Post by heather serena nolan on Sept 2, 2009 21:32:13 GMT -5
HEATHER.serena.NOLAN
"shifter,bold,curious"
HEY, MY NAME IS 'MANDY' AND I'M 'TWENTY-SEVEN'. I'VE BEEN ROLEPLAYING FOR THE BIG SUM OF 'FOURTEEN YEARS+' MY OTHER CHARACTERS WOULD
BE 'TAYLOR & baby (pending)& CLARISSA'
- - - name, Heather Serena Nolan
- - - nicknames, Heathcliff
- - - gender, Female
- - - sexuality, Heterosexual
- - - occupation, University student
- - - species, Shifter
- - - eyes, blue-green
- - - hair, coppery red
- - - build, very slender
- - - weight, 105 lbs
- - - height, 5’3”
- - - fashion sense, Heather‘s personal taste is, as her sister would say, a study in opposites. Heather enjoys mixing unusual textures or colors, her own form of artistic expression, lacking (in her opinion) most of the talent that her sister has, instead expressing her innate rebellion in unspoken terms -- mixing an outfit of leather with a lace and Egyptian cotton tank top, or an elegant and chic dress over jeans and combat boots, a Goth style pants and shoes with a silk sequined tank top.
As of late, she tends to opt for clothes of comfort rather than style, though is not adverse to a combination of the two when the chance arises. Still, she has learned the hard way that her favorite attire is not always guaranteed safe passage simply because it is her favorite, leaving many of what used to be commonly worn outfits in shreds or in pieces behind her when she shifts, still not in entire control over her emotions as much as she might like in regards to her transformations. Still, she is not above going back along her trail to find what remnants of her attire remain, salvaging the scraps and pieces to integrate into a next outfit; waste not, want not.
Samples of outfits: www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=11690664 ; www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=11693227 ; www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=11659252
As another note, despite the copper-fire tint of her long curls, the pale skin, and sky blue-green color of her eyes, she is not adverse to wearing pink as an offset to her attire, and will occasionally create an entire ensemble out of varying shades of the color just because she can.
- - - loves,…charcoal sketching
- - - loathes, obvious…routine
- - - overall personality, Heather is likely above all else, possibly described as vibrant. Hungry, for new things, new experiences, new friendships, new relationships, learning new things, feeling new things… she will try anything once, possibly twice. Sensationalist, and curious, about everyone and everything. She tries to approach everything with an open mind, though there are a few things that her heritage and youth have engrained some level of prejudice against; she has an instinctive distaste and distrust of anyone that is drunk, or drinks too much, too often; controlling and stubborn alpha personalities, and has no fear and will not hesitate to step in when a situation becomes violent. Her seeming slender and petite form can take a surprising amount of damage, and can deal out a great more than one might suspect thanks to her wolf-nature, and she is not above using that to her advantage to protect herself, her friends, or anyone that she feels is in harm‘s way or being taken advantage of.
She is fiercely loyal, and loving, when it comes to her sister and mother, and reluctantly to her father as well, though she tries to ignore that tie whenever she can ((OOC: Chances are that the man she knows as her father isn‘t, possibly another wolf-blood was -- possible rp hook!)). Her pack has become included in that sphere in the last year, and she will hear no evil spoken of, or see no evil done to, the other members of the pack, even when it might be better to sit back and bite her tongue she has trouble with this particular aspect of controlling her instincts.
- - - hometown, Dublin, Ireland
- - - family, Tabbatha Marie Stein (sister, 23); Martin Lee Stein (brother-in-law, 26); Annabelle Serena O’Bryant (mother, 47); Douglas Connor O’Bryant (Father, 52)
- - - pets, None
- - - overall history, Heather was born to Douglas and Annabelle O‘Bryant, the second daughter, the oldest a Tabbatha Marie, seven years older than the newborn girl. Heather was an unexpected addition to the family, though welcomed by an ecstatic older sister, with a life sized baby doll to play with and dress up. Douglas was less pleased than the rest, though even by this point in the state of the family, his general air of discontent was obvious enough, and by the time Heather reached her early childhood years, her father preferred the company of his cups and his pub-companions than his family.
Annabelle did the best that she could, working as a secretary during daylight hours, and working at cleaning house or occasionally filling in for nannies when time permitted, using the money to offset the funds brought home from her husband‘s metal-working job, and spent on his drink and dinners at the taverns not far from his work. Still, the girls wanted for little in the way of material things during their childhood and adolescent years, learning the value of second hand purchases and resale shops. The two girls, despite the gap in years, spent most of their time together, spending most of their free time exploring the lands and abandoned houses and buildings around their small two-bedroom house. Tabbatha passed on many of her art lessons to her younger sister, Tabbatha having received a part-time scholarship to a local art studio by the age of fourteen, yet another place that the two could often be found when avoiding home.
Avoiding home became routine by the time Heather reached eleven, her sister already engaged to what had turned out to be her secret patron and admirer, leaving Heather the sole focus of attention of her father in those few times when he was home. The two often argued, Heather not hesitating to point out the problems that his drinking and constant absence caused for the family as a whole, and he not hesitant to take out his frustration and anger in varying degrees of violence upon her, or the house and its more fragile contents.
Still, throughout the roller coaster of tension and peace, Heather had continued to excel in her studies, urged on quietly by her mother, and her sister, and by the time that she reached the age of fourteen she had tested out of most of the remainder of the secondary classes that she had not taken, and at fifteen she graduated with honors from her school. That summer, her life changed in so many ways that she could not find the words to describe it all if she had had to.
She left home, packing up her things the weekend after her graduation and moving into the studio apartment that her sister had rented for her own work, more than happy to offer the crash space to Heather, to sleep and practice her own less polished art, the younger of the two preferring a more hands on craft, jewelry working and occasionally fashion design.
It was in that summer, in the hottest part of the season, after a series of particularly long nights out on the town in search of inspiration, that Heather fell ill, crawling back to the cool dark of the futon in the studio to curl up under a pile of blankets, wishing for something, anything to put her out of her misery. Granted, she had been sick, a time or two, whether from natural causes or nights of misspent youth, but nothing, nothing ever like this. Her entire body felt as if it was on fire, her skin as if it was itching, crawling off of her, away from her without her, her bones dull and aching, splintering, each breath seeming as if it was a monumental effort. The second night, her sister found her, moaning and writhing in the tangle of sweat-dampened sheets, and, as older sisters do, duly panicked.
Somehow, though, Heather faltered, begging her sister just to stay, to stay with her, not to call for help, just to stay, and through the next day the two quarreled as much as Heather was capable of, but her sister reluctantly agreed, combating the fever spike with ice baths, cold showers, aspirins. The third night, everything changed, everything shifted, including… Heather. She couldn’t describe it, couldn’t explain it, the sudden and inexplicable draw, the need for the outdoors, for the wind against her face, the ground beneath her feet, freedom, from all of the things that had wrapped and enmeshed around her her whole life…
And the next thing she knew, she was gone, crashing through the window of the second story studio without fear, shattered bits of glass and metal panes left in her wake, and before too much longer, the remnants of her sleeping attire as she found her form, the animal, the creature that had lingered, buried beneath the surface her whole life, only now come to fruition as she reached the cusp of her maturity, her adulthood. She knew freedom, fully and entirely, and relished it. She ran, she loped, she hunted, and she was happy. And then… came the voices. Two, then three, and then a fourth, surprised, concerned, somehow, at the addition of her voice, her thoughts with theirs, and she followed them, tracked the voices, and the scents that she somehow knew were theirs, belonged to them, to the others, like her.
She found them, that first night, and in the course of the next week spent her time with the others of the wolf-shifters that she had heard, had found in the city of Dublin. She, the only female of the group, the youngest of the pack, though that somehow did not surprise her, and she hungered to learn, to learn what she was, what they were, what they were intended for. A greater purpose.
The last year has been spent adjusting, trying to learn to control the nature of her beast, of her wolf, learning to gauge and mediate her flares of emotion and temper, and while still not entirely successful, she has much improved over her initial trials. She has recently entered into classes at the University, her mother’s signature forged to permit entrance early, her sister playing the part of the mother for any phone calls that had to be made. What has gone on, what has occurred in the last year is an understanding of unspoken words between she, and her sister, neither one wishing to ask for or offer an explanation in entirety, but still not necessarily needing one, either. Heather still resides in the studio, but just as often will camp or take wolf form to sleep in the woods, or crash at one of the houses of the other packmates when she can or feels the need.
So much of everything seems to make sense to her now, some missing part of her that seemed to influence her in ways that she just could not understand, some primal, animalistic part of her that had seemed so out of place until a year ago, and she has welcomed, embraced the wolf of her entirely.
