Antipracticality
05-26-09, 05:54 PM
Name: Camarie Delacour
True Age: 26
Race: Human
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Brown
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 140 lbs
Personality: Nervous and mad, she thinks herself to be an elderly gentleman by the name of Professor Paddington. She is quick to run away and is convinced that she is being pursued by a group of men who want the blueprints to her inventions. She believes that all women in the world have been killed and that men have become cannibals, with herself being the last remaining civilized mind among the masses. Thusly, she is fabulous at Eggs Benedict.
Appearance: Rather plain features grace her face, while her dark hair is kept sheared inches short and brushed backwards. She wears a well kept after pork pie hat in black felt with a dark blue ribbon about the crown. She wears black trousers with dark blue suspenders over a white button up shirt, all just a size or two too large for her. The suspenders slip down her shoulders often, and only a rope belt keeps the pants held up. Her feet are bare of shoes, and while her hat is meticulous, her clothes are often worn and grubby. She carries a pipe, though it is always empty. She walks with a slight limp that has no medical founding and while she appears to have trouble getting around without the cane, she doesn't carry it correctly and sometimes when exceptionally distracted will drop the limp, carrying the cane at her side.
History: "History makes fools of us all," her father was eager to say. When the Delacour family, who had always been well off and knew the value of saving and watching their funds, finally bowed to the inevitable and submitted their middle daughter to the Shanoir Institute, Henry Delacour found himself muttering the old adage again. The fact of the matter was that Camarie was ill, and had been ill for most of her life. The time had finally come, upon her eighth birthday, when the little ticks of her personality had taken her from an imaginative child to an odd one and right along the path to hopping mad. The Delacours, who were frugal and logical, could no longer care for that which was pure delirium. So, they shut her away.
It had been charming when as a toddler of merely three she had been apt to shuffle around with grandfather's cane, proclaim that she was older than the dirt itself and that she was looking for her wooden teeth. It had tugged on Marie Delacour's heartstrings many a time to see young Camarie sitting at Grandfather's feet, and telling him in earnest that she loved him because he was the only one who knew what it was like to be truly old. Odd, of course, but sweet nonetheless. When she came of school age, however, things that had been sweet and charming were now an annoyance and a spectacle. Her refusal to use the girl's necessities made teachers talk of what sort of morals the Delacours taught to their children, her demands that her teachers show her some due respect were embarrassments that no amount of spankings and lecturing could stop.
And so, quietly Camarie Delacour entered the institute as a child. Nearly twenty years passed. The doctors could bring about no change in her, and no therapy, be it herb or hypnosis, could pull her mind into clarity. Finally, it was decided that she would be forever mad, and as long as the Delacour family continued to pay for room and board, Camarie would be safe. The winter after her twenty fifth birthday, her behavior took a turn for the stranger.
When the servants went to clean her room, they began to find papers that had been nearly blackened with quick, frantic words. None seemed to make sense, line up into sentences, and after a few weeks lines and circles and graphs began to accompany them. Every week the maids would bring the doctors stacks of these notes, and it seemed that the more that disappeared, the more they would see odd behaviors emerge from Camarie herself. She began to insist on making her own meals, to the point of starving herself until the cook finally taught her Eggs Benedict. She could be seen much of the time pacing back and forth before a window, taking peeks behind the curtains every few moments. For a time, she was left alone, the notes untouched from where they were found under pillows and deep within dresser drawers, and the woman calmed down.
One evening, an orderly heard her humming to herself before the fire. The next day, the doctors came in and once again seized her notes, looking desperately for a key to unlocking the madness. The next morning, her anxiety had returned, this time with an awful limp. The Institute wrote to her family, asking for any notes or drawings of her youth, but instead Grandfather appeared one day at the hospital. Camarie and he sat in silence by the fire for some time. He gave her his pipe and his cane, and upon leaving told the doctors, "Let an old man be."
A week went by without incident, until one night the window to Camarie's room was found flung open, and she gone with her few possessions.
Skills: None
Equipment:
Fine Swordcane: A mahogany cane with an ivory handle, the handle is pulled out to reveal a thin rapier blade made of steel.
Master Papers: A collection of four sheaves of paper, all scribbled in intelligible handwriting with doodles of geometric shapes, angles and "doohickeys". Most of the writing is smudged.
True Age: 26
Race: Human
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Brown
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 140 lbs
Personality: Nervous and mad, she thinks herself to be an elderly gentleman by the name of Professor Paddington. She is quick to run away and is convinced that she is being pursued by a group of men who want the blueprints to her inventions. She believes that all women in the world have been killed and that men have become cannibals, with herself being the last remaining civilized mind among the masses. Thusly, she is fabulous at Eggs Benedict.
Appearance: Rather plain features grace her face, while her dark hair is kept sheared inches short and brushed backwards. She wears a well kept after pork pie hat in black felt with a dark blue ribbon about the crown. She wears black trousers with dark blue suspenders over a white button up shirt, all just a size or two too large for her. The suspenders slip down her shoulders often, and only a rope belt keeps the pants held up. Her feet are bare of shoes, and while her hat is meticulous, her clothes are often worn and grubby. She carries a pipe, though it is always empty. She walks with a slight limp that has no medical founding and while she appears to have trouble getting around without the cane, she doesn't carry it correctly and sometimes when exceptionally distracted will drop the limp, carrying the cane at her side.
History: "History makes fools of us all," her father was eager to say. When the Delacour family, who had always been well off and knew the value of saving and watching their funds, finally bowed to the inevitable and submitted their middle daughter to the Shanoir Institute, Henry Delacour found himself muttering the old adage again. The fact of the matter was that Camarie was ill, and had been ill for most of her life. The time had finally come, upon her eighth birthday, when the little ticks of her personality had taken her from an imaginative child to an odd one and right along the path to hopping mad. The Delacours, who were frugal and logical, could no longer care for that which was pure delirium. So, they shut her away.
It had been charming when as a toddler of merely three she had been apt to shuffle around with grandfather's cane, proclaim that she was older than the dirt itself and that she was looking for her wooden teeth. It had tugged on Marie Delacour's heartstrings many a time to see young Camarie sitting at Grandfather's feet, and telling him in earnest that she loved him because he was the only one who knew what it was like to be truly old. Odd, of course, but sweet nonetheless. When she came of school age, however, things that had been sweet and charming were now an annoyance and a spectacle. Her refusal to use the girl's necessities made teachers talk of what sort of morals the Delacours taught to their children, her demands that her teachers show her some due respect were embarrassments that no amount of spankings and lecturing could stop.
And so, quietly Camarie Delacour entered the institute as a child. Nearly twenty years passed. The doctors could bring about no change in her, and no therapy, be it herb or hypnosis, could pull her mind into clarity. Finally, it was decided that she would be forever mad, and as long as the Delacour family continued to pay for room and board, Camarie would be safe. The winter after her twenty fifth birthday, her behavior took a turn for the stranger.
When the servants went to clean her room, they began to find papers that had been nearly blackened with quick, frantic words. None seemed to make sense, line up into sentences, and after a few weeks lines and circles and graphs began to accompany them. Every week the maids would bring the doctors stacks of these notes, and it seemed that the more that disappeared, the more they would see odd behaviors emerge from Camarie herself. She began to insist on making her own meals, to the point of starving herself until the cook finally taught her Eggs Benedict. She could be seen much of the time pacing back and forth before a window, taking peeks behind the curtains every few moments. For a time, she was left alone, the notes untouched from where they were found under pillows and deep within dresser drawers, and the woman calmed down.
One evening, an orderly heard her humming to herself before the fire. The next day, the doctors came in and once again seized her notes, looking desperately for a key to unlocking the madness. The next morning, her anxiety had returned, this time with an awful limp. The Institute wrote to her family, asking for any notes or drawings of her youth, but instead Grandfather appeared one day at the hospital. Camarie and he sat in silence by the fire for some time. He gave her his pipe and his cane, and upon leaving told the doctors, "Let an old man be."
A week went by without incident, until one night the window to Camarie's room was found flung open, and she gone with her few possessions.
Skills: None
Equipment:
Fine Swordcane: A mahogany cane with an ivory handle, the handle is pulled out to reveal a thin rapier blade made of steel.
Master Papers: A collection of four sheaves of paper, all scribbled in intelligible handwriting with doodles of geometric shapes, angles and "doohickeys". Most of the writing is smudged.