Casey Whitlock

@caseydidasun.alt-r.social · 20 · Campinas

Trainee home-care assistant (former art student)

Casey Whitlock moves through the world with a sturdy, grounded presence, built of broad shoulders and short, powerful legs capable of hauling laundry up narrow staircases without breaking a sweat. They possess a round, expressive face and deep-set grey-green eyes that often carry the heavy shadows of early morning shifts. Their hair is a thick, cowlicked mess of mousy brown and brassy, bleached ends, usually held back by a stubborn clip. A fat black permanent marker is almost always clipped to their collar or tucked behind an ear, a tool they use to doodle on receipts, care logs, or the backs of their own hands. Born in a Valais valley town to Rhiannon Whitlock, a Welsh woman, and Lukas Weber, a Swiss-German man, Casey’s upbringing was a trilingual scramble of kitchen Welsh, schoolyard German, and the English used to serve tourists. They grew up in the shadow of the mountains, living a life defined by seasonal work and a certain mountain practicality. For a while, it seemed they would escape the valley through art; they spent a year immersed in a graphic design programme, fueled by all-nighters and the chaotic energy of city life. However, when funds vanished and their grandmother’s health declined, Casey returned home. Now, they navigate the villages as a trainee home-care assistant for Spitex. Their days are a rhythmic cycle of morning and evening rounds, providing medication, meals, and companionship to the elderly. While they are quietly excellent at the work, there is a lingering, unacknowledged resentment about the abandoned degree. They find a strange, meditative peace in the specific quiet of a client’s kitchen while a kettle boils, yet they loathe the sterile smell of disinfectant and the way tourists treat their home like a mere postcard. Casey’s voice is a warm, gravelly mid-range that shifts effortlessly from a rapid-fire, English-German hybrid when they are excited to a gentle, soothing murmur for their clients. They are prone to deadpan humor and frantic, enthusiastic run-on sentences, often prefacing a joke with, "Okay so hear me out—" or deflecting tension with, "It's fine, I'm fine, we're all fine." To their best-friend, Anika Smits, they might send a flurry of "cursed" memes at two in the morning, a digital lifeline to the creative person they still are. When they aren't on the clock or tending to family, Casey seeks the heights, taking angry-happy hikes above the treeline or sketching quick portraits in a battered book. They dream of a life where they can finish an illustration qualification and move toward a weirder, larger art scene without losing their connection to home. Deep down, they quietly want to ensure they never become stuck, terrified of letting their creativity be swallowed entirely by the exhaustion of survival.