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 Posted: Sun Oct 21, 2007 7:03 pm
{image pending}
This journal is property of zigeunerweisen`. Do not post without her permission.
Angel 1:
Angel 2:
Angel 3:
Angel 4:
Cosplay 1:
Cosplay 2:
Cosplay 3:
Cosplay 4:
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Posted: Sun Oct 21, 2007 7:41 pm
 i n t r o d u c t i o n
Lurking behind every chance to be made whole by fame is the axman of further dismemberent.
-The Frenzy of Renown by Leo Braudy
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Posted: Sun Oct 21, 2007 7:57 pm
 t a b l e o f c o n t e n t s
one/.......... deus ice post
two/........... intro
three/........ table of contents
four/.......... rosalie
five/.......... battle log
six/........... angel madeliene
seven/....... original angel two
eight/......... original angel three
nine/.......... original angel four
ten/............ cosplay angel one
eleven/....... cosplay angel two
twelve/....... cosplay angel three
thirteen/..... cosplay angel four
fourteen/.... disclaimer
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Posted: Sun Oct 21, 2007 8:00 pm
 d e u s r o s a l i e
name
M. Rosalie Bennet
nickname
Rose, Rose-la, Oz
age
13
gender
female
race
human
parents
mother- Kumiko Bennet (deceased)
father- John Bennet
siblings
none
interests
Dolls, gardening, baking
likes
Dolls, flowers, cakes and candies, water, the beach, books, guro fashion, chunky heels, black fabric, ribbons, lace, bows, dirt
dislikes
dead things, wilting, blood, pain, unkemptness, bad flower arrangements
fears
disfigurement, injury, rejection, doctors, crowds, small spaces
personality
Rosalie is, for lack of better words, shy. Whether this is due to the isolated way she was raised, or just a by-product of her father's notoriety, she gets extremely quiet around large groups of people. Most of her communication is restricted to smiles, frowns, blushes and monosyllables. This makes it hard to get a strong grip on the sort of personality she has, at least openly, simply because there is no information to go off of. Most of what people can know about her without actively making an effort is determined by her choice of friends. The vast majority of them will be bigger, stronger, smarter or more talented than her, and all of them will certainly be more talkative.
Rosalie's hobbies say a great many things about her. She enjoys gardening- only flowers- and going to the beach. Her collection of Asian ball-jointed dolls is unparalleled, numbered at over thirty on last count (the larger part of the types available on the internet and through stores). She likes to read, and to listen to music. She is not very active because of a hole between the right and left ventricles of her heart that causes substantial problems. An especial favorite hobby of hers; secrets.
Secrets, to Rosalie, are the lifeblood of the world. Everyone is motivated by them, and secrets are what makes everything work. It's her goal to understand everything, and thus she must know all the secrets without giving away any of her own. It is, perhaps, the reason why she is so quiet.
She has an aversion to loud noise and large crowds- think of all the secrets and knowledge she is losing out of- and doesn't like it when things wilt or die, perhaps even fears it. Blood, just the sight or smell of it, makes her extremely light-headed. Rosalie is deathly afraid of disfigurement and healers, two very unfortunate fears as she is especially prone to getting sick or injured. She fears crowds and large spaces; she is also terrified of the dark. Those are all secrets she will never tell.
appearance
Rosalie's blue-black hair is completely natural, as are her champagne-colored eyes. Usually, she keeps her long hair in pigtails, with long bangs and two sections hanging free in front of her ears. Her hair will always be bound back with large bows that match her outfit. Her skin is porcelain-pale and nearly translucent in its clarity; she has no visible scars, birthmarks, freckles or moles. This is because of a strict cleaning regimen involving many anti-acne treatments, though she is only twelve and doesn't really need to worry about all that yet. She wears makeup, and wears it well, with the finesse of someone who's had long practice, but she doesn't wear it thickly or gaudily.
In clothing, Rosalie prefers monochrome and pastels. Her usual colors are black, white, pale pink and dark red; sometimes, however, she wears baby blue or gold. Her clothes are usually very lacey and harken to the elaborate costumes of Victorian England. She generally wears knee-high boots that lace up the front in black or white, or else platform mary janes in colors that match her dress. Like any good girl who cares for her complexion, she wears hats or bonnets on bright days, or else carries a parasol. In her purse or bag- selected, of course, to match her outfit- she carries about two or more dolls, but her favorite is a sheet-ghost named Aki that she made herself.
Rosalie is very frail in appearance. Her eyes are almost never completely open, and it's only her skill with her makeup that lets her appear healthy enough to be cute. She spends much of her time coughing, but she tends to hide it well. Because she gets sick so easily, she despises winter and tries not to spend too much time outside.
history
Rosalie was born on a sunny day at home, tended by a midwife and two Healers that her father, a wealthy movie producer, had called in, because that was the way his wife, an actress, wanted it. Other than the expected complications from the home birth, it was an easy birth- something that did not set the tone for the first few years of her life.
Right away after her mother returned to work, problems started to occur; Rosalie's nursemaid noted that at times, she stopped breathing and at others she had an extremely abnormal heart rate. X-rays at a hospital on the continent revealed that Rosalie had a hole in her heart- something that could not be properly or permanently fixed, even by magic. She was three years old, and confined to the inside of her father's Brighton estate until a more permanent solution could be found.
Even then, she was not neglected. Her father doted on her, her mother returned at least once a month to visit for a weekend, and she had plenty of playmates. And, if all else failed, Rosalie had the dolls her mother routinely sent her from China, Korea and Japan. Though she had no pets, or even any friends made on her own, Rosalie was happy.
When Rosalie was eight years old, her mother called and they talked, as they normally did, and Rosalie asked if her mother would be home in time for her birthday. Her mother sighed, and didn't answer, instead changing the subject to the newest doll she had sent. By the time her birthday rolled aorund, Rosalie was not even expecting her mother to show up. Of course she hoped, but she wasn't surprised when her mother didn't show up. The next morning, she learned why; the plane her mother had been flying on had gone down over Siberia on its way back from Korea, two nights before. No one had found it until early last night. Her mother was dead- as well as everyone else on that flight.
Her father was devastated, blaming everyone and everything- the drunken pilot, her mother for attempting to come home through a storm, but most of all (though he would never say such to her) he blamed Rosalie, for pushing her mother into trying to come back. He was no more depressed than Rosalie, who shut herself into her room and wouldn't come out.
Gone were the days of happy bliss. She spent all her time in her room, ignoring those who came to wish her well and for an eventual recovery. The only person she would allow in to speak to her was her mother's priest, Asmadai Riffael. With her father's cold shoulder, and the sudden absence of everyone that had surrounded her growing up, he became her one and only friend.
Once she was old enough to attend a middle school, she was shipped out to boarding school. Far away from Asmadai and all her dolls, she had to make friends with other people her age. It was easiest with those she used to play with, but they had grown apart; it seemed to her that they lived spoiled, sheltered lives. Instead she favored friendships with scholarship students and those whose fathers were gritty realists. She met Asami Fuse and Fantine Redmond-Mikhailov there, and became great friends with the two of them. Asami was the daughter of a prestigous sitcom star, and Fantine was her cousin- once a scholarship student who became a regular student through her mother's sudden windfall.
Life seemed to be going okay for a while- going to church on Sunday, school from Monday to Saturday- until her friends introduced her to Angelic Layer. Recently she acquired an Angel from Asami and Fantine for her thirteenth birthday.
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Posted: Sun Oct 21, 2007 8:02 pm
 b a t t l e l o g
angel name
opponent|deus|date of battle|outcome
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Posted: Sun Oct 21, 2007 8:03 pm
 m a d e l i e n e
madeliene
(stat)
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Posted: Sun Oct 21, 2007 8:26 pm
 a n g e l r e s e r v e
angel name (o2)
(stats)
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Posted: Sun Oct 21, 2007 8:27 pm
a n g e l r e s e r v e
angel name (o3)
(stats)
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Posted: Sun Oct 21, 2007 8:28 pm
a n g e l r e s e r v e
angel name (o4)
(stats)
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Posted: Sun Oct 21, 2007 8:30 pm
a n g e l r e s e r v e
angel name (c1)
(stats)
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Posted: Sun Oct 21, 2007 8:31 pm
a n g e l r e s e r v e
angel name (c2)
(stats)
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Posted: Sun Oct 21, 2007 8:32 pm
a n g e l r e s e r v e
angel name (c3)
(stats)
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Posted: Sun Oct 21, 2007 8:33 pm
a n g e l r e s e r v e
angel name (c4)
(stats)
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Posted: Sun Oct 21, 2007 8:37 pm
d i s c l a i m e r
Angelic Layer is copyright to CLAMP.
The art of Rosalie is copyright to Syeki.
The character of Rosalie is copyright to M Hermey.
The designs for Rosalie's angels are copyright to their designers.
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Posted: Sun Oct 21, 2007 8:39 pm
a n a n g e l i s b o r n
egg opening
“Okay, let us know how it goes, Rosa-la!” The smiling Asian and French faces of her dear Friends (a word that always had to be capitalized, at least to her) disappeared behind the cherry door of her dorm room. The twelve-year-old (okay, so today was her thirteenth birthday) giggled and hugged the fluorescent pink present bag to her chest. Asami and Fantine were so nice, to get her something for her birthday. She hadn’t exactly expected them to get anything for her.
It was a wonderful feeling, having a pair of friends like that.
Rosalie sat on her bed, crossing her ankles and tucking them against the floor. Reaching in among the white tissue paper (decorated with gilt stars), she pinched a corner of something stiff and pulled it out. The choppy, inelegant script that dotted Fantine’s words in the notes they passed spelled out her name (R-o-s-a-l-I-e-B-e-n-n-e-t) in black script on the white envelope. She opened it carefully. Inside was a glittery card with swirly letters spelling out “Happy Birthday” and a little poem in Asami’s distinctive script. She smiled at the smiley faces and random flower stamps that crowded the inside of the folded paper, then set it aside. Her friends were the best in the world.
The girl pulled out the tissue paper and placed it with the envelope, then pulled out the present itself. “Angel egg,” she read, then smiled again. Rosalie had heard of Angelic Layer; attending a school for the children of the rich, almost every girl had one. Of course, she could have had one as well- her credit card hadn’t been used in months- but she had held off. Recently, though, she’d mentioned to Asami that she’d come up with a design for her dream angel. It seemed that she’d spread the word to Fantine, and they’d gone out and gotten the materials.
Sure enough, she reached in and pulled out the rest of the merchandise needed to create her Angel- the laptop, the circular device that formed the face, and a blonde wig. It looked a little more complex than the other dolls that sat in her room (Asian Ball-Jointed Dolls, her passion and one of her two reasons for living), but it couldn’t be too much harder than taking apart and restringing a CP Delf from Luts, and she did that regularly.
“Open in the bath,” she read, realizing that was two more words than she’d used today, total. Well, that was beside the (non-existent) point. It was time to hop in the bath and open up her angel.
She opened the door to the bathroom, grateful again for the fact that each room held a single person and their own bathroom. Not like she’d be interrupted, even at home, by anyone but Asmadai. And she never particularly worried about him seeing something she didn’t want him to see, because he’d never walk in on her. Rosalie was utterly certain of this fact. She set the egg on the edge of the small tub and ran the water, watching the steam swirl up from the chilly porcelain. Aekea’s recent cold snap drove her insane; she hated the cold, and wished for it to go away. Her room tended to hover around sixty-five degrees, a good temperature, but the bathroom always seemed to be about fifty. She shivered and pulled off her pretty white dress, folding it while hopping from foot to foot on the cold tiles before plunging herself into the warmth of the water. Her toes tingled as they adjusted to the sudden heat before she surfaced and untied her pigtails.
Rosalie hummed satisfaction and reached out for the angel egg. She identified the catch, then re-read the instructions. In the bath, under water… The egg was duly submerged and the catch tripped. A gush of room-temperature water accompanied the blue-toned base angel from the plastic egg. She shivered again and added the egg casing to her pile of clothes, setting the Angel itself on the side of the tub until she was done washing her long black hair.
After she was dressed again, she sat in front of the Angelic Layer laptop. The blue doll base floated inside the field generated by the circular object, watched by the five dolls that came with her to school every year (Voice, Eden, Lai, Aya and Gun) with apathetic eyes. “I want…” she paused, thinking. “Blue eyes,” she continued, thinking of the blonde wig sitting on the head of her doll, “pale skin…” She entered the information, selecting a type (heavy, power).
Now for a name…
M-A-D-E-L-I-E-N-E
Just like the plate outside her door. The light faded, and she caught the doll as it began to collapse without the field to keep it up. “We’re both Madeliene,” she said to it, tying the doll into the blue handkerchief included at the bottom of her present bag. “Isn’t that cute?”
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