Post by Monroe Louise on Oct 1, 2009 14:50:25 GMT -5
W E L C O M E T O E L Y S I U M
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CHARACTER APPEARANCE
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FULL NAME: Monroe Voy Louise
PET NAMES: Monroe
AGE: Twenty-three.
BIRTH DATE: November 6th.
BIRTH PLACE: Unknown.
RESIDES: Tychite District.
WEIGHT: 104
HEIGHT: 5”3’
GENDER: Female
SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual
MARITAL STATUS: Single, currently not looking.
OCCUPATION: Anonymous bandit. Vary in disguise.
FEALTY: Against.
OUT OF CHARACTER: Kimberly.
WAYS OF CONTACT: YIM: boo_aria
EMAIL: boo_aria@yahoo.com Prefer YIM.
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HISTORY:[/blockquote]
Defiant shrieks and hollers declared from the Louise’s house. The door was torn from its hinges, opening toward the inside of the typical abode. But this day, was an unusual day, and to Monroe Louise, today was one of the worst days of her life. The entire home was destroyed when her mother, Claire, answered the door to a pair of brawny men in black attire. Their faces were bitter and malicious as they twisted and tugged Peter and Claire Louise from their kitchen, hauled out by their heads.
Peter, Monroe's father, didn’t protest much, his expression wore astonishment – as if he was just kicked in the teeth. Claire tussled and struggled on the floor, all Monroe could hear was the thumping and thrashing of her limbs hitting the wood panels. “Innocent, innocent,” she cried out desperately. “Tell the Empire we’re innocent!” Monroe, tucked inside a cabinet compactly, cinched her arms around herself and only flinched when the guns fired twice outside the doors.
Monroe, only having just turned seven years old last November, didn’t know why her parents were accused of stealing exclusive merchandise or who had accused them. All she knew was those two men in black costume returned into the home and unfortunately, searched through each cabinet, cupboard and closet. And only one sort of person sent men dressed in black to your door. “Tell the Empire we’re innocent!”
The orphan homes weren’t any better than the narrow allies of lower class Elysium with the exception you were fed three times a day. Soup, they called it. Monroe suspected it more of leftover meat juices with some crackers on the side. The cooking wasn’t a key concern of hers; however, she barely ate the first several weeks. The weeks turned gradually into years.
At the age of sixteen, Monroe was liberated of the orphan’s responsibility regulations. She could walk around town and earn herself some money. The only items she had to more-or-less call her own, were her mother’s best dresses and gowns. She didn’t want anything else in that home. Anything that was left shattered, ripped, or broken; doubly so.
Long-forgotten perfumes and noises clustered the roads of the Tychite District. Women and men bustling past and on occasion a proper lady or gentleman would pass by in their luxurious attires. Anger punched Monroe suddenly, hard, little blows to her stomach and she reared back against a man almost twice her size.
Aiden had eyes so copper; coins would look dull in comparison. And Monroe often found herself staring into them, as if gaping into a crystal ball – looking for her future. Unfortunately, the only future Aiden provided her was a fat and swollen belly that concealed the view of Monroe’s feet when she turned seventeen and was eight months pregnant.
With Aiden grasping her hand tightly, a small bud of hope bloomed in her chest on the following week. The baby was early and Monroe wasn’t ready. Screaming and barking at the doctors and nurses, as the contractions grew more intense.
“Monroe, you need to stop pushing with your contractions. Your child is coming out upside down… the head is caught.”
The hope in her chest shriveled up and died. The doctors tried their “best” but were too late. The baby suffocated inside and instead of holding her newborn child in her arms, Monroe watched the nurses carry out a dead infant in a white sheet.
Monroe didn’t want anything to do with Aiden after that or his beautiful copper eyes and consequently he continued with his traveling. It was too painful for her to remember and all she wanted to do was forget. It’s one thing she was good at. Another was holding grudges. She blamed the government for her child’s death and definitely for her parents’. “Tell the Empire we’re innocent!”
ROLE PLAY SAMPLE:
With a body so delicate and modest in size, Aria was destined for silence. With no sleep and budding paranoia, she had to get out of the house without provoking any suspicion or worry from the others. She worked especially hard abandoning her husband’s side in bed and slithering down the manor’s ethereal hallways.
The ground was beginning to grow raw beneath her feet, preparing for autumn, while the night’s air wore a chilling breath that swept the hair away from Aria’s sensitive neck. Upon reaching the destination, she winds four skeletal fingers around the cellar door’s handle.
The young vampire holds her breath in her throat, anticipating the rush of her heart beat thrusting out against her chest. Maybe it was only her imagination, but she was so positive she could feel blood pounding in her ears. Every segment of muscle in her arm tensed, twisting tightly in its place, as Aria pulls back on the handle roughly in a single haul.
The cellar door groaned noisily in resistance, shattering the evening’s eerie peace. Her fingers were now clammy around the handle, confidence degraded. Aria braced herself a second time, rolling back her shoulder blades as her tongue slithered out over her upper lip, tasting droplets of sweat. She could feel the perspiration on the crown of her head as well, focusing down the horizontal lines creasing in her forehead while her arm boldly heaves the door again.
A gust of dust greets the girl’s senses in every direction, accompanied by immense amounts of darkness and murky weather. Feeling the moon’s glare on her back spooked her, even more so her shadow’s long body compressed to the castle’s stone, stretched out along the nearby gardens. Aria plunged inside the cellar, landing on a poised two feet and one fragile, lingering hand that met against the damp floor.
Straightening, her fingers glide along the surroundings, searching to come in contact with anything familiar and yet trembling in caution. She wasn’t aware of what was stored down here, only that it was intended for punishments. Goosebumps clutched over her spinal cord and limbs, lurching over her skin and under her garments until her fingernails touch the moist comfort of a cement barrier.
Aria releases a tremulous exhale, sultry hands patting at her jeans’ pockets, seeking her prize for having crept from the estate and into the privacy and secrecy of the cellar room. Mmmh, just there, in her pocket, there it was. Pinching the cigarette between two familiar digits, her backside uses the wall as a pillar, suffering the soggy and frightening embrace of the surface. The darkness around her seemed to breath, and oddly enough it was comforting how the shadows wrapped their arms around her.
Attaining her reward, she presses the butt of her cigarette against puckered and waiting lips while the opposing thumb raps against the lighter’s wheel.
Click. Click. Click!
The fire erupted to life, as short lived, as it would be, and thrived into the oxygen’s capture. Inhaling the nicotine, sweeter than freshly churned apple-cider, her body slides down into the shadows’ consolation. Glancing from the corners of her glassy eyes, up from the cellar’s gaping mouth, she caught a glimpse of the moon’s radiant blaze. No modesty detected in its smile across the world’s face and the right side of Aria’s.
“Beautiful,"she mutters while smoke rolls off the end of her tongue and curls into the endless supply of black shade.
But something else caught her eye, too. A lanky, bushy leg stretched into her line of vision and then another. And another. The legs seemed to multiply rapidly; an open maw soon accompanied the plump, hairy body. Fangs, much like her own, gnawed into the air, gushing over the vast amount of saliva that dripped from the creature’s jaws. Leaving Aria petrified in her stance, the legs kicked closer to her face, swinging over to latch onto an appointed shoulder.
The tiny, black eyes blinked in unison, two matched by four more, fixated and ravenous. The cigarette’s ashes spill across the cellar’s musty ground, the embers glowing furiously.