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Full Name: Josephine Amanda Atkinson (née Torres)

Date of Birth: September 1st, 1987

Age: 35

Gender: Cisfemale

Pronouns: She/Her

Birthplace: Lockwood Springs, CO

Religion: Atheist 

Occupation: Managing Editor at Lockwood Times 

How long as she been in Lockwood Springs: Three months ; 18 years prior to college 

Where does she live?: Northside 

Relationship status: Widow 

WANTED CONNECTIONS | STATS | HEADCANONS | FULL BIO

In summary:

TW: death of a spouse, alcoholism 

+ JO AMBROSIA COFFEE SHOP

“I know I should feel ripped off,” Emira says with a laugh as she tucks away her wallet after paying $4.23 for her coffee, “but I was getting close to six, seven dollars back in the city,” she admits,  moving to the pick-up counter. “I don’t miss that part of New York living.” By comparison, Lockwood was like living in the lap of luxury but on a journalist’s (ex-journalist’s) salary. @josephine-atkinson​​

-

“I know, but Lockwood Springs,” Jo playfully wrinkles her nose in distaste, following after Emira to wait for her own order. There was a reason why she was so desperate to run away from this place, as soon as she could, as fast and as far as she could. But standing in a coffee shop with her friend, it gives the faintest feeling of old times when they were both still relatively green and hopeful journalists ready to take on New York. It’s funny how quickly things can change. “Who would’ve thought we both would end up back here? I sure as hell didn’t,” Josephine pulls her purse higher up on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I would take expensive coffee and ridiculously high rent any day,” She says, and she means it wholeheartedly.

Location: Lockwood Times

The fire alarm going off in the building is the last thing Josephine needs, but of course, it’s exactly what happens. It’s not like Lockwood Times is engulfed in a three-alarm fire. In fact, there’s no fire at all, but the distinct, incessant beep that rang out throughout the floors was enough to cause an evacuation and notify the fire department. Now, Jo stands outside and away from the building with the other staffers, her arms folded across her chest. Great. If she was a smoking woman, this would be the perfect time for a cigarette. Sighing, Josephine turns. “Oh,” She says, surprised. The cherry on top. Running into Levi Sullivan, all grown up yet unmistakable. He was a firefighter the last she’d heard, and apparently they weren’t lying. “Hello,” She continues, recovering from her initial shock. It’s her first time seeing her ex since making Lockwood her permanent residence again, though calling him her ex feels weird and wrong at this stage in her life. They were just kids when they dated, teenagers navigating their way through high school, and that was lifetimes ago. “Long time, no see. Is it usually a whole –” Jo searches for the word. “Production when something like this happens?” 

Location: Lockwood Times 

“Shit,” Josephine hisses under her breath, quickly dabbing the red wine that’s freshly staining her light colored blouse. It’s her own fault. She knew this would happen, because of course it would. It’s just her luck, but she was running late this morning. An already opened bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon was the quickest and easiest thing to grab to fill her work tumbler. There wasn’t any time for coffee with a heavy handed splash of Baileys. There also wasn’t any time to open a bottle of white wine, which looking at her current dilemma, the few seconds it would’ve taken to pop the cork out would have been completely worth it. And now, of course, there’s someone knocking at her cracked open office door. “Shit,” She repeats to herself again, quieter. “One second,” She calls out, not that it actually matters. The glass walls of her office don’t exactly hide much. Still, she secures the lid on her cup and throws on her blazer, hoping it hides her wine spotted shirt. “Come in,” Jo sighs.

-

Laura was convinced her daughter did it on purpose. Wanting to wave around her career in her face. Look at me, I’m everything you’re not. The mother refused to acknowledge the apology via text, at least properly only sending an apt thumbs up while she waited. Even as Jo sat down before her with the reason, Laura refused to even ask anything about her work. “I understand, most things matter more than spending time with old momsy.” she said bitterly but soft enough for it not quite bite. There was time, though as she picked up her own menu and conversed while reading it. “I’m fine, I was looking forward to this but I suppose it will turn into another one of those evenings where you talk about work.” Laura mused flippantly, scanning through the options before removing her reading glasses. “Not long, just long enough for me to wonder why I offer extending an invitation sometimes.” she smiled falsely, tilting her head to the side. “So, what about you? I bet you’re just chomping at the bit to tell me everything.” she added facetiously, because both Jo and Laura were hard as stone when around one another. Closed books, and it had been that way for so long there was no way of telling if it could change.

-

Oh, here she goes. “What you’re doing, can you not do that right now? Thank you,” Jo says as she shifts in her seat. “Don’t want me to talk about work, I won’t talk about work. I was simply telling you why I was running late,” She goes on, finding no value in beating around the bush, especially when it comes to Laura. Understandably, Jo can categorize her life in before and after. Before Mitchell died, after Mitchell died. The stick up her mother’s ass, it was normal for her to just ignore it, to take the snide remarks in stride and try not to let it get the better of her. It’s what she’s done her entire life, because it was what she had to do in order to survive, or else the casual cruelness of the bitter old woman would’ve eaten her alive. But she doesn’t hold the capacity to do that anymore. Josephine is tired, perpetually tired, fucking exhausted even. In The After, along with her husband, she’s lost the little bit of patience she held for her mother. “Let’s just have lunch without it turning into a whole thing,” Jo doesn’t even bother looking up, her eyes still trained down on the menu. “I’m thinking of getting the kale caesar salad with blackened shrimp. What about you?”

Location: Lockwood Times

Fresh out of a meeting, Josephine has retired to her office, her closed door signifying an unwritten rule amongst the staffers: Do Not Disturb. She uses the alone time to catch her breath, keeping her mind preoccupied by checking the emails that have amassed since she last checked. Something, however, tells her to look up, and what she sees through the glass walls of her office is none other than Mateo Torres. Goddamnit. Sighing, she goes back to reading and waits for her door to open. “Listen, if this is about the piece that went to print, there’s nothing I can do about it, okay? This is a respectable, unbiased news publication. I cannot stop a reporter from working on a piece about the local government simply because you are my father,” Josephine puts an end to it before he even begins, though she has no idea if that’s actually why the mayor has decided to pay her a visit. If it is, then she has no patience for it today, so it’s better to just nip it in the bud. Finally, she looks up from her laptop’s screen, her eyes waiting expectantly on her dad.

Location: Neue, lunchtime 

Josephine hates being late, especially when it comes to socializing with Laura. The time she spends with her mother must be done in microdoses, but even more so these days. Being late means extending the allotted window of time she’s cut out to spend time with the woman, and since moving back to Lockwood, she no longer contains the mental power to make room for the extra minutes she didn’t mentally and emotionally prepare for. “Sorry, I’m late,” She slides into her seat at the table across from her mother, apologizing again even though she’s already offered her apology in the form of a text message when she first realized she wouldn’t make it to the restaurant at the time they’d planned on. “Printer called,” Jo says and offers no further explanation. It’s the truth, but there’s no point in diving into unnecessary details. Instead, she turns her attention to the waiter standing there at the table and orders a glass of pinot grigio. She thanks them, dotting it with a quick, polite smile that naturally fades once they step away and leave her alone with Laura. “How are you?” Jo asks as she picks up the menu, looking it over. “Hopefully, I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

Location: Josephine’s home; Northside 

The book looks back at her from the kitchen counter, taunting her. Josephine might’ve actually laughed, but what do you know, having a dead husband isn’t exactly funny. She understands the sentiment, she really does, but in what world does this actually help? The well meaning New Yorkers she’s met and befriended over the years must’ve all read the same article on what to get those dealing with the heavy title of widow. It led her to prematurely opening a bottle of wine. The dormant, bitter resentment begins spreading as she continues staring down the book, but it stops, temporarily paused by the sound of the doorbell chiming throughout the house. Bringing her wine glass with her, Jo makes her way to the front and opens the door. “Do you have any books on you? No? Good. Come in,” She teases and steps aside, allowing her best friend into her home. “I just received my fourth copy of ‘The Year of Magical Thinking’ by Joan Didion in the mail today. My fourth,” She says, leading Isra to the kitchen. It’s crazy how it all works. When Joan Didion passed away, it was Mitchell who comforted her through the day, as anyone might need when they’ve lost an idol, a hero, someone they look up to. Now with both of them gone and nothing but Joan’s words about grief and losing her own husband left behind, Josephine doesn’t want to seek comfort in their shared experience. She doesn’t want this experience at all. “This one came from an old editor of mine,” She pats the book as she passes it by. “Want it? I have three more copies. At this rate, I think I’ll have at least ten before the year is out,” She jokes as a way to remain in good spirits. “Wine?” Jo offers, moving towards the cabinet for an additional glass.