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BASICS

Name: Juniper Moreau Age: 22 Job: Busgirl at Tiana’s, Owner and cleaner at Ms Berry’s Cleaning Location: Olympus Story: Donkeyskin Character: Donkeyskin Faceclaim: Carey Mulligan Status: Taken

PERSONALITY

+ well-meaning, gentle, kind

– nervous, quiet, reclusive

BIO SUMMARY (See under cut below for full bio. tw: incest)

Juniper’s childhood was a good one. Her parents loved her, lavished her with gifts and brought her up well, as the daughter of any regent should be. A perfect life. That was, until her mother died. It was a slow ordeal. Painful. Seventeen at the time, she might have coped with due time and care. But it saw her father slip further into madness as the days passed. By the time they both lost her, the man she’d grown up with was long gone.

...

She asked him to slaughter his most prized donkey and bring her the skin. He complied.

She’d held the donkey skin in her hands, stared at it as the sun set that night, an idea forming in her head. She’d taken a knife, cut her flowing dark locks, and, when the bell struck midnight, she’d wrapped herself in it, climbed from her window and walked and walked and walked until her feet were black with dirt and her legs gave in. Here and there, she’d do odd jobs and move on, never staying in one place for too long. No one ever recognised her. Who would bother to cast an eye in the direction of the dirty girl in the donkey skin? ...

That was until her world began to crumble and she was throw into a whole new city. She’s settled in Fableton as well as she settled anywhere. She works from the moment she wakes up until the moment she goes to bed and slips happily under the radar – just in case her father followed. After all, no one really looks at the girl who sweeps the floor.

CONNECTIONS

Florian Quillan: Once a week, she comes to clean his office. She remembers him from home, a faint hazy memory of seeing him at a royal ball when she was much younger. She tries to keep her head down around him, in case he recognises her. She’s past that stage in her life and she’d rather not risk the chance of her father find out where she was, if he still has connections with him.

Benjamin ‘Barrel’ Camden: She sees him around the hospital when she cleans, from time to time, and occasionally flicks him quick smiles. Though she’s never properly spoken to him, he feels like a kindred soul.

ALTERNATE FACECLAIM: N/A

FULL BIOGRAPHY (BELOW, TW: INCEST)

Juniper’s childhood was a good one. Her parents loved her, lavished her with gifts and brought her up well, as the daughter of any regent should be. A perfect life. That was, until her mother died. It was a slow ordeal. Painful. Seventeen at the time, she might have coped with due time and care. But it saw her father slip further into madness as the days passed. By the time they both lost her, the man she’d grown up with was long gone.

It had started, at first, with lingering glances across the dining table; then she wasn’t allowed in the same room with men who weren’t her father; and then out of his sight for all but night times. Eventually that stopped too, his presence ever more frequently slipping into her bedroom. Only to watch. Then to creep under the covers. Then to stroke her long black hair and leave fat, heavy breaths in her ear. He never touched her. Not once. But the memory still made her flinch and her skin crawl. Her handmaids had told her, in his madness, he thought she was her mother. She didn’t care.

And then he asked to marry her. Not quite a question, not quite a threat. A request worryingly decorated with ‘I don’t know what I’ll do if you say no’, a silent ‘to you’ or ‘to myself’ lingering at the end. She couldn’t refuse. So she tried to be clever, told him she would marry him if he could bring her three impossible dresses: like the weather, like the moon, like the sun. But no sooner as she had asked for them, were they presented to her. It seemed you could do a lot with a wealth of tailors and wizards at your hands. Next, in hopes he might refuse, she asked him to slaughter his most prized donkey and bring her the skin. He complied.

She’d held the donkey skin in her hands, stared at it as the sun set that night, an idea forming in her head. She’d taken a knife, cut her flowing dark locks, and, when the bell struck midnight, she’d wrapped herself in it, climbed from her window and walked and walked and walked until her feet were black with dirt and her legs gave in. Here and there, she’d do odd jobs and move on, never staying in one place for too long. No one ever recognised her. Who would bother to cast an eye in the direction of the dirty girl in the donkey skin? But the fear he father would find her always lingered.

That was until her world began to crumble and she was throw into a whole new city. She’s settled in Fableton as well as she settled anywhere. She works from the moment she wakes up until the moment she goes to bed and slips happily under the radar – just in case her father followed. After all, no one really looks at the girl who sweeps the floor.

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