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 Myra Spitoslava

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Number of posts : 2
Age : 24
Location : Da' Burgh'
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Registration date : 2009-02-25

PostSubject: Myra Spitoslava   Wed Feb 25, 2009 8:33 pm

{This is my first post here, so please tell me if I mess anything up! No I probably have...}
Name: Myra Spitoslava (Pronounced: Meer-a Spitohslaeva)

MyraAge: 16

Gender: Female

Alliance: The Black Order

Rank: Exorcist

Family: Nyra; Twin sister. Brother-deceased Father-deceased Mother-deceased

Crushes: Straight. Turn-ons: Funny guys, idiots.

Abilities/Innocence: Midnight Ribbon{Shoushi inju}; Equipment type.

Myra is like her sister as she is reserved and extremely polite in the midst of superiors, however this hospitable attitude quickly diminishes once out of public scrutiny she is loud, sarcastic, and caring. This somewhat loud and clumsy attitude is one she only shares with her most trusted companions, and as a result of her depressing and secluded past she has some major trust issues. Her closest secrets, desires, and wishes are scrawled down in her midnight blue diary. However the iron lock probably isn’t necessary being as her chicken scratch is barely legible. It’s the way she vents.

Likes: She is, and always has been, extremely over attatched and protective of her sister Nyra. Her favorite food is Cholit-Fish, a savory Russian dish of veggies and fish. (She is Russian after all) She also loves travel.

Dislikes: She hates the color blue, for no apparent reason. She also has an unreasonable fear of roosters.

History: Myra never really knew her parents, as she has some of her first memories of her and her twin Nyra, along with her deceased elder brother escaping a terrible orphanage. Her only possessions being the cloths on her back, and her diary. The tuff Russian streets were a hard place for orphaned children, as they had to scrounge money off of old ladies at street corners, or steal from unguarded shops and pickpocket. Once they found themselves, as usual, shuffling about the cargo storage of a large ship searching for morsels of food, gold, or any other obscure treasure. At this point she had to have been around ten and in the midst of learning different languages from a large book she found in an old pawn-shop. Its cover was cracking and old, pages a dingy tan and spine was moist and anything but stable. She had a strong desire to learn, so was always listening in on tutors through walls at the schools or, as she was planning on doing with this book, shove learning books into her old worn petty-coat. Anyway, back to the boat. She was rummaging through a rickety box, enjoying the swirling and sloshing of the waves when she heard frantic steps and yelling. Poking her head out she realized the boat was not docked anymore. Her siblings had apparently noticed as well. After that day they traveled non-stop, their elder brother as their guide. Until he died, that is. They had just reached the coast of Japan, from a ship importing some rubbish from China when it happened. A terrible thing possessed their brother, ravaged his soul, tore his heart, and disintegrated his sanity. He had always been a slightly depressed kind of guy, she noted. Always seeming to wear a mask. She heard him cry at night and saw the way he stared longingly at the crumpled and torn photograph of their parents. But never in a million years did she think he would stoop to this, this…level of insanity. He had asked for his mother’s soul… He had been entrapped as an akuma. At this point in time she had realized that these two little ribbons they had been using as markers in their diaries when attached to their hair never came off. And did some odd things as well. Very odd things… Anyway, her beloved role model of a brother had been possessed, or entrapped or stolen or...or, well something; she wasn’t sure at the time, but then again in those times nothing could be sure. She just knew this ugly, terrible, wretched beast chasing after her and her sister was NOT her brother and for some reason these ribbons could protect her. As soon as she could run no more, and was positive this was to be her final resting place she began to sob and pray. Pray to anyone who would listen and hope and cry. Just when she saw each memory of her worthless existence cross her field of vision, her brother, no not her brother, the demon, got shot and died. Just like that, bang dead. One shot, so simple so fast. A muffled ‘thank you…’ was emitted from the rotting disgusting form. She noted a tall man dressed in an odd black and white cloak, his face words and actions blurred or drowned out by her own depressing inner-ranting. She could hear her sister scream and cry, but believed it just to be a result of her low amount of mental stability. She wasn’t crazy, just weak. Weak, sad, and alone. Just like her, just like the world, she mused before fainting. Her last memory of that night is the image of the man, the sobbing, the corpse, and the feeling of her head slamming against the dirt road where she had assumed shed die.

Height & Weight: 163 cm, 42.1 kg


She wears her cloak short, and open at the bottom, with black thick leather shorts underneath, and white crumpled boots.
RP Sample: The clink of the white porcelain tea-glass on its little plate made her inwardly cringe. She hated that sound, it reminded her of those awful people at the orphanage. How they always drank tea swelling with slimy sticky honey and powdered cinnamon, how they would pour it down her back and laugh on occasion…She shoved those memories back know, though. This wasn’t the time for an emotional breakdown.
“So, how many…?” She asked. Words gliding out slowly, dripping off her tongue like butter-cream. Her voice always made things sound so smooth.
“It’s estimated at least three now…”The finder said, muffling her last few words with a drag from a freshly lit cigarette.
This time she noticeable cringed. Those sickening little sticks of tobacco drenched her tongue with the taste of bile. She remembered those women singeing her alabaster wrists with those hot smoldering paper sticks. They always carefully aimed for the opaque part where her lavender veins were barely visible. The pain and feeling of worthlessness than was indescribable… She pushed back the bile for a second time.
“Would you mind…? The smoke makes my throat sore.” She stated simply, gathering her thoughts as she squeezed the bridge of her nose. The woman looked disgruntled, but shook it off.
“Not at all…” She crashed the smoke into a clean tray and frowned. “We’ll be there any minute, not that its any of my business but…don’t you need to prepare, exorcist…?”
Myra frowned, “Its just three, why? Are you scared of demons?” She smirked, as the woman pushed her hair out of her face and sneered.[b]
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