#desertbroad

“I dunno about you, but I reckon this is the perfect time for a toast.”

miscellaneous angst starters.

❛ ‘Course I haven’t! What do you think they’d do for a wanted crook like me? ❜ The eminence he bared to his frontal lobe had caused prolonged migraines and irritability, even clouding his sense of reason but he would deny that last matter. ❛ I’m fine. I’ll be fine. ❜ Ringed fingers raise to nurse the lesion. 

name: miriam “miri” andrews.age: 77.race/nationality: white american.ethnicity: jewish.profession: empty nester tbh. worked as a secretary for a bit when she was younghair color: white, formerly auburn. she dyes it thoeye color: gray.height: 5′2.faceclaim: claire bloom.relationship to my muse: jane’s mom!

how my muse feels about them: god, her feelings about her mom are so, so complex. the thing is that miri was responsible, often solely responsible, for jane for like 80% of her entire childhood life. she was the person who did ALL the most difficult shit with jane, all the stuff that hurt but she “had to” do it, took her to the doctor’s appointments where jane would panic, made her go to social events that made jane miserable, etc. etc. etc. all the stuff that makes up the main body of a child’s life, miri did with her. and because of that, because of trying to adapt to that, jane has been able to become an adult but it was all beyond painful because miri would not tailor her expectations and actions to jane’s needs, REFUSED to understand her, and although she had moments of insight and compassion, she was so bogged down in trying to perform to outsiders’ expectations and getting some kinda “normal kid” response out of jane and etc. like… it wasn’t good. and the hurt continued well into adulthood because miri would never come meet jane in the middle. just like with her dad, jane loves her mom, but she does not have day-to-day contact because she knows that she can’t truly rely on her.

how they feel about my muse: jane is miri’s biggest source of pain and disappointment. she wanted a cuddly neurotypical baby girl and got a child who rejected contact, wouldn’t talk, and wouldn’t meet her eyes. instead of learning jane’s way of showing love and connection, she fixated on jane’s “abnormalities” and spent all of jane’s childhood stressing, ripping her hair out, despairing, etc. in between sessions of trying to get jane to “act properly” and “be good.” she sees jane as willfully difficult, and believes jane isn’t truly capable of deep love or connection–again, this is because she never bothered to learn how jane expressed those things–and went so far as to express that to dorothy as a child, which is why jane cut contact w/ her. if she loves jane, again, like with ted, it’s not a holistic love. she still primarily sees jane as that “burden” she’d been as a child, except now her burden has very long legs which she is using to run around the world and cause chaos.

how often do they appear in my muse’s story: same as w/ ted–in jane’s childhood, and around when she had dorothy. miri was actually jane’s main babysitter for dorothy for the first few years of dorothy’s life–as jane had to get a new job very quickly while pregnant and couldn’t stop working for long after having dorothy, given how negatively employers look on pregnant women and the prospect of maternity leave–with negative consequences for the relationships all around.

A wave of laughter. The men roared, their peeling skin crinkling, and in between all their cheer and savoring sips of whisky, they managed to shovel in forkfuls of Cram, their eyes twinkling alight by the campfire. Their first food in forever. A lifetime. Edmund grinned ear-to-ear at him, and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember the last he saw it.

“At once, Andrew,” his second quipped, lightly patting his own leg. “A game of forfeits. No greater cheer would be had than to see you, by no small chance, capable of that which we call a smile.”

“A delight---no doubt invariably one-sided.”

He quirked a brow. “Truly, Andrew?”

“The devil is at play this night, gentlemen,” the captain groused, “and I do declare it known he was so named Mister Edmund Shaw.”

Another burst of laughter. Edmund smiled, allowing the officers to gingerly clap his back with hear, hears, and by some God-driven compulsion, finished the last of his whisky without ever taking his eyes away. Corrigan couldn’t deny him his fun, the blasted fool, and almost missed the uproar. One of the men had raised his mostly empty glass to the air and called,

“Isn’t it weird that any one of us could have been delivering the Platinum Chip?” he asks. ‘Any one of us,’ of course, referring to the other four couriers. Chris thinks about it often, if he’s being honest. Most deliveries for the Mojave Express are no more dangerous than the typical trek through the wasteland. In fact, some people show more respect to couriers than they do the average wastelander. One shouldn’t shoot the person who delivers their mail and all of that. 

“ heh, we match... ”

she tries her best not to disturb people going about her business, she really does. but sometimes a feature or garment will force her to comment, her intrusive thoughts and lowered inhibitions causing her to suddenly blurt the first thing on her mind. 

to emphasise her point to the stranger, sheila motions to the scar on her nose - almost identical to kaj’s, but trailing off under the left eye.

      Eyebots weren’t an uncommon sight in the Commonwealth. While they didn’t wander this wasteland blaring Enclave propaganda, their presence was still a bit unsettling for Eliana -- even more so when said Eyebot was not one of the usual ones floating around Diamond City. She kept her mouth shut when she first noted the woman and her companion, but a mingled sense of curiosity and unease urged her to question the Eyebot’s presence.