Post by alexandra rossi on Nov 8, 2011 15:17:44 GMT -5
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alexandra giulietta rossi.
eighteen ,, san antonio, texas,, daugter of athena,, heterosexual,, warm
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ----scene from the past one
and the song that captured it
Anthony Rossi sighed, glaring at his piano. The piano glared back. The composer had been unable to put any of the melodies swirling in his head down on paper. He refused to admit that it was maybe, possibly because he hadn't seen her in about nine months. He refused to admit that the woman- the painfully beautiful woman- had that much of an effect on him. She was just another girl. He had been trying to convince himself of that for the past nine months. He had been trying to convince himself that he wasn't heartbroken after she left. It was his pride that was hurt, not his heart, right? It wasn't like he was in love with her or anything. Oh, no, no, no. Anthony Micheal Rossi did not do love. Like, sure. Lust, oh hell yes. But love? Nope. Not his thing.
Or rather, it was his thing, deep down. He just never admitted it to anyone, not even to himself.
He was broken from his thoughts by a roll of thunder. It was one of those rare rainy nights in San Antonio. He hadn't been able to sleep (which was nothing new), so he had chosen to try once again to put his music down on paper. It had not been going well. Anthony ran a hand through his hair, still glaring at the piano, as if it was the instrument's fault that he couldn't get anything out. Then, his doorbell rang and he jumped.
After he calmed himself, Anthony padded his way to the door, stretching as he went. When he opened the door, at first he thought no one was there. Then he looked down. In this little golden cradle was possibly the most beautiful baby he had ever seen. It was sleeping soundly, apparently oblivious to the weather. Attached to its blanket was a note, addressed to him, written in a hand that he knew well.
A few minutes later, Anthony was sitting on his couch staring at the baby. His baby. His daughter. The letter was crumpled in his hand. His mind was blown, and he had no idea what to do. At that moment, the child began to cry. Without thinking. Anthony picked the baby up, making soothing sounds. As he tried to calm her, he realized that the baby needed a name.
Alexandra would be her first name. It was a family name, and he had promised his mother that he would carry on the tradition.But he was lost on a middle name. But, as he began to hum Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, it hit him. Guilietta. The name of the woman for whom the sonata was written. Alexandra Guilietta Rossi. It had a certain ring to it.
Or rather, it was his thing, deep down. He just never admitted it to anyone, not even to himself.
He was broken from his thoughts by a roll of thunder. It was one of those rare rainy nights in San Antonio. He hadn't been able to sleep (which was nothing new), so he had chosen to try once again to put his music down on paper. It had not been going well. Anthony ran a hand through his hair, still glaring at the piano, as if it was the instrument's fault that he couldn't get anything out. Then, his doorbell rang and he jumped.
After he calmed himself, Anthony padded his way to the door, stretching as he went. When he opened the door, at first he thought no one was there. Then he looked down. In this little golden cradle was possibly the most beautiful baby he had ever seen. It was sleeping soundly, apparently oblivious to the weather. Attached to its blanket was a note, addressed to him, written in a hand that he knew well.
A few minutes later, Anthony was sitting on his couch staring at the baby. His baby. His daughter. The letter was crumpled in his hand. His mind was blown, and he had no idea what to do. At that moment, the child began to cry. Without thinking. Anthony picked the baby up, making soothing sounds. As he tried to calm her, he realized that the baby needed a name.
Alexandra would be her first name. It was a family name, and he had promised his mother that he would carry on the tradition.But he was lost on a middle name. But, as he began to hum Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, it hit him. Guilietta. The name of the woman for whom the sonata was written. Alexandra Guilietta Rossi. It had a certain ring to it.
---basic information
NAME: Alexandra Guilietta Rossi
NICKNAMES: Alex, Alley, Lex
AGE: Nineteen
DATE OF BIRTH: May Seventeenth
FAMILY: Anthony Micheal Rossi, father, composer and piano teacher
Athena, mother, goddess
Alexandra Rossi (Giuseppe), grandmother
Various half brothers and sisters on her mother's side
WEAPON OF CHOICE: She's pretty good with a sword, but she prefers a bow and arrow
NICKNAMES: Alex, Alley, Lex
AGE: Nineteen
DATE OF BIRTH: May Seventeenth
FAMILY: Anthony Micheal Rossi, father, composer and piano teacher
Athena, mother, goddess
Alexandra Rossi (Giuseppe), grandmother
Various half brothers and sisters on her mother's side
WEAPON OF CHOICE: She's pretty good with a sword, but she prefers a bow and arrow
---scene from the past two
and the song that captured it[/left][/font][/size]
Alexandra was five. She thought she was a big girl, and wasn't afraid of anything...except snakes. And scorpions. And the dark. She often asked her daddy why she doesn't have a mommy. Invariably, her father changed the topic. Being little, Alex didn't understand the flash of pain that crossed her father's face.
Whenever her father was away, Alex stayed with her
Nonna Alexandra. She adored her grandmother, and the feeling was mutual. Sometimes Alex wondered if her grandmother didn't love her more than her father. Alex supposed that one of the reasons she loved staying with her nonna was the old woman's stories. 'Bebè,' she'd say, watching the little girl from her rocking chair, 'did I ever tell you the story of the golden lion?' And even if she had, Alex would shake her head. Her grandmother would open her arms, and Alex would sit on her lap and listen to the story, and be mystified by the way her grandmother's voice could transport her to a different time.Whenever her father was away, Alex stayed with her
It was one such day when her grandmother asked her if she had ever heard the story of Athena and Arachne. Not knowing the significance of the story to her own life, Alex said no. After the story was finished, Alex felt the fear she had of scorpians expand to a burning, holy hatred of all arachnids. Especially spiders. She realy didn't understand why, but the next time she saw a spider in her house, it was not pleasent.
There are still indents in that wall from her shoe. [/justify]
hey, so i'm val. i've been roleplaying for a while now. as well as this character, i also play no one. you can reach me by pm is fine if you need me for anything. i found made up stories like son of neptune and i'm pretty glad i did. here's an example of mah skillz. (:
Here’s an interesting fact about Susanne that she hoped Flynn would never find out: she would do anything for his smile. Within reason, of course. She wouldn’t, say, go on a mass murdering rampage crossing five states for it, but breaking a few camp rules when nobody was there? Sure, why not. She wasn’t sure why he had this effect on her. But when he smiled, she couldn’t look away. It made her stomach feel all warm and tingly. It was probably her favorite of his features. Not that she’d ever inform him of this, however. Who knows what he would do with that information? She suspected he knew, though. Because whenever he wanted her to o something for him, he’d give her that smile of his, and she couldn’t. Say. No. Every time he did, it made Suze think back to when she was little, and she’d read the stories about the princess who was locked in a tower, or in a glass coffin, or forced to work for her evil step-family. In every one of those stories, the princess was always saved by the dashing and charming prince. And she couldn’t help but think:
“Prince Charming has nothing on my scoundrel.”
Not that Flynn was hers in a romantic sense, of course, she’d remind herself hastily. They were just friends. Good friends. Best friends. As a matter of fact, after Casimiro, Flynn was probably her closest friend. And she needed that. But she couldn’t stop the butterflies in her stomach every time she saw him, or the joyful leap her heart made whenever he smiled at her. Or the sadness that wrenched her heart at the thought of him in pain. She knew it was pathetic, but she couldn’t help it. She knew that he probably only saw her as a friend, but she couldn’t help but daydream about a future with him. She felt like she was hiding her feelings pretty well, but a few of her friends had approached her about it. Which begged the question: did Flynn know? And if he did, did he feel the same way? Oh, now she was just being ridiculous. Why would Flynn, who could get any number of eligible young females, go for her?
Oh, god. She could practically hear her mother’s voice in her head saying that. That was another thing she had kept secret from everyone at camp. Some people had managed to put some of the pieces of her home life together, just by her actions, but nobody knew even the half of it. She hadn’t told anybody how she had spent weeks on end, locked in that house. She hadn’t told anybody how she tried to sneak out when she could, just to get some fresh air. When she had first arrived at camp, everybody had just taken her for a hyperactive fourteen-year-old who needed a tan. She had let them think that, because it was better than the pitying looks that she could have gotten.
She was -thankfully- interrupted from her thoughts by Flynn’s hand in her face, and him asking if she wanted to go with him. ‘I’d go with you to the ends of the earth,’ she thought. Instead of saying that, she replied “Well, someone had to make sure you don’t hurt yourself, don’t they?” Susanne took his hand, choosing to ignore the acrobatics her stomach was doing.
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