Fallon Alaina Landrieu
Fallon Alaina Landrieu image1
Vital statistics
Title {{{title}}}
Gender Female
Race 1/2 Human, 1/2 Neko (Missing Tail and ears)
Faction None
Health {{{health}}}
Level {{{level}}}
Status engaged
Location Midian City

Fallon Landrieu came to Midian shortly after the birth of her oldest daughter. She has lived in Midian City for nearly three years now, and has finally settled in and made this place hers and her family's home.

Personal history SummaryEdit

Fallon was born April 2, in Los Angeles to Henry and Marie-Christine Landrieu. After her parents arrest and incarceration for their activities on behalf of the Hybrid population of that city, she and her twin sister Alisanne Christine Landrieu were raised by their grandmother, Rose Alaina LeBleu. While her sister rebelled against the rather genteel society life that Rose lead as a prominent and welathy business owner of The City, Fallon embraced it. She attended the Courtalain Academy for Young Ladies, a finishing school on the north shores of Lake Pontchatrain, in the ruins of what had been Hammond, Louisiana.

When she graduated from the school and returned home, she began helping her grandmother run Mahogany Hall, an Inn and famous blues hall in the French Quarter. It wasn't long after that her grandmother was shot and the floodwaters came, ruining the home she loved so much, sending her west in search of her family history and knoweldge of her parents.

She met James Saito there in L.A., and married him. Her oldest daughter Rose Alaina Landrieu is James' child. James was something of a hero there in L.A., always out fighting the good fight and sleeping with the Damsels he rescued, leaving his his wife and child alone more often than not and Fallon eventually got tired of his escapades. She left him and headed out to find her sister, Ali, who had moved to Midian, a Free City.

She makes her home here now, has found love and family all over again, though she struggles with it occasionally.


Sister: Alisanne Christine Landrieu. Ali is an occasional dancer and whore at the Peep Show. She also is a manager there, helping to run the place when it suits her. Ali is a fixture there at the Peep, having been there through the past and current owners. She isn't a regular girl there, coming and going as she pleases, rather than adhering to schedules. She owns and runs Midian Porn Productions, with her partner Kirk Moleno.

Brother, adopted: Raenon Giha. Rae is an occasional visitor to Midian City, coming to his big sister when he needs a place to hide or get away to. He is fiercely protective of Fallie and her children, though for such a scrawny guy to be intimidating is difficult.

Daughters: Rose Alaina Landrieu, Age 2. Born August 17, 20xx. Lorelei Jasmine Bravin, age three months, born Feb. 16, 20xx Isolde Margerite Bravin, age three months, born Feb. 16, 20xx

Fiance: Alric Bravin. Pretty Pretty man. Likes Cake. Fathered Fallon's twins.


What is a Southern Lady? Not a Belle, nor a coquette, nor only a Girl Raised in the South. A Lady. Grace, dignity, consideration, humor, respect, compassion, social awareness and Style. Being a good partner, a good mother and a good friend. It sounds impossible, and it is. Even Ladies fall short, and part of thier charm is that they know they do, and they learn from the failings. Fallon is one of those women.

She conducts herself in a way that takes into consideration the world around her and how she interacts with it. She does it in little ways, such as saying please and thank you to the employees of the Sari Mart and the Sushi Stand. She thinks of others, and when life gets stressful, it helps her maintain her perspective.

She holds herself to a higher standard, because she thinks there's no substitute for life's more simple values-- self-awareness, giving back, the strength you glean from friends and family. She isn't swayed by the continual lowering of standards in Midian and the world around it.

She doesn't understand what it is about her that's so magnetic. It's been said it's that honey sweet drawl, but the truth is that the drawl just accents the blend of beauty, grace, charm, ingenuity and strength. Its the pretty bow that completes the packaging. Fallon has the ability to survive in a Man's world while wrapped in a pouf of flowery femininity and gracious, thoughtful manners. She is an enchanting blend of silk and steel, a contradictory mixture of demure sensuality and robust independence, of exuberant spirit and subtle Class.

Fallon, however, has several issues. And those are just more fun to find out in RP.

Fallon's Tale, told in her own wordsEdit

I was sixteen when the waters first rose, living in New Orleans, the Crescent City. The weary citizens held their breath, and prayed to whatever gods they had that the levees would hold. Years of floods, of hurricanes had taught us caution, but for we who'd built a life there, there was no leaving. The levees held. The city celebrated, as only New Orleans can.

War wracked the continent and while La Ville had gone largely untouched so far, nearby places hadn't been spared. We celebrated more, crying out that the Loas loved us, That Marie LaVeau herself watched over her home. The Catholics held masses, and invoked the Virgin to protect us. Life continued, we danced, and we sang. We had our musicians, and our artists, our food and our Way Of Life. We felt that nothing could take our spirit, our Joie de Vivre for which we were so famed. We knew what could happen, but days, and weeks and then months went by and we were spared the destruction that carpeted the world.

Baton Rouge was leveled by daily bombings. The Humanists had gained a small foothold, and were systematically eliminating the Non human populace covertly, too small a group to act in the open, they practiced guerilla tactics until the city's factions began lashing out at each other, each assuming that a rival was responsible. They battled in the streets, using whatever they could as weapons. They tortured confessions out of captured combatants, set fire to private homes of suspects. Chaos reigned until there was nothing left. Those that leave could went. Those that couldn't burned with the city.

Houma to the south had long since been left to the ravaging flood waters. They covered everything, save for the sky scrapers downtown. The casualties were few, but the destruction was total. Graves opened and the occupants floated with the waves, washing up on the levees of The City. We quietly took them in, tucked them away in mass graves of hundreds of unidentified coffins.

Lafayette fell to the floodwaters as they rose. The exodus was massive as the Cajuns, for the second time in their history lost everything they'd built. The water rose some thirty feet, and the Gulf of Mexico swallowed everything that wasn't protected as New Orleans had been. We here in The City had learned our lesson well and the reinforced walls that surrounded our home were tall, and thick. We were an Island.

Lake Charles had been less fortunate. A city of refineries, a major port that handled nearly half the American Oil Association's production of petrochemicals, even after the War. It had been a day of ashes and flame when the city had been bombed until nothing was left but rubble. And then that washed away as well when the water came.

We seemed untouchable. We sat nestled in our bower, untroubled as the City watched the others fall. I lived still with my Nana, Rose. For three more years we ran our boarding house, and bar Mahogany Hall. We lived well. There is always a need for music and booze in New Orleans. We had the city's finest Blues musicians, the best rock. We could dance for days before the party ceased. One by one the bands would play, it seemed that the denizens would never sleep.

Nana sent me to a boarding school on the River, a place built in the ruins of Hammond floating above the city, where the gently bred daughters of the city were taught to set a table, to flirt coquettishly, and to dance with respectable, marriageable males. We were the debutantes, well off, untouched largely by the horror of what surrounded us.

I left the Courtalain Academy for Ladies when I was Seventeen, with a certificate that said I was ready to take my place in Society. The world lay at my feet.

Two brief weeks later, Nana was killed by a thoughtless youth who'd stolen a firearm and was showing off in the streets of the Quarter. Like a robot, I went about my days, cataloging her possessions, removing the clutter that she never seemed to be able to get to.

Among her possessions, Was a small leather bound journal, written in Nana's cramped small writing. Daily meanderings covered the pages, stories about her customers, her musicians, her lovers and stories about me. I had found her diary. I knew that I'd been born out of the city, that my parents were gone, and I had vague dream-like recollections of a place, and people that never seemed to unfog. Her diary brought them to life for me. I began making plans to visit, to see if there was anything about my past these places could teach me.

I closed Mahogany Hall, turned as many of my assets as I could into carryable medium, and transfered what I couldn't to a bank in the California territories. My things had been sent ahead, to sit in storage until I could come for them. All I needed was in a rucksack, waiting for me to carry it when I left in three days.

That night, the levees broke. The water rushed in, breaking, tearing and covering whatever it could. I woke when the water touched me as I slept in my second floor bedroom. I panicked, grabbed my pack and climbed the stairs, and when the water came up again, I retreated into the attic, then onto the roof. The city was like a bowl, filling to the brim. The levee against the Gulf had broken, unable to hold back the weight of an ocean any longer. The screams rang out, terrified as people clung to whatever they could.

I watched from my roof as nearby families lashed themselves to each other. I watched as they were pulled into the black torrent. I held tight to the chimney each time a wave hit. The water rose still, and bodies of people I knew, people I loved floated by me, reaching for the surface, for me, even in death. I screamed with them, for them, and for me. When the water rose higher still, I abandoned my home to the flood and simply tried to survive. Whatever came near I grabbed, used to float over the roaring, murderous tsunami that had claimed my city, until it would sink, or was pried from my fingers.

I tread water. I swam. I slipped under too many times to count, but always managed to reach the surface again, gasping and sputtering. Crying. When a small sheet of plywood floated by I seized it. As I tried to hoist myself up on it, I realized I was not alone. Snakes. Rodents. Creatures of all kinds had claimed it, trying to survive as I was. I shoved away from it, and reached for other nearby objects, but everything was covered with them. We would have to share a space or I would die.

All I could see, was water, broken, floating buildings, and the tops of buildings that stood still, now forever locked under the churning waves of the Gulf. My home, which had stood for hundreds of years, seen so much was covered by the black water. I couldn't cry, simply too dazed to. I floated for two days until I was found by a crew of rescue personel.

They carried me and fifteen others they found to land at the makeshift base of search and rescue in Alexandria. We stayed there, while they searched for more. Stragglers came in, Mothers with empty arms. They'd listen at the edge of the water to the Nutria and become convinced that the cries were that of their lost daughters and sons. They would run into the waves, screaming. Some never came back. Men huddled in on themselves, children held tight to their chests as they sobbed.

We hadn't expected it. We'd thought we were safe, and arrogantly, we had neglected to prepare for this. Most of us had nothing. I had my pack, and the items in it that weren't ruined by the water.

We were held in Alexandria as we were poked and prodded by the medics. Were we ill? Had the time in the nearly toxic waters harmed us? We quarentined for a month. Finally, when the water was found to be rising still, they evacuated us north to Little Rock and released us. I took my bag when it was returned to me and moved on to Boulder, in the Rockies, finding solace and safety from the Flood in the mountains. I found a lover, and remained with him for several months until His sadistic and brutal side revealed itself.

Richard was his name and our relationship moved from Lovers to that of an owner and his pet. He trained me to please him, to obey. He taught me to think of him first, his pleasure, his needs, of myself last. What I wanted didn't matter. I was his toy, his scapegoat. His kitten, to love or punish.

We were out one day, and I was leashed, as I often was when we went out in public. He was shot. I was shot. They took us to the hospital, and he was pronounced dead. They wouldn't treat me, instead sent me home to wait for my Master's heir.

Friends I'd made in quarantine rescued me, healed me, nursed me back to health. My time with Richard left me damaged. The nightmares continued long after the scars faded.

I still dream of the water, of it closing over my head as I sink into the silt. My lungs fill with water. The dead watch me, reach for me and I wake then, straining for the surface, and always breathe deeply, reassuring myself that I am one of the survivors, and that I'm whole.

The faces haunt me. I long for my home, for Mahogany Hall and its slick hardwood floors, the smell of boiled crawfish, and the wafting blues rifts from the slide of a steel guitar.

I can hear the music sometimes, and I yearn for it. I yearn for the girl I was, the Debutante in her white gown, innocent and free. There are things I've had to do to survive that I can't bear to recall, and things I've done that Still, I can't believe I accomplished. This place is my home now, and I'll see my new family safe, whatever the cost.

I no longer pray though. God is dead, and the blessed Virgin doesn't care for mortal toil. We must save ourselves, no one else will.



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