[General Information]
Name: Twyla de Croix [Twee-lah day Crow]
Nicknames: Zombie | "Dead Chick"
Titles: Suicide
Age: Unknown Really old
Birthday: 25/10
Star Sign: Scorpio
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Alliance: Anti-Hero
Personality: On the surface Twyla seems to be in her element when matters of social etiquette present themselves. Being flung into situations where she is forced to be the bright and sunny force of nature that everyone expects of her is, in essence, her cup of tea. Underneath, she feels herself to be a pretender among the living, forced to walk among them; a cursed existence. Years of detachment and self preservation has made her ice cold without even realizing it. Her extreme bluntness is a trait that has been practiced to perfection, one that she uses prominently to make her thoughts and opinions known. She holds nothing back and tells it as she sees it. She stands firmly by the saying "an eye for an eye", meaning give as much as you receive and in kind.
[Personal Information]
Height: 5'2"
Weight: 102 lbs
Occupation: Student
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Likes:
~People - Being among the living makes me feel alive. It's as if I haven't died a hundred times already.
~Complex Characters - The more interesting a person is in terms of their personality and quirks, the more into them I am. Two dimensional aspects bore me to tears, and persons who try too hard to appear as if they are trying too hard just seem silly.
~Taking Risks - It makes me feel.
Dreams: To one day be free to experience a true death despite fearing it deep down. (Guurl you cray!)
Dislikes:
~People - Being among the living kills me inside. I'm a faker pretending to be one of them.
~Mary Sues There is only so much 'good' in people and no more. These people who try too hard to be the epitome of the perfect goody two-shoes remind me of my own flaws.
~Crowd Mentality - It only takes one idiot.
Fears:
~Death - Very ironic right? The thing I fear the most is death, even when I know I'll recover from it. Every-time it happens and I come back from it I'm left a bit shaken.
Darkest Secret: I shot both my parents in cold blood, burned our family house down with them in it, and then I spat on their ashes out of spite. It's the moment that brings me my greatest shame and my greatest bliss.
Favourite Food: Cake
Favourite Drink: Milk
Least Favourite Food: N/A
Least Favourite Drink: N/A
Loyalties: Her obscured sense of right and wrong is a non-factor in her loyalty to the preservation of all life besides her own, by any means she deems necessary.
Intelligence Level: Twyla is extremely worldly. She lacks the analytical prowess that most heroes seems to possess, but she has a rare condition known as hyperthymesia which she only seemed to develop sometime in the late 18th Century after living long past her time. Coincidentally, her sense of judgement has become dulled through age and a bit of hubris given her ability that she doesn't really think through much of any situation, preferring the 'rip the bandage off'' approach. In a worldly aspect, she has 'seen it all'. Nothing fazes her and she believes there is nothing out there that could possibly surprise her.
Dominant Hand: Right-Handed
Strengths:
*Endurance - Never getting tired means you can keep going forever. She's literally a tank in a tiny human body. Punishment means nothing to her.
*Cloak and Dagger - In a world where Supermen exist, she is more suited to indirect combat.
*Self Defense - Having been a victim all her life, she has trained herself to literal death [only two times] to perfect her defensive combat style consisting mostly of 'on the fly' movements.
Weaknesses:
*Normalcy - She isn't very strong or fast and she has no active super powers to speak of. Living in this world she is, just as any regular Joe, exposed to every and anything a normal person would succumb to in the sense of sustained injuries.
Obvious - She is terrible at hiding her emotions. Her intentions are always written clearly on her face and that in itself makes her vulnerable.
Lack of Danger Sense - She never takes a full grasp of her surroundings and whatever situation she is in, which makes her fall into traps easily; walk right into them even.
Cherished Items:
*Fitted Red Leather Suit - Once belonging to my captor. Strangely it brings me comfort and keeps me grounded.
Philosophical/social viewpoint: She has a nihilistic outlook on life. To her, it is less a question of "what's out there?" and more a question of "does it really matter?" Her long life has made her jaded where discovering new things is concerned, and her contrasting feelings towards people in general makes her uncertain and thus, numb. As somehow who tries to do good mostly to atone for her own sins, she feels nothing towards others' misfortunes.
Religious viewpoint: She has a nihilistic outlook on life. To her, she refuses to believe in the existence of an all powerful being who would allow a Father and Husband to abuse his family and shoot his own daughter because he was displeased. Likewise, she rejects the notion that she can be forgiven for taking her own parents' lives. As far as she is concerned there is no redemption.
Romantic viewpoint: She has long since given up on finding even an inkling of romance. Her father had always forbidden it, her mother had always remained indifferent on the subject, and she herself had never really searched for it. She still has a 16th century mindset when it comes on to what she believes romance should be however.
Biography All written in french but English cuz stupid! 8^D
Diary Entry #1 - Sometime in the late 16th Century
Dear Diary,
Today I died... Strange huh? Here I am writing to you to let you know that I died. I'm getting ahead of myself. Sorry. Let me start from the beginning.
Hi! My name is Twyla de Croix, born to Flora and Hugo de Croix. I'd say my life so far has been a good one. Born into a family that had what's called, even in this day and age, old money. Never wanted for anything. Were well known by our peers. Always got invited to all the sultan's balls and galas. My mother was even related to the sultan's wife by only one generation apart! All in all it could be said that we were the envy of the people. On the outside at least. Outside my family was perfect, but behind closed doors everyone's truth was revealed, ironic as that may sound. My father is a raging drunk, always at the top of his voice whenever he got upset, and he got upset quite a lot. In his drunken rages, should it escalate at the drop of a hat, his hand and any available spot on my mother's body became very intimate acquaintances.
This has been going on my entire life and each time it does I feel powerless to stop it. My mother...bless her soul, seems to have grown so used to it that she even stopped flinching whenever she smelled the liquor on his breath and saw his hand reaching towards her. I never understood the reason why whenever he was drunk he was always so angry at her, and I never really cared to find out. The sad part? I had no friends, which meant I was always in the house whenever this happened. Luckily it was a big house... But nowhere near big enough I suppose.
Getting back to the good stuff finally. So like I said, today was the first day I died. Today was the day that I stupidly decided that I would try to stand up for Mother, even if she didn't want to stand up for herself. So there he was, the big bad Dad, gulping away at some of the not-so-cheap stuff. Then Mom decided to walk in all smiles and cheer as was her wont. She saw the seven finished bottles of the good stuff and made the mistake of saying, even though in a whisper, that he "really should learn to moderate". Yes, even I had a hard time hearing it and I was closer to her than he was. But lo and behold! I'd never seen my father move so fast. Maybe it was the booze, maybe it was the remark, or maybe he just felt like having a go at his punching bag. Whatever it was I could only stomach two grueling minutes of the abuse before I rushed forward and attempted to push him off her. Keep in mind I weigh a modest one hundred-ish pounds. My dad was a big man. You do the math. At least my insignificance seemed to register because before I knew it I was splayed on the floor like a rag-doll, my cheeks burning hot. That was the first time I've been hit and I must admit, it hurt...
I can't really say what drove me to such bravado today of all days, but despite the burn in my face I reached out from my place on the floor and grabbed my father's leg with all the strength I could muster. I don't know where he pulled his gun from, it hadn't been anywhere near him to my knowledge, but the last thing I heard was my mother's soul-wrenching scream, and then everything faded. I couldn't say how much time passed between that night and now, but I do distinctly remember the smell of dirt. I remember the feel of the cold, wet grovel as I dug my way out. I remember feeling really weak, like I was half dead. Funny huh? Now I'm trying to find my way back home. My only instinct was to find my dysfunctional family and try to get back to the way things were.
Today I died... Strange huh? Here I am writing to you to let you know that I died. I'm getting ahead of myself. Sorry. Let me start from the beginning.
Hi! My name is Twyla de Croix, born to Flora and Hugo de Croix. I'd say my life so far has been a good one. Born into a family that had what's called, even in this day and age, old money. Never wanted for anything. Were well known by our peers. Always got invited to all the sultan's balls and galas. My mother was even related to the sultan's wife by only one generation apart! All in all it could be said that we were the envy of the people. On the outside at least. Outside my family was perfect, but behind closed doors everyone's truth was revealed, ironic as that may sound. My father is a raging drunk, always at the top of his voice whenever he got upset, and he got upset quite a lot. In his drunken rages, should it escalate at the drop of a hat, his hand and any available spot on my mother's body became very intimate acquaintances.
This has been going on my entire life and each time it does I feel powerless to stop it. My mother...bless her soul, seems to have grown so used to it that she even stopped flinching whenever she smelled the liquor on his breath and saw his hand reaching towards her. I never understood the reason why whenever he was drunk he was always so angry at her, and I never really cared to find out. The sad part? I had no friends, which meant I was always in the house whenever this happened. Luckily it was a big house... But nowhere near big enough I suppose.
Getting back to the good stuff finally. So like I said, today was the first day I died. Today was the day that I stupidly decided that I would try to stand up for Mother, even if she didn't want to stand up for herself. So there he was, the big bad Dad, gulping away at some of the not-so-cheap stuff. Then Mom decided to walk in all smiles and cheer as was her wont. She saw the seven finished bottles of the good stuff and made the mistake of saying, even though in a whisper, that he "really should learn to moderate". Yes, even I had a hard time hearing it and I was closer to her than he was. But lo and behold! I'd never seen my father move so fast. Maybe it was the booze, maybe it was the remark, or maybe he just felt like having a go at his punching bag. Whatever it was I could only stomach two grueling minutes of the abuse before I rushed forward and attempted to push him off her. Keep in mind I weigh a modest one hundred-ish pounds. My dad was a big man. You do the math. At least my insignificance seemed to register because before I knew it I was splayed on the floor like a rag-doll, my cheeks burning hot. That was the first time I've been hit and I must admit, it hurt...
I can't really say what drove me to such bravado today of all days, but despite the burn in my face I reached out from my place on the floor and grabbed my father's leg with all the strength I could muster. I don't know where he pulled his gun from, it hadn't been anywhere near him to my knowledge, but the last thing I heard was my mother's soul-wrenching scream, and then everything faded. I couldn't say how much time passed between that night and now, but I do distinctly remember the smell of dirt. I remember the feel of the cold, wet grovel as I dug my way out. I remember feeling really weak, like I was half dead. Funny huh? Now I'm trying to find my way back home. My only instinct was to find my dysfunctional family and try to get back to the way things were.
Diary Entry #2 - Sometime in the late 16th Century
Dear Diary,
I don't know what I was expecting. A fanfare? A damn parade exalting my return from the dead?! How could I have been so stupid...
I should have taken the hint from the moment I walked back into my community and saw all those eyes watching me like they saw something that didn't belong. I should have known when all the dogs started howling as if in ceremony to something dreadful about to happen. I should have known when my mother screamed. I hadn't even entered the house properly when she made that sound, similar to the one I heard on that night that my dad shot me. It started coming back to me then. He shot me, his daughter, his only child, right between the eyes. I had felt every excruciating moment of it but somehow the pain didn't really register. I was dead after all. Or so I had thought. Somehow I was still aware if that makes sense, when my mother's sobs refused to end, when my dad kept repeating "all your fault" either to me or my mother I couldn't say. When he (I think it was him) wrapped me in the expensive carpet we had on the ground, surely saturated with my blood at that time, and made the journey to my burial site. I shudder even now thinking about it.
When I walked in my dad's eyes opened like he saw a ghost, and of course, he had one of his favorite bottles in his hand. My mother was standing there looking like how I felt. "Hi", I said stupidly. Ha! Hi... No one said a word, my mother was a sobbing mess, and my dad, bless his soul, was reaching for something shiny on the table beside him. Before I could take five steps I heard a loud shot followed by a burning sensation in my right leg. I screamed louder than I ever had before, the pain unimaginable. There was...so much blood. I think I fainted for a second from the sight of it. But I was okay. Somehow I knew I was okay but couldn't explain it. The major pain didn't last long, though the sting lingered. I could see the fear in my dad's eyes when he watched me get up and press on my injured leg without wincing. His eyes had never opened so wide before. Then...he shot me again. This time between the eyes like he did that first time he shot me. I felt the life leaving me, but something was different this time. I didn't stay dead long. My eyes snapped open and I was back on my feet in no time at all. That was my second death, as uneventful as the first.
He reached for the gun again and this time, I don't know. Something just snapped in me. I didn't want to feel the pain of getting shot one more time. I lunged forward and grabbed the gun but couldn't avoid the shot either way as the bullet tore my index finger from the rest of my hand. I had the gun in my grasp at that point and, as stunned as he was, my dad forgot to prevent me from snatching it from him. I saw red for an instant before I shot him right between the eyes with as much mercy as he showed me. My mother's scream came again and for a moment, I shook my head in disgust before turning the gun on her and shooting her somewhere close to her heart. I felt my hands shaking. I felt my entire body shaking. I could hear something hard and metallic clattering against the ground somewhere at the edge of my hearing. I felt numb. I had just shot and killed my parents. There's nothing left for me. There's nothing left here for me. I ran and ran and ran until I ended up here. Wherever here is. I have nowhere to go and I just want to end it all. I feel so lonely. I know this is my second time writing to you but it's also going to be the last. I'm sorry...
I don't know what I was expecting. A fanfare? A damn parade exalting my return from the dead?! How could I have been so stupid...
I should have taken the hint from the moment I walked back into my community and saw all those eyes watching me like they saw something that didn't belong. I should have known when all the dogs started howling as if in ceremony to something dreadful about to happen. I should have known when my mother screamed. I hadn't even entered the house properly when she made that sound, similar to the one I heard on that night that my dad shot me. It started coming back to me then. He shot me, his daughter, his only child, right between the eyes. I had felt every excruciating moment of it but somehow the pain didn't really register. I was dead after all. Or so I had thought. Somehow I was still aware if that makes sense, when my mother's sobs refused to end, when my dad kept repeating "all your fault" either to me or my mother I couldn't say. When he (I think it was him) wrapped me in the expensive carpet we had on the ground, surely saturated with my blood at that time, and made the journey to my burial site. I shudder even now thinking about it.
When I walked in my dad's eyes opened like he saw a ghost, and of course, he had one of his favorite bottles in his hand. My mother was standing there looking like how I felt. "Hi", I said stupidly. Ha! Hi... No one said a word, my mother was a sobbing mess, and my dad, bless his soul, was reaching for something shiny on the table beside him. Before I could take five steps I heard a loud shot followed by a burning sensation in my right leg. I screamed louder than I ever had before, the pain unimaginable. There was...so much blood. I think I fainted for a second from the sight of it. But I was okay. Somehow I knew I was okay but couldn't explain it. The major pain didn't last long, though the sting lingered. I could see the fear in my dad's eyes when he watched me get up and press on my injured leg without wincing. His eyes had never opened so wide before. Then...he shot me again. This time between the eyes like he did that first time he shot me. I felt the life leaving me, but something was different this time. I didn't stay dead long. My eyes snapped open and I was back on my feet in no time at all. That was my second death, as uneventful as the first.
He reached for the gun again and this time, I don't know. Something just snapped in me. I didn't want to feel the pain of getting shot one more time. I lunged forward and grabbed the gun but couldn't avoid the shot either way as the bullet tore my index finger from the rest of my hand. I had the gun in my grasp at that point and, as stunned as he was, my dad forgot to prevent me from snatching it from him. I saw red for an instant before I shot him right between the eyes with as much mercy as he showed me. My mother's scream came again and for a moment, I shook my head in disgust before turning the gun on her and shooting her somewhere close to her heart. I felt my hands shaking. I felt my entire body shaking. I could hear something hard and metallic clattering against the ground somewhere at the edge of my hearing. I felt numb. I had just shot and killed my parents. There's nothing left for me. There's nothing left here for me. I ran and ran and ran until I ended up here. Wherever here is. I have nowhere to go and I just want to end it all. I feel so lonely. I know this is my second time writing to you but it's also going to be the last. I'm sorry...
Diary Entry #3 - Sometime in the early 17th Century
Dear Diary,
...
Well here I am again. I wasn't going to write to you again but...I tried everything. I can't die. There are so many things that has happened between then and now and I just can't keep it bottled up anymore. The first thing I tried after my last entry was slitting my own wrists. There was so much blood and the pain was transient, but it didn't take. The wounds closed up a few seconds after I made them and the loss of blood became irrelevant. I was numb for a second but that's about it. After that I tried stabbing myself in the throat. The jugular I think they call it? That one actually made me laugh a little. It was the clumsiest attempt of them all. I kept poking myself everywhere but the place that I should until my neck was dotted with holes ranging from size to size until finally I got it right and jammed it way down in there. I bled like nobody's business. I still can't say how long I was dead for but it wasn't too long because the sun's position hadn't changed by much. There were many things I tried. A fall from many storeys up, ingestion of a lot of crap that I'm sure were all poisonous, drowning myself in a bath of purple sludge, I even provoked a guy into hacking me to pieces. In the end, everything grew back, everything went back to normal, everything remained the same as if I never even tried. I can't even cut my damn hair anymore! It just keeps growing back to the same length it is now.
Finally I decided to try one more thing. I told someone my secret... Dumb move I know, but at this point I was nothing if not desperate. I had to let it out. This guy was one of those loons who believed in conspiracy theories and that aliens were real. A real psycho right? The perfect person in my opinion. I never bothered with names, background or any of that stuff. I just got right down to spilling all he beans. Let's just say things got a little out of hand the next day I went back to see if him. Note that I made a demonstration of myself and all the crazy in my life that first time. The second I entered his creepy warehouse I was jumped and promptly knocked out. When I woke up I found myself strapped to an exam table with my chest cavity wide open with my ribs and all my inside on vivid display. The creep was poking at me like some kind of test subject and I couldn't do a thing to stop it. I could only close my eyes and leave him to his work, almost like I had given up trying. A conversation struck up, nothing of importance really. We just talked and talked and I told him everything that had happened leading up to that moment. Maybe the sob story did it because he unstrapped me after that and allowed me to sit up. That's when it happened.
I lunged after his throat and managed to scratch flesh, the blood dripping from his neck and fingers. Before he could react fast enough I slapped the scalpel out of his hand unceremoniously and dove to the ground after it. He caught himself then and was about to spring, but his aim was off and he actually fell right on top of his own scalpel. I didn't care to check and see if he died as I got up and ran for my life. There's that irony again... I can't put into words all the expressions on all the different faces when they saw me running through the streets like all the demons in hell were after me. A naked girl completely covered in blood with her chest slowly closing and mending itself. Hair sticking up and out in every direction, eyes bloodshot and wild, breath heavy, footsteps heavy, heart heavy... It was a sight. So there we go. All caught up. I'm sure I'll be writing to you again eventually. Stay tuned.
...
Well here I am again. I wasn't going to write to you again but...I tried everything. I can't die. There are so many things that has happened between then and now and I just can't keep it bottled up anymore. The first thing I tried after my last entry was slitting my own wrists. There was so much blood and the pain was transient, but it didn't take. The wounds closed up a few seconds after I made them and the loss of blood became irrelevant. I was numb for a second but that's about it. After that I tried stabbing myself in the throat. The jugular I think they call it? That one actually made me laugh a little. It was the clumsiest attempt of them all. I kept poking myself everywhere but the place that I should until my neck was dotted with holes ranging from size to size until finally I got it right and jammed it way down in there. I bled like nobody's business. I still can't say how long I was dead for but it wasn't too long because the sun's position hadn't changed by much. There were many things I tried. A fall from many storeys up, ingestion of a lot of crap that I'm sure were all poisonous, drowning myself in a bath of purple sludge, I even provoked a guy into hacking me to pieces. In the end, everything grew back, everything went back to normal, everything remained the same as if I never even tried. I can't even cut my damn hair anymore! It just keeps growing back to the same length it is now.
Finally I decided to try one more thing. I told someone my secret... Dumb move I know, but at this point I was nothing if not desperate. I had to let it out. This guy was one of those loons who believed in conspiracy theories and that aliens were real. A real psycho right? The perfect person in my opinion. I never bothered with names, background or any of that stuff. I just got right down to spilling all he beans. Let's just say things got a little out of hand the next day I went back to see if him. Note that I made a demonstration of myself and all the crazy in my life that first time. The second I entered his creepy warehouse I was jumped and promptly knocked out. When I woke up I found myself strapped to an exam table with my chest cavity wide open with my ribs and all my inside on vivid display. The creep was poking at me like some kind of test subject and I couldn't do a thing to stop it. I could only close my eyes and leave him to his work, almost like I had given up trying. A conversation struck up, nothing of importance really. We just talked and talked and I told him everything that had happened leading up to that moment. Maybe the sob story did it because he unstrapped me after that and allowed me to sit up. That's when it happened.
I lunged after his throat and managed to scratch flesh, the blood dripping from his neck and fingers. Before he could react fast enough I slapped the scalpel out of his hand unceremoniously and dove to the ground after it. He caught himself then and was about to spring, but his aim was off and he actually fell right on top of his own scalpel. I didn't care to check and see if he died as I got up and ran for my life. There's that irony again... I can't put into words all the expressions on all the different faces when they saw me running through the streets like all the demons in hell were after me. A naked girl completely covered in blood with her chest slowly closing and mending itself. Hair sticking up and out in every direction, eyes bloodshot and wild, breath heavy, footsteps heavy, heart heavy... It was a sight. So there we go. All caught up. I'm sure I'll be writing to you again eventually. Stay tuned.
Diary Entry #4 - Sometime in the mid 17th Century
Dear Diary,
After my last adventure I can honestly say I'm feeling rather tired. Not tired like sleepy tired. More like a a heavy burden is on my shoulders and I can't seem to shake it off. That kind of tired. I'm sure there's a story somewhere out there similar to what I just described. Anyway, on to the latest twist. This curse of mine might actually be a good thing. I'm writing to you while on the run so don't mind the jumble. So far today I've been shot full of holes, stabbed a couple times and even blown up. But here I am still writing. Right now I'm cooped up in a corner in some random building that I was forced to duck into for cover. Yes. I'm getting shot at again. It's a typical story with me nowadays. So apparently that scientist guy I wrote to you about before decided that he just had to get a few friends involved in his little witch hunt; literally. I must be some sort of witch after all given that I have this...weird magical power that keeps me alive right? I can hear the footsteps getting closer. It sounds like maybe five or six of them. Did I mention they all have an assortment of weapons at their disposal? I might not be able to die but I've discovered through personal experience that I can be captured and held prisoner. Not a pretty thing. I...
Sorry about that. I had to stop writing to keep moving. I only barely managed to escape just now. To be honest I'm so tired. I can't accurately put into words how I'm feeling but I can say this. I wish it would all just end. This is all just too much for one person to bear. Life was simple back when I didn't have this strange curse. Yes my father was a monster and my mother was a mouse, but at least I had stability, a home, a family, broken as it was. I had relative comfort and an expectancy of what was to come next. Now I feel so lost, alone... Afraid. Tell me what to do. Tell me where to go. Tell me... I feel so silly asking all this of you but I can't help how I feel inside. I'll... [unintelligible scribble]. I hear them! They're closer this time. Really close. I don't think I can escape them this time. God it even sounds like a lot more than there were before. I can see one of them now even though he...she? She can't see me. This woman is wearing skintight red leather and her hair is done up in a tight braid. The lone female and she looks far more intimidating than all the giant men around her. I can hear her saying something about "the girl". Me obviously. Who are these people? I get that they're after me because I stupidly spilled the beans about myself, but...why are they chasing me with so much vim?
Oh no! I just kicked a pebble. I think they heard me. They did! Two of them are coming this way. I... [unintelligible scribble]. I had to move away. I think I'm alright now. Wait... The woman is sees me. She's looking right at me. I have to...
After my last adventure I can honestly say I'm feeling rather tired. Not tired like sleepy tired. More like a a heavy burden is on my shoulders and I can't seem to shake it off. That kind of tired. I'm sure there's a story somewhere out there similar to what I just described. Anyway, on to the latest twist. This curse of mine might actually be a good thing. I'm writing to you while on the run so don't mind the jumble. So far today I've been shot full of holes, stabbed a couple times and even blown up. But here I am still writing. Right now I'm cooped up in a corner in some random building that I was forced to duck into for cover. Yes. I'm getting shot at again. It's a typical story with me nowadays. So apparently that scientist guy I wrote to you about before decided that he just had to get a few friends involved in his little witch hunt; literally. I must be some sort of witch after all given that I have this...weird magical power that keeps me alive right? I can hear the footsteps getting closer. It sounds like maybe five or six of them. Did I mention they all have an assortment of weapons at their disposal? I might not be able to die but I've discovered through personal experience that I can be captured and held prisoner. Not a pretty thing. I...
Sorry about that. I had to stop writing to keep moving. I only barely managed to escape just now. To be honest I'm so tired. I can't accurately put into words how I'm feeling but I can say this. I wish it would all just end. This is all just too much for one person to bear. Life was simple back when I didn't have this strange curse. Yes my father was a monster and my mother was a mouse, but at least I had stability, a home, a family, broken as it was. I had relative comfort and an expectancy of what was to come next. Now I feel so lost, alone... Afraid. Tell me what to do. Tell me where to go. Tell me... I feel so silly asking all this of you but I can't help how I feel inside. I'll... [unintelligible scribble]. I hear them! They're closer this time. Really close. I don't think I can escape them this time. God it even sounds like a lot more than there were before. I can see one of them now even though he...she? She can't see me. This woman is wearing skintight red leather and her hair is done up in a tight braid. The lone female and she looks far more intimidating than all the giant men around her. I can hear her saying something about "the girl". Me obviously. Who are these people? I get that they're after me because I stupidly spilled the beans about myself, but...why are they chasing me with so much vim?
Oh no! I just kicked a pebble. I think they heard me. They did! Two of them are coming this way. I... [unintelligible scribble]. I had to move away. I think I'm alright now. Wait... The woman is sees me. She's looking right at me. I have to...
Diary Entry #5 - Sometime in the later mid 17th century
Dear Diary,
It's been so many years. I can feel the time just passing me by. Yet I haven't aged a single day. Here I am staring in the mirror and I'm literally looking at a version of myself that looks so much younger than I feel, on a symbolic level. My hair is a mess but otherwise healthy, not a blemish on my skin at all, as it's always been. Not a scratch. Sigh. I'm writing to you from the inside of a prison cell. I call it a prison cell but really its worse than that. It's very dimly lit, tightly spaced with no bars or windows to be seen. Just a hanging light that looks like a hazard waiting to happen. At least the glow is warm. Since my last entry I've been experimented on more times than I care to elaborate on. But I will. After that last entry when I suddenly stopped writing it was because the woman and her cronies had caught me and promptly knocked and kept me unconscious with something in a cloth pressed to my face. After that they didn't really hold back much, I think because they knew they didn't have to since I most likely wasn't about to escape anytime soon. Apparently this entire predicament I'm in is because of my blood and my special powers. Seems the tests the weird scientist guy did on me revealed some properties that have powerful healing factors. So far they've tested it on every known disease out there that I can think of and all of it has proven a success. All this is because they wanted to keep harvesting my permanent supply of fresh blood to sell on the black market for ridiculous amounts of monies. I'm talking a LOT of zeroes. So basically they have found the cure to cancer in me, are keeping it all to themselves, and making the most out of it. I'm just someones guinea pig.
They try to make me as comfortable as possible, but they never let me forget that I'm they're prisoner; hence the room I'm in. They allowed me to keep you, they didn't even bother to read. I get regular showers and meals. But never the one thing I really want; sunlight and the freedom that comes with it. Every day I'm taken to that lab, tied to that table, stabbed with several giant needles, only to have my blood sucked out of me like so much water. Everytime after they're through I'm unceremoniously discarded into my cell, left feeling so drained. But after two minutes of just lying there wishing I was dead I would feel better again. I hate it. I hate this life. I hate it. There is something I've noticed though. It's a pattern of sorts. Every single day they do everything the same. From bringing me to shower, to bringing me my meals, to taking me for extraction, to bringing me back to my cell. The time never changes if I'm judging it right. It all just feels so routine now that maybe I'm projecting some hopeful scenario in my head where I actually make it out of this. I just can't live like this for the rest of my life. Yes I have a feeling I'll out-live my jailers, I don't want to simply exist like this for the time being. I'm going to try getting out of here. Wish me luck!
It's been so many years. I can feel the time just passing me by. Yet I haven't aged a single day. Here I am staring in the mirror and I'm literally looking at a version of myself that looks so much younger than I feel, on a symbolic level. My hair is a mess but otherwise healthy, not a blemish on my skin at all, as it's always been. Not a scratch. Sigh. I'm writing to you from the inside of a prison cell. I call it a prison cell but really its worse than that. It's very dimly lit, tightly spaced with no bars or windows to be seen. Just a hanging light that looks like a hazard waiting to happen. At least the glow is warm. Since my last entry I've been experimented on more times than I care to elaborate on. But I will. After that last entry when I suddenly stopped writing it was because the woman and her cronies had caught me and promptly knocked and kept me unconscious with something in a cloth pressed to my face. After that they didn't really hold back much, I think because they knew they didn't have to since I most likely wasn't about to escape anytime soon. Apparently this entire predicament I'm in is because of my blood and my special powers. Seems the tests the weird scientist guy did on me revealed some properties that have powerful healing factors. So far they've tested it on every known disease out there that I can think of and all of it has proven a success. All this is because they wanted to keep harvesting my permanent supply of fresh blood to sell on the black market for ridiculous amounts of monies. I'm talking a LOT of zeroes. So basically they have found the cure to cancer in me, are keeping it all to themselves, and making the most out of it. I'm just someones guinea pig.
They try to make me as comfortable as possible, but they never let me forget that I'm they're prisoner; hence the room I'm in. They allowed me to keep you, they didn't even bother to read. I get regular showers and meals. But never the one thing I really want; sunlight and the freedom that comes with it. Every day I'm taken to that lab, tied to that table, stabbed with several giant needles, only to have my blood sucked out of me like so much water. Everytime after they're through I'm unceremoniously discarded into my cell, left feeling so drained. But after two minutes of just lying there wishing I was dead I would feel better again. I hate it. I hate this life. I hate it. There is something I've noticed though. It's a pattern of sorts. Every single day they do everything the same. From bringing me to shower, to bringing me my meals, to taking me for extraction, to bringing me back to my cell. The time never changes if I'm judging it right. It all just feels so routine now that maybe I'm projecting some hopeful scenario in my head where I actually make it out of this. I just can't live like this for the rest of my life. Yes I have a feeling I'll out-live my jailers, I don't want to simply exist like this for the time being. I'm going to try getting out of here. Wish me luck!
Diary Entry #6 - Sometime in the the 20th century
Dear Diary,
It didn't go as well as I'd hoped. I was dead. Like actually dead. I couldn't feel anything like I usually do when I die and come back. I was just gone. During my entire escape plan I mostly improvised. I paid attention to detail, kept to the shadows, played dead when I needed to get the jump on the unsuspecting, and overall everything was going well until I finally made it to that room where they do all the poking and the prodding. Now I would be lying if I said the room was empty when I got there and all went smoothly. Quite the contrary actually. There were maybe a dozen or more people in the room around a table in deep conversation, and they all seemed rather rough and gruff if you get what I'm saying. You would have thought with them all seeming to engrossed in whatever they were discussing that I would be able to just slip back out before they noticed, but the second I entered all eyes, and all guns, were on me. I've never seen big men and women move so fast. I'll be honest, I forgot for a moment there that I couldn't be killed, not like this anyway, and I shook visibly. Once it all registered though I wore my mask of indifference and stood there calmly, waiting for the first shot.
It never came. What came were a few piercing claps followed by the woman in red leather materializing from the group around the table, raising her voice to be heard even in the silence. She introduced me to the group as the source of all her 'hard work', like I was some kind of prize possession, and after that no one pointed guns at me. Oh no. They all pointed their guns at each other, mostly at the woman in red. I could only stand there and watch as the scene played out before me. Voices were raised, curses were aimed to skewer, a shot rang out and the distinct sound of a cold, hard body hitting the colder, harder floor was prominent. It wasn't anyone from the table that made the shot as I soon as came to realize. It was one of the goons that were with the red woman. They had shot one of the members around the table right through the head, much the same as my father did to me, and that was it. Only difference being that this person wouldn't wake up as if from a bad dream. It's foggy what really happened after that, it's been so many years. I'll get to that later. But after the events in the room finally started to settle, I had decided that I simply could not let this opportunity slip by. I had unconsciously been inching my way closer to the mess and before I knew what I was doing I reached for one of the guns lying on the table and started firing off shot after shot, aiming at everyone and no one. A few of the bullets hit home while others were way off mark, and I'm certain I got shot several times. I could no longer feel pain I soon came to realize. All I really remember after the events in that room was me being restrained and struggling against them. Then finally I had fallen on some medieval looking spikes that were precariously placed in the room. I remember falling on my back, my head landing directly onto one of the larger spikes. I felt the life slipping from me and all I could think at that moment was that finally I wouldn't wake up again.
Now here I am, still in this underground lair. It's almost like a ghost town. Everyone who had been alive seemingly a second ago were now either bone or dust. I'm about to try and make my way out of this place, but...I only just noticed that my clothes are full of holes and dried blood. In all, I look a mess. Give me a second to clean up before I try to make my way back into society.
So now I'm on the surface and I have no idea how to feel. These machine things that make so much noise and don't have anything pulling them along, these large stone buildings that reach so high up in the sky, the smell, like something constantly burning. The noise! It's all so much different than I remember. The layout, the people moving about looking busy and unfriendly. I'm walking along the street right now and I'm in awe of everything. I keep getting these strange looks and they don't really register, but I am conscious of why I receive them. I'm wearing a tight red leather suit, much like the one my captor wore, and I did my hair up just like hers; in a tight braid. All in all the clothes served to show off my figure if I do say so myself, but I never truly bothered to pay attention to these subtle details. Expectantly enough I received the oddest stares from everyone I passed. There were many who were very obvious in their whispers, outright pointing, and some were even vocal to the extreme. In all I can say I felt naked. There are so many things that I have to learn apparently. These high-tech things everyone has called 'cellphones' seem interesting enough. But what gets me the most is still the smell. It's like toxic fumes trying to escape but not really being able to. The first thing I'm going to do is find a change of clothes and a place to stay. Obviously I'm a stranger to this time. As I've said everyone I was with the second before I died and woke up was now bone and dust. That tells me that many years have passed for the decay to reach such a stage. The only thing I can do is try to live since I can't die.
It didn't go as well as I'd hoped. I was dead. Like actually dead. I couldn't feel anything like I usually do when I die and come back. I was just gone. During my entire escape plan I mostly improvised. I paid attention to detail, kept to the shadows, played dead when I needed to get the jump on the unsuspecting, and overall everything was going well until I finally made it to that room where they do all the poking and the prodding. Now I would be lying if I said the room was empty when I got there and all went smoothly. Quite the contrary actually. There were maybe a dozen or more people in the room around a table in deep conversation, and they all seemed rather rough and gruff if you get what I'm saying. You would have thought with them all seeming to engrossed in whatever they were discussing that I would be able to just slip back out before they noticed, but the second I entered all eyes, and all guns, were on me. I've never seen big men and women move so fast. I'll be honest, I forgot for a moment there that I couldn't be killed, not like this anyway, and I shook visibly. Once it all registered though I wore my mask of indifference and stood there calmly, waiting for the first shot.
It never came. What came were a few piercing claps followed by the woman in red leather materializing from the group around the table, raising her voice to be heard even in the silence. She introduced me to the group as the source of all her 'hard work', like I was some kind of prize possession, and after that no one pointed guns at me. Oh no. They all pointed their guns at each other, mostly at the woman in red. I could only stand there and watch as the scene played out before me. Voices were raised, curses were aimed to skewer, a shot rang out and the distinct sound of a cold, hard body hitting the colder, harder floor was prominent. It wasn't anyone from the table that made the shot as I soon as came to realize. It was one of the goons that were with the red woman. They had shot one of the members around the table right through the head, much the same as my father did to me, and that was it. Only difference being that this person wouldn't wake up as if from a bad dream. It's foggy what really happened after that, it's been so many years. I'll get to that later. But after the events in the room finally started to settle, I had decided that I simply could not let this opportunity slip by. I had unconsciously been inching my way closer to the mess and before I knew what I was doing I reached for one of the guns lying on the table and started firing off shot after shot, aiming at everyone and no one. A few of the bullets hit home while others were way off mark, and I'm certain I got shot several times. I could no longer feel pain I soon came to realize. All I really remember after the events in that room was me being restrained and struggling against them. Then finally I had fallen on some medieval looking spikes that were precariously placed in the room. I remember falling on my back, my head landing directly onto one of the larger spikes. I felt the life slipping from me and all I could think at that moment was that finally I wouldn't wake up again.
Now here I am, still in this underground lair. It's almost like a ghost town. Everyone who had been alive seemingly a second ago were now either bone or dust. I'm about to try and make my way out of this place, but...I only just noticed that my clothes are full of holes and dried blood. In all, I look a mess. Give me a second to clean up before I try to make my way back into society.
So now I'm on the surface and I have no idea how to feel. These machine things that make so much noise and don't have anything pulling them along, these large stone buildings that reach so high up in the sky, the smell, like something constantly burning. The noise! It's all so much different than I remember. The layout, the people moving about looking busy and unfriendly. I'm walking along the street right now and I'm in awe of everything. I keep getting these strange looks and they don't really register, but I am conscious of why I receive them. I'm wearing a tight red leather suit, much like the one my captor wore, and I did my hair up just like hers; in a tight braid. All in all the clothes served to show off my figure if I do say so myself, but I never truly bothered to pay attention to these subtle details. Expectantly enough I received the oddest stares from everyone I passed. There were many who were very obvious in their whispers, outright pointing, and some were even vocal to the extreme. In all I can say I felt naked. There are so many things that I have to learn apparently. These high-tech things everyone has called 'cellphones' seem interesting enough. But what gets me the most is still the smell. It's like toxic fumes trying to escape but not really being able to. The first thing I'm going to do is find a change of clothes and a place to stay. Obviously I'm a stranger to this time. As I've said everyone I was with the second before I died and woke up was now bone and dust. That tells me that many years have passed for the decay to reach such a stage. The only thing I can do is try to live since I can't die.
I'll keep updating her diary during roleplay. Much lazy. Such cry.
[Relationship information]
Friends:
○ Character name as URL link | Alliance | Relationship type
Relationship explanation
Enemies:
○ Character name as URL link | Alliance | Relationship type
Relationship explanation
Family:
○ Character name as URL link | Alliance | Relationship type
Relationship explanation
Romantic Relationships:
○ Character name as URL link | Alliance | Relationship type
Relationship explanation
[Weapon information]
○ Agiel: The Agiel looks to be a simple, red leather rod that hangs from a thin golden chain that is tied around the wrist. When used with purpose it can cause extreme amounts of pain through the most minor of touches. It mortifies the skin, tissue, and muscle extending from wherever it touches, and can even break bones if contact is sustained for extended periods. Its design is sturdy enough to withstand abuse without so much as a scratch. It is roughly the same length as a medium sized dagger and is wielded much the same. This particular weapon is a double-edged blade in the sense that simply touching it, even in the wielder's case, causes crippling pain.
○ Twin Daggers: A pair of daggers with unremarkable designs. They are sharpened and maintained by typical standards.
[Other item information]
○ Red Leather Suit: The red suit does not burn, does not get wet, does not degrade, does not itch or feel uncomfortable in the least. It molds and fits like a second skin and allows ease of movement. No amount of blood ever shows or stands out against this suit; it is in the design.
[Ability information]
○ Rapid Cellular Regeneration Twyla's ability allows spontaneous regeneration of damaged tissues and cells in a matter of seconds. The healing factor occurs automatically upon injury, though with practice over time she has become able to delay the healing effect at will for appearances' sake. She has been known to regenerate from falls from high above the clouds, explosions, exposure to intense radioactivity, electrocution, extreme nerve damage, severing of entire limbs, decapitation [body grows back], etc., all without so much as a scratch to be seen on her after her ability kicks in. In the same sense, any foreign object or substance that enters her body is immediately rejected through this ability. Her ability is extremely potent in its perfection that it even has the capability to reverse any brain/memory damage regardless of how severe [offers resistance to mind control as the attempts to rewire the brain are undone immediately], even her very DNA, undoing any genetic mutations or breakdown. It is uncertain what gave her this ability, as it does not seem to be linked to any localized organ or part of her body. The seemingly only truly effective way to kill her would be to ensure that each individual cell is destroyed and erased from existence all at once, otherwise her deaths are only ephemeral as her body and mind regenerate without fail.
○ Anti-aging/Immortality Twyla has been alive for several centuries without any signs of significant aging, apparent through studies of history as having such an old family name [a news article from the 17th century has an obscure but evident photo and excerpt of her]. She has essentially ceased aging as the cells in her body die and regenerate in equilibrium.
○ Transfusive Healing Through some form of mystical properties her blood has been proven to induce rapid healing when ingested into the living by any means. It can cure any injuries and illness, but cannot bring back the dead.
○ Pain Suppression Having died so many times and experiencing each death and the pain of each, she has developed such a tolerance to it that she seemingly no longer feels it. Her ability has adapted to neutralize her sensitivity to pain in any form.
○ Enhanced Endurance The constant regrowth of her cells make her inexhaustible as joints and muscles revitalize from stress instantly. Her stamina and vitality are unmatched. Similarly, she can forego the need for any of the usual sustenance a normal person would need [food and oxygen].
[Weakness information]
○ Cerebral Obstructions This is a weakness she keeps very secretive, though accomplished medical experts may have an inkling. She can be rendered incapacitated if there is a sizable enough object obstructing a wound to the base of her brain. Coordination of movement and consciousness are still controlled by her brain, as such any obstruction, as long as it remains intact, will render her dead by all outward appearance.
○ Normalcy In comparison to other superpowers, hers can be viewed as more tame when pitted against persons who can literally move mountains. Her physical strength is nothing more than that of a normal human female who has never seen the inside of a gym. Despite her practice in self defense, in all truth, there is nothing special about her superhero-wise outside of her healing factor. She can take the heavy blows but she can't really dish them.
