Fawn R. Benedict ( WIP )

[attr="class","apptop"]name: [attr="class","appanswer"] FAWN RAY BENEDICT [attr="class","apptop"]age: [attr="class","appanswer"] 22 YEARS [attr="class","apptop"]birthday: [attr="class","appanswer"] March, 24, 1998 [attr="class","apptop"]sexuality: [attr="class","appanswer"] STRAIGHT [attr="class","apptop"]realm: [attr="class","appanswer"] GREEN [attr="class","apptop"]power: [attr="class","appanswer"] CHI MANIPULATION [attr="class","apptop"]play by: [attr="class","appanswer"] EBBA ZINGMARK [attr="class","apptop"]roleplayer: [attr="class","appanswer"] PHARAOH

[PTabbedContent] [PTab=POWER] [attr="class","appcon"]Abilities: Chi Manipulation, draws mana in through focus [attr="class","appcon"]Explanation of Power: The best way she knew to name her abilities was the manipulation of chi, or the energy surrounding all living things. Some may call this mana, but there is more to it than that. She feeds off of, draws off of, the energy around her, being able to manipulate it and control it in various ways. She can use the flow of mana, of chi, to strengthen herself or another. She can use it to heal injuries, to help things grow, or she can suck it from others to weaken them. Luckily for those around her, Fawn is a peaceful creature and would never hurt a soul. She uses her ability to direct the flow of energy for good, as a healer. She has no desire to delve into the darker side of her powers. She has a natural magnetism for mana, which is helpful since her power can draw great quantities of it depending on what she is directing energy for. When focused, she draws in great amounts of mana to herself, but this recharge takes time, focus, and a place where she can go undisturbed until she is fully recharged. [attr="class","app con"] [/PTab={max-height:200px;min-height:200px;}][PTab=APPEARANCE] [attr="class","appcon"]Height: 5' 4" [attr="class","appcon"]Hair Color: red [attr="class","appcon"]Eye color: green [attr="class","appcon"]Play By: Ebba Zingmark [attr="class","appcon"]General Appearance: Fawn is small and slender, with curly fire-red hair and soft green eyes. She has small, slender hands and small, dancer-like feet. Her lithe frame is graceful, and she carries herself with a shy, quiet confidence. She is pretty in a plain way, though not outstanding beyond the color of her hair. Fawn prefers to wear pastels and pops of color, and is most known for her large glasses. While she could use her power to adjust her vision, she chooses to wear the glasses as they remind her of her life before the realms and the chaos of war. [/PTab={max-height:200px;min-height:200px;}][PTab=PERSONALITY] [attr="class","appcon"]Likes: Reading new books, libraries, sunny days, gentle breezes, small town life, quiet afternoons, tea, long conversations [attr="class","appcon"]Dislikes: Arguments, chaos, distractions, getting overwhelmed, being the center of attention, not being taken seriously [attr="class","appcon"]General Personality: Fawn is best described as a pacifist. She sees no value in death, and prefers instead a route of peace, open-mindedness, and healing. However, she is no fool, and she understands that as long as there is evil in the world, fighting must commence. She understands that her ideal world is illogical, but she still keeps up hope that some day Bolas' followers will fall or see the light and give up their desires for power and control. She has a great fear of power for she believes it will always corrupt; she prefers to be a leader who works among followers, and not one who uses them, lest she find herself pulled down the wrong path in life like her sister. Fawn is as kind, gentle, and sweet as her namesake. Unless she is focused in the heat of a crisis, she is very quiet and wallflower-like. She prefers time alone to think, read, and people watch, but she also enjoys time spent having meaningful conversations with those around her. Her bedside manner is incredible, and she is a comfort and inspiration to many rebels in such dark times. [/PTab={max-height:200px;min-height:200px;}][PTab=HISTORY] [attr="class","appcon"]Family: a twin sister (older) [attr="class","appcon"]History: TELL US YOUR CHARACTER'S HISTORY HERE (200+ words) [/PTab={max-height:200px;min-height:200px;}] [PTab=ROLEPLAY] I sat quietly on the stone steps that led up to an abandoned shop that had gone out of business some time ago. I fingered the collar of my shirt, trying my best to think. To remember. Like so many days before, however, I simply could not. Instead, I wracked my brain until my knuckles turned white around my collar and the nails of my free hand began to leave painful marks in my enclosed fist. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, I relaxed and gave up. It was a process, I had been told time and time again, one that I could not hope to race through in an instant. They said first I needed to remember little things, like locking the front door of the shop when I closed, or eating breakfast in the morning. Not only had Eve forgotten everything about who I was before those past, but it seemed my short-term memory suffered equally. I was forgetful, clumsy, and an all-around nuisance. The Vinestaffs were amazing for putting up with me so long. They had been there from the very start. The first memory I had was odd, faint, like a far-away dream. I remembered shivering from what must have been cold, or perhaps pain. I collapsed and someone caught me in their arms. That was it. Strong arms keeping me from sinking to the ground and giving up life entirely, I was sure of it. Who this person was I would never know, but some stranger caught me, and found me help. The next memory was much more tangible, and true. It was the story I told as my first recollection to any who asked, keeping the prior to myself. It seemed better that way, at least for me, to maintain some secret. Everyone had secrets. I simply wanted to fit in. I could remember the Vinestaffs next. Above their shop, in their own home, laid out on the sofa in the main room. Cartwright Vinestaff, shop owner and loyal husband of many years, was reading casually the Daily Prophet. He was a classy, elegant man, white hair on top and with short, square glasses propped precariously on the edge of his large nose. He had on an off-white turtleneck to stand the cold, with a dark grey jacket overtop. His blue eyes wandered over to check on me, and, upon seeing me awake, he leaped up and cried out for his wife. Maryland Vinestaff stumbled in, wearing a blue collared button-up, sleeves rolled, and a messy white-and-floral apron. Both of them were quick at my side, and though obviously excited that I was conscious and well, they were quiet and asked me questions with slow, patient breaths. I told them I couldn’t remember my name, and to be honest, at that time I was finding it difficult to even understand what they were saying. Neither had an accent as far as I could tell, and I would later confirm that they were wholly locals. However, my own mind had been so shockingly wiped of knowledge that even words at first were a struggle to me. I couldn’t remember where I was from, where I had come from, or what had been wrong when I was brought to them. I was told that I had showed up outside the shop, unconscious, freezing, with bruises on my arms and legs, my ribs like bars around me, my hair unwashed and plastered to my head. Nobody thought I would make it, but somehow, I did. Now that I was awake, I was helped into a bath, cleaned up and given fresh clothes. Again, I could remember no memories when I was questioned. Instead of giving up, the Vinestaffs let it go. They knew that I had come from frightening circumstances, and instead of make a fuss, they let me sleep a few nights. When I could still not recall a thing, they took that as a note that I was serious and not hiding anything from them. They sent for an officer to see if any missing persons might fit my description, but there were none living who matched me. The choice for them might seem major, but in the eyes of these bookshop owners, it wasn’t a decision at all. I was to stay with them until something of my mind could be recovered. Simple as that. I hummed along day by day for four weeks, and now, I tried harder than ever to become myself again, to bring back the girl I was and solve the mystery of my existence. Nothing ever surfaced. I used my lunch break at the shop every day to sit here, in the quietest street of Knockturn Alley, waiting. Trying so hard to no longer forget, but to be enlightened, and to remember it all again. I felt hot tears running down my face now, dripping onto my white collar and even a few spattering the black tailored jacket I wore overtop it. I stood up now, wiping the waterworks from my face and begging that my sadness might stop before I made myself into a nervous wreck in front of my new family. I shuddered as I realized that I was being watched. It was a feeling that crept over me, washing down my spine and causing me to sit right back down. The feeling faded, and I took a deep breath. “Eve,” I whispered softly, “you can stay right here as long as you need. They don’t expect you back for another hour today.” Talking to myself was such a comfort, my own voice reassuring, and it had become an odd habit of mine. Though this side street in Knockturn Alley was usually very quiet, and often never brought about another person in the two hours I was out, today I heard soft footsteps, and turned my head away, hoping whoever approached wasn’t dangerous, and wouldn’t judge me for crying alone in a dark alleyway. [/PTab={max-height:200px;min-height:200px;}][/PTabbedContent={max-height:200px;min-height:200px;}]