Post by Chaos on Sept 9, 2010 18:39:25 GMT -5
FLIGHT LILLIAN DeRICASHO
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Name: Flight DeRicasho
Nickname: Lily
Age: 17
Gender: Female
Orientation: Homosexual
Occupation: N/A
Species: Elemental (but she believes herself to be human)
Play By: Kalina Patyna
Talent: Air
Flight has long raven hair that curls very slightly, ending at just below her shoulder blades. While sometimes let free, her mane is usually caught up in a ponytail or braids for ease of function. Her dark strands do nothing to allieviate the paleness of her skin, almost ghostlike in apperance no matter how hard she tries to tan. Scars lace her whole frame, slim pink things that wind across her body like a map. Several snake up her neck and peek out the edges of her jaw; looking vaguely like tribal tattoos. Tiger stripes, perhaps. Others are on haphazardly from her risk-taking nature - something she's proud of - they flush when she's upset, and go pale when nervous.
A slim mandible that inclines sharply, meeting the ears at a steep angle that levels out some when they reach the junction. Regal cheekbones that give the vague impression of royalty that was told in the storybooks of medival kings and princesses, they are coupled with pale lips that split apart into a feral grin to expose bright shining teeth. If you were to pry her jaws apart you would notice that her molars weren't capped by blunt edges but sharp points. Unnoticable, save for if you know what you're looking for.
Her nose is a decent size, normal in the sense that it doesn't hawk off her face nor give her a piggish apperance. Her eyebrows are fairly far apart from the bridge of her nose, starting lower then arching above the rim of her socket. Slight, they compliment her eyes that seem permanently set to cold. Usually they are a rich hazel, but if angered enough they brighten to an eerie ocher, betraying her mood to others.
Her body is the strange mix of angles and curves that only a teenager could possess. While she has a definite dip to her hips and a gentle curvature to biceps if braced, her features while standing still are sharp. In a few years they will probably be replaced by softer edges and a more fluid whole, but for now she remains in the middle.
Arms are long and spindly, stretching out from faintly defined triceps and smooth elbows to a narrow wrist. Agile fingers with hard palms but soft fingertips, nails bitten down from a nervous habit she's yet to break. Though her forearms are scarred just like the rest of her body the undersides remain untouched, skin even whiter than on the rest of her body. Slim shoulders with a defined collarbone that doesn't quite pop out of its hold, travel down to her torso.
Flight has kept herself in shape, and her stomach is a flat plain of white expanse. If in danger or nervous she'll unconsciously brace those muscles; they will rise slightly against their confines. Because she is narrow her breasts look large, but in reality they are nothing above average. Many wounds cover her abdomen, curling from her back and around her ribs, or running from her hips upwards.
From the flair of her pelvis come her legs, the appendages she treasures most. Her legs seem to run on forever, strong thighs that join into powerful calves with small knees. One ankle is slightly larger than the other from spraining it as a child and not letting it set properly. On some days it still gives her pain, donning her graceful gait with a slight limp. While her tops of her feet are one of the few parts of skin unbroken by scars the soles are hard and thick from walking without shoes for much of her life.
Despite that her only relative is five foot nothing, Flight towers at a strangely out-of-place six foot two. Coupled with her stature and mouth that defaults to smirk, she has been described as either cocky or intimidating. She levels out at rought one hundred and thirty pounds due to her height and frame that has very little fat. Coupled with her personality, she is the perfect embodiment of a cold giant.
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Your Name: Miko
Age: 13
How Did you Find us: A link from my mother site (The Hunger Games RPG)
A little bit about you: I've only been RPing for about a year, but sometimes I look back on my old posts and cringe. Biology is love, and I loathe French with every fiber in my being. Printers are evil things plotting to screw me over.Swaying slightly, I crouch down to the spluttering girl's height. The light in her eyes is slowly fading, and I feel a twinge of pity. Face streaked with scarlet and sweat, she's like an angel that has met a rather gruesome end. Blond locks matted to her skin, she twitches from where her nerves fire off chaotic bouts of information, not comprehending perhaps the full extent of the damage. From her chest is a terrible sucking noise that delivers death no matter who can help her; not that anybody could anymore. It must be painful, but these kinds of deaths are slow.
"Jessie, is it?" I murmur quietly, tracing a nail down her jaw. She stares at me with vague comprehension, a hand weakly clutching her ruined abdomen. You can tell she's trying so hard to hang onto life, and for once I'm compelled to save her - something that never happens - and am saddened by the fact that it isn't possible anymore. "A pretty name for a pretty girl."
She coughs once, twice, struggling to form words. Her chest heaves from the effort, but she won't quit.
"W-who?" She groans, face etched with pain. I shake my head slightly, indicating that she doesn't need to know. But she isn't finished, trying in vain to form sentences. Gently I reach behind her head and lift her body, granting her more leverage. She sucks in lungfuls of air. We lock eyes for a moment, and she manages to stammer out coherent phrases.
"Jones. I-I need to.. to t-talk to him." I raise an eyebrow in confusion.
"Look what he did to you. Why?" Her features cloud over a moment with frustration and a fresh wave of pain.
"Because I-I'm not really w-with the... the guild. A spy. Double," she coughs. "agent. I was going, going to earn their t-trust." It dawns on me that she didn't need to die today. Such a waste of a beautiful life. The stygian darkness creeps slowly into her orbs, and her stubborn features contort into panic. I sigh heavily, brushing sweat matted bangs from her eyes.
"You want this?" She nods feebly, shaking off the shadows. "I do." I snake bloodstained arms under her body, gently lifting her and cradling her to my chest like a child. Jessie moans quietly under her breath, the heartbreaking song only those who approach the void can truly understand. But while the death melody is usually like the sound of rusted chains, hers is like bells that have been stripped of their coatings. Raw and incomplete, still beautiful; just like her life.
Stumbling out the door, I trace where Jones now stands in the darkened alley and motion for him to come closer to the fallen girl in my arms.
[OOC: Fine. Well, I decided not to leave her and redo it. Though I'm moderately frustrated that I couldn't have atleast done it in first person, I suppose that's the way the rules work. No long biography, because it's impossible for my way of writing if I can't add in objective opinions/details.]
