Our story begins in 1860. It was on a night of summer storms, thunder rumbling in the background while dark clouds gathered and rain fell to the dry ground in sheets. And during all these natural dramatics… a simple farming family was welcoming their newest member to the world.
Born without doctor or hospital, there was only a midwife seeing to Rebecca Gibbs during her labor. Being born in the family bathtub in a farmhouse may not be the most glorious way to enter life, but understated and modest was the life the Gibbs family lived.
Jackson and Rebecca Gibbs would end up with four children total. Malachi, their oldest and most troubled child, Caleb, the next down and a polar opposite to his brother in his straight-laced manner, Ginny, something of a tom boy as a child who liked getting dirty better than sitting around knitting and sewing, and the youngest Deborah, a sweet and gentle girl who seemed to need so much looking after and protection. The six of them worked the farm with a few other hands, and did so successfully most of the time. A God given blessing, Rebecca would say.
She was the religious one of the family. Jackson believed… but didn't think God much bothered with what Man was up to these days. And if he did, it was with great men moving history about, not a simple farmer. But Rebecca taught the children with his blessing. What's the harm? He'd say. It was only Malachi who didn't seem to care for the prayers at dinner and only Malachi who would skip out on the weekly Bible reading to go off gallivanting. The others believed. Ginny believed. Their good fortune with the farm? A blessing. A loving family in good health? A blessing. She believed there was a higher power looking out for them. She had faith like a child, deep, open, honest and full of awe.
So it very much puzzled her mother that she should have such a fascination for the guns the boys wielded so readily. And that she sometimes would wear her brothers' clothes when she went out working. Improper. And that she'd come in the house covered head to foot in dirt and mud and seemed to like it. She would sit and sew with Rebecca and Deborah, but the moment she could, she'd be back outside in the open air. She loved the outdoors. When asked, she would say it smelled like freedom. Her father would tell her she had some notions in her head. He didn't really approve of notions.
The family farm was a half a day's ride out from the nearest town. What this meant was that her parents took care of her schooling. Which is… she learned to take care of the farm. Count money. Mend clothes. Other things were seen as a luxury. Her reading was limited to what was necessary, like to be able to pick up what was needed when they'd go into town. She learned Bible verses by listening, not reading them herself. Her mother did try, but the farm and the practical skills trumped all, and there were only so many hours in the day. She did take the time to learn how to fire more than a shotgun from Malachi, but in those days… it was a game. An amusement. She certainly never used it to hurt people with.
Going into town was always exciting, seeing the other children, having some time to play. Her mother could, at the very least, get her into dresses for those public outings. And she learned to get Ginny's dresses in darker colors, because they were not safe from her rough style of play and more often than not, she'd come home covering in dirt in them, too.
She only started to grow out of that in her teen years, more out of the knowledge that her parents were expecting her to be able to attract a husband soon enough. Which… well, didn't happen. But her sister… the pretty little Deborah. Delicate and elegant. Boys were courting her the moment it was appropriate. One in particular, his name was Charles Huntington. He was older, inappropriately so, perhaps, but he had enough money to make her parents look the other way on that score. Only Malachi rallied against it. He was too young. Deborah was too young to marry. He never explained why, but he hated Huntington and his passion on the subject did, at least, make Jackson pause and look into the man before letting him marry his precious flower of a daughter. She was only sixteen. Ginny was twenty by then.
It was a matter that would go unsettled among the men of the Gibbs family. It was that spring when the fire came. It sparked one night while the family slept and in the dry Arizona air… it swept over the farm as if it were made of straw. Ginny woke up to the smell of smoke and flame and screams of pain in the air. She grabbed Deborah and helped her climb down from their second story bedroom window. They did try to get back in to help the others, but it was too late. Her family, the farm hands living in the loft in the barn, all died that night. The animals, the crops… whatever money they had… all gone. They had to walk the road into town that night, Ginny supporting her darling sister until they reached the doctor.
Recovery took some time for them both. Physically and mentally. The grief, survivor's guilt, the despair of knowing their life was gone and they didn't have anything to start over with all weighed on their shoulders. And that… was exactly why Deborah decided to go to Charles. He had money, he could at least… get them on their feet. And, of course… he offered Deborah more than that. And the lure of his finery and big house made her goal shift from getting them on their feet to getting them taken care of. He agreed on taking Ginny in to live with them and Deborah didn't see a downside. You know, aside from the fact that she didn't love him. But it was for what family she had left.
They spent a few years in relative happiness and ease. Ginny worked a bit here and there as a nanny, watching after other rich people's children. It embarrassed Charles, that she worked for his peers. Like a servant. But he only grumbled about it now and then. It kept Deborah quiet, at least, instead of bothering him on when he'd help Ginny restart the farm. Which he didn't want to happen. Discord set in about five years into this arrangement. The loveless marriage had turned Deborah to the arms of another. And who was surprised? She was young, she married for all the wrong reasons, and her husband was nearly fifteen years her senior. And when Charles found out about Deborah's lover… he felt the stab of betrayal, and it sunk deep into his gut. Turned his admiration of her to bitterness. His tolerance of her and her simpering and pleading to disgust. And his generous hospitality to a heavy burden. And on top of this… it was only months later when his debtors started asking for their money. And then demanding it. And it wasn't that he couldn't afford to pay… it's just that doing so would leave him penniless and unable to continue his life of ease. Which he wanted. His marriage tumbling and his jaded nature sparked… he wanted something to hold onto.
Neither of the women knew, but Charles was a man capable of revenge. Revenge tenfold. He did not suffer betrayal lightly. So, when his debtors sneeringly offered him the option of working off his debts… an idea struck him. A beautifully vicious idea. And he was in just the right mood to indulge such an idea. He went to Ginny. He told her… there wasn't the money to pay off his debts. The debts he'd gotten into to support her living with them. The lie was easily believed, as Ginny wasn't an educated girl, and certainly wasn't educated of the cruelties man was capable of committing. Yet. So when he told her that going to work for this man he knew would help him pay off those debts… well. She felt it was her duty to. And she assumed… she'd be doing much what she was already doing. Nannying. Housekeeping. Just for a different house.
Of course, she wasn't expecting it to be a whorehouse. She didn't even get to pack her things. She was just picked up in a carriage and taken to the town's brothel. It was her first moment of panic. That wasn't right. Her escorts took her into an office where her new… owner was, they said. And she tried to bolt, but they were ready for that and kept her right there in the room. It was explained to her then, that her brother in laws debts were certainly older then the marriage, and that while he'd been paying back a little at a time, it was long past time for him to turn in the full amount. And that's where she came in. She was to work off that debt. He didn't care that she wasn't responsible, he cared only about money. Money was the one constant in life. Care for a lover for years… and they still might leave you high and dry one night. But money? Money would reward you for that care. Ginny would remember that speech forever.
She also found, by the end of the meeting, such as it was, she was much more… open to this idea. She didn't like it, but she could handle it. What she didn't know, of course, was that her new master had a power. It wasn't as hard hitting as telepathy, but that Persuasion was difficult to fight against. Not to mention that as her escorts were guiding her from the room to her new quarters, her he added one extra piece of incentive. Deborah. Charles would have to pay these debts, and he was prepared to take it out of Deborah if Ginny decided to take off.
It was too much for her. She didn't know what to do. She was a simple girl. This was leaps and bounds over her head. But one thing was for certain… she couldn't let this happen to Deborah. They never told her how long she would have to work to get those debts off her back, but she came to suspect… that she wasn't going to be able to go back home again. After all their loss… the added loss of her sister brought Ginny lower than she'd ever been. It very nearly broke her. But there was something. A spark inside her she wasn't aware of that kept her going. Just survive, for now, and worry about how to get out of this once you've figured out what's going on.
It wasn't a good life. After all… she hadn't ever been with a man before, and the best the other girls could tell her was that some men paid top dollar to be the first. Imagine her horror when the man paying that top dollar ended up being the man that sent her there in the first place. Tenfold. He did complain to the house later that he didn't like his girls to cry so much and that he expected better the next time he came in. And since his marriage bed had turned quite cold between his wife's affair and her anger over her sister's fate. Of course, Deborah was trapped herself, given that she was told the same thing. If she left, it would only make things harder for Ginny. So both girls stayed, under the belief that it was the best they could do for each other. Both too… timid to figure another way out.
Charles, of course, wasn't the only man to make her their favorite. And when she'd been there a year, she was assured she'd done good work and had made a big dent in that sum. In truth… the debt was paid off by then, but she did bring the brothel good money. And with the persuasion taking a stronger hold the longer she interacted with him, she was even pleasant after a year. After two… she downright enjoyed her job. It struck her now and then that something about that was very wrong… but she could never quite but her finger on it. At first, she thought it was moral. She shouldn't be enjoying this, since it was against God and the Bible… but she came too discover she didn't much believe in God anymore. Or if he did exist, that he was cruel at worst and indifferent at best. If they were his children… why would she be here?
She was twenty-eight when things changed. She'd been at the brothel for three years almost, and it was one of those nights when Charles came by. He'd noticed that she seemed… happy. He'd used that to torment Deborah, that her big sister was just loving spreading her legs for every man in town. How similar the two were, eh? But. Ginny. Ginny was not suffering enough for his tastes. So, that night he told her a story. He told her about how Malachi had been a thief and a killer, picking gunfights with anyone who'd listen. And how he had a tendency to anger the wrong people. It wasn't strictly true… but it wasn't really a lie, either. He told her how Malachi had stolen from Charles' nephew, the only family he'd had left and a cherished relative. His nephew caught him and a fight ensued. And the farmboy's strength was too much for the pampered child of the silver spoon. He died there on his own floor, trying to protect his own things. And Charles… Charles took it out on him. Tenfold. He set the fires that destroyed the Gibbs family, the farm. He courted Deborah and married her to own what was left of Malachi's. And when she betrayed him… he destroyed the one thing that was important to her. Her sister.
It was that night that the spark fanned into a flame. Stoked higher than Ginny knew how to handle, she fell into a frenzied rage. When she came out of it… Charles was dead on the floor and she was holding a bloody candlestick in hand. Prominent man in the city murdered by town whore? It didn't take a brilliant mind to figure out how that was going to go. Straight to the hangman's noose, no matter her story. A hardness set over her then. Her heart turned to stone. The same thought ran through her mind. Just survive. Just survive.
She sneaked out of the brothel then, slipping out a second story window, much like she did escaping the fire all those years ago. She kept to the shadows as she made her way back to the house. And when she got there, she woke Deborah up and told her… they had to run. She didn't know what Charles' debtors would do to them now, but she did know what the Marshall would do to her. It didn't take much convincing for Deborah to agree to come with her. So. She packed a few bags of clothes and valuables… and Ginny did also. Only she took Charles' clothes. She didn't know if it would work, but if someone was looking for them, they wouldn't find two women traveling anywhere. They would find Malachi, though. As she dug Malachi out of his proverbial grave and let Ginny sink down in. She was rusty on the guns… but it would come back to her, she hoped. So the sisters ran in the middle on the night, taking a single horse to ride out on in the dead of night.
It was hardly an easy journey. In taking up Malachi's name and claiming the story that he was getting his sister out of Arizona for her health… she woke up Malachi's old rivalries. She boned up on her sharpshooting right quick, out of necessity. Just survive. Surviving became more important than good deed and clean hands. Protecting her sister and staying alive became the marching orders of the day. Th worst part of it was… it only collaborated Charles' story. That bastard had been right about her beloved brother. He was a killed and a thief. As she was, too, standing in his shoes. But she found… she was able to accept that. If Charles' nephew was anything like his uncle… he probably deserved it.
When that journey started, it marked a crossroads for Ginny. Who would she choose to become? The soft, caring Ginny. Nanny. Tom Boy. Prostitute. Or Malachi, the morally ambiguous… but strong. As Malachi… she never was a whore. As Malachi she had the strength of will to do what it took to keep them standing. Keep them running. And she was good at it. And when they reached New York City… there was no thought of being Ginny. Only that there… Malachi didn't have to be a criminal. He could be a good man. Deborah was the only one who ever knew. She took a job in a textile factory there in the city while Malachi worked in construction. Building homes, mostly. And they made a life for themselves there. Malachi and Deborah Ashmore. They claimed to be from Georgia instead of Arizona, figuring the distance was long enough that no one would be able to check up on them. After all their… turmoil and drama… it was nice. It was quiet. Their troubles were every man's troubles. Normal. Mundane. It wasn't exactly like their childhood, but it was close enough. Deborah told her once it was sometimes so easy to forget everything that had happened. And Ginny was glad for that. She didn't want Deborah to remember. Unfortunately… Ginny couldn't forget. She was plagued by nights without sleep, and when she could sleep, there'd be nightmares. Nightmares about the feeling of warm blood on her hands. She'd killed a dozen men since Charles, but Charles was the figure that haunted her.
It was after a sleepless night, when Malachi showed up for work that things changed again. Two years. Two years things had been going well for them. But that morning, one of the boys asked if he knew someone named Ginny Gibbs. Someone'd come by wanting to talk to him about this Gibbs woman. They were onto him. Now. Ginny didn't know who it was. Someone defending Charles? Her old boss from the brothel? The authorities? She had no idea. She didn't know how they'd tracked them down. She didn't know why God wouldn't let them have peace. It was then she settled on Him being cruel, not just indifferent. Malachi was running back home to grab Deborah and run again when some figures grabbed him and yanked him back into an alley.
Ginny would never be able to describe that moment. Standing in an alley in 1890, about to turn to fight off these people who were obviously after her… and then not. The first thing that hit her was that it was loud. It was full of sounds she'd never heard before. Smells she'd never smelled before. Sights she'd never dreamed, let alone seen. The neon lights of a sign for a pool hall flicked on and off, giving that first taste of New York in 2006 a haunting, greenish glow. And god, it was loud. She didn't understand what she was looking at. And when she turned to her captors to demand an explanation… they were gone. Left her there. Why did they do that? Who were they? What had she ever- Okay, so it's entirely possible she did do something to them, or their family or something, but to just leave her there? And not tell her what or why or… what…
She assumed, at first, they must have given her some kind of drug. Making her see things. But she knew the path home. she'd get home and warn Deborah and she could help get them out of town while this drug wore off.
This drug never wore off.
When she asked people for help… they shook her off at best. A lot of them threatened to call the police. Some of them did call the police. She spent a few nights here and there in a jail cell, no ID, no money, nothing at all on her. They assumed she was one of the people left homeless by the bomb in Midtown, and left a little crazy, too. Sometimes, they'd assume she was on something from alcohol to LSD. But she was often determined harmless and set loose in the world— ah, in another jurisdiction. She learned about this new world slowly on her own. She learned that money looked different. She learned that five dollars was not a fortune. She found there really were a lot of crazy homeless people. Apparently someone set off dynamite in the middle of Manhattan? And the city was going insane over it. Oddly enough, the chaos of post-bomb New York was probably the easiest transition. Greed and Lust and Wrath… these were things she understood. Apparently Brooklyn was part of New York City now? Apparently there were moving pictures on a maaaagic box now a days. And she was the crazy one? She learned that there's nothing quite as frustrating as being totally sane… but having everyone believe you're crazy.
And then the announcement about the Evolved. She listened on the radio. It wasn't TNT, it was a person? People can blow things up with their minds? Ten years ago (or… one hundred twenty six years ago, depending on how you looks at it), she would have been… shocked. Frightened. Panicked. But she'd been tossed through time recently… and it lent a lot of credibility to what this Petrelli guy was claiming. And for a moment… she had hope. She this wasn't… and accident, and someone brought her here… then someone can bring her back. Only problem being… how could she trust them not to destroy her life again. They were hardly trustworthy, displacing people in time and blowing up chunks of the city. But still, perhaps she could get back to that moment. Get back to Deborah before anyone got to her.
But when the meat of the announcement sunk in… Gin was as out for blood as anybody. Riots and madness… she was right there in the thick of it. If it had kept going, Gin would have gone along with it. She may have some anger issues. >.> The Linderman Act… while it settled the public, it didn't settle Gin. With her cynicism, she just knew people would lie to save their own skins. It's what people do.
And then… there was Layla. Layla was a woman that found her while she was living in a heavy coat on Staten Island. Ginny never did get an answer from her on why she, of all people, believed her. Or at least didn't think she was crazy. But Layla didn't. She treated her like a person. She took her in and gave her a warm meal. Homecooked! It tasted… better than what she'd been eating, but it was still a far cry from what she was used to. Layla let her sleep on the couch.
Layla was a prostitute.
Ginny laughed and laughed when she found out. It was like a sign. And it's how she came to have actual employment here in the future. She had her first experience with a shower and indoor plumbing and found herself signing up to work in another brothel. Willingly this time. Hey, she had a lot of work experience. So she joined the ranks under John Logan. He wasn't nice, but she found she was more comfortable with someone didn't act nice. Charles had acted nice, and they thought him their savior. Logan didn't act nice, and she never thought of him as some white knight riding in to save her, but the lack of money, ID and home meant that she needed him. Or someone like him. But him. If anyone was her white knight… it was Layla. It was the first time in her life she'd had… a friend. Not a sister, not a kid to play with after church, a friend. Layla never told her she was a telepath, and if Ginny ever found out… the knowledge was wiped again. She wasn't ready for that. She still had to learn what the subway was and about Starbucks.
It was an odd way to learn. Children get to learn about this world a bit at a time. Wheels on the bus, fractions, government, calculus and so on. For Ginny… she was learning what a bus was at the same time people were trying to explain radiation to her. And apparently everyone can read in the future. It was something she lacked that she hid even from Layla. But all in all… it was a warm, safe place to get a crash course on the modern world in between clients. And in between crises. Rioting and serial killers… terrorism and explosions… Curfews… Was it any wonder people went looking for a bit of freedom? And they found it on Staten Island. They found it in a place that seemed… free from law, free from government, where only your own desires and limits set the course for the day. It wasn't… entirely pretty. But it also wasn't entirely unfamiliar to Gin. Or Gigi, as those around the Rookery knew her. It was almost… refreshing, having to deal with normal villainy. Sort of in the way that falling off a five story building is better than falling from a one hundred story building.
And things only got worse. prison breaks and gang wars… and one thing that really got her to sit up and take notice, which was this whole mess about warnings from the future. Unfortunately for her… she just didn't know anyone to pump for information. By then, she'd learned not to really talk about her origins. She just… settled on being that strange women who didn't know what a toilet was. Or who still feels a little strange flipping a light switch or getting into a car. Or trying to go shopping. Let's not get started on cell phones. Layla did her best to help her adjust… but it was a long road. A very long road. The state of the city didn't help, either. Around every turn it was something else. And eventually, Logan's brothel was no more. Ginny wasn't there when the place burned down, luckily, but it would mark the end of an era for her. Some people might have followed Logan to his next endeavor, but Gin was looking to find her own way. She kept in touch with those people she met then, the ones she cared about, but she was feeling… unsettled, antsy.
It led her to a life of this and that. She had a list of skills that were useful enough to keep her in work, if work under the table. She doesn't have much qualms about who she works for, just that she has a job and gets paid. It was a modest living, but it was enough. By the time the Great Storm hit the city… she had her own place and had been teaching horseback riding to a couple of rich kids (and met her former client's lovely wife of twenty years, which was fun), and she ended up stuck there during the storm. They were gracious enough to give her a room, keep her fed and warm while they all road out the weather. She was lucky. Layla hadn't been so lucky. When the snow cleared and the ice melted, her dear friend was marked among the dead. Those damn evolved and their eco-terrorism. It was starting to feel like they were targeting her specifically. Through time. Which was possibly paranoia and narcissism talking, but hey. Her one break came when she was out of range for the blackouts in June. She didn't get one like so many others did, but it was just another event, just another tragedy to show her she was right about the Evolved all along. All this madness that is supposed to befall New York, Gin knows one thing. She's just going to survive. And possibly see about getting some revenge of her own. For her sister. For Layla. For herself. Tenfold.