Difference between revisions of "Mellie"

 Playful whimsy is the only phrase that can instantly describe this young woman’s appearance. Hovering someplace between four and a half to four and three-quarter feet on a very slender frame, she visually defines the word lithe. But what presence she lacks in stature is made up by the pools of oceanic depths held within her kaleidoscope eyes. Sparkling orbs swirl slowly through every hue of the ocean imaginable, and if others were asked to describe their color, odds are each and every person has their own unique answer to give. Compared to her memorably vivid eyes, the rest of their features seem rather plain, a semi-androgynously pretty face, but nothing which really stands out.

 Cascades of gleaming black waves are mussed in a way that suggest either hours of effort, or rolling out of bed without even so much as a comb-through. Under-shaved at the temples and nape of the neck, the coif is left longer at the crown of the head, showing tempestuous curls that fall down around her shoulders and partially obscure her strange eyes. The darkness of the hair itself hints at the vivid eyes hidden; a multitude of sheens, streaked with strands of charcoal and slate highlights and darker shades of jet and even obsidian are mixed throughout. But breaking up the darkness here and there, in the right light, her hair takes on the sheen of an oil slick, dark shades of navy, aubergine, deep teal, and bottle green mixed and woven through the blacks. When she moves her head, errant wisps escape their casually mussed arrangement to tumble around her face, drawing further attention to her mystical eyes, enhancing her otherwise average looks and making her seem perhaps just a touch more captivating than their otherwise unmemorable appearance might have otherwise been.

 Wafting through the air around her is a scent and aroma that is nearly as forgettably memorable as her appearance itself. Perfume of skin alone or cologne sprayed atop, it’s hard to discern which. Her skin and hair smell of black cloves, cardamom, peppercorn, and cassia flung over glowing cinders and mingled with slow-dripping notes of cedar, pine, and tobacco. And more subtle than the scent of perfume worn above the skin and hair are the smells that cling to skin and cloth and breath beneath, the scents of bourbon and oranges and chocolate nearly masking the smells of sand, of sun, of salt and brine and ocean breezes that seem to permeate deeper even than skin itself. A melange of silver studs and hoops trace the entire curve of her left ear, balanced by a single stud of turquoise at the lower lobe of her right. A silver chain hangs around her neck, delicate as a soft ocean breeze, letting Daddy Legba’s Veve hang just above her cleavage, set off by the deeply sun-kissed tan of her skin. A strand of raw turquoise beads wraps a few dozen times around her right wrist, a jingling note of bells softer than breeze as she moves. No other accessories nor adornments are seen, save for two rings worn on her left hand. One circles her thumb, brown and burnished smoother than silk, oiled to a high gloss, a simple wooden band carved of koa wood. The other is worn on her ring finger itself, a ring of gold, matte and just barely showing sheen, inlaid with brightly polished platinum tracery almost like lace. Both bands show so much wear that it’s as if they’ve been on her fingers for longer than the young woman seems to have even been alive.