Laurel
From Changeling Venue
|
| Seeming | Elemental Woodblood |
|---|---|
| Court | Spring Court •••• |
| Freehold | Dormant Fire |
| Player | Anne Nutwell |
Contents |
Overview
Alias(es): Flora Dumont
Real Name: Ashley Mason
Age: apparently in her late 20's, Laurel was born in 1936
Concept: Trophy Wife, simple desires and inordinate pleasure
Physical description: Dark curling hair mixed with slender laurel leaves, dark jade green eyes, a generous curvy body and a ready smile
Mantle: The scent of rain-laden breezes and an aura of stillness, the gentle warmth of pale spring sunlight
Character Information
Known History
Basic Timeline:
Current Activities: Laurel owns a small organic nursery, participates on the steering committees of a number of charitable organizations and sells hand-made soap/candles/fragrances. When she's not busy with all that she's generally sewing, cooking, building or otherwise occupying her time with crafts. She also opens her home to foundling Lost or just those down on their luck.
Merit Details: Allies (Charities) 3, Contacts (City Hall, High Society) 2, Court Goodwill (Summer 1, Autumn 2, Winter 2), Harvest (goblin fruits) 2, Holistic Awareness, Hollow 3 (Amenities 1, Size 1, Wards 1), Iron Stamina 3, Language (Latin 1, French 2), Mantle 4, Quick Healer, Resources 3, Long of Days, Perfect Stillness
Background:
The Greening
Its funny how our memories work. Some moments are so vivid that they will haunt you for the rest of your life. They are so real even in recollection that you wonder if anything after has really happened.
I was born in 1936 in a small town in Connecticut. My parents were wonderful or at least in my memories they are. They both came from wealthy families and when the war came we were well insulated from the darkness that conflict brought. I don’t remember it much. My parents didn’t believe in troubling my childhood with the ugliness of the world beyond the white picket fence in front of our house. My mother molded and guided me in the ways of womanhood. She taught me the values of feminity, showed me how a woman is only complete as the accessory of a man. I dreamed of being so complete. I prayed every night to find my own prince charming to take care of and love. When I graduated high school it was only right that my parents send me to one of the new women’s colleges. The intent was not to open my horizons or inspire me to be a scholar, rather we all hoped that I would find some young man with ambition, brains and money who was attending one of the men’s colleges.
The college faculty labored under no illusions regarding why we were attending and so facilitated many social events to allow us young ladies to audition future beaus all while carefully chaperoned by an unending parade of graduates who had “made something of themselves”. I believe that we were hosting the wife of some senator the night I met my keeper. I was struck dumb by the most amazing young woman. She was the proverbial belle of the ball for the event, stealing all the attention away from our guest. I had followed the crowd out onto the campus green and was taking a moment to gather my wits when a delicate, aged hand lay itself gently on my shoulder. My keeper appeared as an older woman, the epitome of sophistication and lady-like grace. She smiled at me and we spoke. She knew my heart’s desire you see, saw right to the heart of my frail little soul and knew my prayers. We walked as we talked and suddenly I was not on the campus green. I knew with the certainty of a dreamer that we had entered her garden. She took me to the foot of the most beautiful little tree I had ever seen. She told me of spending lifetimes pruning and tending it until it was just so. She told me of how her work was done and it was my responsibility to complete the work. She had such a knowing smile, as though an equal amount of care had gone into my own pruning and tending. She left me with that tree and thoughts of my family and my life faded from my mind. I prayed that my prince would come. Then I realized that I was not yet worthy of my prince. My keeper reappeared, bid me leave behind the things that I no longer needed. After all, soon I would be presented with the opportunity to show my worthiness. I shed my clothes and I shed my former life. I knew what was expected of me and I stepped forward and embraced my future. I became laurel.
Time is immaterial in the green, the seasons flow one into the next in a never-ending wheel. No one year is separate from any other and time is neither fast nor slow, it simply is. I do not know how long I slept that way, pushing my fingers towards the sun, stretching down into the soil, growing and thriving and preparing myself to be what I had always dreamt I could be.
Time crystallized. I was aware of each second as a single unit of time, each minute. I was watching a competition. I could feel it through the earth, taste it in the breeze, each clash of combatants became the focus of my world until one shining victor remained. I cannot clearly recall how many times I spoke the words.
“To the victor, the laurel crown. Let all who look upon you know of your prowess by this token.”
In my hands would appear a laurel wreath to place upon the victor’s brow. It was my branches, my flesh and my blood and little did I realize, a piece of my very soul. Perhaps I would not have handed it over so readily if I had. Perhaps I did understand but I did not care. After all, this was what I had wanted, wasn’t it?
Every winner I was awarded to kept me for a time. I was lover, servant, bard, ornament. They loved me, beat me, did as they wished. I became what they desired, what they needed. I made myself complete around them as a reward for their greatness. Seasons turned and I did not count.
I was awarded, few times but memorably to some changelings. It was one of these who reminded me of what I was losing. I cannot recall his face clearly, or really if it was male or female. I would like to believe it was male, it is always male in my fantasies. He took the wreath from my hands, took me into his possession and asked me my name.
“I am laurel.”
I do not know why, but he asked again, “What is your name. I can see clearly that you are a laurel, but what am I to call you while we are together?”
The question confused me. I was laurel. Did not my leaves epitomize what a lush specimen of that tree was? Then I understood. Identity, a sense of self separate from purpose, he was asking me who I was, not what and I could not answer. He must have seen my confusion because he simply smiled.
“I will call you Laurel then. And come bide a while with me fair spring, come show me the sweetness of grass and sky for I fought so long that such pleasure is forgotten.”
He used me too, my savior. I like to think that it was kind, but truth be told I cannot remember and it doesn’t matter.
Through the Thorns
Laurel paused a moment. Sneaking out of the garden had been relatively easy. Every time one of the gentry would look her way she would embrace the green and fade into the foliage. They were not expecting her to leave. Deep in the shadows of the starlit garden a shadow darker then the darkness fluttered. Laurel focused a moment, barely making out a shape in the darkness. Someone was crouched at the edge of the garden. She approached cautiously, unable to tell if it was one of the gentry seeking solitude or something else. The shadow turned to her, flashing with starlight.
It was a man, or had once been a man as she had once been a woman. It was another changeling. She crouched down next to him.
"Who are you?"
The man did not respond.
Laurel backed up a pace, wondering if this was a test by her mistress. Quick and graceful, the man's hand shot out and grasped her own. He held a finger to his lips just in time for Laurel to stifle her gasp of surprise. He gently pulled away the scarf covering his throat and placed her hand against his skin. Beneath her fingers she felt ridges of scar tissue banding the man's throat. The starlight flash had been the reflection of a swan-shaped pendant around his neck.
Laurel swallowed reflexively. "You can't speak."
The man nodded.
She thought a moment, wondering whether she could trust him or whether she should flee. There was such deep anguish in his black eyes. His body was taut with stress. He was running just like her.
"You're trying to escape."
The man nodded again.
Laurel took back her hand, brushing the swan pendant. "Well then, I'm going to call you Swan unless you have any objections."
The man thought a few moments, a faraway look coming over his face, and nodded vigorously.
"Swan we need to keep moving. The hardest part is to come. I think that we've a better chance if we try together. Do you want to try with me?" Laurel braced herself. She wasn't sure if she could make it through the Thorns by herself. The instant she had thought about the possibility of someone coming along it had become the bright spot of hope in her heart.
Swan bit his lower lip and nodded again.
Laurel flashed him a smile and twined her fingers with his. "Then away we go, away from here and back to the homes we were taken from."
The journey through the hedge was long, exhausting and painful. The Thorns tore deep into Laurel's flesh and deeper still into her soul. Swan seemed spurred on by that, a haunted look in his eyes betraying his knowledge of a pain and horror nearly as deep waiting for him if he could not escape. Sometimes it drove him to try to pass through spaces too small or make a crossing that was too dangerous. Laurel held fast to his wrist and found a better path for them. When the pain became too great and Laurel broke down weeping, Swan crawled back to her, looking into her eyes.
"I can't. I just can't. I wanted to run because I was losing myself but each cut bleeds me to the soul and I've left little pieces of what precious little identity I have left in tatters for the wind. I don't have it in me Swan."
The darkling's jaw worked for a moment. He might be able to slip through on his own eventually, but the elemental had a special knack for understanding the twists and turns of the hedge. His chances were far better if she was with him. He had to go on; there was no way he could keep his sanity if he went back. He wanted his freedom so badly. He reached out and touched her cheek, noticing that even her tears were transformed and sticky like sap. He pointed his index and middle fingers at her eyes and then at himself. Watch me.
Laurel focused on his face.
Swan met her gaze, his eyes seeming to cause the words his malformed throat was unable to shape to whisper to her from the darkness. "You run because you're going to lose yourself to them. You also say that you're losing too much to continue the passage. Think. If you die here then you are lost, as lost as if you had stayed. You have to keep going. Whatever is left on the other side is what's worth keeping."
Laurel watched, her brow furrowed in concentration. She lay still for a moment, wondering if she could really keep going. She thought about her family, about the world she had left behind when she was taken. She thought about the joy of feeling the wind in her hair and the cool spring rain on her cheek and experiencing that joy just for herself. She nodded and got back to her hands and knees. She could hear birds singing somewhere ahead. She could feel phantom sunlight on her skin.
"Lets keep moving. We're almost there, I just know it!"
They did make it, somehow. It was dusk and they lay together on the ground, panting. They were exhausted and hurting, their minds reeling from what they had just done.
“This must be real,” Laurel whispered. “It hurts too much to be a dream.”
A soft voice rasped, “No, it feels too good to be a nightmare. We’ve done it.”
Laurel groped gently until she found Swan’s hand and gave it a light squeeze. “We’ve done it.”
Wandering Star
Astraeus sat singing to himself, listening to the periodic jangle of change being dropped into the hat sitting in front of him on the sidewalk. His thoughts drifted. It had been easy enough to charm some gently used clothes out of the folk at Goodwill and easy enough to charm his way into a place where he could shower and sleep for a few hours. Now he went over his agenda, all the things he needed to know since the world had turned out of sync with Arcadia. His stomach growled, demanding priority. He switched songs, hoping something lively would charm a bit more money into the hat. Fast food sat like a brick in his belly so he was hoping to be able to stretch the day's earnings into something a bit more wholesome. The wind blew and he caught the ghost of a scent. It was buried beneath a soft perfume but the tang of bay leaves crept up his nose and tickled his brain into remembering.
For just a moment he was looking into the vibrant green eyes of the laurel dryad who had no name, reminding her that she could be beaten or worse for helping him. She looked over his shoulder at the contestant slain during his performance and told him she didn't care.
He had failed her too, in a way. He felt a slender hand in his own, heard crying, felt it slipping away. He stared at the ground, his vision blurring slightly, throat burning.
Laurel smiled to herself. The fall air was crisp and in Pioneer square it was also redolent with the scent of roasting nuts and cinnamon from a vendor on the sidewalk nearby. Someone was singing. She took a deep breath and looked forward to the rest of the season's harvest. Surely autumn was a time of dark nights and dark dreams but it was also the time to reap the bounty of spring's nurturing and summer's heat. The keys to her new car felt delightfully heavy in her pocket. This harvest would be especially good to her.
The singer switched songs then faltered, falling into a melody that seemed familiar to her. It struck a chord within that took Laurel back to her fragmented memories of Arcadia, of the timelessness of her life there and of one interlude in particular. She wound her way through the crowd. There was no way the singer could know what his music did to her but she thought to reward him for the reminiscence. She reached into her purse and withdrew a bill far too large for an ordinary street busker. She let it drop into the hat, drifting like a leaf from her fingertips.
Astraeus pushed the memories down. You can't go back, he reminded himself. Another voice within whispered that he might. He could be forgiven, he could resume his old life. But the real voices that might offer him forgiveness were lost forever and the only reward to be had was at his keeper's pleasure. He blinked as a fifty dollar bill drifted into the hat. The scent that had made him remember was stronger now. His hand darted down and caught the bill. He looked up to give it back to the owner, sure there had been a mistake.
Laurel was turning to go when the singer stopped entirely. Reflex made her turn. She looked into eyes the same shade of blue as the heaven she'd dreamed of as a little girl.
He had planned to say that there had been a mistake but the words died on his lips as he looked into jade green eyes. Her features were a bit more human here but there was no mistaking those eyes or the carelessly curled hair full of wind-blown laurel leaves.
Autumn was the season of fear. Laurel was stunned by the sudden appearance of the fairest. Was he there to hunt her? It would be the kind of casual cruelty the gentry were masters of to send someone that she had tried to save to bring her back. She turned and ran.
Motley of the First Bud
Allies
- "I remember when she came into Reverie for the very first time, she looked so miserable and so incredibly forlorn. A couple Granny Apple Ciders later, I caught my first glimpse of the woman you see now. I saw in her eyes a soul that wanted to be free and fly. Whatever part I had in that; I feel blessed to have had the privilege." ~ Erised of New York City
Enemies
Character Inspirations
The Stepford Wives (movie)
Pleasantville (movie)
The Feminine Mystique (book)
Standing in warm spring rain, raising your face to the sky and letting the water run in rivulets over your skin
Soundtrack
Lullaby-The Cure (for Swan)
Alleluia-Magna Canta (for Astraeus)
The Warmth-Incubus
Lie In Our Graves-Dave Matthews Band
River of Dreams-Billy Joel
First of May-Jonathan Coulton
When You're Falling-Afro Celt Sound System
Blue-Mai Yamane
Quotes
By Laurel:
"Let me take care of that."
"You look a little down. Why not stop by for dinner? I have a roast in the oven and a cake baked that I certainly can't eat by myself."
About Laurel:
"Choose well my laurel crown. Choose well and return to me." -Unknown
Rumors
- Laurel has amassed most of her wealth by preying on wealthy older men, seducing and caring for them in exchange for gifts then leaving them when they get too close.
- Laurel seems sweet and gentle but in sexual situations she is a cruel sadist.
- Laurel has a bizarre affinity for the Thorns. You only need to check out the blackberry maze on her property to realize that there's something wrong about her.
- With two serious and lovely men in the motley, what keeps them bound to one silly little elemental? Neither man fraternizes too long with anyone outside the motley. The three were unlikely lovers during their captivity and pledged service to each other forever.
- Laurel has a extremely potent supernatural allure that rivals anything the Fairest can wield. She can have any member of the opposite sex at will.
- Laurel is far more honest and gentle than anyone will ever realize.
