Post by HECATE HELLFYR on Aug 1, 2009 13:45:40 GMT -6
HECATE SYBILLA HELLFYR
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Count me in and I'll be the one
To take the knife out of your spine
I know you'd be the first to bury the blade deeper into mine
Bury the blade bury the blade
I'm counting on you to bury the blade
bad cop:
for the record - state your name and any aliases you go by.
Record? There's going to be a record of this? Damn. Well, name's Hecate Sibylla Hellfyr. Hecate, after a Greek goddess of magic, witchcraft, the night, moon, ghosts and necromancy. Yeah, I know Artemis was the moon, but this is what that cute little name certificate my parents got me says, so I'm quoting. Sibylla after the great Sibyll herself. You know, the one who saw into the future? Hellfyr... well, I'll get to that.
I go by Hecate ("HECK-a-tee"), or to people whom I know, Heckie. If you ever call me "Cate", I'll give you a blood eagle with a rusty spoon. My friends can get away with it, but only because if I kill them, everyone will know I did it. Haha.
state your age. [pauses] your real age, smartass.
God, you're a real downer, aren't you? Bullied at school, I expect? Anyway, I'm nineteen... *mutters* arseface.
state your occupation or what you consider it to be.
I'm bloody nineteen, can't exactly be a CEO, can I, then? I have a love of medieval times, so I do work at a Renaissance Faire on weekends. Other than that... uh, I run an "alternative medicine business" from my apartment. My, that makes me sound respectable, doesn't it? What I'm essentially doing is helping out those without health insurance live healthily. What I don't tell them is that I use my, ahem, "goddess-given talents" to help them. Oh, and I also don't disclose my actual age. I can pass for a few years older, don't you think?
good cop:
so what was it like growing up with a family like yours?
Fun. When you're father's a risen demon God only knows what's going to happen next. My parents are Molochret "Lock" Hellfyr, age one thousand three hundred and twenty, who is currently an "architect", and Susanna Allison Hellfyr, age forty-nine, a botanist and paranormal investigator. Not a psychic, thank you; she doesn't have the gift. My father was kicked out of Hell because he helped a nun with her groceries. Satan apparently doesn't appreciate helping out the opposition (well, she wasn't wearing her full habit, so my father couldn't really tell, but apparently that's still treason. And hence the last name.) He met my mother when he was stumbling around Manhattan, trying to correlate in the human world with loss of his demonic form and most of his powers, searching in the library for information on risen demons. A bit counterproductive, really; there's all sorts of myths in there, and demons who haven't risen are oftentimes sorely misinformed about what happens to their less-sinful counterparts. My mum was interning as a librarian and they hit it off. Two years later, a rather odd wedding, and there I was.
Growing up was rather odd; my parents weren't really sure if I was going to start breathing fire as my father had, or if I was going to inherit his rather interminable life span or any of his various weaknesses. They were rather worried I'd die at a young age; hybrids between demons and humans aren't often expected to live long. However, I lived. It was noted that I began fooling around with pentagrams and other symbols of occultia that were lying around the apartment, remnants of my father's "search for himself", so to speak. I kept turning them so that one point faced up, and at age two I dragged a censour into my room that my parents had bought for decoration. An oil censour, you know, is a lovely objects that burns fragrant oil. It is used in Christian churches and ceremonies of other religions. Shortly afterwards, I started drawing five-pointed stars, known as pentacles, in a lot of my random five-year old scribblings that every child makes, and a lot of other symbols, like a certain upside-down goat. My parents, bless them (or, for Dad, damn 'em) allowed me to follow this path until it was utterly decided that I had a definite future as a witch, which as you can imagine, made for some rather interesting kindergarten playdates.
I did alright in elementary school, and later on, highschool. Around my adolescence, some of my powers began spiraling a bit out of control, and I would find myself chanting when angry, nervous, extremely depressed and angsty, or at any time of very high emotion as it appears teenagers get. These chants seemed to be backed up and fueled by emotion, inevitably causing minor mishaps., usually resulting in throwing off my karmic balance horribly. For instance, the last day of finals my freshman year, I accidentally set the poor boy's paper on fire next to me. (Here's a tip: never bring an empty lighter to school. Muttering a hex under your breath will still make it ignite.) Luckily, I grew out of it. Mostly. Summer of my sophomore year in highshool, we moved here, to the blonde bimbo capital of the world. [insert sarcasm] As you can imagine, I was simply thrilled. I was never quite sure why my parents decided to uproot our family and move us to Los Plastic Surgery Central until now.
Let's see, at age eighteen I moved out, just barely got a two-year degree in technology, and decided to go with my natural talents as a career choice. Well, that and trying to figure out whether or not I wanted to join the rebellion that appears to be happening.
thank you for offering up that information. so share with me something personal about you.
I'm told I'm rather straightforward and to the point. I don't see much point in dancing around the subject of conversation like children. If I want to know something, I ask. If someone asks a question, I answer or ingore them, depending on the nature of their question. I'm also unafraid to take risks, and I love the occasional sarcastic bout of humour. Being a person who believes strongly in the saying "that which does not kill me only makes me stronger", I don't like people who complain and whine alot: get over it. Other people are worse off than you. I'm not a total cold heart, I do have soft spots for children and people who really are hurting, but refuse to show it.
Weaknesses? Oh, kids, I suppose. People in ill health unable to take care of themselves-that's why I run my business, I hate looking at people who are sick and thinking "they could be completely ok if they only had health insurance". Oh, and I'm a sucker for small animals. Strengths? Aha. I'm intelligent, I can read people really well, if you know what I mean (analyze them and whatnot), and I really am not afraid to buckle down and do hard work. This, I'm good at.
bad cop:
so what fancy things can you do? be specific, punk.
God, not you again. I thought you died of cardiac arrest from all those doughnuts. Ah, well. Well, as I'm sure you've gathered, I am what normal humans call a witch. Not one of those broomstick-flying, conical-hat wearing, cackling witches, an actual spellcaster. What seperates me from the Wiccans and Odinists, you say? Well, for one, my spells actually work. [smirks] Another, the chants and such seem to come to me randomly; it is rare that I have to do research, although I only seem to be able to do more minor things without the help of research. I'm good at healing and I can do some hexes, although about one out of five backfires on me-and bad things inevitably happen to me after I cast a real whopper. The Threefold Law, you know. Any harm you do to one person will be returned to you threefold-so why does that bastard of a law seem ot only work with me, eh?
Well, let's lay down my limitations. There are a lot of them. I can't raise anyone from the dead, doesn't that suck? I can call up some demons, but there is no way I can control them. Believe me, I've tried. I can't control anyone's mind. I can't control the elements to a T, although I must say fire does appear to like me.... it's probably my dad's heritage. Lately it's been popping up without warning, which is a little scary. If you wake up and find your TV set on fire, wouldn't you wonder exactly who you killed in your sleep to deserve that? I can't kill anyone directly through spells; I still have to do that the old-fashioned way.
i bet you think you’re the best, huh? better than everyone else.
Um... no, not really. Everyone exists, therefore everyone is entitled to the same amount of respect... except for people like you, with a permanent stick shoved somewhere unpleasant.
good cop:
so what are your likes and dislikes?
I have a love for books-reading is my one and only vice. Can't get enough of it. I do enjoy art, and intelligent conversation. I enjoy leather and weird jewelry. I love helping people, actually. It's strange. I'm not really a do-gooder kind of person... I like hiking, the outdoors, and I'm a wee bit of a pyromaniac. Oh, and good cuisine is never wasted on me. I positively despise weaklings who sob obver how horrible their average lives are, or people who whine and grovel to get their way-or, for that matter, those who throw fits. I don't like manipulative people. I loathe heights. I don't enjoy chicken, actually. Oh, and caffeine makes me jittery, jumpy, and giggly. I loathe it.
i’m wondering – do you have any distinguishing features?
Yes, I have one tattoo on the back of my neck, a small and simple thorn design.
My style of clothing is basically leather and lace, heavy on the leather, with essentialy every other clothing style thrown in there jus tfor snickers and grins. I'm not afraid to wear rather eccentric clothing, really. My facial structure and lack of sleep make me look older than I truly am. I'm pale, lithe, and rather challenging-looking despite whatever I really am feeling, as though I'm just begging you to try and bite my head off.
so, are you seeing anyone special? or have anyone in mind?
I'm not. Not that it's any of your business. I'm straight, and I'm not some whore who screws and dishes, so I'm not going to be telling you any names of former, ahem, significant others.
I am attracted to the sensitive, kind type. They counteract my occasionally corrosive personality. I do appreciate commitment. Dark hair and light eyes seem to run in my preferences, just a random thought.
Why am I telling you any of this?
are you sure you don’t want some coffee, HECATE?
"NO! Are you trying to get me killed? Me and caffeine are not friends!"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
NAME/ALIAS: Boudica
AGE: Wouldn't you like to know? Don't worry, I'm legal.
RP EXPERIENCE: Six years now.
ANY OTHER CHARACTERS?: Not currently; upcoming, perhaps.
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE:
And even as she retrieved her notebook from under her arm and a pen from behind her ear, Medea found herself being drawn into the weird and wild paintings and sculptures around her. This was, surprisingly, a great place for fun, not just a quiet art gallery where you could study and sulk uninterrupted. She had not had much experience with the former, save a visit to MOMA in New York as a young girl. That had been pure enjoyment, although the Francis Bacon exhibit that had been going on at the time may have been a bit too heady for a nine year old girl to handle, what with the motifs of sex and death having frequent interspersions within his pieces. Art, like a virus dormant for six years, had infected her, and now she found herself doodling abstract shapes on her paper instead of studying. "Oh, come on, pull yourself together," she muttered, looking with mixed disgust and amusement at the shapes on her lined paper. "How am I ever going to pass AP Chemistry if all I'm going to do is stare at the pretty pictures like a kindergartner?"
Please. She was in no danger of failing AP Chemistry; indeed, Medea was ahead of her class, so to speak, if only because she spent so much time during her breaks checking out new poisons and finding new combinations to make chemicals go "boom". Of course, there was the fact that the sheer fun of working with chemicals didn't come from the possible "boom factor"-although that certainly was part of it, and a large contributing factor at that. It was the whole fact that the formulas were, simultaneously, stable and yet completely unpredictable-if that even made any sense... Of course it didn't, and of course she didn't really have a dire need to study for the upcoming midterm, but it never really hurt, did it? A little extra push? Of course not. Medea was merely enraptured by the art-or, as any good adult influence would say, she was merely being lazy.
But as she gazed around at the room, trying to ignore the small part of her brain that really did think she should study, Medea spotted a young woman entering the room, rather pretty, with the physique of either a swimmer or a rather angular model. The girl seemed oddly familiar, perhaps a student at the Academy. If not, Medea's mistake could be understood: she had only recently transferred, and didn't yet know many names or faces at all. If so, she was almost undoubtedly a good two years older than Medea, at least... not that it mattered. Medea was never one to be intimidated by the upperclassmen, gifted with the sort of confidence that invariably either a.) made her admirable to a few others or (more commonly) b.) got her into a hell of a lot of trouble. Brushing a lock of hair away from her face, Medea turned back to her notebook, continuing to "doodle" in it. Deciding to take a stab at starting a conversation, she commented, never once taking her eyes off of her notebook page, "Interesting exhibit, isn't it? I've always been a fan of Surrealism."
Please. She was in no danger of failing AP Chemistry; indeed, Medea was ahead of her class, so to speak, if only because she spent so much time during her breaks checking out new poisons and finding new combinations to make chemicals go "boom". Of course, there was the fact that the sheer fun of working with chemicals didn't come from the possible "boom factor"-although that certainly was part of it, and a large contributing factor at that. It was the whole fact that the formulas were, simultaneously, stable and yet completely unpredictable-if that even made any sense... Of course it didn't, and of course she didn't really have a dire need to study for the upcoming midterm, but it never really hurt, did it? A little extra push? Of course not. Medea was merely enraptured by the art-or, as any good adult influence would say, she was merely being lazy.
But as she gazed around at the room, trying to ignore the small part of her brain that really did think she should study, Medea spotted a young woman entering the room, rather pretty, with the physique of either a swimmer or a rather angular model. The girl seemed oddly familiar, perhaps a student at the Academy. If not, Medea's mistake could be understood: she had only recently transferred, and didn't yet know many names or faces at all. If so, she was almost undoubtedly a good two years older than Medea, at least... not that it mattered. Medea was never one to be intimidated by the upperclassmen, gifted with the sort of confidence that invariably either a.) made her admirable to a few others or (more commonly) b.) got her into a hell of a lot of trouble. Brushing a lock of hair away from her face, Medea turned back to her notebook, continuing to "doodle" in it. Deciding to take a stab at starting a conversation, she commented, never once taking her eyes off of her notebook page, "Interesting exhibit, isn't it? I've always been a fan of Surrealism."
