#uncharnel

Jorah woke that day like the rest. Tired, sore and a ruminating headache. A bit of hot tea with one of those peppermints a temporary fix for such inconveniences. Charlotte graciously decided she fond of those and did not protest her mother’s intake of them. That, along with those cream drizzled cinnamon buns. Her pallet always cleansed after taking a bite of one of those sugary delights. The largest meal eaten most days were one of those treats she favored so much. 

Her first meal of the day scheduled soon. The clock fastened against the wall ticked as if so. It all the noise to be had in this quite abode. The sound of chirping birds now gone as the snow laid atop the dead greens. Flown south for warmer skies no doubt. Jorah wished she could do the very same. Winter had always been her least favored time of the year. All that with life seemed to shrivel up into mangled shells of what they once were. 

Color drained from the petals of flowers until they all but twigs left sticking out and waving in the air like an unwelcome friend. That all she saw when peering out the window from behind a flimsy curtain. The short time she had to see the grass and flora it not the most impressive. Yet, it had been something to gaze at with a distant fondness. Now, there nothing out there but barking and taunting wide land to run. A fog parted the glass when finger tips pressed against it. Ice from the corners had begun to spread further and further up.

In her ennui she watched how the pattern developed and molded over the past days. No snowflake like one another a rumor claimed. Rumors claimed many things however and so far Jorah only saw a growing prison on her one outlook to the world she lived outside of. Enough of that she had and soon stood in front of her mirror combing her hair orderly. Bristles swam through her locks and guided them into a ribbon to keep the majority of it from her face. The rest left to lay and curl at her back. Turned to the side Jorah assessed her work. Nothing a few tweaks could not fix. 

However, her eyes also focused a growing addition to her physic. Palm caressed the round and smooth service as if it made of brittle glass just waiting to be shattered apart. Charlotte showing more and more now. It made the expecting mother curl her lips in tender comfort. Strange it was to think this would only become more obvious. The trousers Jorah adored so much no longer fit comfortably. Added pressure that far too disagreeable to put up with. Custom made from the best Parisian tailors she would have but there no such luxury here. There not even a decent trouser Jorah could slip into in any store. Dresses it was then.  

And as soon as she heard the front door open from the downstairs Jorah was quick to grab onto her skirt as she made for the stairs. Eager and starry eyed, the one great thing about the day. One hand on the railing the other lifting up the skirt modestly as she walked down. What will they do today? Look at more of the baby clothes Jorah fawned over each day? Oh! Make something sweet to eat? Cookies sounded good today. Maybe with some peppermint in them. Hmm, now that’d be fun one!

As soon as her face lit up it soon grew dark. For it wasn’t Foley who waited for her at the stairs. No, this man looked not a thing like him. This one, this dog, had cocoa skin like those coffee seeds all ground up and turned into powder. Hair not a brown with a touch of fade to it but deep and dark oil. Oil that curled and frizzled into a grove like patch atop his head. It looked as soft as a bed of thorns and his eyes no different. Surrounded by puffy cloud like markings which curled out into a vertical double edged spiral. 

Tattoos? Paintings? Odd whatever it was. Matched the hue of his eyes that stared like two lidded moons. Jorah did not like this man nor did she like his face. A peculiar sense it had and Jorah not fond of such sense. One look at him up and then down, hands dropped to her side like limp dough. A deep breath in and out through her nostrils and Jorah decided it time for her to speak. -“You are not Mister Foley.”- A fantastic observation but Jorah did not say it to point out the obvious. 

-“Well.”- A click of her tongue. -“I guess you will settle then.”- No admiring soft and little socks. No mint cookies to munch on. Just this. -“Go on and do...whatever it is. I frankly do not care what you do as long it is done not to bother me. Sit, eat, play one of those weird board games or knit. Go on, go on.”- Jorah flicked her wrist, waving him off. -“There should be hot water in the kitchen for tea or coffee or whatever you drink. Again, I do not care what it is just drink what you fancy and so on and so forth.”- 

The weather was, to say the least shitty. Ever since she arrived a few hours ago in this wee town she barely managed to find decent inn and stables for her own horse. And of course not every hotel would let someone like her in, but one did a  bit run down but hey beggars can't be choosers right? 

Finally making a deal with the owner, a small discount for her smithing services and she gets to bed and breakfast. Beats than sleeping outside, especially in this weather. Just as she would glance out the window she saw a lanky looking fellow, with same skin color as she was barely making his way through this hell if someone doesn't lend him a hand he would be blown away! “Ahh fek it “ she muttered to herself and soon opened the door wide dragging him inside where it was somewhat safe and dry. 

Snickering at his words of thanks and seeing that childlike expression she had to grin a bit herself. Waving her hand in dismissing she placed on her hip taking a good look at him, was he one of them racers too? His face looked a bit familiar she just couldn't put her finger on it. “No worries mate figured its better to drag ya arse here then let ya end up in dirt....or in this case mud “  nudging her head over to the bar she gave him a firm smack on the back. 

1. What inspired you to make/pick up this character?                                              /Honestly ever since I saw waaaaay back when I just began watching OP she really stood out to me. Just sort of always thought how she ain't too worried about being who she is and tough love. Also, it is fun to try a muse that is a bit different from the most, especially age-wise XD  

Poor Scarlet. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like for the former wife of the President to wind up clubbing like she was a teenager again. Being married once to a man like Valentine must have been torture. Even Trish found herself vexed regarding some aspects of him, though she had not been worn down on a grindstone like marriage. God forbid, she hoped never to be. 

Leaning closer towards the dingy washroom mirror of the club, she lowered the lid of her eye very carefully as she took the eyeliner pencil across it. Faint strokes, subtle but striking, was the goal she was going for. When she finished, she placed the makeup away, giving herself a once over. 

A smile touched her lips as really, she was looking forward to being able to meet up with Funny on the last day of her trip and casually mentioning that she’d visited his former wife. She wanted to see the colour drain from his face, or it struggle to keep composed. Surely, someone who had been with him as closely as Scarlet would have endless secrets that could be his downfall when wielded by the right person.

Trish will have her advantages one way or another, even if it meant, of course, cosying up to Scarlet.

Stepping out the girl’s washroom, she smoothed a pink lock of hair behind her ear, the thrumming music feeling like it could reverberate through her bones. Her eyes scanned the crowd, looking for the facial features from the pictures of Scarlet she’d studied before arriving here -- ah! There, at the bar.

Moving around the dance floor, Trish weaved in and out of people, keeping her goal in mind and gaze fixated on her target until she was close enough to be noticed. She wouldn’t make a good impression simply staring at her, so she glanced away to the bartender, flashing a brilliant smile when she slid into the stool next to the woman.

“A vodka tonic, please,” Once the bartender took her order, her attention slipped towards Scarlet, turning that smile towards her before back at the bartender. “ -- And refill the lady’s drink, too, if she’d like. I’m paying.”

As her drink was being prepared, Trish murmured to Scarlet before her act of good charity could be questioned; voice dipping quiet enough to almost be unheard under the music; “ -- Girl’s have to look out for each other, don’t you think?”

This situation turned south quickly.  After the incident on the train, he had been anticipating on the president’s top assassin to also be present; listening in on their entire conversation.  He had been so close to freedom.  He had wiped out all of his other men on the train, but he should have known at least one of them was a stand user.  

He had seriously hoped that he would have been handed over to the police or would be deported back to Japan.  At least those options provided him with opportunity to escape.  Unfortunately, it looks like the president had other plans.  He must have discovered Josuke had lied to him and was probably trying to track down paperwork that didn’t exist.  He just hoped that Norisuke wouldn’t have to pay the price for his actions.  Josuke was told he had to protect Norisuke and give Johnny his piece of the heart that was undoubtedly in the president’s possession.  

The moment Josuke was concious enough to move, he discovered that he couldn’t.  His arms were uncomfortably and completely bound from the ceiling, most likely so he couldn’t use his stand.  His arms were sore from being hung there for so long, wishing he could have at least something to stand on.  He moaned in pain, the simple torture method already having its effect,  No doubt that if he remained in this state, the muscles in his arms would tear or his arms would eventually be permanently be dislocated, which other one would happen first. 

Send 🤫 to have your muse shush mine!

And just when she was about to tell off the gang of vagabonds like themselves to shove the dang gun up their ass....Her friend already smacked his palm across her lips preventing her from further talking. Because the setting was against them for all it was considered, two black younglings arguing with a group of cowboys over an empty spot in an overcrowded bar. 

If eyes could shoot daggers she would by now stab everyone within her radius. Instead, her silent rage was directed to Pocoloco who was smiling wide and apologizing to the other men. He was much milder mannered compared to her in some situations ...and more familiar with how some things work on this continent. Gritting her teeth she turned on her heels and stepped away, soon after hearing a familiar pair of footsteps behind, following her gingerly. 

//Chooses to do all the muses//

Valentine:

Pocoloco:

Mike O. :

Pork Pie Hat Kid "Charles Beck" 

Scarlet Valentine:

Isaac Mary Blackmore: