Group: Head of House
Member No.: 1
Joined: 24-May 06
About the story
Title: Untitled for now...
Person (1st, 2nd, 3rd): First
Genre: Mystery, Dark, Romance. Mysterhorrance.
Warnings: Sensitive Topic, Mild Sexual Content, Suggestive Dialogue, Language
Summary: It is in her old age that she finds the strength to speak up, speak out against her crimes. But, what is it that she has done, really? She has fallen victim to the most evasive manipulator in history. She has fallen in love.
This story follows Eileen from childhood through adulthood and old age. The narrator of the story is her great granddaughter.
The story is darker than I'm putting here, because I don't want to give anything away :P
Name: Eileen Tomason
Birtdate (include how old they are in the story): 72 years old.
Work/Schooling: School up through ten years old.
Mother: Never named in the story; supposedly dead due to an accident involving the Mayor of their town.
Father: Never named in the story; supposedly dead due to an accident involving the Mayor of their town
Extended Family: Auntie Gretchen and two tiny, yapping dogs.
Home: After her parents' death, Eileen goes to live with Auntie Gretchen in a very large manor. (details still to be worked out)
About the character (paragraph answers will help determine what needs work)
Appearance: Eileen is raised to look presentable at all times; her hair is always pulled neatly back, her clothes are always clean and pressed; her skin never blemished or dirty. She is of average height and average weight - neither too skinny nor too rotund. She never wears make up, though she has sneaked a bit of her Auntie's concealer for a zit here and there. She has dark brown hair and dark brown eyes.... and uhmm. that's about it.
Quirks: Distance. She keeps herself away from others as best as she can; trying not to get in the way. Along with being a 'lady', she does not raise her voice higher than a whisper. Over the years and when she reaches old age, it is exceedingly hard for her to form relationships of any kind. One of her eyes is slightly lazy, and she has difficulty telling time. In her old age, she is nearsighted and often forgets what she is doing and where she is.
Special Skills: She has none. Nothing more than presenting herself.
Anti-Skills: Social interaction
Romantic Interests: She has several fancies, though she never acted on them and watched from afar. One boy, however, noticed her. Johnny could never love her in return, not the way she wanted. But he did love her. Eventually.
Personality: She is quiet, well mannered, and withdrawn. Even though her parents have died, she does not mourn them as much as she thinks she should. She believes that everything happens for a reason and if you wait long enough, you will find out why. Now, in her old age, she is beginning to tie all the pieces together - for the very first time.
Enemies/rivals: No one really. She barely goes out of her way to make friends, let alone enemies.
Friends: her doll. not named yet... and Johnny.
Hobbies: Playing with her doll. Yes, even in her old age. Eavesdropping. Cleaning house, playing dress up... in later years, she liked to stitch.
Understanding the character
What is his/her goal in life? She never had one. Nothing more than following her heart with a man that she fancied - making a good wife for him and at the same time, keeping her friendship alive.
Would the character change for someone they liked? Yes. Without a doubt. She is flexible.
What do they appreciate most in life? Propriety. Dolls. Honesty. Watching people.
What would the character say about himself/herself? "I do appreciate a good scandal."
What is the purpose of your OC (why are they in the story?)? She is the main character... well, she's the co-main character. She is an amazing (and scary, LOL) woman who is haunting my NaNo thoughts. :P
An actual quote from the story which sums up the character (optional): See last question....
A brief history of the character leading up to the start of the story (optional):
Her withering hands clutch tightly to one another. It is in her old age that she finds the strength to speak up, speak out against her crimes. But, what is it that she has done, really? She has fallen victim to the most evasive manipulator in history. She has fallen in love.
Without a second glance to me, she states her name and her age - lower than I would have expected for someone so frail and grey. Her name is Eileen and she is seventy-two years old. She tells me quietly that she is not used to sharing her secrets with someone she has not known very long and never once has she told all of her stories to one person. But, today, I get to be the lucky person. I get to hear the tales, create a bond with her characters and carry on her legacy.
Next to her, she picks up a doll and lays with it in her folded arms. I grasp my notebook closer to me, the edge of it pressing against my stomach while the back of it rests readily on my thigh. In her last moments, I will have my first.
She speaks easily of the dialogue, but what satisfies me more are her many details; of June's touchy breeze and the fresh lawn scent that fills her nostrils. Eileen can remember so many things. Things that I always take for granted.
In 1936, Eileen Tomason packed up her small carrier bag and headed out to the coach that was to take her away from the only home she had ever known. Both of her parents, she never named them, had been killed in an accident involving the local town mayor. Quite the scandal, she claims.
It was this carrier bag that would hold her memories; pictures - black and white and slightly curled in the corner, ragged clothes that could fit someone much bigger than she, and more curious than all, a tiny doll with one of its big, blue eyes missing.
She says it was out of adoration for the doll that she kept it, but even her psychiatrist couldn't believe her. No, it was something much more etherreal, I believe.
Her mother collected the dolls and this one, with its curly brown hair and fading painted make up, was her favorite. So much more loved than the rest, her mother would speak to it and placed up high, far away from the other dolls in the house. There may not have been a method to her preference, Eileen says, but one thing was certain to me when I saw the doll for the first time: it was not just an average collectible.
It seemed to watch and to judge. Every movement that I made, its eye followed. Lazily. But, to me, when Eileen was speaking, there was never a moments' peace, never a chance to be alone. It seemed to breathe life and yet, it was still. Always so still.