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Post by leroybrown on Jan 10, 2017 18:06:28 GMT -5
Name: Sarah Anne Bishop Nationality: Ginean/Elian
Faith: Raised Triumvirate, semi-agnostic
Birthplace: Sinecliff
Age: 19 (Birthday: June 21st, 1746) Height: 5'3''
Build: Somewhat stocky hour-glass.
Eyes: Yellow-green
Hair: Waist-length, light auburn, wavy, with dyed white highlights. Usually worn partially back in a small up-do, the rest hanging freely.
General: Sarah is a young woman who clearly has lived a life of either steady training, or frequent manual labor. Her body is heavily toned, though sports a curved and well-developed feminine physique. A soft-featured, gentle face contradicts the rest of her appearance.
Past:
Sarah was born the youngest of four - and only daughter - to Samuel Bishop and Margeurite Geroux. Samuel was a soldier who came from a lower-class military family, despite working his way up the ranks a fair bit, and Margeurite was a traveling medical student who came from an upper-middle class family of (primarily) horse breeders. The two had allegedly met whilst Margeurite was traveling abroad, and a whirlwind romance ensued. Within a short period, Margeurite had found herself pregnant, and twin boys - Michael and Joseph - were born less than half a year following their elopement. Four years later, baby John was born. Finally, two years after that, Sarah came along. Growing up in Sinecliff (with a mostly absent military father) until she was five, Sarah's immediate family moved to Elia following Samuel's departure from the military. The decision came after the insisted acceptance of several acres of forested farmland from Margeurite's father as incentive for their daughter to be closer, during their first and only time visiting . It was called a "belated wedding gift". This was a particularly stressful gift that couldn't be refused, as Margeurites wanna-be aristocratic family had hastily disowned her for several years following her marriage to a common foreign soldier. Following this move, and his renovation of an old and delapidated manor on the land, Samuel spent his time divided between maintaining a self-sufficient family farm during the day and working as a local copper most nights. Margeurite tended to household tasks and the children for a short time, then focused heavily on her own (and previously abandoned) aspirations of becoming a physician. Growing up on a farm, Sarah was introduced very early in life to the lifestyle of maintaining a family farm. Since Margeurite and Samuel had their own career goals, a fair portion of the farmwork fell on the children and gradually became more intense in responsibility as they all grew older. In addition to daily chores, Samuel would often enforce an exercise and discipline regimen with his children. Sarah was a seemingly well-behaved and impeccably polite child throughout her youth, though she was simply gifted at feigning innocence and getting away with the typical rebellion through tactful discretion. She did her chores, she got excellent marks in school, but she also drank, smoked hash, and was known for frequent fighting. Though rarely ever mean-spirited and usually inclined to be kind, Sarah was short of temper. The girl was seldom one to restrain herself from a fight or to hurl a string of intricately-woven expletives at someone who offended her or her brothers. Margeurite's family (though rarely kindly) also ensured the children were adequately educated. The boys were clearly going to be like their father, that much was apparent from an early age. The boys all even joined the military once they were old enough, and went off on their own. There were different goals for Sarah. Sarah was pretty. Sarah was soft-spoken. Sarah was intelligent. Sarah would clearly - they hoped - be a good candidate for marrying into the upper tier, some day. They tried for years, but found out that their grand daughter was just as stubborn and pigheaded as her father; following her coming of appropriate age and debut, any and all suitors were rejected. Many of these rejections were served with bodily injury, if the potential suitor found himself particularly brazen or handsy in his attempt at wooing. Sarah knew what was going on, and she did not approve. Her mother's family lived well beyond their means, and they intended to use her as a way of maintaining that opulent pursuit. Though born of youthful passion and doomed from the day it began, Samuel and Margeurite's love for one another was faded early on in Sarah's life. Despite a growing bitterness to one another, and vastly different personalities, the two suffered together until Sarah was sixteen. Returning home from a summer visiting relatives in Sinecliff, Sarah found a home absent of a mother. Apparently, Margeurite had left in the night, running off to the city with another man. Sarah was given a choice on where to go, and she chose to stay with her father. For nearly two years, Sarah tended to the household mostly by herself. Samuel still worked as a respected officer within the local PD, but found himself drunk and not functional once he was home for the night. Occasionally, the girl would bitterly visit her mother in the city after constant request, the now-doctor having a different young lover every time. Regardless of their daughter's scandal, her grandparents did not relent in their pursuit of having their grand daughter marry well. Insistance grew to massive pressure, which grew into petulance when Sarah did not falter. The girl was emotionally drained, stagnating, and yearning for escape.
Shortly after her eighteenth birthday, Sarah decided she'd not take it anymore. She packed up what she could and gathered her savings for an airship ticket. An airship ticket to Calidor.
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Post by leroybrown on Apr 17, 2017 2:34:19 GMT -5
Elia. May, 1765.
Sarah burst upright from her bed, wild eyes searching the room. Alphonsus stirred briefly with a gentle whine, his shifting weight causing her to startle slightly, despite the otherwise still room. Nothing else; a large and tidy room, its high ceilings illuminated by moonlight through paned glass. Her heart still racing, the girl methodically attempted to remove herself from the grip of the slumbering hound, only to locate a purring black cat - a fuzzy blob of darkness in the dim lighting - holding her other side captive. Subtlety was futile; the animals would stir with her exit, and follow her on her journey. This was now certain. Picking the cat up with her, Sarah cradled him in her arms as she slipped from the covers and crept to the door. Sure as shit, the dog perked up and quietly followed - a bit too tired to impose his usual energetic bound. Silently, the girl pulled a simple white dress from her armoir, pulling it over her head. Her heart was still pounding within her chest, and her mind racing. Luckily, she had already counted the terror among many others before it; nightmares of memories, relived when rest and solitude were much more preferred. She had never known this struggle before her time abroad, but it had been common place for many months now. Even more so, after the few past weeks. Odd, how less than a year can change so much. Moving down the large hall - the still-slumbering cat in tow - Sarah made a journey she had made many a night since she was five. Though the corridor lay lit by the moon along the windows, the rest was utter darkness. It mattered not, as the girl knew every step. She even knew the staircase at the end; nineteen normal steps, the twentieth being only half the height and far wider- decorated granite slabs bearing galloping horses. It may have been a delightful aesthetic to compensate for the poor planning in stair height, and easy to manuever in the day, but it was an absolute nuissance for nocturnal wandering during her younger years. She regarded the entry hall in its moonlit state, still and quiet as the rest of the house. Silence, save for the purr of a cat against her neck and the occasional wimper of a concerned dog not far behind her. The stone floor was cold against her bare feet, and certainly assisted in her mind releasing itself from fatigue. With nothing of concern to note, she moved through the open hall to the kitchen's corridor. Her eyes flickered to something as she reached the door to the kitchen; light, burning bright from beneath the door. It would seem someone else within the home could not sleep either. The girl burst one-handed through the door casually, her shepherd in close pursuit and her feline friend still lazily clung to her shoulder. From the kitchen table, a slumped figure nonchalantly turned to look at the newcomer. Her father, bless his heart, and probably too drunk to even be properly engaged. Samuel Bishop, even considering being a little over fifty, was an imposing figure. Standing a bit over six feet tall, he usually carried a stocky frame with broad shoulders and a confident swagger. Confidence was certainly absent from his usual facade, however, and the man appeared almost fragile and prone. Dark circles held sunken green eyes - the same as her own - and his posture resembled that of an utterly defeated man. A half-empty whiskey bottle was clutched within his meaty grasp, its empty brethren cast in pieces on the stone floor nearby. "Not used to company at this hour," said the man with a gravelly voice - exacerbated by his fading pneumonia and recovering gunshot wound, no doubt. It was a half-hearted comment, one born of a mighty man who knows not what to say when he is found vulnerable. A large swig from the bottle was taken, audible bubbles reaching the girl's ear. Under usual circumstances, she may have found herself disgusted by the man's state. That was not the case this night. No, this night the girl felt a familiarity that she had not felt with the man in the entirety of her almost nineteen years of existence. That which turned from her hero to disappointment was her hero once again, and all it took was a dose of wisdom. Shuffling forward, Sarah kicked a stool a more desirable distance from the shelter of the table, sitting in a fluid motion. The cat stretched in protest as he was gently cast to the floor, ears turnt back as he petulantly jumped to the girl's lap and immediately layed down. Too focused on the man in front of her, Sarah allowed this motion, and even rewarded it with a subsconcious neck scratch from one hand as she held out an expectant grasp with her other. Golden-olive eyes were focused on the clutched whiskey. "Nor am I," she said, simply. Samuel stared at his daughter, a bit confused by both her response and request. Nodding slightly, the man slid the bottle across the table - the object wobbling a bit precariously before being whisked away by an eager catch. A frown twitched at the corner of the girl's lips, before she held back the bottle for a hefty swig - more bubbles piercing the amber liquid. One, five, ten, fifteen seconds... A crack against wood followed, as she slammed the newly-emptied bottle down with feigned enthusiasm. Silence filled the room as the man stared in disbelief at his child, broken only by the rustle of a dog finally laying at its master's feet. "I get it, now." Said the girl finally, a heavy sigh escaping her as her own posture deflated. The man looked questioning at her. " ... What do you get?" Sarah smiled faintly, reaching to the center of the table to grab another bottle as she cast the now-empty one to join its predecessor. Popping the cork, she took yet another deep pull. "We need to talk..."
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Post by leroybrown on Apr 22, 2017 18:20:55 GMT -5
Sarah slumped in her seat, tapping a finger along the table as a frown overtook her. Generally one of many words, the girl suddenly found herself struggling to find even just one.
A minute passed... And then two...
Samuel scowled, despite his eyes waivering to a veiled softness beneath the inebriation. The man was concerned, this much was obvious. It was unclear if his stubborn stoicism would allow him to speak further on the matter, however. Three... "Calidor has been.. englightening," she started, fidgetting via chin scratches to the euphoric cat in her lap. "As you'd know - you've read the letters." "Yeah-" the man started, his gaze now hit with some measure of clarity as he scrutinized the girl before him. "You work for an apothecary, and sometimes help the detectives when they're hurt - good girl." Despite his summarization of her written words, a speck of doubt escaped his otherwise level tone. If he had not questioned it sooner, he was questioning it now. "I am the apothecary, for starters..." she began, rocking back in her chair as the front legs hung in the air. "I make my own brews, and sell them to those who ask. Usually, it's not much beyond the bottling and brewing costs - a majority of my customers are friends, after all." "Can't fault you there," the man stated with a nod, grabbing a fresh bottle from the center of the table. The cork was removed as simply as if it were a glass stopper. "Your detective friends, then?" "Some, yes," she smiled faintly, a pained smile, as she continued to focus her attention on the cat. "A few templars, a peculiar professor who basically lives in a dive suit, a couple freelancing freemen..." Another dose of silence...
"Hey, Sare-bear..." the man said with a faintly slurred, authoritative voice. A hefty swig from the bottle followed. "..Yes, sir?" Asked the girl, her gaze shifting somewhat nervously from the enraptured, purring creature in her lap. "You're not looking at me when you talk. You in trouble?" "No, no.. it's.." She sighed. "It's not like that." His shoulders slumped. "You're not pregnant, are you?" "What!?" Sarah exclaimed, her nervous demeanor fading away to alarmed rage. "What the f-.. That's the first possible problem you jump to!?" Samuel attempted to deliver a stern look, though his attempt at hiding back drunken laughter was hardly convincing. A small snort escaped, before being smothered back to a stoic demeanor. "There she is." "What in the ever loving fuck makes you think I'd let myself get pregnant, you - " She paused, catching herself. After the briefest freeze of movement mid-rant, Sarah forced herself to regain a calm and respectful composition. Samuel seemed a bit more amused by this. He shook his head with a restrained grin, before taking another swig. Sarah grumbled, reaching out to grasp yet another bottle from the center of the table. Nearly just as easily as her father had, the cork was removed and forsaken to the floor. A much more measured and responsible sip was taken this time. "Well," said the man, taking another long pull, "I know it ain't drugs." "Nothing you'd shove your foot up my ass over, anyway." Responded the girl a bit dryly, taking another sip. "You still thinking you're slick with hiding that Lazaar's grass, then?" Inquired the man, quirking a brown. "Wha-How do you..." "It takes ten minutes to ride the horse around the trails. You'd take twenty." He said smugly, another swig following - a grin fought back. "Plus, it's on a hill. I could hear you coughing from the porch!" "So you-" "Knew? Yeah. You were good enough at keeping it under wraps, and it never hurt your studies or chores. Made your own money shovelling horse shit, wasn't hurting my wallet. 'Sides, if you were caught? You'd have it then." The man shrugged, taking a gulp. "And you'd never get caught again." Sarah stared at the man a long moment, partially in disbelief. She'd accuse it of being the alcohol, but he clearly actually knew all this time. Where was the stern man she remembered? . . . "But you're a copper!" "And I got better fucking things to worry about than a bunch of damn kids getting stoned and stealing pies from window sills." Said the man, waving a dismissive hand in the almost-direction of Sarah. Sarah stared at the man a long moment, nearly squinting. "We're getting off subject," she stated calmly, "and no, I'm not pregnant. I'm not into drugs. I'm not in trouble with the law. My finances are also perfectly stable." "Then why the fuck are you so damned nervous? Ain't like you. I remember you knocking out some prissy noble's son for flirting too.. what was the word you used..." "Explicitly." Stated the girl, her gaze darkening at some memory. "And you never told me what that meant! What does a man say - to get a broken jaw and breakin' his fall on a table at a garden party?" "He recited to me a poem about how his longing wish was to climb my hills and plow my fertile fields. Then - " She scowled deeper at the recollection, "THEN the bastard tried to kiss me, while grabbing for my chest." Samuel stared at the girl, taking a slow pull - his gaze not breaking from her as a glint of rage filled his eyes. "That's not what you told me!" "I said he spoke to me explicitly. That covers it, without the sensational details." She stated, flatly. "Why not!?" The man inquired, exasperated. "I was ready to kill him, but you'd give nothing to throw at your grandparents!" "Because you'd have killed him, they'd have defended him anyway because of his wealth, and I liked the punishment of him surviving that embarrassment better. Besides, you murdering some rich dandy in a papa-bear rage would only add to intrigue and drama that you simply didn't need." Sarah sipped from her bottle, making unblinking eye-contact with the man. "But I-" "Made me answer to your in-laws? Yes. A summer of free labor, promising never to do it again, and to basically allow them to keep throwing asshole would-be-suitors at me." Another sip, her posture straightening to a more lady-like pose. "And I will have you know, Officer Bishop, although I may or may not have caused some measure of bodily or psychological injury to every entitled, blood-belching fucking cunt they threw at me after that, I was never caught again." "We're getting off subject." Said Samuel, quickly, as he stole another swig. Remorse was evident in his demeanor. "You were trying to tell me something about Calidor..." Sarah sighed, just blurting it out; "I'm an adventurer, Papa." Samuel stared at his daughter a moment, quirking a brow. The man seemed a bit confused, as if not quite sure how to take her admission. "... And...?" "And a Chesterfield Detective, newly. Lots of murders and cases to tackle, but I'm working on it," said the girl, taking yet another pull of her whiskey. "It's been a bumpy road, getting bumpier, but I think I can handle it. I hope I can handle it." "Have you had to kill anyone, yet?" The man asked, watching her closely. His lips pulled back to a brief frown. "I lost count after the third dozen," Sarah grimaced, taking yet another gulp. "I always figured they'd stop, if you hurt them enough. It's... not the case. So many men and women, fighting like rabid animals. People who'll gut you just for looking at them funny, or the couple bucks in your wallet." Samuel's eyes widened, not quite expecting those words from his daughter. His frown grew deeper, and he hung his head a moment in silence. He shoved his bottle away from him. "That's not the life I wanted for you, Sare-bear. That's not the side of the world a father ever wants his child to know, especially when he's known it too well." "I know that now, papa," she said, setting down her bottle and staring at the man in front of her. Her eyes glassed faintly, though her demeanor otherwise remained stoic. "But.. as I said. I get it now. I understand the sights and sounds you've fought for so long. I understand, truly, and I am so sorry that I had judged you harshly for it before." It was the father's turn to struggle with words. The man's head simply hung lower, shaking. Sarah stood, gently setting the now-irritated cat on the floor. She made no attempt to wipe away the tears escaping from her eyes as she made her way around the table - a hand steadying her gait. Leaning against the table beside her father, she placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "This isn't the life I expected, but..." she paused, gently wiping a few of the man's tears away as she neglected her own, "but if this means I can make this world a little better? I'll take it. I want to do great things, not dream about great things, or simply accept that this world is fucked. Will I lose? Probably.. but at least I can cling to the notion that I tried."
Another long moment of silence. "As long I don't have to bury my girl..." said the man, a bit of weakness nestled in his tone. "I'll always support what you do, and expect great things." Sarah mustered as bright of a smile as she could, the pulled her father close for a hug. The embrace was reciprocated, and lingered, as if it were a desperately needed gesture. "Now, papa," said the girl, plopping a gentle kiss on the man's forehead, "you must rest, and I must rest. You for your recovery, and me for my trip tomorrow." "Aye, yes..." Said Samuel, frowning. "What will you be doing tomorrow?" "Visiting my mother." Sarah said, simply. "Her and I have some catching up to do."
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Post by leroybrown on May 5, 2017 21:05:28 GMT -5
Various fine garments found themselves flung carelessly upon the floor that morning. Cast aside as the mere inferior objects they were, unfit for any measure of practical purpose. Elian phrases of frustration were declared in rapid execution; phrases that made even a salty man like Samuel blush, albeit only a little - or so he reassured himself. Nothing. How did she have nothing to wear? Samuel hobbled up to the mostly-open door, knocking cautiously. It was not commonplace for him to be frightened of his daughter, but exceptions were spared. It'd seem that not having exactly what you thought that you might have in mind to wear to a potentially stressful situation was a trigger for lycanthropy among females. Hesitation; his little princess was in a ferociously vulnerable state, and he had to tread lightly. To make matters worse, he was also suffering from a gunshot injury, recovering from pneumonia, and a raging and rather recent hangover. He uttered a brief, practiced prayer to Saint Leah. Knock, knock. Silence fell upon the area. A pause in time, before the smallest of coughs escaped the man. "You, uhh... everything alright in there, Sare-bear?" Asked the man, his gaze scrunched and drawn to the hall - lest he capture any glimpse of the girl in the cracked doorway. "Yes, papa!" Came an ominously cheerful-yet-calm voice. Clearly staged, considering the otherwise evident mayhem and looming sense of dread in the air. "Ah - okay, then! Have a good day, honey!" The man said quickly, taking his window to limp away with utmost haste. He'd nurture the lie as truth, and accept his escape with dignity. After all, she said she was alright. He decided it'd be tactically advantageous to hoard rest now, and revisit this encounter later.
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Post by leroybrown on Aug 8, 2017 0:16:49 GMT -5
Sarah stepped from the carriage, her heeled shoes clicking sharply upon the cobbles. She adjusted to the posture of such a rigid corset as she descended, and the footing granted from the soft bustle of her layered skirt. Although she had conditioned herself for the world of high fashion in Calidor, she had nearly forgotten the impractical struggles of such a tier in Elia. Life seemed so much more practical, when one had to plot being both enchanting and deadly. The girl had faced war in the eye, among many other horrors, yet she still found herself trying to settle a rock in her gut. Somehow, after all that had passed, and all that had grown, this was what still caused her so much dread. Hell had been overcome, for now, but she still found herself needing to be immaculate. Pristine. That was the expectation here; anything below such was simply improper, and completely unacceptable. Everything had to be perfect, because she would know if it wasn't. Even worse, she'd point it out in an instant. Possibly not in a brazen manner, but enough for it to be known it was less-than satisfactory. All it would take is one oversight in color coordination, or the slightest of stumbles. Men are easier, she thought to herself, men don't see the little things, only the pretty ones. Slipping a pocket-mirror from her sleeve, the girl scrutinized her visage one last time. Her complexion was perfectly pale, despite perpetually bashful cheeks; a cherubic face framed by curled auburn locks and a small plumed hat. It didn't matter, it was bound to not be quite right. With the final stand for beauty at hand, the girl re-applied a coral pink to her full lips once more. A marble façade. Of course it has a marble façade. Are those gilded panes in the windows? What an adorable little garden... Sarah sighed softly; it all looked like she imagined it would. An elegant townhouse, complete with a wrought iron fence and gate, in the heart of the city. Slinking forward with a grace that she nearly forgotten she had, Sarah silently opened the gate and stepped through. Another silent swipe, and the object was closed. Clicking along an intricate limestone path, Sarah made way past the early-spring budding of the manicured shrubs. It was a fairly small garden, and a bit marred by the bustle of the avenue it rested on, but it was a small escape from the city nonetheless. She took a deep breath, furrowing her brow in annoyance. Now is not the time to be distracted by the landscaping. Sarah took one final moment to marvel at the structure in front of her, before her eyes settled down upon the entry. A dark wooden door, resting in a cozy alcove some six steps above the garden. As much as she wanted the hate the home her mother found away from her own, she couldn't help but find some measure of happiness for the woman. After all, it was so Marguerite. Gliding her way up the stairs, the girl raised a delicately-gloved hand to a silver bell.
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