I want to do a soap
- Locked due to inactivity on Sep 1, '16 3:54am
Thread Topic: I want to do a soap
-
Na bro, holy s---, that's perf
Gimme a bit to make mine, it might be a bit. -
(probably gonna steal a bit from your charrie sheet actually)
Name: Etheldreda Ashnae Lowthwaite
Alias: Genovia Wolkov
Age: 18
Nationality: Scottish/Russian
Family:
Rebecca Lowthwaite (Mother: Alive)
Viktor Lowthwaite (Father: Deceased)
Pietro Lowthwaite (Brother: Deceased)
Lives: Russia
Looks: Because of her mother being a redhead from Scotland, Etheldreda inherited those genes from her mother, giving her a full head of red hair and pale skin. Her hair is cut rather short, though, once she was forced into the Russian army, ending thinly a few inches under her jaw. It's cut rather messily, as they didn't really do a good job cutting her hair, but this gives it a nice messy look. Etheldreda inherited her cold blue eyes from her Russian father, gaining eyes that were bright blue, that they almost looked white. Her face shape is pretty round, thanks to her mother being Scottish, yet at the same time she has a decent jawline because of her father. Though both her mother and father are built rather strongly, Etheldreda is built rather fragile. She survived long enough to make it through the harsh training that the Russian's put her through, but even then she just hardly did. Etheldreda's strength is more in her legs than her arms, and she's quite the runner. She has decent curves, but nothing too outstanding. All throughout her body are various types of scars, most small though. She was a rough child when she was younger, and was constantly getting hurt.
Personality: Despite everything she had gone through when Russia turned bats--- crazy, Etheldreda is a rather smiley and optimistic person on the outside. After her brother and father were killed, her mother got severely sick. Her mother stated that seeing Etheldreda smile was one of the things that got her through the day, so Etheldreda always smiled, and tried to pretend like the bad things weren't there. When it came down to it, though, Etheldreda is rather coldblooded, harsh, and gets the job done. In battle, she can easily kill without feelings of remorse or regret if it's people she hates; she has a hard time hurting younger children, though. She can turn blunt, cold, and uncaring, but she tries to hold a happy image for the people she cares about because she's afraid that they'll see her as a monster if she's in her stoic image. It's almost like a double personality, but not nearly as bad.
sorry if this seems half assed work was long and i have a headache; writing should be better.
and speaking of thAT NOT IT -
What time is it? What time is it? This was a trivial question for Alice as people scrambled around her in screams and fear. Frozen, Alice couldn't move. If she could, she would be running for the hills. But all she could do was stand there, pale and frightened at the army approaching. The village next to their own- burned to ashes. She had watched the houses burn from her own cold, frosty window of her bedroom. "I have to hide." She thought. Any rational person would run or hide. But no. Alice couldn't. She stood by her window. Gazing out to the Russian soldiers which were no doubt about to take their village. "How much time?" Alice asked, without turning. A voice, a quiet voice, a gentle voice which shook in fear responded from the door. "Only a few minutes. We must hide in the basement. Please, Alice. Pack your things. And get away from the window. Our power will go off soon.." The lights turned black. Her mother shrieked. Like a ghost, Alice moved right past her and creeped down the stairs to the basement, where she would hide with her fourteen year old sister under the floorboards. Alice twisted her two braids into a bun at the top of her head before getting under the mahogany floors. "Shh." Her sister forewarned. "How close are they?"
"They'll be here any minute.. Get into the panic room."
"Where's mom and dad?!"
"Get into the panic room, Maggie." Bombs were already being let off in the distance. "We have no time! Get in!" It was too late.
Alice hid in the damp, stone cellar hoping her house would be saved from the flames. Hoping instead the Russians would just search the house instead of burning it. They couldn't find her, right? She pulled up her knitted gloves. Down here, it was even colder than the January winter outside. Bugs crawled over her dirtied feet and moss and mold grew in the cracks of the cellar which only held a few canned items. Gunshots. Screams. The attacks had begun. She knew what the Russians were to do. Kill the adults, take the children and teenagers. What fate she was to have.. No one knew. It sunk in, just then.
Her mom and dad were going to die. That's why Margaret was running. Grabbing only a dull kitchen knife and the only ounce of bravery she had, the blonde girl dashed upstairs. She was only met with the shout of a Russian soldier outside and three corpses. There, her mom, dad and younger sister lay cold on the kitchen floor. Her mom and dad had a gunshot through their head. But.. Maggie.. She just had a gunshot in her chest. She was breathing! "Maggie! Maggie!" Alice whispered. "I have to help you."
"Alice.. Run. Don't be stubborn.. They'll kill you, too. They're leaving no survivors.."
"No. You're okay, right?" Her sister's breath was shaky and uneven. "Come on, I'll get you into the bathroom- we have a med kit-" In her arms, Alice felt her sister's last breath. Crying, Alice walked out of the house, hopelessly, her hands in the air in surrender..
(s--- this is long) -
Things were cold. Bitterly cold. It was the type of cold that not only froze Etheldreda's hand and feet, but it was the type that froze her feelings as well. It froze her face into a stoic expression, making her cold eyes look as if she had already seen the horror around her a million times before.
But the thing was, Etheldreda had seen everything around her a million times before.
Houses around her were slowly being pushed into the flames of the forest fire that the Russian Army brought when they attacked innocent people, like in that small Polish village. Gunshots rung out clearly in the bitter air, clashing with the harsh screams of children, and mothers begging for them to be spared, all to conduct a sickeningly beautiful symphony to Etheldreda's ears. The scent of smoke filling her lungs burned her throat and almost made her eyes water, and she was close to blinded by the bright golden flames from burning memories and the once pure white snow reflecting the light of the horror.
In that moment, all Etheldreda could think was how she didn't want to do any of this. She never asked to be put through training; she didn't want to be a killer anymore. But blood doesn't wash off easy. You have to scrub to really get it out of your skin; out from under your fingernails. But even if you can somehow wash the blood down the drain, the scent will still linger. If you can get the scent to go away, you always have that burning image in your head to constantly remind you what you've done, and you can't wash your mind as easily as you can wash your hands.
Etheldreda wasn't doing anything to wash her hands, though. Instead, she was standing in the middle of the burning village, watching as the blood dried on her hands; watching as it began to seep into her skin so the iron scent will forever stain her pale skin. There was both metaphorical blood on her hands, and real blood on her hands.
The blood came from a father, trying to protect his children with little to no chance against Etheldreda. She had a gun, while the man had a knife. When he rushed towards her shouting "Die cie brudna swinio!" the first thing Etheldreda did, without even thinking, was pulled the trigger.
She killed that man, right in front of his kids.
That was the moment when Etheldreda decided that she was going to run. She didn't know where to, or how she could do it without dying, but she didn't want to be a killer anymore. She was tired of slaughtering the happiness of families and smothering the childhoods of hundreds of children.
Slowly, Etheldreda looked around her. Everything seemed hyper-realistic to her, like she was seeing everything around her for the first time. The flames licking up the sides of houses gave off intense heat that she could suddenly feel on her face, yet her frozen fingers still gripped her gun as if holding onto that was the only thing she could do to keep herself alive.
Other soldiers around her didn't take any notice of her. Instead, they were rounding up children to take, slaughtering helpless parents, and setting fire to the only place these people called home.
Etheldreda had her pack on her shoulder still, as she forgot to take it off before they started raiding. It had MRE's, a tent, blankets, matches, ammo; everything. Everything she needed to survive for a few days on her own. She could run; run far away and never look back. Leave Russia behind and escape.
So instead of taking note of everything going on around her, Etheldreda looked around for a way to escape; a place where there wasn't very many Russian soldiers like herself. A place where she could run into the forest and keep herself hidden. There just had to be a way fro Etheldreda to escape, because she wasn't going to stand with Russia anymore. She wasn't going to be its killer anymore.
But that's when Etheldreda took note of a girl. She was hardly any younger than Etheldreda herself, with blonde hair twisted into a bun on top of her head, and blue eyes that seemed hopeless. Her hands were raised in surrender to a Russian soldier outside of her home, and a closer look showed Etheldreda three dead bodies just beyond the open door of the house.
Etheldreda wasn't too far away from the girl and the soldier. It was obvious that the soldier was going to shoot the girl soon. The Russian Army didn't take older teenagers, as they saw them hard to control and to brainwash into fighting for the army. The girl was too old, and the man was going to shoot her...
Unless if Etheldreda did something about it, first.
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