Post by sawyer on Oct 12, 2011 20:16:57 GMT
SAWYER EVELYN DANIELS !?
'You know I never really like the movie Poltergeist.'
'You know I never really like the movie Poltergeist.'
hey there! so, tell us all about you... let's start off with the basics. what do we need to know?
"Take it from a girl who knows-after you’re six feet under people don’t really sweat the small stuff. Like names, jobs, where exactly you stand in this whole war between the things that go bump in the night business. At least not in my experience-mostly it’s what was that noise, is it colder in here, who the hell are you-what the hell are you? When they figure out you’re dead that’s usually where the conversation stops. Alright fine…if it’ll get you to shut up. The name’s Sawyer Evelyn Daniels, they used to call be Evee…but never because I asked to go by the name. I’m twenty eight…or was twenty eight…been twenty eight for awhile now. In case you hadn’t noticed I’m dead…a ghost, not a damn thing like Casper, and don’t even think about making a Patrick Swayze joke. I used to be a mechanic-I know right, a female mechanic. Despite what those dolts will tell you, being a woman has nothing to do with my death on the job-the V-8 engine that someone dropped on me…well that does. Damn shame too it came outta an American classic…so I guess there’s worse ways to go. Still have a weakness for men-but it’s not like there’s much I can do about it, probably for the best, never was good at relationships when I was alive, doubt that's going to change anytime soon. Right…the whole light, dark, neutral thing…let’s just put me firmly in the ‘not my problem,’ category and leave it at that…I mean, I’m dead, so why exactly should I care?"
so, a little birdy told me that you're pretty gorgeous... describe yourself.
"When I’m corporeal and for all you yahoos without a dictionary that means when I’m not a whole bunch of misty vapor-I look like I did right before I died, right down to the grease stains on my worn out jeans. Lithe, tall, but with muscle where it counted ya-know? The kind of woman who didn’t have to buy her own drinks at the bar, I mean if she was into that whole
losing your dignity over a free shot of Jack sorta thing. When I cleaned myself up I was considered attractive or at least that’s what most people thought. Right up until the whole drinking, swearing, obviously raised by a man personality slipped out-or you know I hustled you in a game of pool, got myself into a nasty fight-so I wasn't all that lady-like, sue me.
The night I died I wasn’t dressed up, wasn't sporting the usual uniform either. Clad in a charcoal grey tank-top, skinny jeans, a set of work boots, sporting espresso brown locks that looked like a cross between bed-head and a styled tussle. You'd get away with calling me plain, still prettier then the rest of the folks I worked with-but even with the smudges you'd near call my eyes ordinary looking. Steel-blue, with a hint of sass no matter what the occasion-my best feature and the left-over make-up from the night before probably helped. I'll admit I look a bit paler than most-but from afar you can’t tell I’m a spook…until I do something spooky that is-and given how boring the afterlife can be and how much of a prankster I am…I probably will."
i'm sure that your personality is something else completely, tell me all about your self, can't wait to hear it!
"I suppose at the end of the day they’d call me one of those what you see is what you get kinda people. Of course now-a-days, it’s what you can’t see can also be what you get-sorry ghost humor. What can I say, I enjoy a good laugh, well that a stiff drink, the purr of a mustang’s engine, being able to teleport myself all around town, spying on the living, and knocking people off their high horses. Of course some of those past-times are harder to come by then others. Like the drinking, good news, I can pick up a bottle of gin, bad news besides moving it or breaking it there isn’t much else it’s good for. I’ve come to terms with it-and am several years sober now-not that I can get anyone in those AA meetings to give me a pin. I’ll be honest, being dead, it’s not exactly something I’m a real big fan of, kinda like women who wear way too much perfume and jewelry, chauvinism, pick-up lines, indecision, and judgment without just cause. Just because I’m a ghost doesn’t mean I don’t have anything to offer-or should be chased away thank you very much. To this day I’m still one of the best mechanics in town-not that I get paid for it or thanked for it…but once in awhile when I’m in the neighborhood I like to haunt my old garage. Literally, and I help pick-up the slack. Instead of those fairies that fix your shoes at night I patch up old beaters and the occasional import car, and maybe on occasion put something smelly in said air conditioner of that import car. As far as strengths go-I’d say my resolve is a strength, some people might call it stubbornness, but whatever it is it’s helped me hang on, kept me from going right off of the deep end, I mean I didn’t exactly die of natural causes. I’m fairly good at disappearing and reappearing where I want, but my real skill lies in my ability to appear human. Touch things, move things-hell I can work on cars, and considering the amount of concentration it takes some ghosts to tip over a glass of water or blow some curtains I think I’m doing well for myself. I’m not so good at knowing when to quit-it’s gotten me in trouble in the past, some near exorcisms and all that-when I get to pranking sometimes the pranks can get a bit dangerous. I’m terrible at taking most things seriously-and given there’s a war going on I’m supposed to care about not everyone likes where I stand or choose not to stand on that. I remember a bit more than I’d like about being human and because of it I get to replay the night of my death every time it rolls around. Really I’d like to forget about it…but I’m afraid if I do I might not have a reason to stay-and truth be told I’m having a bit to much fun to leave the party just yet. Even if it's stupid and not exactly possible, I want a better reason than just a couple of laughs to stick around for. Call it crazy but a ghost girl has needs and this ghost girl really needs someone who will actually stick around when she pops into their life.”
i would love to hear about your past, i'm sure it's oh so interesting...
"There’s not much to say about my past. Mother split when I was young, and was kind enough to leave me on the doorstep of her older brother. Never really knew either of my parents so as far as I’m concerned Elliot Daniels is my family. Sure he was young, the epitome of a bachelor and couldn’t cook anything much past a microwave meal, but he did the best he could. It was hard, and the young brunette in curls wasn’t exactly kind enough to ease him into the whole parenting thing-we managed. He never wanted the life he lead to be mine, the long hours, the crap pay, the lack of glamour and a college education-but if there’s one thing the Daniel’s are good at, it’s doing the opposite of what they’re told. Seeing as how I followed in his elbow grease and engine oil footsteps-I guess I inherited the trait. Still, I turned out all right. What I lacked in charm I made up for with hard work, sarcasm, and an “anything you can do, I can do better,” attitude. Wasn’t good at much else besides warming a seat at the bar and fixing up anything on wheels-but I did alright for myself. Had an apartment, a decent credit score, a scruffy stray dog as a pet and was well on my way to co-owning the garage I worked in. Hell I even had a healthy relationship or as close to steady and healthy as I’d ever gotten. You know what they say about things that go up. Sooner or later they down…although I don’t think they were talking about pine box down.
They never said it aloud, but I know they wanted to-my so called tragic death was something I’d been asking for. Had a habit with pushing buttons, playing with fire. Lived life dangerously I guess…but no one ever suspected it was murder. Hell in the beginning even I was believed it was all some freak accident. Could have sworn I synched up the chains better than that-would swear up and down I locked the pulley into place. Only they said I hadn’t-and when I was working under a used Chevy the thing gave way. They said I probably didn’t suffer too much though, that I was in a better place, at peace. Guess one outta three isn’t bad, I didn’t suffer-crushed almost instantly-and to think it was all because I was helping someone out. No good deed goes unpunished and all that. I should have moved on-instead I came to back in the garage, underneath a car, liked I’d fallen asleep and some jerk just let me lay there. It wasn’t until later I put two and two together-no one could see me, hear me, and everyone was eerily silent when they passed my work station. You’d have thought it was almost like someone died, and unfortunately that someone was me.
Don’t know how long it took to finally get my bearings, only that for the longest time I couldn’t leave the garage. Guess a part of me wanted to figure out what happened-not that I was trying all that hard. It was just plain dumb luck that a few hushed whispers over the tail-end of a phone conversation pointed me in the right direction. It wasn’t someone I recognized at first, bedraggled, five-o’clock shadow, dog-tired working the grave-yard. Good old Art-back and the day I thought we were friends. All I wanted was to give him a quick jolt-flicker the lights, crank down the temperature-prank him to pass the time-because let’s face it I’d had way too much free-time to practice. Instead I overheard the night leading up to my untimely demise-something about pay-back and why a snot-nosed woman should get the promotion someone on the other end thought he rightfully deserved, not to mention the financial perks. So it all boiled down to money-of course, someone couldn’t kill me for anything original or interesting just some extra cash lining their wallets.
Went through the stages, denial, blaming, anger, but instead of acceptance I decided getting even would be more entertaining. It was fun at first, moving things-writing messages in shower steam-I pulled out all the horror movies stops. Watched grown ass men go from tough guys and remorseless killers to nervous wrecks, sweating, always looking over their shoulders. One of them turned himself in, the other moved away-but the brains of the operation-he's the one that figured it all out. Knew it was me after I appeared in his home for the first time, even tired a make-shift exorcism to get rid of me for good-lucky thing internet priests aren't all they're cracked up to be. Thought about killing him-but someone else beat me to it. I just assumed that'd be the end of it, only I didn't leave. Alright I didn't want to leave.
Truth be told I don't know how long I've been here-drifting from one place to the next. Started passing the time practicing-making myself appear whole for as long as I could, even went back to my old job when no one was around. I hear rumors once in awhile from some of the new guys who blow in-saying the place is haunting, that they've seen a ghost on the security cameras, but no one seems to pay it any mind-I don't tend to prank in my place of business, if only because I don't want someone getting any bright ideas about making me leave. Recently caught wind of the whole war going on between the monsters in this city and everybody else-not that I've really taken an interest much past killing time spying on either side when the mood strikes. Spend most of my afterlife doing what I used to-pranking, haunting the bar, the garage, my old apartment that doesn't belong to me anymore. Basically pretending I'm not dead. Lately the routines getting a bit old. So I've been trying something new-namely making contact with the actual living and breathing types. Time will tell how that all pans out or how long I'll be able to play the whole, 'I'm dead and don't care about wars,' stance- guess it's a good thing I've got plenty of it to figure things out."
who is the amazing mastermind behind the likes of you?
"Hiya, I’m Kate-been rping so long it’s probably considered unhealthy and I’m a sucker for the show Doctor Who, also I spend waaay too much time on the internet. I currently don't have any other characters but have an addiction to them and the 12 steps aren't working. I hang out in the CS time zone and the best way to get my attention is with baked goods…or PMS. Anywho r-r-role play sample."So after that whole, “best two out of three,” shit, Elle was the lucky bastard that drew the short straw. So what, it wasn’t like working the gravies were that terrible. Alright, maybe if you were afraid of being alone, in a near desolate part of the hospital, with nothing but yourself and several dead bodies keeping you company, might have put most normal people off. Guess being a monster came in handy after all—because despite all the fears she had-dead people weren’t on the list; neither were poorly lit rooms or working alone. That was…as long as you didn’t get in the way of any under-the-table transactions involving donor blood and vampires. Sure she smelled the bags-the sleep deprived grad student, but as long as she couldn’t see it-Elle could pretend it wasn’t happening…it was just that easy for her. Rubbing her hands under a steady stream of steaming water she prepared herself for the routine of evening. Rinse hands, apply gloves, grab scalpel, slice and dice, try to figure out cause of death, repeat. It had become second nature to her-the scent of old blood, the coolness of their skin, the god-awful goriness of some of the bodies…it didn’t even bother her anymore.
When she pulled back the sheet of a mister John Doe, who’d been rolled in earlier that day, she shouldn’t have been surprised. Except this corpse actually made her eyes widen a bit-the first thing she noted right off the bat, was the reason behind not being able to ID the guy. Most of what was on her table was a damn bloody mess-and coming from a werewolf who’d made messes of her own, that was saying something. Cocking her head to the side she tried to count the number of gashes, tears, and chunks of flesh missing—she stopped after thirty. Definitely the work of a monster…probably a werewolf—but there was plenty of missing blood to bet that it could have been the work of something else. Elle Darvah wasn’t squeamish—which was probably why she got stuck with this looker in the first place…that and when it came to trying to explain away the unbelievable she was your gal. Not that it was common knowledge-or written down on any paperwork…but Tulan’s medical staff knew there was something unnatural going down in this city. They’d seen the increase in dead bodies, seen the carnage. Elle didn’t known, or really care about why they choose to ignore the facts, ignore how some of their bodies up and went missing-but if they preferred seeing “animal attack,” or “wood-chipper,” it was fine with her. The less publicity monsters got, the better-after all she was one of them, and staying out of the news was something she wanted just as badly as the hospital director.
The sound of creaking cart wheels filled the silence of the room-so the blood-mobile was working longer hours than usual. She smirked wryly to herself as she was finishing up with trying to get a few decent photo graphs of the man’s dental work-there wasn’t much face, but finding missing people wasn’t in her job description-figure out how they bit it was. Zipping the body bag shut she tossed her gloves-which were now covered with plenty of congealing blood—in the nearest trash bin. Pulling the pen from out of her hair she leaned up against a clean counter and started scribbling on the report. It didn’t look like a man, more like ground beef-and she sighed loudly in the empty room. Making the findings on this one sound good wasn’t going to be easy…what was she going to say? Tapping the pen to her nose she started talking aloud to herself-which wasn’t uncommon, and with no audience that she knew of…not embarrassing either.
”Alright so…John Doe looks more like John Ground Chuck…and I’ve gotta make that sound normal. Right then, whelp Joe, what do you think of this for cause of death? Death by trash compactor. Poor old Joe, after spending a long night hitting the bottle…that’s from your toxicology reports by the way…blood alcohol level of .6, sorry dude, you must have been having one hell of a night. Anyway, you staggered out of the bar and some how got your drunk ass tipped over in a big garbage been. Maybe you needed something salty…ya fell in, passed out, and got yourself crushed to death by the garbage man…the gashes are from something sharp that was in the trash with you. So…what do you think?”
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