Post by Moira Aven Cunningham on Nov 16, 2010 2:01:22 GMT -5
MOIRA CUNNINGHAM
i have no need of friendship
friendship causes pain
it's laughter and it's loving i disdain
00I. alias :: moira.
0II. age :: twenty-one.
III. timezone :: mountain standard time.
0IV. how did you find us? :: juliette.
00I. full name :: moira aven cunningham.
0II. age :: six hundred and twenty-three.
III. birth date :: may twenty-third in the year thirteen hundred and eighty-seven.
0IV. race :: vampire.
00V. heritage :: irish.
0VI. blood :: pure-blood.
VII. abilities :: none.
00I. playby :: kate beckinsale.
0II. eyes :: her eyes are a steely grey, framed with long, dark lashes.
III. hair :: moira's dark mahogany locks fall in gentle curls to the middle of her back.
0IV. build :: moira, standing at five foot seven, has a lean, curvacious physique.
00V. unique features :: nothing besides her vampiric traits.
0VI. dressing style :: moira was a born pure-blood and as such, she is used to wardrobing herself in fine fabrics and fashionable attire. her style leans toward the professional, but she does dress up when the occasion calls for it. her colour palette usually contains earth tones and subdued hues, but she does own a few articles that posses a splash of brilliance.
00I. likes ::
[x] romania - because she can be herself there, amoung her own kind.
[x] order. she likes to have a place for everything and have everything be in its place.
[x] open-mindedness. anyone that can accept other races as equals is good in her books.
[x] feeding. it's hard not to like it, after all. she isn't cruel to her meals, but she does savour them.
[x] nature. moira loves being out in the beauty of nature - flowers, trees, meadows filled with tall green grass. she finds it peaceful.
0II. dislikes ::
[x] racists. quite literally, actually. she despises those who despise her just for being what she is.
[x] sorin, the bastard who condemned her to this life and ultimately took her family from her.
[x] unfounded cockiness. nothing is more annoying than meeting someone who thinks they are a gift to mankind.
[x] public displays of affection. not only does she really not care to see strangers making out, she also hates the reminder that she lost the happy marriage she could have had by becoming a vampire.
[x] being what she is, watching people die, and existing alone. forever.
III. strengths ::
[x] her vampiric abilities.
[x] her age, which gives her knowledge and experience.
[x] level-headedness.
0IV. weaknesses ::
[x] a broken heart.
[x] unable to perform magic.
[x] her race's social standing.
00V. mirror of erised :: to be with her family again.
0VI. boggart :: a broken heart.
VII. dementor memory :: her worst memory is of sorin attacking her and turning her into a vampire. to this day, she cannot forgive him.
VIII. felix felicis :: her best memory is of playing in the creek near her childhood home with her sister, logan. it reminds her of the innocence she once possessed and the carefree of her old existence.
0IX. personality :: moira is a reserved individual. she never speaks before thinking carefully about her words. her temper can be impressive, but she rarely lets it out - it's not easy to nettle her to that point. since she fears attachment - and losing the subject of her attachment - she never lets anyone get too close to her. she surrounds herself with business acquaintances, but none are dear to her. this is also due to all the years of travel - she was never allowed to keep friends, so she stopped bothering to make them. though she is mostly severe in her expression, moira does know how to turn on the charm. she's learned that some people respond better to friendly manipulation than to outright intimidation. everything about her has been carefully honed to draw people in - like the spider's web draws a fly.
00I. father :: sean cunningham, eighty-two, potioneer, deceased.
0II. mother :: aven cunningham (nee o'malley), eighty-seven, homemaker/seemstress, deceased.
III. siblings :: logan maeve cunningham, six hundred and twenty-three, wanderer, undead.
0IV. other significant people :: sorin, sire, seven hundred and eight, currently unemployed/traveler, undead.
andrei, mentor, eight hundred and sixty-nine, holds chair on vampire high council, undead.
00I. background ::
moira was born, along with her twin, logan, into an age of rebirth and enlightenment. the dark ages had passed and the plague had just released its hold on europe a few decades before they entered the world. artists, philosophers, and other great thinkers had set into motion a time of progress and of learning. the twins' father fell into the academic way of things easily as a potioneer. he was forever concocting some brew in the cellar of their home. their mother took on the role of homemaker, but still managed to successfully run her seemstress business.
with her childhood days filled with love and play, moira was a pleasant child. she didn't always listen to everything her parents told her - especially when it involved staying away from the creek near their home or being inside the house when the sun set - but she was never troublesome. her temperament was mild and she got along with other children well. and, even though she was a pure-blood, she had no qualms playing with muggle children. fun was fun in her mind.
as she grew older and her magic revealed itself, moira played less with muggle kids. her parents impressed upon her the importance of keeping her magic a secret and since she was so young, she couldn't control it at all times. soon, she stopped playing with the non-magic folk altogether - though she never hated them.
when she finally reached the age of eleven and received her hogwarts letter, moira was ecstatic. she and logan dragged their mother around diagon alley, happily picking out fine, feather quills and richly coloured parchment for their studies. moira flipped through her textbooks excitedly and squinted at the packaged potion ingredients that she would need during the year. but her absolute favourite part - and the part she saved for last - was receiving her first wand. it was a beautifully carved masterpiece made of australian blackwood and infused with serpent scale. at twelve and a half inches, it was the perfect wand for moira.
school was hard. moira was a bright child and her parents had always encouraged the exercising of her mind, but she was so full of energy and excitement that she had a tough time focusing in any one direction for too long. eventually, however, she relaxed into the flow of things and found her niche. potions, unsurprisingly, was her best subject. herbology shortly followed and history of magic shortly followed that. her worst subject was transfiguration, but not because she didn't find it interesting. it was just hard for her to wrap her mind around. only by studying excessively was she able to scrape by with decent marks. when her o.w.l.s came around, she dropped the subject entirely and filled the space with ancient runes. that subject was difficult, but she found it less frustrating than transfiguration. besides, her and her friends enjoyed writing secret notes to each other in other classes using the ancient alphabet.
upon graduating hogwarts, moira took the time-honoured tradition of touring the world before settling into her chosen field of work, while selene opted to stay and help at home. moira visited many culturally interesting cities, but found none as fascinating as romania. so instead of continuing on her planned trip, she stayed there, in the town of brasov. she eventually got a job there, to avoid depleting her trip money with the extended stay. it was only a waitressing job at the local pub, but it paid the bills that the boarding in her tiny room racked up. while there, she drank up the culture, learning to speak romanian flawlessly within two years. it was during those years that she met sorin, a handsome romanian man with a penchant for romanticism. she was twenty at the time of their first encounter; he appeared to be in his early thirties. of course, she was highly flattered by his attentions, and more than drawn to his flare for extravagance.
she allowed him to court her for several months before she began feeling uneasy with his jealous, possessive nature. she was no longer able to see her male acquaintances without his presence and it was becoming difficult to even spend time away from his ever-watchful eyes. when it grew to be too much, she attempted to break it off, but sorin would hear none of it. he continued to act as though they were still together and even spoke of plans to marry in the near future. deciding that her stay in romania was at a well-timed end, she arranged to leave and return home to ireland. surprisingly, her departure was without incident and sorin was nowhere to be found.
back in ireland for the first time since graduating, moira greeted her family with all the warmth, love, and souvenirs one would expect. she and logan worked hard on catching up on each other's lives and her father was able to get her a job at the place he worked - a quaint little apothecary. it didn't take long for moira to settle back into the flow of her hometown. the days came and went with a pleasantly slow pace.
it wasn't until she met connor, a boyish, but honorable wizard, that sorin made his next appearance. connor was handsome and brave and everything moira wanted in a husband. he worked in the ministry of magic as an auror, but never failed to treat her with all the tenderness of a loving man. he wooed her effortlessly and they made arrangements to be wed in the spring of fourteen hundred and fourteen, when she was twenty-six. sorin, of course, had other plans.
it was on a crisp, grey morning - the kind that you often get when winter is still doing its best to cling to the land, but spring has already begun to loosen its hold - that moira woke to find herself in a barely lit cellar. she was laying on a hard-packed dirt floor amoungst trunks and boxes. to say she was disoriented would be putting it lightly. confused and slightly afraid, moira slowly got to her feet and examined her surroundings. the trunks, she found, were full of clothes. her clothes. the boxes were also full of her possessions. even more alarmed, she made for the exit, only to find the doors barred from the opposite side. not knowing quite what to think or do, she began rummaging in her things, looking for something that might be of use.
she needn't have bothered. sorin returned to her only a few minutes after her fruitless search had begun. she attempted to run passed him and escape the dark space, but he grabbed her and wrestled her to the ground, spewing words of anger into the air. he was furious that she had met someone else, that she had thought to marry anyone but him. at first, she feared he would kill her in a jealous rage. when that didn't happen, and he began tearing at the neck of the nightgown she still wore, she thought he was going to rape her. what she had not expected was that he would bite her.
she struggled. she screamed. but try as she might to stop what was happening to her, nothing would deter sorin from his goal. and so when she could feel death's clammy grip, he continued on his path, slicing his wrist and pressing it firmly against her mouth. the taste that filled her senses was an explosion of electricity. and as it shot through her nerves, moira couldn't help but whimper at the raw power of it. when he finally withdrew his hand, her heart had slowed to a stand-still. he had killed her. and through her death, she was reborn.
when she woke, it was night. she couldn't see the outside world, but she knew it was. she also knew that sorin was still with her. no breath escaped her lips - or his. no heart beat within their breasts. everything was still, expectant. she slowly raised her hand to her throat, feeling the spot she knew he had torn only that morning. the skin was smooth, perfect.
"esti un vampir," he had said, his voice seeming to echo all around her. you are a vampire.
if she had had breath, it would have caught in her throat. instead, she sucked some into her lungs in order to speak.
"ce-ai facut?" she demanded. what have you done?
he felt no remorse, that much he made painfully clear. sorin was a possessive being and he hadn't thought twice about ruining her life - or taking it, for that matter - in order to keep her from marrying another man. connor would never marry her now, not when vampires were so hated. strangely, she didn't feel half as poorly at that as she thought she would. connor was a good man and she had cared for him, but she had never been in love with him. he would find another bride and be happy. the thing that upset her was that she would lose the life she had been so accustomed to. she would be hated, hunted. sorin had thrust a grim fate upon her and she hated him for that.
it was hard to say how she dealt with the knowledge she was indeed undead. moira had been angry at sorin and that consumed her in a way that later she would view as a good thing. because it kept her from feeling the loss of her family, which, ultimately, probably saved her life. or unlife. sorin had thought she would stay with him out of necessity once she was made a vampire. that she would turn to him as a mentor and protector. but she did not. as confusing and horrifying as her new life was, she would rather have suffered any torture than the torture of seeing his face for any amount of time. so she left him again, fleeing ireland and hiding in small towns and villages to avoid him tracking her down. it was difficult - him being a vampire and all - but she managed. it was a lonely existence, though. she wouldn't allow herself to see her family or communicate with them. better that they think she was dead than to know the awful truth. and the fact that she never stayed in one placed for longer than a month made it so she never made or kept friends.
eventually, her nomadic habits took her back to romania. it was the year fourteen hundred and fifty-seven, fourty-three years since she had become a vampire. the familiar town of brasov was no longer the sleepy place it had once been. a new prince had taken the wallachian throne, a cruel man by the name of vlad draculea - or vlad tepes as he was known by the locals. the name meant vlad the impaler in romanian. moira learned he had earned the nickname by impaling his enemies and leaving them to die, a Owlfor any who might challenge him. his reign had instigated a rise in values, much to her surprise. because this prince did not just impale his enemies. he also impaled liars, adulterers, sloths, and other less than upright individuals. so harshly did he govern his land, that no thief dared enter it. merchants often lefts there wares out in the open, confident that no one would dare provoke the wrath of their lord and master.
but those were muggle affairs. and though the wizarding world knew of the prince's atrocities, they did little to usurp him. moira herself ignored the plights of the humans. her detached lifestyle had turned her into an apathetic woman, unsympathetic to the woes of mankind. only when rumours began circulating that draculea was a vampire did moira pay any attention to the man. deciding to find out if the rumours were true, she traveled to his castle. her watchful eye took in the comings and goings of everyone within the castle. when vlad himself finally made an appearance, moira was not shocked to find he was not, in fact, a vampire. muggles wouldn't know a vampire if one bit them in the ass. they thought all vampires had pasty white skin, red, glowing eyes, and an insatiable taste for blood. well, vampires did need blood. but they weren't blood-thirsty animals with no brains, attacking everything in sight.
slightly disappointed, moira continued her search of fellow vampires elsewhere. and, eventually, she found them. the first vampire she met since sorin was named andrei. he was a severe man, reserved and highly proper. he exposed her to a whole world she had never dreamt existed - an entire community of vampires, based in the carpathian mountains in an unnamed city. like a father, he took her under his wing, teaching her about herself, about her kin. he gave her shelter, clothed her, and, most importantly, provided her with the tools to better herself.
for the next several years, moira busied herself with the task of education. this education was not the variety she had experienced while human, however. there were similarities - she still studied potions, since no magic abilities were needed for that - but for the most part, her learning revolved around vampire society. almost every day she could be found in the archives, flipping through tomes about the history of the vampire race. eventually, she was even offered a job as an archiver. that progressed until she was given a post as official scribe, then historian. and finally, in the year eighteen hundred and forty-nine - three hundred and ninety-two years since she had met andrei - she was given the honour of becoming curator of the vampiric archives, head over all their history. she remained in that post for a century - as was common - until she was released from her position.
the year was nineteen hundred and forty-nine and moira intended to see what the outside world had become. with andrei's blessing and fondest farewells, she left the vampire community that had been her home for more than four centuries and traveled back through europe. her wanderings led her back home, to ireland. her family was, of course, long gone and moira was left to visit their graves alone. it was unfortunate that vampires were so loathed; she would have loved to have been able to stay with them, to be with them for as long as possible.
she didn't stay long in ireland. there was no reason to, really. everything she had known was gone, along with everyone she had ever cared about. and besides, she could never stay in one place too long - too many questions, too few answers. so on she went, traveling down through spain, italy, then back up through bulgaria to explore the nordic regions, never staying in one place for too long.
the constant traveling, the wariness in people's eyes, the talk of evil monsters - it all swirled together in moira to create a bitterness as vast as the ocean. she had not chosen to become a vampire. she had been a victim. how was this her fault? and besides that, not all vampires were evil, just as not all humans were good. the mistreatment of her kind set her teeth on edge and moira wanted nothing more than to shake some sense into the ignorant masses.
she did not have to wait long for a chance to come around. in nineteen hundred and eighty-two word reached her ears of a dark lord rising in england. he called himself lord voldemort. at first, moira didn't really bother to pay him any attention, but then she began hearing rumours of promises he had made to more than one race of outcasts. not only vampires, but werewolves, giants, goblins and other so-called unsavoury creatures were being assured rights if only they would aid voldemort's rise into power. before moira really had the chance to consider joining his cause, he was killed - or so everyone believed. the human boy, harry potter, was somehow responsible for the defeat of the greatest dark lord in centuries.
and yet, moira did not leave england. there was something in the air that felt like the calm in the eye of a storm. it was as though the earth itself was holding its breath, waiting for the onslaught of war. and in england she remains.
00I. wand :: unusable. australian blackwood, serpent scale core, twelve and one half of an inch.
0II. broom :: non-applicable.
III. pet :: zachary binx, five years, black bombay.
0IV. patronus :: it was a black panther.
SYR INTEGRA of CAUTION 2.0 created this and she will happily hunt you down, rip out your spinal cord, and beat you to death with it if you steal her hard work and claim it as your own. especially since she will gladly share it with any and all who wish to use it, provided they leave her nice, little credit attached.
