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Lo Synclare

Keep my opinions to myself? Why don't you keep yourself away from my opinion.

0 · 333 views · located in The Medialoum

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

Description

Lo Synclare


Image



Role: Human female deux.
Name: Lolita Synclare
Species: Human who was sent to hell. For being a little shit Aaand setting people on fire
Gender: Female



Appearance

:T H E M A S K:

"Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind."


There is a freshly-dusted shelf against an eggshell white wall above the fireplace - a place where families relax and laugh and form precious memories beside a gentle, flickering fire. On this shelf rests a collection of framed photos in a set, chronological order; on the left are snapped memories with white dresses, black tuxedos, and a red-faced infant with chubby cheeks and twinkling green eyes. Towards the center the theme changes to the young, emerald-eyed child, who has grown to be an angelic girl with ravenhair and a flawless tanned complexion. In each photo she flashes the whitest of smiles, enlightening the room like the brightest star in the night sky. She takes after her mother, the woman in white dress holding a bouquet of flowers beside her broad-shouldered husband. They are a seemingly beautiful fami of three until you reach the end of the wooden shelf. There, held steady with the smallest of frames, is the only family photo where there is an added member. Striking doll like blue eyes and a pale-as-paper complexion, and waves of caramel coloured locks spilling over her shoulders, the girl’s smile is faintest in the family portrait. She shares no similar features with the other three family members, and it is her who seems to carry a shadow in the midst of their eternal happiness.

The girl’s presence is almost ghostly. She is silent, stealthy, pale like sheets of snow, and stands eerily in the background of the awkward family photo - the part that doesn't seem to fit correctly with the other pieces of the puzzle. There are no individual pictures of this mysterious girl; only this portrait has managed to capture her. She stands stiffly beside the tanned, curvaceous beauty, slim arms straightened by her sides, her small, scrawny frame seemily swamped by the tallness of the rest of her family, wearing the hand-me-down clothes her family provided her whilst staring into the camera with a solemn smile and empty eyes. She seems distant in comparison to the other members, who beam at the camera as if it were a shimmering pile of infinite gold. She is not normally so grim, however; it is the thought of her image being permanently engraved into something practically indestructible that pestered her so much. That, and the disgust of standing next to those who could not match her the soft squarness of her chin, the shape of her bluish eyes, or the vertical elongation of her nose.

Miss Lolita Synclare prefers not to compare herself to the trio of gorgeous. She defines her appearance with her own standards of beauty, and what she considers to be the important aspects of the physical appearance. Hygiene, for example, is a no-brainer. She was raised in a civilized enough environment to understand and appreciate the perks of good personal hygiene, and manages to keep herself relatively clean for the sake of her own comfort. Dental hygiene is as important as the rest as well, seeing as how even the gentlest of her smiles appear large when she flashes her teeth. She keeps her eyebrows- the only feature that matches with her raven haired sibling- neat as possible, which is no easy feat.

Personality

:T H E I N S I D E:

"GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning."

Lo is not like the girl that appears in the family photo. A picture doesn't paint a thousand words - it paints but one. A picture cannot tell you everything about a person. It cannot show you how they feel inside when someone smiles at them, cannot show you the way they dance when they believe nobody is watching. A picture cannot capture the way they regard their family after time apart or tell you how they greet the shiver running through their body as they enter the sea on a cold winters morning. Pictures cannot paint the dreams, the destinies, the future of a person. A picture cannot show their past. She is not a hopeless soul or an empty shell or a desperate child in need. She is actually fairly capable of enjoying herself, though whether it’s favorable or not depends upon the circumstances. There is more to her than meets the eye, but it is important to realize that the Lo at home is not identical to the Lo outside of home. Outside, she spreads her wings and opens herself up to the world like the free spirit she deserves to be. She may not be the one to start a conversation with a complete stranger, but rest assured, she will be the one to continue it.

Lo knows she's odd and is unafraid of showing it; it's less a result of extreme self confidence and more because she more often than not chooses to ignore the presence of other people; if they're not there, why care what they think? She's the type of person who would turn left while everyone else goes right just for the fun of it, because her entire life has always been about self-indulgence rather than conforming to suit other people.

Often one can find her off somewhere else, lost in her own world. Since she was very young she's been fond of crafting her own alternate realities - they're more exciting than the world around her - and constantly thinks what if? Her mind works better with hypothetical situations than it does when trying to analyze reality, so when speaking to others it isn't rare for her to go off on a tangent about what would happen if this happened and what would happen then and after that and if someone did this instead of doing that and on and on and...

Friendship is not something that interests Lo. She never got along with the other children in school when she was younger; they thought she was a freak, a loner, doing things opposite of everyone else. She never spoke much in school, save for the occasional angry outburst, and when someone did manage to engage her in conversation, she would start babbling about all sorts of out-there things that no one else understood. Her lack of friends never bothered her, though; she didn't need them, she had other things.

Lo has a passion for mischief. If there is anyone who can claim trouble-making as a hobby, it is her. Her nature was not unpredictable - her deviant behavior has been occurring since infancy, when she spit out every pacifier given to him and set all of her stuffed animals on fire. Even now, when the opportunity arises to make somebody’s life a miserable, hilarious embarrassment, she will take it without hesitation. There is something about humiliating a person that makes her feel giddy and amused, as if there is no other joy in the world. This is not her only odd passion, however - it is the pyromania that really separates her from a crowd.

The shrink may have called it a disorder, but Lolita considers it a personal passion. She has always been attracted to light - stars, fluorescent bulbs, flashlights - but it wasn’t until she discovered the simple flame that she fell in love. Something about that flickering light and all its ability to simultaneously destroy and create fascinates her, and as soon as this amazing discovery was made and experimented with she began to use it to her cruel advantage. With a stash of matches and a spare lighter always in her pocket, there is no end to her devious plots, but with this mastery of flame comes responsibility and consequences she has yet to understand. She tends to focus only upon what satisfies her rather than the potential danger fire can create. Sure, setting the curtains aflame may cast the prettiest of glows throughout a dim-lit house, but if the fire and smoke were to spread it could kill somebody, himself included. But Lo is naïve and too narrow-minded to worry about something so seemingly unlikely. That, and she's dead already...

Awkward.


b]Likes[/b]: Fire & Mischief & Climbing & Adventures & Inventions & Exploring & Autumn.

Dislikes: Sisters & Pictures & Expectations & People & Tears & Camera

History

:T H E P A S T:

"In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori."


She is an echo, a broken doll, a record jammed and left to play broken snatched of forgotten symphonies to deaf ears. For years, Lolita was mute - She tried everything to bring her thoughts to her mouth and force them out into the world, original and of her own choosing. Birthdays passed and still no word escaped Lo's lips. "She's just slow." Lolita's mother would mutter, although she herself knew that Lolita would never speak. They had long passed the stage of therapists and herbal cures - they planted kisses on her forehead and minded not that she never once whispered 'I love you' in response.

Lo's first word wasn't the same as her sister's. It wasn't Mama, or Dada, or a useless sound twisted by an overeager relative. It wasn't like yours, I'm sure. She sat, cross-legged on the floor, watching as her sister ran a comb through her hair. She was black-haired and gorgeous, and we sat together in contrast, for her tall, long-legged frame never did match my nordic features and sunken bones. (Again, I am apart from the rest of them in our reflections, as I do not match in a family of green-eyed beauties with strong words.)

"Lolita?" she asked without turning her head, not knowing that she already held Lo's undivided attention.

"Lolita" Lolita said. It was without thinking that her mouth curled around the sound, without deciding and without trying. Her heart leapt, and She didn't breathe for what seemed like a lifetime before her sister finally turned to face her. "What you say?" her words were measured and slow, but that was due to her four year old speaking skills. "What you say?" She learned within minutes that the only thing worse than a world of silence is a world of other people's demands.

ImageShe was born and grew up in Southern Frace, around the early twentieth century, There was all this talk about a great war, but frankly, Lolita was too absorbed in her chaos to really care about anything. The war, his family's love or lack thereof. She spent most of her childhood causing mischief, much like she does now, except those were the innocent years where the simplest things like playing with candlelight was an amazing accomplishment. Her family didn't quite enjoy her little stunts, especially when the house nearly caught on fire, and as a result she was taken to a therapist. They tried to change her demeanor with medication, a sickening thought to young girl, but did it actually work? Not at all. Whenever he decided not to stick the pill under his tongue only to spit it into a fire later on, its effects only slightly altered his mood. It failed to suppress her devilish urges, which was the one quality her family really wanted to focus on.

Lo had always been drawn to fire; as an infant, candles and bunsen burners and anything that lit up and radiated heat fascinated her, and she itched to be near them. As a toddler, she would sneak into that special, off-limits drawer in the kitchens of both of her houses to snatch up the lighter and make a pretty little flame. At six years old, she learned how to use a match, and started her very first fire; it was just a little pile of leaves out in the yard of her mother's house, but it flared up immediately, and the small child watched her flaming creation with wide, mesmerized eyes. Suddenly she gasped, for within the flames appeared what looks like a face, and a moment later, the six-year-old could have sworn that she heard the faintest whisper in her ear. A second later, both were gone, but she'd seen it, heard it, she had. And thus an irrevocable attachment to fire was ignited.

Lolita got into a lot of trouble involving fire. Whether it was unknowingly burning her father's important papers or dumping a colony of ants into a fire made in her garden, she was constantly up to no good. When her father came home from work to find his child - ten years old at the time - laughing and pointing as his expensive curtains burning to crisps, he decided this was the final straw. The next day he took her to see a shrink, sure that she had a mental problem that could be diagnosed and cured with a simple dose of medicine. But that wasn't the case - "Pyromania," said the shrink, "cannot be cured, only treated. Generally through therapy, but I can see you don't want that. So here, take this prescription for some mood stabilizers; I can't promise they'll work, but it's worth a try, yes?"

It didn't work. Perhaps this was because Lo developed a habit of taking her pill and tossing it in a fire she'd make. Lo continued to hone her passion for fire, sneaking matches up to her room to watch the shadows of the tiny, pretty flame dance on the wall, or staring into the flickering blaze of a candle and attempt to decipher the picture within. Oftentimes she'll insist to anyone who'll listen that fire is like her crystal ball, though she knows herself that isn't the case; most of the time the images she sees within the flames are completely random. She had no idea why she sees them, just that she does, and it only enforced her belief that fire was made to be hers.

Pyromania has led Lolita Synclare to do questionable things; for one, she fell in love with cigarettes before she diedthe moment she was offered one at thirteen years old, and hasn't stopped smoking since. She used to steal money to buy boxes to add to her stash, which resided under her bed. Cigarettes aren't the only thing dangerous that happens to her due to pyromania.

She also died due to it.

Who in the world would be stupid enough to stroll right into a fire? It's common sense. Don't touch them- and certaintly don't walk in to them. Lolita Synclare walked straight into a fire. It wasn't suicide, in fact, she had every intention to live. But she saw an image in her bonfire. A skull. So she felt the need to walk right into the flame- I mean, fire knows all right? What a horrible way to die, burning alive. Your flesh being ripped apart by flames, bones scorching, blood boiling. But Lo didn't scream. Not once.

(rest when human male 1 appears from the dead)

[Required. Make sure to talk about your character's relationship- were the two of you significant others, or just crushes, or even married? This probably can't be worked out in detail until your partner's sheet is in. This all can be short if you'd like, but for humans, explain how you died, and for all roles, explain how you ended up as a guardian, etc. Be creative. Perhaps getting out of a worse punishment, or guilt, or good ole patriotism!]
Other: [You can design your character skeleton to look however you want, but all of these fields must be filled out. You can even add more fields if you want, but this info is required. Now have FUN! Oh, and please please PLEASE read all the rules and the ENTIRE plot before submitting a sheet, okay? <33 Love y'all!].



Image[/center]

So begins...

Lo Synclare's Story