Post by Helena Au'cheveire on Feb 24, 2009 22:19:23 GMT -5
;; fundamentals
full name;; Helena Au'cheveire
nickname;; -----
birthday;; October Thirtieth
age;; 36
sexual orientation;; Straight
job;; Composer
class;; Upper Class
Canon;; No
;; appearance
general;;
She is somewhat small in form, perfectly petite, with shoulder length brunette hair usually pulled up in a polite gesture. Age has not marred her face, except for maybe the wrinkles around her mouth when you can coax a reluctant smile out of her. She cares much for the way she holds herself, with dignity, and she is a woman that seems to command respect from others around her, even with her looks. She stands at 5'5, with a long even stride when she walks. Her skin is a tan color, usually unheard of in pale, frail women of Europe, but with the slight accent with which her silky words flow, you can tell she is not native to Paris. In fact, there is even an Exotic tinge to the way she moves, her body swaying in a way that some women would whisper wasn't 'modest'. She could act like a perfectly good Lady if she wanted to.
Her eye color seems to vary slightly each day, with sometimes a dark, almost cobalt blue, and other times a lighter, more friendlier color in the iris. They are usually heavily shadowed, moreso from the rather extensive sleepless nights she recieves from varying nightmares. Her hair is slightly wavy, with a natural flamboyance that flicks it around her shoulders rather easily. Her voice, however, seems very different from her appearence. It is soft, almost unhearable, and if one where to see under her blouse, they would see a small incision-like scar around her neck, as though she was stabbed there at one point. It, however, isn't clear if this is the reason for her soft tone, but some swears she can sing with as much bravado and beauty as her younger days.
While not rich, Helena enjoys finer, darker colored dresses, with the beautiful satins or emeralds winding around her body, contrasting with her dark hair and eyes. A cross usually hangs suspended in her blouse, but it does not seem to be the traditional kind. She prefers tight dresses to loose ones, with long puffy skirts.
favorite;;
She enjoys her eyes the most, even with the off-setting dark circles.
hate;;
The almost odd tinge to her skin, and the dark circles under her eyes from lack of constant sleep.
heritage;;
Mother was Spanish, Father was French.
ethnicity;;
White
;; personality
general;;
It is very hard to decide Helena's personality, as she is very quiet. Many only take her as a piece of the scenery, until they look a second time. It is not that she blends in, far from it, but she has a very discerning ability to pop out of completely nowhere and just be 'there'. Some might take her for a very dark, brooding personality, but honestly that is merely a misconception. She is just very quiet, and very prone to shying away from attention. She used to be attracted to it, used to live in, but not now. Instead, she just enjoys music, and the singers. It is the only thing that lets her drop the heavy burdens that still haunt her to this day. She thrives most in the Darkness, and during most daylight hours she can be seen in the darker, less lit places of the Opera House. It is doubted that she ever really leaves, except to go home when she fancies.
She is very much an insomniac, rarely sleeping. In even the oddest hours of the night, you may find her walking in the hallways, an almost eeiry figure against the darkness around her. She hardly talks to strangers, unless she seems to like you when she first meets you. The few that do know her may assure you that she is not as dark as she appears. In fact, she is a very kind, thankful, and beautiful woman. It is merely her fear of sleep, and fear of interaction that scares people away from her. Or maybe more... She is more adverse to the opposite sex than she is to other girls, usually quietly feeding them advice on a song, or helping them straighten a blouse, or something of the like. She enjoys life at the Opera House, and to her, it is her home.
She guards her past very carefully, avoiding it whenever possible, although those with old-time favorite musicals might notice that hidden face a few times, but it could merely be a small resemblance, couldn't it? She sits in on Opera performances frequently, although off to the side in her own space, merely listening to the music she know she helped create, and if you're wandering alone in the Opera House in the very wee hours of the morning, maybe you can catch a strand of the magic she works, in her own voice, the one that used to be so well-known, but now has faded into the ashes of history...
hobbies;;
~Writing music
~Exploring the Opera House
~Reading
~Growing a small flower in her room, under special care
dislikes;;
~Nightmares
~Sleep in general
~Alleyways
~Large crowds
~Tears
~Blood
~Men
~Horrible music
~Heartbreak
~Making a mistake
~Her birthdays
~May Twenty-Third
likes;;
~Music
~Operas
~Dark hallways/buildings
~The night
~The moon
~Dancing
~Her memories
~Helping with the Opera House
~Stories of the 'Opera Ghost'
Fears;;
~Sleeping
~Hyperventilating
~Fainting
~Falling in love
~Going outside the Opera House
Secrets;;
~She was once a rich Opera singer.
~She, at one time, was married to a very Rich man.
~She has a daughter, whom she hopes is alive, but is most likely dead.
;; origins
general;;
It is assumed Helena was born in Spain, but her father arrived with her one evening on his grandmother's doorstep, distraught. Apparently, Helena's mother died after giving birth, and the man did not want to take care of a child. The grandmother was a strict woman, and ashamed of her son, but she took the child in willingly to raise. In the beginning, there were plans. Arranged marriages were thought of, or more intense things, such as merely selling her off. It was only when Helena began to grow older and developed a strong, tangible interest in music, and a talent for it, that her grandmother finally began paying attention to her. Helena was showed off like a doll at a sale, for all to see. Her grandmother was very happy to hand her over to the first Opera House who wanted her.
This actually did not irk Helena very much. She trained until she was twenty, before she met a dashing young man called Gerald Vermont. In a crazy act, she gave him all the wealth she had amassed, and he promised to marry her. He went through with the promise, but fate did not smile kindly upon Helena. Gerald was not the kind of man she really needed, with her hopeful personality. He was over-controlling, obsessive, and no one could stop him when he got on a rampage. For five grueling years she dealt with him, abandoning music altogether except in her mind as she struggled through the hardships in the marriage. She even bore a daughter, but was told it was still born. She was strangely forbidden to ask the Priest who took the small coffin away what happened, or to even see her child. She merely took it, at the time, as the final blow to her already torn spirit.
It was one dark night, walking home with a flower basket, that she came across Gerald and a group of his friends, quite plainly drunk. She was dragged into the nearest alleyway, Gerald grabbing at her truimphantly. "This.. this... this slut is my wife!" He stammered out, roaring in laughter. When they were finished, she was left bleeding on the ground. Her lower body still has scars from the encounter, but they are cleverly hidden... As Gerald walked away, one of his friends spoke up, "Looks like you need a new wife, my friend."
As thought fate smiled once again on her, she woke up in an Opera House. It was a small one, but it worked as home for quite awhile. It took a long time to recover from the devestating blow. She went back to Opera singing for awhile, but could never achieve the same she had when she was younger. Finally, she retired into something she knew quite well how to do, writing music. It became her life, filling the void losing her child had earlier in her life, at least enough to stop the dull ache within her. At the age of thirty-three, she came upon the budding Opera House of Paris, the capital of Love. While the city did not suit her very much, she dwelled in the beautiful Opera House, and in the dark history that came with it.
It was there she made her home for three years, and there where she still dwells, composing music to earn a well enough living, walking the soundless, but beautiful halls and stage at night. This was her life, and her entire world. In the current day, she lives, eats, breaths.... Music is everything.
parents;;
Maria Au'cheveire (Meina)
Austice Au'cheveire
siblings;; Unknown
other;;
Ex-Husband (believes her dead): Gerald Vermont
Daughter (believed to be deceased, was never named)
;; roleplaying
sample;;
The dreary day was accounted for, and now evening had happened to spread it's open jaws upon the entire atmosphere around Forks. Sunset was colored crimson, with spots of dark orange, and on the other side of the horizon line was a dark black, ink like the girl's eyes. She was standing on a corner, completely normal in all aspects, or so it would seem, except for the coal black eyes. Her car looked slightly out of place in the town of Forks, as it was a red Mercedes, with nicely painted flame decails on the side. Purse was slung over her side, figure barely concealed by a long-sleeved v-neck shirt, and semi-baggy jeans that molded to her hips and then went down. Right now, her usual brunette style was abandoned for your pretty brown/blond streaks, instead of the usual crimson and brown. A Celtic cross was resting on the edge of her v-neck blouse. She seemed a little lost, leaning against her baby Mercedes, flipping through a map that the Internet had filed out for her non-stop research reports.
Overhead, snow was beginning to fall, and she pulled a nice jacket out of her car, leather, but slimmer than a biker's jacket so it clung to her figure. One unlit cigarette was resting on her crimson painted lips, manicured nails softly clipping on the map. She looked all the part of a very lost movie star, and she would've been more suspicious during the daytime, probably with a consecutive group of admirers not too far away. Instead now, she was reclined back, also pulling the strings of her sanity to look like a dumb blond. Any suckered male could walk right up to her. She needed information, and quick information. This was the easiest way for her to get it, after all, first night in town. She flicked the cig to the ground, looking strangely imposing for the role she was playing, but maybe you could only feel that if you were the neighborhood goof.
However, a few wary could probably smell an ounce of perpetual trouble in the air. Blonds didn't usually wear leather jackets, did they? Or dress in black, right? Okay, so maybe she couldn't play the part to the T, but she just needed a few curious faces. The sky was dark now, hazy, with snowflakes. She was considering just calling it in, but from what she's heard of Forks, it's about as full of vampires as the Vatican was of idiots. Believe me, that's a lot. She touched her hip subtly, feeling the familiar outline of Babylon pressed to her hand, and let out a very pleasurable little sigh from her crimson lips. Five more minutes and she was leaving, preferably lighting a cigarette on her way out, no doubt. Back to whatever little hotel she could find, or maybe she'd just sleep in her Mercedes. She knew just how disgusting Hotel rooms could be, especially with all the accommodations and what people do with said accommodations in Hotel rooms.
Her phone gave a slight vibrate against her thigh, but she didn't think about it. She rarely answered anymore. She was going to do this her own way. The Cullens were the biggest clan next to the Volturi. She wanted to give that egotistic freak Caius someone to worry about. Namely? A little witch with brown hair and a pistol that packs a punch. She would do anything to kill him, even join the things she hated now. It was all the moral abandonment that the Vatican hated within her. She'd lost her twin, the other part of her soul. Morals meant nothing anymore, and honestly, she didn't care if the Vatican sent their own hunters on her. She was going to kill Caius, watch him bleed beneath her, and honestly? She'd have the greatest time ripping out his throat if she could.
A sound of a passing car caught her attention, moving through the now heavy coating of snow. She ran her hand idly through her hair, shaking the snowflakes off, and then the map, which had gotten a light dusting as she had fled off into her fantasies. Another cig was drawn as she went to find her keys, but she rethought it and put it away, before opening the door and pausing a second to scan the area around her with idle black irises. She then closed the door, hearing footsteps not too far away from her, and she waited patiently, wondering if she could snag the information she needed before tomorrow. It would be helpful, no doubt. So she pulled the map out again, dusted off a place on the hood for herself, and took to sitting, being a blond. People judged everything by stereotypes... This was one stereotype you couldn't place.
The cold softly tinged her lips, as accustomed to the warm weather of Italy as she was lately. It had been only a week ago she had been there, the tantalizing memory just beyond her reach. The Italian food was wonderful. That was one thing she was glad of, food. As a Witch, she was pretty sure she was still human, despite the odd things she could do all because of her bloodline. Was she just fooling herself? She could bleed, but it took a lot to pierce the pallid skin. She had better eyesight than your average human, better speed, better hearing.. All these things had kept her alive while she was fighting vampires, or werewolves... Or Other things. At least she wasn't alive in Salem, Massachusetts back when the Witch Trails were going on. Apparently, being burned to death affected nearly everyone, even with the close relationship that the Witch had with her element, being an Ares. Fire. She could work with Earth, Wind, and Water, but... Her fire was deadlier than some could even imagine. It was how she had survived all these years. She was a viable threat to any vampire, even two vampires...
She wouldn't be able to kill off a coven of the Cullen's size faced with them all together, but if she played their relationships, did it in pairs. Well, that should be easy. If you destroy a vampire's mate, after all, they come after you. Maybe the Cullens had mates. She had heard about them, Vegetarian vampires. Bah! All vampires were the same. Soulless, cold, and dead. She may have hated werewolves, but the hate would never surpass the fire kindled inside for any of the vampiric kind. Whether it was recent events, or she had merely been raised that one, one couldn't tell. Whatever it was, it seemed.... There was a new Witch in town.
;; behind the character
name;; Alexas
age;; (prefer not to say~)
gender;; Female
years roleplaying;; Five
location;; America
How You found us;; Ad on a Twilight site
