Riven Wight

Cirque du Sombre [Siaya Dragalorn & Summer]

Ha! Thanks. I do like gifs. And cool, glad you approve of the logo design idea!

My gosh, yep. xD

Research of Writers

Oh! No worries. Take your time; there's no rush whatsoever. So you know, I'm pretty laid back with posting consistency. Life happens. I don't expect a post a day or anything like that. I typically don't start worrying until like a month of no contact without any warning of disappearance. Heh. So you know, I don't plan on disappearing for weeks at a time or anything without any kinds of heads-up. I like when I can post daily if I have posts to respond to, but do have times (more often than I'd like, to be honest) where I just can't for one reason or another. So, basically, I understand. And going a couple days (or longer, in some cases) without hearing anything from a partner on the RP front is honestly normal for me.

Cirque du Sombre [Siaya Dragalorn & Summer]

Was going to try adding a finale act, but my brain went dead. *Sigh.*



Anyway. You okay with the logo? Or would you like me to tweak that at all?

That's a sign of a true writer, there! The strange things writers research... Wouldn't surprise me if the FBI or something had a tab on me because of my browsing history. But I greatly appreciate that you put that much work and thought into it! <3

Cirque du Sombre [Siaya Dragalorn & Summer]

Movement form where the rear of the ring met the performers’ entrance made Arla’s attention snap back to it. Filters removed, the colored lights changed to a soft white and settled on a tall woman as she emerged. Her words boomed over the din of the crowd and music-blaring speakers.
The woman’s enchanting, accented voice charmed the audience into a hush. Arla found herself sucked in with everyone else around her as the ringmistress spoke, her words flowing over them like honey. Though she had to have practiced the speech many times, the woman sounded genuine, rather than like she was simply reciting something from memory.
The word “photography” slowly drew Arla back to her senses.
Right. Right! She shook her head, forcing her gaze away from the ringmistress. She placed the bit of her remaining hot dog in its paper tray and shrugged out of her backpack. She cast a quick glance to the tent’s entrance. Thankfully, she didn’t recognize the couple security workers lurking in the shadows. Which meant she'd be free to move around the tent.
She glanced up at the ring, hurriedly pulling out her camera and changing out its lens as the performers filed out on stage. By the time she had readjusted her pack at her back and readied her camera, the first few leading the parade had already passed her.
She watched in awe, only just remembering to actually take pictures as the rest of the performers danced by. Some flipped through the air, already defying the laws of gravity in this pre-show. Others danced seductively, gaining the hungry gazes of many of the audience. She could guess some of their acts by their outfits and makeup, some marching shirtless and others dressed in elaborate costumes, each one beautiful in its own right. But others she'd have wait to find out what part they would play.
All too soon, their teaser procession came to an end, the last of the long line returning whence they’d come. A shiver of pleasure stepped down Arla’s spine and a grin spread over her face, knowing that this display was only the beginning.
As the ringmistress retook the stage to announce the first act, Arla took the chance to shove the rest of her hot dog in her mouth. Leaving its tray behind, she grabbed her small bag of popcorn as the first act tumbled onto stage.
She moved about the ring for the remainder of the show, hunting for the best possible angles for each act. A couple others had the same idea, their own expensive-looking cameras giving them away as either journalists or enthusiasts.
Arla often found herself forgetting her task, getting caught up in the acts. Even the ones she had expected went above and beyond, turning the impossible into reality. The music shifted with each performance, modern and techno mixing with classic and eerie tunes to perfectly accentuate each one.
Flames obeyed the fire-dancers in unusual ways, snaking dangerously close to the audience, but never close enough to do any real harm. Contortionists bent unnaturally yet fluidly, as if they were made of taffy rather than flesh and bone as they worked through a tumbling act. The lights in the tent were extinguished for a poi act, which she watched through the adjusted digital screen of her camera to avoid seeing through the dark and ruining the mysticism of the act.
Arla quickly lost track of all the performances. Time seemed a relative term, like it ran on its own timetable within the tent. Enticed like everyone else, it became easy to forget about everything but the awe-inspiring performances. The audience whistled and shouted, held their breath and applauded, united by the magic of the circus.
Then came the Reaper, the ringmistress artfully building up his act as she had with all the others.
Arla smirked at yet another intriguing, dramatic name. She guessed this was going to be their knife-throwing act even before the prop men set up the weapons the Reaper needed with practiced efficiency.
She blinked in surprise when a boy who looked not much older than herself strode out, wielding a scythe. Then, her grin widened; he was really going all out with that name. All the bare-chested boy was missing was a hooded robe.
The Reaper wasted no time, his steps and movements matching the music. In a matter of seconds, Arla fell back under the spell of the acts. She gasped and held her breath with the audience as the Reaper’s scythe came close enough to his skin that he had to be down a few hairs. She quickly forgot his youth in his skill long before he switched weapons.
It took her a few backwards-throws into the new part of his performance before she realized, like everyone else, that he wasn’t just walking the ring to show off. He was looking for a volunteer.
Arla snapped back to reality with a gasp. She hadn’t had the misfortune of getting spotted as a gate-crasher yet, but she’d be a fool to push her luck. Though she knew her chance of being picked was slim, she ducked quickly behind a stand before the boy could take notice of her.
She poked her head carefully around the stand when the crowd cheered, signaling the Reaper had chosen a victim. She slowly crawled back out of her hiding spot, camera ever at the ready.
She returned in time to watch the fearful man get ushered toward an upright wheel. It was real anxiety on his face, not an act put on by a performer hidden in the stands.
Huh. What’d you know, she thought absently as she moved to get a better angle on the Reaper and his wheel.
Her eyes widened and an anxious murmur rose through the crowd as the Reaper strapped the man in. Wondering if this was even legal, she glanced to the man’s empty seat, his family looking on in a mix of dread and awe.
Whether from luck or skill—or both—everyone breathed a sigh of relief when the man came out of the act unscathed. Besides looking like he was about to faint, that was.
Smirking, Arla couldn’t help but snap a quick, discrete picture of him and his distress as he wobbled back to his family.
Definitely not a carnival worker.
What felt only moments after it had started, the audience applauded the knife-thrower’s last act. They quieted quickly as the ringmistress addressed them once more.
Arla settled with the crowd, the excitement of the danger in the Reaper's act opening a new door that made the audience buzz.
There was no telling what else awaited.

With her empty popcorn bag lost somewhere amidst the mess the rest of the audience had made, the finale came to an end. The audience applauded and whistled, many giving a standing ovation.
Arla sighed wistfully, watching the performers disappear backstage. Though it had to have been at least a two-hour show, it ended far too soon. But the end meant her chance to speak with the ringmistress was drawing near.
She looked to the towering woman as she took center stage again, the spotlights focusing back on the leader.
While everyone else in the audience eagerly began to check under their seats at the news of the afterparty, Arla groaned in dismay. Afterparties were typically adults-only affairs. And something she’d be surprised if the ringmistress didn’t attend. Which meant she had yet another event to figure out how to sneak into, or would have to wait and hide out for who knew how long for it to end.
Unless, of course, she could manage to steal one of those envelopes.
She leaned against the stand beside her, trying to be discrete as she glanced at those closest to her. Watching for an opportunity to snatch an envelope from someone when they weren’t paying attention.
Her gaze shifted unintentionally to the ringmistress just as the woman’s eyes landed directly on her.
Arla inhaled and stiffened, wondering if the woman had somehow sensed her intent. She tensed, ready to run if the ringmistress called her out, or signaled security.
But she did neither.
Arla blinked in confusion at the woman’s words, watching the ringmistress leave the ring. Though spoken for everyone to hear, she swore she had said them directly to her. Arla stood there for a long moment as the noise of the audience filled the tent.
She sighed heavily. She was just being paranoid. And had likely been acting more suspicious than she’d thought to gain the extra attention. If she hadn't just imagined it altogether.
With a long wait ahead, she took off her pack to return her camera inside. She put it on the ground and knelt in front of it. She moved to take the camera from around her neck, but froze.
A small part of the backpack's main compartment’s zipper was open. And a portion of a black envelope stuck out of it. She let the camera thump back against her, then removed the envelope, the action slow from disbelief.
A bit larger than your standard envelope, a logo glistened at the center on the front of the satin paper. Silver created the outline of a Big Top. The entrance flap formed into a grin with the circus’ name in an elegant script for teeth. A pair of eyes rested above it, their irises metallic blue and pupils black feline slits that bled into the rest of the paper at the top.
In that moment, she thought she knew how Charlie felt when he’d found the Golden Ticket.
A grin spread over her face as she flipped it over. A red wax seal kept it closed, the logo from the front pressed into the wax.
She wouldn’t have to steal one, after all.
Wondering how they’d snuck it in there without her noticing, she glanced around. She half expected someone to be behind her to ask her for the envelope, to tell her it was a mistake. But only the dwindling audience met her, none of them paying her any mind. The energy in the tent had only intensified, conversations and minds still trying to wrap around what they had witnessed.
Zipping her backpack fully closed, she returned it to her back. Shoulders squared and smug smile ever on her lips, she strode around the ring toward the back. She followed a couple people who had separated from the rest of the crowd heading home for the night.
She surveyed the others who had received invitations. As she had figured, she was the only one underaged heading to the back exit. The thought that they’d apparently mistaken her as an adult made her smile widen and her posture straighten proudly.
She waited her turn as the others ahead of her showed their own black invitations to one of two people standing guard on either side of the exit. She proudly showed hers to a gangly man more arms and legs than body—how he’d been selected as a bouncer, she couldn’t fathom.
The brows of his narrow face rose as he looked down at Arla with eerily black eyes. Unlike with those before her, he took her envelope and examined it closer, as if making absolutely sure it wasn’t fake.
She stared at him with cool, firm confidence. “Can I go,” she nodded to the tent doors, now tied open for the afterparty attendees, “or what? You’re holding up the line.”
He gave a soft, “hmm,” before what Arla thought was understanding crossed his face. He shrugged, returned her invitation, and jerked his head toward the exit.
“And nice contacts,” she complimented as she took the envelope.
His black-painted lips pulled up in a smirk. “Much appreciated, young miss,” he said as she stepped after the others, his voice soft and sibilant.
She paused, casting him a glance over her shoulder as the next woman in line showed him her invitation. She couldn’t say what, but something about that guy made her neck hairs prickle.
She took a deep breath and shook her head. Quit it with the paranoia! she scolded herself, scowling. There’s nothing to worry about here. One hand toying with her camera and the other clutching the envelope, she hurried after the others.
Now all she needed to do was find the ringmistress.

Cirque du Sombre [Siaya Dragalorn & Summer]

Do you mind where exactly she finds it as long as she finds it?
Works for me: her goal is to find the ringmistress right now, anyway.

That is really neat about the term! Thank you so much for answering that. I have the feeling I'm going to learn a lot from you! :-D

Edit: Any description preference on the envelope, besides black?

A Land of Wonder and Nightmare

The distress on Ghent’s face at her comment about hunting gave Elayra pause. Remembering a conversation they'd had back on Earth, she let out a low groan as Ghent took the bundle from her.
“Right,” she began through a sigh. “You've never hunted before.” She watched him take out more pieces of the jerky than she expected. He must’ve been extra hungry.
Her brows furrowed in confusion when he returned the remaining cloth-wrapped bundle to her instead of taking it and adding it to his pack as Drust had instructed. She took it nonetheless, trying to figure out what he was doing. When he tossed most of what he had grabbed into his backpack, realization dawned.
“For real, Featherhead?” she groaned as Drust growled softly and ran a hand down his face. “How hopeless are you?”
She really hoped incompetency wasn’t contagious
An involuntary snarl on his face, Drust’s neck twitched. He took a deep, steadying breath and closed his eyes as Ghent rambled on about the toatunt jerky.
Elayra rolled her eyes at Ghent and went to her rugged pack. “What do you expect from toad meat?”
Drust’s lips tightened into a pale line. “Elayra!” he growled.
The girl sucked in a breath and spun toward him, hand moving to the hilt of her sword beneath her cloak. She opened her mouth to ask what she’d done, but then realized. He’d tried to keep that bit of information from Ghent the other night. And likely for good reason.

Cirque du Sombre [Siaya Dragalorn & Summer]

Aaah! That was so good. I love Rayth and Oscar's banter! I like the descriptions of the performers getting ready, and Frieda already seems quite mysterious! If you don't mind my asking, though, what's a "straw house?" I tried looking it up, but couldn't figure it out. I mostly got results the Three Little Pigs would approve of.

I haven't been to a carnival in ages (and the only circus I've ever been to was the indoor rented arena type), so feel free to let me know if I should edit anything in my IC post!

Cirque du Sombre [Siaya Dragalorn & Summer]

“What do you mean, ‘sold out?’” Arla nearly shouted, her volume having nothing to do with being heard over the music thumping through the air.
The woman manning the ticket booth tapped her long, burgundy-painted nails against the countertop. The lighting inside the booth glittered off a sequined bandanna of the same shade, the fabric keeping her mousy, braided hair in place.
The woman sighed impatiently. “I mean, we’re sold out. There aren’t any more tickets left.”
“Not even one?” Arla leaned against the rim of counter sticking out past the booth’s plexiglass window. Though always more effective against men, she bat her vibrant green eyes at the woman, hoping to look both adorable and pathetic at the same time. “I don’t need an actual seat. I’d be fine with standing.”
The woman raised a finely plucked eyebrow, unimpressed. She flicked a piece of lint from her frilly white blouse. “I can’t do that, hon. You should’ve gotten here earlier.” She stood from her chair and adjusted her layered skirt.
Arla scowled at the ground, biting back a sharp retort.
“C’mon!” she groaned instead. “I’m with my school paper!” She held up the DSLR camera hanging around her neck, accentuating her half-lie. “If I don’t get something for it, the team’ll never forgive me!”
The woman sighed again, eyeing the teen.
Despite obvious attempts at cleaning up, hints of dust and dirt smeared over Arla’s face and clung to her jeans. Her long, recently blue-dyed hair looked like it had been combed with fingers as a hasty afterthought. Her too-large black leather jacket hung awkwardly from her petite form, its addition to her attire odd in the day’s remaining warmth.
“I’m sorry, hon.” She reached up for the metal visor above the ticket booth window. She paused to glance at Arla. “But there’s nothing I can do. The last show’s about to start, and I need to close up for tonight. I’m sure you can find something else to report about.”
With that, she drew the metal visor down with a rolling clang of finality.
Arla groaned. She glanced to the couple security guards patrolling just beyond the booth, making sure no party crashers snuck in. As if sensing her gaze, a thick, burly man with a bald head and prominent overbite looked to her. His shadowed brows rose, and he crossed his thick arms over his broad chest as he met her eyes. A yellow jacket declared him a part of the security team.
She glared back at his unspoken dare to try running past him. Part of her wanted to take him up on it, but the potential risk of getting caught and winding up in a police car kept her in place. That, or she’d just get pummeled into the earth by the seven-foot-tall brute. One of the two.
With a growling sigh, Arla turned and marched away from the entrance. Making more of a show of it than necessary, she crossed the street into the parking lot, then ducked behind one of the cars.
Squinting against the light flooding the area, she peeked around the car. Raising her camera as discretely as she could, she zoomed in on the entrance to get a better look amidst the glaring lights of the circus.
The brightness of floodlights rose into the heavens. It created a haze above the carnival that fought against the dark sky as if it could replace the long-lost sun’s glow. More colored lights twinkled around a large sign written in a looping, ballooned text, erasing any possible doubts that she had reached the Cirque du Sombre.
Music blared through the night. Some of the lights danced in time with its beat. The din of laughter and shouts fought against the tunes. A high privacy fence surrounded the unfamiliar fairgrounds. From between the gap for the entrance, she could just make out the forms of people weaving through the aisles created by various tents and booths. From what Arla assumed was the center of the grounds, the tip of the Big Top surveyed it all, watching proudly like a king on his throne.
A gentle, warm wind blew through the night, bringing with it the sickly-sweet smell of cotton candy, popcorn, funnel cakes, and innumerable other tantalizing junk foods.
Arla’s stomach growled. She scowled. “Oh, shut it,” she snarled at it.
On the bright side, she supposed, not having to pay for a ticket meant she’d have money for food. She snapped a picture as the beast-of-a-man turned away, apparently satisfied she had gone, but not cocky enough to abandon his post.
She’d just have to find another way in.
She crept her way along the cars. Once positive she was out of the guards’ view, she hurried between a pair of palm trees and made her way to the fence.
Doing her best to not look suspicious, she walked along the fence line, the barricade towering well above her meager 5’3.” She kept an eye out for any other openings or possible handholds to help her inside.
The area grew quieter as she distanced herself from the cars and crowds. The lights from the parking lot gave way to shadow-drenched trees surrounding the fairgrounds. Away from all the bright lights, Arla couldn’t help but relax just a bit.
She paused as she noticed a ray of light spearing out from the fence. A grin on her lips, she hurried to it.
A few feet from the ground, rot had eaten a hole in part of the wooden fence. It was a small thing, just large enough for her fist to fit through. She took a step back, gauging the space between the ground, the hole, and the top of the towering fence. She ran her tongue over her teeth in contemplation.
With a quiet “hmm,” she nodded. She quickly slipped her camera from around her neck and shrugged from her black backpack. She pulled out the camera’s padded, protective case and put the device away. She quickly took off her jacket, not wanting to risk it getting caught on anything, revealing a navy t-shirt beneath. She shoved it into the backpack atop the case, then zipped the bag shut.
She frowned at the bulk of the bag. Silently hoping it wouldn’t throw her too far off balance, she shouldered the backpack, then stepped further from the fence. She eyed it for a moment more, bouncing her weight from one foot to the other in preparation.
Another breeze blew by, catching in her hair and toying with the strands. She gasped and spun around as something rustled behind her. Her heart jumped into her throat, and a hand reached to the sheathed hunting knife she’d forgotten to remove from her belt.
She stared into the shadows of the trees, waiting, searching. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness almost immediately, easily picking out the finest details.
But nothing else stirred.
Arla took a deep breath, trying to resummon the bravado the scare had momentarily chased off.
She ran a hand through her hair. You lost them, you idiot, she reassured herself. They couldn’t have followed you.
She had already nearly convinced herself she had only imagined the monsters in the warehouse that first night. But only nearly. It had felt too real, and the pictures on her other camera assured her she hadn’t gone completely nuts.
She shook her head, making herself refocus on the task at hand. As terrifying as monsters were, going back home wasn’t an option she was willing to take. She’d rather the monsters to that.
Reluctantly, she turned her back on the tree line. Taking a breath, she darted to the fence. She quickened her pace the last couple steps toward the fence, putting extra speed into the wood and hoping it was sturdy enough to hold her.
She jumped up into the fence, letting the tip her shoe catch slightly on the hole. The fence creaked and groaned, but didn’t give way. Using the momentum and resistance from her foot’s placement, she launched herself up further, arms already reaching for the top of the fence. She gripped the top and grit her teeth, feeling the strain in her muscles as she pulled herself up, then over.
She was going to feel that in the morning.
Too late, it dawned on her that she had a drop on the other side. Her backpack caught for a second, jerking it painfully from her shoulders as she fell to the ground inside the fairgrounds. She just managed to stifle a shout as she landed front-first in a patch of damp grass.
“Ow,” she moaned into the dirt as her backpack thumped down beside her.
She was going to feel that worse in the morning.
Scowling, she pushed herself up and brushing herself off. Not that it helped much. She crossed her arms and stared triumphantly at the fence.
Told her parkour videos weren’t a waste of time, she thought smugly, making a mental note to gloat if she ever saw her best friend, Scarlett, again.
Turning, she took in her surroundings. Thankfully, no one had noticed her oh-so-elegant arrival.
The area was deserted. A few thick cords snaked their way across the lawn and a sidewalk, weaving into a few nearby booths. Whatever games, food, or other eccentricity they had held had been covered or removed for the night. Which meant whoever was in charge of them had either retired, or already headed to the last show of the evening.
Though she wasn’t entirely sure who she needed to speak to, she had the feeling the ring master—or mistress, as the advertisement had boasted—would be her best bet. But, in all likelihood, she’d be preparing to lead the main show right about now.
Arla glanced down at herself. Wet, muddy grass stains created circles on her knees, adding to her quickly growing homeless appearance. She sighed heavily as she retrieved her backpack. She’d planned on changing when she got here, to make herself presentable for a job interview, but if she was going to get into that tent, she had to go now.
Praying the fall hadn’t done any damage to her beloved camera, she returned the bag to its place at her back. She winced, her arms already protesting the movement.
Setting her sights on the Big Top, she squared her shoulders and strode into the main rows of the traveling circus. Steps confident, she kept a discrete eye out for any sign of security or the woman from the ticket booth. She was far too close, had come too far to let herself get stopped or second guess herself now.
The outskirt rows were eerily empty. But the sounds of voices and music grew louder as she neared the show tent, people young and old chattering eagerly about what was to come.
Giddy delight welled in Arla’s chest. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been to a circus. She wanted to stop at each booth and tent that remained open, to examine what they had to offer, from last calls for games to fortune readings and more. But she stopped only once in her rush to buy a bag of popcorn and a loaded hot dog from a closing vendor before hurrying on her way.
She shielded her eyes against the harsher lights as she passed, the brightness blurring the world further ahead of her. She slowed her pace, hating the light sensitivity that always came with the rise of the night.
She paused as she reached the short remaining line of people still waiting to enter the main attraction. The eager energy in the air intensified, and even Arla couldn’t help but smile expectantly.
She carefully inserted herself into the dwindling crowd. She kept close to a family with a couple kids who looked close to her age. They spared her scarcely a glance, too intent on the thrills awaiting them inside to question her presence. She was ushered in with the rest, her extra head count going unnoticed by the couple security guards guarding the entrance.
Inside, bleachers created a circle around a short barrier outlining the circus ring. Tightropes spanned the length between two poles in the ring, waiting for their acrobats with more patience than the crowd. The smell of food and sweaty bodies swelled. The noise of voices became nearly deafening. Audience members packed close together on the stands, looking more like colorful sardines than people.
She chose a spot between stands she thought would be out of security’s direct line of sight. She she sat her popcorn down on a small open space at the end of a bench beside a plump man with a pleasant expression. He glanced down at her curiously, said something that got lost in the din, then looked back to the woman beside him as she spoke animatedly.
Arla watched him for a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to shoo her away, then bit into her hot dog. The twang of the relish merged perfectly with the sweetness of the bun and saltiness of the meat. Though she couldn’t say whether it was because she hadn’t eaten since an early, skimpy breakfast, or if carnival food was just better, she swore it was the best hot dog she’d ever had.
She leaned against the stands and crossed one leg in front of the other, savoring the hot dog. If she’d have to wait for the show to end to approach the ring mistress, she may as well enjoy it.
She soaked it all in, relishing the electric atmosphere of anticipation and thankful the lighting inside was dimmer than that outside. A couple colored spotlights danced experimentally inside the ring. Strands of white lights hung down the tent walls, casting a soft glow around the area.
Her smile widened as she let her gaze wander. It all felt rather… magical. Surreal. As if anything could happen in this place where acrobats would seemingly defy the laws of physics, well-practiced magicians would awe the audience with illusions, and fire-eaters would woo the onlookers with dangerous acts. And if all went as she planned, this was what she’d get to enjoy every day from here on out.
At last, she would be truly free.
She only hoped she wouldn’t have to be a clown.

Cirque du Sombre [Siaya Dragalorn & Summer]

Full Name: Arla Lune Adams Pronunciation: ARE-luh LOON

Alias: Lune Smithington. To keep things simple and easy to remember, she’s going by her middle name mixed with her best friend’s surname.

Age: 16, a month shy of 17.

On the Run For: Two days.

Role in Circus: To be determined.

Race: Well, she thinks she’s human. Just a strange one. The truth of it is more complicated; her father was half human, half light elemental, while her mother was a shadow elemental who took on a human form for the half-breed she’d fallen in love with. Needless to say, no one was exactly happy with their arrangement, forbidden on two accounts—someone with human blood, and enemies in the elemental world. Her parents were killed for their love, but not before her mother managed to save Arla by abandoning her. The child’s birth was kept a secret only a select few besides her parents knew about, hoping to ensure her safety. For hers was a birth most would call impossible with the warring mix of elemental blood and powers.

Appearance: Arla is a bit below average height at 5’3,” and has a rather small frame, making her weigh roughly around 110 lbs depending on the day. She has startling emerald green eyes and surprisingly fair skin for someone who often spends a decent amount of time outside. Though her wavy hair is naturally a shade of brown so dark it often looks black, she has died it blue since leaving, thanks to a kit her best friend gave her without her parents’ knowledge. She also always keeps her short nails painted metallic blue.

Distinguishing Marks: Scars from a dog bite on her left arm.

Clothes Wear: She likes dressing simply and comfortably in blue jeans and a t-shirt of some kind, with a pair of comfortable shoes. She has a black belt decorated with a pattern of silver eyelets she loops through her usual jeans. A leather case is usually looped around it, in which she keeps her smaller digital camera for those quick shots you don’t want to miss in the moment. She also has a worn black leather jacket she found at a thrift store after realizing she forgot to stuff hers into her backpack, and it was starting to get cold at night sooner than she expected.

Accessories: Besides her belt, a pair of small gold hoop earrings and fake emerald studs in a second piercing—a piercing she got in rebellion about a year ago. She barely managed to hide them from her parents until they had fully healed, then was careful to wear a second pair only when not around them. A necklace her best friend, Scarlett, gave her for her last birthday. It’s a simple star carved from jade, and hangs just below the hollow of her neck from a cord. One other accessory item she has is a ring; see “Cherished Item” for its description.

Backpack Contents: A couple changes of clothes. A few pairs of socks. Small first aid kit. Compact sewing kit. Large water bottle that clips to the side. Wallet. Some bathroom necessities. A couple tubes of eyeliner she threw in there mostly just because she had room, alongside some blue matte lipstick. A bottle of sapphire nail polish she forgot she had in there. Her cameras—a smaller one she often keeps on her belt instead of in a backpack, the other her professional camera. There was no way she was leaving without them. Though, she DID leave her phone behind.

Weapons: A hunting knife she stole from her dad’s long-neglected camping gear. She's pretty sure he got it because of a company-enforced retreat a few years ago, and hasn't used it since. It has about a five-inch blade and a simple brown cord-wrapped handle. Its sheath is capable of being looped onto her belt, which is where she's taken to keeping it. She also has the only “weapon” her parents would ever let her have with her; pepper spray. In a stupid-pink tube she has tried coloring over with Sharpie marker, only to have it rub off in an uneven pattern, making it a mottled blue-and-pink.

Personality: Because of her unusual racial mix, she’s prone to extreme personality shifts depending on the day. Her parents at first thought she had some sort of mental disorder, but when pills didn’t help and she learned to force herself to act more “normal,” they decided instead it was just a phase. Her human blood helps with her ability to attempt keeping either elemental side of herself in check.
Either: Regardless of the time of day, she tends to lean more toward Tom Boy. Though she has her girly moments and enjoys the art of makeup, she still prefers loose clothes and a laid-back atmosphere. She has always been an active girl, and loves doing anything and everything that lets her move. Though, her parents like to squash those desires by forbidding her from doing anything they deem dangerous. Which, really, is pretty much everything she considers “fun.” Even track took no small amount of convincing.
During the Day: When the sun’s up and the light elemental in her is at its strongest, she’s more of a quiet, focused girl. Though a rebellious, bored side of her longs for more even here, it’s easier for her to play the part of the obedient good-girl. During the day, she finds it easier to devote herself to her studies, and has a rather sweet, if not shy and awkward, disposition around strangers. She’s light-hearted and fun when with friends, often more than happy to let her best friend take the lead in their activities rather than be the leader herself. Needless to say, her light elemental side takes more dominance during the day, but so does her human blood, adding to her more timid side.
During the Night: The night is when things get a bit more interesting. Her rebellious nature refuses to be held back. As darkness falls, she becomes more of a bold, independent girl willing to do or try just about anything. Though she retains some of her quiet nature, she becomes a leader rather than a follower, hating taking orders from others. She’s often overly confident, and tends to act out more against those who annoyed her during the day or in general. Though, she usually gets away with it… unless caught in the act.
Twilight and Dawn: Yep, she’s even slightly effected differently during those few hours of twilight and dawn. Being a time of transitioning, she’s usually a strange mellow mix of her more extreme sides while one gives way to the other. Unless she’s just getting up at dawn. Then she’s a grumpy beast like any normal human being before coffee.

Major Positive Traits: Day: Sweet. Obedient. Night: Outgoing. Bold. More of a leader/instigator. Both: Active. Alert. Driven. Calculating.

Major Negative Traits: Day: Quiet. Passive. Timid. More of a follower. More prone to panicking. Tense. Night: Can be callous. Rebellious. Pushy. A bit hot-headed. Both: Impatient. Easily startled. Cynical. Untrusting.

Magical Abilities: None that she’s encountered. Yet, anyway.

Physical Abilities: Being a thin, wiry kind of girl, she is extremely flexible and fast. With her parents wanting her to take up some kind of extracurricular activities at school—looks good on a collage resume, as they say—she took up track, and always leaves everyone else in the dust, much to her school’s—and parents’—delight. She also has slightly heightened senses, including the occasional “sixth sense,” with insanely good night vision during the night, and a high light tolerance during the day.

Physical Weaknesses: What she has in speed and agility, she lacks in the strength department. Allergic to dogs. Though she is extremely fast, especially compared to your average human, she can’t maintain her top speed for long, and always has a greater need to replenish herself after a race or other extended run than most people. This is caused by her supernatural abilities mixed with human form and blood—even with her supernatural heritage, the human aspect to her winds up needing more sustenance to keep up with her elemental sides.

Racial Weaknesses: During the day, her vision in the dark sucks. Likewise, at night, she has a low light tolerance, bright lights stinging her eyes and giving her a headache. Though she hasn’t encountered any magic yet, she also possesses your typical elemental weaknesses during their designated time of day. At night, she’s weak against any light-based attacks or weapons, during the day any darkness-based ones.

Fears: Becoming like her adoptive parents, or what they want her to be. Of never finding somewhere she can truly call home, a place where the people would want her to be nothing but who she truly is. Large dogs, thanks to being attacked by one of her old neighbor had when she was young. During the day, she also has a fear of the dark, and can’t stand being away from light, favoring natural daylight, but does just fine in artificial light.

Ticks and Tags: Ticks: Fidgets with her ring when stressed. Tags: Frequently taking photos, and often has her more professional camera hanging from a strap around her neck. If that one’s impractical, then she’ll have her smaller one with her. One way or another, she has a camera on her. Now she just has to figure out how to access the pictures besides viewing them via the cameras themselves.

Family: Adoptive Parents: Jennifer and Matthew Adams
Biological Parents: Unknown.

Cherished Object: One of the only things she has to give her any kind of clue as to her unknown beginnings is a ring. Tucked into an envelope with her name on it, it fits her middle finger perfectly. It looks fairly simple; a narrow silver band with four stones in it like compass points, two onyx and two golden topaz. Engraved into the inside of the band are a series of looping, elegant symbols she’s positive are words. Despite asking the internet and a couple multilingual friends of her parents, she still has no clue what language it’s in, or if the swirling symbols even are words. And her adoptive parents had the respect to not mess with it until they gave it to her when she turned fourteen.

Other: > Her adoptive parents told her once that her first name was actually Arlalune, but they decided that was quite the mouthful, so they separated it and had it legally changed to her first and middle. Made things easier on everyone, they said. > Her favorite color is blue. > She’s always wanted a pet—a cat or some type of lizard—but her parents never let her have one. > She loves photography, and has an excellent eye for it. She has a top-of-the-line camera as well as a simple point-and-shoot one, both gifts from her parents when she “decided” to become the photographer for her school paper. > She has never so much as caught a cold before. Really good genes, her parents say.

Bio: Arla isn’t just your average runaway teenager. Though it may have started as such, now, she is on the run. But that’s getting a bit ahead of ourselves. Even in a bio, it’s wise to begin at the beginning.
Arla was left abandoned at the doorsteps of a hospital, her first name and birthdate written on an envelope that housed only the ring she now always wears. Put up for adoption, her brilliant green eyes insured she was quickly accepted into a family.
With her parents—fairly wealthy members of society—incapable of having children themselves, she grew up as their only child. They treated her mostly fairly… until she started to get a mind of her own.
Control freaks, her parents did their best to keep her in the socially acceptable box they created. They barely let her do anything in he means of expression, giving her as much trust as one would to a new puppy left home alone. With both of them part of a cooperate network—and working hard to make their way through the ranks—they often attended (and threw) various galas. Which she was expected to attend for appearance’s sake.
So, naturally, she did everything in her power to rebel against their ridiculous rules, hating the standards they tried to impose on her. Alas, she was greeted only with your typical punishments. Her freedoms were further restricted, turning her homelife into nothing short of a prison. A comfortable prison, but a prison nonetheless.
She quickly learned other ways to let out the rebelliousness that overwhelmed her in the nighttime hours. She often snuck out of the house, occasionally wreaking havoc around town with Scarlett and a few other troublemakers. Because of her speed and heightened senses, she has always been capable of avoiding getting caught during their shenanigans, and preventing her friends from the same. She has even teepeed her own house before and managed to get away with it.
After an exceptionally bad argument with her parents after they began further pushing what they wanted from her for her ‘higher education’ and overall life choices—rather, eliminating her life choices—she made a final, life-changing decision: if they wanted her to be like them while living under their roof, then she would simply leave.
Unsure where she would go and not really caring as long as it was anywhere but her parents’ house, she silently packed what she thought she would need into her most convenient backpack. Once her parents were asleep, she stole from the house as she had many times before. Only, unlike then, this time, she had no intention of returning.

Cirque du Sombre [Siaya Dragalorn & Summer]

[And adding an extra RESERVED post. 'Cause you never know when it'll come in handy for extra info stuffs. xD]

Cirque du Sombre [Siaya Dragalorn & Summer]

Eep! Yes! I'll get a couple tweaks done to my girl's profile, then get her up ASAP! Gonna get busy tonight, though, so may not happen until the wee hours of the morning or tomorrow.