His eyes squint momentarily, opening his mouth to utter how if divine justice existed actually existed, then her brother would likely be dead. But then he thinks it TOO cruel to say aloud and instead softly shakes his head. âWhat of Lysander then? Divine justice is hardly known for being fair or proportionate.â Breakfast was also probably a little too early for philosophical debate. But heâs never really understood the importance of timing. Six months prior, he would have found comfort in her presence at breakfast, but now it feels as foreign as the bruises on his knuckles. âNo. I am rather comfortable. I think I shall stay here. â Then, as if to highlight it, he clears his throat, opening the newspaper to a full spread and flicking to the polo fixtures.Â
No it isnât. Sheâs beginning to think thereâs no such thing as justice at all, only cycles of violence until eventually; someone triumphs. Maybe itâs a bullshit concept the ruling class sold them on to placate the masses, so they could pretend there was such a thing as equality. âWell in that way, divine justice is just like the British judicial system. But you knew that, didnât you? When you sold out Lysander? Your best friend?â The implication behind her words is clear. You knew what they would do to him. You knew how they would paint him. âDid you even care?â Sheâs wanted to ask Kit that for a while, to make him face her and finally confront the truth for the first time.Â
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â LARISSA IS NOT HER FRIEND, not any more. she has to remind herself of that as larissa turns on her, screaming, saying things that georgina wishes to ignore. she believes vehemently in the lysander theory â because believing anything else means acknowledging that there might be someone still out there. âdonât talk about her like that,â georgina hisses, âbesides, even if she was, it wouldnât matter. because your brother killed her before she could live long enough to be anything else. thatâs NOT justice.â larissaâs words cut like knives, they sound almost inhumane coming from someone that georgina once upon a time, wouldâve gone to for comfort. someone georgina wouldâve knocked on the door of late at night and sit on the edge of their bed, just to talk. just to be near her. now, that girl spits obscenities at her in the dining hall. âglad to know how you really feel.âÂ
Donât talk about her like that. Larissaâs long-supported the theory that Octavia was like marmite. You were either a worshipper at her shrine or someone who spat on her grave. Although she had never stopped long to consider where Georgina fell on the spectrum, she was beginning to believe she fell into the former category. Matching her venom, she raises her voice, caring nothing for the people who have turned to eavesdrop on their conversation. âWelcome to the real world! Thereâs no such thing as justice.â Not for people who look like Lysander. Not even for Octavia - who didnât deserve to die or be unable to rest in peace. âHe didnât kill her. Youâre on the wrong fucking side of history. And I canât wait for you to realise that.â Itâs hard to believe they were ever friends. Even harder to think that they have to continue going home to each other. Some of the anger fades now, replaced by a dull sadness. âYeah well, you didnât really give me a choice.â The pair of them being like this hurts. âYou didnât even stop to consider that he might be innocent. None of you did. Not for one second.â
â âWELL, AT LEAST YOUR DELUSIONS ARENâT,â GEORGINA REPLIES FLIPPANTLY. in any other situation, she mightâve tried to empathize with larissa â after all, she was losing a brother, in a way. if it had been anyone else, if it hadnât been octaviaâŚbut it HAD been octavia, and georgina had spent the months following her death with the preston family, helping with funeral arrangements, watching the way the happy family sheâd known her entire life had so easily splintered. the closure is important for them. âitâs psychology,â georgina replies, âstatistics usually donât lie. neither does motive. youâre welcome to your opinions, but itâs incredibly insensitive to flout them in her familyâs presence.â she knows the way larissaâs words affect wolfie, they affect everyone. and georgina wants more than ANYTHING for this to be over, to have her normal back â and it just keeps going on longer. âthere shouldnât have to be sides. youâre the one creating them.â
Itâs psychology. Statistics donât usually lie. With those six words, thereâs a part of Larissa that feels like proving her right, giving into violent instincts and throttling her where she stands. But who does that benefit? Not her. Not Lysander. All it vindicates are those who expect people who come from trash to act that way. So it isnât wisdom that restrains her, but pride. âWell, in that caseâ She sneers - making no attempt to hide her contempt - âI guess Octavia was a crooked bitch, rotten to the core. Like father like daughter, right?â Smearing the dead is a new low. Part of her wonders whether sheâll pay for it tonight, if Octaviaâs ghostly apparition will reprimand her behaviour. There shouldnât have to be sides. If the only way to earn acceptance in the eyes of the society is to abandon her brother, then sheâd rather go it alone. Itâs what she did for most of her life - she can endure a few years more.âGo fuck yourself Georgina.â
â âRIGHT, BECAUSE WOLFIEâS THE ONLY ONE WHO BELIEVES THE TRUTH,â thereâs scorn in her voice, as if larissa isnât even deserving of saying his name. it was funny, to sit across from someone in the dining hall who used to be among your closest friends and yet, feel like a stranger. months ago, they wouldâve been laughing together over the infestation, chatting about homework before walking back together. now, georgina has to restrain herself from lunging at her across the table. she bristles at the unwelcome nickname. âitâs not an opinion. listen, lar, i get it, he was your brother â but going around touting your faith in a murderer has never been in season. YOU may want to try developing some compassion for others now and again.âÂ
Bristling at the insinuation in Georginaâs words - the correct one, as it happened - Larissa scowled, eyes narrowing in a toxic combination of frustration and rage. The number of people who believed in the miscarriage of justice was a dwindling list. She suspected the upcoming trial would only bolster the oppositionâs ranks. âWhat can I say? Stupidity is contagious.â Humans always believed the easiest explanation. It prevented them from having to put any effort into evolution. Unable to stomach the pity in Georginaâs tone, the way she positioned herself as someone who understood, Larissaâs grip on her cutlery tightened. âThatâs bloody ironic. If society had a little more compassion, then the prosecution wouldnât be using my fatherâs shittiness as evidence to convict Lysander.â Jamming her knife into the butter - as opposed to a person - she leaned forward, closing the gap between them. âHe didnât kill Octavia.â Tempted to add, I heard it straight from the horseâs mouth, she stopped herself at the last moment. Breakfast was a little too soon to begin telling ghost stories. âJust wait and see. Youâre on the wrong side of this.â
She didnât sleep a wink the night before; were the walls any thinner in their shared apartment than they already were, Larissa would have known that without needing to see the meticulously concealed eye-shadows, and the thrice-reapplied lipstick upon Iskraâs pursed mouth. She stared blankly down into her measly, untouched breakfast â an apple, a dry slice of bread â and remembered just how hard it had been to keep even water down all night long. Not because of the alcohol, not because of what she and Valentine had imbibed in before her disastrous coronation, but because of Theresa.
Someone must have done something really bad.Â
Iskra blinked as if awakening from a stupor at Larissaâs prompting. She cleared her throat, blankly straightening her spine and reaching for the paper. âDo try harder not to sound so satisfied about it,â Iskra prodded, though she couldnât help but see the strange, coincidental writing on the wall, âIf it were me, I would have dropped dead on the spot. Whoeverâs responsible has to be some kind of freak. Who just has that many bugs? Glad it wasnât me.â For once, she was glad â that it hadnât been her, and that she didnât see it.Â
Hey Larissa, I know that Valentineâs bug-bath is cool and all, but do you want to hear about the seance I did with Theresa last night? No chance in hell.
Had Larissa looked closer and begun to peel back the layers that made up Iskra, she would have been pleasantly surprised by what she found. As it was, she only peered at her surface, hard marble and speckled goal. She only saw what Iskra wanted her to see. The most tolerable roommate. Octaviaâs former best friend - tainted by association. That was where her perception began and ended. Snorting in disagreement at her words, Larissa torn up a bread roll; moving the pieces on her plate impatiently.
âWhy should I?â Her instinct was always to resist the advice or orders of others, regardless of whether it was meant well or not. âItâs just a physical manifestation of all the rot in this place. People have it coming to them.â Quite frankly, bugs at a dance was probably the worst thing that had ever happened to many collected around the table. They deserved a slice of what the rest of the world endured on a daily basis. âEntomologists.â She shrugged. âSomeone who wants everyone to see these people for who they really are.â
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âAh yes because we live in the old testament nowâŚâ he remarks, doing everything in his power to stop himself from rolling his eyes. âYou will have to excuse me for forgetting that minor detail.â He moves to butter his toast, gaze flicking between his plate and the newspaper tossed in front of him, putting the knife down to reel it in with his bruised index finger, to graze over the details. âItâs fairly common in older buildings.â He comments off-handedly in agreement with the article. âThe woodwork attracts flies⌠woodworm⌠furniture beetles, to name just a few. Itâs a shame. Iâm sure a lot more will fall into disrepair now that a murderer has led to cut funding.â
âIf only we did. Divine justice is a real fucking bitch.â Second only to me, she might have added - had instinct not warned her from doing so at the last minute. Maybe breakfast was a touch too early for the dramatic flair. Had Larissa been more inclined towards sorrow than rage, she would have allowed herself a moment to grieve Kit. Lysander hadnât been the only one sheâd lost. In stabbing the knife in her brotherâs back, Kitâs friendship had disappeared as well. Stubborn soul that she was, she refused to let herself mourn him. Good riddance. Rolling her eyes at his spiel, she eyed the butter, wondering whether to pull it from his reach. âFeel free to take your crusty golden ass elsewhere, anytime.â
â LARISSA AND GEORGINA USED TO BE MUCH CLOSER. roommates, they were good FRIENDS, but georgina cannot condone the way larissa stands up for her brother â a murderer. and, as always, she will side with wolfie above anyone else. so, her expression darkens at larissaâs haughty tone of voice, eyes flickering over toward the front page of the school paper, lips forming a thin line on her face. âyeah, someone did,â she remarks. âgood thing heâs gone now. probably for life.âÂ
Those with a calmer temperament would have known not to rise to the taunt, to let Georginaâs worlds roll off their back, grit their teeth and continue their day. As it was, Larissa was wondering whether to give Georgina a black eye to match the one she had always dreamt of gifting her boyfriend. Probably not. She was just another sheep, bleating as she fell into line with everyone else. If anything, Larissa should have pitied her. Maybe sheâd just clean the bathroom with her toothbrush or something. âOh hi Wolfie! Didnât see ya there.â Rolling her eyes, tone sharper than was wiser, she refused to let the point go. âYou know George, uncritically adopting your boyfriendâs opinions is not a cute look. You may want to try developing independent thoughts now and again.â
time & place: dining hall, day after the winter formal
availability: open to all
Folding up her copy of The Chronicle with a deft smile, Larissa chuckled to herself; although her amusement was without any real humour. These days, she had to take scraps where she could find them - and if the next generation of journalists were focusing on winter formal shitshows instead of spreading slander about her family history, sheâd take the break. Leaning back in her seat and tossing the newspaper across the table, she inclined her head towards it. âSo,â Larissa began, unable and unwilling to prevent a sliver of bitter triumphalism from entering her tone. âFlies. That shit is practically Biblical. I guess someone must have done something really bad.â
hi all!!! Iâm Emily and I am absolutely thrilled to be here writing with you! I seriously cannot wait to begin plotting and writing and all of the angst weâre going to kill each other with! but for now, iâll quit my rambling and start introducing the mess that is my child.
without further ado: larissa griffith aka hamlet
PINTEREST / APPLICATIONÂ
I do not - and will never - expect you to read my long ass, rambly application because we are all adults with lives!!! below, iâve summarised the most important information into short(er)Â bullet points for your consumption! these should give you a good insight into who lar is as a character and serve as a launch pad for plotting!!!
(TW: Alcoholism and abuse)
larissa has strong roots in Britain's working class, going all the way back to the industrial revolution. traditionally miners, her entire family has a chip on their shoulder about Thatcher and that stand off with the miners, forcing them to turn abandon their traditions and livelihoods. instead, her mother was/is a careworker and her father was a factory worker.Â
she grew up poor - dirt poor - but her mother forbade her from knowing it. instead, she enlisted lysander to conceal the truth; a kindness on both their parts. she encouraged the pair to âmake their own magicâ - bus-trips to neighbouring towns to substitute for far-flung holidays, treasure hunts in charity shops instead of newly wrapped birthday treats, bargain hunting in supermarkets instead of gourmet dishes.
Lysander was at the centre of her childhood. Two years her senior, they were a two-pieced puzzle, complementary in their opposites. The boy with the bleeding heart, he was kindness personified; the first to befriend an outcast, accepting of peopleâs shortcomings, optimistic in his belief that the trajectory of life was up. Lysander was both best friend and brother, co-conspirator and protector.
Shit hit the fan after the 2008 financial crash. Her motherâs pay was frozen and her father was laid off. Faced with failure as a provider, husband and father - his identity eroded - he transformed into something else. He drank. A lot. At first, the drinking isnât so bad. Between one and five glasses, heâs a joy. He sings Christmas songs in July and dances like heâll never have the chance to again. After that comes the bits Larissa never saw. Arguments between her parents - over money, unemployment and benefits - soon grow physical. At the end of the night, her father always begs for forgiveness and promises to never drink again. Her mother always forgives him. And he always breaks his word. Lysander ensured she never knew what was going on in their house.
He protected her in other ways too. when Larissa was eleven, her father came home drunk and demanded she go with him on a father-daughter road trip. lysander intervened, first attempting to reason with him. when that fails, he orders you out. child that she was, larissa wriggled free from her fatherâs trip and fled to lysanderâs room, where she knew sheâd always be safe. hours later, Lysander pulled back the covers, his face shaded in dried blood and hastily applied bandages. come on, he urged, itâs time to go on an adventure.
Adventure turned out to be two children and one shaken mother moving into their grandparents house thirty minutes outside of Edinburgh. Determined to ensure that abuse didnât blight their future, she insisted on both siblings sitting and passing entrance exams and scholarship interviews for the leading private school. Both she and Lysander passed. But from the very beginning, it was clear that they were different from everyone else. The other students had double-barrelled surnames and parents who were titans of industry and the creme-de-la-creme of society. Possessed by their own self-worth, they were the very embodiment of entitlement. Larissa despised them instantly, taking their existence as proof of a fundamental ill in the universe. It wasnât fair that they had so much when she had so little, or that their families continued to be whole.
Lysander saw things differently. Fire and water, sun and moon - she had always known there were fundamental differences between the two of them, but hadnât thought they would ever drive them apart. Whilst Larissa spurned her new school, preferring to bury her head in her work and befriend the librarians, Lysander threw himself head first into his new life, choosing to see the opportunity and kindness in his new peers. Bit by bit, the gulf between them widened - until they led separate lives. It broke her heart. Larissa didnât know what to do with her sorrow except unleash it upon Lysander, leading to their one and only argument. She accused him of looking down upon his family and of being ashamed of them. She even used the words class traitor
Fences were only mended between the two of them on account of Larissa finding out what had really happened between her mother and her father - and realising the truth of her own past. Once she understood what Lysander had done to protect her, Larissa bit her lip and swallowed her pride; knocking on his door to apologise. From that moment forward, she swore she would do whatever she could to repay him.
More than anything else, Larissa felt guilty that she hadnât known about her fatherâs true nature. Remorseful that she hadnât helped. Whilst her family told her not to chastise herself, pointing out she had only been a child - Larissa insisted on bearing a cross and atoning for her sins. From then on, she swore to repay the kindness shown to her by her mother and Lysander and dedicate her life to protecting societyâs most vulnerable, single handedly correcting the injustices she witnessed, whether they be gender, racial or class.
Larissa entered Ashcroft with her fists curled, ready to go to war and burn the establishment to the ground if that was what it took to succeed. Mind already made up, she decided that Ashcroft was like every other university - dominated by white men, more obsessed with statistics than welfare and infected with rampant sexism.
Sure enough, she got to work immediately. Unable to bite her lip, Larissa called out every slight, intentional or otherwise. Headstrong and stubborn, once she has the bit between her teeth sheâs restless in her pursuit. In her two-and-a-bit years at Ashcroft, sheâs prosecuted several successful campaigns. From picking apart the English literature reading list for being too colonial, calling out Lecturers on their sexist bullshit and launching a petition to force Ashcroft to divest from fossil fuel investments, no cause escapes her attention. By far, her most ambitious campaign was in her first year, once she discovered that Ashcroftâs cleaners - as agency workers - were being denied fair wages, holiday leave and sick pay. Outraged, she spearheaded a campaign to bring them âin-houseâ; the first person to arrive and the last person to leave the picket lines.
Larissa initially rejected Oberon Ashcroftâs invitation into the Imperium society. Invited after she stormed into his office and delivered a list of cleaners demands, she refused to join until he acceded to the cleanerâs demands. He did so immediately - trapping her in her own promises.Â
Larissaâs dislike for Octavia was no big secret. Her brotherâs taste in partners has always been poor - so whilst she wasnât surprised he went for another blonde heiress, Larissa was disappointed; knowing that it could only end in heartbreak for her brother. Girls like Octavia did not end up with boys from families like hers.Â
Thereâs no such thing as justice. Thatâs Larissaâs new motto; practically every other sentence out of her mouth since Lysander was arrested. Whilst her brother put - and continues to place - his father in the judicial system, she saw the writing on the wall from the beginning - suspecting that he was one small pawn in someone elseâs game. There is no doubt in her mind that Lysander is innocent - nor has there ever been any.Â
Larissa offered to lie on the stand for Lysander; offering him the alibi that would have seen him slip the noose around his neck. He forbid her, telling her to think of her career, her freedom, her life. He didnât know that there wasnât a life worth living without him in it.Â
Besides, her life has changed beyond all recognition. Some of those changes are of her own making. Stricken by grief, sheâs abandoned almost everyone and everyone who meant anything. Theresa was the first to fall by the wayside, abandoned without a momentâs thought. Itâs too selfish to try to be happy whilst her brother rots. Academics go next - her grades slip letter by letter, until Headmaster Ashcroft writes sternly worded letters warning of a scholarship loss. Sheâs even lost interest in her causes; all injustices paling in comparison to the one committed against Lysander. In short, sheâs turned against the world, half-gladly.
Coming back to Ashcroft was a bad idea, but sheâll never admit it. Her newly minted title of âsister of the murdererâ is not an easy one to bear. Someone starts a rumour that sheâll be expelled from the Imperium Society. More people hope itâs true. Never apt at biting her tongue, she punches them - and half a dozen more - in the face.Â
Larissa has tried to convince Lysander to fight back - to launch an appeal, do an interview with the media to tell his story - to do something, anything! Every time, his answer is the same. Sadly, he shakes his head.
Octavia comes in the space between dreams and nightmares. Her beauty has been snatched from her, drained with her life force. She finds this version of Octavia an easier one to stomach. Without facade, Larissa can stare directly into her soul. How is it that dead, Octavia feels more human to her? Younger too - before her eyes, Larissa sees Octavia as she must have once been - a little girl with all the fire of life inside of her. Any hate borne towards her in life softens into pity. Catching her glancing at a photo of her and Lysander, Larissa asks the one question that will shake the universe. Did he kill you? With only half a second to consider the weight of that question - and whether she wants to hear the answer, Octavia shakes her head. No.
Larissa makes Octavia a promise. She swears not to rest until she finds the person who did. Not for her, but for Lysander.
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