Lemons

The Hidden People

So briefly after reacquiring the overall thread of what was going on, Anwen quickly found her head spinning again. She gathered well enough that this man somehow knew her history quite well, and that he had some way of looking directly into her mind. That was about as far as she got before he started rattling off a string of words, speaking extraordinarily quickly. Anwen wasn't an absolute idiot; she could hold a conversation alright if...Well, if it was kept to a reasonable pace. Again, not an absolute idiot, but certainly not particularly smart, even among nymphs.

True to the newly-introduced Alason's observations, it wasn't long before she once again lost the focus of the conversation, and she knew it. Utterly lost, she fought a furious blush of embarrassment, even more so as Alason made the excuse of "flirting" with her. Once again, her fingers began to curl angrily info her apron. Unbeknownst to her, the ivy crawling up the outside of the wall beside them began to writhe closer, finding a window and beginning to strain against it, covering it entirely. Even then, her limited attention was too focused on puzzling out Alason's words to see it. She could hear her blood pumping through her ears, anger clouding her perception, and she reached a hand out towards the man, meaning to turn him around and demand that he explain, this time in plain English, what he meant.

She was almost touching his shoulder when she heard a slight cracking sound and snapped out of her focus, staring in surprise at the window. The ivy immediately retreated, leaving hairline cracks in the glass.

She deflated, all the anger rushing out of her. With a sigh of defeat, she went to fetch another cup of coffee.

The Hidden People

Anwen didn't quite expect the response that she received. Her face was bright red with indignation and her breathing was slightly accelerated, her hands clenched upon her apron. Her mouth worked emptily for a moment before she tried to stutter out a response, finding herself interrupted by the man as he gave a surprisingly calm reason for his outburst. She was ready to chastise him again, but then he immediately changed the topic to the incoming students.

Unable to switch conversational and emotional gears quickly and forgetting what it meant that he knew of the entirely supernatural school, she found herself swept along in the tide of his dialogue, trailing after him and unsure of whether to be angry or friendly. She continued to stutter throughout. Finally, she managed to speak, finding purchase in something wholly unrelated to either of his topics of conversion:

"...How do you know my last name? Have I meet you?" Her voice dropped to a mumble as she spoke to herself, "Did I forget about someone again?"

The Hidden People

Just a heads-up: I'm probably going to be limited to somewhat shorter posts, possibly with a few typos, for the next week and a half or so. My computer's broken, so I have to use my phone until it's fixed. Sorry!

Reign of the Nine-Tailed Fox

So, just a heads-up: my computer's power jack has come out of the side of my computer, so I won't be able to post until I can get it fixed, likely nine or ten days. Sorry!

Mains | League of Legends

...I hate to be that guy, but I think I might rescind my question to join the RP. I always feel really awkward joining RPs in progress and probably wouldn't be too active, just dragging stuff down. My bad. I suck.

Mains | League of Legends

One more slot, you say? I'm game. Can I join?

Elysium

I am so ready for this. SO READY. Sign me up.

The Hidden People

Anwen was extremely busy with snoring.

She rarely left her house, if one could call it that, early. It was a strange dwelling indeed, the top of an enormous hickory shaped and molded into a smooth little cavity, just large enough for a few pieces of furniture and a single nymph to exist in relative comfort. Bar one or two things that couldn't actually be crafted from wood such as a mattress and other such sundries, much of her surroundings were also formed from the tree, springing from it in what seemed a freak coincidence of the natural world.

Anwen, while she slept very deeply, had never been the calmest sleeper. She tumbled out of bed, knocking her head on a corner of the nearby table. She lay dazedly on the floor for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling. Today is important for some reason. It took her a few more minutes after rising to remember that it was the first day of school for many of the supernatural beings in the area. She herself had never attended Gringore, but there was always an excitement about meeting all the students. She smiled happily, the vines that grew upon the tree twisting up and winding around her as she did so. For as long as she had been alive, she still couldn't quite stop strange things from happening to the nature around her whenever she was emoting without thinking about it (which was most of the time).

After coaxing some wild raspberries from a vine that she had tempted up her tree a few years back, she twitched her finger, slamming open a few dresser drawers, withdrawing undergarments, a pair of white shorts, and a pale green t-shirt before kicking them closed again. As she was sliding into her clothing, she walked to the piece of bark that served as both a disguise and a door for her dwelling and propped it aside. She looked down, forever fascinated by the fact that, while the fall might not kill her since she was in tune with the nature here, it would most definitely hurt a lot.

Tapping her foot on the trunk of the tree, she slid apart the bark in a spiral, exposing a long, narrow staircase that led down to the roots. Sighing, she settled in for the long, boring climb down.

---

As she finally curled her toes into the moss at the base of the tree, Anwen realized with a jolt that she forgot to put on shoes. Casting a desperate glance up the tall...tall...tree, she shrugged and started walking, quickly forgetting all about her glaring lack of footwear.

Humming cheerfully, she made her way into town, careful to dislodge and leave behind any of the leaves that had decided to embed themselves in her hair or the vines that were still attempting to snake their way up her shins and wrap around her kneecaps. She eventually reached her destination, The Tipsy Dragon. Only after seeing the sign 'No shirt, no shoes, no service' did she remember that she'd forgotten her shoes. With the optimistic thought of maybe nobody will notice, she continued happily humming as she worked her way surreptitiously (if surreptitiously is loud humming and occasional whistling) to the back, where she opened up her locker and withdrew her small apron. Taking a notepad and pen for orders, she walked back out towards the all-of-three patrons that were in the tavern at this time of the day.

A few minutes later, she was walking towards the current patron, coffee on tray, when an aggressively average-looking man grabbed it and gulped down a sip, awkwardly placing about twice the cost of the coffee where it had been. Mouth slightly open, Anwen was unable to react in time and instead stood absolutely still as the man turned away from her, lingering over a sandwich. Lacking in all social courtesy and decorum, as soon as she processed what just happened, she blurted loudly, childishly,

"You can't take someone else's coffee! It isn't yours!"

The Hidden People

Appearance (Description)

Description

Anwen appears as a young woman in her mid-twenties, with smooth, pale skin and long, dark, red-brown hair that trails messily for a good way down her back in a twisted, tangled mess. It culminates in an overflowing mass of curls that sits in the small of her back. She has a very long, narrow face, with large, closely set eyes that are a bright, warm green filled with childlike enthusiasm and excitement. They are positioned underneath extremely thin (to the point of being called barren occasionally) eyebrows, and above a slightly large nose and small, narrow lips colored pale pink. While very slim, she still has an overall feminine body shape. In particular, it must be noted that she has very thin, fine-boned shoulders, giving her a somewhat fallacious appearance of fragility. This is kept consistent with similarly delicate hands, narrow and very long-fingered. In fact, Anwen is very practiced in bouncing back and can take in stride injuries that are far worse than one would think.

Her legs are a bit disproportionately long, in that particular area when people notice that something is just slightly off about her proportions but can’t completely pinpoint it until it’s mentioned. Her arms and the bridge of her nose are covered in freckles which, when coupled with the chaotic joy in her eyes and the tangled mess that is her hair, gives her the impression of being younger than she actually is.

Anwen never wears makeup. She finds the concept completely alien and confusing, looking at it with mixed amusement and disgust. The fact that people would cover their faces with chemicals simply doesn’t make any sense to her in the slightest.

Full Name

Anwen Oakbough

Nicknames/Alias/AKA

Oak, Leafy, Ann

Age

1,275 years old

Gender

Female

DOB

Sometime in early spring, 741 A.D.

Occupation

Waitress at The Tipsy Dragon

Race

Nymph

Hair Color

Deep auburn

Eye Color

Bright green

Height and Build

Anwen is 5’5” and very slim.

Other Appearance

A great deal of the time, Anwen doesn’t actually wear clothes. At all. While this is somewhat more agreeable in light of the fact that she lives out in the woods, it grows awkward when someone decides to take a walk through the woods and crosses her path. When she does wear clothing, it’s always very light. Heavy clothing feels hot and oppressive to her, and her skin is easily irritated. Generally, she wears some shade of green, as well as clothes that are flexible and easy to move around in. Most often, she wears some variation on a tank top and shorts.

History/Bio

Anwen has been very alone for a very long time.

At 741, the world she was born into was one of war and chaos. It was bathed in bloodshed for many years, and she and her nebulously defined family (that is to say, the loose nymph clan-esque structure that she lived with) spent a great deal of time deep, deep inside of the oak forests in what is now Wales.

It’s true, nymphs are naive and airheaded, and Anwen is no exception. What they are not, however, is stupid. As long as they could, Anwen’s pseudofamily stayed far away from all humans, spending much of their time learning about the world outside through the use of pixies. They couldn’t hide forever, though, and eventually, a hunting party happened upon one of their temporary settlements. Upon their hips, they carried cold iron blades. In their quivers, they carried cold iron arrows. Upon their bodies, they carried cold iron armor. The nymphs scattered. Suspicious, savage men, they had been hunting for a gathering of evil spirits. Though in that age, the nymphs were strong fighters, they couldn’t near the men for the branding blades of cold iron. On that bloody day, everybody in that family died.

Everybody but Anwen.

Always a bit of a wildcard, Anwen had been far out in the forests, searching for strange rocks and twisted bits of branches, set on collecting them back in her small backpack. As she neared the settlement, she stopped short. Everything was perfectly quiet. Distressingly so. As she edged ever closer to the clearing, she began to feel a strange twisting in her stomach. An innate feeling of nausea and disgust. She had never felt iron sickness before, and bursting into her home and finding everybody she loved impaled on cold iron-tipped arrows didn’t help. She ran, taking nothing, hiding herself deep within the Welsh woods and not emerging.

For a long time, Anwen despised humans. And rightly so. During that time, many nymphs died, hunted down as more evil spirits and changelings. Centuries later, though, they began to change. Few even remembered the existence of the “evil beings of the forest” anymore, and those that did told of them only as children’s stories. For the first time in many years, Anwen felt safe enough to step out of her forests. She became a wanderer, not staying long enough in any one place for people to realize that strange things happened to plants around her, and through her wanderings, she began to learn of human culture. While she doesn’t like them, she recognizes their progress and no longer feels vengeful. For now, she is content simply to exist near them. Her bubbly, one-track-mind exterior hides a mind that, while awful at multitasking and simplistic—almost childlike—in emotions, contains centuries of memories and incalculable sadness.

Family/Relationships

Ceridwen Leafstep, mother (deceased)
Brant Oakbough, father (deceased)
Aeronwen Oakbough, sister (deceased)
Cloud, a red squirrel that she spends a great deal of time having conversations with
Åsa Pilkvist, another waitress at the Tipsy Dragon

Extra/Other

Due to the centuries spent wandering in Wales, she's fluent in Welsh. Any languages other than that and English tend to make her head hurt. She very often travels back to Wales since, as a nymph, she's very attached to the forests where she was originally born.

The Hidden People

Annnnd finished!

Anwen Oakbough

Appearance

Anwen appears as a young woman in her mid-twenties, with smooth, pale skin and long, dark, red-brown hair that trails messily for a good way down her back in a twisted, tangled mess. It culminates in an overflowing mass of curls that sits in the small of her back. She has a very long, narrow face, with large, closely set eyes that are a bright, warm green filled with childlike enthusiasm and excitement. They are positioned underneath extremely thin (to the point of being called barren occasionally) eyebrows, and above a slightly large nose and small, narrow lips colored pale pink. While very slim, she still has an overall feminine body shape. In particular, it must be noted that she has very thin, fine-boned shoulders, giving her a somewhat fallacious appearance of fragility. This is kept consistent with similarly delicate hands, narrow and very long-fingered. In fact, Anwen is very practiced in bouncing back and can take in stride injuries that are far worse than one would think.

Her legs are a bit disproportionately long, in that particular area when people notice that something is just slightly off about her proportions but can’t completely pinpoint it until it’s mentioned. Her arms and the bridge of her nose are covered in freckles which, when coupled with the chaotic joy in her eyes and the tangled mess that is her hair, gives her the impression of being younger than she actually is.

Anwen never wears makeup. She finds the concept completely alien and confusing, looking at it with mixed amusement and disgust. The fact that people would cover their faces with chemicals simply doesn’t make any sense to her in the slightest.

Full Name

Anwen Oakbough

Nicknames/Alias/AKA

Oak, Leafy, Ann

Age

1,275 years old

Gender

Female

DOB

Sometime in early spring, 741 A.D.

Occupation

Waitress at The Tipsy Dragon

Race

Nymph

Hair Color

Deep auburn

Eye Color

Bright green

Height and Build

Anwen is 5’5” and very slim.

Other Appearance

A great deal of the time, Anwen doesn’t actually wear clothes. At all. While this is somewhat more agreeable in light of the fact that she lives out in the woods, it grows awkward when someone decides to take a walk through the woods and crosses her path. When she does wear clothing, it’s always very light. Heavy clothing feels hot and oppressive to her, and her skin is easily irritated. Generally, she wears some shade of green, as well as clothes that are flexible and easy to move around in. Most often, she wears some variation on a tank top and shorts.

History/Bio

Anwen has been very alone for a very long time.

At 741, the world she was born into was one of war and chaos. It was bathed in bloodshed for many years, and she and her nebulously defined family (that is to say, the loose nymph clan-esque structure that she lived with) spent a great deal of time deep, deep inside of the oak forests in what is now Wales.

It’s true, nymphs are naive and airheaded, and Anwen is no exception. What they are not, however, is stupid. As long as they could, Anwen’s pseudofamily stayed far away from all humans, spending much of their time learning about the world outside through the use of pixies. They couldn’t hide forever, though, and eventually, a hunting party happened upon one of their temporary settlements. Upon their hips, they carried cold iron blades. In their quivers, they carried cold iron arrows. Upon their bodies, they carried cold iron armor. The nymphs scattered. Suspicious, savage men, they had been hunting for a gathering of evil spirits. Though in that age, the nymphs were strong fighters, they couldn’t near the men for the branding blades of cold iron. On that bloody day, everybody in that family died.

Everybody but Anwen.

Always a bit of a wildcard, Anwen had been far out in the forests, searching for strange rocks and twisted bits of branches, set on collecting them back in her small backpack. As she neared the settlement, she stopped short. Everything was perfectly quiet. Distressingly so. As she edged ever closer to the clearing, she began to feel a strange twisting in her stomach. An innate feeling of nausea and disgust. She had never felt iron sickness before, and bursting into her home and finding everybody she loved impaled on cold iron-tipped arrows didn’t help. She ran, taking nothing, hiding herself deep within the Welsh woods and not emerging.

For a long time, Anwen despised humans. And rightly so. During that time, many nymphs died, hunted down as more evil spirits and changelings. Centuries later, though, they began to change. Few even remembered the existence of the “evil beings of the forest” anymore, and those that did told of them only as children’s stories. For the first time in many years, Anwen felt safe enough to step out of her forests. She became a wanderer, not staying long enough in any one place for people to realize that strange things happened to plants around her, and through her wanderings, she began to learn of human culture. While she doesn’t like them, she recognizes their progress and no longer feels vengeful. For now, she is content simply to exist near them. Her bubbly, one-track-mind exterior hides a mind that, while awful at multitasking and simplistic—almost childlike—in emotions, contains centuries of memories and incalculable sadness.

Family/Relationships

Ceridwen Leafstep, mother (deceased)
Brant Oakbough, father (deceased)
Aeronwen Oakbough, sister (deceased)
Cloud, a red squirrel that she spends a great deal of time having conversations with

Extra/Other

Due to the centuries spent wandering in Wales, she's fluent in Welsh. Any languages other than that and English tend to make her head hurt. She very often travels back to Wales since, as a nymph, she's very attached to the forests where she was originally born.