Post by Evelina Reshetnikova (212) on Jul 30, 2009 0:19:28 GMT -5
RESHETNIKOVA, EVELINA
NAME: Evelina Reshetnikova
GENDER: Female
BIRTHDATE: September 16, 1989
AGE: 19
ETHNICITY: Ukrainian
HOMETOWN: Kyiv, Ukraine
FOUND IN: Ekaterinburg, Russia
NATIVE LANGUAGE: Ukrainian
SPEAKS ENGLISH: Yes. Also speaks Russian fairly fluently.
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:
Evelina has dark brown hair, nearly black in color but with lighter highlights being visible under the right light. It falls about two or three inches past her shoulders and is quite wavy, yet not to the point of being called curly. She has hazel eyes which appear light or dark, green or brown, depending on the lighting. Her skin is white with a soft olive tone to it, subtle enough to give her the appearance of a mild tan. Eva has a slight build, little muscle, and is only barely at a healthy weight for her height - which she is five foot, nine inches tall and one hundred and thirty-two pounds. She has a slightly curved scar running about two inches long on her left cheek, another on her lower abdomen that is horizontal and roughly five inches in length and a third very small scar on her right knee cap. There is also scarring on the inside of her left forearm in the form of the name "Petrov" in all capital letters. And of course the lovely number tattooed on the back of her neck; 212.
PERSONALITY:
Evelina is something of a neurotic mess; she obsesses over being "unclean" and keeps both herself and her personal effects meticulously clean (she screams whenever someone tries to touch or take any of her possessions), however does not seem to care if other people or objects are unclean. When waves of anxiety overcome her, she finds the only way to calm herself is to count ceiling tiles and will literally freeze and start mumbling numbers as soon as she becomes anxious. She is also extremely pessimistic and believes they are all going to die and the world is going to end on the 12th (as a result she is highly suspiciously of anything involving the number 12, including her own number - she's terrified of it), though she is not sure of what month or year; so every 12th of the month she will have panic attacks and refuse to leave her cot - usually she repeatedly counts ceiling tiles, rocking back and forth on her cot.
In addition to being the pessimist that she is, Eva is also very close-minded. She believes what she believes, and you aren't going to be able to convince her otherwise. If you think you may have found a way out, she will shake her head and stubbornly deny everything claiming the only way out is "death". Though the staff has tried, they also cannot convince her that the world will not end on the "12th" and have resorted, instead, to terrorizing her about the day. And those who have tried to comfort and console her have received a cold and insensitive shoulder. She would rather turn a blind eye to what happens to those around her than comfort them, and therefore refuses to allow herself be comforted. Those who have merely attempted to strike up a conversation with Evelina have found her withdrawn and timid, refusing to give out even the little information that she knows about herself.
Her dour personality has warmed her very little to her fellow "experiments", but then again there are very few who can remain upbeat and friendly within these terrible walls. Even those of like mind find her terribly depressing to be around as she's always mumbling about the "apocalypse" or how they're "all going to die". Mostly she's very quiet and subdued when no one is trying to talk to her, and she'll most commonly just read a book in a corner and attempt to tune everyone and everything else out.
Eva is also desperately afraid of Vostrikova and has gone from putting up a fight, to being something of a "limp ragdoll" when being handled during her experiments. She keeps quiet the whole time, giving only fearful nods as reply. In her mind she seems to think that if she doesn't "see" it, it isn't happening and she has appeared - on multiple occasions - to take this approach with the experiments, closing her eyes tightly.
MEMORIES & POSSESSIONS:
Evelina knows only three things for sure. One; her name is Evelina Reshetnikova. Two; she was born on some day in September of 1989. Three; she has been in this hell hole for four years. Everything else is all a blur of "ifs" and "maybes". She can recall flashes of Ukrainian steppes (though she doesn't know its Ukraine) and snow-covered fields. She remembers the sensation of being cold, very cold, and also blurs of faces. In the beginning Eva used to try and hold onto the pictures of faces, trying to make sense of them, but the effort hurt her head and after a year of struggling remember she decided it was easier - and less painful - to forget.
Evelina can recall a song - not the lyrics, but the melody. She isn't sure where it came from, or why she knows it, or why the sound of it is so familiar and soothing. But to her, that song is her dearest "memory" (note: the song is "Once Upon a December"). While she can't find any reasons, in addition to being terrified of the world ending and Dr. Vostrikova, Eva is also scared of rain. It's something about the noise it makes when it hits the ground; it stirs up hazy memories of pain. Showering is also something of a task for this reason.
In her small plastic tub there are only a few trinkets which she truly values. Eva simply cannot live without this one rosary necklace. She doesn't completely understand its significance; only that it would be absolutely dreadful should anyone ever touch it or remove it from her tub while she slept. There is also a comb, a simple and rather inoffensive little thing, which she keeps perfectly clean and sealed in her tub at all times - she never uses it herself. It appears to be completely unimportant and yet Evelina has all but enshrined it within the little clear box. Another treasured possession is a broken pocket watch and chain with the words "My precious darling" inscribed inside in Ukrainian. She would like to believe it is a memento of her father, although Evelina has no basis other than her own desperate hope that it was something from him...the same could be said of the comb regarding her mother.
CANON/ORIGINAL: Original
PLAY-BY: Olga Kurylenko
REQUESTED NUMBER: 212
SUPERSECRET PASSPHRASE: life is but a nightmare
Hi, my name is KEL and I am NINETEEN years old. My chatango name is Kellerkitty, and I also play NO ONE. You can reach me via PM or AIM. Oh, and here is an example of what I can do:
Woohoo food! Marianne was starving - not that it hadn't been more than precisely five and a half hours since she'd last eaten. She rather hoped the food here was as delicious as they had assured her it was; Mari did like her food. Of course, she hoped that they wouldn't make her take any pills on her first day - not to mention she was also a bit anxious about joining the rest of the general population. But, ugh, pills! Ever since the first kooky doctor had prescribed her Prozac, Marianne had been too fond of medication. After all it had totally jacked up her sleep schedule! And then they had tried her on Zoloft, and when that didn't work they took her off medication for good. Basically operation "drug Marianne" was a bust.
Marianne rolled her eyes as sat down at a currently empty table. Doe brown eyes quickly swept the cafeteria, wondering which white door the glittering food trays would appear through. "Wonder what's for supper!" She remarked (it didn't really sound like a question) aloud to no one in particular - or rather, just no one, as she was sitting alone. She glanced at the clock and frowned minutely as she saw the second hand was ten seconds past 5:30pm. Mari recalled being told that they "ran on a tight schedule" here and her impatience gradually increased as the seconds ticked on. The crease between her eyebrows deepened as the second hand passed the 6 – what was that about a tight schedule? But at last, as the second hand reached the 9, the white doors opened and nurse/cook ladies emerged bearing trays of food. Trumpets played and a chorus of angels sang “Hallelujah!” in her head as she watched the trays being handed out individually.
She grinned elatedly as her tray was set on the table before her, but frowned in consternation when the hand that was holding the tray was not immediately removed. A gruff voice spoke from above."Marianne Lewis." Marianne glanced up at the nurse/cook woman and her expression smoothed into perfect, blasé innocence. "Nope, I'm Matilda." She said cheerily, as if patiently correcting a misunderstanding. The woman looked immediately surprised, alarmed even. But she seemed determined not to get agitated and blundered on, half-apologetic. "But aren't you Marianne? You just arrived today, I've been told, and since you're the only face I don't recognize, you must be her." Ah, using logic. Unfortunately for the woman (she looked to be in her late forties), Mari's brain didn't use logic. Or rather, she just lied naturally.
Calmly, and nonchalantly, Marianne shot her assumptions down."Nuh-uh, sorry miss lunch lady. My name's Matilda Barnes and I've been here for a couple of weeks. You just probably haven't seen me since I've been in Iso since I got here." The lie spun itself easily and there wasn't even the slightest bit of hesitation as she shook her head and informed the lady that she was wrong. Her lies came so easily that Marianne had practically convinced herself that she really was Matilda-whatserface. The woman's certainty wavered; you could see it in her eyes. Her hand remained holding the tray, reluctant to let go and risk giving the wrong tray to the wrong student. In response to her hesitation, Marianne grew impatient. There was her perfectly scrumptious meal (turkey and mashed potatoes it seemed) right in front of her, and yet she couldn't touch it.
"She's a pathological liar, Maria, give her the tray." A guard who had been prowling in between the tables - no doubt looking for any kids attempting to trick the nurse/cooks into thinking they had taken their meds - called out roughly from across the table, his tone half-annoyed, half-amused. Marianne's eyes flashed to the chubby guard and noticed, with a bit of chagrin, that she'd met him earlier at the entrance when her adoptive mother had still been there to keep the facts straight. The woman, "Maria", nodded and set the tray on the table and released it - perfectly sure of her decision now. And now that the truth had been ascertained, both went on with their jobs. "But my name is Matilda!" She called out loudly, just the right amount of whine and exacerbation in her tone. But both the nurse/cook and the fatty guard were sure of their diagnosis.
Marianne frowned as she looked down at her plate. "But my name really is Matilda..." she grumbled. But then her frown was wiped away as she grabbed her knife and her fork and dug in with a childish grin.
