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Malta Patigneau

WIPing

0 · 176 views · located in Eastern Europe; Late Nineteenth Century.

a character in “Reborn”, originally authored by Yonbibuns, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

Malta Adeline Patigneau

"Quotation."


Appearance

Gender: Female

Height: Malta's not incredibly tall, much to her dismay. She wishes she was the type of girl with long intimidating legs and the stature of an Amazon woman; the sort of figure that would even make men shy away. They'd leave her alone. Unfortunately, the women on both sides of her family weren't known for being vertically gifted. And so, her bites and snarls make up for anything she's been cheated of. She doesn't have to be looking down at you to emanate the goose-prickling feeling that she'd knock a few of your teeth out if you pinched her bottom. It still makes for a comical sight to see her swaying back on her heels, then climbing up on her toes to gain a few inches.

Weight: She's a little thing; doesn't really weigh much but she's got some muscle on her arms and it's obvious that she prides herself as not appearing like a damsel in distress. Either way, it's rude to ask a ladies' weight and if you ask her, you'll probably get a round of knuckles across that snooping nose of yours. Wouldn't want that now, would you? She's got a curvaceous, womanly body that's ample in the right places, with strong shoulders and prominent trapezius muscles. She's got the kind of body women have when posing in front of starving, desperate artists—definitely not something model producers would paw at, but something that's closer to what women should be aiming towards. Nothing slender and malnourished or sickeningly bird-like. Something a little more normal.

Hair Color/Length: Thick, choppy handfuls of obsidian locks tumble across her forehead and ears. You might've had a weird feeling that she cut it herself but you'd have no way of knowing. It's not exactly horribly done but there's something feral and untamed in the way her layered locks fall, as if they were sheared with dull blades while being in a particularly abstract mood. It's been cut pretty short—which expresses just how much she's changed from when she was young—and twirls in soft, pixie curls across the nape of her neck. Either way, it's an uncultivated hairstyle that reflects her personality.

Eye Color: Her gunmetal-blue eyes are cold, hard-looking, and shining with something that makes you feel a little uncomfortable. The varying colours of blue trickle into rippling patterns, expanding through them, like a stone disturbing the calmness of the sea. One moment they could appear to look electric, an impossible blue that invokes unsettled stares and hasty getaways, and the next they could appear dull, a farm-woman's homespun denim. It's the underbelly of your momma's revolver; the crystal-clear bobbles at the bottom of your goldfish tank; the polished gem swinging at your throat. Despite these varying shades of blue, they all feel like the eyes of an animal that's been cornered far too many times. They're almond-shaped, medium in size, and perpetually drawn into squinted slants. You can't tell whether or not she's amused, disgusted or bored.

Skin Tone: Like I've mentioned before, Malta's been spared of looking like a white sheet that's been thrown in a kiddie pool—definitely not translucent or illuminating some kind of ethereal glow that most vampires' seem to have. She's not greyish and she's certainly been saved from suffering thick, ugly blue veins. Her network is simple. Her canvas isn't shocking. She's not the startling colour of Geisha-white; nor the sickly shades inbetween. Malta sits somewhere between the normal pastiness of a dweeb who spends too much time indoors or simply: peaches-and-cream.

Bearing: She's never walked through life with hunched shoulders. She's never cowered, submitting to the strong just because she was physically weaker. Malta doesn't even walk normally—she strides with grace and fluidity, rolling her gait into something purposeful and confident. It's as if she has somewhere to go, even if she doesn't. With her shoulders squared, chin held defiantly high and eyes perpetually squinted: you've got the feeling that she walks like this because she's cautious. She doesn't want you to think she's weak so she's adopted this point of view. Equipped with a dry, witty almost dark sense of humour, Malta is an enigmatic woman who hides many facets of her personality with a veneer shielding of sarcasm and underhanded trickery. If you try to keep pace with her, she'll disappear around the next corner.

Description: It doesn't take more than a single glance figure out this one’s not completely human. Scathingly vertically challenged at five foot three and weighing only one hundred and twenty pounds, Malta appears very harmless and young to the majority that set eyes upon her, which couldn't be further from the truth. She's a whopping firecracker ready to slam her effectual fists across your jaw if you sass her the wrong way and she probably trumps you in age unless your something of the supernatural flavour. Dark lashes frame her gunmetal peepers, complimenting her peaches-and-cream complexion. Her skin's not exactly swarthy in colour but she's never been translucent; not the unusual pigmentation of a sopping piece of wet paper or the peppered slab of white linen Vampires might find that unusual—or not, there's always been differing shades of bloodlessness in your flesh. No one's exactly the same. In her Reborn, Malta's lost her smattering of freckles. Her cheeks are a little more shallow, accentuating her prominent cheekbones and full, bowed lips.

Her figure's not incredibly feminine. It's noticeable enough that Malta's got certain assets that every woman's been born with but has absolved a long time ago that she wouldn't use them for her own gains. She wouldn't stoop so low as to act like a whore for a quick meal, even if it meant going without. The Vampiress doesn't like to accentuate any of her features; she's fairly flat-chested and dresses boyishly. Her skin, when alive, was extremely healthy. But now, since her turning, she has a distinct resemblance to a peaches-and-cream doll. Sometimes, she's pushed into applying makeup so she seems more lifelike. Normally, vampires' don't have a hard time blending in unless they have pumping blue veins screaming from their necks.. Fancy that if she does manage to slather on some makeup. She distinctly hates trying to carefully apply mascara or any other creme products of the sort—it's irritating and she's just recently learned how to apply the damned stuff. She'd rather skulk in the shadows, muttering heatedly that she doesn't get out much. She's not a slender doll; certainly not Jessica Rabbit or Betty Boop. They're tramps.

Malta's wardrobe is peculiar in taste. She doesn't like prancing around in lacy dresses or strapping a breathless wrapper around her waist to make herself seem tiny. She prefers conventional clothing that indicates a Gothic meets modernization era; something she can climb, grapple and fight effectively in. She wants no one to mistake who or what she is. She is no girl, or play thing; she is a woman/vampire and an arsenal. She enjoys being appreciated but will not waste her time on any one who does not command themselves with the same confidence she wields. Black leather vests with brown and tufted trimming marks her as someone whose well aware that she's a woman but harshly reprimands taking any actions. She wears fitted brown trousers with the knees shredded. The silky, flourishing garments hanging in her closet, given to her by Sebastiane (whose always dressed immaculately), remain neglected. And generally, Malta shuns the use of footwear unless she's forced to mingle with the public.

Malta's not the type of person you'd notice right away, not unless you were really looking for her. The less people that notice you, the more you tend to be able to get away with. That isn't to say that she can't stand out or draw attention to herself if she wants to, her preference simply lies in remaining under the radar. She's not without her imperfections. She's got a myriad of scars that you might not be able to see unless your peeping through her window. The most apparent blemish is a large line of toughened tissue running along the bridge of her nose. It's an old battlescar from her youth, before she'd been introduced to Sebastiane. She thinks it builds character, so she doesn't try to hide it. Her second disfigurement came shortly after she was Reborn: Malta's change had been violent and disorderly, comprised of a short-lived rampage involving a Vampire hunter. He'd thrown a vial of holy water across her left shoulder and left a spiderweb-patterned burn, spindly with unhealed flesh and puckered with pink, stretching tissue.

“A really strong woman accepts the war she went through and is ennobled by her scars. A scar is what happens when the word is made flesh. Each scar is a lesson; teaching you caution, teaching you reservations, teaching you strength and patience. It leaves experiences that make you all the wiser. Hatred leaves ugly scars. Respect and understanding of those disfigurements, of those blemishes, transform them into constellations.”





ImageThe Basics:

Intelligence: In Malta's generation, education was not always the most important affair. Girls were virtually ignored when it came to apprenticeships or education. Only daughters of the very rich and powerful were allowed to attend select courses, alongside their male counterparts. The majority of the middle class were illiterate, though not all. Chantry and grammar schools were restricted, often shunning girls unless they had the coin to pay and the lineage to show. Among the poor, where Malta was comfortably settled, there were educated priests who often invited the children to teach them to read and write—if only a little. She learned her Latin and French words there but only scratched the surface. Those things hardly mattered to her. She wanted to be anointed a Knight. She wanted to be a page. It wasn't until she met Sebastiane that she was truly given a proper education. In their youth, he'd taught her how to read and write; how to ride horses and properly care for them; astronomy, geometry, arithmetic. She isn't interested in academia now, though. A woman has to rely on common sense and street smarts.

Socialization: If you're looking for a romantic socialite, look elsewhere. Her interactions stem from necessity, not desire. She does not want companionship, friendship, or a poor soul to dump her thoughts on. Where other vampire's are good at reading an individuals character, Malta falters because she's disinterested. She doesn't want to know anything about you. She'd much rather you shimmy along and let her nurse her beer, but you won't because your convinced that she's got interesting stories, or that there's something in those eyes of hers that you can fix. Pieces of her puzzle that you can assemble. But, you'll never get that far. It’s generally quite clear that Malta hails from a rural background. She holds true to those “country” sensibilities in most cases and prefers to be trekking through the wilderness than dealing with your flapping gums.

Orientation: Bisexual

General Mannerisms:

Quirks:

Hobbies:

Moral Alignment Chaotic Neutral / Lawful Evil

Creed:

Occupation:

Demeanour:

When it comes to confrontation, she's generally hunching her shoulders, hackles raised and readying herself for a round of vicious snarls. She's an aggressive person who doesn't fancy beating around the bush. It's not unusual to hear several creative, choice words leaping uncensored from her mouth. Using threats and even come to blows with someone without really being provoked isn't uncommon, either. When it came to her Maker, or certain people that try a little too hard to assert their position over her: she isn't afraid to tell them what she thinks, where to stick it or hold back the threats of physical violence. She has an extreme dislike and twisted adoration for her Maker; a sick, disgusting mixture of bitterness and Stockholm Syndrome. She isn't entirely trusting of his intentions even if he's proven his kindness time after time. Afterall, it's his fault that her life had been turned upside down. Her feelings aren't a secret to anyone surrounding her.

At least in the sense of being a Vampire, Malta hates herself. Becoming a Vampire wasn't her choice and in many ways (at least in her opinion) it's worse than being dead. She doesn't hate other Vampires based on the actions of one, but she doesn't really trust them. Especially Master's or people obviously stronger than she is. Malta doesn't like the idea of not being the one in charge of her own life and fate. Authority has always been a sore spot. Respect is something that she believes should be earned and not given, which makes her issues with authority not all that surprising. Being told she can't do something is seen more of a challenge to prove that she can or that she will. She's found herself in trouble on more than one occasion because of this. Whether or not she's in the wrong has never been a deciding factor. Once you slap down the leash on her neck, she's bound to tear herself apart trying to squirm away.

What survival's taught her, in all generations and walks of life, is that it's best to keep your head down unless you want it lopped off. Treading lightly in the shadows and withholding her loyalties are means to keep her metaphorical walls strong and sturdy. Sometimes, Malta's haunted by the atrocious circumstances she suffered in her youth. Things were different back then, much different. Food and water were scarce. Soldiers were given free reign to pillage where they pleased; rape and murder when they wished. Shelter wasn't exactly sturdy; mud slicked across heaping logs, all covered with brittle stray. If she can sleep somewhere relatively warm and dry, if she doesn't trip and fall too often, if the nosebleeds aren't too frequent; then it's a good day. Even as the years passed, Malta has a hard time believing that Sebastiane has dealt with all her needs. His kindness is insufferable. His naivety condemnable. Who, truly, wears the armour? And who wears the lacy skirts.

She's a shot of whiskey doused in cheek-puckering rye. Strong and goes down stinging, burning down your throat. You swear you won't have another. You won't speak with her. But, you do. And she hates you for it. She guesses it's her Vampiric magnetism. She's a vicious creature who'd much rather take up arms then allow someone else to protect her; she isn't a damsel and won't be treated like one. Weak woman cower behind men. They're desperate for their attention and protection, while she asks for neither. The Vampiress adopts languages, cultures and mannerisms quickly—shedding all the peculiarities and etiquette’s she'd known in the Renaissance as easily as a serpent, suiting her purpose within a world that's lost it's honour, chivalry and old ways. If you're expecting this woman to lend you her shoulder, her ear, or any other orifice, then you'll be sorely disappointed; physical or otherwise. She's basically a sarcastic jackass. Her comments are often mistaken for dry wit or a backdoors type of humour.

She has conditioned herself to be one of the lads, mainly due to her poor, farmstead upbringing. Whereas young girls dreamed of marrying rich, handsome boys and men, Malta dreamt of becoming a knights. She dreamt of the impossible with all her little heart, only to have them ripped away because of her biological gender. It made her unsuitable. Women simply didn't fit into those roles. They were married off—if they were lucky and fertile and prosperous—and expected to sire children, raising them until the end of their days while their husbands drifted off to war or merely toiled on their lands. This was not how she wanted to live and she still stands stubbornly by these facts. Where knights no longer exist, there are parts of Malta that no longer exist. Her life is no precious thing to her. She's learned how to die a long time ago, among men, among soldiers.

Malta's the darkest horse receding at the edge of the herd, barely noticeable but still snorting at every remark she doesn't agree with. Her defence mechanisms are exhausting. Her rough exterior leaves little to be desired. While she may occasionally offer a helping hand, Malta doesn't stray too far from her comfort zone. Her unwillingness to let people walk through her front door often shuts down any initial thoughts of companionship or acquainted friendship. Best described as a predator, she moves as one, holding a dangerous potential in her movements and attitudes. These are traits that Sebastiane has tried weaning her away from, to no avail.



Motives and Goals:


Generally Carries:


Has Access To:

Powers:

Strengths:
All Vampires possess strength and speed much higher than that of a human, complete with incomparable grace, a different sort than the animalistic fluid nature of other supernatural creatures. Vampires new and old possess senses much greater than that of humans. Even the newly dead have better hearing than most dogs, and their sense of sight is much greater as well, akin to predatory birds. The original “children” turned by Sebastiane Delacroix, Vlad the Impaler's kindly predecessor, were considerably stronger despite their Vampiric ages. Though her initial bloodlust seems to be waning with the years, Malta has lost pieces of herself. Violence has become an entertaining distraction that she seems to excel in—her movements are muffled, it wouldn't be surprising if you hadn't even heard her approaching. Once the Vampiress sings her blade across your throat, you'd only have time to gurgle in protest. She's honed these abilities in secrecy, hiding such gruesome acts from Sebastiane to no avail. He always knew.

She's gained a few more abilities throughout the years. Nothing so miraculous as Sebastiane's startling capabilities, but some powers that suit her personally. He'd always said that his gift was more of a curse, so she's glad that she doesn't have to shoulder those burdens. Malta's abilities evolve more from physical stamina, endurance and strength. She has adoptive muscle memory; the ability to replicate, remember and mimic any physical action after seeing it performed once. Heightened dexterity, stamina, memory and intuitive aptitude increases the chances of her success. She's as nimble as a spider; able to grapple up walls with ease as long as there's footholds and objects to swing from. To small degrees, Malta can exert her will onto weak-minded humans and affect their moods while locking eyes, but she's been warned not to use this ability. Even Vampire's have their own codes and regulations they must follow, which is often upheld by eliminating the Vampire in question.

Weaknesses:
Malta's incredibly, insufferably selfish. It's her biggest weakness. She scrutinizes everything to see how it will be beneficial for her. If she doesn't feel that she'll get something out of it, then she won't even consider it. Not only is she selfish, but Malta's possessive over inanimate objects and people she claims belongs to her. Jealous fits ensue if her things are threatened. You wouldn't be far from the mark if you considered her an asshole. She doesn't understand people anymore but she can empathize, but a lot of the time she just doesn’t have the right mindset for handholding and backpatting.


Statistics:

Date of Birth:

Place of Birth:

Family:

Friends:

Significant Associations/Affiliations:

Language Skills:



History:

So begins...

Malta Patigneau's Story