Post by áine on Nov 11, 2014 16:15:33 GMT
Opening file...
▶ BASIC INFORMATION.
the positives: caring, well-meaning, strong-willed, loyal, empathic
the negatives: difficult to understand, skittish, paranoid, socially inept, obsessive, flighty
other: child-like / enjoys the simple things in life, the proper things
Áine has her own moral code and set of ideals, her own view of how the world was meant to work and she adheres to it tirelessly, even when its slotted to cost her everything. unfortunately, the way her mind works is a mystery to most, and few are willing to take the time to learn the truth behind the story of the little mad girl and the world's colors.
▶ mimette marie petro, kopec. áine.
▶ NAME:
mimette marie petro
▶ AGE:
twenty-one
▶ GENDER:
female
▶ HOMETOWN:
KALOS, shalour city
▶ AFFILIATION:
kopec
▶ JOB/OCCUPATION:
recently freed from a mental hospital that housed political prisoners shut away by high ranking zemina officials, Áine holds no job and has no proper place of her own
▶ IN-DEPTH INFORMATION.
▶ PERSONALITY:
the positives: caring, well-meaning, strong-willed, loyal, empathic
the negatives: difficult to understand, skittish, paranoid, socially inept, obsessive, flighty
other: child-like / enjoys the simple things in life, the proper things
Áine has her own moral code and set of ideals, her own view of how the world was meant to work and she adheres to it tirelessly, even when its slotted to cost her everything. unfortunately, the way her mind works is a mystery to most, and few are willing to take the time to learn the truth behind the story of the little mad girl and the world's colors.
▶ HISTORY:
Each color holds a secret. Áine knows them all, though some are harder to recall than others. Take white, for example.
White is the color of beginning, though really it's more clear and light than white, the color of birth, of a little girl coming into the world, and parents' joy. Very few things are true white, all bright and clearish and air light joy. It's too hard to hold onto to last long. She knows this. Though she's never experienced true white in her heart before, she knows this.
Red is the color of complication, of ending, of a woman on bed and all of the over priced machines and scrambling people in untrue white coats that cannot save her. The woman on the bed holds many titles in this world until she leaves it - friend, lover, mother. After it, she gains one more - memory. Her child's name is Mimette, a new child with a heavy name.
The child's name is Mimette, but not forever. A child born into and of true white, a child who can see the colors and the little wrongnesses and rights of the world cannot be called Mimette forever. Mimette is not a name that you keep. Mimette is a name that weighs you down. Her father taught her this many years later, when she began to tell him of the rights and wrongs of the world and the color of peace - it is one of the many secrets that they share, a weight on both their hearts. There are other secrets too. Mimette knows them all, know their colors and the way they prickle against the mind and the skin, all raw and wrongness.
Green is the color of her father's best kept secrets, the color of millions and a daughter locked away and maddened when she spoke of the right colors while he spoke them all wrong.
Green is the color she counts in the dark, in her mind's eye, in her heart of hearts. Green is the color of obsession and folly, of white walls and bitter medicines. Green is the color of loss and the most grievous of mistakes. No, not mistakes, mistakes lack purpose. Green is a color of purpose. Áine hates the color green, but not the green of the grass, natural and whimsical and right. That green she envies. It is the green that should be rather than the green that is.
Áine has a true name, no not a true name, Áine is her true name, but she has a secret name, a name given to her much earlier than Áine. Mimette, a heavy name. Áine is a better name, a light name. Like Eamon, the name of her name giver, of the man who shared the space across the table from her and brought her stories and songs made of all the good and right and proper colors. They said he was a refugee, political stuff, that he didn't belong like she didn't belong. Only she did belong in that place, in that safe space, away from the all the wrongness outside. Eamon was born from and for the outside, she could sense it, the way she could sense the heaviness in her secret name, Áine was not. She went anyway. When the facility was breached, when the right people came pouring into the wrong place at the wrong time, and Eamon laughed, and took her hand, and promised her all the right colors and new stories and a life. She didn't understand, but there was rightness in his hand, and hers fit into it like an old book into its proper place on a shelf, and she went. She shouldn't have. She should have known better.
On the outside, Eamon called her Áine still, but his friends called her Mimette. A heavy name, a wrong name. At first she shrunk from it, and then she ran. Now she is in need of her proper place, but a proper place on the outside is something that she fears may not exist and they are coming for her.
The outside world is all wrongness - rage, and anger, and sorrow, and green. She can feel the skin crawl of her father's mark upon it, see his name in papers, his work on the streets in stomping boots and raised weapons, raised voices, raised flags. Áine hates the color green.
White is the color of beginning, though really it's more clear and light than white, the color of birth, of a little girl coming into the world, and parents' joy. Very few things are true white, all bright and clearish and air light joy. It's too hard to hold onto to last long. She knows this. Though she's never experienced true white in her heart before, she knows this.
Red is the color of complication, of ending, of a woman on bed and all of the over priced machines and scrambling people in untrue white coats that cannot save her. The woman on the bed holds many titles in this world until she leaves it - friend, lover, mother. After it, she gains one more - memory. Her child's name is Mimette, a new child with a heavy name.
The child's name is Mimette, but not forever. A child born into and of true white, a child who can see the colors and the little wrongnesses and rights of the world cannot be called Mimette forever. Mimette is not a name that you keep. Mimette is a name that weighs you down. Her father taught her this many years later, when she began to tell him of the rights and wrongs of the world and the color of peace - it is one of the many secrets that they share, a weight on both their hearts. There are other secrets too. Mimette knows them all, know their colors and the way they prickle against the mind and the skin, all raw and wrongness.
Green is the color of her father's best kept secrets, the color of millions and a daughter locked away and maddened when she spoke of the right colors while he spoke them all wrong.
Green is the color she counts in the dark, in her mind's eye, in her heart of hearts. Green is the color of obsession and folly, of white walls and bitter medicines. Green is the color of loss and the most grievous of mistakes. No, not mistakes, mistakes lack purpose. Green is a color of purpose. Áine hates the color green, but not the green of the grass, natural and whimsical and right. That green she envies. It is the green that should be rather than the green that is.
Áine has a true name, no not a true name, Áine is her true name, but she has a secret name, a name given to her much earlier than Áine. Mimette, a heavy name. Áine is a better name, a light name. Like Eamon, the name of her name giver, of the man who shared the space across the table from her and brought her stories and songs made of all the good and right and proper colors. They said he was a refugee, political stuff, that he didn't belong like she didn't belong. Only she did belong in that place, in that safe space, away from the all the wrongness outside. Eamon was born from and for the outside, she could sense it, the way she could sense the heaviness in her secret name, Áine was not. She went anyway. When the facility was breached, when the right people came pouring into the wrong place at the wrong time, and Eamon laughed, and took her hand, and promised her all the right colors and new stories and a life. She didn't understand, but there was rightness in his hand, and hers fit into it like an old book into its proper place on a shelf, and she went. She shouldn't have. She should have known better.
On the outside, Eamon called her Áine still, but his friends called her Mimette. A heavy name, a wrong name. At first she shrunk from it, and then she ran. Now she is in need of her proper place, but a proper place on the outside is something that she fears may not exist and they are coming for her.
The outside world is all wrongness - rage, and anger, and sorrow, and green. She can feel the skin crawl of her father's mark upon it, see his name in papers, his work on the streets in stomping boots and raised weapons, raised voices, raised flags. Áine hates the color green.
▶ KNOWN POKEMON:
 flit. ♂. gale wings.
|  morse. ♂. super luck.
|
 rowan. ♀. flame body.
| |
▶ WRITER INFORMATION.
▶ PLAYER:
dusty
▶ EXPERIENCE:
FOREVAR!
▶ CHARACTERS:
lyra
▶ FACE CLAIM:
IA from VOCALOID
NETTE OF IS
