AURORA DEMPSEY, D1 :: FIN

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AURORA DEMPSEY, D1 :: FIN Sept 16, 2012 16:42:11 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Sept 16, 2012 16:42:11 GMT -5

Name: AURORA EVELYN DEMPSEY
Age: SIXTEEN
Gender: Female
District/Area: District 1
Appearance:

Personality:

AURORA SMASH. DON'T MAKE HER ANGRY. YOU WON'T LIKE HER WHEN SHE'S ANGRY. BUT SHE'S PRETTY CHILL WHEN SHE'S CALM. SWEET. QUIET. UNASSUMING. ~~UNDIAGNOSED EXPLOSIVE PERSONALITY DISORDER.~~ FRIENDLY. COVERS HER GOD COMPLEX UP BETTER THAN KAE OR KIERA BUT STILL HAS ONE. THINKS OF HERSELF AS LESS OF A GODDESS AND MORE OF AN AVENGING ANGEL. HATES HATES HATES MEN. UNEASY AROUND ANY MALE WHO ISN'T A FAMILY MEMBER. AVERSION TO BEING TOUCHED. TICKING TIME BOMB WITH A HAIR-TRIGGER. KEEPS HERSELF IN A ZEN STATE. MEDITATION. YOGA. ALSO IS A FIGURE SKATER. YUP.

History:

BLAH BLAH SEE DEMPSEY PLOT FOR FULL STORY BLAH BLAH. HUGE FAMILY, PACIFIST PARENTS THAT BREED LIKE BUNNIES, LOTS OF SISTERS. SECOND-YOUNGEST. IDOLIZED KIERA'S SPUNKY SPITFIRE ATTITUDE AND FOLLOWED HER AROUND, WHICH LED TO HER BEING SECRETLY CAREER TRAINED BY KAELEN STARTING AT AGE 12. DIDN'T HAVE THE BLIND AFFECTION FOR KAE THAT KIERA DID, BUT SAW HIM AS A SOURCE OF WISDOM, VALUED HIS OPINION. BLAH BLAH BLAH, THINGS HAPPEN, AGE 15 SHE'S WALKING HOME FROM KAE'S HOUSE AT NIGHT AND GETS RAPED IN A BACK ALLEY. NEXT DAY SHE GOES AND HUNTS THE BASTARD DOWN AND SMASHES HIS BRAINS ALL OVER A BRICK WALL. FIGURES HEY, I CAN GET RID OF ALL SORTS OF SCUMBAGS LIKE THIS, PROMPTLY STARTS INTO A STRING OF HULKSMASH ALLEYWAY MURDERS.

Codeword: RAWWWWWR
Comments/Other:

TO DIE FOR - TONIGHT ALIVE

Last Edit: Oct 23, 2012 22:41:43 GMT -5 by Deleted

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AURORA DEMPSEY, D1 :: FIN Sept 16, 2012 18:07:06 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Sept 16, 2012 18:07:06 GMT -5

A U R O R A D E M P S E Y

( a g e )
sixteen

( l o c a t i o n )
district one

( g e n d e r )
female

( s e x u a l i t y )
homosexual

( o c c u p a t i o n )
punisher of sins, avenging angel, etc.

( s t o r y )

Kae told me once that I was like a summer storm, all blue skies and gentle breezes one moment and then thunder and heaven's fire the next. I never quite took his word as gospel in the way that some of my sisters did, but I was still inclined to believe him when he said it. When your last name is Dempsey, you're bound to be one kind of storm or another. If I was a summer cloudburst then he was a blizzard, unrelenting ice and blustering wind that could make even the strongest of minds - Kiera was a downpour, the kind of rain that sings as it falls and makes you stop to listen - bend to his will. He taught us more than perhaps we had wanted to know, silken words and steadfast ideals opening our eyes to a whole world of bad that we'd always tried to ignore. Kiera listened, hung on every word like it was the mandate of some long-forgotten god, but it took me a little longer to become a supplicant of my cousin's self-crafted faith. I still did, though. I've paid my penance in an outpouring of blood that wasn't my own, and there's no going back on that kind of vow.

I wasn't born to be a storm. I was never Daddy's Little Angel the way Moira was or Mama's Baby like Blair, but I was more than content to fade into the background. It felt like home there, the security of anonymity that comes with being not quite the oldest and not quite the youngest. I was easy enough to overlook when I was a child, the same brown hair, tawny eyes and delicate features as all five of my sisters. But where Cora was classically gorgeous and Siberia was the kind of fierce beautiful that made people hold their breath when they walked by, I was mousy. Quiet. Shy. Clinging to invisibility as tightly as I could because it was a security blanket. But as I grew, people started to see me, and I hated it. Whatever gene it was that made Kaelen so tall apparently skipped over all my sisters except for me, leaving me standing at an unholy five-feet, eleven inches of height that made it nearly impossible to hide from the eyes of the masses. Even now my thirst for anonymity is inherent in the way I walk, shoulders curled inward, eyes on the ground, trying to hide the grace that's become a part of me after years of practice.

I didn't want to be a Career, not at first. But in the end maybe I had listened too much to my father's mantras that An ounce of preparation is worth a pound of struggle, Aurora, always act before you need to, and maybe that's what opened my ears to Kiera's reasoning, even if her words were clouded by a fervent worship of Kaelen that I never quite came to share. We were on the younger end of a family with too many children and not enough money, the older ones, Moira and Cora, staring down the day when they'd step out from under the Reaping's yoke of oppression, leaving Kiera, Siberia, Blair and I to pick up their dropped tesserae and up our chances at getting a one-way ticket to hell with every passing year. An ounce of preparation is worth a pound of struggle, and in our cases it could be worth our lives.

Kaelen had always liked Kiera best. I always thought that's why he was so willing to take the knowledge he carried out of the training center and drill it into our malleable little heads along with a heavy dose of pontification about the world and its downfalls. It wasn't that he didn't like me - I was always too quiet and unassuming for anyone to have a problem with me - but my older sister's search for enlightenment and maybe even a little bloodshed here and there proved a far better prayer for his salvation than any stuttered words of mine ever could. Siberia never joined us. I was always struck by how she and Kiera could be twins and yet so different; she and Blair were the only ones who never came to live under Kae's shadow, and up until the earthquake stole her voice she had always preached at the two of us that one day our devotion to him would get us into trouble. And she was right. She was so, so right.

My cousin's tutelage unlocked parts of me that can never be pushed back, locked away like they should be. I started as a wide-eyed eleven year old gazing in utter terror at the blades and arrows and talk of death that he sat in front of me. At first, I flinched away from the sting of the dulled blade, balked at the idea of hitting him or Kiera even for practice while my sister dove into the mentality he presented her with everything she had in her, turning into a hurricane of divine power I could never hope to catch up to. I was always the disappointment. Kiera knew it, Kae knew it, and I certainly knew it. But that didn't stop him from trying to mold me to his image, and one cataclysmic day, he finally did.

You have to get mad, Aurora, he hissed, a strength no one would ever expect from someone as gangly as him pressing me to the ground until I couldn't breathe and the world spun. Right now? You're weak. You're pathetic. You're dead. Get mad at me. Show me otherwise.

So I got mad. After that day, I never stopped being mad. Not really.

My vision swam into a haze of red, and I lost myself. That's the only way you can describe a rage that deep; it consumes you until you actually become your anger, wraps itself around your limbs and bends you until you break, until everything around you shatters in the wake of a power a fragile, willowy hundred and twenty pound body can't hold. When the universe came back into focus, Kiera was looking at me like she'd never seen me before in her life, and Kaelen was on the ground nursing the waterfall of blood streaming from a clearly broken nose. His teeth were bright-red as he smiled at me. Good. That's what I'm talking about.

It scared me. I hated it. I wanted all that crimson malice sitting under mys skin to just go away, but it never did. Its presence always nagged at me, ebbing and flowing like the tide, and the utter lack of control I had was terrifying. I'd almost demolished my cousin's face without a second thought. What would happen if I got mad at my parents? At one of my sisters? Ripred forbid, what fresh hell would descend if I got angry with someone I didn't like? So I learned to control it, at least in some form. I remembered my mother saying once in her own airy brand of wisdom that yoga soothes the soul and calms the frantic mind, and so by age twelve I was up before the sun every morning,contorting myself into impossible shapes on the living room rug until the storm in my veins began to calm. Still, it wasn't quite enough.

When I was little, I'd always wanted to be a dancer. There was something in the silent grace of lyrical movement that called to me, but every studio my mother took me to when I asked turned us out - we didn't have enough money, I was already too tall to be any sort of success as a ballerina, or maybe they just saw the fragile sheen of my control wearing thin and didn't want to be around when it broke.

Kaelen got me a secondhand pair of ice skates for Ratmas that year, the leather a little worn and the blades a little dull but still perfectly functional. After hours of begging I finally convinced my father to take me out to the little frozen creek behind our house, to hold my hand from the shore as I slipped and wobbled and eventually got the hang of it, gliding back and forth across the shimmering surface with a grin so wide my cheeks ached. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, that pressing tension of unborn rage beneath my skin vanished entirely. The denial of all those ballet teachers with their noses a mile in the air meant less than nothing now. Maybe I couldn't dance, but I could fly. It didn't take much convincing to work out a simple deal with my mother - I'd help out a few times a week after school in the little costume shop she ran, and in exchange she would give me the money for figure skating lessons and allow me unlimited access to the shelves upon shelves of beautiful creations sewed by her careful hands when it came time for competitions or recitals. Between my determination to learn control and the prospect of a whole arena of ice waiting to cool the fires of my rage should I ever need it, everything fell into tremulous peace for a few years.

When I was fifteen, it all came crashing down around my feet.

I had been at the rink late, staying until the lights overhead flickered off and the cleaning crew told me I had to clear out. It was winter and the days were short, giving way to snow in my hair and pitch darkness as I walked out the doors and started home, ducking through the back streets and dark alleys that led to the more worn-down side of the district. I never even saw him coming. Suddenly my back was slammed into a wall and there was pain terror choking tears hands everywhere. I tried to slip out of the hold but shock had made me weak, leaving the dense compactness of my lean musculature all but useless. Sobbing and gasping for breath, I told myself to just shut down, to resign myself to being found dead the next morning there in that grimy alley because it would all be easier that way. But when I shut down, the rage took over. I honestly don't remember much about what happened, lots of screaming and a brief flash of pain and then red, red everywhere, but when I finally came back to myself I was staring down at a mangled body, heaving for breath and clutching one of my skates with a white-knuckled grip. The skate, me, and everything else in a ten-foot radius was completely covered in blood.

I never told anybody. I sprinted the rest of the way home sobbing until the tears froze on my face in the impending snowstorm, washed off the skates and myself with the garden hose in my back yard knowing but not caring that it would lead to a bout of pneumonia that nearly killed me two weeks later. I never told anybody, but they knew. I could see it in the concern on my mother's face when she saw the blankness behind my eyes, in the voiceless worry my father showed when he reached out to give me a hug one day and I cringed away as though he'd moved to strike me. I didn't want to be touched. Not by anyone. Even the well-meaning hands of my sisters were batted away with wide-eyed looks of terror and flashbacks that skated across my vision without warning, making that vermillion hatred flare up in my veins again and threaten to destroy anything in its path. I stopped going to training, but that didn't matter anyway because a month after it happened, my cousin vanished off the face of the earth, leaving a mile-long trail of murders and lies in his wake.

My family was devastated, but I couldn't bring myself to feel anything but rage, rage at everything. Rage at Cora for sobbing so loud at night that I couldn't be left to my nightmares in peace, Rage at my father for immediately trying to pretend that Kaelen had never existed, but most of all rage at Kaelen for turning me into this in the first place, this volatile, ticking time-bomb with a hair trigger. It was only a matter of time before I snapped again, and when I did I didn't want that sort of fallout to come crashing down on my family's head. In the dead of night I shimmied out of my window, the stolen key to the costume shop tucked carefully into my pocket. Once inside, I traded my worn out jeans and tee shirt for a leather minidress that fit like a second skin, swapped out sneakers that had belonged to three sisters before me for wickedly tall stilettos that made me sway when I tried to walk. My cousin had hunted in nightclubs and bars, in dens of iniquity and the breeding grounds of evil, and there were far too many of them still churning out scumbags for me to be satisfied.

I perched precariously on a barstool and tried not to scream because even the air in the place made me feel filthy, cigarette smoke and sweat from the dance floor clogging my lungs and setting the deepest fibers of my instinct shrieking at me to get the hell out. But I stayed. I stayed until some scuzzy-looking guy in his thirties came over and sat next to me, told me I was beautiful and offered to buy me a drink. My skin crawled but I smiled anyway, still all quiet and mousy and textbook Aurora as I thanked him in my normal soft soprano and pretended not to see the pill fizzing away at the bottom of the glass, being careful to keep my lips pressed tightly together as I pretended to sip. He was either already drunk, desperate, or both, because it didn't take more than a word from me before we were out in yet another grimy alley, a terrifying repeat of lips and hands straying past the boundaries of my sanity as my anger, an old friend by now, seeped into my bones and took over my puppet limbs.

He was reaching up my skirt the exact second I smashed his head into the wall.

While the first time had terrified me, there was a perverse sort of release in this, in knowing that there was one less creep lurking in the streets I walked on my way back to the shop, where I washed the blood from my borrowed dress in the bathroom sink before hanging it carefully back on the shelf, shimmying back into my jeans and walking home in a blissful calm. It was the first time in months I slept peacefully.

I wasn't really aware of the drive that slowly came to possess me, but the next week, I did it again. And again two weeks later. And again the week after that. Kaelen was gone and the District no longer had anyone to get rid of the filth that seeped up from the very bottom of the gutters, and while the vast majority of me hated him for turning me into yet another machine crafted for his brand of destruction, another part of me was grateful. The papers said he thought himself a god, and maybe when it boils down to it I'm not that arrogant. I'm more than content to be an avenging angel, the silent guardian of those who go through life never knowing just how afraid they should be of the monsters that lurk in the dark.

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Last Edit: Feb 9, 2014 17:02:43 GMT -5 by Deleted

Deleted 0 POSTS last seen Oct 10, 2024 5:26:10 GMT -5	AURORA DEMPSEY, D1 :: FIN Oct 23, 2012 22:42:34 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Deleted on Oct 23, 2012 22:42:34 GMT -5 Thank you Zoe for getting me hooked on mashup bios NOT. Urgh. Bbygurl is done. [/blockquote][/justify]

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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

AURORA DEMPSEY, D1 :: FIN Oct 23, 2012 22:49:50 GMT -5

Post by gamemaker kelsier on Oct 23, 2012 22:49:50 GMT -5

YES.
YEEES.
DSHE IS THE PERFECT MESH OF SOFTNESS AND ANGER. SHE IS A COKMING STORM AND I LOVE HER HHH SOUTH SOTUH SOUTH YOU WITH YOUR COMPLIMENTS FOR EVERYONE ELSE BUT NEVER FOR YOURSELF YOU DON'T SEE HOW GORGEOUS AND INTRICATE YOUR WRITING CAN BE. PURPLE USED TO BE A VERY ESPENSIVE COLOUR BECAUSE TO MAKE EVEN ONE SCARF THEY HAD TO MILK A HUNDRED THOUSAND MOLLUSKS? IDEK. I DON'T KNOW.

IF THIS WAS THE MIDDLE AGES AURORA WOULD BE A MOLLUSK PURPLE SCARF AND WORTH EVERY SINGLE PENNY.