Post by NINA IS A TRAITOR on Jul 19, 2017 21:47:54 GMT
Verse: The Vampire Diaries/The Originals
Character Name: Freya Mikaelson
Face-Claim: Riley Voelkel
RP Sample:1,003 Words
Music roared through the streets. Trumpets, clarinets, flutes and trombones joined together in a colourful symphony that elevated the vibrant New Orleans to art. Day and night, one could not depart far from the residential areas before being engulfed in the beauty of the city. The gifts that the city delivered did not limit themselves to the acoustics, for the visual medium was more than sufficiently stimulated as well; restaurants, bars, and other venues exhibited radiant signs that beamed in the night, with a wide variety of individuals, adorned in such a grand array of colours that a full colour pallette was always present. The culture present in the city was to be envied, for its lore was so deep and intricate that few were fully aware of New Orleans' history. Since its inception, the division of the city in several quarters ensured that many cultures developed, each with their respective norms, values and traditions. Indeed, New Orleans was the city for the living, to revel in their life, to enjoy their existence and all it had to offer.
Sometimes she figured it was all a front. That the city's livelihood depended on the facade that it presented to tourists, happy to ignore the unspoken tragedy of the city if they were granted the opportunity to party their life away. She could not help it, she had never lived in any century for too long, nor was she free to explore the world at her convenience. Since that had changed, Freya had been struggling to find herself. The Mikaelson was grasping to understand whom she truly was. A devoted sister? The protector of her family? A witch? There were many facts about her, but these did not guide her to an epiphany. She was left dumbfounded when it came to her identity. She sighed.
The eldest Mikaelson fought her inherent judgements at all times. She did not want to become what her aunt had slowly been turning her into- a tool of darkness and destruction. While the city had not been explicit in regards to the on-goings in the night, it had not remained silent either. Vampires, werewolves, witches. They had all been integrated into the culture and tourism of New Orleans, allowing the curious a glimpse into the true, dark corner of the world. None of them believed the tales, but they did not know better. They could not have known better. She figured that half of them would have died within the month if they remained within the city.
Those musings, and many more, rang within her head louder than the music blasted by the speakers. At times, she could feel her body shake from the tremendous base. Uncannily, she enjoyed the feeling. Despite her initially judgemental approach to the city and its inhabitants, she had found that she enjoyed all of the aspects that it had to offer. The fun and the parties, as well as the clash and the struggle. At the forefront of those aspects was the company. Boys and girls, looking to have fun, but deterred by the prospect of commitment. Freya Mikaelson had been one of them for quite a while.
"Hi there. Can I get you a drink?" A male voice boomed over the sound of the speakers, rivaling her thoughts. She was shaken awake, her attention directed at the source of the voice.
"Already have one. Thanks." She smiled at him as she spoke, her brown hues examining his traits carefully. He was certainly exquisite, with a powerful, sculpted face, short, brown hair and wide, strong shoulders. Freya had been part of the scenery long enough to know that agreeing to everything was bound to decrease the other's interest. Plus, she was not easily won over.
The man was not dismayed by her reply, asking her if she would dance instead. The female Mikaelson agreed, pushing a few blonde locks of hair from her face to the side. She placed her plastic cup on a nearby wooden table before grabbing the male by the hand, dragging him into the middle of the dance floor and proceeding to dance. A few songs came and went as they danced. He tried communicating with her, but she did not hear him, nor did she desire to know more about him or his pursuits.
Alcohol and pleasure combined nicely on most occasions- but this did not appear to be one of them. A few aimless kisses on the dance floor, a few gulps of vodka from a red plastic cup and several minutes of dancing in close proximity were supposed to have had a certain effect on her. Tonight, she was thinking too much. Her thoughts could not be buried; not by pleasure, nor by any inebriating substances. Suddenly, she apologised and pushed past the man, leaving him alone in the dance floor as she left the building via a nearby fire exit.
The cold consoled her, the wind sticking her leather jacket to her skin as she pressed her back against the red bricks and exhaled deeply. She glanced at the full moon, attempting not to think about anything. The questions that nagged at her still remained and their intensity seemed to amplify with each second that she ignored them. Her frustration had boiled within her, her hands harshly brushing at her face, as if to wake her up. Her gaze moved to the puddles in front of her, examining them aimlessly before redirecting her attention to the secluded space she had entered. The open space was empty, including nothing more than a few trash bins and dumpsters.
Even outside the establishment, a modicum of music could be heard.
"Ignis!" Freya decidedly spoke, her right arm outstretched towards a trash canister. Suddenly, fire had engulfed its recipients, flaring outwards and lighting the otherwise dark setting. The voices appeared to subside. She knew for certain that she was a witch; a Mikaelson.
Though, she was left to wonder: was it enough? Was that all whom Freya Mikaelson was?
Questions:
:: QUESTIONS HIDDEN BY MALACHAI HEMET ::
Preferred OOC Name/Nickname: Stefan/Spike. Whichever is more convenient, though I would prefer the former.
Character Name: Freya Mikaelson
Face-Claim: Riley Voelkel
RP Sample:
Music roared through the streets. Trumpets, clarinets, flutes and trombones joined together in a colourful symphony that elevated the vibrant New Orleans to art. Day and night, one could not depart far from the residential areas before being engulfed in the beauty of the city. The gifts that the city delivered did not limit themselves to the acoustics, for the visual medium was more than sufficiently stimulated as well; restaurants, bars, and other venues exhibited radiant signs that beamed in the night, with a wide variety of individuals, adorned in such a grand array of colours that a full colour pallette was always present. The culture present in the city was to be envied, for its lore was so deep and intricate that few were fully aware of New Orleans' history. Since its inception, the division of the city in several quarters ensured that many cultures developed, each with their respective norms, values and traditions. Indeed, New Orleans was the city for the living, to revel in their life, to enjoy their existence and all it had to offer.
Sometimes she figured it was all a front. That the city's livelihood depended on the facade that it presented to tourists, happy to ignore the unspoken tragedy of the city if they were granted the opportunity to party their life away. She could not help it, she had never lived in any century for too long, nor was she free to explore the world at her convenience. Since that had changed, Freya had been struggling to find herself. The Mikaelson was grasping to understand whom she truly was. A devoted sister? The protector of her family? A witch? There were many facts about her, but these did not guide her to an epiphany. She was left dumbfounded when it came to her identity. She sighed.
The eldest Mikaelson fought her inherent judgements at all times. She did not want to become what her aunt had slowly been turning her into- a tool of darkness and destruction. While the city had not been explicit in regards to the on-goings in the night, it had not remained silent either. Vampires, werewolves, witches. They had all been integrated into the culture and tourism of New Orleans, allowing the curious a glimpse into the true, dark corner of the world. None of them believed the tales, but they did not know better. They could not have known better. She figured that half of them would have died within the month if they remained within the city.
Those musings, and many more, rang within her head louder than the music blasted by the speakers. At times, she could feel her body shake from the tremendous base. Uncannily, she enjoyed the feeling. Despite her initially judgemental approach to the city and its inhabitants, she had found that she enjoyed all of the aspects that it had to offer. The fun and the parties, as well as the clash and the struggle. At the forefront of those aspects was the company. Boys and girls, looking to have fun, but deterred by the prospect of commitment. Freya Mikaelson had been one of them for quite a while.
"Hi there. Can I get you a drink?" A male voice boomed over the sound of the speakers, rivaling her thoughts. She was shaken awake, her attention directed at the source of the voice.
"Already have one. Thanks." She smiled at him as she spoke, her brown hues examining his traits carefully. He was certainly exquisite, with a powerful, sculpted face, short, brown hair and wide, strong shoulders. Freya had been part of the scenery long enough to know that agreeing to everything was bound to decrease the other's interest. Plus, she was not easily won over.
The man was not dismayed by her reply, asking her if she would dance instead. The female Mikaelson agreed, pushing a few blonde locks of hair from her face to the side. She placed her plastic cup on a nearby wooden table before grabbing the male by the hand, dragging him into the middle of the dance floor and proceeding to dance. A few songs came and went as they danced. He tried communicating with her, but she did not hear him, nor did she desire to know more about him or his pursuits.
Alcohol and pleasure combined nicely on most occasions- but this did not appear to be one of them. A few aimless kisses on the dance floor, a few gulps of vodka from a red plastic cup and several minutes of dancing in close proximity were supposed to have had a certain effect on her. Tonight, she was thinking too much. Her thoughts could not be buried; not by pleasure, nor by any inebriating substances. Suddenly, she apologised and pushed past the man, leaving him alone in the dance floor as she left the building via a nearby fire exit.
The cold consoled her, the wind sticking her leather jacket to her skin as she pressed her back against the red bricks and exhaled deeply. She glanced at the full moon, attempting not to think about anything. The questions that nagged at her still remained and their intensity seemed to amplify with each second that she ignored them. Her frustration had boiled within her, her hands harshly brushing at her face, as if to wake her up. Her gaze moved to the puddles in front of her, examining them aimlessly before redirecting her attention to the secluded space she had entered. The open space was empty, including nothing more than a few trash bins and dumpsters.
Even outside the establishment, a modicum of music could be heard.
"Ignis!" Freya decidedly spoke, her right arm outstretched towards a trash canister. Suddenly, fire had engulfed its recipients, flaring outwards and lighting the otherwise dark setting. The voices appeared to subside. She knew for certain that she was a witch; a Mikaelson.
Though, she was left to wonder: was it enough? Was that all whom Freya Mikaelson was?
Questions:
:: QUESTIONS HIDDEN BY MALACHAI HEMET ::
Preferred OOC Name/Nickname: Stefan/Spike. Whichever is more convenient, though I would prefer the former.