Description

{ "You're all gonna wonder how you thought you could live so large and leave so little for the rest of us." }

Name
Amelia "Mel" Parrish

Age
Twenty-Six

Sexual Orientation
Heterosexual

Class
Bottom

Alliance
Rebellion

Occupation
Right Hand / Call Girl / Additional Staff

Strengths
Intelligent - Mel is an excellent friend to have, a a frightful opponent. This does not stem from a competency in fighting or connections, but rather from a mind as sharp as a diamond that is constantly being improved upon. She is a keen young woman with an excellent eye for people, and a certain degree of understanding of human nature that gives her skill in predicting the actions of others and acting accordingly. In manipulation and planning she is brilliant.
Commitment - Mel adores her cousin, but his reluctance to be morally flexible can be troublesome. She is more than willing to get her hands dirty for the cause, being a person of rationality where is is one of emotion. Her sense of commitment is absolute, whether to the cause or to a person, and motivates her beyond what she might normally aspire to. The greatest weapon someone can give Mel is a cause to fight for or a person to believe in, as they become her drive.
Acting || Witty || Well Read || Able to Control Emotions/Detach Herself

Weaknesses
Physical - While she may be brilliant, Mel is physically insubstantial and knows this. In any sort of physical confrontation, she is at a very extreme disadvantage, especially if there are no tools around that she may use in her favor. This is part of the reason she prefers to work in the background, using her words and mind as a weapon rather than her hands. Because she is of no use as a fighter. The average maid could likely beat her.
Needs Purpose - Some people are able to wander about quite contentedly. Mel is not among them. She needs something to keep her going, some purpose or drive, or else she will simply idle, reading until her eyes dry out. This is why she can never be a genuine leader- she herself requires a leader to keep her going. She is cunning, valuable, and determined, but a follower. Without a leader or a cause, she hardly knows how to occupy herself.
Vindictive || Public Speaking || Fear of Leadership Position || Improvisation

Fears
Speaking in Front of Large Crowds || Losing Her Family || Having no Purpose // Complete Isolation

Secrets
The Double Agent is her Cousin (Practically her brother)
Steals Books from the Palace Library

Personality
{ Intelligent, Sly, Loyal, Passionate, Idealistic, Ruthless }
Growing up, Mel always understood that knowledge is power. The Supremes has access to books, information, discussion, and the commoners were, for the most part, left without. But she wanted these things, craved them. She was a naturally inquisitive child, and this tends to lend one towards growing up into an intelligent adult. Amelia is someone whose mind is always working, always pressing forward to knew ideas and strategies. She feeds it with books stolen from the palace library (they hardly miss them, she's convinced), and discussion with fellow rebellion members with similarly active minds and insights. Her brain makes up for what she lacks in physical prowess, and it is the reason she is the right hand of the rebellion. Under her eye, plans and strategies unfold with back up moves for anything possible. She is meticulous in her planning, using her keen eye for observation to plan so many back ups that they become more complicated than Plan A. Her intelligence comes with a slyness to it, usually expressed towards those who work in the palace. Unlike her cousin, she does not mind what means she uses to reach an end, so long as no commoner blood is shed. She will lie, seduce, bribe, threaten, and do whatever else is necessary in order to further the cause. Often times she does these things such that Theo's job is easier, for she would far rather stain her hands than his. She is a brilliant actress, and it comes from this sly nature, from necessity. She does not regret her actions, so long as it benefits the rebellion.

This willingness to sacrifice and act in the interest of the rebellion is indicative of the great passion resting behind her dark eyes. To those who do not know her, Mel may seem stoic and reserved, beautiful and intelligent but lacking in any true ambition or drive. This is, of course, a facade. Passion and drive are the only things that keep the young woman going. She is a follower in the sense that she needs something inspired in her to move forward and to act- this is why she could never take over as the leader. She is passionate, but does not inspire others to hold this same utmost devotion to the cause. Her idealism is a unique flavor of merciless and childlike, making for a strange and nearly deadly cocktail. The young woman believes strongly in a world of equality, the sort where children don't have to grow up in the slums as she did, under the shadows of large golden towers that remind them daily of their perceived inferiority. Mel has scars. Most commoners do, and especially those as inclined to rebel as she is. But she doesn't believe that people should have to bare them simply because of a difference in genetics. In her dream, everything is not perfect, but it is just. She thrives off of this idea of a world that honestly, perhaps did not exist even before the wars. Her infatuation with the concept is like a child in love with fairies, so certain is she that things can be right. In this, she is more an optimist than one might ever expect by her biting comments.

Still, idealistic though she may be, she does not believe that one can reach her dreamed end using only a knight's honor. She is ruthless in seeking the advancement of this dream, and will do whatever necessary, and to whoever necessary, in order to reach it. She will kill, if necessary. She's certainly already given up her own physical self to the cause, and truth be told her position as a call girl only makes her want to turn the Supremes' joys to ashes all the more.

wip

Biography
Doesn't need to be very long, just give us an idea of why they are who they are.

So begins...

Amelia Parrish's Story

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Setting

Modern Washington D.C

Characters Present

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#2016-06-27 20:35:37, as written by SuperfluousBuns

Throughout the ceremony, Theodore remains silent. He sits among the more powerful of the influential, strong enough to snap many of their slender necks, hung heavy with bright and festive jewels. These are the times which test him the most, which tempt him to break the facade and escape to his family, to the ruins of DC beyond the homes of the nobility. A small genetic abnormality, a bit of chance, and he is up on this platform while his flesh and bone stand angry among the crowds below. Stand angry watching his execution- this performance. That is all this is, truly. The nobility dress in their finest garb, in bright fanciful colors that stand a cruel contrast to the draining flush of the day's victim. Of the day's act. There is a slight twitch in his jaw, the only giveaway of his resentment towards this. The king speaks, a peacock strutting proudly before common sparrows.

Only those watching Theo would see him look away, unable to watch any longer as this man mocks the death of a friend. He has a reputation for a soft-hearted nature that seems ironic against his inhuman strength, and thus any nobles who do see it may simply excuse it as him having little stomach for violence. Still, they may scoff at his weakness. He, a member of the elites, and yet sensitive to the death of rebel scum. But even in ancient Roman times, there must have been patricians who did not enjoy the gladiator sports.

"A well made tomb," murmurs a noble behind him, a fair young man with a rather loud silk tie that is reminiscent of a yellow canary. His blonde hair is pointed upwards in a way that only enhances this image, another bright and stupid bird on the perch. "But I do think a burning would have been more suitable," he is speaking to the young woman next to him, one with bright red hair and a cardinal-red blouse to match.

"But then we have have breathed her in or something- that's disgusting," she shoots back, nose wrinkling like a child faced with a plate of green vegetables. Theo turns in his seat to give them a silencing look, and immediately they are quiet once more. He may have a reputation for being easygoing and cheery, but it is still not desirable to be on the man's bad side. Not that the nobility even realize how large his bad side is or that they already maintain residency.

His eyes return to Valerie. From where he is seated, only her back is visible. Still, he doesn't need to see her facial expressions to observe the struggle- thrashing arms, lungs desperate for unavailable air. There should have been a rescue. Why was an arrow not piercing the glass and releasing her like in a movie from previous generations?

"We've already lost men trying to get her out when she was first captured. I've been through every possibility- it's hopeless. She knows that."

"We can't just let her die."

"There is nothing else we can do. Theo, you can't save everyone. Besides, at least with this they'll feel safe for a while. They'll relax. She won't die for nothing."

"Fuck you."

"I'm not going to try and reason with you when you're angry. Goodbye."

There would be no attempt to save Valerie. Not now that she is on the stage for all to see. Theo does not allow himself to look away again, save a brief glance at the European Queen. He wonders what she thinks of all this. If this is how they punish rebels in her kingdom. He prays otherwise.

At least one person is looking at Theo. Easily overlooked in the crowd, able to move through it without disturbing the positions of others, a young woman watches him for any touch of wavering. To make sure that he keeps control of his thoughts, given the presence of the king. Hers are safe within the roar of the crowd, furious and in constant agitation at this execution. The king believes he is setting an example, is settling fear within the hearts of the people to maintain his order. But he is creating a martyr, a martyr with a now orphaned son that will be cherished as the child of a hero. A martyr that Mel will use to push forth the unrest until no one is content with oppression any longer.

He may be drowning her, but there is a flame around Valerie all the same. Mel is all too glad to fan it until it is a fire that will turn everything his people have and cherish to ashes. Until their opulent dresses and intricate hair styles are burnt away leaving blackened flesh, no stronger than those that they have stepped on for so long. Valerie tells the king to burn. Mel will ensure that it happens.

Setting

Modern Washington D.C

Characters Present

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#2016-07-18 05:29:25, as written by wednesdaysun

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_____________________________________

Each mission they carried out always carried the possibility of them never making it back out alive again. All of them in the resistance—all—were briefed, rigorously trained, and sent out onto missions with zero margin for error and the knowledge that every single commoner life in the United Province, richer or poorer, rested on them.
Diego had made damn sure that they were every bit as aware of realities like these as he was when he was first ushered into a world that he had allowed himself to feel complacent about for years he would never get back—years he turning a blind eye to the wrongs that were committed every single day, and to every single one of their brothers and sisters. The treatment the commoners had to endure, especially under their sadistic 'king''s rule, didn't just extend to those who populated the shanties. It stretched as far as the wealthier parts of town. All socioeconomic nuances growing outside of the palace boundaries were readily scrapped by the Supremes. All of them were denigrated, regarded as scum. All of them were doomed to bear the mark of 'commoner' like the triangular badges he had heard of floating around the older folk of the Jewish circles, most of them only passing on the stories of horror their forefathers withstood in the former ruins of the European Province.
All this, and for what?, in trying times he would often ask himself.

Valarie had been one of his best. She had understood their cause, took it up with such zest. She had been ambitious. So much so even that she had volunteered to fill in his shoes—at least, in image. She had a mix of such joie de vivre that infected the camps and boosted morale. She had a mature understanding of her role and all it entailed of her. He had seen himself in her.
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"Another 'state visit', I see," Diego had joked with her as she prepared to leave to oversee an operation of theirs. She looked every bit the part of the idea of a 'rebel leader'—fierce, ruggedly dressed, stance firm and sure. They would be fooled. She had smiled at him.
"Of course. I have to see that my people are getting things done the way I want them to." Valarie straightened up, although what had meant to be a deimatic display looked, to them who knew better, like someone tired and forcing a lie. He could see it. The important thing, though, was that no one else knew the better of it. He offered for her to relax, to calm down until the storm in her mind passed, but she said no. She had insisted it would keep her focussed on the field.
"We all need this, sir. It's far too late for me to turn back now. Those Supremes are positive I'm just that. A leader. Our leader. They need a face to the name. They want a semblance of control over the Rebellion, but they won't have it. I won't let them.
"If I'm out there, there's a chance we might lull them into a false sense of security. They're good at pacifying themselves." She secured her utility belt and tied her dark hair back.
"I never doubted you understood what this meant for everybody." He stepped forward and placed both hands on her shoulders. "But how do you feel?"
He wasn't sure if he was compromising himself by asking these sorts of questions, but they were both behind closed doors. Troops were being trained. They wouldn't come back into the barracks for a while.
"What I feel doesn't matter, sir."
"Diego."
"Diego." She smiled sadly at him. "It needs to be done."

It was a comfort, then, that she had known what she was getting into and wilfully gave herself up to the cause anyway. Such was the mark of a true hero. Even he had yet to live up to that.
Her name, chanted like a prayer, like a protest, in the massive throng of commoners during her execution was not simply of mourning. It was a reminder to every single gold-wrapped, hoity-toity aristocrat present that she was a person. It was a reminder that they had become self-important monsters that hunted them for sport.

He excused himself from work in time to watch her struggle as the water rose dangerously high. Though it was a remote hope, he wished she could see him from the throng. He clutched his cap close to his chest, an antiquated sign of respect for the woman in the chamber, and fought tears. He returned to his duties, fighting his way through the crowds, before the police could disperse them.
Valarie Townsend's death could not have come at a better time. With the Supremes left complacent, pacifying themselves with their self-congratulating parties, they were open. They hid under the cover of banditry, minor attacks, petty crime for years, but brewing under the surface they had amassed manpower, resources, hidden strongholds. Her death would ignite the anger in every commoner throughout the United Province, and stoke the fires of the revolution he had been planning for so long.
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He took Amelia aside the day after it was confirmed that Valarie had been captured, among others. There had been six in the team headed out to evaluate troops in Baltimore, including her. Three had been killed fighting to protect her. One died in interrogation. One offed himself before they could extract anything out of him. There was little hope of a successful rescue—he couldn't come out yet, Amelia was simply not capable of defending herself, and any others as keen or capable as Valarie had been were not yet fully trained. It would have exposed them all before it was their time.
He had fought to keep his composure, but he had ended up upturning his desk and throwing things around in a fit of pent-up frustration.
"Sorry." It took him a few moments to gather himself before he began. "There's not much we can do about her now. We can't afford to expend resources with the search party. Not now. Right now, I need you to do this for me."

He had been tasked to guard the doors to the royal celebration. He guarded them well, monitoring all activity that could be deemed suspicious, Some of the Supremes would pass by and make comments at him and a fellow guard at their posts. People like him could never afford the luxuries they had, pity, they laughed quietly to themselves as they passed. Oh, they loved to talk.
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"Charges. They're having restorations done. It'll give one of ours a chance to plant them while he's working on the finishing touches. They'll be properly concealed behind the falling water."

He glanced down at the fishes below, watching them swim, oblivious to the fuss above in their aquatic world. He wished he had their ignorance.
"Really? Slacking off? How unprofessional," one of the painted ladies whispered to her friend within his earshot. His jaw set, his gaze turned back to the partygoers. "There you are. Give them a little push and they get right back to work."
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"Aesthetics have and always will be the first thing on their mind. They have a fish tank directly below them. I'll need to blow strategic parts of the ceiling to undermine its integrity."

He flexed his shoes on the steady bit of ground he stood stationed.
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"I need you to scope out the king and make sure he's engaged. Draw no attention. Stay in the crowd, but stay on steady ground. This will be your detonator." He gave her a fine bracelet to wear with a small button hidden on the wrist area.

There was no bracing himself for the impact of the blast. He heard multiple blasts from the ceiling, saw bits of it crumbling before a large chunk of it fell to the glass floor, shattering it and dragging several important ministers with it into the water. Another fell near one exit, shattering glass in the immediate area and injuring several. He and his fellow security guard raced to try and calm the people down enough to evacuate some, although he purposely took the injured and less important ones to safety. He had hoped that, with several other chunks of ceiling threatening to collapse, that it would do the High King and Queen in, taking them to the same watery grave they had put Valarie in.
"Remain calm!" He called out almost in unison with his fellow guard.

Setting

Modern Washington D.C

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#2016-07-20 05:01:18, as written by SuperfluousBuns

xxxx"We can't just let her die."

xxxxThe nobility are preparing their dresses. Donning their fine suits and jewels, putting up their hair and makeup in a manner even more complex than the styles worn to the execution. Only a short distance from all of this fuss, a slight girl meets with a young man wearing a uniform that marks him as part of the construction team working on renovations. He's hardly more than eighteen, not a soldier. If he had been found planting explosives along the the delicate bubble that is to hold the glittering birds, his life would end at that young age- not really that much shorter a life than Mel's own. Still, he looks down at the young woman as a leader, communicator of plans to be followed without question.

xxxxHer stone expression hides exhaustion, though passion and belief in the cause keeps her going without fail.

xxxx"Fuck you." As if she hadn't tried to save Valerie. As if she hadn't offered to go on her own if necessary. When it comes down to it, Mel follows Diego. She may be brilliant, she may be competent. She is not a leader. The young man looks at her like a foot soldier at a general.

xxxx"Everything is in place."

xxxx"Thank you. Go home- sleep." And he is gone. Mel leaves soon after. She needs to get dressed for the dance, after all.

xxxxAmelia is no stranger to the palace events. Certainly, she is hardly a regular, but occasionally she slips in among the servants, extra hands to bear the weight of the patricians' ambitions. She is one with the crowd, though one or two may whisper with some recognition- "Isn't that the King's commoner whore?"

xxxxTonight the excitement is too high for such comments. No one notices the young woman gliding about as though she belongs there, as though she doesn't feel the urge to pace like a beast kept in a cage. She is never too far from the King, an easy man to spot by the way people simultaneously move towards him and maintain a respectful distance. It is a strange pulsing ring. He speaks to his wife, to the Senator, to the foreign queen. The picture of a young king, charm and grace. Mel, despite her reputation for being cold when it comes to rebel missions, takes no pleasure in killing. But his is a head she is certain would look lovely on a spike.

xxxxThe first dance begins, and the nobility sweep to the center, twirling about in blurs of beautiful color. Everyone is light on their feet, no caution weighing on their minds. The rebel leader is dead- it is cause for celebration. A lightweight bracelet hangs against Mel's somewhat bony wrist. Across the room, she makes eye contact very briefly with Theo, who quickly disconnects and turns to make animated conversation with two women beside him, hands moving about excitedly.

xxxxAmelia sets off the detonators, and the sky seems to fall. Shards fall heavy against the glass floor, dragging ladies down by their fine dresses. Amelia plays the part of a frightened onlooker until she reaches the edges, and slips away unnoticed, with little more than a slight tear in the hem of her dress.

xxxxOn a still partially standing slab of glass, part of the original walls, figures clothed entirely in black spray large red words. They are gone before any guards can get to the other side- before most anyone even notices they were there. Chaos is more effective than the night in keeping Mel's people safe.

PANEM ET CIRCENSES

xxxxBread and circuses. The Roman Empire once grew too complacent, distracted by entertainment and food, the appeasement of the governing. But all empires, long and brief, must fall.

xxxxMel may slip away, but Theo is left in the fray. A large chunk of glass falls directly towards him and the women he had been speaking with. His arms shoot up and catch it, muscles tensing to stop it at the speed. His hands are bloody from being sliced by the jagged edges. For his trouble, he is thanked profusely before the two ladies run to the guards for aid. He stays on the fringes, watching- conspicuously offering help where it is needed, assuring those who ask that his hands are fine, it is simply a small cut.

xxxxOf course in these efforts to help in the pandemonium, he finds the Senator fainted on the ground. Others run past or around her, not interested in the woman. Theo would just as soon leave her, in different circumstances. But instead, he lifts up the dark-haired woman and rushes back to the edge of the still crumbling hall. He brings her to safety, passing Diego as he does so. He makes no sign of seeing the security guards- even in this chaos, his facade holds. With little care for her comfort, Theo drops Camille on the ground and takes a moment to breathe.

xxxxMel is nowhere to be seen.

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Amelia Parrish

0 · 694 views · located in Modern Washington D.C

a character in “The Supreme”, as played by SuperfluousBuns

Description

So begins...

Amelia Parrish's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Setting

Characters Present

Setting

Characters Present