ｗｈｅｎｅｖｅｒ ｉ ｅｎｃｏｕｎｔｅｒ ａ
ｌｅｓｓ－ｔｈａｎ－ｐｌｅａｓｕｒａｂｌｅ ｓｉｔｕａｔｉｏｎ，
ｉ ｌｏｃｋ ａｗａｙ ｔｈｅ ｒｅｓｕｌｔｉｎｇ ｅｍｏｔｉｏｎｓ
ｉｎ ａ ｊａｒ． ｉ ｒｅｆｕｓｅ ｔｏ ｌｅｔ ｓｕｃｈ ａｎ
ｉｌｌｏｇｉｃａｌ ｔｕｍｕｌｔ ｒｕｌｅ ｍｙ ｍｉｎｄ．
．．．ｉ ｌｉｋｅ ｔｏ ｆａｎｃｙ ｍｙｓｅｌｆ ａ ｊａｒ．
ｂｕｔ ｗｈａｔ ｈａｐｐｅｎｓ ｗｈｅｎ ｔｈｅ ｊａｒ ｏｖｅｒｆｌｏｗｓ ａｎｄ ｂｒｅａｋｓ？ ＂
to whom do i owe the pleasure of meeting? ;;
Hey! I'm Zvarjaciely. I own one Kia, my precious Lazulite
(who was, curiously enough, also won from a readoption).
I promise that if I should win, Mango Berry will get an
equally loving home.
and this one? ;;
The name's Mango Berry. However, that's a bit long for
most. MB will do.
male or female? ;;
Female, though gender isn't necessarily indicative of
sexuality. MB is pansexual, and only attracted to the
personality of others, regardless of looks or gender.
personality ;;
Mango Berry's largest regret is regretting. More often than not she can be found, sitting quietly or curled in a ball, returning to her past and wondering if anything could have been different. In general she's very reflective on life and always lost in the past, but her life has not exactly been great and so the fur on her cheeks and chest often displays thick, dark tearstains.
relationships ;;
Mango Berry is not very close to her family due to her need for self-actualization. While she is well-learned on their personality, mates, and such, she isn't close to them and feels in fact quite detached from them.
- With Desmond
Mango Berry really has no hard feelings towards Desmond; or really any feelings at all but respect and a distant kinship. Their divorce was completely of their agreement; she holds no grudge against him. There was no arguing or fighting as they split ways, because MB found that she no longer wished to be married as she had lost sight of the objective, and Desmond agreed. She still looks in on him and sees him as a good friend, and values him and their two precious girls. They were a part of her, in her life, for a long and pleasant time, but life went on and they were only one stage of her vastly short lifetime on earth. MB found that Desmond would keep his own small place in her heart, but she moved on. Now, while she isn't exactly on the market for love, she has moved on and is ready to accept that, in time, she might find someone who may mean as much to her as Desmond did, or maybe she won't. Either way, she is prepared for the next chapter in her life, and Desmond is okay with her moving on.
Mango Berry is not very close to her family due to her need for self-actualization. While she is well-learned on their personality, mates, and such, she isn't close to them and feels in fact quite detached from them.
- With Desmond
- With Kaia and Rosaline
Ah, Mango Berry's lovely children. She feels somewhat of a closer bond to them than Desmond- less friendly and more deeply bonded, as a family. Whether it comes from their pelt similarities or that they're all adult females, or perhaps just the bond of mother and daughter, MB still feels vaguely connected to her children. Desmond was such a brief moment in her life- in love, married, with children, divorced. Separated, just like that. But MB still observed her children, still cared for them and kept a fiercely vigilant eye on them as her father never did. In a way, it's Mango Berry making up for her tragic childhood by keeping her two girls- so similar to her and her sister, but even closer- alive and within her sight always. She may be a bit of an overprotective mother, and her girls always strive for rebellion, but the three of them have always been able to laugh it off. The difference between her situation with Desmond is that her children are half-hers. It's her duty to care for them, and more importantly, she's the one who has been able to watch them grow up. Noticing every distinction, every crack and flaw in their personalities- who are we kidding? they're actually perfect- but in any case, Mango Berry has simply been with her children for longer, and she can't forget that.
Ah, Mango Berry's lovely children. She feels somewhat of a closer bond to them than Desmond- less friendly and more deeply bonded, as a family. Whether it comes from their pelt similarities or that they're all adult females, or perhaps just the bond of mother and daughter, MB still feels vaguely connected to her children. Desmond was such a brief moment in her life- in love, married, with children, divorced. Separated, just like that. But MB still observed her children, still cared for them and kept a fiercely vigilant eye on them as her father never did. In a way, it's Mango Berry making up for her tragic childhood by keeping her two girls- so similar to her and her sister, but even closer- alive and within her sight always. She may be a bit of an overprotective mother, and her girls always strive for rebellion, but the three of them have always been able to laugh it off. The difference between her situation with Desmond is that her children are half-hers. It's her duty to care for them, and more importantly, she's the one who has been able to watch them grow up. Noticing every distinction, every crack and flaw in their personalities- who are we kidding? they're actually perfect- but in any case, Mango Berry has simply been with her children for longer, and she can't forget that.
- hidden within ;;
quirks- - Mango Berry is not known for her communication skills, and in fact stutters quite often when she speaks to unfamiliar Kias.
- MB also tends to squint or narrow her eyes when she is confused, or close them entirely when she is analyzing or puzzling over something.
- Something more subconscious that MB does is lucid dreaming; it's entirely unintentional, but Mango Berry rarely sleeps and instead falls into sleep paralysis, dreaming at will. However, she is unaware of her control and instead dreams memories that she has subconsciously buried.
fears- Mango Berry has many fears; among them agoraphobia (fear of being in public) and the fear of regret and that she will never reach self-actualization.
heritage- Mango Berry is not all-American; in fact she is a fair amount German, but also Italian, enough that her voice carries both the lighter Italian tones and the gruff German pitch.
voice- Highly fluctuent and hoarse to the point of raspy- MB's voice isn't the prettiest thing about her. Due to disuse her voice creaks or rasps slightly, and her breath hitches if she speaks too fast. However, her tone itself is a quiet, high-pitched sound- little more than a hoarse, tinny whisper- and carries strains of her Italian and German descent.
birthday- While the year of her birth is unknown, Mango Berry was born on August 6.
likes- pine trees ✓ Kaia and Rosaline ✓ Skylla and Carol ✓ black cats ✓ being alone ✓
dislikes- the color red ✗ pickup trucks ✗ physical contact ✗ being angry ✗ celebrating her birthday ✗
career- Living alone and isolated from society makes it difficult to have a career per se; however MB finds oddly shaped or pretty polished river stones and fashions rings or necklaces for them with natural materials. She has adorned herself with a few; namely a river stone necklace and a peculiar star-shaped rock hung off of her tail with her mango berry charm.
age- MB's true age is unknown, unless Desmond or her cousins have been keeping track; however she is assumed to be around 45 years old (enough to have adult grandchildren but also still fairly young).
sexuality- Mango Berry is pansexual, indifferent to race, gender, age or anything else; only personality matters.
companions- No animal sticks around the too-slender and not-entirely-there form that is Mango Berry for very long, but over the years MB has had a few "visitors" including a fallow deer she shared her river with and a bobcat who always stayed just a hair's width away from being touched.
＂ｉｔ ｔａｋｅｓ ｔｅｎ ｔｉｍｅｓ ａｓ ｌｏｎｇ ｔｏ ｐｕｔ ｙｏｕｒｓｅｌｆ ｂａｃｋ ｔｏｇｅｔｈｅｒ ａｓ ｉｔ ｄｏｅｓ ｔｏ ｆ ａ ｌ ｌ ａ ｐ ａ ｒ ｔ ＂- The sky was cloudy, but a golden beam of sunlight spliced through the thick gray layer, singling out one young Kia's coat and setting her vibrant spots aflame.
Mango Berry giggled. It was so unlike her to enjoy the sunlight, as hot weather always made her hair far too frizzy for her liking- not that the six-year-old ever bothered to comb it anyway- but it was a welcome relief from the chilly air that had hung like fog, heavy on her coat, for most of the morning. Cheerfully, she bounced the small red ball on the ground, and her older sister bounded after it. At nine, she seemed like a perfect role model to MB- sweet, generous, and determined to help others. While her coat was several shades lighter and rather green, like the deep emerald of their father's thick fur, they shared the brilliant gradient of warm-colored spots.
Her sister tossed the ball back, Mango Berry's chubby and quite childish paws barely wrapping around it. "Oof!" she grunted as she tumbled backwards, but the smile was still shining on her face. For a moment, the world seemed to glow brighter, the sunlight intensifying, tracking her dark thin coat. Even young as she was, she was extraordinarily skinny- her parents had repeatedly taken her to the doctor, but it was simply how she was built. Only her chest was the fluffy down reminiscent of her mother's fur.
Again launching the ball, MB let out a cry of dismay. The ball had gotten tangled in her hair, in the lovely thick bangs that not even her beautiful sister possessed, and yanked on the still-tender piercings where her two ear feathers were.
Tight. Twitching. An uncomfortable pull, whispering to her, foreseeing. It's not safe. A tightness in her ear, the pinching of two tiny holes where her mysterious pale feathers had been branded to her.
The ball had fallen into the street. Desperate to continue the game, Mango Berry flailed free of her hair's grasp and pelted towards the road. Never listening to the warning her feathers gave. Never aware of the pickup truck swinging around the curve.
Her sister's arms were around her moments before the truck hit, brakes screeching and terror in all five Kias' eyes.
Mango Berry let out a quiet whimper and hesitantly opened her eyes, expecting white walls and the scent of sterilizer. Instead, the familiar warmth of light red walls and the splash of leather in her nose greeted her.
Now she was wide awake. MB sat up quickly, breathing in the leather couch she was sat upon, relishing her mother's faint cinnamon aroma on the light blue blanket wrapped around her. For a moment she paused, then memory flooded over her, washing into the dark place where sleep had lain, drowning her in panic. A cry escaped her mouth. "Mama!"
Where was her sister? Her mother rushed over, not giving her the opportunity to wonder, wrapping the six-year-old in her embrace. "It's okay, shhhh, you're okay," she soothed, soft breath in her little dark ear. "You're okay. Your sister's okay too."
At last Mango Berry relaxed. Her sister would be okay, and so would she. A near-death experience with a car wouldn't frighten her- but then she remembered something else, mouth opening in a miserable O. "What about my ball?"
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- Eight years later, fourteen-year-old Mango Berry found herself devastated, shocked by loss and grief. Her palace was crumbling, her structures so carefully built falling like snow around her. Trying so hard, for what? What was the point? What was her purpose?
The day was similar to the one eight years ago. Cloudy, overcast, but not dangerously so thanks to the bright beams of sunlight breaking through, promising light and warmth. Yet Mango Berry had never felt colder.
She'd gone to get marshmallows. Marshmallows, for it was the first chilly day of autumn and what better way to celebrate than s'mores? Chocolate, marshmallows, and graham crackers, and peanut butter for her odd father. She rolled her eyes as she opened the front door. Her father was odd, but she loved him anyway.
"Be safe," he'd called. In reply: "I'll be back soon."
Hands at 9 and 3. Ignoring the old "10 and 2" rule; this was safer. Eyes, watching, looking, bright salmon eyes like her sister, like Mango Berry, staring at the road, the lights, keeping careful track. Irregardless that she'd been driving for two years; her father had drilled these into her.
It was unfortunate that she was looking up at the lights rather than down at the road when the pickup truck T-boned her at the intersection.
It was her father that picked up the phone, its incessant ringing continuing until at last he reached out and snatched it up. At first he seemed annoyed, but as he listened, his irritated mask dropped, fell away, then disappeared altogether. Stark shock and grief remained.
An eternity passed before any of them spoke. Mango Berry's eyes filled with tears, inexplicably, just looking at her father's deep emerald fur, his agony etched into him with stunning clarity. At last, at long last, he spoke the two words that tilted MB's world, that flipped her upside down and watched her crumble to ash. "She's gone."
Neither female, looking at him, questioned it. She. Mango Berry's sister, their daughter; their family of four, so tightly knit, now nothing.
Her sister wasn't dead, he explained stiffly. Not entirely. The horrific crash had killed the other driver, but the seventeen-year-old was...alive. Comatose, but alive. It was MB's mother who drove; a determined look on her face, as determined as her daughter had always been. The unspoken thought stretched between the three minds: There's still a chance. If she could just pull through...
But worse news awaited them at the hospital.
"There's- well, there's no brain activity. She's alive, but...it's not worth much, I'm afraid. She'll never wake up. Never recover, that is." The doctor pushed up his glasses, gray fur seeming slightly pale, though he didn't show any sign of worry or fear in voice or expression. If anything, he was oblivious to the family's pain. But there was nothing he could offer them. Comfort? There is no comfort to be taken in being told your daughter will never wake again. Mango Berry's mother let out a cry of grief, a wail so shattered that the doctor quietly excused himself so that they could "make their decision". But the Kia sitting beside her daughter was so agonized, so crazed with grief that she couldn't utter a single word for her desolate sobs. Her father was no better; gazing, staring dully at the ground in shock, clutching his mate's forearms as though trying to keep her from slipping away.
It was Mango Berry who had to make the decision, Mango Berry, the only calm one in the room, demeanor halcyon and composed. Shell-shocked as the rest of them, but logically grim, knowing what had to happen. In her mind, she knew.
It was Mango Berry who went to the doctor and informed him of their decision to take her sister off of life support.
--------------
- One would be surprised at how short two years can be when one must endure so much loss.
At least Mango Berry had been able to cope. Although in constant agony of her decision, in relentless reminder of her guilt, her bloodcurdling secret- I am the one who killed my sister- she deserved credit for clinging to her sanity. Her mother still cried herself to sleep in unbearable grief, and her father had never really climbed out of the shock until that day, that night.
Nothing seemed different at first. It was, ironically enough, a dark and stormy night. Not so much thunder, lightning and the whole shebang, but sharp drums of rain that echoed off of the roof and a vicious wind that whipped at the trees outside, tore greedily at their branches. Her mother's misery-filled wails could hardly be heard over the storm, but they still wound torturously into Mango Berry's ears.
It was all her fault, and she couldn't help crying either.
Eventually her mother excused herself from the house, out into the rain where her tears could not be distinguished from the droplets clinging to her black cheek fur. Mango Berry nearly went after her, but her father's dull, dark stare stopped her cold.
Tight. Pinching. Uncomfortable prick in her ear. Go after her.
Mango Berry winced. Again, with the pain in her ear? It'd happened more frequently after that time when she was fourteen, the day her sister died. Independent now, though still bound with her horrific past, Mango Berry was sixteen, and yet the twinges from her odd pale feathers hadn't stopped. In fact she quite hated her feathers now- they always seemed to symbolize sadness and death.
Today was no different.
Late in the night, then later. Still her mother didn't return, nor had Mango Berry heard from her. Unease was starting to stir in her gut, but she constantly shoved it down, thinking as young ones often do that her mother was fine. That night, unfortunately, it was not the case. Around three in the morning, nine hours since her mother had left, she decided to go after her, defying her father. She would go after her mother and she would find her, too. Finding her way around the block was no problem- she was sixteen and had lived here her whole life. A pang of sadness hit her. So did my sister.
At last she reached the end, but she knew her mother had gone this way. Ahead of her stretched only the dark, ominous trees, the thick forest that had always blocked the neighborhood on one side, and had never been torn down, curiously enough. So, shoving down again her nervousness, Mango Berry plunged into the woods. The last thing she expected to find- naturally- was her mother's dead body.
An unearthly scream shook the trees that night, so high and full of agony and shock that the canopy roiled with fluttering birds, frantic to leave. It sounded worse than being murdered. It was only the sort of pain that comes from a heart which shatters.
For their her mother lay, a rope suspended from a birch tree- pale as MB's feathers- in a noose around her neck.
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＂ｙｏｕ ｃａｎ＇ｔ ｒｅｗｒｉｔｅ ｔｈｅ ｐａｓｔ＂
- The rest of Mango Berry's story doesn't get much better, and is shortened as you already know part of it, and to save time, of course. After her mother's...unfortunate death, her father snapped out of his shock that had lasted for three years. At last, he realized, his daughter needed him- his one remaining family member. Desperate to make up the lost time to her, he began to work two jobs, constantly at work, never at home with her as he'd wanted. So concerned with earning the money to keep them alive, he never noticed his too-thin daughter wasting away even further, becoming almost spectral in appearance; if not for her too-bright spots and streaks in her hair, she could have been a ghost, emptily wandering a broken and lonely house. It wasn't her father's fault, really, that she never ate; but she never had an appetite anymore. Her world was numb from too much pain, her heart broken and crookedly put back together. What was the point of something like eating?
It was a bright and sunny day, early in the morning and hot in the summer, when her cousins came to pick her up.
Mango Berry admitted that it was more than a bit odd to see her cousins, Snapple and Tone, in the driveway. A few years older than her, tall, strong, and not completely skin and bones as she was. Better than she was, she thought guiltily.
But when they said they were taking her, she couldn't have been more shocked. Just up and leave her father like that? They insisted; said it was all planned, that her father couldn't take care of her. MB was enraged at that. Her father cared for her fine! It wasn't his fault if she didn't ever feel like eating...but there was nothing she could do. It didn't matter that she had just turned eighteen, for indeed it was the hot summer time of August, and that she could make her own way now. She was going with her cousins now, and that was that.
They didn't like her, of course. They never liked her, barely tolerated her. Spat nasty words and worse when no one was looking. Life had been ruined when she'd come along, always hindering them, always stopping them. Her new "mother", her aunt, cared for her more than her real children, doting on her, praising her, always there to catch her when she fell. But Mango Berry hated it, the constant support.
MB left eventually, unable to stand life, unable to take being babied when her aunt was around and bullied when she wasn't. So fed up and so full of hate, at twenty-two, four years after arriving, she exploded. Yelled at them, spewed the fury she'd bottled up for four years, gave voice to her utter hatred. Then, when she was spent, she left. Mango Berry never looked back.
She had the attention she'd never had, and she didn't want it- and those who wanted it didn't have it.
What a vicious circle life is.
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