Brittany was leaning against the brick wall, the cigarette firmly gripped between her fingers as she moved her body gently to the music that was playing gently through her headphones. Her fingers clicking along to the beat, a happy smile plastered across her features. She always enjoyed dancing, even if it was just small, solo moments like this. Taking a drag of her cigarette, as she looked over at the female who began speaking. “huh?” She asked in a confused tone, some smoke blowing from her mouth with the words before she took another drag of her cigarette. “Can’t you like go get another one?” She questioned, her brow furrowing with confusion. “I mean, surely you aren’t the first tired uni student to lose their ID.” She laughed.
“it’s not even about that,” she replied, stuffing a handful of old receipts into the nearest bin before giving britt a quick-once over. “like, my main issue is that my truly horrendous id is out there, for all to see, on some great western railways service somewhere halfway between here and paddington.” at the mention of ‘getting a new one’, steph huffed. how many had she already had issued this year? at least four. maybe five. “and have the student services desk yell at me? no thanks, i think i’ll take my chances sneaking into my lectures. plus, yeah, they’re like, ten quid - don’t know about you, but i can’t remember the last time i actually carried cash with me.”
quite clearly having trouble, evita did nothing to help the other person find what she had lost. she just stayed sitting on the floor, watching and waiting until she was addressed. “nah mate.” e shook her head and twisted the unlit cigarette around her fingers. it was her last one and she didn’t want to light it before her friend showed up with the new pack she was owed. “didn’t leave it at home, did you? or on the train?” seeing as they were outside the train station, that seemed the most likely place for it to be. “try lost property? or, i don’t know, can you get a replacement?”
“not at home, no, pretty sure i brought it with me to the train station. did i leave it on the train? jury’s still out on that one, i’m afraid. god, my dad’s actually going to murder me if he finds out i’ve lost it again,” she continued on, trying her best to sort through the depths of her handbag, before giving up. “you ever going to light that cig? or is it one of those ‘john green metaphor’-things?”
send me “#” for cell phone headcanons about our muses including:
- what your muse’s name is in mine’s phone
- what your muse's picture is in mine’s phone
- what your muse’s ringtone is in mine's phone
- my muse’s last text to your muse
“oh, for fuck’s sake! i swear to god ----” the blonde rambled as she rummaged through her bag, fingers working their way through crumpled receipts and individually wrapped cough drops, clearly looking for something: her student id. she’d had it when she left her dad’s that morning, had it when she bought her train ticket from london to oxford, but whether it was still in her bag when she got off the train, she couldn’t remember. with a short sigh, simultaneously bordering on both frustrated and apologetic, she turned to the figure next to her. “okay, so - i get that this is a long-shot, or whatever, but you haven’t seen an id card laying around anywhere near here, have you?”
kit saw her coming over before he even really registered why and found it funny when he did realise. it wasn’t unlike him to look over a room with an air of judgement, more so when he’d somehow ended up in an upscale bar with rhys who promptly abandoned him. it wasn’t hard to find the type that didn’t fit in and she stuck out like a sore thumb because she was trying so hard to blend in. she was pretty, he’d give her that, but there were a lot of pretty girls around oxford. “… stephanie right?” he didn’t bother waiting for her response before answering her question as his eyes skimmed her now she was up close. “hm, i’m not sure you know much about christopher collier if you must ask. more apt question is why you’re here. doesn’t really seem like your scene, does it?”
“steph,” she piped up quickly in an attempt to correct him, realising all too quickly that he wasn’t actually seeking a response. god, how she hated rich kids. and as much as her dad had tried to teach her not to gage people’s socio-economic status at first glance, it didn’t matter in situations like these - kit didn’t exactly fly under the radar. though, there was no point in getting visibly worked up. instead, she reached a hand forward to brush a speck of dust away from the collar of his shirt, offering him a slight shrug as he spoke. “guilty as charged. all the more reason for you to teach me, hm?” she had half a mind to slip her hand into his breast pocket there and then, and fish out what was clearly a card holder, but as his last sentence left his lips, she found herself raising a brow in his direction. “my scene? excuse me?”
“Open for interpretation–– whatever brings you the most comfort. No man is safe in a world of inventions, explosions–– large things happening all the time.” not once does she break the eye contact. “Wouldn’t you wanna do it? For the fame?”
“woah, pal,” she shoots in, shaking her head in faux disbelief before taking another swig of her cup. “if this is your way of finding a hitman, or something, might i suggest you - i don’t know - look for one on craigslist?”
steph hadn’t gone out that night with the intention of scamming anyone. her tuition fees, rent, utilities - she had accumulated enough capital to cover all of it. at least for a couple of months. tonight she just wanted to have fun; no agenda, no ulterior motives, no pickpocketing. but all of that had gone down the drain when she saw him. truthfully, steph had never had a full conversation with kit collier - but she had caught him rolling his eyes at her. and, half motivated by a burning desire for revenge, half by the three gin and tonics she had had, she decided it fit to teach him a lesson. sauntering across the room, heels clicking against the wooden floor, she made it over to his table. “well, would you look at this,” she beamed, perching on the edge of the table, rather than the empty chair across from him. “never thought christopher collier would be the type to drink alone. where’s your little posse?”
Icy orbs fall onto the familiar person, perhaps a SMIDGE intoxicated but still coherent none the less as he takes it upon himself to greet the other with the collision of soft lips, murmuring a soft “Hi,” before pulling away and bringing his drink to his lips.
steph immediately pulls back, equal parts distressed and furious, hand placed firmly on his shoulder to keep him at bay. “what the fuck, hill?” she almost hisses. it’s a disproportionate reaction, sure, she gets that --- but at the same time, she doesn’t care. “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“I’ll give you ten pounds if you ––” she mindlessly waves the cigarette around, before bringing it to her lips. Exhaling through her nose, she leans back, crossing her legs. “assassinate a president.”
“so, we talkin’, like, the president of one of the colleges, a country, or that poor excuse for a dining society?” steph asks, taking a drag of her own cigarette before looking over at the other. “either way, my answer is no. feel like i’d need more than a tenner if i were to risk spending my life in prison.”
woah, what’s this? me? being late? to a deadline i set? very likely. hiya babies, my name’s elle, i’m twenty, london bred (though not born, rip), and i’m one half of the annoying admin team you’ve all had to deal with while applying. i’ve got three equally terrible characters that i’m gonna introduce u all to in due time, but let’s start with this mess, steph.
(also please like this post/message me on discord if you want to plot)
full name: stephanie marie alden
date of birth: 7 july 1997
place of birth: brixton, south east london
truth be told, edmund alden and charlotte davies never expected a child. both in their early twenties at the time, with charlotte fresh out of a university degree she didn’t care all that much about and eddie working the odd job here and there (though never for more than a week or two at a time), it just wasn’t the right time.
not to mention the fact that neither of them intended to stay in the relationship for long. so when the results came back, the red plus sign on the display window of the pregnancy test glaring back at them, it had - to put it mildly, been inconvenient.
their decision to keep the child had come as a surprise to both friends and family, neither of which were willing to believe that the two were in any position to take on the responsibilities of rearing a child.
and, in some respects, they weren’t wrong: on the night of christmas eve 1997, a mere six months after stephanie’s arrival, charlotte packed an overnight bag and beelined for the closest tube station, vanishing with the last train of the night. they never heard from her after that.
having never properly gotten over the betrayal of his partner walking off, eddie had come to harbour a lot of anger and frustration towards charlotte, feelings which over time grew and morphed into a quite prominent resentment towards women in general.
after her mother’s vanishing act, her father swore off relationships (and thus also - you guessed it - women) for good. this, in combination with eddie’s tendency to shut out his extended family, resulted in an upbringing where the only real female influences steph was exposed to, were women on television, on page three of the sun, and the occasional pop singer. “he’s just … funny about women,” she’d pipe up whenever someone asked, eager to derail the situation. talk about something else. anything else.
growing up in the backwater of her dad’s grief and with only glossed, hypersexualised magazine articles for guidance about what being a woman meant, steph never learnt to shake that sense of discomfort she’d carried around since early childhood.
especially when it came to relationships. on one hand, flirting was fine - that way, she could keep people at arm’s length. plus, she was good at it (strangely enough, considering she hadn’t truly excelled at anything, ever). all it took was the right word at the right time or a strategic smile, and boys were practically eating out of her palm.
but she had no clue how to move past that stage, how to establish real, human connections. not that she’s entirely aware of it herself, but the thought of intimacy (be it emotional or physical) terrifies her - the aftermath of her father’s broken heart burning bright on her retina, like an afterimage she just can’t seem to shake.
and so, inadvertently, steph took a page out of her mother’s book: leading boys on, only to vanish when things seemed like they might develop. all just fun and games.
it remained that way until midway through her last year of sixth form, when her father was made redundant.
and if money hadn’t already been a little too tight, it most definitely was no. with no severance package, her father had told her in confidence, he wasn’t sure they’d be able to make rent that month.
in an economically unsound decision to try to cheer her up, her pals decided it fit to take her out to a bar in the city. too worried about the state of her future to actually party, steph found herself stuffed away in the corner of the crowded establishment, way too sober for comfort - so when some lad in a suit had offered her a drink, she didn’t have half a mind to turn him down.
one drink became three or four, and when steph had seen the familiar outline of a leather wallet line the breast pocket of her conversation partner’s suit pocket, she was too drunk to stop herself from slipping her fingers into said pocket, effortlessly fishing the wallet out and giving the other a quick kiss on the cheek before beelining for the door, hoping and praying he had been drunker than her.
the only thing she remembers after that is the tube journey home - drunkenly counting the crisp pound notes over and over again with one hand, keeping the other crossed all the while.
from there it was academic - a card here, a wallet there, the occasional four figure wristwatch --- things just seemed to go missing from the boys around her.
personality;
so??? steph is a mess. i think that’s the best place to start.
never in one place for very long, always busy doing something or other.
quite colloquial?? uses mainly slang and informal language, definitely flavoured by having grown up in south east london
for someone whose main trick is playing on sex appeal to get what she wants, steph is actually a capital v virgin. like she’s never even french kissed anyone. not properly, anyway. though you bet she lies through her teeth about anything even tangentially related to sex.
can come across as quite rude - has a very low tolerance for snobbery and will definitely call you out on your shit if your being too posh for her liking. in essence, she’s just very direct.
always picking fights. and when it’s not between herself and people she disagree with, she’ll meddle in other people’s affairs to watch them get worked up. truly a chaotic force.
great fun, provided she isn’t angry with you --- always the last to go to bed after a night out, you get the picture. a mess.
connections;
obviously i’m up for brainstorming connections, but here are some pretty barebones ideas in case we’re both stuck !!
best friend - the one person she’ll let in, the one person who’s able to ground her
close friends
people she’s scammed !!!
flatmates (lbr she can’t afford to live on her own)
