Natalie Michelle Winters
Apr 17, 2011 15:29:37 GMT -5
Post by Natalie Winters on Apr 17, 2011 15:29:37 GMT -5
[/i][/size][/right]The Basics
Name: Natalie Michelle Winters
Nicknames: Nat, Nattie
Age: 16
Orientation: Bi-sexual
Desired Rank/Job: Student
Powers: Aerokinesis
Play By: Kerli Koiv
The Details
Hair Color: White-blonde
Eye Color: Blue
Any Piercings? Labret, Tongue, Belly button
Any Tattoos? None.
Any Scars? None.
General Appearance: White. White. White. Natalie's skin is about the color of liquid paper, except for in the summer time when it retains some of that humanly glow to it. She lathers on sunscreen almost always, after a bad experience as a child with sunburn. Her hair is just about the color of her skin, just a little bit darker, though its ash blonde color is lighter than most people she has ever come across, save for the occasional albino. It falls down in straight locks to her waist. She will not cut it. Her eyes are blue, a light silvery color of blue that reminds most people of the frozen North. Her eyebrows are rather flat, something she's been attempting to remedy with plucking and shaping since she first discovered eyebrow grooming when she was 13, but so far it's done little difference.
She stands at a staggering 5'3, shorter than most her age but still taller than the younger students and a few of her peers. She enjoys her height, simply because she can get away with wearing ridiculously high heels and not tower over everyone she knows. Her build is rather slim, her curves there but not pronounced. She is a small girl, has been all her life. She tends to dress in a style that's a bit mixed up, some elements pulled from the Japanese Lolita style, some pulled from the gothic style, and some just random pieces of different fashion trends. Natalie loves dressing up and dressing oddly. Subconsciously it's a defense mechanism against her peers, trying to keep people away so they won't hurt her.
Personality: Natalie prefers to be left alone, for the most part. She indulges in books and music rather than social gatherings. She doesn't enjoy noise or being in large crowds, and she avoids confrontation at all costs. She enjoys writing, but she mostly sticks to the arts right now. She is an amateur costumer, and most of the clothing she wears on a daily basis was made in her dorm room rather than bought from a store. She also styles wigs in odd, gravity-defying styles. Her room is full of fabric, a dressform and mannequin heads holding various wigs and hats. She loves to make things with her hands, and she can usually be found perched over her sewing machine.
She has a faint smile that is usually seen to most everyone, but it's rare that people see her smile or laugh out loud. She's usually detached from everyone around her, and some people misinterpret her shyness as being stuck up. She's fairly aloof and she has an air of quirkiness about her. She is a very artistic girl and tends to express herself in paint and stitches rather than words or actions. She avoids the athletics as best she can, often slipping out to draw on the sidewalk with chalk. She wears her heart on her sleeve, her emotions being fairly easy to see. It doesn't take much to hurt her, but it takes a lot to infuriate her. She easily looses control of her powers when she is in a state of emotional distress.
She's very thin skinned, and indecisive. She'll often make a rash decision and then back out of it later, earning her the title of flake, when it comes to the people who do know her. She's a bit of a coward, opting to keep herself out of harm's way rather than step out into the world and take what it has to offer. She doesn't try very hard to be social, but she will complain about not having any friends in diaries or to her parents, trying to shift the blame from herself to everyone else.
Your Vices
Likes: Sewing, crafts, hot glue, dolls, lace, skulls, kittens, dancing in her room
Dislikes: Dirt, oppression, sports, being alone, unfriendliness, gold, greed
Strengths: Observant, Creative, Listening
Weaknesses: Physical Activity, Connecting with Peers, Naive
Fears: Spiders, Public Humiliation
Secret: She's always wanted to be a cheerleader.
Family Ties
Father: Samuel Winters
Mother: Ava Winters
Siblings: None
Any Other Important People:Lucretia Winters (Grandmum)
Luna (Her Tuxedo Cat)
History
Born to Samuel and Ava Winters in North Dakota, Natalie was the first and only child of the couple. They lived a quiet, boring life in the country, her father working with a law firm and her mother staying at home. Her father didn't make the big sorts of money that people usually associate with lawyers, but he made enough so that they were comfortable and her mother didn't have to work. She did, however, taking a small part time job at a fabric store and often taking young Natalie along with her. It was here that the girl aquired her extensive knowledge of fabrics and their uses. Her mother taught her to sew little dresses for her dolls.
Natalie was a quiet child, going to public schools and generally living a normal, mundane life. She was teased in elementary school for her lack of coordination in gym class, coupled with her interest in odd clothing and dressing up far after what was deemed a socially acceptable age to be pretending you were a warrior princess from the Moon Kingdom. She often made up outlandish stories, her teachers embracing her talents but her classmates rejecting her as different and weird. She never had that many friends, and even the ones she had didn't seem to understand her. It was a quiet August afternoon when her powers first manifested.
"Look at Nathaniel, she's still bringing her little dolls to school!" What was so wrong about an eleven year old girl clutching a porcelain doll in her hands while the other girls were playing with make-up and basketballs? What was so horribly bad about the plastic tiara perched on her white hair that fell in braids and curls? The boys picked at her and wrestled the doll away, tossing it to the pavement with horrible smiles on their faces, the delicate face breaking down the middle against the ground. The little girl was reduced to tears, skinny fingers wrapped into fists, the wind whipping around her like a hurricane. The boys were horrified, the other children on the playground rushing to the teacher as one of the boys was flung against the metal bars of the swing set. When the dust settled, Natalie had hit the cement, knees bloodied and tears streaming down her face. The other boy was hanging onto the rim of the basketball goal for dear life. Natalie picked up her broken doll and held it close.
She sat in the principal's office until her parents arrived, greeting them with tears and clinging to her mother, crying out how she was so sorry. The little boy's mother threatened to sue, her boy had been put in the hospital. Natalie had broken his arm. Her mother desperately tried to understand what was happening, her father unable to comprehend what exactly was going on. It was then that they were approached by a woman from the Hammel Institute, who offered to take the girl and teach her how to properly use her powers and her gifts. They eagerly accepted, Natalie moving the the institute and her family soon following after her and relocating to Vermont.
Natalie has so far done well in most of her classes, though she is terribly weak in math and science. She makes straight A's in English, however. She keeps to herself and while she admires some of the other students, she hasn't really had the courage to approach many of them.
Roleplay Example
She'd been drinking again. The bottle of Grey Goose vodka lay on the ground next to the armchair, its flammable contents pouring out and soaking into the cheap imitation Berber carpet. It'd been just under half full when she'd lost her grip on consciousness. Now it lay empty on the floor. She slouched, in a pair of black boy shorts and a tank top, her make-up smeared and smudged, looking like death warmed over. Her hair was mangled up in tangled knots, her head tilted forwards, just asking for a crick to wind up in her neck. But right now, she was asleep, just asleep, her mind drifting back through dreams to when she was perfect - when she was beautiful, and most of all when she was worth anything people could throw at her. Before the fires. Before the arrests. Before the charges and changes. Before the institutions. Just plain Vitani, only going by a much more conventional name then, her birth name, which no one knew except for Trigger and Dmetri. And those bastards who had named her. But they were dead. Dead, dead, dead. And she was glad of it, as well. She was definitely glad the only people she'd have to worry about hitting her up for money was her roommates - who she'd gladly lend to. After all - they were a real family. They watched out for one another. No one went hungry. And when they were hungry, they were hungry together.
She stirred, only when the tall, skinny, tattooed broad she lived with came out of her own bedroom, muttering a few curses at the scene that laid out in front of her - the spilled bottle, then still burning cigarette in the ashtray. It was a wonder and a miracle she hadn't burned the apartments down. She'd done that before. But that was another story. Trigger stepped over, carefully and smashed the cigarette out the rest of the way, picking up the bottle and making a face at her unconscious friend, but shaking her head and exiting to the kitchen/dining area. Trigger didn't worry about Vitani when she drank. When Vitani drank, she was okay. And that's all that mattered. Poor, poor Vitani. Poor burn victim.
Would those scars ever fade?
It'd taken Vitani nearly ten years to just be able to sleep through the night - without those horrible dreams, those horrible nightmares. The fear of walking up to smoke and flames was dire enough for her to not be able to sleep with even the tiniest bit of reddish light in the room with her, making nightlights impossible. Trigger'd found that the girl would freak out even with a sliver of light coming from under the door frame, so she'd started to stuff towels and blankets in the crack to block out the light. The skiiny female sighed a bit, pouring the rest of the vodka into the sink and then tossing the bottle in the trash can, flipping on a light in the kitchen and shaking her head of dreadlocks, before whistling for Dmetri, motioning to Vitani. The slender, muscled man quietly slipped a hand under her, picking the redhead up and taking her into another room, laying her down on the bed and covering her up with a blanket that had seen better days.
She'd been awoken by smoke - the thick, gray smoke that came from chemicals and rubber, things that hadn't been made to burn. Her throat was dry, itchy, uncomfortable - she was having trouble breathing. She sat up in her bed, her small feet padding against the carpet, moving towards the door and feeling it with the back of her hand like she'd been taught in school. She pulled away with a yelp, knowing that the door was the only thing between her and fire at this point. She was horrified, but that was obvious - no ten year old girl in their right mind wouldn't be horrified at that revelation. Still, her only escape was either through the door or out the window - a good twelve floor drop, no fire escape on her side. Why there wasn't, no one really knew. She hurried over to the window, attempting to open it with her arms - but failing miserably. The thing had been painted shut. She was going to die, wasn't she?
She fought back tears, before grabbing a blanket and starting over towards the door, sniffling and then grasping the door knob with one hand, through the blanket, the other part of the blanket on her mouth. The door flew open as if on command, and she let out a scream, the fire in the hallway lapping eagerly at her - at every bit of her, going after her clothes, her hair. She screamed, before taking off running, praying to get out before something terrible happened.
God wasn't listening. God never listened.
She ran down the hallway, her feet burning and blistering in the heat, tears streaming down her cheeks as she ran towards the door of the apartment, not stopping, even as she saw her father's blackened form attempting to move after her. Something crashed above her, a hot liquid hitting her skin, her left side. The fire ate at it as quickly as it hit, causing her to scream even louder, finally bursting through the door to the outside hallway, still running, even though she was faint from the pain, and the smell of smoke and burning flesh. He'd thrown his liquor at her. The bastard. Her pajamas were barely existent, the fire having taken them first, then working on her skin, aided by the vodka her father had thrown. She ran down the stairs, before tripping over her blistered feet and hitting the concrete stairs with a thud, cracking her head against the wall.
What About You?
[/blockquote]
Name: Dani
Age: 20
Experience: 8 years, give or take
How Did You Find Us? Caution
Ready To Play? Yes.
