SAXE-COBURG, Viola Alice Sophia

[charlie]

VIOLA ALICE SOPHIA SAXE-COBURG



" She never compromises,
Loves babies and surprises,
Wears high heels when she exercises -
Ain't it beautiful.”

Meet Viola

“Well she wants to be the Queen
Then she thinks about her scene
Pulls her hair back as she screams
‘I don't really wanna be the Queen.’ "

FULL NAME Violet Alice Sophia Saxe-Coburg

ALIAS Almost everyone calls her Viola – Violet is formal and foreign to her; a name she usually hears when she is in some kind of trouble.

AGE Sixteen

NATIONALITY England

OCCUPATION Daughter of the King & Queen.

PERSONALITY
Viola is not what would be considered average royalty. She is nota complete snob, she is not preppy, she does not ask for large sums of money or demand attention twenty four hours a day. Rather, she finds a great distaste for all those things; rather, she is quite the opposite. Life as a princess, for her, has never been all that simple. Manners, cleanliness, obedience, and moral do not come easy to her. She is a stubborn, inappropriate, impolite (as far as the Royal Court is concerned), but hardly unkind. In fact, as most servants and lower-class people who work closely within her home palace know, she is actually quite nice. Fun, in the most common of senses. She is a frivolous, carefree, dreamer who does not work well with being restricted, reprimanded, or restrained.

Despite her rebellious nature, she follows orders from her mother and father – most of the time. Her parents have such an extreme control of her life that she has no choice. Instead of throwing big fits, screaming, and storming out of a room when she’s upset with their decisions, she rebels in her own, small, nearly insignificant ways. When asked to be up and downstairs at seven in the morning, she goes slowly about getting ready until someone comes to see how she is doing. When asked to dress a certain way, she will always add something to her wardrobe secretly; a ribbon around her ankle, a tiny braid in her hair, a pendant tucked in her brassiere – small things that would go unnoticed, un-thought of. Once and a while though, she will be completely disobedient: run away, hide an animal under her bed, flee a crowded party held in her honor, and/or insult her arranged husband. In such cases as these, she is happiest, though punished severely.

However, just because Viola is child-like and disobedient (to an extent), she does not despise all aspects of her royal life. Viola enjoys her education extremely, and is very intelligent. She does not care much for learning foreign languages, mathematics, religion, or history but she is enthralled by sciences, and all of the arts. Her three favorite pastimes are reading, playing the piano (though she is hardly very good), and painting. Because of these however, she becomes a very secluded, introverted person. While she can be very expressive, loud, even over reactive and over emotional, she generally saves these characteristics for small groups of people or close friends and relatives. To please her parents, she tries to remain as polite as she possibly can. Though, this does not mean her opinions do not accidentally slip out. Only every once in a while.


A few other things of Viola that become quite obvious upon meeting her is that she is curious, witty, impatient, creative, but reserved. Getting to know her, you realize a lot of what her first impression was actually turns out to be untrue. When she finds a good friend, her life becomes an open book; she will feed that friend all of her opinions, all of her thoughts and hopes. She will be loyal, but she doesn’t seem to have very good judgment, and often trusts too easily. So, upon meeting people, she becomes guarded – not well enough, but she tries. She will be mostly polite – unless you say something she sees as “inconceivably stupid” – at that point she will give a slight, sarcastic remark, maybe; but generally she is in order upon first meeting. Eventually though, if you take the time, you can come to realize she has quite the personality.

While Viola does believe in love, she does not come to it easily. Because of her childish demeanor combined with her inevitable inflexibility, she finds it hard to be attracted to anyone; she needs someone with all characteristics found in a human – someone serious, to handle her, but playful, to be a friend. She is indecisive and picky; whether this is her true means of finding of love or whether it is to avoid getting married is unknown. She is not flirtatious, to any range, and generally looks for quality over quantity. She prefers small gifts to huge gestures – large amounts of attention and affection scare her. She is not very good at picking up on when people have “feelings” for her, so you either make it really obvious or she will never know. Ever

Among the things she finds absolutely intolerable are judgmental, egotistical, stupid people who have superior-complexes. As it’s been mentioned, she doesn’t particularly enjoy history, mathematics, or anything that restricts creativity. She is not much for dancing; she is not usually very graceful, and cannot stand the close contact with other people. She cannot stand organization by any means; if she is in a clean room, she has to misplace, break, or ruffle something to maintain her sanity. Her least favorite color is white. She is slightly claustrophobic, as well as an occasional kleptomaniac. She cannot say no to a dare, and has an unintentional bravery about her. She loves animals (except for large dogs and cats, which scare her beyond belief) and gets along well with children, though she prefers quiet servant children (as opposed to loud, crazed million-dollar toddlers). She enjoys all kinds of books and styles of art. Among her favorite auithors are Shakespeare, Bronte, Dickenson, Thoreau, Twain, and Orwell. She has no favorite artists because she entertains the idea that all art is art to someone, so you can’t pick a favorite. Venomous replies are a defense, not intentional (usually), and she is a generally kind and caring person. Did she not refuse to get married; she would be a mother rather soon – and a rather good one at that.


SEXUALITY Straight, though she hardly understands sexuality anyway. She passes no judgment either way.

APPEARENCE Viola is roughly five foot five-six, with curly, bright red to reddish-brown (depending on how much she’s in the sun) hair that surely stands out in the crowd. Her eyes are an almost unrealistic cross of cerulean and aquamarine—her skin, a pale (barely above sickly) alabaster. She has plump cheeks, supple thighs and upper arms, short fingers, and a relatively thin frame. Her weight is somewhere between one hundred and ten to one hundred and twenty pounds; she has a very small chest – honestly, very few assets. Her eyes are very bright and round, and her nose is a ski-slope placed in the middle of her face. Her ears are slightly pointed, but not entirely elfin. She has huge feet; a size nine, if you honestly measured. Her teeth are sharp and slightly crooked, but she has a nice smile. While well in to puberty, Viola maintains many child-like features; an extra layer of fat that seems to coat all of her appendages, baby soft skin, small fingers and toes.
Her lips would be the best part of her; “spewing insults out like a champagne bottle, but staying full none-the-less”, as her mother would say. She may be plain, but she’s at least a bit pretty, which is more you can say about most.

Viola wears anything other royalty wears—usually with more frills. While her favorite color is yellow, her stylists tend to shove her in tight fitting red and green numbers. The dresses are made out of the finest silks and synthetics her family can afford, with lengthy sleeves that run off her arms and drip with lace. Her hair can be arranged any which way – it still looks unusual no matter how many jeweled pins or shiny ribbons you use on it. Corsets are strung tightly around her already thin waist, a mad attempt to perk up her breasts. She prefers simpler garb, but being a princess seems to require that you wear clothes you can’t “have any goddamn fun in”. She wears books strung high, the only part of her outfit she actually accepts. Pajamas are generally thin cotton or occasionally silks: always fashionable pant/shirt outfits; he stylists declare she has generally grown out of “nighties”…however, she slips one on sometimes anyway, her attempt at being defiant. She prefers to wear flowers or plain ribbons in her hair with a minimum amount of jewelry adorning her – simple cotton clothing that is easy to move in is what she considers “much better”.

PLAY BY Rachel Hurd-Wood

MOTHER QUEEN SAXE-COBURG, ---------, 35.

FATHER KING SAXE-COBURG, ---------, 37.

SIBLINGS
SAXE-COBURG, VICTORIA ELIZABETH JANE, 19
PRINCE SAXE-COBURG, ---------, 18.
PRINCE SAXE-COBURG, ---------, 17.

PETS
Juliet, Female, Field Mouse
Odysseus, Male, Pig
Hugo, Male, Rat


HISTORY

Viola was born on the 29th of February – a leap year, a leap day. A strange day indeed, also considering her family was vacationing at a channel-side home even though it was a rainy February. Stranger still, she was born with bright red hair and unnatural eyes; Was anything about the child normal? Has anything ever been? , her father often laughed upon the retelling of the story. Viola had not been set to arrive until several weeks into March, but on this blessed day, Mother Nature seemed unable to wait. Viola squirmed out at 1:54 AM.

First and foremost, Viola was named Violet because her mother's favorite color at the time was purple. Later (as in moments, minutes even), Viola was nicknamed after Shakespeare’s Viola of Twelfth Night , a book that would eventually become one of her favorites. In this story, Viola is one of the only characters that has pure love for anyone: this was their hope, that she would be a pure, loving girl who would be completely loyal. To the most part, it worked. However, they did not seem to recognize the other major theme of the story; the idea of rebellion coming from a young woman. Had they, perhaps they would’ve been prepared what came with the name they had given; Viola Alice Sophia Saxe-Coburg would not be an average girl, an average princess – that was for certain.

During the first several months of her life, Viola maintained a quiet life, but not at all timid. She was a very curious baby from day one. Squirming and bobbing and bouncing up and down. When she eventually learned to crawl, she would climb under furniture and curl up, or play notorious games of hide-n-seek with her nursemaids (normally unbeknownst to them). When she learned to walk and eventually run, things got even worse: running outside, coating herself in filth that could take ages to scrub out. Her first words were incomprehensible babble – with speech lessons she would eventually broaden her vocabulary ridiculously, but maintain a stutter until the age of nine. She, being forced to read awful hand-written poetry aloud until she “learned” to stop the stutter, was introduced to literature at young age. This, however, did her no harm, and actually added to her intelligence at quite an age. Her ability to write never improved much, but she preferred reading much more.

Her interests in animals came early on as well – her first carriage ride, she all but begged to ride out front on one of the horses. This, was of course, to no avail, but she was allowed to feed the horses afterwards. Secretly, she gave them the names Miles and Dominic; names, which, whenever she traveled to the stables later on in life, she would call them by. All throughout childhood, she would collect bugs and capture small animals, hide them, and attempt to keep them as pets. It wasn’t until she was twelve that her parent’s finally gave in and let her have one of her very own that they wouldn’t order their guards to kill: a piglet, Odysseus. He had been a gift from the Spaniards, an offering that had come with a note: an offer for an arranged marriage.

Her first meetings with her arranged husbands were at very different times: once when she was barely over seven, and then again when she was a few days younger than fifteen. The first meeting had gone fine, in all respects; the second, not so much. Her parent’s never truly told her that Odysseus was an offering from the family, so she kept him. Had she known then what she knows now…well, things may have not come as they are today.

Besides the arranged marriage that seems to be arriving more and more rapidly, Viola had an average life. Nothing staggering occurred to torment her, but nothing made it truly spectacular. She may have ended up a bit ruder and cruder than all other members of her family, but once cannot say she didn’t turn out well. She has not found love yet, has not found a true calling, but only time will truly tell of her triumphs and woes. One will just have to wait, and see.

NAME Charlie
AGE Fifteen
GENDER Female (:
TIMEZONE Eastern
ROLEPLAYING EXPERIENCE On and off for around 2-3ish years, not very intensely.
OTHER CHARACTERS N/A…so far <_<
PASSWORD --- Admin Edit ---

ROLEPLAY SAMPLE

Clad in his Army-cap, a weathered wool jacket, a cotton button down, tailored slacks and Army issue boots, Melchior looked the perfect part of a German soldier in France mid-winter.

Melchior plopped himself down unevenly on a bench. Paris. Early morning. This was the good part. He breathed in deeply through his nose--a happy breath, a pleasurable one--and then exhaled into his hands, mouth wide. He smiled, clapping his hands together; rubbing off some chalk or dust that wasn't there. Draping his arms over the back of the bench, he smiled up at the sky and let out a yelp: a pig-call, if you will. He claims it's his way of "fending off the filthy Jews". He has no idea what he's talking about, but he never really notices.

Finally, bored with staring up at the elm branches (as he often was) he twisted his head side to side. There was nobody. There was nothing. But that's the point of art, isn't it? Or so...mother says. "Mother knows best!" He exclaimed, chuckling to himself. His laugh was airy, a dead laugh. Normal to him. He pressed his hand to his chest to calm his laughter (as he often did) then placed his hands between his knees and slouched over, staring at his feet.
What to do.

Finally there was a decision. He took off his Army cap and wiped his forehead. Thinking only momentarily, he put the hat on the corner of the bench-back. When he was drawing, he wasn't a soldier, so why pretend? Looking down to his left, he saw his army-sack was still where he had left it when he came here, to sit. He reached down, grabbed it by a strap and pulled it up gently, laying it--like it was a napkin, honestly--on his lap before lifting open the flap and pulling out a multitude of objects.

First came Scrobbi: his confidant, his side-kick, his teddy-bear. Tenderly, he hugged the tattered creature before placing it down beside him on the bench. Next he took out a pencil, several pieces of crisp white paper,--only God knows how they stay that way, with Scrobbi and lots of other dirty things in there--and a hard-cover copy of Mein Kampf. Then, after having placed the backpack safely on the ground and the paper and pencil evenly on his lap, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a few pieces of marred, black rock: Charcoal.

With a deep breath of relief, he placed the paper atop the copy of Mein Kampf. He tucked the pencil behind his ear and smiled--a sad smile, but a smile never the less-- and bent over the paper. He propped his head up in his hand, his elbow resting heavily on his knee. He sheltered the papers from the winter wind, turning his body slightly to the left. His back was aching due to the cold, but he didn't care. This was his time. Chilly weather wouldn't stop him from enjoying it; it never stopped him at home. It was barely below freezing; I will be fine, he thought to himself.

Finally, after long-last he pressed the charcoal to the alabaster paper. His jaw clenched as he smiled tightly down at his hand. It moved across the paper with such effortlessness, the charcoal made only faint imprints. Black bits of some kind of dust flew up into the air; ash from a fire. His eyes watered, a reservoir of enlightenment and joy that begged to pour over. Now what to draw... though Melchior as he stroked aimlessly on the paper. Some marks were a deep black while others were a pale gray.

He was feeling people, or creatures, today. Something living and breathing is what he craved. He had a thousand pictures Scrobbi already. He wanted a different muse. He brought his head up only sightly to look around. Venomous wind kissed his cheeks, turning them a faint pink. He looked up towards the sky, craning his neck. Necks weren't meant to stretch that way, but regardless.

"O! for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention."

[Jeanne Bonaparte]

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