Appearance: Elfi wears a little gown like that of a ballerina's, with two little dimples of pink on her cheeks, and a purple thread sewn across her left cheek, like a stitch. Elfi has stringy brown hair with thick threads of brown and orange twisted in, with a lavendar coloured bow tying a few pieces together neatly.
History: Elfi was a very stubborn little girl. Even from a young age, her parents -- whom were wealthy and quite respected amongst the community -- noticed that Elfi just wasn't understanding. Even at only fourteen, when all kids cared about were computers and games and cell phones, Elfi was forced into finishing school to learn some manners.
However, Elfi grumbled, and huffed, and sulked every day after she'd come home, grumbling about how evil they were there. She was a stubborn, hot-headed little thing. Mrs. Fink tried talking some sense into her husband, but he was getting so fed up with his enigma daughter. She was nothing like her perfect older siblings who were married off to rich suitors, and used perfect manners, and never grumbled.
The day Mrs. Fink died from a chronic disease, Mr. Fink dragged his daughter off to have "surgery" done. You can probably tell the ending ....
Little Elfi woke up as a little rag doll, as petite as she was before. Her fathers plans to hunt her were forgotten when he realized what he'd done to his daughter. Now, he lives at a home for those who have gone insane, and little Elfi wanders, trying to find somewhere safe from all this evil.
Personality: Emily Fink was only five feet, one inch when she was even eighteen. She is stubborn, hard-headed --as well as hot-headed-- and seems like the type who wants to fend for herself (hope I'm not being cliche)
Other: Yah.
"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person.
He became wicker-like, his woolen hair is a more textured version of what it had once been before hand, auburn and tossled messily. Along his collarbone 'Love is my Weapon' is embroidered as he had a tattoo there in his human life. It showed was a sign of his strength and that although he had no weapons nor the strength to fight, his emotions where what pushed him to fight back. To be strong. He wears the cross necklace he previously had, not because of his beliefs but because its a memory of his human life. He is covered in poor stitching as he was an experiment. One of the first. His eyes are a cold, unresponsive brown.
History:
Alasdair grew up in a normal, middle class family. His mom was very sickly and his father had been tirelessly working to keep the family afloat. He had no other siblings. When his father died in a crash, it had only been him and his mother. He dropped out of school and worked but started becoming weaker with time. Like his mother, he was sickly often and small so his immune system had a hard time fighting against foreign illnesses. His mother died when he had turned 14. Instead of getting a foster family, he remained living on his own, working and paying for himself.
Alasdair died when he turned 17 due to cancer. Because he lived on his own and made very little money at what he did and had no family to speak of, his body was donated for research. He was used as one of the first experiments for ragdolls, his stitching very course and twead a unexciting cream colour. Alasdair had been called winter due to his lack of responsive behaviour after he had been created for he turned cold toward everyone and everything that forced him back into life. Because he was opinionated, he fought back against the people who turned him that way, lashing out and then finally running away. He was found by Jonah, ultimately and found the only person in which called him by his real name. Who did not see his as a wintery character.
Personality:
Alasdair is very stubborn and makes many cruel comments when he can. He likes to outsmart the humans in any way he can and is very fiesty even for his small figure. He likes to stretch the boundaries by flirting with human girls or doing things that humanity does not accept. If he's going to live again, he might as well fight for it.
Alasdair had formally been fairly religious. He had a large cross necklace in which he had worn around his neck as a sign that he believed his parents were in a better place. When he was reborn as a ragdoll, he no longer felt that religion played any toll in his life. He wished to be dead and was not even given that right.
Other:
Up for love.
Suppose for a moment that the heart has two heads, that the heart has been chained and dunked in a glass booth filled with river water. The heart is monologuing about hesitation and fulfillment while behind the red brocade the heart is drowning. - R.S
Appearance: Before becoming a ragdoll, Mackenzie was a beatiful young girl with bright blue eyes, a blush that fell across her cheeks and touched her nose, and dark brown, almost black hair. She never wore the color pink, as she hated it, and was very short, only 5'2.
After being changed, her brother, the one who did it to her, caused her to have pink everything. She thanks God that he didn't make her have a pink body. Her eyes are black and blue, her hair black and pink, and her dress all pink with shimmers of glitter. She was giving to her brother's fiancee, who instantly loved her and didn't know that Mack's brother had trapped Mack in the doll, nor that he put her in doll fights(:
History: Mackenzie was a very respected, beautiful teenager, but she refused to let it go to her head. Her town loved her, as did her parents. She was engaged to be married to a very nice young lad. Her brother hated her guts though. Hated that she got all the attention, and hated that everyone loved her, but called him Mackenzie's older broter. So, fueled by hate, he had her turned into a ragdoll.
Personality: Mackenzie used to be a very nice girl. She was kind to everyone and everything she met, even the people on the corner. Now, however, that her mouth is sown shut, she can't speak, and only talks with limited actions.
Other: Up for love. (Ragdolls can fall in love right?)
Oh, the tiger will love you. There is no sincerer love than the love of food. George Bernard Shaw
History: She grew up in a very poor neighborhood. Amelia (I put "Lia" up as a nickname, but very few people actually call her that.) Amelia never knew her father, and grew up exceedingly close to her mother and younger brother. Amelia worked all of her life to earn their small family enough money to move out of the neighborhood. The day of Amelia's accident, she had just scraped enough money together for the family to purchase a small suburban house far away from the neighborhood Amelia grew up in. Amelia had been walking home from her third job around one in the morning when she was mugged. Amelia panicked, as she had been carrying the last of the money that would go to buy the new house when her attackers caught her. She fought back with all of her might, and was mortally wounded in the process. She was found in the morning, clinging onto what was left in her life. By the time Amelia was in the hospital, it was far too late. Amelia's family dumped most of Amelia's money into her hospital bills, but in the end Amelia was forced to choose. At the time, Amelia had very little knowledge of the ragdoll program. She only thought that after becoming a ragdoll, she could once again build up the money to buy that house again.
Personality: Amelia is very broken spiritually. She hasn't seen her family since becoming a ragdoll, and misses them more than anything. Most of any emotion she feels is some sort of anger and dissatisfaction. She has a weakness for small children due to the memory of her brother. Amelia has a maternal side that is not often left to expose itself.
Other: Up for love.
"The grasshopper!... Mind the grasshopper!... A grasshopper not only turns, it hops!... It hops!... And it hops jolly high!" ~Erik, The Phantom of the Opera
I hate cement. Ever sicne becoming a ragdoll, I've been surrounded by the stuff; in my cell/supposed room, in the battle domes and the tunnels that lead to them... and water. Water is bad too.
"Plush?" My name isn't Plush, it's Kieth.
"Plush," she asked again. I turned and saw Ashara (my "masters" daughter) come in with a tray. Just old bread and some water, like usual.
"Ashara," I acknowledged and took the tray from her. She smiled.
"Can I get you anything else... oh my." Great. I followed her eyes to where I had a scratch on my arms and stuffing was poking out. Okay, it was more of a gash that would completley take my arms off, but it wasn't really a serious problem... for a ragdoll.
"Was that from last night?" she asked and went over to a bench where a sewing kit was. I was expected to fix myself if I was ever hurt.
"Um... I think so?" She rolled her eyes and knelt down, taking my arm.
"You should really be more careful."
"Why? It doesn't hurt."
Ashara pulled hard and, if I were still human, it would've been one of those moments where she shuts me up with a hiss of pain.
"Sometimes you can be so stupid."
"That's how I got here in the first place," I muttered.
He sat there with his head in his hands frowning. The endless droning of the professor was too much for him, he didn't think he would be able to listen any more. His really attention was brought to his speech he would have to make tonight in the square. He knew it would be tricky, and knew his ideas would certainly be frowned upon, but at least he was given the chance.
The butterflies were flying around in his stomach, making him uncomfortable and jittery.
Such an odd phrase that really was, butterflies flying around in someones stomach. I get the nervous feeling could be reflected as the feeling of many butterfly wings brushing his innards, but it was an incredible thing to picture. A bunch of beautiful, coloured butterflies entrapped in someones bowels. Jonah flicked at the papers on his desks, looking over his own notes he made. But they weren't notes for his law class. It was notes and ideas on how to revert Alasdair back into his human form.
Just as Jonah's thoughts, reached Alasdair the professor slammed his book onto his desk and dismissed them, hundreds of students ambling to their feet and collecting there papers soon enough shuffling through the door. Jonah was the last to leave, but it was urgent enough, because he wished to return home and make sure Alasdair wasn't ruining his house.
He left the university, eyeing the heavy grey clouds that threatened of rain. A pity it seemed. But it was expected of London. He strolled down the street, book bag hanging lazily over his shoulder, and his hands in his pockets. He was frowning lightly, his mood resembling the miserable day around him.
----------------
~Incognito
'Everyone is entitled to be stupid, some just abuse the priviledge.'
Finally someone would call me by my real name. I hated Plush. Plush. It sounded so... stuffed animally.
"There... done."
I stretched my arm loose, testing the stitches. "What? You don't trust me?" Ashara asked.
"Nah, but stretching is probably the only thing close to pain that I can feel." I bit my lip hard, or at least I thought it was hard. I could never tell anymore.
Ashara's back pocket started ringing. She pulled out a cell phone and gave it a quick glance before frowning.
"What's wrong?"
"My dad wants you upstairs."
Great. Bad things happen when I go upstairs. Eiher I'm going to be punished for something stupid, or I'll be recieving a check up and training session from Professor Fecilier (which could be considered a punishment.)
"I'm going," I muttered and picked myself up from the bench. Ashara followed me up the stairs, but dissapeared before I went into her father's study. Professor Fecilier was standing in front of Mr. Camble's desk.
Everything was quiet. At last, Madison had been left alone. For twelve days there had been doctors and experts flooding her tiny room - which was more like a cell - examining her. None of them could figure out why she couldn't talk.
Too bad they didn't know that it wasn't that she couldn't talk, it was that she wouldn't talk. She had never wanted this. It had seemed like possibly a good idea at the time, though even then she didn't have any choice in the matter.
Being a ragdoll was going to be a good thing, she had told herself. She would have to be with that dirty gang man anymore. She would never feel pain again. She would be an investment, and therefore taken care of.
Oh how wrong had she been. Being a ragdoll was no improvement over being a gang man's slavegirl. Sure she couldn't feel pain anymore - the pain had been the worst part of being in that man's custody - and she was an "investment" but that didn't mean she was cared for.
As soon as the doctors declared her healthy, which they certainly would, she would be sent into the battle domes where she would be forced to fight.
Madison wished she never would have been "saved" by the gang man. Being killed certainly would have been better than any of this.
It was so awful, I thought as I watched Plu-Keith train in the practice ring below me. Neither him nor the trainer could see me, but I could see them. One of the more useful inventions of sciences.
I watched as Keith ducked and punched, knowing that he would be in another fight within 24 hours and I would be sitching up another part of him.
How could my father have done this?
"Hello Ashara!" Came a voice behind me, I startled and turned to see my father. He grinned at me. "Isn't Plush doing rather well?"
I turned back to the practice ring and pretended to frown in thought. "He seems to be doing alright. Winning alot."
Father laughed. "Poor girl, you know nothing of the sport. Winning is just the start, its the bargaining that comes afterward that makes the game."
I frowned. "Bargaining? Like bets? I thought you made those before the fights."
Father stood next to me, watching Keith. "Yes, you do make the bets before the fights, but anyone would do anything to have a good Ragdoll at their disposal. Plush has been doing a fantasic job in fights that I've begun investing in another Ragdoll."
I fought to keep my mouth shut. Another poor defenseless person turned into...his toy?! It was ridiculous!
"But, what does that have to do with bargaining?" I asked quietly.
"Well," Father said slowly, "if I have another Ragdoll, fresh and new, I won't have to keep an old experienced Doll like Plush now do I? And anyone will pay through the nose for one like him."
My heart stopped. He was going to sell Keith?! I nodded tightly and turned to leave, and, once the door was closed, I ran.
I know that you believe you understand what you think I said, but I'm not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant. - Robert McCloskey
Teacher: What do we, in the U.S enjoy from places like Mexico? Student: Wait, legally?
I hated the training ring! Yes, I am whining in my head. Sue me. You would too if you had tons upon tons of machinery and technology thrown your way. First was a ragdoll dummy (twisted isn't it?) and then fire and saws in the floor; you see my point right?
What's worse is the creepy scientist on the other end of the room messing with the controls to make it harder or easier. He would back off, give me room to run at him, and then reactivate some torture device like falling knives or a trap door with snakes (yes I am over-exaggerating just a little bit).
What was it my dad, when I was human, said to me? "Son. When life throws you the worst, keep your sense of humor." Sense of humor. Maybe being sarcastic is the only reason I'm sane.
"Getting tired Plush?"
"Nope! How bout you old man?"
In answer he dropped a block of cement on me. Like I said before, I. Hate. Cement. Once it was removed by the claw it was conected to, I stood up to see his rotten pig face.
"What? That hurt?"
"I wish," I muttered and continued running at him through the obstacles, very occasionally getting punished for coming too close or going too slow (see blocks of cement and falling knives from above).
"You're going to be ready for this next fight if it kills me!" the professor yelled and continued to fiddle with the controls.
"God damn it..." Alasdair muttered rather harshly, his hands searching around a small wooden drawer rather blindly. Instead of doing the obviously smart thing to do which was to go in search of a light bulb, he would rather aimlessly search for the small bobbin of thread in which was not making itself known very quickly. "I hate Mondays..."
Finally, with a sigh of annoyed relief, his fingers found the small bobbin. He then proceeded in striding out of the blackened room peevishly. Jonah would have to deal with the burnt light blub when he got home.
He removed the needle from the bobbin and threaded it expertly, the coarse black string a reminder of how much of a nuisance his outter layer had been. All those newer ragdolls and their permeable treated fabrics of all colours... He just had to be this unenthralling twead and easily torn as he found out many a times. The upkeep was far from exciting in his eyes as he displayed with just as much joy as a bird would being stuck in a cage.
The string pulled the twead together tightly, his defts hands easily finding the correct pattern. If he had been human, embroidery wouldn't have been a far fetched idea of a hobby. He hated it now more than anything.
The torn fabric along his forearm had been a cause of little fright and fiery annoyance. A daily nuisance of which he didn't much desire. He continued his ministrations, trying to think about everything and anything other than the torn fabric and the burnt light bulb.
Suppose for a moment that the heart has two heads, that the heart has been chained and dunked in a glass booth filled with river water. The heart is monologuing about hesitation and fulfillment while behind the red brocade the heart is drowning. - R.S
