Eowyn Stockbridge
Dec 22, 2010 23:22:46 GMT -5
Post by Eowyn Stockbridge on Dec 22, 2010 23:22:46 GMT -5
[/i][/size][/right]The Basics
Name: Eowyn Linh Stockbridge
Nicknames: None she knows of
Age: Twenty-five
Orientation: Unsure, unsorted-- depends on the day
Desired Rank/Job: Trainer
Powers: Illusioniste
Play By: Anja Plaschg- Soap and Skin
The Details
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Very dark brown
Any Piercings? None
Any Tattoos? crow on her chest, over her heart
tiny bat on her wrist
big tree on her right hip up to the top of her ribcage.
Any Scars? Some, though none important, from child's play and general accidents.
General Appearance: Eowyn is a small girl, at about five feet three inches, and emaciated-looking, with skinny, spidery limbs and pale skin as if she were ill. Proportionately, she has long legs and arms with long, flat skinny feet and long, skinny hands. Her body appears very delicate, like a spider's, and she treats it as so, but there's a hardness to her features that suggests otherwise, a litheness and fluidity to how she moves that implies she's always on her guard.
Eowyn's eyes, large and almost black, shaded by a serious straight brow, are just about the only part of her body that betray much of any emotion on a day to day basis. She doesn't consider herself a person easily read by others, though her eyes are very expressive, as well as her body language if you know how to read it. Having faced some rather unfortunate anxiety about the size of her teeth during her childhood (children really will make fun of anything) Eowyn hardly opens her mouth around others except when absolutely necessary- speaking, eating- and even then only minimally. She hardly ever smiles: that with her straight nose, shaded eyes and pale skin, as well as perfect posture, give her the air of a mortician at a funeral.
Personality: And she acts like one quite often, as well. Eowyn never really got the hang of conventional humour, or sarcasm. Crack a joke and she'll give you her patented 'puzzled' look; brow furrowed, eyebrows arched as if she were disapproving. Though now that she's begun to expose herself to social interaction and friend-making, Ambitious Eowyn is learning as best she can and trying to make jokes of her own, though the only thing that's humorous are her pathetic attempts.
Eowyn takes everything she does very seriously, and, though tough on those she is training, there is method behind her drills and pure interest in their well-beings. Though nobody may believe it, she's doing it for their own good. It may appear she's a woman incapable of love and concern, but that's only because Eowyn does her best to appear experienced, wise, hardened, with a stoic and unforgiving exterior. Inside, she's got an extremely emotional spirit, easily thrilled, mystified, saddened, by her surroundings.
Though comparatively quiet to women her age, Eowyn is a bold, brave girl, throwing herself headfirst into experiences and opportunities to learn and making the most of them. This is helped by an extraordinary memory, remembering just about everything she sees and processing a lot of information in a little time, and a very active imagination. Especially considering her 'ability', Eowyn is an incredibly visually-oriented person, concentrating quite a lot of her energy on taking in details of appearances, movement, colour. This is why she prefers to keep quiet, observing and taking in every tiny morsel of information as if she were starved and it were a feast of her favourite foods.
Your Vices
Likes: hard liquor, hallucenogenics, old furniture, bookshelves, codes & riddles, music, chemistry, information, meditation, astronomy, walking, oddities & antiques, wool, bears, writing, blackjack, surfing
Dislikes: Social interaction, potatoes, creationist religion, bare walls, floral perfumes, socks, heritage, fast food, monogamy.
Strengths: Passionate, diligent, a great cook
Weaknesses: No sense of humour, brutally honest, horribly grip on reality vs. fiction
Fears: Confrontation, falling asleep, afterlife, the vacuum cleaner, having her fingers broken (sometimes she avoids handshakes with strong people).
Secret: Eowyn fights sleep every night- that and she doesn't dream.
Family Ties
Father: Curtis Stockbridge, physiologist
Mother: Evi Stockbrudge, radio presenter
Siblings: None
Any Other Important People: Two pet cats named Gesar and Dradul.
History
Eowyn was the only child of two regular human parents in Barnet, Vermont, born a dark December 21st evening, on the winter solstice. She grew up in a very open household, her parents, though they had their opinions and dreams for their daughter, ultimately letting her make her own decisions since she was old enough to think. Even then she wasn't very talkative, all barely planned but very decisive action.
Maybe it was due to her overactive imagination, or maybe due to her ability's potential in her body, Eowyn always saw much more movement, life, in inanimate objects, and even from the young age, she'd seen things moving that she knew shouldn't have been there, shadows and people with twisted faces that walked by like nothing was wrong. At first she couldn't identify it, then she was afraid of them, but then as she realized they were passive, non-material, she saw all the little flickers as a sort of secret she had to keep to herself, almost a game.
Eowyn had already begun to question reality when her ability, the ability to create illusions around herself, manifested itself around the time of her first period when she was twelve. These weren't the scary-faced but passive creatures she'd noticed on occasion during her childhood. These were malevolent, uncontrollable and inescapable. Her parents could see these ones. That was when Eowyn was found out by officials from the Hammel Institute. At first she thought it was an insane Asylum, as she truly believed she was crazy, but adapted to life and worked diligently to control these illusions so she didn't have to deal with them randomly appearing everywhere. Of course, her control was never and will never be absolute, especially when she's particularly emotional, which causes her to lose her grasp on what is 'real' and what's not. But she's done trying to pick apart the layers and simply lives under the impression that everything's real.
During her training Eowyn had grown close to a particular trainer, and as she felt she had nothing else going for her, decided that- what the hell- she'd try to do what he had done. Though she's not at all a bad trainer, she's still quite young, and has a lot to learn about teaching.
Roleplay Example
Chuck was later than she promised herself she'd be. She was always late. She rushed through the stable hallways, trying to zip up her half-chaps as she moved, grooming kit in hand, with snacks for her and Andy tucked in between dusty brushes. Chuck could easily be seen as the most casual English discipline boarder here, in torn jeans and a bright green tank top stained with shoe polish, positively dripping in necklaces, thick blonde hair tied out of her face in a messy ponytail, running late as always. Her running in the stable hall, which was, she knew, a big no-no, startled some of the more easily started horses, and their actions were easily audible. In this way, anyone could tell that she was coming.
Andy didn't seem to care, though, chewing on his hay as if nothing was amiss. "Hey, big guy," Chuck murmured to her gelding, rubbing his forehead like he loved. She was always glad to see him, the only boyfriend she was ever going to have, the only friend that didn't piss her off. "This time I brought peanut butter." Their mutual favourite snack, it was the only thing that worked one hundred percent of the time to keep Andy from cornering and kicking Chuck while she was working or grooming him in the stall. He would be so preoccupied with the sticky peanut butter he'd forget to be mad at her. Normally she'd have her horse in the cross-ties for grooming, but there was someone moving in across the hall. And, like Chuck Platzoeder always would do, she went over to investigate, opening the jar of peanut butter and dipping a finger in.
Sucking on her index fingertip, Chuck walked across the hallway, peering into the stall at its new occupant, a big black horse. Stylish. She stood on her toes, trying to get a good view like a child at a parade. "He's gorgeous, what's his name?" Chuck asked in her peculiar Afrikaans accent, her voice hushed as if she was in awe. Chuck wasn't- she just hated talking when people didn't sound like her, as if she was somehow at fault.
When Chuck was younger she always imagined herself on a big black fiery prize stallion like in all the movies, but then she met Andy and discovered how much she loved dark bay, sixteen hands, with three white socks and a cute crooked snip. He looked much too big for her, and tough to handle for a girl that small and gentle-looking. But when Chuck was on horseback, even if she did need a leg up, her demeanor changed entirely. From a girl who seemed like she had a horse just to have a horse, thrilled at the status symbol, to a serious athlete, moving with scientific precision and ultimate control over what she was doing. Chuck was a professional, she didn't understand why nobody expected this from her.
Chuck looked at the man who apparently owned this horse, not unattractive himself as stated by the tiny part of Chuck's sexuality she hadn't repressed, a tiny voice in her brain. But logic had to agree, with his nice blue eyes and curly hair and rugged face.
Remembering her manners, Chuck offered the open jar of peanut butter to her neighbor. It was obvious that both she and her horse had had their fair share of it- it was about two-thirds empty, something rather extraordinary for the two days it had been since she'd bought it. She imagined it could be rather embarrassing to eat condiments without the things that said condiments went on, but exactly why was beyond Chuck's ability to reason.
What About You?
[/blockquote]
Name: Creet
Age: Old enough to drink, but not in America.
Experience: Five or six years.
How Did You Find Us? I have no sweet clue.
Ready To Play? ma'am I am.
