cheap thrills

AVALEN BLACKTHORN || 623 || FAE- PIXIE || JAMIE CAMPBELL BOWER || CHARACTER MASCOT (Sector: 1-10)

» H I S T O R Y

Avalen was born in the wonderful, magic filled land of Pensans, or Penzance as it is today known, in roughly the year 1483 or thereabouts. Calendars were different back then, so no one is quite exactly sure when or what day of the year (Though Val claims it was on a Monday, since “Monday’s child is fair of face”). The first hundred or so years of his existence were spent in the surrounding forests and moors of his home, doing all the things pixies do, filling his life with dance and song and other merriments. Often he and fellow pixie-creatures would travel into town, into open markets and squares to cause a mischief amongst the townfolk, as pixies are known to do. Being a prankster was in his blood, came naturally to him, and he was one of the best. Sometimes, taking things a little too far, as when the town of Penzance woke one day to find the surrounding waters bright green and thick as ooze.

With all sorts of mischief and mayhem exhausted, there seemed nothing for the young creature to do, until the travelling bug struck him. Len decided to wander, to discover how far he could go, where the Earth’s edge was and how it all ended. Turns out, it didn’t have an end. There were lands upon lands after seas upon high seas, much to his delight. In his humanized form, Avalen spent many years travelling and discovering. In Argentina, he met a most dazzling witch, under whose spell he soon fell, quite literally. He became a ‘familiar’ of sorts to her, helping her cast dark magic and weave spells, most often of a sinister nature and at personal cost to the humans around them. The witch found a powerful assistant in Avalen, and he, in return, enjoyed seeing their dark deeds come to fruition and cause chaos. You could say that for a while, he lost his way. But Avalen was pure of head and heart, he’d only strayed from his path and needed to be led back.

It took an intervention from those of his kind to break him out of his dark tendencies. Slowly, but surely, he returned to his former self, and to the Cornish woods he used to call home. He existed there somewhat quietly, mutely, for the next two centuries. Hibernating, if you will. Though not all this time was spent idle. He paid back to the community, in a way, for his bad deeds done abroad. Flitting into the townspeople’s homes while they were out, he would mend their socks and rearrange their books alphabetically, doing the sort of benevolent work that pixies were rarely  known to do. In this way, bit by bit, he felt like he had regained some of his ‘humanity’ (though being a Pixie, he hadn’t had much of it to start with).

It wasn’t long until he was pining for adventure again, nearly four centuries old and craving the buzz of excitement in him again. The dark magic the witch had worked had left its residue in him, and desires strange and new, and vices all too human, sprung up inside Len. Embarking on a journey once again, he found the world had changed, and Avalen found himself thrust into the heart of Europe, into Paris and the Belle Epoque. With his high cheekbones, fair complexion, and hair that changed colours, he found himself a muse for men and women alike, at the epicentre of the art movement and the subject of an untold number of poems, prose and paintings. It was here one of his biggest vices, being at the centre of all attention, flourished.

Decades passed, but the thirst for the limelight and being under the envious gaze of humans never waned. He went wherever the party was, found living it up in the Jazz Age, in Prohibition-era speakeasies, at Woodstock (he particularly loved the Free Love era), and so on. Whispers abound that he was even the inspiration behind the titular character of Dorian Gray, but this remains merely a rumour. Eventually, with his flair for colours, fabrics and textures (all good pixies love a nice bit of ribbon), he became not only a muse but a creator of fashions, landing in some of the most prestigious and powerful fashion houses. A close friend of Coco Chanel and Paul Poiret just to name a few, Val helped create clothing and serve as inspiration for it, too.

Living under such a public and prominent gaze, and being someone who never aged, brought suspicion from a fair few. Of course, Len had the option to return back to pixie form and vanish before the world’s collective gaze, but he was far, far too stubborn for that, now drunk on fame and fortune. He was bloated on excess, known to the media as a partyboy, a supermodel who indulged in a rockstar life: sex, drugs, and very loud music. It was unbefitting for his earthly soul, cramping and drowning him, but the creature seemed too far gone to notice. Only a very clear, marked attempt on his life was what thrust him to wake up. Shaken, he started to look for help, for answers, for anything that would stop him from looking over his shoulder constantly for the next person or creature to do him in. Begrudgingly, he accepted an offer from a stranger running an amusement park, a home to those where his kind dwelled, out of the limelight, out of stardom and into obscurity….

R I S K  L E V E L : Moderate TEMPERANCE EVALUATION: Passed

» P E R S O N A L I T Y

+ Benevolent, Charismatic, Ebullient - Narcissistic, Mischievous, Haughty

Avalen’s colourful clothes and style choices match his moods and personalities, changing often, though there are a few traits that have stuck with him over the centuries. He is childish to a fault, always wanting to be right and gleefully gloating when the case is so. Stubborn as hell and prone to tantrums, though depending on the day these might be handled in private. He is moody, known for jealousies and violent mood swings at a moment’s notice. Flirtatious as all hell, his default mannerisms are sickly sweet, and he can charm the skin off a snake. Most  who interact with him are left with the impression that he is trying to seduce them into bed. Though more often than not this is the case, it is also just his natural way of being, freewheeling and flirtatious.

Val has a bit of an avoidant personality where conflict is concerned, and double for conflicts involving physical contact. Working as a character mascot, he delights in showing off his wings to the visitors of the park, dressed in little else but a skirt made of rags. His natural charisma and charm make him an excellent character mascot, loving interaction with kids far more than he does adults. His pet peeve is when kids call him a “fairy”, but it happens so often now, he’s more or less begrudgingly used to it. In his free time, he loves hanging out in the Devil’s Backbone area, and likes to round up his nights by frequenting the Thriller Night club after hours.

» C O N N E C T I O N S

GRANT RIDDLE: Val finds the ghost’s company refreshing, and as someone as equally verbose as him, they seem to come up with an endless array of topics to discuss. 

BYRN GUMONDSOTTIR: Val has taken an interest in the newcomer, and although she is fae, he doesn’t consider her in any way like himself. If anything, he secretly considers her a mermaid, and has taken her up as a sort of character study.   

The role of AVALEN BLACKTHORN is currently - TAKEN

“Are you expecting someone?” She took in his apparel, though there wasn’t much to see, and raised a brow.

Flying. Melisande had never flown before. Her eyes went wide just at the thought of it, practically fizzing over with excitement “I bet it would be more fun” she agreed easily, swatting at his arm and pouting when she joked about her weight “you’re one to talk” the siren retorts with a laugh, though he’s obviously nearly as skinny as she is. “I wonder if it would be anything like swimming- the flying I mean, you’d have air resistance instead of water obviously, but I can get pretty high speeds…” Mel pondered the differences in the two travel modes for a moment, taking a thoughtful sip from the goblet “this stuff is delicious by the way, whatever it is- you see, when I arrived at the park there was already like a full wardrobe and everything for me, so I started off in heels” she shrugs “I barely wear flats,most of my shoes just slip on”

“Oh— oh no,” Len shook his head most determinedly, at the idea of comparing flying to swimming. “Tha’s happened to me once before. Asked one of the merfolk ‘fer a swim– nearly drowned. Nasty...unpleasant.” He made a markedly sour face. “Flyin’s not tha’ at all. It’s light, it’s weightlessness, it’s— freedom, tha’s wha’ it is.”

The undead girl was briskly walking straight through, intent on getting to the apartments and just- relaxe for once. But even if her eyes were focused squarely towards her feet she could feel the shadows growing around her. Formless dark shapes hissing and growling that the panic- that wasn’t happening, she wasn’t panicking -was building itself up until if felt like she was choking. So caught up in her not-panic attack Jennie didn’t even realize she wandered right into a party until a voice called her out.

She jumped in place, a deer caught in the headlights look about her. She managed to wander into a party and not even notice? Which was hard to believe since the music and the guy before her was anything but unnoticeable. “Uhh.” She started, taking a hesitant step back trying to drink whole scene in. “I can’t? N-not that it’s kind of you to offer but I really can’t physically. And on top of that I shouldn’t, I didn’t really expect to be here. So I’m just gonna…” She took another step fully intent on just turning around and leaving.

Though of course, he would never let on as much. A broad smile. A bow of the head. “Righ’—you can’t. I remember now. Apologies.” He jutted out his hand, the sleeve of his oversized pink robe draping over it. “Doesn’t mean ‘ye should leave though.” There was something startling or frightening her, although what it was Len couldn’t pinpoint, and he most certainly didn’t want that something to be him. He was the least threatening thing in the park...that he knew of.

“There’s a —uh—” he scrambled somewhat thinking of things to anchor her stay. “There’s plenty ‘a other things than food an’ drink if ‘yer inclined ‘ta stay,” he said with a broad, what he hoped welcoming, smile.

The whiteness of her dress competed with her skin; both becoming luminous under the light the moon cast. Unsure on appropriate attire it was a simple and plain enough dress, but still something softly feminine. Avalen had been going on about having a celebration recently, and while at first she politely declined and mumbled an apology, she quickly changed her tune at the mention of merfolk. The moment he included the water species her eyes grew large with curiosity. She had seen some mers walking about on land, but had yet approach one. With the exception of the sweet soft spoken Rhea she had very little interaction with any at all.  What would they act like out of water? How long can they stay on land? There were half dozen more questions she wanted to ask, and thought perhaps the opportunity might present itself at such a meeting.

No sooner then did she step into the circle did she find the boisterous Pixie; completely under dressed by her conservative standard. The pink fabric floated about him as if being gently manipulated by a wind that simply didn’t blow through the trees. Pausing for a moment she took a quick look around to find that they apparently seemed to be the only two around. Suddenly her feet stopped in the tall grass as she felt the weight of his large eyes upon her. She sighed feeling overwhelmed by the situation so much so she thought to make an excuse, and to turn and leave. However, that would’ve been something the old Bryn would’ve done, and the fairy wanted so desperately to break free from the insecurities that one kept her captive. Mustering up some courage she drew in closer to the pixie, and politely took the goblet, and peered down before she lifted it to her nose, “Thank you. Not cream?” She took a step back because they were too close for her liking, and clutched the drink too nervous to bring it to her lips.  

Remembering the small blue box with a silver ribbon she held it out in offering, “Strawberry-fig tarts. My mother always said it’s rude to show up to a party without a gift. Where would you like them?” Letting her eyes scan over the beautiful decor she smiled anxiously feeling incredibly awkward. With her eyes left to linger anywhere but on the scantly clad man. “Where is everyone else? Did I come too early?”     

And what a fascinating subject she was. He knew nothing but the barest outline of her life, though for someone who has existed all of twenty-three years, what was there to know? He had lived roughly thirty of her lifetimes, and the first one was most certainly not the most memorable one. 

“Good morning, good evening, good afternoon,” Len welcomed her, noting how she gingerly took the goblet in her hands and peered down into its contents. “No, not cream. Peach cider. Would ya like cream? Tha’ could be easily arranged.” With just a simple flick of the wrist. He knew full well by now though that Bryn wasn’t the type to prefer letting loose over having a careful, controlled environment.

She seemed to have wizened up to the lack of merfolk around them, and though Len had invited a few more people, they were mainly humans who worked at the park. He did invite Melisande, but she had a fifty-fifty chance of turning up. “Late or lost...tha’s my guess,” he said with a simple shrug of his angular shoulders and an outward wave of the hand, his thin pink robe billowing out behind him, the lack in numbers not bothering him in the slightest. The box was accepted with a nod and Len made it float to join the rest of the food on the small table. “How luvly of ya...” Then he set to working, as usual, on the faeire-child’s circumspect mood. “Beau’iful moon out tonight— is it beautiful?— I can’t decide —I’ve seen quite so many in my life time...”

The trees were better company than any of Jemma’s coworkers and the animals made for good practice now that human souls were “off limits”. And so there she found herself, gliding through the woods, cloaked in black searching for a release from tarot cards and teenage “love” potions. It was just her luck, though, to run into the nearly naked pixie traipsing his way through her forest wearing less fabric than a handkerchief.

Jemma considered simply passing him by and continuing on her way but the drink in her face stopped her “It smells like piss, so I’ll pass”

Seeing the recluse witch who hardly left her psychic shop, Len’s smile just grew. And grew. No doubt he attributed her presence there to his powers of luring even the most reclusive and depressed members of the park, like some sort of pied piper of the Spookshow. Except, instead of being a psychopathic paedophile who led children to their deaths, he led the good folk of the park to a party and a good time. “It’s cider. Special cider. No, tha’ ain’ no funny word-play and I ain’ tryin-a make ye drink my...” his words stopped there, as if it all bordered on the ludicrous now, and chose instead to take another generous sip from his goblet. A light breeze stirred his pink robe, and after a few generous sips he looked generally satisfied with the whole thing, the demonstration all for her benefit. “There. Would I drink ‘me own piss?”

Though she would have actually quite enjoyed to hear those ‘tales of yore’ Melisande determined they could wait, she’d ask him about that sort of thing at a time when she wasn’t intent on a party. She followed after her friend, placing the wine bottle down on the table and taking his offered hand to seat herself next to him up in the tree. “I figured out how to climb trees a few days ago” Melisande reports proudly, taking another sip from the goblet “it’s a lot of fun.” When Len compliments her shoes she giggles, swinging her legs out to admire them. “three years of wearing shoes and I am starting to figure them out for myself, you know”

Though his human form was wiry rather than muscley, Len was surprisingly strong, and it was no effort lifting Melisande up to join him on the branch in one swift movement. “Y’know wha’ could be more fun? Flyin’. I’ve done ‘fer a fair few regular folk, maybe I could manage you as well...ya big pook.” He was smiling his gentle smile, which of course in Len-ish meant no offense meant. Just a light joke, or irony rather, since the mermaid looked like she hardly weighed a thing. He took a big swig from his goblet, snatching her bottle of wine from her hands and turning it round so he could read the label. Or rather, the pictures that were on it. “Three years...tha’s better than me I reckon. Must’a took me six months to learn to tie my laces? I believe so.”

He removed his hand after becoming stoic once more, and as his face fell into a somber expression, he heard jolly movement and music to his right. He had meant to keep going, possibly toward the closest city to feed, but a strong magical scent made he abruptly turn, a slight interest piquing. When he reached the noises, he moved, quiet as shadows to watch in fascination. Fae-types were marvelous to him. They moved with a different type of grace than his species, like flowing water. And despite the gaudy garb, he couldn’t help to think that the display, from the floating lanterns to a set of wings, was quite enchanting. 

Normally, Silas would approach such sites with somber silence, but a quick brush against a plant brought attention to him. No sense in turning back to his business, Silas briefly glanced down at the offer, then back up at the pixie’s face with a faint hint of a smirk. He didn’t respond at first, surveying the surroundings and the unfamiliar pixie with intense eyes. Not feeding for nearly three days had made him a bit more predatory, but he was determined to feed from a vein this time around as he despised drinking from plastic bags. It was almost if he were a trapped zoo animal, and he tortured and weakened himself for the chance to exercise his instincts.

He froze in place a good distance from the pixie with the stillness that only a vampire could achieve, the smirk turning into a dark grin at the other’s question. Thirsty was more than an understatement at the current moment. “Unfortunately, I must decline, but I would have been most gracious to accept the offer if its contents were more suitable to my tastes.”

And blissfully forgetful, it seemed, what with offering him something he couldn't partake in. "Ah, my apologies," Len said with a shake of his head and a waggle of a smile. "If I still partook in dark magic I might 'ave been able to rustle up this 'ere cider into a nice cuppa O Neg. But unfortunately…" Unfortunately he no longer partook in dark magic. That was a closed chapter in his life, and one he had been expressly warned not to reopen. "Only this 'ere cider, m'afraid."

Then his ears perked up at the sound of music. Not because he recognized it, no, no. It was purely because music meant life, and from the sound of the tune, really, really upbeat life. He doubted a brooding vampire who’d glare at him to ‘buzz off’ would be listening to anything of the sort. Following the sound, Grant saw flowing pink cloth and flashy wings. Avalen. He had always been hard to miss.

He was going to try sneaking up on him, but when he brought his floating form to the ground, he stepped on a twig, which the fae seemed to hear even over the music, given his attention was now on Grant. He instantly forgot about his doomed to fail scare plan in favor of bouncing over to the pixie. “Yeah, tonight seemed like a really good wandering night. Meaning I couldn’t find anyone to talk to that actually wanted to be spoken to,” Grant commented while wrinkling his nose and curiously poking one of the floating lanterns. “Do you think if I swallow a candle, go kinda transparent, and float a bit, I’d be able to make myself into a makeshift lantern?” As usual, Grant didn’t keep his musings in his head. His attention was snapped back towards the cup Len held and he quickly shook his head with a laugh. “Thanks, but I’m never thirsty, it’s part of the whole dead thing. What has you up, anyway? Wait, do fae sleep?”

This time though, he heard him full and clear, the twig making a noise and alerting the pixie. Len clutched a hand to his bare chest, pretending to look mock-offended. "I'm hurt, I'm actually, so so hurt. Gobsmacked. Y'know you can always come to me for a chat and a cuppa, right? Well, a metaphorical cuppa, 'course." Since the apparition wasn't one for food or drink. It put a slight damper on their friendship sometimes, because Len was all about the food or drink, but most of the time it didn't matter much since they found other ways to occupy their time together.

He observed Grant for a time, smile on his lips. "Couldn't tell ya, but curious…interesting…" The lanterns held candles of their own, and with an easy gesture of his hand Val gave the ghost nonverbal permission to follow through with his half-baked idea. Or not. Whatever he wanted, no pressure. Remembering that Grant didn't drink put something of a damper on Len all over again. "Remind me again, does tha' mean there's no method or way to get ya pissed? Sozzled? Sloshed?" Because drunk humans, Len had always believed, were far better company than sober ones. "First off, I do wish you wouldn't call me tha',"  Len said, objecting lightly to the use of the word fae. "Not like those Seelie gits…not like them at all." Probably the quickest way to piss the pixie off, lump him in with a fairy.

Melisande recalled a small forest at the edge of the town, and since she was too eager to faff around she just grabbed a bottle of fancy wine from behind the bar at the club and slipped off into the night, still clad in the dark sequined number she’d dressed in for the evenings performance. The lights and sounds drew the siren further in, and she expertly navigated her way over tree roots and small plants in her heels- she’d been practicing for three years. Perhaps it should have surprised her to find Len at the middle of the scene, but Melisande was used to his antics. “you read my mind” she responds with a small smirk of her own, reaching out for the goblet and taking a sip “is there an occasion? Or is it party for the sake of it. Either way I’m down.” she shook the bottle of wine in her hand as demonstration.

As she closed in on the scene, she hiked the bag on her shoulder up a bit higher and realized the creature was Len whom she had met a few times throughout her time working at The Spookshow. She didn’t know him all too well, but knew she was cautious of him nonetheless. As he noticed her, she sighed softly and threw on a fake smile to appear friendly and not so standoffish. “No thanks..” she answered with a quick shake of her head, “Might I ask, what on earth you’re doing out here?” She was already preparing for some sort of obvious, smart-ass answer.

When she questioned his being there in the woods, he turned, pink slip swishing with his movements, a slight raise to his brow. As if to ask silently, why how she’d even consider asking such a thing. "It's a full moon. Spring's about to be sprung, dear. Don't tell me you can't feel it?" Surely she couldn't have been quite so detached from her kind to not even feel a slight stirring inside her delicate bones? "Cause 'fer celebration, I say." With a shrug he returned his attentions to tinkering with the radio with the giant antenna where the music was coming from. His iPod had gone on the fritz and now he was left with this, wretched unfortunate thing. 

For now though, the Gargoyle had taken to the skies, for whatever perimeter he was allowed to go, which differed, strangely enough. He’d been sailing gracefully through the night sky, bat-like wings outstretched with the sound knowledge that in the dark, nobody could see him. Until something caught his eyes in the woods down below. Small lights, almost dancing, barely there but if he squinted hard enough, they could be made out.Curiosity killed the cat, they say, and it was curiosity that got the better of Jace as he decided to investigate, landing some way off and making his way towards it. Nothing that bright could be malicious…right?

The sight before him was one he’d never witnessed, floating lights and music by someone he didn’t recognise. Even the lone inhabitant, with his odd clothing and pretty wings pipqued his interest entirely. The other being didn’t look out of place, though, if anything he fit in so easily to his surroundings it could all be considered camouflage. “Well, it’s not hard to miss you. The little lights are like stars from up there,” Jace explained, motioning to the sky. Vaugely, he recognised the face before him, but couldn’t put a name to it.

Glancing down at the offered cup, he looked unsure. Wasn’t there numerous fairy-tales about fae-folk and tricks? Jace loved tricks, as long as they weren’t played on him. “If I drink that, will something happen? Like my head turning into that of a Donkey?”

The pixie's smile grew. "Not quite. Why, d'you want a donkey head? Because that could be arranged. Fairly easy." He flashed his pearly whites at the words. Some entertainment for the night wouldn't go amiss. "But alas, 'tis only a cider," he explained. With a few additions of his own, but ones that only turned the drink sweeter. And got the person drunk faster. 

Somewhere to Len's right, there was a table spread with food as well. And a large punch bowl, almost the size of a cauldron, in the middle of the table full of the aforementioned sparkling magenta drink. "Help yourself, yer the firs’ one here.”

At the familiar sound of Len’s voice, she turned and her cheeky little smirk only grew. “Why thank you, Lenny-Poo.” she smiled, beaming at the praise. It was nice to know that she skills hadn’t gone completely rusty. Casey’s eyes went back to the cardboard cutouts, watching as they all returned to their proper place now that the round was over. “Yeah… I mean, not all of them. But I know Jennie’s bugged by it. Honestly, though I can’t really blame her either. Seems really messed up that they got a zombie running a place where they gotta watch cuts of their own get shot down all day for funsies…” Casey said, silently remembering how she came across Jennie that day by the security office, flyers in hand. Though that thought is pushed away because honestly she couldn’t stop wondering if she was alright after anything. “You wanna go a round?” she asks, nodding over at the rifle next to her, silently inviting him to pick it up. 

“Jennie...” he said aloud, as if the name would conjure up memories. But it didn’t. Oh well, his memory wasn’t too...perfect of late. “Nah, thanks,” Len added with an adamant shake of his head. “Prefer ‘ta watch,” he smirked, the curl of his lips betraying, as usual, some kind of double meaning. He looked from the cutouts, to the fake weapons laid out in a row before Casey, an idea forming in his pea-sized brain. “Impressive, but...could ye do tha’ with yer eyes closed?”