WILTSHIRE, reine eglantine

WILTSHIRE, reine eglantine May 4, 2009 0:11:10 GMT -5

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Post by reine on May 4, 2009 0:11:10 GMT -5

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I BEEN ROAMIN' AROUND ,

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always lookin' down at all i see
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REINE EGLATINE WILTSHIRE[/CENTER]

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PAINTED FACES FILL ,

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the spaces i can't reach
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[/B] Reine Eglantine Wiltshire

NICKNAMES: She detests petnames.

AGE: Twenty-three

D.O.B.: September 14th

ALLEGIANCE: Death Eaters

PROFESSION: Death Eater

WAND TYPE: Walnut, 10", Demiguise Hair

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YOU KNOW THAT I ,

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could use somebody
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[/B] Dark reddish-brown

EYE COLOUR: Blue

HEIGHT: 5'7"

WEIGHT: 134 lbs.

BODY TYPE: Willowy

VOICE: Commanding, smooth

PERSONAL STYLE: Depends on the occasion, although her wardrobe is predominately feminine.

GENERAL DESCRIPTION: With a heritage as rich as the Wiltshire’s, it came as a surprise – albeit not an unpleasant one – that Reine had inherited none of the stereotypical features associated with any aspect of either of her ethnicities. Instead she conveys something of a romanesque profile, limbs abnormally long and thin; comparable to delicate bone-china liable to shatter into a hundred pieces upon the gentlest of persuasions. Her height, although it adds an air of superiority and regality, has lessened the evidence of feminine curves and steep dips commonly related to young girls her age. Unfortunately this also includes the coveted supple breasts that stand as a prevalent and sought after feature, standing as something of a landmark of womanhood. Despite her boyish figure however, it would be quite a feat to deny that she has an enviable grace about her. Rhythmical in the way she moves and elegant in every sense of the word, Reine carries herself in a fashion reminiscent of a queen amongst her humble subjects. Subtle gestures such as the lift of her chin and the perfected frown upon her lips are expressed artistically to demonstrate as much, expressed almost artistically across the haunted pallor of her sharp, dramatic features.

Perhaps her most startling feature, the colour of Reine’s eyes stand as a metallic blue-gray so light it appears silver at a distance. Fringed in long, almost ornamental lashes which break like a wave across her cheek, and startling against the ashen colour of her skin, they carry the weight of her emotions within their mysterious depths. Many people have remarked that her slender nose and rosebud lips resemble that of a porcelain doll’s, eerily flawless in their placement and never giving anything away; such small details are all excruciatingly symmetrical so that staring at her for too long may cause one to wonder whether she’s alive or simply a life-size statue of alabaster and ivory. Sunken, shadowed contours, exquisite bone structure, high sweeping cheekbones and a pointed jaw do well to reflect the aristocracy coursing through her veins, rarely painted or made up in anything more than lotion and a dab of perfume.

It should also be noted, there is no uncanny resemblance to her parents, much to their dismay, save for the swirl of glossy dark waves which spill unbound over her small, sloping shoulders. It was the same blackness of her mother and grandmother’s hair before her, groomed with great care and left long and always loose, it stands as the only source of femininity about her person, occasionally dressed up in ribbons and ceramic combs.
Lastly, as it isn’t quite so relevant as some might assume it to be; Reine’s attire is very simply put, tidy. The cloth is as expensive as one Pureblooded family would dare to invest in and custom-made to suit her awkward figure, or lack of one. Corduroy, suede, silk, stiff jackets and ties compile the extent of her wardrobe, and perhaps is somewhat more masculine than one would expect from a young lady her age. Pearls are her gemstone of choice before diamonds and she adamantly refuses heels save for special occasions.

Overall, roguish, intense, dark and mysterious are all attributes that would fittingly describe this peculiarity of the Wiltshire lineage. Yet for all of her outward flaws there is a commanding aura that surrounds her, beckoning for one to venture closer and take a better look. Not all is what it seems after all, and though her features are much too hard and foreboding to be compared to the softness of her siblings’, there is no doubt that she possesses an eloquence left forgotten and underappreciated.

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AND ALL YOU KNOW ,

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and how you speak
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COUNTLESS LOVERS ,

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under cover of the streets
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[/B] Sebastian Wiltshire, 49 - Ministry Employee for the Wizengamot Council of Magical Law

MOTHER: Melania Wiltshire, 40 - Housewife

BROTHER(S): Gregory Wiltshire, 20 - Unemployed

SISTER(S): --

OTHER: Grey owl named Thelonious

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood, though there have been instances of muggle unions littered throughout the Wiltshire generation.

HOMETOWN: England

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Downtown London

BIOGRAPHY: Love is an unpredictable thing. Intertwined with fate, it seems an almost impossible outcome to predict. Some discover it, some don’t … and whether others prefer to live without it, there’s no escaping it when it so chooses them. For Sebastian Wiltshire, it had been a completely uncontrollable aspect in his life. A naturally hard man, there were very few who loved him. Many respected him of course, but it would prove to be a difficult task to honestly say that they loved him. His own mother and father had been strict and oftentimes overbearing. Hard work was what they lived by, with very little to no time to relax and enjoy one another’s company. Of course Sebastian himself might attest to the fact that even if they did take that time, enjoyment wouldn’t exactly be the result. Living in France, the majority of his childhood, he was attended to by a private tutor and schooled far beyond the average age of those in the United States.

Another year passed slowly and Sebastian was officially an adult. No longer was he obligated to abide by his parents’ wishes, but surprisingly, marriage was not on his mind. During that year he’d pushed himself harder than he ever had in an effort to forget about the only woman he’d ever loved. He’d lost himself in the process until all that he could think about was establishing a place for himself away from the security of his father and mother’s influence. He wanted to do it on his own and so ended up immigrating to America, taWiltshire up permanent residence there and quickly finding work for the Ministry. Because of his reputation and flawless academic history, he was spotted quickly and referred to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement by the man who would become his senior. They became close friends from there, and some even venture so far as to say that this friendship was the cause for Sebastian’s turn for the worse.

Melania Peters had always been a sweet young thing. Full of energy and reared by a grandmother who pampered her to her heart’s content; it wasn’t a surprise she grew to expect to always be seated in the lap of luxury. Initially she wasn’t particularly interested in her studies, and had to be quickly broken of this rebellious attitude. However she continued to mature with age and grew to be the lady her demanding mother expected. Because her father owned large corporations overseas, she rarely saw him but it concerned her very little. Over time she was allowed to attend her mother’s social soirees, paraded about much like a prized poodle with ribbons in her hair and a fake smile across her lips. Eventually she was even able to run some of them on her own, and grew to be respected and admired for her beauty and charm by many of high-society’s wealthier ladies. In fact it was at one of these parties Sebastian and Melania first laid eyes upon one another. One of the younger cousins had convinced him to go and he had agreed. Sparks flew the moment they were introduced. In his eyes, she was America’s princess, all golden hair and long, delicate limbs and he was her French rogue; dark hair, swarthy skin and a thick brogue which was beginning to acclaim some British feel. It didn’t help that they were both young and ambitious with all the time in the world at their disposal. One thing led to another and as most might assume, fate decided to make its arrival.

First it was Reine, and the proud parents were happy. However with their businesses flourishing and Sebastian’s work more demanding than ever, there was no desire for any more children. These things happen however; passion overcomes sense and one night after a long drawn-out argument, newly wedded Mr. and Mrs. Wiltshire conceived what he would at least soon consider a mistake.
It was true, for a long time Reine was nothing but a liability to Sebastian. With little respect to spare for women save for the pleasure their bodies elicited, they were nothing. However, astoundingly, it was he she took after and a mutual respect settled between them. Concerning the relationship she had with the younger brother that eventually made his way into their lives, it was vague and really nothing special. There were always points of tension between the two however. This might have been due to the fact that Reine was older and wiser than and not quite as spontaneous as her younger counterpart.

She proved herself to be an ideal student, content and ambitious despite the notorious reputation that seemed to trail her everywhere. She’d lost a few friends along the way, but it wasn’t until mid second year when she began to change. Her current companions speculate it was due to the revelation of her father’s long-term affair and the night he – reportedly – man handled Melania. It was shocWiltshire to everyone who knew about it that she didn’t file for divorce. But how could she? He was everything to her. Besides, she vowed she still loved him even if he no longer reciprocated the same. She believed she could change him and so life went on as normal as possible with her brother playing stupid. It seemed to affect the Wiltshire daughter the most, to see her mother in such a troubled state. It seems now she has taken to distracting herself by doing exactly as her father had done, pushing herself to do better than her best in order to please her mother and bring her some joy, as well as throw herself into the social scene and ensure that people remember her name.

It seems she has accomplished that and so much more. In a surprisingly short amount of time, Miss. Wiltshire has managed to establish connections with the majority of the Wizarding community's rich and famous. Many of them in league with the Death Eaters. By means of illegal trade, manipulating shop owners and blackmailing successful politicians, this young woman has risen to the top of the food chain despite her father's frantic efforts to keep her under the radar. It's obvious her intent is meant to ruin him socially.

Things are fast-paced for Reine with very little certainty as to where exactly she’ll end up.
Of course, there never really is a guarantee as to how things will end. She just hopes it was all worth it.

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I HOPE IT'S GONNA MAKE ,

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you notice someone like me,
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[/B] Claire

RP EXPERIENCE: Eight years, give or take.

HOW YOU FOUND US: Random surfing

OTHER CHARACTERS: None as of yet.

RP SAMPLE:

There would have been no justifiable reason for her to forsake the second chance she had been given; the chance at another life. Pain washed over her but as much as she wanted to scream in agony, she could only bring herself to quietly embrace it. Bile rose in her throat and she fought, barely successfully, to swallow it back biting down upon her tongue with enough force to draw instead the taste of blood. It comforted her in a way, if only because it was something familiar. Something she could count on. Her body – slight and slender and much too delicate to have been able to withstand such suffering – quaked and shuddered. Her blatant nakedness was much less of a priority at this point, if only because there would be no one around for miles who might stumble upon such a sorry sight to take enough notice. If there had been, that sort of vulnerability wouldn’t have overcome the shame of not being able to do much of anything besides curl up and wait for the convulsions to subside. Despite the warmth of the morning light that broke across the distant hillsides the woman’s shivering did not discontinue and the chattering of her teeth only grew more pronounced. Eyelids squeezed tightly shut against the sudden and offensive brightness and her fingernails dug viciously into the palms of her hands. Hundreds of visions swam within her troubled mind, not all of them making any sense. Only occasionally would she be able to focus on one for longer than a few moments and even then it was distorted and unrecognizable. Somewhere nearby the leaves on a tree rustled, causing her to break her concentration and realign upon what she needed to do. But the effort was too much, and she only lifted herself up a fraction on her elbows for mere seconds before she was collapsing back upon the ground; one cheek turned into the dirt while the other only remained lightly bruised. Every bone in her body ached in protest, every exposed portion of creamy white skin was tinted a sickly blue and her long dark hair was tangled. There couldn’t have been any creature that looked as pathetic as she did but there had never existed a King that could have rivaled her pride and satisfaction at the way things had turned out; as though she had meant them to be so.

And then another sort of pain exploded before her eyes, dazzling her in such a way that she was completely unprepared for it. Fear consumed her, dragging her down into a pit of despair where she recalled she’d once lived. At first the images were strange; shadows and irregular shapes looming out of focus. They were bent over her lifeless form, speaking amongst themselves in hushed whispers. Suddenly a light that was not the sun blinded her and she cried out, moving her arm to shield herself from it but to no avail. The girl on the table did not move; only her eyes. Lashes fluttered open gingerly at first, tears streaming down the sides of her face against the uncalled for flare and sharpness of the sights and sounds all around her. At first she was numb, as though she were observing peacefully from a distance but then the realization that she was strapped to a cold operating table hit her and she reacted. Her back arched and she squeezed her eyes shut, writhing upon the hard dirt, pulled back and forth between the present and those haunting memories of things she couldn’t will herself to remember. Anger and the frustration of being restrained by the leather straps that bound her ankles and wrists overwhelmed her. It wasn’t anything she’d ever experienced before. The emotions were so strong, so beautiful that she found she could not and would not attempt to control them. Instead she acted upon impulse and before the men in crisp white suits could get to the door she was crushing them mercilessly beneath her clawed paws. For no longer was she the innocent young woman she had been, but a monstrous beast; the alter-ego that lay dormant for so many years finally bursting forth in recognition of its calling to redeem itself and seek justice. Her jaws snapped viciously and she lunged for each of them, completely ignoring the other unfortunate souls who had unwillingly found themselves part of the experimentation. Her actions were maintained completely by blood lust but it faded before she could do very much damage; the nausea causing her rear back and then bolt. Mindless, senseless, confused and desperate meanderings were what fueled her to locate the closest possible exit and she was dragging herself as far away as possible. Needless to say it wasn’t long before she was collapsing upon the very spot she now laid in better awareness, just as the first sign of dawn broke across the sky in brilliant scarlets, golds and purples.

She was turned upon her stomach again, arms wrapped tightly about her abdomen as though she were trying to hold herself together. Tatters of the clothing she had been given lay a few feet away from her, unusable now. Her breathing had become shallow and she heaved a few times fruitlessly, as nothing came up. Her system was cleaned out so the gesture only served to worsen her state. For a moment she was able to raise herself to her knees but instantly became disoriented and watery-eyed. Slowly though, the physical pain lessened and she stopped swaying. Everything became eerily still and even the natural chorus of nature and wildlife around her quieted. It was as though she had grown deaf and her slender eyebrows pinched together as she strained to hear something, anything. And then it came, piercing her eardrums so that she was wishing she hadn’t hoped so feverishly in the first place. It was a voice, deep and masculine and undeniably angry … but it didn’t belong to the men from the catacombs. No, this one she knew all too well and she flinched away from it as though it had struck her. His angular, handsome face wavered somewhere in front of her and she scurried backward despite her protesting muscles. Another hallucination. And this too had already taken place. Sometime it seemed, long ago. Her then fiancée had been grasping his hair, tugging on it in his exasperation as she stood facing him with wide, innocent eyes. The smell of freshly-baked pie drifted from a place in the center of the table. It had always been his favourite. She thought he might have appreciated it after his long day at work. Apparently she had thought wrong.

“You’re such a worthless f**k**g bitch, you know that?” he’d shouted, glaring at her. “I ask you to do one thing, one simple thing and you still manage to screw it up! Didn’t your father teach you anything? Oh … well, I guess not. He was too busy nursing that precious f**k**g bottle of vodka to take much notice of the stupid, mediocre wretch that his wife left him with. You know, I actually pity the bastard. Maybe what happened was meant to be his reprieve from the shithole he stewed in for all those years? I know I’d take it to this crap any day.” Suddenly he was eyeing the pie she’d made and grinned sardonically at her before sticking one finger past the crust and licking the filling off with cruel triumph.

“Oh, and I always thought these were lousy.”

And with that, he’d slammed the door and gone. He wasn’t drunk, that at least might have excused his behaviour in her mind. And he’d never touched her, but somehow … he hadn’t needed to. Similar rages would occur occasionally throughout their relationship since the psychologists had diagnosed him with Intermittent Explosive Disorder, but she never reacted. Never stepped out of place, if only because she loved him when he wasn’t the spawn of the devil that sometimes possessed his soul. She always forgave him, but that night – when he sauntered through the doors and pulled her persuasively into the bedroom – after he had, had his fill and was asleep she found there could only be one escape without doing him too much harm. Cutting had always seemed so vile to her but it gave her a strange sort of pleasure, knowing that it wouldn’t take long. That it would be too late when he awoke. But it wasn’t the heaven she’d expected.

How long she’d been asleep she did not know. But things had changed beyond any possible means of deciphering it. She had changed. The only question was, for the better?

By typing your name here, you acknowledge that you have read the rules and understand them completely. You are also agreeing to seek permission before using anything from this board for your own or someone else’s. Violation of these rules will result in stealth ninja robots coming into your bedroom at night, violating you, followed by an untimely, extremely painful death. Or, in the event that we don't have any stealth ninja robots, you will simply be banned.

I,CLAIRE, have read the following statement and agree.

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OFF IN THE NIGHT ,

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while you live it up
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Filth ♠ when the bloodsnobs rule

Post by reine on May 4, 2009 0:11:10 GMT -5

Post by SERPENTINA ! on May 4, 2009 17:03:24 GMT -5

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