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How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?
Jasreha wants, desperately, to be intimidating. Not scary, per se - she has a small child, and she doesnāt like being a scary, living corpse - but if she could go through (un)life commanding the healthy respect that would make anyone second guess crossing her, sheād be happy.
Being the size of a small adult human doesnāt exactly help give off that impression.
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āYouāre a mystery, and I canāt have that.ā
āA mystery? Really, now?ā Jasreha drawled, a grin briefly crossing the undead womanās lips. āIām sure if you did a bit of digging, you could find everything there is to know. The Forsaken and their apothecaries tend to keep quite detailed records, and Iām sure Stormwindās been just as thoroughā¦ā
Shifting to sit more comfortably, one leg crossed over the other, she leaned forward just a tad. āI suppose thereās no fun in that, though - Iāll play along. What do you want to know about this āmysteryā?ā
How easily could your OC be convinced to do something that goes against their moral compass?
Itās incredibly difficult, as Jasrehaās moral compass tends to be almost exclusively self-centered. She wonāt go out of her way to cause problems for anyone else, but if she or her family are at risk, all bets are off.
The most obvious example of this was her time working under the Forsaken - the entire several years, she worked under the threat of her own death, dismemberment, torture, et cetera, as well as that of her children. Even then, she was often incredibly uncooperative - at least until sheād earned enough freedom to act of her own accord in most situations.
How do they greet someone they dislike / hate?
Jasreha has gotten very accustomed to being, at the very least, incredibly respectful to people she dislikes. During her time working under the Forsaken, anything less wasnāt an option - she quite literally lost limbs over it more than once.
Now, sheās a tad more open with her disdain; she can afford to be without getting her tongue cut out (or locked in a coffin in a lake, orā¦). Thankfully, so far, there are very few people sheās encountered in Stormwind that have earned that, if any.
Her uncle has taken to calling her āgrumpy but harmlessā. Iām sure most people disagree, but thatās neither here nor there.
Hmmmā¦ Iām thinking Zuri is panromantic. The way I end up having him respond to questions about his sexuality or towards potentially defining conversations about sexuality make him tend to lean more towards panromanticism. Heās only ever had experiences with women, but he definitely feels like the type who would be open to any sort of love.
BUT HE IS CLAIMED NOW. HE IS JASāS MAN.
I dunno. Just feels that way now. Heās never really pursued relationships with a physical intent either. He likes the connection rather than the physical aspects, and itās even more true now that heās a DK and feels no real urge to do the frick-a-frack. So perhaps heās a panromantic demisexual? -shrugs-
Just thoughts and perhaps character development.
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She was shaking so hard that it felt impossible to even breathe. Alone. She liked being alone. But somehow, the perpetual gloom and darkness of the Ghostlands took on a whole new aspect when he was gone. A few days, heād said. Just a few days. How could she last that few days when every shadow could be them and every rattling branch was fingers, burnt by arrows tipped with explosives and fire down to bone, clawing at the windows, every crevice of the house, seeking enterance? Though the past never seemed to die, all of a sudden in the utter silence that had fallen over the house and the forge, it seemed more alive than ever, kicking and screaming.
Breathe, Jas. Just breathe. Her fingers clutched the table so hard that her knuckles went white, her hands aching. āHeād finally think youāve lost it if he saw you like this,ā She tried to reason. āBesides, thereās no reason to get worked upā¦ Sheās dead. Gone for good.ā Her voice sounded odd to her own ears. A low tap, however, ruined the little stability her breathing had gained. Click, click, clickā¦ She could see the shadowpriestess in her head, eyes glowing with cruel amusement as she whirled around-
Baby sat in the hallway, head tilted. Jasreha laughed once, twice, the laughter turning to shallow gasps, the gasps turning to sobs. Scared. She was scared. Scared of the nightmares sheād have to deal with alone. Scared of the memories that could be lurking just outside, for all she knew. Scared of the furious, intimidating look in Zuriās eyes hours before.
Stumbling to her feet, tears blurring her vision, she grabbed blindly at clothes from the small wardrobe, shoving them haphazardly into her backpack, doing the same with changes of clothes for the sleeping Aideyn. As the toddler woke with confusion in his sleepy gaze, she tried to smile; she wasnāt sure if it was for her own sake or his. āWeāre off to see Auntie Bebe,ā she hummed faintly.
One arm holding the little boy close, she scribbled a note down on a sheet of parchment.
Zuri, I went to stay with Bebe for a few days. Iāll be back soon. Be safe. I love you. Jas
Staring at her handwriting, she could see how shaky it was, and vaguely, she wondered if it was even legible. Setting it carefully on the steel chair within the forge, she let out a shaky breath.
Maybe a vacation would do her some good anyway.
(( zuriloddawnreaver bebe-valasar ))
Home
Jasreha stood, looking around, hands on her hips. She was proud, to say the least. Aideynās room was finished for now, the little boy fast asleep in a new bed, under soft, warm blankets, crates and boxes unpacked.
Her back, shoulders, and arms were aching; after all sheād done (though she knew fully well he was capable and no doubt willing to do more) she refused to ask Zuri for help yet again.
This was home. She wanted it to be completely by her own hand, as odd as that may have seemed to anyone else. She didnāt want help. Not with this.
She stood in the middle of the still packed room, gazing at all of the boxes, still packed and piled in one corner. For now, she wouldnāt unpack; the mattress alone was pushed against the wall, with blankets and pillows. Against the opposite wall sat charcoal pencils, bottles of paintā¦ That would come first.
She was excited, to say the least. When had she ever been able to make her rooom exactly how sheĀ wanted it? She didnāt remember ever being able to.Ā
Slowly sinking down onto the mattress, leaning against the wall, she closed her eyes tightly, grinning ear to ear. The word wasā¦ Well, perfect.
Home.
Untitled Poem
Wounds We all have them But maybe yours are just like mine. You heard the stories, like gaping wounds on an empty heart While I only saw glimpses, Hints at some fatal wound Hidden well by smiles. Like a child, you fixed the wounds with silken ribbons As if they would really help. But then you claimed they were only kite-strings And when I looked, I saw it too. The wounds came open again, beside aching slivers of open stitches And I swore I wouldn't let it happen again. I knew better now Or so I told myself. But the door was open again And either way, you had the key. You tried to fix them again, with the determination I always saw But the past always rots away even the finest things, doesn't it? We say we'll move on But we never do. The ghosts always come back. I swore on everything I loved that I wouldn't fall again. The lock was broken now You didn't even need a key. There isn't even a point in locking the door I know you'll be there anyway. But somehow, I don't mind. Maybe we'll continue on, making new wounds as we go Sewing old ones closed with kite-strings disguised as the most lavish silk. Or maybe things will change. The stitches will heal And there won't be any wounds to show Only long-forgotten scars And genuine, confident smiles That aren't meant to mask a thing.
