Post by lindafriitawa on Aug 13, 2009 6:11:09 GMT -5
LINDA FRIITAWA
Nicknames: Lin (by Doctor Crane), Casper, Lillith (both insults from childhood referring to her ashen complexion)
Alias[es]: Fright
Age: 28
Physical Appearance:
Linda was born with albinism, which marks her easily recognizable. She is ghostly pale, with roseate irises. She frequently wears colored contact lenses to assist in blocking light transmission. Her hair, chin length and straight, is stark white and usually unkempt. She usually wears it back in a ponytail. Her wardrobe consists of dark colors under her starched lab coat. She is fond of black, and usually keeps covered in long sleeved turtlenecks and boldly colored scarves paired with dark slacks. When her alternate persona presents itself, she can be found in somewhat opposite clothing... she keeps her black signature standards, and opts for a long, black vinyl duster with a thick fur collar. Underneath she wears a black vinyl corset paired with matching mini-shorts. To add insult to injury she tops all of this off with black vinyl thigh-high stiletto boots.
Distinguishing Marks:
Linda's back is tattooed. On her twentieth birthday she boldly opted for a full back inking, and now possesses full feathered wings that extend from her shoulder blades to just below her hips.
Played By: Christina Ricci
Strengths:
Intelligence - An advanced geneticist, as her university studies focused on genetics and biotechnology. She is capable of detailed experiments pertaining to all things scientific. She has also become very knowledgeable (as of late) on the subject of psychology (with focus on the study of how different phobias affect the human mind).
Adaptability - She has a knack for reading people, and uses this to her advantage in any given situation. She can adapt her personality to match expectations - so if someone assumes she is afraid, she follows suit. In this aspect she has become quite the manipulator, twisting her persona when she sees fit.
Loyalty - But only to Doctor Crane. She tends to follow his every word, no matter the cost.
Weaknesses:
Albinism - She is very hypersensitive to light - without a source to protect her eyes she may as well be blind. She uses dim lighting in her work surroundings, and can usually be found with several small penlights in her various pockets to assist her in the darkness. Turning on bright lights in a darkened room is not an option for Linda. Her condition also threatens her skin in the sun. She burns quickly and easily, which can leave her quite vulnerable. When attempting to go out during the day she must be covered from head to toe... so she avoids excursions into the sunlight when she is able - preferring a nocturnal lifestyle.
Fire - She has a very irrational fear of fire due to a traumatic circumstance stemming from her childhood. She only feels safe around the smallest contained flame.
Mental Instability - Unbeknownst to even herself, Linda disassociates from time to time. She "loses" time on occasion, finding herself in different places or situations for reasons she can not recall.
Personality Traits:
Those who only know Linda superficially would believe her to be distant and cold. She is no non-sense in large social situations, where she feels conspicuous, and doesn't talk much to those she doesn't know on a very personal level. Suffice to say she isn't invited to a lot of Gotham's socially elite galas... and she is OK with this. She prefers organization to chaos, and finds it difficult to manage amidst clutter. Her work space is basic... her rational thinking leading her to believe that simple is better.
Once broken through the exterior, those who know Linda recognize that she is passionate about certain things in life... one of them being science. Though she keeps to herself as much as she can, she rather enjoys sharing data (in a very excited manner) with anyone willing to listen. In Jonathon she recognizes a kinship, as they shared some of the same childhood experiences... and this has led her to care for him more than she has anyone else. She feels her love is unrequited, as his goals lie in bigger and better interests, and she accepts that for what it is... knowing that his work is far more important to the world than her affection for him.
Secret(s/)Motive(s):
A cure - Mister Cobblepot hired her as Doctor Crane's lab assistant, true, but her main goal, while working with him, is curing her condition.
Seduce Jonathan Crane - He will be hers. He just doesn't know it yet.
Kiss Kiss, Kill Kill - Linda possesses her very own gas mask. It is standard army issue, however she has modified and fitted it with various attachments. Her mask encloses a check valve which opens with exhalation. Inside Linda's mask is a series of tubing and valves that, when filled, hosts her weapon of choice: a vaporized form of Tetrodotoxin - which produces paralysis of the diaphragm and eventual death due to respiratory failure.
Family Members: Linda has two sisters, but has had no contact with either since she was ten years of age.
Partners: None.
History:
My mother said my father was a magician. He heard the word "abnormalities" when I was born and he disappeared. She said we were better off without him - but I always wished, when I was younger, that he'd stuck around. But I had my mom, and I had my two sisters. And despite my being afflicted, they stuck around.
When I was eight years of age mom packed us up and moved us to upstate New York. Jobs were better there - and she had family. We ended up living with my aunt and uncle. On Sundays he preached to the congregation at the Fisher Lutheran Church. Every other day of the week he was a drunk. He eventually drank and gambled my mom's life savings away. According to her it only took him a month to blow through five grand.
Mom, desperate for money, turned to prostitution with a little drugs on the side. Or vice versa. We (my sisters and I) heard different things depending on who we asked. We were sheltered from her by our aunt - mom's sister. Eventually mom just stopped coming around. About a year later the police paid us a visit. I was too young to identify the body. My aunt told me I wouldn't have recognized her anyway... not with what had happened to her. I learned to not ask questions.
Life spiraled downwards after our uncle went to prison for embezzlement. In six years time he stole a little over five hundred thousand dollars from his collective parishioners. There were huge riots at our aunt's house after he was indicted. The riots lasted for weeks on end. The congregation ended up burning the house down - with our aunt in it.
And we, my sisters and I, ended up in an orphanage.
My sisters were taken into foster homes almost immediately. Blond hair, blue eyed little girls always go first. I spent my time in the decrepit library reading old anatomy books.
Those ancient, molding books saved my life. By the time I graduated high school (yes, I endured eight years at that God-forsaken place) I'd invested enough of my time in medical knowledge that I'd decided to pursue a career in the scientific field. Luckily my unfortunate circumstances granted me a full paid scholarship to Gotham University.
I spent the next eight years of my life throwing myself into every science and medical course I came across. Genetics was my number one priority - but I couldn't, and didn't, stop there. I graduated with honors at the top of my class, securing my place in genetic research in my college town of Gotham. I had my own lab, my own underlings to assist, and I was given clearance to most of the labs... which eventually led to my private experiments that I took precautions to keep from being discovered. But one of my lab assistants turned me in after a procedure gone horribly wrong, when I burned the sensitive flesh of one of my albino volunteers. I was found culpable of conducting unauthorized experiments on human beings, and my medical license was stripped.
Not long after I was approached by Oswald Cobblepot. He wanted to pair me up with Doctor Jonathon Crane, a psychologist, to assist in refining a synthetic chemical that altered perception and caused prodigious hallucinations in patients. Doctor Crane and I have worked together for about twelve months now, and we have more than one thing in common... perhaps the most substantial being our abhorrence for Mister Cobblepot.
Of course... last but certainly not least is my condition. I would have mentioned it at the beginning, but some people can't stop themselves from the game of twenty questions once I introduce my albinism to them. Most of my life has revolved around it, from my father leaving to my uncle embezzling funds to help with medical bills to my college tuition paid in full. My experiments, the experiments that robbed me of my medical license, were focused on a cure... for myself and the many others like me that have to endure the stares and the hushed whispers. But I am almost certain I am very close to another genetic mutation that could remedy my disease.
Very close, indeed.
Your Name: Katie
Age: 20 something
Means of contact: cryptina13@yahoo.com
Passphrase: accept
Roleplay example:
The mask didn't frighten her. The mask had never frightened her. Oh sure, the first time he'd pulled out the stitched together burlap sack she'd been afraid. For his sanity. But Oswald Cobblepot had not hired her to make assumptions about Jonathan Crane. So she'd swallowed the question wanting to spill from her lips and played along when he'd carefully pulled it over his head to reveal his creation to her.
Of course he'd told her that the effects were much more horrific when sprayed with his fear toxin. But he'd never once introduced her to his concoction on a personal level. She'd only witnessed his guinea pigs trying to claw their eyes out, screaming in horror as they scrambled to get away from the brown mask. Whichever phobia had thrust itself from the mask's open mouth had made each victim withdraw farther into the dark corners of their mind. They'd each needed medicated afterwords... heavy doses of Amobarbital or Diazepam... followed by a daily ritual reacquainting with Scarecrow. She'd watched from behind thick glass, intrigued, as each of his experiments fell into increasingly induced states of psychasthenia... it really was very exhilarating, he'd promised her... and he'd kept his word every time.
Now, sitting across from him at the metal lab table in the dank basement laboratory of Cobblepot's house, Linda once again grew concerned for his state of mind. His ranting had gone off the deep end again - though he'd never strayed from his usual placid disposition. His soliloquy had simply become much more bitter... much more violent. His words become progressively impassioned. His clasped hands rested on the metal, as if in prayer - each finger embracing the next, with his mask clutched in pressed-together palms. She she turned her attention away from the worn threads holding the burlap together and focused it towards the pale flesh stretched achingly over his wrist bone. He'd been starving himself again... though she knew it was not on purpose. He forgot to eat on occasion (if days on end could be considered an occasion), and he'd told her this after a few nights in his lab, after she'd commented on the low grumbling that his stomach had been making. He'd admitted that his mind flitted everywhere except when it came to taking care of himself. So it had ultimately become her job to make sure he ate and slept. She'd slipped again. They'd been so busy perfecting the synthetic formula he'd scribbled down, so engaged in the process of testing it, that she'd let him start to deteriorate. Linda made a mental note to push an attempt at a meal on him when his diatribe ceased... when he'd calmed down... a thought that made a brief smile sweep across her features as she took in his tranquil demeanor.
"They really don't know who they are dealing with," he mumbled.
She nodded quietly in agreement. They really didn't know who they were dealing with. She suppressed the urge to shudder, though he most likely would not have noticed any trembling on her part... and if he had would have been more than likely to assume she was just chilled in the thin lab coat she wore. He never seemed to take into account that his lack of emotion terrified her. And how would that fear present itself were she to be submitted to his experiments? How would that fly from the mouth of the cloth mask? Linda wasn't sure... but it was something that bedeviled her now and again.
When he got like this it always meant he was destined for the confines of his reserved straitjacket. Though she would be damned if they would lock him away behind the secure walls of Arkham again. The last time had left him worse for wear. They didn't care if he ate. They didn't care if he slept. The doctors at Arkham were a joke... nothing more than expensive diplomas tacked behind glass frames... they lacked imagination, they lacked aptitude... very opposite from Doctor Crane. Everything that came from those Arkham doctor's mouths, everything written by their hands was by the book, and there were times when psychological disorders called for more than what was learned from a textbook. Something, it seemed, only Jonathan could understand.
And then the repeated mutterings, which often seemed to take over his train of thought, began softly. "Scare...crow..." he began through clenched teeth.
"Jonathan," she said quietly, hoping to sever whatever thought process was taking over his rationalization.
His prattling stopped. He looked up at her through lifeless blue eyes, his brown hair falling in to his face and casting shadows over his ashen features.
Linda wasn't sure what to say, wasn't sure where she'd been going other than capturing his attention and bringing him back to his darkened lab, where the real world existed.
"I worry about you," she whispered, "You're not sleeping, Jonathan, and you're not eating."
His features didn't change. No hint of emotion scattered across his face, no sign of him hearing anything she'd said. Linda cocked her head at him and gave him a weak smile. Jonathan's clasped grip relaxed until his hands were flat on the table, pressing the mask under his palms as if he were absorbing some ancient power from inside of it. She watched as the rage began to slip from his tense body. Her words were sinking in, and she could tell.
"Come on, Jonathan," she breathed, grabbing his fingers and entwining them in hers, "A man can't take over Gotham without being fed and well rested. Luckily you've got an assistant that can take care of both."
