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Post by Alitanya Valois on Aug 16, 2007 0:45:41 GMT -5
The character
Name: Alitanya Valois [pronounced: Val-wa]
Nickname(s): Alita
Age: 107 [Looks 22]
Mutations/Abilities: Immortal
Minor: The ability to slow time down.
Face Claim: Alessandra Ambrosio
Appearance: Throughout Alita’s life, due to her career in the twenties, she has experimented with many different looks. She’s been blonde, raven haired, and red headed. Her eyes have been blue, green, hazel, and grey. She had done everything possible to keep herself from being noticed. As time went on, she was forgotten. Here and there, there are a couple ol’ birds that see a bit of Alitanya Valois, claiming that she has a striking resemblance to the ‘it’ girl of their time.
Like most French women, Alita is a fine young woman (or so it appears). She carries herself extremely well. Something about her seems regal, which at first glance is easy to mistake for snobbery or perhaps some sort of condescending attitude. Fortunately, it is neither . . . most of the time.
She stands at an average height of 5’5”, though long slender legs give an impression that says otherwise. Her body is slim all together- there wasn’t a day that went by where she didn’t hear someone utter a word about how petite she was. Her fingers are bony, and long, never without a manicure. Her ankles, her wrists? All teeny as well. The bone structure in her face is striking, having high cheek bones, and a soft pointed nose. That head of her sat upon an elongated neck, which was graceful like a swan (now that she had grown into it). Being so tiny might have led people to believe that she had some other means of keeping such a figure, but really she was quite healthy- and looked it as well.
Her skin is has a natural tan, sending her facial features aglow. Her lips were thin, but plump. They are partially parted to reveal her pearly whites (which used to be a pair of buck teeth front and center, still are a bit). They were usually that of a pale, pink color, which looked well against her tone. Slightly slanted eyes sat under thin, black arched brows. Deep, brown hues are accented by long, dark lashes- making her eyes seem much more intense than they were really. Thick brown locks, in the form of loose curls, frame her face. Her hair falls around her shoulders, trickling down to mid-back. Her bangs often fall into her line of vision, or are simply swept to the side to avoid just that.
Alita is quite the fashionista. Her style tends to be very trendy- very expensive as well. Over the passed years she has gathered quite a wardrobe, filled with everything her high income would allow. With a figure like hers she could get away with wearing a lot, but she tends to stay conservative.
Family: Claude Valois [father; deceased]
Vanessa Valois [mother; deceased]
Andreas Valois [brother; deceased]
Personal History Alita was born in Avignon, France in the 1900’s. She grew up in a rather wealthy household along with her younger brother Andreas. Her father was the owner of a chain of bank in France, which are still open till this day. Her mother was just some beauty her father happened to claim as his wife. Their relationship was a distant one. They loved each other, or so it appeared, but were rarely seen together. Alita could remember being with only one or the other. If her mother wasn’t drowning herself in liquor, she was with her. If her father wasn’t working, or with his mistress, she was with him. Never both of them at the same time- except the front they put on for the relatives on holidays. It was sad really. Those were the time when Alita was happiest.
As a child, Alita was awkward and quiet. She was the butt of every joke. She was mousy looking little thing. She was a bag of bones, her features were too large for her face, and teeth were enormous. With little friends, she had lots of time to master the piano, and take up fencing. Her father was a champion fencer and taught Andreas and Alita everything he knew. Still, she wasn’t completely without friends. A girl who lived across town named Christina Blundell was a good friend of hers- and that was mainly because they shared the same pathetic features. Another member of their ‘group’ was a boy named Charles Grant, a portly thing that lived in the same vicinity. Alita and Charles were taunted because of their closeness. Everyone mistook it something it wasn’t. Then of course there was Andreas, but they shunned him the way they were shunned at school. All of them stuck together throughout the rest of their school years, even though Alita was becoming somewhat of a different person because of appearance.
Alita had grown into herself completely. All the remarks of her boniness had become jealousy, her features had defined her, and her teeth weren’t so large anymore. She hadn’t fully noticed herself, but she would- and soon.
When Alita was eighteen, her mother introduced her to a man named Klein Valmont, a man her mother hoped Alita would come to love. It bothered her mother to pieces that Alita hadn’t taken any interest in men and romance. Really, it was only because she couldn’t imagine why anyone would be interested in her. She still saw herself as that ten year old girl with beavers teeth and a mousy nose. So, instead, Alita placed Klein as a close friend (or so Alita thought). Klein would be the person to change Alita’s life, and bring change in her life, forever.
You see, Klein was an artist. He never went to school, because his parents were wealthy enough to allow it, and he was an artistic genius at a young age. His father allowed him to open a gallery when he was seventeen, and from there his paintings and photography were seen all over Europe. He was quite the ladies man, never seen with the same woman at any public event. He was in awe when he heard that Alita knew nothing of him, and for some reason he was drawn into her by that very fact. Instantly, he took interest in her, wanting to photograph her, paint her, to do anything to capture her.
At first, Alita declined his request. She was much too shy and insecure about herself to even think of becoming someone’s model- especially for someone as well-known as Klein. Still, he wasn’t about to take no for an answer . . . or a second answer, or third because he was very persistent. Eventually, as he intended, he wore her down. She could remember regretting her decision immediately. Something told her that she was making a mistake- the very same mistake that led to the discovery over her first power.
Klein’s first painting, and Alita’s debut, was an instant success. Alita’s face was everywhere and everyone wanted her. Overwhelmed by the fame, Alita attempted to stay out of the spotlight for a while. Klein, however, had other plans. He wanted more, and so did everyone else- and just as he convinced her to put her face out into the world for everyone to see the first time, he did it again and again and again.
It took a while for her to get used to her change in lifestyle. Through it all, she managed to be the same person, but Klein, on the other hand, was getting a bit carried away. The papers were raving about the false romantic relationship between the two and Klein was enjoying it. His ‘interest’ in Alita had turned to obsession and rejection was the last thing he needed.
One night, after the opening of another one of Klein’s galleries in Spain, he came onto Alita. Having only thought of Klein in a friendly manner, she turned him away. The both of them had been drinking, and Alita promised they would talk about it in the morning. Much to Alita’s surprise, he did leave. He returned to his own room, and Alita went to sleep.
“It’s like . . . seeing things in slow motion- but, not only seeing it’s everything. Every sense I have it’s slower and defined and it tugs at every part of my body. Things are louder, speech is slurred and lagged,” she explained to her younger brother over the phone early that morning between sobs. At the moment she was staring down at Klein on her hotel room floor.
He had returned to her room later that night, furious and in a rage. He smashed the mirror on the wall, crushed the vases and stomped the flowers, flipped the table, and finally ripped the blankets from Alita’s bed where she cowered- all while screaming at her for her ungratefulness. He was angry that she would refuse him when he made her everything she was now. He was violent because he could have any other woman he wanted, but not her. And just as he went to choke the life out of her, time itself slowed.
She didn’t realize at first, but danger triggered her dormant power. Frightened to death at what she saw, she simply ran out of the room and almost out of Spain if her body would have allowed her. The next day, she returned home to hide. Again, she tried to stay out of the public eye, but people simply wouldn’t leave her alone. This time, however, she wasn’t about to be persuaded out of hiding.
“You don’t look a day over twenty!”
December 19 of 1947, Alita ran into her good friend Christina Blundell, who was looking great for forty-seven. However, Alita looked . . . better. It seemed that she had been untouched by time since 1921. Running into her friend had sparked her next sudden realization, although she had noticed before that she wasn’t getting any older. Her younger brother looked as though he were her older. It was more reason to separate herself from the world. That same year, her father passed away. The following year, her mother passed away as well, and twenty years later, her younger brother passed away as well. After that, Alita staged her own death in 1985, then ended up at Blackbriar.
Personality: Alita has a great deal of self-control. If she finds herself in a bad situation where she is tempted to do something against her morals, or just isn’t right all together, she doesn’t think twice about doing the right thing. She’s not afraid to say no, or to speak her mind. Most of the time she’s pretty up front about things. She doesn’t beat around the bush, but she will at least attempt to say things in a manner that’s non-confrontational- not that Alita is afraid of confrontation. Years upon years by herself, have hardened her. She is slightly bitter of those who grow old.
She is a woman of few words. She has always been quiet- used to be shy, but she grew out of that. Still, she remains modest. Alita doesn’t always know how to react to compliments and is easily flattered. However, she isn’t an easy person to get close to, though she might have a few acquaintances here and there. She knows no one stays around longer than she does.
She’s a very calm, cool, and collected person. She rarely ever raises her voice, or lets herself get too worked up about things. However, she’s not exactly carefree. She tends to be very concerned about the propriety, but some people call it prudish. She is a lady, after all, and conducts herself as such.
Fears: Simply? Dying.
Strengths/ Alita’s ability to slow things down give her an advantage. If she doesn’t understand something, she is able to slow it down and get it. If she needs to learn something, she can press pause and learn it. Also, being alive for so long makes her a bit wiser. She is constantly learning new things and has developed a passion for education because of her long life.
Besides being able to slow time, she is a rather skilled fencer. Of course, she cheats here and there, being able to see what’s coming as it comes at a slower rate.
Weaknesses: Contrary to what people believe about immortals, Alita can get sick and she can get hurt. There’s no spontaneous regeneration and no coming back to life if she dies (she doesn’t know that yet, but she assumes that’s what happens]. She has a soft spot for children and animals, and that’s simply because she has had neither.
There's a flaw in her power involving time. She is able to manipulate it, but when she touches the thing, or person, she is manipulating the initial speed of time is restored. There is also a time limit on how long she can keep it that way. When she first discovered it, it lasted for a few seconds. Now, it last for about a minute.
You.
Alias: Lana
Experience: 3 years
How’d you hear about us? Over neopets, ha!
Other: Hmm
Role playing Sample
" You leave out of here, Berdie, and I swear I'll kill you, you hear me?" He threatened through clenched teeth as he pressed her against the wall forcefully. His hand wrap firmly around a young womans' neck. Her delicate face, which was covered in layers of make-up, began turning rose colored. He held her there, watching her struggle to inhale air. The look he had printed on his face looked as though he was enjoying watching her squirm-- but that was just the sick dog he was. He treated all his dancers this way, but none like he treated her. One minute he loved her and couldn't live without her, the next he was beating the living daylights out of her. It was a miracle she wasn't dead already.
Once it looked as though Berdie, as he called her, was about to faint, just pass out where she stood, he let her go. Instantaneously, she fell to the ground like a wet rag, landing on her hands and knees. It took her a moment to realize that she could actually breathe. For a while she just sat there with her mouth open with her own hand loosely around her neck, right where his hand was before. Suddenly, she gave a startling gasp, followed by raspy coughs-- like the ones you get after you vomit- when there’s nothing left. Her eyes were already teary, and that was only due to lack of oxygen, but now she was balling. Blackened tears, from her mascara, tumbled down her cheeks like small relentless armies.
"Aw, Berdie, don't cry, babe. You know I hate it when you cry," he mentioned, crouching down make an attempt to wipe her tears away. Berdie pulled away instinctually, almost wincing at his touch. He pushed those silky, raven locks from her face as he examined her. " Look what you made me do. Listen, take off your make-up, run a hot bath, and everything will be all good in the morning-- like none of this ever happened. You'll see," he assured her as he whipped his hands on a red handkerchief he pulled from the pocket on his suit. He took one final look at her before he exited the room, then shut the door quietly behind him-- like no one in the entire mansion heard their little spat. In the morning everyone would look at her like she was the crazy one, like she had a problem. And really, she was, in a way, crazy. Everyone knew not to mess with Antonio Giuseppe. Everyone was under his control, and it was the way he liked it. Berdie would always find some was to defy him, and for some reason it created some sick attraction within him.
Anyhow, Berdie's rapid heaving had gradually turned to that of a slow panting. She did as he said, sluggishly getting to her feet and moving to the bathroom to take off her make-up. Most women took of their make-up and looked like a zombie, but Berdie took off her make-up and she was herself again. Still, she looked terrible. She was worn out, tired, hurt, and a complete mess. While taking off her make-up, she moved over to the large bath tub, which looked like it could fit up to four people. She began filling it with hot water, thinking deeply about what just happened. Sure, it was nothing new, but she knew as well as anyone else that this 'relationship' couldn't go on for much longer.
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