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her sudden presence is enough to make him jump and tear his eyes from the book he had been skimming ( something about the human immune system , the battle against various infections ) . did he miss her ?? ha . ( ?! ) “ it . . . is nice to know that you’re still alive . ” and that’s all he’ll admit before patting the linoleum countertop his patients usually atop . before anything else , maddox will say that it was easy for florence to catch his attention ( but he knows she intended no less ) .
he makes quick work of gathering the usual materials , silently shaking his head as he does so . “ so , ” he starts, pouring alcohol on a clean ( ish ) towel, “ what happened ?? ” joints pop loudly as he crouches , so that he’s eye level with the blonde’s knees . “ this will probably hurt , ” he tacks on quickly before pressing the towel against her knee . “ you can always hold my hand if you can’t handle it . ” playful eyes flick up to connect with flo’s , a smirk teasing the corners of his lips .
THERE’S SOMETHING DEVIANT in the way they play this game ; innocence , painted in buttery light but backlit by devilish intentions --- --- - she delights in the way he squirms. florence settles herself upon cold , clinical linoleum and momentarily , her heart PANGS. ( sometimes , she considers giving up. leaving solitude is tempting , but there’s SOMETHING LOVELY about being on your own , passing through as you please , taking what you want and leaving when you have it. the only problem , she ruminates quietly as bruised legs swing back and fro , is what to do when what you want is tied to a place and doesn’t plan on LEAVING , despite the want to. )
❝ I’LL FIND SOMETHIN’ T’HOLD. ❞ fingers , playful and cool and teasing , dance a slow waltz over the nape of his neck , curl into soft tresses --- --- - brow is perpetually cocked , mouth a sort of soft , crooked smirk whilst she gazes forth at medic. ( don’t squint , but there’s something GENTLE in the twinkle of cobalt hues. ) ❝ i cut myself pretty good on some rock i fell over. nothin’ too serious. ❞ ( leaves out the part about how it was actually a tree branch that she’d fallen over after finding an untouched bottle of something alcoholic. he doesn’t need to know that part. ) ❝ y’havin’ a BUSY DAY , doc ?? ❞
❝ DID YE’ MISS ME ?? ❞ cherry petals part around DISGUSTINGLY SWEET lollipop ; something she stole from an abandoned 7/11 , it’s been withering at the bottom of her backpack. right knee trickles SANGUINE LIQUID , a sharp contrast to pale skin that finds itself exposed by the rip in fabric. ❝ got me’self into a dreadful fight and thought MY FAVOURITE DOCTOR might like a visit. ❞ mischief in lowered tones / glimmer in narrowed hues , florence THRIVES on watching the other.
the fraying straw hat upon her head is doing little to shield the light bouncing off the snow and into her face. eyes are squinting softly, vaguely, as amiele watches the figure before her sway too and fro, feet dragging long tracks into the snow. the hands are human, fingers bitten with frost, fingertips black and blue. those human hands are attached to human arms, thin and bony, frail, only the small beginning of the fungus beginning to make home on their bicep. what once was probably a full head of hair hangs limply around their face, and while decaying, there is no sign of fungus on their cheek bones or around the socket of their eyes.
she takes a step forward, and then another, and then another. the person before her is calm, no signs of growling, no signs of lost temperament or the intent to kill. they’re simply just standing, shoulders gathering the snow that is drifting down softly above them. amiele takes another step, and they lift their head at the sound of her feet, mouth hanging open lifelessly, and yet, still so full of life. gently she holds out a hand, so close to touching, but still not close enough.
a shot rings through the air and all of a sudden the person standing before her is now crumpled in a heap at her feet. a small cry of surprise leaves amiele’s lips as she stumbles backwards, falling onto her behind in the snow. those doe wide eyes turn to look over her shoulder, filled with crocodile tears and getting angrier by the moment.
“you killed them. what were they doing? they were just–they were just standing there. i could have helped them, and you just…you just killed them!”
DESIGNED TO KILL / DESIGNED TO DESTROY. she was not built for it , that much is true but build and design have always been OPPOSITE. lithe frame has stalked through the hills , rifle bigger than petite form but necessary if she wants to cling onto life. it’s almost uncomfortably quiet ; two years of wandering , of aimless paths and schedules torn to shreds and the sound of silence still unnerves her. perhaps she’s TOO USED TO CHATTER of the church , although it’s nothing but a memory she glimpses in faded technicolour now.
FIGURE , MOTIONLESS , catches attention and the maleficent grin that drags corners of cherry shapes up is grim / gorgeous. take aim , fire , care not for the monster whose corpse you step over whilst you flee. father’s words ring , echoes in ears that closed a long time ago. she’s GOOD at this , at steadying an arm and taking QUICK SHOT. it rings , loud and pleasant and clear across the landscape but she doesn’t account for WAILING --- --- - didn’t even know there was another human round until sobbing wretch starts with accusations that bounce off hardened huntress with too much ease.
❝ QUIT Y’ER BITCHIN’. ❞ roll of iced optics , followed by snort of derisive laughter that echoes , caustic and cruel across bitter snow. ❝ thing ain’t nothin’ but a bag o’ bones, love. would’a bitten you without a second fuckin’ thought , aye ?? there’s no fixin’ ‘em. ❞ shoulders raise in a careless shrug whilst florence examines the rifle she clutches ; stares down the barrel , reckless and DANGEROUS and nonchalant as snow collects on leather.
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okay , it’s early as shit and i don’t know exactly why i’m awake but here we are ! i’m not going to say much here , because that requires too much brainwork but i love this fucking wreck too much and with that , let’s get into it.
LAYER ONE. BIOGRAPHY.
florence brigid o’riordan was originally born in county cork, ireland, to a parish priest and his schoolteacher wife. the o’riordan family was devoutly catholic, staunch in their beliefs and unwavering in their conviction that their children would be brought up to follow their beliefs and it may come to surprise some that florence adhered to their beliefs. as a kid, she believed everything they said about god.
fourteen when the infection began, it didn’t spread to ireland as quickly as they all thought. florence and her family had enough time to prepare for the worst ; her father insisted on praying the sickness away, but her mother was more practical. the church became a safehouse, and the entire community flocked to it to seek protection. however, it got too claustrophobic for florence, and in the dead of night, she snuck out with a backpack full of food and supplies. a rosary hanging round pale neck, she was nineteen when she set out on her own.
for a while, she traveled europe with a group of stragglers, and it was here that she began to lose faith. she saw the devastation in people’s faces, how they turned away with a smirk and a sigh when she mentioned praying. a few weeks into her journey, she stopped praying before she went to sleep. couldn’t bear to take her rosary off because it was the last thing her mother had touched, but her belief in it was lacking.
she traveled with various packs pretty much all through her twenties and a more radical shift in personality would be hard to come by. once a religious, soft - spoken, timid wraith of a girl, she was rebellious, loud - mouthed and sinful, utterly sinful. her father would’ve been convinced she was the devil reincarnate if she was to cross the threshold of the church now, with the way she cursed and slept with anyone she felt like. chastity and virtue was a thing of the past, and there was a certain kind of freedom that came with that. she didn’t feel like she was waiting for her life to begin anymore ; she was very much living it.
she was twenty - seven when someone mentioned that they were hopping on a boat, making their way to america to get into the thick of it and the promise of adventure was too much for florence to handle. she snuck onto the boat, stowed herself away in the engine room and away she went. she didn’t dare to emerge until they hit america, and even then she crept out into the dead of night. she’d expected to end up somewhere sunny and warm, like california or miami, but they’d docked in alaska and there was something oddly satisfying about that.
she began to wander alone, and that’s the way it’s been ever since. whenever she needs anything, she worms her way into whatever camp is closest. as such, she’s become partial to the mill, the boarding school and the fireflies and tends to take from them equally. she’s not yet ready to settle down, and instead flits between the three camps. she does spend a majority of her time alone, though, and loves it.
personality - wise ?? an absolute fucking demon of a human being. chaotic evil in cheap red lipstick. smokes stale cigarettes and cusses and flirts as much as she possibly can, with anything on two legs. pretty much the opposite of what she was born to be. could kick my ass in 2 seconds flat and i’d say thanks.
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