HAND - IN - HAND.

with palms held out.

full name — carnelian laramie st. germain.

nickname(s) — carn; neil ( to assert dominance over twink!neil; alternatively, if you hate carn and want them to di– ); lars ( steven universe tease, only if you hate carn and want them to di– twice over ); laramoo ( mothers, affectionately; siblings, maliciously ); red.

date of birth & age — june 30th, 1997, twenty6.

gender / pronouns — non - binary, agender; they / them.

sexuality — queer.

typing — witch, but extra cool ( just a normal witch, but with a leather jacket ).

occupation — astrology bullshitter; tarot reader; amateur wizard ( virginal or not left to be seen, life school in wizards101 ); proud band member; manager at diner 54.

astrology — cancer sun, pisces moon, virgo ascending.

interests — ska punk, they don't need help. any instrument involving blowing, strumming, or any variation of fondling. daily horoscopes. smoking. fishing, but with their bare hands to establish dominance over the fish. worship of a new idol every week.

aversions — riding their bike into the creek for the 5th time that week. come downs. the color "greige", like what even is that? losing against the fish. industry plants, both hollywood and nuclear. their never - ending spiral of thoughts.

next in queue — blank generation, richard hell and the voidoids; sound system, operation ivy; bulls on the parade, rage against the machine; sunshine ward, amebix.

notable features — more tattoos than bare skin, ever - changing, ever - moving & charms sewn into every hemline, hanging from every piercing adorning nose and lip and brow.

general disposition — like they're about to shit themselves out of fear & excitement, maybe both.

last known location — sprawled half - out of a shoddy van behind diner 54, half - convinced that they're transforming into a slug; oddly concerned about their internal body temperature and if they'd still be loved if they were just a shell - less snail.

scrying mirror & kindred — lane kim ( gilmore girls ), nino quincampoix ( amélie ), ned ( pushing daisies ), winston bishop ( new girl ), norville "shaggy" rogers ( scooby doo ).

what lurks in the past...

devotion, one and only - nothing else known. years of family in one setting, one sitting; one rocking boat, layers built upon layers. only leaving just to return again, to re - meet smiling faces; fish and treasure in tow, new trinkets entangled in netting, shells a collection against windowsill and rail, never moving despite sharp upturn of wave.

each st. germain is born on - deck, tradition dating back to the first st. germain; ever - mysterious, superstitious and warding. those born upon their boat - more house than ship - thought to be forever safe from harm, building belief magic of its own. carnelian far from first, and far from last; fatefully middle child, but the woes of such never touching them. loved, just the same as one another.

their generation is born to magic, innate but not taught; family grimoire long lost to depths far beneath them, water not even they can lurk in - became more comfort than necessity over the years, fishing enough to keep them comfortable, settled. the oldest unaccepting of this, begins the family's hunt. seeks the unseekable, speak the unspeakable.

carnelian is intrigued; practicing on their own, magic at first weak but stable - tarot more game than serious intuition, until intuition swallows them whole. prone to bouts of unpredictability, turning against them as emotions sway alongside reefs against water, against wind. each spell's attempt is anxiety - latched; hand gripping upon shoulder, sinking them into ground; head a mess of thoughts, tornado ripping up tree and house.

every st. germain has a plan laid out; ambitious lot, wanting power of their own for one reason or another; carnelian is simple - wants the joy of it, wants to soothe their own thoughts, entertain friends and fans alike. the oceans calls to some, the moon to others; the stars to carnelian, shining brighter for them than anyone else. some nights sat upon angel's peak; they hear their whispers among one another, is that one of us? another fallen star? brethren, kindred, o' stardust of mine?

the more carnelian studies; the louder the whispers seem, brighter against the sky - almost visible beside the sun, places they shouldn't be. they want something from them, something intangible; something unfathomable - undecipherable, despite hours spent crossed against the moon, spliff in hand as limb leers precariously off cliffs edge. what does it all mean - what do they want?

they want a god reborn; brought to fruition, breathed back to life - each vessel unworthy except for one; a lanky body, softly unproportioned, unexpected and unassuming. their dreams litter with the memories of stardust, of creation; stars forming and dying, colliding into one another; more nights than not they awaken burning hot, sweating through cloth and out of bed, closer and closer towards the cliff.

carnelian severs the line; afraid of the night sky, and how it wants to swallow them whole - they stopped visiting the stars, stopped heeding the nebulous. sleep lessens - fearful of their grip upon them, parasocial a whole new meaning. if it goes ignored - they'll go away, right? stars burst eventually, don't they?

friends of family and of childhood: while not well to do; the st. germain family is practically devo legend, knows just about everyone and everything. friendships span generations, or sometimes just years.

relatives of the st. germains: extended family, in all their glory; fishermen and witches alike, mortal or not; half - nymph cousins and nephews and nieces with the blood of fae inside.

...comes to light in present...

magic's not abandoned; just shift - geared, other options explored; options that don't compel carnelian to join the stars above, horoscopes stuck to the daily newspaper only, still read loyally. it takes form of illusions and small tricks; the wind picking up more than usual, lightning calls from overhead. it's cloudier at night now, than before; can barely see the moon, let alone stars. aura cleansings and healings; repenting for their subconscious calling for godhood, still nails clawing skull.

they keep busy, picking up instruments at their pleasure; playing a slow ballad of girls just wanna have fun at the back of a smoky van, crying induced afterwards. mind meld, for funsies - distract from their own thoughts by lifting the lid onto others; nosy a trait they cannot escape, knowing more than most. lips remain sealed. not out of loyalty, not many deserving of such a trait - nor of nefarious intent and future plotting. more a hub of information, than anything else; wealth in it.

natural skeptic of others; hard not to be in devotion, where one wrong step lands you inside a fairy ring, or a very convincing con between two sirens with the taste for finer things who really, really want your wallet. not to say they're not kind, they are; gives more of themselves than they intend, stumbles over themselves at times just to give it. over - righteous at times, an icon of saying i told you so in a smug tone, we get it - you've got great intuition, whatever; at least others aren't reenacting the bee movie with polaris.

carnelian is a little too optimistic; often blinded by their own wants, than what is reasonable or sound - shit at advice, echoes of follow your heart, drop everything and chase them! eat that edib - can barely make their own decisions without haywire, while simultaneously avoiding new, only embracing old. has managed the same diner since early adulthood - claims nowhere else would feel the same. a slut for temptation, and what cannot, or shouldn't be had; has gotten good at fighting quickened breath and nervous glances.

oh guide me, master jedi: someone more experienced than carnelian, who probably knows more about magic; or pretend to. god knows they need the help, lest they start lusting over stardust again.

serenades of the cheesiest, worst renditions of songs: no one can stop carnelian from yearning. a friend can be a lover, so can a stranger - who could resist an 80's boombox outside window scene?

...and carries into the future.

how long can one stay ignorant to their call? it's persistent, still; a continued whisper at the base of their skull, the farthest corner of their mind - backed into it, and growling. hungry for the attention. is it really the stars? or manipulation from another, a beckoning call for something else altogether?

it's not like the stars can craft a new grimoire for their family; what's the point of it all? their siblings have all gone off on their own routes; maybe it's time for them to find an alternative, to chase down their family spells - to find what is lost.

confusion only grows at the back of carnelian's mind, what's real, and what isn't?

the call of a stranger: a mysterious being not yet known, are they the one beckoning carnelian? what purpose is there - or maybe it's all a ruse. a false prophet. a trick.

with palms held out.

full name — tamsin olwen loveday o'friel.

nickname(s) — tam / tammy, if one despises their life; loveday; love ( friends, if you can call them that, and mother, if you can call her that ); owl face; first name preferred.

date of birth & age — october 4th, 1xxx, physically twenty6.

gender / pronouns — demi woman; she / her and they / them.

sexuality — demiromantic, bisexual.

typing — faery, wings MIA.

occupation — woods - wanderer; ex - dancer; hunter AND gatherer; gambler; front desk at shrike point light.

astrology — libra sun, capricorn moon, taurus ascending.

interests — hallucinogens. old - fashioned gold coins, particularly those dug up from hidden treasure chests. playing serpent. mammatus clouds. a good gamble, or an even better bet. winning. animal fur. warm beds. warm bodies.

aversions — classical dancing. uncalculated risks. lying ( even if desired ). weak constitutions. promises. anyone named "craig", no particular reason. high ledges. her mother. particularly nosy spiders.

next in queue — shadow of a doubt, sonic youth; vanished, crystal castles; pitch the baby, cocteau twins; show me your mind, sunken.

notable features — almost comically long ears; tufted at the ends, mimicking caracals & a constant, soft light emitting from them; evangeline, is that you?

general disposition — calculating to the point of desperate.

last known location — trying to convince tourists to step into faery rings at the campgrounds after being interrogated for twenty minutes about whether they can shrink down to the size of a half - chewed polly pocket and if faeries believe in, like, jesus?

scrying mirror & kindred — melisandre ( game of thrones ), rose dewitt bukater ( titanic ), lux lisbon ( the virgin suicides ), love quinn ( you ), vanessa ives ( penny dreadful ).

what lurks in the past...

were they born, or were they created? fae realm a haze beyond fingertips, limbs extending too long, too narrow; cobwebs sticking to new legs, trembling foul's - burning from inside out. a gleam to everything in view; light bouncing from leaf to leaf, sparkling upon open water; skewed from chest, lance - like. overwhelming - maddening, small eyes watching intently every human who stumbled upon their realm by accident; idiocy at their finest, curious as their bodies collapse into hysterics, never able to behold the beauty of the land before them.

she never cast doubt, a mother who would never allow it; too many eyes to keep sight of, too many eyes to be wary of. days filled of frivolous activity; dance after dance, sun and moon passing in tandem, day and night after day and night. rocketing themselves into the sky, as far as can go, vast, endless - did they have space? if she keeps going - will she be surrounded by nothing but void, but the sky all around her; come crashing down as the pressure compresses her lungs, stops her breath?

what did the other realm have, that they didn't? curiosity - not doubt - leads to their first visit - not alone, never allowed, not by mother; three of them at the slightest, pas de trois. it's hideous, it's beautiful - it's devotion; before they were - or have they always been the one and same? captivating, to be in a world not their own; to find vices only a human could have, dishonesty beyond the mirror, kept from wandering eyes and hands, but not cards.

visits become frequent - some secretive, some brash, crawling out of holes formed from bark, emerging from tree's flesh. eras change in a blink of eye - here one day, gone the next; so fickle, their short lives. unexpected friends meeting unexpected demise; but what right, would tamsin have to be sad? what is it - to be sad, melancholic? too much to do, to worry about such trivial things; too many minds susceptible to trickery, flimsy thoughts they hold so carelessly.

until she met them, light scorching eye, features engraved beneath eyelids; an intoxication never so sweet, rivaling nectar from their realm - maybe sweeter, maybe just. devotion a home, suddenly - to her, to them, together; forever, if she could. if they could - possibility just out of sight, just out of frame. but maybe not - somewhere else, where time moves different.

was she a fool? blinded by love - stricken by it as taut as grief itself; a mother like hers never trusting, never trusted - never trust. in all her wisdom; tamsin could not compare the centuries laid upon her mother's back. foolish. foolish. foolish - she never meant the harm; never meant the death sentence, lips of lover grazing fruit. lifting her into their arms - entwined in one another, feet barely dusting floor. spinning together in a silent waltz as time rolls on bye; until their skin is nothing more but dust molded husk, tamsin unable to look away, unable to pull apart; terror - laced ichor, enough for eternity.

doesn't remember leaving the realm - leaving them, there - by their lonesome; an exhibit to be watched, a reminder to be wrought. everything's new; modern, hum of technology reverberating skull, shaking spine. twenty years laid to rest; an unwavering form sitting atop rock in the woods, gaze unmoving; statuette, before bone creaks back into existence.

only to be tricked again; a mockery, lost to their own hysteria, their own grief - desperation seeping pores, clutching at narrowed frame. the dead should stay dead; even in their realm - law remains enact, balance must never waver. greed has no moral to stand upon; deals are made, gambles set - hands shaken, blinding light and sharp sulfur and a piercing scream as wing pulls self from body. and nothing. no body to raise from ground; still in the fae realm, still dancing; only spirit, only confused; memories scattered - no remnants of tamsin, or the years lost to them. nothing at all. husk meets husk; fool meets fool.

those of the realm of fae: family to friends, to those who think tamsin a fool for losing their heart so easily, for letting it slide from her palms into another; for upsetting her mother, older than most.

lost lover, loving no more: nothing more but a ghost; a clean slate free from burden and memory. it hurts to look at them - hurts to acknowledge; so tamsin doesn't - cowardly, after all sacrificed.

...comes to light in present...

it's not better now; but it's better than nothing; existing bares easier on the soul, when distracted; kept amused, kept pushing limits - a child who learns best from example. she can't rot any longer, insects a collection inside her, now; coughed up on occasion, fluttering away like nothing - mother's watchful servants, ever - gazing, ever - curious. fucking nosy. better than the fae realm - better than reminders, devotion's growing modernity cloaking old memories.

tamsin's - hard to crack; penchant for gambling, seen tucked into far - off booths, old coins shuffling between fingers, betraying the air the exudes her, collaborating with the far off, dull look in her eyes. severity no longer reaches - slapped away with a dismissive hand and a cold, humorless laugh that twists maniacal at a pin's drop. can never deny a game - or the hunt, puzzles not the only stimulant solace is found in.

everyone's useless except the shrike family, and the knowledge their library keeps; front desk an excuse to scour over maps and crumbling pages - they've got to be somewhere, don't they? somewhere, anywhere; tamsin's pried open their fair share of iron boxes, trying to find the wings she bet away; lost, given up. sacrificed. the deal a bust - why should tamsin be the only one to suffer? fingerprints never quite there - most certainly no longer, wrapped in bandages with every clasp of iron.

never a liar - forever desperate, visitors of devotion, south of tene, are subjected to tamsin's harrowing tales of heartbreak and sacrifice, no storyteller but just a girl trying to find what is hers, rightfully; years and years of scavenger hunt, level impossible; treasure maps drawn and discarded and drawn again. a quest - she insists. it's just a quest. all will be well - just heed my word, do my bidding. help me fly.

the one whose heart shall be ripped fro - : most probably a witch, or another faerie; the one tamsin lost to, who won their gamble - the game they play. probably still alive, ever - mocking, tamsin staring into their windows nightly.

devotion visitors, none the wiser: it's a tale almost as old as time; the full truth never revealed, only enough sad details to guilt a stranger into potentially perilous tasks.

...and carries into the future.

how long can she dance this dance? make fool out of fool, reap the consequence of never listening to those wiser than her - almost childish, tamsin's resolution, determination. naïve. pathetic. too many eyes on her - waiting for her eventual fall, one she does not rise from; how do you kill a faerie?

but perhaps there's an alternative route; sky regaining vibrancy, leaves returning from their dulled hues - no more bodies, no more deaths; grieving a silenced lamb, a quest to complete on her own. be her own savior, heal her own wounds.

maybe tamsin can lock the king into a checkmate; play the game better - win, for once.

enough is ENOUGH! we're sick of it!: this isn't a soap opera, get a grip! one way or another, even if the end result is less desirable. enemies, friends of their mother, those wronged by tamsin after years of trickery and mischief.

with palms held out.

full name — fairuz ibrahim sabry.

nickname(s) — ruse, in a poor attempt to give himself a nickname ( did not stick ); pretty boy; puck ( perked up chee– ); narcissus, after method acting too hard– austin butler who?; others yet to be seen.

date of birth & age — october 29th, 19xx, physically twenty6.

gender / pronouns — genderqueer; he / him & they / them preferred, all welcomed.

sexuality — bisexual.

typing — siren, slut of the sea ( affectionate ).

occupation — unfortunate thespian; one man act; professional ( ? ) clown; cashier at oracle & oddysey.

astrology — scorpio sun, aries moon, leo ascending.

interests — cheap thrills. spotlight - induced sweat. anything that gleams or sheens, skin included. red meat & red wine & red lipstick in a very real, very french way. fishnet for more reasons than none. garnering attention. burlesque clowns. being a burlesque clown. six seas, don't bring up the seventh.

aversions — "deep" feelings. "deep" conversations. forced intellectualism, you can be pretentious and stupid! skeptics & nonbelievers. taxes. tax collectors. attention seekers, there can only be one ( it's them ).

next in queue — girls on film, mindless self indulgence; pain, boy harsher; slow, depeche mode; talking in your sleep, the romantics.

notable features — what's not to notice? knife - like teeth and an old scar where they nip into bottom lip every too - wide grin & lazy clown make - up; a triangle beneath every eye ( only two, for now ).

general disposition — too grand and generally delusional, but they wear it very well.

last known location — lifting himself back onto the rocks in a siren - dwelled cave like a baywatch wannabe, only to slip upon the surface and back into the water. hasn't emerged since out of hurt ego and deeply hitting embarrassment.

scrying mirror & kindred — mercutio ( romeo & juliet ), dorian gray ( the picture of dorian gray ), oberyn martell ( game of thrones ), theodore laurence ( little women ), emma woodhouse ( emma ).

what lurks in the past...

time is trivial beneath the ocean's surface; light no longer refracting, only vast blue encasing the young. first memory - first consciousness, an array of bubbles; thrashing and struggling, god mother's serpentine body wrapping around and around until all is still once more, until only bone is left to drift further down the depths.

their behavior is pack - like, school of sirens circling coasts like sharks, symbiotic and one; homes made of shipwrecks and reefs, underground caves and trenches, close to docks and ports and harbors, convenience - store runs for sailors and captains. it's rare that they break surface, walk among humans - entertainment best between selves and their food; happy meals best accompanied by toys.

fairuz is both alike and unalike them; a penchant for the finer, rawer things in life, metallic tang behind each sharp tooth, and a growing boredom, tree - like in their sternum. branching, rooting - blooming dissatisfaction with each coast they distance from. the sea felt stagnant, while every breach of ripple upon surface revealed new buildings - years meaningless to them, but everything to land dwellers.

curiosity, was all it was; curiosity all that killed them. separating from pack, intrigued by talks of a circus near - shore, a different sort of spectacle than drama between sister sirens ( they gave a mermaid's purse to you? but they gave one to me! you slu - ); fairuz became enthralled with the faeries who spun from silk, the witches who swallowed fire only to shoot fireworks from tongue - the ringleader whose smile pierced through every one of fairuz' hearts.

their visits upon land became more frequent, trailing the traveling troupe whenever able; need an incessant itch beneath their scales, a match against their ever - growing hunger. quick snacks became one, then two - doubling with each town or city swam across.

fairuz never heed the warnings of a red sky, human paranoia no toll upon their body; still broke surface, that fateful day, lightning serving them well - ship an oyster cracked wide, ready for taking. their hunger barely satiated when a whistle sung from behind; not a warning, but the sound of air tearing as a harpoon spit from its gun and ripped into their scaled flesh.

the sky was no longer red; no longer anything, the ocean's pressure luring them into their endless slumber; reminiscent of their youth, when they welcomed the sea's warm embrace like their own mother's. comfortable. warm. safe. do you wish to live, siren?

voice clear as day; like a whisper into their ear, soft and urging. you can live forever, if you please. if their consciousness was still awake - fairuz would've found the humor in being siren - called; instead, their spirit stirred inside them, hands pressed upon their former living shell. let us save you. let us free you. just say yes.

sirenkin, their family: the choice to leave was no one's but fairuz', one of their few regrets in life; visiting sirens of devo, do you know this fucker?

righteous fishermen with penchants for revenge: slow your rolls - fairuz' is just a little guy, a little fella! and they should be dead! right? ... right?

...comes to light in present...

five years resurrected, five years given to delphinium's traveling, theatrical circus troupe and one would've never guessed; a puzzle piece fitting just right against an entirely wrong picture, the epitome of a live, laugh, love sign hung crooked against a contemporary farmhouse kitchen wall - fairuz dazzles all. or pisses them off - either, or - all of the above; attention is attention, and fairuz craves it almost as much as they crave fle-

they awake the same everyday; a life - rattling exhale of breath, gasping and hoarse like the first time they reopened their eyes; almost comedic, hand trailing to the star - like scar upon their chest - a tale better left unsaid, in accordance to delphinium. they know best - better than fairuz, at least; knows what secrets are best kept, while fairuz spills open at any given moment, at any curious glance.

he's all emotion; nothing cool, nothing collected - only extravagant, demanding; eyes on them at all times. dramatics started at the blink of a single one of those eyes - constantly performing for an unknown audience, never caring if others are swept up by his current. takes good intentions and swallows them for his own benefit; you wouldn't trust a god, would you?

the circus settled in devotion just short of a few months ago; no signs of leaving yet - performances weekly, each and every weekend and occasionally wednesdays, if audience demands then who are they to gatekeep? fairuz lurks beneath the sea's rippling surface some days - sleeps behind the counter of oracle & oddsyey's other days; a siren needs a little spending money, after all; especially him, pockets usually barren and closets overflowing. otherwise can be found wherever there's a crowd.

traveling circus troupe [ menacing voice from behind, hey sis- ]: fairuz' found family. faeries and witches and humans and sirens and nymphs alike, all welcomed as long as they harness talent. don't ask why fairuz' is there; only delphinium knows.

a horde of angry lovers: a necessity in every town, devotion no different. fairuz is more wrong than right, would rather end up in a second grave than admit it.

...and carries into the future.

how long can a corpse walk for, before their magic runs out? before they've stolen all the energy left inside, until blood is shed once more - theirs and others, and others and theirs. prophecies tell of moon falling back into sea and never - rising once more, fallen on unwilling ears - fairuz' mostly, forever pig - headed, too busy gazing upon reflections.

how many enemies, can one make? scorned lovers of lovers, scorned friends betrayed for the slightest whim, abandoned on impulse. scorned family - sick of antics, of fairuz' thoughts that only revolve around himself.

fairuz never worries of the future. but perhaps they should.

prophecy - spewing nymphs: they heed not their warnings, demise be damned - you'd think fairuz would know better by now.