Post by dahlia on Feb 19, 2011 13:47:02 GMT -5
Hi, my name is Izzi/Jill and this is my third character. I found this site through a dream... Something you should know about me is I LIKE CHOCO-LAT-MIII-I-I-I-LK!
Canon: Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol
Custom Title: The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come
PHYSICAL
Age: 25
Gender: Female (I know, female ghost, right?)
Appearance: Dahlia is less of a girl and more of a ghost, in all reality. 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 pretty feathery, so her bangs and the side portions get in her eyes quite often. Her face is not thin, but it is anything but chubby—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, 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 usually has a melancholy look on her face, especially when observing people.
When Dahlia walks, it looks more like she's gliding. She's slow and graceful in everything she does, from gestures to dancing. But the kind of graceful she is is, for lack of a better word, creepy; her movements, especially in her hands, are spidery and almost ominous. However shy she may seem, she holds herself in a stately way, elegant in an almost tragic way. However, she does smile when there's a reason, and her gaze is very detectable. If she's watching you, you'll feel it.
Height: 5’10”
Body: 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. She is, though, much stronger than she looks. She has a rather small chest, but that’s to be expected.
Other distinguishing features: 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--Unsuccessfully, so far. Also, Dahlia is mute, meaning she can hear fine, but she can’t talk. She usually communicates through gestures and writing. She knows sign language but never uses it.
Wardrobe: 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.[/ul]
Play By: Kate Bush
PERSONALITY
General 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, though she doesn't show it visibly. 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, and she does not like not being left alone. She also doesn't like it when people question her about her frequent trips to the graveyard, or when people get impatient with her-- she is often late to meetings, as she likes to do things in her own time.
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, and she still hasn't found anyone like her. 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.
Quotes, frequently used expressions: I don't think this really applies.
Likes:
Dislikes:
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.
Weaknesses: She is occasionally easily manipulated when someone pretends to be in need or pathetic. 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.
BACKGROUND
Family:
Father, Wenceslaus Skuld, deceased- Head of a financial services firm, making him extremely wealthy. He was relatively young when he died.
Mother, known only as Eve, unknown status- Left Dahlia's father with the child. Current location and status unknown.
She does not consider her aunt family, as she was never nice to Mr. Skuld.
Education: Had a very good education up through highschool in a private school. Attended NYU and achieved her Masters in English.
Occupation: Her only business is mankind. The writing she does is only for her own enjoyment. Besides that, she has no need to work, but is rarely home.
Worst past experience: Picking one out is nearly impossible, as she's relived every death she reads. Besides, she never dwells on the past.
Best past experience: Can't be said. She never dwells on the past. She only has hopes for better experiences in the future.
Image: When she is noticed, she gives people chills; she in spindly and still, like a black statue. Her gaze is haunting rather than piercing, and you feel it for a long while after it leaves you. She seems like a ghost, slipping in and out of the crowds, stark and silent.
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.
Not much has happened since then; she continues to visit the graveyard often. She has not completely cut off her aunt yet, out of the kindness of her heart, but dislikes her greed. She only loans her a little at a time now. She has also started compiling a book of the deaths she reads.
THE SAMPLE
In Character Sample:
Where she was standing was a hill, off to the right side of the cemetery. The incline was steep at first, and then melted into a flat plane. On this were stood a cluster gravestones, all of the exact same height, and the same type of lettering. She had been to this place before, but hadn't ever felt the pull to read a death. Most of the time, her death reading was on accident, but it had become such a regular part of her life that she did it voluntarily now.
The pull was strong today, and so Dahlia had come out here despite the slickness of the snow and the below-zero wind chill. Her very thin coat did not keep out much wind, and she looked like a thin black line from a distance. She didn't even have a face; a black veil covered it, whipped by the wind, only offering very brief glimpses of her emotionless, pale face. Her dark lips moved in silent words, as if she were mouthing a prayer.
She wasn't. It was a name. The name she was searching for...
As she reached the top of the incline, her legs relaxed and she was able to glide across the small plane. The name, the name, the name... She didn't know what the name was yet, but she would know when she saw it.
Slowly, Dahlia's glide came to a stop, as the toe of her shoe hit the edge of a gravestone. She looked down at it-- it was tall enough for her to lay her hand on the top, and so she began to dust the snow off of it. Slowly, words came into view, and she lifted her veil to read them.
And that was all it said. How impersonal... why would anyone mention the cause of death so impersonally?
Dahlia was hit with something. Hard. In the chest. A man stood over her, then, looking down and shouting. Shouts of her own spilled out of her mouth, but they weren't hers; a flash of metal, another blow to her chest, warmth spreading, and some kind of liquid running down her dress.
She opened her eyes again, blinking away the snowflakes that had clustered themselves there. Dea Wykes had not committed suicide. Slowly, she lifted her hand to her chest, which felt warmer than the rest of her body. Two stab wounds to the chest, and they hadn't looked into her husband? There was too much about that that wasn't right...
Wasn't right...
Maybe, maybe if she had met her... poor Dea... Someone could have helped her. Better yet, someone could have helped her husband. The lone, impersonal word 'Suicide' said to her that he had wanted to make it known that Dea's death was deemed a suicide... rub it in, in a way, that they hadn't caught him.
Dahlia's heavy lids closed a moment, blinking slowly, and she drew something from her coat--a small bouquet of roses. She pulled one gently out from the bunch and laid it on the flat top of the gravestone. It would die there, but then again....everything died.
Her eyes traveled around the graveyard, slowly surveying the invisible line that pulled her away from Dea now.
Silent as death, she mouthed, "Goodbye Dea."
Dahlia Skuld
High Class
High Class
Canon: Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol
Custom Title: The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come
PHYSICAL
Age: 25
Gender: Female (I know, female ghost, right?)
Appearance: Dahlia is less of a girl and more of a ghost, in all reality. 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 pretty feathery, so her bangs and the side portions get in her eyes quite often. Her face is not thin, but it is anything but chubby—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, 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 usually has a melancholy look on her face, especially when observing people.
When Dahlia walks, it looks more like she's gliding. She's slow and graceful in everything she does, from gestures to dancing. But the kind of graceful she is is, for lack of a better word, creepy; her movements, especially in her hands, are spidery and almost ominous. However shy she may seem, she holds herself in a stately way, elegant in an almost tragic way. However, she does smile when there's a reason, and her gaze is very detectable. If she's watching you, you'll feel it.
Height: 5’10”
Body: 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. She is, though, much stronger than she looks. She has a rather small chest, but that’s to be expected.
Other distinguishing features: 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--Unsuccessfully, so far. Also, Dahlia is mute, meaning she can hear fine, but she can’t talk. She usually communicates through gestures and writing. She knows sign language but never uses it.
Wardrobe: 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.[/ul]
Play By: Kate Bush
PERSONALITY
General 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, though she doesn't show it visibly. 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, and she does not like not being left alone. She also doesn't like it when people question her about her frequent trips to the graveyard, or when people get impatient with her-- she is often late to meetings, as she likes to do things in her own time.
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, and she still hasn't found anyone like her. 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.
Quotes, frequently used expressions: I don't think this really applies.
Likes:
- dark, cool, quiet places
- poetry
- graveyards
- not death itself, but learning about death
- people like her, even if she hasn't found them yet
- winter/Christmastime
- wind and fog
Dislikes:
- greed
- people without good spirit
- when people die
- dishonorable behavior in anyone
- being treated like a child, or like she has a mental disability
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.
Weaknesses: She is occasionally easily manipulated when someone pretends to be in need or pathetic. 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.
BACKGROUND
Family:
Father, Wenceslaus Skuld, deceased- Head of a financial services firm, making him extremely wealthy. He was relatively young when he died.
Mother, known only as Eve, unknown status- Left Dahlia's father with the child. Current location and status unknown.
She does not consider her aunt family, as she was never nice to Mr. Skuld.
Education: Had a very good education up through highschool in a private school. Attended NYU and achieved her Masters in English.
Occupation: Her only business is mankind. The writing she does is only for her own enjoyment. Besides that, she has no need to work, but is rarely home.
Worst past experience: Picking one out is nearly impossible, as she's relived every death she reads. Besides, she never dwells on the past.
Best past experience: Can't be said. She never dwells on the past. She only has hopes for better experiences in the future.
Image: When she is noticed, she gives people chills; she in spindly and still, like a black statue. Her gaze is haunting rather than piercing, and you feel it for a long while after it leaves you. She seems like a ghost, slipping in and out of the crowds, stark and silent.
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.
Not much has happened since then; she continues to visit the graveyard often. She has not completely cut off her aunt yet, out of the kindness of her heart, but dislikes her greed. She only loans her a little at a time now. She has also started compiling a book of the deaths she reads.
THE SAMPLE
In Character Sample:
Where she was standing was a hill, off to the right side of the cemetery. The incline was steep at first, and then melted into a flat plane. On this were stood a cluster gravestones, all of the exact same height, and the same type of lettering. She had been to this place before, but hadn't ever felt the pull to read a death. Most of the time, her death reading was on accident, but it had become such a regular part of her life that she did it voluntarily now.
The pull was strong today, and so Dahlia had come out here despite the slickness of the snow and the below-zero wind chill. Her very thin coat did not keep out much wind, and she looked like a thin black line from a distance. She didn't even have a face; a black veil covered it, whipped by the wind, only offering very brief glimpses of her emotionless, pale face. Her dark lips moved in silent words, as if she were mouthing a prayer.
She wasn't. It was a name. The name she was searching for...
As she reached the top of the incline, her legs relaxed and she was able to glide across the small plane. The name, the name, the name... She didn't know what the name was yet, but she would know when she saw it.
Slowly, Dahlia's glide came to a stop, as the toe of her shoe hit the edge of a gravestone. She looked down at it-- it was tall enough for her to lay her hand on the top, and so she began to dust the snow off of it. Slowly, words came into view, and she lifted her veil to read them.
Dea Wykes
1954 - 2000
Suicide
1954 - 2000
Suicide
And that was all it said. How impersonal... why would anyone mention the cause of death so impersonally?
Dahlia was hit with something. Hard. In the chest. A man stood over her, then, looking down and shouting. Shouts of her own spilled out of her mouth, but they weren't hers; a flash of metal, another blow to her chest, warmth spreading, and some kind of liquid running down her dress.
She opened her eyes again, blinking away the snowflakes that had clustered themselves there. Dea Wykes had not committed suicide. Slowly, she lifted her hand to her chest, which felt warmer than the rest of her body. Two stab wounds to the chest, and they hadn't looked into her husband? There was too much about that that wasn't right...
Wasn't right...
Maybe, maybe if she had met her... poor Dea... Someone could have helped her. Better yet, someone could have helped her husband. The lone, impersonal word 'Suicide' said to her that he had wanted to make it known that Dea's death was deemed a suicide... rub it in, in a way, that they hadn't caught him.
Dahlia's heavy lids closed a moment, blinking slowly, and she drew something from her coat--a small bouquet of roses. She pulled one gently out from the bunch and laid it on the flat top of the gravestone. It would die there, but then again....everything died.
Her eyes traveled around the graveyard, slowly surveying the invisible line that pulled her away from Dea now.
Silent as death, she mouthed, "Goodbye Dea."
