zion's characters (RFA)

Her back is pressed against the cold wall. She doesn’t feel the cold though, not now, not ever, and her back slides down until she is curled into a ball. She hugs her knees close to her chest, her wide eyes staring on. She hears pacing coming from the other side of the house. Worried steps from left to right, and she follows the movement with equally anxious eyes. Her father turns and walks, turns and walks, occasionally glances out the frosted window, turns, walks, glances…

The wind blows, and in force. She winces, clamps her hands over her ears. The noise bothers her, threatens to whisk her away, it makes the hairs on the back of her neck rise and she exhales sharply. Please let it end, please—

“Kai, stay put,” her father’s firm voice breaks the monotony. She looks up at the man she has always admired, sees the tension in his wrinkled face, the quiver in his lips as he yanks the thick coat so hard that the hook it had been on falls limply to the floor.

Her eyes widen. “Dad, what are—”

“Stay put,” he repeats, the force behind his words silencing her. A lump forming in her throat, she nods. She watches Warner Peters open the door, watches the wind and snow force their way in, watches him disappear through it as the door slams shut. She is alone.

She knows why he did it of course. She knows that her father couldn’t bear the thought of her stepmother braving the blizzard alone in their broken-down car. Her father was always the caring man, the one who put himself before others. She could be like that too, she tells herself, if she wasn’t so fearful. She rests her head on her knees, her arms covering her face so that only her eyes showed.

Distractions, they work to get her mind off the blizzard, off the father who braved it all to look for the person he loves. But the wrong distractions come. Boys from her class making fun of her height, taking her lunch, threatening to trap her in the lockers. Girls with snide comments on how weird she is, taunting her lame fashion sense. She shudders. She thinks of her best friend, Mellie. The girl who shared lunch with her when the boys took hers. The girl who assured her she was pretty, despite the others who claimed the contrary. She wishes for her company, wishes she is at least safe. The temperature has dropped to the negatives, from what she last heard. If you spilled water outside, it would freeze before it hit the ground.

Her mind wanders to her father’s marriage, back when she was eight. It was a simple wedding. She remembers how beautiful her stepmother Anita was in her wedding dress. She remembers hugging her before the ceremony, telling her that she was beyond glad to finally have a mother. Her father was all smiles, nervous but excited, and she swears that she had never seen him so happy.

She jolts back to the present, where Anita is stranded out there, and Warner is out to find her. She buries her face in her arms. They’ll be alright, she tells herself. They’ll come back soon.

The wind howls, mocking her.


She doesn’t know when it all started, to tell the truth. All she knows is that ice has always been so beautiful, so cold yet so incredibly amazing, and that she can mold it in ways no ordinary person could. And, weirdly enough, that’s all she knows. Her power is all she has, it is all the knowledge she has left. Everything else about her is a mystery. Name, age, birthday… she can’t tell you what hers are, and it isn’t by choice. She doesn’t have a choice because there’s nothing to tell. Nothing she can remember, anyway.

Amnesia’s a fickle thing. It erases your identity, locks away memories you never knew you had. She finds herself wondering if it’s still there—if the old her is still alive somewhere, in a deep sleep at the back of her mind—is that too much to hope for? Is it too much to find that old loose thread connecting you to your past?

But wherever the old her is, she doesn’t find it. Can’t find it. So she simply stops. She doesn’t remember when she did, when the realization kicked in, but she knows now that the present is more important than the past, that the future lies in tangles ahead, just waiting to be discovered. She embraces this without reserve, the same way she embraces everything else, because she’s just so open. She’s an open door letting everything in, everything: people, thoughts, stray homeless cats—she has a place for them all. She likes to integrate herself into the community, the world, that by doing so, she believes she is making a difference.

That’s the one thing that always stands out—her drive to change the world. She wants to make it better, and she does try. From cleaning dishes in the mess hall to teaching little kids to read and write, from standing up for her friends to sacrificing her life for the greater good. Nothing is an impossibility, well, almost. Her naivety is her hamartia, it betrays her in the end. She puts her trust everywhere, to friends and dogs and water jugs (yes, you read that right). She has faith in the universe, she believes that whatever happens, things will always work out. It’s a very odd belief for an amnesiac but she never runs out on optimism, and she wears a smile that never fades.

For someone so vibrant and cheery, her ice is an irony. Ice means cold, it freezes without mercy, it makes your teeth chatter and your fingers fall off, it’s a dangerous thing. But she thinks it’s amazing—shiny and glimmering and elegant, and she proves it. She summons figurines made of ice—rearing horses and miniature landscapes. She makes snowflakes out of water vapor because really, what’s more beautiful than a six-pointed symmetrical figure carved from nature itself? She shows people that ice is one of the most beautiful products of nature, and not the cold jagged structure accompanying Narnia’s Ice Queen. She doesn’t use ice to harm.

As a matter of fact, she doesn’t use anything to harm. She skips weapon-training and avoids the arena like a plague. She cringes at the mere thought of poking someone’s eye. It’s a miracle how she survived all these years. But she never ventures out of camp and if she did, she doesn’t remember. The only weapon she has is a sheathed celestial bronze knife that never seems to leave her, and she knows this for a fact because the number of times she tried to get rid of it is way waaaay off the charts. It’s always attached to her belt or her pants or skirt, basically like the remote in Click. Eventually she gives up and lets it be, but she has yet to use it. Her not using it is becoming a bad thing, sadly enough, as it marks her out in the eyes of bullies. And one place she avoids more than the arena is the dreaded Ares cabin with its barbed wires and disfigured boar’s head (like, she pities the poor boar so much). Her sensitive soul is not keen on being prodded on by malicious words. She hurts easily, the heart on her sleeve so easily battered and beat. She can’t stand the taunts so she stays in her home, the cabin of ice, the cabin honoring her mother Khione. There she busies herself with making beds and cleaning after her siblings, a childish motherly figure who aces at taking care of others, even if she absolutely fails at herself.

The fact that she spends more time indoors than outdoors shows in her pale skin, white as snow, lined by fading red scars she doesn’t know how she got. Her arms are littered with the things, lines across her wrist and elbow. She doesn’t care too much. She focuses more on her chocolate brown hair, curling around her face and tickling the sides of her neck, sometimes tied up in a loose bun. Her big eyes are a set of emeralds, usually wide in awe, letting anyone see through her soul. She is a little thing, standing at a flat five feet with a thin build to boot, but she doesn’t mind. She likes being small, she likes being a child.

Although she forgets her name, she isn’t totally nameless. They call her Snow, like the pretty snowflakes she makes. And she’s okay with that.


The storm calms. She sits in shock, numbed, eyes glued to the door, ringed with sleep deprivation, because it has been twenty-four hours and she is still so alone— Her stomach grumbles madly but she doesn’t move, only rocking back and forth in her corner, the gnawing in her belly feeling so distant, detached— They’re not dead, they aren’t, they just got slowed down, that’s all…

She thinks of corpses, taunting schoolchildren and a frozen Mellie. Her heart hammers, seized by fear. So much fear.

Alone, isolated, she doesn’t have anyone anymore…

The last thing she sees before she blacks out is her door being blasted open by a figure with a baseball bat, and the last thing she hears is a hoarse bleat: “DEMIGOD!”

CAMP HALF BLOOD PROFILE –as filled out by Sander, certified Satyr Protector
Name: Kai Peters –note: known as Snow
Age: 14
Birthday: January 1
Cabin: 16 (Khione) – Year-Round
Years of Stay: 2
Family: Unknown – deceased
Background:
-Arrived 12/24/2011 with satyr companion Sander. Unconscious but healthy.
-Survived the blizzard that killed her family, according to satyr companion.
-Apparently under the effects of amnesia. Cause unknown.

Hi! I hope you don't mind me free-styling the form! If I missed any of the required info please do tell (: