Early Lifeish
If asked about her past, Cuyler Quinn will vehemently deny anything that happened before she ran away from home. She will argue you down that she wasn't born to a mother and father, but was found and raised by gypsies or trolls or fairy folk. The truth of the matter is, whether she likes it or not, she was born and she was raised in a rather normal, practical and prominent Victorian family.
It's also a fact that, were you to produce evidence, than you would probably find yourself the recipient of a brand new death hickey.
There were no fireworks, no fanfare when Cuyler came into the world; a squalling, filthy little pink ball no different than the millions of other squalling, filthy little pink balls born that very year. The seventh child of seventh children and Ronald Quinn, anticipating that his last child would be another boy, had already named the baby Cuyler before it ever entered the world.
So it came as much as a surprise as it did a disappointment in that stuffy, Summer-humid house on Evergreen Street when, after several hours of a pacing, Ronald Quinn was presented with a small, pink wrapped bundle of joy.
They had expected the baby to have green or blue eyes. Mama Pearla's baby blues or Daddy Ronald's snake greens. But when the baby finally opened it's eyes they found that, much to their collective surprise, she had both. One baby blue and one snake green.
This little mutation, a thing shared by his favorite, sainted grandmother endeared the little creature to Ronald Quinn instantly.
Lets say that you get this much out of her, much to her clawing and screaming and hair pulling chagrin, and you ask more. You're feeling bold. What the hell right'
She tells you he was a judge and she was a judge's wife. She never once tells you that she was mistreated. The only crime they had ever committed, she'll admit, was being too damned Victorian. This, however, isn't exactly true.
The Quinns doted on their youngest child, spoiled her rotten and let her run wild beneath that Alabama sky. Her youngest brother, Pickney, was a good ten years old when she was born but the age gap meant nothing to the pair. Soon the two siblings were joined at the hip; big brother and the adoring little sister.
Cuyler was a tiny thing, a tom boy before tom boys were accepted. A feral child with long brown curls that took- between making her hold still and actually finding a strong enough brush- her mother a good two hours to comb. It took Cuyler all of five minutes to get those locks covered in mud, tangles with twigs and leaves and brambles.
But she grew, as most children do, and in place of the tiny little pixie was a tiny little pixie with longer limbs and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. At fifteen, Cuyler was beginning to suffer only child syndrome. That boring sickness that casts a "But maaamaa, I want a baby bbrrrooottthherrr or sssisstteerrr," shadow over the house of the afflicted sibling.
Pearla Quinn, being sixty by the time, was too old to oblige and Cuyler was already a handful. Her antics had, like herself, grown up. They weren't cute nor cheeky nor harmless (at least as far as reputations were concerned.)
"We can marry her off. That Wheelon boy down the road seems to have taken a fancy to her," said the good Judge one day.
The plans were made, the date was set and the groom absolutely adored the little brunette. The only problem, it seemed, was that Cuyler simply "didn't wanna."
She didn't want to get married and have children, especially not at such a young age. So on a hot, July afternoon- a week away from the day of the wedding- she did what she only thought was reasonable. She ran away.
If asked about her past, Cuyler Quinn will vehemently deny anything that happened before she ran away from home. She will argue you down that she wasn't born to a mother and father, but was found and raised by gypsies or trolls or fairy folk. The truth of the matter is, whether she likes it or not, she was born and she was raised in a rather normal, practical and prominent Victorian family.
It's also a fact that, were you to produce evidence, than you would probably find yourself the recipient of a brand new death hickey.
There were no fireworks, no fanfare when Cuyler came into the world; a squalling, filthy little pink ball no different than the millions of other squalling, filthy little pink balls born that very year. The seventh child of seventh children and Ronald Quinn, anticipating that his last child would be another boy, had already named the baby Cuyler before it ever entered the world.
So it came as much as a surprise as it did a disappointment in that stuffy, Summer-humid house on Evergreen Street when, after several hours of a pacing, Ronald Quinn was presented with a small, pink wrapped bundle of joy.
They had expected the baby to have green or blue eyes. Mama Pearla's baby blues or Daddy Ronald's snake greens. But when the baby finally opened it's eyes they found that, much to their collective surprise, she had both. One baby blue and one snake green.
This little mutation, a thing shared by his favorite, sainted grandmother endeared the little creature to Ronald Quinn instantly.
Lets say that you get this much out of her, much to her clawing and screaming and hair pulling chagrin, and you ask more. You're feeling bold. What the hell right'
She tells you he was a judge and she was a judge's wife. She never once tells you that she was mistreated. The only crime they had ever committed, she'll admit, was being too damned Victorian. This, however, isn't exactly true.
The Quinns doted on their youngest child, spoiled her rotten and let her run wild beneath that Alabama sky. Her youngest brother, Pickney, was a good ten years old when she was born but the age gap meant nothing to the pair. Soon the two siblings were joined at the hip; big brother and the adoring little sister.
Cuyler was a tiny thing, a tom boy before tom boys were accepted. A feral child with long brown curls that took- between making her hold still and actually finding a strong enough brush- her mother a good two hours to comb. It took Cuyler all of five minutes to get those locks covered in mud, tangles with twigs and leaves and brambles.
But she grew, as most children do, and in place of the tiny little pixie was a tiny little pixie with longer limbs and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. At fifteen, Cuyler was beginning to suffer only child syndrome. That boring sickness that casts a "But maaamaa, I want a baby bbrrrooottthherrr or sssisstteerrr," shadow over the house of the afflicted sibling.
Pearla Quinn, being sixty by the time, was too old to oblige and Cuyler was already a handful. Her antics had, like herself, grown up. They weren't cute nor cheeky nor harmless (at least as far as reputations were concerned.)
"We can marry her off. That Wheelon boy down the road seems to have taken a fancy to her," said the good Judge one day.
The plans were made, the date was set and the groom absolutely adored the little brunette. The only problem, it seemed, was that Cuyler simply "didn't wanna."
She didn't want to get married and have children, especially not at such a young age. So on a hot, July afternoon- a week away from the day of the wedding- she did what she only thought was reasonable. She ran away.