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 Posted: Mon Oct 29, 2012 6:45 pm
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[ paoma laurelai & little brother ]
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Posted: Mon Oct 29, 2012 6:50 pm
---- hedge witch
name paoma laurelai.
age 13 [born 1785].
age bonded 8.
gender female.
occupation n/a, bit of an herbologist.
hometown just outside palisade.
height 4'9".
physical attributes
honey blonde hair; just past shoulder length, usually somewhat tousled; no bangs | deep-set, slightly down-turned green eyes; doe-like
snub nose; slightly upturned end | diamond face | upturned mouth, always smiling | long eyelashes
parents angela laurelai [mother].
siblings --
spouse n/a.
She was just a little thing, ten or twelve years old, but her parents had died several years ago and left her nothing but their humble cottage beside the Thrithing, just not an hour’s walk north of Palisade. There was a garden, always in full bloom and visited daily by birds and bees, and not far, an inn with a raft that ferried travelers across the river. That seemed enough for Paoma, just as it had been enough for her parents. In all her dozen years, the girl had never been a mile outside of that little cottage.
That peaceful existence bore a special kind of joy for the girl, who found unbounded glee in being close to nature and talked as if addressing a real person to flora and fauna alike. She rose with the sun, and her tawny curls could be seen flitting through her garden each morning, moving from plant to plant with a patience and care that seemed odd for a child her age. All day she spent outside tending the plants, and when she grew tired or sleepy, she napped beside the river, listening as the Thrithing gently lulled her into a slumber rich with dreams and beautiful things that did not glimmer like coins but fluttered like butterflies.
And the plants thrived. Everyone in that stretch of the river knew that the garden had been her mother’s joy. The neighbors said that Angela Laurelai had a special touch, something that allowed her to nurture plants that grew to bear the sweetest and most radiant flowers this side of the Thrithing. Nobody had expected Paoma to have the same talents, though she had followed her mother tirelessly through the garden from the day she found her feet. At the very least, nobody had thought the plants would bear the same radiance as they had before Angela’s death.
And yet, they did. If anything, they thrived. The flowers grew bigger, bolder, their aromas riding the wind for miles and blanketing the area with a sweetness that reminded one of honey and ripe fruit. And every day, the little girl tended the flowers with a big grey cat frolicking by her side. A grimalkin, rumor had it, with a smirk on its face and a happy devil in its eyes. It had simply showed up one day, the day Paoma’s parents were found drowned in the Thrithing, and decided to stay. The neighbors warned her that it meant ill luck. The girl just saw the chip in his ear and the mischief in his eyes, and allowed him to stay. It was a simple transition. She made no ceremony of it and neither did he, and they slid seamlessly into a merged existence.
She was a quiet thing, with a shy smile and barely a word for anyone, and she didn’t run and play as often as children her age were wont to do. But the cat made up for that in spades. Every day he gamboled beside her as she did her work, her methodically watering and whispering to her plants and him yowling as he leaped four feet into the air simply because he felt like it. There was a haphazard sort of grace about him that allowed him to twist and turn and contort his body into startlingly complicated positions that seemed to please him entirely too much; he seemed to be entertained by the contortion as much, if not more, as the looks of shock bordering on horror that he tended to receive from people unfamiliar with his antics.
And he was quite a bold creature, stalking up to visitors uninvited to stare or sniff or even paw at them, deaf to their objections as he sated his rampant curiosity. He ignored the wishes of everyone else and did whatever he wanted, went wherever it pleased him to go, though he always returned, sometimes with an errant, half-eaten feather sticking to his upper lip. He was a bad cat, the consensus made that clear. Yet, with the girl, all it took was a smile and a shake of her head and a gently murmured, “Oh, Little Brother.” Then he would stop and the yowls would cease and he would rub up against her with a purr and rub his whiskers against the palm of her hand. And she would turn and rub a leaf between her fingers and say, “Bigger.”
And the plants would thrive.
Paoma spends the vast majority of her time at home tending her garden and growing up in the timeless bubble of her little hovel. Two or three times a month, she'll gather up some flowers and pot some plants to sell in Palisade, though she prefers the quiet outside the city and will not venture there past a certain hour. For the most part, she keeps to herself, knowing that too much attention cast on her situation could land her in an orphanage in town. She earns her living largely through her trips into the city and the business referred to her by the inn across the river. Her situation has endeared her to the innkeeper's wife, and she often finds herself being offered meals at the inn in exchange for some fresh flowers to brighten up the place.
Paoma is a quiet, introspective child with a tendency to point her gaze at one thing and stare unblinkingly off into space, pondering whatever requires pondering at the moment. She likes to laugh, and often does so in her garden, surrounded by flowers and birds and bees, though rarely in the company of people. For that, she reserves a shy, sweet smile that usually suggests there is other company she would rather be keeping.
She is polite, though, and peppers her interactions with other people with thank-yous and yessirs, always speaking in a shy whisper that can seem both timid and endearing, and reminds constantly that she is but a parentless child. For all that, though, once she warms up to someone, she gains confidence by leaps and bounds and can sometimes even try to take on roles of responsibility toward others despite her youth.
Her constant companions are the flora and fauna in her garden. She is possessed of a pervasive love of all animals and an inherent gift with all plants, and it is with them that she is most at home. Here, in her element, she might even be seen skipping or humming some lyricless song.
Paoma is very much a creature of habit, and is usually incapable of coping well when confronted with unfamiliar situations. She is not a problem-solver, and will often deal with difficulties by hiding, either physically or mentally. She does run away from problems, both literally and figuratively, and clings desperately to things she knows are safe.
Paoma's magic lies in making living things grow and thrive, be they plants or animals, though she doesn't seem to realize that she can effect non-floral entities. She is well aware of her ability with plants, but her lack of exposure to much of the outside world has rendered her blissfully unaware of the fact that the birds and the bees that frequent her home and garden are usually larger and more robust than most other specimens.
Whether it is part of her magic or simply a product of her magic, Paoma has an innate ability to comprehend things at a basic, reactionary level. She interacts with and understands living creatures based on their energy, from which she can extrapolate their emotions and thoughts, and it is from this perspective that she deals with humans and animals alike. It is not completely out of the ordinary for her to encounter worked up humans and simply ignore their protests with a quiet, "Shhhhhh..." and lay a hand on them until they calm down. It works with animals, after all, so it only makes sense that the same would be the case for people.
Because her magic involves the stimulation of growth and cell activity, she could potentially have some mild healing powers, though she is neither aware of this nor has she ever tried to approach anything from a healing perspective.
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Posted: Mon Oct 29, 2012 8:01 pm
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Posted: Mon Oct 29, 2012 8:06 pm
---- familiar 
 [ uncert ]
[ basics ]
name little brother.
gender male.
[ appearance ]
weight 25 lbs
physical attributes
large, well-built cat; not over gangly or stocky | square, sort of maine coon-shaped head and body | long tail
[ family ]
parents n/a.
siblings n/a.
[ history ]
Nobody is really sure where Little Brother came from or what he was up to before he appeared. There is some evidence that he has traveled far and gotten into some spots of trouble along the way, but beyond that, there is little information as to his previous whereabouts.
[ personality ]
A very vocal and active creature, Little Brother has a penchant for entertainment. He has an endless bag of tricks from which to draw new antics, whether it be contorting his body into ridiculous shapes mid-air or scaling the tallest tree in the garden in hot pursuit of a squirrel. He loves to be in motion, and keeps himself busy by being in a constant state of play, enthusiastically turning even the most mundane items into the object of a brand new game.
He is also quite an opinionated cat, and will often take it upon himself to get into people's business or their faces, quite forcefully making himself known. He is quite a busybody, though that, too, is another form of entertainment for him and he cares less about people's business than he does about the act of getting himself entangled in it.
He does tend to forget how large he is sometimes - or perhaps he just purposefully ignored the fact - and has no qualms about getting into somebody's personal space and simply sitting for hours on somebody's lap or in the middle of a desk, pretty much exemplifying the idea of, "if it fits, I sit."
At the end of the day, however, he is an incredibly loyal creature and has not strayed from Paoma's side since the day he turned up. The bond between them is palpable, and she is the only one really capable of keeping him in line.
[ dreaming ]
The resident trickster of Dardanos' ragtag "herd." Any and all pranks are usually attributed to Little Brother until proven otherwise, and he is particularly gifted at getting himself underfoot and generally making everybody's lives difficult.
*Lovely art by Melancholies
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Posted: Tue Nov 06, 2012 6:20 pm
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