TESTING Zarko's Testing Thread

Naiades Xenakiis

NICKNAME/S:
None

AGE:
18

SPECIES:
Human

GENDER:
Cis Female

PRONOUNS:
She/Her

BIRTHPLACE:
Santorini, Greece

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:
Lesbian

SEXUALITY:
Demisexual

DOUBLE MAJOR:
Ecology, Microbiology

HOUSE:
KID

OCCUPATION:
N/A

HEIGHT:
5'2"

HAIR:
Black

EYES:
Green

BUILD:
Slender

SKIN DETAILS:
N/A

PERSONALITY:
Extremely shy | Bookish | Keeps her opinions to herself | Highly intelligent | Curious | Has a psychological "allergy" to ugliness (in architecture, clothing, and design) | Organized | Self-sufficient | Low self-esteem | Doomer | Quietly determined | Resourceful | Adaptable | Focused | Easily startled

LIKES:
Nature | Permaculture | Gardening | Science | Solitude | Reading | Drawing | Shamanism | Animism | Meditation | Classical music | World music | Hiking | Stargazing | Using a microscope | Costumes with masks | Ecological design | Survival skills/prepping | Low tech | Cooking | Sewing | Asian food | Animals | Vegan fruit desserts | Cryptography | Steampunk | Fossils | Crystals | Mathematics | Minimalist decor | Mori fashion | Dinosaurs

DISLIKES:
Organized religion | Bullies | Bossy people | Modern architecture | Car-centric cities | Driving | Social media | Phones | Garish clothes | Being photographed | Politics | Sports | Singing | Television | Commercials | Fossil fuels | Competition | Sex scenes in movies or novels | Most "normal" contemporary music | Hot/spicy foods | Searching for lost items | Being in a hurry | Clutter | Contemporary Christian music | Herself

SKILLS:
Fading into the background; she can almost vanish like a ninja | Knot-tying | Some basic wilderness survival | First Aid and CPR

WEAKNESSES: Avoidant Personality Disorder | Naivete' | Doesn't know how to stand up for herself

HISTORY:
Naiades was born in Santorini, Greece, to strict, reactionary parents who were members of the Golden Dawn party. When Syriza took power in 2015, they moved to the U.S. and became avid supporters of Trump and his MAGA movement. Between her father and her three elder brothers, she grew up in an environment of extreme masculine supremacy.

Though she was raised with the expectation that her role in life was to become an obedient wife and mother, she was nonetheless provided with a Classical education so that she could merit a man of quality. However, her father insisted that Christ must be "Lord" over any interest she might have or subject she might study. She was not allowed to read or watch fiction that was not explicitly Christian. Likewise, her access to music was limited to Classical, instrumental, or Christian music.

Naiades was homeschooled through primary and middle school. For her secondary schooling, she was sent to an exclusive Greek Orthodox private boarding school called St. Chrysostom Preparatory Academy. Though she excelled in her classwork, she was an easy target for cruelty from students and teachers alike.

Science and mathematics were a refuge for her; their truths were not subject to popular whim, and they offered endless realms for exploration where she could go and few could follow. Naiades took every opportunity to sneak away to libraries, museums, or solitude in nature where she could learn without restriction.

After graduation, she was supposed to go to Liberty University, where she could meet a sufficiently devout and theologically orthodox Christian man and become a proper Tradwife. Desperate to avoid this outcome, Naiades applied for scholarships and colleges in secret, resorting to carefully forged parental signatures when necessary. When she got accepted to SFU and acquired sufficient scholarships and grants to attend, she ditched the bus that was meant to take her to Liberty at the first stop, and bought a ticket for one bound for San Francisco.

Due to a bureaucratic snafu, her dorm assignment was double-booked. Luckily, her admissions administrator was able to offer her a billet in one of two Greek houses at the last minute. KID House, with its slogan "Vices = Fun!" was not a fraternity/sorority she would have wanted to join in a million years. But the only alternative was a Christian House, which was sure to represent everything she was coming to SFU to escape from. So, with great trepidation, she chose Kappa Iota Delta. With any luck, the popular party kids there would consider her beneath their notice, especially if she made the effort to remain quiet and invisible...right?

EXTRA:

Knows Classical Greek, Latin, and some Aramaic
Fears being a burden to others, and will suffer serious hardship rather than ask for help
Keeps a journal, but writes it in Classical Greek using a cipher alphabet of her own invention
"Never let them see what makes you happy, because they'll take it from you."
"Never let them see what makes you cry, because they'll do it to you."
Loves costumes (Halloween, renaissance fair, etc.), but won't dress up unless she can wear a mask and remain anonymous
Wishes she could have a pet pangolin
Has never been to a party, or on a date
Her father is a far-right intellectual in the vein of Julius Evola and Alexander Dugin, and has a modest following as a social media influencer
Nibbles at her hair or any available dangly bits (ribbons, etc.) when she is nervous
She can draw a virtually perfect circle without a compass
Never uses cuss words
She can quote the Bible and the Church Fathers in the original Greek (Hebrew Scriptures from the Septuagint) given sufficient need
Code by Jenamos, modified by Zarko Straadi
 
Last edited:
Naiades Xenakiis
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Quisque dui mauris, sagittis at rutrum et, pellentesque eget quam. Vestibulum ac dolor ante. Praesent vitae pulvinar massa, a venenatis orci. Nam ut lectus enim. In mi urna, dignissim vel mauris vel, posuere gravida dolor. Duis dignissim volutpat quam, eu fringilla nisi lobortis vel. Nullam nec tempus neque, a pellentesque turpis.

Nunc fermentum tortor ante, at cursus tellus euismod eu. Aenean ut dui quis ligula aliquet porttitor. In hac habitasse platea dictumst. Quisque sagittis egestas nibh, eu euismod nunc efficitur in. Sed volutpat blandit dictum. Suspendisse ut sapien quis erat convallis tempus ultrices id sapien. Etiam hendrerit eros nec sem suscipit dapibus. Cras neque mauris, gravida ut risus id, accumsan hendrerit ipsum. Morbi vehicula libero et justo faucibus, at scelerisque arcu efficitur. Nunc metus mi, suscipit ac bibendum sit amet, malesuada eget nisl. Morbi luctus in orci ut sodales.

Cras porta vel lectus vitae gravida. Integer in volutpat quam, vel efficitur arcu. Interdum et malesuada fames ac ante ipsum primis in faucibus. Nunc consequat erat et velit maximus feugiat. Vivamus et aliquet felis, sit amet auctor metus. In tempus enim erat, vitae dictum dolor tristique ut. Nam velit neque, eleifend eget mattis eget, viverra quis ante. Cras ut laoreet nulla. Suspendisse rhoncus velit libero, ac fermentum nisl semper sed.

Duis in mauris eget turpis auctor volutpat. Sed bibendum orci lacus. Phasellus pulvinar ante quis congue mollis. Ut tincidunt bibendum congue. Quisque non purus vel ligula efficitur rhoncus. Nulla a diam id lacus molestie feugiat non ac eros. Sed finibus, tellus id venenatis ornare, massa ante efficitur nisi, vel scelerisque nisi lacus eget erat. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos. Integer cursus purus dui, et placerat augue elementum consequat. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Nullam et lacus et nisi vehicula vulputate.

Proin in venenatis odio, eu convallis urna. Nulla porttitor elementum leo, sed dapibus mi egestas et. Ut tincidunt metus erat, ac luctus neque sollicitudin vel. Suspendisse pharetra convallis orci, eu tincidunt mauris vulputate sed. Aliquam sed porttitor mi, vel volutpat erat. Duis consectetur ullamcorper finibus. Nulla facilisi. Curabitur vitae molestie dolor, eu laoreet odio. Proin pellentesque nunc elit, non vestibulum risus tristique nec. Ut ipsum eros, malesuada at ante at, porttitor sodales elit. Nullam vel nunc lacinia justo bibendum dictum. Phasellus lacinia purus at egestas sollicitudin. Sed sit amet pulvinar diam.
『 』
Code by Jenamos
 

Emilie Morgaine Riebau
20 || Female || Miss


A P P E A R A N C E

The first thing one notices about Emilie is her piercing dark eyes. They lend a potent intensity to her delicate features. Her short, wiry frame gives her a doll-like appearance. Yet, she is animated by a dynamo of inner energy that can radiate a performer's charisma, shift to unapproachable sternness, or, when directed toward her work, become a level of focus a falcon could envy.

Normally, she dresses in simple, dark clothing appropriate to a maid or governess, but she switches to flowing gowns in pastel colors when she performs at a lecture or technology exhibition. Her curly brown hair is worn in simple up-do styles to keep it out of the way.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

Emilie avidly follows the latest developments in natural philosophy. Presently she has become especially bedazzled by the "air engine" patented by Robert Stirling, envisioning applications for it in everything from clockwork automatons to the experimental flying machines of George Cayley. She is equally eager to make her own contributions, even if these must be introduced under the name of the elderly gentleman she serves as an assistant, Professor William Dalrymple. She dreams of a world where machines and automatons will do the work of servants and laborers, and everyone can be elevated to live as the gentry do now.

Emilie shines in front of the mostly-male audiences who come to Professor Dalrymple's lectures and technical demonstrations, as well as the the more showy presentations of Professor Dalrymple's Cabinet of Curiosities, performed before audiences of gentry and nobility, to attract more funding for research.

Put her in a soiree or high tea with other women however, where she is supposed to join conversations about men, gossip, fashions, and children, and she becomes silent and taciturn. Inside, she feels as if she's being quietly strangled, and can barely manage the occasional "That's brilliant" or "Yes, that dress looks lovely on you, I am sure he cannot fail to notice."

Emilie is quietly terrified of entering into courtship, and especially of falling in love. The thought of being inevitably and irresistibly drawn by some irrational inner drive into a prison of childbearing, household chores, and subjugation to a man's will would keep her up at night if she allowed herself to dwell on it. Instead, she hurls herself into her work with ferocious intensity.

Lately, she has started to feel herself drawn toward radical politics, such as the abolitionist movement, and proto-feminist writers like Jeremy Bentham, the Marquis de Condorcet, and Mary Wollstonecraft. Uncomfortable with the idea of becoming some kind of political agitator or revolutionary, especially in the wake of the Reign of Terror, Emilie pins her hopes on literally building a world where women, slaves, and the laboring classes are set free by machines.

H I S T O R Y

Emilie was born the second eldest daughter of a book-binder and printer, and developed a love of books from an early age. Her mother Elaine frowned on her interests, especially when they turned toward "manly" subjects like mathematics and the workings of the natural world. Her father George was more indulgent, however. For one thing, at least someone among his growing brood was interested in the family business, what with his sons all dreaming of finding adventure and glory in the wars. For another, little Emilie could produce the most heart-melting Entreaty Face in the history of Western civilization, at least if her father was to be the judge.

It wasn't long before Emilie exhausted the resources of her father's little bookshop, and took whatever free time she had to explore the national library at the British Museum, the only library that was free and open to the public. When she was nine years old, her father took in a young apprentice named Michael Faraday. He shared her interests, and helped her learn while he educated himself. Both drew particular inspiration from Conversations on Chemistry, Intended More Especially for the Female Sex, published anonymously in 1805. It was especially eye-opening for Emilie, since the book explained the science of chemistry through a dialogue between female characters, one of whom even shared her first name.

Hard times hit the family as more children were born, while her elder brothers George Jr. and Emmett both joined the army. With only her brother James at home to help run the family business, money was tight. The family started taking in laundry for washing and other odd jobs the daughters could do.

Chafing against this new drudgery, Emilie started making drawings for an improved "patent washing mill" (early washing machine) that could be powered by a treadle. The family had no money to even attempt to experiment with such things. Her mother started to scold her fiercely to forget childish flights of fancy and accept her lot. One day she'd be married, and there would always, always be washing.

Emilie's salvation came when a professor at Oxford, Professor William Dalrymple, uncle of Sir James Dalrymple, the 5th Baronet of Hailes and a Fellow of the Royal Society, came into the shop. He was seeking a laboratory and workshop assistant, and needed handbills printed. Overhearing the Professor from upstairs as he described the attributes and skills he sought, Emilie abandoned her mending, ran for her room, then came back downstairs and burst into the shop waving a sheaf of drawings she'd made. "I could be your assistant, Mr. Professor sir! I'll work hard day and night!"

"Emilie! You get back to your mending this instant!" her mother snapped. "I'm so sorry, sir!" she said to the Professor.

"Please sir?" Emilie said, holding up her drawings and giving her very best Entreaty Face. The need not to make a scene in front of such a potentially important client was the only thing that kept Elaine from giving her daughter a beating on the spot.

"Oh, it's no trouble at all," the grandfatherly gentleman said, bending down to look at the drawings with an indulgent smile on his face. The smile faded, and his brows knit together as his eyes raked over the array of wheels, gears, and belts dominated by a cylindrical drum.

"Well, what have we here?" Professor Dalrymple said.

"It's a patent mill for washing sir, with a foot treadle so that the hands are free to hold a book!" Emilie replied.

"Where did you get these? Did you make them?" Emilie nodded, curls bouncing. "Well, this is quite a thing! Though the gearing ratio between these two wheels would not offer sufficient torque to get such a drum turning if filled with water, and you'd need a flywheel to..." Professor Dalrymple began.

George Riebau knew when his wife was about to snap, and this was such a time. Before she could pull an arm back to slap some sense into her daughter and get her back to her mending, he gently pulled her away. "He adores her," he whispered. "Hit her now and we could lose his business! She'll only take up a little...of his...time..." By then the Professor and Emilie were thoroughly engrossed in a conversation about machinery, and George was having an inspiration. "What if we offered to hire her to him?"

"George, be serious! Machinery is men's work."

"Think of it though! If we can hire her out to him, we'll get at least as much as her work pays now, and we wouldn't have to feed and clothe her! She's going to start blossoming into womanhood soon. As his assistant, she'll meet young men of letters and learning, better matches than she'd find here. And just look at her. You do want her to be happy, don't you?"

Daft as the notion was in Elaine's mind, she held her tongue as her husband went back to try to negotiate a deal.

No teacher worth their salt can resist the lure of an eager, brilliant young mind, and Professor Dalrymple was no exception. Though having a twelve year-old girl as his assistant was a bit of an irregularity, she would not be able to steal his inventions and claim credit for them as an ambitious young man might. And furthermore, perhaps feminine tenderness might be a good thing to have in an assistant, when he had one of his...lapses.

Sometimes Professor Dalrymple forgot what he was doing completely, or found himself in a room or somewhere out in the countryside without any memory of how he got there. The young girl looking up at him with adoring eyes like a granddaughter might be more...forgiving, more accepting, than some up-and-coming boy would in her place. And if "society" didn't like it, well, he was old enough to get away with ignoring a few conventions.

And so it came to pass that Emilie found herself on a coach to Oxford with an old, battered trunk stuffed with her clothes and a few beloved books that had come off the press marred in ways that made them unsaleable. As promised, she poured herself completely into her work, and into learning, day and night. As the Professor had hoped, she had nothing but compassion for him when his mind decided to stop cooperating.

Over the years, his lapses worsened and became more frequent. His inventions and publications gradually became less "his" and more hers. Yet to the outside world, it seemed that "old Dalrymple" was more brilliant (and also more eccentric) than ever.

Emilie absolutely loves her life, and it is doomed. Of course she wishes she could patent her inventions in her own name, but she loves Professor Dalrymple enough to be happy for him when he receives an accolade. His worsening condition is getting more difficult to hide. She writes his lectures and speeches for him, and comes up with subtle ways to give him cues when he loses the plot. She is not afraid to use her beauty to captivate audiences during demonstrations, and create misdirection to hide the fact that she is effectively the one in charge.

Unfortunately, it also draws the sort of attention that fills her heart with dread: interest and pursuit from young men, and the mounting social expectation that she should marry soon. She lives in fear of the day that "her" laboratory, workshop, and inventions will be taken from her, and replaced by never-ending mounds of laundry.
 
Last edited:
1670616668230.jpeg
 
NAME HERE
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Duis sit amet eleifend urna, vitae facilisis velit. Phasellus non commodo justo. Phasellus sem ante, sollicitudin vitae viverra at, euismod nec dui. Cras consequat ligula in ligula ullamcorper, nec gravida nunc feugiat. Nam nec porta odio. Aliquam at mollis risus. Vestibulum sed dolor nec urna maximus pulvinar. Etiam tortor dui, mollis id sagittis quis, laoreet eget mauris. Nullam pulvinar varius venenatis.

Nunc a augue aliquet, tempus dui varius, pharetra lorem. Duis egestas arcu nec dui vulputate, vel mollis lacus euismod. Maecenas enim risus, blandit non vulputate a, consequat ut est. Nunc ex magna, facilisis at ante ut, ultrices viverra felis. Maecenas augue ante, tempus vitae tellus at, vehicula ornare quam. Suspendisse potenti. Sed egestas aliquam elit. Etiam viverra luctus lectus. Sed semper diam mauris, a feugiat metus volutpat ut. Maecenas mollis quis elit vel maximus. Ut eleifend ut orci vel varius. Sed accumsan rutrum arcu varius suscipit. Pellentesque eget lacus egestas, vestibulum sapien nec, iaculis nisi.

Morbi auctor leo arcu, vel aliquam mi volutpat quis. Donec id mollis ligula, ac elementum mauris. Duis sit amet massa sit amet purus consequat rutrum ac non metus. Integer nisi ligula, feugiat vitae dictum non, suscipit id ante. Suspendisse at orci metus. Donec vel finibus dolor. Vestibulum scelerisque fermentum erat ac malesuada. Fusce sed justo et felis fringilla imperdiet a at enim. Nunc cursus ultricies ante, sit amet pretium ex laoreet at. Nam dictum lorem nibh. Suspendisse tempus, erat vitae molestie accumsan, nibh velit varius enim, a facilisis dolor lacus vel turpis. Curabitur purus felis, efficitur ut rhoncus a, mattis eget ex. Nullam faucibus orci sit amet commodo finibus. Integer sit amet ipsum rhoncus nunc consectetur cursus sed ut libero. Duis volutpat elit eros, ac finibus urna facilisis ac.

Ut orci massa, tristique sed arcu sit amet, tincidunt pretium dolor. Donec accumsan dolor vel cursus auctor. Vivamus a aliquam dui. Cras ornare posuere augue, sed pharetra erat lobortis quis. Nunc consequat ac ex eu vehicula. Nulla facilisi. Nullam varius molestie dui, fringilla tincidunt ligula ornare nec. Nam tristique felis ligula, convallis dictum magna scelerisque ut. Sed a eleifend elit, id ornare lorem. Nam vitae neque nec erat condimentum vulputate a eget ipsum. Donec massa sem, vulputate id enim sed, luctus consectetur diam. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos. Aliquam viverra nulla quam, a laoreet nisi congue sit amet. Nullam quis libero metus.

Nam varius urna id lorem molestie elementum. Morbi at aliquam nisi. Curabitur fringilla hendrerit magna, et faucibus ex consequat a. Orci varius natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Nulla quis libero vitae eros feugiat viverra. Aliquam vestibulum vel nibh at laoreet. Mauris efficitur metus a neque pulvinar, eget mollis orci sodales. Pellentesque maximus vitae lorem vitae sagittis. Etiam ac varius lacus. In varius magna est, in convallis est pretium vel. Integer in fermentum lacus. Nam imperdiet cursus nulla, pellentesque finibus nibh accumsan non. Etiam at ligula eu risus lacinia semper nec id sapien. Nulla sed justo nec odio suscipit fermentum. Nulla quis eros erat.
code by wren.
 
name here
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Mauris posuere pellentesque arcu. Pellentesque porta metus odio, quis tincidunt lectus vestibulum ut. Etiam lectus justo, iaculis eu magna quis, bibendum consectetur lacus. Ut at rutrum nunc. Nullam imperdiet nibh massa. Cras a turpis posuere, tincidunt orci id, tincidunt mi. Vivamus imperdiet accumsan venenatis. Vestibulum vitae lectus ut diam convallis viverra non et ex. Donec sed euismod velit. Fusce pellentesque neque eu eros vehicula semper. Suspendisse facilisis erat in aliquam tristique. Maecenas a ex eget velit vestibulum maximus. Praesent blandit dui eget nibh mattis varius. Cras libero ligula, lobortis eget elit et, varius rhoncus ante. Maecenas condimentum ex et vestibulum ornare. Phasellus molestie sit amet nisi at maximus.

Maecenas eu urna non mi vulputate facilisis. Vestibulum a fermentum nibh. Pellentesque porta massa erat, in eleifend leo lobortis at. Donec ac metus quam. Ut dignissim ex sem, eget dignissim lorem rutrum placerat. Fusce pellentesque diam quis turpis fringilla cursus. Ut ipsum magna, tincidunt eu vehicula venenatis, malesuada vel dolor.
code by wren.
 
True I'm nervous, but why do you think I'm mad?
NAME
Blood & Milk
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Mauris lectus eros, cursus in augue mollis, blandit sodales mi. Cras aliquet aliquet arcu, ac tincidunt tellus. Donec posuere ac tortor sit amet pulvinar. Donec eu urna ultricies urna dictum molestie vel et arcu. Aliquam in est tincidunt, vulputate urna nec, scelerisque erat. Donec a arcu orci. Proin ut dolor maximus, gravida ex a, gravida quam. Morbi tempor, quam id aliquam facilisis, quam orci faucibus felis, non lobortis lacus tortor nec nulla. Proin felis erat, luctus sit amet sapien at, iaculis sollicitudin leo. Quisque fringilla dapibus mi, vitae lobortis nibh cursus eu. Donec a ante id lectus rutrum pellentesque. Donec tincidunt lacus augue, sit amet ultricies nunc luctus sit amet. Morbi aliquam, odio in facilisis gravida, mi velit viverra est, id semper sem enim vitae erat. Nulla eleifend sed turpis vitae malesuada.

Aliquam in est in quam aliquet porta. Suspendisse pharetra massa sit amet metus euismod commodo. Sed volutpat nulla eros, non condimentum leo hendrerit in. Sed pulvinar eget leo ut consectetur. Sed enim lectus, euismod vitae nunc quis, sodales egestas nunc. In nec lectus lorem. Ut sit amet egestas mauris. Donec semper nec purus et congue. Cras eleifend, felis nec porttitor ornare, tortor dolor blandit justo, ac placerat elit augue vel tellus. Cras non ipsum ante. Nunc sit amet leo id nulla tincidunt pellentesque. Aliquam laoreet metus id dolor commodo, sed porta urna dignissim. Nunc vel maximus dui, nec tincidunt erat. Curabitur et blandit est. Proin non libero lobortis, finibus massa in, lacinia massa.

Ut felis lacus, commodo ut sem id, rutrum rhoncus nunc. Donec ullamcorper massa sed sapien malesuada tincidunt. Quisque libero tellus, interdum eget porttitor in, hendrerit nec erat. Quisque varius scelerisque orci, tempus dictum dolor placerat commodo. Fusce eu laoreet magna. Nunc faucibus dolor ut libero sollicitudin, vel posuere urna egestas. Praesent accumsan nibh vitae sapien efficitur, a consectetur lectus venenatis. Vivamus consectetur mi eros, sit amet finibus lorem suscipit quis. Duis iaculis tellus congue justo commodo, et dapibus sapien iaculis. Nunc lobortis mi massa, quis interdum urna rhoncus vitae. Suspendisse facilisis bibendum leo, eu placerat ante maximus non. Integer a aliquet turpis.

Vivamus aliquam auctor turpis, eget ullamcorper sem. Morbi non nunc aliquet, porta arcu quis, venenatis dui. Phasellus tincidunt non erat sit amet ullamcorper. Etiam malesuada diam at purus accumsan mollis. Proin cursus ac felis ut condimentum. Sed rutrum rutrum eros quis sagittis. Etiam vitae venenatis augue. Phasellus ultricies, justo non suscipit lacinia, ex orci fringilla diam, eget tincidunt ipsum nulla sit amet ipsum.

Mauris et urna sit amet magna sollicitudin aliquam. Morbi nulla mi, imperdiet in rutrum vel, convallis commodo massa. Curabitur ut pellentesque ipsum, a rutrum elit. Morbi porttitor dui a nunc facilisis efficitur. Aliquam id mi condimentum, rutrum neque vel, vulputate orci. In congue ligula a venenatis facilisis. Aliquam blandit gravida enim, vitae blandit metus elementum et. Curabitur sem est, porttitor eu neque ut, pulvinar vestibulum leo. Sed imperdiet non ligula id vehicula. Curabitur porttitor libero orci, non vulputate enim volutpat non. Sed varius, mi non interdum sollicitudin, dui odio sollicitudin neque, ut dictum neque orci id lectus. Ut at sapien a purus vestibulum molestie convallis et quam.
code by wren.
 
Natural philosophy is not an amusement for the learned, but a mighty power that can liberate humankind from the chains of toil
EMILIE RIEBAU
In the House of the Inventor
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Mauris lectus eros, cursus in augue mollis, blandit sodales mi. Cras aliquet aliquet arcu, ac tincidunt tellus. Donec posuere ac tortor sit amet pulvinar. Donec eu urna ultricies urna dictum molestie vel et arcu. Aliquam in est tincidunt, vulputate urna nec, scelerisque erat. Donec a arcu orci. Proin ut dolor maximus, gravida ex a, gravida quam. Morbi tempor, quam id aliquam facilisis, quam orci faucibus felis, non lobortis lacus tortor nec nulla. Proin felis erat, luctus sit amet sapien at, iaculis sollicitudin leo. Quisque fringilla dapibus mi, vitae lobortis nibh cursus eu. Donec a ante id lectus rutrum pellentesque. Donec tincidunt lacus augue, sit amet ultricies nunc luctus sit amet. Morbi aliquam, odio in facilisis gravida, mi velit viverra est, id semper sem enim vitae erat. Nulla eleifend sed turpis vitae malesuada.

Aliquam in est in quam aliquet porta. Suspendisse pharetra massa sit amet metus euismod commodo. Sed volutpat nulla eros, non condimentum leo hendrerit in. Sed pulvinar eget leo ut consectetur. Sed enim lectus, euismod vitae nunc quis, sodales egestas nunc. In nec lectus lorem. Ut sit amet egestas mauris. Donec semper nec purus et congue. Cras eleifend, felis nec porttitor ornare, tortor dolor blandit justo, ac placerat elit augue vel tellus. Cras non ipsum ante. Nunc sit amet leo id nulla tincidunt pellentesque. Aliquam laoreet metus id dolor commodo, sed porta urna dignissim. Nunc vel maximus dui, nec tincidunt erat. Curabitur et blandit est. Proin non libero lobortis, finibus massa in, lacinia massa.

Ut felis lacus, commodo ut sem id, rutrum rhoncus nunc. Donec ullamcorper massa sed sapien malesuada tincidunt. Quisque libero tellus, interdum eget porttitor in, hendrerit nec erat. Quisque varius scelerisque orci, tempus dictum dolor placerat commodo. Fusce eu laoreet magna. Nunc faucibus dolor ut libero sollicitudin, vel posuere urna egestas. Praesent accumsan nibh vitae sapien efficitur, a consectetur lectus venenatis. Vivamus consectetur mi eros, sit amet finibus lorem suscipit quis. Duis iaculis tellus congue justo commodo, et dapibus sapien iaculis. Nunc lobortis mi massa, quis interdum urna rhoncus vitae. Suspendisse facilisis bibendum leo, eu placerat ante maximus non. Integer a aliquet turpis.

Vivamus aliquam auctor turpis, eget ullamcorper sem. Morbi non nunc aliquet, porta arcu quis, venenatis dui. Phasellus tincidunt non erat sit amet ullamcorper. Etiam malesuada diam at purus accumsan mollis. Proin cursus ac felis ut condimentum. Sed rutrum rutrum eros quis sagittis. Etiam vitae venenatis augue. Phasellus ultricies, justo non suscipit lacinia, ex orci fringilla diam, eget tincidunt ipsum nulla sit amet ipsum.

Mauris et urna sit amet magna sollicitudin aliquam. Morbi nulla mi, imperdiet in rutrum vel, convallis commodo massa. Curabitur ut pellentesque ipsum, a rutrum elit. Morbi porttitor dui a nunc facilisis efficitur. Aliquam id mi condimentum, rutrum neque vel, vulputate orci. In congue ligula a venenatis facilisis. Aliquam blandit gravida enim, vitae blandit metus elementum et. Curabitur sem est, porttitor eu neque ut, pulvinar vestibulum leo. Sed imperdiet non ligula id vehicula. Curabitur porttitor libero orci, non vulputate enim volutpat non. Sed varius, mi non interdum sollicitudin, dui odio sollicitudin neque, ut dictum neque orci id lectus. Ut at sapien a purus vestibulum molestie convallis et quam.
code by wren.
 
Last edited:

William Thaddeus Jacob Dalrymple, F.R.S.
76 || Male || Professor


A P P E A R A N C E

William has the look of a kindly grandfather who carries himself with quiet dignity. He dresses neatly in dark suits of somewhat outdated style. At home or in informal situations, he may wear a smoking jacket and night cap. He keeps his receding hair and mutton-chop sideburns neatly trimmed. When his mind has not deserted him, his light blue eyes sparkle with intelligence and curiosity.

When it does, maintaining that quiet dignity becomes a white-knuckle affair, as he may not know where he is, or whom exactly he is talking to. If he should happen to be found wandering the Dalrymple estate in his pajamas, his hair will likely be in frizzy disarray.


P E R S O N A L I T Y

When lucid, William is genial and eccentric, with a mind that flutters as quickly and erratically from one area of interest to another as a butterfly in a field of flowers. When his lucidity slips, he becomes disoriented, forgetful, and afraid. He is utterly devoted to his wife Maergarethe, though there are times when he doesn't remember exactly who she is. He is equally devoted to his young assistant Emilie Riebau, the daughter, the granddaughter he never got to have. During less stable moments however, he feels as if his mind, which was once so nimble, is somehow being taken from him and given to her. In those moments, he blames her, sometimes with angry shouts, sometimes in teary laments. Then the moment passes, and he begs her forgiveness.

He believes that death is oblivion, because for him it does not consume with a single gape-jawed gulp of darkness; rather it nibbles, taking his life away a piece at a time. A precious memory here, a few recent hours lost there. He knows what death is because the holes in his mind show him where it has already taken place for him.


H I S T O R Y

William was born as the third son of Sir James Dalrymple, Second Baronet of Hailes, in Midlothian, Scotland. It seemed unlikely that he would ever inherit his father's baronetcy, and he never had any interest in doing so. He was a solitary, bookish boy who found his happiness in the family library, or walking around the grounds with hand lens or microscope in hand, or pointing a telescope at the night sky.

At age 11, William's father died, and his eldest brother David inherited the Baronetcy. William entered Newcome's School, where he would get quality teaching, and the 25 year-old Third Baronet would not have to raise him. At 18, he entered Cambridge University as a student, and found his true home. After graduation, he returned to the Dalrymple estate and set up his own laboratory and workshop.

After several years of private research, he wrote Man the Machine, an illustrated comparative study of human anatomy and the current state of the art in mechanical automatons crafted in human form, including some novel design elements of his own. In it, he argued for Descartes' conception of biological bodies as highly sophisticated machines, and offered speculation on how the creation of a truly humanlike mechanical man might impact society. He also applied his mechanical knowledge to the development of an articulated crane for hoisting crates onto ships. For these contributions, he was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society at the age of 33.

During a fete he'd been invited to by one of his new friends, his attention was captured by the curious simmering hostility of a young woman with sunny blonde hair, toward the assembled Fellows. Somewhat awkwardly, he peeled off from them to try to talk to her, and find out why their discussion seemed to anger her. She was Maergarethe Anne Grace Kilpatrick, the youngest daughter of his host. A Romanticist who fancied herself a Druid priestess and student of the arcane, her beliefs could not have been more opposite to his own.

Oblivious to the smirks and snickers of the other Fellows, William spent the rest of the evening in lively debate with her, an intellectual fencing match that resulted in stalemate. He would come to call again, and again. On the first anniversary of their meeting, Maergarethe presented William with a challenge: he would take her side for their debate, and she his. He agreed. They drew their rapier wits and squared off. This debate ended not in stalemate, but in mutual conquest; when each saw their opponent arguing for their ideas as passionately and capably as each would have themselves, William and Margarethe both knew they had found The One. They were married a month later.

William took a post as Professor of Natural Philosophy at Cambridge. During teaching season, he and Maergarethe lived in a suite with a workshop and laboratory provided by the University. During off-seasons and sabbaticals, the couple traveled to the Dalrymple Estate in Midlothian. They settled into a comfortable rhythm, achieving neither great success nor great disgrace. Over the years, their contrasting philosophical positions gradually evolved toward greater degrees of overlap.

William and Maergarethe's love never faltered, though there was one shard of pain they had to share: their union produced no children. Unlike many of his peers, William never took a mistress. When Maergarethe cried because of her childlessness, William would console her by saying "I married you, not a brood of future children. I married you.

Old age slowly crept up on them, as is its way. In 1792, David died, and William's other older brother became the Fourth Baronet, who died eight years later in 1800. At the age of 60 and with no heirs of his own, William was no more interested in becoming Baronet than he had ever been, so he yielded the inheritance to his nephew James. A few years later, he had his first "lapse," finding himself at the dinner table without a recollection of the first half hour of his meal. At first, he and Margarethe tried to find a solution themselves. They pursued the paths of the emerging discipline of natural philosophy, as well as the herbal remedies and contemplative practices of Margarethe's older traditions.

After a couple years, William finally had to admit that he was getting worse as time went on, and that if he wanted to continue with his career, he would need an assistant. He went to London in search of a bright young man, and returned with a brighter, younger girl instead. Margarethe loved Emilie Riebau at first sight. Her lost dream had suddenly come true: a child in their home. William taught her natural philosophy, and the craft skills she would need to make scientific instruments and mechanical inventions. Margarethe taught her savoire faire, the social skills she would need to navigate among the upper classes.

As Emilie grew into her role, William slowly withered in his. At first she was an able helper and eager learner, bolstering his ability to continue his work and papering over his foibles. As the years passed, the work gradually became hers, with his part in the partnership shriveling to that of a human fig leaf for the young inventress. Even with his declining mind, William can see that not only does Emilie's genius burn hotter and brighter than his ever did, so does her ambition. She wants her inventions to change the world. In order for that to happen, she must get more money for research, and also, hopefully, the favorable attention of the British Empire's movers and shakers.

Toward this end, she has completed some of William's half-finished projects from prior years and added her own inventions to create an exhibition called Professor Dalrymple's Cabinet of Curiosities. Though William wants Emilie to succeed, he knows that their arrangement cannot last.
 
Last edited:
1671820790912.jpeg
 

Maergarethe Dalrymple
68 || FEMALE || LADY


A P P E A R A N C E

Maergarethe could be someone's gentle fairy godmother. Perhaps it is her smiling, wrinkled face or the twinkle in her eye. Or maybe it is the elaborate gowns she wears, with embroidered Celtic knotwork and a cut that hearkens to Arthurian myth rather than the day's fashion.

On certain days and times of the year, she can be seen in simple white robes and headdress embroidered with Druid symbols and spirals reminiscent of those found on ancient standing stones, presiding over Druid ceremonies with staff in hand.

Cross her though, and she can take on a rather imposing sternness, revealing an iron will that would not be broken over her long life, so don't bother trying now.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

Maergarethe is one of the last of a dying breed: a Scottish clan matriarch who still adheres to the belief that she has an obligation to the people who work her modest land holdings, rather than viewing them as mere tenants to be removed from the land of their ancestors in the interest of increasing profits. Thus she has taken a firm stand against the Clearances and seeks to do all in her power to adapt the old ways to the challenges of the new modern world.

She is a stubborn non-conformist, proud of her Pagan Gaelic heritage, who refuses to bow to any notion of Anglo-Saxon superiority. She is mystical and intuitive, a lover of wild nature.

Maergarethe utterly despises conventional aristocratic garden culture. To her, it is an unconscionable waste, a way for the wealthy to say 'Look! I own so much land that I can plant vast tracts of it in useless trimmed grass, topiaries, and flower-beds while children starve in the streets!' Furthermore, she sees it as a vain project of demonstrating human control over nature, by pampered fools who do not have to do any of the work themselves. "The gardens of Versailles pale before the beauty of a meadow or a forest, and a forest does not need groundskeepers."

She loves children and animals, and will play with them shamelessly, within the limits imposed by her aging body.


H I S T O R Y

Maergarethe was the youngest daughter of Laird Connor Kirkpatrick. She was a tomboy wild-child who loved to run with the hounds, climb trees, and roughhouse with the children of the family's servants and tenants. When she was a little girl, her father went to war in support of Bonnie Prince Charlie, and returned from the Battle of Culloden missing a leg.

He became a naturalist, living a subdued life that kept him beneath the notice of the victorious English. Maergarethe adopted a similar fascination, but she was less interested in pinned butterfly collections and stuffed animal specimens from around the world than in butterflies and animals living in their natural state.

In her early teens, Maergarethe learned of the Druid Revival and became an enthusiastic convert. Her father was able to arrange beneficial marriages for her older brothers and sisters, so he could indulge her eccentricities even though they made her un-marriageable for all practical intents and purposes.

She reached the age of 25, no closer to finding a match than she had ever been, and seemed destined for spinsterhood. Then she had her first encounter with a newly-minted Fellow of the Royal Society named William Dalrymple at a fete her father held. Asked how she met the man who became her husband, Maergarethe will often reply, "We met in battle." It was not an exchange of cannonballs and grapeshot, but of argument and emotion, re-assembled and embellished remnants of ancient Druidry versus the emerging scientific materialism of the day.

Over time, fierce debate transmuted into love, and the pair were wed. They stayed at Oxford during the teaching season, then returned to the Dalrymple estate in Midlothian during the off season, though on occasion they made other travels. In pursuit of lost Druid knowledge, Maergarethe would seek out ancient megalithic structures; standing stones, temple-tombs, and dolmens. Taking on board some of her husband's scientific rigor, she made precise measurements and surveys of these monuments, while talking with the locals about their folklore and legends.

When her husband ventured to the Continent to attend scientific conferences, she went along, but sought out megaliths and cathedrals, knowing that the latter were often built atop ancient Pagan sacred sites. She found what she considered to be alignments that linked these ancient structures into a network, and claimed that this was evidence of a unified culture deep in pre-Classical antiquity.

Writing anonymously under the name 'Frater Ambrosius,' she published a book called The Druids' Web. In it she argued that in addition to their function as sacred sites and astronomical temples, ancient megalithic structures also served as navigational aids, pointing those with the requisite knowledge toward the next structure on their desired course, making it possible to navigate throughout the British Isles and Western Europe. She also proposed the hypothesis that ancient Druids may have been able to enter mystic states of consciousness and communicate with their fellows at other sites along these lines, as well as use the 'earth energies' these sites focused to increase the fertility of crop seeds.

This book remained obscure, of interest to a relative handful of antiquarians and mystics, but was scoffed at by the scientific community to the extent that they noticed its existence at all.

Maergarethe found a new inspiration when she read a book called Curious Dialogues with a Savage of Good Sense Who Has Travelled by Baron de la Hontan. This book purported to be a series of dialogues between a prominent Native American named Kandiaronk and the Baron, in which Kandiaronk issued harsh critiques of French, and by extension, European culture.

Coming to believe that the Native Americans might represent a living equivalent of the ancient megalith-builder culture of Europe, she began to ply her husband for a journey to the Colonies so she could meet them in person. Though William was less than enthusiastic about the prospects of such a hazardous sea voyage, he finally managed to get funding for a trip to assess the state of the sciences and education in the Colonies. The pair set off. While William busied himself in Philadelphia and Boston, Maergarethe finagled her way to visit the Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) and Huron nations, and make measurements of Mound Builder sites.

Their expedition was cut short however, when the Colonies erupted in revolt against British rule. After a harrowing flight through a land at war, they managed to board a sloop bound for England, narrowly avoiding French naval patrols as they crossed the Atlantic. Maergarethe found their adventure delightfully thrilling...William, not so much.

While her learning was not much appreciated in mainstream society, it was welcomed within the more obscure circle of her Druid order, enabling her to rise through the initiatory ranks to become its Archdruidess.

Shortly after her return home, another event put an end to Maergarethe's wanderlust: the death of her father. She inherited a modest portion of his lands, enough to make her a Baronetess in her own right. Since her beliefs, and the teachings she'd learned from the Native Americans were rooted in connection to the land, she took this new responsibility with utmost seriousness.

By this time, the Highland Clearances were driving people from the land their ancestors had lived on for generations. Maergarethe called on her inventor husband to help her find ways to make it possible for her people to stay on the land and maintain their status as farmers instead of being reduced to impoverished, landless laborers.

While he made improvements in windmill design, and developed a "compost reactor" that could be attached to a house, and the heat the compost produced used to warm the house via an arrangement of air conduits, reducing the need for firewood, peat, or coal, Maergarethe started searching for ways to improve the quality of soil. Using a microscope to compare fertile and infertile soils, she followed her father's footsteps as a naturalist, but of the microscopic and underfoot.

She developed a system of agriculture that mimicked a forest, with orchard and evergreen trees planted over shrubs, berries, and legumes, with compost used to build soil. In addition, truffles and mushrooms were grown as cash crops. She has been able to stay a step ahead of the debt trap that has forced other landlords to seek various ways to expel "redundant" families from their land.

However, Maergarethe and William faced two predicaments that would not yield to any amount of cleverness: the first, was that she could not produce an heir. The second arose as the couple entered old age: William began having lapses of memory and attention that worsened over time. He went to London to find an assistant, and returned with a brilliant young girl named Emilie Riebau.

Maergarethe loved Emilie at first sight. While she eagerly learned science and mechanics from William, Maergarethe taught her the skills she would need to navigate high society, and sought to share her love of nature. Though Emilie is not their child, in many respects she has grown to become a synthesis of the two, seeking to integrate their differing viewpoints into a harmonious whole.

Watching Emilie grow into young womanhood, Maergarethe hopes to "nudge" her toward finding a match as perfect as the one she found in William. With any luck, the right young man will make it possible for Emilie to continue as a scientist and inventor, and the new couple could take her place as protectors of her landholdings and people.



 
Last edited:

Clara Morgan
12 || FEMALE || MISS


A P P E A R A N C E

Clara is short with a wiry build, and stronger than she looks. Properly shined-up, her dark brown hair forms lovely curls and waves, but she's more accustomed to having it pulled back into a greasy, limp ponytail and tied with a bit of twine, or hidden under a ragged boys' cap. Normally she wears an intensely serious, veiled expression that hides her emotions and thoughts. However, she can put on bright, adorable charm or piteous misery when necessary. She wears simple, basic, somewhat threadbare clothes provided for her by Mrs. Meriwether's Home for Girls.


P E R S O N A L I T Y

The core of Clara's personality is the grim determination she needs to survive. She is cunning and resourceful with a ruthless streak. Clara has no expectation of receiving genuine kindness from others, especially those of higher station or in authority. Instead, she views such people as marks to be pickpocketed, swindled or tricked for anything she can get out of them.

Clara is fiercely protective of other children weaker than herself, and isn't the least bit afraid to dish out black eyes and bruises to bullies on sight. For such children she becomes a caring big sister.

She likes hard-to-reach places: heights, small spaces, storm drains, places she can go and few can follow. Clara is fearless, perhaps too much so for her own good. She sees little realistic prospect for a happy future for herself, so why not risk it all for a big score, or just for the challenge?

She eagerly learns any potentially useful skill she can. So she'd go to the docks, watch the sailors work and tie their knots, and wheedle them into showing her how, watch back-street boxing matches through a crack in the fence so she could learn how to punch. Or sit in a desk at school struggling to master reading, cursive, and sums as she tries to catch up to students who hadn't spent most of their lives on the streets.


H I S T O R Y

Clara was born in the industrial slums of London, to an impoverished factory worker and his wife. When she was six, a cholera epidemic swept through her neighborhood. She barely survived; her parents didn't. Her landlord cast her out on the street. She was found by a fagin who took her in and taught her how to pick pockets and locks while sending her out to beg.

As she grew older, she learned more criminal skills, like how to climb to a third-story window and break in, how to shoplift, and how to cheat at cards. She became a kind of den-mother to the other children, and stood between them and the fagin when he got in an abusive mood.

When she was eleven, the police busted the fagin's crime ring. Clara was sent to an orphanage and workhouse called Mrs. Meriwether's Home for Girls. Rules were harsh, and punishment was brutal. The one bright spot in her life is that she gets to go to a charity school that is unusually well-funded for a school of its type. Some of her fellow students may chafe against their schooling, but for Clara the logic is simple: who reads, writes, and does sums? The powerful, that's who. So she grabs for learning in much the same way she grabs for food.

Recently, her life took a strange new turn. A mysterious, man--a lord--has hired her out of the orphanage to become a servant and companion for his daughter. Clara anticipates nothing good to come from some snobby, privileged lord's daughter. However, the girl is supposed to be around her age, so perhaps her capacities for cruelty and inflicting pain will be less than those of the staff at Mrs. Meriwether's. Furthermore, a lord's manor should be easier to escape...




Clara Morgan
12 || FEMALE || MISS


A P P E A R A N C E

Clara is short with a wiry build, and stronger than she looks. Properly shined-up, her golden hair forms lovely curls and waves, but she's more accustomed to having it pulled back into a greasy, limp ponytail and tied with a bit of twine, or hidden under a ragged boys' cap. Normally she wears an intensely serious, veiled expression that hides her emotions and thoughts. However, she can put on bright, adorable charm or piteous misery when necessary. She wears simple, basic, somewhat threadbare clothes provided for her by Mrs. Meriwether's Home for Girls.


P E R S O N A L I T Y

The core of Clara's personality is the grim determination she needs to survive. She is cunning and resourceful with a ruthless streak. Clara has no expectation of receiving genuine kindness from others, especially those of higher station or in authority. Instead, she views such people as marks to be pickpocketed, swindled or tricked for anything she can get out of them.

Clara is fiercely protective of other children weaker than herself, and isn't the least bit afraid to dish out black eyes and bruises to bullies on sight. For such children she becomes a caring big sister.

She likes hard-to-reach places: heights, small spaces, storm drains, places she can go and few can follow. Clara is fearless, perhaps too much so for her own good. She sees little realistic prospect for a happy future for herself, so why not risk it all for a big score, or just for the challenge?

She eagerly learns any potentially useful skill she can. So she'd go to the docks, watch the sailors work and tie their knots, and wheedle them into showing her how, watch back-street boxing matches through a crack in the fence so she could learn how to punch. Or sit in a desk at school struggling to master reading, cursive, and sums as she tries to catch up to students who hadn't spent most of their lives on the streets.


H I S T O R Y

Clara was born in the industrial slums of London, to an impoverished factory worker and his wife. When she was six, a cholera epidemic swept through her neighborhood. She barely survived; her parents didn't. Her landlord cast her out on the street. She was found by a fagin who took her in and taught her how to pick pockets and locks while sending her out to beg.

As she grew older, she learned more criminal skills, like how to climb to a third-story window and break in, how to shoplift, and how to cheat at cards. She became a kind of den-mother to the other children, and stood between them and the fagin when he got in an abusive mood.

When she was eleven, the police busted the fagin's crime ring. Clara was sent to an orphanage and workhouse called Mrs. Meriwether's Home for Girls. Rules were harsh, and punishment was brutal. The one bright spot in her life is that she gets to go to a charity school that is unusually well-funded for a school of its type. Some of her fellow students may chafe against their schooling, but for Clara the logic is simple: who reads, writes, and does sums? The powerful, that's who. So she grabs for learning in much the same way she grabs for food.

Recently, her life took a strange new turn. A mysterious, man--a lord--has hired her out of the orphanage to become a servant and companion for his daughter. Clara anticipates nothing good to come from some snobby, privileged lord's daughter. However, the girl is supposed to be around her age, so perhaps her capacities for cruelty and inflicting pain will be less than those of the staff at Mrs. Meriwether's. Furthermore, a lord's manor should be easier to escape...
 
Last edited:
1673266254744.jpeg
 
1676846174039.png
 
 
Last edited:
Clara rode in silence until the wagon came to a lasting stop. A couple thumps on the front wall from the driver said they had reached their destination. Apart from a few small, barred porthole openings to allow some daylight in, the wagon was a featureless black box with two rows of small, backless wooden benches and a narrow aisle going down the center. On the outside, the only thing to distinguish it from a police wagon was white lettering that said "Mrs. Meriwether's Home for Girls."

"Right, you, come on then!" Miss Wickersham said, grabbing Clara's arm in a vicelike grip. It was no coincidence that Miss Wickersham was the tallest and strongest of the orphanage's governesses. Clara already had a number of failed escape attempts under her belt. Under ordinary circumstances, taking her first chance to bolt wouldn't be completely unreasonable.

Instead, Clara held herself back from giving the woman a cross look and allowed herself to be pulled to the door without resistance. From what she'd been told, she was being given the opportunity to go to school. That meant access to an education. Books would be unlocked for her, and she could hardly imagine what secrets they might hold! Before the orphanage, she'd tried to teach herself to read by pinching some books meant for very small children. It had been hard going keeping them hidden from Mr. Jacoby and other urchins who might be inclined to rat on her, much less finding free alone-time to study them.

In school, they would want her to read, and even learn maths. Clara wasn't exactly sure what the latter would be good for though. People with money could use numbers to calculate how much they had and figure out ways to make more by means that all but qualified as dark magic. Clara doubted she would ever have that much money, but if she could master the arcane arts of Number, who knew? It was a skill, a power, so if somebody intended to offer it to her, she'd snatch it faster than a lost wallet.

With a large, bulky frame and a square, rugged face, "Miss" Wickersham had never been, and would never be, pretty. In Clara's mind, the delicate-sounding epithet hardly seemed to apply to the human warship who unlocked the wagon's door and dragged her out into the sunlight. She blinked against the sudden brightness for a moment before her eyes went wide.

Clara found herself standing in a roundabout paved in spotless white pea gravel, with a tall spreading tree, immaculate flower beds, and a buffer of neatly trimmed green grass at its center. In one direction, a wide driveway, similarly-paved, led through a processional of trees lined up on each side, saluting with their branches to create a lovely archway. In the other, there was more grass, more flower beds, and hedge plants exquisitely trimmed into various shapes.

But what truly stood out, and earned her stare, was the utterly enormous house that held pride of place. While smaller branching driveways arced around the house, presumably leading to places for servants and incoming cargo, the main driveway ended at the foot of a grand stone staircase with sweeping balustrades and intricate patterns of different-colored stone set into the broad landings. It was not the sort of thing one was meant to just climb up step by step. Instead, it was as if the polished stone expected visitors to stride up its heights, confident in their wealth, power, and worthiness to even be here.

None of which Clara had as she was dragged unceremoniously upward, toward tall, carved wooden doors with oval inset windows decorated with flowers and twisting vines of stained glass. The house itself was richly embellished, bearing carved details too abundant for her eyes to take in. Her mind boggled at the amount of work it must have taken to raise this place.

This...is a school?! Clara kept that thought and her quizzical look to herself. As the pair reached the
doors, sure enough, there was lettering above them that looked to have been added at some later date, and one of the words, 'S-c-h-o-o-l,' matched a set she'd seen on schools in the city. She had no time to wonder why, if that was the word she thought it was, that it did not have a 'k,' before Miss Wickersham used the gilded cast-iron knocker to signal their presence.

That meant people from inside this building would be coming, to judge Clara and determine her worthiness to enter. With her free hand, she fussed with her bonnet and faded dress, knowing full well that she could not make them, and by extension, herself, deserving of admittance.
 
1681204462445.png
 
1681296184991.png
 


KIMIKO AMATERASU


"I seem to be a verb."



AGE: 21

HEIGHT: 4' 11"

HAIR COLOR: Dyed silvery white (natural: black)

EYE COLOR: Dark brown.

SKIN DETAILS: Fair skin tone, has a tattoo of a cross on the inside of her left forearm, with a passage from the Gnostic text Thunder, Perfect Mind in Koine Greek that crosses it to go around her forearm like a bracelet.

BUILD: Slender and petite with firm muscle tone.

HEALTH CONDITIONS/NOTES: Autism spectrum, ADHD

OTHER NOTABLE FEATURES: Kimiko wears futuristic clothing that usually involves the use of 3-D printing and/or unusual materials, incorporating elements of Buckminster Fuller's "Synergetic Geometry" and biomimicry with a hint of 1960's Mod aesthetic. Her color scheme is usually white, light pastel colors, or iridescent "holographic" fabrics, and sometimes she includes fiberoptics or LED lighting effects. If you ask her "What planet are you from, anyway?!" and she says "Gliese 581g--well actually most of us live in O'Neill Cylinders and the Orbital Ring!"...you just might believe her.

PERSONALITY: High-Energy | Cheerful | Very Eccentric | Optimistic | Innocent | Sense of Wonder | Kind | Spontaneous | People: How Do They Work? | Attention Zips From One Thing to the Next | Oblivious to Social Cues | Non-Conformist | Respectful to Elders | Wants to Help Create a Better World

LIKES: Electronic music | Science fiction | Psychedelics | Mysticism | Esoteric Texts | The Paranormal | Science | Technology | Sacred Geometry | Outer Space | Ecology | Clubbing | Dancing | Singing | Laughing | Design

DISLIKES: Country music | Baseball caps | Cars | Pushy, Entitled People | Narrow-Mindedness | Bigotry | Wastefulness | Clutter | Ugly or Wasteful Design

EXTRA: Kimiko produces electronic music with a futuristic, upbeat psychedelic sound, singing her own vocals. She has an album's worth of songs, all set in a science fiction universe for which she's written a novel, so that the songs and story reference each other. Unable to succeed at jumping through the hoops of the music industry, she has self-published her works. They make her a modest amount of money so far, but she has yet to attract much notice beyond a small but loyal fandom. She also has a moderately successful YouTube channel and podcast, where she gives short rhapsodic talks about "exponential technology," scientific mysticism, and the future. Her novel is a science fiction story that integrates E-8 Cosmology with Jacques Vallee's writings on the UFO phenomenon, the paranormal, along with sci-fi Gnosticism, Hermeticism, Chaos Magic, and the latest eco-technology.

Code by MaryGold. Edited by Black_Sheep & Jenamos.​
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Top Bottom
Back