Post by dahlia on Oct 30, 2011 19:33:25 GMT -5
Dahlia Skuld
"So that I can feel the rain."
[/size]"So that I can feel the rain."
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Alias: Izzi/Jill
Other Characters: Jack and Javert
Comments: Sorry this took so long. xD
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00I. full name Dahlia Skuld
0II. canon or original A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens
III. years of age 25
0IV. orientation (optional) straight
00V. social status High
0VI. occupation poet
00I. play by Kate Bush
0II. body type Her frame is shallow, her hands especially long and thin. A good word for it would be ‘spindly’. Most of the meat on her bones is of muscle, as she doesn’t like eating much, especially not around people, and she has a small chest. She is, though, much stronger than she looks.
III. height 5’10”
0IV. eyes color Hazel in color; heavy-lidded with moderately long lashes, and quite large. Despite her heavy-lidded-ness, she can widen her eyes until it looks almost scary, though she rarely does. Delicate, peaked eyebrows.
00V. description Dahlia is less of a girl and more of a ghost. She is pale and blends into the background most of the time. Her hair is very dark, though if it catches the light right, it can look like a golden-brown. Dahlia will almost always wear her hair down, and it is naturally very feathery, so her bangs and the side portions get in her eyes quite often. Her face is not thin, but still is shallow--her chin is round and her jaw is hard; her nose is straight and pointed, but not too prominent. Her lips are pointed and usually painted with a dark color of lipstick—a deep red or purple, but never a black, and never something lighter than rose. Most of the make-up she wears elsewhere is shadowy, but she doesn’t need and foundation, that’s for sure. She is heavy-lidded and can be seen with a melancholy look on her face, especially when observing people. Lately, she’s been only slightly more lively just because she seems to be angry most of the time, something that never used to happen.
She has a strange intuition about cause of death, whether the person is living or already dead; she can see the name and suddenly know how they died/how they will die. She hasn’t told anyone about it except her father, as she is searching for other people like her--so far she has befriended a little girl who can shape pasts and a man who almost seems to stop time with his quick saves. Also, Dahlia is mute, meaning she can hear fine, but she can’t talk. She usually communicates through gestures and writing.
Dahlia usually wears dark colors, but never anything tight; all of her clothing is flowing and almost drapes off of her. A typical outfit for her would be a black turtle-neck (the sleeves too long, of course) and a calf-length, flowing black skirt. She likes to wear hats, too, usually newsboy caps and things of the like. When she visits the graveyard for the specific purpose of reading deaths, she goes in mourning clothes left over from her father’s funeral, but she hasn’t been seen there lately.
00I. overall personality
To most people, Dahlia seems very distant, and a lot of the people she knows actually believe that she is mentally handicapped. The truth is she is almost always in deep thought (all of her deep thoughts about death) and so seems unresponsive. Part of this notion might be because she can’t speak. The prejudice is still there. Contrary to their beliefs, though, Dahlia is actually a very intelligent person. Even though the things about which she’s most knowledgeable revolve around death, she is exceptional in English. She enjoys poetry and music, which she believes are virtually the same thing.
People try to take care of her like she’s some sort of child. Her father understood how bright she was, and so he left everything he had to her with confidence when he died. Her aunt, always one to take advantage of a situation, hired someone to take care of Dahlia. Dahlia now actually pays the woman to leave her alone. Though she is technically high-class, she doesn't use any money she doesn't need. She still lives in the large Victorian house her father left her, but is often checked up on, even though she's expressed that what she wants is to be left alone and treated like a normal human being. Her aunt even talked her father into getting her tested for mental disabilities when he was still alive; the only way this was achieved, though, was by convincing Mr. Skuld that Dahlia could be in danger of getting behind in her education.
Poor conditions on the streets and in poor areas of NYC horrify and anger her; she used to not show her feelings toward it, but now she has felt freer to show when she’s furious with something. Dahlia has recently developed something of a second personality; the first is who she normally is, Dahlia Skuld. She usually keeps a straight face through any situation. Although she is very detached and ominous, she is very kind, though people don't stop to see that often. She pities and tries to help those who are less fortunate than her, often giving money to charities around Christmas. Her donations are always anonymous. Although she is kind and goes out in public, she does not like to be touched. Her second “personality” (use that term loosely, as she does not actually have MPD) is more violent and tends to spend money more frivolously, take more risks, and act out. Though she refuses to acknowledge it, she more or less inherited it from her boyfriend (Damien “Mephistopheles” Talbot) who was choked to death; given her powerful energy, Dahlia hung on to bits and pieces of him, almost as if she stole his soul. Perhaps she was frightened that he would go to Hell, perhaps she’s still trying to fix him. However, the pieces that she hung on to are slowly wearing away at her; she is becoming less like herself, more jumpy, moody, jealous... even making bad or selfish decisions, something she used to avoid. Just recently she completely cut off her aunt, something she never dared to do before out of pity. She also doesn't like it when people question her about her frequent trips to the graveyard, which recently have had to do with Damien’s death, or when people get impatient with her-- she is often late to meetings, as she likes to do things in her own time. If you bite her, she’ll bite back.
Dahlia is painfully aware that her very nature is dark, and that it causes people to be afraid of her. This saddens her, because because of this, she has no one to talk to, and they don't see her true nature. She can't even talk to the dead, just relive their deaths. She has only found two other people like her; Holly, a young girl who can see into peoples’ pasts, and Sebastian, a man about her age who almost seems... to defy time, saving people from their imminent deaths. She may be dark, but dark is not the same as evil; her "gift" is actually her curse, because it causes her to be left alone, even though telling people to avoid certain places (and thus death) is a service to humanity.
Dahlia is religious, but in her own way; she does not attend church. She feels that she serves God with her work. However, she does not make it explicit that she is religious. Lately, though, she’s been violently questioning God--why does He hurt her? Why does He do these things to someone who has only done everything He’s asked of her? She’s been... begging to be relieved of this “gift” He’s bestowed upon her.
0II. strengths Dahlia is very independent, but still kind at the same time; she is very sympathetic of those in need, but never takes any credit for what she does to help.
III. weaknesses She is occasionally manipulated when someone pretends to be in need. Although kind, she is very reserved and stark, so has a hard time offering direct help because of her detachment. Then, of course, there's always the problem with communication; she usually has a notepad hitched to her belt, but if she forgets it, she's reduced to nods of the head and pointing. Also, based on her recent development, she’s started to succumb to the worst human traits, something that appals her to the point that she pretends not to notice.
0IV. goals Now, she has no goals; she did once, though she can hardly remember. Somewhere, she still wants to help, though she’s starting to turn hopeless and bitter.
00I. notable family & friends
Wenceslaus Skuld - Her deceased father, former CEO of a financial services firm. Relatively young when he died.
Aunt Dina - Her terribly greedy aunt, whom she’s recently cut out of her life once and for all.
Damien Talbot - Her deceased boyfriend. They had a strange bond, and she could tell that he honestly did love her through all of his faults. She regrets never telling him that she returned his feelings, since, at the time, she kept him at arm’s length as someone she was trying to fix. Without him, she’s having trouble coping, and has begun acting suspiciously similar to how he sometimes was.
Sebastian Martin - Her best friend. He can see into the future and past, in order to save someone from dying. She feels like he understands, though she is not at all happy with most of the choices he makes.
Holly Uror - Her soul bond. The girl is very young, but very wise; she can see into the past, and Dahlia feels as though the little girl is a lost piece of herself.
Jane Eyre - Another friend. They met at a thrift store. She admires Jane’s calm and kind attitude, though she, too, has been making terrible choices as of late.
0II. overall history Dahlia was born the only surviving baby of what were supposed to be triplets. In turn, her father treated her like she was special, and she quietly accepted his doting. She was a strange child, and never knew her mother; she was “spoiled”, but she never asked for anything-- it was all given to her, and she just accepted it.
She was born in the time when her father's business was on its rise and he was getting wealthier. By the time she was old enough for school, he could afford to send her to a high-class private school in the area. She always slipped through the halls like a ghost, dark and silent as the grave. Surprisingly, she wasn't made fun of that often in school, or at least not to her face, but she didn't have friends. People left her alone, and she kept to herself. She was a very good student.
When Dahlia was 19, her father died and she was left his estate and half of the company; his business partner was kind enough to know that it didn't interest her, so he only goes to her for help in desperate situations. She cut down her salary to a quarter of what the company made instead of half, which encouraged her late father's business partner to be even nicer. This is where her aunt came in, acting like a leech with the excuse that she needed to look after Dahlia. Her aunt did not dote on her in the way her father did, but rather treated her like a stupid child; she even went so far as to hire a nanny to look after her almost every moment she was home, which was a lot of the time. Dahlia now actually pays the nanny to stay away from her as opposed to take care of her.
When Dahlia graduated from college, she started spending less nights in her home; she would go out on the street and sleep in doorways, homeless shelters-- just to get away from the noise and the money. She slipped through NYC like a ghost, able to go anywhere she wanted without being noticed. It was quite amazing, really. She often slept in the graveyard, in seclusion, which she found soothing. Around this time, Dahlia was really big into writing poetry. A lot of it was dark, and most of it was regarding her disability.
Then came Damien, when she was 25. They met in the graveyard, he running from a funeral and she... paying her respects, as she described it. He was a terrible man--murderer, thief... helpless child. He needed her, and now more than ever (though she didn’t admit it) she needed someone to help. She made progress, yes, but he would always slip into his old behaviors; he was broken, but he came to love her, and she quietly accepted that, silently savored it. It took her months to finally admit that she liked him quite a lot; deciding to sleep with him was one of the strangest decisions she’d ever had to make, and was surprised when she found that it was comfortable.
All of that happiness that she thought was unobtainable in the beginning slipped away very suddenly one day--she was on the Brooklyn Bridge when she became very sick, and instantly knew that Damien, the man who inspired her as much as she inspired him, was dead. Her reality began to crumble in that moment, and her extraordinary mind latched onto anything that would keep her stabilized in the past--the very parts of his behavior that were left behind, like residue. She was admitted to the hospital and put under suicide watch as “Jane Doe”. When released, the first thing she did was cut her aunt off and bump her salary back up to what her father used to get. Her poetry has been getting more difficult to write, and she sometimes finds that, after hours of writing, she’s been writing in French, which Damien spoke fluently.
Melodies churn through a sudden glance
Livid as slate
Nocturne, nocturne as dark as black paint
III. sample postHer thin fingers clenched and relaxed around the safety bar of the bridge, clammy, holding back the pain of whatever it was she was feeling.
Dahlia recalled being sick like this just as her father's health was failing; seizures, vomiting, and this trembling, with that cold sweat that she was experiencing now. She knew that she had been a very sickly baby, too, separated from her two sisters. Death had been imprinted into her from birth. She had spent the first minutes of her life in the presence of her sisters, both silent, while she wailed. But it hadn't been long until her voice had withered into the rancid air that flowed through her lungs.
She should have seen it. She should have seen the pattern. But she was, apparently, blind as well as mute. Looking back on her stance at the bridge, she thought that she must have been blind.
Her light knitted trench fell in front of her as she leaned against the railing, hazel eyes searching in the water below. Traces of lives remained there, she knew. But the past wasn't her plain. She wondered, ignoring the sting, what Holly would think of the bridge. What kind of people had died here. Where they were now... there, at the bottom.
Another jolt of the sting entered sourly directly through her lower stomach, and she slung one arm over it with a wince. Her hand tugged at the light fabric of her coat and dipped into the pocket, picking out a few rather flat white flowers. From Damien. Dahlia smiled. He was coming along well, and she was proud of him... she had even given herself to him, had spent the night with him upon his surprisingly gentlemanly request. She'd surprised even herself with that one, and she hoped he knew that it had been her choice.
She kept her smile, twirling the little branch delicately between her thumb and forefinger.
Red. No, silver.
She was choking.
The stinging hit her hard again, in her eyes and mouth this time. The sudden lurch sent the flowers spiraling from her fingers, toward the water. Dahlia clenched the rail tightly again, craning herself over it to watch them with wide eyes. It was the last thing she remembered, the flowers, before the vision hit.
HATE! Oh, God, there was so much hate! Tangible, with a distinct taste, not unlike when she had met the Dark Man, the Ripper. She felt a leather jacket sticking to her clammy arms, clawing at her throat; there was a wire there. Cutting off the breath. Cutting off the world. A grunt behind her, and she felt herself being dragged.
And then she saw herself. She saw herself stumbling in the rain, toward his home; saw herself sitting with him in Central Park; saw herself smile a million times over. Her own smile. A sweet one, one that told him 'I love you' without needless words. Tears blurred her vision, and then...
...and then there was nothing at all.
Dahlia tried to hold the smile. She tried to bottle it, contain it in glass like a captive butterfly. The tears came and almost seemed to scream out themselves, but the smile stayed. The smile he loved- loved- that of a silent, dead woman.
Dead. Thinking the word made her throat close up, and she would not have been able to speak if she could. Something was missing from her, like someone had reached into her and torn out her lungs. It was the word, the word that drove her feet. She didn't know where she was going or when she was going to get there, or even if he would still be there.
He'll be there, something whispered to her. He would always be there. Her boots clipped the pavement faster, careening through Manhattan now, letting the sting force itself into her. She wanted the pain, she wanted it- to tell her where he was. She wanted to know that he was there.
The police had already arrived, and a crowd gathered around. Her breathing was already labored, and she knew that the last thing the authorities needed was a frantic mute slowing them down. How could she be thinking of anything but that lifeless man on that stretcher? There were too many deaths touching her right now, and all plains had shut themselves down. Like she was some sort of machine; she needed to cool off. She'd been restored to her factory settings. She was in Safe Mode.
This sting was a virus.
But a fragment of light seemed to drift toward her, fluid and hopeful, penetrating the poison in her eyes. A rusty, used sort of light, like a nightlight which was low on batteries. Without another thought, her mind pulled it in- kept it. The light was the only thing there. It was the only thing protecting her, cooling the sting. But it didn't feel right. The light was like a tumor, even if it relieved her.
She was hurting it.
She was.
But the mind she was in, the body it was squatting in, couldn't grasp that. Not fully. Not for more than a second, or the sting would come back.
So, slowly, Dahlia turned away from the scene. And began to walk back to the bridge.
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SYR INTEGRA of CAUTION 2.0 created this, modified by Yols with Shakespeare lines.
