****
Un manteau d'or, un manteau de rouge

Indie lâcha doucement son collier qui drapé sa poitrine – le premier couché élégamment le long de sa clavicule. Elle a décidé d'utiliser le manteau swing de pois rouges qui le boutonnerait le long de son estomac. Elle avait toujours mis de côté un montant considérable de son argent au cas où cela arriverait. Une lettre. Peut - être l'aurait - elle été attachée à un corbeau qui connaissait sa famille et leur éclat de drames. Elle a serré ses doigts – en s'assurant de ne pas toucher ses cheveux qu'elle a trempés dans l'urgence « doivent revoir ma famille » pour avoir fini.
C'était légèrement enroulé, elle pouvait presque entendre sa mère maintenant – vous êtes en train de rendre visite à votre famille ne va pas au bal de promo.
Mais c'était bien. Tout allait bien.
Elle a saisi son violon et s'est prosternée et a rapidement mis l'instrument sur son épaule, reposant son menton sur la perche.
Elle a fermé les yeux.
Un lion a encore des griffes
Elle n'a plus vraiment dû bouger l'arc le long des cordes du violon. Bien sûr, c'était encore elle qui le bougeait, pas sous une lumière surnaturelle. Mais quand elle était anxieux et qu'elle voulait jouer du violon, sa main faisait ce qui était nécessaire.
Elle n'a pas besoin de penser à ce qu'elle faisait, elle l'a juste fait. Elle a supposé que c'était ce que sa mère ressentait à propos de l'éducation parentale, son père trop probablement.
Elle a dit qu'elle pensait tristement à combien de fonds elle devait puiser pour garder les apparences. Elle était presque sûre que tous les membres de sa famille qui avaient suivi sa vie professionnelle savaient qu'elle avait joué récemment pour le New York Philharmonic. La plupart auraient signé après une performance comme la sienne. Elle avait toujours été bonne, tout simplement jamais remarquée.
Cela comprendrait une prime à la signature. Une qu'on s'attendrait à ce qu'elle dépense. La limousine était presque là.
Une bague vient du buzzer de son appartement. Le chauffeur de limousine était là.
Indie s'est emparée de ses affaires et s'est précipitée dans le couloir jusqu'à l'ascenseur. En descendant, elle a imaginé que sa famille attendait de la saluer.
La pensée l'a forcée à prendre des mesures apaisantes.
Un... deux... trois... quatre... cinq... six... sept... ding!
Les portes de l'ascenseur ont ouvert. Elle a avancé parce que c'est ce qu'a fait un Carrington.
J'ai rencontré le chauffeur de limousine devant l'immeuble et elle l'a aidée avec ses bagages de là-bas.
Comment allez-vous aujourd'hui?Le chauffeur de limousine lui a demandé.
Et bien, nous avons des choses à faire.
Je ne t'ai pas loué, je t'ai payé pour être mon chauffeur pour un avenir indéfini. J'ai choisi la limousine, elle n'appartient pas à votre entreprise. "Big and Long Limo"s – Nous vous prendrons plus vite que votre dernier ex! "Si Indie a été enterrée, elle roulerait dans sa tombe. Au lieu de cela, elle n'aurait à voir qu'avec ses yeux.
Tout le monde m'appelle Indie, mais tu m'appelles Mme Carrington et tu ne poses jamais de questions ou tu ne dis jamais des choses à tour de rôle. Je suis violoniste et violoncelliste de sous-étude pour la Philharmonique de New York, vous avez un petit béguin pour moi et votre chose préférée chez moi est mon sourire parce que c'est rare et éphémère.
Et les miens sont longs et tranchants
Un seul. Le chauffeur de limousine a dit à haute voix.
Qui essayez-vous d'impressionner si mal?
Moi-même.
Mon nom est Victoria, c'est une longue route devant Mme Carrington vous devriez obtenir un peu de repos.
Tu n'es pas prêt à partir? Je le suis.
Bien sûr.
Ils sont donc descendus en Enfer, en Géorgie, au Colorado.

aussi longtemps et pointu que le tien.
Indie est sortie de la limousine après que Victoria lui ait ouvert la porte. Elle tenait déjà ses bagages.
Vous apprenez vite.
En fait, ça m'a pris une semaine ou deux, mais j'ai compris que c'était maintenant. Il a apporté un sourire aux lèvres Indie.
Victoria a dit, suivant Indie, conduire à la porte d'entrée.
Ce sera assez Victoria, merci. » Indie a dit gracieusement à sa nouvelle vieille amie.
Nous avons été sur la route pendant près de trois jours, vous avez obtenu une petite quantité impie de sommeil, allez-vous sérieusement mettre fin aux choses avec un merci?
"Au revoir." Indie a dit de prendre le sac de la main de Victoria et de la tête à elle. La femme s'est rendue à sa voiture pour lui dire quelque chose, peut-être sous son souffle. Indie ne s'en souciait pas, elle avait servi son but. Il semblait qu'un lion avait encore des griffes.
Elle a frappé à la porte et reconnu la femme qui a répondu à la porte.
L'Indiana, c'est si agréable de te voir. La femme a dit chaudement.
Merci, mais en ce moment j'ai besoin de savoir seulement quelques choses. » Indie a dit de placer son sac devant elle pour qu'un autre serviteur ramasse et emmène dans sa chambre.
Bien sûr, avec quoi puis-je vous aider?
"Où sont maman et papa?" Indie a demandé de regarder en diagonale, comme si elle voyait l'un ou l'autre de ses parents.
Elle ne l'a pas fait.
Eh bien, votre mère est toujours dans sa chambre en train de se préparer à s'adresser à la famille, je crois que votre père est dans l'étude.
"Bien sûr, cela a du sens." Indie a dit le moindre soupçon de soulagement versé dans son ton.
Je vais rester dans l'un des invités que je suppose? Je n'ai pas été ici depuis un moment donc je ne me souviens pas vraiment dans quelle pièce je suis.
Suivez-moi, vos sacs seront élevés derrière nous.
Indie a donc suivi et a été conduit à sa chambre. Dès qu'elle a finalement été laissée seule après avoir répondu s'il y avait quelque chose d'autre dont elle avait besoin pour la millième fois. (Il n'y en avait pas). Elle a enfin pu se détendre.
Bien sûr, en se détendant c'était plus un terme lâche pour, complètement flipper dehors.
C'était l'heure du spectacle et à partir de ce moment, elle n'était plus seulement musicienne, elle était actrice.
Elle a saisi son violon et son arc et a rapidement mis l'instrument sur son épaule, reposant son menton sur sa perche.
Elle s'est sentie penser à chaque geste qu'elle allait faire. Elle était de retour là où elle a grandi et pourtant d'une façon incroyablement loin de son élément.
*** 

N A M E
Indiana ‘Indie’ Michelle Carrington
A G E
23, the Eighth Eldest
G E N D E R
Female
O C C U P A T I O N
Struggling Musician (Violinist), Bartender
S E X U A L I T Y
Homosexual
R E L A T I O N S H I P S T A T U S
Single
F A M I L Y M E M B E R S
N/A 
A P P E A R A N C E

indie is a slender girl standing around five feet and five inches tall. Her typically dyed black hair softly curls down to her upper back, or when it is straightened reaches somewhere between there and her mid back. One of the most notable things about Indie are the calluses on her fingers. She is ambidextrous and plays the violin day in and day out and as such her finger tips are hard as a rock. She has rather rounded facial features, especially her nose – which often makes people assume she is nice as her facial features leave her in somewhat of a resting smile.
She doesn’t wear all that much makeup, simply sticking with the tried and true mascara on most days. Notable exceptions include performances and auditions in which she is – of course, done up to the 9’s. On a typical bar shift though, well, her customers are already drunk and she couldn’t really care much about keeping one of them on the hook longer than a decent tip, so yeah, mascara. God save her if her mother heard her now.
When she’s with her family, her visage and smiling resting face all washes away. Instead she is sensitive and always bracing for impact. She looks like a deer searching for headlights in the middle of the road. Her demeanor also changes drastically. She doesn’t laugh at jokes she gives a ‘womanly chuckle’ that her mother taught her when she was nearly eleven. She doesn’t smile at the night sky, she shuts the blinds so no one can see into her room. When she’s with her family she is not doing anything. She’s doing nothing but biding her time until she is able to leave. And if you’re a Carrington you can read that off her facial expression and body language like a word off of a page.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

Indie wasn’t raised in the way that a sword wouldn’t be ‘made’. They were both crafted, hand-forged over heat and doused with cold reality once they were finally fully prepared. When Indie was born, the Carrington’s decided to take it easier on her than some of their past ventures. They didn’t start her with activities until she was five years old – and it started with piano. But one trip to a music store and Indie was head over heels, by the time she was six she was gripping a cello for dear life as she attempted to play it. It truly became her one true passion.
She has always been known as kind. She has a certain level of empathy that causes her to sacrifice more than she should for others. It has resorted in her father deeming her completely unreliable as far as taking over the family business goes. She has been the butt of many jokes on her way down the family dinner table, when that was still a thing. But Indie isn’t all victim and passion, she has Cassiopeia Carrington inside of her. And she understands people, how they work, what they want. She isn’t above using anything to get an advantage when she needs it and even when to the extent of sleeping with one of the people running auditions for the New York Philharmonic in order to understudy one of their cellists and perform. She shone that night, and besides, it wasn’t until afterwards she discovered his family would be attending. She ended their relationship there, professional or otherwise.
Indie catches herself sometimes. Whether it’s sitting in bed, reading a book, listening to two people talk on the subway. She catches herself thinking about one of two things. First is the finiteness of life. How she will end one day. How everything and everyone will end one day. Second is her family. Somehow when she catches herself thinking about her family it impacts her more than death. She has to stop, steady herself, and slow her breathing or heart rate. She doesn’t really know why. But it’s the only thing in life she really gets uncontrollable levels of anxiety over. Perhaps it’s her knowledge of how many siblings she has. Where they are, what they’re doing, whom they’ve become and whether they’re all still out there. It’s horrifying. But perhaps, she still has that craving for the feeling she got when she was just a child, when she learned how to perform middle C on a cello. 
L I K E S
 Classical Music
 Cold weather
 People and their stories
 Family A good conversation every once in a while 
D I S L I K E S
 Electronic music
 Sweating when she’s trying to sleep
 Warm showers
 Family The sense of longing she feels when she thinks about her past too hard.
H I S T O R Y

Indiana Michelle Carrington, her family friends, few as they may be would call her a gem. Another one for the mantle piece. Of course, by the time she was born her eldest sibling had already moved out, the mantle wavered. One bolt that had previously held it in was removed. As Indiana grew up, more bolts would fade over time. She learned that it wasn’t smart to get involved with her siblings. They disappeared. They vanished. Sometimes with a loud argument, sometimes without a trace. None said goodbye that she could remember. The only thing that she truly thought about at nights she spent alone was how she’d do it. How she’d leave the house, how she could make it interesting. Everyone else had already done it in every other imaginable way. Maybe she’d be the one to stay?
She picked up the piano at five and quickly moved onto to struggling to learn the cello at six. At first, progress was infatuating, it was intoxicating. She would learn a note and her mother would praise her, her father would tell her how proud he was of her. But continuing that level of progress is difficult. Once you master playing a note, you cannot master it again and there are only so many notes. So once she was seven years old, practicing every day after lessons, she had learned every note. Well next of course was scales. But before she was eight she had those down. She was slipping, her handheld on the precipice of encouragement faltering. She began learning songs, the first time her mother checked up on her she was thoroughly unimpressed. “Indiana, I understand it can be difficult, but show me when you feel it is perfect and I will tell you what’s wrong. I don’t have time to mince imperfections on an incomplete piece.” Her mother would say while dexterously flipping through a file no doubt for the business. “Your birthday present is with your father, alright?” She would finish, giving Indiana the typical, business now, hand gesture.
With her father, lessons may have been a little bit better for a young Indiana, perhaps because he did more to inspire her, even if it was accidental. He would tell her of Samantha. She was Indiana's oldest sister and, apparently, an incredible painter. "Every stroke of a chord is a brushstroke on a canvas." He would tell her. "You must, yourself, make sure not to paint over what you have already done and not paint unnecessarily. For when you paint with sound your ink well is surprisingly limited." She took that lesson to heart when it came to music. In some ways, her eldest sister was her biggest influence in music - even though the woman was a painter.
At first, this drove Indiana harder. She strived for perfection and when she finally got it, they decided it was time for her to start up her performances with a company. It was a small high-end very private showing. Other powerful children from around the lot would come and perform showing off all the money their parents had put into lessons. It was an odd day for Indiana. Her father took her for ice cream beforehand. He had the day off and Cass had sworn off his help for the afternoon. So for the morning he was all Indiana’s. She dripped on his pants, she hadn’t really had ice cream much before. She was typically on a pretty strictly regimented diet prepared by the chefs. He dropped her off at the performance and went back to the house to get pants.
Any kid with parents who owned a company like theirs could tell you where this story leads to. At least in the short run. It lead to a small, scared, stage fright stricken ten year old girl and two empty seats. She cried on stage.
Later on she was given a talk about the public image of the Carrington name. That their Indiana was stronger, and better than that. That if she was to be an independent woman one day, they would expect more than that.
It was that night she made her decision, how to leave.
"Mom, Dad..." Their ears perked and she saw her mom seemingly grip the arm of her chair for stability. She wasn't meant to see it.
"I can't be the one for you. I'm sorry."
Her parents were used to it and she figured they didn’t care all that much. So she had a bit of money saved up from her allowance and paid for a year of living in an apartment in New York. She began finding her way from the big apple.
At first, she attempted to be nice. It was perhaps just the big city not being used to a girl like her. Being charmed, the no thank yous and the yes pleases. But instead, after literal years of not finding anything, and being close to the bottom of the barrel as far her meager savings ended her up she came across a young man named Krispin. She introduced herself as Indie, it’s still a rather new nickname. But she likes it.
Krispin owned a bar, six shooters on Sixth. He saw her after another failed audition and offered her a bottle of who knows what the hell it could’ve been. By the time the liquid confidence had persuaded her morals didn’t matter she decided to cut off one of the men hosting the auditions in the alleyway outside of the parking garage he was using. After a few short slurred sentences and a regrettable fifteen minute staring contest with a wall, she was an understudy in the New York Philharmonic.
She hated it. Every second of it. The studying itself, the performance she got to participate in, everything. It was a little after that she discovered that she was gay.
One night some time afterwards, she thought of the metaphor her father had given her. The metaphor about Samantha - her oldest sibling. She clearly thought about it for too long because by the end of her thought she had downed two bottles and looked her up. She had an appearance at an art gallery.
She decided to leave the orchestra and get hired by Krispin at Six Shooters. She even has her own card – she plays on weekends.
The rest of the week during the day is auditions, and at night is the bar. It’s a tight schedule but it’s pretty sound. As long as nothing-
She found herself at an art show. There, at the show, was a painting.
"by Samantha Carrington." It read on it's platter.
Thump, thump.
She wanted to examine it. But her eyes were already moving too quickly. She glanced to the right and saw it, her.
"Sam, you look lovely this evening."
Her vision began to close in around her. As quickly as she could leave without drawing a scene she was outside. Tears streaming down confused cheeks.
"Why am I like this? What am I so afraid of."
Two empty seats provided her with an answer. Her memories laughed at her.
She got a cab to her apartment in which a message played a few times. Along with a parcel delivered to her door.
’You’ve got mail.’
She told Krispin she’d be back. She had forgotten something at an old place she stayed. Needed to grab her baggage, figure out what was going on.
So she went. 
M I S C E L L A N E O U S I N F O
Indie doesn’t completely love how incredible she is at manipulating people, men specifically. Feels as though she is the failed Carrington. 

 
X L e e C a r r i n g t o n
“Dad took me out for ice cream once, which was really sweet. I know it sounds like I’m being sarcastic but I think that may have been one of the most sincere gestures of love he has ever performed with one of his children.”
Dad was certainly around less than mom was, for better or for worse I guess. He kind of seemed like he could’ve been a really sweet guy if he was born under certain circumstances. But the ones he was give were pretty rough. I don’t know much about his life before me, hell I don’t know much of his life even with me, but I do know that he wants his kids to succeed more so than most parents do. I think that just comes out in these… Problematic ways. Hopefully he’s okay.
X C a s s i o p e i a C a r r i n g t o n
"Mom once told me that if you were going to do something, you better be damned sure you’re the best at it. I guess that doesn’t apply to parenting though."
I know it’s not really fair for me to miss mom less but it’s the truth. Because she was around more I felt more of her heat, her pessimism and distaste when I wouldn’t succeed. Because of that, when she wasn’t at the performance, it just seemed so pointless. Sure, she ordered a tape, but I don’t think we ever even spoke of that performance. It’s not surprising, a year later the tape was still on her desk – still unwrapped. I’m sure she meant to open it one day, in fact I bet she even had a date set. I just can’t wait for her to decide it’s time for me to be worth it. I have to be worth it for myself. Wither or without mom.
X S A M A N T H A C A R R I N G T O N
“She’s kind of… I look up to Sam, but I doubt she has the time or want to meet me – see what I’m like.”
Sam is important to the family. She reminds me a little of Mom though I’m sure she wouldn’t want me saying that. Last time I checked in on her she had a son, I hope that works out for her. I’m sure she’ll be a better-
I shouldn’t talk like that. She’ll be wonderful for him I’m sure. She knows what it’s like to be dissatisfied with your parentage. Though, I can’t help but wonder if maybe she doesn’t. She was the first born after all. First to eighth must be quite the gap… I wonder if the seats at her art shows reserved for Mom and Dad were empty too…
X A R T H U R C A R R I N G T O N
“Arthur was always around, visiting, stopping in and making sure we were all okay. He was really carefree. That’s why I don’t really like to be around him – why I declined his offer to stay with him.”
Arthur asked me to move in with him when I left the house, which was really nice. But every time he visited he was so… Happy.
It was weird. I didn’t like being around it because it felt like if he could be happy why couldn’t I? What was wrong with me where I couldn’t see the source of his happiness and follow in its footsteps? I guess that’s why I’m dreading running into him at the house. I’m just not so sure what I’m going to say. “How’s it been going Indie?” “It’s been awful, I’m sure your life is swell though?”
X G A B R I E L C A R R I N G T O N
“I’ve been looking Gabe up as soon as I found out he was in the military. I’m sure if he wanted me to know he was safe he would tell me, and even though we’re barely in the same generation he hasn’t really spoken to me. But I found myself worrying at night and this helped me slept. He’s fine by the way.”
I probably will avoid talking to him. I’m sure he’d be looking forward to seeing some of his older siblings, not me. We don’t even know each other and it’s stupid to go looking for a big brother figure in him. He doesn’t need that in his life.
X M A T H I A S C A R R I N G T O N
“All I know is that he must be set up pretty well because he’s working as some kind of medical practitioner somewhere. Am I the only Carrington that face-planted?”
I can’t say I’m not jealous because of how smart he is. That gene seems to have passed me over completely outside of music. I can play, but he can save lives. I don’t wanna talk about it.
X C H A R L E S C A R R I N G T O N
“Charles has always seemed very small. Not really even in the sense of stature, just the idea that he shrinks whenever you seem to move around him. I feel bad for that, because as much as I think and as much as what I think about scares me – I can walk into a room and be confident in myself. Well, not my families dining room but most rooms.” 
Charles is really a nice guy. He’s just quieter than most people with tons of friends are. I think that’s why he doesn’t ever really speak all that much. He’s lucky though – he has the Carrington drive to a certain extent, and a large amount of general kindness. It’s the best any of us could’ve worked towards or gotten from Mum or Dad and then some.
X N A T H A N I E L C A R R I N G T O N
“I grew up with Nathan for quite some time. It’s funny – actually, he left to travel the world and I left to find myself in New York and that all happened within a few months. He was eighteen at the time, and I was sixteen. When he came to my flat, a few years later, I hadn’t found myself and he seemed like he was still searching too.”
Nathan is really misunderstood by a lot of people I feel like. He stayed at my place for about three months at one point, and it made me… Well it made me feel really happy. He does more than his fair share all the while looking like he doesn’t give a damn about what happens next and he seemed to be happy too. But then he left, New York had lasted him about three months. It’s impossible sounding, I know, but I think he really is still searching for something. Probably won’t find it for quite some time. I sure do hope he does though.
X E S T H E R C A R R I N G T O N
“Even the most holy shalt be envious of those who are more blessed.”
Esther’s life has been a dream of mine since I was a three year old girl listening to Recitativo and Scherzo-Caprice. And when I was younger, I’m sure I was a bitch about it. Sure, I could play a stringed instrument with an arm behind my back and a half a glance at some sheet music, but she knew rhythm, tempo and most importantly – what other people wanted to hear. She’s the other half of my coin I guess.
She’s one of the people I’m the most dreading seeing. It’s impossible not to follow how successful she is. My peak was an orchestral performance I had to sleep my way in to. Can’t wait for that dinner conversation. We text and email back and forth, but I should really try harder. God knows she does.
X E M I L E C A R R I N G T O N
“People call me kind, but most of those people haven’t met Emile. Compared to him I may as well have convinced Eve to eat the apple.” 
Emile is bar none one of the sweetest people in the world. Always wondering, worrying, I’d catch him looking at me frightened when I’d drift off and think about… Well I guess he always knew when I was thinking about something I had no right worrying about. When I’d think about death he’d give me this look – What can you do? Enjoy life. His eyes would tell me.
I really let him down.
X E L A I N E C A R R I N G T O N
“Everyone loves their baby sister.”
I still remember leaving like it was yesterday. I went into Elaine’s room first, stroked her hair and told her that I had to leave. That when she was my age she would understand why I had to. She turned sixteen recently, I’ve been calling the house, every couple weeks, sometimes months. Oh god, I really should’ve kept in better contact.
There’s the occasional Facebook message, sure. But it really isn’t enough. I’ll have to set things straight with her soon. When we see each other at this… I have no idea what this is honestly. But I hope it can end at least no too far into the red. I’ll never tell Elaine how bad it’s gotten for me. She doesn’t need to know that about her big sister. I need to support her in whatever she does.