Sarah Elinor Gouver
Global Moderator
member is offline
Joined: Jun 2008
Gender: Female 
Posts: 4
|  | Sarrah Elinor Gouver
« Thread Started on Aug 5, 2008, 4:54am » | |
My Personal Information
Name: Alicha
Age: 20
Zodiac Sign: Pieces (though according to what I saw on the History Channel, they actually changed a lot).
How did you become interested in this RPG?
-It's all Dayan's fault and he knows it, with history in it and flexibility and STORM TROOPERS POSSIBLE APPEARANCE.
What do you like best/least about this RPG?
-I like best the fact that I can possibly use Storm Troopers or something of that nature as a plot device in a magical realm of thought.
-I'm disappointed with…um…um…I can't cook ham with the site? I don't know, I really like it. Um…Probably the coloring. I tend to hate pastels as background. But I'm sure I'll get use to it. Never mind, it is beautiful now. Ignore me. So for the thing that I like least is the whole big space thingie, but it’s not really that big of a deal.
Your Character's Basic Information
Name: Sarrah Elenor Gouver
Nickname: None.
PB or PG: Ma³gorzata Foremniak
Age: 25
Sign: Libra
Birthday: September 28th
Gender: Female
Hobbies: Sarrah is a very non-social person. Not anti-social, which means a totally different thing than non-social; anti-social means against the standard norm while non-social is to not participate in society, but not cause any problem with it. Most of her daily practices are solo. Not to say she is a hermit or anything; she does go outside, but just to enjoy herself. Yet on those days she experience mother nature, she only goes out either at the quietest times of night, as almost a dare for any trouble man or men to come to her. If the weather is not perfect, but will not kill you, she spends times enjoying the not perfect weather. She likes to read. Her main hangout is the library. But not usually for books. She buys her books. She rents books-on-CDs and Movies and even the occasional video game (if she feels like actually interaction with a story then just listening to it). Mainly the library is open, but quiet and people leave you alone.
Sometimes she writes, but it is like a journal: Not for confessions of the deeper part of her soul but for things she learns, like the scientific name for a specific flower or a death toll from a natural disaster. It's to keep a sense of order in her life, yet mainly for her other hobby: tutoring children in grammar and word pronunciation. She gives out facts of the day to them. Her little way of making the world a bright (mentally) place.
Though on a lot of nights she spends down in a bar, nestling a bottle of whiskey. A hobby she is not proud of, but she keeps it to herself and the other patrons do the same. Not to pick up anyone, but just be a good alcoholic.
Likes: Sarrah likes calmness and order. Perhaps not quietness since she does live in New York, but noise does not necessarily mean chaos. She likes discipline and does not mind suggesting it. She also likes to listen to problems. Maybe never giving out advice, but if people wished to use her as a stress ball, why not? She also has a fondness for children.
Dislikes: She does not mind people who constantly talk to her. Only those individuals who wish for a response back. If she wishes to tell you something, she will. She especially hates those who keep asking her and asking her about her home life. Sarrah also hates artificial light. She does watch movies and TV, but candle light or oil lamp is her preference of choice. Anyone over eighteen needs to develop her trust.
Positive Traits: Sarrah is confident in herself. She knows she is good and better then a lot of people. However, it does not make her think she is superior and everyone else is below her. What it means is she must be better for the greater good. She knows when to keep her mouth shut and does not brag. She feels actions are better to show worth. And lastly, she has a patience that makes most stones envious and a fuse as long as a foot-ball field.
Negative Traits: A stubborn one. She is infallible, even when she happens to be wrong on those rare (and usually important) occasions. She also holds grudges for a long time. She's been known to act very high and mighty of herself. And she can act rather fish-like: Cold and calculating.
Goals: Keep away from her family and their tradition as much as she can.
Type of Magic User: Witch
Level: Adept
Powers:
-Clairaudience (N)
-Clairolfactor (N)
- Hydrokinesis (A)
Dayan's Edit: Could you also think of and plan for a third power for when she becomes a Master? I'd say she's rather close... 
Biography: The Gouver family originated in Ireland a long time ago. If they had other roots older then those, nobody cared to look that far. The family itself is an old witch clan who survived well due to their country of origin, and the lack of hangings and burnings.
In the bloodline, the women have always possessed greater magical powers than the men. Due to this, the spiritual powers have always belonged to females: They took charge of the spiritual ceremonies. Not to say the men were considered inferior; they were the protectors. Their strength was valued to guard their wives, mother, and sister from the outside world. The fairer family members were never to leave their homes without any sort of escort. The clan became ruled by stay-at-home Matriarchs. Though a boy born was strong talent was just appreciated as a girl.
During the Great Famine, where even those with magical skill could do little to combat the disease hitting, the Matriarch headed to this new world in hopes of a new life. Whether the others were happy with it or not could never be confirmed today, but they perceived and took on similar roles as before: The men went out and worked while the women stayed home and watched everyone.
Since property was rarer to own in those days, wealth was distributed different: Men passed new weapons, any monetary wealth, and items not nailed down and woman passed training and passed spiritual items, include a certain cauldron.
Centuries later, the bloodline still ran strong. Though many off-branches of the family existed through all of North American, and many of the younger generation did little to follow the traditions, the clan survived and the name endured. Distant cousins would marry each other (though arrange marriages were not as common anymore), children would keep both their mother's and father's name of the Gouver sur- as a middle or additional name.
Sarrah herself was born with her mother's maiden name, but had her paternal grandmother's name as a middle name. Though this was due to her parents themselves: They were the High Priest and Priestess of their family, Wendy and Dean Kirkman. Sarrah was the eldest and the only girl out of two younger brothers. She knew from a very long time that she would follow her mother's footsteps. And she was quiet a model child; bright, beautiful, and a natural leader, with an underlying maturity. She was already training when she reached double digits. In a few of the less important rituals, she would stand second with her mother or once actually took her place, co-ing with her uncle.
Yet tragedies were not strangers in Sarrah's early life. Her youngest brother, Randell, fell off his bike and suffered a concussion, a broken skull, and a broken neck; it lead to his death. He didn't wear a helmet. Sarrah was fourteen and her mother suffered terribly. Perhaps it was a psychological reaction to the intense pain of losing a child, but Sarrah's mother begun suffering from fainting spells. Her father comforted her while her and her thirteen year old brother, Evan, agreed in private when they were both old enough (and currently), they would take over for their parents.
After she turned twenty, she became an Adept. Such skill was praised and it was predicted she would become a Master at the very most in a decade. Evan sported his own magical talents, but skipped going to a college and went straight to work as an accountant, of all things.
During her years in college, she met what was her first love. Of course, she was not a total square: She had relationships and dating in her high school times, but only two could be counted as boyfriends, with one of the boys set up through friends and the other set up through parents--the farthest she let anyone get to her was improper necking. She was a proper young woman who planned to wait until a good marriage proposed itself to her.
Until she met Ethan, then such thoughts were altered.
It was not instant falling in love, but instant attraction. A dark haired, emerald-eyed boy that captured her attention. Not to say she fell into lust right away. Oh, she was a careful woman. But the other student tried very much to win her attention. They were in the same class. And the chemistry was there. For Sarrah, he was something new. She never met anyone quite like him; smooth, but quiet, reserved, and just a hint of boyish shyness. He talked blunt, but never crude.
Sarrah, though the prodigal daughter, had a rebellious streak in her. She never openly yelled or smoked or did anything to harm her body, but she hid a grin when she accidentally arrived home a half hour late or skipped any training she should have attended. She was faithful to her faith and her family, but she had her moments to subtlety give her family hell. Ethan was the pinnacle of it all. No proper family background (though he had powers), loner, seemly bad boy beau; a parent’s worst nightmare. Sarrah was enthralled by him. They had so many other promising boys that would be perfect for her. She ignored them all before, saying she wanted an education before settling down. Now with her eye-candy ornament on her arms…it kept her parent’s wishes at bay. She was a grown woman; not like the old days were she would have to get married or be disowned.
Being the practical girl she was, love did not happen in a black and white moment. But a moment did happen to make the realization apparent. Like all couples, they had fights. It became a serious enough relationship. Sarrah tended to be the aggressor in them, with Ethan storming off in the middle. They were in a steady relationship, even though periods of ‘I‘m going to be a child and wait for you to give in’ happened about every month.
After one argument about, of all things, the practical use of sporks, neither spoke to each other for over a week. Sarrah became concerned when he missed two days of class. She left for his apartment, found the key he left out in a coin jar (which really served no purpose as to only annoy criminals) in front of his place.
Stepping in, she realized it was incredible dark inside. She also realized no one was home. Sarrah had no where to go so decided to relax in front of the television. Hours later, Ethan stumbled in. He literally tripped on the door way, then half-crawled the rest of the way in. Sarrah just watched, really unsure if she should help or not. This was the first time he did this in front of her. He looked drunk. Or stoned. Or a mix of both. Or something else. She never really thought about him having drug habits. Yet it would not surprise her.
When he spotted her, he asked if she was real. She nodded and finally went over. Sarrah was not that strong, so it took a bit of time and a sore back to get him over on the couch.
In an intoxicated stupor he cussed her out, but it was hard to take it seriously since he said everything in a low voice. Saying she was his chance to make something out of his life, that she was a total pregnant dog, that she had a bright future ahead for her, that she was stupid for starting a fight over f**king utensils, that he felt miserable. It was quite weird for Sarrah to hear such a mix of complements and insults in one speech to the same persons. The stranger part was she felt no anger. She just watched.
It ended when he reached for a trashcan, threw up, and passed out. Well, that was not appealing.
He shifted a little after about a half hour, so she did the first thing she could think of: Stroke his hair. It was rather wet from sweat, but she would just wash her hands later.
She wanted to fix him. Badly. She could fix him. She could do that. And why shouldn’t she? She was happy with him. They could be happy. He wasn't nice person and really a jerk, but she could be that way to. She admitted silently she really loved Ethan. As in romantic twist she ignored hearing from girls when she was a teenager. It was…nice.
Of course, she did not appreciate the next morning when she had to hold the bastard’s slippery hair while he puked up again, but accept that quality of loved ones is part of the exchange.
Though Sarrah learned love in another way. There was Alex. Alex had sparking green eyes and freckles and red hair; clearly an Irish boy. Sarrah could honestly say she loved him more then any other. Though this may have something to do with Alex being a six year-old child who adored Sarrah just as equally.
Alex was her nephew. Well, not her nephew. They were actually first cousins. Her maternal grandfather took a second wife after he became widowed by Sarrah's grandmother. From that marriage one baby child was produced: Little Lindsey. There was an age difference of eighteen years between Wendy and Lindsey, so already the High Priestess and her sister were raised more or less separate. Sarrah was younger then her Aunt by twelve years. Though unlike her, Sarrah never became pregnant when she turned fifteen. Lindsey did not even tell her family she was carrying until it was too late nor admitted who the father was.
Alex's first couple of years of life was spent with his mother, but the girl wanted to go aboard for college. Lindsey’s parents actually planned to go to Ireland for a year to talk with distant relatives and buy more prized antiques. Since the nearly unwanted child had very few appropriate places to go, the High Priestess took her nephew in since it was not uncommon for high ranking family members to take in others.
She also became the particle caregiver for Alex. It was actually a lesson for Sarrah to learn about children and why she would not be following her aunt's steps. And at first it was very hard to understand, but soon she had not problem with volunteering to watch her cousin.
She took him to school before she headed home and waited for him to leave so they could walk home together. He was the apple of her eyes. When she was older and possibly married, she hoped she could take the boy with her. Lindsey sent letters and still visited, but since her little boy looked care for, she continued with her own affairs.
Sarrah's life was more then perfect when she was twenty one: A promising and destined future, presuming a healthy and stable relationship, and having a potential pupil for years to come. Life threw her such a spin ball.
It was not uncommon for Alex to play in the front yard. The neighborhood suffered little crime so children played without fear. It only took a second for six-year old Alex to be there and vanish. Again, nobody worried at first; he could have run of with a kid in the neighborhood. They could feel unseen danger if they needed to. No one ever though the seen danger would be the one to be worried about.
As soon as dinner was made and available, now the family became worried. If it were only as simple as merely concentrating on a person, Alex could be easily found. But nothing was that perfect. Adepts and Master lived in the home, but unless any Shadowlight power hit, their skills remained in control and without detection. It would be two hours before anyone noticed him gone. Not because nobody care. A lot of people cared. However, a sense of security settled in their community.
By the time anyone realize he was gone, he was already dead. Sarrah was the one who whiffed it first. She nearly destroy the pipes and drainage in the house.
Of course, people soon looked for him, but no real trails were ever picked up. It was as if the child vanished off the face of the world in a flutter of dead bones.
The next couple of days a frantic search went for the child using various means, even using the local authorities. There were flashes and pictures and possibles *spelling mistake on purpose* from members, but nobody had a correct location. Yet, a news story five hectic days later brought the attention of a cousin Adept who swore the mug-shot was the man who had Alex.
Down to the police station, with the excuse of the news story playing about the discovery of several corpses of children. It was not confirmed quite yet, but Sarrah had a bad feeling that had nothing to do with her power. She stopped trying to find Alex through her own means, afraid she would sense (not sense) him. She spent her nights at the police station. She never felt such panic before and such desperate hope. Three days later, she was asked to look at a body.
The hope died when she saw the body of victim number five.
It wasn't like when Randell died. Randell was a tragedy to be sure, but it was an accident. A child-hood accident. Randell was also not her baby. There was no blame besides neglect to name from him. She now knew what her mother gone through. But Alex…Alex was murder. Alex…had a cause. Not some stupid proof of skill or fearless or forgetfulness. Someone did this to him.
She remembered being told the man who did this was arrested. She remember being told that the potential victim number six got away and reported to a grown-up in the vicinity. Somehow she wanted to yell that Alex was not a weakling and could take care of himself. But she hardly had any fight because yes, Alex was dead. She remember going back home.
Her father and had a long talk with her. He calmly explained that even though the thought of vengeance burned in her, she must resist because this man did not kill against the clan, just killed for whatever personal demons haunted him. It would be proper for him to be tried in front of his peers and not them. She may not have totally agreed with the decision, but she respected the words of wisdom. Sarrah could live with seeing the man rot away in a jail cell for the rest of his worthless life. From what she understood, child killers received quite grief in it.
But the hole just got worst. It seemed that anything could go wrong in the trial did go wrong. First off, it was argued that one of the remains could not be proven to be one of the children missing due to how badly those remains were damaged. Then the corpse they found in his car was obtained illegally. When it was found out that the justifiable cause to search the premises of the man's home was obtained illegally, the case was tossed. Oh the angry protest that rose in the courtroom. Sarrah herself stared into blank space.
This was no justice. No justice for those children and her little Alex, the boy who gave her unconditional love, the boy who only required protection and guidance from her. She failed at that responsibility. She was never supposed to fail. She might have tried something, but her aunt Lindsey was near hysterics from it. The woman may not have been around for her child, but she loved him and blamed herself for the death just as much as Sarrah.
Along with other parents and protesters, they followed against the mass of press. One report stuck a microphone in Sarrah's face. It took little effort to short the little electrical equipment with a damp touch. It only stopped the masses for a moment, but did it ever feel good.
Sarrah looked at the man who took Alex away, who took his life away with chains and ropes and whips and blades and tore him to pieces with saw blades. A man she could see walking down the street. What made him tick? What made him different? What made him think that by abducting children then brutally slaughtering them could give him a higher understand of life.
Sarrah had ideas. She was no killer. Not many were. She had killed animals, but it was for a sacrifice or need. Not for cold blood. Sarrah did not feel like she never needed to be a killer, but if she needed it…but her father warned her. His advice never proved to be wrong, so why not. Besides, there would be grieving to be done. Yet…Sarrah had the power. Right now, as she stared into the dead eyes of the guilty freeman, she had the power. No one would ever figure out. Or those who would could never truly prove it. Besides, would they really question the choice of the usual thoughtful and quite heir to the Gouver line-
A boom in the air. A silence before screams rang out. Lindsey ducked quickly while Sarrah only half collapsed due to the older woman pulling on her. She went into a shock. That was not from her. She wished for something to happen, but she never expected anything to happen unless it was done by her will. It sounded like a gun shot. She looked around for anything that looked like a weapon. Where was it?
She could smell the death, then nearly the burnt of the muzzle. Right there.
A torrid woman with sandy blond hair that reflected the sun light, such thin limbs that appeared to look ready to crack, with clothes simply a white shirt and khakis on slightly raised sandals and eyes that she could not distinguish colors from due to their blurriness. Already the guards around the build swept upon her and asked her to drop her weapon. Her movements appeared to be in slow motions as she kept screaming and screaming.
Sarrah knew that this was the mother of the victim found in the car. She also knew the man was dead.
The next couple of days the whole house hold suffered for a morning, Sarrah most of all. She talked to no one but Evan about it. She confessed that she thought it was tragic that this grieving woman, without any real sense, killed her baby's killer. Sarrah could related and in a strange way felt cheated, but that was not what was bugging her. The woman took a life. A woman that normally would never take one. A woman the brought life into the word and only real crime was losing that life. It was shameful and she did not have any idea who to mourn for more.
Evan brushed a piece of hair back and said maybe talk to someone who was once in a similar situation.
Sarrah went to talk with her mother.
The woman was more then happy to have the girl take a seat down. She looked a little worn for ware. Probably memories of Randell were coming back up. Not to mention Lindsey practically needed to be held twenty-four hours a day. But this conversation was between the current Head Priestess and the next one. The woman gave a pat on the cheek and asked what she needed.
Sarrah asked how she should feel.
Wendy said there was no easy answer for that.
Sarrah wanted to know if it made her a bad person.
Wendy assured her with a hug that it was not. It made her human and meant she cared. And it would never be fair because Alex did not deserve such a fate. But it could only make her stronger.
Sarrah held her tongue, knowing that her mother became physically weaker from the death of her little brother. And Sarrah certainly did not feel mentally stronger. Sarrah said she should have taken care of the man. At least that mother would not have the blood on her hands. Certain people and spirits could condemn the unfortunate mother for that.
Wendy said that it all comes to our will. It was her choice to take another's life. She was happy that Sarrah did not.
Sarrah asked if someone pushed Randell off the bike would her mother wish for vengeance
.
Wendy sighed and said she hoped not. However, she commented her daughter was one to try and seek out a balance, even if to do so it meant to disrupt that balance. Besides, even if it ended this way, it was safer that the courts handled it then what the younger female wanted. It was also safer and the more logical choice for the police to handle it first then the family trying to attack his home before they investigated.
Sarrah scuffed and said she, herself, would have handled it better. She looked off in the distance.
"What did you mean, ‘attack his home before the police?’“ This did not come from Sarrah, but from a distraught Lindsey in the door-way. Sarrah and Wendy were shocked to see her up.
But she asked again, "What did you mean about that?" Wendy looked down for a second and shook her head. Sarrah was confused, but not in the way her aunt was. She was more confused at her aunt who appeared to be babbling nonsense. However, Lindsey looked sane, only tired and irritated. S he then stated in an accusing tone, "You knew, didn't you?"
Wendy shook her head, denying something that Sarrah had yet to grasp.
Lindsey looked ready to burst into tears, but kept her face dry. She simply stated, “You knew who he was before they ever found that last boy.”
Sarrah looked at her aunt with utter shock. Lindsey…she could not believe what she was saying. No, Lindsey wanted someone to blame right now and her older sister was a perfect target for it. It was fine. She turned to her mother and stated that Lindsey just required rest.
Lindsey shook her head, pounded the side of the wall and caused a little tremor to shake through the house. Just kept repeating over and over again along the lines of she knew that Wendy knew. Wendy had to have known.
Sarrah sighed, decided to again turn to her mother and give her a sign to let it be. Her aunt, even though older and experience more, acted much younger then her.
But Sarrah also knew her mother well. It came with years of watching her and observing her and trying her d**n hardest to be like her. In essence, Sarrah knew her expressions. Her mother looked frighten. At Lindsey.
Certainly, Lindsey started a tirade now, screaming at her saying, "You knew where he was, who he was, and you didn't do a d**n thing about it. You let my baby's killer go. You could have caught him and stopped him from capturing another little boy. But no, you-" for the next moments, Lindsey broke out in tears and called her mother quite a bit of unsavory names. Sarrah did not know which side to take because everyone was upset and everyone had a reason to be upset and everyone deserved defending.
The High Priestess finally stood up, gripped her sister’s arms, and said quietly and calmly with a little breathlessness behind her words, "And shall I have brought the whole clan down on this man? Shall I promote murdering? We do not live in times of swords and blood no longer. I hope we have become civilized."
Sarrah did not understand right away what she was hearing, but the wheels in her head started turning and turning and turning and…
Her mother knew. She knew before the police knew.
The shock of that information hit Sarrah. She knew it and had it. But she had no idea what to do with it. Hell, she had yet to decide how she should feel.
Lindsey certainly knew. She started ranting that it was all her fault and she always hated her and Alex. Wendy tried to reason with her.
Sarrah realizes what she first felt; sadness. A deep sadness.
Soft tears rained down her cheek. She did not remember when she started crying. Her voice rose, asking what her mother did.
The two older women looked at her. Her mother quickly stood away from Lindsey and went to comfort her child. She apologized and said if Alex had been alive when they all realized what happen. If he had been, this would not have happened.
This was not good enough for Sarrah. It should be, but it was not. It certainly was not because Alex had yet to show up in here and show him the next crappy he doodle he did in his class that looked nothing like a cat even though he showed it off proudly as if it was something like a cat. Nor trying to explain to him and a young girl cousin that he had to be a prince and she had to be a princess because one title was for boy royalty and one title was for girl royalty and it was like how men were called Mr. and Sire and women were called Mrs. and Ma'am. And there was no one calling her sissy anymore; not like a pansy, but short for sister. Evan called her it when they were young and Alex somewhere.
Lindsey was ranting again, calling Wendy ever name in the book. Wendy eventually gave up on trying calming her baby sister down and waited for the emotions to run its course. With one final scream, the twenty-four year old ran out of the room. Wendy reached out for her, but the door slammed. Wendy turned last to Sarrah, who only mumbled another 'what did you do.'
The home was quiet for that night. In the morning, Sarrah woke up crying about something. She knew something bad happened during her rest. But what?
She cannot recall who found Lindsey. It was not her, but the air around Lindsey made her feel dizzy. Sarrah had seen blood. But not like this. Not pooled around the bottom of a person's body, their bed, their blanket, and finally dripping in messy patterns on the skirt of the bed. Everything span around. Someone threw up. Someone found a note. Someone found pictures scattered about. Nobody suspected the drop-off mother would…
(*a quick note: Just for the record before people ask, Lindsey did do herself in. No hidden foul play or anything. This event is needed to push Sarrah over the edge*)
Sarrah did not remember passing out. But she must of because when she woke back up, remembering everything and she was on a couch.
Soon she laid there, just thinking something along the lines of black holes and wroth. She never thought that feeling could easily be lost. But really, everything felt surreal. Two people, dead.
She remembered several times people looking at her, checking on her, and a few trying to wake her up. But she easier ignored all distractions and concentrated on nothing. There was nothing.
The next time she woke up, she felt too many things and smelt too many things. She felt full to the brim.
She walked with stone purpose toward where she knew her mother was. Her father was there. Sarrah posed at the door way and instructed Dean to leave. Now this was a shock. Sarrah never called her father by his first name. She could be quite the daddy's little girl and she was bred to respect her parents and elders. For her to make such a bold move sent more vibrant shocks then the young adept could. Nobody made a move until Sarrah let out a sigh and asked with a please. The man sighed, but left his place by his wife and was about to brush his child's shoulder but she moved past him, a silent signal indicating there would be problems in the future.
Once the room was cleared, Sarrah took a seat. Her body language read with purpose and something unpleasant. She wanted honesty finally. She was ready for it. She begged for it. It was almost like a confession: Her, the priest or father or whatever and her mother asking for forgiveness. The killer, in life, choose his victims by happenstance. Doubtful anyone could predict acutely. Plus the senses were only aware of those who had powers. That was the time to feel fear. To avoid problems from those who did not, one kept those powers hidden.
The neighborhood was a safe place. Children knew other children. If a child vanished, they someone usually was watching them. People watched out for strange cars and glared at suspicious for equally strange people. But sometimes that fail-safe was not so fail safe. For the boy was snatched up in a passing vehicle, taken to a location nobody could find, and was tragically dismembered all under two hours. The boy's soul and potential already gone by an outside force.
As soon as she figured out the culprit of the act, she realized it was not a man going against the family, but just a deranged man. For a night the High Priestess pondered on what action to take. An all-out attack, a chance meeting, or something else entirely. The next day her decision was made, but the media already portrayed the face of the killer. Their system came into play and their justice was played and it failed. And to set a good exampled, Wendy Gouver stayed out of it.
Sarrah listened and was calmed and nodded and observed. She took a deep breath and with such a dead-sounding voice state, "Don't relax yet, mother." She left the room.
That night was the first time Sarrah went out, consumed a large amount of alcohol, walked back home, confronted her parents and in a drunk rage that gave her bravery she thought she did not posses, told both of them the family could go f**k off because she was not going to be a part of it no more. She grabbed a few clothes, ignored the protest, and bunked with the only person she knew her family would not go after to chase her: Ethan.
What a site she was at his door step, two suitcases and a duffle bag swung around her shoulder, eyes red and hair a mess. He did not say no, just a little shocked since he kept a respectful distance due to mourning.
The first week more or less served as Sarrah spilling gallons of tears anywhere she laid. Ethan kept a distance but kept close when he could. Sarrah, when she could, said she appreciated it. And would possible one day repay any water damage she left.
The couple weeks after that, they settled into a more stable relationship, it was good. Though when two people live together, discard does happen.
Even more so, Sarrah was the instigator. She still hurt and felt betrayed by her mother. And she still felt the loss of her aunt and cousin and a part of her was afraid of attachments. She took this out on her boyfriend more so then she should have. Ethan seemed to take it at first, but eventually got a bit of a background and constantly asked her problems or would just leave. In some ways, this upset her because she saw it as him being needy or whiny. In reality, just excuses she wanted to make up.
Sarrah was the one who broke it up. She was looking at other colleges to move away from, but kept the research hidden. She had not decided. As of late, she became quite fond of the bottle and using it as a crutch and as an excuse, she told Ethan off, listing him off being a gloomy child, a downer, without a backbone, and a coward. She told him she’d be leaving for good after tomorrow.
Though there was a reason she left. In a magazine she browsed through, they did an article about the whole killing. The tomorrow she left would have been the grieving mother’s day in court. Assumed emotional distress, but Sarrah could not hear any of it.
All of this led her to ignore the committed life she once had. Ignore her proper place in her family and the family itself. All of this led her to move out of the one person she considered spending her life with and far away after transferring school and getting and internship no where near home. All of this went to cursing her gift that was useless against preventing the worst tragedy in her life. Because that home was not a home for dear Sarrah.
Personality: Once upon a time, Sarrah was a model leader: Bold, bright, charismatic, well balanced and looked out for her family and friend. Sarrah still has those qualities and shows them at her work, but they are displaced by melancholy and deep depression.
She has developed two different lives; her day life and night life. Her days consist of her being a new graduate from an university she transferred with most of her required courses either completed or tested out of and as a new language development trainee for a public. Her basic job is consist of helping elementary children get over their stuttering problems, possible shyness, and other language art problems with the occasional help of the handy-cap little ones. Her calmness and straight-forwardness makes her compatible with most of the other teachers while her patience and pleasantness makes the children who come to her adore her while at the same time her politeness and discipline makes her have a fondness to the parents. She does make acquaintances with her co-workers, yet none can say they could call her friend or know much about her outside of work.
She in fact does not have much of a social life. There is a pub in the next city over that she could be found it. She choose it because it offers no high crowed, did not support much illegal activity except for the occasional marijuana smoke littering the air, and the place was filled with mostly regulars that came here like she did: Too drink her problems away. Yes, the esteem young woman that made her daily career to help with pronouncing of the English language took steady time in drinking herself to death. Though she was not like the typical twenty-odd year old: She didn't drink some fruiting little drink up at the front, waiting for a good time to come to her in the form of a male companion, shoot down as much as she could before it came back to haunt her in the form of hangovers and one-night stands. No, she order a pitcher of bear of a bottle or whiskey or bourbon or whatever she felt like (though the Irish in her usually favored the whiskey) for the night and she preceded to it down little by little for several hours. She did not usually finish it all. Sometime she also ate whatever the cook or waitress about was willing to make for.
She never worried much for anyone trying to pick her up. Most of the men about did have an interest in her when she came through but since she did not look willing or appeared as shrew as some of their wives, she became more of a pretty decoration in the location. Some would say they became attached to her as a surrogate daughter, especially those who failed their own female children some way or another. She never moved from her spot in the corner but never turned down anyone joining her at her table for their fancy. She offered kind words and advice to those who needed a feminine touch to their problems such as practical gifts and advice on this one woman they liked.
Not to say nobody tried. The occasional young buck who wondered in or that one fellow who just needed to try everything that was to offer always made bids to her. Sarrah was an attractive enough woman, if you were not looking for a tall, blond and too slim (Though in a place usually filled with gruffer men, she looked like a goddess). And on the occasion, a rather drunk and disrespectful suitor-to-be tried to claim her as a prize.
Several long-time patrons and the bartender had those particular men out of the establishment in a little under five-minutes. Those nights Sarrah left a large tip. If it was late enough in the night and she drank more then her usual dosage of poison, she was willing to buy rounds for the house. And for those who hung around after still wished for a fight…Sarrah had a taser. Well, not an operable one. In actuality, it was a potato peeler, but those who got hit by it were usually down before they noticed. On two occasions, this tactic did not detour the perpetrators. But these dilemmas were solved by freak accidents: One nearly died of hyperhydrosis and the other developed quite a bad case of appendicitis. They are both alive, but they do steer clear of the establishment since while both were in the hospital, Sarrah came to visit and gave them a cruel smile. Though who would believe she did anything?
In the place where nobody knew her name, she spent a quite night killing her living and metaphoric pain. The parents and factuality probably would not find her as appealing if they knew they employed a drunkard. But as always, she was careful: She worked on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. On those nights and Saturdays she went to her watering hole and consumed as much as she wished. She paid the disease from her work and outside of food and living expenses, all what could be considered fun money was saved for her habit. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays started with the occasional hangover and was spent mostly walking or lounging or filling out work she needed to get finished. Ever now and then she needed to sub for someone and on half of those days she came in looking more miserable and tired. But excused came easy to her; she stayed up studying or reading, she was out late with friends, or just had bad dreams. Everyone recalled their own young life and their own knowledge of other and brushed it off.
Sarrah was not a liar in common practice, but she chose to be such when it was needed. She was cunning, prideful, but had developed a deep in-trust in adults around her and only associated with younger people because it helped heal or at least cover the large regret on her heart.
Sample:
This is from an rp called edge of fate at www.edgeofate.co.nr and since my good buddy Xialoh told me he loved the description in this, I felt it was appropriate. My debuted with my Bleue Neige Character.
Inside a lounge, near a doorway, a woman was seated on a cushioned bench. To any other person, she looked too comfortable to be a tourist. Much too calm.
She looked to be reading through a very thick novel bound in a leather cover, with a stack of various other books to her side. A half-open bag was set next to her, filled with papers and folders and a canned drink. If she had any luggage, it had already been take somewhere else. Her reading glasses were tinted slightly. Her expression was neutral. Eerily neutral.
Her shirt was a robin blue, long sleeved, and looked to be a turtle neck. Her bottoms were plain black that flared near the bottom, equal ankle-high boots poking out from under crossed-pant legs. Though anyone passing by would think she was dressed a little hot for today: A few tourists already pulled on their own shirts as they looked at her.
She turned a page, fingernail painted a horrible burgundy color; a dark red that looked like a scab, and that did not match the outfit. The nails themselves looked almost like press-ons, but instead of ending at a squared-end, they were filed into an arch. If anyone noticed her inside palms were too much paler then the back of her hands.
If she needed to be anywhere, she was in no rush. Just slowly reading the book. Not unusual. Few gave her a second glance. Those that did were not interested in knowing her. Some curious to spy inside the book. Some for physical attraction. And others were wondering why kind of crazy book-worm would be sitting in the lobby reading away instead of going up to their room to do that activity.
But they were just skims. If one really looked, they would notice the twinkle of the light reflection off the diamond-edge on her claws. If one really looked, they could almost glimpse above her ankle a little patch of sapphire poking through the back due to the right boot rubbing against the skin too much. If one really looked, they could see that unlike her current dark hair-color, her roots were a gray. If one really looked, her brown eyes had a small rim of blue ringing around the rest of the iris. If one really noticed, certain areas of skin, especially on her cheeks were a bit off, like a slightly different texture from the rest of her face: Had a waxy shine to them under the lamps. If one really looked...
But nobody did.
---
I know, I altered her personality a little. Well, maybe more then a little. I know, she was suppose to be a bit bratty and generally disobedient to her mother a lot more, but I guess…um, I couldn’t get her out that way. I’m sorry. If you want me to change her, I’ll understand.
| |
|
![[Home]](http://i150.photobucket.com/albums/s106/Atroposday/Shadowlight/Angel%20Wings/home.jpg "[Home]")
![[Help]](http://i150.photobucket.com/albums/s106/Atroposday/Shadowlight/Angel%20Wings/help.jpg "[Help]")
![[Search]](http://i150.photobucket.com/albums/s106/Atroposday/Shadowlight/Angel%20Wings/search.jpg "[Search]")
![[Login]](http://i150.photobucket.com/albums/s106/Atroposday/Shadowlight/Angel%20Wings/login.jpg "[Login]")
![[Register]](http://i150.photobucket.com/albums/s106/Atroposday/Shadowlight/Angel%20Wings/register.jpg "[Register]")
![[Search This Thread]](http://i150.photobucket.com/albums/s106/Atroposday/Shadowlight/Obsidian%20Wings%20Skin/teh%20iconz/search2.gif "[Search This Thread]")
![[Send Topic To Friend]](http://i150.photobucket.com/albums/s106/Atroposday/Shadowlight/Obsidian%20Wings%20Skin/teh%20iconz/sendtopic.gif "[Send Topic To Friend]")
![[Print]](http://i150.photobucket.com/albums/s106/Atroposday/Shadowlight/Obsidian%20Wings%20Skin/teh%20iconz/print.gif "[Print]")
Author
Logged![[avatar]](http://i150.photobucket.com/albums/s106/Atroposday/Shadowlight/shadowlight_dark_avi.jpg "[avatar]")
![[msn]](http://i150.photobucket.com/albums/s106/Atroposday/Shadowlight/Obsidian%20Wings%20Skin/teh%20iconz/msn.gif "[msn]")
![[aim]](http://i150.photobucket.com/albums/s106/Atroposday/Shadowlight/Obsidian%20Wings%20Skin/teh%20iconz/aim.gif "[aim]")
![[image]](http://i150.photobucket.com/albums/s106/Atroposday/Shadowlight/theshadowlight_sig1.jpg "[image]")