Andromeda Thalis
Sept 8, 2011 22:46:09 GMT -5
Post by Andi Thalis on Sept 8, 2011 22:46:09 GMT -5
[/font][/blockquote]Tell us who you are...
Name: Andromeda Leigh Thalis.AKA: Andi
Age: Twenty-three.
Orientation: Heterosexual.
Affiliation: Teacher, more of a trainer since she can’t stand classrooms.
Gift: Demonic Ability of Tactile Combustion: your body is covered in a thin, invisible energy field which can spontaneously ignite any combustible material within it. If an object is touched, the field extends along it in a limited way, covering the object if possible, and linking to others to a degree. For example, if touching a person's hand, using the power on them would set their entire body alight, but using this on a table inside a house would only set the table alight. Side effects include migraines, fatigue, high body temperature, numb hands.
Play-By: Minka KellyMay I ask your story...?
Yeah, I was born on the same day as that freakin’ Bella kid from that stupid Twilight franchise. Sorry if I offend people, but seriously…vampires do not sparkle. They feast on blood and sleep during the day and stay away from crosses and garlic. Me, I like a lot of garlic, but it comes from my Greek blood. Enough about that, it’s my story. I was born on September 13th in Chicago to Stephanie and Andrew Thalis. We lived right on the shores of Lake Michigan, in a nice condo that my mom’s parents owned. My mom was eighteen when she had me, and my dad was twenty-five. Yeah, one-night stand after a chance meeting in a nightclub resulted in little me, born six pounds, five ounces, nine months later. My father, having the ever conservative parents, made him marry my mom so that my birth would be legit, and in time they grew to love each other.
Quite frankly, it disgusted me. Love? Really? It was pathetic.
Anyway, back to the story. I grew up in a suburb that was always cold and rainy and just downright depressing. My parents were on me about getting good grades and making friends in school, when them themselves never did it; my mom had been notorious for being an outcast and my father was the black sheep of his family. Of course, both sets of my grandparents loved me, so I got good grades and made friends for them, not my parents. Then, of course, they would fight, and I would be in my room, listening to them and rolling my eyes. It was like they had nothing else to do.
That was when it fall fell apart.
My mom had been a notorious drinker and smoker throughout her teens, which probably contributed to my lack of social skills and my lackluster grades. Her bad decisions landed her in the hospital one day, and we found out that her liver was failing and that she had cancer. For the first time in my nine years of life, I felt something for the woman who had given birth to me. For weeks she battled against the odds with chemotherapy and medicine and all sorts of treatment and I sat by her side, holding her hand as she struggled to tell me that she was sorry that she hadn’t raised me right. She told me her life story, how she had grown up in a rich family and disappointed her parents because she didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of winning in the social world by having a perfect family. She told me how she had fallen for my father the moment she had seen him, how she still loved him and how she wanted him to find someone better if she ever died. Most of all, she told me she loved me, more than anything else in the world.
That night she died, as if she had let go because she had told me everything she needed to tell me.
After that my dad moved us closer to the East Coast, where a number of his family lived. After a year he started dating, much to my dislike. I still acted up and got mediocre grades, sometimes skipping school to play hooky. I made no friends but managed to hang out with the cool kids anyway, doing stupid stuff and not getting caught most of the time. By the time I was twelve, my father had pretty much given up on trying to raise me right and had secluded himself with trying to find a woman with enough patience to raise me as someone my mother hadn’t.
That woman was named Alisha, and she was the prettiest woman I had ever seen. Blonde, blue-eyed, she was everything my mother wasn’t, and the total opposite of my father in appearance. Honestly, though she was nice and polite and clean and tidy and tried to act like a mother when she clearly wasn’t…she pissed me off. I wanted my mother to come back and look at me with her blue eyes, telling me in her voice what to do. It was one day that I got so mad at the woman when she told me to raise my grades to make my father happy that I grabbed the closest thing to me – a Barbie my dad had bought in the hopes that I would play with it – and held it, trying to keep my anger in check. My hands kept trembling, my anger kept rising, and when she waggled her finger at me, I lost it. I threw the Barbie at her, and everything went black.
When I woke up a couple of days later, I was in the hospital with a strange man at my side, holding my hand and talking to the doctor. He told me that he was a man from a special place called St. Gertrude's, a place filled with Gifted children like me. I didn’t understand, so he told me what had happened. After I had thrown that Barbie at Alisha, it had exploded and destroyed part of the house, along with giving Alisha enough injuries to stay in bed for a few weeks. He said it was called tactile combustion, kind of like Gambit’s power from the X-Men, and that I would need to go to this special school to harness my destructive powers. Since I loved the X-Men (Gambit was my favorite, alongside Rogue and Storm), I got excited and went with him to this school of Gifted children.
I grew to control my powers, with some side effects of fatigue if I used it too much and only being able to put the energy into small objects. As I got older, the objects became larger and the explosions bigger, but it took time, and I always had a headache right after that happened, along with my hands going numb. On regular checkups, the doctor would remark about how my body temperature was higher than normal, but the man who found me had told me that that was normal for someone with my ability. I just learned to accept it with my studies and my control, and before long I was making little fireworks shows with popcorn if I got bored.
Pretty soon I graduated and got my motorcycle when I was nineteen, and I asked for more piercings and a tattoo; my dad let me get my ears pierced again and a cartilage ring and my navel, and on my twentieth birthday, he took me to get the star tattoo on my right wrist. After that, I moved out into a small apartment in New Tatum and started living my life, first by asking and getting a job back at the school I graduated from. It’s nice, working with all the students, making sure that their gifts are under control and helping out whenever possible. I try to keep my trouble side to a minimum whenever possible, but sometimes that’s impossible. Luckily I have someone who will help.
Hopefully.
And the Puppetmaster is...
Name: Mandi!
Experience: Six years.
How you got here: I blame Ysa. xD
Are you ready? Um…DUH!.
Skills. Show them.
She had been sitting there for a bit, alternating between looking at the bowling ball and the small backpack she had brought with her. Inside the small bag was a small notebook and some pens; her gift to Matt for accepting this date with her. She looked at her watch and sighed; maybe this hadn’t been a good idea after all. She made to stand when she felt a warm presence beside her and looked up into his face, his grin making her face light up in a smile.
“Matt!” she said happily, jumping up to give him a hug. “I’m so glad you came!” She reached into her bag and pulled out the small notebook and pens and handed them to him. “These are for you,” she offered with a small smile. “So we can talk and stuff.” She had already written a note inside, telling Matt all about school and her family and how she was sorry that she had been busy; hopefully he would like it.
“So let’s get started, shall we?” she told him with a smile, taking the time to braid her hair over her shoulder and tie it off with a rubber band. She sat at the computer and inputted her initials, ALT, and looked up at her companion. “Basically we input our initials here, and it shows up on the TV above us, and it’s a moderator on who’s turn it is,” she explained, hoping he would understand.
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