Tetra Arnold, Villain-in-Progress (WIP)

by **Flower** Fri Nov 09, 2018 1:08 am

ＴＥＴＲＡＡＲＮＯＬＤ / / ＤＩＯＮＡＥＡ

1. Naming and etymology
Birth Name: Tetra Evergreen Arnold
Nickname(s): Tea
"Evergreen," her wayward hippie mother murmured, half to her exhausted husband and half into the newborn's pale curl of an ear.
"That will bless her with a long life."

Age: 26 years old
Birthday: July 9th, 1992
Gender: Venusian ♀

Alignment: Villian
Alias: Dionaea
The genus Dionaea contains only one species: Dionaea muscipula, known commonly as the Venus flytrap. The genus' namesake refers to Dione, a Greek mythological figure of ambiguous relation to the goddess Aphrodite.

2. Physical characteristics
Height + Weight: 5 ft 3 in + 120 lb
"The treatment plan is working wonders. She's finally filling out that sweater Mom made her, see." The smiling man nodded to his daughter, twirling across the room under garland and lights to the tune of (in the girl's own words) "shitty Christmas music." He said nothing for a brief minute, allowing time for a response from the old man perched at his side. He knew how his father liked to think, liked to talk. Slowly and deliberately. And above all, he knew the senior Lawrence Arnold was the same with his money as he was with his words: miserly.
But the man's soft smile fell, knocked away by the ice-water cold realization that it wasn't just a preference for brevity. He knew this kind of silence, too. He could read his father's dull mind a mile away and understand his native tongue, greed, as if it were his own.
"Junior," started the old man, "about that..."

Hair: Pale blonde curls radiate out from her scalp down to her shoulders. She brushes it every day after her morning shower and before she falls asleep, but the constantly bedraggled aura can't be brushed or styled away. The center hair partition is the only perpetually tidy feature of her hair.
Eyes: Flitting beneath half-inch thick glasses, her olive doe eyes are weighed down with creases and bags.

Body, Presence, and Style: Tetra's physique is what you get after years of suffering from a chronic respiratory illness. Her body, locked in a struggle with itself, looks incomplete at her age (and it is); her frame wasn't built to be this skinny, this weak. Her bust only slightly perks through her shirt, her hips could cut glass. If everything had gone right, she would be sporting her mother's full hourglass.

But instead, skin clings to her bones with barely any muscle to buffer the two. Small dark marks pit her inner arm, long-healed remnants from IVs. Other blemishes, bruises, and bumps stand out much the same. The hospitalization pallor that's settled over her beige skin makes every little accident stand out like a sore thumb.

Including sore thumbs.

Tetra dresses in long sleeves, cardigans, shawls, and jackets to cover up any marks that get past her; she's plenty tired of strangers asking if she's alright, if she's being abused, etc. Even in early summer, her outfit of choice is likely a long skirt, stockings, and long-sleeved shirt. It sounds unbearable given the weather, but in Tetra's opinion. it's a perk. Her tropics-friendly Quirk at least had the dignity to intertwine with her so intimately that she can better enjoy the intense heat.

Her shoulders sag and she's rarely in makeup; overall, Tetra carries herself like someone who feels thoroughly beat and knows she already looks it. An attempt is made when it comes to keeping herself clean, her glasses unsmudged, and her hair brushed, but by the end of the day, she's usually a sweaty, frizzy mess with crooked glasses puffing on an inhaler.

Costume: Textiles? I think not.

Dionaea grows her costume from skin outwards when she needs it, and when she doesn't, the plant fibers shrivel away. She often uses the decayed bits for compost; if you're robbing banks to pay insurance, you really should be cutting costs wherever you can.

The costume design stems (pun intended) from the style of outfit seen in classical ballet. The plunging sweetheart neckline, the lovely wide skirt, and lace slippers all appear to be present. Her "leotard" is nothing but a skimpy second skin of waxy jade-green leaves. They provide comfort and maneuverability like no other material she's worn; if it wasn't associated with her villainous persona, she'd wear nothing but those leaves.

The vivid red-orange petals that sprout from her waist are thick and splotchy, like petrified rotten meat; they resemble those of the species Rafflesia arnoldii, the corpse flower found in lush (and dangerous) rain forests across the world. Unlike the corpse flower, however, these petals emit a scent similar to mealy apples, fly-ridden oranges, and plums gone moldy. It's the nasty-sweet odor of rotten fruit.

Flat vines no thicker than thumbnails attach the tops of her leaf-sole slippers to her thighs. The vines hew close to her skin, wound all the way up beyond her knees as if they were the ribbons of a ballerina's pointe shoes. Should you (somehow) get close enough to examine the small divots where the vines enter her, small tendrils are visible bulging and pulsing underneath the skin for some few inches in each direction.

3. Behavior
Personality: Tetra is somewhat akin to a grand European castle in demeanor. If royal blood had ever flowed in her family tree, then she stands as its representative.

As pompous as that sounds, it's meaningless. Nowadays, royals are impotent, and their castles are nothing more than towering fossils. You can see the ruin in her structure, you know she's had better days. But pride is built into her bones. She's the sort of castle that once would've protected those within its heart, fended off all the enemies' arrows and the cold winter wind.

No, Tetra's nothing close to a Versailles. Her distant air doesn't stem from that pride or a sense of superiority. Anyone who looks at her knows there's nothing gilded in her heart. Her distance blooms out of defensiveness and paranoia; she's gone through too much scrutiny to open herself up like a flower. The doctors poked at her, as if she was an experiment rather than a patient. Insurance companies, hospitals, even her own grandfather put her through financial troubles.

It's not that she's a rose with thorns, either; this implies danger under cover of beauty. She's a briar patch. The briar patch obscures anything of value, keeping strangers out, while the good stuff flourishes inside.

She knows there's good stuff. She knows her worth, knows everyone has worth, knows that the worth of a human being is not transactional. She wants to be here and knows she has a right to be here as much as any king or president, regardless of what she can or cannot--and is unable to--give. Everyone has that.

And, after seeing the routine failure of human compassion, she knows that means jack shit without power behind it.

Just like those briar patches and the worn battlements, Tetra exudes a message of caution. The effects of illness ward off touch or interaction. Her default social manner, the cold and bland and perfunctory nature of every receptionist you hate, inhibits further penetration into her life. The best glimpse you can get at the good in her, under all those thorns and stones, is when she's in reverie or at home; her face mellows, her shoulders droop comfortably. Her big eyes glow with dormant interest when they are looking right through the waking world.

The little malnourished kernel of imagination that she wraps herself around in those moments motivates her to action. If she could do something, build something, even just lash out enough to slow the creep of apathy and self-interest... if she could do that...

It would make the selfishness of her own life worth it, right?

Motivation: The goal that every organism is born striving for: survival.

"I don't know why you decided to give in, but I refuse to lay down and die."
"I'm going to live."

"And I'll pursue my well-being as selfishly and recklessly as every godforsaken man on the planet that contributed to keeping me--keeping us--from getting the help we needed. I'll let them know how it feels to be helpless. Crushed."

"And when I can, I will remove them and their hateful systems from this planet."

4. Quirk ("ＴＨＥ　ＢＯＴＡＮＩＣＵＬＬＥＤ")
Quirk Type: Hybrid
Power of Ability: What exactly is your power capable of?

5. Evolution and life-span
(Remember to put the different chapters in your Character's life into nice titles.)

Mon	Tue	Wed	Thu	Fri	Sat	Sun
1	2	3	4	5	6	7
8	9	10	11	12	13	14
15	16	17	18	19	20	21
22	23	24	25	26	27	28
29	30