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Sansa Kealoha

Little mice, little men, get 'em all excited; all invited.

0 · 169 views · located in The Masquerade Ball

a character in “Misguided Ghosts: A Promise”, originally authored by Yonbibuns, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

Image

Name: Sansa Kealoha

Age: 26

Gender: Female

Ethnicity: Brazilian/Hawaiian

Occupation: Cardiac Surgeon

Sexuality: Pansexual

Appearance:

Neither beautiful or striking, Sansa's features carry a sense of normality within them.

Sansa is of Hawaiian descent, a complicated character by any accord. She stands at five foot two inches exactly; she's fairly scrawny, with stocky legs and tiptoeing feet to reach things placed high on the shelf. She was told that her exceptionally short stature was inherited from her mothers' side of the family—men and women alike look like tiny dolls with their small hands, small feet and heart-shaped faces. She weighs in at a measly 110lbs despite all the junk she manages to eat throughout her long night shifts; she swears, with the amount she gobbles up, that she should be obese. Fast metabolisms aside, she tends to make an effort to adopt a healthy diet whenever she's at home. She appears very fragile in comparison to most people, but that's not necessarily true. Brazilian blood runs strong in her veins, and its' said that she's inherited her fathers' fire. Her skin is a creamy colour, not quite pale, but still rich in natural vitamins that allow for her face to be blemish-free, unlined by worry. She's still sore because she hadn't inheriting her mothers naturally tanned skin, and tries to counter this by lazing around in the sun. Apparently, her skin only comes in two flavours; crème, or burnt. She's almost always grinning, though many of these expressions aren't genuine. Curvy and petite, she retains a healthy physique but still manages to look androgynous. It isn't uncommon for those around her to mistaken her as a man if she's caught wearing gender-neutral clothes. In letters, kept nestled in her drawers, her grandmother always wrote that she looked so much like her mother with her streaming, brown hair; and she hated it. Locks of short brown hair sweep outwards from her head, and away from her peculiar eyes. She cropped it short one day when she had an emotional epiphany, though she's made up lies whenever her friends asked about it—no long hair, no dealing with deft fingers and cheap come-ons. Unfortunately, it never worked the way she planned, anyway.

That comfortable, girl-next-door normality ends when you look at Sansa's broodingly dark eyes, two abysmal pits through the glass windows of her soul. You can't exactly tell where her pupil begins or where they end; they reflect everything as if they were made of glass, giving off the appearance of a teddy bear with its' small, beaded eyes. They're the sort that could save a life and a heart with just a glance, just as readily as her neoprene-clad hands can. They're the sort that could still a knife and end the world war with just one look. Super-luminary eyes that could possibly brighten the darkest alleyways, and leave them lit with classy lamp lights. Earth-stable, strong and unwavering. Eyes like the warm, sugary brown of coffee nestled in your hands, providing warmth in the most unlikely ways. Eyes of earth, unshakable. It's truly one of her only redeeming qualities.

Her fashion is questionable. Scrubs aren't fashionable, but it's a constant in her life. Her fashion sense revolves in whatever she can find at the nearest thrift store, or what her co-workers throw her way in the form of bagged, hand-me-down clothes. This isn't to say that it doesn't flatter her figure, because her petite form more than makes up for any faux-pas'. Her favourite outfit consists of Japanese stockings that curl around her small feet, opening at the heels and and toes area; a sky-blue summer dress; a short, green mid-riff jacket accented with faux fur and an array of bandanna's that change as frequently as her mood. The bottom of her dress has the figure of waves that are shown breaking on the dress; it reminds her of the days she spent in Hawi, visiting her mothers' birth place. If she's forced to wear shoes, she opts for an old, worn pair of brown flip flops.

Personality:

Sansa is a very calm, collective person who prides herself in enjoying her life to the fullest in every which way. This includes recklessly diving into dangerous situations for the hell of it—“you only live once,” she takes that motto ridiculously serious. To some extent she has become somewhat of an adrenaline junkie; seeking travel and adventure through every corridor, acting as if there were no bad in the world. It could stem from the fact that she has no family and finds peace within the moments of clarity or it could just be a means of escape, suppression, from the fact that she is forever alone. She's an eagle amongst a flock of doves; meaning, she's incredibly direct and aggressive in her affairs, as well as in her work. Sansa possesses one of the most important traits that most people seem to lack: honesty. She believes that telling the truth is the right thing to do, no matter the outcome. Sugar-coating only leads to awkward conversations down the road, and she'd rather not deal with that. A no-nonsense type woman, she's never been a liar.

Sansa is cocky, sarcastic, laid back, and very fun loving. People always told her that her mouth would be the end of her, and she couldn’t really argue against it. Fittingly enough, Sansa finds herself giving just about everyone she meets an embarrassing nickname—only if she seems to like you. She's also rather flashy and often makes overly dramatic entrances and reacts in an exaggerated manner. To put it simply, she's silly by nature despite her intelligence. She tends to be a very playful person, often enjoying humour in all its forms. You can usually spot her with a wild smirk on her face. Vocally, Sansa speaks with a ring of confidence, enthusiasm, and kindness in general. She's a strong woman who does as she pleases, refusing to bend in the face of adversity.

Even whilst content; smiling isn't something that can be usually seen from her, although when something has made her happy which, is usually rare, she can simply be seen with a wicked grin upon her face, although one could think that she's up to something due to the slightly sinister nature of the grin in question, but then again, the girl is usually up to something anyway, so it can get somewhat confusing. But, when happy her replies to people are usually less... sarcastic than normal. Her smiles, when truly genuine, are heart-warming. A rare thing for rare occasions. But, when she's angry, she's a force to be reckoned with. Honestly? Satan reincarnated. Being a woman of short temper, she can usually be seen with this personality bubbling over. She can get enraged over the silliest of things; someone crowding her, someone not giving in to her orders, or simply if someone has said something that she doesn't agree with or like. Differing opinions might clash with this little lass. When she's angry, the best thing to do is simply go away from the area, since ignoring her will make everything much worse. Agreeably, her best weapons are the mother given assets she was born with, and despite her demure appearance, she isn't afraid to use them when its' needed. With a flutter of her eyelashes and puckered lips, she'll foxtrot all over you until she gets what she wants. Then, she'll leave you high and dry. In the ER, it's all for nothing, and she cleverly carries this attitude outside of the hospital. It rides on her shoulders like an angry chip.

Gambling, gambling, gambling. This pastime is a favourite of hers, and where the root of her financial issues stem. Due to her obsession with it, she can never be seen without a deck of cards or two and a dice somewhere in her pockets for emergency games with people—bets, bets, bets. She could bet on anything, if the other person was willing. Even if they're ridiculous claims, ridiculous bets, she's bound to try and win them. She's been known to have somewhat of a lucky hand, being skilled in various games and is bearer of a wide range knowledge of names of card games. Over the years she has perfected her poker face, and even out of games, can be seen wearing it, a blank expression on her face. Did I mention she's a sore loser?

--Likes
[*] Gambling; preferably Seven Card Stud, with a side of slot machines.
[*] Intense surgeries
[*] Whiskey on the rocks
[*] Challenges
[*] Cheap cigarettes
[*] Originality
[*] Jazz
[*] Wheatgrass drinks
[*] Rappelling
[*] Rice balls
[*] Cute girls; rugged men.

--Dislikes
[*] Losing; in any shape or form.
[*] Dull people
[*] Her theories being questioned
[*] Feeling alone
[*] Cloudy days
[*] Mirrors
[*] Screaming children
[*] Uncleanliness
[*] People who overreact other the most stupid things
[*] Pig-headed men
[*] Catty women

--Phobias
[*] OCD: She suffers several compulsions that she tries to keep hidden from the public, with difficulty. It might even be the reason why she's got that quick-whip tongue and nasty temper. Her worries and doubts, superstitions and rituals are ever-present, and ever-the-same. It's as if she's a scratched vinyl record, forever skipping at the same groove and repeating one fragment of the same broken song. She's incredibly meticulous, often touching objects and people without meaning to; resting her fingers on their elbows or slinging her arms around their shoulders, while still sober. Often checks appliances, windows, door locks several times to make sure that she closed, turned off, or locked them; worries that she forgets and wastes time backtracking. She's afraid of contamination and germs, but has learned to deal with this by using excessive amounts of soap, and hand sanitizer, and baby wipes. Symmetry plays a large role in her life; her house is immaculate, and almost terrifyingly organized.
[*] Suffers slight Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
[*] Thunderstorms
[*] Mirrors
[*] Revolving doors
[*] Steel wool

Masque and Gown: Sansa's Ballgown | Sansa's Masquerade Mask | Felipes' Casual Suit | Felipes' Dressy Suit | Felipes' Masquerade Mask

Family:

Mother: “Aluna Kealoha,” was a mere name that Sansa's adoptive mother mumbled when she was old enough to question why her eyes looked different, why they had different hair, why her voice was slightly strange in comparison—just a mere name, unforgotten but dusty from neglect. When Sansa was a child, she'd whisper her biological mothers' name against her pillow, wishing that she could resurrect the image of her face with those words. She still searches in vain for this stranger, this woman who she feels abandoned her. [Estranged]

Father: Vinícius Galleti was another absentee parental figure. Sansa only heard of him from her biological “no-na,” or as she refers to her as, “Kupuna wahine.” Her grandmother, on her fathers' side, always told her stories about her father. Apparently, he passed on a few years after her mother gave birth in the Brazilian Armed Forces; Forças Armadas Brasileiras. She knows that he had a striking smile with one of his molars missing, that he had dirty-blonde hair, that he loved his country, and that he would have done anything to protect them. To a ten-year-old, it wasn't very comforting. [Deceased]

Adoptive Mother: Truly, a light in the darkness; Ami Kobayashi. When she found Sansa Kealoha in a Hawaiian adoption institute, she fell in love and immediately underwent the adoption process. In the beginning, the child with teddy bear eyes wasn't excited—quite the opposite, she spat and hissed like an orange-bellied toad, refusing to give any signs of affection at all. She said that no one adopted monsters, and that was what she was. When Ami asked why she thought such a thing, the little girl didn't miss a beat: monsters were the only ones “Makuahine's” and “Makuakane's” didn't want. What did Ami do, just then? Sansa can still remember it. She scooped her up in her arms and just held her there, and she said, “To me, Sansa, family means putting your arms around each other and being there.” She's still very close to Ami, though her visits come less and less frequent.

Kupuna Wahine (Grandmother): Vania Galleti, her nona and greatest ally while she was small. What cherished memories she does have of her are almost ethereal; calloused hands made strong from kneading dough and using washing boards, snowy white hair framing a wizened face, and the bluest of eyes that made her think of the Hawaiian straights. She often sought her out whenever she was homesick, whenever she couldn't look Ami in the face, and whenever she wanted to bury her face in her hands because she felt like something was missing in her chest. Her nona always knew what to say. Just, recently she passed away. [Deceased]

History: “I'm not a poet of words, I'm a poet of actions and fists and movement. I write music in cadavers, snapped gloves and scalpels. I'm all pumping hearts at my fingertips, tracing your superior vena cava and your aorta; closing, horizontal mattress suture. Your inner contents are a deadly landslide, leaving you emotionally dried, and me, without understanding. I won't understand. These are messy lines I'm not willing to cross. I'll cut you up, move things around, and then stitch you all together—what I won't do is; hold your hand, kiss your cheek, and whisper adieu. You might think that heart surgeries the worst, but I think—y'know—I think, it's beautiful. Heart surgeons, you say, are cruel for putting holes in other peoples' hearts; you're right.”

Sansa Kealoha wasn't born into the meticulously independent woman she's transformed into. Born on the 24th of July, sunny days and smiling faces greeted her. The happiness was short lived. She was packed off to some white-walled institute when her parents disappeared, leaving her with questions her mouth couldn't even form. Those questions would always linger in the back of her mind, begging to be spoken and often left disappointed. These were the days that shaped her. She was once that little lonely girl scrabbling up metaphorical hills for a little piece of quiet, anything to stop the screams echoing discouraging things in her head. She was the underdog; quiet and unnoticed, but she's there, if you squinted hard enough. She was no one's little girl, and so she believed she was a monster. Monsters weren't wanted, and from where she stood, no one even paid her much attention let alone debated whether or not she'd make a good daughter. Teddy bear eyes always saw the world much larger than her peers, but even then, no one adopted her. Not for a long while, anyway. The other kids seemed cruel in their little games, picking on her; for looking different, for saying strange things, for rattling their teeth with her small, ineffectual fists. One by one, she watched them disappear with smiling faces; hugging their new mothers and fathers, while she pressed her hands into her arms and stared out the window.

[Will edit as the story progresses, and she reveals her past.]

Other: Sansa's a reputable cross-dresser. Though, those who know her as her male counterpart aren't exactly savvy with her true identity. She's not exactly sure why she does this, but she's experimented in high school and continued to do this out of comfort—even going so far as carrying this into male modelling. Those who sponsored her seemed enthralled by the discovery that she's biologically female. This isn't to say that she cross-dresses often, but when she does it's nearly impossible to tell the difference; she uses binders, wigs, coloured contacts, and accentuates her androgynous qualities. At best, she looks like a pretty boy. She's been with a few particularly bad eggs—guys who she's said she's hated, because they never treated women properly—so why then, can't she try her hand at being a gentleman? Under this guise, Sansa goes under the name: Felipe.

Sansa; All The Same to Me by Anya Marina | Everything At Once by Lenka | Dialysis by It's Alive | Felipe; Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol | Flowers for a Ghost by Thriving Ivory | Heartbeat by Scouting for Girls

So begins...

Sansa Kealoha's Story