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[color=00aeef][h3][u] A N Y A  E C K E R D [/u]
[sup] f e m a l e - e i g h t e e n - AB p o s i t i v e   [/sup][/h3][/color][/center]
[sub][color=00aeef][u]	Ｍ Ｕ Ｔ Ａ Ｔ Ｉ Ｏ Ｎ Ｓ		[/u][/color][/sub][indent][indent]
[color=004b80]-Telekinesis[/color][indent][color=90bbbb]Simply enough, Anya can move inanimate objects with her mind. As it is, she cannot move big things, but something small, or lightweight, she can handle. How fast, or far she can make something move is mostly a matter of intent, and focus, but even then her scope is, for the time being, quite narrow.[/color][/indent][color=004b80]-Banshee[/color][indent][color=90bbbb]Anya was always very meager, but with the onset of her mutations, these attributes have begun to root. She’s a rather brittle girl, almost skeletal, thin of bone and muscle and prone to bruising. She walks in an even drift, and such a ghostly appearance is only further cemented by perhaps her most notable mutation: her hair, sapped of its color floats when uncovered. Not directly up per se, but more like a muted submersion. Competing for this slot would be either the third eye opened on her forehead, or the sleek, fleshy pair of antennae sprouted from her skull. Were it not for the fact that she often keeps the eye closed and covered, along with the antennae, by a hat or hood, these would most certainly take the cake.[/color][/indent][color=004b80]-Wraith[/color][indent][color=90bbbb]Anya's mutation operates in two modes: her passive, pale, "banshee"-like state, and the easily identifiable "active" state. As she continually uses her telekinesis, most semblances of physical humanity are gradually lost. At its peak, her eyes open for the duration, and are overwhelmed by a vibrant white glow. Her flesh darkens dramatically over time, nearing pitch, but her veins brighten similar to her eyes, and create a twisting, spindly visage through the skin. This form, while perhaps intimidating, offers no underlying defense, and past her telekinesis she is no more physically volatile than in her passive state.[/color][/indent]
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[sub][color=00aeef][u]	Ａ Ｐ Ｐ Ｅ Ａ Ｒ Ａ Ｎ Ｃ Ｅ		[/u][/color][/sub][indent][indent]
[color=90bbbb]Anya is not possessed of a figure that inspires terror. She is perhaps unnerving to behold, but on even the basest practical consideration there is not much to fear at a glance. She is short for her age, a trait of her father, with glassy blue eyes wide as a doll’s nestled into her skull. Her face is gaunt and like a raindrop turned upward, with contrastingly full hair that, were it not for her mutation, would fall fair about her shoulders. 

More drastically, she is alarmingly narrow–thanks as well to her mutation. Her thin skin, like her hair, seems utterly drained of life and color. The blues of her veins bulge along her arms, and as she walks, one might strain to even hear it. It is not uncommon to see her bruised, angry winds can set her tumbling and though she tries to avoid bumping into things, any wayward encounter with a “push/pull” door could easily leave her shoulders purple for a time. 

She tends to chill and so will often dress generously. Long pants and jackets with hoods to keep her hair in check, a scarf for the chilly nights–or even the not so chilly nights–and gloves or arm warmers are not out of the ordinary. Even casually, she’ll usually keep a beanie on, with her hair tucked as away as she can remember to keep it. 

Anya’s cold and diminished appearance might render her unapproachable altogether, were it not for how often she smiles, and how warm those smiles tend to be.[/color]
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[sub][color=00aeef][u]	Ｐ Ｅ Ｒ Ｓ Ｏ Ｎ Ａ Ｌ Ｉ Ｔ Ｙ		[/u][/color][/sub][indent][indent]
[color=90bbbb]While she may look ghastly, cold, and distant, Anya is in fact a stark opposite to her mutation. One might get this idea first by her smile, which manages to light up her face unaided by her dull eyes. But, supposing otherwise, one might think through a conversation with her, that she’d no idea the state the world, or even she herself, was in. 

With Anya, everything is “how’re you doing?” and “can I help?” She’d give the shirt off her back if it meant someone else could be warm, and finds herself running errands for others almost compulsively. She enjoys the feeling of a job well done, but especially revels in the accomplishments of others, and so tends to put aside her own goals. 

Unfortunately, be it with naiveté natural to her age or to herself, Anya is rather gullible. It does not take much to get a lie over her head, even without proof, and sob-stories especially will capture her with ease.

In addition, while good-intentioned and warm-hearted, growing up Russian in a country at war with Russia has taught her to be reserved with her own life. Should one feel inclined to ask her about herself, they would receive conservative responses, and could expect a deflection to another topic. Perhaps it is no longer the case that such caution is necessary, but it is a habit, and a hard one to break.[/color] 
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[sub][color=00aeef][u]	Ｂ Ｉ Ｏ Ｇ Ｒ Ａ Ｐ Ｈ Ｙ		[/u][/color][/sub]
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[color=90bbbb]Mother had made a mistake. 

Her entire life, Anya had been aware that she and her mother were no explicitly welcome in the United States. She knew she had been born in Russia, and she knew her family name was not Eckerd, but not what it truly was. She knew she could not speak Russian outside of the house, and had learned English as her first language, then how to mask her accent–which was admittedly much easier given how minimal it was.

All of this had come to her naturally and without grief. Her mother did not mourn her old home, and Anya had been too young to remember it. They’d spent years building their life in New Windsor, settling into a community that knew her mother as “Alexis” and herself as “Ana” and for the most part it had been easy. There had been times growing up that Anya was afraid she’d slipped, but if there’d ever been cause for suspicion, it was never acted upon or even acknowledged. 

And so, when she’d fumbled a plate to the floor at a neighbor’s dinner party, she was shocked when her mother openly scolded her in Russian. 

As they hurried home, Anya learned it had not been some act of protest, or a pent up release of guilt, but a simple fluke of memory meeting the fickle nature of habits learned young. 

Mother locked the door, they began to pack. 

“We’ll stay with Uncle Anton, hide out in his butcher shop,” she said. Anton was not uncle to either of them, but he’d come to the states on the same trip and had been kind. Anya hoped he would not be inconvenienced. 

She did not get to pack much before the knocks came, angry and many. 

“Go, Anya,” mother said, and gave a knife to her. “I will talk to them, and be at Anton’s tonight.” 

Anya believed her for the first two days, but her mother was a good liar. Anton pretended to be surprised, but he must have known when she arrived alone that she would be staying alone. 

The worry made her antsy, and without school to fill her time, eventually she started running errands for Anton. They were far enough from home that anyone searching would be caught up elsewhere, and she kept herself discreet regardless.

She kept her hopes up, all the way to the [u]First Day[/u]. All it took then was the brief time returning from one Anton’s errands for the world to fall apart. She walked at first, avoided the commotion where it was isolated, but before long she was sprinting back to Anton’s butcher shop, terrified. 

Anton was dead, or maybe he wasn’t. He was something, something else, [i]not[/i] Anton. He grabbed her wrist, and it felt like her arm might shatter in his hand. When he shoved her against the counter, growling like some horrible animal, she reached out on instinct for the knives dangling above. Her reach should not have been great enough, it wasn’t, she looked, but when she did, the cleaver flew to her wildly. It missed her hand, missed her altogether, but sank deep into Anton’s skull, and he fell away limp. 

The shock didn’t set immediately. She managed to get upstairs before collapsing, and from there it wasn’t long until she glanced into the mirror, and saw what was happening to her. She looked hollow, sick, and the color was all but draining out of her from head to toe. Her hair began to drift, and when rubbing her eyes failed to resolve the issue, she thought she might have been losing her mind.

Outside everything was chaos, from her window Anya could see people running, either away from or after others. She turned off her light and huddled into a corner, quiet as she could, despite the burning in her wrist. She didn’t sleep, but time blurred before she checked outside again. It was dark, things were quieter but only just, and she knew she could not stay put for very long.[/color] [/indent][/indent][/hider]

[sub][color=00aeef][u]	Ｅ Ｑ Ｕ Ｉ Ｐ Ｍ Ｅ Ｎ Ｔ		[/u][/color][/sub][indent][indent]
[color=004b80]-Mother’s Knife[/color][indent][color=90bbbb]A simple knife, with a cross guard and ebony-wood hilt. The initials “A A” are carved at its base.[/color][/indent][/indent][/indent]
[sub][color=00aeef][u]	Ｐ Ｒ Ｏ Ｆ Ｉ Ｃ Ｉ Ｅ Ｎ Ｃ Ｉ Ｅ Ｓ		[/u][/color][/sub][indent][indent]
[color=004b80][color=39b54a]+[/color]"Flitter"[/color][indent][color=90bbbb]The “sweet” to the bittersweet gift that is her mutation. Anya is quick and quiet as a result of her diminished being, and is difficult to hear even when she [i]isn’t[/i] attempting to be silent. While by no means an experienced sneak, having the practical tools necessary for being subtle lend themselves to a degree of natural stealth.[/color][/indent][color=004b80][color=39b54a]+[/color]"Fleet of Foot, Fleet of Mind"[/color][indent][color=90bbbb]Anya considers herself a good problem solver, at least when not under extreme direct stress. In regards to her mutation, this might mean that, since she can't move people, she might try to move what they’re holding, or say, yank their shirt over their head. Likewise, though she can’t lift herself, she might instead lift herself via her clothes or the thing she’s on–which might prove impossible for her to do with someone of an average weight while her abilities are yet budding.[/color][/indent][color=004b80][color=39b54a]+[/color]"Mother Knows Best"[/color][indent][color=90bbbb]Having a former soldier for a mother had its perks. Anya received crash courses on many aspects of surviving in unideal situations, and while not all of it stuck–she never took too firmly to things like “this is how you hold a gun” or “this is how you break an arm”–she knows basic first-aid and navigation well enough, is well disciplined, and could handle a knife with a small degree of practice.[/color][/indent]
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[sub][color=00aeef][u]	Ｌ Ｉ Ｍ Ｉ Ｔ Ａ Ｔ Ｉ Ｏ Ｎ Ｓ		[/u][/color][/sub][indent][indent]
[color=004b80][color=ed1c24]-[/color]"Glass Bones"[/color][indent][color=90bbbb]An exaggeration, to a degree. This would be the “bitter” to sweet flitter. Anya might well move like a wisp but she’s brittle and easily overwhelmed. This often leads to an array of injuries, a generally warmer wardrobe, and a habit to stand in places where she can avoid bumping into people.[/color][/indent][color=004b80][color=ed1c24]-[/color]"Serial Apologist"[/color][indent][color=90bbbb]When one’s very body is as frail as Anya’s, an apologetic, non-confrontational nature should come as no surprise. However the truth is Anya has never had fierceness in her blood, and if something could have conceivably been her fault, she’s likely to take the blame. She may go out of her way to make excuses for others, especially if they face trouble for their actions. But at the end of the day, whatever aggravations or inconveniences she may cause can be preemptively handled with a stern “be quiet.”[/color][/indent][color=004b80][color=ed1c24]-[/color]"Boo!"[/color][indent][color=90bbbb]Something else people might attribute solely to her mutation is Anya’s tendency to scare easily. Rather than list her phobias, she prefers to just say she’s “jumpy” and the truth is she’s always been that way. All the mutation did was heighten her sense of fear, turning some which would have once been baseless into true threats.[/color][/indent][color=004b80][color=ed1c24]-[/color]"Dependency"[/color][indent][color=90bbbb]Anya's sole survival skill, aside from attempting to run, is her mutation. In that same breath, she lacks the understanding, control, and even fundamental possibility to do much with it as it stands. Moving things that are small or lightweight has its uses, but until her abilities develop, in kind words, she does best with others around.[/color][/indent][color=004b80][color=ed1c24]-[/color]"My Own Worst Enemy"[/color][indent][color=90bbbb]While fortunately Anya's telekinesis suffers no direct counter (such as water to fire, or light to dark) her greatest-or more accurately, her [i]closest[/i] or [i]most constant[/i]-danger is herself. In her case, there is no exertion without repercussion. This drawback escalates corresponding to effort and mental preparation, so, if she moves a small object around for no great extended period of time, she'd likely suffer nothing, especially if she'd had a chance to prepare beforehand. However if she had to, say, force a heavy door open, depending on the effort exerted, she would instantly receive mental feedback in the form of a painful throb or jump in vision. Overexertion can be met with instant effects ranging from dizziness or disorientation, to minor hemorrhaging, loss of consciousness or, in the worst case, a major, fatal hemorrhage in the brain.[/color][/indent]   
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[sub][color=00aeef][u]	Ｃ Ｏ Ｍ Ｐ Ａ Ｎ Ｉ Ｏ Ｎ Ｓ / Ｆ Ｒ Ｉ Ｅ Ｎ Ｄ Ｓ / Ｒ Ｅ Ｌ Ａ Ｔ Ｉ Ｏ Ｎ Ｓ		[/u][/color][/sub][indent][indent][color=004b80]TBA[/color][/indent][/indent]