Post by HELENA PARRISH on Aug 26, 2015 15:14:57 GMT
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[attr="class","ur_apptitle"]PARRISH, HELENA
[attr="class","ur_appsubtitle"]DEMOGRAPHICS
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✚ NICK : hell, helen
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✚ AGE : nineteen
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✚ GENDER : female
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✚ LOCATION : waterloo, canada
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✚ ETHNICITY : white
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✚ SEXUALITY : pansexual
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✚ OCCUPATION : waitress/part-time tutor
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✚ ROLEPLAYER NAME : jumpstart
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✚ NICK : hell, helen
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✚ AGE : nineteen
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✚ GENDER : female
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✚ LOCATION : waterloo, canada
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✚ ETHNICITY : white
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✚ SEXUALITY : pansexual
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✚ OCCUPATION : waitress/part-time tutor
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✚ ROLEPLAYER NAME : jumpstart
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[attr="class","ur_appsubtitle"]FACE CLAIM
[attr="class","ur_appcont"]HOMESTUCK, ROXY LALONDE
[attr="class","ur_appsubtitle"]PERSONALITY
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POSITIVE TRAITS[break]
✚ confident
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✚ daring
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✚ straightforward
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✚ disciplined
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✚ practical
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POSITIVE TRAITS[break]
✚ confident
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✚ daring
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✚ straightforward
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✚ disciplined
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✚ practical
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NEGATIVE TRAITS[break]
✚ bossy
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✚ jealous
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✚ possessive
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✚ surly
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✚ relentless
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NEGATIVE TRAITS[break]
✚ bossy
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✚ jealous
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✚ possessive
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✚ surly
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✚ relentless
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[attr="class","ur_appsubtitle"]HELENA'S STARTING DREAM WORLD
[attr="class","ur_appcont"]
GENERAL DESCRIPTION[break]
she calls it glyndŵr, welsh; after the welsh ruler, owain glyndŵr. he lead a long-lasting revolt against the english, and helena thinks - even if it was unsuccessful - it was sick nasty.
[break][break]
glyndŵr is made up of crumbling buildings, cracked sidewalks, and semi-deserted streets. fire shoots up in columns at different angles, lava seeps onto shoes through cracks in the ground, and sometimes - if you're particularly unlucky - the ground gives way from under you and you fall into the pit of lava that rests below the surface. the denizens of glyndŵr are people helena has met during her lifetime, scorched, burned and scarred in gruesome ways that don't bother them or helena in the slightest. helena compares her world akin to a cross between what she thinks hell looks like and a zombie apocalypse - without scary zombies.
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APPEARANCE[break]
glyndŵr is dark, hot, dusty and nothing but a city surrounded by columns of fire that no one has ever tried to leave through. the sun sits as a perpetual sunset painting the sky in warm colours, but the city and its streets always dark as night, lit up only by street lamps and trash cans with everlasting flames inside. the scorch marks on the buildings glow faintly red, like the dying embers of a flame. crumbling parts of buildings can sometimes be found in front of crumbling doorways and entrances that lead to denizen built homes, stores and resting areas or in the middle of streets or crushing abandoned cars that are dusty and dirty, but still work perfectly. glyndŵr never looks the same twice though, everything moves and changes like it's all alive.
[break][break]
POINTS OF ENTRY[break]
the entrance to glyndŵr is a hole in the ground. surrounding the entrance are small, inch wide flames, floating mid-air. all you do is jump right in. you drop into glyndŵr, ass-first onto cracked pavement. sometimes, if your unlucky, the pavement below you gives out and you fall into the lava below. it's happen to helena a few times.
[break][break]
OTHER DETAILS[break]
pain can't be felt in glyndŵr (somatic, visceral, neuropathic) and that's the reason no one flinches when lava seeps onto their feet or when their fingers brush with a column of flames.
[break][break]
glyndŵr is alive - sort of. it's always changing, but there's a pattern at which it changes. the pattern is unnecessarily complicated and stupidly obscure, but somehow, helena knows it, and therefore knows how to keep herself safe.
[break][break]
in the centre of the town, there's a clock town. big, old, scorched to hell, glowing like a beacon, but somehow, still standing. the clock tells the time in glyndŵr, but time in glyndŵr isn't the same as time in the real world.
[break][break]
GENERAL DESCRIPTION[break]
she calls it glyndŵr, welsh; after the welsh ruler, owain glyndŵr. he lead a long-lasting revolt against the english, and helena thinks - even if it was unsuccessful - it was sick nasty.
[break][break]
glyndŵr is made up of crumbling buildings, cracked sidewalks, and semi-deserted streets. fire shoots up in columns at different angles, lava seeps onto shoes through cracks in the ground, and sometimes - if you're particularly unlucky - the ground gives way from under you and you fall into the pit of lava that rests below the surface. the denizens of glyndŵr are people helena has met during her lifetime, scorched, burned and scarred in gruesome ways that don't bother them or helena in the slightest. helena compares her world akin to a cross between what she thinks hell looks like and a zombie apocalypse - without scary zombies.
[break][break]
APPEARANCE[break]
glyndŵr is dark, hot, dusty and nothing but a city surrounded by columns of fire that no one has ever tried to leave through. the sun sits as a perpetual sunset painting the sky in warm colours, but the city and its streets always dark as night, lit up only by street lamps and trash cans with everlasting flames inside. the scorch marks on the buildings glow faintly red, like the dying embers of a flame. crumbling parts of buildings can sometimes be found in front of crumbling doorways and entrances that lead to denizen built homes, stores and resting areas or in the middle of streets or crushing abandoned cars that are dusty and dirty, but still work perfectly. glyndŵr never looks the same twice though, everything moves and changes like it's all alive.
[break][break]
POINTS OF ENTRY[break]
the entrance to glyndŵr is a hole in the ground. surrounding the entrance are small, inch wide flames, floating mid-air. all you do is jump right in. you drop into glyndŵr, ass-first onto cracked pavement. sometimes, if your unlucky, the pavement below you gives out and you fall into the lava below. it's happen to helena a few times.
[break][break]
OTHER DETAILS[break]
pain can't be felt in glyndŵr (somatic, visceral, neuropathic) and that's the reason no one flinches when lava seeps onto their feet or when their fingers brush with a column of flames.
[break][break]
glyndŵr is alive - sort of. it's always changing, but there's a pattern at which it changes. the pattern is unnecessarily complicated and stupidly obscure, but somehow, helena knows it, and therefore knows how to keep herself safe.
[break][break]
in the centre of the town, there's a clock town. big, old, scorched to hell, glowing like a beacon, but somehow, still standing. the clock tells the time in glyndŵr, but time in glyndŵr isn't the same as time in the real world.
[break][break]
[attr="class","ur_appsubtitle"]CHARACTER HISTORY (OPTIONAL)
[attr="class","ur_appcont"]
she remembers hot flames licking up her arms and legs and pain, lots of pain. she remembers yelling, lots of yelling. she remembers strong arms pulling her out and her younger brother in her arms. she remembers crying about her parents, she remembers her grandmother's arms and the stinging pain of her burns. she remembers that these scars are the scars of a victim.
her grandmother lives a long car ride away in a big house with a big field. helena and her brother get lost so many times they make a game out of it: "first one to get home, wins." the prize is telling grandmother the other is lost and gloating about it for a couple of hours before dinner. one day, they can't find her brother and helena locks herself in the bathroom and cries until the police bring him to the doorstep. then she cries on his shoulder.
every friday after school for six months after the fire, helena is required to see a therapist. [break][break]
"just in case," her grandmother tells her. [break][break]
she answers question vaguely, tip-toes around anything serious topics and generally avoids anything relating to the fire. then one day, her therapist asks her about the fire directly, no bullshit, and something in her breaks and it all comes flowing out at the same time. she cries harder than she's ever cried before and she doesn't sleep for weeks after it. all she sees when she closes her eyes are fires and scorched buildings and burned faces, she becomes scared to dream.
her brother is soft in his touches, and careful in his actions. he's her safety blanket because he was too young to remember the fire (and their parents, and how much helena screamed and cried and hurt) and too protected to have any lasting scars from it (not like her, sometimes she traces them at night so she doesn't fall asleep). he reminders her that it wasn't her fault in soft, careful words, it was never her fault, it was no one's fault, it was an accident and he hugs her softly, lets her cry on his shoulder and she wonders, for a very long moment: [break][break]
"when did he grow up?"
now she stands strong in the face of her dreamworld, no longer scared of the faces she sees or the fire she experiences. she feels better, but not the best. sometimes - a big sometimes - she sees the faces of her parents, scorched and scarred and she can't sleep for days, but she comes back around, eventually. when she's built herself back up with careful pieces and steady hands, when she's talked to someone about the fears that roll around in her head, when she accepts, once again, that she - in all her glory, with all her scars and imperfections - is a survivor, not a victim.
she remembers hot flames licking up her arms and legs and pain, lots of pain. she remembers yelling, lots of yelling. she remembers strong arms pulling her out and her younger brother in her arms. she remembers crying about her parents, she remembers her grandmother's arms and the stinging pain of her burns. she remembers that these scars are the scars of a victim.
-
her grandmother lives a long car ride away in a big house with a big field. helena and her brother get lost so many times they make a game out of it: "first one to get home, wins." the prize is telling grandmother the other is lost and gloating about it for a couple of hours before dinner. one day, they can't find her brother and helena locks herself in the bathroom and cries until the police bring him to the doorstep. then she cries on his shoulder.
-
every friday after school for six months after the fire, helena is required to see a therapist. [break][break]
"just in case," her grandmother tells her. [break][break]
she answers question vaguely, tip-toes around anything serious topics and generally avoids anything relating to the fire. then one day, her therapist asks her about the fire directly, no bullshit, and something in her breaks and it all comes flowing out at the same time. she cries harder than she's ever cried before and she doesn't sleep for weeks after it. all she sees when she closes her eyes are fires and scorched buildings and burned faces, she becomes scared to dream.
-
her brother is soft in his touches, and careful in his actions. he's her safety blanket because he was too young to remember the fire (and their parents, and how much helena screamed and cried and hurt) and too protected to have any lasting scars from it (not like her, sometimes she traces them at night so she doesn't fall asleep). he reminders her that it wasn't her fault in soft, careful words, it was never her fault, it was no one's fault, it was an accident and he hugs her softly, lets her cry on his shoulder and she wonders, for a very long moment: [break][break]
"when did he grow up?"
-
now she stands strong in the face of her dreamworld, no longer scared of the faces she sees or the fire she experiences. she feels better, but not the best. sometimes - a big sometimes - she sees the faces of her parents, scorched and scarred and she can't sleep for days, but she comes back around, eventually. when she's built herself back up with careful pieces and steady hands, when she's talked to someone about the fears that roll around in her head, when she accepts, once again, that she - in all her glory, with all her scars and imperfections - is a survivor, not a victim.
