aviendha

𝕲𝖗𝖎𝖒 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝕲𝖆𝖒𝖇𝖎𝖙

A Hotel in Paris | April 14, 2012, nearly 2 PM

Sonya walked with a spring in her step that she had not felt in some time. The beauty of Paris almost equaled that of St. Petersburg, but there was no means of comparison between the two. Where St. Petersburg boasted unified design, with splashes of color among the snow covered buildings, playing off their reflections in the water, built around centerpieces of palaces and churches and other beautiful things, Paris was entirely different. Several unique monuments marked the landscape, towering structures that stood out among the rest; there was no water, little nature, except around its center, around the Eiffel Tower. So much seemed artificial, but not fake- merely artistic. Where St. Petersburg was built around its people, Paris was built to stand out. The beauty of Paris was intentional, while the beauty of her home was incidental.

As she walked, Dmitri began to whine, squirming in Sonya's arms. She recognized this little noise, and began to search for a private spot to feed him. The child was nine months and a bit, teeth coming in, but his mother could not afford formula. Legislation protected breastfeeding mothers, but legislation could not remove the stigma surrounding such things. Out of a fear of confrontation, Sonya waited to find a private spot before feeding her son.

"Митя, минуточку, солнышко..."

Sonya looked down at the little boy, as he became quiet, and smiled back up at her. Her heart melted for a moment, and she hugged the baby close. He was acting quite well, in such a new environment. He gazed around at the new beauty of Paris, soaking it all in the way only an innocent child can. While she looked up at the wonders of Parisian architecture and design, at the fashions of the people around her, the boy saw equivalent wonders everywhere, even in the dirt. Dmitri was only in the lowest percentile for his age group, in terms of weight and size. The baby looked to be several months younger than he really was, particularly with that helmet on his head. The helmet- black, with his nickname "Митя" painted on the front- rested against Sonya's chest, cold even through her blouse. Little Mitya did not seem to register the cold plastic clutching his skull as something odd, he merely enjoyed life.

After several minutes of searching, and being turned away from establishments that insisted that only customers could use rest areas, the baby began to cry. Sonya ducked into the first building she saw- a hotel, the same hotel designated the escort point on the letter. She did not take time to marvel at the stylish design of the lobby, instead, she hid herself in a corner, trying to be invisible. Taking little Mitya out of the makeshift carrier she had styled from her blanket, Sonya noticed something odd.

The boy had a lump in his neck, the size of one of his tiny fists. He continued whimpering, sitting on the floor now, unsure of what was wrong. Sonya stared with sorrow at the child, before finally taking action.

With care, Sonya gently removed the helmet, and pulled her son into her lap. She ran a hand through the thick layer of curly black hair covering his little head. He was quiet for a moment, before whining again. Bracing the child with one hand, her arm supporting his head, Sonya began to massage the calcification from his neck. Dmitri grew louder, and louder, crying out in pain from the massage, but after a minute, that pain subsided. The lump, though, was still there. Bracing her son against her knee, Sonya helped him turn his head from side to side- to look right was easy, but left impossible, due to the lump. The strain caused him to whimper, as she slowly worked the lump out from his neck. Dmitri stared straight ahead, whining, but putting up with the stretch.

"мама!"

Dmitri called out, and Sonya stopped. The lump had started to slink away, falling apart beneath his skin. With a smile, Sonya picked Dmitri up, and held him close.

"О, прости, любовь моя. Я просто хочу помочь тебе почувствовать себя лучше."

With a stealthy look around the lobby, Sonya noted that no one was paying her any mind. The staff at the front desk ignored her, and the few patrons passing through did not seem to register her presence. She was not invisible, but she was as close as one could get. Unbuttoning her blouse, Sonya turned to face the wall, hiding herself further. Using her wool blanket, she covered herself and her son, and held him up to her chest. She watched the baby, but paid close mind to the door.

"В этом мире мы одиноки, солнышко..."

The Lovis Superbia (Luxury Space Travel for the 1%)

@aviendha Do I need to offer Skye a job as head of potatoes?

Also of those ten menu items which would be her preference?

@EurmalEye

Sure! Lmao. My little name there actually comes from a time when I worked in a kitchen. I won't divulge the full story, it's up to your imagination.

She would want some of that Applewood Smoked Bacon, Crumbled Goat Cheese, and an Avocado and Egg Breakfast Salad. Bits and pieces from each one, combined into one big salad dish.

The Lovis Superbia (Luxury Space Travel for the 1%)

Skye O'Connell - The Painted Lady

"Rich people..."

Skye frowned at the wall of the room, now devoid of decoration, and outlined in blue tape. The couple staying in this room had put in a special request prior to the start of the cruise to have a teal room. The color the janitorial staff had chosen was, apparently, just a shade or two too green.

"'No, our room is sea green. We want it to be teal, not sea green. It's sooooo important.' God damn rich people..."

She checked her watch- 1 AM. One girl, barely tall enough to reach the ceiling while on a stepladder, assigned to repaint an entire room before breakfast... that was definitely reasonable. With a renewed smile, she began to paint. Up, and down, parallel strokes, evenly covering the wall from floor to ceiling. The first layer needed an hour to dry, so she sat in the corner for a little while, closed her eyes, and meditated. An hour passed, and she painted the second layer. And so on, until it was nearly 6 AM.

By this point, the room was fully painted, though the last layer needed to dry, and the tape to be peeled. Satisfied with her work, Skye let out a sigh. That sigh became a yawn, as she realized that a full twenty four hours had passed since she had last slept. The overtime pay, at least, would make up for that.

Her pager rang in an ill timed moment, and she answered- the kitchens needed reinforcement. The call was labelled urgent- and few of the janitorial staff were awake so early, given that most of their work was to be accomplished during daylight hours. With another sigh turned yawn, Skye raced off towards the kitchens.

A few minutes later, breathless, Skye burst into the kitchen, nearly collapsing from exhaustion. Once again, she had pulled an overnight shift, and once again, she was called in for work just before she was meant to finish for the day. Bracing herself, placing her hands on her knees for a moment to catch her breath, Skye looked around at the familiar faces. All of the staff here were much more nicely dressed than she, in her spotty overalls nearly completely soaked with paint and dust alike. She felt out of place, but she was too tired to care. She spotted Jared, and her face lit up. Rushing over to the chef, she offered a playful salute.

"McCaffrey! You called? Needed one of us to fill in for someone? I might say, I am one hell of a sous chef."

With her signature cheeky grin, she lowered her hand to her side. She scanned the kitchen, and saw the piles upon piles of dirty dishes, amassed in the corner. Her eyes widened, and she rushed over.

"Now, this just won't do..."

Grabbing a pile of bowls caked with drying grime, Skye hoisted the lot into the sink. The other dishwashers made room for her. With the speed that only those who are sleep deprived and running on too much caffeine can muster, she began to clean. It was not an instantaneous transition, but it was noticeable rapid. Almost as though Skye was running her own individual assembly line, she managed to clear a significant portion of the dishes. Her mind wandered off, and she whistled as she worked, some lazy old tune from some forgotten folk song.

The Octopus: A 19th Century Political/Crime RP

June 28, 1876

The sky was grey tonight, same as it had been every night of the month. No clouds, just grey. A light fog gave an even more dismal feel to the already exhausted atmosphere. No one's eyes looked up, feet dragged, and mouths stayed shut. It was quiet, here, at her old home. The bustle of the day had already tapered away, the children gone to dinner, the parents going about their business still in the automatic way that parents must. Not one person noticed her, sitting there on the steps of a group home, gazing down the road towards better circumstances.

Olivia had just watched her boyfriend of three months die. This one had been quite nice- a senator, newly elected, fresh and ready to make some waves. But he didn't know how to deal with the waves of the sea, it would seem. They had left on a nice little fishing trip together, and she had made her way back, alone, in the tears of a woman afraid to be caught. He was probably still floating out there, bloated and grey and sad, like the sky.

It was almost time to leave, though. A week had passed since the man's funeral, where she had played the public part of a grieving loved one. Page two read, "The Unlucky Lover", a headline reused several times now, whenever such tragedies struck Olivia's intended.

A little boy came up to her, the first person to notice the woman all day. She did not fit in this world, in her pantsuit, and pearls. But this little boy saw the familiar spirit hiding behind the persona she had created, and offered all he could in his smile. Olivia- always fond of children, not that she ever wanted any of the things- smiled back, and produced from her purse some shiny coins. His eyes lit up, as she placed the trifle of money into his outreached palm. Only a child could be happy at the gain of so little, such a temporary thing as money.

Olivia stood, resigned to return to her new home, after the kid ran off. Rather than calling a carriage or escort of any sort, she had walked here- and she would walk back. The town was not too far, and she preferred those nice, solitary journeys.

An hour passed, and she found herself in town. Hands in her pockets, and eyes gazing upwards, she received sparse condolences from the few who recognized her face or noticed the black dress she wore. Enough time had passed that Trevor was old news, but not enough that the people had yet forgotten completely. She would have to wait a few more days before moving on to the next.

Her thoughts turned from schemes for the future to panic for the present, as a man hurried past her, knocking her backwards with a quick shove of his shoulder. Caught off guard, Olivia toppled, falling a bit before barely catching herself on the sidewalk; her palms were skinned, dripping a little bit of blood. And her purse was gone from them, snatched without warning.

Olivia stood, her skirts making that task a bit difficult, as no one offered any aid. She watched, regretfully, as the man who stole her purse disappeared into an alley down the road. Running after the thief would seem foolish, and warrant violence. However, she could not return to her residence without retrieving that purse. Contemplating for a moment, Olivia began to walk in the direction of the offender, the blood from her hands sinking subtly into the pitch black fabric of her mourning dress.

The Octopus: A 19th Century Political/Crime RP

Name: Olivia Dawson, née Anika Popov

Age: 28

Ethnicity: Russian/Indian

Occupation/Place in the Combination: Professional Divorcee, No official position

Personal History: Olivia's parents emigrated when she was a toddler, and she grew up on the West Side. Her Russian father fell into debt with the wrong people- Olivia never knew the details, but it was she who found his body. Her mother, an Indian seamstress who spoke little English, died of heart failure mere days later. The fifteen year old Olivia came into a small inheritance, just enough to buy a few costumes; the sorts of things the politicians' wives would wear, complete with jewelry and pretty new shoes, and a new name. An unknown face, with an odd accent and a seemingly ambiguous ethnicity, she seamlessly inserted herself into the lower ranks of the social ladder. A Precinct Captain took a liking to the girl, and kept her as a side girl for a little while. As soon as he decided to run for political office, though, he discarded Olivia without a thought. A week or so later, she was hitched with his closest rival, who won the position. However, she didn't stay long, after she met another man, of slightly better power.

Since the age of sixteen, Olivia has bounced from fling to fling, some approaching seriousness. Twelve times, she has been engaged. Only once has the wedding actually come to pass- giving her the chance to steal a new surname. Her relationships end when her partner approaches failure, or defies her recommendations. They end in moments of dissidence and strife, and sometimes, a few end in her partners' deaths. She is seen by the public as a pretty face, tossed from success story to the next; to the people holding power, she is nothing but a little pretty object. However, to those who have fallen for her, or rather, entered a business agreement with her, she is a reliable source of information, and suggestion. She may not hold any real power, but her abilities lie in her manipulations of the men she claims to love.

The Lovis Superbia (Luxury Space Travel for the 1%)

Name/Nicknames: Skye O'Connell

Gender: Female

Age: 22

Appearance:

Skye is short and thin, but can hold her own. She dyes her naturally black hair a bright blue, and wears purple contacts over brown eyes. She's plain, and average, but wants to look more individual. When on the job, she wears her hair in a loose bun, and is often seen wearing a lacy blouse and brown blazer, along with heavy brown trousers. When off duty, she wears oversized t shirts, which reveal her oddly muscular legs.

Personality:
Skye is loud and flirty, and loves cheap jokes- anything for a laugh. She loves people, and she loves to hear their stories. Easily amused and never bored, Skye can find excitement in anything. She has the curiosity of a child and the temperament of a contented elderly grandma. She is not always making noise, however- she does have her silent times, of contemplation, especially when she gazes upon the stars.

Bio:
Skye was born far off, in a colony that has long been forgotten. Her parents adopted her into their little family on Mars; two veterans of the military. She was raised in a strict home, but she loved her parents nonetheless. Obedient and willing, Skye flourished in that environment. It wasn't until she graduated from college that Skye realized what she was missing; her parents had trained for years to travel and protect humanity across space, and while she had undergone that same intensive stuff, she had never reaped the benefits. She saw a job opening, available at a luxury cruise line- her parents used a few contacts to land her a job as a member of the janitorial staff. Her main role is to clean the rooms of the guests when they are out, her secondary duties involve cleaning general areas after hours.

Other:

• Skye is gay.
• Skye is an artist, and always carries a sketchbook in her pocket.
• Her home, and her parents, have never really been her concern. As far as she cares, her parents are the two that raised her, and her home is wherever she feels most comfortable.
• Skye loves cleaning- it relaxes and calms her.

The Octopus: A 19th Century Political/Crime RP

Here's my character! tl;dr: A woman of seemingly ambiguous ethnicity and origin who hitches herself to power to influence politics through her beau.

Name: Olivia Dawson, née Anika Popov

Age: 28

Ethnicity: Russian/Indian

Occupation/Place in the Combination: Professional Divorcee, No official position

Personal History: Olivia's parents emigrated when she was a toddler, and she grew up on the West Side. Her Russian father fell into debt with the wrong people- Olivia never knew the details, but it was she who found his body. Her mother, an Indian seamstress who spoke little English, died of heart failure mere days later. The fifteen year old Olivia came into a small inheritance, just enough to buy a few costumes; the sorts of things the politicians' wives would wear, complete with jewelry and pretty new shoes, and a new name. An unknown face, with an odd accent and a seemingly ambiguous ethnicity, she seamlessly inserted herself into the lower ranks of the social ladder. A Precinct Captain took a liking to the girl, and kept her as a side girl for a little while. As soon as he decided to run for political office, though, he discarded Olivia without a thought. A week or so later, she was hitched with his closest rival, who won the position. However, she didn't stay long, after she met another man, of slightly better power.

Since the age of sixteen, Olivia has bounced from fling to fling, some approaching seriousness. Twelve times, she has been engaged. Only once has the wedding actually come to pass- giving her the chance to steal a new surname. Her relationships end when her partner approaches failure, or defies her recommendations. They end in moments of dissidence and strife, and sometimes, a few end in her partners' deaths. She is seen by the public as a pretty face, tossed from success story to the next; to the people holding power, she is nothing but a little pretty object. However, to those who have fallen for her, or rather, entered a business agreement with her, she is a reliable source of information, and suggestion. She may not hold any real power, but her abilities lie in her manipulations of the men she claims to love.

𝕲𝖗𝖎𝖒 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝕲𝖆𝖒𝖇𝖎𝖙

Gare de Châtelet – Les Halles | April 14, 2012, Noon

The noise of the train tracks, in their repetitive motion and constant sequence, had long since faded into a peaceful background. Like the rolling hills and passing skies, it seemed another aspect of a simple landscape. The lull of the gentle sounds and sights led Sonya to slumber, despite the sunlight falling in through the windows. She had chosen to leave for Paris on the very last day possible, taking the train overnight. Priorities, she claimed, must realize the worth of a career over pleasure. The other women at the shelter had nagged her to leave earlier, to enjoy the sights and wonders of the most romantic city on Earth. Finally, after 20 years of living in the cold and barren lands of the North-Eastern ends of the continent, she would see and feel the warmth of the West.

The train had gone on for more hours than Sonya normally slept in a week, having begun its trek yesterday morning. The motion of the train was soothing, somehow, to both Sonya and her baby son. Little Dmitri slept peacefully in her arms, wrapped in a woolen blanket, an image of a perfect calm. Though their accommodations were public transportation, the two had the car to themselves. It was nothing significant, it was nothing new, but it was exciting nonetheless. The empty car, the empty station, the silent conductor, had all contributed to this aura of mystique. An air of mystery was built around this journey, which offered at the end the previously impossible destination of potential sanctuary. In the meantime, she could enjoy the solace and comfort of the steady rhythm of the train tracks, as she gradually woke to the fluctuating horizon.

Dmitri woke in an instant, and cried out with a soft noise. Sonya rocked him, as the train began to slow. The natural landscape had changed, to the shape of a city. To her first glance, Paris seemed anachronistic; the classic architecture, reflective of centuries old techniques, were mixed in with modern structures, with no sense of order among their scattered forms. Some were familiar, some hauntingly so, while most were strange and foreign. New.

The train station, the usually thriving Station Châtelet – Les Halles, was empty, as the station in Poland had been at her departure the previous morning. Sonya took her time in leaving the car, and station. In one arm, she held her groggy son, while her opposite hand held the strap of a satchel containing all she needed for her stay in this place. Sonya wore her best clothes, a brushed cotton pantsuit, paired with her only pumps. Her son was dressed in a similar fashion, as the tiny child wore a suit, complete with a tie. She had sewn the outfit herself, in an assumption that the other invitees might have higher expectations of socioeconomic status than she could fulfill in her usual dress.

Upon exiting the station, Sonya was met with the busy streets of Paris. A cobbled mixture of residents and tourists, they all seemed equivalent strangers in her eyes. Inconspicuous, even with her dark skin among a mostly white crowd, Sonya moved through the crowd with a leisurely ease. No one bumped into her, for who would disturb a mother holding a baby in the mid morning? Untouched as she walked through the people of Paris, Sonya pulled from the satchel that fateful envelope.

The letter had arrived on her birthday, the first since she had left Russia, but not by any conventional method. The address of the shelter was unlisted, unable to receive mail in the traditional fashion. No, the letter had arrived in the hands of her baby, or rather, his mouth. He was at the early stages of teething at that point, and gnawed on anything he could find. Where he had found the letter, Sonya did not question. Within it, there were few documents- among them, a map of Paris, with directions written in Russian, with a transliteration into French, as if to dictate to a cabbie. Finding the station marked on the map, and tracing her optional paths, Sonya developed a plan. The residence she was meant to attend could be either a short car ride, or a several hour long walk.

There was a beauty here, something new, undiscovered to Sonya. She had known Paris in stories, in pictures, and in books. She had learned of its wonders through the words and experiences of others, but never had she herself stepped foot in such a bountiful treasure. It was something she wished to savor, to cherish, for the brief tenure of her stay at the residence Bonaparte. She therefore chose to walk. Tying the satchel over her shoulder, Sonya pulled her son close. He laughed, a soft little giggle, bringing a smile to his mother's face. Tucking the envelope and its contents into her bag, Sonya began her journey towards a new life.

𝕲𝖗𝖎𝖒 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝕲𝖆𝖒𝖇𝖎𝖙

Sonya Romanov

Name:
Sonya Romanov
Also Known As:
Mama (by her son, and the children at the shelter),
Rose, Nia (by her ex husband)
Birthdate:
January 1, 1992
Place of Origin:
Irkutsk, Siberia
Ethnicity:
Siberian, Arabic
Gender:
Female
Height:
153 cm / 5 ft
Weight:
59 kg / 130 lbs
Laterality:
Left-handed
Occupation:
Shelter Manager, Mother
Marital Status:
Separated, filed for divorce

Appearance:
Sonya is short, taking after her mother in that respect. She carries most of her weight in her thighs and hips, with a little bit of pudge on her stomach. Her chest is small, her face modest, and her curves overall unalluring. She looks like a mother, complete with the wrinkles of worry that appear in moments of stress. After her father, she has dark skin, and his same dark hair. She wears her hair naturally most days, letting it loose in dark and curly tresses, sometimes letting it lock, or tying it back in a bun. There are strands of gray creeping in through the brown and black masses, but she wears them nonchalantly, as tribute to her trials. Her eyes are dark, and empty, rarely shining unless she is looking upon her little son. She rarely wears makeup, except to cover new bruises and old scars out of habit. There are too many of the latter to count- none so large or obvious that one might notice upon first glance, but enough that she must wear full sleeves and pants to cover their entire expanse. Even then, the blemishes on her face are still free to see.

Synopsis:
After growing up in the cold wastelands of Siberia, Sonya found herself amazed at the beauty of St. Petersburg. There, Sonya fell in love at a very young age. However, in the harsh environment of Russia, such young love could not survive. The two married after Sonya left school, never completing her education. Soon after she and her husband had their first and only child, Sonya filed for divorce, fled to Poland, and took up work at a women's shelter, as a manager and caretaker for the children, to support her baby son.

Notes:

• Sonya speaks Russian, English, and Arabic.
• Dmitri, Sonya's son, is nearly a year old now.
• Dmitri was named after her father.
• Sonya has a great love for books and literature, though rarely has the time to read.
• Her son's first word was "Mama".
• Dmitri wears a baby helmet.
• Sonya wears little jewelry, but can usually be seen in a simple gold chain necklace hosting a single pearl, along with a simple gold band ring.
• Sonya is not completely fluent in English, though she tries her best; she'll occasionally miss a word, or confuse sentence structure.
• Sonya never swings her arms when she walks, keeping them still at her sides.
• Sonya greatly prefers subtle, spring colors, namely greens and blues and yellows.

Theme Music:
Love, Love, Love by the Mountain Goats

The Lovis Superbia (Luxury Space Travel for the 1%)

She's finished, I think. Anything I should change? (I can switch to a pink haired picture lol)