the chronicler.

age. mid to late 20s.

fc. tbd. (adelayo adedayo prob, tho)

lucretia is the first and only ghostwriter for the beloved caleb cleveland series, originally penned by john manger. it’s a thankless job, even if she’s compensated handsomely for it. she has aspirations of becoming a memoirist and biographer, but has fallen into what seems like an endless vortex of telling another man’s stories (even if she comes up with the bulk of the narrative herself).

after a slump in sales (and quality—the years of what fans call the non-canonical cycle), but riding high on royalties, john’s agent encourages him to find a ghostwriter—which he does at their publishing house in the then-perpetual-intern lucretia. she grew up a fan of the books and their mysteries, and always had a penchant for problem-solving (all problems but her own, actually), so was excited to begin this new chapter in her life. 

it’s due to her involvement that the series catches its second wind, reinvigorated by her attention to detail and complex mystery-building (and her background in arcane studies and the sciences, depending on the verse). she’s fine not receiving any official credit—she still attends the majority of the release parties just to see how fans, old and new, celebrate the series (plus, john is a terrific speaker, it’s fun listening to him read her words).

she’s quiet, mousy, but deeply sarcastic, and lives in a drafty loft apartment (open concept, with the exception of the bathroom being tucked away) with a mangy maine coon named cam. when she isn’t churning out the latest caleb manuscript, she’s working on her personal work—whether this means in a cafe or on the beat, looking for interviews and doing research (and crackin’ clues).

her most notable publication beyond caleb cleveland was an in depth feature about an underground street racing league (”petals to the metal”). she’s had others—a profile on a small diamond mining town, an opinion piece about the inept judicial system—but nothing as popular as that particular feature.

👀 (yes.)

—collection of small things.

while lucretia—sorry, madam director—comes off as austere and regal to those in her employ, she’s kind of a goofass person in private, which is a side very few people who work under her actually see. those who are witness to it usually only see a sliver at a time (this changes when magnus, taako, and merle return, because she’s pretty goddamn goofy around them; she can’t help it—she knows them, even if they don’t remember her). she can be casual with leon and killian (some of her older employees), and was very close to the millers once upon a time (more to come about this in particular), and is, of course, softer around the bureau’s younger members (per canon, angus seems to have staked out a place behind her chair, and she ruffles his hair).

she’s also...constantly concerned about the wellbeing of the people who’ve come to work for the bureau (and those that stayed on when it transitioned from balance to benevolence). these people are skilled at what they do but the relics are still a fraction of the power of the light of creation—competence does not translate to invulnerability in the face of a relic’s thrall. she takes each loss hard. this is compounded by one hundred years of survivor’s guilt after watching civilizations be devoured by the hunger, her betrayal of her crewmates and family, the way she selfishly allowed cam to sacrifice himself in her stead in wonderland. she also feels responsible for the downfall of the millers, captain bane, and magic brian—anyone who succumbed to the thrall. they’re not unforgotten, but lucretia is a pro at compartmentalizing (and rationalizing certain sacrifices, which they are all guilty of).

many of the bureau employees have been witness to the way the relics the IPRE crafted ravaged faerun. they want to be there, which she finds heartening. it makes sense that the people of this cycle would want to get involved in the eradication of these artifacts; this is their home, after all. if anything she’s glad she can at least give them an outlet to do so, and a way to accomplish their goals.

lucretia takes her position as director very seriously, even if she is pulling the wool over their eyes in order to set the wheels of her plan in motion. she has a record of each person, and knows everyone by name. she listens to their needs and complaints no matter how absurd or downright annoying, and is in the habit of taking requests into consideration (there weren’t always pringles on the moon, y’all. robbie put in that request personally, and when teamwork and HR issues arose, she planned for their trip to camp goodfriend). she also checks in on occasion—she’s not a hovercopter, but she isn’t inattentive.

working for the bureau of balance is not an easy job, but what she can do to make it easier, she will.

after the events of the day of story and song, she softens considerably. she’s less rigid, way more relaxed. she considers the moon base a second home, the bureau a second family—this realization hits her one day, suddenly, and without much fanfare.

poetry starters, ( accepting ): @dxdger​

her mask drops with a tremble of white lashes, like her middle seam has been pulled apart to reveal something far softer underneath. dodger looks abashed, and suddenly her desk is too wide between them, and she’s—lucretia sighs, her long fingers pressing briefly to her mouth. she’s going about this all wrong, isn’t she? she pushes her seat out and rounds the heavy desk to sink into the chair next to his.

“i am proud of you. immensely so,” she says gently. it’s no longer madam director before him, but lucretia, just lucretia, and she reaches out take his hand the way she would when he was younger, before the bureau, before this mess. her lips, still tense, curve into the ghost of a smile though her brow wrinkles with a note of distress. “you’re smart and capable. i shouldn’t have snapped at you. i was—worried.”

it’s not a struggle to admit, but there are so many things that could’ve gone wrong and that’s what her brain insists on showing her instead of the truth as it is, here, now. life goes pear-shaped so easily these days. lucretia gives dodger’s fingers a gentle squeeze.