Post by tsoleil on Aug 6, 2009 23:36:09 GMT -6
Witch Application
Name: Astelle Tsoleil Redwood
Nicknames or Witch Name: Tsoleil Estelle Badru
Age: Seventeen
Birthplace and current residency: [Surrey, England||Washington D.C.]
Family:
>Arturo Redwood [Father: 69]
>Tempest Badru-Redwood [Mother: 47]
>Asenath Redwood [Sister: 27]
>Aeron Redwood [Brother: 24]
>Astarte Redwood [Sister: 23]
>Aurora Redwood [Sister: 15]
Avatar: Ashanti
Looks and Attire:
Tsoleil never limits herself to apparel, though it is on a rare occasion one will ever catch her robust legs not being covered with two separate pant legs; she detests wearing skirts. Because she is great-breasted, Tsoleil feels most inclined to rock the free-flowing, boho-esque attire for shirts, saving the more constricting threads for her curvaceous hips. Cognizant yet undeniably proud of her full figure, it is not unlike the seventeen year-old to flaunt her curves with additional accessories: earrings and rings are among her favorites.
Personality:
With her innate inventiveness for the arts she has always taken pride in her works, more so literature than other things; writing, alongside reading, is her burning passion. She has revered the antique libraries as her havens. The comfort of her mother’s warming kitchen is also a haven, but in a far different sense.
Tsoleil often never spares a grin nor an opportunity for inspiring conversation. "Life, as wretched as it tends to be for certain people", Tempest has told her often. "Is really a lovely thing. We just can't let other's snatch out of our hands before we've really gotten the chance to live it." By such a credence Tsoleil has strived to go on living and it is no surprise to her that her very laughter brightens the atmosphere, wherever it may be. However, once provoked, she can prove to be the most dismal of individuals of which to share company. When infuriated she takes no care in being wary of her environment, whether she be alone or in the presence of others, and has been known to behave almost childishly. At her very worst she will go into a passive-aggressive phase of ignoring others, and will be rude simply for the irritancy of it all. Internally she struggles to keep her most calmed behavior—a not so sharpened tongue and forgiving nature—yet the fight seems at times to be futile. Holding grudges is no new prospect to the girl, though more often than not she may end up forgetting of the matter at some time or another. And though she may enjoy the brutality of drama simply for the sake of amusement, Tsoleil finds no joy in fighting dear friends, her siblings above all. To her, there is a clear differentiation between their playful Angelspit vs. Carfax Abbey debates and raw arguments concerning their safety in the night. Tsoleil is a jealous one, too, and entirely protective of what non-tangible objects of true value belong to her. In her love she is passionate, her loyalty unyielding concerning friendships. Conversely, if she is betrayed in her trust there is no chance at regaining it.
If Tsoleil is not indifferent on her more lonesome days, she is overt in her affable character. In nature she is jovial, a blithe… frequently lazy… young woman who would rather dance in the rain at midnight than remain indoors. Procrastination could very well be keyed as her single greatest downfall, and though she may be keen on the thought of a complete task self-motivation could be lacking. The moment her will is set into motion, there is hardly any stopping. She is among the first to suggest playfulness in a somber crowd, giving reason to her adoration for children. The only exception to the rule would be worship: Tsoleil is a pious practitioner of Wicca in honor of her ancestors. She struggles daily to make the Goddess’ world a better state than into which she was born.
Unless she is already moody, Tsoleil really doesn't like being alone. Whenever she finds herself out of the company of others she will escape the flat and lose herself into the night, just to keep from being all by her onesie. The one setting she never feels entirely abandoned is within the confines of a library, where the countless realms of novels, loose-leaf paper, pens and pencils are at her fingertips. Her room is another option for haven, as messy as it tends to be, though it is where she is always assured she can't be bothered. The time she does spend in her room is often spent daydreaming while writing diary entries, another favorite pastime.
Likes:
+literature of all kinds
+children
+studying Wicca
+writing to her hearts content
+baking|cooking
+stuffing her face
+the oh-so-wonderful opposite sex
+exuding her sexuality
Dislikes:
-constant isolation
-ignorance
-pineapple in her sweet rolls
-stupidity
-heights
-repetitively being bossed around
-obdurate individuals [though she herself can be]
-the scent of smoke
Powers:
>Telekenesis: the ability to move objects through sheer willpower, without any physical contact
>Mediumship: the ability to act as a vessel to communicate with the spirit world and the mortal world
History:
As the second to youngest child of the Redwood children, Astelle Tsoleil—loving called Tsoleil—slipped into the mortal world during the wee hours of the first day of Samhain. Because it had been six years since there was an infant in the house, Tsoleil’s mother, an esteemed practitioner of The Craft, was thrilled with her newest child. Tsoleil was doted on throughout her life, encouraging her unending friendship and adoration for Tempest. Her siblings, though much older than she, adored the girl in their own special ways: Tsoleil quickly became aware of the ways of the world through their varying examples.
Having grown up within a large Wiccan community, Tsoleil truly believes she was “raised by the village”. One who took little to no part in her growth as a witch was her father, Arturo. The man spent much of his time away from the home, divulging within the community itself as opposed to his family. As Tsoleil grew older it became all the simpler to convince herself to changing her last name. Since thirteen, every document with her signature was written as “Tsoleil Badru”—her mother’s maiden name.
Tsoleil left the comfort of her clan’s warm community in order to tread the path she believes the Goddess has set for her. Though she is entirely uncertain as to what obstructs her journey, the youthful witch is confident that this is necessary in her growth as a practitioner of The Craft.
Sample/Past Roleplay:
Their conversatin was far from quiet, those men. Emuishéré found herself biting her tongue at every skewed glance and inquisitive chuckle they shared. Somehow she knew they were referring to her at occasional points, despite the fact that her Latin translation would be garbled whilst they conversed with such animation and so boisterously. Despite her youth, however, she could somehow always identify when she was being spoken of.
The least she could hope was that they spoke of her ample "attributes" with a sliver of decency.
There was an unanticipated burst through the domus door that diverted the Egyptian's mental attention. As she left her temporal post just behind Atticus' chair and curiously ventured into the atrium, another-- yes, yet another of the damned breed of Roman soldeirs-- was coursing his way with thorough resolve crowned atop his seemingly oversized head. Of course, it looked oversized to the woman because of his impervious demeanor, a signal flashed the moment he invited himself into the house. That sort of nerve only contributed to her resent for Roman men being uncouth and undeniably rude.
This self-invited guest was certainly not aiming to prove otherwise.
"Who do you think you are, barging into this house without permission?" Emuishéré had not encountered the man in time to be cognizant of either his name or his title, nor did she quite care. He was an intruder with an unspoken request for a rough-handed egress as far as she was concerned.
The man appeared to be ignoring her, perhaps because of her petite stature. Already he had reached the room in which Atticus and the bearded Roman and was extending boisterous salutations: ''By Mars himself, I see your guard detail has increased greatly. It took me some time and effort to get past them. I'm sure that would they not have knoen that I was coming, they would have stripped me naked before allowing me in!''
The young woman growled under her breath, rolling her eyes as she dismissed the trouble of the intruder. Evidently Atticus was not entirely sound to mind the dishonor-- as it certainly would have been seen as in her land-- and she therefore did not seek to make it anymore worth the aggravation.
"Idiot," she grumbled.
While the men congregated further, the snippy Emuishéré leaned against the wide threshold in the not-so-obvlivious distance, arms crossed over an ample chest as she observed the Roman rendition of socialization. Thus far, she was far from impressed.
Rules Word: RED ROSE
Name: Astelle Tsoleil Redwood
Nicknames or Witch Name: Tsoleil Estelle Badru
Age: Seventeen
Birthplace and current residency: [Surrey, England||Washington D.C.]
Family:
>Arturo Redwood [Father: 69]
>Tempest Badru-Redwood [Mother: 47]
>Asenath Redwood [Sister: 27]
>Aeron Redwood [Brother: 24]
>Astarte Redwood [Sister: 23]
>Aurora Redwood [Sister: 15]
Avatar: Ashanti
Looks and Attire:
Tsoleil never limits herself to apparel, though it is on a rare occasion one will ever catch her robust legs not being covered with two separate pant legs; she detests wearing skirts. Because she is great-breasted, Tsoleil feels most inclined to rock the free-flowing, boho-esque attire for shirts, saving the more constricting threads for her curvaceous hips. Cognizant yet undeniably proud of her full figure, it is not unlike the seventeen year-old to flaunt her curves with additional accessories: earrings and rings are among her favorites.
Personality:
With her innate inventiveness for the arts she has always taken pride in her works, more so literature than other things; writing, alongside reading, is her burning passion. She has revered the antique libraries as her havens. The comfort of her mother’s warming kitchen is also a haven, but in a far different sense.
Tsoleil often never spares a grin nor an opportunity for inspiring conversation. "Life, as wretched as it tends to be for certain people", Tempest has told her often. "Is really a lovely thing. We just can't let other's snatch out of our hands before we've really gotten the chance to live it." By such a credence Tsoleil has strived to go on living and it is no surprise to her that her very laughter brightens the atmosphere, wherever it may be. However, once provoked, she can prove to be the most dismal of individuals of which to share company. When infuriated she takes no care in being wary of her environment, whether she be alone or in the presence of others, and has been known to behave almost childishly. At her very worst she will go into a passive-aggressive phase of ignoring others, and will be rude simply for the irritancy of it all. Internally she struggles to keep her most calmed behavior—a not so sharpened tongue and forgiving nature—yet the fight seems at times to be futile. Holding grudges is no new prospect to the girl, though more often than not she may end up forgetting of the matter at some time or another. And though she may enjoy the brutality of drama simply for the sake of amusement, Tsoleil finds no joy in fighting dear friends, her siblings above all. To her, there is a clear differentiation between their playful Angelspit vs. Carfax Abbey debates and raw arguments concerning their safety in the night. Tsoleil is a jealous one, too, and entirely protective of what non-tangible objects of true value belong to her. In her love she is passionate, her loyalty unyielding concerning friendships. Conversely, if she is betrayed in her trust there is no chance at regaining it.
If Tsoleil is not indifferent on her more lonesome days, she is overt in her affable character. In nature she is jovial, a blithe… frequently lazy… young woman who would rather dance in the rain at midnight than remain indoors. Procrastination could very well be keyed as her single greatest downfall, and though she may be keen on the thought of a complete task self-motivation could be lacking. The moment her will is set into motion, there is hardly any stopping. She is among the first to suggest playfulness in a somber crowd, giving reason to her adoration for children. The only exception to the rule would be worship: Tsoleil is a pious practitioner of Wicca in honor of her ancestors. She struggles daily to make the Goddess’ world a better state than into which she was born.
Unless she is already moody, Tsoleil really doesn't like being alone. Whenever she finds herself out of the company of others she will escape the flat and lose herself into the night, just to keep from being all by her onesie. The one setting she never feels entirely abandoned is within the confines of a library, where the countless realms of novels, loose-leaf paper, pens and pencils are at her fingertips. Her room is another option for haven, as messy as it tends to be, though it is where she is always assured she can't be bothered. The time she does spend in her room is often spent daydreaming while writing diary entries, another favorite pastime.
Likes:
+literature of all kinds
+children
+studying Wicca
+writing to her hearts content
+baking|cooking
+stuffing her face
+the oh-so-wonderful opposite sex
+exuding her sexuality
Dislikes:
-constant isolation
-ignorance
-pineapple in her sweet rolls
-stupidity
-heights
-repetitively being bossed around
-obdurate individuals [though she herself can be]
-the scent of smoke
Powers:
>Telekenesis: the ability to move objects through sheer willpower, without any physical contact
>Mediumship: the ability to act as a vessel to communicate with the spirit world and the mortal world
History:
As the second to youngest child of the Redwood children, Astelle Tsoleil—loving called Tsoleil—slipped into the mortal world during the wee hours of the first day of Samhain. Because it had been six years since there was an infant in the house, Tsoleil’s mother, an esteemed practitioner of The Craft, was thrilled with her newest child. Tsoleil was doted on throughout her life, encouraging her unending friendship and adoration for Tempest. Her siblings, though much older than she, adored the girl in their own special ways: Tsoleil quickly became aware of the ways of the world through their varying examples.
Having grown up within a large Wiccan community, Tsoleil truly believes she was “raised by the village”. One who took little to no part in her growth as a witch was her father, Arturo. The man spent much of his time away from the home, divulging within the community itself as opposed to his family. As Tsoleil grew older it became all the simpler to convince herself to changing her last name. Since thirteen, every document with her signature was written as “Tsoleil Badru”—her mother’s maiden name.
Tsoleil left the comfort of her clan’s warm community in order to tread the path she believes the Goddess has set for her. Though she is entirely uncertain as to what obstructs her journey, the youthful witch is confident that this is necessary in her growth as a practitioner of The Craft.
Sample/Past Roleplay:
Their conversatin was far from quiet, those men. Emuishéré found herself biting her tongue at every skewed glance and inquisitive chuckle they shared. Somehow she knew they were referring to her at occasional points, despite the fact that her Latin translation would be garbled whilst they conversed with such animation and so boisterously. Despite her youth, however, she could somehow always identify when she was being spoken of.
The least she could hope was that they spoke of her ample "attributes" with a sliver of decency.
There was an unanticipated burst through the domus door that diverted the Egyptian's mental attention. As she left her temporal post just behind Atticus' chair and curiously ventured into the atrium, another-- yes, yet another of the damned breed of Roman soldeirs-- was coursing his way with thorough resolve crowned atop his seemingly oversized head. Of course, it looked oversized to the woman because of his impervious demeanor, a signal flashed the moment he invited himself into the house. That sort of nerve only contributed to her resent for Roman men being uncouth and undeniably rude.
This self-invited guest was certainly not aiming to prove otherwise.
"Who do you think you are, barging into this house without permission?" Emuishéré had not encountered the man in time to be cognizant of either his name or his title, nor did she quite care. He was an intruder with an unspoken request for a rough-handed egress as far as she was concerned.
The man appeared to be ignoring her, perhaps because of her petite stature. Already he had reached the room in which Atticus and the bearded Roman and was extending boisterous salutations: ''By Mars himself, I see your guard detail has increased greatly. It took me some time and effort to get past them. I'm sure that would they not have knoen that I was coming, they would have stripped me naked before allowing me in!''
The young woman growled under her breath, rolling her eyes as she dismissed the trouble of the intruder. Evidently Atticus was not entirely sound to mind the dishonor-- as it certainly would have been seen as in her land-- and she therefore did not seek to make it anymore worth the aggravation.
"Idiot," she grumbled.
While the men congregated further, the snippy Emuishéré leaned against the wide threshold in the not-so-obvlivious distance, arms crossed over an ample chest as she observed the Roman rendition of socialization. Thus far, she was far from impressed.
Rules Word: RED ROSE