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Amelia Finch

0 · 460 views · located in The Medialoum

a character in “Coffee in Hell”, as played by WingedOctopus

Description

ImageFemale Angel 1
Amelia Finch ♀

"Only my close friends call me Amy... many people call me Finch, however."


Age
"Old, okkkay? A few mmmillennia. I lost count."

Appearance
"My hair is... too ffffrizzy."

An unnervingly composed and charming angel with a near-constant wrinkle right between her eyebrows. She always has a slight look of confusion in her big, wide eyes, looking around with drowsiness, as if the world is a puzzle she hasn't quite figured out. Amelia often time looks as if she just rolled out of bed, or didn't bother to look in the mirror before joining society, with her hair halfheartedly thrown up (often barely up in its woven band at all) or hanging in wild clumps. She is pretty much always in various states of dishevelment, forgetting to wear shoes or shirts or even pants. She stares off into space with a dreamy, far-off expression in her chocolate brown eyes, inhabiting her own imagination world.

She is the opposite of a foreboding figure. Her whole body is soft and small, skinny and slender, with sharp little shoulder blades. She's barely 5"5, with the build of an orphan waif. Even the clothes she wears, usually just daisy yellow robes wrapped around herself, bright against her porcelain skin, hangs off her bony frame like curtains on a rod (sometimes she actually wears the curtains!). Her regal cheekbones and long neck, combined with her faraway expression, transform her into a creature of mystery, with deep brown eyes and rosy pale skin and white-blond hair. With her unassuming, quiet, small demeanor, she can almost seem not there, a translucent figure going unnoticed in the middle of the room.

Occasionally, a smile splits her face, breaking like waves on the shore. The littlest things can spark it: butterflies, a flower in bloom, a hug. In these times she lights up, bright as all the stars in the sky, and an inner her breaks through. Vibrant, glowing, alive.

Tiny scars mottle the complexion of her back, from the times when she grows so anxious that she tugs at her own feathers like a distressed canary. Her wings, butterfly-shaped, are stark snow white-- except for, shockingly, the few pitch black feathers that stand stark against the others. You can hardly believe that such a sweet, meek angel like her would have black desires to cause it, but... we all have secrets.


Personality
"It feels like most of my immortal life has been spent dddaydreaming..."

Image
Amelia wears her heart on her sleeve, and that innocence is a flaw and a weakness. Despite the millennia she's lived, she's like a baby chick, watchful and trusting and vulnerable with poor judgment ever since the blow to the head which gave her her stutter. She's an ever-smiling creature with cherry red lips, the corners of which quirk ever so slightly upwards as she grins up through her lashes. Immortality has on her taken its toll. Seeing her loved ones die has wracked her with grief and guilt that, though because of her naturally sunny demeanor rarely shows through, affects her on a deeper level. From time to time, the exhaustion returns; you can see the weariness flit across her face. However, residing in the peaceful Mediaolum has renewed her spirits. Her old sneakiness and playfulness occasionally rears its head (she can be quite sly, the manipulative little thing, and you never even realize it; she's so unassuming and sweet!), as well as the flirtiness she once was known for. She soothes herself by diving into her art and gardening.

The angel's personality, when not loopy or zoned out, is gentle and sweet. Soft spoken, Amelia has trouble really commanding authority when things out of hand-- which tends to get her in trouble. She often comes off as the pushover of the Guardians. She has a noticeable stutter that gives her no end of difficulty. She must slowly form each word with deep consideration. People sometimes prey on that, and she doesn't have the guts to stand up for herself.

What Amelia really needs is a protector. Like a newborn bird still fluffy and downy from the nest, there's something about her beauty and unwavering trust that makes people want to draw her close and fight for her and never let her go. She needs them to. She's too kind for her own good.

Other aspects of her personality: she's completely truthful to the point of brutally honest; an optimist with a sprinkle of naivete; despises violence. Sometimes the pain bottled up within her bleeds through. She isn't known for self-control; she's so absentminded!

But she loves humans. Oh, she loves humans. She would give her life in an instant to protect them and their world.

Which, considering that she is a Guardian... she already has.


Likes
β€’ Cooking! She is a stupendous chef; she's had quite a few years to practice, after all!
β€’ Games and riddles. She isn't able to speak too fluidly, so she loves testing her wits to keep herself sharp.
β€’ Art. Amelia is a master with paints. Colorful masterpieces spring from her brush the moment it touches the canvas.
β€’ Blankets and snuggly things. She often shuffles around the palace naked but for being wrapped in a duvet.
β€’ Horror novels and chick flicks from the human world.


Imageβ€’ The sun. She doesn't really get out much, but she adores curling up on a bench in the gardens and soaking in the sunlight. She's gone to take a nap on the front lawn of the mansion more times than the Guardians would probably want to admit.

β€’ Animals and nature. She adores trees, soil, rivers, gardening, and long strolls in the forest.

β€’ Touching. She's a very touch-oriented person. The feel of human (or demon or angel) touch calms and reassures her. She loves cuddling, hugging, holding hands, kissing. She's comfortable with her body and doesn't really care or even react at all to other people laying hands on it.


Dislikes
β€’ Work, chores. Neat freaks. Calm down and relax.
β€’ The dark. N-not that sh-she's s-sc-scared or a-anything...!
β€’ People with tans. She literally cannot get one. She's white as a sheet. It is totally not fair.
β€’ She tends to be a little derisive to demons, but after the thousands of years she's spent with the Guardians she considers those demons her close friends.
β€’ Blood. It repulses her.
β€’ Violence. She is an utter pacifist. If you tried to stab her she would probably not even attack you in return. (Seriously, why is she a Guardian...?!)


History
Amelia fought and killed in the Great War, like everyone did. She despised it. Once the truce came, she rejoiced in the peace that the angels and demons had come to and fully embraced the laws that were made regarding them. The fact is that killing other living things burned her inside like poison; her soul shriveled and turned black with self hate, blackening and curling like a bit of flaming paper. She saw all the blood she ever wanted to see in the Great War, and it instilled within her a deep hatred for discord and chaos. Both of her parents died in that War, and eight of her fourteen siblings. And her husband.

Amy was angry. Definition: survivor's guilt. She was in the Second Hierarchy of angels, but still pretty well known as an excellent archer and swordswoman. When it came time to choose Guardians, well-- Amy was tired. She just wanted to help the world, to heal it. When they needed Guardians, she was immediately there.

The grief faded, however. The Great War gave pretty much everyone in all realms a bit of PTSD unless they lived under a rock, and Amy is just so naturally cheery. And her life became better and better as an immortal. It was the perfect world, a balanced and peaceful place. Not to mention-- w-w-well (cue furious blushing)-- one of the other Guardians was just so wonderful and nice. A male Guardian. A very, very male Guardian. He made her just want to wrap up in her wings and snuggle against him; she just couldn't stop smiling, all shy and pink.

However, the Mediaolum has had its attacks.

Right now, Amy's mind is not 100%. There was a raid; a last-gambit attempt of a few rogue demons to try and kill off a Guardian or two. They almost did it, too! Her head was knocked up against a marble pillar and something in there came loose or something. Her words now come tangled and tumbled up. She knows what she wants to say, but she must do it so painfully slowly. Occasionally her eyes go glassy and she zones out. But if anything, this added loopiness has made her all the more sweet. When she gets lonely and can't find anyone around the house, she has the anxious habit of pulling out her own feathers.

Image

So begins...

Amelia Finch's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Mandisa Khalil Character Portrait: Amelia Finch Character Portrait: Aroha Lightning Character Portrait: Atticus J. Locke
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Aroha Lightning

Aroha remembered a massive flash that lit the sky of the Mediaolum, and then the ground shook. No, the entirety of Mediaolum shook, pulling Aroha out of the air as she flew on patrol. She remembered crashing into a tree, and then that's when she was knocked unconscious. Right now, however, she was conscious but still a little incoherent. Her brown hair had come free of it's headband it seemed, as all she could see was a short curtain of brown hair. She pulled the hair out of her eyes, revealing her face clearly. Aroha grunted as she pushed her self up, her hands slipping on the tree branch. Aroha gently dropped to the ground before checking herself over. Her clothes were a little torn, a few snowy white feathers were missing, and she had a few bruises, but Aroha was fine mostly. She had crashed near a small pond, where some children were playing. Well, they had been before the flash. Aroha looked for the small children, and saw them. Whenever she saw children normally, she had pity for them already, dying before their lives truly began. The three children were cowering beside the tree, their toy Brig Ship lying smashed on its side. Aroha furrowed her brow, and knelt beside them. "May I?" Aroha asked politely, her voice making the air around her feel as cozy as a roaring winter fire. One of the children nodded, the lush brown mess of curly hair atop his head bouncing as he did so. Aroha nodded in gratitude and picked up a few of her feathers and long strands of grass. With shaking hands, Aroha wove the feathers and grass strands together with the two broken halves of the ship, joining them all together. It was a messy job, and a temporary fix, but it lit up the children's faces to see their toy fixed. She handed it back to them, and was surprised as the children launched themselves into a hug with her. Aroha knew that the mess this... Thing had made would upset the balance immensely, so she gave a little back into the hug, wrapping her snowy white wings around the children.

Aroha walked off slowly, her bruised legs aching from the crash into the tree and from the small children launching themselves into her. She was starting to think a little clearer now. She picked up knocked over objects and people as she walked, gathering her thoughts. Aroha took flight, trying to get away from the noise. She looked over Mediaolum, and saw that the damage was mostly around the mansion where she lived with the other guardians. The other guardians. Aroha rushed towards the mansion, especially to one specific part of the mansion. Her large white wings beat quickly as she swooped and soared through the air as fast as she possibly could. The mansion wasn't very well off, and Aroha could only imagine what kind of damage had been done to the other guardians. Especially Mandisa. She flew to the front door and barged into the front hall. She could have just flown directly into Mandisa's room, but even in emergencies she wanted to keep her manners in check. The place was a mess. With hard work it could be cleaned up, but it really was atrocious. Aroha tucked her fluffed wings away, and rushed up the stairs, her red shoes lightly thudding as she ran as fast as she could to find Manidsa. She decided to check her room first, but called her name as she ran through the house. "DISA? DISAAAA?!" Aroha fretted as she took the long route to Disa's room, knowing fully she might well not be there. As she moved she put her hair behind her red hair band again, and observed the damage the flash had done on the place.

{Winged's posts}

Image
Her chest rose and fell slowly. Her hand lay in cold, clammy dirt... her fingers stirred, gray from dust residue.

There was a buzzing in Disa's ears that made her lips part. She... she felt like she was making noise, but there was too much ringing to be truly sure.

It was then that she became aware of her body. Her eyelids were gummy and stuck-together, throat as hoarse as if she'd been swallowing flames. She was lying on her side, cheek pressed into the ground, and her body was in a ball, knees jackknifed up to her chest, her spine curving in on itself, curled around her stomach and arms wrapped around herself. As if she were trying to become so small she would disappear.

And she also realized she had a long leg-length, and this position was terrible, considering that she was occupying a space that probably only half of her would want to fit in voluntarily.

Dully, she tried to open her eyes. An effort, as they felt glued together.

"H-hey." Too soft to be heard.

There was a sliver of light. She reached her hand up, trying to prop herself up in the miniscule space she had, and weakly braced her shoulder against the slab of... something that had fallen on top of her against the wall. It barely moved. Dirt and rocks poured through the cracks. Now claustrophobia was setting in. She pushed with all the strength in her still (admittedly watery) arms. Shoooove. Creaaaaak. Pour. She gritted her teeth, let out a whimper between them.

With a gasp, the rubble was forced aside, and light came through. She was in a room. Half of it was... blasted apart.

"A closet," Mandisa gasped, wincing and lifting a hand to her head, finding a mass of fuzzy curls; "Damn...." She tried to take a wobbly step on her knees and fell again. Half this... this bedroom was gone. Had she taken shelter in that closet? It looked like it... it hadn't gone to well. The door and... a stone column and some steel beams had fallen on top, blocked her in... if that one slab of wood hadn't braced above her head, would it have all fallen on...?

What... had happened?

Where am I? What is this? Why am I here? Where is this? I- I- I-

She gritted her teeth and wrapped her arms around herself. She stumbled left and lay in the soil and rubble.


Image

While the rest of the household ran around in panic and horror, Amelia Finch was trapped somewhere between waking and slumber.

Nausea lanced through her body. Crawling, crawling, heaving up through her skin from the inside out, worse than demon poison, worse than hellfire. Yet all that she could think of was Atticus. If he was safe. She wanted to get up and find him, but her body would not obey.

The outside world was just a blur to the pale, skeletal angel. The noises of the screeching of birds and the creaking of branches and the falling of rubble all shifted and slid and melted together until Amelia's stomach heaved in nausea; sweat rolled down her emaciated, trembling frame. Her breaths came in wracking gasps. Nnnno, she tried to mewl. The lightning had rattled through her veins, an aftershock traveling through the ground, and her body felt as if it were shaking itself apart in waves.

She was outside. Near some scorched and smoking oaks. The woods on the property. Yet slabs of cement and scraps of furniture littered the ground (Bodies? No. No. God no. Where were the Guardians-- Atti?!). The world tilted and the contents of her stomach slid and she bent double over a nearby mattress, digging her sharp fingernails into the mattress and shredding the fluff that poured out like blood blood blood blood blood-- stop-- like blood from a wound.

Colors bled into one another. She gasped.

Her surroundings, her thoughts, a grayish mist. Dulling her mind. Her mind clung to her thoughts like liferafts, but they were rendered slippery-- slippery-- Attie-- The ground felt as if it were wrenched from beneath her feet; she fell to the ground, tumbling, couldn't hold on, couldn't think, mindless combinations of stutters poured from her mouth, a sweating, trembling jumble of sallow flesh stretched taught over brittle bones: might angel brought low, oh Lord.

She had been holding onto a name. She couldn't remember it anymore. No! Att-- what? Help. Angel boy, Ocean Eyes. Cotton strands of fluff filling up the spaces in her skull.

No. No. No no no no no. She was losing it she was losing it she was losing it she was losing it she was stop stop stop stop STOP STOP STOP STOP "ATTICUS!"

She hit the ground. Was she not on it before? Emptiness. No more waves. Nausea. Let out a shuddering breath and each muscle fell limply apart; her fingers uncurled themselves, facial expression went lax. Half her body was on the mattress, half beneath a blackened oak, and pearly hair trailed down her cheeks.

One last thought: I llllost it...

Then it was just white.

She tried to support herself on her arms, but slowly dawned.

"Wwwhere...?"