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Played by sam ➢ Offline
Spouse ➢ No Information
Play-by ➢ Camila Mendes
➢ Not Sharing Play-by
|AGE||JOB||HAIR COLOR||EYE COLOR|
|25||Town Hall Receptionist||Black||Brown|
PersonalityFallon was very much molded by her father. She has an outrageous work ethic because of him, strives to be perfect and damn near delivers. She aware that she doesn't actually have a decent personality of her own — she knows what those around her expect of her, and so she adapts to fit. Her father likes the perfect image, her husband liked the witty repartee, her twin likes the goofy Fallon, but who is Fallon, really?
If anything, what she does owe to her own making is her intellect, her cleverness, and even her cruelty. But no one really wants to know that she's the smartest person in almost every room. No one likes to hear that she doesn't actually feel many things, and that she uses whatever emotional intelligence she has to manipulate her way into achieving whatever goal she has in mind.
That's what she likes to tell herself, anyway. There is some common human decency tucked away down below the depths of ice, but it's rare that anyone besides her twin gets to see that.
AppearanceStanding in at 5’ 1”, Fallon is petite but powerful with muscular legs from ballet and only ever wearing heels. Except to run, but even then, the girl has been known to sprint in stilettos if needed. She adores working out and takes great care of her body in an almost obsessive way to be better than those around her. Distinguishing features are that she doesn’t look vastly similar to her twin sister, and that Fallon’s brows and Cupid’s bow pout are forces to be reckoned with. What she lacks in stature, she more than makes up for in sass.
History"Superiority; descended from a ruler."
A single tear crept onto her waterline and broke from the precipice, carving a hot trail over her otherwise perfectly manicured face. The water hung on the edge of her jaw, threatening to tumble onto the collar of her ebony blouse. The sun shone too brightly, the flowers speckled the coffin as the men lowered it into the ground. She wasn't listening to the pastor speak, her eyes protected by the darkest sunglasses. Regardless of what she had told herself, she did indeed cry, if this singular tear meant anything.
Fallon Ascola had successfully killed her husband.
Things weren't always this way, once she was happy, once her life was perfect. She had checked all the boxes, done everything right and still, here she was standing a few feet away from her now buried husband, calculating how much time she had before another plan had to be prepared for perfection. It wasn't like Fallon hadn't encountered a detour before — had to get out of that wretched town, had to graduate, had to do many things before she could have been happy, or rather, how to fake happiness. But then again, she was raised fake, as her sister liked to remind her, though Fallon couldn't help that perfection meant survival.
On an abnormally scorching August day, Fallon Emilie Ascola came out bustling into the word, following her twin a mere seven minutes after. From that moment onwards, life was well enough for the infants. They had a brother, a father and for their first year of life, even a mother. However, their mother Penelope passed away a few days after their first birthday — Fallon still has a picture of the woman, crouching beside two messy toddlers covered in cake in their highchairs, smiling, happy. That is the only thing Fallon has of the woman that birthed her, a stranger at best and yet Fallon felt obligated to keep this little, tattered photograph.
In a slurry of nannies, the three Ascola children were raised until their father was redrafted. Fallon was five, just on the cusp of going to school and when Phoebe arrived, young and fresh faced. This was not her mother. Fallon was even bold enough to mention it to Phoebe one night as the little girl sat in the woman's lap — audacity being Fallon's continued stronghold. But she didn't make the woman's life any more miserable than it needed to be, her older brother Ezekiel was a nuisance enough to the woman who was saddled with three children and a husband who was now gaining stride in his career. Though her father was never quite absent, Fallon learned a great deal on work ethic from the man — shockingly, they were more similar than she would ever like to admit.
It was this work ethic and the need to be perfect that helped Fallon excel in school, even at her ages. Equipped with her sister and their matching sensor bracelets, the two were glowing examples of the Ascola family. There was never a mark that was under a 90, there was a never a note of tardiness on Fallon's record, even classes she loathed — handbag contents, voice, and the ever vomit-inducing pregnancy course — were aced. They had to be, she was not raised to be mediocre. And it was why when Candice's punishment seemed so peculiar to her. It was odd when they were home one weekend, having to come sit in their father's study and wait. In true Ascola fashion, with an eye for detail and a flare for the dramatic as the man struck Candice while Fallon looked on. Horror. Fallon should have been horrified, but she sat there, with a subtle look of disgust instead, still holding Candy, sweet Candy's hand before the two of them left. Never again did her twin sister's grades slip, nor did Fallon care to ask as she saw how terribly hard Candice began to work, shutting herself away on weekends to prepare.
Fallon, on the other hand, did as she always had, excellently. In this time, there were more siblings added to the bunch, Dove and Lex, but due to her school structure, Fallon only really saw them on holidays and weekends. School was almost boring to the young woman, since she knew the parameters in which her father worked, and she strived to bring him just that, and in her final year she had done what many thought was an old wives tale — gotten a perfect score on her exit exams. The spectacle the school made was disgraceful, it was the one time she pleaded with her father to be taken out of school. That was what she wanted, to leave the boarding school, to be free from the boredom. But that would be disrespectful, she was told, and so she suffered as wretched old wenches congratulated her and each other for a job well done. Pathetic. Just give her a draft and let her go already.
Rarely, Fallon was impatient.
The arrival of her draft package meant a certain sense of freedom. There weren't teachers to impress to trust her to work alone, there wasn't her father who had to see perfect results to please, there wasn't even the gaggle of siblings she had — besides Candice and maybe even Ezekiel on some degree — come to begrudgingly like to annoy her. So this Sterling Carrington, the writer in California would be her saving grace. Well, it could have been worse. In the span of her studying this particular Carrington, a branch of what she would come to know as the famous California Carringtons — good, very, very good — another sibling, the wee baby Penelope was added to the crew. The name was so obvious of her father, she almost rolled her eyes every time she would deign to hold the smallest Ascola. The favoured Ascola, even then, as the infant. It took almost all the willpower Fallon possessed not to throw the baby out the window. But no matter, she didn't have to be the favourite. She didn't have to be because she wasn't going to be here much longer. It didn't matter because her objective was going to be complete soon enough. Patience. It's what Candice would say as Fallon would pace and angrily scratch off her usually immaculate polish from her nails. Yes, patience.
And it was with this patience that she bid Tidewater goodbye, hugging Candice, wiping away her tears. Funny, they hardly looked alike but they had the same glimmery brown eyes that seemed to shine under distress. They hadn't been separated in such a manner, well, ever.
Despite the turbulence, Fallon was, for the first time, giddy. She had memorized the file within weeks, she knew every documented detail about Sterling Carrington. This was her ticket to freedom, being perfect. The woman pushed dark sunglasses further onto the bridge of her nose as she disembarked the flight, maneuvering her way around the city. A day by herself before she took a cab to the Justice of Peace, what a luxury.
They were married efficiently, his blonde hair was like sunshine in the harsh lighting of the dank office they sat in. It was one of those fascinations that Fallon had never encountered before — for the first few days of their marriage, and occasionally throughout the seven, no, six and a half years they were married, she would just look at him in amazement. How could someone be so beautiful, and move through space so fluidly. He was ethereal, she was, and continued to be enamoured by Sterling. Now, the man was wonderful in his own right, too morally sound, and so sugary sweet, she was certain his name was meant to be Saccharine. But he was a foolish man that lead with his heart, his ultimate downfall if Fallon had a say.
Their marriage was work, Fallon didn't expect it to be easy to adjust to strange idiosyncrasies, after all, she knew of him from what widows and those around him reported. Living with a man was entirely a different beast. But they made it work. Even when he had writers block for some time, or when the writers block became worse and Sterling hadn't written anything in two years. That was when Fallon began to write. At first, it was just a short story that she shuffled into Sterling's hands, something to give to his editor whom she knew was on the brink of letting Sterling go. Fallon couldn't have that. She couldn't have a failed writer for a husband. Of course Sterling was hesitant. Until he read the piece.
Despite the fact that Fallon found the human condition a weakness, and despite the fact that she didn't actually care for the trials and tribulations of a boy trapped in the perils of a space odyssey that he was magically the hero of, she did care for Sterling and his employment.
"You know, this isn't bad." He said, reading the short story over for what was the thirteenth time. Fallon was counting.
"I know it isn't bad. Frankly, it's..." She couldn't say 'better than yours' so she cleared her throat for an extra minute, "rather good, if I'm not being completely biased."
And it was. Sterling's editor demanded more of the short story, expand the universe, make it bigger, better — they were onto something good, very, very good here. When Sterling returned with the news, he was distraught. How could he let his wife do his work for him? Wasn't he destined for this? Why couldn't he just get out of his funk? But it wasn't a funk, Sterling knew he could never write like she had. His characters came off simple, flat, it was the background that made his work readable. Somehow Fallon had picked up his slack and delivered better content. Much better. That was the moment when Fallon took over her husband's career. They would lock themselves away in his, no, their study and she would write, he would edit and occasionally mention more ideas. Yet, it was always Sterling's name on the final product. It didn't exactly bother Fallon, she had to remind herself that it was her husband, and indirectly she who was garnering nationwide accolades for the young adult series that swept up attention. And awards. And she did what a good wife did, join him when he won the awards for her work.
It was fine. Everything was fine. Besides, she was the best, she knew that. Sterling knew that. The Carringtons knew that. That's what mattered, right? Her relationship with her in-law family sparked immediately, she was the beloved daughter the family never really had. Particularly with her father in law, she had a close relationship with, for she indulged the old man in activities his sons would rather not. Like playing chess. That was what they did, regardless that Carter Carrington didn't quite approve of women doing just a masculine hobby — chess was a man's sport. But, as expected, Fallon was good, very very good at this. It was the time when the two would bond and talk, oftentimes Carter confided in the woman when he couldn't quite confide in his own sons. Sterling would visit his father every few weeks, flying out to Nevada, seeing him for the weekend, and soon Fallon began to join.
It was one of those trips, where they left Sterling in some other part of the house while the two would set up the ivory and ebony pieces on the rickety board before they began. Usually Carter would try and sway her dead focus, and predominantly Fallon would sway his and succeed.
Chuckling, he thought to try something he hadn't, going a touch too personal with his beloved daughter in law, "What if you caught him fooling around with one of those pretty assistants in the editor's office?" Carter asked, trying to get under Fallon's skin, trying, hopelessly to make fumble and perhaps distract her from seeing her win.
"I'd kill him. Slowly." At the exhale of her shallow breath, her piece annihilated Carter's game.
Carter fumbled and dropped his pawn.
That was the one and only time that Fallon had been honest with someone other than Candice. She supposed she should have acted differently. But Candice wasn't here, and Carter was the closest to someone she could be real with. Sterling had a well-curated Fallon — kind, hard working, assertive Fallon who just wanted her husband to do well. Carter got the lighter version of what Candice got — funny, a little quirky and occasionally brutally honest. What was the old man going to do? Come after her? Hardly.
And that was her life, her perfect life with her perfect family. There were holidays in Nevada, there were holidays all around the country as the book tours continued, and more was added to Sterling's universe. Though he did make a point on dedicating each book to her. How sweet.
But perfection didn't last, as Sterling began to grow distant from her, her world, her story as he would bitterly remind them in the middle of arguments. They were fighting regularly, for the first time in some five years. And with the subtraction of her bracelet, and the addition of their microchips, Sterling began to lose control. Whatever he had, Fallon had taken and made better, the best that his work had ever been was because of her.
When Phoebe, her step mother had passed away, the two of them went, hardly speaking a word. Of course, Fallon assured everyone it was because of her heartbreak, her mourning of losing her step mother. Fallon didn't care for Phoebe, she cared instead the state of her marriage. They stayed in the local Tidewater hotel, and with the courage of syn in his system Sterling slurred that he was going to tell the editor everything. That they were going to face the music, and face the consequences of a woman trying to do a man's job. Even if it meant that he'd be executed. He didn't want this anymore.
It was why she had suggested going to Colorado, to get away from their families, to get away from the books, everything. He needed to calm down, this was crazy. He was just tired, and she could have been more relenting. It was a tiresome bargain, but one that she won, ultimately. They found a little cabin on the outskirts of some little town they had visited once. She made up a little memory on how they got lost in the woods and found a river in which they swam in for hours, remember that, Sterling? We were so happy then, perfectly happy.
Sterling was sweet, Sterling was stubborn, and in the end, Sterling was stupid. And deathly allergic to pistachios. But that wasn't how Fallon chose to kill him. That would be too obvious and so out of character of the perfect wife who knew every conceivable detail of her beloved husband. That was too easy. Sterling didn't deserve easy when he threatened her way of life, her very way of existence. He would know that she was in charge. She was the reason he wasn't some washed up writer who did the crosswords in the weekly paper. Fallon was the reason Sterling Carrington was loved by the nation. And it was Fallon who deserved to break their preciously perfect life. Not some stupid man who couldn't even do his selected job.
They were staying in the cabin for three days. The first day, the both of them put in effort to be happy, or maybe Sterling caught onto her charade — fake it 'til you make it wasn't so bad. They hiked, they found a river, swam for hours, and came back exhausted. They fell asleep together on the floor, something so simple, they were almost like they were a few years ago — they were happy for this moment. Fallon was happy, fleetingly.
This didn't sway her. This was foolish. And she was built like a blade and fire, despite her being like ice— it was her nature to slash and burn. The evening of the second day, they were pulling out little things that the fans would send Sterling. Little trinkets, some treats, and even a little box of chocolates that his father sent as a good luck charm. Except, he didn't this time. This was a box Fallon had, mixed with nuts and chocolate, something that was deadly for her beloved. After a bite, Sterling gone into anaphylaxis. As any dutiful wife, she had packed an epi-pen, an instant jolt of adrenaline to the system to keep him alive before the authorities can handle the situation. Sterling reached for the pen as he fumbled in the kitchen, trying to get a knife to slice open his pants to gain access the flesh of his thigh. The first dose entered his system, as Fallon reached for her phone to call the emergency line. They were so far into the woods that the first few calls couldn't be reached, and in that instance, Sterling reached for the second pen, which had an improper dose, how convenient, the effects of which began to flood his system.
"Fallon, call the--"
Another gasp. Another wild reaching towards her. He stumbled, falling to the floor, clutching his chest. Cardiac arrest, in a few minutes, the ambulance would trek its way through the winding forest roads to get to them. But they wouldn't reach them.
He was dead. Her beautiful husband, her Sterling silver fox. Dropping to the floor beside him, she held his head in her lap, gently caressing his silvery blonde hair. Her perfect husband, her perfect life was now lifeless in her arms. As the emergency services arrived several minutes later, she refused to move from her position, refused to let go of him.
The funeral was a bleak affair, the country mourned their story teller. She mourned her life, and a very small, diminutive part of her mourned Sterling. He was perfect, until he wasn't, and yet, she was still enamoured by the man up until the very end. Up until his head was in her lap.
As in proper Ascola fashion, she didn't make a scene, and neatly tied up any loose ends she had in California. Packed away her life — their life — in a few boxes. Throughout her mourning, she had been blessed with another draft, this time, much to her chagrin, in Tidewater. The prodigal daughter returns, though some sins you can't come back from, no matter how hard you try. At least the devil will have to wait until her body quits before taking what little remains of her soul.
FAMILYHave you heard of the Ascola’s? Yeah, THOSE Ascola’s.
- Matthias Ascola, Father
- Penelope Valdez, Mother, deceased.
- Phoebe Adama, Step mother, deceased.
- Candice Suarez nee Ascola, twin sister
- Ezekiel Ascola, older brother
- Dove Ascola, younger sister
- Alexander Ascola, younger brother
- Penelope Ascola, baby sister
Birthdate: August 20
Bad Habits: Chips away nail polish, runs her fingers over where her microchip would be, rage!cleans, leaves an iconic red lipstick smudge on the edges of teacups
Turn-Ons: Fighting for control/power, breath on her neck, challenges,
Turn-Offs: Weakness, vulnerability, bad teeth
hair color preference: No Information
eye color preference: No Information
draft position: Neutral
premarriage y/n: No
skinned exclusively for the draft by saramonster
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