L.C. Milliner

[L.C. Milliner]

The easy S T U F F . . .

Name: Lyra Camille Milliner
Nickname: She only goes by L.C. and if you call her ‘Lyra’, she will punch you out so fast your head will spin and you’ll have to get to the ER.
Age: Nineteen (Birthday: November 5th, 1991)
Member Group: Student
Power(s): ‘The Iron Maiden’. Spikes grow out of her skin.
Play By: Hannah Havoc

Let it F L O W . . .

Gotta keep one jump ahead of the breadline
One swing ahead of the sword
I steal only what I can’t afford
...That’s everything!

“Keep an eye on that Carnie kid there. Those little monsters have sticky fingers, they do.” The manager stalked into her office and left the sweltering General store to sit in front of her fan and play solitaire on her new Windows ‘98.

Bare feet scratched the back of one leg awkwardly. Skinned and scabbed knees knocked against a shelf as she reached for the top bag of chips. Dirty hands found a bag of puffy cheetos and pulled them down toward the blue eyes looking up at them. The young teenage cashier looked at the fluff of brown hair approaching him as a child, no older then six, plopped the bag on the counter and dug out some money from her pocket. She sat it on the counter. It was all change.

“Eh? Crap.” The cashier picked up the coins and counted them out, putting them into the register. Pennies were the bulk of it and he picked through those, but he noticed something strange about the quarters. He didn’t even need to look closer to realize what was going on. “Hey, these are fake quarters! They’re only plastic!” He looked toward the kid. She was gone. So were the cheetos. The soda refrigerator across from the counter was wide open. There was a gaping hole where the last seven Pepsi bottles had been. One lay on its side, the sole remainder of the kidnapping that had taken place there. He wasn’t sure what to do.

“I GOT IT, BABUSHKA! I GOT IT!” The little girl presented the pilfered materials to the aging fortune teller in her tent, scattering Pepsi bottles across the table, most of them catching on the glittering ball, knocking it loose from the light bulb under it. The old woman righted them and the ball after shaking it, glitter scattering across the watery inside. The little girl watched it with about as much wonder as one would watch an ant crawl across a table. A little bit of curiosity was in her stare, but other then that, she was unimpressed.

“Your Mother.” The old woman started, popping the bag open. She split the cheetos with the girl, who had pulled a folding chair out from behind one of the heavy curtains. “Your Mother. She is with this new boyfriend, yes?” The little girl made a face. The woman laughed and patted her head, smoothing the tangle of hair. “Ach, your hair is mess again. Bring me hairbrush.”

Hopping off her stool, the child left in a rush, running through the fairground grass, past the lines of people getting on the rides, past the games she had helped rig that morning, and navigated to her family’s trailer. Her brother lingered on the steps, dragging on a cigarette he was too young to smoke. He eyed her and sneered. “Get outta here, little bitch. Big bitch is with her boyfriend.” The little girl passed him with a ‘piss off’ thrown his way.

The inside was dim and reeked of cat piss, body odor, and cigarettes. Her Mother’s door was shut and she could hear the usual sounds coming from inside. She snuck past it to the bathroom, where she got the comb and brush babushka wanted. Leaving, her brother kicked her in the back as she jumped down the steps. She fell on her knees but got up and spit on him before running off in a giggling fit.

Babushka was the best at brushing her tangle of hair. She could get all the knots out without yelling or pulling out half her hair like her mother did. “It is cut again. Your Mother?” The girl nodded. “Lyra, you are crazy special girl. Nice hair. Pretty smile. Good skin. You tan like walnut.” Lyra grinned, showing she was missing her top front milk teeth. One had been loose. She pulled it out. Her brother had knocked out the other one for her. “You have horrible problem.” Her smile was replaced with a frown to match Babushka’s. She focused on the nine digit number tattooed to the woman’s wrist. “You have horrible family. Horrible Mother. Pah, woman is stupid as chicken shit.”

All Lyra could do was giggle and nod.

If you could read my mind
You might see more of me then meets the eye
And you’ve been all wrong; I’m not who you think I am
You’ve never given me a chance

[August 17, 2001. Subject is nine years of age.]
“You’re so STUPID.”
“...”
“I have a smart son, sure! But why, why is my daughter such an idiot?”
“...”
“Augh, say something, Lyra.”
“Sorry Mama.”
“Damn right you’re sorry. Get out of the house.”
“Yes Mama.”
“Take that book with you! Stealing from libraries, good god! Go steal something useful!”
“Yes Mama.”
“And don’t get caught!”
“Yes Mama.”
“That’s right, get out... Jesus. Can you believe that, stealing a book about plants from a library. What a stupid girl.”

[August 18, 2001.]
“Babushka, look at this.”
“Eh? This is plant book.”
“Yeah! And look at these flowers! They’re called ‘Indian Paintbrushes’. We can’t grow them here in the east, they only grow out west, and they need lots of sun and only a little water, and they have to be pruned and cared for to reach optimum height.”
“...”
“And these! These are called ‘Chinese Bellflowers’. They can be dark blue, or white, or pink, but if you cross pollinate them you can make different colors if you try!”
“You read all this from book here?”
“Yeah. It’s a good book.”
“You like pretty pictures, I guess.”
“Not just the pictures, babushka.”
“Eh?”
“I like reading it too. There’s lots of interesting information in here.”
“...You tell your Mother this?”
“...”
“Mother does not understand you.”
“No.”

So pretty and oh-so-bold,
Got a heart full of gold on a lonely road,
She said ‘I don’t even think that god can save me.’

[Clipping from The Midnight Star, from Midnight, New York.]
OBITUARIES- Janina Korczak, a fortune teller for a traveling carnival, died at 78 on June fifth, 2002. Born in 1924 in Poland, her family traveled with gypsies. At age fifteen, in she was placed into a work camp in Warsaw after Germany invaded Poland in WWII. She survived and left Poland after the war and came to America, finding jobs here and there before joining the carnival when it first started in 1964. She never married and had no children. She had a heart attack on May 31 and passed away a few days later in the hospital. All her belongings were to go to Lyra Milliner, a young girl from the carnival, but the carnival owned many of Janina’s things so Lyra was only given half of the objects left to her.

Streetwise from the boulevard
Jesus only knows that she tries too hard
She’s only trying to keep the sky from falling

Thirteen. Puberty. Late. Bleeding. Nightmares. Fear. Screaming. Darkness. Mother. Yelling. Daytime. Fatigue. Rashes. Pain. Cramps. Muscles. Sweat. Tears. School. Grades. F’s. Four. D’s. Two. A. One. Science. Nightmares. Mother. Worried. Doctor. Worried. Glances. Silence. Conversations. Carnival. Work. Nighttime. Terror. Screaming. Spikes. Holes. Skin. Burning. Itch. No. Spikes. Hide. Anger. Spikes. Yelling. Holes. Walls. Lamps. Chairs. Tables. Clothes. “Stop.” “Can’t.” “Freak!” “Mommy?” “Out!” “What?” “OUT!” Hate. Tears. Anger. Door. Slam.

Freedom.

And I don’t want the world to see me
Because I don’t think that they’d understand
When everything’s made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am...

“Aren’t you a little young to be out on your own after dark?” She looked up from her moving feet through the rainy drizzle and to the black car that was slowly rolling along beside her. She rubbed her arms, bandaged to hide the raw skin underneath. She was freezing in her T-shirt, soaked through to the bone. She was headed through town. She had a map in her left hand. She folded it and stuck it into her pocket.

“No sir. I’m just heading home.” She continued forward at a quicker pace, not even stopping when she heard a door open and shut behind her. She willed herself not to turn around. She had to keep moving or else they’d suspect her of being homeless. She was ready to break into a run if she heard footsteps.

“Lyra Camille Milliner, you have no home.” She froze in face. It felt like a scene from a movie as she turned around, shivering as she stared at the person behind her. “You were kicked out of your Mother’s house when you were thirteen, two months ago. Before your birthday. After your nightmare.” Lyra flinched. She rubbed her arms again. They stared at her, burning holes into hr soul, if you believed in such things.

“How do you know me?” She asked, sounding like a scared child.

“You went to the doctor about your nightmares. Your Mother took you. The doctor, she called us. She noticed the signs of your powers before taking the blood test. Frequent muscle cramps. Sweating. Nightmares due to chemical imbalances, fatigue from loss of sleep,” He nodded to her skin. “The itching.” Lyra contemplated running. She did. She ran, but he caught up and grabbed her arm. She swung her right fist, willing spikes to come out. The skin prickled and broke out into a hundred tiny one-inch spears. The man caught her wrist, making her attack useless. She broke down crying.

“Just leave me alone. I know I’m a freak, just leave me alone...” She tried to pull out of his grip, but he stuck fast. She looked around the empty street, seeing no one to help her.

“You aren’t a freak, Lyra.” The girl sniffed as he loosened his grip on her wrist, dropping her hands. One smoothed her hair as she hung her head, trying not to cry. Big girls weren’t supposed to cry. She heard the voice continue. “There are other people like you. Kids just like you, with powers normal people don’t have. They get trained to use them at an Academy, like a middle school and high school for special children like you. When they master their powers, they can leave.”

“How do I know your not lying?” She asked, looking up through her hair at the man. She couldn’t see his eyes, only his nose and mouth. He smiled.

“I have them too.” He whispered. She looked up at him, suspicious, but trusting. He pulled her wrist slightly. “I’ll tell you more, but let me get out of the rain.” She followed him back to the car, putting her backpack into the drenched seat before getting into the warmth of the passenger seat. He drove off. Streetlights flickered over them. “Would you like anything to eat Lyra? You haven’t eaten anything but leftovers out of the trash for the past two weeks.” How did he know that? Had he been tailing her the whole time. What a creeper.

“Don’t call me Lyra.” She whispered, looking out the window. She felt like she was retreating into a shell. “And yes. IHOP would be nice, if you could take me.” She wanted breakfast food, even if it was-- she glanced at the clock –ten p.m.

“IHOP it is.” He answered. He wanted to please her. “And if you don’t like Lyra, what would you like to be called?”

“L.C. is fine.”

Goodbye, so long,
Nice try, I’m gone,
You don’t like being second,
I don’t like being wrong!

[Start Recording]
Now, name, age, and gender?
L.C. Milliner, fifteen, female.

I need your full name, Lyra.
Don’t. Call. Me. Lyra.

…Okay. Let’s start with that then. Why don’t you like being called Lyra?
It was the name my Mother gave me. Since I’m not ‘under my mother’s jurisdiction anymore’, according to the school, I can choose my own name, right?

…Right. Okay, L.C., you’ve had some problems here. Tell me about them.
The other students are jerkoffs.

Language, L.C.!
Sorry ma’m.

Tell me specific problems.
They make fun of me because of my problem.

What problem?
My… Skin problem.

Well, if you didn’t rub your arms raw…
They HURT, okay?! It feels like they’re burning all the time!

They do?
Yeah, they do.

You never told us that, honey.
I did. You just don’t listen to me.

…L.C…
Don’t look at me like that. …Stop it.

We’ll get you looked at by the doctor.
Thanks.

So why else don’t you fit in here?
I’m different. I was raised differently. I steal people’s things.

We told you to stop that.
Yeah, I know. Sorry.

Anyway… The main order of business. Do you know why we’re mad at you, L.C.?
[Unintelligible muttering]

What was that? Speak up.
I got my hair bleached…

Why is that bad?
I didn’t ask.

And?
I snuck out to do it.

And?
…And I punched someone on the way back.

With?
My spikes.

And?
Sent him to the ER.

With?
Cracked ribs. …Bleeding.

You realize how much we had to cover that up?
No one’s really told me. I know you had to pay some doctors.

[End Recording]

Every mistake I ever made
Made me who I am today
I’m a survivor screaming loud and strong
I’m a survivor, that’s right, bring it on!!!

“Hi. This webcam is on, right? Cool. So, my name’s L.C. Long story short, I’m a typical teenager. Yep. I just have a few extra quirks that most people don’t have. I’m not talking about my way of spacing out or how I always leave my soda out because I like it lukewarm, or how I tend to pick up small things and put them into my pocket and walk off with people’s things by a force of habit, either. I have this power. I’m still working on it, but hey, I’m getting better. Like my arms don’t break out into a rash anymore and how I figured out I can make them extend six inches-- Whoa, don’t get pervy on me, dude. I’m just a teenager though. Underneath this hard skin of mine, there’s a real person in here.

Whelp, I got some schooling to get to. I’ll catch y’all on the flipside, K? L.C. offski.”

Behind the M A S K . . .

Name:

The Feds, Fedoraface, hey, hey you, Fedzy, Federino, Fedoralala, Fedorala, Fredora, Fredorina, Fredo-kins, Ferdora, FERSHERE?!, fershere, that person with a hat for a name, Fez, Fedo, or just plain old Fedora will suffice. (:

Age: Seventeen
RP Experience: Nine years. Started off on Neopets. (:
How did you find us?:CAUTION 2.0

Show your S K I L L S . . .

In a world of rules and orderly conduct, there were bound to be a few broken rules. Vases too. There was almost always a broken vase somewhere. Today, however, there were no broken vases; at least not yet. There were, however, quite a few broken rules. For example, girls were supposed to be demure and quiet. They were supposed to have poise and a sense of dignity about them. This was a very hard rule to follow for some. One, in particular, was Anya.

Anya was not demure and quiet. Sure, she could be shy when the occasion called for such behavior, but she still got over her inhibitions in time. Anya did have a lot of poise, but dignity, she was too young to have. But she was still supposed to possess it, even pretend to possess it, if she must. But she didn’t. No, she had none whatsoever. She blamed it on the long white skirts. They were just impossible to handle and she liked other skirts better.

The small blonde girl skipped down the hall in stocking feet. Her skirt and most of her stockings were grass-stained with accents of dirt. She had a leaf or three in her hair, and she carried a very old looking bunny under her arm. He was also muddy. And he only had one ear. Don’t ask where the other one went, she had no idea herself. She suspected that a brownie came and chopped it off. That was what was smeared around her mouth, anyway. Not a pixie brownie, though. No, she would never eat that kind of brownie. She expected they tasted a bit like sawdust and dirt and spider webs. No, the cooks at the school were very nice. She got to lick the giant brownie mixing bowl and had run out before they could tell her that her mouth was smeared with the mix. She looked like a ragamuffin that had climbed her way into high class clothes. Sometimes nobility just didn’t look like nobility.

Anya was busy looking. For what, she didn’t know, but when she found it, she would. She was looking for magic. Magic could come in the form of anything, of course. She was a sharp girl, and she knew that conspicuous magic wasn’t really magic at all, just a bit of gimmickry. She blonde began peering in empty rooms to see if there was any magic in them. She would skim the room for something shiny, since she often found shiny things were VERY important. But the only thing she found was a Euro, which she pocketed because money was money, and money bought candy. She wanted magic, though. She was absorbed in looking for shiny objects that were magic.

That being the case, she almost missed the girl lying on the table.

She was so busy hunting for magic, but as she walked away, she paused, walked backward, and looked back in, sure that her mind was playing tricks on her. It wasn’t though. She blinked and stared into the room, licking the left corner of her mouth and then all the way around, removing most of the brownie mix, but not all of it. She looked down at her rabbit, who seemed to not care about anything that was going on (but you wouldn’t either, if you had one ear) and back up to the girl. She had the sudden urge to poke her. More specifically, she wanted to poke her nose. She walked across the room, her stocking feet keeping her footsteps silent. As she approached the girl, she tentatively reached a finger out and held it in front of her own face. Then, slowly, she reached out until she was two inches away from the girl’s nose. What if she was dead? That wouldn’t be good. Maybe she was sleepy? But who would sleep on a desk?

But, in any case, Anya jabbed her finger so it poked the girl’s nose, hard, then stepped a few steps back, ready to run for it if necessary. However, she couldn’t help but speak, her tiny voice echoing in the empty room, even if she was whispering loudly.

“Sleeping on tables isn’t good, you know! It’s bad for your back!”

[Admin!]

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