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Jaime Hayes

Jaime is a simple modern woman, with a predisposition to be placed in rather occult or arcane situations.

0 · 106 views · located in The Infinite Void

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by BurgundyMStone

Description

She seemes mid-twenties, average height, and of mixed race. A Quadroon, if the expression is still used. Her hair is a long, thick mess of tight, soft curls the color of rust- normally tied up in a messy half bun, or flowing out over her shoulders. What a lovely mix of Irish and.. hm... Caribbean? African? Haitian? -...it's so hard to tell, just from a glance. Her skin is clearly of a yellowy brown hue, but in a way (and in some places in particular) she is paler than many caucasians, especially with how popular tanning is, these days. Get close enough, and one would see the freckles that spread beneath her eyes, and the two on her upper lip. Her mouth is cushy and quite full, the curve of the upper lip the same size of the plump lower, having that velvety matte look of a rose petal, and the color of a white peach's blush. Her eyes, are a dulled blue green, and fringed with russet lashes.

Her figure is youthful, befitting her age, but a bit.. heavier towards the bottom. She certainly fills out her yoga pants, when she wears them. Otherwise, she is generally draped in a loose maxi dress that does little to hide the shape of her hips on an otherwise small frame. She dresses in whatever is commonly accepted as 'cute' or 'sexy' for the season; nothing too racy, mind you. A teal, sequined tunic over grey leggings that scrunch at her ankles, oversized hoop earrings and a glossy pair of pumps or high sandals... this would be a common outfit for her.

At her wrist a tattoo, maybe hinting at a love of the theatrical, or having some other meaning. It's smallish and simple; a tophat and a cane, the head of which resembling the handle of a skeleton key. Well, loads of people have tattoos these days, perhaps it means nothing at all.

What seems incongruous with the woman's normal, contemporary style and state is the old, untitled tome she is sometimes seen with. There, you see her lift her hair with her arms, an arch pulling into her slender spine as she gathers her curls into a ponytail, and a strange, blanched symbol is seen on the back of her neck. A complicated miniature patchwork of...A flourished heart..and crosses, perhaps?

Personality

Jaime is really nothing to remember, looks aside. She has a very common personality, after all. It's not hard for her to make friends, but really, they aren't that close to her. They drink with her, they shop with her, but they don't really know how she feels inside; really, she hardly does, either. She's one of those people that would really rather not spend too much time digging into how useless their life is, in favor of just going out and getting wasted on a Friday.
To most people, she's pleasant, flirty, maybe a bit funny but not all that witty. She'll certainly get a bit of an attitude when things don't go her way, but she's not all that bad. Her ego isn't much of a front, and though she might joke that she is, she certainly doesn't believe she's 'all that'.

There are times, though, somewhere between the 5th and 6th drink, or when she's home alone, that she's stuck thinking back on her past, her family, her wasteful farce of a life. She doesn't like these things and she really never appreciates someone bringing them up to her.

Equipment

Giant purse, cellphone, lipgloss, glossy pumps, charming smirk, her grandmother's diary of voodoo sp-...wait, how'd that get in there?

..you get the idea.

History

This section might provide more information than Jaime herself actually knows. The Hayes name is recent, the deeper family name is O'Donnelly. While most mixed-race families from Louisiana, the state of her birth, involve sordid tales of amorous slave owners and their African 'property', Jaime's black heritage is actually due to the influx if Haitians into New Orleans. Now this is not to say that her particular branch of the family tree stems exactly that far back. Long story short, Haitian blood has been in her twice over, but the most recent is four generations back, and every white family member above her has Irish heritage- although several members along the way are mixed, as well.

Jaime grew up well-off enough, public school, doing well, mom and pop and grammaw, church on Sundays. But when she was still pretty young, her father was shot in a gambling discrepancy, and a whole chapter of his life her family didn't know existed was thrown open. Things never were that great between she and her mother, after that, and they were knocked a few notches down on the monetary ladder.

So begins...

Jaime Hayes's Story

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Jaime Hayes really ought to look up, but she had a cellphone in her hand and between that, and the bag she was balancing on her elbow, she was currently paying everyone very little attention. Lord only knew how she avoided bumping into things. But eventually the noise and the fire brought her out of it, and she could look up and about, with a confused and somewhat disgusted frown. What the--..? She slowly set her bag down on the bar, looking around with a furrowed brow.

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Jaime Hayes was stuck staring around the room, heedless, at first, of the fact that there was someone not two feet away, asking her what she'd like to drink. She flexed her hand a few times, feeling overwarm and sort of... dizzy. Well, this was likely a dream, right? "...uh..Cosmo, please."

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Jaime Hayes stared distractedly at her phone. The display was garbled and faded. Apparently it was EG:o79, which really wasn't a time at all. Obviously. Her next breath felt...drugged and empty. She was light-headed. Nothing new, nothing weird, she told herself. She shoved the phone into the depths of her bag with the rustle of keys and lipgloss, and leaned onto the bar, staring left at the fire. She only noticed her drink when the napkin beneath it brushed her knuckles, and it was only then that her eyes came into any semblance of focus, staring into the thin pink concoction. The fingers she curled at the base of the glass felt vaguely numb. She tipped the cosmo to her lips, and let her eyes slide right as she did so, breathing the sharp alcoholic air...that man. Jaime's eyes cut away, and she frowned ahead. Who...?

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Jaime Hayes was very clearly trying notto look at him. She really wasn't in the mood to be smiled at or hit on, at the moment. She felt too ...foggy. And the way he looked, not looked at her, but just looked... it made her feel queer. She knocked down a surprisingly large swallow of the vodka-based drink in one go, and nervously scraped her thumbnail against the side of her index knuckle. She wasn't really sure if she was awake. She wasn't really sure what her mind was trying to tell her. She didn't really remember getting here. Did she drive? Uh...was she still downtown? She wasn't su- her eyes widened before she swiftly schooled her face into a huffy, irritated expression. More out of defense than anything. That voice...She felt her stomach flip and her skin crawl, and she hadn't even looked at him yet. When she did turn, he wiped that sour look right off of her face. The girl was downright confused. "..w-what? Do I know you?" Yes. Keep up the attitude, girl.

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Jaime Hayes very much agreed. WAY too close. Her mouth pursed, but really, her eyes looked nothing other than faintly fearful. She leaned in her seat, doing everything she could to keep his warm breath from her ear and his face in her sights. "I... I really don't know you." Know and remember were two different words. In other situations, they would have been somewhat mutually inclusive. But here, now? Mnn..you remember that grin, don't you, Jaime? That hair.. those eyes. Her lips parted for a breath as she stared back at her nearly empty cocktail glass. "Uhm... I'm..probably not gonna be staying." Yes, tell him you're leaving shortly, even though you aren't quite sure where you are, girl. Her head turned slightly, her eyes wildly searching as if they could help her look into her memories. This playboy is really sure he knows you, and his face is...

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Jaime Hayes -..familiar. And there it was. When she thought on it, something twinged pleasantly in her belly, and her skin crawled.

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Jaime Hayes felt both sick and... warmly 'stirred', as it were. And her face looked every bit as troubled as one who knew her thoughts (Vincent, for one), would expect. Sixth? The very question flickered across her features, and she almost fumbled when she reached for that glass again, to down the last of it. She was really feeling too disconnected at the moment to call for another. As if, perhaps, the bartender wasn't real. It's not, Jaime. You know it's not. "Vincent,...I'm dreaming." Oh, so you remember his name? She felt nauseous, for how easily it fell past her lips. She looked aside, eyes narrowed, as if his particular brand of perfection was too jarring, at first. Oh, but it wasn't new. It wasn't new at all. In fact, she had seen all of him before, and without the suit.

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Jaime Hayes felt both reassured and excited by his approval. Yes, a dream. Well that's not so bad or unusual, is it? You have strange dreams all the time, Jaime. You have thesedreams all the time..."Well, no. I think I'm fine." Certainly not lonely, no. Not at all. But the poor thing looked so worried. And perhaps a bit blanched, hm? Vincent, she's not quite clear at the moment. She's scared. The fingers that dragged along her skin made her heart race and her head reel, before she even realized they were there. Her lids fluttered. Somewhere else, she groaned in her bed. "..Yes." The syllable fell from her cushy mouth like a succinct and holy word. Ha, holy. Nono, very much the opposite.

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Jaime Hayes had moments ago begun to drift into a dangerous, but ultimately fruitful 'between' state. She was dreaming, lucidly at that. And she was under his charming hold. And it made this dream unnervingly real, so in this unreal second state, she was just as inebriated as she would have been in the waking world. Oh yes, she was handicapped in each body... There was no way she could wake any time soon, and yet the Jaime here was even more connected to the sleeping mind elsewhere, in a world with bills and air conditioning and rules. And far less dragons. Had she fallen asleep watching the Tenth Kingdom or something? Regardless, her response was soft, and deliciously honest. "Yes... when I wake up.. I miss you. And I wan-.." Her eyes were searching his face, and becoming increasingly entranced in those blues. Want? Ah, but she cut herself off, there. Was she even aware of the way her hand raised up, to graze his fingers? Poor ensorcled little thing.

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Jaime Hayes [color=green]'s dizzied subconscious led her fingers in a slowly tightening curl; no longer a touch, but a grip. She held to him, for while this was her dream, she in some deep, dark way understood that it was Vincentthat would lead her through it. Heh... really, if her blood was a bit stronger, she could have controlled it all herself. Ah, but he liked it this way, didn't he? The drink. Had she asked for it? No. She looked at it in a moment's confusion, wrapping the fingers of her free hand around the crystalline basin and reflexively thumbing a thin pink droplet at the side of the glass. Drink, Jaime. Follow, Jaime. The last of that sweet, faint burn had barely dissipated by the time he was leading her away. Her purse was forgotten, but that was fine; at the door, she looked back, and it was gone. It was on her arm now, of course. Her eyes searched him again, hungry for focus and too disassociated to really achieve it. She pulled close to him, for his familiarity was as cloying and attractive as any fine cologne

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Jaime Hayes Elsewhere, her sleeping body gave a hypnogogic jerk, and rolled in bed. "Vincent, I don't want to be here." Which was fine, wasn't it? They were leaving.

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Jaime Hayes walked in after having lurked around outside of her cell for a while. She was just sort of... loitering, in general. Eventually she stepped inside, staring at the lovecraftian state fair that was going on.... This place was like a child's imagination on acid. In a bar.

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Jaime Hayes didn't care which bartender did what, or who could piss the farthest. She adjusted her purse on her shoulder and walked up to the polished bar, setting the bag upon it as she dipped her hips to sit, and her heels hooked the brass bar below. The woman over there with the cleaning tools looked mad into Fabuloso. Henry looked to be in a sort of deep conversation. But he was nearer the tap, so she waited to catch his eye.

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Jaime Hayes had a hard time finding the place. Not because she couldn't navigate the roads beyond, but because this wasn't entirely the correct realm for her to be in, ethereally speaking. She was always in some somnolescent state when she made it here, and she didn't full control over it. But today was different, in that she had taken very specific steps towards control and lucidity, and bringing her physical self to this whacked out place.
She stood just beyond the door, spreading her fingers on it. It was real. Feel it. Picture the people inside.... she stepped in, and saw Vincent immediately. He was like a beacon. No matter how fallen, there still remained a radiance about him. A warm smile erupted on her face. A dress of purple eyelet lace hugged her curves and fluttered briefly at a mid-thigh hem, while off-the-shoulder sleeves emptied into deep, neat ruffles at her elbows. Her shoulders were not bare, though- those red waves more than covered them. She came up with an adoring glow to those watery greens and took his hand.

"I made it!"

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Jaime Hayes seemed to melt against him, and indeed, that feeling was stronger here than it would be, were she awake. This, after all, was just an essence of Jaime. Her soul and mind dressed up however she decided, and made whole. The real Jaime was in bed, with a book and a diary at her blanketed feet, and an empty glass on the nightstand.
But who could say this wasn't real? Her heart still raced for him, and she was still vulnerable. She gave a self-chastising chuckle, and the rub of her fingers at his knuckles spoke well her fearful nervousness. "I wasn't sure I could...I mean, I tried last night. But maybe it's that 1/24th, hm?" Her little smile was lost as she turned her head to catch the corner of his mouth in a soft kiss.

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Jaime Hayes smoothed a hand over a crisp lapel and up and back to the stiff curve of his collar, beneath the trim line of his pale hair. She pulled in close, beneath the spread of his legs, just to hold him. Feeling him here meant everything to her. In much the same way that Vincent needed her to make him whole in waking life, Jaime ached to feel him with her, as if that helped her anchor herself here. She groaned, and bumped her head against the strong line of a pale cheekbone.

"Oh god, don't say that..I dunno what I'll get into next." As if she wasn't the black sheep of her family already. Her mother, her grandmother, her aunts...they all knew Vincent. He was like a dirty family secret, one they had hoped would never find their Jaime. But you can't deny the blood, and Jaime had been curious.
The hand at his collar slid up, combing into neat, short hair, the pale yellow of butter. She just wanted to feel it- to reward herself with the very tangible tactile sensation.

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Jaime Hayes hadn't needed or even wanted him. It had taken him weeks to get the girl to stop shaking and crying at the sight of him, and it was months before she ever let herself accept the idea that his cursed love was as real as he had begged her to believe it was. ...and she still never forgot that he'd escort her to Hell, when the dance was all over.

"No, Vincent. ..I don't want to make it worse." Jaime was always so sure that this whole deal was cumulative. She never asked him to make her a millionaire or the most beautiful woman in the world or any sort of ruler, not just because it was just beyond her to thin that shit up, but because she honestly felt that her punishment would be one hundred times worse, when the time came.

"Well I kinda thought it up.. a little." She'd gotten the idea from a dress in a magazine. "But I don't look good in yellow."

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*think

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"Yeah.. I don't really get it. I mean, I don't really understand how I get here, when I try to find you. I mean, some of this is just a...a psychological representation, right? I've never seen any of th-" Her eyes went blank for a moment, an empty, fleeting expression of fear and confusion. There was a flutter in her mind, like the flutter in the heart of someone with a murmur. It was as simple as disturbed sleep, but for the tiniest moment, Jaime felt like she'd fall through the floor and lose him.

"I.." Focus, Jaime. Feel his skin, his hair, his suit, just as well as you can see it...She closed her eyes to shut out the jabber from the unreal bodies around her, though that was probably the wrong thing to do.

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Jaime Hayes 's steps had slowed and her focus had turned slowly away from him, and towards something she couldn't even see. It was evinced in the lag in her step, and the eerily slow turn of her head. But even as she did these things, her left hand clung to his own, and her right slipped up his sleeve, as he guided her steps from just behind her.

"South street..." She knew the street, it was only 2 blocks away from the house in which she currently slept. Her body rolled in bed, a small groan accompanying a vaguely cognizant flex of her fingers...

..take a seat, Jaime. She looked from him to the booth, to the room and back to the bench. But the path of her eyes was slowed, and so she looked as if she were just...daydreaming. But she sat next to him, dropping slowly to the polished seat. "Vincent...."

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Jaime Hayes stood just inside the bar, not having remembered coming in the first place. Hazily, she realized that she had her purse with her, and she looked down. Her glossy heels didn't seem right on these.... dusty wooden floors. Her breaths were slow and light as she looked about. Her mind felt foggy.. this wasn't right... She was dreaming again. Yes. Yes, that made sense. Ignoring the strange hodgepodge of characters about, Jaime moved for something she recognized: the bar. Bleary eyes took in the order screens as she set down a jingling designer bag, but she couldn't make out the words... tired and defeated, she just spoke her desire, ordering a rum and coke. Of course it appeared. Dream logic was flawless. Smoothing her hand over the short skirt of her tight, long-sleeved teal minidress, the mulatta took a seat on a barstool, waiting for something. 'Eventually' she thought, 'I'll wake up.'.

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Jaime Hayes sat drunken at the bar, though she had not yet had even a sip of the tawdry drink that manifested itself in her hands, dampening them with condensation. Her body, elsewhere, lay heavily in bed, cooled by the AC of her apartment. But here, she was hot. That heat was His calling. He was behind her, he was inside of her. He was the dream, as soon as he entered. Her ears couldn't pin him to one location, and she needn't turn her curly head to hear him any better, because that devilish purr was right against her eardrums. He promised.

"Where is this...?"

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Jaime Hayes didn't seem to be 'all there' enough for the devil's eloquent words. Surely he was wasting his silver tongue on her, no? But rest assured, each syllable burned into her brain, and tied her firmly into this moment. With each slow, smooth step of his, Jaime felt more solid, more real. It was less like she was dreaming and more like this was real. ...And that terrified her. When her heard began to thud, it was because her subconscious decided that it should do so, and manifested the panicked hammering. The young, vapid socialite felt exposed here. She felt material, and in a way, that made Him a reality, as well. Tense, her fingers opened away from her glass as Vincent hovered behind her tightly-clad body and spilling ringlets, and she drew her arms into herself as he took a seat to her left. At his subtly scurrilous behest, his victim and caller thought back to her body, realizing that yes, it was at home. She couldn't feel the way the sweat made her hair mat against her neck, or the sheets smothered her belly. It was all too far away... with a strange lag to her movements, Jaime looked over at him, her green-hazel eyes lidded. Even in a dream her lips her glossed.

Looking into his eyes was a mistake... but it felt so good. "...I missed you." The words just fell out, and her brain screamed 'No!' That wasn't true!... was it?

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Jaime Hayes had been a partner in Vincent's games for long enough to have found some inherent defense to his charms. She didn't want him to be real... She'd summoned him by accident. And so, without validation, he'd been relegated to the realm of her dreams, luring and romancing her while she slept. In the day, she could push the vague memory of all that he was away from her brain and say she wasn't real. She even told herself she was going crazy... just a little. Perhaps she was working too much (hardly likely). Maybe she had been slipped something on one of the nights she was out, acting a fool and forgetting her morals. Whatever reason she feebly wielded against him in order to save herself eventually fell apart, just as he knew it would.

But she was a fool to have spoken.

His pleasure flickered in her own chest and filled her head, and while his voice rolled through the air, she'd have done anything if he would just tell her again that he was happy; that he had pleased her. In the same breath, he smeared her petty pasttimes on the bar, and she could not deny them. She was lonely... she was always lonely. Why else did so go so far to appeal to men? To tease them and drag them home for an evening, only to forget them? Her heart had a huge hole in it, and the liquor poured right through. He spoke of her need, and immediately she felt her own emotional void. Her pretty face crumbled into misery; her brow knit, her cushy lips parted. Hurt, she fisted those fiery kinks and rest her brow on her wrist.

"I don't know.. I.." Hurt. She was so hurt. Her chest lurched. In bed, her body tossed, groaning feverishly, and here in this space, Jaime reeled with dizziness.

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Jaime Hayes went very still as her focus waned and the world swam before her. Vincent must always be careful and diligent, yes? A little bit too much information and illogic, and her brain would kick her right from this dream. The same went for fear and misery. But doting and ever so sweet, the devil smoothed the tumultuous sea that was Jaime's mind and manipulated the poor thing to his will. How lucky he was to find such a.. malleable witch.

"You're not real." Oh, he wouldn't be able to crack her so easily, not if the deepest, simplest parts of Jaime revolted against his ploys. Was it her old blood, wizened against making deals with a being she should control? Or was it the simple human fear in her? Accepting him would be admitting how useless and transient her life was...