08-26-2012, 12:43 PM
Diane Elaenor was a bit of a brat; a twenty six year old woman and the daughter of the founder of Regulars Against Mutations - known as RAM - she had a fairly priviledged life. This life had its marks; fights, a few brushes with discipline here and there. Violence seemed to just seep from her pores and her father had had enough. He had signed her on for MMA fighting as a vent for her troubles: He was tired of her getting into fisticuffs outside of a controlled environment; she could be too wild if left unchecked.
She was currently reclining on a chair in her luxurious apartment, playing some video game based on living in the Irregular continent; it was fairly boring, she'd decided a long time ago, but there was nothing better to do. She wanted a fight, she wanted... dammit what did she want, anyway. She sighed and stared up at the ceiling through startling amber-colored eyes. Her father never failed to hammer it into her that she was special - that she was the first in a long line of Elaenors that didn't have freakish eyes. This wasn't exactly true; her mother had had eyes the color of emeralds and her uncle had the color of a deep ocean. But no, he said; those were not natural eye colors, he'd told her as he'd watched her with his creepy white eyes. He wore contacts now, of regular blue eyes, but whenever he'd been lecturing her he'd decided not to wear them to enforce the concept of "Regularity" that she encompassed in his eyes.
She still didn't think she was anything special, really. She was in every other aspect a normal Regular - if a bit... violent. She threw the controller onto the table and relaxed backwards, checking her work schedule on her holographic laptop screen. She was a programmer of sorts; made different systems do different things and she could do it from the comfort of her favorite chair. That wasn't to say she was lazy; hardly. She went out for runs, exercised constantly. She always wanted to be at the top of her game; it was important. If she wasn't at the top of her game, she wasn't herself. The very idea made her a bit queasy.
Nineteen year old Sinopa sat on the roof of her little house, watching the blue lake in front of her. Compared to some Irregulars in their small town, she was normal - black-brown hair, blue eyes about the same color as the lake, and olive colored skin. Her feet were normal; her hands were normal, the only deformity being her nails were black and always grew into points, same as her toenails as well. Well, she was normal until you saw her wings; largely nonfunctional and longer than her feathers reached down, they stretched farther than her fingertips and had two separate joints each. The feathers were yellow and black, and most of the ones on the shoulder and elbows of the useless limbs were the same bright yellow. She couldn't fly with them, but they served well against wind and also kept her warm at night to some degree, and functioned sometimes as an umbrella. She supposed she also had a fairly unpleasant voice when she got angry, kind of shrieky, but she was rarely mad; she just went straight to violent if it ever occured.
Because of her lack of flight despite her wings, she was fairly obsessed with gaining the ability somehow; maybe building a flying machine like what there used to be. Growing up with her parents, who had been wingless but both had the same nail mutation (plus her father did have those bird feet...), they'd travelled quite a lot; they'd once found an old, old airport that had been abandoned, and Sinopa had since then dreamed of what it must be like to be in the sky overlooking the polluted world. Maybe she'd even see the sky properly, above those nasty clouds. She sighed and looked down, noticing Justin by the lake. She stretched her wings, wondering if she should attempt gliding down but decided not to. She'd broken her arm once doing that when her wings had just gone straight up, and she chose to just actually climb down and walk over, like a normal Irregular. Easy as pie. Right?
She clambered down the side of her house and hopped onto her feet, brushing dirt off the back of her jeans as she walked over to the lake. "Hey, kid. How's it going?"
I stare at the girl in the mirror: T-shirt, torn up jeans, no beauty queen.
But the way that you see me, you get underneath me, and all my defenses just fall away, fall away.
I am beautiful with you, even in the darkest part of me. I am beautiful with you;
Make it feel the way it's supposed to be!
You're here with me: Just show me this and I'll believe I am beautiful with you!
Last edited by Silent_Wolf : 08-27-2012 at 07:04 PM.