PAULET, jezebelle

[JEZEBELLE PAULET]

JEZEBELLE PAULET



࿂

[/b]: Jezebelle.
SURNAME: Paulet.
ALIAS: Her actual surname is Blackwood, but she keeps this very close to her chest.
TITLE: None.

AGE: Eighteen.
AFFILIATION: Commoner.
BRANDED?: No.
RANK: N/A.
SHIP: N/A.

࿂ DESCRIBE YESELF![/color]
I've never really thought of myself as pretty. I mean, do not think for a moment that I believe myself ugly - I do not. I have been subject to cat-calls and smooth words concerning my looks since I started developing more womanly features. I suppose I know I am not among the worst looking women in the Carribbean, and perhaps at times I am a little guilty of a little arrogance where my beauty is concerned. I measure around five foot two when standing, making me definately not the tallest of girls, but my body shape fits in with my height. My build is lithe, perhaps a little skinnier than would be desired, though I do not look ill. Petite is a word that would be fit to describe me, I suppose. All in all, I suppose my figure is somewhat boyish - I have slight curves in all the right places, but none could honestly call me curvacious or volumptious.

My face is, I believe, my redemption, for I have been described as 'blessed' when it comes to my features. My eyes are a strange color - grey and blue and green all at once, with even a few hazel flecks if you look close enough. They remind me of seashells, though I am quite unsure why. They seem large, though they do not seem too large for my face, framed by thick, long lashes. My lips, always seeming to find themselves in a natural pout-like appearance, leading into highset cheekbones, where my apples always seem to have a soft glow. My skin always seems pale, no matter how much sun I take. A light tan is the best I can obtain, though I do not mind. That simply leaves me to describe my hair, yes? I do not spend much time nor effort on it, since it seems quite pointless to me. It never stays in any styled place for too long, naturally quite unkempt. It falls in soft curls to the middle of my back, dark brown in color, and always windswept.

As far as clothing goes, I dress simply. I do not understand the mentality behind the women who wear layer-upon-layer of fancy fabrics in this heat. The Carribbean sun is a harsh mistress when it comes to dictating garment, though it seems to escape the bother of those with money. I, however, do not have enough disposible income to drape myself in brocade and lace, nor would I want to if I did. A corset or bodice and a loose dress is my attire of choice, though when I get the chance I do tend to don breeches and a blouse. Far too masculine for most people to accept, but far more comfier than bodices.

࿂ WHAT GIVES YE PLEASURE?
Things I like? I could talk about those forever. I love smiling, and laughing, but I love to get people's backs up too - finding out what makes people tick, and using it to get them angry. Sardonic to say the least, but it is what I enjoy. The simpler things in life bring me joy, also, however. Rain, for instance, and the sweet smell it leaves behind once it has gone never ceases to make me feel alive. The sound of the sea relaxes me, and I adore it. In fact, I adore everything to do with the sea. I suppose it is in my blood after all. I like milk. I like sex. I like the smell of tobacco. I love alcohol. I like playing cards. I like annoying people by not being demure and ladylike. I love hearing stories... As I said, I could go on all day.

࿂ WHAT MAKES YE ANGRY?[/color]
Perhaps you are thinking I am easy to please, since I seem to like so many things? I am in fact the opposite. For every one thing I like, I loathe two others. I cannot stand military men, but perhaps that is due to my upbringing. It isn't that they scare me - I just hate them. I always have. Pathetic men hiding behind a uniform. What is there not to despise? Hot days - I hate them too. The Carribbean weather has never truly agreed with me. Other things I dislike are numerous. Being shouted at, being talked down to and made to feel childish, the dark, overzealous men.. The list is endless.

࿂ WHAT DO YE HIDE?[/color]
I have a secret. Quite the big one, not the silly, small, insignificant ones the ridiculous upper-class girls have. No. My secret is my name. What is truly in a name? Perhaps more than you might think. The name of a loved one can bring you a flutter of happiness. The name of a hero or idol can give you a sense of pride. The name of an enemy can give you a flash of rage.. and the name of a pirate? That only brings prejudice, cruelty and judgements you do not deserve. When I came here, when I left Tortuga for Port Royal, I knew if I used my given name, life would be unbearable. What is my name, you ask? Blackwood. Yes. Like Joseph Blackwood. 'The Gaoler'. Given he isn't known too well by those who don't have much to do with the sea's, but all the wrong people know his name. The EITC would have a field day, and other pirates would either be awestruck, aggresive or.. worse. The Gaoler was a Welsh prison officer turned pirate, known for his cruel, no-mercy killing style. He has a taste for rich blood, apparently. He's no Jack Sparrow, but I don't wish to be associated with him in any way. That.. that is my secret.

As for fears? The dark frightens me, along with blood and spiders.. or anything with more than four legs. It seems highly unnatural. finally, regrets? Perhaps I regret leaving Tortuga on occasion, but aside from that, I tend not to look back on anything, in a negative or positive light. The past is the past and it cannot be changed.

࿂ WHAT SKILLS DO YE POSSES?[/color]
Some might call my sardonic talent for finding out what makes people tick just to use it against them a skill, though doubtful it actually is anything of the sort. I tend to be self-critical, so my weaknesses are easy enough to list. I grow angry far too easily, I never think before I speak or act.. I suppose most might call me a bad person. As for my strengths.. Perhaps I am a good judge of character, and I'd like to think I'm sharp as a pin. Witty too. I don't really know. Perhaps you should decide.

࿂ HOW DO YE ACT?[/color]
So, I'm a firecracker. The word is used to describe me quite often. I tend to have a distaste for all that is good. Sexual too. I enjoy flirting, letting men think improper thoughts.. what girl can honestly deny she enjoys the same? And, yes, sometimes, it goes beyond flirting but I'm only human and given my upbringing, you cannot blame me... not that I'd care if you did. I tend to be aloof and somewhat of a loner. I do not make attachments easily.. mistrustful by nature. I can look after myself well enough and I don't need anyone looking out for me. I do have a softer side, though. I can be sweet and loving. Only to people who deserve it of course, and they don't come along very often. I have a gentle center, but I protect my own interests first and foremost.. so I suppose that makes me independant too. Not that you'll believe me when I'm telling you I care about you. I'm a natural born liar and it's almost easier for me to lie than tell the truth. Sometimes I don't even mean to lie. It just happens. People describe me as angry but.. my temper is complex. I get angry easily, as I mentioned, but it takes a while for me to actually snap. When I do, though, watch out. My wrath is... frightening, even to myself. Smart-mouthed is another point of my persona. I specialise in smarmy remarks and cruel wit, and I love nothing more than winding people up and making them squirm.

࿂ WOULD YE BE MISSED?[/color]
If I died? Possibly not. I am far from the kind of girl to form long-lasting friendships. Or.. any at all. Enemies are my usual kind of acquaintances. As far as family goes, my mama would have missed me. I loved her and she loved me, and I miss her daily.. but she passed away almost two years ago now. As for my father? He doesn't care much, as far as I know. He doesn't know where I am now, but I suppose if news reached him that I was dead, he might be a little upset. Who knows?

࿂ YER STORY![/color]
If you're looking for a fairytale, do not ask me to tell you about my life when I've had a few drinks. I suppose it starts off that way, though - my story. Maria was a Tortuga whore. One of many since the place is riddled with them. She met Joseph that way, the Gaoler came looking for a goodtime with his crew mates. But it was different. Maria was of Italian descent. A feiry beauty.. He visited her everytime his ship made port in Tortuga, and they fell in love, I suppose. At the time, his ship was staying close to Tortuga and he was never gone for too long. She wasn't a whore to him anymore, and.. perhaps if things had been different they would have married. Still, it is of no matter to me. Then, he went away. For a long time. Almost a year, mama told me, and when he came back, Maria had a baby. A young girl whom she'd named Jezebelle. Me, incase you're struggling to keep up. I suppose he was happy enough. She'd given me his surname, though I never really understood why.

I grew up in Tortuga. Some might feel sorry for me for that, but I enjoyed my childhood. I didn't know any different, so being around whore's didn't feel strange. The Gaoler would make an appearance occasionally. He wasn't a doting father though nor was he completely indifferent. He simply.. was. A friendly stranger would be the best term I suppose. He and my mother were still very much in love, according to her. Sickeningly sweet, hmm?

Nothing much happened in my life, if I'm honest.. which I'm not usually. It must be your lucky day. I saw my father perhaps.. eight times in sixteen years, and the rest of the time, I watched my mother do what she did best. Someone asked me once how my mother could love my father if she still sold herself, and the answer was obvious to me. He was not about to sweep her into the sunset and provide for her. She was independant, like me - it's where I got it from - and she did her best to look after me and herself. I wasn't the only 'mistake', as whore's children are often termed and my childhood was happy. Life was simple enough.

Until my mother died when I was sixteen. Then I was alone and faced with a tough choice. If I stayed and waited for the Gaoler to come, it could have been another year or more, and even then, there was no way to know if he would care enough to help me. If I stayed in Tortuga, either to wait or permanently, there was only one real way to make ends meet - the same way my mother had, and she had always worked hard enough for the both of us to prevent me needing to do what she did. She said I was better than that. She didn't want me being just like she was. So I left Tortuga. Bartered passage to the first place I could and I ended up in Port Royal. I had a stint as a maid in one of the big houses for a hoity-toity family but my temper and dishonest disposition led to an almost immediate dismissal, so now I work as a barmaid, and live above the tavern, renting one of the rooms from the woman who owns the place. It isn't glamourous, but it's my life right now. So there. You know all about me.. Now, be a lovey and go and get me another drink?

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TWENTY-ONE ࿂ LARA JADE࿂ EIGHT YEARS[spelled out]
LILYY

RP SAMPLE. <3

--- She didn't dream that night, which was perhaps a good thing since it only would have been a nightmare. It was a slightly easy sleep and she barely stirred, only to make herself a little more comfortable. The soft shallow breathing and regular heartbeat that she heard only served to relex her enough to lull her back into the depths of sleep. The body heat beneath her and arm wrapped gently around her would cause her to occasionally nuzzle into the chest on which she had her head laid on, a tiny smile gracing her lips as she slipped back into slumber.

--- It was early morning when she finally awoke. The sun was not yet fully risen, casting everything in a dull yellow glow, and she opened her eyes slowly. For a few moments, she lay still allowing herself to wake up, and slowly the harsh reality filtered in. She tilted her head to look at the still sleeping form of Justin, a soft sigh leaving her lips. Sure enough they had gotten off to a slightly rocky start and they ruffled each other's feathers with ease, but common sense told Eden that in a short amount of time, he would be all she had left. She carefully rose from lying on top of him, frowning lightly at the position they had laid in all night. Too intimate for most, but it had given her comfort and so she let it pass.

--- Tiptoeing quietly, she picked up the bottle of Brandy from the glass table and with a frown she replaced it in the liquor cabinet. For a moment her eyes searched the small collection of alcohol until she found the one she was looking for. Kneeling down in front of the cabinet, she pulled the vessel from it's place nestled between the others, and opened it, bringing the neck to her nose and inhaling deeply. Blackberry Brandy; Jon's favourite drink. Such a familiar smell, she was so used to tasting it on her lips after his kisses. The mere association caused a pang of sadness to twist her gut and she hurriedly replaced the bottle where she had retrieved it from.

--- Quietly, she crept from the sitting room and made her way down the hallway and then up the stairs. The door of the bedchamber creaked softly and she winced, praying it would not wake Jon up. She slipped inside, simply standing by the door, watching him sleep. She knew he had watched her sleep many times, telling her she looked like an angel when she did so. Now, it was her turn to watch him sleep, and he seemed to peaceful. Part of her wanted to crawl in next to him and curl up to him, but she knew she could not. Jon had said his goodbyes to her and her child last night, before the syphilis rendered him completely incapable of rational thought. One of her hands came to rest on her stomach. Her child would never know him, the man who for all intents and purposes was the father. He would not even survive that long.

--- For a few long minutes she watched him, silent tears making their way down her cheeks as she tried to comprehend him not being around. Yes, she had coped for twenty-seven years of her life without him, but that would not make existing while he did not any more bearable. With a last sigh, she padded towards to bed, only to retrieve the shirt Justin had brought into the room for her last night. The urge to reach out and touch her lover was overwhelming, but she couldn't bring herself to. God, she wanted to, but she daren't rouse him when he slept so peacefully, not knowing which frame of mind he would wake up in. The one man she had known would protect her was now one of the biggestr dangers she faced as the disease claimed his sense of reason. It felt as if a knife was twisting in her stomach at that realisation.

--- Shutting the door behind her, shirt in hand, she slipped back down the stairs and into the sitting room once more. Justin seemed to still be sleeping, and suddenly she felt so very alone. She moved to the french windows, sitting herself down on the sill, bare feet on the grass outside. The morning dew was cold on her feet and she gave a light shiver as she brought the shirt up to bury her face in it. She tried to let the scent surround her, but it was nowhere near as strong as it would be from the source. She inhaled deeply before moving the garment back away from her face, biting her bottom lip to force back more tears.

--- Nothing would ever be the same now.

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[AMAYA O' HIERLIHY]

-looks greats to me!