Post by BlaidDrwg on Aug 8, 2012 19:55:22 GMT -8
Name: Char [Full name Charlynna]
Pronunciation: Shh - are
Gender: Female
Age: 19
Turnday: 1st Day of the 13th Month in the Turn 3054
Weyr: Rainbow Mists Weyr, Hailing from Cliffside Sea Hold originally
Rank: Journeywoman Weaver
Family:
Ortel [Father :: 55, Fisherman]
Charissa [Mother :: 46, Housewife]
Telen [Brother :: Deceased]
Otessa [Sister :: 20, Cotholder's wife]
Friends: Sheamus, childhood friend whom she recently came into contact again.
Pets: Currently without a pet of her own, she previously cared for a pair of felines kept aboard her father's ship when it was in dock.
Appearance: Long, almost spindly delicate fingers, pause over some bit of nothing. Manicured nails twist that nothing until it thickens into something, drawing thread from the loosely spun wool until it twists about those fingers and pins them together. Dyes taint the blush skin tone odd shades, blues and greens, yellowing the palm and tipping those fingers in royal violets until all the colors shift and merge. The color extends further up narrow wrists, leaving pale fluttering blue veins amid a sea of mis-matched smudges.
A brow knits over dark eyes, the glint of something like intensity there as they focus on the thread betwixt the fingers as it's led to the pinched eye of a needle. One pass and the thread has found its home and there is a pause in the working, long enough for the hand now free of thread to lift and push back a length of dark hair that has fallen forward. A finger twists it almost idly, as if to examine the color. In the light it is a warm reddish tone, while in the dark it seems to be almost a rich mahogany shade. The errant strands tucked away, again those hands return to more active pursuits over any type of idleness.
Severity marks not only the knit of the brow, but the general shape of the face hanging above the work. The chin and jaw are almost sharply angular with a defined, albeit quirked nose and pronounced cheek bones. Lips purse and part as if in thought and then close again, wordlessly. Beyond that, the features smooth as work begins properly and a calm hums as an underlying beat to the punch of needle in fabric.
Height: Nearing 5'10"
Weight: It's rude to ask a lady her weight. [149lbs, shh]
Eye Color: A liquid sort of brown
Hair Color: Red-ish, mahogany
Hair Style: Often rolling just down over her shoulders, it is almost at an unruly length. Her preference is a loose ponytail hanging at the base of her skull, or braided artfully across her brow or even in a straight braid down her back. She only keeps the length for that now and again feeling of spray when she's at sea.
Build: Lithe, with a wiry frame that is only marked by the subtle curve of her breast and the subtle musculature garnered from Turns as a rough tomboy as a youth.
Scars, Birthmarks, Etc: Here and there her skin is dotted with nicks, marks of her youthful energy and spunk. Freckles splash across the bridge of her nose and smatter her cheeks, dotting her forearms as well.
Clothing Style: Dresses, usually that she's made herself that are often accented by a pouch hung over her shoulder and a waistcoat of sorts touched up with pockets. She has, as a weaver, developed something of a flair for color, loving a rich and deep blue something fierce.
Personality: Char's personality seems echoed in the lines that draw her face, bringing to mind a sort of severe nature that has only come to be in her latest Turns. As a youth she was spunky, carefree, and full of that energy all adults later lament missing as they grow older. Upon first approach she is the mirror of her mother, except without the natural rosy glow the older fishwife has garnered over the years. She's immediately unsettling to some simply because she has that sort of personality, that something that makes people aware when she's speaking. Her mother calls it a presence, the sort of thing she used to keep her children in line and apprentices out of trouble when they hung around the docks. Had Char not picked up needlework so readily and found herself a craft, she ought to have been a good wife for a cotholder, like her elder sister. She has a head for figuring, can handle just about any household chore, and cooks at least passably.
But she has more drive than that, more will. The idea of being limited to someone's wife always seemed a tad more stifling than Char really wanted to consider. There's a sense of freedom in her, deep down beneath the carefully constructed expressions she favors, a desire for more in life. That was why she chose weaving initially, or why it chose her. It gave her an escape, a chance to be more than a smelly waif on the docks, smeared with the grease of the days catch. She genuinely believes there is more to life that fish pies and the sea [though she loves both dearly.] The sea water in her veins has at least done her one favor and in that, has given her the backbone to follow her dreams.
Perhaps as the youngest daughter she has been a bit spoilt, but she doesn't carry herself with that same sense of vanity that youngest daughters typically do. Not to say it isn't there, but it is in a less pronounced manner, as if she'd prefer a simple slight rather than some sort of over the top production. She is far more mild than that given the choice. If anything the sharpest part of her tends to be her tongue, with which she gives many a more broad view beyond what her face portrays. Though her tone may be clipped and her words curt, she gets her meaning across just fine. Her bad side is not a place one will find pleasant to exist on, because she's standoffish normally. Her bad side tends to be made of ice and is beyond cold.
Give her something to do and she's set to the task with little straying, her weaving often the first thing to fall before her hands. She's not a busybody, but she has busy hands, constantly in need of something to fiddle with. Even at meals she may have some bit of something she's working on. All of her youthful energy was funneled away into her craft and remains a more steadfast extension of her person now.
Quirks: "Busy" hands always needing something to do, Internalizes just about everything which makes her temper explosive as opposed to seething, Loves to weave nets and can tie a mean fly, Detail orientated.
History: As the very last daughter in a line of boisterous children, the sea water in her veins was the least of her parents concerns. Youth brought with it a sense of abandon, oft only curtailed by threats of extra chores and even then not oft enough to slow it down for long. Charlynna was a headache and a half the first goodly chunk of her young life. It was apparent even early on that she was whipsmart, but didn't at the time have the use for figuring nor the inclination to sit still long enough to learn anything proper like. She much preferred watching her father work the nets and helping with the catch. Not a shy bone in her body, she made friends easily early on before her energy settled down. One in particular was a frequenter of the very docks she ran [or so she pretended] by the name of Sheamus.
The pair were the sort that gave nannies frights, though even early on they pegged Char as the ringleader. She was always the brains of the operation, little waif that she was, getting Sheamus to do the actual work when it came down to it. They did all the typical kid stuff, nicked pies and made a general ruckus when they were supposed to be quiet. When they got a little older, nearer to the age when children were expected to sober up and start looking forward to more in life, that was when something flipped in Char.
It was like a switch.
One day she'd come home from the beach, hair tangled with spray and a grin on her face, only to find her mother sobbing into her father's arms. That morning the sea had been rough, rougher than usual by any account, and there was no real way of explaining what had happened. Telen had been lost overboard as the ship crested a wave with only a sudden emptiness where he'd stood to denote the loss. There had been no sound, no scream and later her mother would suggest the net had hauled him over before he'd a chance to react at all. It was no one's fault, not really. The boy had been just that, a boy, an apprentice under his father and it had been a terrible accident.
But Char had gotten quiet, not in that she'd closed up completely, but her focus sharpened and became acute. She began actually attending her lessons rather than skipping them outright and made good on the time she'd lost gallivanting out on the docks. Having always been quick with a needle [mostly so that she could get it over and done with to get back outside], Char found herself spending more of her time indoor with the nets and when she ran out of those on actual clothing. It was mostly mending at first, but as she reached apprenticing age she sought to enter the Weavercraft.
It was probably one of the first sensible things their daughter had done and to say her parents were flummoxed, was to be understating things. Not that they'd lined her up a husband or anything, but that sort of had been the plan. After all, they'd noticed the changes in her as well as any, and had thought that she'd become the perfect wife for a merchant given the opportunity. She had that sort of knack about her. However, that was thoroughly squelched by the reappearance of just the kind of stubborn, hardheadedness that had been her youthful trademark. Once she put her foot down, she tended to get what she wanted. [The benefits of being the youngest daughter as it were.]
So she was, tentatively apprenticed to the Sea Hold's Weaver for a time, until it became apparent that she was desiring a little more... space was perhaps the polite term. Rebellion peaked its ugly head around this time as it does with youths passing into puberty and while her body had remained thin and nearly shapeless, her temper had not and now rivaled her father's for breadth and ferocity. Her apprenticeship was passed then to the Melisong Hold, where several Master Weavers had taken up residence among the merry folk.
There she spent several Turns, learning not only her craft but the ways of gossip and tales, and though she'd never gotten particularly good at them they were ways to pass the time between lessons. That and it was almost impossible to live at Melisong if you didn't partake at least a little in the good cheer. She smiled a lot more there, and found her love of colors and a fondness for trying new dyes [even when they stained her fingers.] But as the Turns passed and she reached the time when one was expected to walk the tables, her heart had started to ache for home. She'd received word of course, now and then from her mother, regarding the changes in the catch, her sister's marriage [which she had not attended], and even word now and then on people in town. Some were more surprised than others when after receiving her knots [18] she asked to journey back to her home hold.
The familiarity of home brought with it almost a wash of nostalgia. She was different, but it...was most decidedly the same. How boring and yet quaint enough she could understand why she desired to return. Mostly she'd missed her mother and father, even her sister perhaps if she were feeling generous. Her first night home she couldn't even recall how many times her mother had embraced her or her father had complimented this or that thing she'd brought back with her for them. Still, she did not come to stay at home, and immediately began working as a weaver in the employ of the hold. Mostly it was network, things like that, but women needed dresses here too, as much as men needed nets and new sails and the like. Certainly gave her work a sense of variety now and again.
It was also after her return that she was reunited with a slice of the past, mostly in the shape of a now much more adult Sheamus. Though he was still Turns her junior, there had been a definite improvement overall, which she teased him ruthlessly over. She'd loosened up a little at Melisong, though not overmuch and it was evident in her dealings with her childhood friend that she still viewed him very much as such. He'd always be that little boy tagging behind her in her eyes, even if he was starting to become a brawny smith.
But he did give her a confidante of sorts, something to trust in albeit carefully outside of her own family. He'd even whispered to her now and then that he dreamed of dragons, perhaps out on Search seeing something in him. But he'd said they were just dreams, hadn't ever seen any truth in them. It was when a Search dragon DID appear that things changed for their relationship and quickly. Sheamus was Searched, right off the square where he'd been smithing and having come to tell her almost immediately, was perhaps surprised to find Char less than excited about his new position. He'd accepted the knots, there wasn't exactly a way to go back, but she almost felt betrayed that he'd leave her. [This being the same girl that had left him behind 6 turns ago to chase her own dreams.]
That betrayal lasted all the way up to the moment he left, and she submitted her paperwork for transfer, this time to Rainbow Mists Weyr.
Adoption:? Um, no.
Dragon Preferences: None, something either warm to counter her chill or perhaps something that even played to her strengths would be preferable. Though opposites are always fun too.... I can never pick just one T_T
