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LaRPS : Legacies Role Play System » [IC] Character Chronicles

1. 

   Goldy Lionheart | January 10, 2012 - 05:21 PM

   Reputation:16

   She flopped under the pillow bedfort, not even recognizing her own bed, it was oddly comfortable to her now and she liked it that way. Trouble, the odd black eyed cat like creature, walked up butted her under the chin with his head, his odd eyes, much like his Mistress staring up in one green and one blue glory. She lets a ghost of a smile touch her lips, and rubs her chin against the fuzzy crazy creature. Making a face she brings her finger up and bites on it, blood immediately wells into the little area and she pulls over the little clay bowl and lets it drip into it, with a sigh she watches her blood well down her finger and down into the bowl.

   "You know Trouble, I think something is wrong with my back. It itches." she squirms a bit again. "I can't get comfy. It keeps itching, and it's getting worse, maybe when I got shockeded by the big pzztt stuff in the jail that hurts maybe it burned my back worse than I thought."

   She squirms a bit, trying to reach back with her hand, fingers of the hand not bleeding into a bowl trying to reach the itch, running over her shoulder blades she scratches vigorously, head thumping against the floor like a dog with a leg kicking. "Ooooooo Ooooo There...Oooo..." Going limp against the floor she relaxed with all the lazy lassitude of someone who just had amazing glorious exhausting fornication.

   Dazed eyed she looks at the cat, who licks her finger clean and looks at her finger with the same dazed kind of lassitude. "Oh thank you Trouble.." watching as the little bite healed. The cat dips it head in seeming intelligence, and then starts to lick at the thick blood in the bowl.

   "Sorry Trouble, I don't have any of Mr. Borris's Fishies to put in there with it. Your just going to have to survive without it for today.." she even had the peaceful voice going on with the lazy, dazed eyed trembly look.

   Then the other shoulder starts to itch. "Well...Fucky a ducky.." she mutters.

   Squirming, she reaches around and attempts to dig and scratch at that shoulder, burying her face in the pillow and squealing when she just can't..quite...reach it.

   Desperate, she pushes herself against the underside of the bed, rubbing her entire body against the underside of it, in particular her itchy back, quite like a bear scratching itself against a tree, or a cat that rubs itself against your leg. She continues that for a bit, but it wasn't enough relief.

   Wiggling, squirming in vexation, she makes her way out of the bedfort, and starts to peel out of her clothing. Under the clothing was a story of it's own.

   Marks crossed what should have been heaven touched perfect skin, instead wicked scars, callouses, across her torso stood massive claw-marks, she ran her fingers across the horrible pinkness of the wounds, faded and white with time.

   She turns to the side, looking for the next mark momentarily distracted by what was hidden every day, her fingers trail down to her middle to what appeared, for all the world to look like someone had tried to bite her into two pieces. Puckered flesh on her back that suggested she'd been whipped sometime in her lifetime, she moves to stand in front of the mirror, bare to the world, her golden curls hung to and past her hips, but she stares into the reflection with dismay.

   "Your so ugly Kestrel, look at all the fighting you've done has done to you." she runs her fingers across the bumpy flesh on her left arm, her mind crossing to all the fighting, to all the practice and battles. She stares into the looking glass with almost haunted eyes.

   She sucks in her breath and tries to pull her belly in, and her breasts outwards, fake posing in front of the mirror. She scowls almost as soon as she does it, and crosses her arms and glares into the mirror, along with the scars she had muscle. She runs her fingers across the defined muscles and stares at the muscles showing even on her arms, her middle, torso, and thighs. Sighing heartily. The figure in the mirror was not -bad- looking, it was definitely a female adult figure, but one is always ones own worst critic.
   "Yeah, Go Kessie, because all men want someone who can kick their ass while being shorter than they are.." her shoulders slump quite a bit. She pouts about her lack of breasts, or what she felt was lacking, and then slipped into her nightdress, a simple linen shift.

   Grabbing a couple pairs of socks she stuffs them in the front of the shift, and poses again.
   "See..now if only my mother would have actually had something to pass on. Oh right, she did. Her wonderful skills at beating men into pieces of shit. No wonder my father used magic" she sniped at herself. "But she had almost less than you did Kestrel. She said that men prefered only a handful. Yes, they like a handful when it's up there. Not when it's down here." she rolls her eyes as she settles at the vanity and starts the task of pulling her long golden hair back into a braid. About halfway down she shudders remember the reason she had been out of the bedfort, taking a small stick she hurriedly uses her socks to tie her brush to it, and then starts scrubbing at her back violently. "Oooooooooo Ooooooooo" her eyes roll back in her head a LOT as she scratches. Now red and irritated across both shoulder blades clear down her back.

   She finally relaxes, her back irritated and almost bleeding from all the digging and scratching she'd been doing. Her eyes lidded she looked into the mirror. Her shoulders slump even farther as she thought of where she came from, and why. Her green eyes fill with something and she feels it run down her chin. She blinks and looks at the liquid and then snorts. "Your a wuss Kestrel. It's not the first time someone has been thrown out." The words soft.

   She sighs and lets her chin rest against her arm as she stared at herself in introspection.

   "You. Need. A. Life." she mutters to herself. "Quite literally. You really are boring and pathetic Kestrel." she cups her chin as she stares at herself. Then starts muttering.

   "Boring, Scarred, Too Short, Too Tall, Too blond, Too green eyed, Not big enough in the front, too much in the back. Small hands, Small feet, knobby kneed, Calloused Rough Hands, Moody, Bad Temper." she taps the mirror as she lists what she perceived to be her faults. "Wingless, heartless, cold, nasty, mean, unfriendly..liar." the words soft. "Lesser Fae."

   She stares at herself in the mirror again. "Pro's don't really count, I can fight, I can make shinies, and I'm can walk patrols." she groans, and picks up the brush, throwing it at the mirror disgusted. She throws herself back into the bedfort, her itch satisfied, for now.

   "Someone just shoot me now. Please." she mutters as she let her eyes drift shut in the security of her own little magical realm of dreams.

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