Description

Personality

Adventurous and passionate, she plunges the full depth of her emotions into everything
that she does. She is smart, but not abnormally so, and has a keen interest in
history and the idea of time travel. She is often lonely, but fills the void with her escapades
and travels. She is quick to smile and quick to cry, throwing herself zealously into life.

Equipment

Drives an ancient, beat up mini cooper painted like the British flag, which she has affectionately, and for obvious reasons, named "Jack".

Oh yeah, and by the way, it can travel through time.

History

From the journals of Zinnia Baines:

"I inherited my father’s notebooks the day I turned twenty. I had coveted them for as long as I could remember, but the day that I obtained them was one of the worst days of my life. Happy birthday; your dad’s dead; you own all his stuff.

I was devastated. I didn’t see my father much; he was always travelling, but I loved him with an admiration which bordered on idolatry. Even when he wasn’t around I cradled the idea of him in my mind like a life line. I saw him as an adventurer and the best of men, coating my image of him with the gold leafing of affection.

When I learned that he had died, it was like watching my world fall apart. I decided that I would take the semester off of university and hopped the train that day that would take me from my tiny apartment at school back to our old house. No, it wasn’t our house anymore; it was my house. This change in pronouns pinched me with a deep, vacant feeling I didn’t have the power to shake off.

Upon entering the old, Victorian style house, I was struck by the silence and how empty the house seemed without the living ideas of his passion and exploration to fill it up. Slowly, my footsteps took me up the stairs to his study. It smelled comfortingly of leather and old books and I found myself sitting in his desk chair, pulling a small trunk onto my lap.

It was THE trunk of course; the trunk in which he kept the notebooks which chronicled the events of his travels. He had never let me read them, and I had spent my life aching to know what he had written down in those pages.

My hands shaking with emotion, I turned the key to unlock the trunk, and pulled out the long-coveted journals. What I read in them changed my life forever.

My father wrote he had theorized that the tapestry of reality was not woven as tightly as everyone suspected; that the threads of time and space had gaps between them, and if he could find a way to travel these gaps, unlimited possibilities lay before him. Even more world-shattering than reading this, though, was to continue on and realize that he had.

After years of study he pieced together a machine, and with it, had unlocked the ability to traverse the cosmos. From ancient Rome to one hundred years after earth has ended, from China to the farthest reaches of the galaxy, my father had been able to travel anywhere, anytime in the universe.

And now that I had inherited his machine, so could I. "