Victoria Flair ~ D2 ~ DONE

Victoria Flair ~ D2 ~ DONE Jul 31, 2014 14:16:22 GMT -5

Post by ᴅɪᴀ. on Jul 31, 2014 14:16:22 GMT -5

[presto]

Vɪᴄᴛᴏʀɪᴀ ♛ Fʟᴀɪʀ

female-fifteen-D2-odair

Appearance:

Hidden under those lovely red locks is a heart-shaped face, pale and dotted lightly with freckles. Her eyes are a dark shade of brown with thick, black eye liner rimmed around them. A small, slightly crooked nose takes residence above her too-small lips; high, protruding cheekbones giving her otherwise soft facial features an edge.

At 5'2, Victoria has a weight of 112 pounds. Her body is lithe, graceful, and with gentle curves all in the right places. Her fingers are bony with fingernails that are almost always painted a fiery red. She is said to have an uncanny resemblance to her step-mother, which pisses her off more than just a little.

Personality:

Soft and gentle on the outside, a sarcastic and somewhat misanthropic little bitch on the inside. Due to her past, Victoria has a rather cynical view on relationships. She views everyone in love as 'idiots-who-need-to-be-realistic'. According to her, every feeling, every emotion is conditional; there is no such thing as 'soul-mates' or 'true love'. Rather, it's all just a human misconception that her guarded mind is immune to.

Victoria hides many facets of her personality with a veneer of sarcasm and flippant comments; it's her way of numbing the residing pain that began during her childhood years. Any guilt that fills her later is blocked effectively with an ignorant attitude and drug-induced sleep.

Her ego reaches for the sky, and she'll be damned if she lets anyone belittle her. Leaving her speechless is a feat almost impossible to accomplish, but anyone who manages to do it won't have any trouble forming a chink in her rock-hard armour of indifference.

History:

{3}

You're a toddler, waddling on chubby legs with arms stretched out in front of you. You let out a shriek of delight as your father encompasses you in his protective arms. They're strong and you're absolutely positive no one can ever harm while you're here. {In the corner of your eye, you see your mother shake her head and smile}. Giggles follow after every raspberry he blows; on your cheek, forehead, the tip of your nose. "What about me?" Still grinning, you turn to your mother, who's looking at your father in mock envy. He grins and places a huge kiss right on her lips. A beautiful smile breaks out on your mother's face and you clap your hands in delight. "No, we haven't forgotten about you, dearest." She says lovingly as her soft lips touch your cheek. They've got you all wrapped up in a blanket of their love.

And you've never been happier.

{8}

You try to block out all the yelling and screaming from the next room. It hurts you so much to see them fight like this. Why? because they shouldn't. People in love aren't supposed to fight; they're supposed to whisper words of affection and drop by kisses whenever they can. At least that's what those story-books overflowing from your bedroom shelf tell you. The shouting gets louder and louder and you shove the sides of your pillow up against your ears in an attempt to drown out the noises. But it doesn't help one bit. You want to run, cry, scream. You want to let them know how much their fighting affects you. Maybe if you look broken enough, they'll stop hating each-other and everything will be back to normal again.

The sound of a china dish breaking echoes through the room.

You wonder if it's your heart.

{10}

"No, no, no, no!" You're crying, pleading as your mother yanks at your arm, practically dragging you to the door. Curse after curse falls from her lips as the luggage carrier bumps at the walls. Your father is following close behind, shouting something about 'custody' and 'rights'. The whole scenario is terrifying; they've been fighting for several years, it's nothing new, but never did mother once intent on leaving. Upon reaching the door, she turns to face your father. Their eyes lock for just a mili-second, and you seize the opportunity to search for any signs of love and understanding in them. {There are none.}

"I want a divorce."

The hatred in her voice, though, is unpalatable.

{15}

There's no such thing as 'unconditional'; you've learned to accept that. Every relationship- may it be mother/son, brother/sister, husband/wife- is based on 'if''s and 'then's. They're like dominoes, really. One thing goes wrong, and boom; your whole world collapses.

Your mother and father have found new people in their lives; people who make them happy.And you? you tend to hide away in the shadows, silently cursing them for ruining your life as you launch daggers into dummies at the career training centre. It's funny how your mother doesn't care much about you, anymore. Father pretends to, but you can still see the translucency in his made-up love. In short words, the only reason they gave a fuck about you in the first place was because of each-other. That's over now, you tell yourself. There's no reason to hold onto hope when all it's become is ashes of the past.
Tiny rivulets of rain begin to fall, peppering your face with kisses that come from better times.

[/presto]