Witte Wieven
From Changeling Venue
| Seeming | Darkling Antiquarian |
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| Court | Winter Court •••• |
| Freehold | Fortis Sodalitas |
| Player | Fran Dale |
Contents |
Overview
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Alias(es): The White Woman, Pale Lady
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History
Basic Timeline:
1970 - Born in Canewdon
1990 - Abducted from Wivenhoe Library
1999 - Escaped back through the Hedge
Current Activities: Librarian at Rochford Library, Rochford, Essex
Merit Details:
Background:(work in progress)
The third year in Wendy’s degree had snuck up on her, too much Tetris on her third-hand game-boy and not enough nose to the grind stone. Who’d have thought a degree in the History of Art would be so utterly energy consuming? She had to admit it to herself, she’d grown a little slack through over confidence. Without too much study and revision she had managed to pull off a 2:1 in her first year and a 1:0 in the second, either grade suited Wendy just fine and so she hadn’t had the stress motivator that would have been needed to shake off her apathy. But then it was time to hand in her dissertation, finish her presentation and she had done nothing. Wendy felt the prickle of panic set in and she knew she’d have to re-sit the year if they weren’t in on time.
She remembered that, the sensation of the hairs on the back of her neck responding to creeping dread. They didn’t do that anymore; it wasn’t that she didn’t dread anything it was just that she’d got so used to feeling it constantly.
Wendy had headed out of town to find a good, quiet library where she could get her work done, somewhere she wouldn’t bump into folk she knew, get distracted. She wasn’t going to re-sit the year, her student loan wouldn’t go that far and she honestly didn’t think she could manage another year living in some grotty bed-sit.
She’d whisked around the library, you could only take eight books out at any one time and so she’d grabbed five she’d known she’d needed and then eight just caught her eye and looked like they could hold something interesting; Wendy needed inspiration, a title for her essay.
She remembered how cold the air was as she plodded down the stairs to the reading rooms in the basement was, the draft around her ankles as she settled herself in and laid the books out before her. She had tried so hard to remember their titles, occasionally she got glimpses of covers in her memories but that was it. She had hummed to herself as she had arranged the books just so in front of her on the desk, placing them in the order she wanted to read them in. Somewhere Wendy had crossed a line, one she could have never known existed. The last noise Wendy Wright made in the world was a stifled gasp, then she was gone.
The memories came to her from time to time, they’d trickle through the cracks in her resolve and touch at raw nerves; some as daydreams and the others as nightmares. It was to be expected really, just more storms to weather.
Each time her back twinged while reaching to hook books on high shelves down with her outstretched fingers something dark would clunk in her mind.
She would open her eyes, always with her breath held in case she’d been caught, crammed in any space she could find in the unreasonably large bookcase she was expected to tend, that was how she slept back then.
Witte made sure that she didn’t so much dwell on her memories of what happened there but that she learnt from them. She had an immense pride in her home, her private space because she had had none; the books in her bookshelf were each neatly lined with the next and cared for with a real devotion.
Every fifth book tilted slightly to the right, three along then tilt to the left, six along and left again, straight, straight, right, straight, straight, left, start again. Just so, just so to make them look well used. Just so. A shabby façade, they were for show, just like her, scuttling about the stacks to add to the antiquated atmosphere.
She valued knowledge because it was the knowledge that she gleaned from the things she transcribed, the glimpses of books she was not permitted to read that gave her the strength of will and mind to get back, to escape.
That horrid black robe, the material felt like Hessian but Witte was sure it was made from thorns, the hood would tangle in her hair and cut her face so eventually she stopped trying to take it off. It was for show, like everything else, this tiny robed thing that tended the stacks, how quaint…
‘Ask Agatha’ c/o The Rochford Independent P.O box 7623
Dear Agatha,
I just wanted to thank you for responding to my letters, even though they didn’t get published, it wasn’t about that anyway. I was really surprised when I got the first response back, I never thought Agony Aunts actually responded to all their mail. I feel like I should apologise about going on so much about how down it’s all been getting me, how I can’t cope with stress well. I did look at that book you mentioned and have chosen a few of the techniques to try and stop the anxiety attacks.
I did end up going to coffee with Jason in the end, we kept civil and I did manage to say at least some of things I’d intended. It still hurts, you know? He’s held it together so much better than I have, it makes me nervous that one day he’ll swoop in and try and take the kids away.
Well, I shan’t keep you too long this time, I really just wanted to say thank you – for listening when I needed someone and for letting me know that you were out there. Consider yourself on my Christmas list for putting up with all my whining.
Respectfully
Jessica Harper
Dearest Jessica,
"I’m so glad that the book I recommended is helping, I’ve often found that the simplest techniques have been the most effective when it comes to dealing with grief and loss Anxiety can be so very insidious with how it digs it’s hooks into us, but I am glad you have stopped denying it was there at all, embracing our weaknesses and flaws is the first step towards a healthy balance. With regard to Jason, he may well attempt to undermine you in the future, preying on your emotional frailty to show how incapable as a parent you are. This is obviously ridiculous, the best way forward now is to re-find your identity, work with your children to re-establish stability and just get on with it. Don’t let him hamper your progress, you have come astoundingly far over this seven months of dialogue between you and I. You are a mother, a professional, a woman and a decent human being; he is simply your ex-husband. Should you ever have any worries or doubts please, as always, do not hesitate to contact me.
Sincerely,
Agatha''
Witte Now
Not as humourless and drab as she looks, Witte does have a sense of humour, one she cherishes – it’s just particularly sardonic and sometimes a little crass. Whereas she can remember from time to time glimpses of what happened in Faerie she tries not to obsess about it, nor why she was taken – a topic she can only ever speculate about. She ascertained two great lessons from her life so far:
1) Knowledge is powerful, people will kill, steal and die for it. Knowledge can set you free or tear you apart. Knowledge and all it’s many and pretty sub-genres are concepts which Witte wants to submerge herself in. Knowledge was why she was taken and it was how she made her way back. Treasure it, use it, wield it, hide it, share it.
2) Life is unfair, that’s the way it is, and if you sit back and just accept that there is no mechanism in the universe by which fair and unfair are measured and dolled out, life can be pretty funny.
She loves the library, the local council inherited a horrid, red brick Victorian wet dream and quickly packed it with books. It’s drafty, cold, over bearing and has more alcoves, twists and bends that should really be deemed practical. She loves it.
Witte may seem washed out and miserable but she’s quite in tune with her emotions, she enjoys them. After existing in such a manner that there was no room, reason or time for emotion she, after some tentative steps along her personal development when she came back through, has learned it is best to let them run their course. It’s what living is all about after all. She loves fiction, as much as fact intrigues her, Witte enjoys writing short stories, painting emotions into drab two dimensional stereotypes of people to fill them with a sense of life. That and it can just be some silly fun. It was her enjoyment for the fictional that caused her to follow up on a small advert in the paper about an agony aunt position. It was like a bell ringing in the distance, faceless, fictional and a real connection with the people that read that paper. Obviously there was the inner voice reminding her of the potential of such a position, be confided in by people, real people with real troubles. Troubles enough that they put pen to paper to confess to an anonymous stranger. It was almost tangibly delicious.
Harking back to information, she gathers up stories and tales yes for their entertainment and general pleasure of chronicling the lives of those living their way – but also to glean bits of wisdom here and there which may help her and those around her predict or pre-empt when Hunts occur, when danger arrives so that they can react and protect, go to ground, or simply have the leisure of choosing which reaction they take. It is why she strives to maintain delicate connections to other hoarders of knowledge, many heads are better than one when think-tanking on a subject.
"Be realistic. If you engage a threat, if you choose that path then you have to be a hundred percent sure that you'll eradicate it completely. If you're not? You go to ground, you stay the hell away until it's gone. Nothing productive is achieved by poking the bear and walking away. It'll just track you down later. Don't be so bloody selfish either, you're not alone in this hell so don't you damn act like it. You be mindful of your actions lest you sell us all down the river with your yammering."
Associations & Associates
It wasn’t so much Witte encountered Bram as he encountered her, she’d never been one for navigation – she’d dropped out of the brownies after a couple of weeks because her mother had disapproved of the gender stereotype it’d tried to implant on her daughter, all in all Witte was a bit arse at getting from A to B without some sort of map. So there she was, lost in a dangerous place… again. Her recollection of events was pretty fuzzy, but that’s why something got the jump on her, because she was unaware. Something went for her, Witte saw it just a little too late, Bram hadn’t though. Sometimes she can’t help but wonder what he must have thought of her, she laughs when she recalls the situation, often citing perhaps he’d have been better off with whatever it was and not the hysterical woman. Nevertheless he saved her. Not only did he save her but he then was kind enough to escort her all the way back to Essex… going even so far as to make sure that this fresh out of the Hedge, wide eyed, tattered and battered thing that she was got settled in the Freehold there. What more could you ask for from a hero?
Another of the Lost that were already well established in Fort Sod when she arrived, one who soon became a firm aquaintance, sometimes even leading to friend. They shared the odd sarcastic comment, Jacks allowed Witte to learn that being a Courtier of Winter means that you cannot let a little humour and laughter into your life, to not let sorrow rule you but you rule it. For that she can never thank him enough.
Her chance for heroics, with this one but perhaps without the finesse and chiseled jaw of a true hero. Witte had encountered Krueger after she’d got settled in Fortis Sodalitas, after she’d acclimatised herself to her new existence and become part of the Court of Winter. She says, quite often, that you should have seen her face when she found this fugitive lurking around the place – he froze, she froze… it felt like something out of a western but without the intent to shoot holes in each other (well at least from her side of things) and the dustballs. Something happened, something occurred which eased the tension and Krueger asked for help. Who was she, a Courtier of Winter, to deny him that? He wanted help to hide, so she hid him, that much she was a dab hand at anyway. Days passed, then months and it happened upon the pair that their acquaintance was mutually beneficial, each had skills the others didn’t possess, each willing to trade that aide with the other for mutual support. So a Motley was formed and as time passed they grew comfortable, well as comfortable as one can when existing as one of the Lost. She sees him occasionally like a brother to her, other times like someone who keeps drinking the last of her scotch. Two peas in the same jaded old pod, someone said once, I’m sure they didn’t sleep well afterwards though.
An odd fellow who seem to come with the cloak and the crown of Autumn King. As such he's often scuttling around the house somewhere, the current Monarch and she being Motley-ed. He's all too keen to make the tea, do the hoovering and flip the matress. His insistance on collecting the leeches was perhaps a little unsettling for Witte - she's not quite figured him out. Why anyone would want to serve is beyond her and she occasionally uses his desire to please against him to make him do things to benefit himself. An odd fellow indeed. But he's smart and he's wiley and she knows his eyes are sharp. He's very, very useful.
The recent King of Spring in Old Fort' Sod' Witte and Sam have established a somewhat unconvential relationship considering their Courts and lifestyles. They are both fully and quite openly aware that yes, they will at some point work against each other. Yes, they will disagree and they may even argue. Right now? They get on. He makes her laugh from time to time and they have a very... unnerving arrangement when it comes to Harvest. One woman's triumph is another man's potential acchievement. It's enough to even run a shiver down the King of Autumn's spine.
It’s a reflex of Witte’s these days to get a wistful smile on her face when she recalls Quill, similarly sometimes she finds it remarkably odd that he’s simply not about, when it feels like he often should be. She thinks she remembers the first time she saw him, that or it’s her first memory of when she saw him… one of the few clearer flickers of memory rattling around in her head. He was writing, hunched over a desk, Witte thinks what made her take notice was the time it took him, the effort he was putting into each letter, in a way it was agonising but she could only imagine how beautiful it all looked. Time passed in whatever form it wanted and then, the clearest memory of all was her running, dragging him by the hand, through the darkness. She hadn’t run so fast in all her days and she doubts she could do it again but she ran and ran and he was there with her. He wanted to go back to his home, in the end, and she to hers – who knew they’d come from almost the complete opposite ends of the country. It was strangely difficult to walk away from Quill, she worried about him all of the way back to Essex…. Which is probably why Bram had to save her. Quill’s always going to have a place in Witte’s life, present or not, because they shared the same unspeakable things and they ran together, as fast as they could, to get away.
She didn't laugh when Witte suggested the Tempest Prognosticator, just asked that she keep spare leeches in a pondwater tank and rotate them every once in a while.
They met during a performance of "Taming of the Shrew" in early 2007. She overheard him commenting on one of the actors during the interval and had to cut in. The fact he was Lost just made her all the more insistant. She finds deep catharsis in having a friend who she can just sit and while away the hours in debate and conversation with. They attend plays now and then and swap letters - Witte chooses to call her friend "Lucius" and doesn't let the matter that he's a lawyer phase her in the slighest... except when he starts noting down what she's said.
Enemies
Once ally, once the man who turned her mind to the Winter Court, once the welcoming face that brought her into Fort Sod. Then there was betrayal, then there was corruption and monsterousness. Witte with her own hands took part in his execution for Loyalism.
Motley
All Sorrow Comes From Fear - An Autumn/Winter Motley based out of the Freehold of Fortis Sodalitas
It is with an understanding of practicality and a healthy desire to survive that caused this Motley to form. Maybe it's safety in numbers, or simply that the members compliment each other with their skills and undertakings. The members of All Sorrow Comes From Fear end up with a more sibling like symbiotic relationship than anything else, which allows independence of personality with a strong loyalty to each other at the core.
Character Inspirations
- "The Witte juffer of Hoog Soeren" collection
- My highschool librarian
- Fictional Character - Temperance Brennan
- Fictional Character - The Queen in "The Queen and I"
Soundtrack
- Damien Rice - Amie
- King Crimson - I talk to the wind
- Norah Jones - Sinkin' Soon
- Rolling Stones - Paint it Black
- Vivaldi - Winter
Quotes
"Slower... talk slower, I need to write this down."
"You know... Singing 'Fat Bottomed Girls' at her was a lot funnier when i didn't know she was a winter queen." - Steampunk
"A lady of taste and refinement." - Cormac the Poet
"I owe everything to Witte. She was the only presence that reminded me there was something else other than darkness and shelves upon shelves of paper and books. She helped me remember who I was, and for what we shared together, we will always have a special bond." - Quill
"She was such a scrawny, little scared kid when I met her. Now look at her, bloody queen of ol' Fort Sod. Heh, she's my little Winter Princess!" - Bram
"Witte... I suppose, in theory I should be opposing her for the honour of the spring court in old fort sod, but she seems to like to trade and brings me the most delicious losers. We have an arrangement, and without her a lot of people would not have been made better off. In a roundabout way, I think it shows something about winter and spring, no?" - Satrap Sam
"W-wh-what do I think of Ms. W-Wieven? I don't think I understand, sir. I mean I-I-I think of the leaches, and mar-marmalade and I have to remember that she-she asked me not to smile quite so much around her, and...y-yes sir, o-of course, sir. More tea?" - Sallow
"I'd like the chance to get to know her better. She's polite, pleasant, and though we might be different Courts, I suspect we'd have some interesting conversations..." - Aria
"Witte is wise and a good source of advice for me when trying to deal with my new position as the Winter Queen of Edinburgh." - Graceful Aline
"Witte, interesting woman. I think she understands exactly the emotion of sorrow.... it's the feeling of losing to a woman" - Cai Xiao
"P.S I let you win" - Cai Xiao
"Large and In Charge. Shes also rather tall... Behind those eyes and the face of winter hides... Passion. But unfortunately, being queen of winter shes an expert at hiding" - Dancing Jack
"I worry about her after what happened to her fiancé... I'd better head down to Essex for a visit." - Bram
Rumours
- Witte finds a dark humour in acts of "fate", where situations unfold beyond the control of the participants
- Occasionally she uses Ol' Fort Sod to host Winter Court card games evenings
- Is spending time with the Spring Monarch Sam to better understand the phenomenon of 'Goblin Rhyming Slang' that has sprung up amidst the Hobs of their Freehold. She is rumoured to be attempting to document and write a 'dictionary' of sorts.
OOC
Thank you to the mighty Dodgy for the wonderful Banner
Thank you also to the wonderful Rebel for the wonderful sketch of Witte
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