like someone who just wants to enjoy life while she can. she shows up, never black or blue, just rose-colored.
while she is observant to an extent, it is a pointed decision to ignore heavy things (like phone calls from family or news of an accident). it's easier that way — why? because deep down she knows her heart is fragile, rusted, a few more rainstorms from shattering. it's desperate and hopeful choosing to be deaf and blind to the world.
she craves enjoyment. it's restless. it's going one hundred miles on the highway, hands out the sunroof. it's staying up for days on end, not sleeping because she's scared of missing something. stop signs and traffic signals exist for a reason, and she's running out of time to notice.
her fave color is glitter
bio
listen i'm working on it
tl;dr: bambi was the youngest of six kids. her parents were over it by that point. she became self-sufficient. dancing pays the bill and she knows she's hot.
once she figured out being jaded and callous was exhausting, she figured out how to let go of it. it was easy being soft, easy avoiding heavy things. whether it's naivete or ignorance isn't always an easy thing for others to determine, but bambi knows the truth.
anyways she's radiant. she exudes warmth. 10/10 sunshine
◟✧⡀ ( maia reficco. cis woman. she/her. ) … there’s a figure off in the distance, do you see it? wait is that … SIDNEY ST. CLAIR ? how long have they been standing there? if that’s really them, i believe they’re 23. do i know them? no, but i hear they’re RESOURCEFUL and PERCEPTIVE, but also RETICENT and ALOOF. i do know that they’ve been in the City for 14 YEARS. it’s crazy that they’re just standing there … shouldn’t they be working at MAGNUS RECORDS as a PHOTOGRAPHER? maybe they’re off today, i couldn’t tell you. hope they get moving soon. i’m starting to feel like THE FINAL GIRL is peering over at me …
quick notes
head down, eyes up. calm breaths, don't flinch. those words echo in her head more often than not. she knows it'd be easier to hid behind the lens of her camera at all time, but wallflower life would never suit her. it's a shame.
she's scribbled sharpie over the lenses of her rose-colored glasses. anything sweet in life has soured, and she's all too aware of it. the cracks in the sturdy facade rarely show, patched up with disassociation and distraction — but never anything that pulls her fully from reality. she's been burned more than once and the scars in the mirror remind her of it.
she lives by routine and is convinced she'll die from variation. maybe it's mundane and usual, but it's easier this way. limiting surprises where she can keeps her heart rate down and her head feeling steady. she's completely restless but she doesn't dare stray too far from the path and plan she lays.
excluding those for work, thousands of photos exist in limbo on memory cards, few becoming real in print. her eye is critical, perhaps too much so, and the bar is raised every time she nearly reaches. sid knows that time is limited — she wants to photograph something meaningful, something relevant, before death greets her. whatever that is, she hasn't found yet. she is constantly looking for it.
bio
what are you made for? for so long, sidney didn't know. she was never great at anything, not too clever or too passionate to work harder at anything. she felt like she was drifting, unmoored to anything or anyone. she never could quite grasp how people felt like they had purpose. with a countdown to death starting a birth, feeling like she was inconsequential made her feel like drowning.
apparently god thinks he had a sense of humor, or so her mother would say. she picked up a film camera, taking a class at a community center, and something just clicked (literally and figuratively). her work was better than everyone else's — not a brag, just the truth. suddenly, she realized she could tell stories with her photographs. not just stories, much more than a thousand words, her canvases showed epics.
in the universe telling her she was vital, that her photos were a way to leave a mark, she found herself in trouble more often than not. working for the paper has put her into risky situations and unpleasant people. it seemed that she found herself in unfortunate situations more than her colleagues.
luckily for her, though words in books never printed themselves in her memory, she was doing enough to be street smart.it didn't seem to help much. avoiding bad situations in public could only do so much — what is someone meant to do when trouble finds them in their own home?
she's pushed herself further from others the older she gets. she's lonely undoubtedly, but she tells herself her camera and her dog are all that she needs. sometimes a shot and a cigarette later, she almost believes that.
