Welcome to Will to Live, a RP set in the fictional town of Monroeville, Maine. Orginally a small fishing village turned college town turned tourist trap, long-time locals are now outnumbered by newcomers in their ever-expanding hometown. Plots are primarily member-driven, with a wide range of interesting and diverse characters to interact with. Feel free to jump right in; fresh perspectives and ideas are always welcome.

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OoC Member Name: Panda
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Edna Nödl


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Oct 16 2017, 07:06 PM
Edna Nödl & Scholastica Řezník

thread warnings
| mental/physical illness | involuntary hospitalization | self-harm |

She enters the hospital through the ambulance bay of the emergency room, eyelids fluttering, awake but unaware. She'd been sitting at the bus stop for awhile, the old man that had called it in explained to paramedics. Fell over almost as soon as she'd stood up, passed right out.

And it's no wonder. She's dangerously light when they lift her up to move her from the stretcher to a hospital bed, her bones so sharp they can be felt through her layers of clothes and skin. When they hook her up to monitors, her blood pressure is too low, her pulse is weak, she's dehydrated and they start an IV drip. Adult female, no ID on her, but she's lived her whole life in this small town, worked for years at this same hospital. That's Edna Nodl, one of the nurses confirms early on, almost as soon as she's wheeled in.

They don't find any drugs in her system to suggest an overdose or explain strange behavior, nothing in her blood work or other tests that pointed to an underlying illness as a cause, but there's angry claw marks on her arms, self-inflicted and healing poorly on the verge of infection, and when she starts to come into herself a few hours later she's thrashing in her bed, pulling frantically at tubes and cords, lashing out at anyone that tries to touch her until they have no choice but to sedate her.

She enters the hospital on the first floor, but she's uncooperative, an immediate danger to herself and others, and once they're sure her vitals are stable enough she's moved to the behavioral health unit three floors up. She'd stay there overnight, at the very least, with no psychiatrist on duty to evaluate her until the following morning. In the meantime, they put her in a single room, indicate high risk on her chart so that someone has to stay sitting close by, keeping watch.

At first, she's not much trouble, still under the influence of the medication they'd given her downstairs and in and out of something resembling dreamless sleep.

When she wakes up, the lights in the room are too dim for her poor eyesight to make sense of anything, the only hints as to where she is given in the firmness of the bed and the roughness of the sheets, the sterile smell of hospital disinfectant, the feel of the IV they had to reinsert in the crook of her elbow, taped down more securely this time.

Her head still cloudy, her bones too heavy and her fingers clumsy with numbness and distance, she gingerly traces the tube and starts to pick at the edges of the tape keeping it against her skin.
Aug 14 2017, 05:53 PM
Cordelia Navarre & Edna Nödl

thread warnings
| / |

AUGUST 2 0 0 5
( x )

It's already past 7pm when Edna steers her bike onto Ash Tree Lane, though the sun is still hanging low in the burnt orange sky, only just starting to touch the tops of the trees that marked the woods near their house. She'd spent most of her afternoon in the town square, helping out at her mother's shop while Elwood stayed home with their father and Opa.

It's been like this for a lot of the summer. Elwood's grown angrier, more disgusted with Monroeville and the people in it ever since they started high school, likes going into town less now that he's forced to spend too much time around the people he hates, that hate him. Now, in the last two weeks before the start of their second school year, Elwood's last, it seems even worse than usual, so that Edna doesn't even bother asking if he wants to come to the square with her anymore.

She pretends not to notice this change, doesn't want to take the chance of him turning that anger, disgust towards her too.

And so, on this particular evening, she's alone.

If she weren't, she probably wouldn't have bothered to stop at the edge of the Hurley's driveway.

Mr. and Mrs. Hurley and their youngest child Martin had gone out of town for the weekend, Edna knew because she'd watched them pack up their minivan that morning with bags only big enough to justify a couple days' worth of clothes. Usually Justin and Susanna, the twins, would go with them, but this year was different, because the twins were teenagers now. Susanna had softball practice and Justin didn't want to go if Susanna got to stay home, and the two of them were old enough to stay home by themselves, responsible and good kids that their parents could trust.

Edna imagines the looks on Mr. and Mrs. Hurley's faces, if they could hear the loud music coming from their house while they were away, if they could see the way lights shined through almost every window so that Edna could make out the silhouttes of more than just the twins, a house full of people they didn't approve.

And Edna wasn't invited, because of course she wasn't, and she would've wrinkled her nose and swore she'd never want to go anyway, thank you very much.

But there at the end of the Hurley's driveway, secretly, she allows herself a few seconds to imagine what it'd be like if she snuck in, if anyone would notice, how long she could exist there before the twins told her to leave.

Secretly, she almost decides to try it, if it weren't for the other girl standing there alone next to the mailbox, a cell phone in her hand and an irritated look on her face. Edna stares at her for a little too long; she's not a local, which wouldn't have been that strange back in town where they got a lot of tourists this time of year, but it's odd, out here on the backroads, where there's only a handful of houses belonging to families that have lived there since before Edna was born.

She doesn't want to be seen asking though, doesn't want to be seen not knowing.

So she taunts instead, waits for the girl to realize she's looking, a smug smile on her face. "Did they kick you out?"
Aug 14 2017, 05:03 PM
Edna Nödl & Stanley Connor
[a high school pastchat]

thread warnings
| bullying |


The Nödl siblings have only been students at Monroeville High for a little more than a month, but that's enough time for them to earn a reputation, enough time for a lot of their classmates to figure out they're best to avoid whenever possible, especially when they're together.

A little more than a month into the school year, and Stanley Connor wouldn't know any better from firsthand experience just yet, would've only heard what other people had to say about it. You might say he was lucky.

Until one overcast Wednesday afternoon in the boy's bathroom down the hall from the cafeteria, where he'll find the younger Nödl, Edna, alone with one of her pigtail braids undone, calmly washing mashed potatoes and gravy out of her hair in one of the sinks.

She glances up when she hears the door, looks at Stan like he's the one out of place. It only lasts a moment.

And then without saying anything, she goes back to what she's doing.
Mar 8 2017, 12:58 AM

Edna Nödl & Nor de la Cruz & Elwood Nödl
( outfit )

thread warnings
| hallucinations | delusions | dissociation | blood | self harm | thoughts of suicide |
| abandonment | thoughts of death | implications of an eating disorder |

When Edna leaves Donald Weiser's house in the early hours of Thanksgiving morning, she doesn't go home. The sun is still slowly working it's way over the horizon, so that all she sees is dim, pale gold, the shadows it casts as it beats against the trees, and nothing else. It's still too early she knows without knowing the exact time, the buses aren't running yet.

She walks.

It's almost afternoon when she makes it to Cherry Street, lets herself in to Elwood's apartment with the hope that maybe all her instincts and fears were wrong, that maybe he'd only gone out drinking the night before, the way he seemed to do all the time lately, decided to sleep at his place because it was easier than making the trip back out to the backroads where their family home sat.

But he's not there, and his phone still goes straight to voicemail when she calls.

(He's gone, he's gone, he's gone.)

She manages to hold it together for awhile, takes a seat on his couch the way she always does when he's not home, like maybe going through the motions would be enough to have him walking through the front door at any moment, enough to force things to happen the same way they always do. She throws all her faith into routine and she trusts, hopes it's enough.

(It's not.)

Hours pass this way, silent and still with nothing but that voice, the one that's started to follow her everywhere.

He left you


Because why wouldn't he?

He's never coming back.
He's never coming back.
He's never coming back.
He's never coming back.
He's never coming back.

This time it's for real.

She's clenched her fists so tight, dug her long, ragged nails into her palms so deep that she's bleeding, but the pain barely even reaches her. It does nothing to soothe the feeling in her chest, the overwhelming fear that each beat of her heart might be enough to rip her whole body apart.

She waits for that kind of death, she waits for that relief.

When it doesn't come, she's moving again.

As many times as she's been in Elwood's apartment, she's never been in his bedroom, never had a reason to, but that night she curls up in his bed, tangles herself up tight in his sheets, breathes in the smell of smoke and cheap, plain soap that clings to the fabric.

She doesn't doze off, the voice doesn't allow her too, echoing in her ears whenever she drifts too close to sleep.

It's all your fault.

She remembers that night, the two of them in the diner, because of couse she does. She remembers him asking, she rememberings telling a lie so well that is was almost truth.

And she blames herself, because of course she does, believes the voice that follows her everywhere because maybe if she had been honest, maybe if she had told Elwood the truth--

I'm afraid

--maybe he would've stayed, maybe he would've realized how much she needed him to stay.

Something inside her breaks.

She's rolling out of his bed then after what feels like years of not moving, tearing his sheets off with her, punching and pulling at the seams of his pillows until they rip. She loses herself often, loses reality even more often, but never like this, not since--

It's been years, it's rare, these tantrums of hers, when everything she pushes down inside of herself finally bursts and the only thing that helps is destroying everything she can get her hands on.

Elwood's apartment is scarce, minimal, but nothing is safe. She finds his books, rips all the pages without even realizing what she's doing, empties every drawer onto the floor, throws every object that isn't too heavy to lift, pounds her fists against his walls,

she screams, but she can't even hear her own voice.

Even when every inch of the apartment matches the chaos she feels inside of herself, it still doesn't help. He's still gone, he's still not coming back, left behind all his pets, all his things, disappeared.

Anyone else would find it strange, consider it enough of a reason to assume that Elwood might return at some point, but Edna knows better, still hasn't forgotten, could never forget the last time this happened. Instead of taking it all in as evidence that he'd come back, it only makes her dig in even deeper, wonder what would be enough to make him leave all of this behind so unexpectedly.

You know who did this.

You know.

She finds Nor's apartment easy, because she pays attention, because she's heard those rumors of Elwood coming and going, because she's bothered to look into it beyond just that. She picks her way inside, and of course the apartment is empty. Of course, of course.

You knew it would be.

But not long after that is the sound of a key in the lock, and Edna finds herself hoping again, a dangerous feeling, one she knows she shouldn't allow.

And for good reason.

It's not Nor, it's not Elwood.

A quiet voice, a whisper that Edna can't tell is real or not, asking her if she was there for Scoots, if Nor was the one that asked her to be there. Like all of Edna's other lies, her answer slides out easy, a slow and distracted yes that makes the voice disappear, makes the front door click shut again, leaves Edna alone.

It's a mistake, it's a bad idea, because that hope she dared to feel is crushed again, and it has her smashing plates, it leaves gashes on her hands as she breaks mirrors, windows so that the apartment goes cold with late November air that smells like snow.

The next time the lock on the front door clicks open, Edna doesn't hear it. She's tired, doesn't know how long it's been since she slept, how long it's been since she ate,

how long it's been since he left with her.

She's slumped on the kitchen floor, surrounded by the mess she's made, shards of broken dishes and glasses digging into her knees. She's crying, still crying, hadn't stopped, but she can't even feel the dampness on her cheeks, the sting of her eyes.

He's gone, he's gone, he's gone


This time it's for real.
Feb 6 2017, 02:43 PM

Donald Weiser & Edna Nödl
( outfit )

thread warnings
| hallucinations | delusions | dissociation |

On the day of November 23rd, the day before Thanksgiving, Elwood is already gone when Edna wakes up.

She feels his cats brushing against her ankles as she goes about her day, hears the jingle of Critter's collar always a few steps behind her when she goes outside to feed the goats. Elwood would come back for them, she thinks, knowing how he feels about his pets.

But morning turns to afternoon, afternoon turns to evening turns to midnight and beyond and the sound of his truck pulling back into the driveway never comes, starts to fill Edna with a dread she hasn't felt in awhile.

He's gone, he's gone, he's gone, she hears a voice whisper over her shoulder. His phone goes straight to voicemail when she calls.

(He left you


Because why wouldn't he?

It's the same words over and over, so loud that it distracts Edna from the world around her, so that it's the middle of the night and she's rocking back and forth on the front steps of their house, her body shivering against the cold she doesn't feel. Inside, her parents and Opa are already sleeping, and if they were worried at all it wasn't in a way that Edna could sense.

She couldn't go to them with this, couldn't let her family see this weakness from her, the way her fears could swallow her whole when she was left alone with them for too long.

She's shuffling blindly down the gravel road leading away from her house then, further down the way to another house she knows almost as well as her own, though she doesn't realize that's where her legs are carrying her until she's at the front door.

This time it's locked.

It's a problem that's easily fixed. Edna could go back home, find that skinny, sharp tool she liked to carry with her sometimes for cases like this.

But she doesn't realize how late it is and the locked door comes as something unexpected, knocks the wind out of her lungs and rattles something like panic loose in her. With Elwood gone, with her parents sleeping, with Donald Weiser's door locked, it feels like Edna's the only person left in the universe, or perhaps the only one not in the universe, interacting with some mirrored reality from an angle that no one else could reach, no one else could find her.

She feels lost.

She feels desperate, feels like she's ripping apart at the seams.

She knocks on the door, hard and frantic, doesn't stop even when her knuckles vibrate with pain, red and swollen and close to splitting.

Doesn't stop until he answers.
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