OOC: Oh, what the hell.

[bookofclara]

I've got some free time this weekend for a change, so why not?

1. Pick one of my characters: List under the cut, since not all of the alts on my roster post are RP-ready.
2. Roll 5 random numbers between 1 and 100 from this website.
3. I'll answer questions that match those numbers from this list4. Since it's been about a month, just a reminder

Comments

[bookofclara]

31. What do you consider your greatest achievement?

I could hardly say, as I have never really thought to consider my life along such lines. Tis simply a life, as lives go, with little to distinguish it from others being lived. *dot of ink* As I am to be placed upon the spot, however, I should probably consider my continued survival as a point of significance. Indeed, I marvel at it with some regularity.

50. Do you have any biases or prejudices?

I -- *inkblot* Truly, it seems unduly harsh to term it as such. I am human. To judge and have preference seems unavoidable, much as my pride might wish such a quality could be denied. But to state such matters so openly--! That could hardly be necessary, and I fail to see where my doing such could be of any possible good.

76. Do you smoke, drink, or use drugs? If so, why? Do you want to quit?

I most certainly do not! Of what manner of individual do you take me to be? At the very most, I might indulge in a glass of wine or punch at table, but certainly never more than that pittance. Tis exceedingly difficult to maintain control over one's own faculties after imbibing as such, and I have utterly no intention of compromising myself in such a fashion.

100. If you could, what advice would you, the writer, give to your character?

Please open up more. There are times that it literally hurts to write you because of the amount of emotion stoppered up inside. You will not break others, and they will not break you. You keep insisting that you're human; show it.

16. What is your earliest memory?

*several dots of ink* ...Tis of walking with my father through the fields of our farm. I was quite young; I think my mother must have been in travail with my youngest brother at that time. I was displeased with the impending addition to the family, and my father took it upon himself to lead me from the house, likely as much to calm his own nerves as to assuage my fit of temper. I recall the feel of his callused hand engulfing my own tiny one, and the sight of our shadows stretching before us in intervals as the sun fought to escape the jealous clouds. My father was such a tall man, built to command the space he claimed, and yet he stooped to me so solicitously, checking his strides to match my own. He always did as much for his children; ever he bent himself to fit our needs, even as he allowed us to stretch our own legs and walk independently. We had rare occasion to walk as such following that day. His attention was increasingly claimed by the demands of the land and his king, and I had been handily commandeered by Gran to commence my studies. To the very last, I regretted the loss of those days. Tis entirely possible that no matter the age I may attain, thoughts of my father shall cause me to feel once more like that small, stumbling girl in checkered gingham. Should that come to pass, I think I must consider it a welcome gift.