Post by emily on Jun 15, 2010 20:03:26 GMT -5
...cordelia storm devereaux*
*wicked fun!*
[/size]*wicked fun!*
...basics*
name Cordelia Storm Devereaux.
nickname Delia.
age Twenty.
gender Female.
grade Junior at J Barrie University.
hometown Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
sexuality Straight.
personification Wicked Witch of the West.
face claim Megan Fox.
...appearance*
hair color Depending on the light, Delia's hair can look any shade between dark chocolate and black.
eye color Light blue.
build Slender, but in a sinewy way; she's in no way delicate.
height 5'6" flat-footed, but she likes wearing heels for the "advantageous view" (or feeling of slight superiority), so her height varies constantly.
clothing style Classy. She isn't one to wear jeans often, and she's prone to sporting a closet full of darker colors.
distinctive traits If you shine a light directly into her eyes at the right angle, like a camera flashing in her face, Delia's eyes will reflect back as silver, a product of genetic mosaicism. She usually speaks slowly, with a heavy bayou-Louisiana accent that is hard or sometimes impossible to understand when she gets upset or excited.
...personal*
personality Delia is naturally crafty. If a problem presents itself that keeps her from what she wants, she's always quick to puzzle out a new way to get around her obstacles. She isn't one to let small setbacks push her down, and sometimes her sheer determination can be a little overwhelming.
If anyone could have a personal gravitational force, Delia would. She's the kind of person that knows a lot of people- but not always good people, and they almost never meet on pleasant terms. Being of a semi-predatory mindset, she almost always seems totally fearless and beyond indomitable when going after things she wants or needs; but truly, she's not as hardened as she looks or acts. When faced with something that can get under her skin, Delia often falls back on her ingenuity and impeccable lying ability to get her out of sticky spots, usually using trickery and manipulation.
Under the cover of her bulletproof facade, Cordelia has a conflicted heart. The way she acts tends to draw trouble to her, although she doesn't really want it. Being misunderstood has become a regular factor in her life; only a few people have ever really seen that although she often comes off as standoffish and withdrawn, not all her words are meant to take on dark interpretations.
past Born in the backwaters around Black Bayou in Monroe, Louisiana, Delia was an only child raised for backwoods life. She went to a tiny school with kids who actually lived in Monroe, who made fun of her and called her Cordelia Swamp. They told her that her daddy being a swamp logger and making her live out in the bayou meant that she was a baby swamp monster and was going to live in the bayou forever, crawling around in the mud at the bottom of the swamp and eating children, like all the other swamp monsters that used to be little girls like her.
These tales created in Cordelia a deep-seated fear of water that has lasted her to adulthood; as soon as possible, she moved out of her parents' rickety old cabin and into her maiden aunt's spare bedroom in Baton Rouge. There at fifteen, she went to a huge high school with a hardened heart and a sudden blossoming that turned her from knobby-kneed to pretty; in spite of the scenery change, the boys (and everyone else) had a hard time talking to her, because by that time Delia was intimidating and seemingly untouchable, purposefully pushing people away so they wouldn't see her as a swamp monster, too.
After her four years of required torture, Delia packed up and shipped herself off to New York City for college. It was a place she'd been longing to see for a while, and she wasn't disappointed. Cutting family ties hadn't hardly hurt her as much as it had when she went to Baton Rouge, and so she had a wholehearted willingness and a complete lack of grief that allowed her to absorb the city as she wanted to. She couldn't get enough of it, and probably never will.
present Now, Delia lives in her little dorm room on campus, constantly studying and reading and carrying herself further and further away from other people. It's recently become painfully clear to her that she is completely alone, and although she longs to reach out, she doesn't know how. And it's been so long since she's let anyone close, Delia's starting to wonder if anyone will ever try again.
She has a small-time job on her own, drawing random people off the street and selling the art to a small contemporary art museum downtown. It brings her enough money to afford food and her intense shoe fetish, and whatever's left over she drops into a steadily expanding account that she doesn't pay much attention to. Her life is lived day-to-day, without much consideration toward her future, although she's beginning to get antsy and uneasy in her current lifestyle.
family Etienne Devereaux - Father.
Anastasia Forde-Devereaux - Mother.
likes Movement, music, solitude, art, shoes.
dislikes Deep water, darkness, high levels of human interaction, most other women.
other notes She's exceptionally terrified of deep water and darkness.
...literature*
book title The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
backstory The Wicked Witch of the West is the main antagonist of the story. She tries to kill Dorothy, Toto, the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman, and the Cowardly Lion multiple times, although she ultimately fails. After her evil flying monkeys scatter the Scarecrow's straw everywhere and dash the Tin Woodman on a bunch of rocks, the Wicked Witch takes Dorothy and the Lion prisoner in her castle, making Dorothy a slave and trying to starve the Lion into letting her harness him like a horse. After stealing one of Dorothy's silver shoes, though, the Wicked Witch is doused with water and melts.
...roleplayer*
name Emily! (:
age Sweet sixteen!
gender Female.
rp experience Somewhere around four years or something ridiculous like that. I don't know, I don't really keep track.
how you found ouac Roaming the boards on neopets. c:
rp sample “You know, you look a little like Marilyn Monroe, only with dark hair.”
Glancing up from her book, she looked sidelong at the man sitting next to her in the crowded terminal, eyebrows lifting minimally. “Thank you?”
Her accent oozed through her words like syrup, and he stared at her, his curious eyes prying at her blank expression. “It’s a compliment,” He said slowly, blinking like a startled animal, “She was beautiful.”
“Euh.. Thank you?” She repeated, staring back at him mildly. False stupidity dimmed her expression, but her dark eyes were unmasked; A sort of unfathomable depth seemed to ebb out from the blackish blue-green, and even when she smiled at him in a sort of uncertain way, there was an intensity about her that felt inescapable.
“You’re welcome?” He answered finally, brow furrowed, and she lowered her thick fringe of eyelashes and returned to her book. Le Fantôme de l'Opéra. A curtain of glossy chocolate curls escaped from behind her ear as she dipped her head, and he was blocked off; shaking his head slowly, he stood and went to board his flight.
Alice, she told herself in a stern manner, be nice. Lifting her head, she glanced out the sheer glass face of the airport, frowning slightly until her eyes lit on a tired-looking man holding a small piece of cardboard with TOUSSAINT in bold letters across it. She stood and moved silently in her high heels, long legs carrying her swiftly through the doors and into the descending darkness, heavy suitcases in hand as though they were no burden.
Keeping her expression and manner remotely pleasant, she gave the cabbie quiet, concise directions from the back seat, her rich voice keeping a golden, cordial, sunlight quality. But once the dank little car swung away from the curb, her facade collapsed; she wrapped her correspondingly long, slender arms around her legs and hugged them up against her chest, the fabric of her dark jeans soft and smelling of home. Home.. Albi, France. She felt naked here, exposed. People here knew what had happened to her, what had happened to him, how it had killed what they’d had together. And how that had nearly killed her.
And now, she had to see him marry her cousin and childhood best friend. Had to stand there next to them on the altar and feel his hate like a cold slap in the face. Her brooding eyes were the color of the ripening sky, reflected back at her in the car window like two careful, identically-crafted holes that pulled in all the starlight, but let none of it back out.
