Cinder Alynth's Questionnaire

Cinder lives in Bellingham, Washington. She lives there on account of its college town culture helping her blend in. A 20-something transwoman who doesn't talk much wouldn't look too out of place next to the liberal college. She also appreciates how quiet it is relative to Seattle, where she does most of her business. Cinder manages to have a place in the marina without any "proper" form of identification by bribing the marina's attendant with free Percocet. She still has to pay for the spot, though... Cinder's house boat is a humble affair, built with a focus on functionality. She could hardly imagine hosting many people in her home, so she didn't mind its tight quarters. The one indulgence she allows herself is a section of her home dedicated to a collection of misprints of famous novels. Otherwise, everything around her is as utilitarian as possible.

Cinder gets her money through "freelance package delivery". In other words, she runs illicit packages for gangs, cults, secret societies, who ever needs something delivered in a quiet fashion with no questions asked. She's gotten modest renown in the parts of the world polite society doesn't like to look upon as a reliable hire for anything you might need moved from one place to another. This keeps her wallet full enough that she can afford her spot on the marina as well being able eat out frequently. Bellingham has some nice restaurants, and she likes to sample them whenever she can.

Cinder wants to make a world where humanity can shape-shift freely, without constrictions of what would be proper for a "human" to look like. Be it from small scale changes like a shift in hair color, to completely changing their biology at no cost to themselves. She's struggled for years trying to change her body to what properly fit and even now she is still dragged down by her flesh, and Cinder has resolved to not let anyone suffer the same fate again.

Cinder is willing to sacrifice next to anything to accomplish her goal, be it friend or foe she will burn anything in her path to the ground. She would like to accomplish her goals cleanly, without hurting those close to her, but if there's no other way, she will not hesitate. Failure is not an option.

The most defining event is Cinder's life was when she ran away from home. She grew up in northern Canada, with a family that pretended to love her. Cinder had always felt horribly pressured by her parents to be perfect at everything she does, and when she came out as trans it was seen as a failure to be a boy. Hearing the people who were supposed to take care of her react with such vitriol to her very existence was the final straw on an already very strained camel's back. All the years of expectations, of never being quite enough, came crashing down on her. She had been saving practically every dollar she'd earned (at the behest of her parents) and she finally found a use for it. Cinder was going to use her savings to run away, and if she was going to run away, she was going to do it right.

She was going to get as far from Canada as her savings could take her. Turns out, her savings could carry her to an illegal border crossing into America.

Clarice - Her neighbor in the Marina. They're on friendly enough terms, especially since Cinder knows how to get her drugs upon request. She's quite abrasive and protective of her property, but doesn't really mean people harm. She just values her privacy.

Preston - The attendant at Cinder's marina. He's pretty laid back, not taking his job too seriously. He actually got the job thanks to nepotism, his dad owns the marina. He likes getting high whenever he can, and Cinder can get him his fix as long as he has this job. Free percs are a very good perk.

Quinn - A tattoo artist. She's outgoing and fancies herself a social butterfly. They met at a bar that Cinder was visiting on a night off. She had intended just try out the menu, see if they had good food, but Quinn decided she was making a friend tonight. The two ended up bonding over a shared love of horror movies. Quinn has become one of Cinder's closest friends in the area thanks to her instance, though she still doesn't know what Cinder does for work. She's hoping she just won't ask.

Cinder didn't have a very pleasant childhood. She never quite fit in where ever her parents put her, and they put her in a lot of places. Private school, public school, summer camps, after school clubs, the works. Cinder always felt too nervous to actually talk to anyone around her, and when she was able to form some sort of bond with the people around her, she always felt disconnected. Like it was never actually her that was making friends, just some vague shape that was supposed to be her. This wasn't helped by her parents always expecting her to be the best of the best, and she was rarely able to deliver. Cinder's parents were decent wealthy, wealthy enough that they had to worry about their child's reputation and how it reflected on them. With Cinder's habit of botching social interaction, they saw her as an embarrassment. As a problem to be fixed. When Cinder ran away, they barely bothered to look for her. The problem solved itself, after all.

Cinder would tell you she's never been in love, but the truth is that there was a girl she met in college that she fell head over heels for. They had met thanks to a group project for a history class. She was patient with Cinder's initial social awkwardness, and the two eventually found they worked well together. After getting the best grade Cinder had ever received on a group project (a B+) her partner offered to buy her a drink to celebrate. Once free from the pressure of a dead line, the two hit it off almost instantly. Her name was Laurel, and she was the first person Cinder ever came out to. They stayed in touch for the rest of the year, supporting each other through all their mutual class struggles, celebrated their victories together, and spent time doing nothing but enjoying each others company.

One day, when the two were watching a horror movie on Laurel's couch and laughing at bad special effects, Laurel asked if she could kiss her. Cinder wanted so badly to say yes. Cinder said no. She never had the guts to talk to her again.

Cinder is scared of failure, specifically as being seen as a failure. Every failure is a chance that someone will begin to look at her as less than what she is. Cinder has fought long and hard to been seen as a woman who is good at what she does, a professional who gets the job done and has her life under control. The efficacy of this facade (or if it even is one) is debatable, but Cinder can't handle being seen as anything less. She needs to be in control of how others view her. She needs control.

Cinder is, at her core, terrified of not being in control of her surroundings. Her entire life had been out of her hands right up until she made a break for the "land of opportunity", forever linking a lack of control to the worst time in her life. If she can't control something it means it can hurt her and the things she cares about. She fight's against this fear by fooling herself into thinking she actually has control. Every risk is "calculated" and the outcomes are "according to plan", it's enough for her to keep her head on straight, but it isn't good for much else. 

Cinder's most prized possessions are easily her collection of misprinted novels. She discovered her love of these oddities the first time she tried to read The Great Gatsby for high school. Cinder had the fortune of getting her hands on a copy where the last forty pages were a repeat of the previous forty. It caused a small amount of grief for her class, but nothing she couldn't work around. Once she was done with it, instead of donating it to the library like usual she wanted to hold onto it. She felt a peculiar kind of kinship with it. That copy of the The Great Gatsby was one of the few possessions she brought with her from Canada, and from it grew a small collection of similar novels. When Cinder feels particularly morose, she likes to thumb through a few and see where and how the errors affect the book. Her favorite is a copy of The House of the Scorpion where every page is printed slightly to the right, so that the ends of the text are shaved off slightly. Still readable, just takes a little more effort to understand.

I am currently the property of a gang in Seattle, the River Otters. They resurrected me and now have ownership of my soul, it feels like. I can barely resist the commands of the piece of shit who put me back together, but I don't know if they know I have a chance of bucking what they tell me to do. Better keep it that way, for now at least. Speaking of! They didn't even put me together right! I can feel it, like part of me is still just, drifting out there. It feels like dissociating, but worse. I need to get myself together as quickly as I can or I don't have a hope in hell of getting my independence back. But when I did come back I was also stronger, I think? I really don't know how to put it, but it's like my being is calloused almost. Broke apart and is coming back stronger. All my favorite food tastes like ash now and I need to eat wood or I die. This blows.

I wake up at the crack of dawn, I choke down some tree bark, or the bit underneath it really. Brush my teeth of splinters, take my medication, and get dressed. That usually just constitutes switching out of my bed time tank top and into a clean one, and putting on jeans and sneakers. If I feel like it, I'll opt for a t-shirt, but it's usually a tank top. I've worked hard to get arms these nice, I'm going to show them off. Once I'm properly up and running, I do a check over of The Fiery Wake for anything that needs fixing. Afterwards, I used to take a morning jog. Now my heart doesn't beat quite right and any time I push myself physically. So I've settled for sitting quietly on board and browsing twitter or whatever else on my phone for an hour or so. My mornings are significantly worse now.

Hmm, if wanted to look my best? I'd get my hands on a dress, something simple, probably a gradient of black to red, pleated. With some nice sheer stockings and flats. I'll admit I don't actually know much about dresses, so maybe it would take me a while to find but nothing google can't fix. Getting ready before is where things get properly complex. My priority would be shaving, making sure I'm spotless takes a lot of time. After spending thirty, maybe forty five minutes shaving next would be makeup. Normally I don't wear any, but I always keep a stock of foundation to help hide the 5-o'clock shadow. That also takes an annoying amount of time but worthwhile in the long run. Once I'm all good and ready, I spend an hour at home reading and or watching a comfort show. If I'm going out chances are I'll be talking to people an that's already sub optimal, I need to take time to myself and make sure I'm comfortable in my own skin before heading out.

Honestly, I'd rather wear a suit. But I can't really wear a suit and still avoid getting called "Sir".

Normally, I'd just get stoned and re-watch some antique horror movies. But now that being stoned is out the window, I don't really know... Maybe I'd invite Quinn over and play some cards? And also watch antique horror movies? I'm really not good at planning this kind of thing and I'm not even used to celebrating. In my experience, birthday parties were stuffy affairs without much fun where I was supposed to be on my best behavior. Now that I can't even eat a cake I'm kind of aimless. Oh! I'll take a hike. Washington has some amazing spots and I haven't really had a chance to look at any. Besides, some time away from everything would probably do me some good.

I don't have any regrets. The only thing that could even maybe be considered a regret is fleeing Canada. But, it's not like there was anything there worth staying for. My social life was non-existent, I hated my parents and they hated me right back, and school was hell. I don't think I can call something a regret if I'd never go back. If I did go back, it would be to brag to everyone who treated me like shit.

I have tits now assholes! Nothing you can say to me can ever hurt again, because I know who I am, and I'm happy in my skin. Though, I'd probably end up regretting it after the fact. If for nothing else then having to deal with those winters again. The cold has never really bothered me much, and when I was younger I loved looking at the snow as it fell, but nowadays it just makes me miserable.

Oh! I guess if I went back I could visit Laurel! She always talked about going shopping with me, picking out clothes together once I got on HRT.

But, well, I guess that won't ever be happening, though.

Whatever.

They're inherent. I can feel it every time I get paid, it's like something inside me wakes up and finally starts working like it should. Like this is what I was supposed to be and I'm finally getting the chance to bloom into myself.

It honestly reminds me of how I felt the first time I went shopping for bras. Which, uh, I recognize that saying having magical power suddenly awakened within me is comparable to bra shopping might be a bit weird. But gender is already magic, so it's basically comparable.

Nothing really compares to finally recognizing yourself when you've spent your entire life feeling like nothing ever fits right. I really didn't expect to be getting that feeling by becoming fire incarnate, but it makes a lot of sense in hindsight. I've always run hot, my favorite part of camping was starting a fire, and the name I picked for myself was Cinder.

Well. I think it would be a bit strange if I wasn't at least a little spiritual. I died and came back, that tends to change your perspective a bit. Still don't know how I feel about gods. Grew up Catholic, but I hardly buy that anymore. Especially when my church said I was an abomination. So, religion is a hard no. If a God wants me to worship them, they can say so themselves and leave out the middlemen.

With spirituality specifically, I tend to believe things a bit easier now that I've seen folklore come to life. I'd already seen some of that online, cryptoleaks and all, but it's different to see it first hand. I guess at this point I just assume most stories have a fair chunk of truth to them. One of these days I'm gonna see mothman walking down the street and I don't think I'll even blink.

Not really? I'm not any less of a leftist, I don't see assholes in power as any different, I guess I see the afterlife a bit different. Now that I know what's waiting for me. Hm. I see death differently. I'm still alright with killing people, but it holds more weight.

That blackness, I see it every time I close my eyes to sleep. I suppose I've also seen hell first hand with a little help from Eddie. Wonder what about me makes that void my afterlife.

I don't want that to be my after life. I want to have a place I can relax, look over my past, enjoy a body that fits me right.

I at least thought that was waiting for me on the other side.

Am I just, too bad a person? Have I hurt too many people? It's not like my trade is particularly good for anyone around me, and I've killed people for my own gain.

I think I believe in an after life that judges, now.