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Girl Friday

Image Credits: Source: ((O))

Player: ((O))
Date of Birth: 2 Mar 1987
Pronouns: She, Her
Height: 5'10

4 Posts
1 Threads
Registered: 09-14-2017

Last seen 09-20-2017, 07:24 PM.

Local time is 07-15-2020 at 11:06 PM.

Hannah Karver

: A bit of a stick, slender with a shaggy mop of dark brown hair cut into an unkempt shoulder-length bob. Piercing moss green eyes and pale skin, a dusty alabaster with the occasional freckle or scar. She has a few odd scrapes and scars, particularly one on her left forearm in the shape of an ornate cross, as if it had been branded there by a hot iron. She certainly doesn't dress to impress, a lot of prim earth tone blouses at work, flannels and corduroys on her off-days.
Additional Notes:

Grandma Liddy used to say that mom and dad were in love like fireworks. An explosive, aimless ache of love that drove them to greater heights and distances than either thought themselves capable of. Old Liddy never approved of dad (Jackie back then) when he first led her daughter astray. But mom (Ceely) loved him, and you can’t help love. Grams certainly tried to, but her protestations only drove them both away, on the road and on the run in a wild youth of ire and irresponsibility.

They landed in Hell, those two. A town in Michigan that bore the insidious name, but in truth had a quaint and sleepy charm, once you got around the endless puns. Whatever the reason, either low on cash or worn in by the endless traveling, they took a moment here to catch their breath, and a moment became a month, grew into a year, and the roots had taken to ground, and the family had settled. Jackie and Ceely started low, tending bars for drinks and the riding the night life into the next day, working side jobs here and there to make ends meet. Eventually the world slowed down. Friends and life pressures massaged them into the mold of the everyday. Ceely became Cecila again, for most days. She taught dance and art at the local community center and ran craft shows and bake sales for the school. A more sensible Jack became an outdoorsman, leading rock climbing or hiking ventures to tourists for cash. Sold shirts and swag that proclaimed “I hiked through hell and back,” nonsense like that. Plenty of ways to exploit Hell. They were happy. They were together, through the stress of time, through the unknown passing into the known, and so together, they were happy.

When Cecilia became pregnant, they found they were almost ready for it – something neither of them had ever expected. They traveled child-free while they could, a farewell tour of sorts… and nine months later, they were holding their little girl in their arms, a golden blonde wisp named Clara. She was her mother’s daughter, completely so – head in the clouds but in a very sensible way, dazzling green eyes that never stopped drinking in the world, a boundless curiosity.

They were a family and it was imperfectly perfect – they survived all the ups and downs of infancy, the scares and the panics and the longest nights and the little golden moments that made up for all of it.

When Clara was around 4, Hannah came into the picture. An unexpected surprise, but not an altogether unpleasant one. Her father worried about money now, more than ever before – one child had already caused them to tighten their belts, and now two? He was also a little disappointed that Hannah wasn’t a son, now outmatched three to one by the ladies of the Karver family. But as she grew, Jack grew closer to Hannah than he’d ever been to Clara. She was her father’s daughter. Dark waves of unruly hair, deep brown eyes, a fire inside that made her bolder than she ought to be. While Clara grew outward, always looking and extending out, Hannah delved into herself. Worlds and stories within, an imagination that sparked daring, if occasionally naïve, adventures.

The family struggled, but thrived together. Ceely was teaching now, increasing her involvement with the school. She also began teaching dance and art by appointment and online. She taught her daughters some art - Hannah took to sketching, bringing her inner worlds into view on paper, and while Clara had an eye for color and lighting, she was too impatient for painting – drawn more to photography, where she could capture the world at her speed. Jack took on more in the management and business aspects of his work, as his aging body began to protest the rugged physical intensity he demanded from it each day. He saved hiking for the weekends with his girls, when he could. Hannah loved these days more than anything – hiking and camping with her dad and learning how to survive and thrive in the woods.

Everything softened a bit. Ceely and Jack’s relations with Grandma Liddy had mended somewhat after Clara, and during the summers and holidays, when work allowed, they would carpool up to Sandbridge, Massachusetts to visit. Hannah and Clara became friends with a few of Gram’s neighbors, though the town itself had an odd vibe to it – at least Clara said so. As Clara got older she was always saying things like that, she got more and more interested in the supernatural, used her camera like a junior detective to ‘find the truth’. Hannah thought her sister was amazing, until she got older and then found her a little embarrassing, the dork. Hannah saw the world for what it was. Hard, but beautiful if you knew where to look. Like how granite is rough and gray and unforgiving, but in the light sparkles with all the hidden faces reflecting back.

Hannah was around 8, Clara 12, when their mother collapsed in mid-class and had to be rushed to the hospital. They knew she had been having ‘Little slips of the mind’ as she called them, forgetting where she placed her keys, or where she parked her car, and more than a few times mis-remembering the names of friends and even family. She dropped things a little more often these days, as well – always laughing it off, always smiling.

The doctors spoke to their father in hushed but somber voices. There were a lot of big words, important, heavy sounding words, words that sounded like something out of a spell book, a wicked hex. Unknown. Amyotrophic. Degenerative. Neuropsychiatric. Dementia. According to their father, the doctors were trying to work out the exact nature of Mom’s condition, but the symptoms were… problematic at best. Drugs were prescribed. Tests were prescribed. Ceely was in and out of home and Clara and Hannah were in and out of school as their mother paled and dulled and their father juggled the weight of all four lives, strove to keep it all afloat.

That was the worst of it – looking back, and remembering the slow fall. The way they all changed. Hannah keeps photographs of her mother and father as Jackie and Ceely – young wild lovers full of future, because that’s who she wants to remember. Not the monsters grown on the trellis of their bones, born from a marriage of pain and time. Her mother, losing her color and kindness and recognition, till she lay bedridden in their home, a wilted flower that blinked into the abyss, looked through them, all around the room – and in those rare moments of clarity, of focus, it was still wrong, a scream of raw emotion, a curse or sobbing apology. She was wicked, fickle, hopelessly unraveled – and it killed Hannah to admit that the day she was no longer in the house, the day she came home to a dark room and a downcast dad hugging her and telling her “It’s over, It’s over, I’m sorry…” on that day, she felt far more relief than sorrow. She’d mourned her mother’s death long before she was gone.

Clara took it harder – her supernatural bent drew her into the security of conspiracy, trying to convince herself and her sister that her mother wasn’t conventionally sick. Because maybe that was something she could fight, something she could have more control over. She turned death into a mystery, a puzzle to solve. Hannah didn’t really believe any of it – life was just dark sometimes - but she wasn’t cruel enough to take her sister’s hope away.

Jack grew colder with grief, colder with the burden of feeding his family, keeping the lights on, keeping the medical bills at bay. He distanced himself from the girls, at first to hide the pain of his grief from them, and then just to hide from them, from the memories their very presence reanimated. He was almost never home, gone before they’d gone to school and home late, if he came home at all. There were whispers that he was picking up extra work on the side. There were whispers that not all of this work was entirely legal. There were whispers that he was out drinking, gambling, meeting other women…

There were a lot of whispers – but Clara’s whispers meant more to Hannah than any nosy neighbor. Clara saw the world, saw her sister through the hard times. She made them their meals when their dad forgot, tucked them in and made up stories with her literature-minded sister. She whispered hope – kept the memories of wild Jackie and Ceely alive and promised – despite perhaps some suspicions of her own to the contrary – that everything would be okay.

A few years passed, and the world grew darker, shade by shade. Hannah was thirteen now, her sister nearly an adult, dreaming of the world within her grasp. She had her license and a car for about a month now, giving the girls a chance to road-trip around the Michigan countryside and escape the hum-drum of their home. It wasn’t bad these days. Their father was providing well for them - suspiciously well, Clara mused. They were used to their independence, and as teens even enjoyed the freedom of his absence. But living with their father was like living with a stranger – they almost didn’t know how to approach him on the rare days when he was around.

Clara, sweet and mischievous like her mother, treated her father like an unsolved mystery. She’d never outgrown her detecting, and pulled her sister into investigations around the school. Case of the missing lunch, Case of the cute boy in room 103, etc. But now that they had a car… Clara mentioned on a whim that she was going to ‘tail’ Jack. Wait for one of the nights he drives off for ‘business’ and see what he’s really getting up to. Hannah shied away from the idea, even talked Clara down a few times – If nothing else, their father had a temper and it wouldn’t do any good poking at something they shouldn’t. The topic came and went several times before that night.

That night.
Her phone rang, and she realized as she answered, trying to be quiet so as not to wake her sister… that her sister wasn’t there. Her sister’s bed was empty. Her sister’s voice was in her ear.

“I’m following him. driving out of town. Get my recorder!”
Hannah protested as Clara whispered excitedly into the phone, following her words into the mental image of those red taillights bouncing down the country roads. Darker and darker as the night clouded over. Headlights off, had to keep hidden. Old farms and waist-high corn. The hissing whisper of strong winds rolling clouds over the moon. He stopped. Someone's there. a few someones.

"can't make out.. need to get closer... radio silence..."

winds winds crow call winds rustling,

a sound, a shout? fear and anger mingled, rustling loud banging, car doors or..
heavy footsteps banging, different


and a thud. and a whisper.
and the winds, all shhhhhh, shhhhhh Shhhhhhhhh...

and it never stopped. –

Her father came home hours later, the sounds of him moving through the home downstairs. She pretended she was asleep as he checked on her - said nothing of her sister's empty bed, just stood there, shadow in the doorway for what felt like forever. She fought herself, fought every fear to do what she thought she must - waited until hours after her father stopped moving, when he would be asleep, and creep down into the house to find... something. In the morning, Clara was still gone.

Her father asked if Hannah had seen her, and she shook her head. She watched him weave a story. first in his head. Then to her. Then to the neighbors. Then to the public, when Clara's car and Clara's blood and Clara's absence in everyone's life eventually came to life. He lied and lied until maybe he believed it, and for the first time in a long and weary life, Hannah felt true anger rising in her, overwelling her pain.

She testified against him, in the end. Saved evidence from Clara's cell phone call, a piece of bloody clothing spared from the laundry she discovered. He never officially confessed, but his temper flared to life in court, his story fell apart in front of the jury. Hannah still remembers the burning smolder of those eyes, the monster where her father used to be. An orphaned teen, Hannah was sent to live with her grandmother Liddy in Sandbridge for the remaining teens. She didn't go out much, if at all. Friendships from childhood suffer a bit, but folk know she's grieving so many losses, and leave her be.. for the most part.

Highschool came and went in a dour blur. She stumbles through life in Sandbridge, sees weirdness now and again that makes her miss her sister, think of her often. The old Maze haunts her, a place her sister was always trying to drag her. Anytime she gets near it, she just hears that rushing, hissing wind, Shhhhhh….shhhh. And she pushes it down, pushes it away.

She inherited her sister's camera, her notes, and in a sense, her investigative spirit. She developed, in time, over many months, a new resolve going into college - a desire to unmask monsters, to seek justice and truth, to spare others from living under the shadow of it. She majored in journalism, but also in criminal justice. Attempted to join the police force, but was rejected - too quick a temper, too much of her father there. That scared her, enraged her, which scared her more. She bought a gun, then another. Then another. She applied for a detective license, followed stories of heartache that caught her ear. She meditated on her sister, on the strength she gave them, she way she centered them both. She took to online journalism, traveling to write stories, reviews, reports for coin or cause. Neither of these really kept her gainfully employed, but they made her feel… like she had a purpose, like she was doing something that mattered. Eventually, Hell drew her back, and she set herself up in an apartment there with a friend, a familiar home base of sorts. Time passed. It keeps passing. And Hannah's lived in this state of inchoate curiosity and distrust. Still such an awkward child in many ways, coupled oddly with the forced age and hardened wisdom of her loss.

Recently, an incident with an ongoing case caused her roommate moved out, and the cases she was able to muster were not enough to pay the bills. She was drawn back to Sandbridge by her grandmother, Lydia Cullendahl (Old Grandma Liddy). She wrote Hannah often, worried over her like a mother, and pushed an offer of home and potential jobs in town often. This time Hannah couldn’t refuse, didn’t have many other options.

She still feels like an odd duck in Sandbridge, everything is exactly the same, but different now, She feels what Clara had mentioned all those years ago, an odd, heavy atmosphere of strangeness hanging about… but that’s probably because she looks for that sort of thing nowadays. She helps her grandma Liddy with her work at the rehab center and took a part time job with Liddy’s friend, as his assistant at the Sandbridge Historical Society. She tells herself it’s just a temporary thing, to catch her breath before the next wander.
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