#for optimum grip strength tbh

[mymitochondriaforpresident]

An update:

See guys? You can even see it in his eyes. He’s fine.

[archivesdiveronarpg]

Congratulations, LIA! You’ve been accepted for the role of CLEOPATRA. It’s extremely rare for an applicant to convince me they’re the right person for the role before I even get to their in-character writing, but Lia, you did just that. You made it abundantly clear from the beginning just how well you understand Calina, and because she’s a rather hard character to nail down, it was so refreshing to read. Your interview and sample were lovely, but what really sealed the deal was the drabble you posted on your mockblog; it was short and sweet, but it packed quite a punch in terms of characterization, and I loved it. I trust you’ll do our Queen of Spades justice. Welcome to DiVerona! Your request to change her faceclaim to Aisha Hart has also been accepted. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within twenty-four hours.

                                                                          WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Lia

Age | 21+

Preferred Pronouns | she/her they/them

Activity Level | 8-10/10 I can usually be around every day. ATM I’m slightly busier than usual since I’m the most mobile person available (my parents both just had hip replacements) but that should be easing off within the next couple of weeks.

Timezone | GMT

In Character

Character | Cleopatra, Calina Sokolova. FCwise Aiysha Hart (or any actor fc of your preference tbh? the only reason I’m requesting an FC change is my discomfort with fcs who aren’t known for playing characters, so apologies for that)

What drew you to this character? | Well, first of all I’ll have to mention what drew me to the roleplay (as though this is a legacy interview and you’ve instead asked about my six ex-husbands). Since fruition I have been lurking diverona, with every intention to apply. I have watched my favourite potentials be claimed by much more talented and capable writers- and it has brought a lot of strange feeling; obvious annoyance that I couldn’t apply at the time, and ridiculous gratitude that I’d get to see them all come to life in such a beautiful setting. I’ve vaguely mentioned the reasons in my Activity Level section, but suffice to say it was always beyond my control to apply here before now. I could have, but never would have been able to guarantee activity or dedicate myself in the way this roleplay and all of the members deserve. At the very beginning of my rp experience, I adminned and was member of an rp where we only wrote lengthy paras, but there were merely a handful of us for a core group of two plus years, meaning not a lot of major plots or developments were able to happen. Imagine my delight to find an rp with similar essence and many more characters for lives to be tangled in. Diverona is an Oasis. And so my longing had settled soundly on Cleopatra. Unfortunately the timing still wasn’t optimum, and once again I pressed my nose to glass and stared in. It feels almost fated, to my mind, that she is available for application. For whether I am accepted or not, this is an opportunity I have been granted. (Also s/o to Minnie for encouraging me to take it)

As for the actual question, I will have to admit that it has been a long time since I have written anyone who could be considered with heart tainted to the evils of the world, to desperation, like Cleopatra has experienced. My characters of choice seem to, these days, always be the innocents and the gold of heart. Calina is one of those, and still she is not. She has layers and layers of memories and identities and vulnerabilities all hidden behind the titanium of her mind. Her heart is gentle but fierce, fluttering as a hummingbird in her chest at the idea she could return to that vision of bright star in someone’s life- as she was for her mother. And yet her ribs have caged it in very purposefully, her skeleton demanded to action (as a more brutal ally) by that cunning mind. She is both a mess of contradictions, and not. A contradiction in itself. There is softness to the way she appears, relief in her freedom, but only hardness renders her as survivor, commander. Even in her role as advisor she must be both strong, steadfast in the face of changeable tides, and delicate, willing to accept when her course of action can not continue, withdraw from conflict herself. There is no room for anything but brain. Her blood may call out for anything it desires, that which stems from the heart or the throat; revenge, violence, acceptance, union; none of it finds sanctuary in her plans for Faron, for the Spades. She is indifferent to her own motivations, dedicated to their cause. She is not heartless, and truly those who claim to be are always the ones who fail, they have underestimated their enemy their ally. Her heart is of use because it has been targeted time and time again by sorrow, and she has melded it for better use- it is not untouchable, but it is proof of her ability to rise triumphant (heart bruised but beating) from the remains of the beasts that would try to tear it apart. She knows better than most that subtle, gentle things (creeping illness and whispers of doubt) can tear your world apart instead.

To me she is incredibly multi-faceted, with room for every version of her to take centre stage at some point- to be given credence. And what more could be asked of a character, a person, but to allow opportunity to get to know them for their strengths and their weaknesses- even if hers are gripped tight in hand and revealed with a flourish, settled before her enemies as though a ruse. Try if you dare.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

[Paradise Circus] This is such a basic thing, but I just can’t wait to see Calina’s interactions with everyone. I’ve mentioned that she’s very detached and logical in her plans, so I could absolutely see her able to maintain relationships with people she would willingly sacrifice. It’s just war. They may be on opposite sides, but that does not need to permeate their very beings in such visible ways as spite or ignorance. It will be a real test to see if she is able to befriend someone or develop some sort of feeling about them, before removing herself from the thought of it completely when the success of the Spades deems it necessary.

[Dirty Whirl] When browsing the locations page I have wondered time and time again on what her thoughts are on The Dark Lady. I’d really appreciate being able to explore whether it’s an uneasy reminder of her past, or how she feels about the treatment of employees there, even if she would return to her old career if it were to benefit some plan. If that is the one limit she would set in her loyalty to their cause.

[Lift the Curse] ‘Brutal and gentle things alike have always left a bitter taste in her mouth…’ and I can utterly understand her motivations in that; how they remind her with such punctuation of her past lives, of her own suffering. And while I feel that is of such significance to her, I also wonder whether her thoughts will change, whether she will push herself to check if she can avoid reacting to them. Calina doesn’t like having any tells but feels she is most likely to show her hand in this case, with her immediate distaste for these extremes of character. When faced with Trinity or Maeve or anyone so firm in form, I want to see her thought process and her interactions with them developing, to a point where I can actually answer whether this is something concrete and unchangeable for her.

[The Boxer] Calina doesn’t get her hands dirty. She had far too much of that with her previous occupation, with the grime she could never quite wash away, and the stains upon her ghost. She had to be more than capable of it, however, with the life she lived. She’s only ever played at being submissive, so it stands to reason that she has confidence in her own physicality as well. Another simple idea, but I’d like to see her in training when it isn’t just about her mind; when she might be preparing herself for the worst case scenarios. After all, she can take care of herself but doesn’t usually have to.

In Depth

I hope it’s alright but I imagined the questions as taking place at different times with different people.

What is your favorite place in Verona? | “My favourite place in Verona” the words curl thoughtfully from her lips, the hint of a secret behind them. She is relaxed back into the leather chair, body soft, no angles about her.And though her elbow is propped against the arm of the chair, her wrist curves fluidly, fingertips grazing through the air, an artist with her brush relaying words. She thinks of the obvious answer, the one she knows in her bones as well as heart, the Cathedral. A lifetime passes behind her eyes as she recalls every association to her mother; the way she had whispered to the crook of Calina’s neck as she tucked her in ‘oh how I prayed for you’, the sunlight that seemed cast from heaven itself to spill across the woman’s face and lighten her in near-death ‘you have your faith and I have mine’, the sound of Calina’s words tearing from her throat in the abandoned church in Novosibirsk ‘We are all our own gods’ as the very reason for her repeated visits to the Cathedral. No matter that she didn’t believe, when it would honour her mother’s choices instead. The lifetime passes but is not betrayed in time. The perceived secret allowed only seconds to be shaped by her. “Well” she leans forward just a tad, coquettish grin on her face as her gaze scatters, both eager and uncertain of sharing such a story. The enticed and trusting tourist, with inhibitions cast away as holiday allowance. “if you promise it’s between us.” She shakes her head, sinks back in retreat, moves forward again, hand lifted and settled into her lap. All in the blink of an eye. Go on, ask me again. Force my hand. The grin is eaten by presumed uncertainty and the curve of her mouth, lips flexing and dropping, a glance at the pearls her secret is shielded behind. Pretty girl, food for the wolf. “I’d have to say the Tempest Lounge.” Oh it’s unbearable for this tentative youth, so enamoured by the interest and terrified the words might betray a scandal. Calina brings her voice to a hushed whisper, shifting her full body forward now, palms pressed against knees or brushing hair behind her ear in furious submission. “I hope that isn’t a terrible answer?” her gaze fixates on the speaker for just a second, confirmation sought, before she casts it down to her hands. “I mean, nothing too salacious has happened when I’ve been there.” her voice returns to a more reasonable volume, “And certainly I’ve never .. I wouldn’t be involved in anything so.. but I have heard rumours.” Her hands twist together, and she watches the reflection of the sun in her rings, the light of virtue. “I didn’t realise when I went first of all, so please don’t think that’s what appealed to me. I just..” a sigh of defeat, she’s making this worse. “It almost seemed the heartbeat of the city, with it’s bold lights and sounds. It made me feel less alone, less scared somehow. There’s always someone wherever you look. I really..” the tiniest huff of inhalation through her nostrils, bolstering herself against having admitted too much, this girl this dove. “I really hope my answer doesn’t reflect badly on me.”

What does your typical day look like? | “A typical day, hmm?” she tends to repeat questions back, confirmation she has been listening, fuel for the ego as way to ingratiate herself. “Shall we start with waking?” she reclines against the desk chair, busying herself with tugging her sleeves back. All business. And still she waits for confirmation, when this is not intended as negotiation- the interviewer is there for guidance and she is there for declaration. “Alright then,” she nods firmly, wrapping her hands against the arms of the chair before she continues, “I seem to have a habit of waking five minutes before my alarm.” A crease of forehead, the tensing of eyes, “Most unfortunate if you ask me, for now I’m stuck with the question of what would happen if I simply didn’t set the alarm. Would I awake as usual, body expectant of the noise? or would I be left to sleep in peace, only to later find out that I’ve wasted part of the day?” Her right pointer finger taps against the chair, the root of emphasis. A break between speaking. “And then of course there’s breakfast, rather a dull tale I’m afraid.” She corrects the straightened posture, though it has barely slipped, head inclined to the right, offering herself in half-profile to her questioner. Her lips purse mildly, expression neutral as she clutches at significant details to relay. She turns back after a moment, lips slipping from plumpness to an awkward flattening, enquiry written across her brow. “I suppose I’ll have to blanket the ideas as touristy things, when really every day I take in another sight. Not so familiar yet with the best places to spend my time.” The roll of her fingers tapping against the chair arms in order, left to right, covers the noise of exhalation as her face settles to neutrality again. “In the evenings I like to find a new eatery to try for dinner. Thankfully there’s been no true disasters yet.” The profferred facade spends the rest of the time offering the most vague overviews of the night prior to returning to her hotel room. Calina Sokolova finds joy in the idea the questioner is more bored by her answers than she is, which seems to be an incredible feat. She might never have been able to answer the question truthfully anyhow, when every day seems as different and as similar as the one before. They have not fully stepped into the breach, and still she can not call any day typical. Perhaps she could mention her morning coffee with Faron, or the way she checks in with someone new every night to subtly question them on Boris, or how she buys a single flower from the market every day and drops it from Castelvecchio by the set of the sun. Except she’s already telling so much of herself in her answers, it is not her fault that they can not see.

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues? | “Oh goodness, hit me with the hard one why dontcha” she slaps at the table, the noise reverberating in unison with her laughter. Her eyes light upon the neutral expression of the asker and perceive it as something more. Laughter subsides and energy dissipates. “Now darlin’ I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you all upset. It’s just a bit surreal to me, ya know?” The hand that had slapped the table is led to touch it once again, this time fingers unfolding and laying flat against the wood, gliding forward in direction of the interviewer with soothing stokes of motion. “I’m here for ye if ye wanna talk about it, ‘course I am. It’s just my momma warned me about it, she didn’t want me to come here at all..” Eyes widen in sincerity, those fingerlengths tapping against the desk. “So what a fine fool I was to ignore her. Thought it was all a bunch of hooha. And then i get here and well.. you know the rest.” Her accent is still tinged as stereotypical Eastern European, but coated with a Southern lilt most likely learned from television. It’s sloppy with intent, for had she meant to pass herself off as some Southern Belle she would have done so. While the listener will question her origins and authenticity, they may not question her sincerity. “God have mercy on all their souls.” The question is not novel, but somehow still leads her to be thoughtful, long after she has left the room. Her thoughts thus far on the topic having been we will use it. She hasn’t particularly considered what she actually thinks of the war beyond how it can benefit the Spades.

In-Character Para Sample: tw for allusion to abuse, prostitution

He comes in with mouth wide and teeth bared, desperate to sink the grimiest venemous parts of himself into her, as though the balm for all his ails. She comes to hours later with purple blossoming and bones sinking to water. It is in submerging herself, with lungs burning more intensely than any other ache, that she can finally let herself wake. Calina. The moon is out still, resplendent in freedom, and she stretches her hand to it. “You’re late for shift Calina” the frantic voice of her …coworker? the frantic voice of her ..cellmate batters against her heart, jumping the rhythm and fraying her nerves, as knuckles batter against the bathroom door. Her fort breached with a warning She turns her back to the moon, afraid to gaze upon it or she will be transfixed. Scrambles to robe herself instead.

Every footstep against the stairs echoes with the force of a wardrum, or so it seems to a head so tender. In truth she is the most graceful of dancers, gentle and light in her descent. It could be that her head has prepared her for the noise, the ringing reverberations of Marda’s shriek in her ear. The one that joins the hand tugging at her hair and pulling it from scalp, the signal that she is late. “They have hands to put to use” is her reply, even when she knows it will earn her (and does) a mark of wild red across her face, and stars against her eyes. She can be grateful for the stars at least, the thought of their fellowship with she and the moon. And now she has an excuse even further than the last beast she has not recovered from. This most recent beast, the one of her choosing, has her wrist caught in vice. Calina tugs her arm away, “Marda” with name she can defeat it as Rumpelstiltskin, if only for a moment. Her hand drops to the delicate bow of her robe, just as jarringly misplaced as she, and she pulls in spite of the twinge of pain. The robe falls open, for she will not tear it asunder, and reveals her naked flesh beneath. “You may cover my face but not this.” the words lie heavy in their logic, that most of the time her face does not matter, she needs no identity.

—

It is a full hour before Marda’s grudge against her has waned enough to invoke sense. The madame bites the words and chews them before they are spat at her employee. “Swap with Yuliya, she’s not showing yet.” It is of little consequence when Marda finally permits her exit. For Calina could have easily conducted her business during her shift. Still, it settles much easier in her head as a certainty, when she has a particular assistant in mind. She is draped in wool and cotton, high neck and long sleeves to cover as much skin as possible. It may not be as questionable as she likes, so she continues to tug at her sleeves and pull them further, forming the temporary habit with every step toward the bar. She reaches the door and mentally checks the contents of her pocket, determining she has enough for one drink to nurse. She can make it last for an hour or two, secure in the idea he will appear before then. Still she lingers in the cold outside, gaze stretched to meet that of a patron or two behind the glass. It doesn’t take more than minute for one of them to open the door and guide her in. A test of her persuasion before the task. He buys her a drink and she adds two hours to her clock, just in case.

It is 32 minutes before she sees him enter. Another 16 before she takes to watching him. She isn’t dismayed he has not noticed her, for she has pressed herself against a darkened booth, arm stretching across the table for her drink, the light of the room beyond displaying her skin as the loose sleeve falls at every motion. A full hour has passed before he brushes past her booth to reach the toilets. She settles her half-full glass of vodka and apple just the right amount across the table that her sleeve will drop. Watches the hallway behind her through reflection on the tv screen. He is returning from the bathroom when she stretches her leg out from the booth, forcing him to pause before her foot. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise someone was there.” she is still hidden in the booth, but it is he who peeks around the corner to hear her words more clearly. “Calina?” his face lights immediately, and she rewards him with confirmation. “Dima. I did not know you came here.” She doesn’t move except to draw her legs back, does not offer him invitation to sit. Still he lingers, cheeks ruddy and eyes ablaze with delight. They exchange pleasantries, and he offers tale of how often he frequents the bar, expresses confusion she has not seen him there, asks what her plans are for the evening. When sufficient time has passed to ensure he is engaged effectively, she reaches for her glass. The notion of wetting her lips and soothing her voice for the conversation. His gaze has followed every slight motion from her, as though drinking her in, this vision suddenly before him in life as well as fantasy. When her sleeve falls back to reveal the unnatural colours blotching her arm, she glances up to him. He catches her eye and she wrenches a breath from her lips, surprised, while moving swiftly to correct her mistake. She falters in grasping for the glass, almost knocking it over in her haste to cover the offending sight with her sleeve once more. A likely story.

—

When the wolf is declared missing, Calina’s only reaction is to offer Dima first choice of his regular timeslots. There is no business lost due to the clamouring of men Dima introduces her to. Three years later surprise registers when one such man does not want her for body, but offers identity instead. Faron Vasiliev is her reward for never strictly using the words ‘I want him dead’. She is his reward for ambition.

Extras: I didn’t have a chance to get to this til late, so if I do have any extras they will be posted here. Thank you so much.