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Ethan, Jade, Lukas, Rowen, Tadhg, Winifred
19 Aug '19
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22 Jul '19
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6 Oct '19

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of poison and blood

of poison and blood

Name: Alaska Rose Parrish
Age: 19
Gender: Female
Height: 5'2"
Weight: 93lbs
Eye color: Amethyst/grey
Hair: White
Imperfections: Partial blindness/slight lisp. Communicates largely through sign language. See below.
Player: Vanielle
Found: Er... advertising I think.


On first sight most would call Alaska beautiful. She has a somewhat fragile, almost childlike look, her thin frame and soft features making her seem 'breakable' to some. She's pale, and her skin is almost void of any noticeable imperfections. Her eyes draw attention at least temporarily away from such flaws at first, largely through confusion. First its the color that draws people in; an almost too bright amethyst purple. Then its the discolouration of the left eye; a grey wash dulling out the amethyst, once described to Alaska as looking like "Milk with purple food color". This is one of her few facial flaws. The second is only noticed by those with an extreme attention to detail; the left corner of her mouth is, like her left eye, unmoving. This leaves her with a slight, but rarely noticed lisp, and without the ability to bite her upper lip or smile properly. The few who notice these two flaws usually assume she's had a stroke, but then they look harder. Her left cheek and a portion of her neck is a mess, scars resembling train tracks usually hidden by long white hair. Only train tracks are neat. The scars cross over repeatedly, going in no specific direction and are accompanied by a somewhat paint-splatter effect, where the small scarred dots are slightly lighter than the rest. Most people would look away quickly, others linger. Few ask what happened. Even fewer don't care and direct their eyes toward the rest of her. At only five feet and two inches Alaska isn't exactly tall, but she carries herself taller. She walks with her back straight, refusing to slump forward regardless of how tired she could be. Though despite how short she may be, or how thin, Alaska still has curves, and an averagely sized bust. Some would call her too thin, many having the ability to close their thumb and index fingers around her upper thigh, which is usually where she keeps her watch. Yes, her dress sense is a little odd, usually to draw attentention away from her face. She usually wears a short, white dress that's open at the back. Short enough to make the watch constantly visible, and the wind a nightmare. The dress is cute though, with a black silhouette of a fantasy town around the bottom of the skirt and black ribbons flowing from the back. She rarely wears shoes, as most people would then direct her attention to her feet and question the lack of footwear over her face.


Silence is the key to not being noticed. Alaska doesn't speak. Not unless its totally, 110% unavoidable. Instead her hands do the talking in fast, flawless sign. When confronted fingers move, pointed at her mouth and up to her ear as her lips silently spell put the two words "I'm deaf." A lie. But far easier than explaining herself. She carries herself in a way that is first seen as confident. Back straight, eyes forward, arms moving slowly with the motions. It takes a serious attention to detail to notice how she cocks her head towards every foreign noise, searching desperately for the source while her fingers lightly dance across the surfaces of doors and walls, taking up the position of her eyes. She can still see, but no more than an arms length infront of herself. And when things get too close they blurr into oblivion. People suspect her to be fully blind, not partially. The way her eyes stay pinned forward, never looking at anything specific, void of any sings of life. She is broken. Mentally and physically. Panic attacks come easy, triggered by things sd simply as a door slamming or a balloon bursting. Anything resembling a gunshot. The sight of blood will leave her a passed out heap on the floor, though not after frantically searching herself for its source. Holding a conversation with her is difficult at best. She never knew who sent that bullet toward her. Though to contradict her lack of trust in the human race, she feels s large amount of empathy to people like herself. Broken. But she never keeps friendships, that would be too much. Maybe she'd find a friend, but they'd probably need to be blind. The staring still gets her. She is timid yet prone to random violent outbursts in moments of panic. She should probably come witj an instruction manual reading "Approach with caution. Do not approach from behind. Talk quietly. Do not move to quickly. Don't stare at the face."


One word if advice Miss Parrish never received was "Pretty rich girls shouldn't walk alone at night." That was when she was still confident, beautiful and speaking. She remembers the night perfectly, the scene replaying in her head over and over. It happened so fast. In 37 seconds she went from cloud 9 to shitcreek. She had simply been walking home, when she heard the noises. Pop, pop, pop followed by a soft tsst and the sweet scent of gunpowder and rust. She knew that noise for what it was. When your daddy's rich, his protection has guns that the daughter simply has to learn to fire. Her first thought was target practice, it usually was. But she was still on the other end of town. Then she felt it. The stinging in her cheek, like a bee. But you don't get bee's in winter. Tome slowed and the world went monochrome. She hit the floor. When her hand found the bee sting it felt something hard and cold and wet. Then everything went black.

The paramedics thought she was dead.

Three days later she woke to the smell of disinfectant as artificial light assaulted her eyes. A bullet ricocheted into her face, playing hide and seek with her nerves. The bullet won by a mile. Her left eye was left completely blinded, complete with the off White wash over. The left side of her mouth sags where the nerves died, robbing young Alaska of the ability to smile or bite her upper lip while granting her a slight lisp. It's likely she can no longer kiss properly, not that she would have many takers. Her cheek is the biggest mess of the lot. Train track scars cross over and over and over and don't all go in the same direction while the trains all fell over, creating a paint splatter effect to top it off.

Four surgeries, two months in ICU, six inpatient and a year of therapy later she was kicked back into the real world where the lights aren't so bright and antiseptic doesn't burn your in your nostrils. It took another year to somewhat get over the staring, but she'll never stop hearing the hushed whispers of mothers telling their kids not to stare, friends betting on what happened and reffering to her as "the kid with the scars" where they think she can't hear. That bullet claimed her life. Confident, happy, Alaska died that night. Mute, paranoid, broken Alaska was born in her place.

alaska rose parrish

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