Post by Anya Savicheva on May 23, 2011 19:50:41 GMT -8
BEHIND THE QUOTES
NAME; Chelseigh
AGE; 18
ROLE PLAY EXPERIENCE; 8 years. :3
HOW'D YOU FIND US; Aff banner on another site.
MEANS OF CONTACT; Pm, email. I can give you my MSN or yahoo if needed.
OTHER COMMENTS; I’m so glad I found this place!
IN THIS SKIN
FULL NAME;Anya Katya Savicheva
ALIAS;Anya, Anna, Katya, Kat
GENDER;Female
BIRTH DATE / AGE;September 25th / 19
ALLIANCE;Pirate… well, trying to be.
POSITION AND RANK;No position yet. Looking for a ship.
PERSONALITY
To call Anya feisty would be a bit of an understatement. From an early age, Anya retained such passion and eagerness for the things she enjoyed. She‘s quite difficult to handle, being the petite ball of energy that she is. There‘s a certain recklessness and restlessness to her that is arduous to contain. Being the type of person who cannot stay seated for too long, Anya is always on the move and looking for the next adventure she can find: however small and inconsequential it is. This raises the point of her active curiosity for any piece of interest that manages to slip by. This has, more than once, led her to instances of trouble. This is a dangerous trait that will more than likely lead to her own death -- but it is also the trait that causes the “occupation“ of pirating so alluring to her. A life like that, she decided, would be a constant source of adventure and excitement. So, becoming a pirate has become a rather strong obsession of hers.
One of the biggest problems with Anya is her lack of care for other people. This isn‘t to say that she isn‘t sociable, rather that she‘s the type of person who would rather be surrounded by a group of people that could serve good purpose to her than a few close friends that could understand her. If there‘s one thing that Anya fears most, it‘s vulnerability. Getting close to people opens the door up to vulnerability, so she avoids such ventures with gusto. Speaking somewhat of a broken English as she does, she has a bit of charm that helps her sway people to her will (at least some of the time, when the person can understand her). One of her key talents is being able to flirt. However, she tends to avoid seeing men more than once.
Anya isn‘t intelligent in the way that an educated scholar is intelligent. She retains street smarts that she has gathered over the years of living in poverty and petty crime. She‘s also somewhat people smart, being able to read a person‘s disposition accurately so she can manipulate what she would consider to be the proper responses. She has more than her occasional slip ups, when her brashness and blunt honesty gets in the way of common courtesy. She has an easier time getting along with people who are gruff, since they can take what she can dish out. People with more sensitive constitutions are not her forte -- this has cause more than one fist fight in her life.
Anya is what you would sum up as a very strong, independent woman. Although she has her fair share of flaws, she fits rather well into groups of men and other groups of tough women. She can hold her own, and is very good at the tasks she‘s given, and finishes them with such eagerness that to develop a dispassion for her work is a rarity. There is no doubt that she would be a great addition to any crew.
PHYSICAL APPEARANCE;
She‘s pretty; but, she‘s not gorgeous. To stand her in a line of prim and proper women, she would only be picked out by those who appreciate her type of beauty: natural and tough. She doesn‘t wear make up, and she doesn‘t care to do her hair (although, to her benefit, it‘s naturally curly). There‘s nothing that she does to accentuate her curves or any of the positive aspects about her. To her, to slap on a shirt, slacks, coat and belt is enough. To some, this would be considered beautiful. However, to the rest of the population, this is just not the case. The most she spends on her body is bathing and shaving. That‘s all that matters to her.
Her hair, coming down to her neck, curls very haphazardly in whatever direction it decides. It gathers at the nape of her neck, and will sway with every movement she makes. Like her personality, her hair is just as restless, and it‘s hard to see it not bouncing every few seconds. Her eyes are a pale olive color, being the only remarkable thing that pops from her face. Her cheekbones are very prominent, since her constant activity tones more than just her body. Her entire person is very taunt and firm. If there‘s one thing that Anya cannot stand, it is a unhealthy body. Work outs are a must, which isn‘t very difficult since she‘s always doing hard labor of some kind.
As for her wardrobe, it‘s very drab. Never having much money for clothes, she usually scavenges what is left behind. Retaining a semblance of girlish wiles, one thing that Anya hopes for in the future is to pillage enough money to buy some proper clothes. To her, this would be a nice shirt, slacks, belt, hat and leather coat. She‘s always loved the look of most male captains, and has wondered why the style must remain in the hands of the male population. Hoping to be a captain herself one day, she wishes to gain the appropriate attire as some point.
As a very last note about Anya: Her body, although being fit, is very beat. She has lots of scars on most of her body, below the neck, mostly caused by scuffles and other sorts of accidents she‘s put herself into in the past. She doesn‘t see these scars as something to be ashamed of, or something to emulate. Rather, she just accepts them as they are -- a part of her that she cannot get rid of, neither does she desire to. She’s not afraid to show or talk about them; but, she’s not the type to go and flaunt them all over the place like a child exhibiting a toy to make other children jealous.
HEIGHT;5‘2“ (very short)
WEIGHT;about one hundred and ten pounds.
HAIR COLOR;Very deep ebony
EYE COLOR;Light olive green
ANY SPECIAL MARKINGS;She‘s had her fair share of run ins. There are no special markings; but, it‘s very easy to notice scarring on parts of her body.
WHAT'S YOUR STORY, SAILOR
FAMILY;
Entirely unknown. All that can be sure is that she‘s a full blood Russian that was born to two Russian people that either died or didn‘t want her.
BACKGROUND;
Anya‘s story began with her birth in Moscow. What happened between her birth and the week after is entirely unknown. All that is understood is that she was given to a poor orphanage to be raised with other disenfranchised children. This wasn‘t necessarily a bad thing. In fact, Anya is rather grateful for this. Being raised in the orphanage was a rather exciting experience, in which she was able to define herself as a person through environments not necessarily controlled with parental units. Her name is entirely fabricated by her, being only labeled “Anya“ through the attending of the orphanage. “Anya Katya Savicheva“ was a name created by her later in life after a long thought of what kind of name suited her. The use of a surname was entirely useless; but, Savicheva was the name of a street vendor that gave her a bit of treacle everyday as a treat. It seemed appropriate to go by the name of the ‘family‘ she had been surrounded by for most of her life.
Poverty is not a comfortable life. However, it is not as difficult for people who do not want. Anya was never much of a “want-er.” All that she required were necessities that she could gather either through the means of the orphanage, or, as she depended on later in life, petty theft. From a young age, Anya was always considered to be spunky, doing things that most of the other children wouldn‘t do -- no matter how reckless and stupid it was. There were many instances of injury and consequence; but, there are no moments that she regrets. Childhood was as good as things could be. She grew up into a rough person, being somewhat jaded from her life experiences. When she turned eighteen, with nowhere to go, she realized that Moscow had become too much of a bore and that it was time to begin moving Westward.
Stowing away on boats was a favorite past time of Anya as the months went by. It was through these boats that she hitched rides on that she began to learn about life as a sailor. What she came to realize was how much she loved the sea and sailing the oceans. Vast and endless, there were so many opportunities to seize. However, being a regular sailor, something that a woman wasn’t even allowed to do, was too honest for her liking. Moscow being landlocked as it is, the stories of pirates were far and in between. It wasn’t until these moments out on the sea that Anya began to learn about the life of a pirate. These stories were told to her with disdain and warning -- a life that she should avoid. However, the more she listened the more she was enraptured by the idea of becoming a free agent to her own desires. It seemed perfect -- sailing the seas, free and powerful, taking what she wanted and doing as she pleased. It was a fantasy life.
Knowing some English, she was able to make her way to Port Royal. She decided to immerse herself more into the life there, taking in as much as she could as she learned more and more about the pirates that were alleged to sail on the oceans nearby. Now, being nineteen and a year wiser, Anya eagerly awaits the moment she can join the crew of a pirate ship and begin the life of her dreams.
AND BEYOND
PORTRAYED BY;Katie Melua
PICTURE; Here
ROLE PLAY EXAMPLE;
The world around her was moving at a rapid pace that Anya couldn’t conscientiously keep track of, so she refused to. All she could really focus on were the certainties of the present, which were two things: The fact her baby was coming, and the excruciating pain that had followed suit. And even those two things were difficult to focus on as her head was rushing and swaying in every which way to register her location, and who was with her. Kenny seemed to have disappeared entirely, and she could only manage to spot Severus only once or twice betwixt the chaos. The only person that had registered long term was Madame Pomfrey, and despite the fact she was a lovely woman, she wasn’t exactly the person Anya had wanted at her side.
In fact, she realized with some horror attached, she had never really decided who she wanted with her when she was birthing her child.
Anya always knew this would be a private affair, but she always imagined at least one person at her side when it was time. Now she felt utterly alone, and hard pressed to find someone to hold onto as all of this was happening. Severus Snape managed to flit through her imagination for a brief moment, and Anya even considered calling out to him; and she probably would have if it wasn’t for the pain she was experiencing. All she could manage was a small hiss before falling back against the bed, flooded by heat and sweat, her head lolling to the side as she tried to regain some sort of composure amidst the hot flashes and throbbing.
Eventually she had calmed and the contraction had subsided, and Anya was overcome with relief. She knew reprieve was merely temporary, but she was grateful for it nonetheless. And in that moment of calm, she could hear Madame Pomfrey informing her that she was going to invoke some sort of charm that would make the pregnancy painless and quite easy to deal with. Something along those lines. Language was at a loss to her. But “pain free” managed to lock onto her brain, and Anya could only think of her mother. Her mother had given birth to Anya alone, no mediwitches or midwives, with no help but her husband’s hand a few soothing words. Ever since Anya had heard the story of that stormy and excruciating night, she had made a promise to suffer through childbirth like her mother had. It was a strange pact to make, but she was very certain to follow it. As she watched Pomfrey began to mutter the words to the charm, she raised a weak hand to stop her and shook her head. Anya swore she that she had said “no,” but she couldn’t be too sure. Either way, Madame Pomfrey was staring at her curiously with a tilted head.
“You’re not in your right mind,” was what she heard the nurse say, in dull hum and continuously repeating with increasing clarity before it settled in her mind like a blanket of snow.
“I… don’t give my consent,” Anya said. “… I don’t want it… I want to do this… with the pain…”
And after that another contraction came, even more excruciating than the last, but the stoic Anya stood her ground, and kept completely still. Her chest rose and fell in an evenly kept rhythm, but even she couldn’t help it as her eyes began to roll into the back of her head, and small whimpers of pain escaped her now suddenly chapped lips. She heard Madam Pomfrey say a few things about how she was only a teenager and it was possibly her body couldn’t withstand the pain without going into shock, but Anya continued to shake her head like a stubborn five year old. Pomfrey seemed to give in and mutter something about how if she noticed something going on, she would immediately use magic. Either way the issue was settled and Anya continued to ride the waves of pain and alleviation without much to say, other than the occasional exclaimed word that was either nonsense or irrelevant to the situation at hand.
Time was at a loss to her after the first hour of delivery. Time seemed immaterial and meaningless at that moment, either way. When Anya had mulled on time, it was only to consider how tortuous it was to have to go through labor for this long. Why it couldn’t just be cut and dry, she didn’t know. But the powers that be willed that all women suffer through a long and agonizing labor until they deemed it time for the baby to make itself known into the world. That moment, for Anya, couldn’t come soon enough.
In her times of release, Anya noticed only Pomfrey walking about, and checking on her beddings every so often. There wasn’t much she could do in the in-between, and Anya could tell she was just as anxious for the baby to come as Anya was. Occasionally Snape meandered in to check on the status of the situation, to which Pomfrey would only give a one or two word answer to before he was on his way. Anya still desired to ask him to stay, but couldn’t gather the courage to. Instead, she stared at him with a sort of quiet desperation in hopes that he would notice and consider staying at her side. But that was merely a capricious fantasy. She didn’t consider that she was in high enough regard to him for him to even think about staying at her bedside for a few minutes.
Anya was later told that four hours had passed when it was finally time to deliver. Anya was lying on her side in one of the calm waves of labor when suddenly she was racked with ache that was worse than all the other times before. But this time, this throbbing was accompanied by a force in her abdomen, and a feeling like her body was trying to force something out of her. Mentally, Anya could feel that this was it, and she weakly called to Madame Pomfrey, who rushed to her and checked on her dilation. The look on the nurse’s face was even more confirmation, and Anya rolled onto her back and braced herself for the inevitable. Poppy began flitting about with natural grace and she seemed more than prepared for this very moment. It was like she had waited all her life for this. When everything was in place, she looked Anya very sternly in the eyes and told her to begin pushing.
It was a lot easier than Anya had expected, and even more painful than she had imagined. She could only manage one or two pushes before laying flat on her back and crying softly to herself. Her hair was messed, beads of sweat were dropping from her temple, and her eyes and nose were bright red from her constant weeping. Poppy urged her to continue and Anya tried to comply, but kept failing at every attempt.
Anya whimpered something that she thought was “I think I’m going to pass out.” Whatever it was, Poppy wasn’t having it, and informed her tersely that if she thought Anya couldn’t handle it, she would put her under and let nature do its thing. But Anya was overcome by stubbornness, and with newfound determination she sat up and began pushing with the contractions.
The moment when the baby started coming out was a blur, and Anya could only remember a few fragments – such as when Poppy’s excited squeal as the head began to crown – and could only clearly remember the sudden departure of heavy pressure, and the hot wet of relief. Before she knew it, Poppy had set the baby onto Anya’s chest as she ran off to get a towel to wipe the fluids and blood off. The memory of seeing her child for the first time was something she would always remember.
The bright blue eyes of the child were staring right up at her, as loud cries elicited from its blood soaked lips. It was so small and tender, so much so that Anya could barely believe that the child was even real. It all had to be some sort of fantastic dream. This being had come from her, and that was something she could barely fathom. The sudden feelings of maternal love were intangible and impossible to measure, and fresh tears came from her eyes as she delicately cradled her baby against her chest.
Poppy emerged a few seconds later and wrapped the baby up in a warm towel. She cleaned it, and did all the proper processes that came with checking if the child was alright. Eventually the child was returned to Anya’s trembling arms, and she was sobbing still, a wide grin spread across her lips as she looked up at Poppy. She almost felt like screaming, “I did it!” and she knew Poppy wouldn’t hold it against her if she had.
Poppy gave a motherly smile and chimed, “It’s a girl.”
Anya nodded knowingly and wiped her eyes. “I knew it would be,” she whimpered through sobs. “She danced.”
The baby was calm now, eyes slowly blinking as it seemed to survey the world about her for the first time. Anya leaned forward and kissed the child’s comfortably warm head for the first time. “Didn’t you, my little Nataliya?”
The babe merely cooed contently as she closed her eyes and fell into sleep. And Anya, breathing to the rhythm of her child’s heart, understood the meaning of life for the first time.
PIRATES OR NINJAS;
pirates of course. O:
