Post by Isolde Farraday on Jul 28, 2008 22:48:52 GMT -5
` behind blue eyes
` drop that 808
name;; Courtney
age;; 18… and 4 months and 12 days. :]
experience;; 6 or 7. ishie.
time zone;; eastern time zone, new yawk to be specific.
password;; NO PASSSWORD FOR YOUUU AHAHH
` drop that 808
name;;Isolde Kennedy Farraday (Irish parents, thx)
nicknames;;Is
age;; sixteen
date of birth;; November 11th. That makes her a Scorpio.
species;; humangrrrl.
year;; junior
sexual orientation;;as long as it has two legs, and not four.
occupation;; stoodent.
face claim;; Nanou
general appearance;; At first glance, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell she’s a girl. She’s got the same boring brown hair as anyone else; it’s cropped to her liking. She’s quite pale, but she doesn’t mind. Her skin takes on a lovely olive tone in the right light. She has a few tattoos on her arms, but it’s not excessive. She only has one piercing, and that’s her anti-eyebrow, which she likes quite a bit. She’s not tall at all, only 5’0”, but good things come in small packages. She weighs 114 lbs., but since she’s so short, her body has a little chub on it- not too much; smoking helps quell her appetite. You can’t really tell from her face. She has cute chubby feet and hands. She has a few scars all over her body from childhood falls, but they’re not to the point that would hint abuse. She always has a bruise or two on her arms and legs.
general personality;; She’s pretty bold and open. She farts when she needs to. She swears a lot. She smokes a lot. But despite all of this, she’s a pretty good friend and can be quite charming when she needs to be; some may call this cunning. She’s ambitious to a fault. She doesn’t like to show her fears, but she often does by accident; she has a lot of them. She is pretty much constantly horny; this does not make her a slut. She sticks up for the underdog, because deep down, she secretly feels like one herself. She’s a kid at heart; she likes to climb trees.
likes;; smokes
weed
alcohol
being wasted in general
androgyny
sex
animals
certain anime
porn
trippy art
existentialism
liberal politics
feminist literature
folk music
dislikes;; showering daily
meat&dairy
sexism
discrimination in general
closed-minded fucks
any kind of music where she doesn’t understand what’s going on.
fears;; freakish weather (which is where her magyck comes in handy)
big sticky smelly sweaty greasy old men (see history for more)
closed spaces
silence
moths
one-on-one conversations (although they are inevitable)
quirks;; she digs sexy librarians (in thick rimmed glasses and mary jane shoes and skirts and knee highs)/ teachers (dress shirt, ties, scruff, glasses)
secrets;; she’s never had a steady relationship
she has a total girlboner for old-school Gwen Stefani
magyck;; control weather; atmokinesis; wields elements.
family members;;Aoife Farraday (nee Ryan)- mother, aged 34
Cormac Farraday- father, aged 40
Siobhan Farraday- younger sister, aged 13
Keegan Farraday- elder half-brother, aged 22 (father’s side)
history;; Isolde was born on November 11th, 1991, in ‘Stab City’, aka Limerick, Ireland. Her mother, Aoife was an ex-school teacher, having lost her job due to a public scandal involving an administrator. Her father, Cormac was a steelworker, but worked part time as a tattoo artist. Despite her father having two incomes, her family was quite poor; both incomes were meager and not enough to support a family. Her father decided to stay with her mother, despite the scandal. He knew that there was no way that court would grant him custody of the children; he was an ex-thief and had had a troubled past with alcohol. He also knew that his wife would have no way of supporting the children. To avoid being around Aoife, Cormac spent most of his days at work, leaving Aoife alone at home with the children.
Isolde attended a Catholic school until she was fourteen; she was eventually kicked out for misbehavior. Isolde blames this in part of an incident that occurred when she was only seven years of age. This incident also served as a discovery of her gift.
She was playing in her backyard without supervision on a clear summer afternoon; it was the time just before dusk. The home was near a local tavern, and people under the influence were commonly walking through the backyard of the Farraday house. On that particular day, a middle-aged man by the name of Steven Malarkey, a convicted sex offender, happened to spot Isolde in her backyard. He approached her, molested her, and tried to rape her. In her attempts to fight him off, she unleashed a dangerous storm and a potential funnel cloud. Her mother ran out to retrieve her daughter once she had heard the warning of the storm, and when she saw the man on her daughter, she chased him off. She brought Isolde into the house and tried to soothe her, and when she was away for just a moment to retrieve candles and supplies for the impending storm, Isolde was staring out the window, and the storm had ended.
Aoife was in denial at first; there was no way that her daughter could manipulate the weather, but over time, she noticed that Isolde’s anger would influence storms, her sadness would bring rain, and there was only sunshine when she was happy and felt safe. She took her daughter to the local priest, who did not know what to do.
When she was fourteen years old, she caused quite the stir at her Catholic school when she caused a downpour so hard that it damaged the powerlines and made the fire alarm go off. The local priest knew of Isolde’s possible power, and decided it was best that Isolde attend a school, the only one that he knew of that would house such ‘gifted’ people like Isolde.
And so the story begins.
post sample;;
((i hope it's all right if I use a sample post from a different website... if not, let me know and I can type up a little something.))
It had been a long day.
Being an intern at St. Mungo’s was a lot more difficult than Victoire could ever have imagined. She had to vanish at least five puddles of Merlin-knows-what and administer foul potions to five unwilling and berserk patients in the Janus Thickey ward. She also had to stabilize a five-year-old werewolf victim in the Dai Llewellyn ward, which had been definitely been the down point of her day, and possibly her entire career.
She loved it, still. She loved brewing the potions and talking to the children and helping the people. She loved the satisfaction that she felt when she came home and collapsed on the settee, her feet resting on her coffee table, a good book in her hands.
This time, though, she didn’t collapse on the settee with a book; she felt absolutely sick to her stomach. The young boy and his bites and his tears still swam in her mind; it practically made her ill. She decided that perhaps a bit of peppermint tea would cure what ailed her.
Too lazy to put on the kettle, and in desperate need of a fix, she grabbed a mug and filled it with a spell, and then proceeded to heat it magically. She filled up her tea ball with dried peppermint leaves (given to her by her grandmother Weasley, who knew she had trouble with her nerves from work) and sank it in the cup.
It seemed to take forever to brew, so she left it sitting on the counter for a bit while she went on a hunt for her reading glasses. Le Dernier jour d'un condamné by Victor Hugo lay on the kitchen table, a bookmark wedged between pages 17 and 18. She had not been able to read lately; work was very demanding. She had been reading the book for at least two weeks.
Felix, her pet Kneazle, was purring on her favorite kitchen chair, fast asleep. This eased her a bit; kneazles were supposed to sense danger rather easily. The cat perked up as she passed, jumped down from the chair, and proceeded to follow her around the house.
Her reading glasses lay on her bedside table, where she should have assumed they were: she often read the Daily Prophet before getting out of bed. She snatched them quickly and practically jogged out the bedroom (taking notice not to trip over Felix), fearing that her tea was getting cold.
She found her tea to be perfectly steeped and at the perfect temperature, so she put the plastic part of her glasses between her teeth and carefully (no need to land herself in St. Mungo’s) carried her tea to the settee. She set it on a coaster and slipped her glasses onto her face, and then remembered that she still had to get her book.
With a groan, she pulled herself up from the settee and grabbed her book with a groan, and plopped herself back into the cushions.
There was nothing better than reading after a hard day, she decided, as she dove into the book.
Of course, she had not picked the happiest of literature (the poor man was condemned to death!), and soon found herself close to tears and reaching for another book. The book on her coffee table was Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte, certainly the most aggravating book in the entire world, but it would do for now. She opened up to a random page ("You said I killed you - haunt me, then! The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!"), finding herself still sad; perhaps a comedy would have been better, so she summoned her copy of Much Ado About Nothing.
This was much better; she found herself chuckling a bit at the dialogue, sipping at her tea, and scratching Felix behind the ears.
Good tea, a fuzzy creature and laughter really were the best medicines.
