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The year is 2192.

The country is the United States.

The current regime, The Trust, has been in power for over one hundred years.

The Trust takes care of you from cradle to grave--they provide you with housing, education, jobs, vehicles--but, in exchange, they control everything about your life. What color car you will drive. Where you will live. And, most important of all: who you will marry and how many children you will have.

Do you fight them or favor them?



EmmyJo Thresholt
Played by  Cantos  ➢ Offline
Spouse ➢ Avery Mathews
Play-by ➢ Madison Beer
 ➢ Not Sharing Play-by
 ➢PM me
Eighteen No Information Dark, with some sun streaks Hazel


Having grown up in the south, there is a charm to her that belies the steel that seemingly every southern woman has at her core. At times the softly spoken nature can be construed as meekness, a weakness of character. To think that she is little more than a church mouse, would be to sorely underestimate her. Not that she doesn’t mind – rather she enjoys surprising others. Never one to shirk away from hard work, she doesn’t mind pulling her own weight, whether that’s at home, at school or while engaged in community outreach. She is a soul that longs for something more, even if she keeps that desire on a tight leash. She is the epitome of politeness, even when under stress.

If you hear the phrase, ‘bless your heart’ though, you may wanna run.


They say the peaches of the south are lush, that the sultry air makes for a languor that can stir the blood and fire up the soul. And any southern belle worth her crinoline knows that it always behooves you to put your best appearance forward, even if you’re not feeling quite on the top of your game. She’s learned all the tricks of the trade, from creating silky waves in dark hair, to lining those big hazel eyes just so, so that they appear slumberous. Not that she generally gets away with such things, but she knows how. Though she would be considered average in height, she plays up her five foot four inches for all it's worth with heels. Her curves are generous, and compacted into that petite frame so that the whole one hundred and seventeen pounds of her is proportioned. She keeps a fastidious person, knowing that because she is pretty she’ll be judged for her appearance first, and her brain second.


Welcomed into the world by two loving parents, it was strange when she learned later at the tender age of four that her mother and her father weren’t exactly the ‘nicest’ people. Apparently, in the eyes of her guardian, and Uncle, both husband and wife were considered anathema to what a morally upstanding couple should be. They were perverse, looking outside their own marriages for the comforts and pleasures of the flesh. And with pornography no less! She wasn’t supposed to have heard it. Children often have big ears though, and the mark left by that one overheard conversation would forever remain a question mark in the back of her mind. What it had meant then, she couldn’t have said nor did she ask. Not when Uncle Percy, or Deacon Hucksley as he was sometimes called was on a tear. He sat next to the preacher in the pulpit, a Deacon and Elder on Sundays, and when he wasn’t doing the work of god, he worked Galgary General Hospital as Doctor Percy Thresholt, Thoracic Surgeon.

Skillful surgeon, or impassioned man of God, he was never mean to her, not a single moment of her young life was ever harsh. They lived in a small town just outside of Calgary, Georgia and what with all the wet heat it was a wonder that anyone could rouse more than a passing sort of anger. She learned at her uncle’s knee that god loved her, and if she was good and she was just – then she would be rewarded by both God and the Trust. Good girls adhered to their schooling, were modest and true, and married good men and lived good lives.

From her Aunt Ophelia, she learned that sometimes what Uncle Percy said, wasn’t always the gospel truth. God had nothing to do with the Trust, and the Trust didn’t really have anything to do with God. It was more or less that the Trust tolerated God, because people needed their faith. Just as much as they needed food in their bellies, and clothes on their backs. While the Trust could give them the latter of those two things, they couldn’t really give people anything in terms of what it meant when you died. Without your faith, you couldn’t very well get to salvation now could you? No, no you couldn’t.

EmmyJo never really understood her aunt or her uncle. But they were kind, and they cared. They loved her, and provided for her. The sermons on Sunday’s were never going to change, no matter what, but she loved the revivals, and she loved the voices of those lifted in song and prayer. It was with song, that she thought that she felt closest to whatever salvation she deserved.

By the time she was five, she knew all the hymns and knew also that she would be sent off to school. It, along with the bracelet that the Trust deemed a necessity, she went happily off to learn what it meant as Uncle Percy said, to be a just and morally upright young woman.

Because of her close family ties to the church, to the community – it was easy to slip among the population of the Trust approved boarding school. Most of the girls were from the same parish as she, so it wasn’t stressful at all to be away from her family. Except on Sunday nights, when they were finished with their dinner, and it was time for her to return to the school. Only then did she miss her bed, her toys. Only then did she miss the quiet prayer at night that Uncle Percy always insisted on since she was little more than knee high to a grasshopper.

Thankfully school was relatively easy by comparison to having to learn all the passages of the bible. There was literature and math, the basics of sciences and history – everything that was considered appropriate for a young lady of good family and proper comportment. Only when they began the harder classes later did she realize that not everything was going to be like a Georgia breeze. It actually meant something to be able to excel, and while they were only youths, every girl there knew that if you didn’t make good marks, it was doubtful you’d make a good draft.

But even a good girl needs to blow off a little steam sometimes. It could have been that they lived in a rural area, or it could have just been because of the fact that they were in the south – but when the girls decided to kick a little lose and skinny dip outside the campus, there weren’t any tattlers to tell on them. Joy rides to the edges of the town, movies snuck late at night with the sounds of laughter and the candy sweet perfume of too many females in one place. All very innocent, but it added fuel to desires that EmmyJo was sure had nothing to do with being morally just, or upright.

She couldn’t tell any of the girls though, not a single one that in her heart of hearts – she just wasn’t cut out to be the niece of a deacon whose presence at Sunday sermons, helping Preacher Andres along to stir the whole of the congregation into a tizzy of love for the Lord and his Son.

But what was that feeling, that wildness that stirred her up at night and left her breathless in the sultry heat of her small bed at the boarding school? She dared not think about it, not when she remembered that long ago conversation about her parents. About where she’d come from.

The summer of her sixteenth year there was change on the wind, namely in the form of Uncle Percy learning that he was being transferred from the hospital he worked at in Calgary to a place called Tidewater, Rhode Island. She traced it on a map, sketching all the highways and byways that it took to get from one place to the other with eyes that had gone wide and a little worried. Uncle Percy was a mighty fine deacon, but he was a better surgeon, or so Aunt Ophelia said, and there were sick people all over the country who needed his talented hands just as much as God needed his voice.

He’d been called, so they would go.

Tidewater wasn’t much different from Calgary, if you didn’t count all the buildings, the commerce and the number of people crammed into one place. It was so strange to EmmyJo to see so many vehicles, all the houses. While a lot of the homes in the south looked similar, there was a distinct difference given the lack of Wisteria, the absence of ivy crawling over the surfaces of buildings. It was strange, that it felt so oddly – new.

Saint Martha’s wasn’t any different from where she’d left either, and after a few bumps and a few more bruises to her ego she learned how to fit in. Graduation came around, as did the loss of her beloved bracelet. The chip seemed so informal, so cold. It was so strange, that every now and then she would rub at her wrist where she used to worry at the links of that bracelet. It might have been that with her aunt’s tutoring, and the general sense of wanting to be good wife that she’d done well in school. Or it might have simply been because she had in turns a healthy dollop of daydreamer as much as she had student – but she past her exams with flying colors, looking forward to the day when the Trust would decide to just whom she was the best match for.

It made her happy, even if it worried her a little that no matter where they lived – Calgary or Tidewater, there was still that shameful sense of something, lurking just there beneath the surface of all that peaches and cream, waiting.



Father: Augustus Theodore Thresholt (deceased)
Mother: Eugenia Glory Thresholt (deceased)

Uncle, Guardian: Doctor Percy Hucksley Thresholt
Aunt: Ophelia Dixie Thresholt, nee Gainsbourgh
Birthdate: 10/24/2209
Bad Habits: Hates bed clothes, and has a thing about nails.
Turn-Ons: Hot eyes, fast hands. Oddly enough, the rougher the better
Turn-Offs: A weak lead into something. If you can't do it, then why bother?
hair color preference: Any
eye color preference: Any
draft position: For
premarriage y/n: Yes, another member and I are making these together

Hard Limits


Player Notes

TIMEZONE: Mountains
⇀   Last Post: Jan 20 2018, 12:40 PM
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