Difference between revisions of "Wren Coulter"

Revision as of 01:04, 1 December 2015

BIOGRAPHY

Still mousy, still energetic and still larger than life if given the opportunity, Wren moves with life’s ebbs and flows as easily as she can manage to keep up. She knows life is unfair and accepts it. She knows that life can be cruel and avoids its sharp edges as best as she can. Wren even dares to dream, but also realizes that the life she lives in might just be false… just like the one she remembers, vaguely, before 1937.

A Foundation

Barefoot she sped across that field of dirt relishing in the dust that kicked up around her legs and the sand that she could feel grinding between her toes. Those boys would see, once and for all, who was fastest… her. Not a little boy who crowed about being king of this or that, not the little girls who cried foul play if their hair was pulled or dress yanked on. She was fastest, without any gimmick, and youngest of them all. Little Wren.

Just like the quick witted songbird, Wren had much to prove and even more to sing about. Not that Wren was her Christian name, she as much as forgot what her real name had been, along with so many other things.

Her parents had called her Wren for as long as she could remember though. It started as merely a nickname and only Mary, or Andrea or some other silly simple name would she be addressed when she had been bad. But Wren was a good name, she liked it, and so she had not given any other when the adults finally cornered her and demanded a label. Besides, it wasn’t as if they would catch her in the lie, because she belonged to no one, and no one would correct her.

To be honest, Wren wasn’t surprised that her parents had disappeared with the other little ones, her sisters and her brothers, because neither her momma nor pop seemed to need her around. What little she could recollect of her Momma was that she always had the little ‘uns to care for and her pop was off workin’ in the city. She was the eldest and could see to attending school on her own, fixing lunch on her own and making her way home on her own.

Still, when Wren woke to find herself in a hovel, dust and debris keeping her company rather than her younger brother, for they shared a bed, she did find herself scared. They left her. Or, they dropped her off somewhere and then left her? Funny thing too, because as much as her parents didn’t seem to need her, didn’t seem to care if she was in the house or gone, didn’t seem to pay her no mind, Wren didn’t once think they might wish to leave her behind.

And yet they had.

Those first few weeks had passed in a blur as Wren sought shelter with families she did not know. Pop had always said that she could take care of herself, and momma never argued, maybe this was a test.

A very strange test.

The strangeness of it all had seeped into her mind slowly as she found her place in the world. Little things kept nagging at her mind, like street names and buildings. They were all too familiar and yet very different from those in her memory. She was still home, or close to it, but nothing seemed familiar anymore.

Accept the children. Nothing changed with children. Soon Wren found herself running with other street kids, dodging capture and proving her place in a world of young hoodlums. With the memory of her parents and siblings quickly subsiding, Wren held fast to her new life. Even when she was caught, even as they shipped her to the nearest orphanage, Wren tenaciously grabbed at her life. She was a fighter and would make this world work for her.

A Life Lived

She didn’t trust many people and like she’d expected would happen, those that could leave had. She got used to orphans finding places to live and homes to call their own. She didn’t mind it, she didn’t expect anything more. Good for them.

Wren had found comfort in the places she’d found a place to sleep. Jabari had been good to her, so had a handful of other adults that she’d been pawned off on. Jabari and the rest belonged to a strange lot and by extension so did she, apparently. At least they were kind enough.

It took her some time to accept the fact that magic was real, but she considered herself a fast learner. The fact that Wren still expected to one day wake up and find herself back in the States, surrounded by a different set of hooligans was simply a daily state. It was normal. She was a survivor, and survivors waited for things to change so that they might reinvent themselves. For now, she was a little witch.

She had been a little street urchin; she remembered fondly on certain memories of that part of her.

She had been an orphan, cared for by a scientist of sorts; that part of her memory carried dull thoughts of repetition and scheduling.

She had been a new student being shoved off to boarding school; feelings of frustration winked in and out of her mind as she thought about the growing pains of honing magic and learning about the silliness that most might scoff at. Her lot anyway would have scoffed… she thought.

She was still a student. Fancy that. She hadn’t been kicked out. She hadn’t been abandoned, not yet anyway. She was almost feeling comfortable with the repetition of life now. Almost.

She knew it would change somehow.

That war had changed things. So had the appearance of those dreadful doo-gooders, the Hexenreich.

They weren’t really good, but everything in the papers said they were helping; they seemed to believe they were doing something great. Wren wasn’t affected by that nonsense because she chose not to be. She didn’t know the girl they had [i]hurt[/i] in their move to take over the castle. She didn’t want to know them past dealing with their occasional questions. She simply reacted in the way she always tried to react to new situations; with indifference and the occasional morphing of her personality.

It had worked in the past. Trouble could often be thwarted by changing ones colors. Not literally, although with magic anything was possible.

Dare to Dream

She expected little from her life and she tried not to make plans for a future that would likely never come. Wren didn’t live in darkness or brood for things she could not have, such behavior was silly, but she did not try to aim for a goal because she did not see the point. Her life was built upon action and reaction.

Wren would only admit to an inkling of hope when she thought no one was listening. A family would be nice. A family to have and to hold on to. That family would be hers and hers alone and she would never abandon her children to the cold fate of reality like her own family had so many years ago.