Information
Lev the Cando
Jubilee_957
Legacy Name: Jubilee_957
The
Blacklight ParalixOwner:
Age: 15 years, 5 months, 4 weeks
Born: December 11th, 2010
Adopted: 15 years, 3 months, 4 days ago
Adopted: March 4th, 2011
Statistics
- Level: 1
- Strength: 11
- Defense: 10
- Speed: 10
- Health: 10
- HP: 10/10
- Intelligence: 2
- Books Read: 2
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Unemployed
pronunciation: JEW-buh-lee FOX
moniker(s): Lee, Fawkes
world: Wheneverland
species: Human
ethnicity: Unspecified
birthdate: March 1
hometown: Vancouver, British Columbia
current location: Quebec, Montreal
facsimile: Mika Van Winkle
abilities: Electrochemical manipulation. She can seriously fuck you up: abort your neural circuits, dissolve all flesh she touches, and introduce genetic mutations into DNA. In her hands, she's god to your mortality and she will bring you to your knees.
occupation: 3rd year chemistry majour in college
hobbies: Tripping balls & rolling face
religion: Evangelist (nominally)
politics: Libertarian
family:
involved with: Formerly Ulysses; currently single
colleagues:
Jubilee is restless and reckless, intrepid with the assurance that anything new and novel is preferable. Never satisfied to be merely in the present, she used to be an avid dreamer. These days, she will tell you that dreams are just memories of the future, and she is tired of telling fortunes.
She has been, and still is, many things. There are many depths to her, all of them true - even the ones that contradict. Although Jubilee keeps changing who or what she wants to be, she throws herself into each of her capricious whims with passion. Perhaps most consistent is her attitude, whatever it is she attaches herself to, she desires like a forest fire and loves with all her heart.
While generally poised, she has an animated playfulness belies her vitality. Though immature or frivolous at times, she is never shallow; Jubilee is essentially responsible, grounded in reality, and only occasionally susceptible to feminine moodiness. Buoyant and capable of great tenderness, she struggles to uphold a higher, more noble expression of humanity than what she sees reflected in the faces around her.
Secretly, she represses a perverse and casual cruelty. Certainly anger, too, but not quite the loathing that fills her heart with hatred and lust to hurt something vulnerable. Jubilee is not proud of it, this bully mentality, but she will be the first to tell you that bullies do not torment out of insecurity - they do it because they’re bored, because they can, because they enjoy causing pain. She has a genius for mocking wounds and insecurities with sarcastic, patronizing wit; the closest comparison is a bullfighter.
Jubilee is all too aware of her shortcomings and remains aloof rather than risk others see her as competitive, passive-aggressive, or toxic. As a way of making amends, she is equitably generous with her time and energy, really listening to people as her gift to them. In a world of lonely individuals each wrapped up in their own agendas, she aspires to be accommodating, kind, considerate, and genuine.
She lies awake, eyes wide open in the darkness, and listens to the noises within herself. Her organs move and churn like so many pieces of machinery. There's a wetly rhythmic slosh, and a constant gurgle of leaking water somewhere, at the opening to some orifice. There is no pain, only strangeness. She runs one hand over her stomach and senses, not with nerve endings but with the habit of contact, a curious itch that begins to tingle warmly. She's clawed marks down her flank though her nails only felt like light dancers tripping across her skin.
She learned long ago to internalize fear and discomfort and anxiety, banish them for the paranoia they more than often were. Now, slowly and steadily, she picks apart her racing mind. She touches and prods the neural networks, looking for but one single concrete thought from within the kaleidoscope of simultaneously firing synapses like distant flashes of thunder. They pelt her with minuscule shocks, a windfall of shooting stars. So there, and then not (so quickly!) and she doesn't know if she is imagining imaginations.
She is very much alone and afraid. Why? Because there is no one else here, in this room, in this bed. Should someone else be here? Her mind recognizes stirring emotion beneath the question and she forces herself, with that particular logical lucidness born of pure will, to take another path.
She is alone because there is no one else occupying the same observable time and space; that is definitional. And there is no one else because she is alone. Alone. No one else is here. She is here.
She likes this tautology. Her mind is delighted by its simplistic beauty and truth. She understands alone, and everything about the associated state of being. She understands. The two clauses of cause and effect chase each other. She sees them (pursuing or following, conclusion or assumption?) twisting endlessly in figure eights. A three-dimensional Moebius strip, which, she realizes, is the physical projection and manifestation of infinity.
She hears them, too. Their periodic cycling resonates at exponentiating frequencies. The amplitudes superimpose and her body, each ligament and tendon, thrums in time . . . . . ........ to infinity, and beyond.
She awakes next morning, on the floor. There is a trickle of blood under her left nostril and her cheeks are tight with dried sweat or tears. She looks into the mirror, and does not understand.
"Time"; Pink Floyd
"Comfortably numb"; Pink Floyd
"Lucy in the sky with diamonds"; Beatles
"Magic carpet ride"; Steppenwolf