Post by Lisenet on May 10, 2015 4:03:20 GMT
▸ Miora ✗ Videlis
Thief | Human
Whoever feeds her.
"I will not be your burden too."
▸ GENERAL INFORMATION
NICKNAME(S): Raindrop
AGE: Nine
SEX: Female
SEXUALITY: Heterosexual
APPEARANCE: At three feet, ten inches, Miora doesn't cut a very striking figure, which at intervals both suits and supremely irritates her. Although born to the merchant class and having lived in it for nearly all her life, she has the smaller stature, narrow build and tapered rib cage of someone who hasn't gotten enough to eat while they're growing, as her father's spending and earning habits were never what they should have been. She's worn the same worn, faded, blue cotton dress for nearly a year now, its bottom hem hanging to mid-calf and frayed, over a white shift with short sleeves over her shoulders and with a much-used apron over it. Her hair and eyes are both a mid-ranging brown, her hair hanging straight and usually uncombed to her waist, her eyes usually sharp and accusing, but edging toward vulnerable when she needs them to, only occasionally when she's taken by surprise. She also, always, appears as though she's just climbed out of the lake, by dint of a curse laid upon her as one man's revenge against her father.
PERSONALITY: Miora's nature is predominantly self-reliant, as she knows by now that others are absolutely not to be trusted, for the most part. In some occasions she'll trust others only so far as what she can fix herself, but if she must, she will put her trust in another if only because she's in a situation where she knows she cannot help herself, and therefore it's take the chance of trusting another person or staying stuck. She's always preferred being active to being sedentary, and as the occasional message-runner being slow will cost her meals. She's marked by her impatience, impertinence, and her absolute refusal to sugarcoat anything she observes, and she sees a lot while people are ignoring her. She speaks bluntly, unrepentant, stating exactly what she thinks. She's courageous because she knows most people won't waste their time arguing with a street-muffin like her, and clever because with so few resources and so much ambition she's had to find unique ways to achieve her own ends. She learns quickly and efficiently, and rarely forgets a fact. She likes drawing but rarely has the tools for it, so she draws in the dirt. Miora also loves insects--seeing them as complex and beautiful tiny creatures that are mostly stepped on, misunderstood or ignored--and she loves music, even the awful kind.
Miora does have a quick temper, though, and while she's untrained in any form of defense, most people are quick to let her alone when she bites and scratches. What irritates her most is being ignored or overlooked or spoken over when she feels she has the right to be heard. She's rarely embarassed, but when she is it's often because someone's caught her learning to do something new, as she hates being seen as unlearned or incompetent. She deemed early on that being 'capable' wasn't going to get her anywhere, so she does her best to be as efficient and effective as possible in all of her ventures.
HISTORY: Miora was born the far later, second child of a merchant family of what had begun with a healthy supply of silver, however not considerable or remarkable in any way. Miora's elder brother was married by the time she had learned to freely run, and she has always missed not better knowing him, as she was raised almost as an only child, and she never wanted to be. While having been capable of occupying herself even from a young age, it was never her first choice. She always preferred to be in the presence of others, and she didn't even feel the need to be speaking, or necessarily interacting with them. She simply loved to listen to people talk, to laugh with one another, to watch the way their faces burst and diminished with every word as they so strongly expressed themselves, even if they weren't consciously aware of it.
From the day Miora was old enough to close her mouth when she chewed she had a governess who visited a handful of times a week, teaching her how to sit and speak like a lady, how to read, how to play music and embroider and all manner of other things that would make her into a proper woman someday, and help her find a home in a proper household with a proper husband. While some of the lessons failed to snag her interest, Miora learned as well or better than any other student, as she loved to be the best in all she did, and it always vexed her--even if she strove to hide it--when she was not among the most talented. However when Miora was seven her father dismissed the governess on the grounds that he could no longer afford to keep her, and Miora's mother took up the task of teaching her daughter how to live when she was older.
The reason for Miora's family's loss of money was well-known, even if nobody said it to any of the family's faces. Miora's father had never been a particularly kind businessman, preferring to save himself a handful of coppers one week than to give that week in grace to another man so the client could feed his family. All the servants spoke about it, in whispers and in doorways, when they believed the family not to be nearby. But Miora enjoyed going places unnoticed, listening to them talk and seeing the dances of their faces, and soon she began to hear things that made her stomach turn sour.
When Miora was eight years old one of the men her father had worked with--or stolen from, as many began to say it--lost his family to a violent robbery that occurred at a time when he would normally have been home, however he had been working overtime in a frenzy as he struggled to both feed his family and Miora's father's outstretched hand, as the house he lived in belonged to her father. He came home to his wife and children left cold on their own kitchen floor, like meat dropped for a dog that had gone and forgotten its way home, and the moment he was able to drag himself from his knees again that man had come to Miora's family's door.
She hadn't known he was a sorcerer at the time. She had known that she oughtn't to have opened the door, she should have let one of their reduced staff attend to it, but Miora had been nearby and it struck her as politer not to let their visitor wait. The sorcerer had stumbled in, nearly knocking her over in his haste, and after a great deal of shouting and screaming, turned a sorrowful, distraught gaze on her as she stood with her back pressed against the wall, blocked from leaving the front room by the many bellowing and crying people in their small foyer. The sorcerer bent his last gaze upon her father and said, "I wish you to know what wretchedness it is to be unable to help your own children in their need." With nothing more said he cursed Miora to drip a constant, steady stream of water down from the top of her head, leaving her wet every hour of every day and night, and turning her into an immediate burden upon her parents as her very presence began to warp floorboards and mold cushions and mattresses, and to pay for the healer when, in the cooler months, she was sick almost every day.
About a year later, Miora's father could take the strain on his dwindling finances no more, nor her damaging presence, and turned her out of his house. Her mother fought his edict but Miora had made up her mind already--she did not want to live in the same house as a man who had come to loathe her. And her mother was already ill herself. She left, and has been looking out for herself as best she can from the streets ever since. The sorcerer, she hears, died months ago.
AGE: Nine
SEX: Female
SEXUALITY: Heterosexual
▸THE SPECIFICS
ABILITIES/POWERS: Miora has a knack for blending into crowds, getting the attention of a specific person and losing it or them, getting in and out of scraps, pocket picking, and slipping in and out of crowds without getting in anyone’s way or slowed down. Many of these talents she had before being turned out of her house but those she didn't have she was lucky enough to be able to develop through self-enforced and strict study and observation, as she is incredibly focused at nearly every given moment of the day, even if she gives the impression otherwise.APPEARANCE: At three feet, ten inches, Miora doesn't cut a very striking figure, which at intervals both suits and supremely irritates her. Although born to the merchant class and having lived in it for nearly all her life, she has the smaller stature, narrow build and tapered rib cage of someone who hasn't gotten enough to eat while they're growing, as her father's spending and earning habits were never what they should have been. She's worn the same worn, faded, blue cotton dress for nearly a year now, its bottom hem hanging to mid-calf and frayed, over a white shift with short sleeves over her shoulders and with a much-used apron over it. Her hair and eyes are both a mid-ranging brown, her hair hanging straight and usually uncombed to her waist, her eyes usually sharp and accusing, but edging toward vulnerable when she needs them to, only occasionally when she's taken by surprise. She also, always, appears as though she's just climbed out of the lake, by dint of a curse laid upon her as one man's revenge against her father.
PERSONALITY: Miora's nature is predominantly self-reliant, as she knows by now that others are absolutely not to be trusted, for the most part. In some occasions she'll trust others only so far as what she can fix herself, but if she must, she will put her trust in another if only because she's in a situation where she knows she cannot help herself, and therefore it's take the chance of trusting another person or staying stuck. She's always preferred being active to being sedentary, and as the occasional message-runner being slow will cost her meals. She's marked by her impatience, impertinence, and her absolute refusal to sugarcoat anything she observes, and she sees a lot while people are ignoring her. She speaks bluntly, unrepentant, stating exactly what she thinks. She's courageous because she knows most people won't waste their time arguing with a street-muffin like her, and clever because with so few resources and so much ambition she's had to find unique ways to achieve her own ends. She learns quickly and efficiently, and rarely forgets a fact. She likes drawing but rarely has the tools for it, so she draws in the dirt. Miora also loves insects--seeing them as complex and beautiful tiny creatures that are mostly stepped on, misunderstood or ignored--and she loves music, even the awful kind.
Miora does have a quick temper, though, and while she's untrained in any form of defense, most people are quick to let her alone when she bites and scratches. What irritates her most is being ignored or overlooked or spoken over when she feels she has the right to be heard. She's rarely embarassed, but when she is it's often because someone's caught her learning to do something new, as she hates being seen as unlearned or incompetent. She deemed early on that being 'capable' wasn't going to get her anywhere, so she does her best to be as efficient and effective as possible in all of her ventures.
HISTORY: Miora was born the far later, second child of a merchant family of what had begun with a healthy supply of silver, however not considerable or remarkable in any way. Miora's elder brother was married by the time she had learned to freely run, and she has always missed not better knowing him, as she was raised almost as an only child, and she never wanted to be. While having been capable of occupying herself even from a young age, it was never her first choice. She always preferred to be in the presence of others, and she didn't even feel the need to be speaking, or necessarily interacting with them. She simply loved to listen to people talk, to laugh with one another, to watch the way their faces burst and diminished with every word as they so strongly expressed themselves, even if they weren't consciously aware of it.
From the day Miora was old enough to close her mouth when she chewed she had a governess who visited a handful of times a week, teaching her how to sit and speak like a lady, how to read, how to play music and embroider and all manner of other things that would make her into a proper woman someday, and help her find a home in a proper household with a proper husband. While some of the lessons failed to snag her interest, Miora learned as well or better than any other student, as she loved to be the best in all she did, and it always vexed her--even if she strove to hide it--when she was not among the most talented. However when Miora was seven her father dismissed the governess on the grounds that he could no longer afford to keep her, and Miora's mother took up the task of teaching her daughter how to live when she was older.
The reason for Miora's family's loss of money was well-known, even if nobody said it to any of the family's faces. Miora's father had never been a particularly kind businessman, preferring to save himself a handful of coppers one week than to give that week in grace to another man so the client could feed his family. All the servants spoke about it, in whispers and in doorways, when they believed the family not to be nearby. But Miora enjoyed going places unnoticed, listening to them talk and seeing the dances of their faces, and soon she began to hear things that made her stomach turn sour.
When Miora was eight years old one of the men her father had worked with--or stolen from, as many began to say it--lost his family to a violent robbery that occurred at a time when he would normally have been home, however he had been working overtime in a frenzy as he struggled to both feed his family and Miora's father's outstretched hand, as the house he lived in belonged to her father. He came home to his wife and children left cold on their own kitchen floor, like meat dropped for a dog that had gone and forgotten its way home, and the moment he was able to drag himself from his knees again that man had come to Miora's family's door.
She hadn't known he was a sorcerer at the time. She had known that she oughtn't to have opened the door, she should have let one of their reduced staff attend to it, but Miora had been nearby and it struck her as politer not to let their visitor wait. The sorcerer had stumbled in, nearly knocking her over in his haste, and after a great deal of shouting and screaming, turned a sorrowful, distraught gaze on her as she stood with her back pressed against the wall, blocked from leaving the front room by the many bellowing and crying people in their small foyer. The sorcerer bent his last gaze upon her father and said, "I wish you to know what wretchedness it is to be unable to help your own children in their need." With nothing more said he cursed Miora to drip a constant, steady stream of water down from the top of her head, leaving her wet every hour of every day and night, and turning her into an immediate burden upon her parents as her very presence began to warp floorboards and mold cushions and mattresses, and to pay for the healer when, in the cooler months, she was sick almost every day.
About a year later, Miora's father could take the strain on his dwindling finances no more, nor her damaging presence, and turned her out of his house. Her mother fought his edict but Miora had made up her mind already--she did not want to live in the same house as a man who had come to loathe her. And her mother was already ill herself. She left, and has been looking out for herself as best she can from the streets ever since. The sorcerer, she hears, died months ago.
OOC NAME: Lisenet
RP SAMPLE: It took Miora an hour to circle the hilly forests on the island enough to find the tree the plaintive shrieking was coming from. It was one of those scrawny pine trees that grew tall and narrow and with dark green-blue needles. And rough bark and lots of sap. Climbing it didn’t take that long, though the tree swayed a lot near the top. But Miora knew which branches could hold her and which couldn’t, so she didn’t feel she was being unduly careless in climbing up to peek in the ungainly nest coming out of a hole at the top of the tree. When she finally made it up there, she was careful not to accidentally stick her nose too close to the opening in the tree, not wanting something to come rushing out and bite it off.
Whatever was in the nest, there was only one of them. It was a bird, as fat around as a large apple and about just as round, with a walnut-sized head wedged in between what looked like they might amount to wings someday but certainly didn’t look like much now. It took her several minutes to decide if it was a burnt sort of yellow color or just golden brown, and finally decided on the brown. Its feathers had little definition to them yet, being all fluff, but she could see slight barring in all of them where some darker brown was interspersed with the light golden. It had a beak she couldn’t even fit the tip of her finger into, but she was sure the beak was sharp enough to get into her finger. But it looked so hungry. Its half-cracked eyes were a sort of light blue washed in almost-black, like babies’ eyes when they hadn’t yet decided what color they wanted to be. Not for the first time since arriving, she wished she could have grown up in the country so she might have some idea of what the bird was. There were hardly any animals in the city aside from what washed up on the beach and what lived in the sewers. This fluffy thing didn’t look like it would ever live in either, and she was certain she’d never seen its like before.
Miora didn’t want to leave the lonely looking thing up there all by itself, but she figured the mama bird might not come back if she was there, so she shimmied back down the tree and backed off to the farthest place she could stand and watch it, and stood there for a good two hours until she decided, with reluctance, that the mother probably wasn’t coming back. She wondered what had happened to it. She hauled herself back up to the nest and looked back in at the creature. It squinted sourly up at her. Noticing a thick-legged brown spider creeping up the trunk close to her, Miora reached over and grabbed it by one of its long legs. She had always liked spiders. But spiders were everywhere, and she’d never seen one of these birds before, and besides the bigger animal always won in the end anyway. She stuck her hand in prickling opening of the nest and the bird turned its round head and curved yellow-brown beak up toward the squirming spider. Its beak opened wide, and Miora dropped the spider in. The bird looked like it was going to gag on all those flailing legs at first, but then it poked its tongue out and crunched on it once, and swallowed it down with such a familiar jerking motion—she had seen Taesi do the same thing with chunks of her dinner—that Miora giggled. She reached in, about to scoop the bird up and put it in her apron pocket so Riley could tell her what to do to help it—maybe, she wasn’t sure he would let her keep it—when her eyes flicked up and she noticed the bright spot of the sun in the sky, and sighed. She was supposed to have met him in that training field about now. The bird would have to wait.
{Same character, different site.}
RP SAMPLE: It took Miora an hour to circle the hilly forests on the island enough to find the tree the plaintive shrieking was coming from. It was one of those scrawny pine trees that grew tall and narrow and with dark green-blue needles. And rough bark and lots of sap. Climbing it didn’t take that long, though the tree swayed a lot near the top. But Miora knew which branches could hold her and which couldn’t, so she didn’t feel she was being unduly careless in climbing up to peek in the ungainly nest coming out of a hole at the top of the tree. When she finally made it up there, she was careful not to accidentally stick her nose too close to the opening in the tree, not wanting something to come rushing out and bite it off.
Whatever was in the nest, there was only one of them. It was a bird, as fat around as a large apple and about just as round, with a walnut-sized head wedged in between what looked like they might amount to wings someday but certainly didn’t look like much now. It took her several minutes to decide if it was a burnt sort of yellow color or just golden brown, and finally decided on the brown. Its feathers had little definition to them yet, being all fluff, but she could see slight barring in all of them where some darker brown was interspersed with the light golden. It had a beak she couldn’t even fit the tip of her finger into, but she was sure the beak was sharp enough to get into her finger. But it looked so hungry. Its half-cracked eyes were a sort of light blue washed in almost-black, like babies’ eyes when they hadn’t yet decided what color they wanted to be. Not for the first time since arriving, she wished she could have grown up in the country so she might have some idea of what the bird was. There were hardly any animals in the city aside from what washed up on the beach and what lived in the sewers. This fluffy thing didn’t look like it would ever live in either, and she was certain she’d never seen its like before.
Miora didn’t want to leave the lonely looking thing up there all by itself, but she figured the mama bird might not come back if she was there, so she shimmied back down the tree and backed off to the farthest place she could stand and watch it, and stood there for a good two hours until she decided, with reluctance, that the mother probably wasn’t coming back. She wondered what had happened to it. She hauled herself back up to the nest and looked back in at the creature. It squinted sourly up at her. Noticing a thick-legged brown spider creeping up the trunk close to her, Miora reached over and grabbed it by one of its long legs. She had always liked spiders. But spiders were everywhere, and she’d never seen one of these birds before, and besides the bigger animal always won in the end anyway. She stuck her hand in prickling opening of the nest and the bird turned its round head and curved yellow-brown beak up toward the squirming spider. Its beak opened wide, and Miora dropped the spider in. The bird looked like it was going to gag on all those flailing legs at first, but then it poked its tongue out and crunched on it once, and swallowed it down with such a familiar jerking motion—she had seen Taesi do the same thing with chunks of her dinner—that Miora giggled. She reached in, about to scoop the bird up and put it in her apron pocket so Riley could tell her what to do to help it—maybe, she wasn’t sure he would let her keep it—when her eyes flicked up and she noticed the bright spot of the sun in the sky, and sighed. She was supposed to have met him in that training field about now. The bird would have to wait.
{Same character, different site.}
