Post by Adrienne Putilina on Sept 15, 2013 2:01:58 GMT -5
ADRIENNE MINA PUTILINA.
I DON'T WANNA SEE LIKE YOU.& I DON'T WANNA BE LIKE YOU.
name Adrienne Mina Putilina.I DON'T WANNA SEE LIKE YOU.& I DON'T WANNA BE LIKE YOU.
nicknames Adri, Drie, Dru, 'Drienne, Mina, and anything else that strikes someones fancy.
gender girly,girl, girl, girl
playby Summer Glau
age 17- January 15, 1999
year Seventh
wand Veela hair, yew wood, eight inches, flexible.
& I WANNA BE FREE.SO BREAK IT DOWN.
physical description Her squarely symmetrical features are highlighted by her primarily high cheekbones, the soft curves adding to the slightly tipped nose, untraceable to either parent. Again, if you were to take apart any of these features separately it would be only too easy to find their problems. Her nose is almost pointed the way it tips, and it’s far too narrow for her liking. Her cheekbones? Ha, if it weren’t for the fact that her face were so lean they’d make her look like a chipmunk with how high they reach, and how prominently they bow. Her cheeks are lean and taunt, almost dangerously so, leading off into what her mother always described as a too round chin. Her lips are perfectly centered beneath said nose, though maybe a little oddly shaped. Almost thin they seem to plump as you reach the center, her bottom lip plushly covered. It helps that her eyebrows arch just right over her eyes… And oh her eyes…Eyes;
To say that her eyes are odd don’t even to begin to cover it. She definitely got her mother’s shape, the hooded, slanted look that can too easily transform into deer in the headlights when she widens them. Though her father’s color seemed to find a way into them. A dark brown that can sometimes seem to completely swallow her pupil- with mocha and amber thrown in when the light hits them just right. Her eyelashes are a pretty dark brown color, though more often than not she coats them with mascara, not liking the way they otherwise seem to disappear into her face.
Other
Her skin is a creamy olive based hue, though it can go quite pale when left out of the sun for long amounts of time. The so said horrible nose that she hates so much has another issue… yes that’s right… freckles. They disappear when her skin leans towards the paler aspect, though when she tans –and it is an easy process with her genetics- they stand out from her face almost painfully. Her hair is… well her hair is forever changing. It can go anywhere between a dark auburn with honeyed highlights to straight out blonde. Because really it does tend to change colors with its amount of sun, although some of it might be magically enhanced when she’s bored with her look.
appearance Long and lanky. She’s at just the right height so as to have to look down her nose at no one, and tall enough not to have to crane her neck upwards to stare at the majority of the human population. At five foot seven and a quarter of an inch she’s at her ideal height, though she wouldn’t mind losing or gaining say an inch or two. She’s willowy and lean, almost to the point of being too skinny. She has been known to dip under the radar with her weight. Though that is mostly attributed to her fast metabolism rather than her continued state of depression. She doesn’t think she’s silly enough to fall under that category yet.
She still has curves, though thank god they’re in all the right places, instead of say… the wrong ones? And the way she’s built manages to make it easy for her to look taller. She’s lean and lanky, almost to the point of being boyish, which she was for the longest amount of time; she pretty much didn’t lose that look until her second year. She’s long pretty much everywhere, long legs, and long torso. She tends to be pretty eclectic in her dress style- going anywhere from huge sweaters and floral skirts to shorts and flannel shirts, she pulls on whatever it is that she feels like when she feels like it... and receives plenty of looks for it.
I DON'T WANNA THINK LIKE YOU.& I DON'T WANNA STINK LIKE YOU.
likes +Physical contact
+Painting, drawing, artsy things
+Positive attention
+Chocolates –but never milk-
+Dancing
+Sports/exercise
+People that make her think
+Photography
+Coffee
+The smell of a new book
dislikes
–Physical contact
–Silence
–Dark, closed spaces
–Pessimism
– Overly happy music
–Drunkenness
–Writing, working in general
–Major Holidays
–Lame people. Haha
–Being made to feel inferior
strengths
+Witty
+Bilingual
+Good sense of humor
+Cheeky
+Slow to anger
weaknesses
-Insecure
-Self depreciating
-Claustrophobic
-Scared of loud noises
-Haphephobia
personality Adrienne is… difficult to say the least. There are so many facets about her that it would take ages to list them all out, and each one has another that objects to it. She’s confident in herself, she knows that she can overcome most anything… but in the same she’s so terribly afraid of making mistakes that she second guesses nearly everything she does, though it’s not like she lets anyone else see that. Her wit, while sharply edged, sometimes gets the better of her, her brain moving faster than her lips and her words running over one another. It doesn’t help that she still holds an Russian accent either, making it all the harder to understand when she talks really fast, not that its often. Though if you get her heated enough she does. Always the first to catch innuendos she seems a bit perverted, though she is assuredly not. Most of that derives from the fact that she views everyone else to be thinking sexually. She doesn’t understand compassion, or remorse in other humans, the people around her showing her neither growing up.
She tends to be a little cheeky; her answering remarks hardly ever just that, something else always easily hiding under it. It’s not that she can’t speak plainly. She can. She just tends to evaluate everything anyone else says. A habit that’s gotten her into her fair deal of trouble. Because finding twenty different meanings out of one statement never ends well. And it’s not like she can ever take the obvious answer unless it’s made obvious. Ridiculous? Yes, but we didn’t say she didn’t have flaws. Actually that’s probably her biggest. The awareness of them. Self depreciating has never been embodied in one person so well. It doesn’t help that she finds herself to be a ‘ruined’ product, and tends to think along those lines with very little prompting. Though she can easily cover it up with a good deal of false bravado, making you think she’s the most narcissistic thing on earth… though if anyone ever cared to get to know her they’d see the exact opposite.
While her anger is slowly reached it is also slowly put down. Getting her angry is like unleashing a dam. It’s not like she doesn’t get irritated easily, but actually getting her angry takes quite a bit more of an effort. And the consequences are never exactly what you would want to come of it. If close enough physical retaliation isn’t very far off, though she usually doesn’t result to that unless someone else touches her first. While her attempts may have been pathetic when she was younger, and up against forces that she really couldn’t fend off, her physical strength has grown quite a bit. Not to mention that she’s a good deal older and easier made to take care of herself.
The fact that her life was a living nightmare probably helps in the fact that very little scares her these days… and yet everything does. People have since ceased to scare her, and as long as she has people around her the dark is no longer her enemy. But the moment she’s alone, and the dark is around her, its all she can do not to lose her mind. Closed spaces are the worst. Especially when people are around. Every situation differs, though she’s not sure why or how. It all shifts perspective with each day. Some days quidditch games bring her to the high of her day…others she hides from them, and the crowds that pack into the stands.
& I JUST WANNA BE ME.SO BREAK IT DOWN.
parents PM'ed adminsiblings PM'ed admin
birthplace Russia
hometown PM'ed admin
ethnicity Russian. Russian, English, German, French
blood pureblood.
BREAK IT DOWN, BREAK IT DOWN.SO BREAK IT DOWN.
name Leiapassword (ADMIN EDIT- ACCEPTED)
anything else? g'head, we don't bite... shame
sample
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Tick. The source of the ticking was currently illuminated only by a short circle of light, unwavering in its steady casting of incandescent beam. Otherwise the room was a pale shadow of darkness, cast in muted, varying grays and blues that bellied the color hidden beneath. The circle of light fell only upon a small imitation of Big Ben and the dusty dresser top beneath it. With each tick the smaller black sword moved a millimeter further around the round face of the clock below all the decoration. Eerie shadows danced from where the light fell from some object, the black and gray shapes twisting upon themselves in intricate patterns that were unable to be replicated. A slight rustle brought attention to the only living figure in the room, the waif like form laying stomach down on the bed in the corner of the room, swallowed by the darkest shadows encasing the space. Her legs were straight behind her, flat against the bare mattress, toes pointing towards the ground on the opposite side. Elbows making slight indents on the blue surface of the mattress, one hand holding up a mess of honeyed brown locks as the other arm lay lazily stretched upon the surface, hand dangling over the edge of the bed, wand clasped tightly within curled fingers. Nails digging unmercifully into the skin of her palm. The wand was pointed arrow straight, the beam of light emanating from it falling upon the clock on the opposite side of the room, parallel to where she was positioned. Her back was curved, chest pressing down harder than necessary into the mattress, face pointed in the same direction as the light, eyes trained unblinkingly upon the ticking instrument. Her face was strained from what could be made out in the back-glow of the wand, cheekbones drawn up in a serious manner, brows driven low over the haunted iris’ of her eyes. The color of the night was a stormy green, dancing between fear, anger, and an unmistakable tension. Her skin held a pale pallor, a whitewash thrown over the summer-tanned skin, casting a ghoul-like impression over her features. Other than the minimal movement of her back from the required breaths, her figure was completely unmoving, blinking all but erased, shifting completely stilled. It was as if a human statue was resting on the bed.
Ding, ding, ding, ding.
Dong, dong, ding, dong.
The bell like clatter filled the room suddenly as the hands on the face of the clock scribed five thirty am. The figure on the bed jumped, startled at the sudden intrusion of noise, fingers tightening vice like upon the wand. She wanted it to go away. She wanted it all just to fade into a merciful black. And she was terrified that it might do just that. Already her lids were dragging; already her body was sluggishly informing her of a need for sleep. It would be daylight soon. Then at least she could nap. She just had to wait out the darkness for an hour or two more. Her elbow dropped from its task of holding her head up, curling upon the bed in a half crescent that she soon dropped her head into. She could wait it out from this vantage point. If only her lids weren’t getting so heavy. Sluggishly blinking she refused to put the light out, refused to submerge herself in the silence awaiting her. It was funny how the progression of just a few minutes could completely erase any kind of will she might have held herself upright with. It was quickly becoming a struggle for her to even keep her eyes open and with each slow tick of the clock a little more of her will power washed away. Her lips pressed into a grim line, the arm holding her wand jerking as she felt her lids droop. OH HELL NO! It was a strained thought as she dredged her eyes back open, painstakingly holding her arm even straighter. Because she didn’t want to go under, she didn’t want those few seconds of piece before it was ripped viciously away from her again. It was a cycle she didn’t like having repeated. It was a cycle she went through every night. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to see the images that were burned far into the retinas behind her closed lids, the memories that stalked her even in her waking hours. It was her last conscious thought as her wand slipped from her fingers, dropping with a soft thud upon the mattress beside her face, reverberating with the released tension as her hand fell as well, lids drifting to a close as the darkness overtook her.
Red.
Flash. Brown.
Angry blue eyes set under heavy, drawn brows as the yelling commenced.
Knuckles striking against her cheekbones, pain ripping through her body. A small burn igniting beneath her skin. Hands grappling at the straps of her shirt; pulling, ripping, tearing.
An agonized scream ripped through the soft tissues of her throat, rebounding off the four walls and into the silence. Rays of light were just drifting in through the curtains, a muted white glow spreading over the room slowly. Adrienne was sitting up in bed, her hands clutching at the neck of her tanktop, a light sheen of perspiration clinging to every visible expanse of golden-bronzed skin. Ragged, short gasps broke through her lips as she leaned back into the headboard, her eyes remaining fixedly open as she stared the ceiling down. Figuratively of course. There was still a low, keening wail cutting through her lips, her presence of mind unable to calm or stop it. A long inhale brought it back down to normal gasping, her nails digging into the skin of her chest, dragging down and refocusing her pain. “Bitch.” The voice broke through her attempts at calming herself, the harsh word biting through from her doorway in a tough, Irish brogue. “Ye think ye could stop yer caterwaulin’ long enou’ to get the fuck out o’ mah house?” Her eyes travelled the slow descent to where her mother was standing, all blonde hair and perfected makeup. She blinked slowly, not bothering to answer as she looked towards her mam. “Agam cuideachta ag teacht thar.” Company? Her mind was slowly registering each syllable her mother uttered, her eyebrows scrunching down into a semi-frown. Of course if her mother had company coming over Adrienne wouldn’t be allowed in the house. They didn’t talk, other than the fights they got into, or her mother ordering her out. They didn’t spend time together. It was sure to be noticed if she were in the house, ignoring her mother and vice versa. An act of loving care was too much for either of them to keep up. It was much easier on her mother were she not there. So she could say that her daughter was never home, that her daughter wasn’t there to take care of her mam as she should. She was a horrible daughter. More so than she’d ever even utter to any of her friends, after all, the truth was much worse. Adrienne let her eyes skitter away from her mother’s form, looking into the wall opposite her with a blank expression. “Ceart go leor,” her voice was hoarse as she nodded her assent, willing her mother to make her way out of the room. “Laistigh de na striapaigh uair an chloig.” Her mother snarled out another sentence. She either wanted a rise or a breakdown, and Adrienne was to drained for either. “Fuair sé.” Got it mam. Now git the fuck out of my room. Not that she’d say it. Not like she had a right. It didn’t stop her from feeling the tension in her back though.
After a moment she felt her mother’s presence withdraw from the room, leaving her alone in the darkness again. But it was how she’d have it for now. If she could spend the rest of the day in her bed doing nothing, saying nothing, hearing nothing… she would. But she had her orders. Out within the hour? Was it possible? Her face was tear tracked, her lips were chapped, her hair was a rats nest. She looked like hell warmed over at best.
But her sunshine wouldn’t need her to be prettied up.
Her sunshine wouldn’t ask questions.
On a day that had already been so dark, sunshine made sense. Queen Sirius Sunshine made sense. With an aggravated sigh she scrubbed a palm over her face, swinging her legs over the bed and letting the soles of her feet rest gently on the carpet, slowly balancing her body before she attempted to stand. But stand she did, her body swaying slightly as she made her way into the adjoining bathroom of her room, legs wobbling as she balanced herself against the granite countertop. “Is fuath liom an saol. Fuck go léir.” Her voice was oddly guttural, her eyes flaming into the mirror before her. It took maybe a whole of ten minutes for her to scrub her face and brush through her hair. Maybe another five to apply a small amount of eyeliner and lipgloss. It wasn’t until she stepped out of the bathroom, shrugging out of her tank top and boxers that she realized she was still shaking. And it wasn’t until she slipped the tan sleeveless, sweater dress over her head and twitched it into place that she realized she hadn’t let Sirius know she was stopping by, but then she figured it wouldn’t matter.
And it wasn’t until she knocked brusquely on the door of his and James’s apartment that she realized that she was missing something.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
Tick. The source of the ticking was currently illuminated only by a short circle of light, unwavering in its steady casting of incandescent beam. Otherwise the room was a pale shadow of darkness, cast in muted, varying grays and blues that bellied the color hidden beneath. The circle of light fell only upon a small imitation of Big Ben and the dusty dresser top beneath it. With each tick the smaller black sword moved a millimeter further around the round face of the clock below all the decoration. Eerie shadows danced from where the light fell from some object, the black and gray shapes twisting upon themselves in intricate patterns that were unable to be replicated. A slight rustle brought attention to the only living figure in the room, the waif like form laying stomach down on the bed in the corner of the room, swallowed by the darkest shadows encasing the space. Her legs were straight behind her, flat against the bare mattress, toes pointing towards the ground on the opposite side. Elbows making slight indents on the blue surface of the mattress, one hand holding up a mess of honeyed brown locks as the other arm lay lazily stretched upon the surface, hand dangling over the edge of the bed, wand clasped tightly within curled fingers. Nails digging unmercifully into the skin of her palm. The wand was pointed arrow straight, the beam of light emanating from it falling upon the clock on the opposite side of the room, parallel to where she was positioned. Her back was curved, chest pressing down harder than necessary into the mattress, face pointed in the same direction as the light, eyes trained unblinkingly upon the ticking instrument. Her face was strained from what could be made out in the back-glow of the wand, cheekbones drawn up in a serious manner, brows driven low over the haunted iris’ of her eyes. The color of the night was a stormy green, dancing between fear, anger, and an unmistakable tension. Her skin held a pale pallor, a whitewash thrown over the summer-tanned skin, casting a ghoul-like impression over her features. Other than the minimal movement of her back from the required breaths, her figure was completely unmoving, blinking all but erased, shifting completely stilled. It was as if a human statue was resting on the bed.
Ding, ding, ding, ding.
Dong, dong, ding, dong.
The bell like clatter filled the room suddenly as the hands on the face of the clock scribed five thirty am. The figure on the bed jumped, startled at the sudden intrusion of noise, fingers tightening vice like upon the wand. She wanted it to go away. She wanted it all just to fade into a merciful black. And she was terrified that it might do just that. Already her lids were dragging; already her body was sluggishly informing her of a need for sleep. It would be daylight soon. Then at least she could nap. She just had to wait out the darkness for an hour or two more. Her elbow dropped from its task of holding her head up, curling upon the bed in a half crescent that she soon dropped her head into. She could wait it out from this vantage point. If only her lids weren’t getting so heavy. Sluggishly blinking she refused to put the light out, refused to submerge herself in the silence awaiting her. It was funny how the progression of just a few minutes could completely erase any kind of will she might have held herself upright with. It was quickly becoming a struggle for her to even keep her eyes open and with each slow tick of the clock a little more of her will power washed away. Her lips pressed into a grim line, the arm holding her wand jerking as she felt her lids droop. OH HELL NO! It was a strained thought as she dredged her eyes back open, painstakingly holding her arm even straighter. Because she didn’t want to go under, she didn’t want those few seconds of piece before it was ripped viciously away from her again. It was a cycle she didn’t like having repeated. It was a cycle she went through every night. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to see the images that were burned far into the retinas behind her closed lids, the memories that stalked her even in her waking hours. It was her last conscious thought as her wand slipped from her fingers, dropping with a soft thud upon the mattress beside her face, reverberating with the released tension as her hand fell as well, lids drifting to a close as the darkness overtook her.
Red.
Flash. Brown.
Angry blue eyes set under heavy, drawn brows as the yelling commenced.
Knuckles striking against her cheekbones, pain ripping through her body. A small burn igniting beneath her skin. Hands grappling at the straps of her shirt; pulling, ripping, tearing.
An agonized scream ripped through the soft tissues of her throat, rebounding off the four walls and into the silence. Rays of light were just drifting in through the curtains, a muted white glow spreading over the room slowly. Adrienne was sitting up in bed, her hands clutching at the neck of her tanktop, a light sheen of perspiration clinging to every visible expanse of golden-bronzed skin. Ragged, short gasps broke through her lips as she leaned back into the headboard, her eyes remaining fixedly open as she stared the ceiling down. Figuratively of course. There was still a low, keening wail cutting through her lips, her presence of mind unable to calm or stop it. A long inhale brought it back down to normal gasping, her nails digging into the skin of her chest, dragging down and refocusing her pain. “Bitch.” The voice broke through her attempts at calming herself, the harsh word biting through from her doorway in a tough, Irish brogue. “Ye think ye could stop yer caterwaulin’ long enou’ to get the fuck out o’ mah house?” Her eyes travelled the slow descent to where her mother was standing, all blonde hair and perfected makeup. She blinked slowly, not bothering to answer as she looked towards her mam. “Agam cuideachta ag teacht thar.” Company? Her mind was slowly registering each syllable her mother uttered, her eyebrows scrunching down into a semi-frown. Of course if her mother had company coming over Adrienne wouldn’t be allowed in the house. They didn’t talk, other than the fights they got into, or her mother ordering her out. They didn’t spend time together. It was sure to be noticed if she were in the house, ignoring her mother and vice versa. An act of loving care was too much for either of them to keep up. It was much easier on her mother were she not there. So she could say that her daughter was never home, that her daughter wasn’t there to take care of her mam as she should. She was a horrible daughter. More so than she’d ever even utter to any of her friends, after all, the truth was much worse. Adrienne let her eyes skitter away from her mother’s form, looking into the wall opposite her with a blank expression. “Ceart go leor,” her voice was hoarse as she nodded her assent, willing her mother to make her way out of the room. “Laistigh de na striapaigh uair an chloig.” Her mother snarled out another sentence. She either wanted a rise or a breakdown, and Adrienne was to drained for either. “Fuair sé.” Got it mam. Now git the fuck out of my room. Not that she’d say it. Not like she had a right. It didn’t stop her from feeling the tension in her back though.
After a moment she felt her mother’s presence withdraw from the room, leaving her alone in the darkness again. But it was how she’d have it for now. If she could spend the rest of the day in her bed doing nothing, saying nothing, hearing nothing… she would. But she had her orders. Out within the hour? Was it possible? Her face was tear tracked, her lips were chapped, her hair was a rats nest. She looked like hell warmed over at best.
But her sunshine wouldn’t need her to be prettied up.
Her sunshine wouldn’t ask questions.
On a day that had already been so dark, sunshine made sense. Queen Sirius Sunshine made sense. With an aggravated sigh she scrubbed a palm over her face, swinging her legs over the bed and letting the soles of her feet rest gently on the carpet, slowly balancing her body before she attempted to stand. But stand she did, her body swaying slightly as she made her way into the adjoining bathroom of her room, legs wobbling as she balanced herself against the granite countertop. “Is fuath liom an saol. Fuck go léir.” Her voice was oddly guttural, her eyes flaming into the mirror before her. It took maybe a whole of ten minutes for her to scrub her face and brush through her hair. Maybe another five to apply a small amount of eyeliner and lipgloss. It wasn’t until she stepped out of the bathroom, shrugging out of her tank top and boxers that she realized she was still shaking. And it wasn’t until she slipped the tan sleeveless, sweater dress over her head and twitched it into place that she realized she hadn’t let Sirius know she was stopping by, but then she figured it wouldn’t matter.
And it wasn’t until she knocked brusquely on the door of his and James’s apartment that she realized that she was missing something.
