Jaida

[Jaida]

[MATURE | Depictions of violence, blood, and sexual content are detailed below in this character sheet]

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B A S I C S

i. N A M E
Jaida Marie Pace, née Costineau ;

ii. L I N E A G E
The Pace family ;
your lineage runs as follows: ophelia, Liski and the master vampire whatdidyousay ;

iii. D A T E S
Born: May 19th, 1972 to Nola Joi Costineau, née Brant & Grégory Adam Costineau ;
Turned: June 18th, 1996 by Tomaso D'Agostino, deceased ;
Married: October 3rd, 2012 to Marlo Pace ;
Resurrection: March 3rd, 2015 by Marlo Pace ;
Sired: May 15th, 2015 by ophelia Lokason ;
Created: October 31st, 2008, Nora (Fawn) ;
Created: June 7th, 2012, Nicholas ;
Adopted: September 27th, 2013, Clint Morgan Pace (born July 2nd 2013) ;
Created: October 25th, 2013, America ;
Created: April 20th, 2015, Toby ;
Created: December 27th, 2015, John (Don Juan) ;
Adopted: July 1st, 2020, Katherine (Kit) Joi Pace (born May 29th, 2020) ;

iv. H O M E T O W N
Lakeland, Florida ;

v. S T A T U S
Alive ;

vi. S P E C I E S
Vampire ;

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P H Y S I C A L I T I E S

i. H E I G H T
Five feet, eight inches ;

ii. A P P E A R A N C E
Red hair ; Grey eyes ; Long curls, clean and manicured ;
Various moles and freckles ; Warm, light skin ;

iii. V A M P I R E
Extended fangs, voluntary ; Daywalker ; Super healing ; Average speed, & strength ;
Extensive harm will not incapacitate ; Sustains on blood ; Warm to the touch ;

iv. O W N E R S H I P
Pace Family Ranch ; located at Fir & 69th ;
est. October 18, 2015 ;

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P E R S O N A L I T Y

i. S K I L L S
Polyglot: fluent in English, French, Italian, survival Spanish ;
Homemaker: skilled care in all manners relating to the home and family, including gardening, cleaning, mending, tending, ranching, and financial ;
Charismatic: articulate and elegant silver-tongue, often when employed for self-serving purposes ;
Perceptive: skilled, trained, and experienced in sensitive insight during casual and stressful situations ;

ii. S T R E N G T H S
Curious: marked by desire to investigate and learn, with an ability for agile-mindedness ;
Outgoing: harnessing joy, pleasure, and satisfaction in the company of others ;
Optimistic: hope and confidence in the future, even following mistakes of the past ;
Enthusiastic: intense, eager enjoyment and interest in new experiences ;

iii. W E A K N E S S E S
Impulsive: acting or tending to act suddenly and without careful thought ;
Restless: unable to rest or relax, often as a result of anxiety or boredom ;
Uninhibited: expressing opinions or feelings openly, often without care of others' perceptions ;
Addictive: compulsive need to obtain joy or discharge pain, often to a hindering degree ;

iv. V I O L E N C E
Accidental kills: numerous ;
Purposeful kills: numerous ;
War participation: various conflicts with House D'dary ;

[Jaida]

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R E L A T I O N S H I P S

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[Jaida]

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t h e S T O R Y s o F A R

"I would rather die of passion than of boredom."

"The Ladies' Paradise" ; Émile Zola ;

i. t h e E N D
Her legs carried her up the stairs two or three at a time, unknowing where exactly her bare feet were landing, just knowing that they were. No stumbling, no missteps, no hesitation. Within seconds, Jaida raced through the open door of her bedroom--a sanctuary, her safety. The only light in the room came from the open window and the dirty yellow of the security light just outside. Enough to see by. Her sheets laid back where she'd pushed them, and her desk remained as cluttered with her CDs and unopened college notebooks. One second she was alone, shoving the door closed. The next, the figure she tried to escape from sent the door flying back into the wall.

With all the instincts of survival, she shoved her stand of VHS tapes toward him--the man, the stranger, the unknown entity that should not have been inside her house. Her parents would be furious. They didn't believe in violence, but that didn't mean they weren't capable of it. Jaida was capable of it. She screamed for them and launched one cheerleading trophy after the other at the stranger who knocked them away like children's toys.

He caught her arm and slammed her against the wall of her bedroom. Tears instantly sprung to her eyes followed immediately by the resonant pain in her nose. She screamed again for help, until the crickets and fat bullfrogs outside quieted to listen and until the whippoorwills ceased their haunting calls. His mouth was on her, his body shoving her tight against the wall until the pressure against her chest alone threatened to strangle her. This wasn't happening. Not to her. God, don't let it happen to her, if God was listening--and she believed, in that moment, that God was. God had to be listening. God, she would continue her education like her father wanted her to. She would make them proud, God, just don't let her die now. She'd never seen the lavender fields in France like she'd always wanted to, God. Please, not like this.

But God gave her no miracle of strength. When she shoved her hands against the posters of James Dean and Patrick Swayze, her arms gave out from the effort without moving her away from the wall at all. The stranger--the demon--clamped his jaws tighter. She'd never felt pain like it and struggling against him was like throwing herself against a boulder. The unmistakable tang of blood bubbled in the back of her throat and she choked on it. God, this was it...

"Hold on to the pain," God said, and God's voice came dripping with such a heavy Italian accent that she almost didn't understand him. "Hold on to it, and it will set you free."



ii. t h e B E G I N N I N G
Sex and smoke hung heavy in the lounge room of the French chateau in equal measure. It saturated the plush, pale cushions of the modular sectional. It clung to the fine drapery framing the floor-to-ceiling windows, the panes of glass towering above all in the room, including the writhing pair buried deep within the pillows at the center.

Daphnée rocked her hips in a rhythmic dance, her head falling back with such drama. Her hair spilled across her naked skin, shadow black--box black, not natural--and contrasting with the paleness of her skin. "Please don't stop," she begged.

Her moans echoed out to the ceiling far above, filling the hollow room at such a high, desperate pitch that Jaida did stop. She lifted her face from between her thighs, her slick fingers denting the supple skin near Daphnée's ass. The woman whined in response, shifting her weight from side to side like an antsy, little pomeranian might when expecting a treat. When Jaida only teased a kiss against her pubic bone, Daphnée angled the arch of her back to shove her tits in the air. Darkened smears of drying blood and tiny knots of bite scars marred her otherwise perfect skin. Each rise and fall of her body made her breasts sway, unbound and uninhibited.

So performative. The French woman could take direction, that much was true. She may not have tasted as sweet as better women that coated Jaida's mouth before her--women with fire in their eyes and electricity in their fingertips--but Daphnée was nothing if not receptive to feedback on how to look most appealing.

"I think this director really likes me," Daphnée said later, after she'd exhausted herself through three more orgasms. The tremble was gone from her fingers enough that she could hold a cigarette poised near her ruby lips. "He said if the promotionals go well, he wants to do the sequel. He's going to have me back. Maybe even in a lead role this time..."

The wistful tone of her voice made Jaida smile, lazy as it was. Daphnée smiled back at her. With more grace than Jaida expected, the French woman slid forward across the sectional and kissed her. No, she was no Talley--she never could be--but Jaida laid her back against the cushion and moved to straddle her anyway. The moonlight spilling into the room bathed Jaida's naked body. Between the smoke and faint sheen of sweat, her skin glowed ethereal. Daphnée saw it too, her doe eyes widening while she watched Jaida pluck the cigarette from her.

"You really are divine," Daphnée said.

"Am I?" Jaida smiled.

"You must be to be so beautiful. To make me do the things that I want to do for you... You are a goddess in disguise."

"An angel."

"I would do anything to be like you, my heart. Anything. To be as stunning. And as charming," Daphnée grinned. Her manicured nails trailed the soft skin of Jaida's stomach down to her pubic hair. "Well, I imagine I would have no problems getting any role I want if that were so..."

"You want to be famous," Jaida said. She left the cigarette to die in the glass ashtray beside them. She bent forward, her hair falling loose from over her shoulders. It took only a small nudge of her nose against the woman's jaw before the soft slope of Daphnée's throat exposed itself to her kiss.

"More than anything..." Daphnée whispered.

The vibration of her voice coaxed Jaida in, willed her to take. The aching need consumed her. She sank her fangs into her skin to the sound of a loud gasp. Jaida's jaw tightened. She bit down until her mouth filled and overflowed. Daphnée's fists came up against Jaida's chest in a flurry of blows. Pointless. Every ounce of struggle spilled deeper stains of blood across the dove grey cushions.

The actress started screaming, deep and from the belly. That was no performance.

Daphnée wanted to be famous. She'd make her a headline.



iii. E T E R N A L S
She winced against the pealing scream of a siren outside. Three stories up wasn't enough to separate them from the panic of Ravenblack City down below, not with their hearing as sensitive as it was and not with a finicky one-year-old that barely slept even when they moved around the flat with whisper-light steps. Another emergency vehicle sped by, its alarm barely catching up in the race. Miraculously, no tiny wails echoed after.

Jaida adjusted the heavy lean of her messy head against the headboard to look at the closed door. The glowing light of the sun radiated through the crack underneath where the old carpet couldn't quite fill in. She willed herself to finally get up, but her body only sagged in protest.

"Come out when you're ready," he'd said. Hours ago. Marlo's lips brushed the side of Jaida's head, sweat forcing her unkept hair to cling to her skin. He held her against him, his calloused hand stroking her damp back. Each brush where his skin met hers ignited her like a powder keg, as if he were a guardian of the sun itself and his heat, for once, almost became unbearable. She was so sober she was sick from it. The kind of heat she couldn't stop shivering from.

By that point, he'd rinsed the last of the blood down the bottom of the tub. The water had been so thick with it, so thick with her blood--the blood of a false God. She watched the water run brightest of reds that she thought it must have been a new color never before named. As the rushing showerhead baptized her new, the water ran until only tinted pink, then finally clear.

She died all over again, she said. Marlo only continued to work, pulling one of his old shirts over her head and working her arms out. "I'll never let you die," he said. He'd been out there for hours, and not once did he interrupt what little quiet there was around her. Such was Marlo's way.

Jaida scooted to the edge of the bed and stood. Her legs couldn't have been stronger or more stable. The blessing of Marlo's eternal blood, and not the only. The warmth of the sunlight teased the tips of her bare toes, casting shadows under the bed behind her. Her lower lip trembled. She took a step into it until the light washed over her ankle and shin and she reached the door. She creaked it open and her last vestige against the fatal light gave way. It may not have scorched her skin, but nineteen years of escaping the sun left her eyes ill-equipped. It consumed her like the blind faith that she wouldn't erupt into flames at first contact.

She didn't. Marlo upheld his promise.

Step by step, she followed the shuffling sounds into the living room. Marlo carried the sleeping form of their toddler son, crossing to meet her where she emerged. Without word--without need of one--he ducked his head to set his forehead against hers with Clint held protected between them. She stroked the palm of her hand over the soft hair of the baby's head and clung to the both of them.

Salvation.

[Jaida]

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O U T o f C H A R A C T E R

i. N A M E
Broccoli ; Jamie ;

ii. P R O N O U N S
She/they ;

iii. D I S C O R D
broccolirhab ;

iv. C O N T A C T
Preferred contact is through PM on this forum ;

v. L I M I T S a n d B O U N D A R I E S
Absolutely will not write sexual or romantic relationships ;

vi. T H R E A D S
i. Work in Progress ;

vii. C R E D I T S
Character sheet layout design by: me ;
Character circle portraits designed by: Carrot/Aimee ;
A.I. Art by: DeviantArt's DreamUp ;
Gif: Julien Douvier ;