Post by ELVIS FISCHER on Sept 3, 2010 23:20:39 GMT -5
ELVIS FISCHER
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Name: victoria 'elvis' fischer
Nickname:elvis. victoria is from... another lifetime, yes?
Age: 332, but looks around 13?
Gender: female
Orientation: she hasn't really thought about it enough to make a final decision
Occupation: writer/wandering around
Species: vampire
Play By: barbara palvin
Ability and Talent: none
Elvis doesn't really play her 'young child' part very well at all. She stands up tall, a little over 5'3, and her mouth is always set in a straight line, as if she's pondering something very important. Which she usually is. That's probably the main reason she doesn't seem right to most tourists; she's off in her own little world most of the time, pacing subconsciously throughout the city, store to store, street to street. She does it for hours on end, doubling back over the places she's been to, which is about the time people start to wonder. It's either the combination of her clouded eyes and her monotonous stride, or her over-all seriousness that makes others keep their distance, though. Which keeps her out of too much trouble.
The other half of the time, she's a keen observer. It's not a total change. She's still the same stone-faced person of few words. But she doesn't pace. No no, she replaces that with something much less creepy; staring at people from dark corners and nooks in the wall. Others really interest her; human and non-human alike. How people work. It's an art form she still hasn't figured out after three centuries of walking the earth and it never ceases to amaze her how others act, interact, speak, walk. What's going on inside their heads. What they want most out of life. What their favorite food is. And then, she writes it all down in that little journal of hers if she feels its important enough to remember. Of course, there's other things in there; activity theory and the actant-network theory, systemic-functional linguistics, trigonometry... basically: she has lots of time on her hands.
Her technical looks are well, technical. Brunette, blue eyes, capacious mouth, and she has a slight hint of Hungarian on her face due to her ancestry and background in that country. She's fairly lean considering the lengthy breaks she takes between feeding, because frankly she has better things to do.
As for clothing, Elvis is very much into fashion. Her taste has changed with the ages, but one thing she has stuck to is very monotone colors. Blacks, whites, off-whites, pastels... occasionally some purple and pink, but she sticks with what she knows. It isn't abnormal to see her walking down the street in high platform mary-janes, designer gingham, etc. She gathers all the fashion magazines she can get her hands on and studies them like they're the bible. It's actually kind of ridiculous.
She is a know-it-all in a not-so-quite-obvious way. She doesn't go about quoting literature and writing up math equations, but if you bring up a topic she's particularly interested in Elvis might actually engage in the conversation. She has a romance with knowledge; it's one thing that's always been changing along with her, and others like her. Theories are proven wrong, new books are written, discoveries take place everyday. There's literally a whole world out there just full of things to learn, so why ignore them?
As for actual emotions... she does have them. They're just very compressed and there are no validating characteristics (i.e. smiling when happy, frowning when sad). Possibly the only one who would be able to distinguish her mental states would be her brother, **Gabriel.
As a side note, Elvis has a fondness for horror stories. She has a bit of a collection. Damsels in distress who are torn to shreds by lycans, vampires who stalk poor little high school kids in the forest. It's fun to see her own species in context, as well as others, and the irony of it all really makes for a good read.
Elvis was born in Szombathely, Hungary in the year 1741, three years after her brother and four years before her sister, whose birth caused the death of her mothers. Her sister died later that year, before reaching age one, due to plague.
**Gabriel and Elvis were then raised by their father,
Your Name: kara
Age: seventeen
How Did you Find us: caution ads c:
A little bit about you: mk. well, i started role playing on a virtual pony site, but i am now on several rpg sites instead. elvis is the main character in one of my short stories, but she was also one of my first role playing characters. other than that... i am a comma junk-y in all my writing, and i love tapioca as of recently.After the alliance broke up, Ailia had wandered to the only place she really remembered well.
The Cornucopia.
There was something about the golden horn that attracted her... she wasn't sure what it was. The gleam of its metallic surface? The fact that so many lives had been lost there? She had fallen apart, she knew that well, but the killer was still in the back of her brain.
She realized she still had the will to kill. Heh, and it rhymed too. Just like the books she used to read back at her small home in District Three. Nursery rhymes or something. Lullabies to keep the young quiet and to keep the old nastalgic. Everybody loves rhymes. But did she? Did she enojy having the little murderer in her head? She had humored it long enough to know it well, to harbor it inself herself, to let it out even and kill a few souls, but did she still want to hold onto it?
What if she were to win the games? Would she know anything other than the killer in the back of her head? No doubt she wouldn't try to go back to "normal." That much was impossible. No, she'd probably hole up in one of those fancy victor houses and go mad. That was a given. She would definitely go mad.
The good news was she was still on the verge of death in the present. There were other muderers out there, just like her, waiting to pry on a girl with a shattered mind. It was impossible to glue back the pieces now; her thoughts were scattered everywhere. If she was still sane, she would still be able to group them in a neat, orderly fashion, but now? She was gone. Undone. She was shaking and murderous and doubtful and frightened all at the same time. Run on sentences. She never would have allowed herself to think that way before, with run-on sentences. What was this world coming to? But this wasn't the world. This was a whole different dimension. A world where the gods were angry and murderous just like you. Where the civilians lived in terror everday, just to go and take it out on somebody else. She was no better then any of the others in this arena, and she probably wasn't any worse either.
Ailia remembered the gleam in Arbor's unseeing eyes, the twisting of his mouth into that grin. That had been the last fight she was in as part of the alliance. She could already tell that he was different, that the little voice in his head had consumed him fully. She wondered how that would pan out for him; it ould lead to his death, or his victory. Either was, he would probably go down fighting... or he would go forth fighting. He enjoyed fighting... at least he was doing something he loved.
Zinnia? Ailia wasn't even sure about her... atleast she was healed by the medication, but then? They were in the same boat, although Ailia feared that Zinnia didn't even have the will to fight anymore. No matter, the girl could fight if she needed. Too bad Ailia had given her that spear. That spear could now just as easily end her life.
It was amusing to think that they might all meet again one day, aven though the days were running out. Now that would be one heck of a fight. She wanted to put it off though. They had come so far together, and she wanted it to stay that way until they were forced into battle. For now she would hunt the others [or rather, be hunted. Didn't matter, either way].
She was close to the cornucopia now. It was visible as always, snow covering it enchantingly, the wind whistling around it. What was that? She could hear whispering...
It sounded like someone she knew. Dancing around her, mocking her. It must be a stranger. No one would dare mock her. She unsheathed her rapier shakily, panic rising in her. The voice continued. She couldn't make out the words, but they were closing in now, pressing their jeers into her skull. She ran forward blindly, her legs feeling like steel, driving her into the snow. The voice followed, and now there seemed to be more of them. Cursing, rambling, giggling deliriously. Like she was hilarious. Like this was all just a game, and she was a pawn.
She knew they were right. Of course they were. This was a game. A disgusting, horribly twisted game. She wondered vaguely if this was one of the gamemakers' cruel tricks. How was this possible? A sick thought hit her; were these the voices of the tributes? The ones who had died in this very spot? Anything was possible these closing days of THG...
Suddenly, her mind wiped out and she was on the cold ground, her breathing filling her ears. She rasped as she struggled for air. Maybe this is the end. Was her heart failing her? Stroke? Was she gone already, and this was just an identical hell?
But her breath reluctantly returned to her, and she sat up trembling, her rapier laying beside her. She grabbed for it out of mere routine, staring down at the ground for several minutes, waiting for tears to come. This is wahat normal people did, right? They cried in times like these, didn't they?
When they didn't come, Ailie angrily slashed at the snow, fuming. She wouldn't even get a second chance at being a normal, decent human being. Well, she never was decent, but she was human. Now she was... was this... creature. And she would be like this forever.
It was the little things, the mud streaked across her cheeks, her wild blonde hair hanging over her eyes, draping down her back in thick knotty tousles. This must be what she looked like on the inside. Now it was finally making an appearance. She rather liked it though; her mind was undone, she was undone, but she could also feel the aching in muscles she had never even used before. Her legs worked better, and she could live off of the smallest amount of food and still have the false energy she needed to keep walking. She felt unstoppable in the sense that she had already been stopped and there was nothing else to unwind. She was probably so gone now, that there was nothing left but her core full of anger and dread. Full of mixed feelings, but it was okay. Everything was so extreme it was exhilirating in a wicked way. Everything about her screamed "demented."
Well, so be it.
She lifted her eyes off the ground to look around wildly, hoping upon hope that somebody else had witnessed her self-realization. This was just too good to pass up; to go unnoticed. But somebody had attended. A girl, leaning against the cornucopia like this was some friendly chance-meeting. Like they had just been talking about boys and teenagers and maybe Ailia had just collapsed or something out of hunger like usual in the district. That they would go back to talking after she ate some cabbage.
But that wasn't the case. This wasn't district three and she wasn't a normal teenager talking about school.
Hopping to her feet, Ailia's breath started giving-way again, but she ignored it. Her body could whine all it wanted, but she was in charge, however crazy she was. And right now, she wanted to hurt this girl. It was as simple as that. She had never even seen her before, not even at the feast.
All she knew was that this girl was here to kill her, just as she was here to kill the girl. Yes, that must be it. What else was there? Certainly not a mindless teenaged chat.
"So, what's up? Anything new?" She called out, gripping her rapier so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She gritted her teeth, her anger turning towards the girl. It was never too late to have that mindless teenaged chat, even under these circumstances. They'd just have to improvise a bit. "I'm here to lend an ear."
Look another rhyme. And everyone loved rhymes.
