Post by Javert on Jun 25, 2009 21:28:37 GMT -5
[/font][/font][/size][/size]Introducing… AISHE VUKOVIC !
Please Allow Me To Introduce Myself…[/blockquote][/center]
Name: Aishe (AY-shuh) Mirjana Vukovic
Nicknames: She prefers to be called Aishe, but she'll tolerate Aish, is fond of Vukovic, has been dubbed Zora (Serbian for 'Dawn') and Oprez (an inside joke), and is often called a variety of choice words
Age: 18
Gender: female
Where you stand?: Gypsy
Play by: Danijela Dimitrovska
Nicknames: She prefers to be called Aishe, but she'll tolerate Aish, is fond of Vukovic, has been dubbed Zora (Serbian for 'Dawn') and Oprez (an inside joke), and is often called a variety of choice words
Age: 18
Gender: female
Where you stand?: Gypsy
Play by: Danijela Dimitrovska
I'm a man of wealth and taste...
Appearance: Aishe's eyes are a frequent study of interest: close together, almond-shaped, a rich amber in hue, and impossibly expressive, prone to dancing in ill-concealed sardonic amusement or flashing sable in a threat. These optics are ensconced by thick, dark lashes, and set beneath thick, dark brows; both are naturally arched, and one is usually slightly raised and may ascend or descend when their owner is particularly amused, frustrated, or saddened, although the latter two emotions are rarely visible. Her high cheekbones and jawline are strong, and yet her soft chin and small, tip-tilted nose lend an impish delicacy to her heart-shaped face. Although men have interpreted Aishe's full, bowed lips as kissable, the subtle smirks that quirk them tend to deter any suitors (although the genuine smiles that are as frequent as the smirks embolden them yet again). Beside these lips curves a scar, thin yet several shades lighter than the surrounding burnished bronze-golden skin, spanning in a crescent from the right corner of her lip to just below her cheekbone. In the right lighting, it can appear as a gruesome extension of her smile. Although it may mar and age the youthful perfection of her beauty, it also adds depth and character to her face. A vain woman might have attempted to style her hair--black, thick waves sliced unevenly and cascading just past her shoulders--in such a manner to attempt to conceal it, but Aishe considers the scar a trophy and displays it proudly.
Her height is not impressive: she towers at a pathetic 5 feet 4 inches, possessing long legs but an unfortunately short torso. Her physique is deceptively petite and womanly, with generous curves present in the appropriate places (to Aishe's eternal vexation). Despite her apparent softness, she is not exactly muscular, but wiry, her frame composed of strong, tight sinew, like the body of a dancer. She moves, in fact, with a dancer's fluid, nimble grace--even her sides of brawls tend to resemble a choreographed routine.
In order to discourage any restrictions of movement, she wears only men's clothing, her favored garments being Western breeches and boots yet the shirts with billowing sleeves and rich-colored tunics that are decidedly Romani. Almost constantly worn is a knee-length jacket of tan leather, rumored to have been a gift. Fingerless gloves grace her often callused, scarred, and bruised hands, yet cannot conceal a large ring of onyx and gold upon the index finger of her left hand, and what appears to be a silver locket upon the ring finger of her right, set upon a band as opposed to being worn around her neck. No rumors surround these rings. Any that do arise are promptly beating out of the speculator.
Personality: At first glance, it’s difficult to imagine Aishe as a kind person. Anyone who keeps her chin raised and her lips smirked and her brows quirked, initiating brawls with Gypsy men twice her size, strutting round the camp and engaging total strangers in lengthy conversation as if she owned the place, must be an arrogant, cold-hearted, manipulative, mean-spirited fool. These accusations are mostly false. Arrogance (usually) has no place in her heart, merely a great amount of self-confidence that she (usually) knows the limits of. Her heart may not be as warm as some would deem polite, but she is not cruel, nor mean-spirited, nor one who delights in violence: brawling is simply an adventure for her, dangerous situations and adrenaline rushes a passion, and, sometimes, the prospect of proving herself alpha in the room quite entertaining. Boredom has no place in Aishe’s life—as her nomadic lifestyle shows, she is ultimately restless, despite her common insouciant, devil-may-care façade. Brawling, joking, laughing, conversing, trading harmless (or razor-edged) insults, various adventures, or simply working a crowd are her weapons of choice against monotony. She is a born entertainer, and the world is her stage, the occupants of the camp her usual audience and often her unwilling volunteers—she can be quite persuasive, rather through her unfortunate ability to poke fun and embarrass anyone she comes across, or through her fists. There is a strange, magnetic charm that surrounds her, yet she can also radiate an intimidating air.
Truthfully, though, Aishe is obviously an extrovert, and therefore quite amiable; despite a fondness for sarcasm, she is quite easy to talk to, and often willing to listen if one’s story manages to ensnare her attention. Her sense of humor is quirky yet large; she is hugely independent, almost to a fault, somewhat politely or very adamantly refusing to accept help from anyone (especially a man), confident in her own abilities and internal compass. From this, however, comes one of her largest faults: Aishe is as stubborn as—if not more than—a mule, a goat, an ox, an elephant, or perhaps a strange combination of all of the aforementioned animals. If something doesn’t go her way, she will work tirelessly until it does. She will defend anything she loves or believes in until she or someone else is dead—this explains, too, the deep loyalty she has to the few people she believes deserve it, and a hot temper that sometimes explodes from her otherwise slow-to-anger exterior.
Numerous other negative aspects of Aishe’s personality are her inability to trust, the grudges she is quite content to hold until her dying day, and an unwillingness to reveal anything truthful about herself (she is an accomplished liar, and often spins dramatic and entirely false accounts of her history and even her name). Because she fully trusts only herself, she feels that she has nothing left to give anyone else; this is adequate explanation enough as to why she has never had a single romantic relationship, and, secretly, horribly, is almost frightened of them. Several long, bitter years allowed her to learn how to embrace long, bitter grudges, which she uses as a foundation upon which to build resentment towards any others who confirm they deserve it. Although killing without cause is an unforgivable sin to Aishe, killing with one is definitely not.(More unforgivable sins include prejudice; charging too much for cheap alcohol; betrayal; and using any weapons in simple street combat besides innocent bystanders.)
Likes: candles, running, roaming, singing and music, her height, deceiving people, spicy foods, ale, purple, small spaces, most animals, the smell of leather, the smell of baking bread, flat terrain, swearing, rakija, fighting, independence, gambling, well-told jokes, fire, sand, high noon, sunrises, surprises, storytelling, strong coffee
Dislikes: horses, bland food, tasteless insults, snow, smoke, tall buildings, sexism or any forms of prejudice, archery, cowardice (in herself or others), fear, tea, obeying the rules, cold water, people without a sense of humor, being complimented, betrayal, silence, swimming, stupid questions, early mornings, seafood
Dreams: She has never dreamed of a permanent residence, a place that she can call home; instead, Aishe dreams of travelling the world and seeing (and fighting) all it has to offer.
Fears: fear, horses (one broke her hand when she was younger, and she's been wary of them ever since), being confined to one area for the rest of her life, growing so close to someone that she'd be unable to leave them, being disabled, falling in love and marriage
Her height is not impressive: she towers at a pathetic 5 feet 4 inches, possessing long legs but an unfortunately short torso. Her physique is deceptively petite and womanly, with generous curves present in the appropriate places (to Aishe's eternal vexation). Despite her apparent softness, she is not exactly muscular, but wiry, her frame composed of strong, tight sinew, like the body of a dancer. She moves, in fact, with a dancer's fluid, nimble grace--even her sides of brawls tend to resemble a choreographed routine.
In order to discourage any restrictions of movement, she wears only men's clothing, her favored garments being Western breeches and boots yet the shirts with billowing sleeves and rich-colored tunics that are decidedly Romani. Almost constantly worn is a knee-length jacket of tan leather, rumored to have been a gift. Fingerless gloves grace her often callused, scarred, and bruised hands, yet cannot conceal a large ring of onyx and gold upon the index finger of her left hand, and what appears to be a silver locket upon the ring finger of her right, set upon a band as opposed to being worn around her neck. No rumors surround these rings. Any that do arise are promptly beating out of the speculator.
Personality: At first glance, it’s difficult to imagine Aishe as a kind person. Anyone who keeps her chin raised and her lips smirked and her brows quirked, initiating brawls with Gypsy men twice her size, strutting round the camp and engaging total strangers in lengthy conversation as if she owned the place, must be an arrogant, cold-hearted, manipulative, mean-spirited fool. These accusations are mostly false. Arrogance (usually) has no place in her heart, merely a great amount of self-confidence that she (usually) knows the limits of. Her heart may not be as warm as some would deem polite, but she is not cruel, nor mean-spirited, nor one who delights in violence: brawling is simply an adventure for her, dangerous situations and adrenaline rushes a passion, and, sometimes, the prospect of proving herself alpha in the room quite entertaining. Boredom has no place in Aishe’s life—as her nomadic lifestyle shows, she is ultimately restless, despite her common insouciant, devil-may-care façade. Brawling, joking, laughing, conversing, trading harmless (or razor-edged) insults, various adventures, or simply working a crowd are her weapons of choice against monotony. She is a born entertainer, and the world is her stage, the occupants of the camp her usual audience and often her unwilling volunteers—she can be quite persuasive, rather through her unfortunate ability to poke fun and embarrass anyone she comes across, or through her fists. There is a strange, magnetic charm that surrounds her, yet she can also radiate an intimidating air.
Truthfully, though, Aishe is obviously an extrovert, and therefore quite amiable; despite a fondness for sarcasm, she is quite easy to talk to, and often willing to listen if one’s story manages to ensnare her attention. Her sense of humor is quirky yet large; she is hugely independent, almost to a fault, somewhat politely or very adamantly refusing to accept help from anyone (especially a man), confident in her own abilities and internal compass. From this, however, comes one of her largest faults: Aishe is as stubborn as—if not more than—a mule, a goat, an ox, an elephant, or perhaps a strange combination of all of the aforementioned animals. If something doesn’t go her way, she will work tirelessly until it does. She will defend anything she loves or believes in until she or someone else is dead—this explains, too, the deep loyalty she has to the few people she believes deserve it, and a hot temper that sometimes explodes from her otherwise slow-to-anger exterior.
Numerous other negative aspects of Aishe’s personality are her inability to trust, the grudges she is quite content to hold until her dying day, and an unwillingness to reveal anything truthful about herself (she is an accomplished liar, and often spins dramatic and entirely false accounts of her history and even her name). Because she fully trusts only herself, she feels that she has nothing left to give anyone else; this is adequate explanation enough as to why she has never had a single romantic relationship, and, secretly, horribly, is almost frightened of them. Several long, bitter years allowed her to learn how to embrace long, bitter grudges, which she uses as a foundation upon which to build resentment towards any others who confirm they deserve it. Although killing without cause is an unforgivable sin to Aishe, killing with one is definitely not.(More unforgivable sins include prejudice; charging too much for cheap alcohol; betrayal; and using any weapons in simple street combat besides innocent bystanders.)
Likes: candles, running, roaming, singing and music, her height, deceiving people, spicy foods, ale, purple, small spaces, most animals, the smell of leather, the smell of baking bread, flat terrain, swearing, rakija, fighting, independence, gambling, well-told jokes, fire, sand, high noon, sunrises, surprises, storytelling, strong coffee
Dislikes: horses, bland food, tasteless insults, snow, smoke, tall buildings, sexism or any forms of prejudice, archery, cowardice (in herself or others), fear, tea, obeying the rules, cold water, people without a sense of humor, being complimented, betrayal, silence, swimming, stupid questions, early mornings, seafood
Dreams: She has never dreamed of a permanent residence, a place that she can call home; instead, Aishe dreams of travelling the world and seeing (and fighting) all it has to offer.
Fears: fear, horses (one broke her hand when she was younger, and she's been wary of them ever since), being confined to one area for the rest of her life, growing so close to someone that she'd be unable to leave them, being disabled, falling in love and marriage
I've been around for a long, long year...
History: Aishe Vukovic proudly has manners, or lack of them, and the general propriety that prompt the snide to ask, “Were you born in a barn?”
“No,” she'll reply with a grin. “'Course not. I was born on a road.”
Her first worldly breaths were inhalations of cool, sweet Romanian air that she holds in her lungs to this day. This infinitely pleased her mother, Yessenia Torok, who was born and raised in the heart of Romania, and was fiercely loyal to her country. This love was tested, however, when she met Dalibor Vukovic, a Serbian nomad who belonged to a ragtag clan of gypsies, wandering eastern Europe. Their courtship was brief and passionate, resulting in a swift marriage and the birth of a son. When Antun was barely three, Dalibor knew that he had remained stationary for far too long, so his request to return to his nomadic roots was reluctantly granted by his wife. Thus, Aishe, their second child, was born on a long and winding road out of Romania. Aishe decided long ago that this was explanation enough for her perpetual restlessness: She always had to be either coming or going somewhere, moving in a perpetual in-between.
As Aishe matured, it became evident that she was quite near the quintessential gypsy. She had a devious charm and quick wit to her—not to mention quick hands and feet—that assisted her in trickery and deceit. Thieving for survival became a game to her, as did life itself; she could never take anything too seriously. Life shifted so fast, anyway; it was a never-ending kaleidoscope of change as they traversed over hill and mountain and valley and plain, always searching or finding or hiding or seeking. One thing that did not change, however, was her interest in fighting. What her parents prayed was a phase when she was younger did not seem to be dissipating but increasing. When Aishe was 13, she began to make friends from Turkish slums, where they drank strong, spicy alcohols, spoke slang that she had never heard of, and, most thrillingly, conducted hand-to-hand combat tournaments in the streets. Aishe threw herself into these, a new kind of danger, full-force. At first, she was a joke, a nuisance; by the time she was 15, she was a strong, intelligent, formidable opponent. Soon, amazingly, she was frequenting taverns and fighting men twice her age and girth for money—and winning. Her parents lamented that they would never secure a husband for their rebellious daughter who drank, fought, and swore like a man, but her joy was contagious, and they didn’t doubt that she would be able to take care of herself.
They didn't know that she would be forced into independence so abruptly. The Vukovic family had settled in Dalibor's homeland of Serbia to care for his aging mother when Aishe was 14. A distrust that had been brewing for centuries between Serbia and the neighboring country of Croatia finally erupted into a war that was cataclysmic for Aishe: her brother and father, forced into fighting, perished when she was 16, her mother dying barely months afterward of what could only be classified as a broken heart. For a while, Aishe could find comfort only in her own destruction—drinking until her vision blurred and fighting until she lost teeth and broke bones. Finally, though, as she wandered down war-torn streets long after the city was asleep, she realized that her only healing would come from what she knew best: Roaming.
THIS SUCKS SO IN SUMMARY:
Aishe's family died in a war when she was 16, so she began her own nomadic lifestyle and went all over eastern Europe until she learned that some of the members of the gypsy clan she used to hang with had managed to get to England. Therefore, she hightailed her way over there and just recently welcomed herself into the Florence gypsy camp without asking anyone's permission. Chaos ensues. I'm tired and I'm done. THE END
Family: Mother, Yessenia Vukovic, nee Torok: deceased
Father, Dalibor Vukovic: deceased
Older brother, Antun Vukovic: deceased
Anything you'd like to add?
GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
also: warning: I will inevitably call her Elenai a LOT. I apologize.
“No,” she'll reply with a grin. “'Course not. I was born on a road.”
Her first worldly breaths were inhalations of cool, sweet Romanian air that she holds in her lungs to this day. This infinitely pleased her mother, Yessenia Torok, who was born and raised in the heart of Romania, and was fiercely loyal to her country. This love was tested, however, when she met Dalibor Vukovic, a Serbian nomad who belonged to a ragtag clan of gypsies, wandering eastern Europe. Their courtship was brief and passionate, resulting in a swift marriage and the birth of a son. When Antun was barely three, Dalibor knew that he had remained stationary for far too long, so his request to return to his nomadic roots was reluctantly granted by his wife. Thus, Aishe, their second child, was born on a long and winding road out of Romania. Aishe decided long ago that this was explanation enough for her perpetual restlessness: She always had to be either coming or going somewhere, moving in a perpetual in-between.
As Aishe matured, it became evident that she was quite near the quintessential gypsy. She had a devious charm and quick wit to her—not to mention quick hands and feet—that assisted her in trickery and deceit. Thieving for survival became a game to her, as did life itself; she could never take anything too seriously. Life shifted so fast, anyway; it was a never-ending kaleidoscope of change as they traversed over hill and mountain and valley and plain, always searching or finding or hiding or seeking. One thing that did not change, however, was her interest in fighting. What her parents prayed was a phase when she was younger did not seem to be dissipating but increasing. When Aishe was 13, she began to make friends from Turkish slums, where they drank strong, spicy alcohols, spoke slang that she had never heard of, and, most thrillingly, conducted hand-to-hand combat tournaments in the streets. Aishe threw herself into these, a new kind of danger, full-force. At first, she was a joke, a nuisance; by the time she was 15, she was a strong, intelligent, formidable opponent. Soon, amazingly, she was frequenting taverns and fighting men twice her age and girth for money—and winning. Her parents lamented that they would never secure a husband for their rebellious daughter who drank, fought, and swore like a man, but her joy was contagious, and they didn’t doubt that she would be able to take care of herself.
They didn't know that she would be forced into independence so abruptly. The Vukovic family had settled in Dalibor's homeland of Serbia to care for his aging mother when Aishe was 14. A distrust that had been brewing for centuries between Serbia and the neighboring country of Croatia finally erupted into a war that was cataclysmic for Aishe: her brother and father, forced into fighting, perished when she was 16, her mother dying barely months afterward of what could only be classified as a broken heart. For a while, Aishe could find comfort only in her own destruction—drinking until her vision blurred and fighting until she lost teeth and broke bones. Finally, though, as she wandered down war-torn streets long after the city was asleep, she realized that her only healing would come from what she knew best: Roaming.
THIS SUCKS SO IN SUMMARY:
Aishe's family died in a war when she was 16, so she began her own nomadic lifestyle and went all over eastern Europe until she learned that some of the members of the gypsy clan she used to hang with had managed to get to England. Therefore, she hightailed her way over there and just recently welcomed herself into the Florence gypsy camp without asking anyone's permission. Chaos ensues. I'm tired and I'm done. THE END
Family: Mother, Yessenia Vukovic, nee Torok: deceased
Father, Dalibor Vukovic: deceased
Older brother, Antun Vukovic: deceased
Anything you'd like to add?
GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
also: warning: I will inevitably call her Elenai a LOT. I apologize.
Hope you guess my name...
Your name: Javert
Parent of which characters: Frannykins
Parent of which characters: Frannykins
But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game...
(c) Poe & Realms of Fantasia
Lyrics (c) Guns N' Roses
Do not steal.
It's bad.
