Pandora Evans

[--pandora.]

YOU:

name: kenz
age: fourteen
gender: female
roleplay experience: three years, soon to be four.

YOUR CHARACTER:

name:
Pandora Evans
age:
Seventeen
gender:
Female
race:
Panda/Human
still in school:
Yes

family:
Father: Symon Evans [Amarillo 348] -deceased-
Mother: Lillian Evans [Amarillo 686] -alive-
Rest of human, unaltered relatives: Unknown

history:
Symon and Lillian had both been a part of the experimentation back at the old lab, and both had lived to escape under the guidance of Martyr. Lillian had been a twenty year old baker who dropped out of college her last year and started her own place on the corner of maple street in a city that now escapes her memory. Symon had been a mechanic at a garage in a place, he too, could not recall. Both had met after people began to emerge from hiding. After about a year they were married and attempted to have a child, but sadly he was born dead.

Saddened by their lack of offspring, the couple did not try again until spring the next year, and when December rolled around, so did a little girl.
When Lillian first held the girl in her hands, she knew that she was strange. Different. She named her Pandora, despite the rather silly pun, and the three went home. Pandora was raised as an only child, making friends with the kids in the townhouses next door, playing hopscotch on the sidewalk and talking walks on the few trails out in Garret Forest.

When she had turned fourteen, her parents told her how they had come to be, and Pandora fell into a deep depression-like state. Her friends couldn't figure out what was wrong, but they let her be and when she finally came out of it, she had changed. That spark in her eyes that had disappeared in her infancy had returned. She was no longer a bubbly, happy young girl, but one who was slightly sarcastic, and tricky, able to fool people easily in most cases. She lied and cheated her way through friendships and school until a cold slap in the face from a large group of the people she hung out with sent her into shock.

After that, some of her old characteristics returned and she drifted around groups of friends, not really calling anyone close or a best. She retained some of her old ways, but now had it under control.
She had become unpredictable.

Her father died while trying to put out a fire one night at a house down the road. He went in to save the couple's small child and neither came out again. The death of her father had been a major determining factor in Pandora's life. She had been on the brink of simply letting go and succumbing to the dark alley miscreants, but instead she was sort of snapped out of her daze and went on to continue living life as best she would, supporting both herself and her mother with a part time job.

physical description:
Pandora stands at a full height of about five foot six inches. She has short, jet black hair that comes to about half an inch above her shoulders in front, and two inches above in the back, gradually getting shorter from the front. It always seems to be messy and unkempt, but if one looks closely there are usually a few braids here and there. Her eyes are a dark brown, rimmed in thick lashes. Her body is slim and lithe. Her parents were both panda mutated humans, therefor she is only a mixture of one animal.

Due to the mutation of her parents, she too, took on panda-like characteristics. Instead of normal human ears, she was born with bear-like fuzzy one, slightly higher on her head, both black in color, though feel like skin. Around her eyes the skin is also black, creating two inch wide, two and a half inch high ovals. Her bone structure is normal, though instead of having feminine curves her sides were nearly parallel, and her chest had little to no elevation. Her hips pushed out ever so slightly, and long, muscular legs allowed her to look somewhat more feminine. Her legs and arms are black as midnight, tracing up the sides of her hips and shoulders. To further her mutation, there is a small, again bear-like tail on her rear end, just at the base of her tailbone, which also is skin-like, though black.
mental description:
Pandora, though well aware of the irony in her name, is a sociable, rather fun person to be around. Generally happy, she is the type of friend who cheers her other friends up.
She has been caught hanging with the wrong crowd before, but that was in the past. Nowadays she sort of just floats around the cliques, preferring to stay out of things like that.
Her parents told her once how they came to be. Before that she had just assumed that everyone was like them. But when she was told she'd been quiet for days. Her parents had told her not to tell and to keep it to herself no matter what, so her friends had little to know idea what had caused her ailing.

Finally she opened back up, but she had changed somewhat. She was no longer so trusting, no longer the happy, bubbly girl she was. She was a little more serious, a little less fun. She used sarcasm and wit to win whatever she wanted. She didn't really understand how her ancestry had changed her, but it had.

Pandora has a wide range of friends and enemies, but so does everyone around this place. She's often found herself staring at Garret, wondering what was outside the walls. Interest and curiosity had never gotten the better of her though. She was a girl raised highly on pride, and she knew better than to do anything to damage it. She could be tricky, and sometimes it was extremely difficult to figure out if her words were the truth.
She was named Pandora for a reason, her mother had seen it in her eyes when she was born.
She was a handful.

roleplay sample:
Her eyes were as gold as the richest of coins, the iris humble outlined in a thin strip of black. Thick lashes surrounded them, giving her an exotic look. Arched brows and high cheekbones, plump lips and a dainty nose. All were such feminine traits that she had thought that never in her years would they allow her into service, but they did.
Isybelle Jasons had hidden her femininity and joined the bravest ranks this side of the border. She was of the resistance now.

Belle was a delicate woman with a curvy body and long legs. She was muscular in the slightest, which came form years of helping her father out on the farm. When her father had passed away, his hard work had lived on, and now she plowed the spring feilds alone, with only the grunts of her oxen and the sweat on her brow. She was one of the few women left who knew the meaning of labor and work.
She had been readily accepted into the group of men and almost instantly had shown talent for weeding out those who did not belong, namely the men who would slip secrets of the resistance under the table to workers of the king.
She had begun to go by the name of John, John Baker. She wore baggy clothes to hide her petiteness and padded her boots to add an extra two inches to her height. She wore a cap at all times to keep her mid-back length mouse-brown hair from spilling out over her shoulders. Only a few strands dare to poke out and help make her face look a little wider around the jaw. She had taken a bit of dirt and smudged it around her rosy cheeks and chin, making it look as though she had just come in from working outside. It helped to cover up her naturally pink cheekbones and paleness.

And here she sat, a filly amongst colts. She was barely teetering over the age of seventeen, the prime age to do something so reckless. If her father had been alive, she wasn't sure what he would do. Would he be proud of his only daughter, or shame her?
Her brothers and family had all passed on, serving the rebellion. Her father most recently, her brothers all long ago. her mother had died in childbirth to Isybelle's younger brother, Damien. Damien had been twelve when the king's men led a surprise attack on the village and killed as many as they could. Isybelle had only just escaped, and thinking Damien was right on her heels, fled into the basement of her home. When she realized he was not with her, she refused to let herself go back. She would not have found him with a beating heart.

Isybelle had lived a solo life for nearly a year. She had joined the rebellion a few weeks after her father's death, something she had thought would aid in her sorrow only seemed to enhance it, and lately she had not been her right self. She was slipping away form that kind, gentle, caring Isybelle and reverting back to a primal instinct: to be cold, unfeeling, and heartless.
She was falling and had nothing to grab onto.

Snapped out of her reverie by a great cheering she looked up to find the meeting in the old tavern had gone well and that the men were now happily swallowing mouthfuls of rum and beer alike, jesting and grinning, speaking of new times and old. Isybelle stood form her seat and was no sooner called over by the leader of the group himself, a man named Jovian.
"John, I have a new mission for you."
And so he begun to tell a tale of their newest member who's name slipped into Belle's ears like any other she had heard. She was to find him and inspect him. Jovian had heard from reliable sources that the king had sent another spy, regardless of what Jovian had ordered done to the others sent.

"Find him, John. But this time, keep it quiet."
And with that, Belle was gone into the crowd.