HEY, i think i just saw ANTONIA HART walking down the strip. stop by to catch up and you’ll learn the THIRTY SEVEN YEAR OLD is working as a CITY HALL COUNCIL MEMBER / POLITICAL LIASON FOR THE WEISS FAMILY and lives in CROIX TOWNHOUSES given they are AMBITIOUS but CONTROLLING, it’s likely that they ARE NOT a vampire. on the flipside, rumor has it that SHE GAVE UP HER CHILD SO SHE WOULD HAVE NO DISTRACTIONS FOR HER CAMPAIGN and it keeps them looking over their shoulder. i bet you can find them tearing up the dance floor to KING by FLORENCE AND THE MACHINE and you’ll know why they’re called THE ACE. ☾ .⭒˚
i. stats.
full name … antonia maribel hart
nicknames … ms. hart, toni ( to close friends / family )
species … human
age … thirty-seven
date of birth … september ninth, 1959
place of birth … las vegas, nevada
gender / pronouns … cis woman ; she / her
orientation … pansexual
residence … croix townhouses
occupation … city hall council member, political liason for the weiss family
affiliation ... the weiss' ( officially ), whatever gets her the most power ( unofficially )
ii. personality.
zodiac sign … virgo sun, capricorn moon, libra rising
negative traits … controlling, manipulative, abrasive, ruthless, meticulous
positive traits … poised, driven, shrewd, cunning, ambitious, pragmatic
temperament ... choleric-melancholic
mbti / enneagram ... entj-a ; 3w4
character inspirations ... bette porter ( the l word ), tashi duncan ( challengers ), yasmin kara-hanani ( industry ), marcia roy ( succession ), emma hernandez ( vida ), olivia pope ( scandal ), fiona gallagher ( shameless )
pinterest.
spotify.
iii. physical.
faceclaim … lex scott davis
build ... mesomorph
hair color … black
eye color … brown
notable facts … tailored and deliberate to the point of discipline, perception as leverage. always in clean lines and neutral palettes chosen to amplify rather than distract with a dark lip to match, suits adhering to a lithe frame with the clack of heels or boots to signal her arrival. appearance is intentional, but it is not crafted for likability - will not soften herself to make others comfortable. her beauty is not inviting, but declarative, would rather emphasize competence rather than warmth. carries an unyielding posture and measured movement, radiating authority whether she speaks or not. details are exact because disorder signals weakness, not because she seeks approval. expressions are bluntly honest; disapproval shows in a flat look, impatience in a held silence, approval in nothing more than a nod, she maintains eye contact without flinching and speaks in a voice that calls things as she sees them, regardless of reception. will not perform charm, does not chase admiration, and does not dilute the truth for comfort - she presents herself as she is, fully aware that competence outlasts likability.
iv. biography. tw; childbirth
Before ambition had a name, before politics or law or power ever entered your vocabulary, you learned that responsibility arrives whether you invite it or not. In your house, promises were made with good intentions and broken without malice. You may have been loved, but love did not translate into reliability. Failure came often enough that someone else had to fill the gaps. That someone was you.
You helped raise your siblings without ever being asked. You learned how to cook before it felt fair, how to lie to landlords, how to stretch groceries, how to distract your younger brother when your parents were fighting, how to calm your sister when she cried because there was no money for field trips or braces or anything extra. You learned how to be dependable long before anyone taught you how to be young.
Your siblings love you, but they don’t always understand you. To them, you are part caretaker, authority figure, myth. You paid for textbooks, co-signed loans, made phone calls they were too afraid to make. You moved out and never fully came back, and that distance hardened into resentment on both sides. They accuse you now, jokes hidden under contempt, of thinking you’re better than them. With your name printed in papers and spoken in rooms that matter, that you’ve forgotten them, but you won’t throw your mercies in their faces, won’t bring up how you wire money when rent falls behind and quietly settle debts. You have always taken care of them, even as your resentment builds. The truth was always more complicated: you had to leave in order to survive, and they were allowed to stay because you did.
When the system failed your family, it did so without fanfare. Layoffs came without apology, paperwork disappeared into bureaucratic voids. Promises were made and quietly broken and your relationship with your mother becomes the quiet wound you never quite examine. She loved you deeply and depended on you too much. You watched her give everything she had to children and a man who never grew into the role of father, watched her shrink, her patience turned into resignation, watched her dreams dissolve into obligation. She did her best, but her life terrified you.
You worked because working meant escape and exhaustion was better than stagnation. You worked because every hour spent chasing something larger than your circumstances was an hour you didn’t have to think about what you were running from. Ambition became less about wanting more and more about refusing less; refusing to live at the mercy of institutions that treated your family as disposable. Refusing to beg or to shrink. You worked harder than everyone else because you had to, you earned scholarships, worked multiple jobs, put yourself through college – everything done with exhaustion and teeth-gritted endurance.
By the time you understood how power actually worked, you were already angry enough to want it. And one night was all it took to nearly undo all of it.
You let yourself be reckless, be young, unguarded, human. A few drinks with friends leads to waking up in a bed you don’t recognize. Then comes sickness, then comes the test that taunts you with a plus sign.
You looked at your future and saw your mother’s face waiting for you: children you loved but a partner who would disappoint you, a life reduced. You saw the resentment you would swallow and the bitterness that would calcify around it. You knew, with chilling certainty, that you would not survive that life intact. So you refused it – worked through the pregnancy and carried the child alone, physically, emotionally, and administratively. You didn’t tell anyone who didn’t need to know, treated it like a condition to be managed, not a miracle to be celebrated. You arranged everything in advance: the adoption, the legal protections, the distance. You did not allow yourself sentimentality because you knew it would undo you.
When the child was born, you did not hold them. If you did, you would hesitate, and hesitation was something you couldn’t afford. You left the hospital alone and two weeks later, you are back in the office as though nothing was wrong, swallowing the guilt like a bitter pill.
There are nights when you wonder who the child became. Not out of longing, but curiosity. You hope they are happy. You do not reach out. You do not look back. You have learned that some doors must remain closed, even if you built them yourself. You hope they are nothing like you.
Your ambition hardened into precision as you moved from law into politics. You recognized the patterns immediately: who spoke and who listened, who mattered and who was ornamental. City Hall was never noble. It was transactional and fearful, quietly owned. You aligned yourself with the Weiss family because you understood the reality that most people already were. You didn’t pretend otherwise and there was nothing noble about romanticizing resistance. You could not bypass power and expect to win. Money accelerated ambition and a powerful name opened doors years ahead of schedule. The role of political advisor comes to you and you accept, not out of loyalty but calculation. You helped them and remained useful without letting it own you. One day, you will no longer need the Weiss family. One day, you will no longer need anyone’s name but your own, and Las Vegas will belong to you. When that day comes, you will leave clean and exact, without scandal or spectacle, no bridges burned. Your sights are set on mayor of the city for now, and then – something else. Something more.
v. headcanons.
legally carries a concealed firearm at all times. Properly trained and renews her permit without fail, and never discusses it unless necessary. Las Vegas is not a safe city, and she refuses to rely on anyone else for her protection.
Hates surprises, even well-intentioned ones. Unpredictability feels like disrespect.
Rarely drinks, if she does it’s a glass of vintage wine she keeps for special occasions. But she burns through cigarettes and cigars with a frequency that borders on ritual, calms her nerves.
Does not care to be liked if she knows she is right. Because of this, she’s earned quite the reputation in the press – she’s good and she fucking knows it, it’s why the Weiss family picked her out, ruthless in her pursuit of winning, and pretends not to thrill at the clench of her presence.
Remembers names and details frighteningly well. If you told her about your grandmother’s bad hip three years ago, she’ll ask how she’s doing the next time she sees you. She’s a little scary.
Useless meme time < 3
vi. wanted connections.
familiar … the family of her child seeking her out, whether for money or for blackmail ( good luck w that one ), estranged siblings ( 0/2 ), the person who introduced her to the weiss family, other city council members
romantic … former lovers pre-politician era, the father of her child who does not know she gave them up, secret dalliances she will indulge in every now and then, keeps them on a leash like a dog fr.
platonic … rivals, her assistant/mentee/protege, people she’s fucked over in the past with no remorse.
coloring by sawboneresources.
