#coronadointro

Park Central Towers resident Kassjin Du Bois is ostensibly a senior security consultant for the Hippodrome Casino, the Lusty Lady, and the Vanguard Theater locations, amongst others. In reality, he works for his father, Dominic Du Bois, taking care of all the darker sides of the family business. Since childhood, he’s always been a bit off. Laughing just a beat too late, smiling with an expression that never touches his eyes, a little too comfortable discussing the morbid topics others avoid.

Rather than push him towards normalcy and encourage the mask Kassajin formed on instinct, Dominic fed both sides. A boy who could put on a suit and smile for photographs after watching a man be beaten to death for betraying the family could be… perhaps not loved, but useful.

ORIGINS & FAMILY:

Name: Aurélie Manon del Bosque

Nickname: Aur

Age & Birthday: 29, December 6

Place of Birth: Saint-Germaine Medical, Villa Solana, Coronado

Current Residence: Puente Romano, Villa Solana; secondary residence in in Bahía Azul, a penthouse in Torre Azul owned under a different name

Notable Family Members: The Financier ( parent ); Rafael del Bosque ( uncle ); Luciana del Bosque ( aunt ); Elena, Gabriel, Monrosa, Andrea, and Teodósio del Bosque ( cousins )

PHYSICAL:

Faceclaim: Olivia Cooke

Height: 5'5 1/2

Hair Color: dark red

Eye Color: brown

Jewelry? Tattoos? Piercings?: an old del Bosque signet ring she found as a child in a forgotten desk deep in the Casa, several piercings in both ears, a few tattoos that will be expanded upon further

Unique Mannerisms/Physical Habits: messing with her ring, being annoying about her eidetic/photographic memory, pacing when focused

PERSONALITY:

Occupation: Lawyer for Sede del Bosque ( fixer )

Affiliation: del Bosque

Positive Traits: obsessive, ambitious, meticulous, logical, clever

Negative Traits: manipulative, cruel, arrogant, selfish, pedantic

Likes: the hours just before sunrise, iced coffee, the oxford comma, making lists, a particularly tricky legal argument, the first row of the balcony

Dislikes: sloppy writing, places that lack history, feeling out of control, birds kept as pets, being lied to, the undeniable urge to let it all crash around you

Aesthetic: the casual negligence and inherent hubris of such divine wealth and privilege; legally binding contracts signed in glitter gel pen; physical intimacy like a drug - only this touch makes you feel real, feel grounded; archives full of dusty, deep history and knowledge; a face crafted for tragedy; meticulous ledgers of every favor and fix; this pressure might kill you, but burning out still burns bright.

HISTORY:

The only child born to the youngest del Bosque sibling of the prior generation, Aurélie is the only one gifted a variation of a del Bosque patriarch’s name. Perhaps a coincidence, or The Financier merely liked the name – Aurélie doesn’t know, she wasn’t fully conscious yet at the time of her naming. But it matters. It has to matter – names carry meaning, to name something is to grant it power, worth; emphasis on the weight of the del Bosque name is a common theme throughout her childhood. Aurélie, conscious or not, has spent her entire life attempting to live up to Aurelio del Bosque’s legacy – and becoming Alonso’s second coming.

The Financier stays close to the family, and so does Aurélie – learning at her parent’s side the intricacies of the del Bosque business. She’s a curious child, almost unnervingly so with those big brown eyes and uncanny ability to spout back verbatim almost anything she’s read. She gets her obsessiveness and eye for detail from them but learns careful manipulation and subtle cruelty elsewhere – perhaps watching the rest of the family.

Aurélie attends all the same elite academies as her cousins – obsessive to a fault, a perfectionist who absolutely won’t accept failure. She’s very naturally gifted, of course, and that eidetic memory serves her marvelously. But not everything comes so easily – she just makes it look like that. Sleepless nights full of self-loathing and relentless dedication to whatever subject is giving her trouble result in near perfect marks and a lifelong tendency to dance right on the edge of self-destruction. The kind of pressure she will face from the family is second nature to the pressure she placed on herself.

Despite her best and most grueling efforts – Aurélie’s never been that inclined towards mathematics, so she studies the law. She loves a challenge, the intricacies and various loopholes that craft something particularly clever and weighty. Besides – the lifeblood of the del Bosque is written into every line of these foundational texts – it seems a natural path to follow, one intertwining her destiny further with the del Bosque legacy.

PRESENT:

Aurélie currently works nominally as legal counsel to the executives of Sede del Bosque. While she is more than happen ( honestly would be fucking thrilled ) to offer her nuanced and detailed thoughts on the legal implications of the family’s business – more often than not Aurélie serves as a fixer. If there’s a problem – Aurélie will have a solution, or at the very least a plan of action that will minimize damage.

It’s nice to be useful, to be needed and valued for her mind. It’s utterly intoxicating to wield that subtle control over another person ( even a family member ) based on whatever solution she might offer. Because despite how it often appears – there’s never just one answer, one viable solution – Aurélie considers many different paths that might lead to any number of outcomes, and chooses based on what is best for the family, yes of course, but also what is best for her personally.

Salem was born a du Bois—a middle child, which already says enough. Just there, simmering somewhere in the middle, chronically overlooked, never quite loud enough to be a problem or good enough to be a pride. For some reason, she could never quite connect with her siblings, either. If you asked her, she would tell you they were always busy, buried in projects, parties, and people. There was never enough time for her. Or at least that’s how she remembered it. Maybe it only happened once or twice. Maybe someone forgot a recital or brushed her off at dinner. But Salem decided it was a pattern. She needed it to be one. It made the quiet, slow-growing resentment feel justified.

She figured early on that attention was currency. Naturally, she chased it, through achievement, then rebellion, then whatever brand of “different” would finally get her noticed. And when that didn’t work, she tried being good—like capital-G Good. Morally upright. Principled. She thought maybe if she poured herself into some grand cause, if she cared too much, someone would finally notice.

Her parents weren’t cruel. They weren’t even absent. They just weren’t enough for Salem. And “not enough” is a hard thing to accuse someone of. It sounds ungrateful. What would you do when you didn't want to sound like a brat? You'd turn your resentment into an ideology instead. Some called it activism. Sometimes it was. Other times it was boredom. Or loneliness. Or a very specific brand of rage that came from watching everyone in your family be worshipped for being morally questionable, while you got scolded for being a little too idealistic at dinner.

She told herself she was different from them. That she actually cared without resorting to any cruelty. About the city, the legacy, the truth. And yet, Salem still showed up at every gala. Still wore the name like armor. Still liked being photographed just enough to hate herself for it later. It was always like this: two versions of her running parallel. The one who wanted to burn it all down. And the one who still wanted a seat at the table.

By her early 20s, she’d already become a headache. Not in the dramatic, arrest-worthy way. Not like the cousins who lit fires just to watch their names blaze through the headlines. Salem’s sabotage was quieter, pettier. A leaked memo here. A strategically timed smear campaign there.

Whatever happened next—no one really says. Not aloud at least. There was no scandal on record, no dramatic fallout. Just absence. One day she was there, and the next? Gone. Exiled. Not a full-blown disownment—please, the du Bois would never be that cruel. But a soft erase. The PR equivalent of a sigh.

They cut her off financially (well, sort of.. Is it really a cut-off when you’re just not allowed to max your credit cards anymore?). Mid-purchase, if the rumors are true. One minute, she was buying some obscenely expensive art piece out of spite (something red and upsetting and supposedly brutalist), the next her card declined. Your credit card is declined. Just like that, legacy revoked.

She stayed gone for a while. At first, she liked it. Romanticized it, even. A girl without a legacy. No name, no safety net. Grocery lists instead of press briefings. Landlords instead of lawyers. She got a job. Paid rent. Took the subway. Learned how to pretend she wasn’t above it all. It was fun for a while. And slowly, Salem started to understand what the family had always tried to explain: The world isn’t run by the most righteous. It’s run by whoever can afford the microphone.

Life outside the du Bois orbit was humbling in all the worst ways: bureaucratic, indifferent, and underpaid. But it taught her something her siblings never had to learn, how to move without a surname to open doors. Somewhere between freelancing crisis comms and ghostwriting apologies for minor celebrities, it clicked: image was everything.

She didn’t set out to become a political image consultant. It just… happened. Like most things in her life post-exile: mildly unethical, wildly effective, and somehow always her idea in the end. At first, it felt opportunistic. A little gross. But also kind of genius. It let her keep playing morality police with a power complex. Once she had a name of her own—a reputation she built without the du Bois support—she decided to come back home. Not crawling, not failed. Just to prove a point. That she could survive on her own. That she was still the smartest person in the room.

Dominic du Bois, fifty-eight, has called Coronado home all of his life. As the Chief Executive Officer of the Clarion News Network and head of the du Bois family’s empire, his world is steeped in the even-handed spread of a deck of cards, an indulgence in the finer things (taken for himself, but not without cost), and kerchiefs to wipe one’s hands clean of gunpowder and ink. Often found in his office with a phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, rolling his own cigarettes, he moves through life with Gospel for a New Century by Yves Tumor in his ear.

+ + +

SUMMARY: As a young man, the disappearance of a close friend spurs Dominic du Bois into putting his family's legacy and resources into one ultimate goal: seeing the Del Bosques and all those who are allied with them toppled. To do this, he builds his own army, plays whatever role is required of him to do, and in the meantime spends his days as an effective and charming executive with little need for external affirmation.

He doesn't pretend to be above violent or ugly practices in pursuit of that goal. And while every disenfranchised soul in Coronado believes he's fighting for them, Dominic is careful to make sure he doesn't let himself believe that. In the evenings he's a hands-on leader. He relies heavily on his family to help see their goals through, and cares deeply for them as much as he does use them and their social positionings to his advantage.

+ + +

He is stooped over the bathroom sink, head tilted at an angle, eyes closed and lip curled—split, yes, and bloodied, but curled. Behind him, he's backed by the only man in the world he truly loves and truly fears: his father. He doesn't need to look to see the heavy draw of Franklin du Bois' brow, the circles beneath his eyes, the disappointed pull to his mouth. He's seen it enough times he can put the picture together in his head.

"You're going to get yourself killed," Franklin murmurs. He's got a voice like gravel, deep and low in his throat, the same one that Dominic has inherited—though Dominic has also inherited his mother's Mill-lulting accent, softening and smoothing the edges of every word, widening some of the vowels until they all sound like one.

"I didn't do it for me," Dominic answers, and that's the end to the conversation. Lizabeta had been a writer, yes, an investigative reporter, and missing for thirty-three days the way plenty of people from the Mill just go missing, but first and foremost she'd been his friend, and she'd had questions about the Del Bosques, and everyone knows what happens to people who have questions about the Del Bosques.

He thinks he's going to be sick again. He grips tight to the edge of the counter. He hates this: this is weakness, this grief, this desperation. He'd been lucky to live, lucky to get away with a broken nose and a split lip, too well-known to just make disappear—

"Son," Franklin starts, and for the first time in a long time Dominic feels the press of his father's hand to the center of his back. He hasn't done that in a long time. Franklin is a good man, but he isn't an affectionate one. Every piece of praise he's ever given his middle child and least favorite son has come with what always felt like sacrifice.

Finally, he lifts his head. In the mirror: himself, a face he recognizes, his father's dark eyes and his mother's jowls, a broken, swollen nose that shows up in every grainy photo of Lorraine du Bois he's ever seen. (Ruined, he thinks, now.) The only thing that belongs to him is his desire to see the whole fucking island tilted up and over until the del Bosques and Shibatas alike are washed away into the frothing sea.

+ + +

The simplest answer, Dominic has always thought, to the complicated question of what makes a good man, is this: they don't really exist.

He doesn't tout himself to be one when he draws in his lieutenants and builds the underground up into not just a messaging machine, but his own army. He doesn't position himself as a great man when he sits down for interviews, or photoshoots, when he sends his children and nieces and nephews out into the world to make their own mark on the social scene in his name, or corrupts his grandfather's once-righteous cause for the gain of revenge. (Not just his, he tells himself.)

This, he thinks, is what makes him strongest among the rest: not the attempt at being a good man, but in admitting that he's incapable of it.

+ + +

full name: andrea del bosque. nicknames:  andi, drea, he's sure there are plenty whispered behind his back. birthday: november 20th, 33 years old. hometown: coronado. traits: quiet, studious, hardworking, enduring. gender & pronouns: cis man & he/him. orientation: bisexual. zodiac: scorpio. occupation: recent law school graduate, still figuring out his next steps. character parallels: fredo corleone (the godfather), jon snow (game of thrones), benvolio (romeo and juliet), tyler leander (station eleven) alliance: del bosque. aesthetics: an inescapable, blood red spotlight. untouched glasses of sparkling liquor. a smile plastered on a face to hide pain. fingertips stained with expensive inks. a notebook tucked into a pocket at all times – what's hidden inside is for one pair of eyes only.

in the fray of every crowd, he feels as if he's pushed to the edges of it despite people brushing against his shoulders at all times. his burden is not his burden, but the burden of his mother, a weight he carries that he never asked for, a weight he will always carry. a weight his father (who is not truly his father, and who will never be his father, no matter what false words andrea would hope to draw from his lips) will never free him from.

feels more an unwanted pet than a sibling, something that walked in the door one rainy night and refused to leave. he has nowhere else to go, he has no one else to turn to. how desperately he seeks their approval. can they tell he's screaming inside?

can the rest of coronado, shibata, du bois, tell he's screaming inside? do they even know he exists? (obviously, they know he exists. to them, he's just another shining del bosque star. no one would ever know a thing. but he knows. and his family knows. and it's so obvious to him that it surprises him that no one else knows anything.)

he's always been intelligent. he could run this family just as well as anyone could hope to run this family, he could take coronado and make it a utopia– he stands and smiles and holds his untouched glass. his suit is without wrinkle, his posture pin-straight. oh, he's charming.

he just can't charm the ones he craves the most. he's screaming. can they hear it? do they tune it out like they've tuned out everything else about him?

his notebook is full of secrets. it hears his screams. can they see him? mother, why have you done this to me?

a home. power. respect. love. he screams. honor.

there is a coin. on one side, loyalty, dedication, commitment. on the other, defection, renunciation, apostasy.

the coin is flipped.

BASICS:

full name  : rafael del bosque. nicknames  :  rafa. birthdate  : 12th jan (  63 ). hometown  : coronado. traits : obsessive, strategic, unforgiving, paranoid. gender  +  pronouns  : cis man  +  he/him. orientation  : heterosexual. zodiac  : capricorn. occupation  : chair of del bosque enterprises. character parallels : michael corleone ( the godfather part 3 ), roderick usher ( the fall of the house of usher ), emperor joseph ii ( amadeus ). alliance : del bosque. aesthetic : whispered omens curled around his throat like a lover's hand, a cracked mirror reflecting pieces of a face, a rusted key in a trembling hand.

SUMMARY:

as a young man, the weight of legacy was a privilege. he dreamed of ruling coronado with his young ideals in mind. however, following in his father's footsteps came with decisions that turned him ruthless. he understood what it meant to be a del bosque and how heavy the burden could be.

the idea of leaving an impact, as the del bosques who came before him did, was his first mission. what could he build that wasn’t already done? things changed when a fortune teller spelled out his fate. he thought little of it, at first, but after a certain number of deaths and events that couldn’t be put down as consequence, protecting the family and everything they stood for became his priority.

The face of the news. The face of the truth. That’s what she is to residents; their shining star behind the news desk. But for Ariya, the truth has always been something slippery, sharp-edged, and haunting. At 31, her life is steeped in contradiction: the carefully coiffed anchor with a voice like velvet, and the restless soul who stalks Coronado’s shadows after the broadcast lights dim, chasing whispers of corruption, retribution, and ghosts.

Her story begins decades ago, with a heartbreak she’s never fully healed from. At just five years old, Ariya was put up for adoption, along with her younger brother. They were a pair of lost pieces, torn apart when he was adopted first — three years old and wide-eyed, taken into another home while she stood in the doorway and forced herself to smile for his sake. She told herself it was for the best, that he’d have a better life. But the emptiness of that moment defined her.

Ariya grew up under the watchful eyes of her adoptive parents, a quiet, upper-middle-class couple who seemed to value perfection more than love. It didn’t take her long to realize what was expected of her: excellence. She poured herself into every report card, every recital, every carefully polished moment, convinced that if she were good enough, she could earn their pride. It’s why she chased a career in news — her parents watched religiously, and Ariya wanted nothing more than to beam back at them from their television screen, proof that she was worth the space she occupied in their home.

But beneath the success story, her brother was always there, a quiet ache that grew louder over time. Against all odds, they found their way back to each other as teenagers, living in the same city, no longer sharing a last name but sharing whispered stories of their childhoods and dreams for the future. Where Ariya had been shaped into a flawless overachiever, he’d rebelled against the constraints of family and society alike. He was wild and reckless, living fast and loose with rules Ariya couldn’t afford to break. And she loved him all the more for it.

For years, she cleaned up his messes, bailed him out of trouble, played the steady hand to his chaos. But that chaos finally caught up to him. He’d been poking around where he didn’t belong — into the dealings of the powerful Shibata family — and vanished without a trace. “ Missing ” was the official line, but Ariya knew better. He was dead. Grief struck her like a knife, slicing through the walls she’d built to keep herself strong. Her brother was the only person who ever loved her without asking her to be perfect, to be anything but herself, without any need to perform or achieve a single thing in order to be embraced for who she was, and now he was gone.

And yet, even in her heartbreak, there was a flicker of anger. He’d told her, in those final weeks, about the story he was chasing. “Something BIG,” he’d said, his voice hushed and conspiratorial. He’d gotten too close to something, and the Shibata family had silenced him for it. Ariya swore she would not let his death be in vain.

Now, Ariya lives a double life. By day, she’s Coronado’s picture-perfect news anchor, delivering stories with flawless diction and just enough warmth to connect with the audience. But after the cameras turn off, she’s chasing a story of her own, trying to collect dirt on the Shibata family, bribing informants, following threads her brother left behind. Every smile she flashes on air is a mask to hide the storm brewing beneath — grief, rage, and the desperate hunger for justice.

She still hears his voice sometimes, whispering in the back of her mind: Don’t let this go. And she won’t. Not until the family who took everything from her feels the full weight of their sins. For now, she’s the face of the truth. But one day soon, she’ll be its reckoning.

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS:

Informant/Detective/Journalist: Since she is trying her best to collect dirt on the family members and people from their alliance, as well as figure out who exactly killed her brother, she could get in touch with just about anyone that could provide information. Whether she is up front about that being her motive or not we could plot out!

Exes: A classic. Always fun. This could go so many ways in terms of why they broke up etc. She definitely has some issues.

Co-Workers/Work Acquaintances: Someone working at the news station with her or someone in the entertainment industry she's met through work.

Text:

before

I.  There was the sound of June’s laughter like heavenly music to her ears - Blue’s first memory. In those days, she’d felt like God himself shone the sun on her and her alone. Not sure what she’d done to deserve it, but not one to pry, she accepted her life as perfect. Life is blue sky, warm days, and milk and honey. It is family dinners, dancing in the den, and deep belly laughter. She’s young then, carefully cradled by a blanket of innocence, safe in the epicenter of her nuclear family. Her carefree spirit had yet to be tamed, and her sister June is by her side at every step. There are just the two of them and no one else in the world. Junie-and-Louie, a four armed, four eyed, twenty fingered animal. They are joy, smiling mouth, eager heart, and indomitable spirit.

II. When they are older June leaves for college and it is Blue’s first heartbreak. She is off to Coronado University and Blue begs her not to leave. How could she go so far away from home without a second thought? The question fills her mind, expands and contracts in all of the neurons and grey matter. She’d known God to be the guiding hand, but had never expected him so cruel that he’d let her sister leave her. Weeks pass and Blue’s sadness persists and grips tightly onto her bones. Her parents are concerned, but time passes on as it always does, and eventually she comes around. It makes her happy to see her parents talk about how proud they are of June, seeing as they hadn’t gone to college themselves. “A real journalist in the family,” her mother would whisper blissfully, “My own daughter”. June is focused and diligent at school. She sends letters home, and calls with updates. But, in her last year, these are harder to come by. Blue feels her sadness return to her.

III. Blue wants to be a painter, and everyone says she’s talented enough for it. This is her calling, she thinks. Here is the thing that everyone wants and goes their whole lives wanting, and she has it. She feels lucky, like maybe God had decided to give her some reprieve. But then of course, because he has a sick sense of humor, her mother is suddenly very sick. So she goes to a college close to home in order to help tend to her. University life comes and goes, and Blue’s boat feels unsteady. On one hand she is offered a residency somewhere she’s always dreamed of going. She wants to leave her town so badly and start fresh. She almost does. However, on the other hand, her mother’s condition is worsening, so she stays. Life goes by in hues of brown and grey. She welcomes her sadness as a break from the numbness that tries to consume her. She calls June and offers to visit and she’s told not to bother. Years pass. No art. No life of her own. No June.

IV. Then, one night, Blue is awoken by a strange sound in the house. Investigation leads her to June’s old room, where she nervously watches her sister frantically rummaging for something and muttering harsh words under her breath. Blue almost doesn’t recognize the gaunt, disheveled, manic person in front of her and the sight scares her. Who had her sister become in their years apart? Thousands of questions bubble up in her throat. She tries to speak to her, begs her to explain what’s going on, but just as quickly as she appeared, June is headed for the door and gone. In the midst of the panic, a crumpled piece of paper had fallen from June’s satchel. Blue picks it up, the torn edge of a letter that she can’t quite decipher. On the back, though, is ‘DEL BOSQUE’ scribbled in red ink. She decides then that enough is enough, and goes to Coronado to get some answers from her sister. What she doesn’t expect walking into June’s unlocked apartment is the darkness and the mess. Littered and scattered on seemingly every inch of the living room are papers, articles, red string, and thumb tacks. There are endless notepads filled with dates, times, and places scribbled in June’s messy handwriting. On the wall there is a collage of sorts, some mystery yet to be uncovered. Blue glances at all of the photos and papers, but doesn’t recognize any of the faces or names except for one - Del Bosque. She waits for June to come back and explain. She waits - for hours, for days, for three weeks - but June doesn’t return. 

now.

V. A year later, and June is still missing, though Blue feels her presence everywhere. She dances at Midnight Decree, now fully enmeshed in a life of secret code, secret dances, private clients, champagne, chandeliers, and lies. But with time, Paloma City wears on her and she knows she is out of her depth. More often than not she feels like the trunk of a tree being axed in two, separate identities diverging from the wound. At night she is alive - she sparkles. She is beautiful, clever, swift and sophisticated, coquette with keenness but intent. She is fun but sensual, the perfect combination for a woman who must charm for information. One night, one of the clients called her ‘effervescent' and she laughed at his earnestness. Not because it was a silly thing to say, but because she knew that she was playing her part well.