Post by emmaline grace, on Jan 4, 2009 1:51:52 GMT 1
;; fundamentals
full name;;Emmaline Helen Grace
nickname;;Emma
birthday;;The last human birthday Emmaline had was on May 14th, 1858, in which she turned 18.
age;;251
sexual orientation;;Straight
job;;Florist
Canon;;No
Species ;;Vampire
;; appearance
general;;Her body, in appearance, consists of a slight frame, thin bones set in a delicate structure, locked together in a structure reaching no higher than five feet and three inches. A covering of pallid skin, gossamer in texture and satin to touch sits atop unyielding muscles, slender but robust, the formidable strength wholly unapparent under the dainty exterior. Limbs extend from her ashen body, elegantly shaped, bringing about thoughts of fluid movement, even in stillness. Her figure is trim, nipped in at the waist with a gentle flair to her bust and hips. Not a pronounced siren like build, but hinting gently at decided femininity. Sitting far at the edge of each arm, small hands, an opalescent sheen skimming the surface of the small palms, and proportionately long fingers, disturbed only by a blueish hint under her skin, climaxing slightly, pooling around her wrists.
Zoning in, visual senses concentrating only on her face, eyes would be greeted with the same, snow like complexion, spanning a light covering over her whole face, challenged, only, by a darkening around her lids, soft lavender in hue, and darkening, reaching a subtle peak at the edges of her lashes, turning lilac. Her face shape itself is oval, a faint suggestion of elvishness, remaining a distant thought where the angular cheek bones and striking eyes add a little more drama. Lifts flourish in petals from a short space under her nose, colouring her face slightly with a blushing pink, a faint purple undertone giving her an ethereal, albeit slightly sallow look. Emmaline is what might colloquially be referred to as a 'vegetarian', quenching her thirst only with the blood of animals. Hence, her eyes are not the usual crimson of some vampires, but a gentle honey, the colour accented by the more defined amber flecks near her pupil. Framing the angelic face, a generally disheveled myriad of dark tresses, not quite onyx in colour, but near enough. Her locks hang in loose waves, falling in a tumbling cascade, then stopping abruptly at her middle back.
favorite;;Emmaline adores her hair, loves the natural, slightly chaotic way it falls, creating a dark, reflective curtain over her shoulders. Her love affair with her own appearance stops there, and, as far as the generally stunning looks of her kind go, she considers herself simply pleasant, no more, no less.
hate;;Her face, although a pretty, feminine cocktail of features, bothers her, making her look a good two years younger than others 'her age'. Her transformation into the world of the immortal did help the situation slightly, slicing into the soft curvature of her face, but still, did not transform her into a sultry being.
heritage;;English
ethnicity;; English
;; personality
general;;Emmaline Grace, quiet, shy. The girl holds an unmistakable desire for privacy, to be content in her own world, and those concerned within it. Her nature shies away from unwanted involvement from other people, warring with her desire to help. If she happens to stumble upon a situation she was not meant to know about, she ignores it, even if every inch of her being itches to offer help, advice. Her concerns and thoughts are her personal treasure, the jewels she holds close for safe keeping. This unabashed need to keep her private life exactly that is often contradicted by her lack of control over her expressions, her eyes, giving away so much that she desperately wants to stay hidden. Of course, someone would need to guess at an aspect of her mind firstly, to then be able to confirm or deny their theory via her face, but without a clue to her thinking patterns, anyone would be hard pushed, unless of course, they possessed any ability to contradict her tight lips.
A wall-flower through and through, the only time Miss Grace comes into her own, would be any situation where she feels comfortable. The slightest unfamiliarity in company or location will set her social skills off balance, rendering her tongue tied and wide eyed. She hasn't a way with words, and relies on her face, and most importantly, her eyes, to interpret her true feelings, the upside of her inability to hide her emotions. She is wary of the unknown, although is easily comforted in new surroundings or situations, provided she within reach of someone close, someone who calms her. If the situation is dire, and calls for her to be brave, she can muster her defenses, her strength, and venture into new things, but these bursts of bravado do not come at will, but rather, when provoked.
A familiar setting, a few friendly faces, and Emma will blossom. Security and happiness unlocks her personality, releases her from the grip of her crippling timidity. Although, still, not the life of the party, she contributes to an easy atmosphere, laid back and interesting. Emmaline has in interior layer, a combination of humour, intelligence, devotion and care which make her irresistible once her shell is broken. Her nature can often be tricky to coax out of her, hard to notice, as she will retreat back behind her mask if one small element of her surroundings isn't right, but occasionally, someone will catch a glimpse of the genuine, complicated and delightful persona behind her front, and persevere until she surrenders her facade. It is these gestures of kindness she responds to, small actions to make her feel welcomed and happy, which she remembers, and builds upon. The immortal has a fierce capacity to love and show loyalty, and, even in the wake of her most daunting fears, will put every ounce of strength she has into helping the ones she loves. It is the only feeling she depends upon to keep her existence meaningful, which is why she clings to it so dearly.
In times of need, where fighting and planning are key, Emmaline is helpful subtly, although the prospect of fighting scares her. Her strength is not renowned, and although she is alarmingly fast, there are those who can outrun her, but she is pre-preemptive. Her quick mind analyzes her opponent, and while she may be struck a few times on first encounter, after a short period of time, her brain will have devised the nature of the attacks she is receiving, which allows her to counter them and react in an appropriate fashion. Her helpfulness lends itself to research and planning too. She is very logical when the times call for it, and she is a dab hand at research, filtering out useless aspects, chasing down facts and figures only that seem necessary.
An obscure character, albeit not obviously so, Emmaline is complex and difficult to open up. Her mind, so intricately organized, with its various defensive systems, can seem impossible to penetrate, however, she has a good judge of character about her, and will, however minutely, will cling to them in a small way, opening up a tiny part with each barrier they break down, and reward them with a loving, playful, interesting companion.
hobbies;;
- Literature
- Landscaping
- Music
- Art
dislikes;;
- Bears
- Fighting
- Television
- Crowded Cities
- Being Centre of Attention
- High Pitched Noises
- Lying
likes;;
- Deer
- Forested Areas
- Pearls
- Laughter
- Human Scent
- Travel
- Classic Books
Fears;;
- Uncivilized Vampires
- Discovery
- The Volturi Condemning Her
- Fighting
- Her Loved Ones being Destroyed
Secrets;;
- Although she claims a clean record, Emmaline has bitten and killed one human, about which she is painfully ashamed.
- She contemplated destroying herself soon after becoming immortal. Of course, it would be impossible for her to kill herself, and so she had to learn to deal with what she had become.
- Although she feigns reverence and respect, the Volturi terrify her.
;; origins
general;;Emmaline was born in Cheshire in England, on May 14th, back in the year 1840. Placed tenderly in the arms of her mother, Violet, the child began a sheltered and comfortable life, as the only daughter of a bank worker and his wife. Jonathan was a kind man, firm and assertive, but always fair. He managed a bank, not far from his family home. Not being the owner, he busied himself overseeing the accounts, assuring the clerks behaved accordingly and didn't pocket any of their clients money, and keeping general order. He was not rich, as such, certainly Violet and his new daughter Emmaline were not clothed in fine velvet and silk, but he brought home a wage enough to keep his little family happy and comfortable. Violet had a heart condition, although it didn't bother her if she kept to the right conditions, she was not able to do any strenuous work, and so worked a few days a week in a florists shop. From a young age, Emmaline was taught morals. Ethics and values were expected to be conscious at all times, and the child was raised to pause, and appreciate anything that she was blessed with.
Emmaline was sent to school, not an upper class establishment, but she still received an education, and appreciated her education, at that. She was a good all rounder, shining in English, but she lent her hand easily to other subjects, gaining pleasing grades. She showed an interest in music and art, and although her parents did not have the funds to lavish expensive instruments and charcoal upon her, she was delighted when her father presented her with a well-worn piano, or 'well-loved' as Emmaline called it. It had a little wear and tear, but it still played. With help from the boy who lived across the road, she learned to play. The female was a fast learner, and eager to learn. She relied on her smarts and talents as her best attributes, it never occurred to the young girl, that was a fresh faced, pretty thing, with a youthful glow about her.
It was Christmas Day when her cosy life was ended. Her relatives had tripped into her small house, her grandparents, her Auntie Maisie and cousin, Eleanor. The eighteen year old was dividing her time between helping her mother in the kitchen, and fussing over Eleanor, a beautiful child, not two years old, with corn blonde curls and bright, attentive hazel eyes. At around nine in the evening, the little party began to disband, and Emmaline walked as far as the bridge with her aunt and cousin, not wanting to say goodbye to the lovely child. Waving them out of sight, she turned, making her way back her home. It had grew dark, the winter bringing evening early, and she clutched at her arms as the chill bit at her skin through her sleeves. The streets were dead, everyone turning in early after the excitement, and she hurried home, a silent figure following her from the back alleys, a narrow, dark path to the rear of each street. Not two streets from her house, she felt uneasy, and was compelled to turn. She glanced at the cold scene, seeing nothing. A hand snaked around her waist from behind as she turned, so much colder than the freezing gale. The other hand reached around to her lips, pressing hard against her skin to muffle any sound that might have escaped. A rough movement jerked her head to the side, horrified tears streaking from her wide eyes as a searing pain shot in her neck, peaking in a crescent shape. The pain was stopped abruptly as the sound of foot steps and merriment filled the air. Two young men, apparently a better meal than a slight female, turned the corner. Her attacker dropped her, not looking twice as he sprang at the men.
She staggered away, dizzy and breathless from the pain in her neck. She kept on in her direction, stumbling forward, into sparse wooded areas, which gradually grew into dense greenery. The heat in her neck was unbearable, it pulsed and surged, never letting up except for when she slip into unconsciousness, the searing pain muted, nothing more than a dull ache until she would awake again. She often shook, convulsed with the pressure in her body, clawing at her skin, trying to unearth the fire. On the morning of fourth day, the pain had eased, she fell into a fitful sleep, awaking again no more than an hour later. Her skin was cold, solid, her face felt chiseled, sharp lines springing from where, before, there was only soft expanses of cheek. Her eyes were hideous to her, beautiful in the most horrid way imaginable, red with power, with thirst. Her throat scratched, pulsed and burned with the need for blood, a constant thirst. It was apparent to her what she had become, and while she loathed every inch of her body, the need to quench her thirst took over. In the afternoon, a young man, quite handsome in face, cheery looking, sauntered through the woods, a little far away from the usual area for a stroll. Emmaline clutched at him, there was no question as to who won the struggle, and while the lifeless carcass at her feet had satiated her need, there was no word to describe her current opinion of herself. She tried, many times, to kill herself. Drowning, hanging, nothing worked. She was, as far as she was concerned, indestructible. When the realization hit that she was doomed to this form, she hunted only animals, keeping well away from anywhere humans would wonder, not wanting to murder. After three years, she had managed to control her thirst, finding she could be around humans, without killing them. She chose to live among them, trying to go back to normality as much as possible. She had to curb her speed and strength, to appear normal, and move when she did not age, but she kept up her charade well, and pulled off living peacefully.
parents;;Violet Madelyn Grace{mother} - Jonathan Greggor Grace{father}
siblings;;None
other;;
;; roleplaying
sample;;
Was it really necessary to probe a hung over Ashleigh about the previous nights escapades? Tapping the end of the cigarette, she turned her body, sending ashes drifting down from the balconies dizzying heights. Lifting her hand, she maneuvered her wrist to place the stick on her lips, letting her eyes roam over the frail girl in front of her. Sickly white skin, hip bones protruding from her sweats, blonde hair extensions, tattered and hanging from a ponytail some where on the top of her head, and sunken eyes, awaiting Ashleigh's reply. Exhaling, she blew a cloud of smoke at the gaunt female, and turned again, looking out over the balcony. "You reek of vodka" she stated, pointedly, not attempting to spare the girls feelings. Although, she couldn't fathom why pointing out something so obvious would phase her anyhow. She was, after all, the one who had downed twelve shots in order to win a bet. Taking another drag of the cancerous stick, she cast a bored glance back to Annette. "And you look like an anorexic hooker" she said, supplying her with a sickly, yet sympathetic smile.
Seeing the agitated look on her face, she sighed, stubbing out the cigarette with murderous force.
"He had the Presidential suite at The Carseers" she began with out introduction, her tone monotonous. "And we went back. And I downed some tequila. You can guess the end result babe" she finished, a shrug of her shoulders indicating nothing more as she selected a half drunk bottle of cheap wine from the table to her right. "What happened with that lanky blonde?" she retorted, lifting the container to her pout and taking a generous gulp. Swinging her arm to the side, the bottle collided with the railings, very nearly breaking. A venomous look was sent to no one in particular, triggered by the audacity of the noisy bottle. Returning her gaze back to Annette, she arched a brow, tipping her head in anticipation of her answer.
The boy had been some what passable looking, but only just. A day glow tan covered his overly tall frame, his dress sense had been far to eclectic for Ash's taste. Bermuda shorts and a dark shirt didn't really do it for her, but Annette hadn't seemed to mind. Her own out fit the night before had, if it could be referred to as an outfit, rather scarce. A shimmering bikini style top and lurid, white denim hot pants. Her angular figure didn't set the combination off, and so she had ended up looking, as Ashleigh had said, like an anorexic hooker. Taking another sip, she placed the wine back down and awaited her companions answer.
;; behind the character
name;;Torii
age;;Fifteen
gender;;Female
years roleplaying;;About five on and off
location;;England
How You found us;;RPGC Banner
