Name Mrs. Puppett. Nobody knows her first name except her husband... and you don't want to go near Mr. Puppett.
Gender Female
Age 27
Species Supernatural Human (Said like this because of her uh... tarot abilities.)
Occupation Cirqo Nelle Stelle; Tarot Card Reader/Sort of a magician/Illusionist
Appearance Short brown hair, always in a red blazer + short red skirt with thigh high white stockings and red high heels. Could you tell she likes red? --- This is because of how much she saw as a child. It's a bit symbolic to her as the color her father was drenched in when he died, and the color she was covered in as a child.
Picture Image ReferencePersonality Mrs. Puppett is calm, for she rarely loses her temper, and remains relatively silent with a simple smile on her face that leads to many interpretations, mostly mocking in a sense that she knows she has control over others, and is willing to abuse that power all she can. She was born a bit of a psychopath/sociopath, and was always fascinated with the human mind. Due to her lack of caring, and her conditions, she developed a sadistic streak, finding pleasure in watching people scream and cry as she molds their mind and soul as she pleases.
Abilities A talented Tarot Card reader + Illusionist. Creates Illusions with her cards; however, she tends to use these abilities to frighten the audience, but because of her job, she is unable to harm them. Generally has to be under surveillance when performing just in case a card "slips"... She is also able to reach into the future, however, you don't often see her doing this except for performances. Mrs. Puppett doesn't really have animosity towards her powers, or really any feeling for that matter. She simply uses them as a tool to do as she pleases.
Weaknesses When she gets excited/angry, Mrs. Puppett isn't able to control her abilities. Generally her mind gets cloudy and she cannot use her abilities well. (Under her control, they just flip out all over the place if she attempts to use them and then ends up just getting herself hurt in the end. Hahah). Since she has only opened up to one person (Mr. Puppett), she has a shorter temper when the argument concerns him other than something else.
Backstory Mrs. Puppett was born in a dingy old hospital somewhere on a small island off of Gaia, her mother having to be drugged up because of her wailing and thrashing during the birthing. The doctors thought it to be an awful idea for her to give birth to her child, and advised she have an abortion due to both her and the father having mental diseases. She was a psychopath. Her husband was a schizophrenic, and was held in a mental institute during the birth of his child because he was unfit for being out in public at the time. Neither of the parents named Mrs. Puppett.
The doctors knew the child was going to be born unstable, but they had failed to realize an extremely rare recessive gene found in both the mother and father's chromosomes. It was a simple gene that allowed for the child to have enhanced psychic abilities, able to project thoughts and wills upon others, allowing them to see as they do, as if it were real. However, at the time, the doctors had only touched upon this gene once or twice, and were unable to see how strong and dangerous it could be once the child reached adulthood. So, they passed it off and allowed the dysfunctional family to leave.
Mrs. Puppett's mother was allowed to take care of her child, so long as there be a caretaker in the home with her. After Mrs. Puppett turned 3, her father was let out of the mental institute with medication to help him with his condition. He returned to his wife and child. This was a large mistake on the hospital's part. The medications were not strong enough after some time, and both the mother and father didn't have the funds for new medication, so his schizophrenia got worse to to the point where the voices in his head argued for hours on end, dragging him one way and another; trying to get him to do things. His mind was strong enough to push back those voices, those thoughts, but soon, it just wasn't enough.
Mrs. Puppett witnessed her father's undoing at the age of 5 from her bedroom door. Her father screaming and slamming into walls, gripping his hair as he ripped chunks out and yelled incoherent sentences and begged an invisible assailant. Her eyes drank in every moment, every scream, every shout. She began to move out the door, and up to her screaming father to try and comfort him, but her mother was quicker and went to him, screaming at her husband to hush up.
She could not stand screaming. Mrs. Puppett's father quickly stood, staring at his wife with large bloodshot eyes, his face drenched in sweat and blood from scraping at his scalp and he grabbed her, shaking the woman as she screamed and wailed. She clawed at his face, causing blood to drip down her fingers and onto the glazed wooden floor. Finally, the mother escaped and crawled into the kitchen, fumbling around for a knife, finally finding one, and coming back. The father looked at her, quiet, and she shivered. Mrs. Puppett simply watched from the sidelines, watching her father as blood and sweat trickled down his angered, bony face.
Her Mother shivered, holding the knife up in defense, screaming that he was a monster. A disgusting, lowly, awful monster. Her husband looked hurt, but the emotion quickly faded away as he bent down and held his head, screaming once more at the raging voices in his head and backed into a wall, slumping down as he clutched his head.
Mrs. Puppett ran over to him and knelt down, speaking his name softly, but he shook his head and their hands entwined. Mrs. Puppett made a small gesture that could be called a smile, but it was short lived as her mother loomed over them, a crazed and sleepless look on her face. Before Mrs. Puppett could speak, her mother lunged and stabbed wildly at her husband, screaming wildly as if she were possessed. Blood spattered on the floor, walls and upon Mrs. Puppett's face.
The mother's hand finally slowed down, and she tossed the knife on the floor. Mrs. Puppett stood, staring at her bloodied father quietly. Not an emotion could be recognized on her blood spattered features. A good 2 minutes of silence passed before her mother looked at her daughter with wide eyes, shocked at what she had just done and reached for her child desperately, as if taking her into her arms would fix what had been done. But Mrs. Puppett didn't allow her to come near, and instead bolted out the door, eyes wide. She did not scream.
For a good ten years, Mrs. Puppett managed to make a living by practicing her new found psychic abilities, performing illusions for small crowds and predicting their futures with a cheap deck of tarot cards she got as a donation from begging when she was 7. She was finally able to afford a dingy apartment, and was taken care of by the owners of said apartment until she reached the age of 13. They had asked about her parents, or if she needed help, but she brushed off each question with a believable smile and a simple excuse that her parents just weren't cut out for raising a child. During this time, the mother was frantically looking all over for her daughter, but although there was proof she had a child, she could never tell the officers her name, or even remember quite what she looked like, so while the police looked, they claimed she wasn't fit for having a kid anyways, and she was sent back to the mental hospital for more therapy.
At the age of 15, Mrs. Puppett moved out of the apartment she lived in for the past 10 years and wandered about until she found the new home her mother lived in, and went in. By this time, her mother was finally released from the mental hospital once more with some strong medication to keep her psychotic behavior under control. However, she had a caretaker and was not allowed out in public because of what she had done.
It was night time, and the caretaker had gone home for the night. Mrs. Puppett had broken the lock and entered the front door, while her mother was watching TV blankly. Her mother turned when she heard the door open and saw a shadowed figure of her now teenage daughter. But she couldn't recognize her and stared, asking who she was. Mrs. Puppett said nothing and backed up into the shadows until she was no longer seen by the dim light of a lamp and the TV. Her mother stood quickly and looked around, but before she could speak, she screamed and knelt down, a searing pain in her skull and she looked up, seeing the figure of her husband infront of her. She asked how could it have been. He was dead. Yet, soon enough he descended upon her and she screamed, rolling on the floor, gripping her hair as the strong illusion gripped her soul like a vice. The voices, the images, the false sense of feeling; it was all too much for the mother and she soon died of a heart attack due to the stress and fear. (Yes, it's possible.)
Once dead, Mrs. Puppett gazed at her mother for another moment before slipping out the door silently. A few days later, police were trying to find any evidence that could pinpoint to a person that could have caused the death, but there was no evidence, and concluded that Mrs. Puppett's mother had simply had a heart attack. They were unable to contact Mrs. Puppett either, for she had no name in the database since her parents never named her. Mrs. Puppett named herself at the age of 15.
A year later, Mrs. Puppett named Mr. Puppett while she was performing for a small crowd. Mr. Puppett was similar to Mrs. Puppett in a sense that they were both unfit for society, and they both inherited the psychic gene. Although Mr. Puppett's abilities were not as practiced as the Mrs. Nevertheless they bonded, and decided to wander together. Mr. Puppett resembled Mrs. Puppett's father closely, in both appearance and personality, so he became the one thing she trusted completely. They both vowed to protect one another until the day they died.
Mrs. Puppett "married" Mr. Puppett when she turned 23. It was an unofficial marriage and was never documented.
For a couple years, they simply existed. Mrs. Puppett performing in alleyways with her husband at her side, performing with her. Soon enough, Mrs. Puppett split off from her husband to go find a better paying job, promising to send the money to him and visit during vacations. Mr. Puppett understood and took care of the house, doing his performing alley job in the meantime. That's when she found Cirqo Nelle Stelle and joined together with them as an act for the circus.
[Different part of her past yay]
About ten years ago [Mrs. Puppett was 17], there was a circus. Such a lovely circus, with clowns and fire breathers entertaining the masses with wonderful tricks and tools, where the Daredevil and Illusionists made the audience gasp and applaud at their abilities. Everything was wonderful, until two figures emerged from the outside.
Mrs. Puppett and her lover, Mr. Puppett, waltzed into the circus, unnoticed by the others, for they blended in perfectly with the other acts. Mrs. Puppett entered one of the most crowded tents and walked onto stage quietly, ignoring the yells and protests of the audience.
"Get off the stage!!"
"You're ruining the act!!"
The circus' Ringmaster walked to her and tried to explain to her that there was a performance going on and she should leave, in a manner that suggested he thought she was daft. Mrs. Puppett smiled, but said not a word. The Ringmaster, growing impatient, asked for her name. She said nothing once more, and a scream could be heard from the outside. The audience began to panic, not knowing if this was a part of the circus or not.
The Ringmaster looked around, telling the audience to calm down, and that everything was under control. He turned to tell Mrs. Puppett to get the ******** off the stage, but she was nowhere to be seen. He looked around warily and went out to look for her, promising the audience that the show will go on. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure disappearing into the hall of mirrors and promptly followed. He gazed at his distorted image in the mirrors, each one differing in the effects. He saw the figure and ran after it.
"Stop!"
The figure stopped and the Ringmaster walked up to it, about to demand that they leave, but the figure vanished. His eyes widened and he whipped his head around, searing madly for the figures when he heard voices.
I thought you said you would work in this circus, my love?
Oh, no... it simply is not worth it... these pathetic beings don't belong.
Shall we clean up?
Yes, we shall.The Ringmaster began to sweat. What the hell was going on? He looked around and shuddered when the room began to fill with fog and cards fell from the ceiling. He grabbed them, looking at each.
"What the hell?"
Each card held a different Tarot reading, yet the faces of the people upon the cards were blurred out, especially the eyes, which were stabbed out in a disgusting fashion along with the mouths. They all looked as if they were screaming and the Ringmaster backed up slowly.
"SHOW YOURSELF!!" he screamed, and his demand was met when Mrs. Puppett walked out of the shadows, smiling darkly.
The Ringmaster twitched and glared at her, opening his mouth to shout when he felt the presence of someone else behind him. Looking in one of the mirrors he saw a man in a bright purple top hat behind him, eyes hidden behind a pair of round white glasses. Before he could question, he felt a sharp sting of pain in his back, his vision becoming blurry as he fell to the ground, coughing and gasping. He tasted blood. The Ringmaster looked up at Mrs. Puppett, now standing above him, still smiling.
He growled. "What... what do you want?"
Mrs. Puppett simply said nothing and dropped another card on his face. It was pitch black, and before the Ringmaster could grab it, he was falling. Falling, falling, falling, into darkness, shattered mirrors around him, cutting him, showing his bloody reflection, ripping his soul from his body. He tried to scream, strained his vocal chords, but nothing came out. He kept falling until...
Reality slammed him like a ton of bricks as he found himself on the ground of the same tent he thought he had left. The Ringmaster lay lifeless on the ground, turned on his side and staring blankly at nothing. He vaguely noticed a feminine figure clad in red next to another clad in purple. Then the sound of applause as Mr. and Mrs. Puppett held hands and bowed, the dazed body of the Ringmaster behind them.
Facts -She's quite the psychopath, but not as much as her husband, who will not enter this RP for the sake of... well everyone. Including me. xD
-She has red eyes, and can always be found with a smile on her face.
Sample (Ashjkdhsajkda so much typing. xD I'll try to fix this later...)
Red.
Isn't it such a lovely color?
Of course, my dear.
There's nothing like the burst of red on a rose, as its petals fall gracefully onto the ground.
Like the soft red hair of a maiden flowing in the wind as she tosses it carelessly over her shoulder.
Like the wonderful taste of fresh red wine as it pours into a pair of red clad lips.
It's as wonderful as the screams I hear, and the copper taste of blood filling those lips to the brim, as I smile, and twist.
That, my dear, is my favorite.Mrs. Puppett smiled at her husband and stood, dropping cards carelessly onto the marble floor. "Shall we dance?"
"We shall."
Gloved hands entwined as they walked down a spiraling staircase. When they reached the bottom, they turned to face one another.
"Shall we perform for the audience?"
"We shall, my dear."
And they waltzed, twisting and turning around the marble floors, narrowly dodging spilled wine and bodies gracefully. So beautiful they both thought as they waltzed in circles around the fallen bodies clad in ball gowns and tuxedos; the stench of blood and wine filling the room. Mrs. Puppett smiled as she saw her husband drink in the illusions she had selflessly given him.
It did not matter if they were dancing in reality or illusion. It was real enough for them, and they would not change a thing. The two continued to dance, their feet now slipping in the spilled wine, creating wonderful designs as they dragged their feet to lift off the ground once more. Mrs. Puppett leaned against her lover's chest, closing her eyes and smiling softly. Soon enough, the illusion would wear off, and they would be dancing not in red wine, but dusty floors. The fallen bodies would return to being nothing but tables and chairs cast off all over the cracked marble floor, long forgotten. Ripped curtains would give way for smashed windows that let in trickles of the moonlight into the abandoned building, shining down on the two dancers.
But it did not matter.
She could always bring them back to reality.
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