Analise Rosaline McKeil

[Analise McKeil]

The easy S T U F F . . .

Name: Analise Rosaline McKeil
Nickname: N/A
Age: Sixteen
Member Group: Student
Power(s): Reanimation-
Currently, Analise is able to apply her powers on small simple creatures- butterflies, mice and birds. She's determined and working towards making this power work for her. She practices as much as she can possibly force herself to practice. She's a dedicated student.
Play By: Ania Milkiewicz

Let it F L O W . . .

"Analise. It's not your fault..." The soothing voice of the psychologist entered her ears as she clung to the leather bound book in her hands. Her fault, how many times had she been told that. Between foster parents and psychologists and teachers, she was constantly hearing those words. No one understood her.

"By fault one could assume that you mean to use the word mistake, or error. To be frank, this was not an error and was instead quite deliberate. I don't comprehend why one would assume that this was anticipated to be my own deliberate action." The small framed girl clasped the cover of the book before her and chewed the inside of her lip in thought.

The sigh that left the psychologist's mouth did not go unheard, however it was ignored. Analise had been seeing the same woman for the last six years, and every time the conversation turned the exact same way. It wasn't Analise's fault, Analise recited some form of literature, fact, definition, theory or all of the above. The psychologist always sighed, it seemed like such a mundane gesture, but Analise counted on the mundane nature of the meetings. It was the one thing that kept her coming back.

"Analise, do you want to talk about it?"



The sun was long gone, and Analise sat on the window seat with her head in her mother's lap. Her mother's long brown hair tickled Analise's blushed cheeks. A small giggle escaped her lips as she looked out at the night sky, the stars sparkling in the night. "That's the big dipper Analise. It can also be called the Plough, or the Saptarshi." A genuine smile crossed her mouth as her mother spoke. She closed her eyes, and it wasn't long before the small girl had fallen asleep in her mother's lap.

No one anticipated what came next. It was the middle of the night, Lillian had fallen asleep with her head against the wall, Analise's head in her lap. The door had slammed open, startling both of the females awake. The dark figure of the male worked his way into the house, stumbling over himself in his drunk haze. "Lillian! Where the fuck you been doing!?" In an attempt to quiet him, Lillian moved away from Analise and towards him.

"Ryan... Hush... Love, I'm right here, Analise is in the other room... Come on... Let's go to bed..." Lillian reached out towards the man. Swiftly, the male pulled his right arm up and held the revolver out in front of him. "Ryan... Put it down." The sound of the gunshot almost drowned out the earsplitting scream of Analise, who froze in fear.

The male stumbled towards her, dropping the gun by the bloody corpse at his feet. Analise inhaled deeply and bit back all the tears in her eyes. She got to her feet and ran towards her mother, being cut off by the male, grabbing her around the waist clumsily. "Daddy!" Quickly, the small girl was thrown into the wall with immense force. A gasp of pain left her mouth as she was beat into a sobbing mess of blood and bruises. The male ran at the sound of sirens, and Analise crawled towards her mother, throwing herself over the body and sobbing uncontrollably.

"Analise?" She looked up from her book and chewed the inside of her cheek before shaking her head. She didn't want to talk about it, she never wanted to talk about it. Why couldn't she get that through her head. Analise wanted to forget, and these sessions never seemed to let her. But Analise couldn't stop going, because that would break her structure.

"Analise, we need to talk eventually, do you want me to understand?" Once again, Analise shook her head. No one understood what she had gone through. It was heartbreaking.

The funeral had been a little over a week later. Analise's foster parents had been kind enough to take her. After the ceremony, Analise was the last person left. Her foster parents had decided to give her space, and Analise sat on the seemingly happy green grass, staring at the mound of dirt in front of her. Tears freely ran down her cheeks.

She wanted so desperately to see her mother, one last time. To remember her as the bright shining face instead of the bloody corpse. Analise closed her eyes in an attempt to stop her tears. She pleaded and begged with herself to bring her mother back. She didn't mean to actually do anything, but everything happened in kind of a blur. Maybe she had been wishing for it so hard, she wanted it so badly. Next thing she new, there were five or six mangled creatures making their way towards her. Analise panicked and blacked out. Her foster parents found her and assumed it was grief.

"Analise. We've gotten no where." Analise looked up from her book and shrugged a little. If she didn't want to talk, she didn't want to talk. It was as easy as that. It wasn't a crime to not want to speak. Analise would rather go back to her room and read the fifth edition of the Britannica for the third time.

"Has anything else happened lately?" Analise's eyes shot up to look at the woman and shook her head. It was a lie. Analise went back to the day of the funeral, and she realized that there was something special in her. She'd managed to successfully revive a butterfly recently, nothing major, but it was a step. She was more determined then she had ever been about anything.

Analise wound up in the hospital, and within days she had met what was called a recruiter. They spoke with her foster parents, about the transferring of the school. Analise was always a bright student, popular among the students, happy, bright. The change after the incident with her family was more then evident. Analise went from being a bright, happy child to withdrawn, quiet and introverted. Everyone assumed it was just grief.

Whilst at the new school, Analise worked hard at everything she did, with the exception of socializing. She did as much training as she could handle before being completely exhausted and falling into a deep slumber. She continued with her studies, often hiding in corners of rooms, in the gardens, in her own room with some form of text book and/or some edition of the Britannica.

"Have you been taking your medications?" Analise nodded slowly. She'd been diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder after the incident with her father. It'd been years of trying to overcome the incident, but with the help of medications, Analise was able to hold herself together. She still had flashbacks and violent nightmares, but it was manageable. Unfortunately, Analise had secluded herself from the rest of the world. She'd engulfed herself into encyclopedias. She skipped a grade because of the amount of time she put into her studies, Analise was far smarter then those even in her current grade. However, it wasn't recommended that she skip another because her psychologist was worried about her social interactions.

"How do you like school?" That was a tedious question, asked every single time. School was the same, Analise was on track with her training, doing well in school, but she was more then determined to be able to resurrect her mother, it was the one thing she wanted most in the world. She was sure she was blessed with this power for a reason, and she would work as long, and as hard as she possibly could.

"Analise, who are you spending your birthday with this year?" That was a new question. Analise wasn't sure how to answer that one, it caught her off guard. Analise didn't celebrate holidays, particularly ones that involved giving or receiving gifts. Analise did not like the concept of being handed a package, and not knowing what the contents were. Analise liked mundane. She liked knowing what was coming. Analise did not like surprises.

"A birthday is a day or anniversary where a person celebrates his or her date of birth. Birthdays are celebrated in numerous cultures, often with a gift, party or rite of passage.The birthdays of historically significant people, like national heroes or founders, are often commemorated by an official holiday. Catholic saints are remembered by a liturgical feast. By analogy, the Latin term Dies natalis is applied to the anniversary of an institution." Analise looked into the eyes of the psychologist, and quite determined, spoke once more. "I do not celebrate my birthday."

A slight nod was her only response as the psychologist wrote in her little notepad. Analise liked to refer to her as "the psychologist" not referring to her with a name made it seem as though Analise was talking to a robot. Then, Analise could pretend that the psychologist didn't go home and talk to her fiance about how messed up Analise was. "Well... I believe we're out of time for today Analise. Same time next week?"

Analise stood out of her chair and clutched her book closely, nodding before walking towards the door. "Good bye." Analise opened the door swiftly, and walked out.

Behind the M A S K . . .

Name: Tahnia
Age: 19
RP Experience: 4-5 years?
How did you find us?: Sassy <3

Show your S K I L L S . . .

Analise had never known how to act towards people's expectations. Frankly, she had no social ability at all. Not that she had ever required one before. Analise literally had to be told everything up front. If someone was trying to talk to her, they had to say 'I am trying to talk to you, and be friendly. Perhaps make a new friend today?' Then, and only then, she might understand what the relationship between her and said person. So, Analise didn't know how to act with Wyatt. It was most likely because she lived inside her books. It was a sad life really.
"The term distract is derived from the Latin term distrahere which translates to mean 'to pull apart'." She fidgeted with the pages of her book and frowned ever so slightly as he spoke. He sounded like her psychologist. How many times had he tried to convince her that it wasn't her fault, and that people acted on their own accord. They did what they wanted to do. But did that make it okay? "No..." Analise whispered to herself. "Simply because you act of your own accord does not mean that you should. Perhaps you should take a moment and process first... Or... Or... Request is derived from the old french term 'requeste' or the Vulgar Latin term requisita. Vulgar Latin is any of the nonstandard forms of Latin from which the Romance languages developed. Because of its nonstandard nature, it had no official orthography."

Analise swallowed the rest of her sentence and flipped the page in her book. For the first time in her life, she did not absorb a single thing she had just written. The psychologist warned her of unwanted memories, but, Analise hadn't anticipated being jarred in a library. To be honest, Analise didn't talk to anyone enough to anticipate a trigger. God's bounty. That's what Wyatt referred it as, Analise thought of it as a curse. Sure, this one time it caused someone to stop and talk to her, which she could have done without, but even her psychologist was caught off guard with her knowledge. Especially when she corrected him on the many causes of her disorder. "Yes... I am intelligent. I am aware." A frown caressed her lips as he swore again. Twice in a first meeting with someone, it seemed crude. However, Wyatt did what he wanted to. He made that clear. "The term shit, should you wonder, is likely derived from Old English, having the nouns scite, which tranlates to dung, and 'scitte', and the verb 'scītan'. Eventually it morphed into Middle English schītte, schyt and shiten , and it is virtually certain that it was used in some form by preliterate Germanic tribes at the time of the Roman Empire. A popular belief is that the word shit originated as an acronym for "Ship High In Transit", referring to the apparent need to stow manure well above the water line when transporting it by ship. This has been shown to be a myth."

Honestly, Analise wasn't sure what else he wanted to hear. He had successfully disregarded anything that may have happened in her past, seeing as he so successfully threw her for a loop. Unlike many other people, Analise wasn't able to shake off a 'foot-in-the-mouth' scenario. For five years she was told that people had to be accountable for their actions. That's why her father was in prison, was it not? That did not explain why Analise was being punished. She was sent from home to home, trying to be accepted at the age of eleven. The only thing she found was books and seclusion. No one ever tried to say that their life was unfair to Analise, probably because she could spit out the definition faster then they could spell the word, but Analise's life was unfair, and she didn't know how to cope with that.

So when he asked to help her study, it was not an insult, but it definitely was not a compliment. She did look up at him, out of astonishment. Wasn't he saying, merely a minute ago, how much he thought her brain was wonderful? Or something along those lines. "I'm sorry, have I said something that might suggest that I am incapable of studying on my own? Or have I mislead you into thinking that my memory is not sufficient? I don't believe I require any assistance in my studies. Regardless, if I was insufficient I would not ask for your assistance because it is a personal matter." She shut her book uncomfortably and tilted her head. "Additionally, unless "Protests" is the name of one of your friends, I highly doubt that you "go way back". You were not alive in 1688 when the first protest against slavery took place, nor were you alive for the many protests before that. Contrary to popular belief, crying at your mother when you are merely a toddler about the cookie you couldn't have before dinner does not count as a protest."
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