St. Peter's Asylum discussion
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Character Format/Creation
{Part I}[Name] Tesla Kateøina Radka Aksamit
[Nicknames] Information not available
[Gender] Female
[Sexuality] Pansexual
[Age] Twenty-Two
[Date and Time of Birth] May 17th; 2:35 PM
[Appearance]
(view spoiler)
To describe the being before you at her present state is a task that is most tedious in the ways of displaying her beauty. The action would require the use of repetition, because of the lack of words most have for her appearance. She's a spectacular creature to observe, seeing her lithe movements when she's in action. It would do good to pay close attention.
Raised to a stature of close to six feet, Tesla isn't the picture of height, but she is above average standing. Not by much, unfortunately. It might have added to her glory, but her legs are to praise for her current height. She weighs a numeral of a hundred and fifty pounds, give or take a few pounds. She has no particular interest in this factor of her being, but isn't all too fond of divulging it to anyone that crosses her path. No, that is information for privileged ears only. Slender is something that she wears on her skin, and it does well to attract a meal. She's endowed with quite the chest area, much to her indifferent opinion. She doesn't particularly care for that area of her body, as she feels it lacks any significance to her dream state. Atop a slender neck and shoulders sits a heart shaped face. The features that lay on it are just as magnificent as the rest of her.
The tresses that roll down to the small of this specimen's back are of a color that would appear to be a dark brown. Exposure to bright lights would give it lighter hue, but she's content with the usual coloring. The tendrils of hair often curl in a fashion that she finds appealing, and other times it looks to be straight and thick. The thickness of her hair often gets it into tangles of strands, and it is only further encouraged by Tesla's refusal to do anything about said tangles. The oculars that often lead people to a state of pleasant dreaming are similar in coloring to her hair. They're a dark brown hue that contrasts with her tan complexion. In some lights, they appear to be black orbs of malice, but that's all a trick of the light, as she rarely exhibits such a characteristic featured lighting. Her lips have to be one of the more appealing features that are zoned in, aside from her chest. They're puckered in a sweet sort of way, and a bland rosy color. A contradicting description, but one that suits her no less.
Now, her voice holds all the qualities of a good dream when she's in a good mood. It holds a low alto tone that is rather sultry and enticing. It also holds a tonation that could be found in a mother's voice when she lulls a child to sleep. It's usually whisper low, but should she have a need she will raise her voice. When angered, it takes a turn for nightmare fodder. No, it's not as pleasant as it is when she's a happy camper, so best to keep her that way. Her dream-like voice is quite accented, more so from her childhood in the Czech Republic.
Marking(s): A beauty mark right above her lip, on the left side.
Tattoo(s): (view spoiler)
[Personality]
Trait One Perceptive, and yet oblivious
Trait Two Perpetually Dreaming
Trait Three Sarcastic and Witty
Trait Four Truthful
Trait Five Slightly Insane; not there, but getting there
Trait Six Perverse and Vulgar
Despite looking completely thoughtless to everything going on around her, Tesla tends to be very perceptive. It's not often taken much note of by those who really know her, but she can surprise those who don't know her. However, she can also be entirely oblivious to what's going on around her. It can be an annoyance for most people, having someone suddenly tell them what their problems are and not know that something is totally wrong with them. In that way, Tesla could be a better friend than she herself believes, as she would be paying that much more attention to them than to herself.
If you don't keep her involved in conversation, Tesla tends to drift off into the land of dreams with her eyes open. It's a habit she has to break out of during important situations, but usually just lets happen. She'd actually rather be sleeping at all hours of the day as opposed to having to walk around awake. So, she daydreams. She can mumble when she daydreams, and it can be distracting for some people. She, however, has not a care in the world when she's gone. Getting her attention once she's gone tends to be hard, so to speak, unless you distract her with something that she likes.
Given the chance, Tesla can be a whiz when it comes to sarcasm and wit. She's well-versed in it, and it comes out of her mouth like a language she's learned and practiced. She can go overboard, but she knows how to keep it in check. When the voices come out, though, she can't do much about it. Some people would think that she'd practiced or thought about it beforehand, but it comes naturally. Some would call it sass.
Tesla will always tell the truth. There has never been a point in time that she hasn't. As a Christian, it's one of the Ten Commandments to not tell a lie; Thou shalt not lie. She holds strongly to this, and is more likely to hurt feelings than to help anything. This is why you aren't supposed to tell her secrets. Should someone ask about them, they're given away like candy. She doesn't see this as a bad thing, and no, she has no plans of ever seeing it as so.
There are a few inconsistencies in Tesla's mental health. She hasn't been diagnosed with anything despite numerous therapy sessions and evaluations over the years. Her mother had decided that she was perfectly sane, ignoring the clear fact that her daughter was hearing voices and seeing things. However, she does say that her daughter is blessed with the gift of hearing and sight of seeing angels. Yeah, crazy. Tesla likes to believe that to be true, but still has feelings that she might be clinically insane. She doesn't take medication and has managed to keep everything at bay, if you call whispers and shadows "at bay". She doesn't often reflect this instability, but when she does it's difficult for her to regain control over herself.
As far as being a pervert goes, Tesla could be one of the worst. She has a vulgarity that is very rarely matched, and she enjoys being just that. There isn't much to say about it, except that she isn't a shameless flirt, if you were to connect it back to her instability. She has a bad habit of touching, that doesn't sit well with this trait of hers. Best not let her get her hands on you.
[History]
♚ ▌▌▌ It is not often that a child is forgotten in a hospital. No, the occurrence is less likely to happen when the family receiving the child has eagerly awaited the birth of the child. The opposite can be said for the parents of Tesla. The matrimony of the two had been forced, and the resulting child of the pairing was not in the moments of happiness and romantic inclination. Tesla was forged of an angry scheme of malice on her mother's half, enacted foolishly on her father's part. The couple was not meant to be together, but parental forces had much otherwise to say. The marriage was simply political, with the promise of riches for her mother's family. Yes, it was purely a selfish dream to married through Tesla's mother, to the ever so wealthy Aksamit family. They had gained their fame through precision in the markets of apparel, going as far as to force their heir into the world of modeling to further advance the immense wealth. That being said, the couple purposefully forgot their child at the hospital she was born in. They had spent the entire labor process arguing, with Tesla's mother doing most of the screaming. It was by far the most interesting birth to occur at the hospital, and the talk of the town even after the couple left it. However, the child would be saved from the welfare system by a woman by the name of Maria Saldana. Maria had been a woman void of a love life, but in need of the presence of a child. For reasons unknown, she had refused to allow herself to submit to a man, and instead sought a child through matters of adoption. She had been referred to check the hospitals for children left to be cared for, and when she laid eyes on the infant girl forgotten only in spite by her parents, she was taken with her. She raised the child for ten years before any real incident took a misfortune place in the lives of the two.
♚ ▌▌▌Ten years of life for Tesla was the year that she decided in herself that things would change. It wasn't an absent minded thought of an adolescent, but of more than one harmonious being wrapped into one. The child would later find that the voices in her head weren't always the best to be listening to. They had, essentially, been kind friends to fill the void of tangible ones, because of how she'd been tormented for those ten years. She was the one left behind, forgotten, unwanted. It's an unbearable fate for a child to have to go through, and there was no excuse for the event. There was no need for her to find better parents; had her parents loved her in the slightest she would've been very well off. It wasn't that she had a deformity known to them either; they didn't even bother to name her. The inheritance of her last name was the only relic of her true parents, and it pained her. It, however, was exactly what the children of the playground wanted to see. "Nobody loves you," they'd say, and begin to torture her as harshly as children could do. Given the chance, children can be the cruelest of creatures, and Tesla experienced that first hand. She let go of all hopes of being rescued by anyone other than the woman who loved her most: Maria. But, one day changed everything. It was the first day that she'd heard the voices. It started with only one, a simple tone that nearly made her dismiss its presence with the bland cooing it had started up. It remained that way for several hours, always whispering in her ears. The first true words that she listened to were words of comfort, and endless bliss, but it required her to do something; just one thing. The second and third voice joined at her refusal do what she had been asked of, claiming it would make them her friends. It took hours on end to have her continue to listen, and the addition of six other voices. Now, in total, there were nine in her head, and one still laying dormant. It was sleeping for a time best left for its rage. Those hours of pleading and bargaining paid off in favor of the voices. On January Eighth, at exactly twelve in the afternoon, the bodies of twelve children were found hung from the money bars of a playground jungle gym. Their eyes were gouged out, and their tongues were sticking out from their throats. When asked, each child could have been held responsible for the bullying of Tesla, and her mother knew very well. The two made their escape, only to be hindered by the mass of angry parents. Maria then planned to leave the child at an orphanage, for the protection of the country. The plan was for her to
{Part II}disappear for a few months in the child service system, and for Maria to find passage to another place, somewhere safe. She never got the chance, dying just inches from her keys from a bullet through the head.
♚ ▌▌▌Tesla met her parents for the first time just days after she lost the person she thought would be the only one to love her. The couple had managed to work out a situation that suited them best for their differences. With the resolution of their conflict came the blossom of their love. So, they sought the child that they first had in hopes of keeping their love intact, as well as in the acquiring of a son. Tesla's mother had made herself unfertile through a manner of ways years before, and her father had suggested the idea of adoption. Upon the location of Tesla, they found her brother: Gaspard. He was three years her junior, and in the days of her arrival they had formed a strong bond of kinship. The two of them had gone through similar experiences, but Gaspard had not the fortune to be found by a loving mother such as Maria. To make amends with the reluctant new life of returning to the people that caused her torment, she brought Gaspard with her. Tesla never quite felt the love that would be directed at her true parents. No, it was replaced by a burning hatred that left their conversations tense and filled with breaks of silence. She blamed them for the death of Maria, as well as the death of those twelve children. She believed she had every right to, but the only solace she found was in Gaspard. Up until the age of eighteen, the two were always together. Rumors were often spread of incestuous activities taking place between the two, and her parents sought to change that. When she turned eighteen, and him fifteen, they sent her out of the country after a year of debate. They decided that the states would best suit her, and she never saw her brother again. Not physically, at least. She was allowed the privilege of correspondence with him upon her departure. She never bothered to ask of her parents well-being after her leaving.
♚ ▌▌▌The day that trouble arrived in the States in the form of Tesla. Freshly angered by her parents, she lashed out in the form of prostitution. A simple offense with minor sentencing, she was never truly caught. She flirted her way in and out of trouble, risking the ruin of her family's reputation with the mindset of destroying her parents. She continued this spree of unadulterated revenge for two years, before she met her husband, or the man he would be. She didn't know then what she was getting into, not until she realized how crazy love is. On a scale of one to ten, it was her. By some miracle, she had managed to keep some form of chastity intact to give it to this man, Liam Anderson. With the idea of her giving him something so priceless, she was hooked on the idea of him being hers forever. Alas, such a thought would be discarded in the course of a year.
♚ ▌▌▌For Christmas, Tesla received the news that her husband of a year had been cheating on her with several mistresses. To get such news from one of the very women that had been part of the small scheme, was far worse. Her already deteriorating mental state spiraled down to the pits of sanity, shattering the final barrier that held the last voice. Said husband had been out for work until the evening, and so, Tesla planned. The very woman that first alerted her of the cheating was the first to go. How did she die? A car rolling over her a few dozen times. Yes, she survived the initial hitting, but the car crushed her skull the last time it went over. It was exactly what Tesla had wanted to hear, and what the voice had told her to do. The next woman on the list was just as close as the first. She found her end at the latter part of a knife. Of course, as is characterized for most female on female directed crimes, the first area to receive abuse was the genitalia. She went "snatch", as some would refer to the act as. There were three other women on the list that had similar ends. The third was drowned, the fourth chopped in half with a hatchet, and the fifth was...well let's not go there. Tesla saved a separate punishment for Liam that night. She cut off his genitalia from the root, shoved it down his throat, and when he was close to death, she used a cast iron figurine in their hallway to crack his head open. She didn't stay long enough to get caught.
[Current Placement] Patient- High Security
[Obessions]
Sleep:
Tesla prefers the world of dreams than other place, and has a tendency to sleep even when it isn't required of her physically.
Red:
Tesla has a liking for anything that may be red, especially in a liquid form. It's best not to indulge the appetite, as feeding this obsession often makes her violent.
◜｡ ░ ♔ ━━ INDULGENCES ˟ ˟」
██ * ██ * ██ * ██ * ██ * ██ * ██ * ██ * ██ * ██ * ██ * ██
◜ █ ♔ Sleep
◜ █ ♔ Reading
◜ █ ♔ Cotton Candy
◜ █ ♔ Clouds
◜ █ ♔ Red; anything red
◜ █ ♔ Chamomile Tea; it induces sleep
◜｡ ░ ♔ ━━ ANTAGONISTS ˟ ˟」
██ * ██ * ██ * ██ * ██ * ██ * ██ * ██ * ██ * ██ * ██ * ██
◜ █ ♔ Men; she has an acute fear of them
◜ █ ♔ Being Awake
◜ █ ♔ The Voices
◜ █ ♔ Summer
◜ █ ♔ Attention
❝ HOBBIES ♔ ! ♥²
↯ ▍Sleeping
↯ ▍Eating
↯ ▍Cooking
♕ ⋮ Ｆｒｉｅｎｄｓ & Ｆａｍｉｌｙ
▇▇▇ ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇ ▇▇ ( ♛) ▇▇▇ ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇
Maria Saldana
( ✗ ) ╯x ┊❝ Adoptive Mother / deceased ▍▍▍▍ ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ 10 out of 10
Galina Aksamit
( ✗ ) ╯x ┊❝Biological Mother/ Presumed Deceased ▍▍▍▍ ♥♥♥♥ 4 out of 10
Radko Aksamit
( ✗ ) ╯x ┊❝Biological Father/ Missing ▍▍▍▍ ♥♥ 2 out of 10
Gaspard Aksamit
( ✗ ) ╯x ┊❝Adoptive Brother/ Alive ▍▍▍▍ ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ 9 out of 10
Liam Anderson
( ✗ ) ╯x ┊❝ Husband / deceased ▍▍▍▍ ♥♥♥♥♥ 5 out of 10
message 54:
by
Annie, Have no fear of perfection-- you'll never reach it.
(last edited Jul 11, 2013 08:09PM)
(new)
Mod
Aliases~ None
Age~ 17
Date of Birth~ 13th of May
Gender~ Female
Orientation~ Asexual
Current Position~ Patient
Security~ Low
Appearance~
You can’t fool me.
The happy memories with Nikole are what keep me going.
Broken; a caged bird who can’t sing.
The young Welsh lady has been told for her entire life that she is quite the beautiful young girl, although she herself finds it very hard to believe such words. Dark hair, the colour of Hershey’s chocolate, falls down to just above her breasts, and is often pushed back away from her eyes. Eyes are a grayish-blue in colour, the spitting image of a partly-cloudy day, and they sit surrounded by long lashes that match her chocolate locks and tickle her cheeks when she blinks. Skin is the colour of porcelain, and is as smooth as satin, though freckles dot her creamy complexion and spray across her cheeks. Her round, rosy cheeks are met with a paradox of smile and frown lines.
She stands at 5’6, a rather remarkable height for a woman of her heritage, and weighs scarcely 100 pounds, partly due to her forced drug abuse. She can often be found wearing a big, oversized sweater: maroon, and belonging to her eldest and closest brother, paired with leggings or tight jeans. Warm smiles frequent the face of this young girl, and laughter is frequent. In all honesty, Riley doesn’t often close off. She remains open and friendly and warm smiles and all, unless ordered to do something. While she can’t resist, this is the only time one will see her unhappy.
Personality~ Riley is the sweetest girl you will ever meet, especially within the asylum. Her frequent smiles are often accompanied by full laughter and an almost childish attitude. Her laugh is like the little twitter of a bird, quick and quiet, although once you get her started it is nearly impossible to get her to stop. One of the only positive things she learned from Nikole was her extrovert qualities: loud laughter, friendly comments, and warm grins. If one didn’t know of the girl’s initial predicament, they would have no idea of what she had been through, or how she suffered. Riley doesn’t talk about it to anybody, though, as she of course doesn’t want anything to happen like it did before.
She has plenty of friends, as her compulsion for honesty and obedience make her an easy friend to any personality, although she does find it hard to make true friends. She has trust issues, which is to be understood, and with any mention of her “odd honesty” or her “easy going attitude” she closes off and any wall of trust that has been built will be knocked down almost immediately. Even unintentional comments will be taken quite literally, and can often send the Welsh woman into a mess.
She breaks so easily. There are really no other words for it. She has been broken before, and it is just so easy to hurt her nowadays. And yet, the young girl stays positive, or at least tries to. In the midst of an anxiety attack she will try and remind herself about the first few years with Nikole, the good years, the fun years. She tries to tell herself she can break past it, that she is better than her compulsions. However untrue it may be, she can almost convince herself otherwise, which helps her when times get hard. Her breakdowns are rough, consisting of shaking, vomiting, crying, and mood swings that can send her into a padded room. They often come unprecedented, and without a warning, and it can be days before she becomes herself again. Her only fix during times like this is warm chai tea, her favourite.
But don’t let all the negativity get you down. Riley can be fun, she can be kind and sweet and heart-warming. But if you send her down the wrong path, or if you say the wrong thing, she will shatter into more than one million pieces, and you will likely never see her the same.
History~ Riley was born in Wales, and for the first five years of her life she lived in a small little house with her mother, father, and three older brothers in the town of Caerphilly, on the south end of Wales. As the youngest, and also the only girl, Riley was a favourite of her family. She was well behaved, polite, always did what you told her to, and never once lied. Her parents didn’t suspect a single thing; they simply believed that they had done it right on their fourth try. On her fifth birthday, Riley’s parents uprooted her and her family across the ocean to Caribou, Maine.
That year, Riley started kindergarten, speaking very little English and mostly Welsh, which proved difficult for her. Of course, she struggled, but she learned and had such a good attitude. Her teachers would always compliment the Abbey family on their daughter’s respect and eagerness to learn, which in turn led to the Abbey family’s constant approval of their daughter’s compulsive ways. They didn’t know what to suspect, they didn’t see any suspicion necessary. They just figured that Riley was a good kid. School carried on like normal, and it wasn’t until fifth grade when Riley began to understand her condition. She of course didn’t tell anybody, and didn’t complain about it either. But she herself felt the compulsion to tell the truth, and the necessity to obey.
In sixth grade, Riley met who would soon be her best friend, Nikole Clarke. The spunky girl bonded very quickly with Riley, in the same way that opposite atoms attract. She was almost the exact opposite of Riley: risky, spontaneous, and downright obnoxious. The Abbey family didn’t really understand Riley’s relationship with the rebellious girl, but they weren’t about to tell their perfect little angel who she could and couldn’t be friends with. And so Riley and Nikole’s friendship grew closer and closer.
High school started, and it was halfway through freshman year when Nikole picked up on Riley’s ever-worsening condition. Christmas vacation, freshman year, was when everything went downhill for the young Abbey girl. Nikole’s true colours began to show.
It was at this point that Riley began to be abused for what she couldn’t help. Nikole would take her to the mall, be it with or against the brunette’s will, and would demand that she shoplift item after countless item. Riley got into some deep trenches, including the ever-alluring world of drug abuse, all due to Nikole. It was a shock to her parents; the perfect angel that Riley had been for her entire life had disappeared and been taken over by this demon brought upon by Nikole.
Riley fell into the abyss of drugs, pressured by the girl she could once call her friend and could now call the devil. Meth and heroin were the takers; all the dealing was of course done through Riley. She wasn’t happy, but it wasn’t like she had much of a choice. Nikole made her. She knew what she was doing to her friend and she didn’t even care. Nearly two years passed, years of building anxiety and the constant need to find a way out. Every time Riley would escape Nikole, the girl would come back with a vengeance.
It wasn’t long before Riley’s parents began picking up on the drugs, the abuse, everything. All it took was one simple question: “Tell us what Nikole has been making you do.” And everything came pouring out, all at once. Nikole was cut off from the family, and Riley became a mess of anxiety, abuse, stress, and the effects of relapse. She would spend weeks in her room, crying and vomiting in the dark, screaming at her parents, begging for mercy, for death, for anything to fix that little fix. Months passed, and Riley did not get better. It wasn’t long before the Abbey family realized that they couldn’t help their perfect little angel any further, and she was sent to a small asylum by the name of St. Peter’s.
Riley has been at the asylum for little over a year now, and it has done nothing to help her condition; if anything, it has worsened it. The effects of the years of drug abuse are finally gone, and Riley can once again be normal, but they have taken their toll on the girl. She understands her predicament, and it isn’t like it’s hidden amongst the patients of the asylum. Riley tries her hardest not to bring it up, as she has seen the effects that such abuse has on her, and she doesn’t want to go through that again.
Obsessions~ Obedience and telling the truth, as well as chai tea. Anxiety attacks can be calmed ever-so-slightly with a warm cup of her favourite tea, a habit built up during her years in Wales. Her mother would brew her a cup every morning; the tea reminds her of her home, and of her family that loves her, and it helps to bring her out of her funk.
Other~ Riley is one of the few members of the asylum who’s family still visits her frequently. Nikole has made plenty of attempts to come and see the girl she ruined, but Riley’s parents are very strict on informing the staff that Nikole is not to be on the premises. Riley, of course, wouldn’t turn her down should she come barging in, but her parents know what is best for their perfect little angel.
Name: Xavier Devries
Age: 20
Appearance:
Xavier is 6 foot in height and weighs 145 pounds in weight. His hair is currently black for he finds it amusing to change colors. His eyes are a shade of gray that conveys his emotions easily. He has broad shoulders and lean waist because of his heritage. He has a scar running up from his left hip to his left shoulder. He has a burnt welt on his left wrist.
Orientation: Straight
Gender: Male
Personality:
Xavier is a down to earth, conventional person. If it doesn't pass his level of interest he wouldn't bother looking at all since it it a waste of his precious time. He is disorganized when it comes to planning and leading that's why he was a born a follower not a leader. He's neither social or reserved, it all depends on the person he is talking to. He finds it easy to express irritation with others because he found out that the holding back your emotions can make you crazy.
History:
Xavier is originally from Kentucky. He had loving parents who spoiled him to the extent of exaggeration. His childhood was very happy, like the normal boys in his neighborhood.
When he was 6 years old he used to play hide and seek with his mother in their house. When he was hiding under his parent's bed he heard a noise that he thought was a gun being shot off. Knowing his dad, he was the type of person to scare off the wild animals in the forest because their house was close to it but what made him wonder is that the gun shot was near the house. When he walked out to find his mother, what he saw stopped him in his tracks: His mother holding a gun pointed at his father's dead body on the floor. When his mother realized that she was not alone, she smiled one last time at Xavier before putting the gun in her mouth and pulling the trigger.
He was unresponsive after some time. He was sent to an institution when he was just 8 years old. 2 years had passed then when he was optioned for adoption. In the first institution, he started to hear voices but he quickly dismissed it. He was transferred to the next institution at the age of 10 when they said that it was time to move him. That was when the voices he heard frequently, came in rapid succession. He experienced some hallucinations about his parents being alive and they were talking to him in his cell. That was when he was diagnosed with Schizophrenia.
At age 15, they were five institutions after the last two and in the 7th institution he found out that stealing helps in making the voices in his head go away. His first thievery was accidental, he had been sitting in front of a doctor when he saw a shiny, metal pen in front of him. He had the chance to steal it when the doctor momentarily left him to get some papers. After that, when he was all alone in his cell, he took out the pen and the first time in years he heard no one. That's when the word 'stealing' was made into his salvation.
At age 17, he had a serious suicide attempt where he jumped in front of a car and fractured his hip in response to command hallucination and because of this he was transferred to his 8th institution.
All was fine in that institution because the voices stayed back for almost a year and he hoped that his condition was getting better but it was not. He stayed in that institution for 2 years and 3 months, the longest time he had ever stayed in one but the record was broken when they decided to move him again and this time they said no reason. The ninth institution was very brief, only a week because the voices came back and the hallucinations were so real that he couldn't distinguished what is reality and what is not. They recommended him to go to St. Peter's and that's when he felt hopeless that he wouldn't get any better.
When Xavier was transferred to the St. Peter's Asylum, he knew that it was a moot point of him getting any better but he resisted the voice that told him to end his life and he somewhat controlled it whenever he is alone.
Current Placement: Patient
Obsessions: He's addicted to stealing from money to jewelry and once a spoon.
Other:
Age: 20
Appearance:
Xavier is 6 foot in height and weighs 145 pounds in weight. His hair is currently black for he finds it amusing to change colors. His eyes are a shade of gray that conveys his emotions easily. He has broad shoulders and lean waist because of his heritage. He has a scar running up from his left hip to his left shoulder. He has a burnt welt on his left wrist.
Orientation: Straight
Gender: Male
Personality:
Xavier is a down to earth, conventional person. If it doesn't pass his level of interest he wouldn't bother looking at all since it it a waste of his precious time. He is disorganized when it comes to planning and leading that's why he was a born a follower not a leader. He's neither social or reserved, it all depends on the person he is talking to. He finds it easy to express irritation with others because he found out that the holding back your emotions can make you crazy.
History:
Xavier is originally from Kentucky. He had loving parents who spoiled him to the extent of exaggeration. His childhood was very happy, like the normal boys in his neighborhood.
When he was 6 years old he used to play hide and seek with his mother in their house. When he was hiding under his parent's bed he heard a noise that he thought was a gun being shot off. Knowing his dad, he was the type of person to scare off the wild animals in the forest because their house was close to it but what made him wonder is that the gun shot was near the house. When he walked out to find his mother, what he saw stopped him in his tracks: His mother holding a gun pointed at his father's dead body on the floor. When his mother realized that she was not alone, she smiled one last time at Xavier before putting the gun in her mouth and pulling the trigger.
He was unresponsive after some time. He was sent to an institution when he was just 8 years old. 2 years had passed then when he was optioned for adoption. In the first institution, he started to hear voices but he quickly dismissed it. He was transferred to the next institution at the age of 10 when they said that it was time to move him. That was when the voices he heard frequently, came in rapid succession. He experienced some hallucinations about his parents being alive and they were talking to him in his cell. That was when he was diagnosed with Schizophrenia.
At age 15, they were five institutions after the last two and in the 7th institution he found out that stealing helps in making the voices in his head go away. His first thievery was accidental, he had been sitting in front of a doctor when he saw a shiny, metal pen in front of him. He had the chance to steal it when the doctor momentarily left him to get some papers. After that, when he was all alone in his cell, he took out the pen and the first time in years he heard no one. That's when the word 'stealing' was made into his salvation.
At age 17, he had a serious suicide attempt where he jumped in front of a car and fractured his hip in response to command hallucination and because of this he was transferred to his 8th institution.
All was fine in that institution because the voices stayed back for almost a year and he hoped that his condition was getting better but it was not. He stayed in that institution for 2 years and 3 months, the longest time he had ever stayed in one but the record was broken when they decided to move him again and this time they said no reason. The ninth institution was very brief, only a week because the voices came back and the hallucinations were so real that he couldn't distinguished what is reality and what is not. They recommended him to go to St. Peter's and that's when he felt hopeless that he wouldn't get any better.
When Xavier was transferred to the St. Peter's Asylum, he knew that it was a moot point of him getting any better but he resisted the voice that told him to end his life and he somewhat controlled it whenever he is alone.
Current Placement: Patient
Obsessions: He's addicted to stealing from money to jewelry and once a spoon.
Other:
message 56:
by
Annie, Have no fear of perfection-- you'll never reach it.
(last edited Jan 02, 2015 09:54AM)
(new)
Mod
Aliases~ None
Age~ 7
Date of Birth~ 3rd of February
Gender~ Female
Orientation~ Straight
Current Position Patient
Security~ Low, sometimes even none
Appearance~
Isn’t it nice to know a lot?
More often than not, curiosity kills the kitten.
The young blind girl doesn’t pay any attention to appearances (more so she can’t), and so every bit of the seven year old is thrown together through years of habit. Her hair, which began a platinum blonde, has developed a strawberry tone as her years at the asylum grew. The curls, however, have not left, and Morgan usually leaves her curls bundled around her shoulders. The ringlets frame her face, which is sharply angled for a child of her age, and as of late can often be found tied up into a bun. Her eyes are a cloudy blue, almost more of a lapis in colour, and are rimmed with lashes that are more of a brown in colour. Her eyebrows are pale, and have never been nor will they ever need to be plucked.
Her skin is nearly as white as snow, and even ten minutes outside can leave her red as a lobster. She stands at a mere 4’9, and weighs hardly 70 lbs. Her skin is blemish free, and very nearly freckle free, as she spends close to no time outdoors. Upon sight, one would not see Morgan as blind. She has grown so accustomed to her empty world that it even surprises her sometimes when she remembers that she cannot see.
Personality~ Morgan is one of the sweetest girls at the asylum, partially due to her age, although it mostly comes from her personality. The girl has grown up remarkably, and does not have a mean bone in her body. The little blonde is very amiable, and can make friends with nearly anyone she meets. There are not any people in the asylum that would be willing to hurt a little girl, which adds some extra protection to Morgan’s innocence.
As she has grown up in the asylum, she does not know the harshness of the world, nor does she understand the darker sides of most people. Sweet little Morgan is as innocent as can be, without understanding of what goes on in the outside world. For years, Morgan lived as innocent as could be, and only just recently has her innocence been played with.
Raven, the very murderer that terrorizes the asylum, has become almost a tutor for Morgan. While he doesn’t do so out of malice, he teaches the young girl of the darker sides of the world, and also how to take care of herself within the asylum. Unlike most at the asylum, Morgan has found herself developing a father-daughter relationship with the Indian, and she actually tends to enjoy his company.
Despite her slowly deteriorating innocence, Morgan is still as sweet as can be. Her laughter, when present, is infectious, and her smiles light her entire face up. Morgan does have her bad days, however, and she can fall silent and entirely unresponsive within a matter of seconds. Her talks with Raven have triggered occasional nightmares, which leave her a mess, although Raven cares enough not to entirely ruin the girl as he pushes her.
History~ Morgan does not have much of a history, as she has spent most all of her life in the asylum. When Elene Harris moved to Greece in the summer after she graduated college, she met Alexander Cartwright, another American who had moved to Greece the year before. A single summer of romance and wistful love passed, and by the end of summer Alexander had asked Elene to marry him. She didn’t think anything of it, of course accepting the proposal, and with months of planning, the pair had produced the perfect Catholic wedding. A few months later, Morgan was conceived, and it was at that point that everything began spiraling downhill.
Elene was a weak woman to start, and throwing another human inside of her to sap all of her energy was not the best of ideas. The frail American woman became sicker and sicker the longer the pregnancy lasted, and one could easily say that Alexander’ spite against his daughter began with that very reason. Nine months of sickness and diseases passed, and Elene died in childbirth, while Morgan came out perfectly unscathed. Or so it seemed. Alexander already held spite towards his daughter, blaming her for the death of his recent wife, but when he discovered Morgan’s blindness, that was the end of the line.
It was almost automatic; Alexander was clearly not fit to be a father, and Elene’s death had left him upset and angry. He took any opportunity he could see to blame his daughter for the tragedy that had happened. He didn’t abuse her, but he certainly didn’t take care of her. He tried for three years to find a family to adopt her, but you would be surprised how many families don’t want a little blind daughter. When she turned three, Alexander dropped his daughter off at the nearby asylum doorstep, without warning or any form of letter for the staff. He drove her there at an ungodly hour of the morning, sat her on the doorstep, and promised her he would be right back. It only took thirty minutes for Morgan to realize that he wasn’t coming back.
Morgan has spent four full years in the asylum, and since then it has grown to be a basic part of her life. When she first arrived, she was quiet and reserved, praying nearly every day (Catholicism was one of the few things Alexander instilled in his daughter before leaving her), and wondering why she had been put in this situation. As the years passed, however, Morgan grew more accustomed to her life in the asylum. After all, it’s all she knows.
Obsessions~ None.
Other~ Morgan was once very religious, as it was all she had left from her real mother and father, but as the years have passed she has begun to abandon the God she once knew and loved.
Relationships~
Raven Adair, the father she never had~ The relationship between Morgan and the Indian is an odd one, and it leaves patients and nurses alike jumpy and terrified for the little girl. Raven fills the role of a teacher for Morgan, almost, and one could even say he looks out for the little girl as if she were his own sibling. Few people manage to fall onto the good side of the Indian, and Morgan is certainly one of them. Though she herself is unaware of it, Raven has almost replaced the father that always hated her. He teaches her how to make a living with her circumstances, how to survive in the asylum, and in all reality he looks after her.
Rosemarie Toom, the mother who died too soon~ Much like Raven stands in for her father figure, Rosemarie provides the mother that Morgan never had. The former Huntress provides a gentler teaching hand to Morgan, which counter’s the lessons learned from Raven. Morgan seems to spend much more time around Rosemarie than Raven, perhaps only for the fact that the nurses aren’t as terrified of Rosemarie as they are of Raven.
Jason Turner, the one her father hates ~ Something about Morgan managed to attract nearly all of the asylum’s big-name psychopaths to her, and the infamous Jason Turner was not left out of this oddity. Unlike Raven and Rosemarie, Jason does not represent a parental figure to Morgan, though he seems to enjoy attempting to teach her the same lessons as her father. The animosity between Raven and Jason has yet to affect Morgan’s relationships with either of the men, but the possibility is always there.
Garrett Jacobsen, the closest thing she has to a friend~ Garrett, or, as Morgan knows him, Eric, has very quickly become one of Morgan’s nearest and dearest friends of the asylum. The boy was there for her when she needed someone to cry with, and he has done nothing but be sweet, caring, and kind to her. He has helped show her parts of the world she would never have thought to explore before, and she loves him, perhaps as a child loves a friend, perhaps not.
message 57:
by
*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.
(last edited Jul 15, 2013 10:52PM)
(new)
Mod
Age: Sixteen
DOB- December 11th
Orientation: Straight
Gender: Female
Appearance: Juana is at an average height for her age at 5'7. Her Hispanic-originating skin is a rich, dark color that's not black, but just on the verge of shades of black. Rather, it is a very dark shade of tan, not any shade that can be found at any old tanning salon, but it's the kind of color that can only be achieved with Hispanic genetics and sunlight.
Juana's eyes are very unique. They are fringed with long, thick dark eyelashes all around her wide-shaped eyes. Although they are beautiful, the eyelashes are not what are siginificantly rare about her eyes; it's the color. They are a hazel color, though not at all green or brown, as most colors of hazel are. On the contrary, they hold a soft golden color to them that is usually only found in the eyes of a cat. They are bright and blazing, careful not to show any emotion that she's feeling. Her eye sit on either side of a cute, if not wide, button nose. Her cheekbones are not the most prominent of cheekbones in the world by far, but she is by no means chubby, as her slim body could tell you. Juana never had any baby fat when she was youngr, and she certainly doesn't have any fat at all now. A curvy body, true, with an average bust and curved hips that are defined underneath any article of clothing.
One thing to be considered pale about Juana are her lips, and they are a soft baby pink, sometimes even bright baby pink if they are healthier than usual. Juana is not usually one to smile, and she doesn't have to with lips like hers. They make everything seem more eventful and dramatic with their fullness. If Juana is simply thinking or possibly doing nothing, the lips make her look like she's reliving a traumatic event, and such is not the case.
Juana is all together an exotic-looking beauty, and her long locks are no exception. They stop growing at the shoulders, her roots a very dark brown, almsot black and then steadily down towards the ends they turn dark brown and then to a very light brown that's almost dirty blonde. A looker, for sure, but Juana is a very humble one.
No. Go away, I don't want to talk to you.
Excuse me? Would you like to run that by me again?
Oh, hello. You startled me.
She senses revenge is close, and it is sweet.
Personality: Juana is a classy person. She enjoys keeping up on her Spanish (she usually talks in her first language when she is trying to be secretive or is upset), and doing things in a classy manner. One of her top, constant priorities is to keep her reputation clean and as unsuspicious as possible.
Juana is an interesting machine. Machine being the key word because that's how she acts. When you meet this girl, you will think of her as one of the nicest, most friendly of patients around, and you will get the impression that she had a mutual impression of you, but such is it hardly the case. Juana will chat with complete strangers, laugh with them like old friends, she will seem to be having a blast. On the inside, she is distrubingly calculating, not trusting you for one second, thinking that the moment she turns her back you will slip a knife in there like it's hot butter.
That's something else about Juana. Her mind is an interesting thing, but also a very bad and scary thing if you get on her bad side at all for any reason. Her mind is capable of coming up with tricky schemes, and a well thought out plan to go with it in order to make her schemes run smoothly. Juana is not only good at revenge, but she is also good at making it loo like an accident or other ways to not blame herself for the situation.
Now getting passed the machine, if it is at all possible, will show you a different girl that thinks and acts 100% human. A girl, maybe, that acts younger than she really is, but then, constant hidden fear and worry can do that to a person. She is afraid to trust anyone because she is afraid that her trust will be taken advantage of, and then destroyed because of what the person did to break their trust. In order to prevent any bad feelings and bad actions, Juana does what everything she can to prevent relationships and trust.
History: Juana had a wonderfil home life in the city of Cuenca, Ecuador where she lived with her fmaily of her mother, father, and four younger siblings. This scenario of siblings and fact that her parents had to work a lot left Juana feeling responsible for her family.
Juana got a long well with all of her siblings, and all of them would come to her if they ever needed anything. They all needed help with homework, girls, boys, friends, teachers, parents, anything. It was not strange or unexpected when Juana's younger sister, Iratze came to Juana in her room one night rather late. What wasn't normal was the way Iratze's fourteen-year-old face was shiny and streaked with tears when she came into the room. What wasn't normal was the way Juana had to hold her- so, so tight- in order to stop her uncontrollable shaking. It also wasn't normal how Juana could barely make sense of the jarbled Spanish through Iratze's sobs. No confias en mi? (you don't trust me?), esta bien. (it's okay), and despegar sus pantalones (take off your pants) were some phrases she could out to paint Juana a picture of what had happened. Others she could understand are ones too undecent to tell about.
Juana told her sister not to worry about it, and that it didn't really happen, she'd only had a terrible nightmare and to go to sleep. She slept in Juana's room and wouldn't go near him, or past his house (the family friend was a neighbor) alone. It was froma walka round the neighborhood that the family friend had stopped her and the deed had been done.
Juana felt responsible for the situation at hand. She was the older sister, and that alone made her responsible for helping Iratze, and also she felt responsible because Iratze had come to her for help. Those elements helped Juana to make her decision, and that seemed to bring the mind you know now to the surface. It wasn't hard to do, as she had an intelligent mind to begin with. A plan hatched in her mind, a plan scarishly diabolicle for such a young mind.
She acted as though nothing had happened (that had been the hardest part). Juana never told her parents, or the fmily friend what she knew. Instead, she would babysit the friend's small children for several wekks, biding her time to eliminate any suspision. One night, about a month after the incident, Juana made her first move. She had gotten a hold of the poison arsenic from a black market nearby. She placed the poison into the bottle was was going to feed the baby from. The poison began to set in, and Juana placed the baby intot he crib, face shoved into a pillow to finish the job. No one would suspect arsenic, especially with the scene in the nursery and carefully washed bottle. The couple arrived home, and Juana told them about how the baby was unusually quiet and she was just about to check on her. She had looked slightly worried, but they'd paid her and told her to go home without worry. Until they checked on the baby.
The wife and other child had gone a few months later with respectable time inbetween them. Both were made to look like accidents, but further research would find arsenic in their body. Juana didn't care about the deaths of the family or if she got caught. The point had been to watch the man who had harmed her sister suffer a terrible life. She found that to be more satisfying than a quick death. That was about the time that the police was putting pieces together. When she was questioned, she simply told the police what she had done and why. Now, any normal person who would admit to such a thing would be thrown in jail along with the other child-kiling scum, but Juana was not. She had been so calm when she admited to the murders, she had been assumed for insanity (at the trial the intellifent girl had ordered her lawyer to plead insanity on her part as well. She would not go to jail for simple revenge) and placed in the asylum, but not before the man had been placed in prison for the crime he had committed. Her parents weren't entirely sure what to do with their daughter, and they had mixed feelings about her and what they wanted to do with her. On the one hand, they were so happy that all of their children had been brave, and they were proud that their babies had acted as brave as they did. On the other hand, they were terrified of their daughter and how she acted around them now. It seemed that they lived with an unresponsive machine more than their used-to-be-sweet and bright daughter. The hand that held fear ended up outweighing the other hand, and that led to research looking for mental asylums to place their daughter. An asylum that was far, far away from them. They found St. Peter's, and so far liked what they saw. They then regretably sent their daughter there, and although they thought the distance and being in the asylum was a great place for her, even though it ended up breaking both Juana's heart and her parents'. She hasn't been here long, but the poor girl has already come down with a light case of homesickness. .
Obsessions: Arsenic. It's her favorite poison and way of killing other people.
Other: Relationships pending
Name: Sophie Anne CollinsAge: 21
Appearance: Sophie Anne has long auburn hair with grey eyes, she has few freckles in her cheeks. She is very pale, like porcelain. Her lips are thin and has very fine facial factions. She is quite short and thin.
Orientation: Bisexual
Gender: Female
Personality: She has always been a calm and quiet girl. She is very intelligent although they made fun of her at school for that. She is very shy and has difficulty to make friends. She reads a lot, loves animals (specially horses) and is a very good swimmer. After the incident, she became even quieter but a very good observer. She has now a fierce look on her eyes. She likes to analyze the rest of the patients. She looks weak from the outside but deep down she can be a tough girl.
History: Her daddy died when she was three and her baby sister one. Her mom used to drink a lot of whiskey. Sophie Anne took care of her little sister Mandy. Her mom married years later when she was fourteen years old. The man's name was Paul Coleman. He used to beat her mom all the time. Then, her mom angry and blaming her daughters beat them as well. Sophie Anne escaped these violent scenes by reading a lot and writing happy stories, wishing she was one of her characters. One day, Mandy told Sophie Anne that Paul punched her really hard and cut her cheek open. Sophie Anne was mortally angry. She went to speak to Paul and threatened him to kill him if he ever touched her sister again. One night, exactly at midnight, Sophie Anne heard a noise. She went to check on her sister but she wasn´t in her bed. She went to the bathroom and found her sister dead on the bathtub drowned. She screamed and ran only to find Paul. He grabbed her and intended to rape her. She called for her mom but she only watched. Sophie Anne managed to escape and grabbed a big kitchen knife. She murdered both Paul and her mom. She was later moved to the Asylum and was classified with Personality Disorder.
Current Placement: Patient
Obsessions: She needs to write, to keep journals and make up stories. Makes a lot of references to her sister Mandy
Other: In relationships she never had any luck. No girls or boys would go talk to her even though she was attracted to them. She dedicated her life to Mandy until she was drowned.
message 59:
by
*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.
(new)
Mod
Age: Eight
DOB-June tenth
Gender: Male
Orientation: Straight
Appearance: Eric is a young boy that could easily pass for ten or twelve rather than his true age of eight. He's tall for his age and is almost as tall as those much older than himself. He stands at 4'11 above the heads of most his age. Eric's body is as tall as it is lean and his under developed muscles are visible underneath his taught skin which although is not pale, Eric would not be considered as tan as he once would have been. Eric has lost a lot of color at his time at St. Peter's.
Though Eric looks old for his age, he still holds a face described by many as cherubic. Plush, full lips in the bow shape normally only possessed by doll's settle against the flawless quality of his skin. Dark, thick eyelashes tend to brush the young boy's high cheekbones when he blinks or is asleep and when he's awake, they fringe the large child-like eyes that are a bright hazel. They seem to have every eye color in the irises, spots of paint dotted against a hazel colored canvas. Eric's hair is kept short and is both a light shade of walnut colored brunette and then the ends which have taken on a light blonde that's almost bleach blonde because of countless times he's spent in the sun.
There are some days when Eric doesn't look so angelic. What some would describe as lean now looks very, very thin. Sickly thin that is obviously not healthy for the boy. There are days where his features are gaunt-looking, his facial features that promise the looks of chiseled features when he gets older now look too prominent, swallowing his his shallow face. When this happens, the dark bruise-like bags underneath his eyes darken his entire face, making his face look like it's been taken over by shadows. These characteristics are always with Eric, but they are little things that are mostly overlooked on what Eric calls 'normal days'. On 'bad days', those little characteristics come out and take control of the little boy, making the what were little characteristics the only thing you can see.
A friendly smile.
So old for being so young.
Personality: Eric has a bright and bubbling personality that makes him fairly well-liked among the patients and especially around the staff. He's intelligent, bright for his age. Sometimes he can pick up on what the older kids are discussing even if it's a topic too old for him, but it's usually not too often unless such comments aren't subtle. The young boy is still innocent, and that can get in the way of his wit. Understandable, of course, little boys can't understand everything, so like bright children who want to know more, Eric likes to ask questions. Upon meeting him he will probably ask a lot of questions about you, about your life, or something that he doesn't quite understand. He means no harm by them, and wants to know more.
Eric tries to have a smile on his face often and likes to make others smile, too. He will try anything to get someone to smile whether it be a joke, a silly act, or just being so pleasant that it makes the person smile. Most times, it isn't that hard to do. Eric's personality is not only amiable, friendly, and cheerful, but contagious as well.
There are times when this little sweetheart is not himself and when that happens, you run. He becomes dangerous to those around him and much as he try, he can't stop it, his transformation. When the 'bad food' takes over Eric becomes vicious and angry for no reason. It's sometimes impossible to tell what will trigger his anger. He has no mercy at that moment of his dark mind and he is ruthless. It doesn't matter who it is that's beside him--it could be his best friend--he will attack them and possibly maul them. The worst part is that Eric's evil side, though he claims it isn't him, enjoys every minute of it until his outburst ends.
When the boy's outbursts are over, and he says it's when the bad food leaves his system, Eric turns back to his normal self. With him coming out of his rampage, Eric becomes incredibly guilty about his attacks, especially if his victim was someone he called a friend. It's days like those where Eric looks as sick as he is. The young man will try his best to track that person down and apologize.
History: Like any young man born and raised in the deep south, Garrett Eric Jacobsen is addressed by his middle name rather than his first. Where he was borne in the town of Bethune, South Carolina, you went by your middle name. Bethune was a very small town and as every small town goes, it looked perfect from the outside, but every small town has its drama and its oddities. Bethune was no exception.
Eric was second born to Brian and Lauren Jacobsen. Eric was the only child at the house soon after he was born when his brother Tom spent time at the university out of their small town. When he was old enough, Eric helped out on the family farm and ran ramped through the woods catching small animals, swimming in the creeks that ran through the woods behind his home. In the winter, he would help his father with trapping and hunting. During the day, life was active, fun-filled, and just about perfect.
At night, things were harder. Eric never slept very well because the sound of his parents arguing was too loud. He heard everything they argued about, and it broke his heart to hear because they mostly argued about him, but it was also impossible to ignore because they were so loud. They argued about bills, selling the farm, whether Eric needed glasses, braces, they argued about how well he did in school, him hunting, and a lot of other things that seemed pointless and stupid. Listening to them argue like he was a pest, Eric spent many nights crying, convinced that he was the problem in the family.
A year later, when Eric was six, his parents split up and the Jacobsnes were the talk of the town. There were rumors that Brian had gone drunk and beat his wife and son, and there was another that Lauren had been having an affair. Eric hadn't heard any of the rumors and even if he had, he wouldn't have understood them or believed them. The young boy was convinced that the divorce was his fault because they argued over him so much, but he sat in his guilt in silence.
The first sign that Eric wasn't taking the breakup well came a few weeks into it when one Saturday morning his father was moving his things out of the home and into his new one. Eric and his mother were in the kitchen and Eric was frowning into his bowl of cereal. Lauren Jacobsen asked him what was wrong and was quite surprised to hear that Eric's cereal wasn't speaking to him. "Well, does your cereal usually speak to you?" she had asked him, trying to not sound alarmed. "Sometimes," Eric had replied and then began to eat.
As time went on, Eric would make more comments about his food talking to him. His peas asked him not to eat them, and his mashed potatoes wanted Eric's mother to know that she looked very pretty. Lauren didn't know what to do with her son, and to calm her own nerves, blew it off as a young boy's imagination, as Eric certainly was a very imaginative child. When Eric stopped eating, claiming that his food told him not to. When he wouldn't even eat ice cream (it was, after all, the most irresistible food for young children)his mother became very concerned for her son. Neighbors told her not to worry- it was a reaction to the divorce and it would pass. But it didn't pass, and Eric's health began to deteriorate.
Eric became extremely small, and soon he wasn't as strong as he used to be. He refused to eat, and tried to encourage others to do the same. He cried when his mother tried to make him eat or when he saw her eat any food. His health became so bad that he would have fainting spells. He had several during the week which led him to spending a lot of time in the hospital where he refused to eat the food there as well, but the nutritional I.V. drips helped him a little and the staff had nothing else to do for him but release him and send him home. Lauren Jacobsen decided that her son missed his father and she shipped him off to the butcher across town.
His condition only worsened, though as he stayed longer with his father. He got at his worst when he walked into the large slaughter house behind his new second home, looking for his father to ask if he could go to a friend's house. He had stopped dead in his tracks when he walked inside. What he saw had made his blood run cold. Eric hadn't realized that his father was in the middle of working that day and he had seen things he couldn't unsee no matter how badly he wanted to. There had been so much blood everywhere. It had been all over the concrete floor and running off the table coming out of a large hog that his father was cleaning out to finish butchering. Around him on large hooks were bodies of cows, ribs, and several other pieces of meat. Terrified and disgusted, Eric had run away as fast as his sickly self could. It was shortly after this experience, Eric's condition got complicated and more difficult.
Eric discovered that not only was his food talking to him, but also that there were two kinds of food, good food that consisted of fruits and vegetables along with other foods and bad food consisted of pork, poultry, veal, beef, and any and all sorts of meat. He returned to his mother's and she had given him their dinner--beef stew--without hopes of him eating any. Like the day with his cereal, Eric was looking down at his food in obvious frustration. Lauren had asked her son what was wrong, and he told her that the bad food, the beef, wanted him to eat it, but he didn't want to as it gave him bad feelings. His mother encouraged him to eat, grateful that Eric wanted to eat something.
That was a big mistake.
The next day after a breakfast of bacon and sausage Eric had gone to school where he had attacked a young boy for no reason. He had beaten him up very badly. He broke his nose, gave him a concussion, and busted his knee along with several bumps and many bruises. Eric then ran through the room, still in obvious rage. The small room had simple drywall walls, which the young boy had punched through. Then, almost as if someone had flipped a switch, the angry expression left his face and he slumped down onto the floor, sobbing and apologizing over and over. When asked what had happened in the principle's office, Eric had apologized and told them that the bad food had to get out,and it had when he attacked the other boy. He was sent home, and then his mother took him to the doctor. The doctor said that he couldn't help the boy, and a mental asylum would be able to help him more than he could. He suggested St. Peter's and after some research, the Jacobsens felt they had no choice but to send their little boy off.
It's never predictable how long after he eats his bad food that Eric will explode, making him a horrible ticking time bomb. He tries hard to refrain from eating any meat, but sometimes, it's all but forced down his throat, much to the Jacobsen boy's horror.
Security: Moderate
Obsessions: Food both good and bad. He doesn't eat them as often as possible, but will listen to what they have to say to him and will gladly tell other about his conversations with them.
Other: Eric has one weapon he has concealed from the guards. A hunting knife given to him by his father before times got bad. It's about four inches long with a small notch on the back of the blade that curves upward. The notch is used for the skinning of animals.
message 60:
by
*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.
(last edited Aug 13, 2013 07:57AM)
(new)
Mod
Nicknames- Rosie, Inada, but call her either of those names, and you will soon regret it.
Age: Sixteen
DOB- May eleventh
Gender: Female
Orientation: Straight
Appearance: Rosemarie is thought of to many patients as 'cute' or 'little', and that is probably due to her elvish-like appearance. It's true, Rosemarie does have elvish or pixie-like features from her straight, narrow button nose to her small cherub lips and high cheekbones down to her small stature, Rosemarie looks every bit as small and pixie-like as everyone says. Looks can be deceiving, though, and this little firecracker proves it. Even though Rosemarie stands at a flat five feet and weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet, leaving her to be one of the smallest patients her age here, this little girl can pack a punch, She thinks it fitting, as it is said that dynamite comes in small packages. Those soft, cherub lips? They are almost always turned up into a smirk or even sometimes a snarl, a terrifying one that shows all of her teeth, pulling back even over the canines into a feline snarl. She almost never smiles and when she does, it's a small smile and very weak. There are special people who can see her true smile, her bright and happy smile, but there are a rare few who have the privilege.
Rosemarie is most easily characterized by her hair. It's a deep, flaming red very much like the flames of a roaring fire. These brilliant locks of red are also very curly and more often than not unmanageable, leaving it to usually look windswept even if she hasn't stepped a foot outside the door. Her hair is long, but would look longer if she could run a straightener through it or even tame it some. It usually only stops in its big waves and curls to about her bust, which is small like the rest of her, but it's enough to make a small bulge in her slightly curvy figure.
Striking against her milky white, pale skin are eyes that will certainly catch your attention. They're a brilliant cobalt blue, wide and taking up a decent amount of her face, leaving enough room for her small eyebrows. These eyes can turn to pure ice, cold as the arctic to show her clear dislike for you, or plain blue fire, enough to nearly mask the flaming of her hair to show her raging hate or just plain rage. Finally, if you just so happen to be on this ex-Hunter's good side, these eyes can be the window to her heart and you won't see frozen irises or eyes of flaming blue, but cool, calm eyes of a beautiful blue that glimmer with a spark of something whether it be happiness or mischief or a teasing gleam. To match her hair, long but sparse eyelashes fringe these eyes that really are the window to her soul. You can easily read what emotions she's feeling through her eyes, though she tries (and sometimes succeeds) to mask it.
Rosemarie has been blessed (so she thinks) to not have a face of freckles, as many with her color hair do. A few, small reddish dots pepper the bridge of her nose or her cheeks, but not very many flaw her porcelain skin and for that she is grateful. Still, a very faint, barely noticeable scar is visible on Rosemarie's cheek, visible at kissing distance and only if you're looking for it. The scar travels to her right ear, where it is a terrible scar, no doubt from a horrible wound that must have nearly cut her ear off.
What in the Hades do you want?
One of her rare smiles of outright joy.
Really not as sweet as I look.
Personality: Rosemarie is a very haughty girl who has a lot of spunk, and sometimes it can prove to be a little too much and can get her into trouble when her mouth opens before her mind can process what she just said. A lot of the time, she doesn't think before she speaks or acts, and she deeply regrets it later. She's spunky and sassy to many, if not everyone she meets, with a quick tongue that more often than not is quite heavily barbed and just dripping in dry sarcasm. She's confident, sometimes very cocky, which is never too good for her, especially when it's so easy for her to make enemies. Most don't like Rosemarie for the way she talks, the way she tries to manipulate people through her words, but Rosemarie doesn't really care. She knows she has an attitude, and she doesn't see any reason why she shouldn't make it known to others like she knows.
As well as an attitude, Rosemarie has a short-temper, a real hothead. It really doesn't take much to set this girly off, sometimes a simple word will drive her into a fiery rant where she sees nothing but red. This is by far her biggest weakness because her temper makes her predictable, and then, that makes her vulnerable which makes her weak, an easy target. She hates being vulnerable, hates being weak, but her temper just gets in the way of her trying to act big and tough. With that temper and hotheaded nature comes determination and if Rosemarie wants to do something, she'll stubbornly attempt it until she's blue in the face or has it mastered. Despite her shortness and small stature, she wants nothing more than to prove she's a big girl, and she can take care of herself and be independent, because she likes being independent, it makes her feel like she's accomplished something.
In reality, if you can get past the terrible temper, the spunk, and the attitude, you'll find that Rosemarie is surprisingly just like any other girl. She has a big heart that's filled with love, only showed for certain people because Rosemarie chooses to not trust many people and so not many get to see her sweet side, which is very giving and kind. For her to set aside her pride and care for someone is a big deal that should be realized by those who are lucky enough to experience it.
History: Rosemarie was born in the United State's hat, Canada. She lived just outside of Toronto in the town of Mississauga. She had loving parents who seemed to always be there for her, ready to support her no matter what. As much as she loved Roger and Lily Toom, Rosemarie had another person in her life who she might have loved even more than her two wonderful parents. Her name was Lisa, and her and Rosemarie had been best friends since they were in diapers and they did everything together. They traveled to the city together, studied together, failed together, went to events together, and of course, checked out guys together. Rosemarie herself never really dated, but she went along with Lisa when she fell for a guy and gushed over him.
When the girls were teenagers, they started to branch off into independent interests as most girls their age do, and they still stayed close and the best of friends. Lisa took to yoga, while Rosemarie became interested in something more unique and impractical. Since she had been a young girl, Rosemarie had been interested in archery and had even been shooting little blunt arrows since she was a toddler. With that hobby in mind, Rosemarie found herself lost in the alluring wonders of Greek mythology. As many had done before her, the redhead took to these stories as a religion and soon followed the gods and goddesses, though she had one in her favor in particular.
Rosemarie had respected the Greek goddess, Artemis and became quickly interested with her as soon as she read about her. She had many similar personality qualities as Rosemarie, and even had the will power to remain an eternal maiden. Soon, Rosemarie took her new religion a step further and followed Artemis as her primary goddess, becoming a Hunter. Her hobby of archery became vital here, and during this time period she got a stellar shot, and also made several changes in her life with the support of her parents. She had a small tent in the backyard where she slept and tried to primarily live, as it was a requirement to be a Hunter. So were the several other things that Rosemarie did in order to become a full-fledged Hunter which meant becoming a vegetarian, giving sacrifice to Artemis, helping out the animals, and most importantly, swearing off men for al eternity. To reach all of these requirements, you became an eternal maiden like Artemis. For the longest time, Rosemarie never thought to use her religion for bad, and certainly not her shooting talent, but she did when her friend was in danger.
Lisa had begun to date a boy much older than the two girls who were fourteen. He was out of high school where they were just starting, and he never wanted to meet Lisa's friend, or would make last-minute rain checks. Rosemarie didn't like the situation at all, and didn't like the boy, who's name was Greg, despite never meeting him. Seeing how smitten Lisa was with him, she couldn't imagine breaking her friends heart and chose not to tell her how she felt.
At least, not until Lisa was invited by her boyfriend, Greg to a party with all of his friends who were over eighteen. Lisa would be the only fourteen-year-old there as it had been made clear that Rosemarie was not invited. She tried to convince Lisa not to go, that it was a bad idea, but Lisa was blind to the danger and went anyway. She very much regretted that decision several hours later, when she had run away from the party and found Rosemarie. She crawled up onto her friend's lap and began to bawl her poor eyes out. Greg hadn't been as nice as he seemed, especially when Lisa had denied him any bedroom activity at the party. Him and his friends took poorly to her refusal, and they all did a terrible thing to poor Lisa. To put it in simple words; they all raped her.
Rosemarie was enraged when Lisa told her, furious beyond imagination. Rosemarie was the strong one, the one who would fix things, the one who would make it all better, that was her job, and she was sure to stick by it that night. She told her friend not to worry and after coaxing some more information out of Lisa, grabbed her bow and headed to the residence. She found them still all together, up in the room, talking and laughing while the party was still raging downstairs. It was someone downstairs who heard their screams over the music and called the police.
What the found was a gory, terrible murder scene with arrows puncturing the bodies, several going through their genitals, making a statement. When Rosemarie was put on trial and the details of her religion came out, she was thought of as insane and sent to St. Peter's rather than a juvenile detention facility.
Rosemarie spent two years at the asylum as a headstrong, determined Hunter until she met another patient who changed her life. After her third year at St. Peter's she dropped her status as a Hunter and allowed herself to be under the wing of a patient named Raven, who at first saw her as a pawn in his sadistic games, but then the two grew fond of each other, so fond that Rosemarie could no longer loyally be a Huntress and while she still worships the Greek gods and goddesses, she is now working to be a sadist. She's not so terrible, and is good at playing her mind games and injuring other patients when necessary, but only if they are weaker patients. She's still learning, but is good enough for many patients and staff members to hate her and be wary of her.
Current Placement: Patient- high security
Obsessions:: Her bow and arrows. She's managed to salvage a few of her arrows, and as far as the staff know, her arrows are blunted. She makes sure to take time out of her day to make her bow and arrows in tip top, perfect shape.
message 61:
by
*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.
(last edited Aug 13, 2013 07:58AM)
(new)
Mod
Relationships:
Nathan Adair (Raven), the light bearer- Her relationship with the sadist boggles the mind of everyone in the asylum, usually bringing disgust and outrage. She was once a pawn in his mind games, and he was once an enemy, but eventually the two fell hard for each other, for reasons unknown to so many. Sometimes their relationship becomes more than a little rocky, but the two love each other, and they always find a way to make it work. He's not only her lover, but her mentor in the games of sadism as well. Raven is the one responsible for the nicknames, and he is the only one allowed to call her by those nicknames, although she doesn't argue when Morgan calls her 'Rosie', which isn't often.
Carlos Rivera, un bueno amigo- is another patient at the asylum, and one Rosemarie has grown fond of. He's a great listener and a wonderful person to go to for advice. Rosemarie calls him a friend, and she hopes he does the same. Carlos is usually a wonderful help to Rosemarie when her and Raven's relationship hangs in the balance.
Morgan Chaconas, the daughter Rosemarie never asked for- It's true, Rosemarie never expected she would become a sort of adopted mother at the asylum, but she has taken over the role of mother and loving protector for the blind girl, and Raven, her father. Purely by accident, these three have created themselves a small family. Rosemarie loves this little girl, respects her, and is willing to be her own, bright self around her.
Leah Donner, the heartbreaker- The moment Rosemarie yet this shy, skittish girl, she became attached to her, immediately forming a protective emotional bond towards the tattooed girl. It is mostly because Leah reminds her one hundred percent of her best friend, Lisa, whom she has never forgotten, but never sees. In her eyes, it's almost as if Leah is Lisa. Rosemarie is very protective of her, and is one of the weakers patients Rosemarie will not allow anyone to play mind games woth.
Phoenix Von Brahdt, the skunk owner- When these two first met, Rosemarie was purely concerned with whether or not she would break after a game. What she hadn't expected was for the girl to suddenly turn the tables onher and make Rosemarie the pawn in a game once again. Since then, the two girls have somewhat made up, though they aren't officially ready to call the other a friend. She is also the one responsible for giving Rosemarie the scar on her cheek and ear, which she entirely deserved at the time.
Other Patients and Staff- Hardly anyone but the above people really like Rosemarie--most hate her for who she is and her games. In all honesty between the patients and the saff, Rosemarie has more enemies than she has friends in the asylum.
Rosemarie doesn't get visitors, and she really doesn't mind that. Her parents, who were once loving and supportive, have all but turned their back on their only child when they discovered that she had murdered so many people in such a terrible fashion. Lisa, the best friend she still feels guilty over, has been placed in an asylum closer to their home so she can someday get over her fear of people and go home.
As if Rosemarie doesn't break enough rules, here's another secret she has. A small black kitten with big green eyes found the former Huntress once while she was outside. His mother was killed by another patient, and has seemed to have grown fond of the redhead because he follows her around and doesn't argue when she sneaks him into the asylum. He was named accidentally by Raven, Little Devil, and Rosemarie claims that he isn't hers, but she is his.
Name: Jamie OlivanderAge: 18
Appearance: Jamie's silk-like ebony locks trail down to the middle of his neck and fall into his cut glass eyes. His features are prominently Eurasian, with almond shaped eyes and high cheek bones. His face is soft, but his cerulean eyes are hard, with an edge to them that never leaves. Jamie is slender and slightly below the average height of a male his size and nationality. He is never seen without some form of cardigan or sweater, as he easily gets cold, and likes to bury himself in oversized clothing.
Orientation: Gay
Gender: male
Personality: Jamie is a recluse. People both fascinate and terrify him, to the point where he would rather admire from afar. He doesn't speak so much as humm or sing quietly to himself, sometimes songs, sometimes just non-sensical strings of words. Jamie needs open space, needs to know where escape is. He doesn't know how to act around people his own age, and he's afraid of those much older than him. His severe anxiety leads to attacks if he feels trapped or suffocated.
History: When both his parents died in a terrible car crash when he was ten years old, he was sent to live with his Uncle Samuel, Brendon's (his father) brother. This was a terrible mistake.
Samuel was more than an unfit gaurdian: he was abusive to such an extent that Jamie was scarred by his treatment. Beaten, starved, sexually assaulted, Jamie has lived through more trials than any living person should. They lived in a one bedroom loft in a seedy downtown area, where Jamie could constantly hear sirens and screaming from his bed, a pile of coats on a closet floor, every night. The sound of sirens still terrifies him.
After years of horrible treatment, at the age of sixteen, Jamie was found, half-dead, in his dark closet, having been abandoned by his uncle while he went out for a night of drunken debauchery. Samuel never made it home, murdered by a sexual partner looking for some extra cash.
After being taken from the home, Jamie was admitted to a local hospital for several months, moved quickly from the PICU to the psychiatric ward, where he was diagnosed with Severe Anxiety Disorder, PTSD, Depression, and a minor form of OCD that stems from the instability of his childhood, mixed with his phobia of relinquishing any control of his life after his traumatic event.
Jamie was admitted to the asylum soon after he was discharged from the hospital, after several attempts to kill himself before he could fully recover. Since admittance, Jamie has made little improvement.
Constantly crippled by massive panic attacks, Jamie is kept under heavy supervision. During these episodes, Jamie has been know to hyperventilate or even stop breathing, run from any nearby person, and on rare occasions, fight against whoever caused the attack.
Current Placement: Patient
Obsessions: He obsessively collects blankets, jackets and cardigans. He's terrified of the cold, and is known to obsess over staying away from it. He often takes things that provide light, to help with his fear of the dark.
Other: Fears touch, darkness and cold. After years of being stuck inside a small closet, only lit by whatever meager light could seep in from under the door, Jamie's grown to hate the dark. The same is true for cold; held up in a drafty apartment with little to fight the constant chill but his few coats left the lower temperatures to be a massive trigger for him.
Name: Harry Edward TommoNicknames(s): Hazza, Haz, Toms, Tommo, but most people just call him Harry
Age: 16
Birthdate: December 24th
Birthplace: Dublin, Ireland
Appearance:
Harry is going through that awkward adolescent stage, where he's tall and lanky. He's taller than most people his age, at around 6'2. He has a pale complexion, thanks to his Irish heritage, and he can't tan if his life depended on it. He can often be found with a sunburn somewhere on his body. Standing out against his pale complexion are his grey eyes and dark brown hair. They shade of grey in his eyes depends on what he's wearing. The darker the color of clothes, the darker grey his eyes turn, likewise when he wears lighter clothes. Harry never lets his hair grow too long, and the longest it will usually get is at eye length.
Orientation: Straight
Gender: Male
Personality: On first glance Harry seems shy. He wasn’t always shy, though. But he has been given strict instructions to now draw attention to himself. The usually loud, funny, and crazy teenager has now forced himself into silence. He only talks when spoken to, and he hardly talks to anyone. He doesn’t trust himself to become good friends with anyone. Even if he were to meet one good friend, he wouldn’t be the same as he once was. Seeing what he saw has really scarred him. He has nightmares most nights and he is very jumpy now. His brain is so sure every noise is someone trying to get him. Adding to his heavy mental burden, is his brother. He misses him a lot, he may never admit that out loud, but he does. He doesn’t ever talk about anything personal with anyone, and it takes him a very long time to learn to trust someone.
History: Harry was born in Ireland. He lived there until he was 14. When he was 14 he was taken out of the country for his own safety. Harry's parents had gotten into some trouble of their own when the Harry was younger, putting him into the care of his aunt and uncle at a very young age. Once William, Harry’s older brother, was 18 he managed to get full custody of his younger brother. Although many admired William for taking in his younger brother, he did it for completely selfish reasons. William was selling drugs and the cops were starting to get suspicious of the people he was selling to. For safety on his own part, William recruited Harry, thinking a 12 year old was much less suspicious than an 18 year old who was covered in tattoos and piercings. Harry wasn’t exactly forced into this, though. He has done drugs. The first time he inhaled whatever he did, he was pretty much hooked. But he has since become clean and doesn’t plan on smoking or getting high again. They got by for a while like this. But they couldn’t keep doing this forever. The brothers’ luck eventually ran out. William had gotten himself into a lot of trouble with some gang in the area. William was able to hold his own more than Harry, he’s not naïve in any sense. Harry, on the other hand, not so much. After a bad confrontation, words were said that only made everything worse. If Harry didn’t kill the guy he did, he would have been the one dead. 14 year old Harry was a murderer. He was found not guilty of first degree murder, but he was still deeply affected by the whole situation.
Harry has an anxiety disorder, where he’ll have panic attacks on random occasions and nightmares.
As stated above, Harry was taken out of Ireland for his own safety. Killing a member of a gang doesn't really put you on their good side. It was then decided that it would be safer for him to stay in America in a foster home. Harry hasn't seen his brother since the day he got on the plane to America. Harry guesses William is still in Ireland, with his girlfriend, continuing to sell drugs and whatever else he did to make money.
A few months after being in the foster care system, Harry had a panic attack. It wasn't his first panic attack, but this one was much worse then any that he'd had before. It ended up with him doing self harm. That already made the foster parents question whether he was mentally fit enough to be out in "the normal world" as they put it. Not even a week later, Harry started to hear these... Voices in his head and they were telling him to harm himself as well as other kids in the house. His foster parents had enough and took him to a doctor. The doctor mentioned that Harry may have schizophrenia, Harry is 99.876% sure he doesn't, but that disorder made his foster parents scared enough to look up places to put him. They came across St. Peter's asylum.
Current Placement: Patient
Obsessions: None
Family:
Biological Mum: Victoria Simpson (39)
Biological Dad: Greg Tommo (38)
Biological Brother: William Tommo (22)
Other: > Has an Irish accent (;
Has this tattoo: (view spoiler)
Harry's tattoo wasn't his idea in the slightest. He actually hates it. He lost a bet and his friend chose the tattoo for him. There is no meaning behind it, his friend just chose the tattoo he knew Harry would hate most.
Name: Eira ChristensenAge: Eighteen (18)
Appearance:
Eira’s silken hair is usually is some sort of curled hairstyle, or stick straight. It is almost always playfully messy, as if one was caught in a mild breeze on the first day of pale snow. Her skin tone is nearly white, the only bit of colour, the light rose that always graces her cheeks. Her Danish heritage is betrayed in high cheekbones, and blue eyes. However, unlike her ancestors, her eyes swirl with the darkened clouds of an angry snow flurry. Eira’s height is rather something to envy, as she has managed to attain the perfect height, a lovely and respectable 5’8”.
You will almost always find this girl donning very light, creamy clothing. Not droopy, but oddly well-fitting. Clothing that simply hangs from her figure in just the right way, though being totally unrealistic for the colder months. And her clothing hardly ever has sleeves, as they appear to have the shoulder of a tank top. An odd aspect of her attire, however, is the heavy Nordic boots she constantly wears. As in, they only come off for bed, and showering. They seem to be what “grounds” her.
Orientation: Straight
Gender: Female
Personality: Eira is a rather pleasant, though aloof girl. She seems like a perfectly normal human being, and you would first think her to be a nurse, not a patient. Until you met her, heard her, knew her. She is actually quite the unconfident person, except when speaking about her favorite thing. Ice.
History: Eira Christensen was born to a perfectly normal, European family. She grew up in various places within Europe, including Norway, England, Denmark, and Germany. Her father and mother loved their daughter very much, and were very protective. Therefore, they had a peculiar little habit, that they did every evening before bed. Catrin and Denys would read Hans Christensen’s The Snow Queen. They did so, to imbed the knowledge that things were not always as they seem, so that their daughter would not plunge herself headfirst in things she only though she understood.
For some odd reason however, snow, and ice, became Eira’s obsession. The cold had been imbedded in her mind, feats of an infamous Snow Queen dancing into her ears daily, that it became her. Perhaps it was an already unconfident person, and ice, unbearing, became her rock? Her parents weren’t even quite sure what had caused such an odd reaction to such a simple thing.
The girl spent her days with school, reading, household chores, and attempting a new feat of cold. As in, avoiding frostbite, dancing in the snow with no shoes, a load of various things that landed her in the hospital with hypothermia an innumerable amount of times. Catrin and Denys became wildly worried that this “ice thing” as they so blatantly put it, was going to end up killing their daughter.
So, away the ice princess went. To a place quite heated, St. Peter’s.
Current Placement: Patient, low security
Obsessions: The cold. Enough said.
In addition, her room is constantly to be kept at a steamy 16 degrees C (60 degrees F).
Other: Despite her Danish heritage, Eira’s first name is actually Welsh, for snow. It came about due to the English background of her mother.
((I haven't roleplayed in this group for a long time, but I decided to return))Name: Pascal Josephine Roberts
Age: 15
Appearance:
Orientation: Bi-Sexual
Gender: Female
Personality: Upon your first meeting with Pascal, most find her to be very quiet and scared of them, but those who continue to talk to her find her to be very funny and outgoing. She seems very energetic, but its a mask she hides behind, on the inside Pascal is depressed and angry at the world. She is very intelligent when she wants to be, but most don't see this side of her.
History: Infancy
Isn't she lovely?
Isn't she wonderful?
Isn't she precious?
Less than one minute old
I never thought through love we'd be
Making one as lovely as she
But isn't she lovely made from love?
Isn’t she lovely- Glee cast
Pascal’s infancy was easy; her father took care of her and loved her. He protected her from the insanity that was her mother. She was never a really fussy baby, and enjoyed being with her father, but one day her mother lost control and killed Pascal’s father, when the little girl was only 11 months old. The last thing Pascal saw of her father, he was covered in his own blood and telling her that he loved her.
Toddler Years
Little girl on the front porch swing
Fighting something that she just can’t win
Beaten bruised with a tear in her eye
She gotta be strong; she’s not allowed to cry.
Eyes of Tragedy- Jarvis sisters
After her father’s death, Pascal’s mother began to attack the still young girl. Her mother didn’t care how much Pascal’s cried for her to stop and continued to beat her. For a year, Pascal would fall asleep in a closet that held her father’s things. The worst of her beatings came when Pascal was 2 and a half, and her mother had been drinking. Her mother beat her so bad that little Pascal didn’t wake up for 2 days. After this beating, Pascal’s aunt and uncle took her in wanting to keep her safe. After going to live with her aunt, uncle and older male cousin, it was good for a while. When Pascal was 3 and a few months, her older cousin began to sexually abuse her.
Childhood
Look what he's done to you
It isn't fair
Your light was bright and new
But he didn't care
He took the heart of a little girl
And made it grow up too fast
Broken Girl- Matthew West
Pascal’s cousin Eli continued to sexually abuse her for another 4 years, until Pascal was 8. At 8 Pascal ran away from her home, only to be found that night by a kind lady. The lady took Pascal to her home. For a month or so, Pascal felt safe where she was, but then came the kidnapping. At 9 years old Pascal was kidnapped by a man that lived down the road, he took Pascal to his home and raped her for nearly a year. At ten the man drank himself dead, and the police found Pascal. Pascal was taken to a mental hospital to asses her mental wellbeing. She was deemed unfit for society and was locked away. She stayed locked away for nearly 3 years, and at 13 she was put in her first foster home. After entering the first foster home, Pascal began her self abuse.
Teen years
You can't hurt me now
I got away from you
I never thought I would
You can't make me cry
you once had the power
I never felt so good about myself
Oh Father- Madonna
After entering her first foster home, Pascal’s life began on a path upwards. At first she had a problem with self harm, and night terrors but a girl named Sandy help Pascal get over the nightmares and showed her that it was okay to cry. After living in the foster home for 2 months, Pascal finally shared her past with Sandy and began to allow the healing. A month after telling Sandy her past, Sandy grew sick and died a week later. Not long after Pascal was moved to another foster home, and at this foster home Pascal refused to get close to any of them. She began to hurt herself again, and she dyed her hair pure white. At age 14, Pascal was moved to another foster home, and at first she refused to leave her room until one day. Out of the blue, Pascal began to smile and joke around with her foster siblings, and acted as though nothing had happened to her before entering the foster home. At night though, Pascal often would sneak out and cut herself but kept this a secret by wearing sweaters. A few months later, her foster mother found Pascal attempting to kill herself, and one of her little foster brothers. Shortly after this she was sent here to get better.
Current Placement: Patient
Obsessions: Cutting
Organizing things
Other: Often has night terrors
Mod
One, fill out the appearance section. If I'm not mistaken, even with a picture, you still have to add in an additional three descriptive sentences.
Two, expand upon your characters personality. We need to know a bit more about her--you just gave a description that could apply to any old person. Is Pascal curious when in a good mood? Cheerful to the point of bubbliness? Bordering upon obnoxious? What's she like when she's in a bad mood? Angry all the time? Does she get violent or draw into herself? Things of that nature.
Three, try to connect the various points in her history; they all seem very disjointed. Why did Pascal's mother kill her father? What drove her insane in the first place? When did she start drinking and why? Where did Pascal's aunt and uncle live and why did they decide to take her in? Why on earth did she decide to stay in a random woman's house after she ran away from home? How did the police find her after she was kidnapped and, presumably, taken to a secluded place? Who was the man responsible for holding her captive? Et cetera, et cetera. Explanation is key. (But if I were you, I would start spacing out the ages at which all these events started happening to her or get rid of several entirely--it's a little implausible, ask you me, for a girl to have such a terrible life from the very beginning. You loading too much angst into her history proper, if you understand what I mean.)
Alright thanks, I shall go and do that.
Mod
Yeah, I realized that as I read over her. She was originally for another roleplay that my friend and I are doing. I shall go and edit, hopefully after it shall be much better.
Mod
Age: Twelve (12)
Date of Birth: June 20th
Appearance: There are some people who would have to look at this young boy twice before accepting that he is, in fact, just as old as he claims. Small even for a twelve-year-old (it runs in the family) Jacob stands at the modest height of 4’10 and, despite a rather healthy outward appearance, is slightly underweight, tipping the scales at a meager seventy-four pounds. Considering his figure, this is just the slightest bit surprising: he’s small, sure, and pale, and perhaps a little skinnier than a growing boy ought to be, but he by no means looks blatantly unhealthy—in fact, the news that he’s got any problems at all may raise some eyebrows, for the boy retains a healthy, almost cherubic set to his features even on a bad day. His face has not lost the roundness so associated with childhood, and though it is impossible to call him boyish—especially if you look into his eyes for more than a few moments—the first word that would come to mind when looking at him would most likely be something along the lines of angelic, maybe even effeminate. Fine blonde hair covers his head, always kept neat, and short bangs fall in a straight line to conceal gently curving brows and a low forehead. His eyes are large and fringed by pale lashes, giving him an almost…delicate air despite the wisdom that can so often be seen in their dark gray depths. An unassuming nose and gentle, curving lips only add to the image: Jacob can almost always be counted on to smile, revealing a set of dimples at the corners of his mouth.
For one so young, Jacob has a rather meticulous dressing style. He tries his hardest to appear neat and clean, his wardrobe full of more neutral colors like grays and browns and whites rather than the louder ones typically associated with boys his age, like green and blue and red. He can usually be seen about the grounds in the formal wear of button-down shirts, slacks, and dress shoes, a getup which gives him (rather amusingly, so he’ll tell you) the air of a little businessman. Indeed, he retains a certain sense of maturity about him, wandering the grounds almost like a little solider: his posture is very good, he doesn’t fidget, and when he holds a conversation, you earn his full attention—uncommon in someone his age, perhaps, but nonetheless part of him. There are those who would look at the little boy and call him somber, even melancholy, like he’s always prepared to go attend a funeral; and really, they wouldn’t be too far off the mark—he would call it fitting, even, considering his life.
Orientation: Straight
Gender: Male
Personality: Jacob Fox is not the sort of young man who would come to mind when someone shakes their head and sighs, Oh, boys will be boys—in fact, he is almost the antithesis of the phrase: he is not rambunctious, not active or lively or unaware, as so many children are wont to be. No, one of the first things you’re bound to notice about him is that the twelve-year-old does not act his age. He’s gently-bred, soft-spoken, the boy in the back of the class who people nearly always assume is mute he speaks so little. There are those who would call him almost crushingly shy, to the point where they may even see fit to worry about the kind of life he leads at home—though neither of the thoughts make much sense to Jacob himself. After all, there’s hardly a grain of truth to either of them. He is not shy, just quiet. He is not afraid, just wary. He is not stupid, only thoughtful. The dreamy expression commonly seen on his face is a result of a busy mind, not social awkwardness. In all reality, it’s almost a shame that people so often mistaken him for a lone wolf; because this little boy has the gentlest soul imaginable. His smiles are easy to come by, nearly constant, almost infectious even when they are small. He has a quick, witty sense of humor, a pleasantly common laugh, and, more prominent than anything, a heart a mile wide. More often than not, he’s perfectly willing to talk to strangers and make new friends; his is a brand of amiability that is quite the rarity in a place like St. Peter’s Asylum. Indeed, at first glance, it’s hard to believe that such a nice young earned himself a place in a mental facility; he seems to have no problems at all—but only at first glance.
If you bother to talk to the boy for more than five minutes, it will quickly become apparent that his thought process differs very much from the norm. Talk any longer, and you may start to notice that he speaks very commonly of a life he claims no one else will acknowledge. If you were to speak any longer than that—or if you were to get curious and ask a few questions—you would realize exactly what he was sent to the asylum for: he is delusional, possessing what could be called the most optimistically pessimistic worldview to ever cross the mind of a twelve-year-old: Jacob Fox believes that every person and thing in the universe, including he himself, is dead. Reality, to him, is a sort of heaven which dying souls are “born” into when they pass on, currently populated with the ghosts of people living out new, better lives, with no memory of the one they led in the world of the living (a gift from God, he considers it—it is his belief that you don’t end up in this reality unless you were truly deserving of a better place back when you were really alive.) Such thoughts and beliefs have led the boy to succumb, at times, to recurring spells of depression and melancholy—but the main factor in such feelings is the life he believes he himself to have lived. It’s almost always on his mind in some way, shape, or form, a story from which he can never escape, constantly playing on a screen he can’t dismantle no matter how desperate he is to do so. And it has made him old, that fact. It has beaten him down and made him tired and made him wise and made him so very, very old.
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They were wrong. What had little Jacob occupied so often was not the fear of social activity, but a recurring sort of fit during which he would become immersed in a world he did not know: the German town of Berlin, during the second world war. He did not sit so still and quiet in the back of the classroom because he was afraid of speaking up, no; he sat in such a way because he would find himself literally unable to move, almost totally paralyzed as a vision would start and completely powerless to go anywhere or do anything until it ended. But the little boy didn’t mind much, and he didn’t tell anyone about it—he saw no need to. After all, he wasn’t seeing anything inherently bad. He would just watch, from an outside perspective, as a little Jewish boy with his name and his features went about his life with his twin sister, Ellen, and their parents, Marie and Simon Fuchs. The family—his family, he would later come to know them—had a quaint little flat in suburban Berlin, and their life was good. The little boy (who Jacob would come to recognize as he himself as he grew a bit older) and his sister grew up next to their best friend, a German named Peter Werner, and his father, Heinrich (when he was three or four—when the episodes began to become frequent—Jacob learned through listening to a conversation between the two that Peter’s mother had died giving birth to him.) For a little while, Jacob actually found himself enjoying the visions he saw: it was like watching television, only so much better because he, himself, was a character without having to do anything at all.
Years passed. The visions continued, and Jacob didn’t mind much. They were still depicting the life of a boy he came to know very well; they still were showing him a friendship between that boy and another named Peter; their lives (and his life, in this reality) were, for the most part, normal. No one had picked up on his strange little fits. Everyone still believed he was simply very quiet and very shy—they had no reason to think otherwise, after all. Jacob gave no signs that anything was wrong. He let nobody know about the movie—he came to think of it as a movie—that would fill his vision from time to time, and occupy his head. He went through his life in Wisconsin’s city of Madison unassumingly, as he was wont to do, and nothing was amiss, and no one knew a thing. He kept up that cover and kept living that life until he was eight years old, at which point, everything began to go horribly, horribly wrong. Several months after his eighth birthday, Jacob experienced the most traumatic fit he’d ever had up until that point: he watched, helpless, as the little boy—vision-Jacob, he was calling him then—and his sister were caught up on the streets of Berlin on November 9th, 1938: Kristallnacht, the Night of Broken Glass. He watched as the first window to the first shop was broken, watched as the two children, in a panic, ran halfway through the city to find their parents in their little grocery store, watched as they were attacked and beaten bloody by a drunk pair of German soldiers.
In reality, he was eating dinner with his family at the time. He had gone completely rigid, dropped the spoonful of soup he had been eating (spilling the entire bowl into his lap but not reacting in the slightest) and remained in that pose despite every attempt by his concerned parents to rouse him. Eventually, Marie and Simon cleaned him as best they could, put him to bed, and waited beside him until he came to—and when he did, in a fit of hysterics, screaming and crying that he couldn’t find his parents, that they were killing him and his sister, beating them to death, they called the hospital. By the time paramedics had arrived on the scene, they finally managed to calm their little boy, and everything came pouring out that night. Jacob told them all about the episodes he had been having since he was very young. He told them all about the Fuchs family, who had lived next to the Werners in their little flat in suburban Berlin. He told them of the contents of his most recent vision: the soldiers, the civilians swarming the streets, breaking windows, beating people; the uniformed men with truncheons doing absolutely nothing to keep the peace, some even participating themselves. The two, with the aid of their young son and a laptop, finally managed to realize that he was describing Kristallnacht and had been, for years, living a kind of double life. Very concerned about him and the trauma his most recent episode had caused, Marie and Simon arranged for Jacob to start seeing a specialist, to find out the cause of his episodes and to see if they could find a cure. Jacob was put on prescription medication, and for a while, that seemed to help. He no longer reported having his visions at all, and seemed much calmer.
He was not telling them the truth. In all reality, the visions had started coming back as soon as three weeks after Jacob started taking his medication. But his parents seemed so relieved and so happy that he was feeling better that he neglected to tell them that they had come back with a vengeance because, even as a eight-year-old, he did not like to see them so worried about him and did not want to cause any trouble. And so, as the years passed, he kept the fact that he was seeing his double—and his life—again all to himself. For several more years, that worked well. Jacob even managed to keep his head after the episodes became violent; after he saw himself assaulted in the streets by uniformed boys with swastika armbands all screaming insults, after he saw his parents’ shop set afire and burn to the ground; he even managed to keep his calm (for a little while) when who he now called his double discovered that Peter Werner had been murdered, shot to death in his home one night by his own father. But only for a little while. After Peter’s death, Jacob himself fell into a terrible depression. He was grievously affected by the loss of the boy his parents had insisted was imagined; by that point, he had seen so much of him, done so much with him that he considered Peter Werner to be his own best friend. That was when his parents noticed that something was wrong, and that was when they took him back to the doctor and had him put on a new—stronger—medication.
By that point, he (and his double) were twelve. By that point, he cared very little about what happened to he himself he was so concerned for the boy in his visions. By that point, he was so involved in the visions that he outright refused to take his medication—hiding the fact from his poor parents, of course—and from then on became an expert at keeping the fact that the episodes were growing worse and worse and worse a secret. Over the next few months, a twelve-year-old Jacob watched himself die. He watched as he and his family were arrested by Nazi troops, watched as he and his sister were separated from their parents, watched as they were taken to a German concentration camp. He watched as the young boy with his name and his features became a pipel to one of the supervisors at the camp in order to persuade him to keep he and his sister together. He watched as they endured life in the camps, and as he did so he became more and more traumatized and confused himself. Eventually, on a sunny April day, he watched as the boy in his visions, his sister, and everyone else in the camp were taken into a chamber (told they were going to shower) and there gassed. From that point on, everything clicked in his mind—or he thought it did. After that day, twelve-year-old Jacob began to develop Cotard’s syndrome, the untrue belief that he was dead. He explained to his parents one night his worldview: that everything he had been seeing over the past nine years—everything that had happened Before, as he called it—was his life, and that reality was a heaven he had been born into when he died.
His parents, more concerned than ever for their boy, realized that medication wasn’t going to help him. They realized that he was so firmly wrapped up in his delusion—everything made so much sense, he often told them, everything was so clear now—that it was nearly useless to keep denying it, to keep trying to convince him that it was not real and had never happened. So they did their research, found St. Peter’s Asylum and, after many tearful goodbyes and promises to visit every single day, sent Jacob to his new home. Thus far, he has not responded well to any treatment, from medication to hypnotherapy, and remains firmly convinced that his view of the world is a correct one. His visions have stopped—after all, there is nothing more to see of Jacob Fuchs and his family—but his beliefs that they were true events which actually happened to him show no signs of abating in the slightest.
Current Placement: Patient—Low security
Obsessions: Journaling—and, by extension, his delusions themselves. Jacob is loath to go anywhere without his journal and a pen, as it provides a sense of security and stability in an unstable world, to be able to write freely about the life no one else will even acknowledge. By now, it’s become a sort of diary to him; though he never writes about current events, only memories of his time Before. It’s a very personal thing, and very private, though he will not be surprised if you steal it from him (it’s happened so many times before that he can’t care anymore; besides, he knows you won’t believe what you read.) As well, he has a necklace given to him just before he came to St. Peter’s by his parents, which can be seen around his neck (occasionally beneath his shirt) without fail. He tends to rub it when in deep thought, concerned, and even sometimes for luck.
Other: Despite his current place of residence, Jacob maintains a very strong Jewish faith. He refuses to consume foods which are not kosher, and it is not uncommon to hear him praying quietly to himself, especially if he is alone. He speaks German fluently (he had his grandparents, who were both German immigrants living in Madison near to he himself, teach him when he was young so that he could properly understand the dialogue in his visions) though he doesn’t commonly speak it around others. He does, however, sometimes write whole passages—sometimes entire entries—in his journal in the language, particularly parts he would prefer people not be able to read.
Name: Ivanna Shearman
Age: 14
Appearance: Ivanna has brown hair and tan skin. She has hazel eyes and an oval face
Gender: Female
Personality: Ivanna hates mean people or anything to do with revenge. She likes to forgive and forget. That's why she fight a lot with her other personality Jodie.Since she was 8 her there personalities started to show. One called herself Jodie. Jodie was easy to anger and she would do anything to get revenge on people for doing something to hurt Either of her personalities. Then there's Anna. Anna is really in the middle she hates when Ivanna and Jodie fight and when Ivanna turns in to Anna likes to hide in a closet. They switch personalities randomly.
History: Ivanna was born in to a rich family. Her family beloved that the eldest child should get the inheritance when older. Ivanna always hated her older sister Alice for that. When she turned 8 and Alice was 10, Alice was better at everything then her. One day when her sister was in the bathroom combing her hair Jodie came out. Jodie stormed in to the room and started attacking Alice with her comb. Their parents came rushing in. The Jodie changed back to Ivanna. Her parents where very angry then worried when she said that she couldn't remeber anything. They took her to doctor but when they went none of her personalities would come out. A year later Ivanna decided to see if Jodie was real. She wrote a note then attached it onto her hand then thought about stuff that made her angry. When Jodie came she saw the note and wrote back with different handwriting.Since Ivanna locked the door no one could get in. When Ivanna came back she saw the not and was surprised that Jodie was real. Later they started writing notes to each other each time they turned. Then later Anna came in to the picture. She wrote notes to but she didn't always. All the time Jodie and Ivanna argued about who was the main person and not just a personality. 4 years later Ivanna met up with her sister. Her sister was bragging and bragging about her amazing life that's when Jodie snapped she attacked her again. Alice left early that day. that's when her parent decided to sent her to the asylum
Current Placement: patient
Obsessions: Jodie- violence, Ivanna- niceness, Anna- hiding
Other:
Age: 14
Appearance: Ivanna has brown hair and tan skin. She has hazel eyes and an oval face
Gender: Female
Personality: Ivanna hates mean people or anything to do with revenge. She likes to forgive and forget. That's why she fight a lot with her other personality Jodie.Since she was 8 her there personalities started to show. One called herself Jodie. Jodie was easy to anger and she would do anything to get revenge on people for doing something to hurt Either of her personalities. Then there's Anna. Anna is really in the middle she hates when Ivanna and Jodie fight and when Ivanna turns in to Anna likes to hide in a closet. They switch personalities randomly.
History: Ivanna was born in to a rich family. Her family beloved that the eldest child should get the inheritance when older. Ivanna always hated her older sister Alice for that. When she turned 8 and Alice was 10, Alice was better at everything then her. One day when her sister was in the bathroom combing her hair Jodie came out. Jodie stormed in to the room and started attacking Alice with her comb. Their parents came rushing in. The Jodie changed back to Ivanna. Her parents where very angry then worried when she said that she couldn't remeber anything. They took her to doctor but when they went none of her personalities would come out. A year later Ivanna decided to see if Jodie was real. She wrote a note then attached it onto her hand then thought about stuff that made her angry. When Jodie came she saw the note and wrote back with different handwriting.Since Ivanna locked the door no one could get in. When Ivanna came back she saw the not and was surprised that Jodie was real. Later they started writing notes to each other each time they turned. Then later Anna came in to the picture. She wrote notes to but she didn't always. All the time Jodie and Ivanna argued about who was the main person and not just a personality. 4 years later Ivanna met up with her sister. Her sister was bragging and bragging about her amazing life that's when Jodie snapped she attacked her again. Alice left early that day. that's when her parent decided to sent her to the asylum
Current Placement: patient
Obsessions: Jodie- violence, Ivanna- niceness, Anna- hiding
Other:
Name: Katerina Josefina AlvarezAlias: Kati (Kah-tee)
Age: 17
Appearance: Long, thick black hair that she keeps in a messy bun at the nape of her neck. She has tanned/olive skin (her mother is Mexican-American and her father's family is from Spain) and full lips, a long ski slope of a nose, and dark brown eyes. She would be pretty if her face weren't fixed in an expressionless mask or frozen in a rictus of terror by turns, depending on what her companions are up to.
Orientation: Assumed straight
Gender: Female
Personality: Kati's personality is a mix of adaptable toughness and fragile vulnerability. In order to cope with the terrifying nature of her hallucinations, Kati has become very practiced at remaining calm--even stoic--under pressure, as she's learnt it is not a good idea to act afraid of something no one else can see in public. As such, to outside observers she often seems quiet, tough, standoffish, and a bit "in her own world". But in reality, when she feels relaxed and safe, she is very compassionate, warm, empathetic and perceptive, and very easily picks up on others' emotions and attitudes. To her dismay, however, these perceptions about people often manifest themselves in her hallucinations. She doesn't often show that side of herself because--especially here--it makes her vulnerable, both in general and to worsened halluncinations, but when she does, she is shown to have a quiet, but stubborn, protective streak around those she cares about.
History: Kati's life was relatively normal and stable until she turned 15. She lived in Atlanta, Georgia with her mother, Adela, and her father, José, and her sisters, Diana (eldest) and Alondra (youngest). She was an outgoing, sociable, adventurous kid with a vivid imagination, but with a gravity and maturity that belied her tender years, and she had good relationships with her family, especially her grandmother, who shared her adventurous, imaginative streak.
Then came the day she descended.
Her family of five had gone on a camping trip in the Appalachian Mountains. Kati, ever the adventurer, wandered away from the campsite by herself and found the entrance to a cave. She went in and didn't come out--until her frantic family found her two days later, curled up deep within the caves, exhausted, dehydrated and in shock. They got her back home and patched her up, and everything seemed fine--until the next day, when her parents heard shrill screaming from her bedroom, where she had been asleep, and bolted upstairs to find that she was in hysterics, crying and pleading with something only she could see to leave her alone. When they asked her what was wrong, all she could say was "They followed me out of hell."
Her parents, alarmed but desperate to brush it off as the aftereffects of shock and trauma, comforted and reassured her until she fell back asleep, then resolved to forget all about it.
That was a huge mistake.
Over the next two years, Kati's hallucinations grew ever more horrifying and elaborately complex, ever more real, yet always based upon the same delusion: she had been to hell in that cave and gotten back out alive, but a group of demons (sometimes derisively referred to as her "companions") escaped along with her and now follow her everywhere, showing her horrors wherever she looks, punishing her for what grievous sin she knows not. Though at first she fought to keep her fear and anxiety under control, afraid to worry her loved ones and desperate to cling to some shred of normalcy, these hallucinations eventually became so frightening that she occasionally broke down under their weight and was unable to function at all. After a particularly bad attack in public, her parents decided that she needed much more help than they had originally thought and sent her to St. Peter's for treatment.
Current Placement: Patient (low security)
Obsessions: Drawing in part on her Catholic upbringing, Kati now subscribes to several bits of esoteric demon-fighting lore in the hopes that they will help keep the demons away: she wears a Devil's Trap pendant and her grandmother's old rosary around her neck. She touches or rubs either of them compulsively when she's seeing something particularly frightening; it calms her. Though she was never overtly devout before she descended, Kati has since begun to develop the fear that her companions are punishing her for her sins, as they haven't left; she is consumed by the fear that she has done something horrible that she doesn't know about, and is desperate to repent.
Other:
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Aliases: His Cherokee name is Usdi Waya (Little Wolf), and Rosemarie is occasionally address him as Atsásdá Ulasigi, Shining Light—but in general, everyone calls him Raven.
Age: Seventeen (17)
Date of Birth: December 25th
Appearance: Raven has one of the most recognizable personalities in the asylum, but he’s not too inconspicuous in the looks department, either. This young man is 100% Native American (Cherokee, to be precise), and he looks it. He has sharp, angular features set upon an ovular face, the most prominent among them being narrow eyes which are beetle-black in color. Framed by sparing lashes, with dark brows curving above them and a slightly prominent nose below, they are one of his most expressive facial features; though not by any means the most expressive—no, that award goes to his lips. About the same color as his skin and thin in appearance, they together form a wide mouth and tend to angle up and down in turns no matter how hard he tries to hide it, often showing just how he’s feeling. If you’re lucky (or in some cases, very, very unlucky) they will part in a smile, revealing two rows of teeth which are rather white and rather large. Defined cheekbones and a high forehead accentuate the fact that Raven has grown very nicely into himself (but seeing as he towers over many at 6’1 and tips the scales at just over 200 pounds—most of that weight consisting of muscle—that’s not hard to believe as is.) He keeps his hair long, and it falls about to his collarbone when he doesn’t pull it back, though he usually does choose to keep it in a ponytail for practical reasons. Being full-blooded Indian, Raven boasts a skin tone which is just a few tints lighter than olive, and it both darkens and lightens easily (though not much either way) depending on how much time he spends in the sun.
Raven has embraced the dressing style of popular culture slightly more readily than his sister Anna, and as a result can usually be seen in plain, solid t-shirts (most often white) and jeans. He wears no other accessories besides the occasional hair tie and his silver ring, which he took from his mother the night she died and is almost always visible on the third finger of his left hand. He holds a monumental dislike for shoes (though he does own two pairs, flip-flops and a pair of boots) and is hardly, if ever, seen with them—or any other footwear, for that matter—on his feet, even in the winter. He is also in possession of several more traditional outfits, made of buckskin, along with several necklaces of multicolored beads which were taken, along with the ring, from the house the night he killed his parents. He has worn such attire only once, and doesn’t much intend to do so again; he keeps the clothes for their cultural significance more than anything else at this point.
Orientation: Straight
Gender: Male
Personality: There is no denying—Raven is by far the most notorious patient currently residing at St. Peter’s Asylum, and there is a very, very good reason for that. Over the year that he’s spent at the place, he has developed a reputation that’s grown bigger than he ever could have dreamed it would. The reason? This young man is an undeniable psychopath, a textbook lunatic with too many of the traits and not enough of the weaknesses. If one were to describe him using a single adjective, chances are they would pick sadistic, and it’s more than likely that they would do so because of up-close-and-personal encounters: because Raven does indeed have quite the thing for pain, be it physical or mental or a combination of both, and his favorite pastime is to meet new people and figure out ways to make their (and his, by extension) lives at the asylum just a little bit more…interesting. Of course, this hardly if ever spells out anything good for the person in question—the Indian has become quite proficient in what he considers to be two beautiful arts, those of physical and psychological torture. He possesses an extremely cunning and analytical mind, and excels in figuring out in a split-second just what to say in order to steer a particular conversation or event down the desired path. By now, most if not everyone he meets ends up becoming putty in his hands: if you show him a single sliver weakness, a single chink in your armor (no matter how small) he will pick up on it immediately, and he will use it against you until he achieves whatever results he desires.
Now, those traits as described above would have Raven labeled as a sociopath as well as a completely insane sadist, if they were all that was there—but they aren’t. In reality, the Indian is capable of quite a bit of emotion (though he’s loath to admit it) and, under the right circumstances, it is actually very difficult for him to hide that fact. The first of such emotions is to be expected out of a man like him: a temper. Raven’s anger is very brutal, very explosive, and it is capable of turning his mind into a toxic red hurricane for days on end, whether the cause of it goes away in that time or not. The rule here is fairly simple—if you make him angry and you don’t want to get hurt, you run like the Devil himself is after you. There are no exceptions, for the Indian himself makes none, and that means absolutely anyone can become a target in the wrong place at the wrong time. The second thing which keeps him at least somewhat human is perhaps not so expected: a sense of humor. Indeed, Raven is rather fond of making jokes—though most of them tend to slip into vulgar territory—and he is easily amused, though you may not realize such upon first meeting him. The third in the list: a sort of compassion which bonders on protectiveness, it can get so strong. Around the right people, this young man is the epitome of the “papa wolf” archetype. If you hurt the few people he loves, there will be dire, dire consequences.
History: “Normal” has never been an appropriate word to describe the Adair family, even from the start. Though Raven and his sister Anna have humble beginnings—twins born on a cold winter night in a midwife’s cabin to Willow and John Adair, a young Native American couple—their lives have never been those of your typical American (or even Cherokee) family. Willow and John were a pair that, while not insane in their own right, were always a little odd, almost paranoid in their desire to isolate both themselves and their two children from the outside world and even their own tribal community. As soon as time allowed, the couple and their infants moved out of the reservation proper, near to its boundaries, and nestled themselves into a small home surrounded for miles by woodland. There, the little boy and girl—called Nathan and Anna in English, Usdi Waya and Tsulásada Nokuisi in Cherokee—were raised in accordance to tribal tradition, taught from quite the early age how to live as their ancestors did before the colonists came: off of the land, honoring the spirits and the earth. Neither Raven nor his sister minded the life; it was, after all, everything they knew, and they were quite content to grow up together with their well-meaning parents in that small home buried in the middle of the woods.
Both children were very adventurous souls even from the beginning, dividing their time between lessons in the home (usually on Cherokee history and custom with the occasional English lesson) and outdoor games whenever else time allowed. When it was too wet or hot or cold to go out to play, the two occupied themselves learning to sew their own clothes or cook or make tools (Raven himself picked up the art of bow making very quickly, and Anna was a surprisingly efficient tailor even when she was young.) But more often than not, the twins were out and about in the woods, acting out legends or hunting or just taking leisure time to race each other or explore or go out to swim in the river, located nearby. It was on one of such days—a rather hot one in June—that such antics turned their world upside down. Lessons had ended early that afternoon, what with their father gone on a hunting trip and their mother (who was in charge of teaching them English, the assigned class for that day) having fallen ill with a migraine. With the rest of the day to themselves, Raven and Anna decided to spend the scorcher swimming until evening, and for a little while, that was just fine. They made it to the river without hassle, as was usual, and they swam and did tricks and teased each other about who was the better swimmer, as was usual. But after a few hours, that began to get boring, and the two decided they would be better off spicing things up a little.
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When he arrived in the dark, disheveled and dirty and hardly able to speak he was so distraught, his parents were initially very concerned. When they did not see Anna running in along behind her brother, as she so often did, that concern turned into an outright panic. When the news finally got out that he had lost Anna—and when the realization came that she was probably dead—that panic turned to fury, that fury to hate, and thus began a year-long spiral of abuse such as Raven had never experienced before in his life. His parents both became closed off from him, each other, the world. They refused to speak to him, and when they did, it was only to tell him how much they were grieving, that he was to blame, that the spirits would one day punish him for letting his sister die. Mourning himself and impossibly guilty, the weight of it all soon became too much for young Raven to bear and, at eleven, he ran away from home and did not look back. He set his sights on the nearest town (he did not want to wander through the reservation proper, in case he was recognized) and it was there that he lived out the next few months of his life, making his way as an urchin on the street, stealing when he had to and begging when he didn’t. For a little while, the young boy was ignored; the townspeople assumed that he lived on the reservation nearby and was simply visiting for a little while.
When it became clear that he was on his own (and most likely without a home to go to), a storekeeper who regularly saw him loitering around his shop—and even once caught him stealing from it—called child protection services and reported that there was a homeless boy, too young to be all on his own, often seen around town. When social workers finally managed to catch him (he gave them the slip for about two weeks after they’d first been alerted to his existence) he was very uncooperative, refusing to give them a family name or even an actual first one, simply telling them whenever they asked that his name was Raven—which was a nickname assigned to him by Anna—and refusing to give any information about a home or relatives or a personal life of any kind. Eventually, the workers ran out of options, and simply ended up putting him into a group home. Raven didn’t much mind the life; the place was already overcrowded and underfunded, so he was able to slip in and out of the building as he pleased; and he often did, wandering the town as he had before and only returning during mealtimes and at night so that he could eat halfway decently and have a place to sleep. For five years, that was how he lived his life, and for five years, he had no mishaps save for one: when he was fourteen, he was briefly arrested and detained for disturbing the peace, having gotten into a fight with a group of older boys who liked to talk big and who, he would tell you if you asked, needed to be put in their place. He had no idea the impact that one brief detaining would later have upon his life.
When he was sixteen, he was among the group of kids selected to be put into true foster homes with other families, and on a breezy September day Raven, none too happy about it, moved in with his new “family”: Lance and Dona Collins, a couple in their forties who were always willing to help out children in need, and their eighteen-year-old son Blake, who, to put it lightly, certainly was not. From the start, the two did not hit it off well: Blake was very displeased that another boy two years his junior was now living in his house, and Raven held no love for the young man at all, who was walking on the wrong side of life and had more than a few reasons to lay low. But—at least for a little while—he tried to make it work. Though he did not attempt to disguise his open hostility towards the family, he ate at their table and did as he was asked to do (most of the time.) And though he outright refused to attend public high school, he accepted homeschooling from Dona on the days she was off work and, for the most part, responded well to it; at least in an academic sense. The one thing he did not try to do was improve his relationship with Blake Collins (from whom he learned, through simple observation, how to work and efficiently hack a computer, as well as the many other borderline illegal skills) and in the end, it got him in a mess of trouble.
The fight that convinced Raven to run off again was huge, and in all actuality, it had started with an accident. He had been lounging in the bedroom while Blake was at school, practicing his newfound talents on his foster brother’s laptop, and in a moment of carelessness he had knocked into it an open bottle of soda (something Blake always kept on the desk, having learned long ago how to avoid spilling it) which effectively ruined the computer—and the eighteen-year-old’s temper. When he arrived home to see the damage, he flew into an absolute rage. The two got into an awful fistfight, resulting in a concussion, a dislocated shoulder, and a blanket of bruises on Raven’s end and a broken nose, a black eye and several snapped fingers on Blake’s. That night, with hardly any thought put into the decision, Raven stole his foster father’s .45 from the garage at a moment of impulsiveness and ran from the third home he had known in sixteen years—this time, for his first. Absolutely sick of the foster care system and with no desire to go back onto the streets, where he knew his arrival would not be greeted with sympathy as it had when he was so much younger, he made off for the reservation his parents still lived on and, eventually, found himself back at the small home nested in the middle of the woods. Willow and John, six years older but by no means over their daughter’s supposed death, revealed in less than an hour that they still resented their son for his folly—and they did so with a fight, rather reminiscent, Raven thinks now, of the one he had gotten into with his foster brother.
By the end of it, the stress of the past year building and building with the tension and anger and guilt which bombarded him once again when he entered what had once been his home, Raven snapped. He drew the .45 and ended his parents’ anger right then and there—along with their lives. Afterwards, leaving two bodies and a looted home behind him, he made his way back into town, determined now to make his way as a boy on the streets and not looking back. What he did not account for was the hiking couple camped nearby, who heard the screaming and the shots and called the police to alert them to the situation. What he did not account for was the fingerprints he had left behind at the crime scene, which were shown to be his own when they were scanned at a lab, in the system because of that one brawl he had participated in when he was fourteen. What he did not account for was the doggedness of the state police, who hunted him down over the course of several days and, when they finally caught him, had him faced with the possibility of lifetime in prison, on the charge of double homicide. But most of all, he did not account for his own degraded mental state. He had never dreamed, in all his years, that at the end of his interrogation he would break down and show for the first time his psychotic side—that of a vicious wolf, a bloodthirsty killer—and be deemed mentally unstable. No, Raven never, ever thought that he would relish in that side, and be sent to an asylum rather than prison for treatment. But sent he was, and here he has remained for the past year, building his legend and adding terror to his name.
Current Placement: Patient—High security
Obsessions: Sadism, to some extent. Raven is most of the time quite occupied with playing his mind games with other patients—by now, he is renowned for his skill and viciousness in doing so. He regularly breaks into the file room (and, when he can get to them, hacks the computers) to find decent victims on which to prey.
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Aliases: Her Cherokee name is Tsulásada Nokuisi, Bright Star, but no one in the asylum knows this except her brother.
Age: Seventeen (17)
Date of Birth: December 25th
Appearance: One in a set of identical twins, it’s not hard to figure out that Anna is Raven’s sister. They look quite similar—they’ve laughed over the idea that one could masquerade as the other if only seen from a distance more times than they can count—and really, if they were of the same gender, they probably wouldn’t have too hard a time doing so even up close. Because though Anna is half a foot shorter and quite a bit lighter than Raven (standing at 5’8 and weighing a healthy 139 pounds) they really do bear quite a startling resemblance to each other. The share the same general features: Anna also has oval-shaped face with a high forehead, and her eyebrows are dark and curved above narrow black eyes (though hers are a bit wider than Raven’s and, if you look closely, the slightest bit lighter in color) with sparing lashes surrounding them. Her cheekbones are sharp and angular, as his are, and her nose is also prominent, though smaller and more slender than his. They start to come to more noticeable differences in the shape of their lips: Raven’s mouth is wide and his lips are thin, while his sister’s are more full, giving her a smaller mouth and also hiding smaller teeth, though that is a feature rarely seen for wont of a smile to reveal them. They differ, too, in their figures: Raven is very broad-shouldered and fairly muscular, while Anna has a slender build, with longer legs and slimmer hands and feet in proportion to his. She also wears her hair longer—it falls down to the middle of her back—and she, unlike him, prefers to keep it down. Both of them being of the same decent, their complexions are identical, and pale/tan at the same rate depending on how much time they spend outdoors.
Anna dislikes cotton clothes even more than her brother, even now preferring the more traditional deerskin garb of the Cherokee (though she wears pants and shirts rather than dresses nowadays, except for on special occasions). She doesn’t much care how people in the asylum take it, and the nurses are happy to consent to her requests for new materials when she outgrows her wardrobe, as sewing keeps her mind as well as her body occupied. She’s also in possession of several beaded necklaces, having even made a few by herself and for herself during the past few years, though she’s not seen wearing them nearly as often as she’s seen with earrings (she had her ears pierced by one of her caretakers in the group home, who happened to own a beauty parlor.) Like Raven, she has no love for shoes or other footwear (and unlike him, she owns no pairs, though she’s been working on sewing a pair of moccasins for herself.) Generally, she is not so cooperative about shoes as her brother, often having to be physically forced to wear anything on her feel at all, even if it is hazardous to her health should she not.
Orientation: Straight
Gender: Female
Personality: There are a lot of things hard to quantify about this young girl, but there is a simple something about her which is completely obvious to all she comes into contact with: she has changed. She is not the girl you may think you know, and she certainly isn’t the sweet, innocent, levelheaded ten-year-old that you may have heard about, either from the files or the Indian sadist himself, her brother. No, that girl died in the river on a hot June day, and in her place there emerged an almost entirely different one. Anna Adair is a tough, undeniably fierce soul, with a spine of steel and a new light in her eyes that, when cranked up to the right intensity (and it often is) could frighten off a bear with ease. Though there are some who might call her aloof or antisocial—she can and will occasionally come off as very hostile—those are not quite fitting adjectives; rather, one who knows her well enough might go for independent or bold or simply hot-tempered, and she is indeed all of those things. Though not as irrational as some when it comes to her anger, she has a way of letting her emotions best her and commonly ends up letting them all out in a swift, violent burst with no regards for the consequences. As well, she is absolutely loath to back down from a fight, even if it’s clearly one she can’t win, and although she isn’t all aggression and abrasiveness, they are by far her most noticeable traits. If you can manage to convince her that you’re worth opening up to (which is, all things considered, a rather unlikely scenario) you’ll find her to have a quite a quick wit, and even though her sharp tongue and sarcasm remain prominent, her comments end up not nearly so biting in nature. If she ends up considering you a friend, you may even be treated to genuine laugher and smiles, a more gentle side that rarely shows its face around anyone but Raven.
In all reality, Anna is almost every bit as vulnerable a young girl as she is a headstrong one. Her anger, while indeed an undeniably vicious and occasionally violent thing, is in fact rather uncommon (and what is often mistaken for anger or hostility is a simple defensiveness, put in place after her less-than-ideal stays at group and foster homes.) Usually, she does make an effort to be civil to people, and she’ll generally remain that way until and unless you give her reason to change—though, in truth and no matter how she may act, she is very suspicious of others and the only person she truly trusts by now is her brother. Like anyone, she has her weak spots, and trust issues (which at certain times would be more appropriately termed an outright fear of other people) coupled with the events of her past results in a unique sort of vulnerability—but it is vulnerability all the same. Anna is not a ticking time bomb, as so many patients at the asylum are; no, she is more similar to a town struck by a minor earthquake: she is mostly sound in build and may even appear strong the majority of the time, but her supports are shaken, weaker than they used to be, and under the right provocations they will come crumbling down.
History: “Normal” has never been an appropriate word to describe the Adair family, even from the start. Though Anna and her brother Raven have humble beginnings—twins born on a cold winter night in a midwife’s cabin to Willow and John Adair, a young Native American couple—their lives have never been those of your typical American (or even Cherokee) family. Willow and John were a pair that, while not insane in their own right, were always a little odd, almost paranoid in their desire to isolate both themselves and their two children from the outside world and even their own tribal community. As soon as time allowed, the couple and their infants moved out of the reservation proper, near to its boundaries, and nestled themselves into a small home surrounded for miles by woodland. There, the little girl and boy—called Anna and Nathan in English, Tsulásada Nokuisi and Usdi Waya in Cherokee—were raised in accordance to tribal tradition, taught from quite the early age how to live as their ancestors did before the colonists came: off of the land, honoring the spirits and the earth. Neither Anna nor her brother minded the life; it was, after all, everything they knew, and they were quite content to grow up together with their well-meaning parents in that small home buried in the middle of the woods.
For the first ten years of her life, Anna was quite content. Never bored, always learning—sometimes on her own, sometimes taught by her parents—always wondering about the woods and all the places around their home worth exploring. She and her brother made good use of their time; when they weren’t taking parts in lessons with their mother or learning the ways of the earth from their father, they were together, playing games or just talking, but building their bond all the while. From the start, the twins were very close, and theirs was an empathetic relationship; they were two halves of the same whole, almost literally. One always seemed to know what the other was thinking or wanted to do, they shared the same interests and likes and dislikes, they could even sometimes finish each other’s sentences or thoughts without having to be prompted. Indeed, the siblings were as close as siblings could be, and the isolation of their home only reinforced the link which kept them together—but a different sort of link existed between Anna and her mother and father. Though it was never said outright and she would swear up and down that it wasn’t true, she was the favored child. The darling daughter who could do no wrong, the tagalong whenever she and her brother got into mischief, not the culprit (even when she was.) She was, in general, treated more gently, even more kindly: not reprimanded nearly as much or punished to the degree that Raven was when it became clear that she had done something wrong of her own will, always praised more for her achievements and forgiven her slights. Perhaps—though no one will ever know for sure—it was this unhealthy relationship with Willow and John which contributed to the fallout that would come to hit the family hard.
Ever the adventurous soul and active child, it was a rather hot June day when Anna suggested to her brother that they go out to swim in the river for a while, and hold a contest to see who was a better swimmer (their parents were both unavailable to give lessons that day, so the siblings had it all to themselves.) Raven, just as enthusiastic as she to have an entire day off, happily accepted, and off the two went into the woods. It was not an unusual thing: after all, they went swimming and held contests of a physical nature all the time, and that day did not seem to be any different. At first, it wasn’t. Their contest started out small: one of them would swim from one shore to the opposite and then back again, and the other would be the timer to see who was faster. They would take turns climbing nearby trees and seeing who could dive from the highest point without getting hurt when they hit the water, or hold their breath to find out who had the strongest lungs. After several hours of such games, however, the two began to get bored, and Raven suggested that they start trying more impressive tricks in deeper water, ones they had not dared to do before. Competitive by nature, Anna agreed, and that was how the mishap happened: after listening to Raven boast that he was certainly about to win their little contest (he had just completed an elaborate dive into a deep section of the river and emerged unharmed in record time) Anna—perhaps in part because she was encouraged to be the best in everything she did by her parents—immediately went to prove him wrong, and got it into her head that she would be able to swim in much deeper water than she was used to without trouble. She ran a few feet downstream and dove in, and for a few seconds, things seemed like they would work out in her favor: then she realized how deep she was, and for a split-second her muscles locked, and she found herself unable to swim, sinking fast and swallowing water and with the river seemingly hell-bent on sweeping her away. Everyone thought her story ended there.
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When she was asked the inevitable questions of who she was and why she was on her own in the middle of the woods and what had happened, she remained stubbornly unresponsive, giving the concerned questioners only her name and age and, when pressed, information about what she had been doing just before she had nearly drowned. The doctors, assuming that the hit she had taken was making her disoriented and confused, offered to call her parents and allow her to stay the night, and Anna accepted (though told them that her family didn’t own a phone, home or cell) so that she would have a little bit of time to think in peace about her current situation. She had fallen asleep during the drive into town in the ambulance—the exhaustion of her near-death experience finally catching up to her—and she realized very quickly that she had no idea where she was even in town, let alone how to get back to the reservation and home. The thought was very concerning to the young girl, but after a dose of a sedative and countless reassurances from doctors that everything was going to be all right, she succumbed to sleep and didn’t awake until the next morning. When she did come to, she found by her bed several kindly social workers, who told her that it was their job to take care of her until her family could be contacted about the situation—and off to a group home she went. The workers called their superiors about the issue, who in turn called their superiors, who in turn called theirs: at which point, commands were passed down. The young girl was to stay at the group home until further notice while her caretakers called the nearby reservation and told the authorities there of the missing child, at which point everyone assumed her parents would be contacted and come to pick her up.
But there was either a flaw in that plan or somewhere along the line it had been forgotten about in the hustle and bustle of the home, for the reservation was contacted all but once, and very briefly, with no callback number being left, making communication between the two parties impossible and all but ensuring that Anna would not, in fact, make it back home. For the six years she spent at the group home (under the care of a very kind older woman named Mrs. Holloway) poor Anna fretted over the fact. She became withdrawn and closed off, locking herself in her room and not coming out to eat or play with the other children or go to “school”, lessons which were scheduled five days a week for the smaller residents of the home. Mrs. Holloway did everything in her power to help her distraught charge, and she did very well for as long as she could—but when a sudden heart attack claimed the woman a year later and left her dead, the child in her care was forgotten (the home had received many, many more children by that time, and their remaining staff were underpaid and overworked and were used to not approaching the closed door on the end of the hall.) Anna, twelve by then, completely alone and only used to her situation as it had been, eventually was forced out into the open when she found herself on her own—and with no animals about or weapons to use on them besides, she could not fend for herself.
Making herself known in the group home turned out to be a decision she regretted very, very much by the end of her stay, for the home had received quite a few older charges in the two years she had been under Mrs. Holloway’s care, and none of them took well to the little Indian girl in her deerskin clothes with her strange way of speaking and acting. Over the next five years, she became a target for near-constant bullying and harassment, something which contributed greatly to the personality she now has—over those years, young Anna became bitter and violent and prone to fighting back, lashing out; something which only encouraged her bullies, which in turn kept up a vicious cycle wherein her more negative tendencies were fed and fed and fed, and festered. In the end, she was kicked out of the home at seventeen, having jumped upon and attempted to strangle one of the girls who, over the years, had taken to adopting quite a mocking, racist attitude towards her and her people, something for which Anna refused to stand. In the end, she was fostered to another family, much to her chagrin, a family who had told the home they would be happy to take in another child, despite how much trouble they had had with their last, who had eventually run off on them after having had quite an altercation with their son. The family’s name was Collins, and the charge they had taken on a year before was Raven—and though they did not connect the dots that the two were siblings at the time, Blake Collins certainly did, and he gave Anna hell for it.
From the start, their relationship was an absolutely awful. Blake, nineteen now and very sore over what had happened with Raven, did everything in his power to make the man’s sister as uncomfortable as he possibly could while she was staying under his roof. He would berate her when they were alone at night (the Collins house only had two bedrooms, so Anna, as Raven had before her, roomed with Blake), mock her and taunt her and sometimes even get physical, slapping or hitting her where he knew the bruises wouldn’t show. For a little while, Anna put up with him as she had put up with her tormentors in the group home: she knew she had no other choice. But on the night Blake Collins attempted to rape her—he was very drunk at the time, very drunk and very lewd and very angry when she continuously spurned him—something snapped. Anna, who had before only fought back with screamed words and the occasional blow, snatched Blake’s baseball bat from off the wall (he kept it for decoration) and proceeded to beat him with it. When the shock wore off and turned to fury, the bloody nineteen-year-old changed his tactics: he stopped fighting and began to taunt her about Raven, “that fucking nut who lived in my house a year ago and was completely psycho even before he killed anyone”. He told her about how he had seen Raven on the news, heard that he had murdered her parents in a fit of insanity, been sent to an asylum rather than prison because he was determined to be too unstable for treatment there.
After hearing that, Anna broke again. She hit him again—on the head, the arms, the stomach and legs and back and shoulders—and then when he was well past unconsciousness ran from the house and to the local police station, blood on her clothes, screaming that she wanted to know what happened with her brother and she wanted to know now. The woman at the front desk, quite concerned, tried to get her to calm down—but before she could, the anger and adrenaline running rampant through Anna’s veins got the best of her and she collapsed, thrashing and screaming incoherently, to the floor. After being sedated and led into one of the lobby’s adjoining offices, the secretary—with the help of a psychoanalyst and the two police officers who had interrogated Raven—managed to coax a story out of her, a life story, and when it was told Anna was asked if she would mind staying at the clinic nearby overnight so they could make sure she was all right (and since it obviously was not safe for her to go back to either her foster or group home.) Anna accepted, and upon evaluation she was deemed to be mentally unstable—calls to the Collins residence and the group home confirmed that she had always been a little odd, something to do with her past, perhaps—and she was then sent to St. Peter’s Asylum, as it was where her only surviving relative lived and it would perhaps help she herself, as well.
Current Placement: Patient—Moderate security
Obsessions: Physical activity. Anna cannot bear to go without moving for too long, and is always up to something, be it sewing or wandering the grounds or doing gymnastics or parkour (two sports which she has become surprisingly efficient at, if not in the professional sense then the physical one, she’s been doing them as a sort of stress relief for such a long time.) As well, she has a very strong attachment to her brother Raven, something which he reciprocates tenfold—the two are very protective of each other, and still share the empathetic bond which had linked them when they were young children—and it is not a good idea to try to sever or come between that.
message 78:
by
*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.
(last edited Jan 08, 2014 01:32PM)
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Age: Nineteen
Birthday: June 21
Gender: Female
Orientation: Straight
Appearance: Scarlett has a bit of a tomboyish look to her with her short hair and strong bone structure with fierce facial features. Even her build is small and rather lacking in curves, as a male's would be, but she is too small (weighing only 110 pounds) and her body is too lithe to be confused for a male. Her lips are also much too full to be one of a man's, a light baby pink and they curve up into a deep Cupid's bow. They are very feminine like and conceal a row of small, neat teeeth. Scarlett doesn't do too much smiling as it is, anyways. Perhaps a little smirk here and there, but she hardly ever smiles those bright, cheek tightening smiles you see on most other girls her age. She just can't get one to stretch across her full lips.
As mentioned earlier, Scarlett has short hair. Her hair color is a dark chocolate brown and stick straight until it curves at the ends, just at her strong jawline and stopping there. Although her hair is very short it can still serve a purpose for being a curtain, as she likes to use it from time to time because of how thick her hair is. Even lacking in length, she tends to get hot because of the thickness of her hair that covers her head. When this happens, she's almost thankful to have chopped her hair off because it helps to keep her cooler. A somewhat delicate feature in contrast to her strong jawline are her delicate cheekbones, just barely prominant against her taught, pale skin yet they still seem to pull her features closer together and help to make her look like a delicate china doll. A slim bridge of her nose broadens at the bottom to reveal a roundish nose that's not at all button like with large nostrils that always look like they are flaring. Scarlett's face is broad and fierce, even her long dark eyebrows cruve sharply over her broad forehead. Resting just below her thin eyebrows are her round blue eyes, fringed with short and thick eyelashes, so dark that they look black unless you are up close and inspecting. Her eyes contrast the dark brown of her hair and bring out the lightness of her skin and lips. They are a light baby blue and look just as fierce as the rest of her, but her eyes are also two crystal blue pools that mirror her every emotion. It is impossible for her to hide how she feels with her tell-all eyes.
Scarlett does not dress for fashion. She dresses for safety, meaning no loose clothing. Her wardrobe usually consists of sport-y, form fitting clothes like tank tops and leggings. She prefers to wear darker clothes too, believing that it brings out the color of her eyes (at least that's what people have told her) and since she doesn't exactly wear the most flattering of clothes, she tries to wear colors that would compliment her and so Scarlett usually leans toward the color black as a clothing option. Even the girl's hair is a safety measure from being caught on fire. When her phobia was more manageable, Scarlett let her hair grow out to her shoulderblades. Now she can't take the chance of having her hair too close to flame at that length and so she cut it into the angled bob she has now.
Hello there.
Something she would wear
This. This is the familiar look of panic and horror.
Dressing up for a date?
message 79:
by
*~Silvypoo~* (Chaser of Artemis), Life's a dance, you learn as you go.
(new)
Mod
Scarlett does not usually speak out and nor is she loud, but she is still bold in her own mindset and the way she speaks and does things and carries around her an air of strong determination that clings to her like a cloud of perfume. Her independence and surety can get the best of her sometimes as Scarlett has tendencies to get a little bit high of herself. Living in the lap of luxury for all of her life has done that to her, but the current events that have happened in the past few years of her life have stumped this, and it doesn't happen as often as it used to. Now she's beginning to realize she's no better than any other person here, and that maybe, there are people out there who are better than she is. What sometimes gets the girl in her own trouble is her mind and how aware she is of things. Sometimes she's too aware of her suroundings and she often psychs herself out when something out of the corner of her eye moves and she doesn't expect it. These spasms and frights reveals a glimpse of the frightened girl who occasionally reveals herself every once in a while. Mostly there's just Scarlett with her dry sense of humor and independent streak trying hard to outlive this fear that weighs her down every day.
History: The story of Scarlett's parents is a heartfelt one that Scarlett had proudly recited to people when she was younger. Donavon Ellsworth and Kimberly Johanson ahd been high school sweethearts until their senior year when Donavon had proposed to Kimberly at a basketball game. They were married with a small backyard wedding the summer before they went off to seperate colleges where Donavon got a degree in law and Kimberly became a nurse. Years set apart from each other with little opportunities to see each other had been hard on them and they were excited to finally settle down and have their one and only child, Scarlett, who had been named after the actress Scarlett Pomers and had come shortly after they had bought their first house together, which was the only house they would live in together.
Because the both of them had decent jobs with decent pay, Scarlett had been raised somewhat in the lap of luxury. She had been brought up in a good, supporting household which fromthe start had helped Scarlett develop such a bold and headstrong personality. She always wantedc to do things herself, prove with strong determination tht she could accomplish what she saw others do herself. That was what caused the young girl to discover her fear of fire. It had happened when her grandmother had been babysitting her one day and she had dozed off on the job. She was still sleeping when Scarlett got hungry and decided that she would make herself some macaroni and cheese from the stove like she had watched her mother do countless of times. Unfortunately, the four-year-old couldn't see the stovetop and when she turned on the burner, did not see the towel that someone had carelessly left there. Before she knew what was going on, the kitchen was ablaze and bright orange flames were glaring down at her, licking at her as if they were going to try and eat her. If the smoke alarm hadn't awoken her grandmother, the house would have burned down and Scarlett's story would have ended on that day. But her grandmother had woken up and saved little Scarlett, who had been frozen in fear and staring at the flames with her eyes rounded in absolute and pure horror. That experience burned in her mind forever and she was afraid of any flame ever since.
Life moved on normally, other than Scarlett trying to avoid fire. Then the Blakes moved in and everything changed for the small girl. When the family first moved in she had paid little mind to them. After all, they had no daughter with which to play with so what was the point? Scarlett didn't see one, but her parents obviously did and the Ellsworths befriended the Blakes. They even built a treehouse for their children to play in together. The Blake's boy, Crimson seemed fond of the idea where Scarlett did not. She liekd to stay on her side of the treehouse (that's what she called it) and away from Crimson, who drove her mad. First, he was a gross boy, and a whole year younger than her! On top of that, he always wanted to be around her and it infuriated Scarlett for the longest time.
In middle school, things began to change between the two neighbors. Scarlett wouldn't be so mean when she talked to Crimson, and she invited him to sit with her at lunch. She even allowed him to hang out with her and her friends outside of school. Until they had crossed the border Scarlett had created in the treehouse and had their first kiss, Scarlett hadn't realized the crush she had on Crimson. She realized this in the eighth grade and started dating shortly after. They had a wonderful relationship with little complications (though they struggled together with Crimson's stress and Scarlett's fear of flame) until Scarlett's sophomore year when the stress of freshman year got bad for Crimson. For both of them. For all of them.
Crimson began to distance himself from Scarlett and his family. This was unususal, but not exactly surprising for Scarlett. She knew that high school changed a lot of guys, she had seen it with her friends and thier boyfriends. She assumed that Crimson was adjusting to the new stream that was high school. What really started Scarlett;s worry was the two weeks her parents and Crimson's parents went on vacation and left the two kids at home to stay iin school which was in session at the time. Scarlett had expected two weeks of a romantic's paradise and was extremely dissapointed when at the end of each day, Crimson pulled another no-show after no-show. She refused to go and see him, though, because that was not the way things were supposed to go,but worry still ate at her until the return of the two families. Scarlett immediately informed Alia and Gregory of their son's odd behavior and waited anxiously while they checked o him. The Blakes found nothing suspicious and so they didn't worry about their son.
But Scarlett did, and she worried often. She didn't like how Crimson avoided her so she went to check on him often, but she never found anything wrong, either, but she saw the aftermath of flames and that was bad enough to spark her phobia. She couldn't hold his hand anymore or else she would get sick from the feeling of the burn scars on the soft skin of his hands. The worst thing, though, had been seeing him with matches. That had brought on the first real mental breakdown since she was a toddler. The matches reminded her of flame, how it licked and destroyed everything like the devil's tongue. They brought back the horrorfying memories of the fire she had started. Scarlett had fallen onto the scorched floor and sobbed for hours. She refused to let Crimson touch her or even speak to her because in that moment, he terrified her. She avoided his touch and cried until Crimson's parents rescued her.
After that, Scarlett was the one avoiding Crimson at all costs. He honestly terified her now, not that she was willing to admit it. Every time he tried to talk to her, she crued just like the night of the accident. When the house caught fire, she was in her room amd before she knew it, her parents were ushering her out the door for safety purposes and out where she could see the flames. That was a very bad idea because it brought on one of the worse fits ever. The flames were huge, bigger than anything she had ever seen and that brought her into a fearful panic. When she saw firemen rushing into the building and saw Crimosn missing, her anxiety increased and it was more difficult for her parents to hold onto her while she screamed andd cried and writhed in her parents' grip. She had flopped around so much against the concrete sidewalks that she had given herself some nasty marks and ended up in the hospital. There the doctors suggested finding psychiatric help for her and Crimosn
The Blakes and the Ellsworths reasearched asylums together to avoid putting their children i the same psychiatric hospital. They agreed that if Crimson weren't around, Scarlett would have less fits and if Scarlett weren't around, Crimosn would have less anxiety. Them the children were shipped; Crimosn to St. Peter's and Scarlett to Mullberyy Hill, an asylum nearby Crimson's.
But Scarlett didn't fair better without Crimson at all. She still had flashbacks form the night with her lover and fire and had sunk into a minor depression. Her life before had been gret and now she was thrown into a mental asylum with hostile strangers, unable to see her parents except for every once in a great while. It broke the now seventeen-year-old's spirit. Worrst of all, she was sure her relationship with Crimson was ruined. He scared her with is flames and how could a pyromaniac and a girl afraid of fire ever be together? She was wrestling all of this when he sent the first letter.
His parents had given him her new address and shortly after they came back into contact, Scarlett's spirits lifted and she realized that they had built their relationship to be so strong for almost four years and it was foolish to give up on someone she loved that much. They wrote for over a year and a half. Then horror struck Scarlett yet again when Mullberry HIll caught fire. No one was really sure how it happened, but they imagined a drier caught fire and all hell broke loose. Scarlett had risen into a panic when she woke up to the smell of smoke outside her door. She managed to salvage a few of her letters from Crimson and only those before running out the door before the flames caught up to her. Once she started running, she didn't stop. She ran through the woods away from that asylum, not that they noticed. The staff ahd enough on their plates trying to round up the dangeorus patients first. She ran for the closest place she thought she would be safe and where she knew how to get to. The next morning after a freezing night, the nurses found her on the doorsteps of St. Peter's. At first, they took her for a lost woman until she began to speak of Crimson. After discovering her phobia, they registered her inas a patient and notified her parents of her situation. Thankfully, no one mentioned Mullberry Hill.
Scarlett has only been at St. Peter's for a few months, but thanks to Crimson's letters, she knows this asylum almost as well as she knew her previous one.
Placement: Patient- low
Other: Scarlett has an intense fear of fire. She cannot even see it in a picture or on television or else she will go into a frenzied panic where she often times cannot catch her breath.
Relationships:
Crimson, the lover- Scarlett has been spending as much time as possible with him since her arrival and she is working hard on getting their relationship fixed along with her phobia and she hopes his addiction to fire.
Name: Holly Rose McIntyreAge: 25
Appearance: Holly has thick, curly red hair and laughing dark brown eyes. She has a rather round, almost chubby face with full cheeks and dimples when she smiles, which is often, and she is dotted all over with pale auburn freckles.
Orientation: Lesbian
Gender: Female
Personality: Holly has a tongue which is both silver and sharp; a wry and sarcastic wit and a propensity to say exactly what she thinks are balanced by a dependable compassion and sense of quiet empathy and kindness unmatched by most. She has been through a very great deal, and has hence developed a tough, independent, practical spirit, a steel spine to match her heart of gold.
History: Holly Rose McIntyre grew up in a family that loved her as much as they loved God, which is saying something. Her parents, devoted Catholics by dint of Irish heritage, doted on their only daughter, and adored her with all their hearts. Holly grew up the sort of girl that socked bullies in the mouth at recess and always offered a hello to the new kid in class. She wasn't a particularly stellar student, but she made good grades, was an athlete, spent her spare time volunteering. She seemed like a good, "All-American" kid-- that was, until Cory Bradshaw caught her and her best friend, Alana Tillman, kissing at a party when she was fifteen. The gossip spread like wildfire around school and town, and it wasn't long before Holly's parents confronted her with an ultimatum: straighten up or get the hell out.
Holly packed her bags that night and took the bus to the next town over, where her aunt and uncle lived, both doctors and both markedly more accepting than the McIntyres. She spent the next few years with them, healing and processing her pain and her identity, and by the time she turned eighteen and went to college on a softball scholarship, she knew three things for certain: she liked girls; she was okay with that; and she wanted to be a nurse, and help people as her aunt and uncle did, as they had helped her. She paid her way through school, and after working night shifts at a string of hospitals, got her first big position at a place called St. Peter's Asylum.
Current Placement: Nurse
Obsessions: N/A
Other:
message 81:
by
Annie, Have no fear of perfection-- you'll never reach it.
(new)
Mod
Aliases~ None
Age~ 16
Date of Birth~ 18th of September
Gender~ Female
Orientation~ Lesbian
Current Position~ Patient
Security~ Low
Appearance~
It’s bright as can be and she’s as happy as can be.
Some days, she wants to look like the princess she is.
The princess has awoken.
It’s just a little too dark outside…
Striking honeydew gaze is the first thing that is noticed about young Elin Amos, and honeydew is really the only word to describe it. They are a pale and glassy green, in stark contrast with the dark black lashes that circle them, and they are made even more striking with the fact that they never blink. Her eyelids, as pale as her skin and yet with an almost lilac hue to them, are never closed, and even when she sleeps it is only for short periods of time. To sleep, Elin takes pills given to her by the nurses that send her to sleep immediately, and so she never has to see the darkness behind her eyelids.
With her hair, Elin truly looks like Snow White stepping out of a fairy tale, though people often prefer to call her Sleeping Beauty, both in irony of the princess and in an accurate description. Her hair falls in wild ebony curls down to her shoulders, and bangs hang straight down to just underneath her eyebrows. The curls seem to be hardly brushed, and when she does brush them the curls seem to calm down and her hair hangs a little longer, but normally they are simply combed through with her fingers and shaken to dry. Adding to her princess appearance are rosy cheeks that only flush pinker on rather frequent occasions, and rosebud lips the colour of seashells. Elin’s pale lips part more often than not in a smile, which reveals a slight gap between the front of her teeth, and a twittering laughter much like a bird.
Elin stands at 5’3, a standard height for women of her age, and she weighs in at 106 lbs. Some would call her weight unhealthy, and it is of course due to the few months she spent heart-broken by Zachary’s departure, but regardless of how much the princess eats she cannot seem to gain her weight back. Despite all of the time that Elin spends outside and swathed in artificial light, her skin remains pale and gaunt, with skin stretched tightly over all of her bones and a lack of freckles or blemishes accompanying her porcelain skin-colour.
Personality~ Elin has spent the majority of her life in the asylum, but the gray confines of the walls didn’t turn her into the emotionless walking wraith that much of the asylum’s softer patients have become over the years. Very similarly, she hasn’t allowed it to bring a negative aspect to her personality, nor has she allowed herself to lose her smiles and laughter. Elin is probably one of the brightest patients at the asylum, aside from some of the younger children and their infectious smiles. The princess’s smiles are just as infectious, and her laughter is absolutely contagious, and it isn’t rare, either.
Darkness is the only thing that can cloud Elin’s smiles. She enjoys her time outside, of course, and the asylum has been kind enough (though not for Elin’s sake) to remain well lit at most hours, but even when sitting among floodlights, any sort of surrounding darkness causes a panic to rise in her throat, her cheeks to flush, and she gets apparently nervous. Nervous habits of Elin’s include tapping fingers and weaker smiles.
Elin does a good job in avoiding the darkness, though, as she is not particularly skilled in waking herself up. Since her prince’s departure, Elin has yet to faint, and for the better, because she has no faith in the fact that anyone other than Zachary—miles away from the asylum with his Penelope by now—would be able to wake her up.
message 82:
by
Annie, Have no fear of perfection-- you'll never reach it.
(new)
Mod
From birth, Elin was afraid of the dark. The therapists she would visit blamed it on the fact that her father would often leave her alone in the dark with her mother, who became very sick after Elin was born. Therapists claimed that her subconscious linked the dark with the death of her mother, and that was where the irrational fear came from. When Elin was hardly a year old, still in a crib in her parents’ room, her mother died, after being bedridden for nearly that whole year. A nanny was hired, and Harrison went to college, only twenty-two and already suffering with the death of his spouse. He graduated quickly, using work to deal with the grief, and he left with a business major in five years of college, and immediately found work in the local branch of Sprint. By the time Elin was three, he was manager of the company, making enough money to take care of Elin himself.
When Elin was entering kindergarten, a new family moved next door with a young boy about her age, only a year older, and quite a few older children that Elin had never been concerned about. Harrison became good friends with the Berry family, and Elin was brought over frequently to play with Zachary Berry, the youngest of the family, though her father told her that Mrs. Berry was expecting another child, and Zach would be a big brother. As Elin started kindergarten, a few months after she had forged a strong friendship with Zachary, she had her first fainting spell.
Her kindergarten class was small, and it was fused with Zachary’s first grade class, which of course made the two very happy. A severe storm hit the small town of Athena, knocking down powerlines and cutting the power throughout most of the town. Her classroom had been entirely enclosed, and as the lights went off, she was surrounded in pitch black. When the lights finally came back on, and the teachers were comforting the crying students, they noticed the small form of Elin Amos on the ground, unconscious, with Zachary bent over her. A few minutes later, she awoke.
Her fainting spells became more frequent after that. It was a rough year full of lots of storms, lots of power outages, and lots of fainting. Each time, Zachary would be brought over and he would kiss her to wake her up. Elin thought it was cute, when she was told about it. It’s like Snow White, and he’s my prince! she would say when it was brought up. But her condition only got worse, to the point where she would faint in a dark room with windows, in a room without nightlights, without all lights turned on, even to when she would blink. Very early on, Elin visited a therapist who asked her to call him Alexander, and he helped her develop her habit of not blinking. He gave her these nice eyedrops that turned her eyes slightly yellow at first, but they made her eyes sticky when she would blink, which taught her not to. Even to this day, Elin applies the eyedrops at least once a week.
It became such a hassle. Zachary hardly had a life of his own, and Elin only got worse. In fourth grade, some girls who claimed that she was faking it just to get Zachary to like her locked her in a pitch-black closet, where she lay fainted for almost the whole school day before Zachary found her and woke her up. It happened again in fifth grade, this time a lot worse and with punches thrown and hair pulled, and a scream before she fainted, and Harrison decided enough was enough. Consulting with the Berry family and Alexander, Harrison decided to send his daughter to St. Peter’s, where he felt she could be taken better care of, and he sent Zachary with her.
When they arrived, Elin and Zachary stuck to themselves. They were only ten and eleven respectively, and at first the nurses were rather frightened of Elin’s condition; they didn’t have an explanation for it like Alexander did. They didn’t give her the eyedrops like Alexander did, and when she fainted a few times and made complaints of blinking, her therapist sent the prescription for eyedrops over, along with another one for sleeping pills, so she didn’t have to suffer the darkness as she fell asleep. Even for the first few years, the pair was rather antisocial. Elin wouldn’t want to leave her room, even when Harrison came to visit her—which was rare on its own—and Zachary left often enough on his own to pay visits to his family. Everything changed when Elin was fourteen.
Zachary fell in love with a patient named Penelope, who thought herself to be invisible—Elin had always found her an interesting case. The princess called her prince out for hiding this girl from her, and the prince left her. Elin’s life fell apart. She refused to eat, trashed her room, scratched at her face and bit down on her lips, and when all the lightbulbs burns out she fainted, left prostrate on her bed in the spitting image of a dead Snow White, waiting for Zachary’s return. He returned months later, woke her, and then left her again. But this time, Elin was prepared for it.
That was two years ago. Since then, Elin became more of her own person. Unlike her first few years in the asylum, Elin has broken out of her shell and begun to visit the outdoors more frequently. The nurses are much more comfortable with her now, and they frequently bring her changes of lightbulbs for her lamp-filled room. She has been very careful for the two years during her prince’s departure, as she has no faith that she would be able to wake up again if she were to faint. And while the darkness still terrifies her beyond belief, she has gotten better. She frequents the outer locations of the asylum, especially during evenings while the sun sets and most of the patients return inside. The asylum is lit up like a Christmas tree at night, and while she still feels some panic while sitting outside among the lights in the dark, she can do it with a bit of effort. There is a hope for Elin Amos, a hope that hasn’t been evident ever before.
Other~ One would think that with Zachary’s departure, Elin would remove her Snow White night-light. But she has very little, if any, harsh feelings towards Zachary, and though the night-light is no longer essential with the newer, brighter lightbulbs, she keeps it as a memory of the princess she used to be.
Obsessions~ None.
Relationships~
Zachary Berry, the abandoned prince~ Though their relationship was never romantic, Elin saw Zachary as the prince to her princess, there to rescue her when she needed it. After he left her, returning to his home with his Penelope, Elin moved on. She doesn’t think about Zachary much anymore, the only times being when she receives a letter. The two write occasionally, as their friendship was not worth losing, and it is comforting to know that should she ever faint, and should no one else be able to wake her, that Zachary would care enough for her to come wake her up—though she would of course never ask for that.
Lenore Morgenstern, the princess’s lover~ One of Elin’s newest infatuations, Lenore has held her attention for quite some time. The white-haired princess herself has been very fleeting in Elin’s life, the latter having hardly spoken to the former, and yet Elin has a certain fondness for Lenore that is very different from the fondness she had for Zachary. She enjoys the company of the white-haired oddity and her Emotions, and where she used to spend her days alone, Elin now spends them with Lenore, all smiles and laughter and warmer emotions.
message 83:
by
Annie, Have no fear of perfection-- you'll never reach it.
(new)
Mod
Aliases~ Mel
Age~ 19
Date of Birth~ 30th of May
Gender~ Female
Orientation~ Straight
Current Position~ Nurse
Patient~
Appearance~
Dark skin and dark hair cause Melanie to stand out in the asylum, which, due to its region in the United States, is full of mainly white people. Her dark brown hair, which turns a lighter shade of brown in the summer, is naturally stick-straight, and hangs to her waist. Despite its coarse texture, her hair looks soft and silky, and she hardly ever combs it, preferring to simply use her fingers which work just as well. Her cheeks are dotted with freckles, and her eyes are a dark brown in colour, nearly black.
Melanie is 5’10, and her form is long and sinewy, which would tell you almost instantly that she is a runner. She is very skinny, but her body is made of muscle, bringing her weight to nearly 140 pounds. Along with her freckles, her cheeks will flush a dark red in colour when she is embarrassed, or flattered, and her smile is bright and nearly perfect, and not to mention frequent. The only thing that Melanie shares with her brother are tattoos; on the inside of both of her wrists she has a sunflower (her favourite flower), and behind her left ear she has a mixture of stars and music notes.
Personality~ Even for her age, Melanie is considered very mature, especially in comparison to her brother (though that isn’t saying much). She is smart, and calculating, and it is extremely hard to pull the wool over her eyes. She has a resilient personality, which makes her quite an incredible nurse, and with the more twisted members of the asylum, she can hold her own. Melanie carries around a knife of her own, given to her by her brother, who claimed it was “for her safety”, and she has yet to use it.
The icy nurse does have a gentle side, of course, which is shown to the kinder, gentler, and victimized patients. She smiles frequently, and her laughter is like the song of a bluebird, and she can be as sweet and kind as her mother Elizabeth was to her. She is a confident for plenty of the patients at the asylum, and she does a good job at avoiding files of patients she knows wouldn’t want her to know about them, for the better, of course. Melanie can be warm and a set of open ears for her patients to confide in, and there are a number of them who see her as someone very easy to talk to.
Occasionally, Melanie gets nightmares, nightmares of the man her brother killed, of the terrible months she spent in the prison, and of the darker sides of the asylum. She has a flighty personality, due to this, and after a rough night spent in her brother’s room due to the nightmares she is very unconfrontational and hardly ever leaves her brother’s sight. Samuel is her rock, despite what he did to her, and she is so afraid of the asylum that if it weren’t for him she would have a reason for being here.
History~ When Melanie was fourteen, she went on a hunt for nearly a year to find her birth mother, and it wasn’t until that point that she learned of Florence Morgan and her early pregnancy. Sneaking out to a party her sophomore year, Florence Morgan lost her virginity to her boyfriend of eight months, and nearly two months later the pair found out that she was pregnant. Her boyfriend left her, and as punishment her parents made her carry to term, and once Melanie was born she was put up for adoption. After four years in the foster-care of one of the nurses at the hospital where she was born, Melanie was adopted by the Fairchild’s, a kindly man and an infertile woman with one burst of luck: their five-year-old son Samuel.
Samuel, only one year older than his adopted sister, was welcoming to her arrival, and there wasn’t a mean bone in his body. Melanie was quickly adapted into the life of Elizabeth and James Fairchild, with warm affection from her parents, her brother, her new grandparents, and even the neighbors. Everyone would always say Melanie was more like her parents than Samuel was, aside from her colouring, of course. Her perfectly white family grew up in a nearly entirely white neighborhood, but there was no animosity towards her because of that.
As years passed, that statement became even truer. Like Elizabeth had been when she was a little girl, Melanie was sweet, full of smiles, and smart. She was one of the top in her class by middle-school, and in high-school she was that girl who took as many AP classes as possible and began planning for college in eighth grade. Like James, she was strong and resilient, and took no ridicule from anyone. She was mature, and handled herself well, and even when bullying may have been present she didn’t let it get to her. Melanie was on the track team, a star runner, as well as an expert at math and physics.
Samuel, on the opposite side, turned out nothing like his parents did, and certainly nothing like Melanie. Elizabeth and James often referred to him as the “bad seed”, and though it was never said out loud, it was clear that the Fairchild’s had a favourite, and it wasn’t Samuel. In middle-school, he got involved in the wrong sort of crowd, and by high-school he was one of those kids who sat in the back of class, smoking cigarettes and failing every test. He frequented the principal’s office, and where his sister would be called up to accept awards, he would be called up to accept referrals. At fourteen, he got his first tattoo in his friend’s garage, and quite a few followed that, all without the consent of his parents.
Despite the fact that they were polar opposites, Melanie and Samuel were as close as could be. They did almost everything together; Samuel tried track for a little while before realizing that it was not for him, and Melanie went and got a single tattoo with him, though that was one of the few things Melanie regrets.
Everything went to hell, though, once Samuel graduated.
Samuel had moved out, and none of the Fairchild’s had heard from him in months. Melanie had been accepted to some of the top universities in California, Arizona, New Mexico, and Oregon, and she and her family had high hopes and expectations. Melanie was set. She still remembers the day, March 3rd, late at night, when Samuel came running into her room with a gun in his hands and a wide, terrified look on his face.
She allowed her brother to lead her to what had happened, and she didn’t argue, either, when he showed her the dead man and put the gun in her hands. Melanie was found a few hours later, with the same wide eyes she had seen on her brother and her only words being “I did it.” Despite the fact that she admitted to killing this random stranger, the police didn’t buy it, especially once they found out that the man had been engaged to a woman that had been dating Samuel Fairchild. Both Melanie and her parents, though, claimed that they hadn’t seen Samuel for months, and Melanie wouldn’t back down from her little lie. Her parents wouldn’t stop crying for months, months that she spent detained until the judge would see her, and she was charged with manslaughter and mental instability. Melanie was sent to St. Peter’s under the presumption that she had murdered this man.
When she arrived at St. Peter’s, however, she finally told the truth, and for a while, they refused to believe her and called it part of her mental instability. But when her brother came, and told the same truths that Melanie was telling, the nurses finally believed that it was true. Melanie was released, but she couldn’t return home without placing the blame on her brother, and despite everything he put her through, she still loved him. And so the two of them stayed at St. Peter’s, taking positions of nurses. Whenever the Fairchild’s decide to visit, which is rare, Melanie takes the position of a patient, and Samuel hides, to keep them in the dark of what really happened.
Other~ Melanie still frequently runs, almost every morning. Her typical route is around the perimeter of the asylum, a few miles, but she does often change it up, for fear of one of the psychopaths learning her pattern. She does have a room to herself, but she can hardly ever be found in it. Her room is bright, and happy, with a lot of yellow touches, her favourite colour, and a lot of sunflowers.
Relationships~
Samuel Fairchild, the reason she’s here~ Unfairly accused of murder, Melanie is at St. Peter’s solely thanks to her brother, but that didn’t diminish her love for him in the slightest. He came and found her, and took the blame for what he did, and she truly appreciated his honesty. The two are as close as ever, and despite the fact that they have separate rooms, she will frequently go into his at night to avoid the nightmares. The sights and sounds of the asylum, as well as the prison she was held in for the months before her trial, left the girl afraid and with frequent nightmares, and her brother is there to be her strength where she lacks it herself.
message 84:
by
Annie, Have no fear of perfection-- you'll never reach it.
(new)
Mod
Aliases~ Sam
Age~ 20
Date of Birth~ 14th of May
Gender~ Male
Orientation~ Straight
Current Position~ Nurse
Patient~ Anna Adair
Appearance~
You’re being very irritating right now.
Plenty of people consider Samuel to be an attractive man, with light skin, dark hair, and mysterious eyes. His hair is as dark brown as you can get before it becomes black, and is rather curly in texture. He keeps it fairly short, though it styles effortlessly, with a simple shake of his head and a run of his fingers. His skin is very pale, a milky-white in colour, and he is covered nearly head to toe in tattoos. His eyes, rimmed by dark lashes, are a cloudy blue in colour, like the sky in the evening, and when he smiles they are barely touched. His smiles more so effect his eyebrows, raising them in an almost arrogant manner.
Like his sister, Samuel is tall, standing at nearly 6’1, and yet he is not nearly as fit as his sister is. Samuel was never one for sports, and so all of his weight is height and bone and fat. He is still slim, weighing 150 pounds, but if he exercised more he could be much fitter. Samuel is absolutely covered in tattoos, a few on his chest, more on his arms, and quite a lot on his back. None of these tattoos are professionally done, however, all being done in a friend’s garage, but they are surprisingly good quality for what they are.
Personality~ Where Melanie gets along very well with the gentle victims of the asylum, Samuel finds himself relating most with the sadists and the dark patients, big-name bullies including Raven, Jason, and his own patient, Anna. He is easily one of the most lenient nurses at the asylum, and oftentimes he lies for the above stated patients, making up false stories to protect them and keep them out of trouble with the other authorities. He lets a lot of rules slide, and, adding to his connection with the sadists, Samuel takes frequent trips into town to buy what his patients want and need.
Samuel doesn’t avoid the victimized patients, though, and he is very sweet to them when they come up to him. He can smile, and when he does it brightens all of his features, and his laughs are full and hearty. With his sister, however, Samuel is different. He refuses to smoke when his sister is in the room, and he is gentle and soft with her, the only side of Samuel that has those emotions. He truly loves his little sister, and every time he sees her he regrets what he did to her, giving him a human quality that he doesn’t otherwise have.
History~ Samuel was the pride and joy of Elizabeth and James Fairchild, a happy couple with the misfortune of infertility. Elizabeth and James had tried for years to have a baby, their plan being a boy and a girl, and when they found out that Elizabeth was infertile is broke them. Again, when Samuel was born, their emotions went on a rollercoaster, and the two had hope. Samuel was everything they had ever wanted and more, a beautiful little baby boy with the dark hair of his mother and the blue eyes of his father. But for five years, the couple tried again and again, to no avail. Finally, they decided to adopt.
Melanie Fairchild entered the family when Samuel was five, she being only a year younger than their naturally-born son. People expected Samuel to despise her, but he did quite the opposite: he loved her. Samuel and Melanie were as close as could be on day one, and they only grew closer as the years passed. His sister quickly surpassed him in almost everything, from school, to sports, to the affection of the family. Though they never said it, it was clear that Melanie was the favourite of his parents, his grandparents, the neighborhood, and the school. And Samuel was okay with that. He allowed his little sister to surpass him because he felt she deserved it. She was just so good at everything.
High-school came around, and Melanie began excelling even more. Her schedule was packed with AP classes, and she was the star of the track team, and she was perfect at almost everything she tried. Samuel was quite the opposite, with a crowd of friends that frequented alcohol, cigarettes, marijuana, and sex, and yet he managed to keep most of those away from his parents. Samuel fell apart, while his sister flourished, and the moment he graduated he left.
He avoided his parents and his sister for quite a long time, months, actually. During those months, he met a woman by the name of Arianna Gilson. Arianna was two years his elder, and she was married, but she was wonderful. Arianna brought him the good side of the alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, and sex he had in high school, but so much better. He and Arianna saw each other for months; her husband worked a full-time job, and he was hardly in the house except for nights, which Samuel spent in a hotel paid for by Arianna. The days were spent in her arms and in her bed, and it went on for months, until her husband came home early one day.
Everything went to hell. Her husband shouted, throwing punches at Samuel and kicking him on the floor, slapping his wife, and throwing Samuel out onto the street. A few hours later, Samuel came back to the house, led the man outside, and shot him. It was as simple as that, and yet that was how easy it was for his life to be ruined. For the first time in months, Samuel ran back to his house, and found his sister.
He didn’t even think it through. He led her to the man he had shot, handed her the gun, and told her it would be okay. And then he ran. Melanie later told him that she had continuously told the authorities that she did it, that it was her fault, that she had killed the man, and yet her parents still didn’t want to believe her. She was detained in a prison for months during her trial, on which Arianna took the stand in her defense, and yet Melanie was still declared guilty, along with mental instability. She was sent to the asylum, and it was months in there that she was a patient before Samuel finally decided to take the blame.
Samuel went to the asylum where his sister was held, and told the authorities there what had really happened. His story matched with the truths Melanie had been crying for months, and she was released from the status of patient. Still, the two couldn’t leave, without Samuel having to take the blame for the murder, and Melanie loved him enough not to make him go through that. And so Melanie and Samuel stayed at St. Peter’s, taking jobs as nurses and hiding the truth from their family. Though the Fairchild’s rarely come visit, when they do, Samuel hides, either going out into town or just wandering the outskirts of the asylum until they leave, while Melanie plays the role of a patient. And yes, while their position is frowned upon by the other nurses of the asylum, they allow the ruse to carry on, as Melanie and Samuel are a pair of exceptional nurses.
Other~ Samuel smokes frequently, mostly in the outer parts of the asylum so he doesn’t get in trouble for it. He leaves the asylum on almost a weekly basis, running errands for the patients as well as buying cigarettes for himself.
Relationships~
Melanie Fairchild, the one thing he regrets~ Samuel completely blames himself for ruining his little sister’s life. What he did, he did on adrenaline and fury, and he didn’t think about the consequences when he made his sister take the blame for the murder he committed, but what’s done is done. The way they see it, he and Melanie are condemned to a life of working at the asylum, at least until the Fairchild trial is forgotten and they can move out, maybe under different names, and maybe start another life. He and his sister are still as close as ever, and the happenings of the night of March 3rd have done nothing to taint their relationship; if anything, it has made it stronger. Samuel does everything in his power to make sure Melanie is happy with the situation he put her in.
message 85:
by
Annie, Have no fear of perfection-- you'll never reach it.
(last edited Jan 17, 2015 05:13PM)
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Aliases~ Penny
Age~ 15
Date of Birth~ 3rd of June
Gender~ Female
Orientation~ Straight
Current Position~ Patient
Security~ Moderate
Appearance~
You remind me of the dragon.
I am strong, I am powerful, I am the phoenix.
Do you want to answer the sphinx’s riddles?
The mermaid wants you, and she wants to take you down into the depths of the ocean. She wants you dead.
The unicorn is loud and proud and beautiful.
Don't expect any answers from the fairy; if you do, you'll be disappointed.
The banshee screams, and you’re as good as dead.
Aspen is much like the tree she is named after—willowy and tall. Standing at 5’7, she is a rather incredible height for a woman of her age and ethnicity, and her weight (or lack thereof) makes her seem even taller. Aspen hardly passes the 100 mark when she weighs in, and her skin is pulled tight over her thin bones, making her seem quite a meek and gentle girl to be holding so many ideas and thoughts and creatures.
On most days, Aspen appears very put-together. Her hair is long and a fiery red colour, and contrary to most people with her hair colour, is naturally straight. It hangs down to just below her shoulder-blades, and often falls in front of her eyes that are peridot in colour—a pale, glassy green. Her skin is pale, and almost porcelain, and a few freckles spray across her cheeks and arms, but not as many as most people of her colouring. She has a bright smile, hidden by full pink lips, and an even brighter laugh.
When she first began to see the monsters, her expression was always dark and empty when they appeared. But it has gotten bad enough so that she sees them every second of every day, and they no longer faze her. The mythical creatures that have become a part of her life control everything about her, even if she doesn’t know it, and yet, if they were gone, she would admittedly be sad.
Personality~ Aspen only sees the monsters one at a time, and when she does, she doesn’t only see them. No, Aspen takes their respective personalities as well. Despite this, Aspen is not diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder, but instead a severe set of hallucinations. Often, the personalities of one creature will be slightly tainted by the personality of the previous creature, but more oft than not she will undergo a complete personality change.
The Dragon
The dragon is strong, and resilient, and absolutely terrifying. Its voice breathes fire, and its words are heated and pointed. The dragon is the side of Aspen that causes the most trouble, simply because it is hotheaded and rather vicious.
The Phoenix
There is no danger in the phoenix, who is Aspen’s proudest personality, and the fiery bird frequents twitters of laughter and a sense of arrogance. The phoenix knows that it is better than everyone, and it doesn’t need people to clarify that for it. The phoenix sees itself as above everyone, and on a higher, more aristocratic level than them, and yet is still perfectly amiable.
The Sphinx
The sphinx is the inquisitive side of Aspen, always asking questions like a child might. It could easily be said that the sphinx is the younger side of Aspen, and the statement that curiosity killed the cat is just as true with this Egyptian cat. The sphinx’s favoured way of communicating is through riddles, making it rather difficult and irritating to interact with, but at the same time the sphinx is easily the wisest of Aspen’s creatures.
The Mermaid
Aspen’s mermaid is the only side of her that could be considered seductive. Her mermaid is often confused for a Siren however, due to the fact that her seductive ways have darker intentions, not so severe as the banshee’s but very similar. The mermaid sings frequently, with a melodic voice that carries into her normal speech patterns, and the mermaid is most frequently found brushing her hair, as one would expect a mermaid to do.
The Unicorn
The unicorn is Aspen’s more showy-personality, the side of her that laughs often and smiles big and wide. The unicorn knows just how beautiful it is, and it isn’t afraid to show it. The unicorn wears soft, lacy clothes, generally all white, and makes a lot of friends. White is for purity, and though the unicorn knows how beautiful it is, the unicorn is pure, and the unicorn is innocent.
The Fairy
Similar to the unicorn, the fairy is quite the beauty, but she is Aspen’s shy side. The fairy doesn’t like compliments, as they make her uncomfortable, and the fairy is just as uncomfortable in big social situations. She has a severe case of social anxiety, and she can hardly even bring herself to talk to the other patients of the asylum, let alone make friends with them.
The Banshee
The banshee is the only truly dangerous part of Aspen, and lucky for her, the banshee very rarely makes an appearance. The banshee, unlike the mermaid, doesn’t exist solely to seduce men, but to kill them and suck away their souls. The banshee is cruel, and calculating, and vicious, and the banshee has no smiles or laughter for anyone.
message 86:
by
Annie, Have no fear of perfection-- you'll never reach it.
(last edited Jan 02, 2015 10:30AM)
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Joseph had plenty of time for his daughter, as he was a writer and was home all the time, and so he raised Aspen all by himself. He even homeschooled her, starting at five, once the two got used to each other, and to him, she seemed to have grown up entirely fine. To any onlooker, though, they would have seen that Aspen wasn’t quite normal. She was odd, always playing in her room with her stuffed animals and, as she grew older, her figurines, and she was always talking to them. Neighborhood friends saw her as strange, and the little pale girl never went outside her big room, but her father thought she was entirely normal.
Aspen’s hallucinations probably began from the minute Joseph brought her into the room with all of the fantastical creatures, but he didn’t see them as an issue until she turned ten. She was always playing in her room, and even when Joseph would pull her away for her lessons she would take a figurine with her. She kept silent about seeing these creatures for quite a while, but when she was ten she began to subtly mention “the dragon” and “the fairy” and “the unicorn”, and plenty of others, all lining up with the figurines that Joseph had given her.
Still, he didn’t think it was that much of an issue, just a little girl playing with her imaginary friends. When her personality began to change, however, that’s when Joseph got worried. Aspen doesn’t even remember what her old personality was, because the creatures have taken over entirely and they are her personality, now. When she would talk about seeing “the dragon” she would be volatile, and angry, and yell a lot more than usual. “The fairy” led to shyness and she would refuse to talk. “The unicorn” was full of laughter and smiles and all white clothing. And that Joseph found strange.
Joseph took Aspen to a therapist, who diagnosed these creatures as hallucinations, and told her father that it was probably spawning from the figurines. And yet, when Joseph tried to take them from her, she screamed and cried and it seemed as if all of the creatures were fighting back at once. There was no possible way that Joseph could get them from her, and that was when he decided enough was enough. Joseph signed the papers that night, and Aspen was sent to St. Peter’s the next day.
At first, he tried to keep the figurines from her. He didn’t let her take them with her, in a hope that she would be better, and yet she only got worse. Without their figures there to control them, the creatures that she saw grew out of control and all began to show at once. They drove the girl insane, and she became a mess of emotions locked inside of a padded room. Aspen spent a few months locked in that room, crying and screaming and clawing at her skin, and finally her father sent her the figurines. Almost instantly, she appeared to be better, and in more control.
Since then, Aspen has been better. The creatures are more calm, more in control, and they only come one at a time as opposed to all at once. She has no personality of her own, all of them spawning from the creatures, but that makes her the interesting case that she is. And still, the little figurines sit in her room, on a shelf surrounded by glass, and they are frequently scattered carefully around the room. Aspen adores her bedroom most of all, and can often be found inside talking to her creatures, but she has begun to favour the outdoors just as much.
Obsessions~ Her figurines. Aspen has a figurine for each of the creatures she sees, and she can be seen often enough sitting in her room, all alone, surrounded by them. Some are ceramic, some are glass, but they all have a shelf of their own in her room, and yet are oddly enough never on the shelf.
The dragon.
The phoenix.
The sphinx.
The mermaid.
The unicorn.
The fairy.
The banshee.
Other~ None.
Relationships~
Erin Bennett, the one who cares~ Aspen’s nurse could easily be described as the single most patient human being in the world. While Aspen knows nothing of the trials and tribulations that Erin faces outside of the asylum, she does know that she herself doesn’t make it very easy on the nurse, and so for that, she truly appreciates the nurse. Erin is sweet to Aspen when she needs it, and hard and calculating at other times. This nurse knows how to deal with each personality in particular, and that makes her wonderful, truly, at the job she does.
Jacob Fox, the only one she can call a friend~ Aspen does not have many friends in the asylum; of patients with some form of personality disorder she is the most unstable, which makes it incredibly difficult for her to keep friends. Jacob, however, is different than everyone else. She and the young boy who sees himself as dead have become quick friends, and Aspen truly cares for him.
Name: Faye Davis
Age: 16
Gender: female
Orientation: bisexual
Personality: Faye is very secretive, quiet and always seem to be up to something. She doesn't talk with people often because she believes that she doesn't need anyone in this world. She never talks to the nurses or doctors, and she never gives away weakness. She is horribly stubborn and independent.
Appearance: Faye has long, beautiful dark town hair, dark skin, freckles and bright blue eyes. She is pretty short but is a fast runner and pretty strong.
History: Faye used to be a normal girl. She had friends, and a family that loved her. But something happened when she turned 14. Some say that a demon took over her. But really, the demon was there all along, it simply awakened. She began killing people, but she was very secretive about it. But one flimsy mistake sent her to the asylum.
Current Placement: patient, high security
Other: non
Age: 16
Gender: female
Orientation: bisexual
Personality: Faye is very secretive, quiet and always seem to be up to something. She doesn't talk with people often because she believes that she doesn't need anyone in this world. She never talks to the nurses or doctors, and she never gives away weakness. She is horribly stubborn and independent.
Appearance: Faye has long, beautiful dark town hair, dark skin, freckles and bright blue eyes. She is pretty short but is a fast runner and pretty strong.
History: Faye used to be a normal girl. She had friends, and a family that loved her. But something happened when she turned 14. Some say that a demon took over her. But really, the demon was there all along, it simply awakened. She began killing people, but she was very secretive about it. But one flimsy mistake sent her to the asylum.
Current Placement: patient, high security
Other: non
message 88:
by
Annie, Have no fear of perfection-- you'll never reach it.
(last edited Jan 17, 2015 05:13PM)
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Aliases~ Tobie, Rosalind, Rowena, Katrina, Elaine
Age~ 18
Date of Birth~ 26th of October
Gender~ Female
Orientation~ Straight
Current Position~ Patient
Security~ High
Appearance~
Tobie, the real one, the insane one.
Who else but Rosalind would wear such an audacious colour-- and only the colour?
No smile? Must be Rowena.
Katrina. Like the hurricane, she leaves a disaster wherever she goes.
Elaine doesn’t know what is and isn’t good for her.
Despite the many different personalities, and not counting their little ticks and general outfits of choice, Tobie looks exactly the same whenever you find her, despite whichever personality might be in control that day. Every day, Tobie has dark, dirty blonde locks that are almost always a little less than behaved and a little rattier. Even just in appearance, Tobie looks quite insane. Her ratty blonde locks hang long and just below her breasts; if it had been regularly combed and taken care of, it would have had a lovely shine and would have accented her gaunt features quite well. But it is dull and tangled, and so her hair does no good for Tobie. Rosalind, of course, finds it necessary to take a shower before she goes out in this disgusting body, and she curls her hair whenever she comes out. Elaine wears hers in pigtails, Rowena prefers it slicked back, and Katrina keeps it very much like Tobie does.
All of the girls have identical eyes, and even the lights in them never change. Eyes are always a bright, startling lapis blue, one that can always have a hint of laughter seen in them; be it coy, forced or mocking, the laughter is always there in her deep blue gaze. All of the girls have beautiful, porcelain skin, and only Rosalind coats it with makeup. Rosalind wears just the slightest amount of foundation, blush, and her signature red lipstick. The lipstick is how one can easily notice Rosalind as opposed to one of the others. Often, Rowena can be seen with winged eyeliner, although only on occasion. And Katrina, well, Katrina wears absolutely no makeup. None whatsoever. Even Tobie wears mascara on a daily basis, but Katrina goes all natural.
They all dress differently, as well, although their one thing in common is that none of them wear shoes unless it’s forced upon them. Tobie is always in jeans and shirts that tend to ride off of the shoulder, pulling together her overall messy look. Rosalind-- well, when she is wearing anything, that is-- can almost always be found in a corset top and black jeans. Rowena prefers tight-fitted long-sleeved shirts in textile patterns paired with shorts and boots (and occasionally a chunky necklace). Elaine prefers to a tank top accompanied by a big, pale pink sweater that falls off of her shoulders. And Katrina wears torn jeans and shorts and cut-off tank tops, even occasionally crop tops. It is rather easy to tell which personality is at any given time, especially considering their quite visible differences. On some days, however, one truly doesn’t know.
Personality~
October Iyana Elise
Before the alters became as prominent as they were, Tobie was known by one word and one word only: insane. Completely and utterly batshit crazy. Now she of course has some form of an excuse for her insanity, but insane she is. Poor October Elise is your textbook definition of insane, although she is not entirely sapped into an empty, personality-less pit. Tobie is very rarely herself, but when she is, she is quiet and reserved and utterly a sweetheart. Her laughs are genuine and warm, and her smiles are even warmer. Though she is quiet and reserved, Tobie can strike up a conversation with absolutely anyone. She does find it quite difficult to keep friends, however, considering her condition. Especially if someone is to run into one of her alters before her herself. Tobie does not enjoy explaining herself, you see, and she is very uncomfortable talking to just anyone about her alters.
Rosalind Alexandria Elise
Rosalind is a rather interesting subject, as she is the exact opposite of Tobie herself. Whereas Tobie is warm, quiet, and reserved, Rosalind is seductive, obnoxious, and very comfortable with her own body (and even her sexuality). Rosalind Elise could easily be defined as a classy whore, because in all honesty that’s what she is. When words are spoken from the sensual woman-- she prefers to communicate with her red lips rather than her words-- they are always in a flirtatious way, a coy tone, and accompanied by a rather enticing smile. Now, it is rather untrue that she would “fuck anything that walks” (that is everyone’s favourite thing to say about her, of course), as Rosalind prefers men and men alone, and even then she has standards. But this specific woman does not see anyone as a friend, only a nuisance or some opportunity for a little… game, if you will. Deep down, though, Rosalind is sweet, and she honestly cares for everyone, yes, even the psychopaths.
Rowena Jocelyn Elise
Rowena is easily the sanest of the group, even counting Tobie herself. Darling Rowena, as Tobie will often refer to her as, is luckily the alter she transitions into most often, and that is a benefit to everyone who runs into one of the alters. Rowena, in one word, could be described as a mother. In reality, she is your typical teenage girl, one who has seen far too much for her lifetime. Rowena’s character will claim to have been raped at the age of ten, and while Tobie and the other two girls know nothing of this, no one person has been able to nail down whether or not Rowena tells the truth. And so Rowena is a very fragile girl, though she covers up the even more fragile girl she lives within. Despite this, she has warm smiles and very easily makes and keeps friends. She is the most amiable of the group, and is much more vocal than Tobie herself is. One could even describe her as a chatterbox. She will talk and talk and talk and never stop once you get her started.
Katrina Eleanor Elise
Katrina Elise is in one word a bitch. A complete and utter bitch. If you ask her about her history, she will tell you that she was brought about to stand up against some bullies, and whether she is talking about a life she herself developed or the reason Tobie brought her out, one will never know. Katrina is accurately named, as much like the infamous hurricane she brings disaster wherever she goes. She takes everything offensively, and she actually enjoys getting in fights. She is a rather tough kicker, and can hold her own against some of the more insane psychopaths in this asylum-- not counting her darling Tobie, of course, even though Tobie certainly fits into the category of insane psychopath. Katrina, lucky for Tobie especially, does not see the surface very often, only when she feels that Tobie is in danger. Though “The Hurricane” would never admit it, Katrina is very protective of the woman who owns the body in which she calls home, and she would sooner disappear forever than sit there and watch Tobie get hurt.
Elaine Amelia Elise
At ten years old, Elaine is the only one of October’s alters that claims to be a different age than the rest. Elaine was spawned out of fear—no, not just fear, but absolute terror—and is therefore the innocent card of Tobie’s deck. As is true with most children, Elaine laughs giddy, childish little giggles, and her smiles spread ear to ear, that is, when she cares to smile. As fear was her father, and anger her mother, Elaine is a quiet young girl, plagued by monsters in and out of the dark. Elaine plays the nurses’ favourite, with her soft smiles and childish wonder, and due to such she receives better treatment than many of the patients at the asylum. Yes, it’s unfair, but it happens, and no one is about to tell the ten year old no. This “better treatment” includes meals that she can eat as opposed to choking them down, and concern as opposed to apathy. No one can find it in their heart to hate Elaine, regardless of what they may think of the other girls, and her infectious laughter makes sure of that.
message 89:
by
Annie, Have no fear of perfection-- you'll never reach it.
(last edited Apr 23, 2014 04:44PM)
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When one hears about dissociative identity disorder, their mind instantly goes to rape. But for the fifteen years that Tobie lived with the Isaac family, never once did Zacharie touch her-- or at least as far as she knows. She will claim day in and day out that her disorder was trauma-induced as opposed to sexually-induced, but all she knows is that Darling Rowena came into existence when she was but ten years old. Rowena will swear up and down that she was raped by Zacharie Isaac at that age, her reason for coming to Tobie, supposedly, but no one person knows if that’s true or not. No one will ever know if it is true or not.
Rowena began showing up, and without warning Tobie disappeared and Rowena became the center of attention. Very luckily for her, Rowena’s own personality was even close to Tobie’s at that young of an age, and so it took quite some time for the difference to be noticed. Of course, the mind of a teenager is very different than that of a ten year old, and so within a month Emilee and Zacharie send Tobie to therapy. Of course, Rowena wouldn’t come out when the therapist was there. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want the therapist to know about her, and neither did Tobie. And so for years with the same therapist, Tobie went undiagnosed, simply because both of the girls kept their little secret under wraps.
Rosalind splintered off soon after. Rowena, who seems to understand most about the subject, will claim that the classic whore came to join the party when Tobie herself turned fourteen. Rowena calls Rosalind (other than whore, slut, or that one bitch) Tobie’s “teacher”, and will swear up and down that she came as Tobie began learning about sex, questioning sex, and seeing it amongst her as a common thing. As Rosalind was not as easy to hide as Rowena was, it became very clear very quickly that something was going on inside the little girl they had grown to love. And soon the therapist, too, picked up on the alter egos. The three women knew they were fighting a losing battle, and so they didn’t exactly try to hide themselves any longer. Tobie began peeking out less and less.
With the addition of a new alter, there were now three people inside poor Tobie’s little fragile mind. And of course, the two would grow rather curious about each other, as they couldn’t exactly interact with each other. Rowena started it, of course, but it wasn’t long before letters were written back and forth. Diaries, almost, although they were less recalling their experiences and more learning about the others inside Tobie’s tiny head. Rowena would write when she was out, and then the next time Rosalind was out she would respond. They were most often questions, as each was learning about the other. Tobie stayed out of the diaries for years, not exactly wanting to know what her alters spoke about when she wasn’t there.
It was with the appearance of Katrina that everything went downhill.
Katrina appeared just before Tobie’s fifteenth birthday, and to be quite honest, she saved the day. The girls in her classes had been picking on her, laughing at her for months, calling her names such as batshit, psycho, basket-case. Tobie would come home crying every day, and the next day she would come a different woman than the day before. They laughed at Rowena, which of course sent that poor darling down a rather dark path. They made fun of Rosalind, who would in turn call them sluts behind their backs and flip them off. But on a very particular day, they were shoving her around. Pushing Tobie, throwing punches, pulling hair. There were six of them and only one of her, and that one of her was frail and unable to fight back in any way. In an instant, a new expression was in place, Katrina was created, and very quickly she began fighting back. Tobie, or Katrina… whichever you wanted to call her, she was holding her own and she left the six girls with plenty of bruises to nurse.
As soon as Emilee and Zacharie found out about this new personality, there was no question about it. She was put on medication immediately. And that did just the opposite of making it better. She began losing track of time; as her alters would fight over taking control of the body, Tobie herself was somewhere black and dark and empty. She didn’t know exactly where she was, and she wouldn’t. For a good three months.
The stopping of the meds was an agreement between all three of the alters: Rowena, Rosalind and even Katrina. They would all give their own individual reasons for why they flushed the bottles of pills down the toilet, but in all honesty, they missed Tobie. They needed her just as much as she needed them. And so, they refused the pills. And because technically these girls were not their daughter, Emilee and Zacharie could do almost nothing to stop the women. Tobie came back a few days after the pills were stopped, and then almost immediately Emilee and Zacharie up and booted their once perfect daughter to St. Peter’s.
Tobie and the three girls have been at the asylum for nearly three years, now. The nurses are intrigued by Tobie, and they constantly offer her medication which she refuses to take. None of the girls will admit it ever, but to Tobie, each and every one of them are like children. She cares for them, she watches them, and she needs them. They were created to protect her: protect her from rape, protect her from the wonders of the world of love, and protect her from bullying. They were alone for years, and then Tobie met Raven.
Raven, the famous psychopath of St. Peter’s, has ties with quite a few of Tobie’s counterparts, and he and the terror, lust, and fury he inspired in the girls is the sole reason that Elaine is with them today. A crazy day full of all four girls screaming and crying at once led to a week in the padded room and a ten year old sister who talked about the Bird Man that haunted her in the dark. To this day, the girls do their best to keep Elaine—and themselves—away from Raven, but, as is always true in the asylum, to no avail.
Obsessions~ Rosalind has a rather unhealthy obsession with red lipstick: L’oreal Colour Riche in Candy Apple. Provide her with that exact shade whenever she asks for it, and she will be as happy as can be. Rowena adores jewelry, especially big, chunky jewelry. She managed to bring enough with her, and to collect it during her stay in the asylum. Katrina is rather big on painting, as a matter of fact. She has the skills and uses it as “anger management”, which she certainly needs. Elaine favours the outdoors and all of the cute little critters that come with it. More often than not she can be found outside with a nurse and a squirrel, or a bunny, that she happened to find on the asylum grounds. October herself has no unhealthy obsessions.
Other~ Tobie’s family tends to avoid her, as do plenty of the patients in the asylum. She is well known as a basket-case, and only those who know her as Tobie or occasionally Rowena will go so far as to seek the girl out. Her dorm is also littered with notebook pages, entire journals, all in different handwritings, of course. Now that the alters have had years to get to know each other, their communication is much simpler now.
Relationships~
Raven Adair, the Bird Man~ Raven Adair haunts the shadows around October and her girls, and not one of them would say a single good thing about him. Though Rowena and Katrina have been lucky enough to avoid him thus far, a hatred has been spawned from both of them due to how he treats the others. An unfortunate encounter in the common room led to Tobie’s fear, spawned by his threats and his promising actions, and a similar reason is given to Elaine, who gave him the name of “The Bird Man” and claims to have nightmares of a figure that resembles him. Rosalind is another story entirely. A night of “soothing a migraine” led to a strange bond between the two, a bond that brings out the more sadistic side of Raven and the fearful side of Rosalind. But she is brave, and she doesn’t want anything bad for the Indian. Despite her absolute terror towards what the Indian promises to do to her, Rosalind has maintained their relationship to a point where it is not always dangerous—well, as not-dangerous as it can get with Raven.
Carlos Rivera, the confidant~ Several times, Tobie has found Carlos in the midst of a fit, whether she herself couldn’t handle something, or one of her alters couldn’t. Carlos is the only person at the asylum to know all of her alters, and to be kind to all of them. Carlos is truly the only person that Tobie considers a friend in the asylum, and, as futile as it may be, she would trust him with any of her lives.
Name: Selena Amirah al-GhanemAliases: Sel to friends, Lena to family
Gender: Female
Age: 17
Orientation: Straight
Height: 5'8
Appearance: Sel is very tall and- not thin, but lanky, leanly muscular, small-breasted. She moves as if comfortable and confident in her own skin, with athletic grace. She has long, slightly wavy thick black hair, which she usually wears in a braid for ease (she thinks it's both more manageable and more stylish than a ponytail), and large, expressive dark brown eyes and dark brown skin, a legacy of her Egyptian ancestry. She is quick to smile and laugh, but as quick to give you a look to kill if you so much as raise a finger in the direction of someone she loves. She is equally comfortable in long, feminine dresses and makeup and jewelry as she is comfortable in a plain t-shirt, jeans and sneakers, though around the asylum she only ever wears the latter. She has a penchant for the color blue, and almost always wears something such. There are near-permanent dark circles under her eyes from long nights studying and taking care of her little sister, Jalilah.
Personality: Sel is fiercely protective of those she loves, and will go as far as using physical force on those she believes to have hurt a loved one, if the injury is grave enough. She is snarky, sarcastic, and witty, quick to anger and quick to forgive, and her big mouth and sharp tongue sometimes get her in trouble- though she is usually able to fight, argue, or apologize her way out of a tight spot. She is adaptable, a survivor, the sort of person one can count on to get shit done. She is devoted, loyal, and compassionate; despite her seeming tendencies to violence, she is equally capable of acting as a voice of reason and reassurance to those in need, though not as often to herself. She is close with her family, and loves them deeply; she has a similar relationship with her friends, who are few but dear to her. She'd do anything for them, particularly her best friend Alys, now a patient at the asylum. She acts as a mother-figure to the whole group of them when they need it, and also acts as a mother of sorts to Jalilah and her thirteen-year-old sister, Mariam- their mother died when Jali was born, and Sel is the only mother Jalilah has ever known.
However, sometimes the stress she puts herself under to balance caring for her loved ones and her various other responsibilities gets to Sel; she is prone to worry and stress, and needs the support of those she loves when she's feeling worn out or on edge.
History: Sel grew up as a brown girl in a town full of white people, and as the only Muslim kid in any of her classes, she had to deal with teasing, name-calling, and odd looks on a regular basis, and her older brother Fuad got in a few fights in his time. But instead of letting her classmates' petty malice cow her into silence, little Sel quickly became adept at the art of smackdown, either with her quick, razor-sharp retorts, or with her fists and fingernails (which she is far less inclined to use now, but still holds in reserve). All this, in combination, led most of her classmates to alienate her- that is, except for a select, dear few who found her fire appealing instead of alarming, including Alys, her closest friend and neighbor since they were small. Alys would always step into Sel's defense against bullies, using either her demure charm to persuade teachers or her sometimes-steely temper to tell off their antagonists, and in return Sel was her sworn shield and companion, always ready to defend Alys against kids who picked on her or friends who did her wrong- and, too, boys who broke her heart.
And then there was Micah.
Micah Stark was the terror of the town from the very moment he was born. Wealthy, entitled, and malicious even as a five-year-old who chased Sel and Alys down the street with the help of his gigantic wolfdog, Micah always did whatever he wanted and got away with it, bullying his victims into silence and charming every authority figure he came across with his suave politesse and guileless gray eyes. His father, the police chief and Well-Respected Man of the town, was oblivious to his son's behavior- or perhaps turned a blind eye to it. Sel and Alys both loathed him with the pure, unequivocal hatred of children who are young enough to know better than to disguise their dislike. They avoided him, mocked him under their breath, feared him (though Sel in particular did not let that stop her from thoroughly cussing him out once she knew how).
And then Alys fell in love with him. She was sixteen, he eighteen, charming and intelligent and beautiful, and he said all the right things to soothe childhood hurts and make adolescent hearts race, and she loved him.
Sel, meanwhile, remained a wary third wheel, on the periphery, watching like a guard for any signs of trouble, and when she found them (Micah shouting, Alys crying, Alys tense and distracted and jumpy, her eyes impossibly sad, Micah following them home, Micah quick to displeasure, Micah gripping her wrist too tight when he asked her where the hell have you been) she begged Alys to leave the boy that was ripping her heart to pieces. Alys would hear none of it. She loved him, she did.
And then, there came the space of about a week when Alys was acting even more morose, jumpy, withdrawn than usual, and Sel knew it had something to do with Micah. But it wasn't until Sel found Alys crying as if she was breaking apart in an empty bathroom that the truth came pouring out: Micah had raped Alys.
They went to court. They got a restraining order. They did not get prison.
And for a while, things settled into a tense, wounded, waiting peace, as Alys did her best to heal and her father and honorary sister did their best to help her. But there came a night when, while Alys was getting ready for bed, she saw Micah and his damned dog looking in her bedroom window, and she screamed and wept and panicked, and her father came running.
But when he looked out the window, no one, neither boy nor dog, floated in the air beyond her window.
Sel, of course, came over as soon as she could to comfort Alys, and stayed the night, awake and on guard while Alys tried to sleep, afraid. Her eyes refused to see what Alys had seen. What did that mean?
The next morning, Alys's father, Brandon, sat her down at the kitchen table over breakfast and gently introduced the idea of professional treatment at a psychiatric hospital just outside town, where she'd be well away from Micah, and where she could recover with far more resources available to her. A distraught and weary Alys agreed, and a couple of days later, she was registered as a patient at St. Peter's Asylum; at which point Sel took a sudden and avid interest in volunteering at the asylum, ostensibly for community service's sake, but truly to keep an eye on and comfort her oldest friend.
Placement: Volunteer
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Thank you, Iso! :) I do too. She's one of my oldest characters, and I'm really excited to have her in St. Peter's.
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Name: Loryn ParkerAge: 16
Appearance:
Loryn is a pretty girl with long blonde hair and blue eyes. She is the type of girl that everyone has there eyes on. She use to have a lean muscled body before she starved her self and now her arms are laced with scars from cutting and abuse.
Dressing Style: Loryn likes to wear big sweaters that cover her arms. They hide the nasty scars that lace her arms like drawings.
Orientation: Straight and in a long term relationship
Gender: female
Personality:Loryn use to be a bright bubbly girl with a bright future. Now she is closed off and distant. The bright snile everyone use to love is repalaced with timid scared eyes and depression written all over her face.
History:Loryn Parker grew up in a small town where everybody knew everybody, she was a well liked girl and a great student who was always smiling. It looked like she had the perfect family too. On the outside she had loving parents and a great home life, but on the inside her mother drank and she was the surrogate for her father's rage. Of course she had to keep the perfect family picture so she hid the bruises with long sleeves and the emotional wear with a fake smile.
After years of abuse she found a guy who she thought would treat her right. His name was Maxon and he was the perfect guy. Loryn was fourteen and Maxon was sixteen. She thought everything would finally go right. A couple months into the relationship he started verbally abusing her, she wasn't pretty enough, she wasn't skinney enough, she was too needy. This went on for a few months and she broke up with him, but he begged her to get back together and of course they did. Except this time he physically abused her. Everyone knew, there were some things you couldn't hide. Between him and her dad she attempted suicide twice and was in the hospital multiple times with major injuries. Loryn started to become more closed off, she was frightened of almost every boy and a lot of them took advantage of it. They beat on her constantly. After her third suicide attempt her mother was tired of paying hospital bills so she checked her daughter into the asylum. The poor girl is terrified of every guy she meets even if he intends her no harm.
Maxon visits her fairly often and she always comes out of thise visits violently shaking, whispering about things she could do better. He acts like the perfect boyfriend around all of the nurses, so a few of them are convinced that she is just mad and that she is lucky to have Maxon to help her. Of course, Loryn would never dare to day that Maxon hurt her, in her eyes, he is a god.
Current Placement: Patient/Moderate security
Obsessions: Loryn is an excellent artist, she loves drawing and it keeps from thinking about her past experiences.
Other: Loryn is a moderate security patient, she's not a threat to others but she is to herself.
Loryn is very submissive to men, years of abuse taught her the best thing to do is just let it happen and not to argue.
message 96:
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Annie, Have no fear of perfection-- you'll never reach it.
(last edited Jan 17, 2015 05:15PM)
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Aliases~ Char, if you’re incredibly lucky
Age~ 16
Date of Birth~ 7th of December
Gender~ Female
Orientation~ Straight
Current Position~ Patient
Security~ Low
Appearance~
Are you really trying to talk to me right now?
Maybe there’s some sugar underneath all that spice.
Charlotte is as beautiful as she is vicious. She has long, copper-red hair that comes from her mother, and the only aspect she carries from her father are her brown eyes. Like her mother, whom still to this day she has never met, Charlotte has pale skin dotted with freckles, red hair, and the slimmest of forms. Her features are soft, and yet there is a sort of sharpness to them as well, that probably comes more from her personality than her actual appearance. There is no doubt that Charlotte is beautiful, but there is a certain truth to the fact that a person’s personality can be more outstanding and noticeable than their actual appearance.
Charlotte is 5’6, a rather average height for a teenager her age, and she hardly weighs 110 lbs., partially from her natural form and just as much from the pressures set upon her by the tabloids and the paparazzi. Her cheeks are naturally flushed, and her lips are an identical color and are much fuller than they should be; her nose is perfect and there is not a mark on her features, but of course Charlotte would never admit to plastic surgery. She would, however, admit to a slight tattoo inside her wrists—a moon on one, and a star on the other—a phase that she and Abigail went through while they were still friends.
Personality~ Take what one would typically think of a celebrity. Celebrities are self-absorbed, celebrities are self-entitled, and celebrities do not have a single nice bone in their body. Now take that, and take away the right to behave like that, and you have Charlotte O’Neal in a nutshell. Charlotte behaves as if she is a queen, and expects to be treated as such as well. She loves herself, and she expects everyone to love her as well. Unfortunately for her, she has yet to realize that this sort of attitude doesn’t exactly fly in the asylum.
Charlotte’s little event at her Sweet Sixteen has been labeled by the tabloids as A Young Star’s Nervous Breakdown, and to her it seems as if no one will forget it. Ever. And to her that is absolutely the end of the world. Charlotte’s image is her everything, and yet, oddly enough, she seems to have no care in the world of what people think of her. Her nervous breakdown seems to have been a single occurrence, and doesn’t seem as if it will happen again, although you can never truly know with these types of people. She has been advised, however, to stay out of high-stress situations, for fear of some sort of medical issue occurring.
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When looking at the life that Charlotte O’Neal lived, one could have easily predicted the sequence of events that led up to her nervous breakdown, and led to her moving into the asylum. But Charles was an oblivious man, concerned solely about money and image, and Charlotte had no other example to look up to, other than the women that came and went every week with her father. Charlotte grew up in the city of LA, which in and of itself has its affect on children, but she also grew up on the set. She was enrolled in online school after the age of ten, once everyone realized who she was and began to harass her at school for it, and yet she spent a very minimal amount of time studying for school and more time with the celebrities her father worked with. Charlotte became very accustomed to this lifestyle, and as the saying goes, monkey see, monkey do. Charlotte became entitled, heartless, and remorseless, and her father miraculously did nothing about it. As Charlotte aged, it only grew worse and worse.
Of course, Charlotte was a healthy girl, and there she had absolutely no issues with her image. She loved herself, maybe a little too much, and everyone loved her. She was the beautiful daughter of a famous director, and she was in every magazine, at every movie premier, dressed up for every awards show, and when she turned sixteen she even had the biggest Sweet Sixteen anyone could ever imagine: she rented out the entirety of the Golden Gate Bridge, flew any and every celebrity she could think of to San Francisco for the weekend, and partied as hard as she could. This Sweet Sixteen, oddly enough, was what led her to St. Peter’s Asylum.
Charlotte had “forgotten” to invite one of the biggest teen celebrities of the year, Abigail McAndrew, to her party; “forgotten” wasn’t really the right word, because of course she did it on purpose. The girls had unnecessary drama between them—Abigail and Charlotte had both been eyeing one of Charles’ new actors, and after Charlotte made her move Abigail slept with him anyways. The indignant Charlotte had completely attempted to ruin Abigail’s life through Twitter and her own 300k followers, as well as ruining the image of the man who was involved. In the dramatic actions of a furious teenager, Abigail flew herself to the party, and made a speech to the public, a speech that started with “A toast, to this whore who’s birthday we’re celebrating” and ended with fists and pulled hair and a couple of torn ears.
Both girls ended up in the emergency room, and the paparazzi was absolutely everywhere. Charles, in an attempt to save his own image, and with no love for his daughter (though that wasn’t surprising, due to the lack of love throughout her entire adolescence), signed some papers that Charlotte never got to look at, and as soon as the nurses stitched where her earrings had been ripped from her ears and placed a couple of stitches where the acrylic nails had dug into her, Charlotte was packed into a limousine and then an airplane, followed by another limousine that took her to a small, stale white building with a sign that read St. Peter’s Asylum.
Obsessions~ Charlotte has a charm bracelet, made of the purest of gold and adorned with not-so-small diamonds. On that charm bracelet dangle an almost unintelligible number of charms, each a gift to her from one of her father’s girlfriends. The largest and most notable charm was a gift from her real mother; this charm is a large lapis lazuli, Charlotte’s birthstone, as well as the birthstone of her mother.
Relationships~ None.
Other~ None.
This is my first character. It is also the first one posted this year. I am sorry but is is very long.Name: Pekya Owen
Age:17
Appearance: He is four inches shorter than the bottom of the top door hinge in his bedroom, well, when he had a bedroom that is. His skin is white, but not pale, he has medium brown hair that goes down past his ears and eyebrows. Sometimes he likes to twirl a piece and play with it around his finger. He is always wearing a pair of brown leather Bostonian Stradas , blue jeans, some long-sleeved American eagle shirt, usually a shade of grey, with the occasional maroon, and a dark blue hooded jacket given to him by his mother. The inside is lined with the same stuff as thermal underwear, so it is good for mild and cold weathers. In the middle lies a golden-brass zipper with the word “Walls” written in a fancy script on the handle. The jacket is just a little too big for him, but he likes it anyway. Upon his medium, smooth and slender nose lies a pair of glasses, framed with the colors of black, brown, and dark amber, which brings out the small flecks of gold scattered about in his dark brown eyes.
Orientation: (Straight, Gay, Bisexual, Lesbian) At one time he was straight, until he met her. (Continued in History. Find the answer there)
Gender: In ordinary life: male, when he is in kitty mode: somewhere in between, and male or neutral when he is being little. Predominately male with periods of neutralism
Personality: Pekya in his normal state is typically lonely, but confident, bold, and can be very friendly. At times he may pretend to be shy, and timid, but he is not. He is however unsure of himself and his place in the world around him. This unsurity unconsciously makes him afraid, which drives him into the safe havens of his mind. In everyday life he looks people in the eyes when he speaks, which is sometimes intimidating to others. As someone said “Eyes are the windows to the soul” Pekya knows this and talks with the real person on the inside. Not the fake person on the outside. He also does things differently.. Instead of saying “We need to talk” he will position himself to make the other person want to talk with him. He also has a very interactive face and body, meaning that he is very good at expressing emotions silently. He is also proficient at reading emotions. His unsurity has made him humble and kind, which has helped him empathize with others. Through his knowledge of empathy came his understanding of emotions, which has given him the ability to put up a secure brave-front, giving him more confidence in life. Basically, by embracing his weakness Pekya has become strong, and by escaping to his mind, and other forms, he learns more about himself, making him stronger. Pekya is a strong weakling.
History: (Include reason why in the Asylum) At the time Pekya Owen was in is his senior year of high school. He was attending a small school in a highly conservative area, with a bunch of rich farm kids that have been together since kindergarten. For Pekya, it was his first, and last year here.
You see, just the previous summer, Pekya and his family moved. He was separated from the friends he had made and the school he loved, but he figured he would lose them in a year anyway, so there was really no need to hold on to what he had. His family of eight left their partially decayed mold-infested house in Florida, to live with grandparents in a clean three bedroom home up north. Due to the circumstances Pekya slept on the floor. Still, he was content; after all the carpet was soft, and clean. At least, he wasn’t sleeping under a gaping hole in the ceiling like he used to *ughhh shivers* slowly dripping down dirty drainage water during downpours, the tendrils of moldy insulation hanging above his head seemed to dangle in a precarious position. Within the gaping holes and between the ceiling cracks these foam tentacles clutched the essence of sleep from Pekya many times, often making him ill. Yes, at least he was no longer in that predicament.
Anyway, back to school. During the first two month of school, Pekya felt out of place. Everyone was reserved and calm, but not in a good way. All they seemed to do was exchange pleasantries, and have small talk. They weren’t terribly cold people, they just weren’t friendly. Everyone was already placed in a social circle. They gravitated their lives around the center, and put their backs to everything else. As a result, Pekya was left alone.
Eventually it became too much. Pekya decided to do something. Something he thought he would never do.
Warning: the rest of this profile may contain content that may make some readers uneasy
The following content is rated PG-13 ½. (for when it all began)
“When did a-all this start!?” His parents inquired of him.
His body started to shiver. It was only a little trembling, but inside he was wracked with worry and fear. Pekya took a deep breath in. Now was as good a time as any. No, now was the only time. He had his parents take him to Youth Group a half-hour early just for this. If he was going to confess, what better place is there than the church parking lot? He exhaled slowly ‘come on, just say it’ he thought. He took another breath, then looked into their eyes as he said “When I was 13 1/2 “
“What!?…How!?
“It was when we were living in the RV.”. He gulped air down his throat, as if he had to force the air into his lungs. “Remember… That winter”
~~~~~~
It now dawned on them. It was after 2008, and the recession had hit the family hard. They lost the house, but through some miracle the bank had said “If you move out by such and such date, we will keep the house and you will owe us nothing”, of course with that offer, we readily complied. The family of six packed up, bought a small RV, and was ready to travel around the U.S. in a new life. Except for one teeny-weeny-tiny problem, the RV was unfit for travel.
The family parked the RV in a small trailer park up in the mountains, in a rundown town, located in the middle of nowhere, and lived there during the winter.
For Pekya this change wasn’t too bad, but this was only because he was lying to himself and denying the actuality of the circumstances around him. In reality, pardon my French, things su*ked (these words just sound better with asterisks). At the time he was in 8th grade. The school he had gone to in elementary school wasn’t the best, and from what he had heard middle school was just going to be worse, so during middle school he homeschooled through the K12 program. During 6th grade the friends he had dwindled, by 7th all he had were acquaintances, and by 8th he was alone. For a while he could ignore it, but on his 13th birthday in mid-August, no guests came. That day he realized the truth, but didn’t admit it or do anything about it. What could be done?
While in the RV, the snow had risen to above three feet (above a meter). The sky was usually grey when it wasn’t night. A family of six was crammed into an RV, the shower and toilet weren’t working (luckily there was a kind neighbor who let us use the restroom), and at least one of them was always sick.
Pekya had read all the books in the Youth section of the library (the library wasn’t too big), so he was almost always bored. His mind began to wander into places he had never been, and to things he had never done. With no one around to play, he began to play with himself. At other times he lived in fantasies, worlds of his own making, so to speak. When no one watched, he did things that he knew he should not have done.
Days passed, he looked online for people who thought as he did. He found them.
~~~~~~
…“that was when I became addicted to porn”
[Note to the reader, you may be thinking “That’s it? An addiction to porn? How lame is that? No asylum in their right mind would accept that!” but keep reading. The mind of Pekya and his secrets have a certain depth to them, and you have only entered the kiddy pool]
Soon thereafter Pekya was speaking to the Bishop of his church.
“So, Bishop Doe, are you free tonight? I have a few things we need to talk about.” Pekya asked, in what he hoped was a casual voice.
“Sorry Pekya, but I’m booked tonight, could we meet on Sunday after church?”
*thinks momentarily to remember if any plans had been made*, “Sunday sounds good.”
“Okay, good.”
“See you then”
Next Sunday in the Bishop’s office:
Pekya informs the Bishop of his addiction, and asks if he is eligible to join the Addiction Recovery Program (ARP), but unfortunately he is ineligible because he is under the age of 18. Pekya asks what other options are available. Bishop gives him the Addiction Recovery Program (ARP) Handbook.
“You may not be able to go through the program with others because of your age, but you could go through it by yourself”
Pekya groaned in the back of his mind, he thought to himself ‘not talking to people got me into this mess. Right now I need people not a book.’ Of course, he couldn't say that now. He took the book, and spent the next week trying to find an alternative option. Then he scheduled a follow-up appointment with the Bishop the following week.
~~~
In the Bishop’s office:
“Bishop Doe, The book is good and all, but it’s not enough. I have heard that the church has counselling. Can I do that?”
The Bishop gave a short confused glance before saying, “Well, that is certainly an option, but it can be quite expensive.”
“Is there any way for me to get it without paying?” He had done the research, and already knew the answer.
“Hmm” The Bishop pauses to think, then informs him that he can get counselling for free under “special circumstances” which meant “If you are poor, and can jump through hoops of regulations, then yes”
All in all, Pekya got his free counseling.
[Switching to 1st person (It just makes it easier)]
During the Counselling I told him about my addiction, feelings, and school life. The councilor suggested that I should try harder to make friends, and have real relationships instead of fake ones, so the next day before school, I got myself a sub-sandwich.
At lunchtime I brought it out, and then looked around. At one table sat three individuals. One of which I noticed was laughing. She had neck length curly dark brown hair; she was wearing a black suit-coat like jacket with a knee-length black skirt underneath and black stockings, her skin was fair, and within her eyes I sensed something different. It was only for a split second, but something was there, something dark and wild.
I sat down next to her and we all introduced ourselves. ‘Now’, I thought, ‘this plan could work’. I pulled out the sandwich, and it was a full foot long. Luckily enough for me, She was the only one without a lunch. ‘I hope she isn’t vegetarian’ I thought to myself when I realized I got the roast beef cold-cut foot long. ‘Anyway, here goes’
“This sandwich is too big for me to eat all by myself. Would you like some?”
To which she replied “Oh I would love some, but not too much”
‘Score! … It worked! But, how much do I give her?’ I looked at the seemingly gargantuan sandwich, and took a stab. I gave her somewhere between 1/3 and 2/5 of the sandwich. Apparently that was the right amount. We began to eat and commence lunchtime conversation.
We both commented on how boring and normal everyone at the school was.
During the conversation I learned that she was a foreign exchange student from Italy. She told me fantastic tales of all night parties. These weren’t the church dances I had always been to, these ones were real. They start with a few, then more come. By the end there could be anywhere from fifteen to fifty people. There was pretty much everything else too. Loud music, drinking, sex, you name it. Apparently her parents were rich, and didn't care where she went, or what she did.
During this conversation, she had told me that she was a lesbian, she asked who I liked, and, for pretty much the first time in my life, I told the full and complete truth, that I liked girls, but maybe could also like guys too. I had known a few guys that were hot, cute, etc. And to be honest I had affection for them. The only problem was1 They were straight
2 I was afraid of social stigma along with rejection from my parents, the church, my friends, and the rest of the world, and
3 I was straight, or supposed to be at least. Wasn’t I?
After that everything followed. We became friends that day.
During the next few days our conversations were imploded with peculiarities of many varieties and distinctions. With her, I could be completely honest, and she would never judge. In return, I did not think of her any differently when she confided in me.
Things get real after this point, reading the following section may give the following symptoms: Burning eyes, flabbergast, bewilderment, speechlessness, extreme disgust, vomit, spontaneous nosebleed, general discomfort, queasiness, slight dizziness, headaches, heart failure, spontaneous combustion and/or seizures. If you feel that you are or about to experience any of these symptoms, Stop Now.
Again, If you feel that you are or about to experience any of these symptoms STOP READING NOW!
One day we spoke about, well pain infliction upon one’s self, self-harm. She liked to use knives and cut streaks across her body so she could see the blood dance around her skin. Then the memory was preserved, and relived as hardened into beautiful dark red scabs. As for me, I usually used my nails to dig into my skin and tear away the flesh until I reached the sight of my own blood. Then as the dark red elixir pooled, I drank and savored the taste that comes from ingesting the liquid of vitality that is blood. On special occasions I brought out a coin, and started a process that I had learned about while doing a school assignment.
I was Reading the Sorrow of War, by Bao Ninh, and decided to google “Vietnamese symbolism for wind” then searched “Vietnamese wind” when I couldn’t find anything. What I found intrigued me it was called Gua sha or scraping wind. Basically when a coin (or spoon) is repeatedly rubbed or scraped across the skin, it produces a beautiful reddish purple hue that fades after a few days.
Last of all I told her about the hickies I gave myself on my upper arms. I had learned of those accidentally one day after sucking blood from small incision in my skin that I had made with my teeth.
A few days later I told her my biggest secret.
I had “self-diagnosed” myself with Paraphilic infantilism (non-masochistic
, non-pedophilic)
Of course, she did not know what that was, so I explained the best way I knew how (with words of course!).
“Well, it’s…”
She looked at me with something between a sly grin and a smirk, “You’ve already said this much, so you might as well tell me the rest”
And so I began to tell her the many things associated with, well… you know. I told her of how I liked to go into periods of age play, usually between one and three years old. I told her of the things I did. Sometimes, I liked to suck on a pacifier when I was feeling too stressed or worried. It gave me comfort. When I ate, I always chose the smaller spoon, just because I wanted too. With my little brothers and sisters … Ah, my brothers and sisters, I had mentioned before that I was in a family of eight, did I not? Well I am the eldest, eldest of six. With my smallest brother and sister, I played the most. They were 3 and 2 years old, and brought much joy to my life. Weather it was playing with blocks or stuffed animals, piggyback rides and wrestling there was always fun and joy in being little, in being with the little ones. It came with a calming effect, and removed all of the stress and turmoil from my life.
I had my own mind, and there I could be who I wanted.
Silence… that period of tension. I had told her everything…. She now knew me better than anyone else... I looked down a bit and blushed a little.
“Well if you like that sort of thing” she said with a half shrug. We then talked about how friendly snakes can be, giant spiders, and wolf spiders until lunch ended.
Time passed away, and our friendship seemed to strengthen every day. One day around early December, I decided to tell Catarina about another jagged cut lying on the crystal of my life, a different facet of my personality, so at the beginning of lunch I gave her a type of look with my eyes that gives the impression that I am concerned and worried about something. To top it off, I rested my lower right cheek and chin against my fist and tilted my head by about fifteen to twenty degrees to the right. Enough to look contemplative, without being too deep in thought or tired looking. I then stared into space at the wall slightly above and to the left of her head to instill in her and others around me a desire to know what I am thinking.
About one to two minutes later she asked wat I waz thinking about.
“Well…” I drew out the word for a while (apx 2.5 sec) and used a slightly softer voice with a tone of uneasiness. This led her to reconcile me by saying “You know you can tell me anything.”
Now she was ready. I put down my head a bit to look a little shy and embarrassed (this I rarely do as I usually look at the people I talk to) I hoped that I had prepared her for what I was going to say next. In my little voice (childlike, and never used before with others), I softly and quietly (but still loud enough for her to hear) said, “I wanna be a kitty.”
She tried to keep her face calm, but I still saw the look of bewilderment and confusion cross her face. “I don’t think I understand.”
I raised my head up a bit as I faced what was now inevitable. “Sometimes I wanna be a kitty, so I pretend.” She has a calm face that tells me she is soaking it in, and she nodded her head a small bit slowly. “When things weren’t going too well I used to come outside at night and take a walk to look at the stars and moon. When I was done with my walk I always sat or lied down on the ground next to where the mother cat gave milk to her kittens. When the kittens were full the mother started giving herself a tongue bath. All the kittens used to come to me and give them, the other kittens, and I tongue baths. It was always nice and comforting to have the kittens groom me, so one time I returned the favor. Of course, my tongue didn’t do as good of a job, but it was still nice.”
She stopped me there with a look of slight confusement mixed with a bit of disgust. “Wait, you licked cats?”
“Yes, and the strange thing is, I liked it. It almost felt like I was one of them. “I saw the look on her face, so I asked, “Should I stop?”
“N- no, It’s alright, keep going.”
“Anyway, they let me clean them, and I let them clean me, even inside my mouth. They liked and licked that part the best.” I saw the look on her face after I said that, but she didn’t say anything so I kept going, “Anyhow, after that they would all snuggle with me, and I would snuggle with them, and sometimes ever the mother cat would come next to me and snuggle. I would then take a ten to thirty minute nap with them, but nothing too long, because it would get chillier at night, and I always went back inside after an hour or two of kitten time.” I sighed calmly in relief, “After that nothing could get to me, no matter how bad it was”. A sad look appeared on my face. “We left them behind when we moved. I miss them, and sometimes I just wanna be a kitty.”
She shared with me a look of understanding and comfort. I gave her a small weak smile, “At night I try to snuggle up with my fuzzy blanket, but it just isn’t the same. It’s not alive. Sometimes I still give myself a tongue bath, and when I am really comfortable I like to purr, and that always helps a bit.”
She shot me a look of skepticism, and a smile “You purr?” I smiled with lips closed and nodded my head. Then I closed my eyes, cleared my mind, and began to purr softly until I was out of breath. She just rolled her eyes a bit, smiled, put her hand on her forehead, and shook her head.
At the New Year she moved away. I broke again. After I could start thinking again, I had remembered something we had discussed. It was one of our first conversations.
I had said, “The different people, the weirdoes, and pretty much the rejects of society, those are the people I like to be around.”
She gave me a nice sort of smile, like when a little one gets a cookie, or when The sun shines during a light rainfall. “I know what you mean; everyone else is just so boring. I like being with fun interesting people”,
I smiled gaily,” Me too!”, then I frowned a bit “but, sometimes I just feel like I am trapped, and can’t be who I really am”
“I feel for you, I tried being me once. They almost locked me up. I guess if anyone like us showed their true self they would be locked up in an asylum”
I thought about thayt for a bit
Her words echoed through my ears once again. “if anyone like us showed their true self they would be locked up in an asylum”
Like us, true self, Locked up in an asylum
Like us, in an asylum
asylum
A crazy idea passed through my head; more irrational and nonsensical than the square root of negative one, and yet… It could be plausible. “If I can get into an asylum, maybe I can finally be myself.” I let the idea dance across my mind “Yes, I could be myself, and no one would care.” At this point of time, a simple crazy idea flew through my mind until it was like I had wings of my own, and I was lifted up by a small future prospect: that maybe, just maybe, I could make more real friends like me... like the one I had lost. “This idea is a crazy one, but crazy is the whole idea. Perhaps if I just follow this crazy idea into an asylum, it will work.”.
. While Pekya may have been crazy, he was not stupid. This could only work if careful planning was taken. After high school, he was expected by everyone to go to college. If he found an asylum, or institution, as it may also be called, with the same name as a University, also called an institution, he could tell his family, community, and everybody else the truth, while keeping his true intents hidden. Yes, that would be perfect; he could say something like “After High School I am planning to attend the Institute of blank and blank”, and no one would question his intent. Even better, he could also be telling the truth if he were to say something like “I am planning to/ going to study psychology and anthropology there” and “I heard the programs there give students lots of firsthand experience”. This was going to work.
After a month of rigorous searching, he finally found institutes that did not include state asylum, and where the names matched. Then he was able to obtain an official diagnosis online stating that he was crazy (he told his parents that he needed money to take a test to get into the institution of his choice. Like the SAT’s he said. ). Upon graduation he sent cards to everyone saying, “Thank you for all of the help and support you have provided me. Without you I wouldn’t be here now. Now that I have graduated, I plan on attending The Institution of Saint Peters to study Psychology and Anthropology. I love you all, and send you my best wishes as I take this next great step in life. Sincerely, Pekya Owen” (note There is an existing Saint Peter’s University located in New Jersy)
Like Icarus, Pekya had found his wings, and escaped from the tower that imprisoned him in life. He was now free to be himself.
Current Placement: (Patient, Nurse, Volunteer, Visiting Family Member, etc.): New Patient
Obsessions: (If any): Paraphilic infantilism, Self-harm, being a kitty, being little
Other: I do not think you can take any more right now.
message 100:
by
Annie, Have no fear of perfection-- you'll never reach it.
(new)
Mod
Aliases: None
Age: 17
Date of Birth: 14th of April
Gender: Female
Orientation: Straight
Appearance:
Standing at an intimidating 5’8 (for a woman, that is), and being incredibly thin, Yvonne truly has the definition of a dancer’s body. Long, limber legs, a graceful walk, a flat chest, and feet so small, twisted and mangled that it would seem she should hardly be able to stand, let alone dance, announce the years of ballet that she endured. Her neck is long and slender, and one would imagine she to be as beautiful with her hair in a bun as it is when down; Yvonne hardly puts her hair in a bun however, because she is dancing so often that she likes to leave it down when possible.
The hair in question falls down to around her shoulders, and chops off above her eyes in straight bangs, and is a dark, almost dirty blonde, in color. It is incredibly straight, and frames her brows of light brown and her eyes of sea-green. Her skin is a pale white color, and there is no evidence of any sort of blemish on her perfect, porcelain skin. Weighing 130 pounds, which is fairly underweight for her height, Yvonne’s cheeks appear gaunt, and her notable bones include her collar bone and her ribs—and it certainly doesn’t help that she dances and runs regularly to keep herself in shape.
Yvonne is quite beautiful, most people consider her to be so. She frequents the color purple, which is her brother’s favorite color, and when she walks around she simply expels grace and awareness of how her body works—despite how tiny and dainty she appears to be (disregarding her height, of course), she seems as if she would be able to hold her own remarkably well in a fight, which is true.
Personality: At this point, nobody exactly knows what Yvonne’s personality might be from day to day. Before the inflammation in her head, Yvonne was sweet, and caring, and yet had a certain tenacity about her that made her quite intimidating to those who threatened anybody she loved. But now, though it could honestly change at any moment, Yvonne is nothing like what she used to be. Now, Yvonne is cruel, and volatile, and in lack of a better word, vicious.
Yvonne is not notorious, not in any way of the word. She is so new to the asylum that hardly anyone knows who she is, and she has done nothing to anyone that would allow for people to fear her mere name. But she is the type of person that you would not forget once you were to meet her, whether you meet her happy or meet her anything less than so. She leaves an imprint in one’s mind—perhaps her beauty, her accent, her attitude, or perhaps something in between.
Age: 18
Appearance: Sorry for the link. Goodreads doesn't like Photobucket's HTML anymore, apparently. Jeffery hits the semi-impressive height of 6'0". He always stands straight except when he's drawing without a table (which is kind of a given; it's physically impossible not to hunch over.) His face is also elastic and he can twist it into nearly any expression he wants.
Orientation: Asexual, aromantic
Gender: Male
Personality: Jeffery appears maniacally happy most of the time, laughing at small things or things that he thinks of. Occasionally, however, he becomes silent and refuses to speak or move. This tends to not last long, but it's never predictable.
Jeffery is violent when things don't go in his way, or , in his terms, aren't "correct". He uses more force than necessary and threatens people for small things. He has been described as both "an over-controlling douchewaffle" and a "dream-crusher". That's what honesty does, though.
Jeffery pays too much attention to detail, especially in music and history. He has an uncanny memory for music and historical facts and gets extremely ticked when things are sung or played wrong or someone gets something wrong. History, he mainly likes because of its order, of how organized it can all be. Music, mostly for the same reason. One of his worst pet peeves is when people mistake a violin for a viola and vice-versa. This is not helped by the fact that he plays both. (Jeffery can also recite all the differences between a bass and a cello off the top of his head.) Most of this is due to obsessive compulsive personality disorder, which he really doesn't think is a problem. In his opinion, perfection is the best thing and those who don't strive for it need to shut it.
Jeffery is merciless to himself when he gets things wrong. He curses himself for simple things and smacks himself or scratches at his face or arms.
He doesn't appreciate being touched and considers it a distraction.
History: Jeffery grew up on relatively good terms with his family, including his twin brother, Leo. They were better at different things, Leo at math and science, Jeffery, as mentioned, at music and history, and they were both fine with this and the way things were. At least, Leo was. He was always fine with things. Jeffery, however, had a different point of view. In his mind, there was no room for mistakes and everything had to be right. He frequently literally shoved away those who bothered him. Sometimes, he got in fights with those who did things a way he disagreed with and made more enemies than friends. People were afraid of Jeffery, but he preferred it this way. People would stay away from him and he could get things done.
Jeffery saw absolutely no error in his ways. There was not problem with perfection, and if others wouldn't reach for it along with him, they could at least follow orders. People were, in his mind, nothing more than staircases to his ideas. He ignored people who told him that he wasn't right. He was overcome with the belief that he needed to control everything. Jeffery eventually decided that he couldn't be surrounded by other people. They were too imperfect and they were "wrong". OCPD wasn't a "disorder", no, according to Jeffery, it was a gift and he was better; his work was better. People are insignificant.
Leo was with a group of friends when Jeffery appeared with a large knife. He said he was leaving, getting the hell out of dodge and escaping from the cage of over-perfectionism he had created for himself. He told Leo to come with him. Leo refused. Jeffery nearly smacked him, but instead turned to one of Leo's friends, grabbed her by the shoulder and held the knife to her throat. Grinning maniacally, he told Leo to come with him or he would kill her. Leo shrugged it off, thinking that Jeffery wasn't that desperate. Jeffery roared, literally roared, threw Leo's fried aside, and started to storm off. He got five feet before he stopped by a different friend of Leo's. Jeffery turned and stabbed the other kid twice in the back. He jumped at another, but Leo managed to hold him back and beat the knife out of his hand. Another long story short, he ended up here.
Current Placement: Patient— Medium security
Obsessions: Music (mainly Irish, Scottish and baroque), as he likes how good music can sounds so right; perfection perfection perfectioooon
Other: He liked sci-fi. Everything seemed to work so smoothly.