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Mandisa Khalil

"Call me names all you like, it's not my job to blow sunshine up your @**~!"

0 · 478 views · located in The Medialoum

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


ImageHuman Female 1
Mandisa Charles-Khalil ♀

"I don't give a damn what people think, because people don't think."

Name: Mandisa Charles. Her full name is Mandisa Charles-Khalil, a blend of her white and African heritage. However, she only goes by Mandisa Khalil, not Mandisa Charles, and she'll probably slap you on the back of the head if you call her it. Her preferences are made clear upon introductions: she puts up with 'Disa but she will shoot you glares if you go anywhere near Mandy. If you're going to make up any silly nicknames for her, then they better be pretty damn clever. Charlie is also acceptable to friends.
Age: On the younger side of the Guardians, around 1200. Died at twenty-four.
Gender: Female
Height: Five foot nine
Weight: 135 lbs

Have you ever paused to examine the desert flowers peeking out of the foliage? If not a worldly traveler, imagine Disa. If she were any desert-faring plant, she'd most certainly be the giant cactus with its beautiful flowers and deadly spines, contrasting beauty with impending pain (if you cross her). All Eastern grace and poise, wrapped up in edginess, a dangerous representation of fine bones, aesthetic elegance, and one-hundred-percent woman. A roguish lookin' lass for sure. Too many teeth for her mouth, too big a smile for the sun. Her neckline is her pride and joy; long and elfin yet strong, a delicate, punchable jawline.

The color of her irises are a stark shade of honeyed-yellow, accented with amber if you manage to get close enough to distinguish.

The most noticeable thing about her is her body, or, her miles of legs. Perpetually in her golden years and a giraffe at five feet and a handful of inches, she may be taller than most women and even than some men, but she's not some hulking Amazon, mind you, but made of leaner slates, built for endurance and lengthy treks, supple, slender muscles and smooth skin. She does with keeping herself sparklingly presentable; with little inspection you can tell he goes to meticulous grooming lengths, teeth shining, hair with a springy shine. Once upon a time she showed herself off on the beaches of earth with a generously filled bathing suit, offering blushing women coquettish smiles. If you're close enough, you'll notice the frequent smile-crinkles of her slanted eyes, the deep dimples ridged into her cheeks, and the little crooks beside her nose whenever she laughs, turning up a little at the edges.

ImageTall, dark, handsome; definitely the most adept adjectives. Her temperament is all fluid grace; a dancer's movements with fingertips gliding through water. Her voracious strides' are seemingly planned. Each stalking step reminds me of a familiar creature or an animal you've seen before, an animal that's dangerous, promising and misleading. She will not bend for you. Her cheekbones sculpt slender cheekbones, would-be girlish except for the roguish glint in her eyes, which catch the light and twinkle it in peculiar ways. Always rimmed with thick smoky kohl eyeliner, either that, or she's been punched in the face one too many times, and bears shadows of the bruises. Very rarely does she stray from her standard suggestive smirk.

She has acquired tribal scars from her Nigerian home. "My body isn't ruined! I'm a goddamn tiger who's earned her stripes." Such small hands, honey amber dark. Scarred with little white strikes, scarred and kissable and callous.

There is something sweepingly attractive about her confidence.

"I wonder how much fun I can have before they boot me out of here and into hell?"

Mandisa Khalil is, at her core, little more than an immature young girl thirsting after adventure, silly misdeeds, and untold treasures. She can easily describe herself as outrageously daring, subjectively outgoing or "the life of the party". She's still recklessly stubborn. There's no budging her once she's made his mind on something. She'll throw out his anchor, and wait for you to sweep past her like the tide.

To the world:
Mandisa's smile, which may blind you, oozes pure charisma and conceit. (Rather inwardly, too.) She's beautiful, funny, desirable, and she knows all that, uses it too. No denying she's fun to be around, and a good drinking buddy too if you have the stomach. She's the type of person whose presence fills the room, impossible to be ignored, like a hurricane of smiles and laughs and vulgar jokes that draws one to the very eye of it. She laughs with her full belly, curling around it with her eyes screwed tight, pouring out laughter and tearing with mirth, never one to do something halfway, not her.

To be short, she is a charming little s***.

Negative traits:
If you've known her long enough, so essentially if you are a Guardian, and if you are able to see through the thick curtains she's managed to pull up around herself, then you'll know that Mandy can be a bit callous, keeping people at her hip at the same time that they're really at an arm's length. She would laughs and make trouble with about anyone she meets, but people take that as friendship when in reality they have never peered behind those curtains, seen her insecurities.

Make light out of an awful situation? Most likely. She's not one to dwell on the inevitable. In fact, she's not one to dwell on much of anything. While she's intelligent enough, she's hardly mature. She's a flirt, a heartthrob, endlessly optimistic and even more bottomlessly irresponsible. Disa seems to suffer from a severe disability to take account for any of her actions. She lives in the moment, lives for the thrill. An addictive type for sure, able to quickly get herself helplessly stuck at the bottom of her habits, dependencies.

Positive traits:
Despite all this she isn't a bad girl. On the positive side, Disa is a leader. Sensitive to others and their feelings and extremely doting, fiercely loyal to those she surrounds herself with. Oodles of optimism and a never-say-die attitude! Endless courage, quite outgoing; it isn't very hard to befriend Disa, her nature being (almost promiscuously) friendly with a teetering dollop of cheerfulness. There's a marked understanding that no one gets very far without companions, allies, or acquaintances. Friends are always worth the trouble. Her shoulder is open for salty tears, and she's a stable friend. She's an encourager and a smiler and laugher and an easy-going-er, even as he works hard to accomplish goals.

Still, all these things can be hard to see past her self-love and attitude of entitlement. It can be difficult to reach the childish kid inside, silly, cheerful. Carefree. She herself loses touch with it, snapping back to the easier persona of cold apathy and the I-get-what-I-want attitude. Perhaps you can be the one to reconnect her with who she started out as being, the smiling, energetic little girl, not a care in the world, loving life, loving living, wearing her heart on her sleeve and trusting everyone who comes into her path, whose only goal in the world is to have fun.

Opening up to someone, letting them in and admitting to the terrible deeds she's committed and getting a negative reaction. She's not exactly sure why it would bother her, but it's one of the main reasons why she keeps himself behind closed doors. She fears that she'll make the same mistakes she's made in the past, that she's bound to repeat everything all over again and lose the same kinds of things she's already managed to drive way.

She fears a meaningless death having accomplished nothing. She's desperate to make a mark on the world, to show everyone that he has lived. This was what drove her to become a Guardian.

Creatures with several sets of eyes also give her the heeby-jeebies.

Quirks: Two words: weird. Food. Disa will eat the strangest things! Pickled octopus in raspberry sauce, chocolate-covered turnips in ranch dressing... it's like a train wreck; you want to look away but you can't. She also eats ridiculously fast, which always tends to give her stomach aches. There's nothing she can do to stop himself from scarfing down whatever someone puts in front of her. She swears she doesn't do it to be polite, but there's something about always being prepared to get up and move – and she's not gonna move on an empty stomach unless she absolutely has to. She checks her arms for bugs pretty damn often, for fear that any random tickle is probably a hornet or a bee, or any other threatening insect crawling across ers hands, arms, wrists. It's usually nothing. Stray strands flailing off someone's shirt drive her crazy. She needs to sever them. Cut them off. Eradicate them. She paces a lot. She always puts his right shoe on, his right pad on. Everything must begin with the right side, followed by the left. And, rather secretly, she collects Aroha's feathers, which to her are the most beautiful things in the world. They make her feel warm and fuzzy and she has handfuls of them in her dresser.

β€’ Swimming
β€’ Sunny days, warmth, heavy blankets
β€’ LEMONS. Lemonade, lemon pie, fresh lemons off the vine-- mmm.
β€’ Power; being beautiful yet not weak, sticking to her guns and taking charge.
β€’ Silliness, goofing around. Lighten up!
β€’ Board games. For whatever reason it draws out her inner competitor-- she'll be red-faced and sweaty and shouting over a game of Life, and man, if she loses, watch as she spirals into self-doubt and confusion.
β€’ Dogs. Definitely a dog person.
β€’ Disney.
β€’ Laundry (loves the smell of freshly laundered clothes; it drives her mad)
β€’ Stars. Wanted to be an astronaut when she was little.
β€’ Fights
β€’ Alcohol.

β€’ Work, chores. Neat freaks. Busybodies. Calm down and relax.
β€’ Extreme temperature drops
β€’ Cooking. If you ask her to cook a real meal, well, just don't eat what she gives you, that's all I'm saying.
β€’ Incompetence, selfishness, unnecessary rudeness (oh, the irony).
β€’ Blood. It's a phobia.
β€’ Bugs. Another phobia.
β€’ Ovens! Yet another phobia. She is freaking terrified of ovens. They are monsters from Hades itself sent to give her hands third degree burns. She always makes someone else get her food out of the oven for her; she will not go near it. Once her father got so frustrated with her he stood over her yelling at her to take her frozen pizza out and she dissolved into tears. Can. Not. Do. It. She'd rather starve.
β€’ MATH.
β€’ Being outdone.

Mandisa is the daughter of Nigerian natives, but was born in Hartford, CT. Her name means "first daughter of the people" in the Igbo language. She had the remarkable opportunity to live in Nigeria during her preteens and teens. Assimilating to a new environment presented its challenges at first, but it ultimately taught her a lot-- that she's extremely proud of her heritage. One outstanding experience was the acquisition of her tribal scars. Rather than perceiving the scars as a blemish, Disa believes that they are both a reflection of her individuality and a representation of her unique heritage. Shortly after her return to the USA, her parents divorced. She stayed with her mother, who remarried into the Charles family, where Mandisa acquired an adorable white baby brother. Unfortunately, Disa did not rise to the challenge to keep her family together, and instead got into more and more trouble until she finally moved to NYC, where she got her own apartment and a waitressing job and determined to make herself a model.

Disa died in 2001, when a man slipped a drug into her drink in a bar which she had a reaction to. She died before the paramedics arrived.

"Man, I always knew I hated men."


She didn't mean to get a relationship.
She didn't mean to fall in love.
But, hell. She just is bad at knowing what she wants...
All she knows is that Aroha is beautiful and makes her heart start thumping like crazy and she's the only thing that makes her second guess herself but that's a GOOD thing because she's too confident most of the time and... and... before Disa met Aroha, she thought that SHE was the creme de la creme, the coolest person in the world, the sexiest-- better than anyone else. Now she knows that's not true. Aroha is light years ahead of her. And she, she just... she loves her, okay?


So begins...

Mandisa Khalil's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Amelia Finch Character Portrait: Mandisa Khalil 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}

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.


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.