Post by kialaemberly2006 on May 27, 2006 14:01:20 GMT -5
Full Name: Aliandra Alexus White (or Ali)
Codename: The Seeress
Age: 15
Birthday: Dec. 25
Hair color: black (waist-length)
Eye color: hazel
Height: 4'8"
Weight: 100 lbs.
Personality: Ali is a young girl who is afraid of virtualyl everything and everyone. As far as phobias go, she's claustraphobic and agoraphobic (intensely afraid of crowds). She is very kind an generous, but only if she is familiar with a person. Otherwise she will keep to herself and appear rather selfish.
She also is very emotional, and often breaks into tears on the smallest thing. Yet, at the same time, she can stand resiliant against almost any kind of verbal assault.
Appearance: She stands only 4'8" and sports long black hair that hangs to her waist and is always in a tangled mess. Her eyes are a deep hazel (meaning they change colors naturally) and always glistening. She prefers to wear long-sleeved shirts that are a size too large for her and thus cover her hands, and baggy pants that hide her bare feet. She does not wear shoes or sandles, and so her feet are almost always dirty.
Parents' Name: James & Melinda White
Powers: post-cognition: she can see see the past. Her postcognition is based soley upon touch (i.e. she sees past events when she touches thing).
Affiliation(Xavier's, Brotherhood, Star, Independent): currently independent, but hoping to join Xavier
Skills: she has lived on the streets for nearly 7 years and has mastered the art of thievery and escaping the police and anyone else that wants to cahse after her
Interests: She enjoys books and walking, but not much else
Bio/History: Ali was barely a month old when her mother died from car wreck with a drunk driver. She was raised by her father until she was four before he gave in to drinking and gambling. After losing a massive bet on a racehorse and losing more money than he owned, her father was shot down and Ali was left in the care of her uncle whom she barely knew but knew enough of to hate. Her uncle was no better than her father when it came to drinking, but he was a much better gambler and always seemed to win. For the most part, he left Ali alone to do her own thing. She often hung out at the library staring at books, wishing she knew how to read. It was one of the many things her father had never remembered to teach her. It was outside this library that she met the young 15-year-old boy she often called her angel: Sam. Sam was a street urchin that lived on the money he found in people's pockets. It was him that taught Ali the basics of pick-pocketing.
When her uncle was caught cheating during an important poker game with some very unruly men, Ali knew it was time to run. She had barely cut the corner when she heard the gunshots. She didn't wait around to see what was going to happen next. She was 8 years old.
Sam took her "under his wing," as it were, and helped her learn to live on the streets of the major city of Boston. And, for the most part, she was happy with stealing. For all she knew, it was the best way to get by. She and Sam even managed to put together various schemes to rob convenience stores and gas stations. Sam eventually took up robbing at gunpoint and, with much effort, convinced Ali to carry a piece in case something happened.
One night Sam was attempting to rob a certain gas station when a policeman casually arrived on the scene. In an act of desperation, Sam shot the officer and the station worker and ran. Ali followed after him, not wanting to lose another person in her life. Within a matter of hours the two of them were being hunted by every officer in the county.
Just when they thought they had outrun the police, they turned a corner into a blockade. Almost instantly Sam opened fire and Ali hid behind the wall. The return fire from the officers echoed deep into the alley and Ali covered her ears and closed her eyes for the sound. When the firing stopped, Ali thought for certain Sam was dead. She opened her eyes only to find him standing before her with blood running down his arm. She moved toward him, wanting to help him, only to be grabbed and used as a human shield. Just as Sam was about to escape, an officer approached from behind. Sam spun around as the officer fired his weapon. Ali felt the stinging pain of the bullet as it tore through her shoulder and broke through Sam's heart. As the officer approached, his gun still raised, Ali was overcome by panic and tired to run. The officer tailed her, but she was able to get a good grip on the gun Sam had given her and managed to shoot the officer before he shot her.
Knowing she had killed someone, Ali's fear turned into hatred for herself. She believed her only chance was to run and stay hidden. Using her extensive knowledge of the alleyways and backstreets of Boston, she escaped the officers that night and slipped off to her own little world.
The last four years have been less than entertaining as nothing important has happened. Ali has mastered her form of theft, at least as far as a 15-year-old girl can master such an art, and she lives off of what she steals. It is only recently that her powers have begun to present themselves.
Example Post: It was another dark night, another night when the moon decided to stay home. And, of course, the stars were never seen above the lights of Boston. It had rained all day, so even the daylight hours had been consumed in darkness. The nightlife was unaffected, however, by the earlier rage of heaven. The clubs were all open, just like every other night, and drunkards and slut wandered the streets.
The young girl that stepped so casually through the crowd was one of the few who fit into the “Other” category. She called herself the Nameless, hoping the name would keep her mysteries and secrets. Sure it wasn’t the greatest alias to use, but she was only 15. Her real name was Aliandra, or Ali for short. But that was a name she never used anymore. Not since the only person who ever cared to know her name was killed. So she walked the streets of Boston and surrounding cities without a name. Most everyone knew her face, had become familiar with seeing her ragged clothes and dirty face. And, of course, no one really cared about what she did or where she lived. But, for her, that was all for the best. After all, she was a thief. And the less people knew about her, indeed, the less people cared about her, the easier her job would be.
As it was, she was strolling down 3rd street and carefully pick-pocketing random people she passed. So good was she at this that she could steal from three or four people in a row and not get caught. But she didn’t much care to test her abilities’ limits, so she only took from those who she believed were least likely to notice. Such as the drunken moron who wouldn’t know if he’d been hit by a truck, and the tourist who was lost in the city night and too busy trying to find her way around to feel a miniature hand in her pocket.
She wore no gloves to cover her hands, primarily because she owned none. But she knew that a simple touch could activate her power, her genetic alteration that made her so different from the rest of humanity. She refused to call herself one of them, one of those horrible creatures everyone talked about with such hatred and empty emotion. Ali, who was called the Nameless Child by those who knew her face, refused to believe she was a mutant. But she knew, deep inside where all things are best kept, that she was.
Ali’s altered genes allowed her to “see” events of the past. She didn’t understand it, only knew that many times when she touched things – flesh, clothing, even money – she would see in her mind distorted and discontinuous images. They rarely made any sense, but they always sent her mind reeling and left her dazed. She hated when it happened. She told herself it interfered with her ability to steal, which she required to survive on the streets. But truly she hated it because she hated being what she was, she hated having anything to do with the destructiveness of mutantkind. But she was trapped in a world where she had no choice on the matter. She took comfort, however, in knowing that she appeared human in all respects and thus could pass as one of them if she needed to, which she did. She had experienced no such event thus far tonight, thought, and so was pleased.
She mentally calculated the money she had managed to steal and assumed she had enough to pay for a room for the night in the motel where she stayed most of the time. When she didn’t scrounge up enough money, she had a little cozy spot in the alley of Fifth Avenue where she had set up a sort of camp. Originally the place had been a street-side dumpster, but it had long since stopped being used and she had found it turned over on its side. It made a perfect, if smelly, place to hide from the rain.
Satisfied with her collection for the night, Ali strolled off toward the motel.
Codename: The Seeress
Age: 15
Birthday: Dec. 25
Hair color: black (waist-length)
Eye color: hazel
Height: 4'8"
Weight: 100 lbs.
Personality: Ali is a young girl who is afraid of virtualyl everything and everyone. As far as phobias go, she's claustraphobic and agoraphobic (intensely afraid of crowds). She is very kind an generous, but only if she is familiar with a person. Otherwise she will keep to herself and appear rather selfish.
She also is very emotional, and often breaks into tears on the smallest thing. Yet, at the same time, she can stand resiliant against almost any kind of verbal assault.
Appearance: She stands only 4'8" and sports long black hair that hangs to her waist and is always in a tangled mess. Her eyes are a deep hazel (meaning they change colors naturally) and always glistening. She prefers to wear long-sleeved shirts that are a size too large for her and thus cover her hands, and baggy pants that hide her bare feet. She does not wear shoes or sandles, and so her feet are almost always dirty.
Parents' Name: James & Melinda White
Powers: post-cognition: she can see see the past. Her postcognition is based soley upon touch (i.e. she sees past events when she touches thing).
Affiliation(Xavier's, Brotherhood, Star, Independent): currently independent, but hoping to join Xavier
Skills: she has lived on the streets for nearly 7 years and has mastered the art of thievery and escaping the police and anyone else that wants to cahse after her
Interests: She enjoys books and walking, but not much else
Bio/History: Ali was barely a month old when her mother died from car wreck with a drunk driver. She was raised by her father until she was four before he gave in to drinking and gambling. After losing a massive bet on a racehorse and losing more money than he owned, her father was shot down and Ali was left in the care of her uncle whom she barely knew but knew enough of to hate. Her uncle was no better than her father when it came to drinking, but he was a much better gambler and always seemed to win. For the most part, he left Ali alone to do her own thing. She often hung out at the library staring at books, wishing she knew how to read. It was one of the many things her father had never remembered to teach her. It was outside this library that she met the young 15-year-old boy she often called her angel: Sam. Sam was a street urchin that lived on the money he found in people's pockets. It was him that taught Ali the basics of pick-pocketing.
When her uncle was caught cheating during an important poker game with some very unruly men, Ali knew it was time to run. She had barely cut the corner when she heard the gunshots. She didn't wait around to see what was going to happen next. She was 8 years old.
Sam took her "under his wing," as it were, and helped her learn to live on the streets of the major city of Boston. And, for the most part, she was happy with stealing. For all she knew, it was the best way to get by. She and Sam even managed to put together various schemes to rob convenience stores and gas stations. Sam eventually took up robbing at gunpoint and, with much effort, convinced Ali to carry a piece in case something happened.
One night Sam was attempting to rob a certain gas station when a policeman casually arrived on the scene. In an act of desperation, Sam shot the officer and the station worker and ran. Ali followed after him, not wanting to lose another person in her life. Within a matter of hours the two of them were being hunted by every officer in the county.
Just when they thought they had outrun the police, they turned a corner into a blockade. Almost instantly Sam opened fire and Ali hid behind the wall. The return fire from the officers echoed deep into the alley and Ali covered her ears and closed her eyes for the sound. When the firing stopped, Ali thought for certain Sam was dead. She opened her eyes only to find him standing before her with blood running down his arm. She moved toward him, wanting to help him, only to be grabbed and used as a human shield. Just as Sam was about to escape, an officer approached from behind. Sam spun around as the officer fired his weapon. Ali felt the stinging pain of the bullet as it tore through her shoulder and broke through Sam's heart. As the officer approached, his gun still raised, Ali was overcome by panic and tired to run. The officer tailed her, but she was able to get a good grip on the gun Sam had given her and managed to shoot the officer before he shot her.
Knowing she had killed someone, Ali's fear turned into hatred for herself. She believed her only chance was to run and stay hidden. Using her extensive knowledge of the alleyways and backstreets of Boston, she escaped the officers that night and slipped off to her own little world.
The last four years have been less than entertaining as nothing important has happened. Ali has mastered her form of theft, at least as far as a 15-year-old girl can master such an art, and she lives off of what she steals. It is only recently that her powers have begun to present themselves.
Example Post: It was another dark night, another night when the moon decided to stay home. And, of course, the stars were never seen above the lights of Boston. It had rained all day, so even the daylight hours had been consumed in darkness. The nightlife was unaffected, however, by the earlier rage of heaven. The clubs were all open, just like every other night, and drunkards and slut wandered the streets.
The young girl that stepped so casually through the crowd was one of the few who fit into the “Other” category. She called herself the Nameless, hoping the name would keep her mysteries and secrets. Sure it wasn’t the greatest alias to use, but she was only 15. Her real name was Aliandra, or Ali for short. But that was a name she never used anymore. Not since the only person who ever cared to know her name was killed. So she walked the streets of Boston and surrounding cities without a name. Most everyone knew her face, had become familiar with seeing her ragged clothes and dirty face. And, of course, no one really cared about what she did or where she lived. But, for her, that was all for the best. After all, she was a thief. And the less people knew about her, indeed, the less people cared about her, the easier her job would be.
As it was, she was strolling down 3rd street and carefully pick-pocketing random people she passed. So good was she at this that she could steal from three or four people in a row and not get caught. But she didn’t much care to test her abilities’ limits, so she only took from those who she believed were least likely to notice. Such as the drunken moron who wouldn’t know if he’d been hit by a truck, and the tourist who was lost in the city night and too busy trying to find her way around to feel a miniature hand in her pocket.
She wore no gloves to cover her hands, primarily because she owned none. But she knew that a simple touch could activate her power, her genetic alteration that made her so different from the rest of humanity. She refused to call herself one of them, one of those horrible creatures everyone talked about with such hatred and empty emotion. Ali, who was called the Nameless Child by those who knew her face, refused to believe she was a mutant. But she knew, deep inside where all things are best kept, that she was.
Ali’s altered genes allowed her to “see” events of the past. She didn’t understand it, only knew that many times when she touched things – flesh, clothing, even money – she would see in her mind distorted and discontinuous images. They rarely made any sense, but they always sent her mind reeling and left her dazed. She hated when it happened. She told herself it interfered with her ability to steal, which she required to survive on the streets. But truly she hated it because she hated being what she was, she hated having anything to do with the destructiveness of mutantkind. But she was trapped in a world where she had no choice on the matter. She took comfort, however, in knowing that she appeared human in all respects and thus could pass as one of them if she needed to, which she did. She had experienced no such event thus far tonight, thought, and so was pleased.
She mentally calculated the money she had managed to steal and assumed she had enough to pay for a room for the night in the motel where she stayed most of the time. When she didn’t scrounge up enough money, she had a little cozy spot in the alley of Fifth Avenue where she had set up a sort of camp. Originally the place had been a street-side dumpster, but it had long since stopped being used and she had found it turned over on its side. It made a perfect, if smelly, place to hide from the rain.
Satisfied with her collection for the night, Ali strolled off toward the motel.
