(
NOTE: Dawn was a complex character and has the longest background by far because she has lived hundreds of years. This was to a special guild RP and it involved a special organization--though that part can easily be cut out--and another character who is Dawn's immortal half. This is a necessary part, but can be altered so that its a guy, a demi-God or what have you, and possibly could have a plot that involves her searching for the immortal or them simply being out of the picture)
Ｎａｍｅ ⇒ Dawn Eloise Gold-Evans
Ｎｉｃｋｎａｍｅ ⇒ Eloise, as of late. Though Dawn is alright—for some.
Ｇｅｎｄｅｒ ⇒ Female
Ｂｉｒｔｈｄａｙ ⇒ May 8th, 1761
Ａｇｅ ⇒ 250 (Appears 22 for the time being.)
Ａｐｐｅａｒａｎｃｅ ⇒
i612.photobucket.com/albums/tt204/Lepard/Contest/Umbrella_Sky_by_blackeri.jpgＨｅｉｇｈｔ ⇒ 5”3’
Ｗｅｉｇｈｔ ⇒ 115
Ｓｅｘｕａｌ Ｏｒｉｅｎｔａｔｉｏｎ ⇒ Heterosexual
Ｌｉｋｅｓ ⇒ -Sailing
-Embroidery
-Chinese Silk
-French paintings
-Rain during spring—not winter or fall
-Gold filigree
-String purses
-Cherries
-Lace
-Frank Sinatra’s music—and also Michael Buble
-Summer nights with warm breezes
-The beach; specifically, Playa de Las Catedrales in Galicia, Spain
-Pewter trinkets, specifically a three-cherub oil burner from Italy
-Red satin corsets
-Dancing, especially the tango and waltz
-Reading, especially olde English literature
-Writing poetry and short stories—or auto-biographies nobody would believe
-Wooden fans with intricate carved-out designs
-Cherry blossoms
-Classical music, especially pieces with pianos and violins
-Vanilla cinnamon waffles
-Sparkly lip gloss
-Parasols made of silk and lace, or cute umbrellas
-Ballet flats, especially ones with bows, glitter, or gold
-Lemonade, or Limeade
-The roaring 20’s, and stuff from that era
-Snow; when it blankets everything in a thick wrapping of white chill
-Above all, love
Ｄｉｓｌｉｋｅｓ ⇒ -Snakes of any kind
-Insects, excluding ladybugs and the occasional roly-poly
-Arachnids
-Slime, molds, and fungi
-Horses
-Sushi and sashimi
-Books with terrible endings
-Scars—though I have none
-Religion, aside from Buddhism, which is quite interesting and less judgmental
-Sleet—not to be confused with snow
-Driving, though I will when needed
-Bad or too-strong smelling flowers
-Virtual books, or whatever those horrid contraptions they try to pass off as a digital “library”
-Hypocrisy, though it is hard to avoid
-Illiteracy; one of the greatest gifts is reading
-Oranges, strawberries, and most other fruits
-Modern clothes—especially plaid shorts and animal-print dresses
-Rap and country music
-Hospitals
-Mortuaries
-Graveyards at night
-Fog
-Death, especially of loved ones…
-Forgetting things
-Insanity
Ｆｅａｒｓ ⇒ -Losing my mind—again
-Heights
-Being buried alive
-Drowning
-Never dying
-What comes after dying
-Forgetting everything…
Ｗｅａｋｎｅｓｓｅｓ ⇒ Aside from living for a very long time, I can be killed like any other human. However, my truly immortal half has ways of reviving me and rendering me unable to stay dead, it seems. But, because of my power—a side effect from the long life—being near people who are insane tends to make me start going insane as well, though over time my sanity wears thin anyways and I need to sap sanity from those around me.
Ｓｔｒｅｎｇｔｈｓ ⇒ Good with swords, especially rapiers. Weak-minded people.
Ｗｅａｐｏｎ(ｓ) ｏｆ Ｃｈｏｉｃｅ ⇒ As of late, a gold lace parasol with a hidden blade in the top that retracts when I turn the handle to the left.
Ａｂｉｌｉｔｉｅｓ ⇒ Longevity; because of the shared soul with an immortal, my life is quite a bit longer than others. The sanity thing is done by touch, and very, very rarely just by thinking and being close by. It leaves the person with a broken and violated mind, and symptoms of hysteria and schizophrenia permanently. Because of living for so long, my sanity ebbs in time, too. I also have slightly enhanced strength, speed, and intuition thanks to years and years of mental and physical training.
Ｐｅｒｓｏｎａｌｉｔｙ ⇒ My personality is quite expansive and complex; after living for so long, I can hardly say I’m the same as I once was. I still feel the lingering threads of that girl, 200 years ago, but…She is almost just a reflection in a window passing by now. Where she was always jubilant and lively, I’m drab and bored. Her eyes always saw the best in the world—optimism her second language—I find it hard to have so much faith in fate. I am quite withdrawn now, only stepping out into the spotlight on the very rare occasion I feel the whimsy to. I am still quite kind, just not anywhere near as trusting as before. I am quiet over-analytical and will often neglect the bigger things in contrast to the tinier details. I am rather insecure at times, but in no way vain. I would trade wrinkles for years and years gladly. I often wander off into my past memories, drifting in and out of reality willfully. Sometimes I have days--very few and few between now--where I'll start the day singing and just feel light on me feet. But mostly, it's an effort to keep a blank face all day.
Ｃｈｉｌｄｈｏｏｄ ⇒ It was so long ago…Over two whole centuries drifting around this world. It started in London, England on a crisp summer day in May. My mother was a skilled seamstress who had married a wealthy industrial tradesman. I grew up in velvet and cherry wood, gold jewelry and delicate dollies with ringlets, lace curtains and frilly dresses. For fourteen years everything was normal, and life was as pleasant as it could be…Until I woke up to find one of my eyes had turned blue. Panicked, I sought my mother and father for comfort. Being religious as they were, they suspected witchcraft and demons, and took me to the church to seek help. After days of being soaked in holy water, screamed at with prayers, and sung endless hymns, the “demon” finally withdrew from me. I don’t remember much of that—only a blinding, searing pain that made my eyes roll back into my head and my body convulse. When I awoke, my parents sweating and calling over m, I felt the emptiness for the first time. A hollow, deeper than my organs and blood, inside where you couldn’t see what resided with earthly eyes. I spent days in my room, shaking and terrified and longing for whatever had been taken from me. Weeks passed, and I went back to my private lessons, playing violin, sewing with mother, and wearing dresses and carrying parasols out to town. But one night, a woman appeared at my door. I didn’t know her—and surely could never have forgotten somebody like that—but the moment I saw them I knew those eyes. My eyes, but not my eyes. She was me and yet we were two completely different people.
That was the beginning of my wondrous adventure. Everything from there had been so amazing. I grew to grow closer to this woman, to learn of her life—a life I never knew existed in a time before anybody I knew could remember—and she slowly began to ease me into the idea of immortality. Or rather, something close. I would not live forever, of course. But for much, much longer than any mortal would. Around 1773, I fell in love with a young man with long dark locks and deep, brooding eyes. We spent nights talking about music and farming and the king, and the Revolution. I was terrified and appalled at such a thing, but he seemed fascinated. He wanted to go overseas to fight with these brave men—so see their spirits in action. With a promise that he would come back and we would marry, he left to go fight for the King. It wasn’t long before word returned of his death, and I turned to Sadie for comfort. She soothed my heart and told me that this love had barely begun; there would be others. I believed her, and spent the new three years growing more use to my new body, my new existence. Miraculously though, I had something to remember him by—a child was growing inside me. She was born in what felt like no time at all, and I named her Anabella Elizabeth Gold, giving her my last name. The winter of 1776, my father died while sailing to Africa. Crushed, my mother slowly wasted away after catching Cholera. Once again, I met with death and sought comfort in one who had triumphed over it.
I refused to do much for years after that, and times slowly changed though I stayed the same. Ana kept me from simply locking myself away from the world. The Americans won over England. Anabella learned her first words. The Necklace Affair was whispered around France. I stopped wearing my hair in tight, neat little girl-curls, and started to do Ana’s in them. Sweden loses to Russia in the Battle of Reval. I completed my 75th embroidered tapestry as long as my arm, which I hung in Anabelle’s room. Sadie said it wasn’t healthy, wasting a gift such as humanity and breath. So, she took me and Ana around the world. We visited France in 1800 to ring in a new time, drinking pink champagne out of delicate fluted glasses while Ana giggled at the entertainment of dogs scuttling around the floor. I appeared to be only 18, and was the glint in every gentleman’s heart, young and old. We stayed long enough to see the Bank of France be founded, then decided to stray from beautiful Paris to Italy. After it was invaded by Napoleon, we decided to cross seas to China; the French were growing old on us. We spent quite a while in kimonos and paper houses. I simply loved it there—the culture was so bright and new, and Ana loved cherry blossoms as much as I did. She was 33, and looked so much like me that many thought her my older sister. She had fallen in love with a skilled fisherman, and I held no restraint when they asked to be wed. Sadie was her maid of honor as I walked her down the aisle into the arms of Naru Takumi. Their loved made an almond-eyed little girl—Tara Lin—who was as fond of the cherry blossoms as her mother and grandmother. But fate can be cruel, and her time was short; she caught some strange disease though, and died shortly after the birth of Tara Lin. Naru was overcome with grief, and he and his family took Tara Lin with them when they moved after Anabelle’s funeral. She was buried along a small path that wound towards a cherry orchard. In the days that followed, I grew quite depressed and attempted to hang myself from a foot bridge that connected the path towards my daughter’s grave. I had figured I’d choke or drown, but somehow Sadie saved me. She then showed me a tiny whisper of the ancient medicines and secrets she knew. She also revealed part of my power—a part that would grow ever more important in my life as the decades would draw on. How sanity dwindles with each passing year, and I would need to learn how to reverse the symptoms of madness.
I wanted to reside in the place my daughter laid, but we couldn’t stay too long, as Spain was calling and Sadie demanded I learn to cope with loss. There, I learned to fill my grief with the tango and ate grapes on a balcony is the arms of a sultry heartthrob with an accent like red wine. I had just turned 54—and looked almost 19 in 1815. Unfortunately, our nights of passion ended abruptly when his jealously won over. It was true, I loved to get attention from all the guys then—to bask in their hungry stares and salivating breaths. I never acted upon any urge to be unfaithful, but he noticed. He noticed, and he loathed the attention, the looks, the breaths and the people involved. The sheets were still wrapped around me when he chased me to the balcony in a fury, yelling all the while he grabbed my wrists. It was then I got my first taste of the bitter shadows that might resemble love in the dark alleys of night. His eyes were like fire when he shoved me over the edge, even after I screamed in his native tongue that life—his life—grew within me, the red satin clinging to me as the ground rushed towards me. I don’t remember much from then until the 1900’s; Sadie said she found me and was able to fix all that had been cast askew. All except the life that had been jostled too much to be helped. For years, I could almost hear the echoed cries of a child that I would never feel fill my arms or my memory. By then we had finally bothered to go to America. The first few years were dull and interested me little. I was still haunted by the thoughts of death and loss and insanity.
But when 1920 rolled around, I found myself home. Glitz, pearl necklaces, glitter headbands, finger curls and the Charleston—I loved it all. It was then I truly fell in love for the second time. I was almost 159, and in his eyes I looked only 20. He of course was actually 20, with short brown hair he greased back so properly so you wouldn’t know it curled adorably. He had a gold pocket watch from his grandfather, black shiny shoes, and a crisp shirt and vest the night we danced. It had been strange at first—like I knew how this should have gone, but not how it was supposed to really go. But as the night went on, we started to bond. For years we met at a local café on 5th Avenue and went drinking in speakeasies. I never seemed to age, and after three years I told him of my secret. He had been frightened and amazed, and slowly he accepted who I was, and what I was. And so, I decided to take his name—William Daniel Evans.
We got married in 1925, and bought a small house with plush furniture and a radio we turned on every night. I got pregnant with our first child in 1930, amidst the start of the Great Depression. We had little worry; Sadie and I had acquired plenty of wealth from our travels. Silks, paintings, vases, jewelry, statues, gowns, books, secrets, gems. Our life stayed modest, but never was truly touched by poverty. In 1931, Alice Faith Evans was born on February 27th. She had dark curly hair like her father, and bright green eyes like me. Three years later, Mason Henry Evans was born on a rainy day in April, the morning of the 6th. I had one other child, a girl named Laura Sadie Evans. Of course, by then Sadie had disappeared to Europe, sending letters every so often. There had been a war going on there, but I had been so transfixed with my wondrous life. And her letters were never about the war, but the stars and space and I wouldn’t know why until many years later.
However, William’s death in 1956 due to a heart attack brought me sharply to a harsh reality. Almost 36 years of marriage, and everybody at the funeral thought I was his young mistress to replace his actual wife. At his death, I looked almost 22. He had lived to see our three grandchildren, Daisy, Eric, and Chamile. The first two were Alice’s, the last one Mason’s only pride and joy. Laura Sadie wouldn’t have a child; she died two years later while out on the lake for a family retreat in Michigan. Sadie came back to America in time for the funeral, and she helped comfort me and my remaining family. Slowly, time went on and my children and grandchildren grew old—and I didn’t. Sadie once again comforted me, and told me of her plan since I was finally ready to learn of the world’s future fate…
Ｍｏｓｔ Ｒｅｃｅｎｔ Ｅｖｅｎｔｓ ⇒ …Four years ago I buried my grandchild Chamile; the only family who came to her funeral. All of her friends thought I was her granddaughter, and I couldn’t correct them. I have great grandchildren, and possibly even greater—but I have made sure they know not of me. It is confusing and heartbreaking, and life is much simpler with just me and Sadie.
I now work a somewhat modest life in Islia, making a bit more than minimum wage at the bakery, and plenty more with Sadie at Nexus. Also, having a whole collection of treasures in my apartment is quite nice. Even though I have been at Nexus for quite some time, I still don’t fully get what I do there. Mostly I stay at Sadie’s side, nodding my head and making eye contact while playing the past in my mind most of the time. I know there’s dark beings and some shady people there, but good and evil are such trivial terms to me now. There is love, there is life, and there is death—everything else is just waiting to be one of the three.
Sadie is once again all I have left, and it kills me to feel that she isn’t enough now. Not after the taste of a true lover’s lips, the warmth of your child’s smile, the sweetness of growing old and finding peace than is denied to me…I have almost started to loathe my longevity; I pray that soon Sadie will complete her father’s plans. I enjoy working a quiet job in the bakery than at Nexus, because all I can think there is of her giving the word and it all coming to a close—but I can’t tell her. I can’t, until it is too late for her to try and change my mind.
