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f e m a l e - e i g h t e e n - AB p o s i t i v e

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.
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.
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.

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.

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.


-Mother’s Knife
A simple knife, with a cross guard and ebony-wood hilt. The initials “A A” are carved at its base.

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 isn’t 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.
+"Fleet of Foot, Fleet of Mind"
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.
+"Mother Knows Best"
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.

-"Glass Bones"
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.
-"Serial Apologist"
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.”
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.
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.
-"My Own Worst Enemy"
While fortunately Anya's telekinesis suffers no direct counter (such as water to fire, or light to dark) her greatest-or more accurately, her closest or most constant-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.

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

Interested as well! Will be fixing up a sheet very soon
Wanted to drop a line saying I'm ducking out of this, just more than I can manage at this time and I've been holding up a few players long enough. Apologies to @Snagglepuss89 and @Polaris North for the continued delays, and best of luck with the future of the RP!
In NCQ — Polaris 27 Aug 2016 5:33 Forum: Casual Roleplay

Corridors, New Anchorage
[[ Around 0200 Hours]]

Vera wasn’t sure if they’d been running for seconds or minutes. Fear had a strange way of stringing out time, dragging out the slightest of instants, passing days like blinks, Vera had felt it leading up to her surgery, and she felt it much more potently now. Their footsteps were like alarms, and she worried each one might catch the attention of someone looking to make it their last, but she dared not to voice it. Madison for the time being had lived this side of the facility, surely she knew what she was doing, where she was going. Perhaps they’d barricade themselves in the wards, but then what about the others? Maybe there was an armory of sorts this way, though she’d never heard of it, and she wasn’t likely to prove well with a weapon anyway.

Her confidence waned in what she felt couldn’t have been more than a minute, and she found herself tugging against Madison’s grip before she even had words ready. At this point she figured it might just be best to wing it.

”Madi--Madi! Wait we— where’re we going?”

”I don’t know!!! Everyone just started screaming, they were all running, there were shots being fired, and now they’re all dead!” Madison’s frantic speech was just pure fear. She just wanted to run away, she didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire, she didn’t want to feel any more pain, she didn’t want to die.

Vera realized quickly that her faith in Madison, while certainly optimistic, might have been momentarily misplaced. Could she blame her? She was right. People were screaming, people were running, and as much as she wanted to put it out of her mind, people were dying.

It took some effort, and even more to make the assertive action gentle, but she managed to pull Madison to a halt, if only for a moment. There were no bullets flying by their heads right then, no screams for them to put their hands up, or otherwise worse, it wasn’t a peaceful moment, but it was still, still enough to think. She tried to pull a mental map from her memory, but got nowhere, she hadn’t spent enough time wandering in the dark, even if she’d made an early habit of exploring.

Madison dropped to the ground and curled herself up, wrapping her hands around her knees and leaning against the cold wall. She didn’t want to deal with this anymore, she didn’t want to keep running for her life. Slowly, the tears started to well up under her eyes as reality began to hit her hard.

“Alright we just gotta...just think what’s down that way? You came from the hospital place, so…” It came slowly, but nonetheless, staring down the dark corridor, eyes well-adjusted enough to make out patterns in doorways she’d meandered down plenty of times before, especially in recent weeks, Vera understood where they were.

“Lofgren!” She only just managed to hold her voice to only a whisper. “Okay, I know where we are! A little!”

Looking down, Vera saw that Madison had collapsed, and her heart skipped a beat. Was she hit? Dead? No, if only as a faint, murky blur she could see the other girl’s form shuddering with breath, and soon after could hear the faint beginnings of a crying spell. Casting another glance behind them, she got low once again and settled her hands atop Madison’s knees, craning her neck for an angle that let her meet eyes. Vera had no illusions about understanding how to handle every type of panic attack, every bout of anxiety or stress induced shutdown, but for the moment it didn’t matter, she didn’t need to, she couldn’t. Right now they needed to keep going, it was her fault they’d stopped in the first place, but now they needed to go.

It took a moment for her to work the tremor out of her voice, another to make sure it stayed down, but at length she managed to turn her hushed, hurried whisper into a familiar, gentle murmur.

“Madi? Hey, it’s okay—”

Madison gave a short nod and reluctantly agreed with her.

“— we’re okay. We’re gonna be okay, I promise.” Vera gave Madison’s knees a firm grip, more to prove she was there than anything, that there was someone else present. “I know right now you really don’t wanna keep going, it’s okay, I’m scared too, but we’re almost safe, okay? Right down there, we’re gonna go down there and find someone, and we’ll be safe, I promise. Can you do that?”

Though she asked, Vera knew that it rarely enough to leave it up to the other person. She got to her feet, moving to take Madison’s hands with hers, and gently pulled up. “Just down there, c’mon, you can do that I know you can.”

Madison could feel herself gradually being pulled out of her small slump. It wasn’t nearly enough to make the day better but the comfort of knowing that someone was there made all the difference.

”Just down there?” she motioned towards the end of the hallway.

Vera felt a wave of relief, the first step was the toughest. She smiled, nodding and pointing with her. ”Not even— not even. See, almost right there.”

They were up. Good. Running would have been the best, but she’d take it. Vera heard another distant round of gunfire and knew if they took too long her promises wouldn’t hold too much. At least their walk was quickly-paced, and she had no trouble keeping Madison’s remaining hand clutched tight, or at least tight as a girl her size could.

She watched the doors as they passed by and was glad to see that she’d been right. This was Lofgren’s hall, and they came up to her office before long, but that was only half the battle. Vera hesitated for another agonizingly long moment, debating whether or not to knock. If Lofgren wasn’t there, no harm, but the potential for the room to be occupied otherwise was far from small. The door could open to rifle fire and the next wave of screams could be theirs.

In the back of her mind she could hear her own panic bubbling up.

’You can’t keep stopping, you’ll be running on luck.’

Once again, the very real, very nearby terrors jolted her from thought and forced her to act, only she wasn’t given the time. The door opened, and while it wasn’t to a group of angry soldiers, they were met with faint lights and the barrels of guns. Vera gasped and pushed herself close to Madison. If she’d had the thought to scream, she might have done just that.

The weak light moved away from her eyes, towards the ground, allowing her to see the faces of Dr. Lofgren and Orry. The boy’s silhouette had jumped in time with Vera’s, but his expression now was one of immense relief, a smile on his face; he almost looked like he wanted to hug the two girls.

”Are you two okay?” He asked quietly, taking a shaky step into the doorway as he quickly glanced down the hall.

“Orry, Lof!” Vera would have hugged them as well if she didn’t have Madison’s hand held within her own. She instead settled for a relieved grin, and an exhale that made her feel pounds lighter. “We’re okay yeah, we came from, uh, down there, the place where Madi was.”

Vera looked to the other girl, a brief sadness flashing through her. “I think everyone else that way is… but we don’t know. We just ran. Is it safe in there? Madi needs to sit down.”

“It won’t be safe for much longer; our intruders will be upon us soon enough, and I’m not going to be an easy target if I can help it.”

It’d been a long-shot anyway, but Vera was let down all the same, partly for herself and partly for Madison. She eased her grip, patted her hand, then looked back to Orry and Lofgren. “We gotta find somewhere to go then, hide somewhere, right?”

“Correct. There’s a service tunnel a few meters northward, near the base of the medical wards. We get the doors opened manually or we get cornered like rats before they kill us. We will need to be quick and decisive.”

Orry bit the corner of his lip, his concerned, darting gaze—which had settled on the frayed-looking Madison for a moment—moved back to the depths of the hallway, towards the nearest sounds of violence. He seemed reluctant to be moving anywhere, but he nodded quickly following Lofgren’s words.

”Let’s go then, please.” He said tightly, as though trying hard not to let his voice crack. He stepped out into the hall, moving to bring up the rear of the small group and let Lofgren lead.

Vera nodded along with him. Lofgren’s stark words were as jarring as they were painfully true, they needed to be moving sooner than later. She turned to Madi, again to meet eyes with her, and again smiled softly.

“We can’t stop quite yet, we’re gonna follow them, alright?” Gently pulling along a lead, Vera meant to coax her through once more. She’d promised safety, and even if it was delayed, at least now their chances of actually finding it were much better now. Orry seemed to be steeling himself, and Lofgren didn’t show any cracks at all - as good a pair as any to find, given their circumstances. Madison did not look as if she was having the best of days by any stretch of the imagination.
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