Petite Le Morte
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
The eyes of the blind see best,
No discolorations, no distracting beauty
Just a white page waiting to be written on.
Let the colors stain your eyelids
And ignore whatever you may see.''
Contents |
Petite Le Morte
When I originally created this character she was supposed to be a bitch to anyone and everyone, blaming society's apathy for child victimization. However Petite was so well received that I couldn't bear to play her as such a stand offish person and instead voted as trying to use Petite's past as a springboard for compassion rather than hate.
Apparently, Petite's past is too violent and sexually riddled to appear in her little bio space so don't expect a condensed version of this if you see her around. Her name was also changed to Poca Muerte due to the fact that some people found my joke offensive.
Petite's Physique
She appears to be in her early twenties, but is unsure of her exact age. She stopped attempting to keep track when she deemed it no longer necessary since her body should resist age fairly well. She also is unaware of her birthdate as it was never celebrated nor has she known or been able to obtain any kind of official record.
Her eye color is a warm brown that sparkle and invite when she's happy and are dull and listless when she is not.
Her hair is an interesting brownish red. As to what to call this color, I don't know.
She is about 5'2 and almost all legs. At first I thought this should be changed, but was told that it's a good thing to have freakishly long legs. So be it.
I do not know her weight, cause she's never told me. I've also found that people's visions of what is a proper weight and what isn't in this game are really skewed, so I'll pass on guessing what weight she should be at. Go look at her and judge if she seems healthy or not.
Petite's skin is unusually soft and supple.
Other than the hair on her head and eyebrows, Petite is hairless.
- is now not a hundred percent human
Petite's Nicknames
Err...Petite. Morte. P-chan. Short stack. P-tits (LOL!)
Other Misc. Facts Before We Hit the Juicy Part
O, Arc, and CTL: Science, Corruptor (Couldn't help myself...), and 50.
Birthplace: You might find out if you're extremely lucky and pay attention to what she says.
Real Name: As far as she's concerned Petite Le Morte is her real name. She's never known any other.
Races: Mixed. Definitely has some Spanish and Asian, but specifics are unknown.
Occupation: Weapons Developer
Marital Status: Technically, I suppose she's single.
Known Relatives: ...Nope...I don't think anyone knows them...
Known Powers and Abilities: The ability to manipulate soundwaves, which not only can melt someone's brain, but is also a useful party trick. Has a knack for creating nifty gadgets and if she can't make them, she has a knack for knowing the people who can. Manipulates freshly dead or dying people's souls to strengthen her own abilities as wells as those that Ghost Widow has granted her.
Equipment: A variety of chains as well as blades. three healing devices, two entrapment thingamabobbins, mines, teleportation enabler, force field generator, poison traps, and distraction drones.
Character's Character
First and foremost, Petite is a flirt. Irascible and incorrigible. Male or female, she loves to make others blush. (Although she prefers males). Whether Petite is a sincere flirt or not is still questionable. Her enjoyment of playing with her target then watching them learn that she is not truly interested varies. She is highly manipulative though most often these actions are on an unconcious level. On this same level, she is incredibly vindictive. She may not purposefully neglect someone who insults her, but neither does she apologize for the neglect that may be felt. She has a long memory when it comes to grudges and forgives no one easily. Nothing negative happens to her that does not get served back at least three times as hard until or unless, sufficient apologies are made.
On the flip side, there are times she trusts or lets herself get led into things way too easily. She hates hurting anyone unless presented with a really good reason. When she does do harmful things it is often in the name of trying to help somebody or because she trusted their logic, however skewed it was.
Despite the outgoing appearance she keeps up she actually lacks a great amount of confidence. She knows she is physically beautiful but is constantly unsure about her inner beauty. She assumes, and for the most part, rightly so, that people are concerned with what she is rather than who she is.
The Unsung Story
Morte was born in a small house full of small-minded people. She was never given a name and as far as she can recollect was always summoned or called with "Hey you", when anybody was in a good mood. She worked along with her six brothers and sister in an attempt to run the household smoothly. Her brothers took up questionable salesman jobs while Petite and her older sister struggled with stereotypical womanly duties. Of course, despite how hard children work, they often need an adult to help lead, and in this broken home, there was a definite lack of it.
Petite's mother, while physically present most of the time, was not mentally present. She had turned to the abuse of painkillers during a post partum depression period. Gradually her addiction got worse and started including not only prescription drugs, but powders and needles as well. The scrawled childlike drawings on the walls in crayon are not from bored toddlers but rather evidence of how vacant and vacuous she had become over time.
Her father was a depressive alcoholic who could more often be found holding a bottle than one of his children. When not out looking for work he was on their tattered floral blue couch either tipping a green or brown bottle towards his mouth or tipping his head back over the edge of the couch or, tipping his chin over the toilet. During his worst rages he would start shaking his wife or throw objects and punches at his children. In one such incident he had thrown a mirror at Morte, which she barely avoided. This left a heavy impression as a shattered shard of the mirror flew into her face and ended up leaving a nasty scar near her mouth.
She and her siblings did not attend school. Who could afford a spare thought for education when there's an uncertainty about where to sleep or if there's going to be anything to eat? How could any history or math question be more important than a life question? Petite's world revolved around brooms, pots, vacuum cleaners and tiptoeing around tempers.
How Much?
Petite awoke one morning to find her older sister missing from her bed and her father standing over the foot of hers. He stood there for a moment or two, contemplating on her puzzled sleepy face as she looked from the empty pillow to her dad's unreadable facial expression. When asked about her sister's whereabouts the answer was a simple lie. "At a friend's. She wanted to leave without you but changed her mind once she got there." A strained smile passed over his face, "I came back to walk you to her." He held out a hand and Petite took it with some caution, ending up at one of the worse junctures of her life.
A leering man in a pristine black suit met them on the street and in one fluid motion, cash and girl were exchanged. He gripped her arm tightly as her father walked away, counting. Petite was hauled into the back of a car as sleek as its' owner and endured a small taste of what was to come.
Racing Stripes
Petite quickly rose in the ranks from a mere streetwalker to the classier rank of escort. She seemed to possess the innate ability to charm and provoke. Her natural gift of beauty did not hurt either. Although she lacked the formal and usual forms of education, Petite is by no means uneducated. She learned the skills of a courtier; how to lie, tease, dance, learn what is necessary for what target, read, write and look damn good during its execution. During this time she has been exposed to a wide range of people, the poor and the upper echelon alike. She has experienced various drugs and drinks throughout the years and knows what dosages it takes to lull or kill. She often ignores these rules herself but will be quick to point it out to any she cares for.
Her fast track up the ranks resulted in her name. She was renowned for giving her clients some of the best climaxes they ever had.
The Last Line of a Haiku
In order to up sales, a special procedure was done to Petite to try to make her more alluring. They took her to a nondescript warehouse, spread out some butcher paper, lay her on it and called a couple of bleary red-eyed vets. Explaining what the company wanted, they handed the poorly compensated doctors various bags and bottles, different chemicals and toxins. Different clamps, gears and tubes were inserted into her body, replacing some organs. These things made her breasts bigger, her skin softer, unable to gain weight or wrinkle. They took away her body hair follicles other than on her head, leaving her bare. She stayed half awake as the bones in her legs were broken and prosthetic pieces were put in place to lengthen them. Finally, in order to create the illusion of eternal innocent youth and mature sexiness, they opened up her throat. They replaced her natural voicebox with one that was capable of recognizing different tones, chords and pitches, learning them, and then using it to verbally seduce her clients, mimic any voice, and eventually, to shatter peoples' skulls.
The Great Escape
One night, while the vets once again had her on the table, they decided to test the power of her cybernetic voicebox. With empty bottles laying about the cold gray floor and wooden crates, the doctors started to mess with the buttons and sliders located underneath the skin of her throat. Unsatisfied with the results, they took the scalpel and started slicing her throat open. Only semi drugged, she started screaming. Her powerful sonic blasts threw her attackers at the walls, a couple leaving sizable stains upon the woodwork. Petite struggled to free herself from her bonds as blood trickled down her neck and chest. As soon as she could slip free she stoppered the blood by ripping out a piece of the sheet covering the table. Seizing her chance, she dashed out of the warehouse and ran down the slick black littered streets until she reached the docks. She finally collapsed in between some crates and boxes, grabbed a dirty tarp, and fell asleep on a rocking boat.
C.O.I.L.
Petite was awakened the next morning by a lilting masculine french accent. "Madamoiselle? Mon cher, what is a pretty thing like you doing here?"
