[Nothing like an annual event and a recent loss of yet another, well-loved partner and friend to put the young woman in a nostalgic mindset. While she has terrible memories of the carnival, of being put in a cage and tormented, but she also remembers the friendships she forged there. Not to mention how Luke Freaking Skywalker rescued her. She still has the excited nerd selfies she took of handling his literal saber.
Still, Velma’s wise enough to know how slipperiness of Memory Lane’s slope, and she takes to managing the sadness and loss in a completely natural manner for her, by throwing herself full force in tasks to keep her busy. Nevermind that this isn’t particularly healthy, but at least it’s productive.
Using her engineering skill set, she makes herself useful safety checking rides as they’re built, stepping in to double check old and compromised wiring in the electronics.]
Whatever melange of fluids that is... [And she could take several, well educated guesses at this point. None of them are pleasant.] It’s not oil and it’s absolutely the wrong viscosity for that motor. And the brakes need... [They get a dubious peer.] Attention.
[When she’s not testing the patience of the demons and carnival staff, which she’s taking satisfaction in after her hospital experience, Velma can be found meticulously searching through the boxes of items. She expects these items to have been gleaned from previous sinners and their departures, so her search is equal parts practical and emotional.
It’s not until one of the chihuahua spiders leaps out at her (for a hug, clearly), does she break her focus, yelling out and stumbling backwards, sending the box and items clattering all over. There’s also a bit of a shriek from her, plus frantic flailing of attempting to rid herself of this pest trying to... cuddle her?
Apparently it doesn’t understand the concept of consent.]
ii | follow me down (nsfw options available, but not required)
[She tries to keep herself busy and productive, but the nights are lonely and insomnia is a taxing bitch. It’s not something that Velma’s proud of, missing the physical touch and comfort of her partner this much, but the fact remains that she aches for them. It’s not just the carnal forms, but the little touches, the warmth of an embrace or a brush of reassurance. The hospital was the first time she’d slept alone in months, and the absence is only affecting her worse now that medications and torture aren’t distracting her from it.
Eventually, it’s too much, and she guiltily makes the decision to abandon the attempts at sleep or productivity for the almost guaranteed distractions of Club Penance.
Magic adjusts her attire to fit the theme, and while she knows it’s either luck or compassion that has provided her with ”additional modesty”, the increasingly reckless part of her doesn’t particularly care for it.
She’s often found around the bar and mingling, drinking something that has the appearance of tropical, with a pineapple and cherry flag and cute little umbrella with a more phallic design on the little paper portion. Leave it to Hell to be festive.
Demons find her easy pickings to drag around for potential speed dates and while she’s not resistant, it doesn’t stop her from being awkward, stranger or not.
There’s even a point in the night(s), after many drinks, that she’s contemplatively examining her hotel key, debating the pros and cons against her desires and deteriorated morals she continues to try and uphold. More or less. At some point in the night, the key mysteriously goes missing too, and while there’s a bit of panic in this realization, a decent facet of her is excited. Not that she’ll admit that.]
iii | wildcard
[ooc: Have something else in mind? PM this account or message me on plurk to discuss other options!]
Velma Dinkley | Scooby Doo | ota
[Nothing like an annual event and a recent loss of yet another, well-loved partner and friend to put the young woman in a nostalgic mindset. While she has terrible memories of the carnival, of being put in a cage and tormented, but she also remembers the friendships she forged there. Not to mention how Luke Freaking Skywalker rescued her. She still has the excited nerd selfies she took of handling his literal saber.
Still, Velma’s wise enough to know how slipperiness of Memory Lane’s slope, and she takes to managing the sadness and loss in a completely natural manner for her, by throwing herself full force in tasks to keep her busy. Nevermind that this isn’t particularly healthy, but at least it’s productive.
Using her engineering skill set, she makes herself useful safety checking rides as they’re built, stepping in to double check old and compromised wiring in the electronics.]
Whatever melange of fluids that is... [And she could take several, well educated guesses at this point. None of them are pleasant.] It’s not oil and it’s absolutely the wrong viscosity for that motor. And the brakes need... [They get a dubious peer.] Attention.
[When she’s not testing the patience of the demons and carnival staff, which she’s taking satisfaction in after her hospital experience, Velma can be found meticulously searching through the boxes of items. She expects these items to have been gleaned from previous sinners and their departures, so her search is equal parts practical and emotional.
It’s not until one of the chihuahua spiders leaps out at her (for a hug, clearly), does she break her focus, yelling out and stumbling backwards, sending the box and items clattering all over. There’s also a bit of a shriek from her, plus frantic flailing of attempting to rid herself of this pest trying to... cuddle her?
Apparently it doesn’t understand the concept of consent.]
ii | follow me down (nsfw options available, but not required)
[She tries to keep herself busy and productive, but the nights are lonely and insomnia is a taxing bitch. It’s not something that Velma’s proud of, missing the physical touch and comfort of her partner this much, but the fact remains that she aches for them. It’s not just the carnal forms, but the little touches, the warmth of an embrace or a brush of reassurance. The hospital was the first time she’d slept alone in months, and the absence is only affecting her worse now that medications and torture aren’t distracting her from it.
Eventually, it’s too much, and she guiltily makes the decision to abandon the attempts at sleep or productivity for the almost guaranteed distractions of Club Penance.
Magic adjusts her attire to fit the theme, and while she knows it’s either luck or compassion that has provided her with ”additional modesty”, the increasingly reckless part of her doesn’t particularly care for it.
She’s often found around the bar and mingling, drinking something that has the appearance of tropical, with a pineapple and cherry flag and cute little umbrella with a more phallic design on the little paper portion. Leave it to Hell to be festive.
Demons find her easy pickings to drag around for potential speed dates and while she’s not resistant, it doesn’t stop her from being awkward, stranger or not.
There’s even a point in the night(s), after many drinks, that she’s contemplatively examining her hotel key, debating the pros and cons against her desires and deteriorated morals she continues to try and uphold. More or less. At some point in the night, the key mysteriously goes missing too, and while there’s a bit of panic in this realization, a decent facet of her is excited. Not that she’ll admit that.]
iii | wildcard
[ooc: Have something else in mind? PM this account or message me on plurk to discuss other options!]