analiese whitlow - hermes

Name: Analiese Grace Whitlow. Her name is a mouthful, she knows. She doesn’t really have nicknames, though sometimes people call her Whitlow, not that it could really be considered a nickname.
Age: 19. She’s a virgo.
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Bisexual
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Brown, wavy, shoulder length.
Height: 5’4”
Body Type: Slim
Skin Color: Fair, warm undertones.

God Parent: Hermes. She’s not sure what to think of her dad. She isn’t the type of person to wax poetic about how she has the best godly parent ever and she’s so happy to be a demigod. She also isn’t the type to blame all of her problems on him, and to speak of revolution or revenge. She’s never really met him before, and it’s not like she could have an opinion of someone she hasn’t met. She does wish he had less kids, though.
Mortal Parent: Sarah Whitlow, a night shift nurse in Manhattan. She doesn’t make a lot, and most of what she does make goes to necessities. She’s never really been able to give Analiese nice things, but she has always ensured there was a room for her and food on the table. They’re distant now, they don’t talk very often. Nobody did anything wrong, they’re just the type of people to drift away from each other. Analiese is used to it anyways, her mother was always at work, or sleeping, and she learned to take care of herself.
Country of Origin: Analiese was born in Queens, NYC, NY, USA. She lived there for a while, up until she went to camp. Afterwards her mother was priced out and moved to Staten Island.

Pets: None
Talents: Analiese could be called crafty. She knows how to make things happen, how to weave a lie, how to make people not see her. She likes to think of herself as an illusionist, letting people see what they expect to see. Her practical talents combine with her street smarts to create a perfect underground business. She makes fake IDs, sells cigarettes, weed, alcohol, you name it.
Weapon: Celestial bronze throwing knives. They summon back to her hands, something created by someone who owed her a favor. There’s three in a set.

Personality: If you asked someone to describe Analiese, they’d probably be wrong. They might say she’s reserved, or sweet, or someone who stays out of trouble. She’s not. Those who have any idea of her extracurricular activities have a reason to stay silent. She becomes a mirror, reflecting back other’s preconceived notions of who she’s supposed to be. Sometimes she’s not even sure who she is. There are days where she feels like she’s stuck somewhere between someone she could be and someone she’s used to being. She tells herself she’s just doing what she has to do, but then she feels acid in the pit of her stomach, eating away at herself until she’s left with a hidden stash of contraband and money to make. She’s not close with people, she just drifts, fitting the spaces she needs to so she doesn’t feel so alone.
Flaws: Analiese is far from a sympathetic hero. She’s the type of person to get things done, no matter what it takes or who it hurts. Let’s be real here, she’s going to save her own skin before others. If someone stands in her way, they won’t be there for long. Maybe she used to be more sympathetic, but those days are long gone. Anyone who meets her won’t see this, of course, she has to keep up appearances. She knows how to manipulate an audience.

Abilities: None.
Powers: Analiese can open locks. Mechanical or electrical are no problem, they just open right up. She can’t get past the fancy locks that hephaestus kids make, though, something about the materials they use. Hecate kids who use their powers to lock doors also can’t be undone by her. She can unlock about 4 locks a day.

Life Before Camp: Analiese’s life can be described in a series of apartments. She was born in an apartment in Astoria with creaky floors and radiators that clanked through the night. Her first memory was in that apartment, her mom holding her up to the window on New Years Eve to catch glimpses of the fireworks in Manhattan. Analiese had held her hands tightly over her ears, but the pop of color in the far corners of the sky stayed in her mind. They tore that building down recently to build brand new luxury apartments and a rooftop bar, but they had been priced out long before that.

They had moved out towards Jackson Heights to a third story apartment. The girls next door were ballerinas at NYCB, and she would pull a chair to the door and peer out the peephole to watch them come home at the end of the night, their hair still in their sophisticated french twists, their makeup still on from that night’s performances. The old lady, Mrs. O’Neil, who lived a floor down would watch her after school, in exchange for some vicodin scripts that her mom would write on the prescription pad that she had swiped from work. Her mom explained to her one day that doctors weren’t listening to Mrs. O’Neil’s pain, and that she was just trying to help. Mrs. O’Neil was nice, but had arthritis, and by the time that Analiese was eight, she was cooking dinner for the both of them because Mrs. O’Neil’s joints couldn’t handle gripping the pan. She’d make a portion for her mom too, at Mrs. O’Neil’s insistence, and take it home in an old cottage cheese container. One day she wasn’t being taken to Mrs. O’Neil’s apartment anymore, instead she was sent up a floor to Mrs. Patrick with a promise that she’d help clean her apartment. It wasn’t until a week later when she saw Mrs. O’Neil’s son clearing out the apartment that she realized what had happened.

With each apartment came a barter system for after school care. Sometimes it was scripts, other times it was taking out the trash or delivering the mail, sometimes she wasn’t even aware of what her mother and temporary guardian had agreed on. Analiese started to realize, though, that she had to be crafty in order to survive. There was always something that somebody wanted, and if you found that out, you could strike a deal.

It started with homework. She was already pretty speedy at it, and she found that if she saved her old homework assignements, she could sell them to the grades below her. At first it was bartering for snacks and toys and other little trinkets the other kids parents could afford. Then it was cash.

With each move came more neighbors looking for an extra hand, whether it be babysitting or taking out the trash or making meals. It was harder work, and she started to realize she made more money from the kids at school in half the time.

The stacks of homework she completed every night had another bonus--she was getting smarter. Suddenly her teachers were telling her to look into magnet schools and scholarships. It’s interesting, she didn’t even care about the fact that it could get her into a good college down the line, but that a better school meant somewhere where the kids were richer. Inevitably they would need someone to do their homework, and she would be that person.

She ended up with a full ride to one of the nicest high schools in the city, where her mom almost fainted at the price of the uniforms alone. Suddenly she saw kids with their own birkin bags and cartier bracelets and sneakers that could pay her rent for months. Her own shoes were usually falling apart, covered with ducktape on the inside so that nobody would notice.

Her business was running in no time. Even though this homework was much harder, she got the hang of it quickly. Except she found that the kids at her new school had an appetite for more than homework. They wanted drugs, alcohol, fake IDs. They were willing to pay well for it too. So she found the shady guy that lived in her building and started buying from him and charging the students at her school double.

Analiese was suddenly split in two. Stuck between the hardworking student and devoted daughter, and a drug dealer desperate for money. Most of it went to rent. Her mom didn’t question where she was getting the money from. Whatever she had left over payed for a sturdy pair of shoes, her uniform, her metro pass, and the drugs that she would start funneling back into her school.

Of course, the school admin started to notice the increase of illegal substances affecting their students. They conducted locker searches often, but she was smart enough to keep her stash out of their hands. Everything was going smoothly. She was bringing in more and more money. They had started being able to save for rainy days. She was starting to make actual friends. She had considered even stopping selling just so she could enjoy the rest of high school. Except then she was approached by Parker Hayes. He was in the grade above her, and was well known around school. He insisted that she let him into her business, and he could get them better clients. Otherwise he’d go to the Dean and get her expelled.

She could say she panicked, but what she actually did was plan. She pretended to accept his proposal, and then acted methodically. She sacrificed part of her stash, diluted the baggies with sugar to make it seem like there was a lot more than there actually was. Rich kids loved coke, after all, and there were more parties she’d have to supply by that weekend. She took a wad of cash from the rainy day fund--it was pouring, after all--and put it all in a reusable water bottle and planted it in his locker hours before the routine locker searches. When he tried to implicate her, she put on the performance of her life. After all, she was just the sweet quiet scholarship student. Everyone believed her.

Did she ruin Parker’s life? Of course not. His daddy paid his bond and got him an excellent lawyer. They had enough money to buy a library somewhere and get him into college. A little community service and a less-reputable private college would do him well. If he had turned her in, her life would’ve been ruined. She’d be sent to jail and forced to work jobs that were okay with having a felon on their payroll. She made the right choice. She knows she did.

She could’ve been done there. Except she wasn’t. She couldn’t stop. There were bills that had to be paid. Shoes that needed to be replaced. A rainy day fund to be replenished. Trust fund kids that needed coke and fake IDs. So she kept going. Nobody messed with her now. Even if the administration didn’t know who she was, the students surely did. Any friends she had were now gone, but she was alive and she was making good grades.

It’s funny how things can change so quickly. One minute you’re standing outside of a bodega with a sandwich and a party to supply later. The next you’re being chased down the street by a man with one eye. One minute you’re being pinned to the ground, and you think--oh god, this could be it. The next you’re being helped up by someone in a hideous orange shirt and a goddamn sword. One minute you’re just a normal sixteen year old drug dealer. The next you’re a sixteen year old drug dealer that happens to be half god.

It’s strange coming into camp where everyone your age is so much more advanced than you. Analiese could barely do a push up before, but now they were making her do pushups in armor and climb rock walls with lava and play capture the flag with swords.

At least a camp full of teenage demigods still need drugs and alchohol. They weren’t doing coke and prescription drugs like the kids on the upper west side--weed and cigarettes and booze that can be mixed with soda was king. She still made money, and now that her mom was renting a one-bedroom, she could keep it for herself.

This time she had her sights set somewhere further than the next party that needed uppers. She had never been to California, but sun all the time sounded nice. She could go to the beach whenever she wanted. Get an education and live in a town especially for people like her. It was doable. She just needed the money to do it.

Any notes about your characters: fc is maude apatow