Post by nordic on Jul 12, 2012 13:33:58 GMT -8
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Matthew George Burroughs.
Gender: Male.
Age/DOB: Physically Twelve. July 1682.
Occupation: N/A.
Race: Ghost.
Appearance;
Even as far as ghosts go, he looks younger even than his physical age due to his short stature and soft features. He has wide blue eyes rimmed with dark lashed and a mop of platinum blonde hair which in his colourless state appears almost silver in different lights. If one was to catch a glimpse of him then you would see a normal, if not somewhat sickly child with a thin layer of sweat cursing his brow and a painful expression highlighting his gaunt facial features. Without the ability to build on his form he appears to be quite skinny like those who have lost weight in a short time through malnourishment – making his sharp eyes his most notable physical feature.
As for his clothing he appears modest but not alike many children of his time having been buried in his own garb of black and white. He wears a simple black cloth shirt with a wide white collar, loose black trousers, long white socks and soft flat leather shoes with a gold buckle. The only luxury symbol is the silver crucifix that hangs loosely on a leather cord around his neck.
Personality;
Matthew is not like most children. He is both kind and cruel, temperamental and compassionate drifting the area between ghost and ghoul unable to accept this eternity of coldness or come to peace with the ever changing world around him. Why he appears so adult in his speech and at other times so childish may be because of his proper upbringing or his fondness for books while being constantly reminded that he is a child at heart and will forever be one. Unlike many of the spirits that plague the town he is not averse to speaking with witches if he finds them to have a particular quality he finds admirable but he does not seek them out to speak instead choosing to stay within the old walls of his haunt.
He is quite old fashioned in the way he views the world for example there is no other word for the elementals, the doctors or those who turn from faith – they are witches. The strange thing is that he doesn’t reject them for it as he is from the same lineage despite his old faith. He can use the word ‘witch’ as both a compliment and a derogatory remark depending on which context it is used as for Vampires and Werewolves – they even exited when he was young so they are just that. One thing that he can be relied on is for being stubborn when it comes to little things like this, black is black and white is white… that is all there is.
Many of his kind have passed on to the otherworld by now or have been caught as evil spirits but he alone remains to ponder over his lost life – he is still very bitter over his death and history. He has ideas to why he is still here but he knows in his heart that they would never be fulfilled so makes the most of his afterlife reading and speaking to witches in the library. His childish desires often bring unsuspecting mortals into his life causing trouble and heartbreak on both sides of the spectrum.
History;
[ There is a rattling and the muffled sound of a hand on the recorder. In the room there appears only to be a young woman in her twenties with long dark hair and a guarded expression but it appears if she is entirely alone bar the occasional flicker of candles around her. Her eyes dart anxiously to an empty chair in front of her and the corners of her lips curl into a weak smile. It is not until she begins to speak do you notice the near transparent outline of a colourless child smiling sweetly from his perch. ]
Heather: It’s good to see you again Mathew. I didn’t think you would show up tonight… you know, with the date and all. Are you doing well?
Matthew: I am doing well thank you. My apologies for intruding so suddenly I thought it would be better coming tonight while the memory is fresh.
[ There was a short pause while Heather watched him sympathetically. The child’s soft features betrayed none of his thoughts as we silently awaited her next question. The young witch couldn’t help but feeling a little intimidated by his formalized speech but reminded herself that back when he was his own age there might have been a slight difference of upbringings. ]
Heather: Are you sure? We could wait until tomorrow.
Matthew: I am sure.
Heather: Okay then… um, right the recoding is still working. I would say we have about an hour of fresh tape. Do you think you will be finished by then? [ He nods. ] Well, okay then. No pressure. Should we start at the beginning? Like, where you were born?
[ Soundlessly the child folds his hands on his lap, a serene look washing over his face reminding Heather of a sleeping cherub she had once seen on one of her many historical trips to England. ]
Matthew: I was born in Salem Villiage on the twelfth of July 1682. My father was the local pastor there having moved from Suffolk in his youth along with my mother. She died in childbirth alongside my younger sister leaving my father to raise me as his only child.
Heather: Oh, so you grew up in Salem then?
Matthew: Salem Village, and no. I spent only one year there before my father decided to leave with me to Falmouth… Today I think it is known as ‘Portland’. I grew up in Falmouth with my father who became pastor there for a small congregation. I remember it fondly enough but we could have very well benefitted to the plumbing of today. As the pastor’s only child I was expected to appear clean and godly so I can’t express enough how much I detested the cold paths.
Heather: Haha! I think I would have killed for a hot shower back then.
Matthew: I can guarantee that people killed for lesser things I’m sure.
[ Heather quietened to examine the still features on the transparent boy as if trying to guess whether he was joking or not. She decided that it was better not to know. ]
Matthew: That is one difference I should mention before we continue. Back then black was black and white was white. There is no grey in between like there is now. Either you attended church or you are in league with the devil.
[ His eyes shimmered as if sharing a personal joke. The witch made a mental note that today’s humour is not how it was back in the 1600’s. ]
Heather: Right… so, you’re the pastor’s son. You didn’t miss any church did you?
Matthew; If you’re asking whether it was missing church which caused my death then you are mistaken. We took church very seriously back then but it took more than a few missed gatherings to earn an execution. My crime was worse than that.
Heather: Surely they wouldn’t condemn a child of ten-
Matthew: I’m 12.
Heather: -Sorry, twelve year old boy to death… what was your crime?
[ An very ghost-like expression teased at his features. Remorse? Guilt? Anguish? She couldn’t look away and found herself resisting the urge to reach across the table to take his hand knowing it would be a futile attempt even for a medium like herself. ]
Matthew: My crime was being born to a witch.
[ Another pause. ]
Heather: A witch? Um, I guess that would be a bad… thing. What happened?
Matthew: I will explain the events first leading up to my death. To begin with we will have to return to my father’s tale. You see, when he was living in Salem Village he acquired an obscene amount of debt but he had always thought he would be safe to return to Salem Village when the debts had been forgotten. Eleven years he considered to be a good time to return when he could visit my mother and sister’s graves. Of course, we did not realize what a serious time it was in Salem and even if we did, we probably would have returned to prosecute the witches ourselves… my father being a man of the church and all.
[ He grinned impishly at the witch before him who cleared her throat haughtily and gestured for him to continue. ]
Matthew: … but mankind has always been so shallow and the people we lived amongst were no different. Those who were still angry or jealous of my father accused him of making possible the impossible – witchcraft.
Heather: Do you think your father was a witch?
Matthew: Maybe. I think they are called natural elementists now? He was strong physically but not impossibly so but he had a way with the earth. He could make it ‘do’ things when he didn’t even realize it… It wasn’t his fault but he did it nonetheless and it had us hunted from the moment we stepped foot in Massachusetts.
[ The witch looked very interested now. He could basically see her at the edge of the seat – witches were always keen to hear about anything relating to them. ]
Heather: You were executed in Salem?
Matthew: Again, no. My father was executed at the Witches Hill in Salem when he was caught but I managed to evade capture for some time. I was weak and hungry, illness plagued every street and every house. It was quick to catch up to me and in the end somebody brought my body from the streets to the church to give me my final rights. I was in so much pain… the fever tore at my spirit and I called out for God. I wanted him so desperately to take my pain from me but instead he allowed me to suffer six more days and die on the morn of the Sabbath. I hated him so badly for that for many years I thought that it was my reasoning for now being allowed passage into heaven.
[ Heather watched him quietly and reached her hand across the desk. He stared at it sadly. ]
Matthew: In the end I knew that that was not the answer. There was nothing that could end my suffering… so I took to reading books. I don’t know how or why it happened… my mind gets foggy at times but I was drawn to the library and took to reading scripts and letters over the shoulders of mortals.
Heather: I bet that was comfortable.
Matthew: I managed to keep my mind occupied. I even learned to turn pages. The library became my home and my sanctuary… I needed that.
[ Heather checks the time on the recording. The light is flashing red. ]
Heather: We're almost done. Um, is there anything else? Why are you here? What connects you?
Matthew: I can only guess that it is-
[ The sounds of rewinding tape marks the end of the session. ]
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OOC;
Name: Nord!c. Or Nor
Other Characters: N/A.
Preferred method of contact: PM.
How did you find us?: Random advertising <3
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