[CENTER][h1][color=slategray][b]L E T H E[/b][/color][/h1][h3]
[hr][sup][sup][color=silver]M I K A E L A – L Y N N E M A V E N[color=slategray]◼[/color]   9 – 10 – 2001  ( 1 7 )   [color=slategray]◼[/color]  F E M A L E [color=slategray]◼[/color]   F U C K Y O U[/color][/sup][/sup][/h3][img]IMAGE/BANNER[/img]
[sup][color=silver][h3]"You had the fire, and they burned you to the ground, baby."[/h3][/color][/sup][/CENTER]
[COLOR=SLATEGRAY][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]▼ A P P E A R A N C E:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B]
[hr][/INDENT][/COLOR][CENTER][sup][color=silver][h3]"He tried to stamp yo pretty little self into the manure."[/h3][/color][/sup][/CENTER]


[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/jyQIxEZ.jpg?1[/img][/center]
[indent][b][color=CADETBLUE]//STATS:[/color][/b]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ HEIGHT |[/COLOR][/B] [i]5’ 9”[/i][/indent]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ WEIGHT |[/COLOR][/B] [i]125[/i][/indent]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ BUILD |[/COLOR][/B] [i]Average-Curvy?[/i][/indent]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ ETHNICITY |[/COLOR][/B] [i]African-American; 1 Part Galactic Deity[/i][/indent]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ EYE COLOR |[/COLOR][/B] [i]Brown[/i][/indent]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ HAIR COLOR |[/COLOR][/B] [i]Black[/i][/indent]

[b][color=CADETBLUE]//DESCRIPTION:[/color][/b]
[indent][i] Mikaela inherited her mother and grandmother’s legs, and early on her mother always joked about Mikaela being a great volleyball player. An average build, with slightly curvier hips and legs, she was always active with Tara after school. She loved the freedom of shorts and dresses in the humidity o the south. Her step-grandfather liked her attire choices for other reasons.
In the time following, she chose to mask her body. Dark hoodies, simple black shirts. Jeans or sweats. You can blend into the darkness better that way, you can more easily be forgotten. 
After a year of living with her Auntie Bea, she and Mikaela have been able to compromise on attire. Mikael still tends to blacks, greys and whites in her clothes. But she’s a larger fan of patterns now. Instead of black halters and skinny’s, Mikaela is growing to light black polka-dot blouses, plaid patterned sundresses and the occasional heel if she’s feeling extra bitchy. Maybe even dressing up the solid darks with a touch of color accessories every now and then. Her aunt told her “clothes can be an armor and weapon. Not just a display of feelings, a compliment or shelter for them.” Essentially a rendition of the look good, feel good policy, it’s been sticking with Mikaela. [/i][/indent][/indent]
[COLOR=SLATEGRAY][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]▼ B I O G R A P H Y:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][CENTER][sup][color=silver]

[h3]"They did you wrong and fed you ashes of more pain."[/h3]
[/color][/sup][/CENTER]

[indent][indent] 
Mikaela-Lynne Maven lives with her Great Aunt Beatrice in New Hampshire. 

[QUOTE=From the Patient Journal of Ryan M. Skaryd]’In the nearly 2 years under Misses Johnston’s care, Mikaela has shown significant emotional responsiveness; a willingness to smile is more readily apparent; a higher likelihood of free-flow communication.  She speaks of dreams and nightmares more than she recounts night terrors. There’s an openness toward the future and she has even taken to the occasional hug.’[/quote] 
But Mr. Skaryd, is still hesitant. And Mikaela knows why, as she shifts in his lounge chair again. She’s trained her eyes on the print of a 3-D maze, hanging on the wall across from his office window. The silence is fine with her, because the only alternative is Mikaela cracking into her head and letting all of… ‘[i]that[/i]’ bleed from her mouth and onto his legal-pad paper from his gloss-inked pen.

[hider=A brief memory of "Once upon a Time..."]
“Mikaela?” He leans forward a bit, and his scruffy face [i]does[/i] have a soft smile, even for a 32 year-old. “You still with me?” He takes her nod as an actual indication to keep talking and continues on. “It’s just, I know the past is difficult. But remember what you told me about your Mom and Tara last week?”

Mikaela tenses her throat and squints at the maze. Where the fuck does it start? If she can find it’s start and mentally trace out it’s path, she’ll let herself put him out with her House Special. That’s the plan.

“How it was growing up with them? There were the [i]Girls Fight Club[/i] nights with Tara. The garden with your Mom.”

Of course she fucking remembers growing up with her Mom and Tara. She remembers there home above the closed auto-shop Tara had inherited from her father. Tara, the whiz of dismantling. She even made the joke, that’s how she’d gotten to Mikaela’s Mom’s heart. Dismantling all the emotional booby traps “and flaky bullshit” Mikaela’s deadbeat birth dad had left lying around her heart. Mikaela remembers her mom pinching her nose every time Mikaela slipped and called Tara “Dad.” She remembers Tara coming up behind Mikaela and nuzzling her head approvingly and whispering it’s the best mistake anyone’s ever made.

Of course she fucking remembers [i]Girls Fight Club[/i] where Tara invited Mikaela’s 3 best friends, at the time, over every Thursday and taught them different Jiujutsu moves. All the laughs, squeals, earned bruises and happily tussled hair from the 5 of them. Until her Mom came in, tired from work, but able to give a tired smile, sitting and cheering the girls on.

She remembers all of these things, which is why the Thursday ritual she has [i]now[/i] of sitting in a confined room for 2 hours is so grating on her nerves.

Because she can’t. She won’t. She can’t crack open the memories after those “Once upon a time” days. Each of the memories following those days is like a Wonder-Ball candy of pain or tension. She just…can’t do it. She’ll bite her tongue of in lieu of reliving anything. [/hider]

She just wants to forget, and he won’t let her.

So when he asks, “How did you feel? When you had to leave your home that night?”…

[list][*]…she’s 13 and a half, and there’s a bed with ivory sheets tinged starlight in the full moon, filtered through parted sheer curtains; the wind whispers by pushing leaves outside on the sidewalk; two figures are still, draped over by the ivory sheet, shadows covering the faces; the sharp scent of iron digs up her nostrils, while the familiar scent of oil seems misplaced in the home; there’s a single bead of sweat etching al ine of moisture down the dryness of her back although the night is cool and filled with stars outside her moms’ window. She can hear a cascade of crackles from a campfire and smell one too, though it’s only July and they’re not near a park—
[indent]—and she sucks in air, tastes the ash. Spits out a scream while turning to the door. A tendril of smoke drifted from under it, but her dread was higher turning to her mother’s bed. Even as she gathered the remnants of her voice—smashed with foreboding air and a plummeting gut—to deliver a weak “Momma?”, something told her there would be no response. Hidden in the pool of shadow, she felt a warmth that spread over the sheets. Pulling it back to the night, she felt the wail scrape it’s way from her throat before she knew it was there, pushing it along. She wanted the blackness to cover them, cover her mom and Tara and her. Keep them safe, take away the blood and the world. The crackling and heat was apparent now, but she thought only of darkness. Smoke now decorated and danced the ceiling and crown moldings, but the muscles in her legs clicked off at once and she met the ground, holding on to the red-splayed ivory sheet. She only stares at her mom while her vision fades. What can this heat, this smoke, these flames take from her that hasn’t already been pillaged? Her eyes swim, before they fade to black…[/indent]
…When the nurses bring her to, they tell her how lucky she is. She says it’s their job to get her before the fire does, right? But she’s a silly girl, according to the nurse monitoring vitals. It’s the smoke the kills people, and you should have been dead long before they got to you.[/list]

And no matter how innocent he thinks “How was it? Having to say your big goodbye?”, the question still throws Mikaela to where…

[list][*]…it’s a month later and there’s 3 dozen people garbed in black, seeking shade from the Louisiana Sun under a hanging moss tree; sniffles and veiled sobs distract her from the holy man letting scripture and platitudes dribble from his mouth; the white coffin being lowered into the fresh hole appears so cool and inviting, it rebuffs all the bullshit emotions of the black-garb surrounding Kae trying to feed on her grief; gardenias release their fragrance throughout the crowd and the humidity makes the scent  thicker until Kae can lose herself in memories of dirt wars with Tara while her mother planted gardenias in their backyard; there’s a hand over her shoulder blades because the ceremony is apparently coming to a close, and the heat of the day on top of everything else, causes Kae to slink away from her own Grandmother’s touch. Her step-grandfather clears his throat because it’s time for them to go. She can be sad in the car, they’ve got to be back in Texas by tomorrow.[/list]

She’ll always fix his gaze unwaveringly when he asks “How did you feel when you moved in with your Grandma? What were your thoughts toward them at that time?” because...
[hider=Grandma Naya and Mr. Staley]
[list][*]…she’s 14 and there’s a dark brown leather-bound bible on an oak desk, lighting the pages and the rest the study with an emerald green lamp-shaded light; a persistent throat clearing and myriad of coughs fill the room from her step-grandfather, absorbed by the bookshelves and thick curtains; her grandfather’s eyes bulge and dart around the room in rapid succession, landing on his pipe tobacco strew on the carpeted floor, his side table upturned, his belt tossed near the door and Kae’s hardened face; it’s the sweat that reaches Kae’s nostrils first, followed by the soft musk of the smoke; there’s his hand at her throat, squeezing and grasping and clawing and faltering. His eyes roll back one more time, and this time they do not come to. There is no surge of energy, his body slacks Kae hopes this proud man was aware of his pants at his ankles in the seconds leading to the great equalizer—
[indent]—because the first time had caught her off guard. The night of her mother’s funeral, alone in her new room, filled with old dolls. Only just slipping into the throes of dreaming, her body leaden as the last vestiges of strength left her body for the past couple weeks. That’s when she felt a hand at her chest, running its course to her thighs. She didn’t know why she knew but she knew it was best if she didn’t fight. She willed her soul to be a wisp and leak from her ears, take her somewhere else. And it started a pattern of progression over months. But not this night. The anniversary of her mother and Tara’s death. By the time the belt came off, Kae knew what she was ready to do. She suddenly knew her mother’s aversion to family gatherings, hiding her life with Tara, and Staley’s pointed dislike of Tara. When he grabbed her pants she grabbed his head and thought of the night of the fire. Only the fire and the pain…[/indent]
…so when they found him the next morning, they couldn’t explain why his lungs exhibited signs of severe smoke damage. Like he’d been around too many campfires at once. Like he’d been thrown in a burning building. Like he’d been placed in hell during his last moments. And her grandmother hadn’t said anything about it, only told Mikaela that “Anna-Mae’s depravities were cursing them from the grave.” Kae felt like her grandmother must have had more knowledge than she let on, and guilt is a spectacular silencer.[/list][/hider]

Mikaela opens up more near the end of their sessions, as Mr. Skaryd steers them toward talking about the not-so-distant-past where…
[hider=Auntie Bea]
[list][*]…she’s almost 15 and the road to New Hampshire shows her what seasons can actually be as the explosion of amber and honey juxtaposes the soft blue of a lightly clouded sky; the crackle of the leaves reminds her of sounds she’d like to forget but the closer she comes to her new home the easier it is to let roar of the wind wash over with the windows down in the car; there’s the aroma of fresh cut grass as they pull into the driveway of her Auntie Bea. She doesn’t know what to expect after so many years on edge, as the door opens and a slender frame appears in the doorway,—
[indent]—but she doesn’t have time to think as the woman pulls her in for a larger hug than she’s known in years. There’s a barrage of questions, 15 in less than a minute. She’s eventually saying something about how terrible Kae must feel but all Kae could hear was the earlier question of: “Were your momma and Tara at least happy? God I hope they were happy.” She’s brought into the house before she can question it, and the social worker is on her way soon after. Auntie Bea is rushing her to her new room of hand-quilted blankets and lovely paintings, apologizing for the “all the mess” in the pristine house.[/indent]
She sits Kae down and takes a breath. Seemingly the first since Kae arrived. Looking at Mikaela, she tells her that she’s lovely, and she’s sorry that world hasn’t caught up to accepting it the way her momma had. This auntie Bea her Momma had mentioned on more than one occasion. The “Chosen Mom” vs the “Birth Mom.” It’s like she knew what Mikaela was thinking and placed a hand on hers, telling her – “You had the fire, and they burned you to the ground, baby. My damned sister’s husband. He tried to stamp yo pretty-self into the manure. They did you wrong and fed you ashes of more pain. Well honey, this is where you come to grow. I loved my niece, your Momma, and I’ll be damned if I let the best thing she ever grew be treated like some roadside wildflower. I want you to flourish, you hear me?...”

Mikaela didn’t know if she could trust those words, so weighted with hope. It was because she knew pain in surplus, that it took almost 6 months. Half a year before she cried in front of Auntie Bea. Before she watched Aunties Bea’s face twist in horror but knowing shame as she recounted the story of Mr. Staley. Before she admitted there might be something wrong with her, and could only stare at her skin in disgust. 

“I’m sorry, Auntie. I’m not pretty flower,” Mikaela mumbled at her hands.

But it only took Auntie Bea a few seconds to say, “You’re right, you aren’t any pretty flower.” She placed a hand on Mikaela’s leg reassuringly. “You’re a damn beautiful oak, baby. An oak tree to withstand anything.”[/list]
[/hider] [/indent][/indent]
[COLOR=SLATEGRAY][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]▼ A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][CENTER][sup][color=silver][h3]"Well honey, this is where you come to grow."[/h3][/color][/sup][/CENTER][indent][b][color=CADETBLUE]//ABILITIES:[/color][/b]

[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ HIDDEN |[/COLOR][/B][/INDENT]

[b][color=CADETBLUE]//SKILLS:[/color][/b]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ JIUJUTSU: |[/COLOR][/B] [i]Since attending classes at a new school, Aunt Bea thought it would be good to get Kae involved in something right away. Her skills were rusty, but the dojo she now goes to is a small one. She can focus and release her anger when it comes.[/i][/indent]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ OBSERVATION AND AWARENESS: |[/COLOR][/B][i]Tara always taught her to get a sense of everyone in the room upon entry. Though hr mom always tried to play down any sense of danger, it was something Kae took to heart. Especially after the fire. But even before then, their home was in one of the rougher areas of New Orleans after Katrina. She's always been a observant child, but learned to scan over people, getting a sense of energy and potential threats.[/i][/INDENT]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ FORTITUDE AND FOCUS: |[/COLOR][/B][i]In those memories with her step-Grandfather, Mr. Staley, she learned to take herself away. Remove her soul from her body and place it at whatever mental goal awaited her at the end. Her body can take pain, it can take trauma. And her mind can endure. [/i][/indent]
[b][color=CADETBLUE]//LIMITATIONS:[/color][/b]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ Windy Terrain |[/COLOR][/B] [i] REDACTED
[/i][/indent]
[b][color=CADETBLUE]//WEAKNESSES:[/color][/b]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ Extreme Cold |[/COLOR][/B] [i]Extreme or localized cold hinders her ability and she's more susceptible to the cold when using her abilities for some reason.[/i]
[B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ Dehydration |[/COLOR][/B][i]Kae has to stay hydrated worse than a club kid on molly if she’s using her abilities --[REDACTED].[/i][/indent]
[B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ A Deft Tongue and Blunt Eye |[/COLOR][/B][i] Mikaela learned early on that not everyone deserves your best. She also learned from Tara that most people rely on social niceties as a crutch or mask, and Mikaela has always been one for authenticity. She can be rather blunt with most people she meets. It's not an attempt to be rude, but she likes to get past the social posturing quickly.
[/i][/indent]
[COLOR=SLATEGRAY][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]▼ N O T E S:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][indent][b][color=CADETBLUE]//SUPPORTING CAST:[/color][/b]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]▼ ALLIES[/COLOR][/B]
[indent][B][COLOR=WHITESMOKE]◼ [I]TBD|[/I][/COLOR][/B] [i]Test[/i][/indent]
[B][COLOR=SILVER]▼ FRIENDS[/COLOR][/B]
[indent][B][COLOR=WHITESMOKE]◼ [I]BEATRICE JOHNSTON |[/I][/COLOR][/B] [i]Her aunt and -- unashamedly -- one of her only actual friends in this new place.[/i][/indent]
[indent][B][COLOR=WHITESMOKE]◼ [I]MAKARIOS LILIS|[/I][/COLOR][/B] [i]Her dojo sensei. He's only in his mid-20's but there's something about him that seems almost ancient and sage-like. She tells him he reminds her so much of Old Heads on her block for a New Hampshire white boy.[/i][/indent]
[B][COLOR=SILVER]▼ ENEMIES[/COLOR][/B]
[indent][B][COLOR=WHITESMOKE]◼ [I]TBD |[/I][/COLOR][/B] [i]There are probably a few people at the school who give her a side-eye, but she could care less about them. A few girls tried to ogle over her being from New Orleans, a little southern and of course, a lotta dark. She didn't entertain any of the foolishness and openly dismissed them. So maybe, they're a little mad about it.[/i][/indent][/indent]
[b][color=CADETBLUE]//STOMPING GROUNDS[/color][/b]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ TBD |[/COLOR][/B] [i]Test[/i][/indent]
[b][color=CADETBLUE]//PARAPHERNALIA[/color][/b]
[indent][B][COLOR=SILVER]◼ TBD |[/COLOR][/B] [i]Test[/i][/indent][/indent]