Character Building: Mina Stafford

Character Building – Mina Stafford

My Parents

My father was an alcoholic. My stepfather raped me. My mother hated me, to the point of letting it happen. One time, she put out a cigarette on my arm when I dared to even suggest that something wasn’t right.

Fuck you.

My Most Prominent Physical Feature

I don’t have one. Yeah, I know the question is ‘most’, so obviously I do have a most prominent feature, even if, overall, the most prominent is only like one out of ten on the prominent scale. But I work hard on not being noticed, and a big help in that is the lack of prominent features. My hair is curly and brown. My eyes are brown. My skin is a little tan, not so much as you’d really notice. My features are even, nothing too noticeable. I get freckles in summer. Nothing special, really.

Scars

There’s a gash along my arm where my dad smashed a mirror over me, and it broke. And there are cigarette burns on my shoulders. There’s a scar on my other elbow where I broke it when I was seven.

Vanity

I try not to think about my looks. My parents told me I was ugly constantly, but I was pretty enough for my stepdad to fuck me. Go figure.

I went through a stage of wanting to cut my face, but it hurt too much, and then it healed. And my mom beat me black and blue for having a mark where people could see it. I didn’t do it again after that.

I pluck my eyebrows and wear a little lipgloss. Since my skin is pale and my eyes are dark, that’s generally enough to look normal. I don’t eat much, so I stay a little too thin. My mom called me fat a lot, and sometimes I remember that when people offer me food. I mostly live on coffee.

Kinsey Scale

I’m straight, I think. I can’t imagine being attracted to a woman. It took me long enough to be okay with being attracted to men.

Erasing Past?

Ha bloody ha, what on earth could I possibly want to erase? Fuck you.

Favourites

My favourite flower is a lily. My favourite colour is indigo. My favourite song is Let the Bodies hit the Floor.

Trust

Who do I trust? Seriously? No one.

I trust Leo, in the sense that we could send each other to prison. I trust that he likes me, that he wants me around, that he likes living with me. I don’t trust that it’ll last forever.

I don’t trust anyone in my family. I don’t have any close friends. I do trust my colleagues not to sell me or Leo out, though, of course, I don’t trust them to the extent that I trust Leo.

Turning Point

Leo. Leo loved me as much as he could, and it was uncomplicated. It was simple. Every day he loved me, I hated the world and myself less.

Animal

I don’t like animals, or rather, they don’t like me. I’ve never had a pet.

Computer Savvy?

I have to be. I’m not as good as Leo or Ciaran, but I know enough to google an error message, which is more than most people seem to these days. I can generally find my way around a bit of new technology easily enough.

My bed

I wake up neatly. My covers and pillow tend to be straight, so I just slide out and don’t even make the bed.

Hot or cold?

Put on a coat. Take off a coat. It’s not complicated.

Morning or Night?

I like morning from the underneath. I don’t do getting up early, but I like staying up late and watching the sunrise. Leo and I did that from the top of a tower block once. It was grey and shitty and wonderful, all at the same time.

Blood Relatives?

Ha. Ha. Hahahaha. Fuck off.

I have no family. I have no blood relatives who I’m close to. I’d happily disown anyone who claims to be related to me, and, in fact, have. Do you know what they did to me?! Do you know what my mother did? That evil, stupid, selfish bitch! Fuck off and leave me alone!

Work Space

My work space is very well organised. I keep all the papers and cards related to each identity in separate envelopes. I have a desktop computer. I have various containers and paper-holders, all in black and silver. It’s a desk made for working.

Can you cook?

Can I cook? I can microwave, and I can boil things, does that count? I’m pretty adept at ordering takeaways, how about that? Who cooks these days? Who has time?

Preferred Means of Travel

I like driving. I like being in control of where I'm going, with no one bugging me, just me, and my own space. I like smoking while I drive. I like the feeling of being on auto-pilot. I like not relying on anyone else to take me places.

Irrational Fears?

I have enough rational fears without coming up with any irrational ones, thank you very much. I have fucking nightmares where I have to live with my parents again for whatever reason, and I know I can never escape, and I would rather fucking die.

Cutie Mark

What the FUCK is a cutie mark?

If you could time travel?

I'd go back and save Leo. Or maybe go back even further and save myself. How about that?

Superstitious?

I'm agnostic, does that count? I'm not sure whether god or any sort of higher force exists or not. I pray when I'm frightened. Would that be a kind of superstition?

Your ideal partner?

Leo. Go to hell, bitch.

Your hands?

My hands? What kind of question is that? I keep my nails short because long nails annoy me. I don't paint them. There's a scar on the tip of my left index finger where I accidentally sliced it open once. You can see the veins on the back. Is that enough for you?

What do you smell like?

What do I smell like? Are you insane? How am I supposed to know what I smell like? It's the background smell!

Leo told me I smelt like paper.

Favourites?

Are you fucking serious? You want to know my favourites? Fuck you. I like black, is that enough fucking information for you? I like coffee. I like cucumber sandwiches. My favourite time of year is autumn, because the leaves look nice, and because it meant I got to go back to fucking school instead of staying at home all day. My favourite vice is smoking. That or fucking drinking, I haven't decided.

If your life were a genre...

Horror. Dark and gritty Brit flick. Slasher movie. All very grey and rainy.

Two Songs

In Too Deep, by Genesis. When I left home. When I met Leo. Loving Leo. Not being able to love Leo.

Objects in the Rearview Mirror May Appear Closer than they Are. And my father's eyes were blank as he hit me again and again and again. I hear that ugly, coarse and iron voice, then he grabs me from behind and he pulls me back. I still believe he never let me leave, I had to run away alone.

For My Lover. Every day I'm psychoanalysed.  They dope me up and I tell them lies.  And everybody thinks I'm a fool...they don't get any love from you.

Character Building: Eloise

 As part of a writing exercise on HabitRPG (posts here and here) I've spent the last month answering questions about two of my characters.  This is Eloise's questionnaire.

For background; Eloise Richards, is fifteen-years-old and lives with her Aunt Portia. Her life is reasonably idyllic, apart from a few things. She is home-schooled due to her issues with ADD and recurring nightmares, which prevent her from sleeping. She is also saddened by being separated from her parents; she was born as the result of an affair, and each of her parents has another, legitimate, daughter. Eloise was sent away in order to uncomplicate

Eloise lives in a universe very like ours, apart from the fact that certain people have special powers, including Eloise herself. If it sounds like X-Men, that's because I loved them when I was thirteen and first invented the character!

Character Building: Eloise

My Parents

- By Eloise Richards

My father, James, was poor and handsome. He lived in the icy and distant land of Nova Scotia, in a small wooden shack with his mother.

One day, Morgan, the daughter of the richest family in the small town fell in love with him. She married him, even though he didn’t love her. As long as he married her, his mother was safe and warm, and since he was a good man, that was the most important thing.

Then he fell in love with my mother, Violet. Violet was the daughter of the local mob-boss, my grandfather, Vincent. Vincent had promised her to his lackey, Terry the Weasel. But, love would find and way, and Violet and James ran away together. They had a daughter, me, who they loved madly. But then, Morgan and Vincent found them, and made them go back home. I was given to Portia, James’ sister, to raise.

I haven’t seen my parents since I was three years old, but I know they love me. They risked everything to be together and have me. It’s not their fault they couldn’t make it work. Sometimes people just aren’t that strong. I’ve forgiven them.

My Most Prominent Physical Features

Oh my god, are you serious? I have two bright green streaks in my hair! Plus my nails, are, like, green and silver? So three on one hand are green, and two on the other hand, and all the other ones are silver.

It’s to do with my mutation. See, in my blood, I have two additional substances, a venom and an elixir. The venom is what makes my nails green, and the elixir is what makes them silver. When I stab someone with one of my nail, I can inject them with whatever’s in that nail. The venom makes people woozy and sick, the elixir makes them feel great!

Normally, they balance out in me. If I venom someone, I’ll get the great elixir feelings, and if I elixir them, my venom will hurt me, until my body makes more and they balance out. My hair will also change colour slightly if I use one or the other. The colour in it is made up of both.

Scars

I have a scar along the side of my foot. I was playing outside, and I’d taken my shoes off because, you know, I was four. There was an old tin on the ground, with a sharp lid. Portia took me to A&E, though she didn’t really need to, I just frightened and bloody.

There’s a scar just below my knee from where I cut myself shaving when I was about thirteen. Another scar on my left hand, in the webby bit between index finger and thumb, where I stabbed myself with a pair of scissors when I was eight.

Vanity

I’m really pretty! My eyes are violet, which is really unusual, and my hair is so dark and glossy. I use honey on my skin, like Portia taught me, so it pretty much stays clear. I do an adorable little blinkyblinky thing when I’m trying to be cute!

Sometimes, I worry that I’m fat, but I try not to dwell on it.

Kinsey Scale

I’m straight, I think. Some girls are really cute, but I don’t like them like I like guys. Especially Sven. Sven is so cool. He’s really smart, and he has these cute little glasses, and I have this dream, of like, sitting on his lap and hugging him while he wheels us around. He has really muscley arms, and green eyes, and just a little bit of stubble.

Happiest Memory

Last week, Sven smiled at me, and I kept catching him looking at me, and we were kind of talking, and I said he should come visit me, and he said only if I buy him dinner, and I went all blushy and giggly, and does he want to go out to dinner with me, like a date?! Oh my god!

Also, last summer, when Portia and I spent every day out crafting in the garden, and every day was lazy and sunny and luxurious. And one day it was so hot that we put on swimsuits and danced under the sprinklers, and the cold water felt awesome!

Events to Erase

Oh my god, I really don’t know. Maybe the nightmares, do they count? I’ve had nightmares for the past few years, you see. That was part of the reason why Portia started homeschooling me, because I was having so much trouble sleeping. They’re kind of fun, sometimes though.

Maybe I could delete one of my sisters? That seems mean. Maybe Megan. I think Megan. Or Kathy. Does it have to be one?

Favourites

My favourite ice cream was black cherry, but someone just told me that Turkish Delight ice cream exists, so now I’m not sure. Portia said she’d get me some to try. With, like, chocolate ice cream and sprinkles. Yum!

My favourite colour is green. My favourite flowers are daisies.

Trust

I don’t really get this question. It’s a bit like when you’re reading a book, and someone gives you a funny look and asks if you believe everything you read. It’s hard to explain how you can know something isn’t literally true and yet still suspend your disbelief for the sake of enjoyment (when I mentioned these thoughts to Portia, she made me write an essay on the subject!).

I trust most people. I think most people don’t actively try to hurt each other and thus won’t try to hurt me. I don’t think I have any enemies. Maybe my sisters, but they’re not a big part of my life really.

Turning Points

When my parents had to give me up, because they loved me. That was a big turning point in my life. That and the dreams and being homeschooled. I don’t think I’m old enough to have any turning points from internal realisations yet.

Animal

If I were an animal I’d be something cute but poisonous. Like a scorpion! Or a snake! Except, not, because those are creepy. What’s cute and poisonous? A frog? I’d be a frog. A sweet little green frog.

Computer Savvy?

If I had to fix a computer, I could maybe figure it out with some help. I know the obvious stuff, like email and facebook, of course! And I can follow directions. Portia once got an old one, and made me take it apart and put it back together, but I was completely amazed when it actually worked!

My Bed

One time, I woke up upside down. I’m not quite certain how that happened. Generally, I wake up with one pillow on the floor, and the duvet like, sprawled everywhere.

Hot or cold?

I haaaaaaaaaaate hot! I hate when I get all sweaty and gross! But I don’t like being cold either, like when it’s all frosty and you can’t feel your fingers. I like when it’s like brisk and sunny, or when it’s like warm and I can sunbathe, but not when I have to walk around and stuff.

Night or Morning?

I’m a morning person! I love mornings; the sun’s shining, and it’s time to start the day! If only I didn’t feel so tired all the time; still, going to bed early helps a little with that.

Blood Relative?

I guess I know aunt Portia best. I live with her, after all! I know my parents love me; that’s why they gave me up. It was so hard for them. They both miss me everyday, and my mother lights a candle on my birthday, but it’s okay, because I know that Megan’s mom and my granddad forced them apart.

I’m not really close to my sisters, especially not Megan. Kathy and I see each other occasionally, but she’s mean and weird.

My Desk

My desk is pretty! I have a pink laptop all covered with purple and silver sticks, and a fluffy pink pen! I got some glittery pink trim, and it’s all around the edges, and I laid it with a purple tablecloth! And there are silvery jangly bells on the drawers! Portia says it’s too messy, but I can find everything, and it has silver tinsel! My desk is awesome!

Cook?

I’m a pretty good cook, I guess. I make a great apple pie. We have a tree in the garden, so it’s real easy. And one time I made acorn pancakes, and they came out really good. I’m good at soups and casseroles. I’m a vegetarian, so I can’t cook meat. I never learned.

Travelling

I like cycling! I love my bike! It’s pink, and Portia and I painted daisies on it with nail varnish. It has white handlebars, and trim, and four speeds, and I’ve just mastered 90rpm, so I can keep that going for ages! I thought of doing duathlons or something, but I don’t like swimming!

Irrational Fears?

I'm frightened of falling asleep. That's silly right? It's just, I had such terrible dreams when I was younger. Really weird and frightening. Like, I'd be strapped to a chair, being eaten alive by rats. Or I'd be chased over rooftops, or drowning. I go better at escaping though, as I got older. Like, when I had the same dream a few times in a row, I'd be a little bit better at climbing or untying myself. Or I'd somehow find a bike and escape that way.

What's your cutie mark?

I don't know what a cutie mark is, sorry. Do you mean the thing that makes me adorable? I crinkle my nose in a cute way, and when I'm confused I tip my head to the side. I know I'm doing it so it's more like a parody than actually being sickening. I have really big eyes, so when I wear make-up I accentuate those. They're violet, which is unusual! And they look so striking against my dark hair.

If you could timetravel?

I'd go back in time and see my parents, when they were young and in love. Maybe I could keep them together, if I were older, and not just a baby.

Are you superstitious?

No, of course not! I mean, I have my lucky charm bracelet, and I occasionally make deals with god, but that's not really superstition, is it? Just, you know, habit.

Your ideal romantic partner?

Ooooh. Hm. He'd be tall. Handsome, of course. Maybe, like, blond with blue eyes, or dark-haired. Or blond with brown-eyes! That'd be nice! And maybe he'd be in a wheelchair. Wheelchairs are awesome. My friend Sven – I've mentioned Sven, right? - has one called a dragon, which goes up and down in a really cool way! I could, like, sit on his lap and we'd go zooming around. Not on Sven's lap, of course! Just...someone like Sven. And maybe he'd have, like, Sven's eyes? Sven has pretty eyes, all greeny. And he has really strong arms from wheeling himself about in his old chair. And a nice smile.

Your Hands

Five of my nails are green and five are silver. The thumb, middle and little finger of my left hand are green, and the same fingers are silver on my right hand. The other nails on each hand are the other colour.

If I stab people with those nails they're injected with one of two substances that live in my blood stream. The silver nails inject people with a substance we call elixir, while the green ones inject them with venom. My venom makes people feel sick and weak; if I get them with all five, they can barely move. The elixir heals the venom. If someone just has the elixir without the venom, they feel great!

I'm generally on an even keel because I have equal amounts of both. It's only when I start losing one or the other that it all goes a bit weird. If I lose my elixir, I get my venom poisoning, and if I lose my venom, I get the boost from my elixir. It has to go into a living creature too, I checked. Plants don't work. If they did, I'd just drip all my venom into a tree everyday and walk around on an elixir high.

More Favourites

I like valentines day, and spring! I like cycling around and feeling the sun on my skin, but not when it's too hot. And I like hot chocolate, and bourbon biscuits, and tea. My favourite colour is pinky purple and silver. My favourite outfit is light green, but with like a silver scarf and some pinky purple bits on it and stuff. It's pretty!

If your life was a genre...

It'd be an indie film, like Happy-Go-Lucky! Or like a super hero movie? Or gritty teenage fiction! With lots of sunshine and pretty colours and music!

Smell?

I really like trying out new stuff, so I smell like whatever I try that week! This week I have a really nice strawberries and cream shower gel! And my shampoo has australian paw paw flower in it, and it smells amazing! And I have this really nice vanilla bean hand cream, and some passion flower perfume!

Two Songs

Oh gosh, two songs that describe me? Oh wow, what to choose! Maybe, like, What Makes You Beautiful? Hee! Or There She Goes?

Maybe Go the Distance from Hercules? That was such a good movie! But yeah...I've often dreamed of a far off place, where a great warm welcome would be waiting for me. It's about travelling, and searching for your real parents, and wanting them to love you when you get there.

And I Think I Love You for...oh, no I can't say. It's a secret!

The Edited Eugene Morris

My first version was written in a rush, as soon as I found the right voice.  This is the edited version.

Eugene Morris

I swear to god, someone up there has got it in for me.

For fuck's sake.

It's not like I've got some kind of issue with dead bodies or anything.  Really, in my line of work?  Might as well be allergic to money.  Or drugs.  Or to lying itself.

Seeing the corpse of someone I knew and whom I'd never expected to see again?  That fucking threw me.

The chief's looking at me expectantly.  I give a grave nod, and the mortician pulls the sheet back over her face.

"Those bastards," the chief says into the silence.  "It'll be a damn good day when we finally bring them down."

'They' are the local mob, who I've been investigating undercover.  Me?  I'm Eugene Morris, bullshitter extraordinaire.  The truth ain't black or white, and neither am I.  And nor is that corpse on the table.  We were two of the only three mixed race kids growing up on our street.

She - Javina - was my next door neighbour when we were kids.  Her big brother - the third kid - and I were close. Right up until we were all teenagers, and I suddenly found his little sister a lot more interesting.  It didn't even last that long, just a month or two, but that was long enough for Troy never to speak to me again.

Goddamit it.  Thinking of Troy, and his mama, and his mama's baby girl under that sheet?  Christ.  My mum taught her mum how to braid Javina's hair, for fuck's sake.  Her mum was white, and didn't have a clue how to deal with mixed hair.

"It's their style," I said to the chief, commenting on the state they'd left Javina's body in.  Fucking christ.  "Any idea of motive?"

"Nope."  The chief slapped a hand to my shoulder.  "That's your job."

Of course it was.  I'd better get some kind of bonus for this.

***

Finding the motive, it turned out, was the easy part.  Practically handed to me on a silver fucking platter.

It was later that same day; yesterday now, must be.  I'd nipped out for another pack of fags when I'd seen Ernie looming at me out of the shadows.  And trust me, Ernie can fucking loom.

I'd greeted him, with a dash of curiosity.  Ernie didn't normally approach me in public.  Ernie didn't normally come out in daylight.

He'd grinned, asked what I'd come out for, then offered me a cigarette.  He was holding out a match when someone came up behind me and dropped a sack over my head.

I spent what was probably the whole night having the fucking shit kicked out of me.  Eventually, during one of his fag breaks, he found the time to explain it to me.

"The boss found out about you, Eugene," he said, lighting another fag.  Fucker.  I'd never even got to take a single drag of mine.  I glared balefully up at him from the floor, my head turned sideways.  I was trussed up like a turkey.  Ernie'd never been one for fighting fair.  Probably why he was so successful at it.

He didn't wait for me to reply.  I wasn't fucking planning to.

"So this," he continued, "is your punishment.  The girl," he grinned at me, "was your warning."

"You killed some girl to warn me you were going to kick the shit out of me?" I wheezed.  I could taste blood.

He waved the match out, and sat there in silence, grinning at me, like a goddamn pumpkin.

"Or are you planning to kill me too?"  I continued, when it was clear he was just going to carry on sitting there with that fucking look on his face.

"We're not going to kill you, Eugene," he said.  Well, thank fuck for that.  "We're going to keep you.  And if you don't do what we want, we'll kill another one.  Who was next?  Natasha?  Tia?"

I was having trouble breathing.  Not because of what he'd said, because he'd broken a few of my fucking ribs.

He finished his fag, then stood up, rubbing his hands together.

"You could just offer me fucking money," I suggested.  "Instead of brutally slaughtering your way through a chronological list of my exes."

"Nah," Ernie said, picking up a baseball bat.  "We'd never trust you if we had to buy you."

Well, shit.

Eugene Fucking Morris

A short for the Blakenhall Writer's Group.   The original specs can be found here - essentially, a bit of background, and instructions to write a short story or poem.  This is mine.

Eugene Fucking Morris


I swear to god, someone up there has got it fucking in for me.

For fuck's sake.

It's not like I've got some kind of issue with dead bodies or anything.  Really, in my line of work?  Might as well be allergic to money.  Or drugs.  Or to lying itself.

Seeing the corpse of someone I knew and whom I'd never expected to see again?  That fucking threw me.

The chief's looking at me expectantly.  I give a grave nod, and the mortician pulls the sheet back over her face.

"Those bastards," the chief says into the silence.  "It'll be a damn good day when we finally bring them down."

'They' are the local mob, who I've been investigating undercover.  Me?  I'm Eugene Morris, bullshitter extraordinaire.  The truth ain't black or white, and neither am fucking I.  And nor is that corpse on the table.  We were two of the only three mixed race kids growing up on our street.

She - Javina - was my next door neighbour when we were kids.  Her big brother - the third kid - and I were close. Right up until we were all teenagers, and I suddenly found his little sister a lot more interesting.  It didn't even last that long, just a month or two, but that was long enough for Troy never to speak to me again.

Goddamit it.  Thinking of Troy, and his mama, and his mama's baby girl under that sheet?  Christ.  My mum taught her mum how to braid Javina's hair, for fuck's sake.  Her mum was white, and didn't have a clue how to deal with mixed hair.

"It's their style," I said to the chief, commenting on the state they'd left Javina's body in.  Fucking christ.  "Any idea of motive?"

"Nope."  The chief slapped a hand to my shoulder.  "That's your job."

Of course it fucking was.  I'd better get some kind of bonus for this.

***

Finding the motive, it turned out, was the easy part.  Practically handed to me on a silver fucking platter.

It was later that same day; yesterday now, must be.  I'd nipped out for another pack of fags when I'd seen Ernie looming at me out of the shadows.  And trust me, Ernie can fucking loom.

I'd greeted him, with a dash of curiosity.  Ernie didn't normally approach me in public.  Ernie didn't normally come out in fucking daylight, for christ's sake.

He'd grinned, asked what I'd come out for, then offered me a cigarette.  He was holding out a match when someone came up behind me and dropped a sack over my head.

I spent what was probably the whole night having the fucking shit kicked out of me.  Eventually, during one of his fag breaks, he found the time to explain it to me.

"The boss found out about you, Eugene," he said, lighting another fag.  Fucker.  I'd never even got to take a single drag of mine.  I glared balefully up at him from the floor, my head turned sideways.  I was trussed up like a fucking turkey.  Ernie'd never been one for fighting fucking fair.  Probably why he was so successful at it.

He didn't wait for me to reply.  I wasn't fucking planning to.  

"So this," he continued, "is your punishment.  The girl," he grinned at me, "was your fucking warning?"

"You killed some girl to warn me you were going to kick the shit out of me?" I wheezed.  I could taste blood.

He waved the match out, and sat there in silence, grinning at me, like a fucking pumpkin.

"Or are you planning to kill me too?"  I continued, when it was clear he was just going to carry on sitting there with that fucking look on his face.

"We're not going to kill you, Eugene," he said.  Well, thank fuck for that.  "We're to keep you.  And if you don't do what we want, we'll kill another one.  Who was next?  Natasha?  Tia?"

I was having trouble breathing.  Not because of what he'd said, because he'd broken a few of my fucking ribs.

He finished his fag, then stood up, rubbing his hands together.

"You could just offer me fucking money," I said.  "Instead of brutally fucking slaughtering your way through a chronological list of my exes."

"Nah," Ernie said, picking up a baseball bat.  "We'd never trust you if we had to buy you."

Well, shit.