forkedroad: (pic#6908534)
FREQUENCY: 446.22118
DESCRIPTION: Annabelle leaves her walky talky all over the place, because it's a bizarre invention to get used to. But if she's near, she'll leap to it!

LOCATION: Mailbox on Door
DESCRIPTION: Annabelle has made her own little mail box. It's not cute, or pretty, but it's functional, and she has neatly labelled it in cursive with her given name. This is a more reliable way to contact her.
forkedroad: (pic#6908529)
JOINED: 2/13 (note to self: look up IC game day lol)

✧COMMON CHANGE: golden yellow irises

1ST CONTRACT: learn more magic stuff!
2ND CONTRACT: description.
3RD CONTRACT: description.

CONTACT: [ profile] poisonparfait
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( sagittarius ☼ | aquarius ↑ | leo ☾ )

& she stood at a forked road.

Age: 18
Height: 5'11"
Build: Quite thin and curveless
General appearance: Annabelle always wears long skirts and dresses; very occasionally, she wears loose fitting trousers and rolls them above the ankle. She wears boxy, unfitting shirts, if she wears them at all—she tends to just wear large, loose sweaters over her dresses, or above her skirts. She also wears leather clogs or leather mary janes. Her hair is always unkempt, and worn in equal parts up and down.
Briggs: ENTP

Hugging: She may side eye you, or get kind of flustered if you're a friend of hers.
Kissing: Sure! She's never done that kind of thing before, but she'd find it novel and fun. Unless you're a total stranger, I guess.
Flirting: She might not pick up on it, but go for it. She thinks it's fun.
Smut: Proooobably not? She's not very in touch with her sexuality and generally has no interest in sex.
Injuring: Yes! Please contact me at [ profile] poisonparfait to hash out details first, though!
Killing: Depends on the game. If it's a no-takebacks kinda game, I'm gonna say no.
Mind reading: Go for it! Once again, hit me up so we can hash out details.
forkedroad: (pic#10988455)
Name: jaz
Contact: [ profile] poisonparfait | yipyap#0418 on discord
Other Characters: Lars

Character Name: Annabelle Blishwick
Age: 18
Species: Human
Canon: OC
Canon Point: After running away from the hermit's hovel
Character Info:  In the world Annabelle hails from, magic is a rare, rare gift‐not unheard of, but certainly very uncommon. It's not unusual for those who have the magic touch to exhibit this in small ways in their youth—manifested in ways such as floating small objects, the ability to touch fire without burning, etc. Parents normally react with unbridled glee, if they have the fortune to witness it, as magicians are destined for fortune and fame, their talents invaluable and in great demand.

However, Annabelle's gifts made themselves known with an unusually dramatic entrance. When made to do music study she didn't care for, her sheet music one day began to curl with the beginnings of fire. It scared her, initially—she hadn't meant to. When in great pain, she sometimes shattered glass. She'd levitated people who were antagonizing her, and ran away, leaving them suspended until she was out of sight—only to suddenly drop them. She never really got along very well with other children her age, and her awakening powers only served to further alienate her from potential peers, worrying her parents further.

Normally, these powers are seen as a blessing to the family of the gifted—but her family looked on with deep concern, and sent her to a distant relative, repudiated for his mastery of magic and elusive nature. The idea was to isolate her while her powers were unstable. It's not unusual in Annabelle's world for people who show promise of magic gifts to be sent to a mentor, because apprenticeship is the only way to really learn mastery of magic. But because she seemed so over endowed with magic energy, more drastic measures were taken.

The man she was sent to is known most commonly as the hermit, and is ages old. Annabelle has been living with him for six years, and grows ever restless in their dilapidated, sideways sloped shack overseeing the ocean by cliffside. While her control has become much stronger, she has what the hermit finds to be worrisome darker leanings. He senses she grows bored, and so does his best to keep her busy. He also deliberately keeps her from learning certain magics, such as honing on enchantment abilities and things like that. But the fame and fortune of a magician—especially one as endowed as she is with magical gifts—is unsettlingly attractive to her.

And so, one day, when she decides the hermit is sufficiently distracted, she runs away.

ALSO, for the record, the period in her story is vague and not advanced. It's a lanterns and horseback kinda world. 


As a person, Annabelle feels, summarily, pent up and thirsty. Even in a situation where she would be chasing her passions, it would never be enough to satisfy her lust for thrill, adventure, knowledge and expansion. She can't seem to satisfactorily expend enough of her energy, nor sufficiently stimulate her mind. This leads her into various sorts of carelessness, and is precisely part of why she's handled and kept the way she is. 

That said, she's also kind of sheltered. She knows objectively of the world's suffering--she knows about tragedy and hardship, because she's well studied in history and she's read a lot of books, fictional and non fictional. But she's been isolated, which, for one thing, has made her sort of weird, socially speaking. It's also given her a false sense of aloofness; she thinks she's more unflappable than she really is. She thinks that in the face of reality's ugliest sides, she'd be fine. In reality, it would definitely fuck her shit all the way up.

Annabelle is almost over confident, as well. She's very comfortable with herself. Without peer policing and exposure to social norms, she hasn't really fussed over her identity too much. She does feel very different, however, whenever she does have the chance to be around other people. Her one wound is that she feels somewhat monstrous, due to being sent away by her parents, and being generally kept away--though it doesn't exactly tear her up inside; it just adds to her own deluded idea that she's cold, powerful and immovable emotionally. She feels different, and at times, uncomfortable because of it, but overall, she embraces her own eccentricities. Especially since, in her world, mages are often described as being some manner of "touched", so there's that.

While often bored and restless with the hermit, it has its positives, in her eyes. She enjoys learning, and it's paramount to all other things in her mind--and the hermit has much to teach her. But his gentle handling has made Annabelle grow bored, restless and resentful, even if she doesn't quite understand the deliberation behind the stilted pace of her education. And she's simply too carpe diem for that shit for too long.

Morally, Annabelle is iffy and gray, so uninformed by empathy and personal life experience. She thinks that the universe untangles itself as often as it tangles itself up, and that its denizens are helpless to the ebb and flow of the galaxy--which is a pretty typical way for mages to think of the universe. She personally believes that chaos is natural order, and so does what best serves her, assuming all else shall fall into place. Of course, she isn't as heartless as she thinks, and she would be more considerate of people she loved--she just doesn't really have anyone besides the hermit she could consider a loved one. Basically, she's that asshole who's the obnoxious shrugging devil's advocate, who also probably stole a book out of your dad's study earlier that day. Because fuck it, right?


  Annabelle has a very good handle on fire magic; given the nature of her personality and the energy that comes with it, fire magic was the first gift of hers to manifest, and has since become the easiest to control.
      - conjury: The ability to manifest flame on her person, in mid air, or on any surface. This varies from tiny, controlled flames to large, explosive gulfs. It's not massive enough to say, raze a village or anything, but she could very easily burn down a house. Thankfully, accidental fire magic doesn't really happen anymore. She would have to be having some sort of breakdown or similar.
     - manipul
ation: The ability to manipulate existing flames. This is easier than conjuring flame, but to Annabelle, there's almost no difference in comfort of use.
      - resistance: The ability to handle and touch flame without burning. Requires focus and intention.

  Due to lack of interest and innate compatibility, Annabelle isn't as skilled with water magic. It's the easiest magic to use back home in the hermit's hovel, since they're by the sea, and it frequently rains, so she's pretty well practiced.
       -  manipulation: The ability to existing bodies of water. She can't manipulate large quantities; she can move several liters at once, albeit somewhat clumsily. She also relies on using her body as a channeling rod (her arm), whereas with fire magic, she doesn't need to lift a finger. She also can't manipulate teeny itty bitty tiny particles of water that aren't visible to the naked eye, especially, say, to have them come together to merge larger bodies of water. That's more like conjury, which she sucks at.

   Another one of Annabelle's earlier gifts. It's useful, and she can be a bit lazy. The hermit had her train her control on it through menial labor, and she's gotten pretty comfortable with it. She can't do extremely fine manipulation like sewing, and things like sweeping are too sloppy to be helpful, so her control isn't perfect. But it's good for grabbing books, putting things away and stuff like that. 
      - moving of objects/people:
 Uh...the ability to move objects and people. She can't move anything bigger than a human, and she can only move humans in short bursts; she can only knock them back. Levitation is something she's only accomplished on accident, and always briefly. Smaller objects, like small animals, books, etc, she can suspend indefinitely as long as she maintains her focus. Or until she gets a headache.
    - shattering: The ability to break shit. Shattering windows, cracking boulder, busting locks, splitting wood (she doesn't do this one because once she got a wood shard in her eye when she was younger doing it), that kind of thing. Once again, nothing tremendous. 

   Annabelle has no training in this, but she's aware she has this gift. She doesn't know how to use it on purpose, and it's rare that it happens on accident. She's interested in getting a handle on this ability, but the hermit won't teach her until she's more mature.
     - intimidation: The ability to bend the will of other people through magically hyped intimidation.

And she has the potential to learn many more, but doesn't currently know she does, and she hasn't tapped into any latent channeling of said abilities, nor will they come into play in game--so I've opted to leave them out.

Soul Colour: MISTY SAGE
Ideal Jobs: Tailor
Relevant Experience: She has sewn all her own skirts and dresses, since the hermit didn't have any women's clothes, nor was she allowed to go into towns very often. Even when she was, she was cautioned against being unthrifty as a matter of discipline. She also repairs all his clothing (even though he's perfectly capable), as well as her own.
Reason for Joining: Because she wanted to! THIS
 PLACE IS SO COOL. But, also, to learn more powerful magic. Experiencing magic from actually magical creatures sounds like a valuable perspective to have.


Annabelle on the TDM!

Annabelle always has this dream.

She's walking towards the end of the cliff the hermit's home rests on. The end is only a few meters from the shack, all made of sideways-sloped wood, gray and glossy from the constant rain. Her feet are bare, their knuckles bright pink from the sting of the wet, cold grass as she edges forward in tiny, hesistant paces.

Her eyes are transfixed on the ocean, which is an unnatural inky black. The sky is banded with each phase of the moon, and stars are falling in slow motion. Her ears are bright pink, burning form the cold, her wild dark hair whipping about except for where it's glued to her face from the rain. She's shivering, nearing the edge of the cliff.

And then she drops off.

When she hits the water, it's somehow both grand and silent—immensely painful, and she screams soundlessly as the inky black fills her, surrounds her and engulfs her. There's burning panic that wells through her body, but it feels like excitement as well—and when she opens her eyes, she's somewhere she only recognizes from this dream.

She's dripping in black, inky water; her clothes cling to her, dripping dark gray everywhere, and her hair is flat. But she isn't heaving and sputtering as she should, for someone who possibly just drowned, nor is she cold. She's in a room. She thinks it's a library. Every wall—from floor to roof—is lined with books. It's all ladders of shelves. Some of the books split open to reveal wild, large eyes that roll in her direction and stare. Some pages fall, and they never land, aimlessly and slowly floating about.

The room flexes and eases, suddenly, as if breathing. She can feel rippling of paper beneath her feet, and she can hear whispers drift from the pages that have slipped from the books, unintelligible and strange. She smiles, and begins to laugh.

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As Annabelle walks on the hard wood floor, it's wet. Wet with black, cold ink, lapping around her feet—despite its darkness, it only leaves a faint gray trace of water on her feet as she slowly steps forward. Her skirt drifts side to side as she walks, gently, just at her ankles, and she's careful not to make a sound.

The room is cold, such that it stings her skin, burning the edges of her ears and knuckles bright pink. The hardwood floor, as far as she can manage to see, which isn't very far, is all there is of any discernible structure. But even the panels of the floor are eaten up by black, and she can't feel any impression of the walls around her.

She can see a bed, though—and someone in it. There's been so many times she's been the last one to bed, even if it wasn't exactly regular enough to be the known norm and routine, and she's seen the Tanner brothers comfortably tossed about the bed, sometimes entangled. But this time, there's only one of them. She can see the outline of him in the moonlight, though there are no windows. He's in his bed clothes, and is asleep.

As she gets closer to the bed, her skin breaks out in goosebumps, her pupils dilating as her focus is drawn in unwittingly by him. The closer she gets, the warmer the air becomes, pulling her nearer as a source of comfort. She kneels against the bed, right at the end of it. Lauren is curled on his side, a little, and seems roused by the shifting of the weight on the bed. He shifts, slightly, noticing Annabelle coming in at the foot of the bed, rather than the side of it, pushing himself up a little bit, his hair a sleepy mess. He looks tired, but not confused.

She comes forward across him, and Lauren anxiously wets the crease of his lips with his tongue as he watches her, anticipating. Her hand slides up the side of his thigh, and he shifts so that his back is against the bed. She can see his cock shift in his sleeping pants, and she continues moving up. Her hand brushes his crotch, and his breath hitches, his eyelids fluttering from the passing contact. She doesn't give him any more than that, and she moves further up. Lauren takes hungry handfuls of her skirt at its sides, his body tense once he feels her skirt brush his collarbones.

Annabelle watches him, and she feels as if she's burning. He licks his lips, not even looking at her, one of his hands coming forward to eagerly push her skirt up. It's a lot of fabric, so she assists him, lifting it. His palm smooths over her belly, then around to hold the small swell of her ass, guiding her down. She relaxes, following his gesture, and she feels his breath against her bare skin and shudders.

There's the familiar, velvety texture of his lips, horizontal against the vertical split of her cunt. It's a full, plush and affectionate kiss, bumping the soft nib of her clitoris, and her eyes roll closed as she takes a deep breath, body stiffening. She feels his tongue part her, and softly bat her clitoris side to side. She sucks in her lower lip, holding it with her teeth, eyes closed as she knits her eyebrows. Her head hangs, and she smooths her fingers through his hair. She takes a commanding handful of his hair, giving an immediate, but gentle yank, and it earns her a pleasurable moan against her sex. She breathes out heavily as Lauren both depletes and encourages her lubrication with hungry, instinctive ease, finding his tongue the most clever when its between her legs this way.

He sucks on her clit and labia, and she can feel his hands come around the backs of her thighs near her ass, pulling her closer. Her mouth hangs open in a quiet gasp, the contact becoming fuller as he deepens every lewd ministration on her cunt. She clutches his head, feeling sweat beginning to break out on her fevered flesh. It's overwhelming, and warm, each wave mounting more and more intensely. More than usual, she thinks. He licks her from the bottom of her open, eager split to the base of her clit in broad, slow, and confident strokes. She shudders, rolling on him slowly and carefully, and feels another groan from him.

His focus lingers on her clit, predominantly, though he occasionally redistributes the waking of her nerves with playful licks to her outter lips and the wettest part of her. It's not long before the articulations and distinct movements of his work on her becomes indiscernible to her. The ink is lapping around the bed, much higher than it was before, staining the sheets. Her body does a series of small jolts, which involuntarily arranges her head tilted far back, some of her curly dark hair stuck around her sweated brow, eyebrows slanted backwards with desperation as she cries out loudly. He doesn't relent, and she grips his hair urgently as she cums in his mouth. She cries his name, then does it again, and—

Her eyes open with a gasp, and it's over. She's staring at the ceiling, the room alight with the morning sun. Her breathing is quick, and her skin and hair are both damp. She sits up, and sees Susan and Lauren. Susan is asleep with the back of his hand on Lauren's face, and Lauren is sleeping on his side, drooling a little on his pillow as his face is smooshed by his younger brother. Annabelle looks at him with wide eyes, a little jarred by the very different images painted between fantasy and reality.

She winces, and rubs the sleep out of her eyes with slow rubs of her knuckles against them. She pauses, holding her hands there, and bites her lip. Her clit and cunt both ache, especially on the inside. But she isn't like Lauren—she can't just go take care of it with great ease and convenience. She sighs irritably, dropping her hands, and glares at Lauren before she hops off the bed.

She goes to draw herself a cold bath. When it's finally full enough, she wakes both of the brothers with a start when she hollers in agony from plunging herself in it. When she eventually emerges, sopping wet in her towel, looking like a put out, drowned cat, she storms to her side of the bed to get some of her after bath care and explains nothing.
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Annabelle had always been a decent sleeper, but whenever she and the Tanners were due for some excitement, she often slept restlessly. The previous night had been different, despite her excitement; she'd pretty much fallen asleep the second she'd flopped onto their bed into a deep, hard sleep, soon drooling pretty ungracefully.

And the next day, they all awoke more or less frantically—or at least, Lauren and Annabelle certainly had. Lauren, out of anxiety, and Annabelle out of excitement. The three of them had done their thing, aiding the nice town they were in with their talents.

Now that all the excitement is over, the three of them have been paid for their efforts. They've been invited to a boundless meal, as well as wine and ale, in the evening, because the town, frankly, loves to party, and has a great reason to celebrate. But that invite, though accepted, doesn't help them soon enough, and so they've found themselves at a pub for some lunch.

They're seated at a communal bench table, and the brothers are sitting next to each other across from Annabelle. Annabelle has been desperately trying not to look at Lauren more than she would normally, which has made her realize she has no idea how often she does or doesn't do that kind of thing. Right now, her jaw is set against her palm, thin fingers curled into her dark, wild hair while her eyes are lid downcast at her food, which she's kind of just. stabbing relentlessly (but not so frantically so as to make a pub-wide scene) with her fork.

It's not that she's in a bad mood, or anything—she's been quite chipper, if somewhat stilted and odd. At the moment, she's just lost in reminiscence. She's trying to find what the hell had come over here the night before. She bites her lip, and the fork slips, causing an unpleasant squeak against the porcelain.
forkedroad: (ill never be the best baby :()
Since meeting and traveling with the Tanners, Annabelle had seen a lot. A lot of death, destruction, and chaos; all the darkness that she'd always felt magnetized towards, even coveted, had stared her in the eyes several times in their journeys. It humbled her, and finally, had even scared her a little. She didn't let as much on, very often—the two boys had seen her rattled a couple of times, but she always recovered with stoic grace into her eventually typically impish facade.

A year or so into being with them, she pondered loss, having learned why they were alone. She wondered about her own family, and her own heart—if she would feel that sort of grief.

She decided if she lost either of the Tanners, she would.

But it was grief uncompared to Lauren's—she'd never heard such soul shaking wails of despair in her life, and sitting awake in the corner of his room, she can still hear it. Though Lauren has stopped crying, she can't shake the image of his face in the fresh of it. And it hurts her, too—she loved Susan as well. She cried and screamed as well. But quickly, perhaps too quickly, she's gone and steeled herself; she had to be strong for the remaining brother.

She doesn't sleep, and she's not sure if Lauren does, either. But late in the night, she slips out, whispering she would be back—just in case he's awake. She returns hours later, when the sun is up. She feels cold, and wonders if he does as well. The lack of sleep and the despair has left a chilliness in her bones, but the cold morning air hadn't helped.

Quietly, she moves carefully to the bed. They're staying in an inn—the owners have been kind about the cost of their stay, because tragedy is starkly clear when it strikes. She moves the sheets and comforter back, wordlessly moving beneath them. She settles on her side, laying beside Lauren to look at him.

She has no words, and she's not sure if it's okay to touch him. She seems stoic, because she's shocked—but she feels her grief would be imposing.


Oct. 17th, 2013 08:53 pm
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Annabelle Blishwick

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