Post by hita imani on Sept 4, 2010 12:59:09 GMT -5
Hita Imani
[/b][/color][/size] A Miss Hita Imani at the dear age of twenty has found herself upon the most curious of situations - entering into London's most tantalizing gossip. "[/i][/color][/font][/size][/ul][/blockquote]
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
W R I T E R .
name: zara
RP experience: a few years, i honestly can't remember
how did you find us?: through an ad on wine & ashes
age: 17
gender: female
P O R T R A I T .
eye color:
hair color:
height:
body type:
distinguishing features:
fashion style:
M A N N E R S .
profession:
adoration for:
distaste for:
dreams:
fears:
secrets:
main:
P A S T .
family:
main:
The only one of those scenes that is as clear as day to Hita is watching Alam leave. His father shoves him, and hits him a few more times. Her heart wrenched as she got a look at his bloodied nose and his once-perfect skin, bruised. The skin she was caressing and kissing and claiming as her own only minutes earlier. He stands and looks around at the distraught family he served for nineteen faithful years, and the father who lashed out against him not out of anger, merely out of understanding of what the consequences of what he had just done were. Alam straightens his stance (he was never the type to shirk away from his wrongdoings), before gazing to her one last time. She doesn't want to believe but she must because its true- he's saying a final goodbye. At last the handsome young man turns from the house, and like a well-disciplined animal, continues walking and doesn't think to come back again."
By some mysterious way (likely the large mouth of Talika), the news of Hita's deflowering spread rampantly throughout the gossipy upper-class of Bombay. Hita couldn't be in public without hearing a giggle off to her left, or catching sight of two women leaning in whispering to one another while their eyes were fixed on her. It spread so quickly, in fact, that all families who once took an interest in offering up a marriage proposal seemed to vanish. No one wanted to be connected to the Imanis, and with good reason. That daughter of theirs is loose and ungrateful.
Between ruining her own reputation (and by association, the family reputation), causing her lover to leave to try and scrounge up money where he could, and nearly destroying her father's relationship with his best friend, Hita had enough. She simply couldn't deal with the cold looks tossed in her direction and with being branded as a whore for making love to a man she truly felt love for. One day Hita made the fateful decision to leave, for good. The only man she truly loved, Alam, wanted nothing to do with her. Her family was ashamed of her, and her 'friends' were nowhere to be found. It was time for a change.
Taking what money and small possessions she could, Hita left the quiet house in the dead of night, paying a final visit to the stable where everything started. Once she turned away from the disappointed household behind her, her new life began.
It took some bribery and even a tad bit of flirting when she reached the dock to convince the large, red-faced British man in charge to let her onto a ship headed for London. Thankfully, he allowed her, and before Hita knew it- she was seated quietly on the floor of a large ship headed to England. The journey was tedious, but once they had landed and Hita managed to sneak off- it was very, very worth it.
The world she saw made her forget the odd looks tossed in her direction. It was beautiful, dignified- and absolutely grand in every sense of the word. After the initial wonder began to fade and Hita began to understand the reality of her situation. She spoke English well thanks to her mother's instruction, but aside from that, she had no idea what to do. Wandering down the street people looked baffled, at best, at her strange dress and exotic skin color. Of course they'd seen Indians before, they were simply used to the more... British versions.
For the first few weeks, Hita slept on the floor with the homeless populations of London, feeling utterly sick. She was accustomed to having servants at her call, and living in a large estate with sprawling spaces for herself. That was no longer the case, now she was in the dangerous slums of a foreign country, trying to find what to do with herself. Thankfully she befriended an old lady (who lacked several of her front teeth, she noticed) who helped her. "Young thin' lak you 'kin fin' work anywhere. Rich folks lak dark gir's. Make 'em look nice an' rich, afford exo'ic girls lak tha'." And that's exactly what they did. The two worked together to buy Hita some ugly, dark, typical maid dress. It appeared to bring the old lady some sort of self-satisfaction, helping the young foreigner. Something about it brought a warm smile to that wrinkled and hardened face. They dirtied themselves and begged, and Hita even sold herself twice. She figured she was already branded a whore- so it didn't matter. Hita no longer cared about her reputation, or her dignity, or any of the things she left back in India.
No, her focuses became set on one thing and one thing only- London. She'd fallen in love the moment she stepped off of the ship. Her imagination was no longer filled with images of she and Alam. Rather, her imagination was filled with the London image- the cobblestone streets, the dignified, beautiful white women she saw as godesses, the intricacy with which the English regarded everything, even eating. It was her new obsession. They were beautiful, so different from the life she left back in India. Hita wanted nothing to do with her Indian roots any longer. She wanted to detatch herself from the cruel caste system of her home, and her shackling family, and be like the happy, beautiful women she saw. So uncomplicated, so lovely, so different.
Hita picked up odd jobs where she could with the old lady's help, mostly by rich families who thought of how highly they'd be regarded to have such an exotic worker in their home. Surely their friends would think it was very expensive to get someone all the way from the mysterious land of India to work for them. But wait, they could see that she could read and write, too- and then would they be impressed! Their negro servant couldn't do that. Yes, she made a nice little ornament in a wealthy English home. Hita didn't like the fact, but it was true, and if it got her closer to being like one of them- she was satisfied.
[/ul]
E T C .
play-by: Freida Pinto
password: Evening solace
rp sample:
Isabella Reinhardt knew what they were saying before she even walked into the room. Before she even neared the damned residence. Before she even received the invitation to the ladies' get together. Of course, amongst the older ladies married to successful and prominent German figures, the young woman stood out in more ways than one. In the first and possibly most obvious way, she wasn't a fair-headed, blue-eyed gem like the other females present. Isabella was a raven amongst dolls, or so, she felt. Her prettiness was undeniable, she was highly attractive even to those who only favored the Aryan version of beauty. Regardless, her hair was a rich,aphotic color and her eyes an irresistible dark hue, as well. It drew the wrong kind of stares among the high society she found herself in at that present moment.
"I heard that Reinhardt woman was mothered by a gypsy. Do you believe that? A filthy gypsy!" One of the older crows hissed. "Look at her in that corner, there. She thinks she's too good to speak to us. Ugly dark-headed little thing, she is." Another whispered in agreement. Isabella did, indeed, stand off in a corner of the room at the little luncheon, surveying her surroundings carefully.
She was no fool. One glance in the direction of the tightly knit bundle of three or four women was enough to let the young woman know she was not welcome. Though she couldn't hear all they said, she picked up on words like 'gypsy', 'dirty', 'undeserving', and her personal favorite- 'trash'. Though it was clear she was an outcast, Isabella had never asked for this life. Not once. Everything came crashing down upon her when she was merely fifteen.
Mothered by a working French woman and a German veteran of the first world war, Isabella's upbringing was far from normal. Though they did not quarrel before their only child, or act irrationally in any sense, Isabella was more than aware of a lack of a sense of uniformity in her childhood home. Her parents spoke two or three words to one another at a time, before parting ways and meeting again only for dinner. They only appeared to be a married couple when it was demanded of them. Something was simply not right.
Her father was a merchant that worked at a port while her mother (once she had married) became a homemaker. Isabella spent the days of her childhood and teenage years at home with her mother, learning two different languages- both French and German. Occasionally, the young woman would accompany her father to town to stretch her legs and bat her lashes to ask of new things to buy, the way children did. One fateful day out in her buslting hometown, officer Derek Reinhardt lay eyes upon the young beauty for the first time.
He was smitten on the spot. He knew that after gazing into her dark, complex eyes just once, he had to have her if it was the last thing he did. The man was getting older, roughly in his forties at the time- and was unwed. He needed a bride and he needed children quickly. And his chance was standing there, hand-in-hand with her father.
After walking up to the two and introducing himself, it was only a matter of hours before he'd been invited back to Isabella's childhood home for dinner. And only an hour after that, he was negotiating a marriage proposition with the girl's parents. Like livestock, they settled on a price he'd pay them in return for their daughter's hand and well-being. Before she even knew it, Isabella was st her own wedding- at the ripe young age of sixteen.
Everything occured in such a whirlwind fashion. After the wedding, it was presents, it was dresses, it was homes, it was parties where she met men of rank and their wives, et cetera. Three years later, at nineteen, things finally began to settle. Or at least, Isabella finally began to get used to her glamorous new lifestyle, and the onslaught of criticism she gained for being what she was. Different.
At that present time, Isabella's husband was off doing something or other (she honestly didn't care what), while she was sent off to their little vacation spot- a lonely but very pretty cottage near to the woods. Having spent a sufficient amount of time (enough to look socially acceptable), Isabella stood, ignoring the fact that the whispers intensified and every pair of eyes in the room was following her. Making her way to the hostess, she smiled and pecked her cheek. "I had a lovely time, thank you." The fakeness in her voice could be detected by a deaf man. "Oh, you won't stay longer, my dear? We do love having you!" The hostess played right along. "No, I'm afraid I must get back. I have much to attend to at home." And with that, Isabella and her driver were finally free to leave.
Staring out at the snowy countryside in wonder, Isabella released a soft sigh. When she wasn't around the brainless twats, she realized just how scenic her vaction home truly was. The car pulled up alongside the little cottage, and Isabella routinely stood up and left the vehicle, rushing to the front door and unlocking it. A gust of warm air welcomed her.
Removing her scarf, she set it down on the coffee table in the parlor she entered, rubbing her hands together before slipping the gloves off of her dainty fingers. She heard a slight rustling in the kitchen. Glancing up, alarmed, Isabella tried to remember if Derek was supposed to be home or not. She had no recollection of his saying such a thing. Cautiously slipping her coat off, she rested it on the couch before nearing the kitchen. "D-Derek, darling? Are you home?"
Turning the corner, Isabella paled and her jaw dropped when she saw an American soldier
in her kitchen. She was stricken with panic, backing away slowly at first, like he was going to attack her. A moment later, she turned on her heel and began to sprint for the front door. "HELP! Someone help!" Isabella screamed, in hopes that either had driver had not yet left or that anyone would be near enough to hear her cries.
She had no idea what his intentions were, and how he even got into her home.
