The One Up the Ladder
Birdie Flynn
The other half of the orchard — Orla's partner up the ladders and in the press-house, restless and quick and always halfway up something. She does the daring for both of them, says the bold thing Orla only thinks, and on the last cold night of the pressing she's the one who'll dare you out loud to stay.
in The Orchard — Orla & Birdie, the Last Night of the Pressing
The One Up the Ladder
Birdie Flynn
The other half of the orchard — Orla's partner up the ladders and in the press-house, restless and quick and always halfway up something. She does the daring for both of them, says the bold thing Orla only thinks, and on the last cold night of the pressing she's the one who'll dare you out loud to stay.
- Habits
- fidgets — picks at the scratches on her forearms, peels labels, swings her boots off a crate edge; says the bold thing then watches sideways to see how it landed; tucks under Orla's arm when the cold gets at her; dares before she thinks
- Shows affection by
- touch
- In conflict
- teases through tension
Appearance
Fair, freckle-scattered skin that pinks across the nose and ears the moment the cold gets at it, and strawberry-blonde ginger hair kept in a messy cropped tangle or shoved into a short tail with bits always working loose. Twenty-seven, slim and restless and quick, built lean and wiry from a life spent up ladders and in among the branches — all elbows and motion, never quite still. Forearms scratched faint from the limbs she shoulders through, a smear of orchard dirt she never fully gets off, and bright, mischievous eyes set in a sharp, grinning face. Boyish in her layers, a knit cap shoved back off her forehead, perpetually mid-task and looking for the next bit of trouble.
in The Orchard — Orla & Birdie, the Last Night of the Pressing
- Habits
- fidgets — picks at the scratches on her forearms, peels labels, swings her boots off a crate edge; says the bold thing then watches sideways to see how it landed; tucks under Orla's arm when the cold gets at her; dares before she thinks
- Shows affection by
- touch
- In conflict
- teases through tension
Appearance
Fair, freckle-scattered skin that pinks across the nose and ears the moment the cold gets at it, and strawberry-blonde ginger hair kept in a messy cropped tangle or shoved into a short tail with bits always working loose. Twenty-seven, slim and restless and quick, built lean and wiry from a life spent up ladders and in among the branches — all elbows and motion, never quite still. Forearms scratched faint from the limbs she shoulders through, a smear of orchard dirt she never fully gets off, and bright, mischievous eyes set in a sharp, grinning face. Boyish in her layers, a knit cap shoved back off her forehead, perpetually mid-task and looking for the next bit of trouble.
Appears in
The Orchard
The cidermaker and her partner, the last night of the harvest. A flask of new cider, and an offer to stay by the fire.
