Lunacy
09-05-12, 01:10 AM
Name: Magdalena De'lune
Age: 17
Race: Human
Hair Color: Strawberry Blonde
Eye Color: Green
Height: 5'2"
Weight: 127lbs
Appearance:
I sat in the doctor's office, staring at my feet while I waited for him to come in. Sitting on the examination table, my feet danged off the edge. My black leather boots dangled over the floor, the left black ribbon lace untied and dragging long the white tile as I rolled circles with my ankle. My jeans were tucked into them, worn and almost frayed through at the knees. I'd had them forever, but I'd never been easy on my clothes. As time ticked by, the clock gently counting by the seconds, tock, tock, tock, and nervously I moved one pale and freckled hand up to sweep my bangs out of the way. A strap from one of my tank tops dropped down my shoulder, and I didn't bother fixing it. More time went by and I started to fiddle with the bottom hem of my shirts. The undershirt was black, with lace edging along the bottom. I'd layered a sage green top over that. It was my favorite outfit, though not one I dared to wear to school. I wondered for a moment if I was going to need to go back to the hospital for another overnight visit. I hadn't packed any other clothes. All I really wanted to go home and sleep. Running a hand through my light ponytail, pulling the hair back and letting it sit on my left shoulder, I sighed. The doorknob turned. I wanted to believe there was good news for me coming from the other side.
Skills:
Axemanship - Dad always used the chore of cutting wood for the fireplace to try and toughen me up. As such, I'm pretty handy with an axe. Hey, you send a teenager out into the woods, and you think they aren't going to just bust some stuff up until they get used to it?
Abilities:
To sleep, perchance to dream - In times of great stress, once per thread, Mags can "pause" time. This involves waking herself up from the dream and returning to her time until she sleeps again, in which she will be re-transported to Althanas as the exact moment she left off. Any wounds gained in Althanas will be minimally healed upon return. However, no matter how long she stays out of Althanas, returning after a heavy injury or serious would will see the wound unhealed. In depth healing must be gained in Althanas.
Equipment:
Armor Leather breeches, boots, gauntlets, greaves which are iron reinforced, and iron studded leather pauldrons.
Axe A steel axe with a leather-bound handle[/i]
History:
The doctor that sat across from me was a middle aged Egyptian immigrant. I knew him well by now, having come to see him over the last few weeks. He had salt and pepper hair, dark beard and eyes, and a friendly disposition. I listened as he explained the results of my tests with his thick accent. It was the kind of voice that would make a rich coffee if you could bottle it up. "It's definitely insomnia, especially from what we saw in the sleep study."
"The lack of sleep study," I corrected, barely laughing at my own lame attempt at a joke. He glanced at me for a moment, smiling wryly himself before looking back down at my chart.
"Over the counter medications haven't had much affect," he said. "We're going to try this. It's a new prescription medication and I think we'll have success with it. Also," he fidgeted nervously as he closed the chart and leaned forward to pass me the pink slip with my prescription scrawled on it. "I'd like you to see a counselor. You mentioned and we saw some evidence of nightmares when you do manage to get to sleep. Working through some of the....ah," he paused and I could see him consider how best to put things, "underlying issues of some of your anxiety, it could help you sleep more restfully, for longer. I think it's important for you to gain real relief."
I nodded, letting the rest drone on as background noise. My anxieties. Ha. It was almost laughable. They weren't anxieties, to me. They were real persecutions. While I respected my doctor, it was just another reminder that I was different, that he couldn't relate to me. But I was tired, too tired to argue and insist I didn't need therapy - I needed a change in scenery. At this point, I would agree to anything if only it would let me sleep. The clinic made my follow up appointments and referrals, and I somehow ended up back home with my medication.
Getting ready for bed was almost a ritual these days. It always went the same. Step one: struggle through dinner with the sneering remarks Dad would have, watch my mother suffer the discomfort in silence. Roll eyes, eat potatoes, wash dishes, take a shower. I brushed my teeth, I combed my hair. I slipped into my pajamas, a pair of shorts and an oversized tee shirt from a chili cook-off the family had gone to last summer. My insistence to wear a dress had infuriated my father to the point where he'd bought the shirt the moment we got there and forced me to change into it and a spare pair of pants he'd had in the back.
Finally, I grabbed the little orange bottle from the side of the dresser. I read the fine print on the label, staring for a moment at the phone number to a suicide prevention line at the very bottom. Did that really happen? Did people just take all their sleeping pills and drift away? It seemed like something that only happened in the movies. After the cap was off, I shook the pills into my cupped hand. They were so small for a moment I doubted they could work. Something so tiny shouldn't be allowed to be so powerful. But then, I thought, what about me? I'd always been short in height and slight in stature. Didn't I have strength? I shook my head. Now wasn't the time to think. It was time for sleep. I took two of the pills and settled into bed with a book, the small lamp at my bedside giving the room a cool, dim glow as I started thumbing to the last page I'd left off.
Ah, fiction, I thought. An epic battle, a maiden to be saved, a hero lifted up from humble beginnings. The books I liked usually had something to do with the hero running away to better times, better places. If only it was so easy. My mood turned quickly, and it was with bitter thoughts in my mind that I finally drifted to sleep. The last I remembered was placing the open book against my chest, sighing. I wasn't tired, I thought, but surely it wouldn't hurt to rest my eyes...
When I opened them again, I wasn't in my room. Confusion slammed over me and I jumped to my feet. Something heavy fell away from my arm, thudding into the grass. How did I get outside? I looked around, finding myself in the midst of a field. Tended rows of tilled soil rain across, organized lines of leaves erupting from the mounds of dirt. The horizon was unfamiliar, not a building in sight as far as my eyes could see. Then I looked down. I was wearing my clothes from earlier in the day, but with accessories of some sort. Leather, embroidered and covered in laces and buckles, swaddled my arms, legs, and sat on my shoulder like protective pets. At my feet, the thump I'd heard as I wakened, was an axe. For a moment I stared at it before I realized it was the axe I used to cut the firewood from the back lot. Still reeling with disbelief, I leaned down to pick it up. Was I dreaming? This couldn't be real. As soon as I thought it, trying to focus on the fact that I was dreaming, to wake up and be in my room, a fuzz seemed to envelope my mind. I closed my eyes, feeling out of balance, almost floating for a moment. I couldn't concentrate, no matter how hard I tried. I could feel my certainty that I was dreaming slipping from my fingers. As I gave up on the thought, I felt fine, grounded again as if I were once more in control of my body, my fate.
And so, I did the only thing that I could. I began to walk.
Age: 17
Race: Human
Hair Color: Strawberry Blonde
Eye Color: Green
Height: 5'2"
Weight: 127lbs
Appearance:
I sat in the doctor's office, staring at my feet while I waited for him to come in. Sitting on the examination table, my feet danged off the edge. My black leather boots dangled over the floor, the left black ribbon lace untied and dragging long the white tile as I rolled circles with my ankle. My jeans were tucked into them, worn and almost frayed through at the knees. I'd had them forever, but I'd never been easy on my clothes. As time ticked by, the clock gently counting by the seconds, tock, tock, tock, and nervously I moved one pale and freckled hand up to sweep my bangs out of the way. A strap from one of my tank tops dropped down my shoulder, and I didn't bother fixing it. More time went by and I started to fiddle with the bottom hem of my shirts. The undershirt was black, with lace edging along the bottom. I'd layered a sage green top over that. It was my favorite outfit, though not one I dared to wear to school. I wondered for a moment if I was going to need to go back to the hospital for another overnight visit. I hadn't packed any other clothes. All I really wanted to go home and sleep. Running a hand through my light ponytail, pulling the hair back and letting it sit on my left shoulder, I sighed. The doorknob turned. I wanted to believe there was good news for me coming from the other side.
Skills:
Axemanship - Dad always used the chore of cutting wood for the fireplace to try and toughen me up. As such, I'm pretty handy with an axe. Hey, you send a teenager out into the woods, and you think they aren't going to just bust some stuff up until they get used to it?
Abilities:
To sleep, perchance to dream - In times of great stress, once per thread, Mags can "pause" time. This involves waking herself up from the dream and returning to her time until she sleeps again, in which she will be re-transported to Althanas as the exact moment she left off. Any wounds gained in Althanas will be minimally healed upon return. However, no matter how long she stays out of Althanas, returning after a heavy injury or serious would will see the wound unhealed. In depth healing must be gained in Althanas.
Equipment:
Armor Leather breeches, boots, gauntlets, greaves which are iron reinforced, and iron studded leather pauldrons.
Axe A steel axe with a leather-bound handle[/i]
History:
The doctor that sat across from me was a middle aged Egyptian immigrant. I knew him well by now, having come to see him over the last few weeks. He had salt and pepper hair, dark beard and eyes, and a friendly disposition. I listened as he explained the results of my tests with his thick accent. It was the kind of voice that would make a rich coffee if you could bottle it up. "It's definitely insomnia, especially from what we saw in the sleep study."
"The lack of sleep study," I corrected, barely laughing at my own lame attempt at a joke. He glanced at me for a moment, smiling wryly himself before looking back down at my chart.
"Over the counter medications haven't had much affect," he said. "We're going to try this. It's a new prescription medication and I think we'll have success with it. Also," he fidgeted nervously as he closed the chart and leaned forward to pass me the pink slip with my prescription scrawled on it. "I'd like you to see a counselor. You mentioned and we saw some evidence of nightmares when you do manage to get to sleep. Working through some of the....ah," he paused and I could see him consider how best to put things, "underlying issues of some of your anxiety, it could help you sleep more restfully, for longer. I think it's important for you to gain real relief."
I nodded, letting the rest drone on as background noise. My anxieties. Ha. It was almost laughable. They weren't anxieties, to me. They were real persecutions. While I respected my doctor, it was just another reminder that I was different, that he couldn't relate to me. But I was tired, too tired to argue and insist I didn't need therapy - I needed a change in scenery. At this point, I would agree to anything if only it would let me sleep. The clinic made my follow up appointments and referrals, and I somehow ended up back home with my medication.
Getting ready for bed was almost a ritual these days. It always went the same. Step one: struggle through dinner with the sneering remarks Dad would have, watch my mother suffer the discomfort in silence. Roll eyes, eat potatoes, wash dishes, take a shower. I brushed my teeth, I combed my hair. I slipped into my pajamas, a pair of shorts and an oversized tee shirt from a chili cook-off the family had gone to last summer. My insistence to wear a dress had infuriated my father to the point where he'd bought the shirt the moment we got there and forced me to change into it and a spare pair of pants he'd had in the back.
Finally, I grabbed the little orange bottle from the side of the dresser. I read the fine print on the label, staring for a moment at the phone number to a suicide prevention line at the very bottom. Did that really happen? Did people just take all their sleeping pills and drift away? It seemed like something that only happened in the movies. After the cap was off, I shook the pills into my cupped hand. They were so small for a moment I doubted they could work. Something so tiny shouldn't be allowed to be so powerful. But then, I thought, what about me? I'd always been short in height and slight in stature. Didn't I have strength? I shook my head. Now wasn't the time to think. It was time for sleep. I took two of the pills and settled into bed with a book, the small lamp at my bedside giving the room a cool, dim glow as I started thumbing to the last page I'd left off.
Ah, fiction, I thought. An epic battle, a maiden to be saved, a hero lifted up from humble beginnings. The books I liked usually had something to do with the hero running away to better times, better places. If only it was so easy. My mood turned quickly, and it was with bitter thoughts in my mind that I finally drifted to sleep. The last I remembered was placing the open book against my chest, sighing. I wasn't tired, I thought, but surely it wouldn't hurt to rest my eyes...
When I opened them again, I wasn't in my room. Confusion slammed over me and I jumped to my feet. Something heavy fell away from my arm, thudding into the grass. How did I get outside? I looked around, finding myself in the midst of a field. Tended rows of tilled soil rain across, organized lines of leaves erupting from the mounds of dirt. The horizon was unfamiliar, not a building in sight as far as my eyes could see. Then I looked down. I was wearing my clothes from earlier in the day, but with accessories of some sort. Leather, embroidered and covered in laces and buckles, swaddled my arms, legs, and sat on my shoulder like protective pets. At my feet, the thump I'd heard as I wakened, was an axe. For a moment I stared at it before I realized it was the axe I used to cut the firewood from the back lot. Still reeling with disbelief, I leaned down to pick it up. Was I dreaming? This couldn't be real. As soon as I thought it, trying to focus on the fact that I was dreaming, to wake up and be in my room, a fuzz seemed to envelope my mind. I closed my eyes, feeling out of balance, almost floating for a moment. I couldn't concentrate, no matter how hard I tried. I could feel my certainty that I was dreaming slipping from my fingers. As I gave up on the thought, I felt fine, grounded again as if I were once more in control of my body, my fate.
And so, I did the only thing that I could. I began to walk.