Post by CAPRICIOUS CONTADINO on Jun 2, 2011 23:18:19 GMT 1
CAPRICIOUS ELEANOR CONTADINO
of the humans. [/color]
[/center]CLASSIFIED INFORMATION[/color]
"And your name is... oh, dear." -Nuala. [/color]
»»FULL NAME:[/b] Capricious Eleanor Contadino
»»AGE:[/b] 19 ;; see ABILITY for further details.
»»OCCUPATION:[/b] Prostitute
»»FACTION:[/b] Human
»»SPECIES : [/b] Damned Human (see ability for further details)
»»ALIGNMENT:[/b] Neutral
»»ABILITY: [/b] Capri herself is mortal; she is vulnerable to all damage, and ages normally when she exists. The only oddity about her in terms of her physical form is the tuberculosis, often called consumption in her mortal years, which is literally frozen, never changing for the worse, or for the better; the physical side effect of her deal with the demon that owns her immortal soul. Because of her bargain, her disease will never kill her, and (fortunately for everyone else) is not contagious, but she will never get better, either. Should she die of old age, or of physical damage, her body dies and her soul is banished to the hell dimension of her demonic Master. If he should choose, he may remanifest her physical form in the exact state as when their deal was struck (i.e., nineteen years of age), at any point.
- - -Strength: not really an ability, she has no extra influence or healing, or anything spiffy at all except her own natural charms, etc.
- - -Drawbacks: someone else owns her soul....
THE DETAILS[/color]
"Give it up nasty, we can see you." -Hellboy. [/color]
»»EYE COLOR:[/b] Blue
»»HAIR COLOR:[/b] Red
»»HEIGHT:[/b] 5' flat.
»»PLAY BY:[/b] Lily Cole
»»APPEARANCE: [/b] (Please bear in mind that these are descriptions as fitting the last time that she remembers, circa 19th century).
Capri is a slender girl who stands just barely at five feet when wearing the thin square heeled boots of the era, and there is a quality about her that would almost be described as waifish if it were not for the soft roundness of her facial features, and the gentle swells of curves at bosom and waist to hips that are made more obvious by the sculpted dresses of the time than might otherwise be apparent. Her limbs and digits are long and slender, and paired with the cool and soft porcelain hued skin lend an impression of fragility to her appearance that is only accentuated by the brilliant almost opalescent sky blue, wide and round eyes and the waves of coppery red hair that flow in wild disarray from her to her waist when left to their own devices. In some ways, Capri seems almost like a 'miniature' version of what she should have been, as if she was intended to be tall and willowy, but instead was compressed into a more petite yet still graceful package.
Most of the time when Capri is out and about, she is on the clock so to speak, and relies upon her attire to both advertise her profession and the goods, while being able to survive more tear and wear than the usual garments. This, and the reduced cost, often results in clothes that she has made herself, taking a sturdy linen that she shapes into her dresses and fashioning the cloth into something that mimicks the current fad while fitting a little more snugly in certain parts, cut a little lower in others, and dyed most often to a dusky rose shade that accents her skin tone while still not clashing with her hair for when it has come loose. For conveniences sake, her handmade dresses usually have two ways of fastening and unfastening; the usual tedious eyehook and laces, and the equivalent of a 'quick change' seam hidden in the folds of the fabric for when... time... is a concern. Small trimmings of lace and ribbon and the occasional glittering bead pattern along the bodice or waist are considered small and rare treats to herself, in those times that she convinces herself the cost should be counted as a 'business expense'.
With these working outfits, she wears a pair of thin square heeled eye-button boots of black that wrap snugly and securely around her small feet and hug to mid-calf. Beneath her dress she usually only wears a simple petticoat, foregoing tights, pantaloons and the full body camisole that those with more genteel concerns would wear. The single piece of jewelry that she wears is a rose carved from soapstone that is the same color as her dresses, laid upon a bed of an oval piece of ivory, framed in a delicate copper frame. The necklace rests just below the base of her throat, the teardrop copper piece that hangs from the bottom of the oval just tickling the edge of visible cleavage, and the necklace itself rests on a sturdy piece of black leather thong that is tied at the nape of her neck securely.
Most often, the abundant mass of her hair is pulled back and up in a loose french twist, the tips of the hair splayed out in a small fan that peeks out above the crown of her head, and with a few choice strands pulled loose to frame her features and tease along the nape of her neck.
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And then...there comes the time when Capri can, in so many ways (except ironically -- literally) let her hair down; when she trades whitening powder and a pinch of rouge and lip powder, and a splash of watered down eau de toilet in for a few streaks of dirt and a splash of whiskey.... It is in the form of the creature given the nickname 'Cappie' by most that Capricious exists outside of her 'work' personna, to run errands, to travel through the city safely, and perhaps most importantly, to mingle in the underbelly of the city and put her (or his) proverbial ear to the ground in order to get the juicy tidbits and rumors that pay off for her and Asher.
Cap is a street rat type that most assume to be in his early years of adolescence due to his wiry frame, his short height, something of a baby face and occasional higher pitch to his voice. He is Capricious escape, and safety net, allowing her entrance into circles and events and places that a woman, even one in her given profession, would never really be welcome and certainly not talked 'business' around. Typically, Cap's attire consists of a loose off white to ashy tunic that may have started out a crisp white years ago when it was only second hand, the seams worn and stitched, the sleeve ends rubbed raw, over which hangs a brown and tan leather and tweed dual layer vest that is about three sizes too big. A patched and worn thin pair of black wool breeches drift around his upper legs before disappearing into scuffed and wrinkled knee high brown soft leather boots. Usually tweed fingerless gloves of a brown that almost matches his vest are worn, taking the majority of the wear and tear to knuckles and palms and heels of his hands should he get into a scuffle or a tumble.
The crowning achievement of his outfit is a thin tweed cap, beret style with a wider and fuller top, and a curved bill that encompasses the entirety of his scalp, the hat accented with a single leather strap that crosses between the bill and cap, with silver buckles at either side. He refuses to ever take it off, and will fight more readily about that than anything else. It is, apparently, his pride and joy, though when asked about it, he has a half a dozen stories to offer as to how he acquired it and from whom - and each one of them is different from the next.
Beneath the surface there are, of course, other reasons for Cap's style and the 'beloved' hat. A half a dozen hair clasps have been sewn fastidiously and securely into the interior of the hat, which are each in turn carefully secured into the mass of hair that is smoothed over and tightened and tucked in to the smallest and least obvious bundle against her head that she can manage, making it almost impossible for anyone to pull the hat off and reveal the giveaway of hair beneath. Around her chest, a series of muslin strips are wrapped and secured with stitching each time they are put on to keep them secure and to flatten out her chest as much as she can beneath the too large and baggy shirt and vest. A hand made undergarment slides around her waist and crotch with definition to give the impression of masculine form, and with a few smears and splashes of dirt on her hands and face to 'harden' them, and a splash of whiskey or ale on her clothes she is set to face the world in... comparative safety.
It is most often in the form of Cappie that she will travel to and from her apartment after an unhappy customer had tried to follow her to where she had been sleeping at the time to seek vindication for what he deemed to be her lack of ability to 'stimulate' him.
»»PERSONALITY: [/b]
It is rare to see any evidence of Capri's past life, or the suffering she endures in this one, upon her features or in her presented expressions, for she is of the belief that if she smiles long enough, she'll believe it, and in the same token does not believe that it is her right to lay out her troubles and woes upon the world. This is not to mean that she is a martyr in any means, for there is no desire to be praised or accounted for her efforts, but merely this is how she survives from one day to the next. There are times, when she is alone, or in a moment of acute weakness or overwhelming sadness, that she might crack beneath the weight of the resonant sadness that clings to her, and let her inner self bleed out, but such times are rare indeed.
She is, in all effects, a gentle and genteel spirit, despite her rough and uncultured upbringing, and this is a quality that has surpisingly served her well in her profession, for while she might not accept all of the clients that another might, there are a few that continue to come back to her not only because of her appearance and ability to learn quickly, but because they find a sort of comfort in her presence.
She rarely judges, feeling that each human has no more right to judge the next than any other, she even less so for her own sins, but will swiftly defend someone's honor if she feels it has been slighted unjustly.
When in the personae of Cappie, there is a bolder and brighter aspect to her personality then, a more rough and tumble side that says things that she would never, that goes places that she would never dream, and she envies sometimes the life that her alter ego has, the carefree spirit that she can enjoy while wearing his mask that she wishes she could pull over into her own. Obviously, as the sorts that she delves into when in the personae of Cappie are less than cultured and scrupulous, there is an entirely different set of ideals and ethics that she wraps herself in when she slips into the streets and back alley bars and roaming card and dice games.
LIKES ;;
+ Dark Chocolate :: While an expensive, and thus rare treat, Capri has a definitive weakness for the delicacy in any form, and it is one of those few things that she occasionally throws the 'a penny saved' ethic to the wind and will purchase as a secret indulgence for herself, though will often end up spending the next week either not eating, or eating the cheapest watercress soup and scraps of bread that she can get away with when the guilt catches up with her.
+ Sparkling baubles :: Almost every girl likes to look... well, feminine, and the small addition of a few sequins, or delicate glass or pearl beads to one of her hand made outfits is to her a luxury, but one that she can feel more comfortable purchasing as it can be seen as a 'work-related' purchase. While she has not ever owned a 'real' piece of jewelry or anything that would be considered fancy or luxurious, she still has a certain refinement to the costume pieces or baubles that she will purchase.
+ Luxury :: There is a certain... 'element' of luxury that can not truly be defined; the flow and lines of furniture and architecture and clothing, the hues and colors of cloth and wood and gems, the tactile sensations of silk and lace and velvet and linens, the very ambience breathed in upon entering such an estate or set of rooms... She knows that she will never have such things for herself, but strives as much as she can to work upon raising the level of her clientele as much for the comfort and beauty of the surroundings of her house calls than for the additional currency offered in compensation for her services and time.
+ Orchids :: Capri adores the flowers in all their forms, finding their fragile scent and delicate design both enrapturing and beautiful. She has a windowbox that sits over the front street of the bar over which she lives that has a carefully cultivated selection of three variations of the flower grown from seedlings over the last months.
+ Comfort :: There are many things in the world that are taken for a given, a guarantee, but one of the things that never will be for Capri is the simple comfort that she has in the room that she now occupies. Things such as having a matress on a bed frame, with sheets and a pillow and blanket, of having clean water in which to wash and rinse, of warmth in the winter, and a crisp breeze in the summer, of having candles and oil for the lamps for which to see at night, of having a relatively pest free place to call home (even if borrowed).
+ Asher Daughtry :: There is a strange familiarity that exists between her and the owner of the bar over which she resides, one that most people would not understand and one that she might not be able to form fully into words if she was asked about it. In a way he is something of the big brother that she never had, but without the exact feel of the familial ties. Despite the somewhat distant exterior that the man presents to some, as if there were a glass pane between himself and the rest of the world, and if he were to touch it it would shatter into a thousand pieces, there is an unspoken understanding between the two that is just as present and strong as their spoken exchanges. When she was alone, he befriended her, and while perhaps not for purely altruistic reasons, for reasons far less perverse as many of those that sought to make her acquaintance, and when she was in need, he offered her a place to stay, a roof over her head and the bare amenities to make the room her home. The two can pass early mornings in the bar before it opens in comfortable silence or in an easy exchange of anything useful she might have learned to offer him, she returning from a night's work, helping him finish cleaning up from the night before and prepare the stew and bread and meats for the next day. Or, 'Cappie' may end up joining the occupants of the bar in an early evening or late late night for drinks, and a few games of darts or cards, giving her time to be relaxed and casual, and to forget herself in the safety of his establishment in a way that she can't do when she's working or out digging up information.
+ Dragonflies :: Perhaps one of the more child like and feminine aspects of her interests is that of the dragonflies; to her noble and elegant, she is amazed at the beauty of their colorations and iridescence, and if she misses anything of her life before the city it is the populace of the dragonflies compared to that of the cities.
+ Passion :: To be truly inspired by something, to lose onself in something, to be willing to sacrifice all else for that one love, that one skill, or talent, or person, this is something that she understands and appreciates in others, despite the fact that she knows the detriments that go hand in hand with such a fire. Of all her customers, it is those who can fully give themselves over to their passion and hunger, and evoke the same in her, that she finds the least regret and shame in.
+ Solitude :: Having grown up in a crowded household, and then on to a crowded city, and a crowded work house and a crowded charity house after that, the ability to actually secret herself away by herself and have time to just sit, or think, or daydream, is a luxury that she had never dreamed of having.
+ Sincerity :: There is something to be said for speaking the truth, and she tries her best to do so any time that she can. While she understand the necessity and purpose of deceit, of playing a part, of taking on another personae and personality, as she does with Cap, and to a certain extent with her customers, especially those of the baser personality and means, she appreciates the rare opportunities that she has to truly be herself, and looks for that trait in her preferred clientele and in those few that she might call boon friends.
DISLIKES ;;
+ Violence :: While she registers the fact that violence, in the form of punishment or merely expression dissatisfaction or discontent, is not an uncommon act of men to their families, or perhaps on the rarer occasion, the women to their children or significant others, having suffered at the hands of her father's frustrations from time to time during her childhood, and now in this last year the various beatings she had sustained through the course of her night time job, there is a lingering unease that surrounds any violence that she or others around her are subjected to. While she will not automatically sway from her stand or what she believes to be her moral right or ground to dissuade a beating or physical violence, she rarely if ever tries to intentionally invoke violence towards herself or others. There is something in the natural prejudices of it that she has found that has left a sour taste, as well, as she spends more and more time in the guise of Cappie and dealing with men in their 'natural' environments when they believe themselves to be in not mixed company. Despite their bravado and their alpha-male mentalities towards each other, she had found that a man is twice as quick to raise a hand to his wife or his daughters when his temper flares or his frustration has nowhere else to turn, rather than risk a wounded pride or flesh to confront the true source of his anger -- which is often another man. While there may be the occasional bar fight, or tiff over a patch of territory or the like, excluding full on turf wars or clan violence, she has come to believe that men will turn to the weakest and the easiest and most docile of their companions, which more often than not will be the women nearest them.
+ Hunger :: Most of her life, she has not known what it was to not be hungry, for so long until the dull cramp and ache in the pit of her stomach, and the slow languidity, and the dullness of her wits had all become something of an expectation to her, had become the normal. Slowly, in the last months, between Asher's convenient leaving of the so-called scraps left over at the end of a day as the two prepare for the next business day, the number of charity houses and the half pence soup stalls that litter the streets of the city, she has realized that is in fact, not the expected state of being -- and while there may be times of a self-imposed fast, there is a lingering fear of absolute hunger that persists.
+ Arrogance :: To her, there is a distinct difference between pride and arrogance. Pride is a trait that is generally exuded by those that have accomplished a feat in their life, great or small, to them it was something well worth notice, and so it is that they expect other's to recognize that as well, and at times it is a task or a feat that is due some acknowledgement. However, so many of those that she deals with, those that come to bring her to their bed, or to try and woo her in some fashion, or even so many of those that she deals with in her dealings 'beneath' the city, she finds arrogance overwhelming any actual pride. Arrogance, in the belief that they are the best and the only, that their way is the right way and that other's must agree with them, solely on the merit that it is the way they wish it to be. Pompous and audacious, she finds herself in a precarious situation when dealing with those sorts for while they are the quickest to anger, they are the hardest for her to keep her composure with as there is something of them that just feels... off, that grates against an unseen nerve, that teases against the quiet temper that lays buried beneath layer after layer of quiet and self-preservation.
+ Her lack of education :: Starting with the fact that she was one, a female, two, a peasant, and three, a farmer's daughter and therefore required for far more important things, she had never had anything that resembled an education. While she speaks Italian and Latin, and a smattering of ragtag languages that are used on the streets she does not know how to read or write more than her name and a few basic words, and knows little of history, politics, science, or the like with the exception of what she has overheard and absorbed, and the most basic of arithmetic.
+ Gaudiness :: More than many, she understands what it is to have nothing, or to be trying to start out with hardly anything more to your name than your flesh, and the clothes that cover it, but there is a distinction in her mind between being without, and taking a little and making it into tacky and gaudy outfits for the purpose of trying to attract customers. To wear bodices so low cut that a naval can be seen, to bare the leg to the thigh, to wear garish colors and paste jewels all over a bodice and fake flowers and jewels glued into one's hair will only serve to attract the lowest and worst of customers, and cheapens one more than should need be. Even to her, it is unclear where the soft touches of natural elegance and almost purity stem from in her desire to, even in the lowest of positions and employments, keep some of her dignity.
+ Her occupation :: While there may be a handful or less of her clientele that she truly enjoys spending time with, or can enjoy the pleasures of their embrace with, in its entirety, she is more than discontent with her lifestyle as a whole. Still, knowing that unless there comes one who would have her more as a kept woman, or even less likely, a wife, she has little choice in the matter if she wishes to continue to support herself and help her family as she has been. If what she does keeps food on their table, and keeps her younger sister's from having to worry about such a fate, then this is the task that she will resign herself to with the stubborn defiance and silent suffering that she must.
+ Velvet :: Of all the textiles and fabrics that she has run across in her life and more so in the last year, there is only one that she honestly does not like -- and that is velvet. There is something of it, the feel of it and the way it almost prickles and bristles against her fingertips that sends shivers along her spine and seems to make her skin crawl over her fingers and hands, creeping up the underside of her forearms as if it was crawling.
+ Doctors :: Most likely stemming from the fact that each time that a doctor would be called to her house during her childhood and adolescent years they left leaving bad news in their wake, she dislikes doctors and hospitals, and will avoid them almost to the point of even if her life depended on it. While she knows the mild animosity is illogical, she can't help but find the thought unappealing and perhaps even a little frightening. It was this fear of doctors that kept her from seeking medical attention until the consumption was already well at hold.
+ Pedantry :: To exist in this world you must be able to adapt, you must be able to change to fit your circumstances and be able to recover quickly and accept your losses and move on and start again, and this is a trait that she has exhibited since her childhood. Those that remain rigid, that refuse to see outside of their original perspective, that cannot adapt to their changing environment, or fight to keep their environment exactly the same as it always have been frustrate her, for her sake and for their own.
+ Lack of accountability :: Anyone who cannot step up and accept responsibility for their own actions, inactions, successes or failures frustrates, annoys, irritates, or perhaps even angers Capri, depending on the details of the situation at hand, and how much of the brunt of the discontent at the situation is being flung (often literally) in her direction. For better or worse, your actions are your own, and if you cannot abide them then they should not have been done in the first place, and nothing is accomplished by attempting to lay the blame on someone else's shoulders.
THE BACKGROUND[/color]
"I'm not a baby, I'm a tumor." -Tumor. [/color]
»»FAMILY TREE:[/b] She had a father, who was severely ill, a mother, and several younger siblings when she made the pact with the demon in the 1800's; she has long 'outlived' them all, though to her it was yesterday.
Mother: Theresa Annabelle Contadino // Age: 32
Father: Istabon Stefano Contadino // Age: 41
Sister: Isabelle Flore Contadino // Age: 14
Sister: Rene Antoine Contadino // Age: 11
Sister: Catherine Amore Contadino // Age: 8
Brother: Stefano Istabon Contadino // Age: would be 9, age 6 at time of death.
Brother: Raymond Paulo Contadino // Age: would be 6, 4 mos. at time of death.
Brother: Alexander Stefano Contadino // Age: 2 yrs.
Her family was one of little means and not enough time in the day, a marriage of mixed love and convenience between an older man and a young girl that had fallen under the wheels of time and poverty. Theresa has born seven children, conceived three more that miscarried or were stillborn, during the course of her marriage of eighteen years to Istabon, which has left her weary and drained, between carrying them and labor, and then the care of so many children and the house and working as a cleaning woman and launderess to supplement the meager pay the garden's and fields bring in. Stefano, with no children from his first marriage and a widower, who had married again, has fallen to a number of near debilitating illnesses in his older years, leaving him barely capable of taking care of enough of the broken down farm and fields to put scraps on the table and enough copper into the land owner's hand to let them stay.
»»IDOLS:[/b] She had none, though she felt a longing envy towards many of those in the upper nobility in Vienna when she lived htere.
»»HISTORY: [/b]
Capricious Eleanor Contadino was born February 2nd, 1820 as the firstborn child and daughter to Istabon and Theresa Contadino, a newlywed couple in the beginning stages of setting their life in motion and getting the small farm house and land they had been granted by one of the barons outside of Vienna in order. Capricious, or Capri as she was often called, was a beautiful and fragile child, and in the first years of her life was doted on greatly by both of her parents. However, it was not long before Theresa was once again with child, and her own health became a concern, and at the age of three, Capri became the older sister. Still, she did not seem to mind sharing the limelight as it were, even as the attention that could be given to either daughter became less and less, as the farm and house began to require more and more of their parent's attention. Weather tore at crops, or dried them up, and laundry and seamstriss work, house cleaning at their own home and at houses in town consumed more and more time, and soon there were more children to bear and care for.
Capri took to her role as surrogate mother with little trouble, caring for her sisters and brothers, and doing her best to keep her spirits high as the meals became thinner, less frequent, as the clothes became threadbare and worn and patched, as the hand carved and well made furniture was sold off and replaced with rough hewn plank wood furniture that her father made. She even endured the outbursts of his anger, directed most often at his wife and oldest daughter, harsh words and a heavy hand accompanying these fits of discontent.
Their lives were not untouched by grief, either, in those younger years of her life, as much as they could ever be called the age of innocence or childhood. Three times her mother lost a child, during the coruse of her pregnancy or to a stillborn child, after which their house was a strange mix of numb detachment for those first weeks on her mother's part, and a slowly simmering anger on her father's part, before one or the other would bend, break, or explode and slowly things would settle into normalcy once again. And then, the first of Capricious' brothers fell to the coughing sickness during one of the first winters of her adolescent years, and would not live to see the springs blossoms.
Yet, life must continue onwards, and the family bore through their grief in each their own way, as Capri's heart broke a little more, yet again, but she put on the face of bravery and trudged forward, making sure the little ones that were still with them were fed and clothed as best as she could. And, again, in a few years' time when the second brother fell, injured beyond recovery while helping their father in the field, she wept in secret, behind the closed doors of the confession booth at her church, and bolstered herself, and moved on. She came to understand, then, how it was that her mother fond solace in her detachment, in her emotional isolation from the rest of them, but could not embrace that path for herself, knowing that she was needed, that she had too much to do to grant such allowances for herself.
At fourteen, she had one suitor, a young boy that she had met in town by the name of Tomas, though the slowly blossoming relationship was cut short when he was sent away by his father to a military academy in Modena, and that was the last time that she was to hear from him. At one point later, she was to learn that she had received a series of letters from him in those first months, but her mother had destroyed them, feeling it best that Capri keep her sights set upon her responsibilities here.
In the following year, illness was again to strike their ever growing family, at this point with three younger sisters and a younger brother, she was to learn that her father was ill with the consumption that left him weak and barely able to tend to the smallest sections of fields and the barest amount of upkeep around the house and farm, and it became painfully apparent that there would need to be another source of income.
It came clear to her, then, that this task would fall on her shoulders, and settling herself to this task, she set out in the local areas to try and find some work that would supplement her mother's income, but could find nothing that would offer enough to truly provide the monetary income necessary to feed and clothe and tend to the family and lands. And so it was, that weeks before her sixteenth birthday, she packed up a few belonging, reluctantly accepted a few coins, and left her home behind.
Finding her way to first, Vienna, and then eventually travelling with the currents of fate, to Volterra, Italy where she had reluctantly accepted the role of streetwalker as the only method that she would be able to use to take care of herself and her family. As the months passed, she learned the lessons of her trade, to know who should be avoided at all costs, of which men were better off met in the alley on her knees rather than following to a place of absolute privacy where they would have no need to reign in their perverse needs and urges. To trust her instincts, to know which districts she could safely peddle her wares and which would run her off or report her to the authorities, what attire and accessories could be safely worn and which would only be ruined... How to pleasure, and how to be pleasured in ways that she would never even have imagined, or dreamed off in her worst moments, and most importantly of all how to bury her pride and hurt deep within her, to wear the mask of quiet contentedness or neutrality.
Slowly, her world broadened, in both directions, as she began to slowly gather a bit of a reputation for her work, and began to gain higher class clientele, while at the same time had begun to develop an alter ego that became known as Cappie, that began to drift into the darker underbelly of the city as she tried to find any other ways to make money. Eventually, she came to learn of a man in town that had often paid a fair price for certain bits of information that interested him, and as one of the pieces that she had caught up in the recent hours had seemed up his alley, she had gone to see him in her boyish disguise.
His name was Asher Daughtry, and he was the owner and proprietor of a pub in the city, and he did prove, in fact, to pay a fair price for what she had learned. Their working relationship, as it were, slowly began to develop further over the next weeks as she came to realize that his pub was one that she could loiter in in relative warmth and anonymity, and that he always seemed to have an 'extra' serving of ale or stew that someone had paid for and not consumed before they had left to slide her way when she was just too hungry or thirsty to face going out onto the streets again. Eventually, as the two began to talk, in late hours in the closing and post-closing hours, she had revealed the true nature of her identity, only to realize with some amused chagrin that he had already known, and there came a time when he offered her one of the empty rooms above the bar to rent out for her sleeping quarters.
She was to live under Asher's care for several months before the winter came, and she fell ill, finding herself with a fever and body aches, and chills, and an aching cough that after only a few weeks had her coughing up blood. She refused Asher's offer to take her to a physician, her own fear overwhelming his insistence, until she found herself in tears on the steps of the cathedral. The doors were closed, and barred, and so in the snow outside she collapsed and begged for relief, terrified of death and her damnation beyond. Her prayers would be answered, by what she thought was an angel, a messenger of god, appearing to her in a shimmer of light, beautiful and warm even to her fevered skin. He promised her that she would not die of the consumption that wracked her body, that he would save her if she would swear her service to him and his lord.
Desperate, she agreed, swearing allegience, an oath sworn in blood, and it was as his guise fell away she realized what she had done. The creature was no angel, but a demon, and she had sworn herself to him. Panicked, she fled from him, only to be trampled by a passing carriage, bleeding out in minutes on the cobblestoned path, the last thing that she saw his smiling face through her tears.
Though she does not recall it, she has been called to service many times in the decades since, sent to persuade, or seduce, to blackmail or distract, as suited her master; each time she dies, her soul is wrenched back to hell, only to be brought back again, her mind and body as they were in the moment of the signing of her contract.
NOTE ;; Bones will be working on making the demon that is on the other end of this contract, any bits about their history and relationship have been worked out with her!
THE PLAYER[/color]
"I can't smile without you...." -Abe & Hellboy. [/color]
»»YOUR NAME:[/b] Mandy
»»GENDER:[/b] Female
»»AGE:[/b] 29
»»TITLE:[/b] Damnation in its Sweetest Form
»»POST SAMPLE:[/b]
Her bright eyes lingered on his darkened ones, their scarlet hue given all the more richness in the sharp contrasts of pale skin and ebon shadows that clung to them, dancing over his regal features as the random torchlight guttered out and flickered back into life in the wind. He seemed... amused, rather than offended or angered, which was a relief in and of itself, and the next words that he spoke in his velvet words only confirmed her initial judgment. “Clever girl.” He spoke, in an easy and almost satisfied tone which for a moment was reflected in his gaze, and in a partial adjustment to his expression, the slightest upturn of one corner of his lips, the tilt of a brow. She found herself blushing, slightly, quickly pulling her gaze away from his and back again towards the junction of streets where they stood.
She was well accustomed to being underestimated, it was often something that she relied on, in whatever personae she might assume; compliments, especially those with genuine intent rather than some fumbling attempt at unnecessary seduction, were rare, and she found herself strangely flustered by the simple acknowledgment of the skills that she more often than not concealed from everyone around her. For her sake, and theirs. In a place such as this... ignorance was bliss -- or at least safer, in appearance.
“Very well I’ll be honest.” He continued, without missing a beat, forcing her gaze to draw back up a moment or two earlier than she might have preferred, still the faint flush of color upon her porcelain hued cheeks. “As of late Asher seems to have taken an interest in my sister.” These words brought a moment of surprise, and something akin to momentary disbelief to the young prostitute's expression, thought she dampered such reactions quickly, her head tilting to the side a fraction as she watched him. She had seen... no one, no woman in the presence of Asher that he seemed inclined to pay more attention to than any other. Admittedly, she countered in her head, she hardly knew what he did with every moment of his day, and anything that he did outside of his bar, she knew practically nothing of... again, denial with a ring of truth was beneficial... but...
It was strange, she knew it was not exactly jealousy that stung at her at the realization that Asher's attentions had been devoted to another; he had never once even implied any interest in Capri other than as a source of information, and at most friend, and she had never even allowed herself to entertain the slightest daydream of any such relationship... he was a different creature than she, and not only because of the... obvious reasons. He was intelligent, well-bred and educated, genteel and kind, never in a hundred lifetimes would she have expected any interest shown towards her except for a variation of the working relationship that they held, or at most perhaps some passing sating of physical desire. So why was it, then, that Marcus' next words brought a definitive unease to the pit of her stomach, an edge of agitation to her thoughts?
“His reaction was less then… amiable when I questioned his motives, I merely wish to confirm my sisters safety.” The inner edges of her brows furrowed together slightly, as she tried to find some clue, to decipher some meaning in the man's first words in regards to Asher. Less than amiable? In other men, the assumption would have been easy; angry words, perhaps even physical blows, even to some the possibility of a duel, but... Asher? Her features undoubtedly shadowed her perplexion of the situation, the first hints of an actual frown pulling at her lips as she weighed what could possibly have given this man any hint of actual danger to his sister, from Asher of all... Again, her lips pressed together briefly, moistened by the tip of her tongue, as she shifted her weight slightly from heels, to toes, and balanced out again, her expression sliding past him and towards the shadow beyond him, and the continually restless faces that leered at them.
It was rapidly approaching the time where she would have to make a decision, and if she was to opt to trust this man, to divulge any details of her business relationship with Asher, to offer any insight that she might have gleaned of the barkeep over the last months... she could not do so here, and not in this guise, for as Capri, she at most had exchanged passing glances with the man. And she was certain, should the sort of men as lurked in the near distance catch ahold of her dual identity.. there would be hell to pay.
“How about a drink? Warm brandy?” It was something in these last words, the gesture behind them, when she knew that if he was, as she suspected, the same kith and kin as Asher, the comfort offered by the warmth of the bar, and the taste of the brandy, the fire from the inside out, would help only her... it was this that finally swayed her, a small gesture, true, but... pushing aside the nagging worry that tingled at the nape of her neck, she pulled herself up, her petite and slender form still perhaps coming to the top of his chest, her gaze tugged up to fasten on his.
"If you will forgive me this small... ploy... " She murmurs, one hand rising up to pull loose the small barrette that held the mass of coppery curls in place, even as her other hand slides up to tug free the cloth of his jacket from around her form, the combination of springing free curls and the heavy cloth of his coat providing a visual and audible distraction from the very softly spoken words. "There is a pub, about a street and a half down, the sign of a drunken stag above the door, which is itself a bright blue hue, if you wish to speak in privacy, it is the best place I can suggest. I'll... be there, in a few minutes time." She continues, in her hushed tone, before she takes a step back, her head tossing backwards to send the fiery mane out of her face to let her suddenly cool gaze as she held out his jacket, almost thrusting it into his chest.
"Gilded gent, or no, Signore, copper crosses my palm before I step one foot from my perch." She declares, almost indignantly, as she takes another step back, her arms wrapping around her chest and waist protectively. "Find yourself another hen to be plucked for free, or a pocket full of coins before you come calling again, yeah?" She says, a wary glance flung between him, and the group of men behind him, before she turns sharply on her heel and moving to scurry away with some feigned hint of dignity, before she disappears into the first off turn into an alley that presents itself, tucking her out of the immediate line of sight to the gawkers and the gentleman. She had not dared to linger, not dared to watch the reaction on his face, or the lurkers, lest she lose the courage to defy him, or insult him, even if it was only feigned.
She moved quickly, hoping that she had judged correctly, that he would in fact be waiting for her when she returned, hoping that she would have some sort of chance to repay Asher for the kindness he had shown her; if this man had reason to believe that Asher was a danger, perhaps she could do something... say something, that would alleviate these concerns, if that would give Asher some glimmer of happiness, it was the least that she could do for his help and compassion over the last months.
When she reached the shop that she used as her changing rooms, it took only a minute or two for her to swap out her attire, she was well practiced at it by this point; to strip out of the thin material of the dress and stockings and heels, to bind her chest and pull on the padded breeches and tunic, the leather and brass vest. The hardest part, the one that always seemed to take the longest, was collecting the fire-hued tresses, forcing them into some semblance of order and pin them undeniably securely into place, and into the cap that had become the character's trademark. A quick splash of rainwater removed the residual rouge and powder from her skin, a quick dart of her hands into the dirt an artfully applied dusting of the road's ash and dirt to her cheeks and beneath her eyes to create a deeper shadow, to darken the color of her eyes and mute the color of the wispy, long lashes, and the quick transformation was complete.
----
It took only another couple of minutes for the fleet footed form of Cappie to dart his way across the steet and through the center square of the town; without the need to worry about public opinion, or even a feigned attempt at modesty, it was a much faster return trip as he cut through the clusters of people with little concern. The Stags Head was not hard to find, as she suspected was rather the point of the almost gleaming blue paint, however worn and chipped, still a beacon against the dark greys and browns and blacks of the surrounding wood and stone of the building itself.
Pushing past the small cluster of usual loiterers at the door, she scanned the interior of the bar, a silent breath of relief sliding from her lips as she caught sight of the dark-haired 'gilded gent', off at one of the private booths to the side, concealed in the dark shadows of the corners, a frosted globe lamp providing a low glow that caused the worn surface of the table upon which he leaned to gleam slightly. She crossed the distance between them quickly, ducking into the booth across from him, folding herself into it agilely, one leg curled beneath her, the other worn booted foot coming to rest on the edge of the booth, the knee drawn up towards her chest as her weight settled, all in one smooth motion.
Her gaze drew up, to gauge his reaction, to watch the expressions over his features. She was taking a risk, she knew; up to this point as far as she knew only Asher, and the elderly Asian woman that ran the laundry that she changed at, had any knowledge of her dual identities, and she had no idea how he would react to the deception, and the 'mask' of masculinity that she presented. "If that offer for a warm brandy still stands..." She murmurs, her voice pitched lower, a roughness instilled to it, a hint of 'gravel' thrown into the slightly rougher words.
She was well accustomed to being underestimated, it was often something that she relied on, in whatever personae she might assume; compliments, especially those with genuine intent rather than some fumbling attempt at unnecessary seduction, were rare, and she found herself strangely flustered by the simple acknowledgment of the skills that she more often than not concealed from everyone around her. For her sake, and theirs. In a place such as this... ignorance was bliss -- or at least safer, in appearance.
“Very well I’ll be honest.” He continued, without missing a beat, forcing her gaze to draw back up a moment or two earlier than she might have preferred, still the faint flush of color upon her porcelain hued cheeks. “As of late Asher seems to have taken an interest in my sister.” These words brought a moment of surprise, and something akin to momentary disbelief to the young prostitute's expression, thought she dampered such reactions quickly, her head tilting to the side a fraction as she watched him. She had seen... no one, no woman in the presence of Asher that he seemed inclined to pay more attention to than any other. Admittedly, she countered in her head, she hardly knew what he did with every moment of his day, and anything that he did outside of his bar, she knew practically nothing of... again, denial with a ring of truth was beneficial... but...
It was strange, she knew it was not exactly jealousy that stung at her at the realization that Asher's attentions had been devoted to another; he had never once even implied any interest in Capri other than as a source of information, and at most friend, and she had never even allowed herself to entertain the slightest daydream of any such relationship... he was a different creature than she, and not only because of the... obvious reasons. He was intelligent, well-bred and educated, genteel and kind, never in a hundred lifetimes would she have expected any interest shown towards her except for a variation of the working relationship that they held, or at most perhaps some passing sating of physical desire. So why was it, then, that Marcus' next words brought a definitive unease to the pit of her stomach, an edge of agitation to her thoughts?
“His reaction was less then… amiable when I questioned his motives, I merely wish to confirm my sisters safety.” The inner edges of her brows furrowed together slightly, as she tried to find some clue, to decipher some meaning in the man's first words in regards to Asher. Less than amiable? In other men, the assumption would have been easy; angry words, perhaps even physical blows, even to some the possibility of a duel, but... Asher? Her features undoubtedly shadowed her perplexion of the situation, the first hints of an actual frown pulling at her lips as she weighed what could possibly have given this man any hint of actual danger to his sister, from Asher of all... Again, her lips pressed together briefly, moistened by the tip of her tongue, as she shifted her weight slightly from heels, to toes, and balanced out again, her expression sliding past him and towards the shadow beyond him, and the continually restless faces that leered at them.
It was rapidly approaching the time where she would have to make a decision, and if she was to opt to trust this man, to divulge any details of her business relationship with Asher, to offer any insight that she might have gleaned of the barkeep over the last months... she could not do so here, and not in this guise, for as Capri, she at most had exchanged passing glances with the man. And she was certain, should the sort of men as lurked in the near distance catch ahold of her dual identity.. there would be hell to pay.
“How about a drink? Warm brandy?” It was something in these last words, the gesture behind them, when she knew that if he was, as she suspected, the same kith and kin as Asher, the comfort offered by the warmth of the bar, and the taste of the brandy, the fire from the inside out, would help only her... it was this that finally swayed her, a small gesture, true, but... pushing aside the nagging worry that tingled at the nape of her neck, she pulled herself up, her petite and slender form still perhaps coming to the top of his chest, her gaze tugged up to fasten on his.
"If you will forgive me this small... ploy... " She murmurs, one hand rising up to pull loose the small barrette that held the mass of coppery curls in place, even as her other hand slides up to tug free the cloth of his jacket from around her form, the combination of springing free curls and the heavy cloth of his coat providing a visual and audible distraction from the very softly spoken words. "There is a pub, about a street and a half down, the sign of a drunken stag above the door, which is itself a bright blue hue, if you wish to speak in privacy, it is the best place I can suggest. I'll... be there, in a few minutes time." She continues, in her hushed tone, before she takes a step back, her head tossing backwards to send the fiery mane out of her face to let her suddenly cool gaze as she held out his jacket, almost thrusting it into his chest.
"Gilded gent, or no, Signore, copper crosses my palm before I step one foot from my perch." She declares, almost indignantly, as she takes another step back, her arms wrapping around her chest and waist protectively. "Find yourself another hen to be plucked for free, or a pocket full of coins before you come calling again, yeah?" She says, a wary glance flung between him, and the group of men behind him, before she turns sharply on her heel and moving to scurry away with some feigned hint of dignity, before she disappears into the first off turn into an alley that presents itself, tucking her out of the immediate line of sight to the gawkers and the gentleman. She had not dared to linger, not dared to watch the reaction on his face, or the lurkers, lest she lose the courage to defy him, or insult him, even if it was only feigned.
She moved quickly, hoping that she had judged correctly, that he would in fact be waiting for her when she returned, hoping that she would have some sort of chance to repay Asher for the kindness he had shown her; if this man had reason to believe that Asher was a danger, perhaps she could do something... say something, that would alleviate these concerns, if that would give Asher some glimmer of happiness, it was the least that she could do for his help and compassion over the last months.
When she reached the shop that she used as her changing rooms, it took only a minute or two for her to swap out her attire, she was well practiced at it by this point; to strip out of the thin material of the dress and stockings and heels, to bind her chest and pull on the padded breeches and tunic, the leather and brass vest. The hardest part, the one that always seemed to take the longest, was collecting the fire-hued tresses, forcing them into some semblance of order and pin them undeniably securely into place, and into the cap that had become the character's trademark. A quick splash of rainwater removed the residual rouge and powder from her skin, a quick dart of her hands into the dirt an artfully applied dusting of the road's ash and dirt to her cheeks and beneath her eyes to create a deeper shadow, to darken the color of her eyes and mute the color of the wispy, long lashes, and the quick transformation was complete.
----
It took only another couple of minutes for the fleet footed form of Cappie to dart his way across the steet and through the center square of the town; without the need to worry about public opinion, or even a feigned attempt at modesty, it was a much faster return trip as he cut through the clusters of people with little concern. The Stags Head was not hard to find, as she suspected was rather the point of the almost gleaming blue paint, however worn and chipped, still a beacon against the dark greys and browns and blacks of the surrounding wood and stone of the building itself.
Pushing past the small cluster of usual loiterers at the door, she scanned the interior of the bar, a silent breath of relief sliding from her lips as she caught sight of the dark-haired 'gilded gent', off at one of the private booths to the side, concealed in the dark shadows of the corners, a frosted globe lamp providing a low glow that caused the worn surface of the table upon which he leaned to gleam slightly. She crossed the distance between them quickly, ducking into the booth across from him, folding herself into it agilely, one leg curled beneath her, the other worn booted foot coming to rest on the edge of the booth, the knee drawn up towards her chest as her weight settled, all in one smooth motion.
Her gaze drew up, to gauge his reaction, to watch the expressions over his features. She was taking a risk, she knew; up to this point as far as she knew only Asher, and the elderly Asian woman that ran the laundry that she changed at, had any knowledge of her dual identities, and she had no idea how he would react to the deception, and the 'mask' of masculinity that she presented. "If that offer for a warm brandy still stands..." She murmurs, her voice pitched lower, a roughness instilled to it, a hint of 'gravel' thrown into the slightly rougher words.
