† Application: Abax †
player information.
name: Jinx
are you over 18?: Four years older than eighteen.
personal lj:
neurotic_angel1email/msn/aim/plurk/etc: beloved-belial@hotmail.com [email and MSN], CorsetJinx [AIM], CorsetJinx [TUMBLR]
characters in abax: N/A
in character information.
series: Assassin’s Creed Revelations
name: Mirela Djuric
sex: F
age: 24
race: Human
height: 5’ 6”
weight: 134 lbs
canon point: The Trickster Part 2 side mission, post death.
previous cr: N/A
history: [Oh look, spoilers ahead, sort of… side mission spoilers for Revelations.]
Mirela’s wiki
The Trickster Part 1
The Trickster Part 2
And again, Mirela's story but with some stuff on the Romanies too!
personality:
Romani: I will not be silent! This woman is a trickster! A cheat! She robs the poor of their money by preying on their fears!
Mirela Djuric, the Trickster, is many things. A liar, charlatan, a cheat. But most notably a manipulator. The Romani goes around pretending to be a fortune teller, easing her way into the hearts and minds of her victims. She manipulates them with their own fears, carefully extracting any and all information needed by the Templars and herself. No matter who she speaks to, she will find a way to eventually extract the information she wants from them. But there is, of course, a reason behind such actions. Being a Romani, Mirela is not held in very high standings. Under the Ottomans they were not allowed into towns to stay and live, but they were still treated relatively well. Although, they were allowed to stay if only to perform. Because that is all they were worth, their performances. Their talents as entertaining. They were oppressed still, hated by some. But Mirela would not stand for this. She believed that she deserved more.
Yes, Mirela is prideful. She takes pride in herself as a Romani, even though she thought to silence those who did not see eye to eye with her. She has such pride in herself that she would never stoop so low as to accept charity in any form. She is above that. She has come too far for that. She has pushed herself above the ignorance, the hatred, and bigotry directed at her people. She sees herself as a powerful woman, someone to be revered. Mirela refuses to be just a traveling and lowly performer. She is so much more than that.
The Romani is fairly temperamental, with a hair pin trigger on her anger. Her temper is deadly in a silent and calculated manner. Her tone becomes harsh, yes, but hushed, even. A bitterness makes itself know in her voice. And she becomes stiff, although managing to keep that almost flirtatious sway in her step. But her eyes say it all, blazing with a fire one would not expect from the Romani if they didn't know her. But she is careful in how she reveals her anger and how she handles punishment for bringing forth her ire. When another Romani called her out on being a trickster, Mirela told her to keep her voice down. But the woman continued to shout and so, in passing, she told the other woman "you will regret taking that tone with me." She bumped into her and left, but not before poisoning the Romani and framing the other Romanies.
She is a passionate woman, one cannot deny it. It is a passion that boils down to a search for knowledge. Knowledge that would help her get ahead in life. Even the littlest fact, the littlest story, that may hold just enough information to help her get what she wants will have her full attention. She becomes genuinely curious about new things. About how these new things will affect her way of life and the world around her. Her status on the terribly narrow caste systems that were still prevalent during the early 16th century. How focused, and absorbed she becomes about a subject may not always have to do with her more prominent goal, it may simply be something she can use in her shows.
She a performer. A swindler, yes, but a performer still. She is knowledgeable in reading people, in interpreting their actions and body language. A stutter can mean so much and she will pinpoint what it may mean in a few short moments of talking with someone. This information is not forgotten, she may use it to pinpoint a weakness. To find and select information for blackmail. But her performances are splendid enough to keep people coming back. Whilst playing fortune teller she becomes engrossed in the act, giving it her all. She wants to leave a lasting impression upon the one whose fortune she happens to be telling and those who stop by to watch.
But all in all it is clear to see that Mirela has come far in her own way. Far from settling for second best. She doesn't like the idea of being just another face in the crowd. Just another forgettable Romani. She has come too far for it. She won't accept charity, she's above that. Her pride is her biggest weakness, but it's understandable. The woman has all the emotions of any other woman. She has know pain; she has know sorrow. She has known sympathy before and she does not want it. She refuses to accept it. The Romani will accept what consequences come from her actions. But none of her actions are just thoughtless, random acts. They are all motivated by her need to be more than what she should be. She did not join the Templars simply to join, it can be assumed that she joined the Templars to see that one day she would not be just another face in the crowd. That she would be remembered.
abilities/powers: Mirela is only human, but she is a crook, a charlatan, and a thief. She is well versed in the ability to read other people and use this to get what information she wants from those around her, and she used this often while playing the role of Fortune Teller. She also knows her way around poisons, favoring datura. As for other skills, she’s good with a dagger and can free run like other Assassin’s Creed characters. Oh, did I mention she could belly dance? And she speaks Byzantine Italian, the common Romani language, Turkish, and Arabic too. (This language related headcanon is due to her living in Istanbul.)
first person sample:
[ V I D E O]
[It’s dark, although the city lights shimmer here and there. The video is, at the moment, focused on a mirror, and what is reflected in it. Which is the city. Wow, amazing. You can actually see the street outside so this must be an apartment on floor level. But, hey this a bedroom? Yeah, looks like with that mattress piled with pillows and blankets. Whoever owns this device really, really likes pillows. And there’s sheets draped on the walls and near the window, pretty sheets. Very feminine. A woman can now be seen dressed in a long flowing skirt and a short tank top. She bends over, and the shirt dips but you don’t get too much of a view. She’s picking up the device, her lips slightly pursed and dark eyes narrowed.]
This is not where I should be, this is not Istanbul-I… am not familiar with this device. Nor what I have seen out there.
[She moves to the window, sitting half on the windowsill and now balances the phone peculiarly between her thumb and forefinger, showing the viewers the streets. And then back to her. She’s seen enough videos since arriving to figure out people talk through this magical device.]
third person sample:
The darkness felt like an oppressive force, pressing down on her as she lay on cold, bitter steel. A chilly, oppressive and all consuming force that made Mirela’s heart beat quicken. Her breathing came out faster in soft gasps. It was dark in here and yet she could just make out the faint outline of light from the other end of this darkness. A glimmer of pale light. Hope. Some way out. She was sure of it. Hoped for it. She needed it! Lord only knew how much, but she had to get out.
The woman moved her hands, lifting them until she touched a hard surface, the ceiling. It was hard, more steel, but she didn't care at that point. She equated it with the possibility of escape and that was enough for her. She moved carefully, sliding down the metal slab she lay upon. Her paper garments crinkled with each movement. Nothing like what she had previously worn. But at this point that didn't matter. She wanted out.
Lifting her legs some, she began to wildly kick at the door. The sound of her feet slapping the metal reverberated in the little confined space, just as her breathing had and now the soft prayers in Arabic. God help her, God save her, God, God, God. With one last kick the door finally flew open and bright florescent light spilled into the small box. She could breathe again, slow and steady even in this unfamiliar setting.
Dark eyes took in what little she could see before returning to her person. A thin paper gown, if it could be called such, encased her form. Covering her chest and down to mid-thigh. It made her shiver to know she was so exposed. But she couldn't stay here too long. This unfamiliar and cold place. It wasn’t anything she recognized. Surely this was not hell? The assassin, she remembered, he had slain her. She remembered dying. She had remembered the poison burning through her body. Eating away at her until she was losing herself to the darkness. She had died. God, she had died.
But now she was living? Or was this hell? Cold, unfamiliar, and empty.
She didn’t want to linger on such thoughts. Didn't want to go through with it. No, that made this all too… strange. Too bizarre. Stranger than it already was. For now she just needed to escape.
She pressed her palms against the ceiling once more, pushing forward as best she could. The metal beneath her moved with her, sliding out quickly into the open room. More light, more space. She was alright, although she was terribly cold. But she was alive. She just needed to escape here... somehow.
case no: 15-11-24
Additional Notes:
This app took forever. But it is done now...