Cressida Wolfram
"To see clearly is poetry, prophecy and religion all in one."
—John Ruskin
—John Ruskin
Appearance
Built like a bird, Cress as far from physically imposing as one can get. She's objectively far too skinny with legs that 'don't quit' but wears it with the panache of a 20s flapper girl proud of her gamine lack of curve. Her complexion is a touch too pale, her hair a high contrast black-brown left to hang long, naturally textured or occasionally twined and braided—boho chic. Most days she wears heavy kohl eyeliner in a lived-in smokey smudge. Her eyebrows are thick and well-shaped, framing almond eyes of a strange golden forsythia she'll claim are color contacts when a human has the gall to ask. Her style is dependent on mood and activity, but she's always, always, always in black.While working she trends toward the extravagant for effect, draping herself in heavy textures and curious details. She keeps a finely wrought, beautifully maintained black walking cane with her at all times. The head -a sleek crow's head- doubles as a trigger mechanism to deploy a six inch blade housed in the shaft. Almost as regularly, you'll find her wearing boots regardless of the rest of her ensemble. Off the clock, her attire is simpler—her characteristic monochromatism leans more towards haute model-off-duty than goth. This isn't so much vanity -though she does appreciate finery- as the necessity of buying things which will last. It takes weeks for her to become comfortable with any new article of clothing, or any novel item contacting her skin whatsoever.
Unless within the comfort of her own home, she's hardly ever without gloves or maximized skin coverage to protect herself from random bouts of Sight. A truncated F. Scott Fitzgerald quote is tattooed on the inside of her right forearm, reading "And I hope she'll be a fool." It's satire with private personal meaning; she loathed Daisy Buchanan and everything she represented.
Personality
Cressida is...a lot. She's a haughty Victorian caricature with modern sensibilities, a sailor's penchant for colorful language dotted amongst dime words and a dirty sense of humor covering a mile-wide melancholic streak. Think of a 145yr old ballet-dancing, coffee-chugging Wednesday Addams as likely to break into naughty sea shanties as she is prophetic visions. It gets weird.Her interest in people trends towards aloof and scholastic. She's bothered by a troubling trifecta of a hyper-sensitive bullshit meter, lengthy life experience and knowledge of the idiotic or unlikeable things people whom she's just met might do in their future, or have done in the past. With those unfamiliar to her, she'll present as extra prickly to see if she can avoid conversation altogether or weed out the faint of heart, then ask them to explain why they're so enamored with streaking...because they'll be doing so in 27 minutes if they order another drink. If bored, she'll simply get up and leave mid-conversation. She's rude with strangers and those she doesn't especially like, which is oddly juxtaposed with her Emily Post adherence to all other categories of good manners native to her posh upbringing. She'd rather have teeth pulled than engage in small talk.
If you haven't known her well for at least six month, don't touch her—she's not sufficiently acclimated to you to comfortably handle that. Though a pacifist outside of her thrice-yearly nutritional needs, she'll enforce her boundaries with the nearest newspaper or (mostly) inoffensive object if she has to tell you twice. Independence and autonomy are sacrosanct to her. Touch makes her a lightning rod for the esoteric. For the most part she has her Sight on lockdown, but it leaks through when contact is made when she's off guard. She hates that. This also adds to her challenges in getting close to people on any level. Simply seeing how often a person may lie to her is enough to deter her from trying. She's deeply aware of how flawed people are, and while she's under no delusion that she's exempt, that knowledge has added to her distrust and dislike of most people. Those who are upfront and honest, and don't make her go chasing after truth like she's on the clock are rare, delightful exemptions akin to catnip to her. Unsurprisingly, her small group of friends is an eclectic bunch with seemingly little order, rhyme or reason to her selection process.
Put an animal in front of her and watch her turn into a heart-eyed cartoon character, however. Unlike people, she's met few she didn't adore. Cress stopped keeping pets in the 50s. She couldn't handle the heartbreak of burying them any more. Romantic entanglements are a similarly endangered species. If loss leaves a hole in the shape of absent loved ones, she's quite certain her heart turned into Swiss cheese long ago. The thought of more damage terrifies her.
She's not always so weighty. While she's careful to safeguard her sensitivities, she craves a good time, a great laugh, and to keep her very long life from becoming an exercise in humdrum caution. The more novel the activity, the more likely to catch her interest. The blacker the comedy, the more likely to make her laugh. If she trusts you, you'll find that she's playfully crass, an unapologetic nerd, comically self-deprecating and can be downright silly. She's also a workhorse and disciplined professional who, despite her intense dislike of her own abilities, craves putting them to beneficial use for others; it gives her hope, but she also harbors a small kernel of optimism for a bettered world which she'd rather no one knew about.
As mentioned, Cress isn't heartless, though she often wishes this wasn't so. She has over a century of love and loss under her belt and like Cassandra, is so very very tired of saying "I told you so." Beneath her many strange layers is an exhausted, damaged old heart pocked with cynicism and a drive to protect herself. Too often it overrides her kinder instincts. Know that if she cares for you, she has tried very hard not to. With these people, she can be vibrantly affectionate. She's a closeted romantic and an extremely physical person with all her loved ones. Historically, sirens were made out to be seductive creatures, but it's more than that. Touch (not necessarily sexual) and acts of service are her love languages. That so many requisites have to be met in order for her to actually express any of that can be so frustrating that it drives her to be shrill, nihilistic and cold—which is how most see her.
Abilities, Conditions & Considerations
[[Note: Her abilities section looks massive—it covers genus, subspecies and a now permanent, fused possession. While she possesses all of the following according to lore, some elements are not in use and may never be in game, as Cress does her best NOT to be what she is. The compounding of her skillset is also so overwhelming it's comparable to a physical and psychological disability. At present, she contends with extremely volatile and unpredictable fluctuations in her Sight as a result of tampering via Fae magics, which sometimes forces her to see the 'otherworld' -past and possible futures overlapping the present, or spiritual or planar in-betweens- which is both extremely disturbing and disorienting, as she can't distinguish that fault in her Sight from reality. Headaches associated with her prophecy and psychometry are currently debilitating.]]Siren / Gamayun
Siren: A winged, highly social semi-aquatic species heavily slandered in legend and literature, Sirens have no determined end to their lifespan, although she's never heard of one older than 400. Their habit of getting into danger, paired with their relative lack of advanced conditioning or healing factors means that they often die of unnatural causes. They suffer an iron and silver allergy, can be killed by blunt trauma or extreme injury and curiously, tend to waste away and die if they lose their voices, or are left too long alone. Sirens must consume human organs three or four times a year in order to stay healthy and maintain their immortality. If they stop, they age as a normal human would until they resume consumption, or die. Aging is not reversible.
Gamayun: Gamayuns are rare hiccups in the siren genetic pool, which produces a siren with the 'gift' of prophecy and even greater deficiencies in supernatural conditioning or defense mechanisms. They are found only in Russia and the Causcus region. More avian and less water-loving than a normal siren, their bones are hollow and flexible. Variably, this may make them more resilient, or more vulnerable. Unlike many supernaturals who possess strength beyond what their human bodies might project, Gamayuns are more frail than they appear. They may conceal all, or individual aspects of their 'monstrous' self. In her natural shape, Cress sports nails long as talons and feet that resemble a Harpy's, with hooked spurs and claws. These only come out in emergencies. Obscure old Russian texts claim that the oldest of the Gamayuns eventually withdraw to live in isolation, dwelling on an unnamed 'paradise' island in the East, maddened and seeking refuge from the knowledge of all creatures and happenings, past, present and future. Cress believes this means that her Sight will continue to strengthen with age until it becomes unmanageable, as it did for her great-grandmother.
Wings: Her wings can be hidden indefinitely by reabsorption into the body. Fully extended, each measures 16.5 ft, giving her a wingspan of ~35ft. They're black and white with an oil-slicked iridescence. Strong and well-suited to gliding, not high agility, they're not ideal for long distances or if laden with more than 50 pounds in excess of her body weight. The pain of shifting them out and back is so immense it has knocked her unconscious in the past.
Prophecy & Psychometry
Cressida is capable of both tactile reading of the past and future, and bothered by involuntary oracular Sight.
The first requires skin contact. Anything unfamiliar which contacts her bare skin she 'reads,' be it animate or otherwise. Intentional use requires maintained touch and focus. Accidental contact when she's unprepared will often result in a vision so strong she blanks out from her surroundings and present reality. In a vision, she may fail to See small details which may be significant to the greater picture, but her Sight never lies. This grants her knowledge of events yet to be in specific places, in the vicinity of certain objects, and to read a client's past or future. For example, she can touch a lamppost where a clandestine meeting is set to take place, enabling her to view what will, or has transpired there. If reading a living creature, she experiences the past or future in first person, including the full sensory spectrum associated with the viewed event. This can be wonderful, or frightening and painful. For example, if she's trying to help a client discern the identity of an attacker, she will have to psychically re-live the experience herself in order to do her job. Too many readings a day results in crippling headaches, nausea, dizziness, inability to discern whether her environment is real or recalled, and sometimes fainting. With people whom she has known for six months or more and is significantly comfortable, the effect of her involuntary contact-based sight is significantly lessened, but never disarmed. It's unlikely that strong memories will overtake her after that introductory period, but smallm or day-to-day memories continue to leak into her consciousness when making skin contact. It goes without saying that this is a major turn off for both her, and others who might wish to be close to her. There's very little privacy with Cress, however she might wish it otherwise. Every so often she'll 'read' someone in their entirety. This process takes hours or days and may be broken up, but results in her having so exhaustively re-lived a person's memory that her third eye is no longer particularly interested in them, and their day-to-day memories feel more like soft background music than an invasion. As it requires deep trust and time, to date, she has only done this three times.
Her second method of Sight is out of her control. Visions and portents will come to her without invitation and without touch to trigger them. Depending on the nature of the vision this can be experienced like an instance of deja vu, or may feel like a full blown anxiety attack. If particularly violent, the resulting symptoms are the same as the overuse of her psychometry.
Djinn Possession
((Djinn have an enormous list of abilities and supernatural strengths attributed them. For game purposes, I'm limiting them to the following. Fluid use of any skill in the future will require development, bloopers and significant practice in play.))In January 2021, Cress became the chosen and mostly voluntary host of an ancient Ifritah (s., female)—an infernal class of Djinn noted for their strength and cunning. The Ifrit(pl.) are ancient winged creatures of smokeless fire and air. Rebellious tricksters loosely equivalent to The Fallen Host of archangels in Arabic tradition, they were thought to inspire poets, prophets and soothsayers, and to possess humans and magical creatures, causing madness in those who resisted them. Cressida's hosted Djinn calls herself In'am Sahrayn Al-Azena Basaran (rough translation: 'bestowal from golden sands'). She claims herself seventeenth in line for the throne of her people, and is about as entitled, apathetic and superior as you'd expect. As a result of forcing the Djinn to break taboo in autumn of 2021, her relationship with In'am became permanent—irreversible until Cressida's death.Pyrokinetics: In'am's mastery of fire does not yet translate to Cress. Sometimes she can't even summon it—others, she can't control it when she does. Cressida's control rarely exceeds more than the equivalent of a match flame. When she does manage any successful use, this is accomplished with focus and strangely smooth, almost dancelike movement of the hands and arms to direct it, or more bluntly with the forceful 'pushing' of fire via her wings. As above, hers is not yellow-orange fire, but blue-green, hot enough to exceed the melting point of most steel alloys.
She rarely feels or senses the Ifritah. In'am will sometimes speak in her head. More often, Cress just knows what the ancient spirit is feeling or thinking, as in an empathic connection. Through Cress, In'am has a functionally immortal host with whom she and most of her abilities are well-matched. Cressida gains a stabilizing influence on her sanity, augmentation/stabilization of her prophetic elements, the ability to shift her wings with less trauma (reduced to a born shifter's experience) and turn them incorporeal, and in a bind, the ability to aide friends and loved ones with the 'oh shit' lever of her very limited wish-giving.
Cress takes measures to protect In'am which may look strange. She eschews salt, is far more sensitive to cold than she'd previously been, and won't touch needles, as they're commonly used to paralyze Djinn by insertion beneath the skin. As opportunistic magic users are traditionally the Djinn's most dangerous enemies -known to ensnare and enslave them- she's growing increasingly careful around New Orleans' covens and those associated, as well. Similarly, if Cress is in extreme danger, In'am may make appearances and 'take over.' This is hard to miss. While In'am is in control, or Cress is using any of the Djinn's abilities, runes in a dead language appear beneath her skin in blue-green light. The fiery green alters her golden eyes to a lit chartreuse, glows along major arteries and above her heart, and appears particularly concentrated in her wings. When her questionable control doesn't simply light her wings aflame in their entirety, green light peaks between the black and white feathers in the way you might see lava visible in cracks beneath a magma shell.
Smoke & Dust: She's doing better with this than the fire, at game onset. In'am insists that Cress should be able call vast, obscuring blankets of smoke, dust storms and mixed atmospheric disturbances, and to become smoke herself. To In'am's annoyance, Cress can do none of these things. She's primarily concerned with learning how to isolate and turn her wings into very thin smoke, that she might hide them in plain sight and write off the visual oddity as a trick of the light, etc.
Wishes Three: Robin Williams had this right. You can't wish for more wishes, wish someone back from the dead, or wish to change another person's free will. Djinn are notoriously tricky. If you don't phrase your wishes wisely or the granting Djinn dislikes you, you may find yourself worse off than before you began. Phrase it well or with a sympathetic Djinn, and you could gain wealth, health, power, immortality—the list is long. These three wishes do not have to be bestowed on the same person, or in any specific time frame. A host body can only withstand the granting of three wishes. Doing so is deeply magically and physically taxing. After bestowing the third, the Djinn is ejected from the host whether or not both wish it, and forced to find a new vessel. The emptied host may suffer damage to their health, sanity, and control of native abilities after the Djinn's departure.
History
Thomas Wolfram and his wife, Helena Baranovskaya, immigrated to New York in 1874, two years before the birth of their second child, Cressida. Thomas hailed from a long line of English and Irish Sirens, well-established and hidden among the ranks of the upper aristocracy of the British Isles. No small amount of their success in social climbing owed to their hypnotic voices. Helena descended from a long line of Greek and Russian Ashkenazi Jewish diaspora in which Gamayuns and Alkonosts featured significantly. She had hoped that their child would not inherit the Gamayun gene from her Great-Grandmother. Those hopes dashed, she did her best to educate her daughter in self-control and moderation.Her Great-Grandmother, Vanya, was a frequent visitor after Cressida was born, despite previous lack of interest in the family. A brilliant, charismatic and beautiful woman (she'd never let herself age past her mid 20s) she was also brutal, cold, and would have been diagnosed as bipolar in modern times. Although she doted on Cress, she was cruel to Cressida's brother, Elias; Vanya considered him a carbon copy of their unexceptional father and his mundane English line, and made no attempt to pretend otherwise. When Cress was eight, Vanya had an episode of Sight from which she didn't surface for hours while she'd been meant to be watching over both children. They weren't uncommon for the old Gamayun, but in this one, she got violent. While Cress tried to help coax her from it, Vanya struck her on the temple so hard she blacked out. When she woke, Elias was bloody, ashen-faced and speechless. Overcome with remorse once lucid, Vanya had walked into the Hudson River wearing a coat stuffed with stones, never to be seen again. Her coat washed up days later. Cress made the mistake of touching it with bare hands. What she saw still haunts her.
For her first decade Cress was kept close to her family at all times. Because her Sight had been active from infancy, they believed she had to be sheltered from overstimulation. Her father—who believed her too delicate, questionably sane and a poor reflection of his family's lineage—was an early market speculator on Wall Street and happily spent most of his time away from the family. Her mother, who insisted on working despite the financial means to allow her leisure time, took the ferry every morning to keep books on Ellis island when the immigration offices opened. Cress regularly accompanied her.
Like her parents, she was raised Catholic. She attended a girl's parochial boarding school from the age of 11 to her 'finishing' graduation at 16. It broke her of any faith she might have had early on. The gentle touches from the sisters who were meant to be her moral role models would show her flashes of late night trysts with men outside the school walls, theft from the larders to pay for unsanctioned magazines or frivolous trinkets, and gossip sessions in the transepts where the sisters would discuss the misdoings of their students and church regulars with vitriol. Early exposure to so many other girls 'of faith' taught her a lot about lay-people as well. Those from wealthy families were just as likely to do both good or reprehensible things later in life as those without means. It was a brutal but priceless education in the nature of humanity that made her value those with good hearts that much more later in life, even if she has trouble identifying with them.
Her mother died while she was away at school. As it turned out, Thomas had been a lifelong philanderer. For the most part, Helena had stomached the indignity. However, when one of his affairs turned into real love, she stopped caring for herself and rapidly fell ill. Medicine at the time was poorly equipped to explain such a rapid onset of consumption, and couldn't treat it for another sixty years. The coincidence of timing was terrible. It seemed Helena died of a broken heart. The family's Monsignor even suggested that she'd been afflicted by a demon. Cress has never forgiven her father for his callousness, for the neglect, the gambling and the drinking, and for destroying her mother's gentle heart. She should have learned then that love can feel like dying, but she's nothing if not stubborn.
In 1893 she attended Wellesley College for a three year Bachelor's study in anatomy (of which she knew plenty due to her dietary needs) and medicine. Though highly uncommon at the time for a young woman to attend higher education, she may have blackmailed her father with public slander in order to secure permission and the needed funds. She returned to Manhattan afterward to work as a physician's assistant. Her employer, though a decade older and entirely human, was her first real love. It completely blindsided her. In her job interview alone, Henry had inadvertently insulted her at least a dozen times, not just regarding the easy target of her gender. It continued at a steady pace. Often, she'd wonder if she could get away with eating her new boss. Slowly, she learned that his stubbornness and pride was a facet of his love of precision, his reservedness was armor around a soft heart, his brusqueness the product of raw feeling his scientific mind had difficulty processing. She adored him. Their relationship was hard work fraught with boundary issues, further compounded when Cressida's aging screeched to a halt at the turn of the century. He died in 1906 in a freak accident she didn't see coming. It left her the owner of a booming medical firm with no license or interest to practice herself, and questionable legitimacy, as she looked to be in her early twenties but was 30 on paper.
She sold her husband's practice within six months, and picked up editing work at Harper & Brothers Publishing House to keep herself busy. It was an ideal fit. She got to touch brilliant minds through the work she reviewed, without actually touching anyone.
In 1911 she married again, to a fiery journalist from the New York Times gifted with Truth Inspiration. Bold about using his gift to ferret out injustices, Ben dutifully publish his findings in weekly editorials. Both respected the other's intuitive natures, ambition and drive. For the first time, she even considered having children and starting a family of her own. They were very different people, but she felt she'd found her soul mate, if such a thing existed. Theirs was a blissful marriage until 1917, when the US declared war and entered WWI. An indefatigable patriot, Ben was convinced that it was his duty to serve. Not to enlist was un-American, and with his gifts, he would make an invaluable spy or spycatcher. He was right, but she foresaw that it'd cost him his life half a world away. She begged him not to go. Armed with the knowledge of his fate, he believed he could avert it. Thirteen months later, she received only a folded flag over which to mourn.
After two consecutive tragedies, Cressida was done with humans, companionship, or with feeling much of anything by the beginning of the roaring 20s—just in time to lose herself in legendary revelry. As it turned out, the 20s were her favorite years. She flourished with no one to consider but herself. Cress was born to be a flapper; she had dozens of underhanded connections courtesy of her late husband's work, knew all the best people, how to find the best parties, and had a voice to draw any crowd when accompanied with the right booze and a bit of jazz. She'd tried walking the straight and narrow. It didn't suit her.
Following the market crash in 1928 (which she dreamt of, but misinterpreted as a racketeering bust) she moved to Europe for two decades, immersing herself in the expat craze which overtook Paris. Around this time she also started to use her abilities for strategic personal gain, investing in underestimated financial ventures she saw would be lucrative in the future. Dr. Jonas Salk's research into the Polio vaccine was a favorite interest, as was Pincus' revolutionary oral contraceptive. She's still living off of the carefully managed returns and subsequent investment portfolios from both.
In the 50s, she moved to Moscow. Having an ageless body and almost unnaturally long legs, she polished her childhood dance training with the Vaganova school, then danced Corps with the Moscow Ballet Co for four years. She couldn't stay long without raising suspicion, but it was a brief fulfillment of a life long dream. As it turned out, working so closely with competitive humans in such a cutthroat environment only further cemented the beliefs she'd established back in her school days. She holds the memory dear, regardless, and the few friends she made moreso.
In the 70s she cohabitated with a Vampire in Boston, which in hindsight still sounds absurd. In the era of free love and hippie joy, she chose to live with a member of the undead who frequently left bloody messes around the house. She figures this says more about her than it does about him, but ridiculous or not, she looks back on their time together fondly and keeps in touch. Woodstock was a blast. So were the bellbottoms.
The 80s. Tube socks and too much neon. She'd rather forget the whole thing. Terminator genuinely freaked her out on the first viewing. She's never entirely understood why and tries not to look into it too deeply. Maybe Skynet really will be a thing some day. There's nothing relevant for her to touch to find out, but it struck a chord with her.
In 1989 she moved back to NYC. So much had changed that her hometown at first felt alien to her, but she quickly settled. With everyone she'd know long gone, she had a clean slate. And with no real need for money after the financial windfall of her earlier investments, she voluntarily worked small jobs here and there to keep herself busy and interacting with the world. She engaged herself with philanthropic organizations and non-profits, booked half hour gigs with exclusive, smokey word-of-mouth clubs and lounges, and spent days in book stores drinking too much coffee and watching the world by. It was lonely but comfortable, and she learned to slow down and enjoy silence. She left NYC in Spring 2001 to travel the world, unable to shake the hounding, oppressive feeling that something awful was meant to happen there, and soon.
Cress vacationed in New Orleans in 2016. She fell in love with the Crescent City and its vibrant supernatural population within a week. By word of mouth, in the way a party-goer with a nose for an exclusive experience finds a speakeasy in NYC, she came upon Le Chemin Noir. After a salty exchange with Lloyd wherein he threatened to turn her away for her mouth more than once, admittance to the path brought her to The Moirai. Owned by a persnickety Summer Fae with a gift for divination via tarot but no staff capable of investigating the past, Cress found a useful outfit through which to use her oft-problematic skills for good. The dark little psychic's den has felt like a home away from home ever since.
Serendipity reintroduced her to a man she'd met while touring Rio—Grayson Brisck. After several months, over Japanese ice creams, through laughable ghost-tour possession antics, endless comedic squabbles with his pickpocketing familiar and a short stay on his couch while her apartment was being renovated after a small disaster involving a busted pipe, she realized -to her great annoyance- that she'd slipped up, and thought of him as far more than a friend, too late to pump the brakes. As Murphy's Law would have it, New Orleans' Fae stirred to a coup, tragedy after tragedy struck, and with more drastic concerns it took years for her to come to terms with the fact that she felt anything other than her usual chilly, dignified calm—an upheaval nearly as jarring to her as her kidnapping by the Spring Court in Summer '19. Mercifully, she remembers almost none of the ordeal, though she retains an intense distrust and borderline paranoia around the Fae in general.
In the settling dust, she, Gray and her dearest friend Jaime took to the road in search of answers, and solutions to troubles plaguing each of them. The venture took them to Kitimat, BC, where a local First Nation tribe seemed most likely to be able to help them. A year and a half of one small (or large) madness after another followed. It was discovered that the Fae had deployed a spy to stalk them; Jaime went feral and was lost for nearly a year, she feared permanently; dark anomalies began appearing on the outskirts of Kitimat coinciding with the arrival of a new coven encroaching on the Haisla's territory and interfering with their magical rites; Jaime returned, in the employ of the Winter Court; a Fae tried to make nice, but it turned out she was just sizing Cress up as a new vessel for a Djinn; Jaime's father -a long-feral Wendigo grown immensely powerful- started massacring timber workers and needed to be put down (read: thrown into a Void tear); their lovably dumb Corgi was ousted as a glamoured Kobold, yet another Fae spy. The list goes on.
Their objectives mostly complete and in need of sanity and regularity, the trio returned to New Orleans in May 2021. In what seemed meaningful timing, the Moirai had just been put up for sale—her former boss had fled with the Summer Court and abandoned the deed. After shuffling a few stock holdings, Cress purchased the shop, intent on making a more permanent home of NOLA this time around.
Miscellaneous
Skills
Accomplished poet and dancer (ballet and ballroom), speaks Russian, English, passable French and Latin related to her Orthodox Catholic upbringing, can pick pre-80s locks, has an incredible memory, knows the Dewey decimal system far too well, can identify almost all perennial and annual flowers, as well as press and preserve them, but can't keep them alive to save her hide, is an ace with a sling shot (a childhood gag), can recite most of Lewis Carroll's The Hunting of the Snark and Through the Looking Glass from memory, skilled cyclist (nothing too tricky) and equestrian, but can't drive a car, plays a fair piano forte, makes a great pot of french press coffee but can't figure out instant, and is an atrocious cook. She mixes a mean Manhattan, Sazerac and Black Russian.
Resources / Financial
She'd get by just fine without this job, or any, but doesn't talk about it.
Goals
She's at the Cirque for a much needed extended leave from the density of non-supernaturals in the outside world. It's that simple. For most of her life, she's kept a throttling grip on her abilities to subdue their power, not train them. It presents regular problems for her, and she would benefit from interacting with other psychics and mentalists (or anyone with insight) who could help her stabilize and explore her abilities.
Story Hooks
Cress has a meaningful heritage she's not aware of yet, which may become interesting down the line. She has extended family (sirens and rarer speciations) all over the world. Fellow aerial or avian sorts may interest her. She may be able to help with specific queries about character's futures ("Will the burlesque dancer I'm sleeping with cheat on me?" "Yes. Counter question. On a scale of cotton candy to diamond, how dense are you?")