application for Trixie, "Deadwood"
(( SPOILER ALERT. There will be spoilers for ALL seasons and episodes of "Deadwood" in this app.
Be also warned, if you do not know of "Deadwood"'s reputation, just about everything Trixie says is liable to be NSFW for language. ))
She's not one with an eye for the main chance, is our Trixie.
She was the first depositor in the Bank of Deadwood. She deposited a nugget of gold almost as big as the one that the widow Garret had once given her, gold the widow'd meant to be Trixie's ticket out of this town. When her surname was asked, so as to put a name to the deposit, Trixie replied: "The whore." Trixie-the-whore, that's her. She decided a long time ago it was too risky to hope for anything else.
Hope is the deadliest drug of any she's tried, and the hardest to kick. She's not getting back on that horse again.
Not many chances life has handed her, but more than she'd seen in years have come her way just in the past few months, and she hasn't known quite what to do with them, she's been ground down for so long. First the widow and her gold. Then Sol Star, stupid sentimental fool Trixie's half in love with if she'd admit it to herself (and she won't). Anyone can see he'd like to make an honest woman out of her, and she keeps insisting there's no way to make an honest woman out of what she is. She's been Trixie-the-whore too long. Loopy cunt, says Al: loopy as in fucking lunatic, cunt as in the only part of her that's mattered. I lose patience with cunts too ignorant to know when their lot's improved, says Al, angry, not resigned.
She doesn't know how to capitalize on these windfalls. She doesn't want a way out that isn't death, doesn't half-know how to recognize one. Al's just about written her off, tries to keep her on the straight and narrow, which is weirder than anything and maybe half of why she finds it all impossible to believe. He warns her not to be too testy: Do not fucking fault them, Trixie, for your own fucking fears of tumbling to something new. She's learning her numbers from Sol, learning how to keep accounts. Working as a bank teller, will wonders never cease? (Until the fucking widow -- but then, let's not think about that.) Point of the matter is, for the first time in a hard life that seems longer than it's been, things are looking up for Trixie, even if her self-image hasn't quite caught up to reality.
So of course she has to go and smash all that to pieces. The problem's the usual: her and that little derringer of hers. Tiny snub-nosed gun small enough to fit in a lady's reticule, if you're a lady and you have a reticule, or to fit down your bodice if you're not a lady. Though Trixie won't tell you that's the problem, if you ask and if she can gather the composure to answer without bursting into tears or hitting you over the head. The problem, she'll say, is one stubborn cocksucker by the name of George Hearst, and how he's too fucking stubborn to die, and how he's too fat for Trixie's little bullet to have gotten through the layers of adipose tissue to reach his heart.
All right, she wouldn't say adipose tissue, that'd be the Doc's addendum. Trixie would just shiver, and say she didn't kill him like she meant to do, and that she's going to have to die for it. Even if Sol Star had already won the mayoral race he couldn't save her now. Even Al can't save her now, Al who's been the next closest thing to a god for her these many years. She is going to have to die.
And she is tired of hiding. She is tired of waiting for the inevitable. She told Sol she wasn't afraid but he knew she was lying, and maybe he knew death would make a lot of complicated things much easier for her. Not least of all what she should do about him. So now he's angry with her, and she knows Al is angry with her, and Hearst is murderously angry, and she wishes she'd never been born.
She is waiting in Sol's new house while he goes to talk to Al. She is so very tired of waiting. She closes her eyes, scrunches the eyelids up tight, and wishes hard that she could undo what she's done. She feels empty and disconnected after the hard crying she did the past hour in Sol's arms. Feels like she could float away, pretend she isn't in this place at all. Not like being high on dope, more like being asleep. Maybe she is falling asleep. What a waste of her last few hours on earth, sleeping it away, she thinks, angry, and scrubs hard at her tear-sticky face, and opens her eyes.
What she sees is not Sol Star's bedroom. She has the quilt from his bed still under her, and that is where the similarities stop.
This is some kind of big stone room, and Trixie has never seen a castle so she doesn't even begin to think that's what it is. She doesn't know what to call it. She looks around, eyes narrow and burning-dry, and she hisses a whisper:
"What the fuck is this?"
Some voice is asking questions -- it can't be coming from that floating hat over there -- and when Trixie answers, a moving pen writes down her words of its own accord. This is how it begins. "Oh no you don't, cocksuckers. I know I ain't high. I know this is not something I'm dreaming up. I don't know what this is but it is not my doing, so go the fuck away and let me die already."
The pen writes all that down. It writes down another page or so of Trixie's profane ramblings before she finally realizes the hectoring voice isn't going to leave her alone until she answers its stupid questions.
"Fine. Fine. If I talk to you about cheese will you leave me the fuck alone? And don't you think my fucking time ain't going to cost you. The longer you keep me talking the more it's going to cost. Deliverable at the Gem Saloon, if you want to keep your guts in your fucking belly, if you have a fucking belly, you invisible piece of shit."
1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?
"Made from cow's milk," she snaps, in no good humor. "White, you know the kind? Old enough as not to be runny, young enough as not to be a lump of fucking mold?"
2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?
"Don't recollect a man by either of those names. Carrot-top, that one of them Cornishmen up in the Hearst mines? You best go looking for him up at the graveyard, if he's an organizer."
There have been union troubles of late.
3. What time is it where you are?
"Time for you to shut the fuck up!" She glares.
4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.
Albus Dumbledore, Order of the Phoenix, Sirius Black, returned from the dead ... yeeeah, all that is gibberish to Trixie. She ignores what she doesn't understand in it, and zeroes in on what she does understand. "You tell them it's five dollars a fuck, two for a quick blowjob." She says it not a little belligerently. Sol and Al alike think she should consider herself above that now. Usually she says that kind of thing just to shock them, these days. "You especially tell that to Sirius Black."
Because she likes the sound of his name better.
"Albus Dumbledore sounds like a goddamn squarehead name," she explains.
5. If you are pushing to be in:
A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.
"Well ain't you fucking funny. Whores don't tend bar. But if I did, it would be the Gem Saloon. Go put that in your pipe and smoke it."
Her indignation this time is because she thinks the answer ought to be obvious. Where else would she tend bar but the Gem? She's loyal, after her fashion.
B. Gryffindor - Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.
"And just why should Harriet undertake such a headlong rush to the fucking altar? Whichever one of them got her in trouble, that one's the one she ought to call to account." She nods knowingly and wishes to hell she had a cigarette. "Or she'd best find a doctor to rid her of it, or a good strong tea. Pennyroyal and cohosh usually does the trick nice enough."
C. Ravenclaw - You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.
"Inundated with paperwork." She rolls her eyes. They're pebble-gray and not a little bloodshot from crying. "La-dee-fucking-da. Finding yourself inundated would argue for your not being smart enough to hire some fucking help. You can take your paperwork and use it to wipe your ass, how's that?"
D. Hufflepuff - Prove you are not useless.
Her eyebrows, fair already and plucked to a fare-thee-well, shoot up in mock consternation. "Must I lift my skirts to show you?"
6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe. Do not threaten us rather than offering a bribe. A threat indicates you either don't really want to be here, or don't have enough sense to answer the question properly. The hat will automatically squib you, regardless of other votes, if you do.
"'Squib' me?" She pretends to fan herself with an invisible fan. The fan she imagines, in fact, is one that belongs to Alma Garret Ellsworth: a confection of black lace and frills, dainty and suitable for putting on airs. "Have mercy on a poor working girl, Mr. Invisible Cocksucker, I do believe no one has ever 'squibbed' me before. It don't hurt too bad, does it?" It's clear Trixie doesn't know what the word means, and doubtful she much cares.
She wraps Sol's quilt around her though in her chemise and her skirts she doesn't need the warmth. It's more by way of armor, psychologically, not that she'd understand or admit that. And she waits to see what is going to happen next.
((I have read the [info]hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. Trixie
I have read the [info]hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. Trixie.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. Trixie.
One day, marmalade will rule the world. Trixie))
(( A few citations, for my own reference at least:
Trixie "the whore": s2e8
"Loopy ...": s1e1
"I lose patience...": s3e6
"Do not fucking fault them ...": s2e7
Pennyroyal and cohosh: s2e5))
Be also warned, if you do not know of "Deadwood"'s reputation, just about everything Trixie says is liable to be NSFW for language. ))
She's not one with an eye for the main chance, is our Trixie.
She was the first depositor in the Bank of Deadwood. She deposited a nugget of gold almost as big as the one that the widow Garret had once given her, gold the widow'd meant to be Trixie's ticket out of this town. When her surname was asked, so as to put a name to the deposit, Trixie replied: "The whore." Trixie-the-whore, that's her. She decided a long time ago it was too risky to hope for anything else.
Hope is the deadliest drug of any she's tried, and the hardest to kick. She's not getting back on that horse again.
Not many chances life has handed her, but more than she'd seen in years have come her way just in the past few months, and she hasn't known quite what to do with them, she's been ground down for so long. First the widow and her gold. Then Sol Star, stupid sentimental fool Trixie's half in love with if she'd admit it to herself (and she won't). Anyone can see he'd like to make an honest woman out of her, and she keeps insisting there's no way to make an honest woman out of what she is. She's been Trixie-the-whore too long. Loopy cunt, says Al: loopy as in fucking lunatic, cunt as in the only part of her that's mattered. I lose patience with cunts too ignorant to know when their lot's improved, says Al, angry, not resigned.
She doesn't know how to capitalize on these windfalls. She doesn't want a way out that isn't death, doesn't half-know how to recognize one. Al's just about written her off, tries to keep her on the straight and narrow, which is weirder than anything and maybe half of why she finds it all impossible to believe. He warns her not to be too testy: Do not fucking fault them, Trixie, for your own fucking fears of tumbling to something new. She's learning her numbers from Sol, learning how to keep accounts. Working as a bank teller, will wonders never cease? (Until the fucking widow -- but then, let's not think about that.) Point of the matter is, for the first time in a hard life that seems longer than it's been, things are looking up for Trixie, even if her self-image hasn't quite caught up to reality.
So of course she has to go and smash all that to pieces. The problem's the usual: her and that little derringer of hers. Tiny snub-nosed gun small enough to fit in a lady's reticule, if you're a lady and you have a reticule, or to fit down your bodice if you're not a lady. Though Trixie won't tell you that's the problem, if you ask and if she can gather the composure to answer without bursting into tears or hitting you over the head. The problem, she'll say, is one stubborn cocksucker by the name of George Hearst, and how he's too fucking stubborn to die, and how he's too fat for Trixie's little bullet to have gotten through the layers of adipose tissue to reach his heart.
All right, she wouldn't say adipose tissue, that'd be the Doc's addendum. Trixie would just shiver, and say she didn't kill him like she meant to do, and that she's going to have to die for it. Even if Sol Star had already won the mayoral race he couldn't save her now. Even Al can't save her now, Al who's been the next closest thing to a god for her these many years. She is going to have to die.
And she is tired of hiding. She is tired of waiting for the inevitable. She told Sol she wasn't afraid but he knew she was lying, and maybe he knew death would make a lot of complicated things much easier for her. Not least of all what she should do about him. So now he's angry with her, and she knows Al is angry with her, and Hearst is murderously angry, and she wishes she'd never been born.
She is waiting in Sol's new house while he goes to talk to Al. She is so very tired of waiting. She closes her eyes, scrunches the eyelids up tight, and wishes hard that she could undo what she's done. She feels empty and disconnected after the hard crying she did the past hour in Sol's arms. Feels like she could float away, pretend she isn't in this place at all. Not like being high on dope, more like being asleep. Maybe she is falling asleep. What a waste of her last few hours on earth, sleeping it away, she thinks, angry, and scrubs hard at her tear-sticky face, and opens her eyes.
What she sees is not Sol Star's bedroom. She has the quilt from his bed still under her, and that is where the similarities stop.
This is some kind of big stone room, and Trixie has never seen a castle so she doesn't even begin to think that's what it is. She doesn't know what to call it. She looks around, eyes narrow and burning-dry, and she hisses a whisper:
"What the fuck is this?"
Some voice is asking questions -- it can't be coming from that floating hat over there -- and when Trixie answers, a moving pen writes down her words of its own accord. This is how it begins. "Oh no you don't, cocksuckers. I know I ain't high. I know this is not something I'm dreaming up. I don't know what this is but it is not my doing, so go the fuck away and let me die already."
The pen writes all that down. It writes down another page or so of Trixie's profane ramblings before she finally realizes the hectoring voice isn't going to leave her alone until she answers its stupid questions.
"Fine. Fine. If I talk to you about cheese will you leave me the fuck alone? And don't you think my fucking time ain't going to cost you. The longer you keep me talking the more it's going to cost. Deliverable at the Gem Saloon, if you want to keep your guts in your fucking belly, if you have a fucking belly, you invisible piece of shit."
1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?
"Made from cow's milk," she snaps, in no good humor. "White, you know the kind? Old enough as not to be runny, young enough as not to be a lump of fucking mold?"
2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?
"Don't recollect a man by either of those names. Carrot-top, that one of them Cornishmen up in the Hearst mines? You best go looking for him up at the graveyard, if he's an organizer."
There have been union troubles of late.
3. What time is it where you are?
"Time for you to shut the fuck up!" She glares.
4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.
Albus Dumbledore, Order of the Phoenix, Sirius Black, returned from the dead ... yeeeah, all that is gibberish to Trixie. She ignores what she doesn't understand in it, and zeroes in on what she does understand. "You tell them it's five dollars a fuck, two for a quick blowjob." She says it not a little belligerently. Sol and Al alike think she should consider herself above that now. Usually she says that kind of thing just to shock them, these days. "You especially tell that to Sirius Black."
Because she likes the sound of his name better.
"Albus Dumbledore sounds like a goddamn squarehead name," she explains.
5. If you are pushing to be in:
A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.
"Well ain't you fucking funny. Whores don't tend bar. But if I did, it would be the Gem Saloon. Go put that in your pipe and smoke it."
Her indignation this time is because she thinks the answer ought to be obvious. Where else would she tend bar but the Gem? She's loyal, after her fashion.
B. Gryffindor - Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.
"And just why should Harriet undertake such a headlong rush to the fucking altar? Whichever one of them got her in trouble, that one's the one she ought to call to account." She nods knowingly and wishes to hell she had a cigarette. "Or she'd best find a doctor to rid her of it, or a good strong tea. Pennyroyal and cohosh usually does the trick nice enough."
C. Ravenclaw - You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.
"Inundated with paperwork." She rolls her eyes. They're pebble-gray and not a little bloodshot from crying. "La-dee-fucking-da. Finding yourself inundated would argue for your not being smart enough to hire some fucking help. You can take your paperwork and use it to wipe your ass, how's that?"
D. Hufflepuff - Prove you are not useless.
Her eyebrows, fair already and plucked to a fare-thee-well, shoot up in mock consternation. "Must I lift my skirts to show you?"
6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe. Do not threaten us rather than offering a bribe. A threat indicates you either don't really want to be here, or don't have enough sense to answer the question properly. The hat will automatically squib you, regardless of other votes, if you do.
"'Squib' me?" She pretends to fan herself with an invisible fan. The fan she imagines, in fact, is one that belongs to Alma Garret Ellsworth: a confection of black lace and frills, dainty and suitable for putting on airs. "Have mercy on a poor working girl, Mr. Invisible Cocksucker, I do believe no one has ever 'squibbed' me before. It don't hurt too bad, does it?" It's clear Trixie doesn't know what the word means, and doubtful she much cares.
She wraps Sol's quilt around her though in her chemise and her skirts she doesn't need the warmth. It's more by way of armor, psychologically, not that she'd understand or admit that. And she waits to see what is going to happen next.
((I have read the [info]hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. Trixie
I have read the [info]hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. Trixie.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. Trixie.
One day, marmalade will rule the world. Trixie))
(( A few citations, for my own reference at least:
Trixie "the whore": s2e8
"Loopy ...": s1e1
"I lose patience...": s3e6
"Do not fucking fault them ...": s2e7
Pennyroyal and cohosh: s2e5))