razz hoto:
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
XXXXXXXNoel HeatherfeildXXXXXXX
But I'd would like it if you called meAnything uninsulting...I can remember the last time someone used my name.
:I've been on this planet for
Nineteen
:Can't you see I'm a:
5'6''
:Well, I'm a:
Witch
People have told me that I'm a bit:
Um...well, I'd like to think that the black-widow, b***h, whore, slut, and other adjectives normally following any mention of me are a bit bias. Such descriptions normally come from the guards and I'm normally not the nicest with my words around them...yeah. My fellow slaves think a little better of me though. I'm seen as quite, using my face to express most of what I want to get across. Most of them figure it's because I don't feel like it's worth the effort of opening my mouth but the truth's a little different. I'm really good at being a smart-a** to hide my weaknesses but I'm horrible with using words to actually express myself. I'm also very opinionated, and opening my mouth normally leads to giving my opinion, which then leads to me being beaten. As there is only ever a reason to draw the guards' ire away from other slaves I normally keep my mouth shut around masters.
I would really hate for anyone to find out, but I'm rather caring. Enough so that on occasion I draw the anger of the guards on me to keep the others from getting worse treatment. It hardly matters since I'm not that attached to living anyway. I'm a realist and I stopped hoping for any kind of a happy existance a long time ago. I still like to smile though, I think the others find it comforting, and better still, it pisses off the guards. Oh, right. I have a horrible temper too, but, unless I'm trying to push for a fight, I'm really good about holding it down. Honestly, I've only really snapped twice.
However, I can perfectly explain why because: Life sucks. Plain and simple. When I was eleven my oh so caring parent's sold me into slavery to pay off some gambling debts. They figured since I couldn't die, it wasn't a death sentence. Nice of them, no? I was young, but hardy and good with natural magics. I was mostly used as a gardening assistant. The only decent thing my parents did was keep my healing ability a secret, and I avoided punishment at all costs to maintain that secret. Nothing last forever, however, and I was found out three years into my slavery. I was immediately sold back for thrice my original worth to a much different kind of owner. Within 24 hours I'd gone from garden helper to whipping post. Fun transition, that. Long story short, my first owner after that sucked, but sold me back after I bit off an ear on the second month. My master after that was a lot better, he hadn't gotten me for fun, but for protection. I was trained on the job, was with him for a little more than three years, and I didn't mind that much. Honestly I was proud of my position back then. Proud of the trust he put in me. He was killed in a vampire raid, and I got blamed for it. My third master was a slightly more imaginative version of my first and I was stuck with him for five mouths before, not surprisingly, he was killed by an enemy.
No one ever figured out who killed him, so, naturally, I was settled with the blame and kicked once again to the slave market. I've haven't been bought again and I know most of the guards by their first names. I'll probably never see the light of day again, not when they've put me in a black collar and taken away my hard earned killdeer charm. On rare occasion though, I get to see a slave I like get bought by someone halfway decent. That's enough to keep me going most days.
:Collar:
Black
:Charms:
Black Feather = No longer a virgin
Dove = Kind
Owl = Intelligent
Hawk = Good for Combat
I belong to...:
No one but the slave market
I think you need to know some other things about me...:
I can't die. As in: rip my heart out, decapitate me and roast me on a spit and I'm still kicking and cursing from my relocated head.
Something I'll never let a soul know is that the healing of an injury hurts twice as much as the actual infliction.
The barcode on my wrist is a souvenir from my first abusive master after he...um...earned me the black feather.