Post by christine on Feb 14, 2013 18:58:19 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: f9f9f9; border: #1f4579 solid 10px; width: 420px; padding: 15 5 15 5px;] At the end of the day you're another day colder FULL NAME: Christine Adèle Moreau NICKNAMES: Ris (pronounced reece.) HERITAGE: French AGE: 20 GROUP: Just a plain-jane French CANON: Nope! PLAYBY: Emmy Rossum ----- PERSONALITY: Christine is probably the last person you'd expect to be born from an aristocracy. She is neither vain, nor does she think herself spoiled, though those on the outside would certainly disagree. She is humble, and she loves caring for others. She's a woman cut from a nonviolent cloth, so fighting and violence are something she frowns upon, although she won't turn down a good, healthy verbal debate every now and then. She could easily be considered the girl who loves too much, seeing goodness in just about everyone she comes across, even if they were viewed as wholly evil by the rest. In a sense, she's naive - she's had a very sheltered life, and she knows very little of the world outside her comfortable little 'bubble'. And a lot of time this gets her into trouble, her trusting too easily; often getting carried away with her sweetheart antics and approaching the absolutely wrong people. But, like the renowned saying "Every rose has it's thorns" goes, Christine sure has her fair share. While she will more often than not come off as this timid, naive young woman, she can hold a grudge like no other. And she is fiercely protective of those she loves, and will walk to the ends of the earth to protect them from harm, if it is anywhere within her realm of capability. And even when it isn't, she still tries! She's a very sensible woman, and though at times she can be quite naive, she's cautious by necessity. And her heart and her sense of responsibility and logic are at constant odds with one another. Christine truly is a bonafide romantic, she seeks out affection and love from both her family and friends, and she sure doesn't mind playing the role of trusted confidante with her close friends, their's nothing she loves more than listening to the woes and troubles of others, and she'll try to remedy them to the best of her ability. And she loves making friends and meeting new people! Though, accompanying all of this, she does tend to frighten easily. Loud noises often catch her off guard, and she'll usually retreat if things get too rough and tumble for her. She is a sweetie, though, don't doubt that! LIKES:
DISLIKES:
APPEARANCE: She's fairly simple when it comes to looks, though she certainly doesn't mind the sparing compliment! She's about five foot eight, weighing in close to 125 pounds. She has big, almond shaped brown eyes, and medium/long brown hair. Her hair is naturally curly, with spiral-like curls, so that's become something she cherishes dearly. She has pale skin, and so far it's blemish-free, but God only knows how long that will last, she prays it will last for a long time because, while she isn't vain, she sure doesn't want to appear outright unattractive. She's fairly slender, but certainly doesn't lack (that much) when it comes to curves, so she's fairly pretty - she'd never venture to call herself beautiful though. She often wears white dresses trimmed and laced with deep burgundy/mahogany red, and she's almost always seen with flowers, somewhere. GOALS: She wants nothing more than to help others. She wants to find someone who loves her for who she is, and not for her background. She's like any giddy young woman, she wants her own family, and she wants to feel important, like she belongs somewhere. HISTORY: Christine was born to Lady Aurelie Duchesne, and Lord Raoul Moreau, alongside her twin sister, Madelaine. They were raised in the heart of Paris, and it truly was a luxurious lifestyle, and they loved every moment of it, despite being raised mainly by the two hired governesses that her father had employed to instruct Christine and Madelaine on how to be proper young ladies. Her mother was a sickly and frail woman, so most of the time, the twins were forbidden from visiting her, for fear that their health would worsen as well. The two governesses, Miss Georgine and Miss Josephine, used to take the twin girls on extravagant excursions into the city, where both were introduced to the culture, the art, and the influence everyone seemed to have on one another. Tragedy struck, then, when a kitchen fire spread to the main wing of the manor, and little Madelaine was caught in the flames. While Miss Georgine tried helplessly to free Madelaine from the fiery rubble, Miss Josephine quickly stole Christine away from the house, while other employees struggled to evacuate her father, and her frail mother. Unfortunately, Miss Georgine was unable to rescue Madelaine, and the then twelve year old, from the fire, although she was able to make a last minute escape herself, when she was shown that rescue was impossible. It had been said that it was grief and depression that finally cut the chord to her mother's life, for not a week later, Christine found her mother, motionless and breathless in her bed. Her mother's death, on top of her sister's, was what caused her father to become the perpetual shut-in, sending Christine away to stay with her maternal grandparents. Her grandparents were wonderful, kind people, and they raised Christine as if she were there very own daughter, perhaps it was because she was the spitting image of her mother at that age, that made them love her so, almost as if God had granted them a second chance. When she was nineteen, though, her father had ordered her back to Paris, where she was ultimately reunited with Miss Georgine and Miss Josephine. The next year was absolutely wonderful for her, despite her father's constant distance, and the constant, bittersweet memories of her sister that seemed to haunt the renovated and repaired manor. She didn't think she'd ever be able to live in that house the same way again, but it certainly appeared that she had no choice in the matter. So she'd make the most of it! ----- ALIAS: AC AGE: 19! GENDER: Female OTHER CHARACTERS: oh man, first character! HOW DID YOU FIND US: affiliation on another site. ROLEPLAY SAMPLE: Heartache. That was the term that seemed to flash in her mind like a set of neon strobe lights. It was heartache that she felt while holding that brief physical contact with him. It was one thing to be physically unable to be in contact with someone, but to be able to, but lack the courage to make anything of it was an entirely new concept for one to adjust to. And up until now, Ophelia had thought herself doing pretty well, with keeping her distance from basically everyone. But it only took one moment to instill in her that longing that she had thought she lost ages ago. But through this bout of inner turmoil, she forced herself to stay rooted to her spot, with her attention fixated on him, probably more firmly than she should have, but that was only because she though if she looked away, even for a moment, he might disappear! But when he spoke, she looked upon him, head canting to one side slightly. "I don't think there is a normal, honestly. Not anymore, at least." Not to her, was what she meant. Spending almost nine hundred years creating a 'new life' for one's self tended to blur normalcy and abnormality together, to the point that the world around her became some wicked shade of grey. But perhaps that was just her, after all, she had spent half her life running, so she probably wouldn't recognize normalcy if it walked up and introduced itself to her. But it was him, for some reason, that made this whole thing feel normal, or some weird equivalent to the word. Though, and she probably couldn't tell you even if she wanted to, there was something about him that would give 'normal' a wild run for it's money. Something... for lack of a better term, other-worldly about him that did not immediately push her away, as she had grown oh so used to doing. "I have spent a very long time being observant, and in turn, observing others.." Her head dropped down, as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket, and she occasionally kicked at the ground with the heel of her shoe. "For once I just want to be part of what's being observed, I suppose." It was all she really wanted - honest. To be normal, to be some Plain-Jane human all over again. She wanted her life back, she wanted to live, for real this time. And while she was still hopeful, if only slightly, that she'd be able to obtain some sort of equivalent lifestyle, her hope was slowly fading. But it was his comment towards her name that drew her in for the second time, and a small, sheepish smile became evident upon her face. "Some venture to say that Shakespeare's Ophelia was once the face of unrequited love." And vampire Ophelia had quite the grudge match going with the fictional one - who had worse experiences with love, life, and everything that both entailed. Sure, Shakespeare's Ophelia pretended to be mad to accommodate her mad lover, and eventually that went to hell, and she drowned herself. Personally, she'd rather take suicide by drowning, over living forever and being condemned to watch everyone you care for wither away and die. But his next set of words brought an uncharacteristic laugh, it was light though, airy and gentle. But it was so unlike her, that she quickly brought her hands up to her face, as if she were to hide behind them, much like an infant raccoon would, when frightened. How ironic his words were, that, or he already knew what she was. Either way, the proverbial gig was up, now! "Older, actually." Yes, it was shockingly true - Ophelia would wager to she she came a good four hundred plus years before Hamlet was even thought about. But when he began to apologize, she quickly shook her head. And, though she didn't understand what made her do it, or why she did it in the first place, she reached out to grab gently at the sleeve of his jacket. "No, no. You did not offend me, not in the slightest. It's just... I guess I need to get better at keeping that secret, I suppose I'm losing my edge." And that was probably the longest sentence she'd ever formed in what, a hundred years? probably. But soon after, she quickly released his sleeve, a sheepish smile returning. "Sorry.." Poor thing, she doesn't know what to do! And the shirt on your back doesn't keep out the chill |
