Post by La Muta on May 9, 2008 0:16:48 GMT -5
Character Basics
Full Name: La Muta
Nickname(s): None
Birthday: January 30th
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Desired Position: Seamstress/Costumer
Character Information
Appearance:
La Muta is tall and delicate, though a little plump and soft in places, dispelling the first air that she gives of a dancer. She moves without much grace, and much more efficiency. She has a way of moving forward quickly, using long strides and straight paths to get her where she needs to be without wasting her precious time. In contrast, her hands and arms are strong and graceful from a lifetime of precision work. Her face is oval-shaped, with a defined chin, full lips, a pretty little nose, and exotic dark eyes topped with unfortunately shapeless brows. Her hair is long, dark and wavy, falling in disarray down to her mid-back. Out of habit and for work she keeps it pinned up in a bun on the back of her head. Her clothes are those of a lower-class working woman: faded, worn, rough, and without dye. She wears a loose shirt stained a mottled beige-brown in places and other colors from paint stains dot this and her long, equally dull and coarse dark skirt and light apron. She is speckled always with the stains, paints and glitters of her profession, but she wears no jewel or finery that is her own. Around her wrist she wears a small white muslin band, in which she sticks her various needles and pins.
Personality:
She can be defined best by one theme: the unreachable dream. While she labors with the utmost patience and skill to create beautiful decorations beyond compare, she knows that she will never wear such finery herself. It has been her dream for longer than she can remember to sing upon the stage, a diva in glitter and gold, and bring princes to her side with unparalleled devotion in their eyes. Unfortunately, for longer than she can remember, she has also had no voice, and knows that she never will. Instead of making her bitter and sad, as might be expected, this has only made a hard worker out of her. Even she herself cannot say why—well, “say” is not the right word, but I am sure that the reader of this account understands the author’s meaning. The very pinnacle of her personality is her work. All of the longing and the dreams that haunt her ease their way out of her heart and onto her creations, and all in all, she is content. In her interactions with people she tends to be rather placid, but a smile is usually just slightly apparent on her features. When she is displeased, a very pronounced and almost comical frown appears. In order to express herself, she uses a series of similarly overdone and comical hand gestures and expressions. She can throw herself about acting out a charade to portray a word that she cannot voice. Still, she is unnaturally impatient with anything but her work. She tends to hurry through everything on her way to it, and becomes restless and fidgets when kept away for longer than she would like.
History:
La Muta was born the seventh child of an eventual fourteen to a not-so-prosperous Gipsy couple while their “establishment” was passing through Milan, Italy. At her birth, La Muta was given a Christian name, though eventually with so many children she became La Muta just as an older brother became “Il Fabbro” and the youngest sister became “La Giovana”. She cannot speak her given name, and so remains “The Mute” to most who meet her. It seems that it is a popular and widespread designation. The name that she regards as her own is quite different from both “La Muta” and the name that she received at her birth, but only her father six feet in Italian soil knows it. Her childhood is a blur to her. Early on she learned to paint and then due to her talent, was tutored in the ancient Italian art of mask making and in designing and sewing clothing. She studied endlessly as she travelled, and proved to be a wonderful talent. Yet as she made the beautiful masks and beautiful dresses, she watched afterwards and beautiful women with beautiful voices sang their roles upon the quickly constructed troupe stage and felt pangs of sadness and longing.
Raised a strange mix of Catholic and pagan, she one day in her thirteenth year decided to make a great pilgrimage to the holy relics of her faith, hoping to gain the sympathy of the saints and be granted a voice with which to sing—an unthinkable miracle. She visited The Church of Santa Clare of Assisi, The Sanctuary of Loreto, and countless others, including even the holy Vatican City. After several years and sunburns, she retired away to Paris to snatch up a job as costumer and seamstress in the newly refurbished Opera Populaire. With minimal French, no name, no known history, and no voice, it was difficult, but possible. She supplies, they take, and they give her housing. It is not ideal, but liveable.
Random Information
Likes:
..Beautiful Voices
…Bright Colors
….Creating Beautiful Decorations
…..Hot, Dark Places
Dislikes:
..The Cold
…Cruelty
….Feeling Jealous
…..Bad Acting
Family
Parents: Carlo and Delfina
Sibling(s): Five girls and eight boys
Relative(s): Too many!
Other
Custom Title: Maskmaker
The magic word: Inside My Mind
Role Play Sample:
Ana stumbled into the Golden Age Inn and Tavern, shivering from the cold. Her lips were purplish and her golden skin looked dry and parched. She was like a fish out of water in this cold, born in the wet chill of England but from the stock of the tropics. She had traveled for days, by coach when she could catch one and walking when she couldn't. This was the norm for her travels, but when she stumbled in now, she felt near death. It was so insufferably cold here! She had felt it while ascending to the village at the base of the Carpathian mountains, but upon arrival she truly felt the weight of her journey. This place... this damnable, cold place.
She usually did not find lodgings in a town until she was invited to stay in a servants quarters or stable of some noble household who intended to join her lofty clientele. After a certain amount of traveling on a meager wage with an undeniable need to purchase food, little was ever left for lodging. This place looked nice, but she hoped it wasn't too nice for her--namely, how much was in her pocket.
She looked quite a bit like any sort of horrible vagabond. Ana wore a billowy white shirt that tied at the neckline and had wide sleeves that cuffed at her wrists with little ivory buttons. Over it was a worn brown leather doublet-like vest that was laced tightly down the back. Her brown trousers had been cut at about her mid-calf and a new hem had been sewn in sloppily. Her ankles, covered by stockings of no good quality, tapered to her unusually small feet which sported ghastly looking shoes, through which the tips of her biggest toes could be seen. As she entered she pulled back the brim of her wide-brimmed shapeless gray hat of an indeterminate material to look around the place, revealing her wide dark eyes and a face smudged with dirt. Plus those purple lips. She looked a sight.
She heard many voices, but saw no one directly in her sight, aside from a few bawdy looking people bustling past from room to room without noticing her. She looked about, hoping to find someone who was obviously an innkeeper. While she did so she pulled the large leather satchel from her back, containing her brushes, a few leftover paints, and stretches of canvas rolled up together. A sigh escaped her lips as the weight was relieved. Perhaps a warm bed will do me good tonight, she thought.
Full Name: La Muta
Nickname(s): None
Birthday: January 30th
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Desired Position: Seamstress/Costumer
Character Information
Appearance:
La Muta is tall and delicate, though a little plump and soft in places, dispelling the first air that she gives of a dancer. She moves without much grace, and much more efficiency. She has a way of moving forward quickly, using long strides and straight paths to get her where she needs to be without wasting her precious time. In contrast, her hands and arms are strong and graceful from a lifetime of precision work. Her face is oval-shaped, with a defined chin, full lips, a pretty little nose, and exotic dark eyes topped with unfortunately shapeless brows. Her hair is long, dark and wavy, falling in disarray down to her mid-back. Out of habit and for work she keeps it pinned up in a bun on the back of her head. Her clothes are those of a lower-class working woman: faded, worn, rough, and without dye. She wears a loose shirt stained a mottled beige-brown in places and other colors from paint stains dot this and her long, equally dull and coarse dark skirt and light apron. She is speckled always with the stains, paints and glitters of her profession, but she wears no jewel or finery that is her own. Around her wrist she wears a small white muslin band, in which she sticks her various needles and pins.
Personality:
She can be defined best by one theme: the unreachable dream. While she labors with the utmost patience and skill to create beautiful decorations beyond compare, she knows that she will never wear such finery herself. It has been her dream for longer than she can remember to sing upon the stage, a diva in glitter and gold, and bring princes to her side with unparalleled devotion in their eyes. Unfortunately, for longer than she can remember, she has also had no voice, and knows that she never will. Instead of making her bitter and sad, as might be expected, this has only made a hard worker out of her. Even she herself cannot say why—well, “say” is not the right word, but I am sure that the reader of this account understands the author’s meaning. The very pinnacle of her personality is her work. All of the longing and the dreams that haunt her ease their way out of her heart and onto her creations, and all in all, she is content. In her interactions with people she tends to be rather placid, but a smile is usually just slightly apparent on her features. When she is displeased, a very pronounced and almost comical frown appears. In order to express herself, she uses a series of similarly overdone and comical hand gestures and expressions. She can throw herself about acting out a charade to portray a word that she cannot voice. Still, she is unnaturally impatient with anything but her work. She tends to hurry through everything on her way to it, and becomes restless and fidgets when kept away for longer than she would like.
History:
La Muta was born the seventh child of an eventual fourteen to a not-so-prosperous Gipsy couple while their “establishment” was passing through Milan, Italy. At her birth, La Muta was given a Christian name, though eventually with so many children she became La Muta just as an older brother became “Il Fabbro” and the youngest sister became “La Giovana”. She cannot speak her given name, and so remains “The Mute” to most who meet her. It seems that it is a popular and widespread designation. The name that she regards as her own is quite different from both “La Muta” and the name that she received at her birth, but only her father six feet in Italian soil knows it. Her childhood is a blur to her. Early on she learned to paint and then due to her talent, was tutored in the ancient Italian art of mask making and in designing and sewing clothing. She studied endlessly as she travelled, and proved to be a wonderful talent. Yet as she made the beautiful masks and beautiful dresses, she watched afterwards and beautiful women with beautiful voices sang their roles upon the quickly constructed troupe stage and felt pangs of sadness and longing.
Raised a strange mix of Catholic and pagan, she one day in her thirteenth year decided to make a great pilgrimage to the holy relics of her faith, hoping to gain the sympathy of the saints and be granted a voice with which to sing—an unthinkable miracle. She visited The Church of Santa Clare of Assisi, The Sanctuary of Loreto, and countless others, including even the holy Vatican City. After several years and sunburns, she retired away to Paris to snatch up a job as costumer and seamstress in the newly refurbished Opera Populaire. With minimal French, no name, no known history, and no voice, it was difficult, but possible. She supplies, they take, and they give her housing. It is not ideal, but liveable.
Random Information
Likes:
..Beautiful Voices
…Bright Colors
….Creating Beautiful Decorations
…..Hot, Dark Places
Dislikes:
..The Cold
…Cruelty
….Feeling Jealous
…..Bad Acting
Family
Parents: Carlo and Delfina
Sibling(s): Five girls and eight boys
Relative(s): Too many!
Other
Custom Title: Maskmaker
The magic word: Inside My Mind
Role Play Sample:
Ana stumbled into the Golden Age Inn and Tavern, shivering from the cold. Her lips were purplish and her golden skin looked dry and parched. She was like a fish out of water in this cold, born in the wet chill of England but from the stock of the tropics. She had traveled for days, by coach when she could catch one and walking when she couldn't. This was the norm for her travels, but when she stumbled in now, she felt near death. It was so insufferably cold here! She had felt it while ascending to the village at the base of the Carpathian mountains, but upon arrival she truly felt the weight of her journey. This place... this damnable, cold place.
She usually did not find lodgings in a town until she was invited to stay in a servants quarters or stable of some noble household who intended to join her lofty clientele. After a certain amount of traveling on a meager wage with an undeniable need to purchase food, little was ever left for lodging. This place looked nice, but she hoped it wasn't too nice for her--namely, how much was in her pocket.
She looked quite a bit like any sort of horrible vagabond. Ana wore a billowy white shirt that tied at the neckline and had wide sleeves that cuffed at her wrists with little ivory buttons. Over it was a worn brown leather doublet-like vest that was laced tightly down the back. Her brown trousers had been cut at about her mid-calf and a new hem had been sewn in sloppily. Her ankles, covered by stockings of no good quality, tapered to her unusually small feet which sported ghastly looking shoes, through which the tips of her biggest toes could be seen. As she entered she pulled back the brim of her wide-brimmed shapeless gray hat of an indeterminate material to look around the place, revealing her wide dark eyes and a face smudged with dirt. Plus those purple lips. She looked a sight.
She heard many voices, but saw no one directly in her sight, aside from a few bawdy looking people bustling past from room to room without noticing her. She looked about, hoping to find someone who was obviously an innkeeper. While she did so she pulled the large leather satchel from her back, containing her brushes, a few leftover paints, and stretches of canvas rolled up together. A sigh escaped her lips as the weight was relieved. Perhaps a warm bed will do me good tonight, she thought.