Avicci, Cira
Dec 30, 2010 18:42:07 GMT -8
Post by Cira Avicci on Dec 30, 2010 18:42:07 GMT -8
Name: Elaine
Age: 18
CBox Name: Sumashira
RP Experience: 10 years
Activity Level: almost daily
Name: Cerisa "Cira" Moriah Avicci
Age: 20
Birthdate: September 12th, 2201
Gender: female
Place of Residence: New Jersey District, Zone 5 (Residential)
Affiliation: Unaffiliated
Member Group: Human
Appearance:
Cira is a tall, slender young woman with deep auburn hair; it's short, going to the bottom of her jaw, and is styled in something of an a-line. Exposure to the sun has made her hair turn a bit more ginger in some places. The bangs are known to shade the right side of her face and generally hide her right eye. Her eyes are a pale brown, like the color of chocolate, and she has long, dark eyelashes. She often looks tired, or angry, and rarely does she look relaxed. Her shoulders are almost always tensed, and she always seems prepared to fight. She has skin that is beautifully colored like light sand or like chai tea with milk or cream in it. Being young, her skin is free of wrinkles and is always shaven very smooth. Cira is generally seen wearing dark colored tee-shirts or tanktops, such as black, navy blue, dark violet, maroon, etc., and black or dark blue jeans. Her left ear is pierced with four silver studs; her right ear has two studs and a silver snake ear cuff. She can always be found carrying a knife or two.
Face Claim:
Likes / Dislikes:
likes
Strengths and Weaknesses:
strengths
Personality:
Cira once considered herself to be almost invincible; she figured that surviving in Chorazin to her adulthood and beyond gave her that right. However, her experiences over the past two years have shown her that no one is invincible. With the death of her parents and living off of almost nothing, the hardships and near-death experiences of her own have shown her that to be over-confident will certainly lead to death. For the most part she tries to just be left alone.
Though she still suffers from "little dog syndrome" and will occasionally get into fights she shouldn't, she does realize the importance of using caution in this dangerous world. She has also learned the value of allies and has begun to open up more. She still struggles and wants to know more about others than they know about her, but every step is a step in the right direction. She has become a bit darker by accepting that bad things happen and feeling that they're for the best.
History:
Unbeknownst to Cira, and to most of the people in Chorazin, Cira is the one whose life the Arrangement depends upon; she was the child whose life was chosen to represent the time that Lucifer had to do as he wished with the city. She was born without this knowledge, and raised without it as well. Her mother and father were both average people; both had been living happy lives at the midpoint between the outer boundaries of the massive city and the city center, both with jobs and a steady income. The sudden lack of outside communication resulted in Cira's mother going crazy and shooting herself soon after her daughter's birth and her father becoming a very protective parent.
Her father refused to let her go to school; instead, he went with her to places that trained in physical combat and self-defense, as well as training with weaponry. Once satisfied that she was capable of fending for herself at school at the age of eight, he enrolled her in a private school, only to pull her out again two years later because of the mutations taking place all throughout the city. Being directly between the barrier and the Hellmouth, neither father nor daughter were affected or mutated, but her father saw to it that Cira's training was intensified and became more elaborate. She learned via books and word of mouth, but in this day and age history no longer mattered.
Cira grew up as a guarded girl; twice she was nearly raped, and then she began to carry her father's knife around with her, tucking it into her clothing wherever she thought it easiest to access and also to hide. The older she got, the more fearful her father got. Eventually he, too, went insane and killed himself, and then Cira was left to fend for herself with no close relatives to speak of. After growing accustomed to the dangers of everyday life in Chorazin, she found herself a crappy apartment a bit closer to the Hellmouth, just so she could enjoy sinking her blade into someone's gut once in a while.
She began to realize after several near-death experiences, however, that her way of doing things was no longer working. After being rescued by another woman named Jessica, Cira worked on opening up a bit more and being less aggressive. It seemed that life began to improve quite a bit, though she still couldn't seem to hold a job. She still had to rely on stealing or selling things she found to rent a crappy apartment somewhere.
Roleplay Example:
The bright, flashing colors of the far too crowded club hit her pale eyes and disappeared, hit, fade, hit, fade, repeatedly. Cira was surprised that she hadn't gotten a headache yet; normally, she'd already be heading home. When she thought about it, she was equally surprised that the bouncer let her in without even asking for ID. Did she really look twenty-one? She lifted her martini glass to her pale red lips, enjoying the alcohol despite its peculiar taste as it slipped over her lips and streamed over her tongue, only to disappear down her throat. The security had gotten much more lenient, she'd noticed. Or maybe this was just such a terrible neighborhood that no one gave a shit what some teenager did anymore. Either way, she was grateful for the chance to get out of the house.
A firm hand gripped Cira's shoulder; she turned slightly in her stool at the bar, eyes dull and bored looking. What a surprise. Some drunk chick's talking to me, she thought. The chick was clearly inebriated; her speech was slurred and her breath was rank with the stench of alcohol. Cira tried hard not to laugh - or maybe vomit - at the pathetic display of anger the chick showed as she resisted her unintended desire to fall to the floor. Oh, I'm in your spot, am I? Cira questioned the chick silently, rolling her eyes slightly. "Get lost," Cira told her tersely, shrugging the drunk lady's hand off. The girl didn't leave; instead, she retaliated. In one shaky movement the girl had slapped Cira's martini out of her hand and had shattered the glass on the floor.
"Okay, what the hell is your problem?" Cira asked sharply, standing up. She assessed the situation. Me, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, only slightly buzzed. Her, drunk off her ass and in a mini-skirt and... ew, a tube top three sizes too small. Some dude's gonna get a kick out of watching me kick her ass. The classic retort came hurling back, and Cira laughed. "Oh, I'm your problem?" Cira's laughter ceased and she put her hands on her hips, feeling the knife that was tucked into the back of her jeans. "Fuck off, girlie. We may all live in a psycho-dome, but as far as I'm concerned this isn't your bar, it's mine. I suggest you take a look at who you're messing with."
As Cira had suspected, the girl took no heed of her warning. It was pathetic, really: The girl raised a shaky hand, as if to slap Cira, and Cira easily leaned backwards, avoiding the attempted blow. Just as the drunk girl realized her failure, Cira leaned forward quickly. Their skulls collided and the girl stepped backward, then stumbled and fell. Cira reached into her pocket and pulled out a twenty, setting it on the counter before making her way to the exit, the crowd's eyes fixed on the girl who had just owned a drunk person. It's not some freaking miracle.
