Felicity Jones

Who is it there staring?

Name: Aveline D'Aubigne
Age | B-day: Twenty, April 10th
Position: Chorus Girl

Hair: Like that of dark, copper wire, falling between her shoulders, curls slightly at the ends
Eyes: Light hazel, round and heavily lashed
Markings: Light freckling on her shoulders and the bridge of her nose

Phobia: Death, for it changed her life so drastically, and does not wish it to happen again.
Habit: She tends to clean or write/draw in her journal when she's bored; she also practices her viola when she has the spare time.
Pet Peeve: Ignorance, stupidity, perfection

Personality: Outwardly, Aveline can be the kindest and most polite of individuals. She is never without a soft smile and a kind word, but this is only a well constructed and cleverly designed mask. Inwardly...well, she may as well be one of the ugliest girls you'd ever lay eyes upon. Extremely prone to jealousy, rather sneaky and a deviant, Aveline is in it for herself, and only herself. She believes herself to be superior to the other chorus girls, and while she is not without talent, her confidence is almost overwhelming, her ego only comparable to that of Carlotta. She is not against getting her hands dirty to get what she wants; behind her usually quiet demeanor, she is an extremely passionate girl.
She is rather an extreme neat freak, and dislikes any sort of disorganization, that and laziness. She does not take excuses; secretly, she is extremely passionate, losing herself in romance novels and the playing of her viola. She is known to lose hours practicing her viola and her singing to make sure she is the best at what she does.

Family: Gustave D'Aubigne (father,deceased), Helene Godfrey-D'Aubigne (mother, 53)

History: Aveline was born on a rainy April day to a newly wed family in the French countryside. Her father was a struggling musician, his real job relying on construction, though it didn't pay much. Her mother was the purest definition of what a housewife should be, and spent her days coddling Aveline and giving her what she could, pretty much spoiling her. Her father died when she was rather young, around nine, and from there she lived the quiet life with her mother, who had to get a job working as a seamstress in Paris, which meant they had to move from their peaceful life in the countryside to that of a more hectic life in the city, living in the Parisian slums.

In between helping her mother with the clothing she brought home from her clients, Aveline continued with her father's work, at least the songs he left behind, and struggled to teach herself to play his most prized possession, an old viola; her mother had also noticed that, although it was not exactly a thing of angels, Aveline had a wonderful voice, and she was sure to remind Aveline every moment she could of how talented she was, bolstering her confidence to unknown heights. She assured her that, one day, she would be the most beloved of all Paris, believing that she saw her late husband in her child's eyes and actions; she wanted to support her in a way that she never supported her husband.

Saving as much money as she could, her mother had her audition at the Opera Garnier when she was eleven years old. Her audition successful, her mother has been supporting her with as much money as she can to continue her lessons, giving more for her daughter than herself. Aveline is very diligent in her studies, and works hard to be the greatest that she can be. She scoffs the rumors of the Opera House Ghost, convinced that it's just the work of her lazy colleagues, who would rather make up stories than practice to do their best on opening night.

Name: Lucinda
Experience: About four to five years
Contact: AIM -->XxhaachibixX
Other Characters: None

RP Sample: The Bal Masque was always something to look forward to, especially for the chorus girls. Any chance for them to dress up their fanciest and, for most of them anyway, to catch the eye of some handsome gentleman. Not Aveline, of course; normally, she couldn't be bothered with such frivolities. She'd rather be in her room, enticing melodies from her father's viola, she'd kept it in such good condition since he'd died...it still sounded so beautiful, even today. This night would have been the best to do so, at the very least. All of her colleagues would have been at the ball, and she would have had the entirety of the dorm to herself. Honestly, it would have been the nicest night to stay in. However, something had drawn her to this...at least enough to dress up and wander about the crowded ball room, desperately trying to avoid any contact with the other guests, which was proving to be near to impossible.

Her mask was delicately shaped to match the wings of a butterfly, skillfully painted with soft lines and curves of lilac, white and black on thin silk to give it a fluttering effect, placed gently on her nose and tied back around her head with a black, silk ribbon. The butterfly's body in the center, along with the ridges of her eyes and the wings, were tinted gold, further bringing out the color in her pale hazel eyes, almost giving them a yellowing effect. Her dress, sleeveless with long lilac gloves, matched the soft colour of her lilac dress, the edges of the frills, right on the waist and along the bottom of the dress that flared out at her hips were white, creating swooping designs that almost resembled fluttering wings; her waist was tied back with a black corset, if only to give her some sort of shape. Her coppery hair, brushed out and thankfully not as frizzy as it normally was, was pulled back halfway and curled, soft ringlets draped over her pale shoulders and down her back, her eyes circled with a brown eye pencil and her face dusted with white powder, giving her a somewhat ethereal look, one that could not be accomplished without the air that she gave off. Aveline exuded confidence, even somewhat of a powerful aura that she was sure the other chorus girls could feel...it was why they kept away from her mostly. She could be scary when she wanted to, that was certain.

Aveline looked around, blankly gazing at the other guests as she darted in between the various patrons, moving silently and swiftly as she snaked around, her rouge painted lips, pulled thin as she watched the merry making, and...the very, very many drunks. Finally, her eyes did fall upon a familiar face. Christine Daae...her eyes narrowed to slits when she saw her...how very pretty she was tonight. Then again, she was always pretty...and surprisingly talented. Aveline could recall a time when Christine could barely even squawk out a note, and now she was the new prima donna? Something didn't feel right about it...then again...she hated Christine. Her beauty, her talent...that damned perfect voice of hers...who was that with her? It was definitely not the Viscount; yes, she'd at least caught that much daily gossip from the others. He was too tall...imposing almost...whoever he was, he was certainly interesting...even more so to dress up as the Red Death of Edgar Allen Poe. Very creative...the outfit was stunning, that was certain...she found herself moving hesitantly, slowly over to where they were, careful enough not to get close, but close enough to watch, quietly.