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doyle sends carolina a scarf made of the finest silk, dyed in a rich emerald green to compliment her hair and embroidered on it in golden thread is the figure of a celtic boar .

she’s pleasantly surprised; she’s not exactly used to being spoiled like this -- not lately, anyway, and elaborate gifts such as this only seem to be too grand for her. not that she’d say so - when she wears it around later, the emerald making a lovely harmony with the vibrant red of her hair, there would be only honest awe. really, doyle ought to be proud of that.

it’s been a while since she’d last seen him in person. they always seemed to find time to video chat, and those irregular thirty minutes always seemed to put her in a good mood, but it’s nicer when he’s around for a day or two, maybe a week, before being sent away off-world for another meeting. it’s not unbearable, but every now and then she gets the urge to surprise him in his office and it’s a little disappointing when she remembers -- oh, he’s not here right now.

but since he’s always in another place, he’s always sending back gifts. the fine silk scarves are her favorite, but there’ve been times when he’d send other little trinkets -- one time she received a couple of charms from him, and earlier that same day wash had gotten her a plain charm bracelet. the sheepish smile washington gave her when she went up to him and gave him a friendly nudge to his shoulder was all too “younger brother”-esque. she wears the bracelet all the time, that is, whenever she’s not in armor.

which, really, since the end of the war, had been more frequent, now. she still wore it more often than not -- she and wash had to officiate and lead efforts to clean up and rebuild while kimball and doyle were gone, but more and more lately she’d been able to wear her joggers and her slouchy long-sleeved shirts, paired unsurprisingly with one of many gifts she’d received from doyle. really, at some point she’d just be bragging about being spoiled so shamelessly.

of course she’d send her own gifts, not quite as frequently, obviously, since there’s only so much you can find amongst the rubble, but every now and then she’d send a couple pebbles (as a joke) and maybe a hand written note or two. her handwriting was atrocious, but she’s got a decent way around words. sometimes she sent him pressed flowers, other times a stack of photos on instant film. she likes to think he kept the ones that were solely of her. she’s pretty sure she’s not wrong.

she smiles, remembering all these as she feels the fabric between her fingers. maybe shell find something to send him later on.

#doylina is... my lif e ..#chorusiology #⟨ .message

✦ .

✦ Has your own interpretation changed from when you first began playing the character?

There are a lot of things I’ve changed ever since I started writing as Carolina. I used to keep her standoffish, and keep very “true” to that ‘bitchy’ vibe the show had going on for her when she was first introduced. Obviously to keep with the show and to show more sides to her, I changed that -- softened her edges, made her more introverted than just ‘bitchy,’ stuff like that. But that’s pretty basic changes -- some of my bigger changes probably delved more into how I treated her as a character, how I developed my headcanon childhood for her, things like that. I’ve since read a lot of fanfiction regarding her and I’ve always adopted traits that I thought made sense for her. My interpretation of Carolina is just as much a collaboration of so, so many people just as much as it is my own, so it’s safe to say she’s ever changing as a muse.

#chorusiology #⟨ .message

It sort of just -- happened.

Romance wasn’t her forte. Intoxicated flirting and impulsive touches were rare, even when she had been with York, and general acts of affection seemed, to most, to be platonic at best. She’d been accustomed to treating everyone she considered close, or family, or friend, or some combination of any of them, with a kind of rough friendliness - elbows meeting the sides of stomachs, shoulders bumping ( rather harshly ) against others, and loud, hearty laughs took more precedence over the more effeminate, more flirtatious stream of giggling. So, then, it must have come as a surprise to others, and most especially to herself, when a shyer, more softer version of her laugh came to ring past her lips, and when hard nudges became replaced by the softest brush of gloved fingers against his, and when she found herself looking forward to spending the odd afternoon talking of literature and poetry and quotes that may, or may not, have been said by Shakespeare.

Doyle had been a friend for a while, now. Carolina’s affiliation with either half of the joined forces of Chorus had been a recent development, though undeniably she had proven her value easily and quickly. Her drive was personal, the strength and conviction that it fueled admirable and respected -- what with the many scars that so defined it. She took the reigns as if they were made for her, and arguably, they might be. She had long been very private about everything about herself -- perhaps to many in Chorus she was but a figure, a legend, even. Bar Epsilon, perhaps it was only Washington who truly understood the suffering that was so heavily guarded by careful words and heavy privacy. But Doyle -- Doyle, whose friendship with Carolina was undoubtedly recent, had earned not only Carolina’s trust, but also her sympathy.

Carolina quickly found herself confiding in the other more and more, words spilling from her lips in ways not even Washington had heard. She told Doyle of things many had already guessed, and explained to him things that no one would have suspected. Each afternoon spent with him had been an exchange of stories and insecurities and comfort -- and perhaps it was the development of that that had sparked such an unfamiliar interest in him. It had been a long, long while since she had felt so -- comfortable around anyone. But when her actions towards him had become gentler, when her voice began to soften and her attention increasingly becoming more focused on him, she made no complaint. It was a gentle feeling, and with all the hardness she had had to endure for so long -- she deserved gentleness.

But even with such a long and inconspicuous process, no one would have figured the former-freelancer to have found such solace and comfort in General Doyle, of all people. Many had figured she would be with Washington, and there had been rumors that Kimball had sparked her interest. General Doyle and Carolina? No one would have seen it coming. And especially not them either. So it must have been quite an experience when helmets had been taken off for the evening, and when rouged lips met with the general’s left cheek for a fraction of a second; It was only a brush, and it was only impulsive, much like many things that involved the freelancer, but it must have sparked quite the talk amongst soldiers when they had found the general sporting a curious smudge of red on his cheekbone.

#chorusiology #⟨ .chorusiology

△ ; chorusiology

she had been in the air a moment ago, coming down at the ground at a speed that would send anyone unfamiliar with it staggering backwards. the blue light surrounding her had barely faded when she noticed someone standing nearby, attention turned towards her.

❝ oh shit! i’m sorry, did you get any of that? i was just experimenting around a bit-- are you hurt? that was my bad entirely! ❝

#idk how but we will wing this i promiSE #chorusiology