Nicknames:None
Birthdate: January 3, 1853
Current Age:28
Occupation: Thief
Hogwarts House: Unknown
Wand: None
Blood Status: half
Social Class: Lower
Family: Mirela's mother, before she passed away, was a prostitute. Nadya Janov had been ostracized from her gypsy family just before Mirela was born.
Her father had the last name Beckett, but Nadya never spoke of him. She would belong to the Janov clan if her mother had not been cast out.
Mirela had no siblings.
Appearance: Mirela is half Romani and half English. She has olive-colored skin, and stands at about five-foot, six inches. Mirela's hair is a brown shade that is thick in texture. Her hair is straight and down to her shoulders. The woman likes to let it flow free, but she has it up most of the time to try conforming to the social norms. She is of athletic build, and weighs about one hundred fourty pounds.
Mirela, to fit in with the crowds on High Street of Hogsmeade, dresses in appropriate clothing. She makes sure her hair is perfect, her garb appropriate. Even though people in Hogsmeade didn't conform to all of the social standings, she fit in better. She could pinch the purses of the upper class citizens easier if she looked like an upper class citizen herself. Corsetts and fancy dresses aren't her favorite thing to wear, but they definitely serve the purpose. Usually her dresses give the appearance of being upper class made, but are actually ratted, and she only has three dresses. They're beginning to fray around the edges. She wears boots most of the time, and almost always has a knife as a twisted kind of security blanket. She never uses knives in her thievery, but it's nice to have if something doesn't go according to plan.
She is a witch, but not trained. She didn't go to a wizarding school, but her father was a wizard and she -- if she had a wand -- would be left-handed.
History: Mirela's story begins years before she was even born. Her mother, Nadya Janov and the Janov clan were travellers. They had a small carnival set up and would bring it around England. They camped in London for quite some time. The Janov clan was of Romani descent, but had brought a few English into their midst. The clan itself was really a few different families all travelling together and living together, making a living by conning people. It was a living that Nadya enjoyed.
She didn't realize that a man would rip her from her family. She thought they were in love, but once Richard Beckett found out Nadya had gotten pregnant from their little love affair, he stopped speaking to her. The child was her duty, in his eyes. He was not married to Nadya, therefore had no obligations to take care of the child. Nadya turned back to her family once Richard had cast her away, but it was too late. They followed the Victorian tradition and politely ostracized her from the family. They left Nadya with nothing but the child growing in her womb.
Once Mirela was born, Nadya began working the streets for money to feed her child. Nadya became a prostitute and also garnered a disease from it. From a young age, Mirela was put to work. She was taught to be stealthy and take money from the rich. She was used as a beggar child, who got more money from the rich than her mother could have gotten. At the age of eight, Mirela was taught to read. It opened the world up to her, so she could read contracts and even just signs. Nadya had been taught when she was a young girl, and she passed it onto her child.
Mirela saw the death of her mother at the age of fifteen. She had learned a lot about her mother's family, but had not heard anything about her fathers, other than the fact that he was a wizard and he had the surname "Beckett," as she was named for him. She had no idea what sort of love affair her parents had, she just assumed he was another one of her clients.
With her mother gone, Mirela had to learn to fend for herself. She learned the tools she needed while her mother was still alive, and once she was gone, Mirela began conning the rich people, and dressing up like them on occasion. It was a fun game, but she would much rather be wearing her tattered dresses than anything an "upper" would wear.
Mirela had always had talents. She was born with the "Inner Eye," or "Sight." It was an extremely rare gift. When used by a properly trained witch or wizard, with the Inner Eye, one could foretell prophecies. Mirela, being a very untrained witch, could barely control it or use it to her advantage. It had come in handy a few times, however. When she 'sees' the future, she actually sees a bunch of blurry shapes that sometimes produce names or faces ... or even events that she would encounter later. It had helped her in thievery a number of times, but it was definitely an underdeveloped skill.
When Hogsmeade opened up its doors to wizards and witches, Mirela jumped at the chance to move to a place that accepted most deviants. She knew she would be in the lower class no matter where she went, but she wanted a change of scenery anyway. She began to gamble and drink her life away.
Personality: Mirela loves life and is very happy most of the time. She is secretive, but knows who to open up to and can read people very well. She has had a lot of practice at it. Mirela would be a party-goer for years and years to come, even if she does get old. Her only desires are to stay child-free, drink, and steal her way into a better life.
Mirela is a closeted lesbian. She won't admit that she'd rather be with women to anyone -- not even herself. The woman is very uptight about her sexuality, and would deny her homosexuality even if she were to bed a woman.
Patronus:unknown
Boggart:Being alone for the rest of her life. Becoming a slave to her vices. Children.
Amortentia: Tangerines. She's only smelled one in her life, but it's stuck with her. Sandalwood and Sage also.
Sample Roleplay Post:
Quote:Mirela couldn't remember last night for the life of her. She tried and tried, but there was just nothing coming to her mind. She remembered ... leaving her house and getting to her normal rounds right after sundown. She had been told that they were planning to go gamble later... but Mirela couldn't figure out why she was lying on the shore of the lake. She groaned and sat up. She had to stop killing herself like this... and she really needed to learn to have someone bring her home if she got too plastered. Waking up in strange places with different ailments every day was not something that she was enjoying.
It seemed that Mirela still had everything she started the night with. Her corset looked slept in, and skirts had deep green grass stains on them, as well as splotches of mud--presumably from a swim in the lake? She looked down at her bare feet. Where had her boots gone? She couldn't see them immediately, but in the bushes by the shoreline, she could see a bit of black amidst the greenery. The girl got off the ground and went over to it. Her knife was tucked inside the boot, with sheath around it. It was good to know that she took care of her dagger, even when drunk. She slid the boots on, and pushed the dagger into the right side of her right boot. It was the customary place to stick it. The only thing visible atop Mirela's boot was the hilt of the dagger, the rest was pushed into the side of her boot. She adjusted her skirts so they fell over her feet and masked the presence of the blade.
People who were her age were already starting to settle down... Mirela wasn't done being a kid. She wanted to be twenty-one years old forever... and in two years, she would be thirty. Thirty years old and still partying as if she were ten years younger. Mirela was going to run from commitment and run from rejection and responsibility as long as she could before she was forced to take charge of her life; if she was ever forced to do so. The woman's mind wandered far away from her as she began to walk back toward town. It was going to take forever to get back to her house walking. She must have spent the entire night before getting out to the lake so she could swim.
We... She thought to herself. Who had she come with? She shook her head as she walked, not remembering a thing about how she got to the lake. She groaned as her stomach did flips. She took a pit stop on the side of a dirt path and felt like she was going to throw up when she heard a noise. Someone came up behind her and grabbed her by her hair. The man stood at about six feet tall and was as wide as an ox. He seemed to tower over her and he was certainly more muscular, but size wasn't everything. She stood up, turning around and staring her attacker in the face. She remembered him from somewhere, but she didn't know where. She wished that she could see the past not the future for once in her life. She could barely tell it was the future she was seeing most of the time, but maybe if it was turned in reverse she could fix whatever it was she had done the night before.
"I don't know what I did to you... " Mirela said, trying to get him to let go of her. Instead of talking, he hit her in the stomach, making the girl fall to the ground, and empty the contents of her stomach onto his boots.
He picked her up again without letting the girl recover from the blow. She pushed away from him and ran as fast as she could, she had a split lip from something she had gotten the night before, and now her stomach was going to have a knee print painted black and blue. She ran for as long as she could until she tripped and fell into a thorn bush. This was just adding the cap to the worst hangover. She pulled herself from the bush and looked around her--trying to find anyone who could help hide her from her pursuer... and to help her get out of the trouble she was in.
It was no use. The woman was alone...and he was coming up behind her at a rapid pace. She looked at him, pleading. "Sir... what did I do to you?" she pleaded once he inevitably caught up to her. Mirela watched as the tall man stooped to pick her up off the ground. His voice sounded like he had nails in his cereal that morning.
"You owe me your life, and I'm taking pound for pound from your flesh," the voice sent chills down Mirela's back as she tried to wriggle away from the man's grasp. She reached down for the knife in her boot when she was stopped by a large, meaty hand. He pushed her hand away from her boot and punched her--closed fist--in the mouth, making her split lip bleed again. The coppery-tasting liquid dripped down her chin as she tried without success to get away from her attacker. Wasn't there supposed to be some kind of knight in shining armor to save the damsel in distress?á She always had the most rotten luck...
Age: 19 (almost 20)
Contact:aim: shiningneit or you can pm me. :3
Other Characters: [If any]
How did you hear about us?:On RPG-D, through Emily.
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