Post by Deleted on Mar 5, 2017 15:42:27 GMT -7
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Crissatha Pandora
Crissatha Pandora
[attr="class","appsubname"]a new path to be carved
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[attr="class","appheading"]GENERAL INFORMATION
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half high elf half tide elf
half high elf half tide elf
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79
79
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female
female
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reesa
reesa
[attr="class","applabel"]race
[attr="class","applabel"]age
[attr="class","applabel"]sex
[attr="class","applabel"]played by
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heterosexual
heterosexual
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traveler
traveler
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musician
musician
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n/a
n/a
[attr="class","applabel"]orientation
[attr="class","applabel"]residence
[attr="class","applabel"]occupation
[attr="class","applabel"]religion
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[attr="class","appheading"]PERSONALITY
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Crissatha Pandora is a rule unto herself. Its hard to explain her exactly other then icy, but maybe we should go through the list, aye? Let's just say that Pandora was an apt last name for herself.
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[attr="class","appability"]➢ FLIRT[break]
there is nothing more that Cris likes to do than to flirt with any boy she finds cute. She's definitely one hell of a flirt at all times and in all ways. She's better with boys than with girls because of this. She sees nothing wrong with getting close and she long ago learned that love is a myth so why not?
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[attr="class","appability"]➢ MUSICAL[break]
such a big part of who she is is made up in the fact that she loves to play music. She lives it, eats it, breathes it. If there's a new instrument, she wants to try it. She always jokes that if you can't find her somewhere, just follow the music and she shall magically be there. She lives to play, really. It's when she's her most open and vulnerable but also when she's at her most fiery.
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[attr="class","appability"]➢ ICE COLD[break]
she very rarely lets anyone get too close. Oh, she'll put on an act when she's in front of a crowd and she'll flirt with anyone she likes but real emotion? She does not do real emotion. It's too dangerous. It gets her hurt. She can't, so kindly back off and let her be, okay?
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[attr="class","appability"]➢ BROKEN[break]
The one she'll growl at you for if you accuse her of it. She's broken. She's busted. Her mother tried to cause her to be so busted down that it almost worked. She's got walls and ice and no one comes close. She reacts weird to things that remind her of what broke her. She's so heavily claustrphobic that she hates crowded rooms and anything that presses in on her. She needs to be on top, in any situation. And in her head, there's always a voice telling her how she could do things better.
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[attr="class","appability"]➢ FIERY[break]
Now this one depends. She's a bit like a turtle. If she senses it's safe, if no one's hurt her for a while, if she's had time to grow, she's wild and loud and feisty. It's rare, but it happens
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[attr="class","appability"]➢ BITCH[break]
She has no problems telling you off. She has no problems sending you away. She was a doormat as Aria and she refuses to be so again. Sometimes she will absolutely say that thing that polite society has told her she shouldn't, mostly because po0lite society has told her she shouldn't.
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[attr="class","appability"]➢ CONTROL FREAK[break]
cris doesn't drink, doesn't do drugs, doesn't do anything that puts her out of control. She likes to have control in any situation, and I think the reason why is pretty clear from her history, not that she'll talk about that. She's pretty dang focused on making sure nothing that happens with her is out of her control, and tends to panic a little when it's not and she can't fix it.
Crissatha Pandora is a rule unto herself. Its hard to explain her exactly other then icy, but maybe we should go through the list, aye? Let's just say that Pandora was an apt last name for herself.
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[attr="class","appability"]➢ FLIRT[break]
there is nothing more that Cris likes to do than to flirt with any boy she finds cute. She's definitely one hell of a flirt at all times and in all ways. She's better with boys than with girls because of this. She sees nothing wrong with getting close and she long ago learned that love is a myth so why not?
[break][break]
[attr="class","appability"]➢ MUSICAL[break]
such a big part of who she is is made up in the fact that she loves to play music. She lives it, eats it, breathes it. If there's a new instrument, she wants to try it. She always jokes that if you can't find her somewhere, just follow the music and she shall magically be there. She lives to play, really. It's when she's her most open and vulnerable but also when she's at her most fiery.
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[attr="class","appability"]➢ ICE COLD[break]
she very rarely lets anyone get too close. Oh, she'll put on an act when she's in front of a crowd and she'll flirt with anyone she likes but real emotion? She does not do real emotion. It's too dangerous. It gets her hurt. She can't, so kindly back off and let her be, okay?
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[attr="class","appability"]➢ BROKEN[break]
The one she'll growl at you for if you accuse her of it. She's broken. She's busted. Her mother tried to cause her to be so busted down that it almost worked. She's got walls and ice and no one comes close. She reacts weird to things that remind her of what broke her. She's so heavily claustrphobic that she hates crowded rooms and anything that presses in on her. She needs to be on top, in any situation. And in her head, there's always a voice telling her how she could do things better.
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[attr="class","appability"]➢ FIERY[break]
Now this one depends. She's a bit like a turtle. If she senses it's safe, if no one's hurt her for a while, if she's had time to grow, she's wild and loud and feisty. It's rare, but it happens
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[attr="class","appability"]➢ BITCH[break]
She has no problems telling you off. She has no problems sending you away. She was a doormat as Aria and she refuses to be so again. Sometimes she will absolutely say that thing that polite society has told her she shouldn't, mostly because po0lite society has told her she shouldn't.
[break][break]
[attr="class","appability"]➢ CONTROL FREAK[break]
cris doesn't drink, doesn't do drugs, doesn't do anything that puts her out of control. She likes to have control in any situation, and I think the reason why is pretty clear from her history, not that she'll talk about that. She's pretty dang focused on making sure nothing that happens with her is out of her control, and tends to panic a little when it's not and she can't fix it.
[attr="class","appheading"]APPEARANCE
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Crissatha Pandora stands at a little bit over 5'7. Her eyes are a bright blue that have plagued her most of her life. Irt took her a very long time to start showing them off and using them as an asset rather than be a curse that she had to hide. Her hair is always changing depending on her mood. She's a fan of dyes, anything experimental even, anything she can get her hands on. Currently it's blue. She enjoys the blue. IT's mostly to get back at her mother, not that her mother can see it. She's a fan of darker fashion, ripped up, torn up, anything that isn't respectable.
Crissatha Pandora stands at a little bit over 5'7. Her eyes are a bright blue that have plagued her most of her life. Irt took her a very long time to start showing them off and using them as an asset rather than be a curse that she had to hide. Her hair is always changing depending on her mood. She's a fan of dyes, anything experimental even, anything she can get her hands on. Currently it's blue. She enjoys the blue. IT's mostly to get back at her mother, not that her mother can see it. She's a fan of darker fashion, ripped up, torn up, anything that isn't respectable.
[attr="class","appheading"]HISTORY
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Crissatha was unwanted from the time she reached five years old.
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Oh, well then, that is a horrid way to start things off, isn’t it? Perhaps this tale should start from further back. Back to somewhere around… just after the youngest of her elder sisters was born…
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Marrianna Phasdee was raised properly. She was raised to be the epitome of perfection and class. To be a credit to her family before her and her husband. She knew just what her name meant, just what her status was, and she took pride in everything that she did. She knew who she was, she knew what she wanted and she had no problems doing exactly what she needed to do to ensure that it went the way that she wanted it. Perhaps that was why she married Sarius… he was rather easy to control. A mere shadow of a man, really. She had been attracted to his good family name, and one night when he serenaded her with that music of his… oh, he could produce such music, it made her heart swell. She thought herself in love. She still did even as they carried on in love. She just had an odd way of showing it and a demand that he be exactly as she wished him to be and as she let him carry on with his music while she cared for his household, he saw no reason to complain.
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Their first child was a son. One who brought her great joy. The golden boy, his younger sisters would tease him. The precious one. The one who pretended to do everything that their mother asked while meanwhile, behind her back, he had no problems charming everyone who got close… no matter what he mother thought of their family. Their second was gentle and kind. An innate mother with a talent for charming and being gentle. A healer. One who soon had quite a reputation for herself for just how good she was. Merria was gentle and soft and everything her mother wasn’t. She inherited none of the woman’s hard edges, too much like her father before her. Next came Deeana. The wild child. The partier. The one who traveled and showed off and was bright and flashy and wild. The one who charmed anyone she met. Her mother adored that quality in her.
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And then she got bored. It had been so long, all of her children were out of her house. Her husband bored her. Her life was perfectly managed, smooth, no children to mold and control. She needed something in her life to keep her occupied.
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And then she met him.
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The charmer with the blue eyes. The one who played music, something she was such a sucker for, the one who brought song and life back into her heart. The one she met with two or three times a month for a very long time until she… well. It all started with the tell-tale signs. And then she went to tell her lover who… had disappeared. Oh, it pleased her in a way. No one would know but her. She could keep this little secret and have another little one to mold. It had been at least a decade since Deeana had left the house after all.
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Until she was born with those blue eyes.
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Ariana Phasdee was a quiet child from the start. She barely cried, she barely cooed, she just stared with those blue eyes.The man she thought to be Her father would laugh. Where do you think she got those? he would ask as he gently touched her nose, making her face screw up with confusion for just a moment. You must not be as pure as you claim she would scowl at him and huff, storming away and leaving the little one with Sarius, who would scoop her up and sing to her, none the wiser, never the wiser.
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Merria figured it out when Ariana turned the tender age of five but would never say. No. That would displease her mother. But she took special care to be around more often. Special care to be there when she could be, to be a soothing mothering presence for her little sister.
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Ariana was a book worm. She would read anything she could get her hands on by the age of eight. It should have pleased her mother to have such an intelligent child but… it didn’t. Instead she would criticize each book the toddler picked, wondering why she wasn’t reading something different. Aria would cringe and seek out something better, hoping for a smile like the ones she would get from Merria. Hoping her mother would look her way and just once give her a smile. Instead she would shake her head. So now you’re just going to cave and do anything anyone asks you to do, hm? Ariana, please, have a backbone.
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Her room was her hideaway. Her happy place. That which gave her a bit of joy because she could stockpile books in there. She could pretend she was someone else, somewhere else.
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At the age of nine she learned that her mother was not above demanding she be perfect in interesting ways. She learned that if she did something wrong, her mother would lock her in a tiny room, one she dubbed The Quiet Room, so she could think. It was for her own good apparently. Any child got a time out, apparently. But she hated it. It felt like the walls were closing in. A tiny prisoner at seven years old. She nearly froze herself once… because Aria could play with ice—not that she showed her mother that. Merria oh so gently told her to keep it between them.
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Instead she one day noticed that her baby sister had a different talent. You see, Ariana often went to help her sister with her work. It got her out of the house and out of her mother’s demanding presence. And one day, she showed that she could heal, a little. Nothing wild or as talented as her sister, but it was there. Her mother was delighted, allowing her child to teach the younger any time she liked, hoping for another healer to boost her name, another famous star healer, as she liked to boast of Merria, whether or not it was true.
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At the age of twelve, her brother came back from his travels to see what his little “nugget of a sister” was like. He had no problems pestering their mother about her eyes, eyes she always tried to shield because it made her mother more likely to growl if she caught sight of them.He was the one who laughed and scooped her up and tease a smile from the bookworm. He was the one who taught her to ride a horse, just in front of him. He was the one who put her on a horse too wild for her at the age of twelve, causing him to shout for his younger sister to help, to heal before…. But of course their mother found out. It was one of the only times she yelled at her son. Ariana was still her daughter. An imperfect and wrong daughter, but still hers.
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And after seven or eight months of having her joyful, easy brother in her life, the one who took her mother’s attention away from her because he was so larger than life, he left. Without a word or a goodbye. He left her alone once more. There were only so many times she could escape to Merria’s, only so many times she could need an assistant. So often she was in her mother’s presence… until she decided that her youngest daughter needed something that she could actually attempt to excel in. So gymnastics, tumbling, that became… something she could be taught.
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And she soared. It was freeing. It was wonderful. It took her focus for the next few years of her life. She trained day in and day out and her mother… her mother finally smiled when her daughter got positive notice from her teachers, from others who saw the little bookworm perform. She still would snap and yell you were off, can’t you get that perfect? One more step, get your feet right, plant your hands more firmly, don’t look at me with those eyes, go to your Quiet Room, don’t you dare cry but she showed a bit more pride in her youngest child.
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And then one day she had an off day. She was imperfect. Her tumbles were wrong. She stepped wrong. She couldn’t get it right. She embarrassed her mother horribly in front of her peers. She was hit and locked in her quiet room for so long she thought she might burst. The walls were closing in on her. The frost was creeping so close as she lost it, as she wanted to scream, as she… she couldn’t do this. She needed out. She was only twelve and a half, this wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, she needed to get free, it was… she couldn’t breathe!
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She screamed and screamed but no one came.
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Eventually it was her father who came to her rescue. Her father who knelt down with kind eyes and touched her cheek. Her father who was a shadow that never stood up to her mother let her out. He said nothing. He kissed her forehead and turned away. She crept down the stairs after him, and sat on the last step. Her head resting against the banister. Tears streaming down her little cheeks. And listened to her father play his music until she lulled off to sleep slowly. Until the melody brought her peace. She drifted off and floated among the music, only to wake the next morning in her bed with a song in her heart that her father put there. She adored her father even if her mother wouldn’t let him be around that often. She trailed after him whenever she could with a small smile, listening to him play the instruments her mother informed her she couldn’t play. It wasn’t right.She didn’t dare learn if her daughter had inherited that too.
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Poor little darling did not have an easy start to her life. She tried so hard to find her mother’s love, but it wasn’t something that was meant for her. It wasn’t intended to be hers. Her mother demanded perfection and she had no way to reach it, no child does. But she tried so hard, she sought it out in her tumbling, in her reading, in her healing, in her knowledge. She repressed her ice that her sister thought would make her mother hate her, she repressed her love of music, she sat on the books she would rather read for those her mother would approve of, she was proper and demure and she always tried to place her feet just inside the line. But somehow it always ended her in that room, as her claustrophobia grew… and grew…
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Meeting Deanna was like meeting a whirlwind with legs and hair. The wild child. The one with the reputation. The charmer. Where Merria had children, a family, and at least her elder brother had a wife, Deanna showed no signs of stopping and she didn’t care that her mother would like her to. It would put a cramp in her style. If there was one child who did not care what Mother Fearest wanted, it was this one. She breezed about the world and found her way here or there, making this friend, that connection, getting close in all the right places and knowing all the right people. She was… well, Aria got a little bit starry eyed… it was also the first time anyone called her Aria, instead of Ariana. Deanna liked to rename people in her image, whatever entertained her was the way that it was going to be.
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Deanna took up her mother’s attention much like her brother did. It allowed her to sneak off to her sisters to learn how to control her ice, it allowed her to focus on her tumbling and her reading, it allowed her to let Deanna take up all of the attention and suck the air out of the room, she was good at that. But in a good way. Not a bad one. Aria automatically adored her for it. She worshiped her for it. She trailed after her whenever her mother wasn’t around. Deanna, really, was just plain amused. This little one, this tiny ball of wildly colored hair and blue eyes was such a little sweetheart. She just had to corrupt her, but not yet.
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To Deanna’s credit, she waited until her baby sister was at least seventeen before she dragged her off to a party with her. And proceeded to not keep a very close eye on her. Aria was quiet, she was shy, she didn’t like people getting too close but this was… this was something else. Here it was too loud and vibrant and wonderful for her to worry too much about being wrong and imperfect and offending everyone around her when she spoke, as she was informed she would most likely do. Here the music let her put her tumbling skills to other uses and, though she was careful and shied away from the spotlight, she certainly drew notice. Here boys spoke to her, tall for her age, and she didn’t know what to make of it. Here Deanna laughed and slung her arm around their shoulders telling them to back off a little.
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Here Deanna taught her that it didn’t matter if they touched her a little, it wasn’t a big deal. She was pretty. They liked her, it was power. It was all just power. But she shied away still. Little bookworm back to her books. Little bookworm hide away.
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But Deanna taught her freedom. Deanna was the start of her downfall because Deanna showed her that she didn’t have to always hide away, and be afraid that she was going to just be imperfect for the rest of her life, as she assumed that she would be. She showed her that it was okay to let go a little bit. Merria warned her. Merria told her that Deanna was a bad influence and she had to watch it. She had to not get too close. She should listen to Merria, Merria knew what she was doing. She should stick to her books and her tumbling and try to be good enough for her mother to care.
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Deanna scoffed at her big sister. Deanna and Merria were as different as day and night though they adored each other, only three or four years apart depending on the moment of the month.
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Aria fed on it a little bit. Aria thought that it was okay. Aria started to practice her ice a little bit at home when she thought that she was alone. When she thought that no one was there. It was just a tiny little summoning, barely more than a handful of frost, barely enough to really show off any of the true talent bubbling under her skin that she still doesn’t—well, we’ll get there later. The only problem was that her mother came back too early. She came back too soon for her to cover it up.
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She found her. It didn’t go over well.
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At twenty four, and with a taste of Deanna, she might have fought back a little bit but it was no matter. It was easy for her mother to get her into the quiet room, it was easy for her to look the door. And it was hard for Aria to feel like she could breathe. It just got worse and worse and she left her there longer and longer and tried to break her. Tried to fix what her other daughter had done to all of her hard work to break her youngest to the person she desired her to be. No tide. She could have no tide elf in her. She was a perfect high elf. She couldn’t be overjoyed at her daughters obvious displays of magic because it was tied to the water. It wasn’t right.
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As Aria slowly started having a panic attack, a full blown panic attack, in that little room. Six paces one way, seven another, ack to six, back to seven. Again. Again. She paced. She couldn’t breathe. Ice was growing on the walls as she got too close, Ice frosted over the door. And it was ice that let her break the weakened wood when she slammed herself into it for the sixth time in the middle of the night.
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At twenty four years old, barely even out of being a child in the eyes of her heritage, a toddler and nothing more, Aria packed up what she could and she left. She was intending to run away as far as she could but her feet brought her down a different path before she realized it. The one they had worn down a thousand and one times, the one that took her squarely to her big sister’s doorstep. The one who took her in without a second thought because she knew that this day was coming. She had had a feeling it was. Merria knew that it was only a matter of time. She calmed down her shaking sister, she got her tea and she healed her ails and she put her to bed in the same room as her own two daughters.
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She had always been more of a mother to Aria anyway.
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Aria spent two sullen months in that room. She came out to eat and that was all. She didn’t want to move, she didn’t want to play, she didn’t want to exist because obviously no one else wanted her to either. She read her book sand she cried into her pillows and she tried not to scare her nieces with how sullen she was and how heartbroken. She loved her mother, she hated her mother, but really all she wanted from the woman was to get her approval. The one thing she would never get no matter how hard she tried to do so.
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Staying with Merria was easy. All she wanted was for her sister to smile and assist every now and again when she could manage to get the girl to come out of her room and do so. It wasn’t like it was anything she had never done before. But she would very rarely be persuaded to do so.
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One night, two years down the road, was a fateful one. Apparently her mother could no longer let this little experiment go on. She woke up in the middle of it because she heard voices. Voices she recognized but were not supposed to be there. Deanna and Merria arguing with her mother. Something she hadn’t expected in the slightest. She winced, but couldn’t help but listen. Merria fighting to keep Aria here without caring about the consequences or what people would think, Deanna arguing for her to stay because it would look better on the healing angle, her mother demanding her return for appearances sake and nothing more. And then her sister saying those fateful words.
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You take her back and I’ll tell the world that Daddy isn’t her father. That you had an affair. What will do that do for your perfect image? Deanna hissed. Her mother left. But it was Aria that broke. Her father. The one that she adored. Her father. The only parent that mattered to her wasn’t even hers. Who was she really? Who was her father. Why did everyone lie to her?
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With a sob, she ran away for the second time.
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But how could a girl be expected to know how to survive when she came from an upperclass family that let her want for nothing? She had always lived in the lap of luxury, a family of wealth and power. She had little money to her name, she had no idea how to even fend for herself, she was going to… She was going to die. Fifteen, and how stupid could you be to think you could survive on your own little girl? So smart, so many books, but so dim where it counted. She tumbled for her supper more than once but in the end, her body was used to being treated perfectly, and so…
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One day
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She simply
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Collapsed.
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It was a boy who found her. No, not a boy. A man. About five years years older than her. Only into his thirtieth year, he told her later with a laugh. But he found her. He picked her up. Her took her in. And he backed off when she woke up screaming not to touch her because she had heard stories and she knew better. But he just laughed and backed off. He let her adjust, left out food, played music while she recovered and soothed her battered and bruised little soul. He gave her a room and she made room in herself for him. He was wild, he was loud, he loved to party and he loved to play his music.
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And didn’t mind that it took her a week and a half to say more to him than stay away. He asked her her name. He reminded her that he had no way of knowing it was her real one. He gently, so gently, gave her a chance to start from scratch. She named herself that day, despite being far too young to do so and knowing she would have to pick another as an adult. Crissatha Pandora. He looked at her funny and she shrugged. It reminded her of Ice. And Ice was hers.
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After a while, he grew sick of watching her just stare longingly at his instruments as he played and offered to teach her. She blinked and shook her head. No, that wasn’t right for her. She was always taught that wasn’t right for her. It wasn’t hers. He informed her that that was a lie. She could be anything she wanted to be. She could leave it all behind. Become someone new.
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She loved music. She breathed music, she ate music for every meal and it pleased her so. She was a being through which the music made itself known and that was all that mattered. She ate it up. And one night, he took her to a party with him. He stopped her just before.
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This is your first party as you, he said. This is your moment, he said. This is your reinvention, he said. She thought hard. Merria was her first thought. But Merria was too kind. She couldn’t be kind. She would be broken if she was, life had already taught her that. She thought of Deanna with her wild spirit and her easy laughs and flirts and thought something else. I coud do this. It reminded her of that first party when she felt free, when Deanna was so free. But she wouldn’t be as free with her heart, as Deanna. She would be ice underneath it. She would be cold. No one would hurt her again. Never again.
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She wouldn’t be broken again. She was ice. Cold and strong.
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Her first party, her first day as Crissatha Pandora out in the world, it was a success. A roaring success. She played her music, she laughed and she sung and she went wild. She put down her books with a wince. She put away the way she was taught to speak by her mother. She cursed and she swore and she laughed and she flirted. Men had been right to her. Her father. Her best friend. She could trust them, so she flirted with them, laughing and playing.
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She was reborn.
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Merria found her again a few months later. Marrie who had heard tales of the pretty girl with the laughing blue eyes and hoped… and then found her. They reconnected and she insisted on helping her baby sister, on providing at least a little. Cris insisted she could get by on her music but still, her elder sister was stubborn.
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Cris thought she was in love a few months later. But Cris couldn’t love. It hurt to love. Oh that was opening up but she wanted to love. She wanted to try. Her best friend, he shrugged and said he would support her, but he was wild, he was loose, he enjoyed bringing a different girl back each night. But she could do that if she wanted.
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He pinned her down and she screamed. It was too claustrophobic. But he was only playing. Only goofing, only being in the moment. But she screamed. She freaked out. He called her a freak and she threw things at him. They fought. They warred… it got worse and worse. Until…
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Well, love was not for Cris. He ended up with frostbite and she ended up deciding a very important fact. She would harden her heart further. She wouldn’t love. She couldn’t love.She would try again but not for years to come. She played instead. Her heart was not a thing to give away, she learned.
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Turning thirty three was a fateful day. It was a bad day. But a good day. Whoops, is that confusing? Okay, heres the explanation as to why:
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I’m not kicking you out he insisted. That’s what it damn well sounds like! she yelled, she was always yelling, he had unleashed her temper, now he had to deal with it. No more book worm. I don’t want you to think here is all you have. You’re sheltered. See the world. Take your money, play your music, it’s what I did he insisted, gently, reminding her her room was always there, he just wanted what was best. Promise I can always come home?
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Of course
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She set off the next day. She took only her guitar and her love of song, a bag full of what she needed and no more, and enough money to keep her while she tried to establish a music career and a reputation. Her current one was through her best friend. She needed her own. Food, money, music, and clothes. That was all she had. And off she went. She traveled by coach, public transit, or foot. She saw the world, she met people, she flirted, she goofed, she got performances.
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She didn’t make a name for herself for a long while, but she was good enough that she got asked to play once or twice more. Her elf heritage helped, made her more popular, more likely for people to say yes. She started to build up a reputation slowly. Nothing that people would know her by name but enough to help her along the way.
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It was Cris’s determination to grow her name. TO learn more about her ice, to try and figure out more about this person that she was becoming that drove her to a big city or two, to play in bigger places, to get more notice. And she did.
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Remember how I said that she would try again when it came to love? She did. She hung around that city for a long time trying to figure out how to love again. She kissed and kept herself to one boy and smiled and flirted and remembered how to open up under her ice to another person. She laughed and played. She didn’t get softer, of course not, but she felt like… it was okay not to be so hard all the time. She sung for him and he played for her and she had never felt more content. Best friend. Love. What more could she ask for? And she was getting more well known with each show in small circles. That was almost enough. Some day she would play in courts, some day she would sing for the best, and some day her mother would see she was worth more than what she had gotten.
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He respected her need to have her space, both figuratively and literally but it still… fell apart. They both were too fiery. What worked in her friendship didn’t work in her love life. They eventually simply… combusted. And she felt the town to refind her way on the road and build up a new reputation.
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At fifty one she was in for another shock when she stared across the room she was playing in, the small theater she had managed, and caught sight of blue eyes that matched hers and faltered. Jumped off the strage. But he had disappeared.
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It took her months to build her reputation back after that snafu.
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She liked to think that by the time she hit her sixtieth year, she was well known enough to get a spot to play, but she liked her little taverns and she was still building up her reputation after running off the damn stage one day, that had been a bit of a stupid deal for her. All for the chance to meet a father that she didn't even get to see for more than a moment.
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Fate gave her a best friend one night in a tavern.
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She took on a new name: Panda. She hated it. But we’re getting a little ahead again. Rewind.
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It had been a good set that night. The pub was packed and she had made good money, plus some decent tips that got passed her way as she moved. The only problem was it was a little bit too busy. There were absolutely no spots for her to rest, to relax. She didn’t drink and she no longer danced but she was weary and she wanted a moment before she went on her way to somewhere better and new. She growled to herself and scanned the place until she spotted an empty space. Well, okay, so there was someone else there but only one person. And so, without caring, she sat.
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That was the day she met Bug. Oh, I’m sorry. I meant Lianna Lux. To say they hit it off right away wouldn’t exactly be true. They sort of grumbled and growled for a while. But eventually… eventually they realized that they were two birds of a feather. Eventually they bonded over common magic schools and lack of ambition or destination. Eventually they realized that their attitudes were similar enough as to be compatible and that was something that couldn’t be denied.
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So they traveled together. They had no set detination, either of them. It wasn’t like it was a planned thing. It wasn’t like they sat down and decided that was what they were going to do. They simply happened to set out at the same time for the same place and eventually they just became Panda and Bug. One tight knit unit.
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Cris still sang for her supper, and still bummed around and saw the sights and traveled the world but at least now she had someone with her. Someone who didn’t know she had ever been anyone else. Someone who didn’t care what color her eyes were. Her best friend, to put it quite simply. A traveling companion. She didn’t butt into Li’s business and Li didn’t butt into hers. It worked just fine.
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And so life has carried on, again and again, more of the same. She is content with it. But growing a bit restless. A bit needy…
Crissatha was unwanted from the time she reached five years old.
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Oh, well then, that is a horrid way to start things off, isn’t it? Perhaps this tale should start from further back. Back to somewhere around… just after the youngest of her elder sisters was born…
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Marrianna Phasdee was raised properly. She was raised to be the epitome of perfection and class. To be a credit to her family before her and her husband. She knew just what her name meant, just what her status was, and she took pride in everything that she did. She knew who she was, she knew what she wanted and she had no problems doing exactly what she needed to do to ensure that it went the way that she wanted it. Perhaps that was why she married Sarius… he was rather easy to control. A mere shadow of a man, really. She had been attracted to his good family name, and one night when he serenaded her with that music of his… oh, he could produce such music, it made her heart swell. She thought herself in love. She still did even as they carried on in love. She just had an odd way of showing it and a demand that he be exactly as she wished him to be and as she let him carry on with his music while she cared for his household, he saw no reason to complain.
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Their first child was a son. One who brought her great joy. The golden boy, his younger sisters would tease him. The precious one. The one who pretended to do everything that their mother asked while meanwhile, behind her back, he had no problems charming everyone who got close… no matter what he mother thought of their family. Their second was gentle and kind. An innate mother with a talent for charming and being gentle. A healer. One who soon had quite a reputation for herself for just how good she was. Merria was gentle and soft and everything her mother wasn’t. She inherited none of the woman’s hard edges, too much like her father before her. Next came Deeana. The wild child. The partier. The one who traveled and showed off and was bright and flashy and wild. The one who charmed anyone she met. Her mother adored that quality in her.
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And then she got bored. It had been so long, all of her children were out of her house. Her husband bored her. Her life was perfectly managed, smooth, no children to mold and control. She needed something in her life to keep her occupied.
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And then she met him.
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The charmer with the blue eyes. The one who played music, something she was such a sucker for, the one who brought song and life back into her heart. The one she met with two or three times a month for a very long time until she… well. It all started with the tell-tale signs. And then she went to tell her lover who… had disappeared. Oh, it pleased her in a way. No one would know but her. She could keep this little secret and have another little one to mold. It had been at least a decade since Deeana had left the house after all.
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Until she was born with those blue eyes.
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Ariana Phasdee was a quiet child from the start. She barely cried, she barely cooed, she just stared with those blue eyes.
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Merria figured it out when Ariana turned the tender age of five but would never say. No. That would displease her mother. But she took special care to be around more often. Special care to be there when she could be, to be a soothing mothering presence for her little sister.
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Ariana was a book worm. She would read anything she could get her hands on by the age of eight. It should have pleased her mother to have such an intelligent child but… it didn’t. Instead she would criticize each book the toddler picked, wondering why she wasn’t reading something different. Aria would cringe and seek out something better, hoping for a smile like the ones she would get from Merria. Hoping her mother would look her way and just once give her a smile. Instead she would shake her head. So now you’re just going to cave and do anything anyone asks you to do, hm? Ariana, please, have a backbone.
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Her room was her hideaway. Her happy place. That which gave her a bit of joy because she could stockpile books in there. She could pretend she was someone else, somewhere else.
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At the age of nine she learned that her mother was not above demanding she be perfect in interesting ways. She learned that if she did something wrong, her mother would lock her in a tiny room, one she dubbed The Quiet Room, so she could think. It was for her own good apparently. Any child got a time out, apparently. But she hated it. It felt like the walls were closing in. A tiny prisoner at seven years old. She nearly froze herself once… because Aria could play with ice—not that she showed her mother that. Merria oh so gently told her to keep it between them.
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Instead she one day noticed that her baby sister had a different talent. You see, Ariana often went to help her sister with her work. It got her out of the house and out of her mother’s demanding presence. And one day, she showed that she could heal, a little. Nothing wild or as talented as her sister, but it was there. Her mother was delighted, allowing her child to teach the younger any time she liked, hoping for another healer to boost her name, another famous star healer, as she liked to boast of Merria, whether or not it was true.
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At the age of twelve, her brother came back from his travels to see what his little “nugget of a sister” was like. He had no problems pestering their mother about her eyes, eyes she always tried to shield because it made her mother more likely to growl if she caught sight of them.He was the one who laughed and scooped her up and tease a smile from the bookworm. He was the one who taught her to ride a horse, just in front of him. He was the one who put her on a horse too wild for her at the age of twelve, causing him to shout for his younger sister to help, to heal before…. But of course their mother found out. It was one of the only times she yelled at her son. Ariana was still her daughter. An imperfect and wrong daughter, but still hers.
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And after seven or eight months of having her joyful, easy brother in her life, the one who took her mother’s attention away from her because he was so larger than life, he left. Without a word or a goodbye. He left her alone once more. There were only so many times she could escape to Merria’s, only so many times she could need an assistant. So often she was in her mother’s presence… until she decided that her youngest daughter needed something that she could actually attempt to excel in. So gymnastics, tumbling, that became… something she could be taught.
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And she soared. It was freeing. It was wonderful. It took her focus for the next few years of her life. She trained day in and day out and her mother… her mother finally smiled when her daughter got positive notice from her teachers, from others who saw the little bookworm perform. She still would snap and yell you were off, can’t you get that perfect? One more step, get your feet right, plant your hands more firmly, don’t look at me with those eyes, go to your Quiet Room, don’t you dare cry but she showed a bit more pride in her youngest child.
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And then one day she had an off day. She was imperfect. Her tumbles were wrong. She stepped wrong. She couldn’t get it right. She embarrassed her mother horribly in front of her peers. She was hit and locked in her quiet room for so long she thought she might burst. The walls were closing in on her. The frost was creeping so close as she lost it, as she wanted to scream, as she… she couldn’t do this. She needed out. She was only twelve and a half, this wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, she needed to get free, it was… she couldn’t breathe!
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She screamed and screamed but no one came.
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Eventually it was her father who came to her rescue. Her father who knelt down with kind eyes and touched her cheek. Her father who was a shadow that never stood up to her mother let her out. He said nothing. He kissed her forehead and turned away. She crept down the stairs after him, and sat on the last step. Her head resting against the banister. Tears streaming down her little cheeks. And listened to her father play his music until she lulled off to sleep slowly. Until the melody brought her peace. She drifted off and floated among the music, only to wake the next morning in her bed with a song in her heart that her father put there. She adored her father even if her mother wouldn’t let him be around that often. She trailed after him whenever she could with a small smile, listening to him play the instruments her mother informed her she couldn’t play. It wasn’t right.
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Poor little darling did not have an easy start to her life. She tried so hard to find her mother’s love, but it wasn’t something that was meant for her. It wasn’t intended to be hers. Her mother demanded perfection and she had no way to reach it, no child does. But she tried so hard, she sought it out in her tumbling, in her reading, in her healing, in her knowledge. She repressed her ice that her sister thought would make her mother hate her, she repressed her love of music, she sat on the books she would rather read for those her mother would approve of, she was proper and demure and she always tried to place her feet just inside the line. But somehow it always ended her in that room, as her claustrophobia grew… and grew…
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Meeting Deanna was like meeting a whirlwind with legs and hair. The wild child. The one with the reputation. The charmer. Where Merria had children, a family, and at least her elder brother had a wife, Deanna showed no signs of stopping and she didn’t care that her mother would like her to. It would put a cramp in her style. If there was one child who did not care what Mother Fearest wanted, it was this one. She breezed about the world and found her way here or there, making this friend, that connection, getting close in all the right places and knowing all the right people. She was… well, Aria got a little bit starry eyed… it was also the first time anyone called her Aria, instead of Ariana. Deanna liked to rename people in her image, whatever entertained her was the way that it was going to be.
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Deanna took up her mother’s attention much like her brother did. It allowed her to sneak off to her sisters to learn how to control her ice, it allowed her to focus on her tumbling and her reading, it allowed her to let Deanna take up all of the attention and suck the air out of the room, she was good at that. But in a good way. Not a bad one. Aria automatically adored her for it. She worshiped her for it. She trailed after her whenever her mother wasn’t around. Deanna, really, was just plain amused. This little one, this tiny ball of wildly colored hair and blue eyes was such a little sweetheart. She just had to corrupt her, but not yet.
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To Deanna’s credit, she waited until her baby sister was at least seventeen before she dragged her off to a party with her. And proceeded to not keep a very close eye on her. Aria was quiet, she was shy, she didn’t like people getting too close but this was… this was something else. Here it was too loud and vibrant and wonderful for her to worry too much about being wrong and imperfect and offending everyone around her when she spoke, as she was informed she would most likely do. Here the music let her put her tumbling skills to other uses and, though she was careful and shied away from the spotlight, she certainly drew notice. Here boys spoke to her, tall for her age, and she didn’t know what to make of it. Here Deanna laughed and slung her arm around their shoulders telling them to back off a little.
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Here Deanna taught her that it didn’t matter if they touched her a little, it wasn’t a big deal. She was pretty. They liked her, it was power. It was all just power. But she shied away still. Little bookworm back to her books. Little bookworm hide away.
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But Deanna taught her freedom. Deanna was the start of her downfall because Deanna showed her that she didn’t have to always hide away, and be afraid that she was going to just be imperfect for the rest of her life, as she assumed that she would be. She showed her that it was okay to let go a little bit. Merria warned her. Merria told her that Deanna was a bad influence and she had to watch it. She had to not get too close. She should listen to Merria, Merria knew what she was doing. She should stick to her books and her tumbling and try to be good enough for her mother to care.
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Deanna scoffed at her big sister. Deanna and Merria were as different as day and night though they adored each other, only three or four years apart depending on the moment of the month.
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Aria fed on it a little bit. Aria thought that it was okay. Aria started to practice her ice a little bit at home when she thought that she was alone. When she thought that no one was there. It was just a tiny little summoning, barely more than a handful of frost, barely enough to really show off any of the true talent bubbling under her skin that she still doesn’t—well, we’ll get there later. The only problem was that her mother came back too early. She came back too soon for her to cover it up.
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She found her. It didn’t go over well.
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At twenty four, and with a taste of Deanna, she might have fought back a little bit but it was no matter. It was easy for her mother to get her into the quiet room, it was easy for her to look the door. And it was hard for Aria to feel like she could breathe. It just got worse and worse and she left her there longer and longer and tried to break her. Tried to fix what her other daughter had done to all of her hard work to break her youngest to the person she desired her to be. No tide. She could have no tide elf in her. She was a perfect high elf. She couldn’t be overjoyed at her daughters obvious displays of magic because it was tied to the water. It wasn’t right.
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As Aria slowly started having a panic attack, a full blown panic attack, in that little room. Six paces one way, seven another, ack to six, back to seven. Again. Again. She paced. She couldn’t breathe. Ice was growing on the walls as she got too close, Ice frosted over the door. And it was ice that let her break the weakened wood when she slammed herself into it for the sixth time in the middle of the night.
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At twenty four years old, barely even out of being a child in the eyes of her heritage, a toddler and nothing more, Aria packed up what she could and she left. She was intending to run away as far as she could but her feet brought her down a different path before she realized it. The one they had worn down a thousand and one times, the one that took her squarely to her big sister’s doorstep. The one who took her in without a second thought because she knew that this day was coming. She had had a feeling it was. Merria knew that it was only a matter of time. She calmed down her shaking sister, she got her tea and she healed her ails and she put her to bed in the same room as her own two daughters.
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She had always been more of a mother to Aria anyway.
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Aria spent two sullen months in that room. She came out to eat and that was all. She didn’t want to move, she didn’t want to play, she didn’t want to exist because obviously no one else wanted her to either. She read her book sand she cried into her pillows and she tried not to scare her nieces with how sullen she was and how heartbroken. She loved her mother, she hated her mother, but really all she wanted from the woman was to get her approval. The one thing she would never get no matter how hard she tried to do so.
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Staying with Merria was easy. All she wanted was for her sister to smile and assist every now and again when she could manage to get the girl to come out of her room and do so. It wasn’t like it was anything she had never done before. But she would very rarely be persuaded to do so.
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One night, two years down the road, was a fateful one. Apparently her mother could no longer let this little experiment go on. She woke up in the middle of it because she heard voices. Voices she recognized but were not supposed to be there. Deanna and Merria arguing with her mother. Something she hadn’t expected in the slightest. She winced, but couldn’t help but listen. Merria fighting to keep Aria here without caring about the consequences or what people would think, Deanna arguing for her to stay because it would look better on the healing angle, her mother demanding her return for appearances sake and nothing more. And then her sister saying those fateful words.
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You take her back and I’ll tell the world that Daddy isn’t her father. That you had an affair. What will do that do for your perfect image? Deanna hissed. Her mother left. But it was Aria that broke. Her father. The one that she adored. Her father. The only parent that mattered to her wasn’t even hers. Who was she really? Who was her father. Why did everyone lie to her?
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With a sob, she ran away for the second time.
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But how could a girl be expected to know how to survive when she came from an upperclass family that let her want for nothing? She had always lived in the lap of luxury, a family of wealth and power. She had little money to her name, she had no idea how to even fend for herself, she was going to… She was going to die. Fifteen, and how stupid could you be to think you could survive on your own little girl? So smart, so many books, but so dim where it counted. She tumbled for her supper more than once but in the end, her body was used to being treated perfectly, and so…
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One day
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She simply
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Collapsed.
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It was a boy who found her. No, not a boy. A man. About five years years older than her. Only into his thirtieth year, he told her later with a laugh. But he found her. He picked her up. Her took her in. And he backed off when she woke up screaming not to touch her because she had heard stories and she knew better. But he just laughed and backed off. He let her adjust, left out food, played music while she recovered and soothed her battered and bruised little soul. He gave her a room and she made room in herself for him. He was wild, he was loud, he loved to party and he loved to play his music.
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And didn’t mind that it took her a week and a half to say more to him than stay away. He asked her her name. He reminded her that he had no way of knowing it was her real one. He gently, so gently, gave her a chance to start from scratch. She named herself that day, despite being far too young to do so and knowing she would have to pick another as an adult. Crissatha Pandora. He looked at her funny and she shrugged. It reminded her of Ice. And Ice was hers.
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After a while, he grew sick of watching her just stare longingly at his instruments as he played and offered to teach her. She blinked and shook her head. No, that wasn’t right for her. She was always taught that wasn’t right for her. It wasn’t hers. He informed her that that was a lie. She could be anything she wanted to be. She could leave it all behind. Become someone new.
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She loved music. She breathed music, she ate music for every meal and it pleased her so. She was a being through which the music made itself known and that was all that mattered. She ate it up. And one night, he took her to a party with him. He stopped her just before.
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This is your first party as you, he said. This is your moment, he said. This is your reinvention, he said. She thought hard. Merria was her first thought. But Merria was too kind. She couldn’t be kind. She would be broken if she was, life had already taught her that. She thought of Deanna with her wild spirit and her easy laughs and flirts and thought something else. I coud do this. It reminded her of that first party when she felt free, when Deanna was so free. But she wouldn’t be as free with her heart, as Deanna. She would be ice underneath it. She would be cold. No one would hurt her again. Never again.
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She wouldn’t be broken again. She was ice. Cold and strong.
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Her first party, her first day as Crissatha Pandora out in the world, it was a success. A roaring success. She played her music, she laughed and she sung and she went wild. She put down her books with a wince. She put away the way she was taught to speak by her mother. She cursed and she swore and she laughed and she flirted. Men had been right to her. Her father. Her best friend. She could trust them, so she flirted with them, laughing and playing.
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She was reborn.
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Merria found her again a few months later. Marrie who had heard tales of the pretty girl with the laughing blue eyes and hoped… and then found her. They reconnected and she insisted on helping her baby sister, on providing at least a little. Cris insisted she could get by on her music but still, her elder sister was stubborn.
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Cris thought she was in love a few months later. But Cris couldn’t love. It hurt to love. Oh that was opening up but she wanted to love. She wanted to try. Her best friend, he shrugged and said he would support her, but he was wild, he was loose, he enjoyed bringing a different girl back each night. But she could do that if she wanted.
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He pinned her down and she screamed. It was too claustrophobic. But he was only playing. Only goofing, only being in the moment. But she screamed. She freaked out. He called her a freak and she threw things at him. They fought. They warred… it got worse and worse. Until…
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Well, love was not for Cris. He ended up with frostbite and she ended up deciding a very important fact. She would harden her heart further. She wouldn’t love. She couldn’t love.
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Turning thirty three was a fateful day. It was a bad day. But a good day. Whoops, is that confusing? Okay, heres the explanation as to why:
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I’m not kicking you out he insisted. That’s what it damn well sounds like! she yelled, she was always yelling, he had unleashed her temper, now he had to deal with it. No more book worm. I don’t want you to think here is all you have. You’re sheltered. See the world. Take your money, play your music, it’s what I did he insisted, gently, reminding her her room was always there, he just wanted what was best. Promise I can always come home?
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Of course
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She set off the next day. She took only her guitar and her love of song, a bag full of what she needed and no more, and enough money to keep her while she tried to establish a music career and a reputation. Her current one was through her best friend. She needed her own. Food, money, music, and clothes. That was all she had. And off she went. She traveled by coach, public transit, or foot. She saw the world, she met people, she flirted, she goofed, she got performances.
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She didn’t make a name for herself for a long while, but she was good enough that she got asked to play once or twice more. Her elf heritage helped, made her more popular, more likely for people to say yes. She started to build up a reputation slowly. Nothing that people would know her by name but enough to help her along the way.
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It was Cris’s determination to grow her name. TO learn more about her ice, to try and figure out more about this person that she was becoming that drove her to a big city or two, to play in bigger places, to get more notice. And she did.
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Remember how I said that she would try again when it came to love? She did. She hung around that city for a long time trying to figure out how to love again. She kissed and kept herself to one boy and smiled and flirted and remembered how to open up under her ice to another person. She laughed and played. She didn’t get softer, of course not, but she felt like… it was okay not to be so hard all the time. She sung for him and he played for her and she had never felt more content. Best friend. Love. What more could she ask for? And she was getting more well known with each show in small circles. That was almost enough. Some day she would play in courts, some day she would sing for the best, and some day her mother would see she was worth more than what she had gotten.
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He respected her need to have her space, both figuratively and literally but it still… fell apart. They both were too fiery. What worked in her friendship didn’t work in her love life. They eventually simply… combusted. And she felt the town to refind her way on the road and build up a new reputation.
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At fifty one she was in for another shock when she stared across the room she was playing in, the small theater she had managed, and caught sight of blue eyes that matched hers and faltered. Jumped off the strage. But he had disappeared.
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It took her months to build her reputation back after that snafu.
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She liked to think that by the time she hit her sixtieth year, she was well known enough to get a spot to play, but she liked her little taverns and she was still building up her reputation after running off the damn stage one day, that had been a bit of a stupid deal for her. All for the chance to meet a father that she didn't even get to see for more than a moment.
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Fate gave her a best friend one night in a tavern.
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She took on a new name: Panda. She hated it. But we’re getting a little ahead again. Rewind.
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It had been a good set that night. The pub was packed and she had made good money, plus some decent tips that got passed her way as she moved. The only problem was it was a little bit too busy. There were absolutely no spots for her to rest, to relax. She didn’t drink and she no longer danced but she was weary and she wanted a moment before she went on her way to somewhere better and new. She growled to herself and scanned the place until she spotted an empty space. Well, okay, so there was someone else there but only one person. And so, without caring, she sat.
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That was the day she met Bug. Oh, I’m sorry. I meant Lianna Lux. To say they hit it off right away wouldn’t exactly be true. They sort of grumbled and growled for a while. But eventually… eventually they realized that they were two birds of a feather. Eventually they bonded over common magic schools and lack of ambition or destination. Eventually they realized that their attitudes were similar enough as to be compatible and that was something that couldn’t be denied.
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So they traveled together. They had no set detination, either of them. It wasn’t like it was a planned thing. It wasn’t like they sat down and decided that was what they were going to do. They simply happened to set out at the same time for the same place and eventually they just became Panda and Bug. One tight knit unit.
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Cris still sang for her supper, and still bummed around and saw the sights and traveled the world but at least now she had someone with her. Someone who didn’t know she had ever been anyone else. Someone who didn’t care what color her eyes were. Her best friend, to put it quite simply. A traveling companion. She didn’t butt into Li’s business and Li didn’t butt into hers. It worked just fine.
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And so life has carried on, again and again, more of the same. She is content with it. But growing a bit restless. A bit needy…
[attr="class","appheading"]ABILITIES
[attr="class","appcontainer"]
[attr="class","appability"]➢ Fey Ancestry[break]
Being descended from Fey, the elves do not require sleep. Instead, they meditate in order to get their rest. Even magical sleep has no effect on elves. In addition, elves are much more skilled at resisting the effects of Enchantment school magic, particularly if they have been trained thoroughly.
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[attr="class","appability"]➢ weapons training[break]
Elves who grew up in elven communities are often taught from an early age how to use certain weapons used for hunting. Bows for those elves who live in forests, scimitars for the desert elves, or spears for water-based elves - for Cris, this is mostly in that she's agile. Tumbler and all. Not so much the weapons.
[break][break]
[attr="class","appability"]➢ Evocation magic[break]
Cris's magic files under the evocation school of magic. It showed itself young in little healing touches which she can sort of still do but not so much. She prefers ice but for the most part she definitely wastes this ability to focus on her music instead. But it's there. Strong enough to be noticable but not enough to be big and showy
[break][break]
[attr="class","appability"]➢ Ice Creation[break]
Cris has the ability to summon small amounts of ice, frost, freezing temperatures around her. It's really where she focuses her magic.
[break][break]
[attr="class","appability"]➢ Fey Ancestry[break]
Being descended from Fey, the elves do not require sleep. Instead, they meditate in order to get their rest. Even magical sleep has no effect on elves. In addition, elves are much more skilled at resisting the effects of Enchantment school magic, particularly if they have been trained thoroughly.
[break][break]
[attr="class","appability"]➢ weapons training[break]
Elves who grew up in elven communities are often taught from an early age how to use certain weapons used for hunting. Bows for those elves who live in forests, scimitars for the desert elves, or spears for water-based elves - for Cris, this is mostly in that she's agile. Tumbler and all. Not so much the weapons.
[break][break]
[attr="class","appability"]➢ Evocation magic[break]
Cris's magic files under the evocation school of magic. It showed itself young in little healing touches which she can sort of still do but not so much. She prefers ice but for the most part she definitely wastes this ability to focus on her music instead. But it's there. Strong enough to be noticable but not enough to be big and showy
[break][break]
[attr="class","appability"]➢ Ice Creation[break]
Cris has the ability to summon small amounts of ice, frost, freezing temperatures around her. It's really where she focuses her magic.
[break][break]
[attr="class","appheading"]Fortuna-RPG
