#cosmicnumber

Sasha Östberg

NICKNAME: Sasha (it is zir nickname)

GENDER: Agendered, biologically ???

AGE: 21

ORIGIN: Contract

A serious conjurer who specializes in spirits and contracts, but can make potions and the like as well.

description

Rather intelligent despite being the youngest (only 21). First generation American - zir mother immigrated from "the old country" (She's from like Kaliningrad or something in that area). Never knew father. Gender fluid and refuses to conform to any gender norms. Prefers "zie" pronouns Androgynous and rather beautiful, has silver-y eyes and light brown hair. Tallest of the group at 6'3" and being constantly asked to model. Wears whatever the hell zie wants, but it always looks good (other members of the 4WDA hypothesize that Yuri can make anything look good and constantly gift zir with the ugliest sweaters ever, and zie still looks good so...) Finished college early and considered going into law but was roped into the 4 Winds pace by his cat/familiar/hellion Luke (or Lucy, when zie is feeling vindictive) Hates public speaking and prefers to answer people via text.

Older cousin to Yuri and Kubo

random questions

FAVORITE COLOR?

Pale blue

DOES YOUR CHARACTER COLLECT ANYTHING?

Sweaters... mostly because the others keep buying me them

ALLERGIES?

Milk

FAVORITE ARTIST?

Salvador Dalí

KIND OF CLOTHING?

Not really picky

FIRST MEMORY?

Watching Mama brew something...

FAVORITE ANIMAL?

Bunnies

LEAST FAVORITE ANIMAL?

Snakes

WHAT ELEMENT WOULD THEY BE?

Earth

ALIGNMENT?

Neutral Good

DEADLY SIN THAT BEST REPRESENTS THEM?

Sloth

SOCIOECONOMIC LEVEL?

Angelfish

BLOOD TYPE?

AB

HOBBIES?

Using my phone

SPECIAL SKILLS / TALENTS?

Contract writing, Summoning

PATIENCE LEVEL?

High

FAVORITE PLACE?

Small, enclosed rooms, in the dark, with my phone

FAVORITE FOODS?

Stew

MODE OF TRANSPORTATION?

Car

PETS?

A rabbit named Molly and a demon cat named Luke

WHERE THEY LIVE NOW?

Clarion City

MAKES A LIVING BY?

being a detective

RACE, ETHNICITY AND NATIONALITY?

Russian-American

BAD HABITS?

Not talking, addicted to my phone

DOES THEIR UNIVERSE HAVE A GOD?

Yeah, maybe. Not that I've met him or anything.

RELIGIOUS AND TO WHAT EXTENT? ANY SPIRITUAL BELIEFS?

Ahahaha, wow, you really ask that? I'm religious because it's my job to be.

KIND OF STUDENT IF THEY ATTEND/WERE TO ATTEND SCHOOL? (E.G. CLASS CLOWN, STRAIGHT A)

Straight A

DO GHOSTS OR SUPERNATURAL ENTITIES EXIST IN THEIR’ WORLD?

Haven't seen any but I assume they are

ROLE IN A DISNEY MOVIE

Beleaguered sidekick

WHAT ONE ITEM WOULD THEY TAKE TO AN UNINHABITED ISLAND?

Cellphone

FAVORITE OBJECT?

Huang-Li Ng

Character Name(s): ana ng

BIO: an accountant who was moved to be the PA of one of the bosses of the publishing company she works for. She meets an enigmatic group of detectives when she gets a stalker and once they finish her case, she continues to follow them around.

References: ana wears a modern, long sleeve ao dai with a lotus motif paired with slim black pants.

she has light, mousy brown hair and darker eyes. she holds herself very gracefully, and always has a shy smile

Personality: an earnest sort of young woman (she's 23) who shyly stays in the background while really running the office. she's very competent but she's more worried about doing a good job instead of getting more money

Pose Ideas: senshistock

Important Must Haves: glasses, messy hair

Yvette brushed back her hair absentmindedly, ignoring the pained looks on the faces of her parents as her fingers brushed past her bald spots, past the grey spots, past the stringy tendrils of protein that somehow managed to remain on her head after the chemotherapy. She couldn’t handle such levels of pity at the moment - everyday she was gradually getting worse, the cold ache of death settling into her very bones, and still, her parents were concerned more about her looks than her well being. When she finally pulled her hand away from her scalp, there were a few glistening pieces of once golden hair resting in her palm. More than she’d thought should be there, but hair was hair, and there were bigger things to worry about, at the moment.

Her parents were a few feet to her left, looking queasy in their Country Club costumes, as she called them, because they were never quite right. Today her father’s suit was slightly too tight, stretching at the shoulders and straining across the buttons, the lilac color of his jacket five shades too vibrant against the navy blue of his slacks. Yvette couldn’t quite place what was wrong with her mother’s outfit of choice, whether it was the make up or the way her blonde hair was piled on top of her head, perhaps the color of her nails - fuchsia pink - or the polka dots of her skirt, but it had always been that way. In everything, her parents were always posing. As Country Club members, wealthy aristocrats, parents; her father always blatantly trying too hard, and her mother always just not quite right.

Her father cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his plastic seat, straining the suit even more. “Everyone dies, Yvette,” he said, before staring at her blankly. His brown hair glistened under the hospital lights from far too much hair gel.

That was perfectly fine for her, and though she was only 16 and slowly dying, Yvette couldn’t help but think she had oodles more class and grace than her parents did combined, mostly because she was honest with who she was (and that was a C student, at best, with dirty blonde hair and no real talent in anything) but mostly because she would never come visit her dying daughter and tell her that ‘everyone dies’ . It also helped that for the past three weeks, everyday at 2:00 PM, on the dot, that boy came in and told her so. Well, maybe not a boy - she wasn’t entirely sure, as she’d never asked his age. He looked to be about her age, and he was nice, and he was the only one who visited her in this god forsaken hospital, and she wasn’t about to ruin that by asking him for his age.

It was 1:58 PM now and Yvette wondered if he would still come in with her parents there. She was so involved in this single, obsessive thought, she screamed when the door to her room opened violently two minutes later.

He was wearing the same thing today, a blue t-shirt and black jeans, and his brown hair was all over the place - again, like usual. He didn’t even seem to notice her parents and he leaned casually against the wall directly in front of her bed. He motioned his hand toward her legal guardians, and Yvette finally looked away from him to notice that her parents were talking to her.

“Are you alright, Yvette?” her mother said, resting her fuchsia nails lightly against the bed sheets. She looked concerned, if the look in her eyes was anything to go by. Concerned, but obviously not concerned enough to touch her.

“Never better,” she said, made a grand movement with her left arm - as grand as the IVs would allow, any way - and moved her mother’s hand from the bed as slowly as possible. Yvette could feel the muscles in her mother’s hand tensing at the touch, and almost admired the self control of the woman for not ripping their hands apart and running out of the room screaming. Almost.

Jason - her daily mystery visitor - laughed heartily, and she glared at him. Rude. He smiled at her, took three steps forward, and stood very near her father, mocking the blank expression she was used to seeing whenever something had gone terribly wrong in the house and her father had no idea how it could have happened.

It hit her like a ton of bricks, with Jason standing there, next to her father.

Yvette felt the stuttering of her heart, the thundering of her body trying to hold out for a few more minutes, a few more hours, a few more years. Her lungs seized. She couldn’t breathe, either from the shock or her body shutting down, she wasn’t sure, but as she struggled to stay awake, to stay alive, Jason sat down noisily on the bed beside her, throwing an arm over her shoulder.

“Everyone dies, Yvette,” he said, and shot her that familiar smile, the one she’d seen at countless parties in her home when her father had finished telling a good joke. It was a brighter, more sincere smile, but it was his, none-the-less. It was him, none-the-less. He patted her shoulder comfortingly as the black began to come, creeping slowly from the door, a smoke rising from the floor slowly. Her mother and father were frantic, screaming, but the sounds were dulled through the black haze as it gradually climbed up to her. Yvette shut her eyes tightly, feeling the last of the pain in her chest as she screamed, long and hard, before passing out.

When she came to she was beside herself. Jason still had his arm around her shoulder, but they were standing now, looking at her body together, and her body was looking back at them. It blinked once, twice, three times, and then turned to her parents, laughing hysterically, reaching out to embrace the two adults who seemed confused but relieved to have their daughter back alive. Her body looked healthier, without her in it. It was such an odd thought to have.

The hospital room door banged open again, and Yvette screamed, turning to defend her face. She felt her long blonde hair, heavy again, snap around and smack her in the face, to which she cursed loudly. Jason laughed. There was a girl now, about her age, with long blonde her, much like her own, in an outfit far too revealing to be comfortable in the dead of winter. Yvette felt her breath hitch and the tears prick at the corner of her eyes. The girl’s fuchsia nails touched her arm, and she took two steps forward, smiling, and took Yvette’s hand within her own.

“Are you alright, Yvette?” her mother said, bright blue eyes sparkling at her from under a heavy blonde fringe.