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Jillia Bit
I'm so happy Jillia lives~. She was sort of semi-broken despite the transplant from a stagnant universe to a healthy one (Chicago was never really going much of anywhere, although it tried; COI is much more directed) and I loved her too much to let her die. When I started roleplaying with Lindsey-san she mentioned Raven almost as an afterthought, and I absolutely adored him -- benevolent and gentlemanly, yet also vaguely evil and a master manipulator -- I wanted to find him a play partner but at the same time I honestly couldn't think of any character type who would be better suited for him than Jillia's, and Jillia herself foremost.
I literally spent hours of my last summer nothing days trying to come up with something, because there are subtle changes in her character I can't just shrug off, but I eventually gave up, found excuses for the changes, and we played them. What can I say? Dangerous scholarly vampires just need elegant courtesans to seduce them away from their books. And Jillia is infinitely more bright-eyed and smiling, because if Jillia was a flower, admiration would be her sunlight, so she lives~.
I wrote this because Lindsey-san has not had a good weekend and so she didn't feel in the mood for playing. I channeled Jillia elsewhere, and who knows, maybe a little something with Raven will cheer her up~.
She learned early in life that there is a fine difference between the yearning murmur and the heavy word. Quarterbacks and strikers and other high school paragons are masters of the heavy word, hot breath and possessing hands and a status symbol to claim, so of course the prettiest girl to come out of New York Public School 76 (go Bennington Tigers) had grown quickly acquainted with that. But they were not alone -- she still remembers the quieter ones, the hopeless ones, geeks without social graces or invisible boys with bad hair, boys she had never dared to talk kindly to because it would be too cruel to make them think they could live in her world with her.
There was a place where that world touched her own. A basketball player: shy, near-invisible and just barely 'one of the guys,' and he had courted her in his quiet fashion, perhaps a sheet or two of Broadway music in her locker, a slip of quoted Cyrano de Bergerac in her desk. And when she had gone to the prom with him he had not been like the others, hot breath and possessing hands, heavy words. His breath was sweet for that one kiss, and his hands never strayed except in idle, gentle caresses. He'd left her on her front doorstep, with a kiss to the hand and a murmured, yearning farewell that shivered under her skin, and she'd almost wished they had stayed in his car.
It has been years since then, and she has watched many movies since then. She is fascinated with the idea of a place between her world, the world of the beautiful and the popular and the charismatic, and the world of the recluse, the quiet, the lonely. Perhaps she is too selfish a woman to be willing to settle for a man without social graces, or with bad hair, but some hybrid of the two tantalizes her.
A scholar, one of the intelligentsia, a man with the wit and the knowledge to intrigue her; a gentleman, respectful and charismatic, a man who can and will wring a flattered blush from her who has forgotten how. Many women dream of such men, and there are not nearly enough of them to go around, but she still hopes that one may be shallow enough to fall in love with her beauty and forget that she does not follow the news or read much or do anything stimulating, really...
She finds him by her favorite café in the dying light of day and she notices him enjoy the coming darkness, attention drawn to him in spite of herself. He is tall and elegant and well-dressed all in black; when she speaks to him inevitably, he stands and half-bows before he even answers her, and when they leave together, he offers her his arm.
From the beginning she suspects something about him, so it does not surprise her that he is a vampire. He promises not to hurt her, swears that she will see the morning alive, and more seductive still, tells her of centuries he has spent in the study of magic. With the flare of his will candles light around the black interior of his house, and with his eyes catlike in the dim light he listens to her as if her every word is as intriguing as the most fascinating spell, studies her as if curious to realize her secrets. She knows this intimate darkness will haunt her forever if she does not convince him that there's no need to send her home.
When he finally kisses her, chaste feather-light brush of lips against hers, designed to tease, the yearning murmur is her own.
I literally spent hours of my last summer nothing days trying to come up with something, because there are subtle changes in her character I can't just shrug off, but I eventually gave up, found excuses for the changes, and we played them. What can I say? Dangerous scholarly vampires just need elegant courtesans to seduce them away from their books. And Jillia is infinitely more bright-eyed and smiling, because if Jillia was a flower, admiration would be her sunlight, so she lives~.
I wrote this because Lindsey-san has not had a good weekend and so she didn't feel in the mood for playing. I channeled Jillia elsewhere, and who knows, maybe a little something with Raven will cheer her up~.
She learned early in life that there is a fine difference between the yearning murmur and the heavy word. Quarterbacks and strikers and other high school paragons are masters of the heavy word, hot breath and possessing hands and a status symbol to claim, so of course the prettiest girl to come out of New York Public School 76 (go Bennington Tigers) had grown quickly acquainted with that. But they were not alone -- she still remembers the quieter ones, the hopeless ones, geeks without social graces or invisible boys with bad hair, boys she had never dared to talk kindly to because it would be too cruel to make them think they could live in her world with her.
There was a place where that world touched her own. A basketball player: shy, near-invisible and just barely 'one of the guys,' and he had courted her in his quiet fashion, perhaps a sheet or two of Broadway music in her locker, a slip of quoted Cyrano de Bergerac in her desk. And when she had gone to the prom with him he had not been like the others, hot breath and possessing hands, heavy words. His breath was sweet for that one kiss, and his hands never strayed except in idle, gentle caresses. He'd left her on her front doorstep, with a kiss to the hand and a murmured, yearning farewell that shivered under her skin, and she'd almost wished they had stayed in his car.
It has been years since then, and she has watched many movies since then. She is fascinated with the idea of a place between her world, the world of the beautiful and the popular and the charismatic, and the world of the recluse, the quiet, the lonely. Perhaps she is too selfish a woman to be willing to settle for a man without social graces, or with bad hair, but some hybrid of the two tantalizes her.
A scholar, one of the intelligentsia, a man with the wit and the knowledge to intrigue her; a gentleman, respectful and charismatic, a man who can and will wring a flattered blush from her who has forgotten how. Many women dream of such men, and there are not nearly enough of them to go around, but she still hopes that one may be shallow enough to fall in love with her beauty and forget that she does not follow the news or read much or do anything stimulating, really...
She finds him by her favorite café in the dying light of day and she notices him enjoy the coming darkness, attention drawn to him in spite of herself. He is tall and elegant and well-dressed all in black; when she speaks to him inevitably, he stands and half-bows before he even answers her, and when they leave together, he offers her his arm.
From the beginning she suspects something about him, so it does not surprise her that he is a vampire. He promises not to hurt her, swears that she will see the morning alive, and more seductive still, tells her of centuries he has spent in the study of magic. With the flare of his will candles light around the black interior of his house, and with his eyes catlike in the dim light he listens to her as if her every word is as intriguing as the most fascinating spell, studies her as if curious to realize her secrets. She knows this intimate darkness will haunt her forever if she does not convince him that there's no need to send her home.
When he finally kisses her, chaste feather-light brush of lips against hers, designed to tease, the yearning murmur is her own.
no subject
no subject
...Although she wants to do that too; Lord knows there's little else to hold her attention, working as an operator talking to stupid people all day. Running a magical curio shop will be a significant step up for Jill. ^^