fortuna

TW: death, violence, mentions of serial killers, mentions of mental health, alcohol

⚜  —  If anyone would rather skip the lengthy background, scroll down until you find the Barricade section - that's strictly Jaques's personality and little facts about her !!

Blink

Am I just a creation of my upbringing? My monstrosity but a trait, the blood permeating my veins but poison. My lungs were bound to rotten with my first intake of air. Or am I the apple that fell far from the tree? The abnormality none dares talk of, a grim shadow lying in wait. Sunk in debauchery, afloat in a sea of destruction. The whys and hows matter little, in this narrative. No use delving deep into psychology, or theories. I am what I am, no lamentable excuses or justifications will change that.

Jacqueline Ainsworth understands enough of human nature to perceive her morals; nor black nor white, but shades of grey. Most are darker than others, more prominent. Some are hardly noticeable, but the danger is still unmistakable. In hindsight, it should be said her morals are questionable, simply put. Menace is part of Jaques’s nature; it’s in her blood, her instinct. She is an Ainsworth, after all, and destroying people is what they do best. (Or so is what she has been told in clarity by an angry mob, over and over and over again - until her name was forgotten, until Jaques was buried in their hatred and there was nothing left of the girl but a silhouette and the taste of dirt in her mouth)

Jaques remembers, if faintly - bitterly - of a time when her family’s name was not shared in hushed whispers, disdain tones, and sharp glares.

A time when the Ainsworth’s were Britain’s finest. Her parents were widely respected lawyers, their smiles kind and warm - full of love. Their only daughter - if a tad strange, was known to be well mannered, wearing the prettiest fake smile when needed. She hardly spoke to anyone besides her parents and the occasional school colleagues, but she could often be found trailing after her father in his office, or in her mother’s arm during boring functions. The perfect picture of prim and proper, the Ainsworth family were loved by neighbors and clients alike,  not a single bad word on the tongues of those who met the family.

But on occasion, one finds oneself immersed in dark waters; trouble.

Sat in the back of an ambulance, the police lights bright and vibrant amidst the darkness, Jaques hardly paid mind to her mother’s yells, which were daring to disturb the ghostly silence plaguing the night. Her attention was solely on her father, his calm eyes staring at her through the car window. Now, Jaques vividly remembers of the strangeness creating roots in her lungs at the sight of her father in the back of a police car, officer and agents crowding their house and invading their space.

Your father killed a bunch of people, the agent with kind eyes had informed her, and Jaques noticed how she struggled to speak the words - had to force each syllable and consonant out, her brain surely wondering how to best tell a girl her beloved father was a serial killer. And as her blood continued to stain the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her mother’s cries pierced the night, and her father’s eyes never showing any sign of emotions - Jaques knew, if she was in the agent shoes, she would be struggling too.

Breathe

Jacqueline Alexandria Ainsworth was thrown to the wolves, then. Shoved into the spotlight with little guidance. They devoured her, tearing into her with their bare fangs, trying to find similarities between her and her father. The same striking green eyes carry madness in them, people would comment.

Jaques was only fifteen, then, and the weight of her father’s sins left red angry marks on her shoulders. Her nervousness was apparent by how she carried herself, how she would often hide and avoid outings. It was all there – the fear, anxiety, doubts, and darkness. She pushed it deep into the base of her spine, a place so dark it would unable to flourish under the sunlight.  It threatened to rise, to shoot up her veins and consume her – But every time Jaques could taste it, she would swallow it back through the knots in her throat.

I am not my father, Jaques would say, over and over again - to police officers during questionings; to journalists inquiring about her affairs; to herself when the demons in her mind were speaking too loud for her sleep; would murmur it when asleep, tossing and turning while her mind was lost to nightmares.

And, truthfully, Jaques is not her father. She didn’t need to convince herself of it - even if her hands still shake and she can see nothing but ghosts in the mirrors, at times. Her morals might be questionable, but that has little to do with the sins of the father, and more with her completely clueless of humanity and what is socially acceptable. Space child, her mother used to call her, slowly learning our customs.

The space child grew into an oddity - replacing her ballet classes for fighting; shoving her piano to the side of her room, filling the empty space with books and red threads. Friends became fewer and fewer - as if they hadn’t already abandoned her when the news of her father broke out - And Jaques shaped herself into something capable of good; a linguist, an author, a doctor. Options which were all dancing on her mind, but every time she closed her eyes, Jaques could see her father’s sharp smile, the monster underneath. It took so long for her to notice, but she couldn’t unsee it once it was brought to light. You must watch the details, her father had told her once, for the secrets lies with them.

Jaques had always been an observant person, gifted, and when she found out what to look for, she didn’t want to stop looking - exploring.

You are too smart for your own good, she had been told at the academy, at college, by the occasional people she struck a conversation with - And your curiosity will get you killed, her father had warned during her rare visits, amusement in his smile.

You are far too young to die.

But the seed had been planted, and Jaques found herself following down a path she could hardly return from.

None would guess the child of a monster would grow into a skilled criminal investigator. Perks of living with a serial killer all your life, Jaques had dared joke, when inquired how she was so good at what she did. 

No one laughed. And the curtains fell.

She was contacted by the secret intelligence fairly young, defying expectations and solving complicated cases, barely flinching when seeing a crime scene. She would much prefer to stay with her papers and boards, but Jaques would more often than not be sent to the field, to investigate the pieces of evidence, create a scenario - find a killer.

She had a gift, she was skilled - You can think like one, you can get inside their head, her superior would say - but the brutality of it all took a toll on her. You can’t leave this life unscathed, she had heard - and Jaques couldn’t decide if they meant the job, her father, or both.

You had no right to play God, she had told her father and plenty killers, the bitter taste of sadness and anger never leaving her mouth.

She had watched colleagues and victims die, had saved lives, and put some behind bars. Her body was marred by scars and stories, bruises she would find herself poking and disturbing. After a particularly rough case, Jaques could not get something out of her mind - You are my child, her father had once said, his tone laced with a possessiveness she never heard before. 

You are not your father’s, her mother had once said, holding a damp Jaques after a particularly bad nightmare - you do not share his genes. You can’t become him. And despite the blurriness of her mind, Jaques understood. She understood when her mother told her about Martyr, the next day, and the story of how she met Jaques step-father when she was pregnant - how he knew, and made her his own daughter.

She knew, and she avoided the fact for fifteen years, but after a bad case - 

She had nearly died, and she would have gone without knowing him - and him without knowing her. With her mind words apart, Jaques was advised to take a break from the job, was sent to New York by her superior, in the excuse of - Find your damn father and quench the questions in your mind, then do your goddamn job right.

She has yet to unpack her bags - But Jaques hopes that with time, she feels less on edge.

Backfire

Jaques   Ainsworth is an oddity and an enigma - an unsolved problem and a puzzle missing its key pieces. Not intentionally, mind you - but as Jaques will say if inquire, my brain works in its own frequency. Her intelligence has never been questioned, it had been painfully obvious Jaques had a mind like no other - one perhaps that work on its own terms - but brilliant, nonetheless. A young genius, she had been called by teachers - who proceed to ignore her ADHD and offered little to no guidance on how to coexist with her brain.

Intelligence hardly means substance, however - And in Jaques’s case, that too is painfully obvious.

The girl is smart, smart beyond what would appear at first glance - if the cheerfully pink flamingo shorts she occasionally wears are of any indication - but her personality surely leaves to be desired.

Her social skills are very limited. Jaques hates socializing, and the unspoken rules of life in society. She can hold a conversation, of course, but Jaques would much prefer not. She is fond of her silence, and her thoughts - even if those often threaten to drown her in the tempest that is inside her mind. She can come off as cold, sarcastic, annoyed - naive, even - unintentionally.

People are complicated, she would say, fingertips tentatively tapping the keyboards of her piano, head close enough to feel the vibrations, you can't pick them apart and put them back together - can't know what they are thinking. 

Jaques had a gift for reading people, yes, but her own thoughts and assumptions were unreliable, made only by watching and guessing. She could not understand people - no matter how much the eyes can tell - and for a girl who only understood facts and certainties, patterns - the not knowing could be terrifying, as if she is navigating in the darks and sharks are biting the edges of her boat.

Her own extravagances and quirks would keep people away, too. Her own extravagances and quirks would keep people away, too. Despite her quietness, when faced with stimulation - ideas and theories and passion - Jaques can babble and stumble upon her own words, talking until her lungs run out of air. But if idea stroke in the middle of a conversation, Jaques has no problem in simply leaving - no matter who is speaking or what is being said. Her silence, too, can be deafening, and Jaques often came off as uninterested. She had always been lost in her own world.

Social skills aside, Jaques is sensitive - she can’t deal with certain things; if a light is bright, it will surely give her a headache; she often flinches and jumps at noises, her ears hurting; she feels anxious in crowds, and generally does not appreciate eye contact; she tenses when someone touches her more often than not. 

Jaques is not an easy person to deal with, but she tries - tries to be social, or, at times, make herself as small and unnoticeable as possible.

Jaques's problem is that she feels too much; fears, anxiety, empathy, darkness, curiosity - A turmoil of emotions and thoughts - All destroying her, and leaving her breathless and shaken. Diagnosed with anxiety at a young age, Jaques had little guidance in that department as well.

Her thoughts would often consume her, and for that reason, Jaques has always been labeled as unstable - unpredictable. You can read the mind of a serial killer, and people fear you might slip - physiatrists would tell her, and she hated their analysis. But, despite fear, it was well known Jaques wouldn't slip - no matter how deep her understanding and knowledge of sociopaths would go, the girl was far caring - and thankfully, not in that particular spectrum.

Still, her thoughts and emotions could be overwhelming, and Jaques often questions her sanity, and feels - at times - like she is losing her grip on it. Perhaps because of the cases, mixed with traumas and her PTSD - or perhaps because she was not raised to know how to deal with her emotions - but Jaques, despite the bitterness and hatred against people analyzing her mind, has frequent therapy sessions.

Her nightmares, however, will not leave her - and Jaques often finds herself waking up drenched in sweat, the images of a bad dream still lingering in the back of her eyes.

Little facts about her;

Jaques can be charming and fun, she just don’t see the point in doing that.

Is a ballet dancer - or, was. She still dances when she needs to unwind - Dancing until her legs collapse and her lungs ache.

Knows how to play the piano, and that's something she does very often.

Can draw, and carries a sketchbook everywhere.

If life had been different, Jaques would’ve been an artist.

She does hook-ups and has tried her hand at relationship, but work would always get in the way. 

Jaques know languages - she was on her way to becoming a linguist when she became obsessed with solving crimes.

She can fight, and often trains to let the steam off - but she much prefers not to.

She is a special case agent, not officially or formally, but people know Jaques can crack complicated serial killer cases like no other. 

So she has seen some shit.

Is actually really chill and friendly when you get to know her - in her own way.

Does not talk about her father, although she can crack some jokes about it.

My father was a killer, is not a fun party joke, however - so she hardly mentions the fact, unless if it’s necessary.

Her family is known and so is Jaques. Because of her father, because of her mother's job - a lawyer that could put even the hardest to catch criminal in jail - and because of her own cases.

Drinks coffee like water.

Drinks alcohol a lot, although she can never smoke. She hates the taste.

Her house is full of books, piling on the floor and bookshelves.

Jaques is messy, especially when she is solving a case. Any surface will be full of papers and empty cups of coffee.

Doesn't sleep often - not because she doesn't want to, but because she often forgets.

Can go from wearing only black suits to wearing a floral shirt and pink shorts.

Jaques was torn when she found out about her father - But she is determined to find the man now and tell him the truth.

If only because she can’t stand the thought of not knowing something.

She is terrified, however.

This girl, despite being a genius, is a complete idiot and don't let her fool you. Can't tell you what day of the week it is and will often trip and bump into doors.

Love dogs and has one, as well as a cat.

Is always touching things and she can't stand still.