violet-ann thibodaux

the basics

full name ♦ Violet-Anne Ruth Thibodaux
nicknames ♦ Vi
age ♦ nineteen
birthday ♦ October 20th, 1999
occupation ♦ student
school ♦ previously Primrose, currently Phalanx
species ♦ shapeshifter
ability/power ♦ great horned owl shifter
how the ability works ♦
Violet-Anne is able to turn herself into a great horned owl, a stunning sooty grey in color. The transformation can be painful, as her body readjusts itself, but that has never stopped her before. She can change pretty much at will and does so when she can, primarily at night when her other form would be the most active. She tends to fly low, which is another reason that she turns at night. She is able to retain most of her regular senses and faculties as a bird, and though she is more instinct-based, she tends to be more cautious and sentient than a natural-born owl. She also tends to be territorial, which can leak into her human life, as she likes her space and to be undisturbed within it. This is exaggerated if she spends more than usual time in her owl form. Overall, Violet’s power brings very few physical harms to her, though she has changed back with scars from fighting or hunting with other birds. Most of her drawbacks relate to her personality, which tend to make her secretive, silent, and solitary. Reconciling being an animal while also being a human has always been a point of contention with her, but she wouldn’t change it for the world.
gender ♦ cis female, she/her
sexuality ♦ closeted lesbian

the appearance

face claim ♦ Danielle Rose Russell
height and weight ♦ 5’3” and 120 lbs
identifying features ♦ Violet has one scar over her shoulder, a three-claw mark about one inch long that represents her first fight in her animal form. All the others have generally faded, but that one refuses to. Only her ears are pierced.
overall appearance ♦ Violet stands a little shorter than average, and as such, she has learned to stand tall and straight. This habit has followed her all her life and can give her a slightly down-her-nose look, regardless of what she actually wants to seem like. Her body has been curvy for her frame for as long as she could remember, but most of the time, these are sheathed in clothing that would qualify as a modest Sunday best. Her clothing, with swinging or larger silhouettes, makes her appear younger or at least more innocent than she actually is, an appearance completed with a headband in her shoulder-blade length auburn hair. It has never been touched with dye nor been shorter than her shoulders since it grew long. She tends to call up adjectives such as demure, with a muted, mocking version of elegance. She doesn’t quite look like a church mouse or a schoolmarm, but the air of preacher’s daughter seems to stick to her bones, which she uses to her advantage.

the personality

likes ♦
✞ vinyl records: she was only allowed to listen to her family’s vinyl record collection growing up, which was carefully curated mainly during the 50’s, 60’s, and the 70’s.
✞ singing: the choir was Vi's favorite place in the whole world growing up; the world felt right if she could only sing with others
✞ night: nights have always belonged to Vi, even before she used them to shift and fly.  She loves nothing more than to sit under the sky and watch the stars.
✞ religion: her relationship with God has always been tested and troubled for reasons that feel beyond her control, but it is very important to her.
✞ flying: despite what she was told as a child, changing and flying has never made her feel shameful. It's the most free she often feels

dislikes ♦
✞ disorder: she works best when things are exactly where they need to be. Messy spaces drive her crazy. After all, cleanliness is next to godliness.
✞ controlling people: she has lived away from her family long enough to recognize the worst tendencies of her mother. The thought of anyone going through her things without permission now or telling her what to do and where gives her hives and panic attacks.
✞ sharing spaces: she severely dislikes having to have a roommate. There's the immodesty of changing in front of them, and the only person she's successfully shared a room with was her sister. She just likes her alone time and will make a strict divide between her space and others'. She's generally very good at keeping boundaries.
✞ coffee: though she loves the smell, she abhors the taste, no matter how much sugar and creamer she dumps into it. She's a natural night owl and doesn't need it, which she is grateful for.
✞ gratuitous violence: whether on screen or in real life, she cannot take seeing excess amounts of violence, especially against women. It makes her feel closed in and without an exit, which she particularly does not like.
✞ small spaces: a common punishment was being cooped up in a closet, and tiny spaces always reactivate that memory. She wants nothing more than to get out, and it shuts down her higher thinking strategies.

strengths ♦
✞ observant: vi has learned to think and react quickly in her life according to what other people are putting out. She is always watching others and tailoring herself to them within reason.
✞ kind: for all she is, vi tries to be kind to everyone. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, as her mother would say, and even if it’s superficial, she can have a kind smile for everyone she meets.

weaknesses ♦
✞ duplicitous: like every good, small town girl, Vi has learned how to hide herself beneath a veneer. The church and Primrose taught Vi to keep her real desires close to her cuff, and as useful as this is, it tends to keep people at arm’s length.
✞ superficial: according to most people, Vi can seem one-note and rather flat. They don’t sift through the Bible-toting, polite covering nor does she really want them to. She tries to stick to superficial emotions and projections.

dreams ♦
✞ to be with her sisters again
✞ to find a place in the world that she really belongs, every part of her

fears ♦
✞ that she will never get to see her sisters again, or if she does, they won’t love her anymore
✞ damnation

overall personality ♦
Violet is seemingly extroverted and shifts easily into a detached but polite and shallow public persona. On the flip side of that, she is actually quite a solitary creature and prefers her own space, both physically and emotionally. Every relationship she forms starts at an arm-distance and doesn’t go much further than that, and she has a tendency of being really good at pretending to be more endearing than she really is. She cares deeply about other people and can be empathetic, but she’s still operating on a separatist notion founded by her mother and her position growing up. To most people, this comes off as just being congenial and kind, and she often doesn’t mean for it to be any other way.

She often feels like a prickly bush covering a rabbit too skinny to eat. It’s easier for people to just see her as a fixture and like her from a distance than for her to let them in and decide they don’t like her at all. It doesn’t help that Vi is often the type of person who would give you the shirt off her back but not without a price. Though she rarely ever cashes the favors in, she understands the adage of “scratch my back and I scratch yours.” She’s used to Primrose and the between the lines of small town church life and is naturally skeptical and purposefully secretive when she thinks others are trying to play the social game. She likes to think that she knows how people work, from watching her mother, church elders, and nearly everyone at Primrose. A spade is rarely ever a spade to her, and though she expects people to take her olive branches freely, she balks at doing the same.

Vi is not one to discuss herself too deeply with others. She keeps her life and her “secrets” close to her. She doesn’t want to discuss her family, her sexuality, and even sometimes her power, unless she has a direct reason to, can really trust someone, or use it as a testimony. She carries a lot of internalized shame, and the only personal thing she discusses openly is her relationship to religion. That is often her bedrock of being and where she draws most of her strength. She’s never been evangelistic, but neither will she cow when called on stuff. Her relationship with God is always shifting, and she’s at her most sporadic when she doesn’t have a strong foundation or when it’s being actively tested.  She's at a particular cross-roads at the moment.

the history

father ♦ Jeremiah Earle Thibodaux, 43, televangelist preacher, currently serving time in prison
mother ♦ Grace Anne Thibodaux, 39, homemaker
siblings ♦ Iris _______ Thibodaux, 18, sister
Lily _________ Thibodaux, 14, sister
important people ♦ none
hometown ♦ Lake Charles, Louisiana
overall history ♦ This history contains themes of child abuse/control, homophobia, and religion.

Track Listing: Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty, 1973, "Louisiana Woman, Mississippi Man."

Your story started when a young preacher’s daughter met her father’s newest protégé at a church function. You try to imagine your mother, young and free at eighteen, but that image lay far beyond even your imagination. She had taken over for the business side of her father’s backwood church after her mother left when she was twelve, and that’s about all you were ever told about that. Your mother had been well versed in the business of church when she met your young father. You try to imagine they had a whirlwind romance, that they were taken by passion that had them married and expecting you before your mother was 20. You were born to great fanfare in the church, and your sister Iris followed to much the same just over a year later. It would be four more years until Lily was born, and you and Iris were already thick as thieves. Iris was your first and best friend. You never left Lily out, though; she was your youngest sister and you always felt protective of her.

Track Listing: Baptist Hymnal, 1991, "592. Jesus loves the little children."

When your father preached, you felt the spirit move. It was hard to explain, but people had often stood, transfixed, as he gave his weekly sermon. He preached brightness and love, and your mother put that into practice by holding tightly to you and your sisters’ reins. Somethings you just weren’t allowed to do. Everything you watched, listened to, read, anything, had to be strictly reviewed and you just thought that was the way of it. You were the preacher’s daughter after all; you had to be a leader among your peers. As a kid, that wasn’t hard mostly. The straight and narrow was easy. As long as you didn’t dirty your Sunday dress or step out of line, you didn’t have to worry about the consequences. You were a beacon of virtue and faith, and you didn’t question it.

Everyone had gifts to serve the Lord. Your father had his preaching, your mother had her rigidity and her brilliant mind, and you…you had your singing. You would never be the best (that wasn’t a humble claim, after all), but you had the heart for it. You found your first niche in the choir. Every time you joined the others in celebration, the world felt right and free. It was the only time you were allowed to be loud, and after your first solo, your mother told that she was proud of you, for the first and last time. That was worth all the extra practice and the strain and the extra stiff collar on your jumper. If you were going to do something, your mother told you, you were going to do it to the best of your ability. Your father, of course, was just happy to see you around the pulpit; he practically lived there.

Track Listing: Baptist Hymnal, 1991, "488. I'm just a child and I haven't got much."

Your father’s congregation grew, more and more people filling the church until your father had to build a new one when you were seven. You were excited by all the newness, even if you would miss the old church your grandfather’s ancestors had built. The new one was big – much bigger than you thought they needed. But people kept coming, until eventually they put your father on the radio first then local television next. The changes were swift, and your mother tightened her reins on your appearance and public image. The straight and narrow was getting harder to follow, and one Saturday, you had pooled what little allowance you had to buy a Disney CD. You had to hide it from your mother, because she didn’t approve of it beforehand. When she found it during an unexpected room raid, you had to pick the pieces out the carpet. You still got to sing your solo in the choir the next day, but your dress choice was longer to cover the rice indents that were sprinkled over your knees. For the first time, you truly felt like a puppet; your singing wasn’t for you that Sunday morning. It belonged to the audience you were now playing to.

Track Listing: Allison Krauss, 2000, “I'll Fly Away"

The first shift came when you were eleven. No one had warned you, and you awoke one night already changed. When you tried to call out, your human voice was gone. In a panic, you thrashed, only to lift from the bed. You were flying, you realized, and your hoots of shock stopped. Your window was open, as it often was during the summer nights, and you left out it, testing yourself. You flew until, exhausted, you crashed to the ground and fainted. Your mother found you, bare and covered in dirt, the next morning. She shook you awake, and you thought she would call you a liar when you told her about the night before. To your surprise, she didn’t; she believed you. But she told you about your grandmother, who had the same curse and left her family. It was shameful and ungodly, she told you, to change your form from the shape God gave you. Only wicked girls changed and ended up naked and filthy in the morning. She swore you to secrecy and told you to pray to expel your demon. You did pray and swore that you would never change again.

But you did, and every time, you tried to ignore the fact that you didn’t feel like a demon at all. You felt like an angel.

Track Listing: Bobbie Gentry, 1967, “Ode to Billie Joe"

You didn’t understand why the new girl made you feel like you couldn’t breathe. At first, you thought it was jealousy. She was another soprano after all, and her voice was as clear as a bell. You were only 13, and everything felt so mixed up. But she was so nice and invited you to watch some movie with her. The movie was pg-13, and you were the perfect age. You begged Momma to let you go, and church business had her so distracted that she let you. You so rarely got to go to the theater, and it was just you and her. Once there, she convinced you to sneak into a horror movie. You weren’t sure, but she was so...you couldn’t put your finger on it. You agreed. The usher, one of your father’s board members, found you two halfway through the movie. When he told your parents, he placed more emphasis on your clasped hands than the movie you saw. You realized then what you had felt, but it was quickly replaced with shame. As you knelt in the rice that night, you prayed God would take it all away from you: your gift, your thoughts, your will to disobey. Iris stayed with you that night, and you both wept so hard that you hardly noticed the rice.

Track Listing: Baptist Hymnal, 1991, “25. There's a wideness in God's mercy”

God heard you, but it wasn’t the bad he took from you. You turned 14, and your momma told you that you were going to go away. You didn’t understand and didn’t want to go. All you had ever known was your small town and your sisters and your church. Going away to New Orleans was a punishment; you only ever heard how awful it was. It was a godless place, but it wasn’t like you to kick and scream. All things with dignity, you reminded yourself. You hugged your sisters and wiped their tears. Even your mother hugged you, though it was stiff, but your dad was away at another revival. He had left a cellphone for you, a fancy one like his, and as the car pulled away, you received a simple text. All it said was, “bye be good love you,” and was signed with his official signature. It was more than you thought you’d ever get, and you didn’t want your driver to see you crying on the drive to Primrose.

Track Listing: The Animals, 1964, “House of the Rising Sun”

New Orleans was in the same state where you grew up, but it was a culture shock all the same, especially in Primrose. The kids were loud and vain and unapologetic. Gone were the demureness and modesty that had insulated you back home. You felt like a delta in the river, a sore thumb. At first, you couldn’t understand their pride. Some of them could conjure fire, others rearrange furniture with their mind, and still more could change into an animal like you. They never thought about the implications; they just existed – without conflict. At first, you shunned school in favor of a new church family, where you could go back to the disquieted ease of your secrets. Still, you got to join another choir.

Your own family had cut you completely of, which would have devastated you less had your sisters not been a part of it. You and Iris kept up through secret, sporadic emails, but that was a poor substitute for your sister’s presence in your life. You called home once, and little Lily answered. As soon as she heard your voice, she informed you that Momma said she couldn’t talk to you. She hung up. In the silence that followed, you tried to cry, but you weren’t shocked enough to. You still watched your father’s ministry on TV. The space where you ued to stand was filled, and the new girl had taken your place as a soloist in the choir. No one offered an explanation for your disappearance. It was like you and your shame had never existed. Maybe, you feared, God would eventually forget you too.

Track Listing: Baptist Hymnal, 1991, “72. I will not be afraid”

You never stopped seeking God, but it got harder and harder the more enmeshed in Primrose you became. The teachers told you that you weren’t a demon; you were exactly what you were supposed to be. You were a shifted, just like others. Being a shifter didn’t mean you couldn’t be a good person. You still did nightly flights, but you were truly free on them. There were other stones in your soul, but you felt freer with this one gone. The freedom had cost you your family, but it was worth it. Your father’s ministry got nationwide syndication, you got hush money in the form of an allowance, and the world marched on.

As for the other stones, you met your demons, and you learned her name. She spoke like velvet, but taking pride in her was a different beast than your animal. You learned the vocabulary and watched others live out loud, but you couldn’t even audibly say the word. You never even bothered to date boys; there was nothing that could make that feel right. You may not have been okay with it, but you knew what you were. You got bold at 16 and bought a fake ID. You tried to get into a bar downtown. You looked twelve and more scared than a drowned cat, but the broad-shouldered woman at the door let you in anyway. There was a live band of women who looked so different than any you had seen before. A group of older women let you stand in front of them, and the music was loud and kind of bad. But for the first time in a long time, you felt that you had ratcheted into place. It didn’t feel like God, but it felt damn close. That frightened you too much, and you never went back.

Track Listing: Baptist Hymnal, 1991, “320. O soul, are you weary and troubled?”

You lived in between for a long time: between human and animal, sacred and profane, grace and condemnation, and out and in. Primrose sheltered you, gave you adults to talk to who actually listened, and gave you a place to practice the duplicity that had become your day-to-day. The social scene of Primrose had taught you to sharpen your tongue into a weapon of precision, had taught you to slither around hierarchy while claiming not to be a part of it. It was your home.

But your old home was still there – until it wasn’t. In a voicemail, your mother told you that your father was in jail, your allowance and your tuition would be cut off, and that you were not to return home, for that would “only add insult to injury.” You had saved almost everything that your parents had given you, but it fell far short of the Primrose price. You were to withdraw after the close of spring. Miss Oswald told you about Phalanx and helped you make arrangements - and let you use your last voice lesson to cry at the piano. At the end of May, your life would change, and you showed up at Phalanx with your bags and little else.

the role player

alias ♦ bree
age ♦ 57
pronouns ♦ she/her
code ♦ primrose
other characters ♦ so so so so so many