februari

Original Story: The Twisted Dollhouse { Februari & Angel }

Name: Jester
Alias (any other names?): The Clown.
Occupation(s): Serial killer; doll.
Abilities/Skills: Resourcefulness; brutality; enhanced strength, speed, reflexes, and durability; experienced killer (humanized).

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Overview (brief summary):
Jester was the last-made of Rachel's four dolls. Aside from Rachel cherishing Jester every bit as much as her other dolls, Jester has otherwise been placed lower on the ladder of respect. The others regard him as a clown, or buffoon, both because of his appearance and his lack of finesse. While Blade appreciates his efficiency as a means to an end, Peri and Pearl frequently ridicule him. What none of them understand is that, since the return of Rachel's Wonderland, Jester has become obsessed with controlling the reality all of them experience and has, at times, affected each's perception of it.

Appearance:
Jester appears as a clown, either as a doll or in humanized form. Either way, his presentation is equally cursed with colorful, frilly garb and comical makeup. His demeanor, however, differs significantly between the two - as a doll, he's merely a blank jester in clownish attire, whereas when humaized he takes on a purposeful and menacing expression.

Personality:
Of the dolls, Jester is, perhaps, the most complex persona. While he plays the fool well, it grates at his core, and that the others see him every bit the buffoon chafes him even more. Given this, his role in Rachel's survival through her former nightmares was downplayed by each, though he orchestrated much of their success by mannipulating her, their, world in lighthearted ways. Now, however, his designs have turned malevolent and each experiences some measure of his macabre imaginings. Since his return, Jester has been driven toward eliminating the other dolls by whatever means necessary while convincing Rachel on his own value. Ultimately, he longs to be with her and her alone, though her sanity is a negotiable part of that arrangement. Outwardly, Jester remains every bit the fool, happy enough to be dismissed by the others.

Weapon(s):
Anything, but frequently manipulates the other dolls into doing his dirty work.

Original Story: The Twisted Dollhouse { Februari & Angel }

Name: Pearl
Alias (any other names?): The Silver One; The Moody One.
Occupation(s): Serial killer; doll.
Abilities/Skills: Resourcefulness; fangs; psychologically-savvy; enhanced strength, speed, reflexes, and durability; experienced killer (humanized).

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Overview (brief summary):
Pearl is the third-made of Rachel's four dolls. In the fantasy world, where she was humanized, she played the role as one of her owner's closest companions, just as in the "real" world as a doll. However, after the fantasy world got corrupted and became reality, it's revealed that she suffers from the Multiple Personality Disorder, making her so-called "twin" Peri an alternate personality. She's unaware that she and Peri are the same person, even though, as dolls, they are two separate individuals. Like Blade and Peri, her MO is to keep Rachel all to herself.

Appearance:
In both doll and humanized forms, Pearl's appearance is similar to Peri's - in doll form, similar by virtue of having been purposely made to appear as twins; and in their humanized forms, similar in all but demeanor and style because they are, in fact, the same person. As a doll, Pearl's body is silverish-blue topped by silvery hair with blue streaks. Her eyes are, like her twin's, a deep ocean-blue and accented by winged eyeliner and sky-blue eyeshadow. She wears an aqua tunic with fuschia and navy spots, dark blue denim capris, pink-and-blue wedged-sandals, and a gold-chained belt. In her humanized form, she looks much the same, though with a natural skin tone and darker eyeshadow. While she possesses fangs and long nails just as Peri does, for reasons stated previously, she's more reserved in their display. Despite what the others may say about her, she's not a monster, after all.

Personality:
Among the companions - dolls and owner - Pearl is regarded as being the moody one for her inability to conceal her displeasure, often resorting to snits and passive aggression to express her feelings. When those fail, she can become openly confrontational and even violent. While her emotional range is far less sophisticated than Peri's, her relative transparency makes dealings with her more honest. Whether that's a positive or not depends largely on the circumstances and outcome.

Pearl tends to hold a grudge, clinging to wrongs, real or perceived and is prone to act on them. While she frequently argues with her companions and subjects them to her scorn, she loves them dearly and would kill to protect their "family". In the fantasy world, where Peri consoled Rachel and served as her confidante, Pearl was her benevolent protector, the big sister beating up the schoolyard bullies. Pearl would do anything to protect Rachel, very much imagining herself in a motherly, or older-sisterly role and that serves as a frequent point of contention with the others.

Weapon(s):
Anything, including her fangs and nails.

Heroes of Waldenkore [Fantasy Ice Age]

Glad we have enough to start! Yes, definitely still interested.

Original Story: The Twisted Dollhouse { Februari & Angel }

Name: Rochelle Auclair
Alias: Rachel
Occupation(s): Unemployed
Abilities/Skills: Clever, well-read/knowledgeable, tenacious, resilient

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Overview (brief summary):

Rachel grew up a happy child in an affluent London neighborhood on the north side of Hyde Park. Her parents were loving and long days were spent in the park with her older sister Lucy and an orange tabby named Mina. She was an avid reader and frequent day-dreamer, often lying in the soft grass at edge of a small creek flowing through the park and staring up at the clouds imagining them to be the most fantastic of things. Her sister loved to read as well and the pair spent lazy afternoons at the creek bank, her sister reading both fiction and non aloud. Life was perfect.

In the early morning hours of Rachel's eleventh year, the tranquil bliss of childhood was shattered when, for reasons that remain unknown to all but Rachel's subconscious, the car carrying the Auclair ladies home from a weekend excursion to the countryside veered off the road and slammed into a rocky embankment below. As if to ensure all lives would be claimed in the wreckage, flames erupted, whipped into a fury by leaking fuel. Where the force of impact had be sufficient to claim her mother and sister, Rachel had merely lost consciousness. Shaken but unharmed, Mina frantically tried to catch the girl's attention. Pawing at her proved futile, so the feline resorted to swishing its fluffy tail across her nose to tickle the girl to consciousness. When she awoke, the blaze was already consuming the front seat and the confined interior was filled with a choking cloud of smoke and ash. Mina leaped from her arms and tapped at the window. Taking the feline's meaning, Rachel lowered it allowing both to pass through it to escape the inferno. She sat motionless and just watched, tears streaming down her cheeks, as the flames roared.

Since that morning, Rachel has wandered through a surreal mindscape of her own imagination as she straddles two worlds, neither of which is safe. Initially, the imaginary world in her psyche dominated and, to all others, made her appear unresponsive to the point of catatonia. While she improved over time, that journey saw her endure the harsh trials of a nightmarish reality, aided by her only friends - dolls, created by her mother and who'd miraculously come to life to aid her. She loved them. Over the years, her condition improved to the point where her therapists felt confident she could forge a new life for herself outside of supervision. For a time, they were right but, eventually, her "Wonderland" began to seep back, subtly at first but progressed to where she was again institutionalized.

Descriptive Physical Appearance:

A waifish girl in her early twenties, Rachel is tall and thin with delicate features and mossy green eyes. Raven black hair flows in long, straight, silky sheets well past her shoulders. With few options for style, her mainstay is an old blue dress that may have once fit the girl, but the hem has since found its way mid-thigh. Were she to possess a more womanly figure, the top portion might not fit at all, but her lack thereof merely leaves it snug. Standing in juxtaposition to the otherwise girlish appearance, are knee-high black boots laced from ankle to knee. Despite the relatively constant preference for the familiar dress, Rachel's wardrobe is quite eclectic, and she occasionally favors a more bohemian style that emphasizes color, texture, and diversity.

Personality:

Unpredictable would be the defining word for Rachel's moods, as they have little to no bearing on reality and are frequently inappropriate. Her reality, however, differs substantially from that of those around her and dictates her behavior in perfectly logical ways, such that the two are only in synch by chance. Regardless, she's typically sweet and seemingly innocent, often behaving as might be expected from a girl of ten or twelve, though that tends to shift as her mind floats between realities past and present. Because of her generally pleasant disposition, she tends to be well-liked among those not put off by her otherwise odd behavior; however, that is a rare few, and nearly all afflicted by mental conditions of their own. Less frequently, she appears empty and morose as if overcome by some great, all-encompassing darkness that's stripped the life from within her. More recently, she's started exhibiting more erratic behavior, vacillating between being flirtatious, energized, and agitated.

Weapon(s):

The girl is nothing if not resourceful, and will make do with the nearest, easily-weaponized object. In the darkest of her realities, however, a menacing wooden-handled cleaver tends to find its way into her hand.

Heroes of Waldenkore [Fantasy Ice Age]

I like the premise and am interested in exploring it with you.

Open Waters (Slots Open!)

"Anywhere you want to go? Even nowhere?" Perched atop the table's edge, Rathe managed her tequila and cigar in one hand, alternating to give each opportunity to numb her thoughts, while she motioned Dustin forward with the index finger of her free hand. Her accent was becoming thicker by the moment, though it wasn't entirely clear whether she'd finally found her happy place or whether she'd simply stopped giving a shit. "Chiudi quella cazzo di bocca e baciami." Even as Rathe beckoned Dustin forward, her subconcious rang feelings of deja vu, though her mind had been so thoroughly fucked that it hardly seemed to matter any more. What mattered was the damned compass, which she resisted, and the map, and a familiar feeling.

Open Waters (Slots Open!)

Still here. I was traveling a little this week but will have a post up tomorrow.

Open Waters (Slots Open!)

OOC: Joint post between Dustin and Rathe

“It’s your shot,”

Dustin suppressed making a face as the woman turned and moved back to the bar.

Shit, he thought to himself. How did I miss that?

Trying not to openly hit himself, he went ahead and took his next shot. Just before the cue stick made contact with the ball, a tremor shot through his hand, choking his shot and sending the cue ball a good foot off-target. It stopped in the middle of the table, near very few balls, and opening up his opponent for more than a few shots.

Why was he nervous? This was night one on a boat with seven other people. Dustin knew he’d probably be sick of everyone aboard in a matter of days. In fact, he had planned for it; packing almost a library’s worth of books to read in the sanctuary of his stateroom. Why wasn’t he there now?

All easy questions to blame on the alcohol eating away at his liver.

“So this is some shit,” she had said from the bar.

Now what did that even mean? He thought. He felt as if he was in two games with this woman instead of one.

One lay on the green cloth. The other was simply verbal.

Seeing the formality of her glass, Dustin made a break for the bar and took a much less-cordial glass; a standard whiskey glass. He poured more tequila in it, and took a sip.

He thought for a moment about her statement. A sober mind might’ve asked for clarification. Dustin, however, simply went ahead and threw out what was obvious.

“I wonder how long we’ll last,” he said, looking down at the black ink peering out from under his shirt. “If I had to guess, doll-face will sell her ticket quick. Our former LTC seems like he’ll get himself killed before too long.”

Dustin looked up to the girl. Perhaps it was time to actually get to know someone on this Godforsaken ship.

“And what about you?”

Despite the decidedly macabre turn the conversation had taken, Rathe replied with a broad, genuine smile. "How long will I last?" She shrugged and casually extended her overturned arm to reveal a long scar across her wrist, its angry red line suggesting it had been made within no more than a few weeks. Momentarily, she returned it, cigar hanging loosely from her fingertips to take another deep drag. "Who says I want to?" To be honest, she hadn't even considered the question herself, but with it verbalized there was no way around confronting it. All she'd packed in the duffel was a few days' worth of clothing and enough hash to shame a Rastafarian.

Her smile faded as she scanned the table, finding its state unchanged. Rathe set down her drink and took up the cue with purpose, stalking the table like a predator seeking out prey. "Here, let me get mine out of your way." Cigar hanging from her lips, Rathe downed the eleven, corner pocket, and spin the cue ball around in line with the nine, which disappeared into the side a moment later. The ten put up little resistance as it plopped into the other side, and the fourteen stood little chance either. The fifteen looked as though it might thwart the run, teetering at the brink for several seconds, before giving way and clicking softly on a ball already downed. The thirteen made no attempt to resist. Rathe chalked the cue, then stretched across the table to line up the eight. From that position, it was clear she'd forgone the support of an undergarment, despite the snug fit of the tank top. Glancing up at Dustin, she winked and poked the cue ball at the eight. The shot caught it at an odd angle that sent it off the rail corner of a side pocket and back into the middle of the table. Rathe rose with a sigh, "Not my number, but maybe you'll get lucky."

Dustin hardly reacted when he was faced with the woman's scar, which rather surprised him. He had seen far worse. He had done far worse. But being faced with such a thing so soon was unexpected, and--surprisingly? Impressive.

He wasn't given much time to really focus on the scar, as his billiard partner soon sunk every ball on the table.

"Well fuck." He said without thinking, as the thirteen sunk just as easily as each ball before it. He watched as the woman angled herself across the table to make for the eight. Dustin saw no harm in enjoying the view, and gave the woman a knowing nod and smile as she winked at him. Perhaps it was chance, but this shot came short; leaving Dustin just the slightest chance. Turning the glass in his hand upside down, he gulped down the last of his drink and made his way to the table. He had spent the better half of the game trailing from behind; now it was time to tighten the gap.

"Let's see," he said, observing the table. His one and four were down. Only five left. "This shouldn't be too hard."

He let his cue upon the table and almost immediately sent the cue ball flying with an ear-splitting crack. The cue made contact with just the pairing he was hoping for--the three and the six had been sitting together, and he had just struck their connection. Both balls flew in separate directions, each nearly bouncing out of the middle pockets before reluctantly falling in. The six had flown past the eight, nearly coming in contact. Luckily for him, things seem to be on his side.

Dustin lined up his next shot; the five, sitting just a foot down from a corner pocket. Just before he struck it, smirked to himself; this could not be a better shot.

The cue ball struck the four and sunk it easily. Flying backward towards Dustin, the cue ball nearly struck him as he rose up from the table, making it's way back to the seven and downing it in the opposite pocket as the five.

Only two balls remained; the elusive eight and the shining blue two. His shot was lined up pretty easily, but a slight miscalculation on his execution sent the two careening off-course, striking the wall and coming back from to the center of the table. However, even in this case luck had paid off--the ball had stopped it's motion just between the cue and the eight. The woman's next turn would be much more difficult than her last.

He was still down by one, but he was not out.

This time it was Dustin who paced around the woman, just barely feeling the ropes slide against his forearm as he swung back into her view.

"Looks like I'll be lasting a little while longer." He said, before pulling out and lighting his next cigarette. He made a mental note to ask her for hash once all this had ended.

"Those things will kill you." Rathe glanced at Dustin's cigarette with a playful smirk as laid her cue out on the felt. Turning, she shifted up onto her toes to take a perch on the side of the table, crossing her legs and casually swinging a booted foot. "I think I'm going to miss fries." The non sequitur came so nonchalantly that it nearly seemed in context. "I swear that's all I'd eat if they didn't go straight to my ass, but I mean, what are the chances that Joe Doe or the charming captain can cook?" She paused for a moment, "Definitely fries." She took another long drag from the cigar, then burst into laughter, "Shit! you probably think I'm crazy. I'm not. I mean, I'm finally fucking high, but not crazy. I was just thinking, though, about how messed up the whole living on a ship thing is and ... fries ..." She shook her head and raised a hand to cover her eyes for a moment, "Che è così stupido!" After a moment, she settled and glanced back up at Dustin, "What are you going to miss?"

Open Waters (Slots Open!)

@HangYourSecrets Going to propose we take their convo to PMs to compile as a joint post so the dialog can be more fluid. Feel free to PM me your next bit and we'll start from there.

Open Waters (Slots Open!)

Dustin motioned his hand slightly to the open table.

Rathe glanced down at the layout - a good break with at least a half-dozen clear shots. "Too bad. You might've enjoyed losing this one." She wore a mischievous smirk as she leaned the cue against the back of a comfortable-looking high-backed armchair, upholstered luxuriously in leather and velvet. "It's your shot." She called over her shoulder as she searched for something other than the bottle itself for the tequila, eventually turning up a broad-bottomed brandy snifter. Given the quality of liquor, probably an appropriate choice. Momentarily, she returned to the table, glass in hand, to survey the damage, though she was clearly only half-interested in the game itself. "So this is some shit."

Rathe didn't explain her meaning, instead just letting the comment hang there open for interpretation. It'd been running through her mind, though, since the moment she'd bought a room aboard the Cresenzo. She'd kept it tucked away somewhere just beneath the surface of conscious thought out of trepidation over the implications, but on seeing the others assembled in the living area returned it to the forefront, fresh with anticipation marbled with threads of terror. What would make them, or her, or anyone, blindly book passage aboard a ship with no clear destination for an undetermined duration with a cast of strangers, many of whom were probably trying to get away from something more than head toward anything. It definitely was some shit.