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Post by vivi on Jun 28, 2011 13:32:47 GMT -5
   __________________________________________________________{ A B O U T . Y O U }
Name: diddums
Gender: femme
Age: twenty one
E-mail: you have it
Twitter: you have it
Years of RPG Experience: years
Other: teddy
*okay, so I know she was much younger originally, but I’ve changed Imogen’s history to correspond and yeah just… don’t judge me, she’s become such a strong character in my head and I really wanted a chance to play her out, so. Yeah.*
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{ Q U I C K . Q U I Z }
How did you find us?
What about ISS inspired you to join?
Do you have any suggestions for us?
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{ A B O U T . T H E . C H A R A C T E R }
Name: Genevieve Éliane (Knight) Sauveterre. Mathias requested that since Simon and Imogen have more English-sounding names that I am named for his country of heritage. I have no issue with this. After all, it’s merely a name. Unlike my exceptionally-picky sister, I haven’t a problem with nicknames. My preference is “Vivi”, though “Gen” works just as well. Knight, of course, refers to my mother’s maiden name, and I imagine I’ll take it on once the divorce is finalised and official, but for now my surname remains Sauveterre.
Age: Age is but a number; I believe I have the maturity and intelligence and presence of a woman much older than I. If you must know, however, I’m fourteen, but will be turning fifteen on the eleventh of April.
Gender: It’s ridiculous that one even has to question my gender. I hardly think I look male. I’m a girl, and if anyone tries to argue, he or she has to be the biggest imbecile to curse the earth.
Year: I’m a fourth year, though I must say that my intelligence suggests I should be much higher.
Face Claim: Olivia Wilde (shh crazier things have happened)
Canon or Original? I am most certainly original.
Facial Properties: Ordinarily, I would simply say that my face is flawless, and would advise you to simply look at me to see this. However, I have been told that I’m to elaborate on my beauty. It’s no inconvenience, really, as I don’t mind telling people how lovely I am if they’re too stupid or blind to see it. Though, honestly, a person who can’t either needs new eyes or a new brain. My face is one that you remember; it remains fresh in your mind, as it should. Yes, I am beautiful. This is simply fact, inarguable and solid. Now, you wanted details. Shall we work from the top and move down, then?
Those who are jealous of my looks have called my forehead “too large” or “too round” or “too high”. These people are, naturally, idiots. My forehead is just fine for the shape and size of my face. Is it larger than, say, the average forehead? Well, maybe. Then again, isn’t there a saying about how a larger forehead houses a larger brain? And if a larger brain means a more intelligent person, then I am flattered by the accusations that my forehead is “unusually big”. I still believe these accusations are made by those who are deluded by envy, but if it makes them feel better about themselves to think that, I’ll allow it. They’re never going to convince me, or anyone else, of the possibility that my appearance is flawed, so I can let it go for the time being. Moving down, there is a smooth transition from my forehead to my brow line. My eyebrows are delicately arched, and they are naturally clean with very little stray hairs to incessantly pluck. Like my natural hair colour, they’re a dark brunette, and I keep them that way even when I have an urge to change the rest of my folic appearance.
Ah, my eyes. I’ve been told that they’re magnetic. One can’t look away once eye contact is made. Well, I suppose I’ll just have to take their word for it as I can’t very well peer into my own eyes, though I find it easy to believe. Like my sister, I have large eyes; the main difference, besides colour, is that mine are perfectly shaped and as close to symmetrical as one can get. Yes, my brother and sister have immensely boring brown eyes, no doubt inherited from our immensely boring Muggle-born mother. Where my eyes come from, I haven’t a clue, as my father’s are a rather bright blue, and mine are of the loveliest blue-green. It seems as though nature could not decide which colour was more suiting for me, and decided to simply blend both in my irises in a most appealing way. I suppose it depends on the lighting as to which colour is more dominant. I’m not suggesting my eyes change colour. Goodness, I’m fascinating, but I’m not a Metamorphmagus. It would be a wasted gift, if I was, as I have no interest in changing my appearance whatsoever anyway. Despite not having an actual need to do so, I do tend to line my eyes with a dark pencil for that extra attraction. Combined with thick, dark lashes, it’s no wonder my eyes have an ability to draw people in and keep them interested.
Fitting with the rest of my face, my nose has a shape and size of perfection, pure and simple. It gently curves from my brow to its tip, which itself is small and round. I suppose someone who is exceptionally picky can look at my nose close-up and say that the left side is flatter and smaller than the right, but that would involve said person grabbing my face and actually getting eye-level with my nostrils. Let me just say that that’s not a wise move. Other than that, there is not much to say about my wee nose, other than from a normal distance it is as perfect and symmetrical as the rest of my face. Unlike someone I know.
I have absolutely marvellous lips. There is no way they can be called thin, but they are not so full that I look as though I’ve been smacked in mouth either. They’re at the most perfect median, large enough that they’re noticeable, but small enough that no one can say I resemble a frog. They’re the perfect shape for a smile of any sort, and the perfect softness for kissing. I sadly have yet to be kissed, though I’m certain when the time comes I’ll be able to leave a wonderful lasting impression on whatever man is lucky enough to be on the receiving end of my affections. I’m sure my lips are very talented in many areas. Thanks to halfway-decent genes, I am blessed with perfect and straight white teeth, something that not many people around these parts can say. I know that my smile is enticing, when I do decide to smile at someone. It depends on how much I’m pleased or amused, I suppose.
My cheekbones cannot be discussed without also mentioning my jaw. I am well-aware that I have a very striking face shape, something of which I’m quite proud. Some may call my face “square”, and they wouldn’t be completely wrong as I know my jaw can be sharp to some, but I just think it makes my face look all the more memorable and symmetrical. My cheekbones are exceptionally prominent and round, and I like to think they make me look more youthful and innocent. My jaw and chin are also round; my features are just soft and round in general, and they’re lovely. I’m lovely.
And now we come to my hair. While I, like my parents, brother, and sister, am a natural brunette, my fair skin is also able to complement blonde just as well. Poor dad’s brain nearly broke the first time he saw it. I’d used magic to dye it just before Christmas in third year, and when I went home, he went absolutely insane. He made me change it right back, and I did so that he’d feel better. Though I must say, I don’t see why he freaked out like that. It’s just hair. He needn’t get so stuffy over it, and Mum loved it. She has taste, you know, for a Muggle-born. I tend to keep my hair long, as I do so enjoy looking feminine. It’s rather thick and waves nicely when it lengthens. And, just like my face, it is quite lovely.
Physique: I like to think that my body has perfect curves. Growing up by the ocean, I’ve been swimming since I was old enough to be in the water, and so it’s plain to see that I’m quite thin and athletic. While I’m not quite as tall as my giantess of a sister, I do stand taller than most girls my age at five-foot-seven. Mother says that I’m probably finished growing by now; apparently I had my “growth spurts” early. I prefer to think I grew gradually and gracefully; “spurts” sounds horribly awkward, something which I know I am not.
My shoulders are rather small, and they show my collarbones nicely without making me looking waif-like. I’m very aware that I have an enviable torso; my breasts are just the right size, being perfect handfuls, really, without being so big that they’re obstructive. As established, I’m quite thin and fit from years of activity. My stomach is flat, and I have almost no fat to speak of on my body. You won’t find love-handles on my waist. I may not have the perfectly-defined abdomen of a person who regularly trains at a fitness centre, but what sort of girl wants those anyway? Not I, that’s for certain. My hips are small, but still feminine, and my body tapers into long, shapely legs, which I do try to keep toned and flexible. My body is the epitome of femininity, and I do believe other girls are rather jealous of my natural beauty and health and fitness. If not? They should be.
Wand Type: Larch wood, demiguise and doxy wing hybrid core, eight inches.
Wand Expertise: Good for Transfiguration and hexes.
Patronus: Deathstalker, a type of scorpion, considered to be one of the most venomous.
Boggart: Merlin, this is embarrassing. I was under the impression that I feared nothing; however, third year proved this to be false. When faced with a Boggart, I was shocked to see that it shifted into me; however, I was hideously ugly. My hair was stringy and falling out, my face had broken out in horrid acne, my skin was dry and pasty, my lips were cracked… I was hideous. I suppose this leads me to conclude that my worst fear is being ugly.
Personality:
Genevieve has the ability to adapt to her situation, whatever it is, in order to survive. Well, perhaps not as dramatic as survive, but more akin to thrive. She knows how to change her personality to become appealing to the people surrounding her, especially if she can get something out of them. If she senses that she can get what she wants easier by being innocent and sweet, she’ll play up that side of her. If the people she’s dealing with are better handled by being forward and assertive, she’ll be as bold as she needs to be. That’s why it’s hard to get a really good grip on Vivi, because she’s always changing herself to fit in with many different people and groups. Even she would not do well in describing herself, because she would end up describing the people around her and give their traits as her own. As such, it’s hard to get a single honest word from Vivi, because the truth is so blurred for her as well. In Vivi’s mind, the truth is whatever she makes it out to be, and she believes her lies so deeply because they’re how she sees them that it’s exceptionally hard to convince her of otherwise. As it is, there are times when Genevieve doesn’t really want to stand out. Ordinarily, her vanity makes her strive to be the centre of attention; however, if she knows there’s something for which she can get into trouble, she does her best to blend in so that the finger of blame can be pointed at someone else. Who would ever suspect little Vivi Knight Sauveterre? Stupid people, that’s who.
People were put on the earth to cater to Genevieve’s desires. In her mind, that is a fact. She expects to get what she wants, always, and heaven help anyone who attempts to tell her different. She’s never been a giving person; even when she knows there’s something for her to gain by being a little generous, she’s reluctant to do so. Vivi doesn’t see the lives of others as being as important as hers. She’s always been told she was special, she’s always been told she was beautiful, and she’s always known that she was the favourite child of her parents, especially her mother. Genevieve is used to being the centre of attention. She’s used to being in the spotlight. It’s where she belongs, unless she’s getting in trouble. Genevieve is exceptionally “me-first” in almost everything she does: she has to be the first to try something. She has to be the first in line. She has to be the priority for “friends” and family – and by “friends”, of course, I mean people that she can use more than once. If there’s something someone else has that Genevieve wants, she will steal it. Most often it’s jewellery; she can’t count the number of necklaces and bracelets that have wound up in her pocket. Genevieve has always put herself first, second, and third; everyone else is really too insignificant for her to care.
It doesn’t matter if someone else doesn’t find Genevieve attractive. She thinks she’s more beautiful than Aphrodite. Vivi is incredibly narcissistic. She puts herself up on a pedestal and expects men and boys to cater to her every desire simply because she’s pretty. Vivi was graced with exotic looks, yes, but to her it’s more than that. She loves the way she looks and would not change a thing – besides her hair colour, because she can’t decide which colour flatters her more. People (family, mostly) have always told Genevieve that she was beautiful, and it’s definitely gone to her head. She was always “the pretty one” of her siblings; Simon didn’t count, seeing as he was a boy and people called him “handsome”, but it definitely meant she was prettier than her sister, who was so plain and had hideous hair that got all curly in humidity. Vivi is quick to judge others based on nothing but appearance; in her mind, ugly people are easier to manipulate because they’re weaker. Other than that, she doesn’t associate with anyone who isn’t, in her mind, the least bit attractive. Genevieve has the ability to look much older than she is; her body developed a bit early, like her sister’s, and her knowledge of fashion and make-up helps to aid in this kind of trickery. Beauty is on the outside; all that bullshit about “inner beauty” is made up so that ugly people can pretend to feel better about themselves and the fact that they’ll never be as good as Genevieve at anything. People will give Genevieve what she wants, people will do what she wants, and people will love her – all because she’s beautiful.
Not exactly the most flattering of ways to be described, is it? But in Vivi’s case, it’s certainly the truth. She latches onto people to get what she wants, and sucks them dry before tossing them aside to feed on the next victim person. Genevieve will lie her way into earning someone’s trust and twist words and situations, make them doubt themselves and doubt their true friends so that they only trust her, and once she’s bored with them she’ll twist another situation around so that they believe they hurt her, giving her reason to leave without suspicion and leaving them empty. The problem with Genevieve is that she’s intelligent enough to get away with it. She’s observant enough to know which weaknesses to play to and how to go about chipping away at them. She loves chaos and destruction, and watching a person completely fall apart brings her great sadistic pleasure. And, Vivi is smart enough to figure out how exactly to play the victim each time, so that she can take her most-recent sob story to the next person and have it be true. She has a talent for victimising herself and being a convincing liar; there is almost nothing she won’t do to give herself the benefit of the doubt, even if it means physically hurting herself to make it appear like the other person did it. Vivi is like a sponge: she has a talent for sucking up information she needs to be better than others. She lies and cheats and steals, and she hurts people with no remorse whatsoever. She’s impulsive, and it’s difficult sometimes for her to control her own behaviour. Vivi may be a little young to be considered promiscuous, but she’s already learning how to use her body and looks to appeal to someone’s better nature. Never in her life has she felt guilt for hurting someone, and she never will.
No matter what she does.
Likes:
+boys
+quidditch
+fire
+cars
+yoga
+the occasional joint
+fashion
+being spoiled by her mother
+“rock” music
+sleeping naked
Dislikes:
–ice
–salt water
–the smell of fish
–not getting her way
–when her siblings have more attention
–her sister’s friends
–history
–tan lines
–not being the best at something
–blokes with long hair
History:
It was 1883. Julianne Knight was in the middle of labour; her doting husband, Jonathan, and her sister-in-law were standing by, ready to help if she needed them. But the midwife had everything taken care of, and Julianne seemed to be doing fine… until the baby was born. The baby with the dark, dark hair and the blue, blue eyes. The baby that looked like neither parent, nor any other close relative to it. She was a pretty little girl, of course, but Jonathan knew, the second he looked at her, that she was not his little girl. And when his sister gave his wife some water and asked if the child was Jonathan’s, Julianne didn’t hesitate in saying “No”. After that, the truth came out easily enough: all they had to do was ask, and Julianne spilled everything without any resistance. Jonathan didn’t know anything about Veritaserum, but his witch sister did. And she knew about all sorts of strange magic, magic that was considered to be “voodoo”. And, so angry was she over Julianne betraying Jonathan, she cursed Julianne’s daughter. She cursed little Ravenna Knight so that when she grew, she would not be faithful to her husband but be unfaithful like her mother, and that any daughter born of her affair would suffer the same fate. In actuality, the curse wasn’t real, but believing in anything hard enough can make it so. And Julianne believed that the curse was real, and she passed the “warning” onto her daughter, who believed it to be real as well. So, when she grew and recognised the temptation, she felt that she was powerless to stop it, cheating on her husband the way her mother cheated on hers. Ravenna had three children, and she believed all of them to be her lover’s; thus, they all carried the surname of Knight, and she told her daughter about the curse in hopes that she would be strong enough to break it.
And so it went for generations, with each mother passing knowledge of the curse onto her daughter. The curse, which had never truly existed, had been made real by their solid belief of it. Of course, there were some that never did have affairs, who never believed in the curse at all, and went on to live happy lives. And then there were some who didn’t have affairs, but seemed to suffer other consequences. Kathryn Knight was one; she believed in the curse, but thought she could beat it if she never married. She was in a steady relationship with her boyfriend, Nicholas Danby, and they did have two children together: a son, and a dark-haired little girl they named Florence, as Florence, Italy, was Kathryn’s favourite vacation spot. As they weren’t married, Florence was born with the surname of Knight; Kathryn kept intending to change it, but never got around to it. Kathryn never got around to doing much of anything after Florence was born. When Florence was only a few weeks old, post-partum depression began to plague Kathryn, and she never got it diagnosed. It became worse, and worse, and eventually turned into a psychosis; it became hard for her to separate reality from fantasy, so the fact that her daughter was a witch barely registered in her mind. Several years after Florence graduated from Hogwarts, Kathryn’s psychosis got so bad that she began to hallucinate. To get rid of her visions, she set fire to her house. Both she and Nicholas perished.
As for Florence, she had grown up completely doted upon by her father, and even though she didn’t understand that something was very wrong with her mother, she looked up to her more than any other person in the world. Kathryn offered very little praise to Florence’s accomplishments, but was quick to scold when she did something wrong. Instead of eating away at her self-esteem, Florence took it to mean that that was how the world worked. Besides, her father praised her for everything. Her mother was a role model, yes, but she wasn’t craving her approval. So as Florence grew, she adopted the same patterns: she was the first to notice when something was done wrong, and hardly ever said positive things about another person. Her brother received his Hogwarts letter when Florence was very young, and her father revealed that his brother was a wizard and so he knew magic existed. When Florence turned eleven, an owl came for her as well. That was when Kathryn told Florence about the curse, but she scoffed at it, deciding a silly superstition wasn’t going to run her life. Still, there was a tiny prickle of doubt in the back of her mind: if magic was real, perhaps the curse was, too.
As there was a bit of an age difference between Florence and her brother, she didn’t go through Hogwarts “in his shadow”. She was quite the tease as she grew, flirting shamelessly with boys and snogging behind statues, but she never went all the way. Her mother had told her that was bad, that she couldn’t do it until she was married, because she would never be old enough to experience real love until then. After she finished seventh year, she moved to Falmouth, Cornwall with her brother, who was working finances for the Falcons’ Quidditch Team and Florence hoped to get a job there as well. And that was when she met Mathias Sauveterre. He was a Squib, but their brothers had been friends at Hogwarts. He was smart, definitely Ravenclaw material had he gone to school, and fun and passionate and charming and such an awful flirt that Florence was immediately taken with him – so taken that she paid no mind to the wedding band on his ring finger. Her attraction to him was greater than any she’d felt before; this must have been love, right? She pursued him and flirted and wormed her way into his heart – and his bed. She wasn’t married, but he was, so that must have counted. Besides, perhaps this was a way to break that silly “curse”. Instead of cheating on her husband, she was “the other woman”. It seemed logical, in her mind. But Florence began to grow greedy; she wanted Mathias for herself, and hated the fact that he showered and went home to his wife. The best way to ensure that he pick her and stay with her forever, she figured, was if she became pregnant with his child. And so Florence did what she had to do, and it worked. Just as she predicted, he left his wife for her, proving that Florence was the better woman, more important, and she and Mathias had married and Simon Mathieu Sauveterre was born.
At first, the marriage was happy. Mathias, even though he had graduated from Oxford, was not happy in any of fields of work his education offered. Because he’d grown up without magic, he had to find pleasure elsewhere, and had discovered it in fishing. He had a passion for it, and was good at it. The Sauveterres were not poor by any means – they weren’t exploding in wealth, but were of a middle-upper class value, and Mathias could afford his own boat and crew with his Muggle mates, and they did make money from fishing. With only one child, he didn’t even have to be on the water for days at a time, and was home often to dote on his wife and son. Six years later, things began to change. Florence became pregnant again and decided not to return to work, not with two children to take care of, and so Mathias was forced to spend more and more of his time out on the ocean. Florence grew lonely, and she felt ugly and fat with her pregnant body, and so she joined a gym nearby. They had a program made for expectant mothers to help keep them fit and active during pregnancy without harming the baby, and Florence eagerly signed up for that. She found a personal trainer in a man named Reuben, who was tall and handsome and had rather big muscles. He, unlike Mathias, knew how to flirt, and knew how to charm a woman. Perhaps it was the pregnancy hormones, but Florence became smitten almost immediately. Reuben, she learned, had two sons of his own from a previous marriage, who lived with him mostly as his ex-wife traveled a lot for her job. Florence left out the part about being a witch, but told him nearly everything else about herself, including how lonely she felt now that her husband was at sea all the time. Reuben empathised, and walked her home every day, and Florence found herself falling for him more and more. So after she gave birth to Imogen, she returned to the gym to “work off the pregnancy belly” – and it didn’t take long at all for Reuben to take her behind the lockers to do a different sort of work out. Their affair was wild, passionate, and Florence didn’t care at all about the curse or the fact that she was cheating on her husband because he was never around anyway. She didn’t care, that is, until she got pregnant only months after Imogen was born.
It was Reuben’s baby. Florence knew this, as the last time she and Mathias had made love, they’d used protection. She never had with Reuben, because there had never been any time. Besides, she’d just had a baby; she didn’t think it was possible for her to get pregnant for at least a couple months. But Mathias had been so happy when he learned she was expecting again; she couldn’t just leave him for Reuben. She and Reuben had only known each other a few months, and it would be so hard on little Simon. So Florence let Mathias believe the baby was his, and her affair with Reuben was put on hold, and on the eleventh of April, Genevieve Éliane Sauveterre was born. She was a beauty from her moment of birth, and Florence loved her immediately. She doted upon her youngest daughter, spoiling her rotten and always letting her know just how special she was. But Florence soon came to believe that the curse her mother had told her about was real, because it had happened: she’d cheated on her husband and had her lover’s baby. When the girls were six and five respectively, she told them about the curse; Imogen had scoffed, declaring she would never get married anyway (running away from it, Florence thought grimly) while Vivi smiled and said it wouldn’t beat her. Florence was proud of her youngest; she was such a pretty thing, and smart and strong, but Imogen let people walk all over her, and Florence didn’t understand why. But Genevieve was perfect; she could do no wrong.
It wasn’t long before Florence began to feel the tugs of loneliness again, and so while Mathias was fishing, Simon was at Hogwarts and the girls in a Muggle school, Florence took a chance and went to where Reuben used to live. And their affair picked up right where it left off, but this time, Florence was careful to not get pregnant again. She was falling in love with Reuben, and she wanted to leave Mathias, but the only reason she didn’t was because of Simon and Imogen. Years passed, the children grew, and Florence became more and more involved with Reuben and his family. It escalated at Simon’s wedding, and she let everything out: the truth of the affair, and of Genevieve’s paternity. Divorce was put on the table, and the family was broken – except for Genevieve. She cared very little for the fact that her mother was divorcing the man she once called ‘father’. She wondered if, maybe, this meant she would get double the gifts for her birthday and Christmas.
Genevieve had never been normal. There was always something off about her, something that gave her sister ‘the creeps’ but never seemed to bother anyone else. Vivi saw the world differently from others. She saw the world as being made for her. Everything around her was put their solely for her enjoyment, and if she didn’t like it, she was willing to “share” it with others lesser than she. All her life she’d been told she was beautiful, because she was. She was far more beautiful than her mother, and definitely more beautiful than her sister. She was her brother’s favourite sibling, her mother’s favourite child and her father’s Mathias’s too. There was no question about any of these things in Vivi’s mind. She was smart, but unlike her sister, she didn’t need to constantly study books to remember things. Vivi just… she knew everything (or so she believed) and no one would dare tell her that she was wrong. Genevieve was selfish, and would manipulate and lie to get her way with no remorse whatsoever. She was curious about morbid things, like what would happen if she pushed her sister off the jungle gym at school. Would her neck snap? Would she die? Would her bones break and stick out of her skin? She wanted to try it, but the bell rang before she could. When she was young, the family dog, Molly, had torn some of her favourite dresses. Vivi decided that Molly needed to be punished, and she always wanted to know what would happen if someone drank the cleaning solution under the sink. She poured it in her dog’s water dish, and watched as she drank it, and watched as she got sicker and sicker until eventually her mother had to take them to the veterinarian, who had no choice but to put her to sleep. Interesting.
As she grew older, Vivi learned exactly how to get things she wanted out of people. She learned how to twist words, how to lie and cheat and manipulate, how to steal and how to appear as innocent as can be. She knew she was better than everyone, and she knew that she was entitled to everything she wanted. Only those who were stupid thought different. And Vivi? She was no fool.
Sample Post: lol you know what I write.
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{ C O N T R A C T }
I solemnly swear that I, Didi, have read the rules, understand clearly what my responsibilities are now that I am joining ISS, and will abide by these standards set by the staff.
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