About me: The conditions are simple: Don't copy, jock, steal, redistribute, discredit, or merge. Do so, and I will black list you, h'ok? -Jamie ....................................................................................... ================================= HEADLINE ============================================ I'm not sick, I'm FREE. ================================= ABOUT ME ============================================ ================================= LIKE TO MEET ============================================
Doesn't the world smile on us? don't we make a beautiful couple, thee and me?
a little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now. and rain... will make the flowers grow
there's hope in the air and hope in the water but no hope for me, your last serving daughter
NAME Brona FULL NAME Brona Croft ALIAS(ES) Lily Yerma Frankenstein PLACE OF BIRTH Belfast, Co. Antrim, Ireland DATE OF BIRTH: October 31st, 1865 AGE: 27 - Immortal SPECIES: Reanimated human DIED: 1892 CAUSE OF DEATH: Suffocation CURRENT RESIDENCE: London, England SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: Ethan Chandler, Victor Frankenstein, Dorian Gray EDUCATION: None OCCUPATION: None PREVIOUS OCCUPATION(S): Factory worker, prostitute HEIGHT: 5'5 BUILD: Petite HAIR COLOUR: Fair EYE COLOUR: Brown with a yellow glow SKIN TONE: Porcelain white SCARS/MARKS: A big Y shaped, badly stitched scar reaching from collarbone to collarbone and down the middle of her chest to her bellybutton ALCOHOL: Yes NICOTINE: No NARCOTICS: No PERSONALITY: Lily is a with hatred and sadness filled, strong-minded woman. In this new life she's been given she's found her strength and no longer fears what she used to fear. Death can no longer touch her. She can be manipulative and cruel to all those she thinks deserve it. Her hatred is mostly focused on men, given the horrible circumstances of her previous encounters with many of them. however, she can be very kind, very protective. But her opening up to someone might take a long time. she's not quick to trust anyone. PSYCHOLOGICAL DISORDER(S): Lily most likely has what you could call Multiple Personality Disorder MOTHER: Unknown FATHER/CREATOR: Victor Frankenstein BROTHER(S): Caliban, Proteus † SISTER(S): Unknown CHILDREN Sarah Croft †
BRONA - it means 'sadness' in Gaelic
LILY - The flower of ressurection and rebirth
TEXT TEXT TEXT
MURDERER - Savage beast, Offering, Whore
TEXT TEXT TEXT
Our little god has brought forth not angels, but DEMONS
TEXT TEXT TEXT
TEXT TEXT TEXT
There is this thread that runs from his body to mine, and you can't break what you don't see; an invisible line
Chester was quiet for some time, studying over the files that were splayed out on the bed. Over the years, he'd grown quite used to being obsessed over his cases. If he didn't let that obsession take him, they never got solved. He had a sharp mind and a keen eye, it didn't take him long to pick out the one person who would have more information than anyone else -- including the bartender. While he was acutely aware that most men only hired a woman for sex, and not pillow talk, he also knew that some men didn't know how to keep a private life private. Much like he was sure she had returning customers. A woman as pretty as her had to have some.
"Brona." Quietly, he looked up again, golden eyes watching her for a reaction. "It's Irish, isn't it? It means sorrow." Chester's native tongue was Scottish, but the Scottish dialect was so close to Irish, the two could be understood. However, when written, Scottish and Irish Gaelic weren't the same. There were enough letters that were spoken the same that they could understand each other. He looked away for a long time, trying to decipher if she thought he was a threat.
Finally, after a few moments, he moved from his spot beside the bed and gently raised a hand to her hair, brushing it behind her ear. "I won't hurt you. In fact, that would be the exact antithesis of what I do for a living. If nothing else, I want to help you. I know that the life of a vixen isn't...glamorous by any means, but it's also not a means to survive. I work with Scotland Yard. If you help me, I'll make sure you don't get kicked out or starve."
Taking a step back, he observed her body language. She clearly had very little trust left to give, and he was asking for a lifetime of abuse to just go away. As someone who worked with battered women, how could he assume such a thing? Shuffling the files into a stack, he returned them to the briefcase and ushered her to sit on the bed. "Although I'm a therapist, I've no intention of psychoanalyzing you; far more interested in your behavior than anything, really." He smiled softly. "But that's a fair assessment when you've been hurt so many times by either loved ones or -- a husband, perhaps? Hard to say in your line of work. But that lack of trust comes in handy, I'd assume. I'd also wager that most of your clients are too drunk to notice how you distance yourself from them."
This time, he sat across from her and looked to the floor. "The truth is, Brona, that I did hire you initially for a night because you reminded me of a woman I lost many years ago. Someone I can never get back. You look like her -- almost identically. But then I remembered that she's gone and you aren't her. So instead, I'd like to ask you what information you have on the murders happening around town. Surely you've noticed your competition being whacked off one by one. And, given you must have a rather wide base of clients, someone must have said something."
He leaned back in the chair. "The police are afraid of you. They say you have some kind of...disease that would kill them. I hope you know, I'm not scared by any means."
Chester wasn't exactly easy to look over. He was taller than most and had a thick Scottish accent that set him apart from other Londoners. While he was often elegant and charismatic, there were times that called for a different type of elegance, such as tonight. Brona wasn't his type of woman by and far, but something about her looked like a distant memory. She reminded him of someone he knew many years ago.
He couldn't place a name to the face if he tried; though he did give it a valiant effort. Perhaps his own memory was slipping. He'd gone to his room before she could see what he looked like, already removing his suit jacket and collar. There was no need for it in this godawful heat anyway. Tossing them precariously over a chair by the door to the dressing room, he set his briefcase on the same chair and wandered around to study the place. Not too shabby, yet not...quaint, either. He'd describe it as...homely.
He had only just started to read over the files presented to him when he heard the knock at the door. There was a brief moment of confusion before he stood to open the door, setting the files back on the bed and closing the distance. He gave a dismissive wave to her, allowing her inside and closing the door behind her. "Keep your clothes on," He replied to a question she didn't ask. "I didn't hire you for anything elicit. I hired you for information."
Chester Theodore Katz was not the type of man to find himself in the company of a nighttime companion. Even Maria thought it a bit queer of him to do; but here he was on a carriage in the darkest hours of the night, heading on a forty minute trek from Kensington -- where he was currently investigating a case on Jack the Ripper. Unlike most cases, this one was proving more and more difficult. It wasn't like the notoriously alleged organ harvesting of Victor Frankenstein, this was more likely the cause of a vampire. At least, that was the common consensus in Scotland Yard.
Maria made some off-handed remark one morning about how there was an organ harvesting ring and some mysterious murders that started to pop up in London, prompting the good psychiatrist to make every effort to find his way to the middle of it. Normally, this wasn't something he would do -- but the people of London would likely need an outside, yet professional, and somewhat cynical opinion on the matter. As the best in the business when it came to criminal profiling, he had quite the repertoire built of cases that included murderers of all types.
Although he was from Scotland, and subsequently worked closely with Scotland Yard, he was often sent all over Europe in an effort to profile and find victims before the killer could strike again. This made Chester invaluable to them, and they did their best to protect him. After his work on the famous case of Alice Liddell, they deemed him a civilian liaison for Scotland Yard. If only they knew the whole story...
When the carriage stopped in the mid morning hours of August, he found himself entranced by the sprawling city of London. Much like Whitechapel, there wasn't much difference. Unlike Inverness, this was a large metropolis, where he was more acquainted with the rolling countryside. He climbed from the carriage with a briefcase in hand, first making his way to the local police department. Here, he met some unsavory characters that he had no intention of dealing with unless necessary. He requested all information they had, showing off a shiny badge from Scotland Yard, and sealed the files away in the briefcase.
He'd look at them later.
For now, he was more interested in the sights. Where would a murderer visit first? Well, that was quite simple...a brothel. It made sense, really; the women that lived at brothels weren't considered high class, and often were the first to die when a killer made their way through the streets. The men who hired these women weren't exactly the cream of the crop, either, which made them suitable targets. The only difference was that the men fought back -- women didn't. He'd learned that from the scars and marks on the bodies of the victims. A woman's skin delicately carved and flayed with precision from her body, likely to be used on a "skin doll", as he'd come to call them.
Organs would also be removed with surgical like precision, only to leave behind a husk of a body and a shell of a life. A few checkmarks and official signatures done by the police, the victim -- often a harlot -- would be left to be burned where she couldn't be identified by a family. There likely was no family to identify the body anyway. Those were the hardest cases to work, because Chester felt everything so deeply, those women had no solace in life, and they'd likely be tortured well beyond their death.
He found his way to the Mariner's Inn, a rather quiet, yet reputable establishment just off the river Thames. In the early hours of the morning, he'd offer some spare change to rent a room -- money was of no issue -- and then take the key to his room. At the bar, he noticed a woman that looked oddly familiar but he couldn't place her face; like he'd seen her in a dream before. He nudged the bartender and asked who she was. He told her that her name was Brona, and she worked mostly as a 'vixen of the night'. It didn't take an expert to know what that meant.
Chester gave a few extra coins to the man behind the bar, with the instruction to give them to the woman. He would hire her for the night, but his intent was not as pure as just sex. No, Chester was after a bit more than that. He would turn and leave the room without so much as a remark to the man sitting on the stool or the woman hovering over his shoulder. That would come later, assuming she accepted the offer. And if she didn't? Well, he just paid her keep for the next week.
Bill woke up from his night of slumber as the night had over taken the day. The protection of the sun had faded away allowing the moon to shine over the skyline. However Bill had not been home in Bon Temps nor was he was still in the United States. He had been in London, England, a place he never thought he would ever see at least not in this life time. The night had illuminated the streets of London as he walked among them with the humans. The night was all that Bill could ever know and had known in the the thirty years of living this life, whatever this life had been if he could call it that. Having an unyielding never ending hunger for blood had caused him to take lives of innocent people who had been living his. He had done unspeakable things that he knew if his end would ever come he would be condemned to Hell for along with the vampire who had made him, Lorena. However Lorena seemed to revel in the debauchery and carnage she had caused not giving much thought to the lives she was taking away. Hell she could have easily taken away his had not said no to offer and chose to die instead. In many ways, death would have been better. Better then living a life in darkness.
As he had walked among the streets of London he had surveyed the humans. Some like him had chose to walk the streets alone hoping to find something or someone to occupy their time for the evening, while others had seemed to be with their significant other and enjoying their company together for evening. Either alone or with someone they were blissfully unaware of the danger that walked among the streets this night, the danger of course being him. Though Bill couldn't help but be envious of them as he too would have been taking a late night stroll with his wife, Caroline and their children around the town on nights like this. Strolls that would never ever happen again due to his choice to be a vampire. His thoughts though were being disturbed by the sensation of being summoned by Lorena. It had seemed that she had required his attention and his time alone had been halted. He couldn't ignore the call due to her power she held over him so he had headed back to the inn they had been residing in while they had stayed in London.
The inn that the two had been staying in was not luxurious in the slightest but would do for the two of them. It had been inhabited mostly by the city's drunks as they come to waste their money away behind a bottle. Then of course they were the sailors as the smell of the open sea had been all over them. Then of course there had been the city prostitutes in London who would do what they had to survive and often frequented the inns to provide any comfort they could to a lonely man... or woman for that matter. It had prostitutes and drunks that Lorena had seemed to focus on as easy prey. Luring any drunken lonely man with the promises of sex only to meet a bloody end and their body be disposed of in the ocean or in a dark alley to be found the following morning. Bill wasn't proud of himself but he would often find himself lost into the blood lust and become equally as vicious. After all, the blood lust had made him do unspeakable things that would only hate himself for down the line. He had done a good job of hiding it though from Lorena.
As he had made his way up to the room he had opened the door and saw Lorena standing there. A wicked smile had been spread across her face. Evil and ruthless within but hidden behind a helpless and gentle persona that had most fooled, including him up until the point she had revealed what she was and turned him. His eyes had locked on someone else though as he looked beyond Lorena, the two of them had not been alone. Standing behind Lorena was a brunette woman who he had recognized from the inn as she had frequented the bar. The woman had looked sickly but had been doing a good job of hiding it. Yet Bill could tell that she had been knocking on death's door. It would only be a matter of time until she had felt the sweet embrace of death's kiss touching her lips. He had also known her to be one of the women of the evening who had been paid to provide the company for any man who had been wanting to pay for her. His focus had went back on Lorena as she had approached.
"A guest for you darling, her name is Brona. She can keep you company while I have my way with my own company in the other room. I want no interruptions." With that Bill had saw a man, an older gentleman peering out from the room the two had been sharing. " I command it." Lorena said shooting a look at Bill and walking to the man pushing him inside. "Enjoy her, William." With that he slammed the door.
His attention had turned back to the woman. His eyes studying her over as she had looked her over. She had wanted to calm her nerves and put her at ease. Of course not to want to draw attention to their room. After all no one needed to know that two vampires had been occupying the room above them.
"Can I get you anything?"
Bill had kept this eyes on the door as it had gone silence. No moans of pleasure from the man or screams of horror coming from within. However, deep down he had known the man was dead already. His own hunger for blood had began to take hold he as he turned his back to the woman pouring a glass of wine for the two of them to loosen her nerves.
"Or would you rather just get down to business? You can call me Bill by the way."
"The first duty of every Starfleet officer is to the truth. Whether it's scientific truth, or historical truth, or personal truth. It is the guiding principle upon which Starfleet is based." – Captain Jean-Luc Picard. [Captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701 D and NCC 1701 E]
Well hi there. I'm not really sure if message or comments were preferred. I usually just start off in messages, and it would make sense to move on from there. xD
I'm really going to just slap all the important points into one message here. It's going to be quite the read.The reason I'm going off and explaining my character NOW is to prevent any confusion as we move forward.
I roleplay Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701 A, from the Star Trek "new alternate reality' / Kelvin Timeline movies. However, I have written a NEW timeline for Kirk and the crew immediately following the BEYOND movie.
I am not portraying the version of Kirk from The Original Series [TOS]. Nor will I portray that version in my roleplay storylines.
I have created my own original backstory for this version of Kirk. He's going to have more in depth character development due to the new central event I have written. He's a little more unstable and borderline insane due to his past traumas.
I have also written original, NON-PLAYABLE [Not for Roleplay] background stories for each event in Kirk's past, to help the reader better understand what has happened. These stories will be linked on my page. [In my Blog] If you're interested in reading them.
If you have any questions about what I've sent to you just now, please feel free to ask. & of course, if we decide to roleplay, and you have questions about anything I have written about, please, feel free to ask as well. I usually will include a brief explanation either out of character, or within the RP writing.
I look forward to developing our characters together in our writing. I’m positive that a storyline will work. xD However, if you do not wish to roleplay, I will completely understand. Take care.
The woman’s answer brought a small smirk to my lips – everyone should be careful these days out in the darkness alone. Not me though. I knew what would happen when someone tried to take my life – it certainly hurt though so even I tried to be watchful not to end up someone’s victim however she certainly was none of those things. The scar which was revealed when her dress slipped stood out like the moon on the dark night sky flashing its stitches at me as if it wanted my attention.
"Blue maybe? A light green even but red is reserved for a lady’s lips, do you not think?" I answered her question yet did not step closer to not startle her as she was still carrying the knife. I might have offended her a little so I simply held her gaze until she spoke again pointing the now blood covered knife at me before she let it fall to the ground. "I simply do not wish to see a beautiful lady like yourself in chains. You are far too unique to be locked up and hung by the neck" I said even though that scar on her chest suggested otherwise – one should never assume if one is not completely certain.
"Indeed. You need no man or anyone else to tell you want to do or save you" I began holding her gaze as she was still watching me. "I merely want to be of service. You intrigue me. It is not often that one sees a woman being on the giving end. You are different than most women I have met" I knew flattering would not bring me far with this one but it was just what I did best. Her whole demeanour was different than anything I had ever seen and I had seen my fair share of women in my life so I would not give up so easy – discovering other’s secrets was my favourite kind of leisure time activity.
"I am quite sure that you are able to strike me down whenever you so wish. I am merely offering a place for you to stay for the night. Rest and clean yourself up. I might even have a dress or two that will fit you along with shoes" I now used another strategy to win her over so I took off my own coat and held it out to her. "At least take my coat. The nights are still quite cold round these parts and it would be a shame if you freeze to death after finally ridding this city of him" yes, I knew the man even though I had to take a second look but he had it coming so I would surely not mourn him.
The century was almost over and I had finally returned to London, of course just for a short visit because the travels round the world had not yet bored me but I had to deal with some things at home. Almost 20 years had past since I had made my wish when I first saw the portrait that day in Basil’s house. Oh how much I had adored his work on that day, how much I had adored the man in the portrait and yes I gave my greatest treasure for my youth: I sold my soul just so the portrait would grow old instead of me and my wish was granted. For almost 20 years now I was living with the same remarkable face and the beauty of my youth as the day I made the bargain. I would never forget my last visit in London, that day when I saw Basil for the last time and my former friend Allen. I had heard the poor bastard killed himself this year, seemed like he could not bare the thought of what he had done but it was none of my concern well I made it none of my concern.
The first thing I always did when I finally managed to get home was: I visited my old school room where my portrait was placed. I made sure the only key remained within my property and I had told Victor that nobody is allowed inside my house without my permission. For a short moment I just stood there looking at the covered portrait. Yes sometimes I wished that my portrait would look like the moment I saw it for the first time but it never did. Every time I looked upon it, it had grown worse and sometimes I even feared to look at it because I dreaded that it may pass on to me like a curse, so that I would look like the picture and not the other way round but every time I pulled down the cover and stared at the dreadful image of what I should have become and every time it was worse then the time before.
Now I was on my way home from a rather boring evening of conversing with people I dreaded but appearances had to be upheld and so I took some time out of my usually busy schedule to smile at people and be my charming self. They enjoyed it, I on the other hand did not that was also the reason why I decided to walk and not take a carriage back to Mayfair. It was well past midnight already but I knew how the streets of London these days worked yet they did not know anything about me so I was rather unconcerned when I made my way back home.
Just a few streets off Mayfair I discovered a woman wandering all by herself which was unusual by itself however she did neither wear a coat nor were her feet covered with shoes which made me wonder – did whores not sleep at all at least in this part of town? I found myself following her down the next street when she stumbled into on of the darker alleys just a few streets off my house. All of a sudden a seemingly drunk but well dressed man appeared following the woman into the alley so I kept my distance however for some unknown reason I was curious – not about what the man would do to the woman but rather what the woman was doing here as there was something about her that did not quite fit.
The shadows had always been my friends especially when you had a face like mine that stayed like it was the day I made the deal. The two were conversing at least from what I could make out from the place I was standing yet when I moved closer I did not believe my eyes not that I had never before seen someone getting stabbed however my suspicion had been right. At first it looked as if the man had the upper hand yet the knife had glittered for a mere moment in the moonlight that was barely making its way to the ground of the alley before it sunk into the man’s stomach. Somehow the woman had managed to block the man’s hand before she took the initiative which was the oddest part about this scenario before she simply watched the man take his last breath.
She had not yet noticed me when she went in for the final stride slitting open the man’s throat with her knife. There was something fascinating about death watching someone take their last breath knowing they will never see the light of day again. Dying had never been something I would willingly choose to do but for my part I knew I would always return however this man had just met his match and in a way I admired her courage.
"You should be careful round these parts. One might think you actually killed that man" I said finally stepping out of the shadows knowing all too well how much damage and pain a blade like that could cause. "How about we get you cleaned up? I’m not so sure the colour red suits the holes in your dress. Not that he would mind anyways" my eyes fell onto the man whose eyes were still staring up at the woman but I knew life had already left his body a few moments ago.
"But first I think we should get rid of that knife. People are rather fixated on murder weapons and tying them to certain individuals. Police officers nowadays seem to have a particular fondness of accusing people just for being in the general area of a committed murder especially if they are covered in blood" once more I looked at the woman who seemed to be a little surprised by my rather sudden appearance however I knew all too well not to make any sudden movements or I would end up with the same knife in my side which I wanted to avoid. "My house is not too far from here and I promise I even have whiskey which I bed you could use at least three glasses of right now" it was not that I was afraid of her but I had respect – I had gazed into the eyes of murderers before but she did not quite seem to fit into that category for some odd reason.