Name: Emerence Huxley
Biological sex: Female
Skin colour: Olive
Hair colour: Brunette
Eye colour: Iced blue
Defects: None
Your player name: Jet ,(used to be jeteaime, can we update this? I normally use Jet OOC so this won't confuse things) Let me know :)
How you found out about us:
Optional information:
Detailed appearance: Longer brunette hair, so dark it is nearly black. She has thick black eyelashes and big round eyes. Her lips are thick, her nose petite. She has strong muscles, and a firm build. Her muscles are strong from fighting. She has defended herself alone for years(since she was 18). Her nails are filed down and chewed minimal because of stress. Her hair is normally pulled into a ponytail to keep large amounts from her face. She never wears makeup, and hardly concerns herself with physical attraction because she doesn't believe vanity keeps her alive.
Personality: Emerence is stubborn. She fights back on everything. Her glass is always half empty, and she believes the more negative she is the less hurt she will be in the end. The less disappointed she will turn out. Her independence is overwhelming for most. She is the classic rebellious woman. Her weakness lies in her family. She lost them as a young child and is envious of others who haven't been swiped of this gift. Emerence is heartless, gutless, and doesn't fear death. She hopes to die one day only to reunite with her family. She is depressed, and suicidal, and if she isn't fighting others, she is only fighting herself. She channels her anger to the outside world instead of letting it kill her inside. Her weakness is herself.
Ambitions: She doesn't have any ambitions other than to find her missing puzzle piece, the man who killed her family, and her brother. Once that is done, she wishes to let herself go. To meet her family again.
Age: 25
Ethnicity: European
Gender: Female
Sexual orientation: Heterosexual
Religion: Atheist
History: Emerence was born a beautiful child. She was the light of her fathers eye, the spitting image of her mother, and her brothers favorite role model. Her father taught her the classics. How to build a fire, set a tent, shoot a 22", track a deer, fix a broken engine, and throw a football. Her mother taught her the basics, how to cook, clean, fold, wash, work, live, care. Her brother taught her compassion, how to be naive, how to laugh and cry without shame, and how to smile on the worst of days. Her family was a perfect picture, a family portrait. Her mother was a nurse before she had kids, and worked only part time once they graduated kindergarten. Her brother was in grade 3. And her father was a lawyer. One day after school, in the middle of grade twelve when the weather was chilled and the sidewalks iced, Emerence found her way walking home. Normally she drove, and if she had she would have been thirty minutes quicker. But her best friend Leanne had wanted company walking, and so Emerence had caved. The weather was awful and the temperature below 0, but they were dressed in thick coats and wore tall boots so it didn't effect them much. After parting with Leanne, Emerence walked a little more brisk to her home. It was a beautiful house, with white siding and a black roof. Their front porch was decorated with christmas lights wrapped around two pillars and their lazy boy lounge chairs covered in chocolate covers. For the first time she noticed their front window blinds were drawn, but she didn't think much of it as she pressed in the garage code to open her door. As the door rose she realized some boxes had been tossed. Her stomach skipped a beat, but she brushed off her spook by rationally thinking her brother Matt must have tried finding some more games. Him and mom liked to play with them most days. Her steps to the door couldn't have been more eerie. Her manicured and moisturized hands latched their way around the golden door knob, feeling its cold surface before delicately turning and pushing forward. It wasn't the way the air felt, or how soundless her home was, it was the smell. The smell of flesh. The smell of blood. It has an iron scent, a faint aroma, one noticeable only by a girl who has been surrounded by febreze candles and spray bottles. She found her mother dead in her brothers room. She found her father dead in his office. A gunshot to his head, a stab wound to her heart. Her brother was missing. Gone with the wind. Gone with the murderer. She couldn't live with herself in that home. She took off running. Didn't even get her diploma. She just took off, and lived off the streets and land for the rest of her life.
Sample post:
Her hands danced along the blade of her knife, tucked in the side of her body, neatly hidden beneath her underarm. She is clothed in thick coats, covered with blankets, sheltered by the wide end of a dumpster. She shivers, her body aching from the temperature. Her stomach cramping with hunger, but she doesn't move. It is dark. And at dark it is dangerous. Those who wish to live the night life normally choose to die a painful death. A death that no one ever hears of. A death policemen never care to investigate. She nestles herself deeper into the comfort of her blankets, as she hears the footsteps of a stranger in the shadows of her alley. Everyone who is local knows this is her turf. Knows she spends her nights here. Most folks respect her boundaries, as she respects theirs, but it is hard to have the word spread to other districts.
She slowly pulls her right arm from the comfort of her left arms nook, her blade positioned in a strong grasp. Her shoulders tense as the walking slows. Blue eyes slowly reveal themselves from the comfort of her cradled position, seeing a black shadow casted along the far brick wall from a street light. Her heart thuds but the stranger cannot hear her, not from this position. Not unless he has some weird super-natural power.
A thick lock shields her right eye but she doesn't flinch to move it. Her body stays stern and stiff, not cringing from fear. She has no fear. Not when she has done this night by night. The shadow shifts slightly, a small light flickering in her peripherals. A cigarette. She tries not to cough on the intoxicating scent. Her nose suffocates and her longs protest but she doesn't dare let out the faintest of gasp. Emerence just remains motionless in the nook of her dumpster, the cold metal chilling her side but too scared to adjust her blanket to fix that. She just waits.
And then it moves.
At first the male appears strong. He smells of jack daniels and regrets, and if it weren't for the awful cigarette smell she would bet he was homeless. But if he can afford cigarettes, and a fancy silver lighter, chances are he isn't just here for a bed. Word had gotten out that some assholes wanted to sell her to Chicago for some male fantasies. Emerence had only caught wind of this thanks to Glenda, a panhandler. She spoke with a lot of the corner-lurchers, and liked Emerence's company quite a lot.
So had Chicago come to collect it's debt?
His movements are slow, almost too quiet. It is then the brunette gets defensive of her safety. Someone who is trying to be so quiet normally isn't out for a la-dee-da stroll. She waits until he walks past her, despite her inner literal outlook she doesn't glance at his eyes out of pure suspicion. Still believing that if she looks too long, he might catch an eerie sense that someone is watching him and find her space.
The girl waits until he is far enough down the alley that he is leaving the light of the street light. She slowly unwraps herself from her happy place. The blanket leaving her body falls to the floor and cold air wraps its hands around her. She ignores the chill that beckons her spine and crawls forward till she can reach her feet. She stands, shaking, not from fear but from the air, and slowly creeps along the shadow of the brick wall. He seems to be fumbling in his pocket now, searching for something. A phone? A pen? A book? Her pace slows, debating on whether she has this all right.
"Thought you would be harder to find, Ms. Huxley," the male voice is raspy, and firm. HIs tone is mono, and masculine. Her eyes dart forward at the back of his body before tightening the grip on her knife.
"Glad you know my name. Reveal yours." She watches his movements like a hawk, half in anger, half in suspicion. He knows more than she figured they would. Her last name.
He just turns, his face guarded by shadows. He takes a couple steps forward, pulling back his suit jacket to reveal a pistol swinging in his holder. She raises her eyebrows, skeptical, before answering her own question, "don't care. I ain't comin'."
He begins to reach for it before she withdraws her knife and holds it in a catapulting position. "Move, and I kill you." Because she will, she will kill him. Without hesitation.
He just laughs, shrugging of her threat and reaching into his holder.
Her hand reaches behind her, before flinging forward and letting her knife fly. It isn't as though she prefers this method. But at a five foot radius and him already reaching for his gun she is limited to options. She hates the sound. The worry of what if it doesn't hit him. But it always hits her target. She never misses a beat.
He falls to his knees, his legs limp, and then the rest of his body follows, falling onto his knees, exhausted from the blow. She strides over with confidence and kicks him over. Her eyes analyze the cheekbones on his face, his dark brown eyes, his bushed eyebrows. She ignores the blood trickling down his forehead as she gives a firm yank on her knife to retrieve it. With the motion his head falls to the side, his eyes still wide open.
Emerence kneels, pressing his eyelids down and staring at his gun for a couple seconds. Her mind pauses, as if to think practical, but she cannot help it. Weapons are not so easily traded on the streets. She gives a quick nod before taking his gun from the holster and rising from her seat. "Thanks stranger," and waltzes back to her nook.
OOC... It got weak at the end cause I got tired ..
Anything else you wish to include: Emerence I drank liquor and ate a lighter and woke up breathing fire |
