User:Dancin4evah/Sandbox

MINE, YOU NO TOUCHY!!!

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Name: Taevya Svetlana Bystro

Gender: Female

Current Age: WIP

Godly Parent: (1) Hermes    (2) Apate    (3) Eris

Mortel Parent: Johanna Bystro

Appearance: Sierra McCormick

Personality: Due to her rather shadowy past, Taevya is very cold to anyone she doesn't know quite well; answering kind and innocent questions rudely and bluntly. She is like an ice cube almost always, rigid and cold. She is very impatient and very stubborn, often going to extreme means to get her way. She is also quite pessimistic, and is almost always unsocial, hiding in the shadows and seemingly brooding. She has a short temper, and can flare up at any time; lashing out at any near enough to hear.

Taevya is also shy and quiet, fleeing a conversation, even a shallow one, rather than engaging in one. She is actually quite thoughtful, although she doesn't' look it. When she talks, it will be something, in her point of view, worth saying. If it isn't worth saying, then she doesn't say it at all. She doesn't have very good social skills, and when she gets nervous, she stutters or mumbles instead of speaking up. Once you get her out of her ice cube, it will start to melt, and she is much more open and kind -- more receptive to people who reach out to her. Also, if you know her well enough, you will find her bossy and snappish.

History: My mother, Johanna Bystro, well ... let's just say she wasn't the most upstanding citizen of Russia. In fact, she was a pickpocket, and a very successful one at that. See, Johanna had been orphaned at the age of fourteen, and instead of going to an orphanage, she lived on the streets, making a living (as meager as it was) as a pickpocket and beggar. She did odd jobs for random wealthier citizens, but she neve had enough to settle down and move into a house. But let's get on to how I was born.

My mother had picked a target to snatch a wallet, or perhaps a sack of groceries from when he was putting them in his car. The target had been, well, Hermes. You don't just steal a wallet from the god of thieves. Anyway, my mother got caught, of course, and she was afraid he'd take her to the police, who I'm sure wanted her thrown into the Russian jail. Johanna, afraid of the man and what he would do to her, (namely turn her in to the Russian police, even if she did think he was rather nice-looking), and tried to sly-talk him out of it.

Hermes was very amused and quieted her, then invited her out for a drink. Obviously, he found her attractive, though she was merely a thief and a beggar. Johanna accepted, extremely suspicious at first, but she gradually warmed up to him enough to go to his house when he requested that she come to his house. In Johanna's eyes, his house was like a mansion, and she was amazed that he had taken interest to her. She spent the night with him, and the next morning, a bit embarrassed of what she'd done with someone who was practically stranger, slipped away, never to see the handsome man again.

She was rather angry with Hermes when she found out she was pregnant, not only because she was, but because she had nothing to take care of me when I was born, and no experience what so ever. So, as soon as I was born, she dumped me in a Russian orphanage and fled, leaving in a place I would soon know as my only home.

Well, that orphanage was pretty much the definition of hell for me during the early years of my life. There was filth everywhere, misbehaving children strapped to their beds when they misbehaved, and babies screaming -- something I could not escape. I was strapped to my bed a few times when I misbehaved, mostly for the times my short temper got the best of me, and I lashed at those who taunted me. It was no different from the other children, they were all eased just as much, but they knew how to contain their tempers, and it took me a long time to learn how to do that. I would have run away, but there was nothing for me out there on the streets, in Zelenograd, Russia. I was too young to be hired as a servant or a baby-sitter, and too sullen and quiet to be adopted by any who came.

The caretakers in the orphanage were all right, I suppose. As long as you did nothing to anger them, they'd pretty much leave you alone. All except one particularily old and grouchy caretaker was really annoying, and as long as I stayed out of sight I avoided her irritation with the world, which she took out on the kids.

Most of the tme, children do not make friends in orphanages, and I was no exception. That was probably a bad thing, because those who did make friend became like gangs, and beat up younger children and demanding them to give them the food they so greatly coveted. The littler child always complied, of course, and the gangs got what they wanted. When the meanies wanted my food, I would fight back, and sometimes even fight them physically. of course, they always won, because it was usually close to three against one.

Well, by the time I was twelve, I was determined that I could live alone in the streets without too much trouble, and I ran away from the orphanage (to tell you the truth, it wasn't very hard). A small gang of beggars and pickpockets, consisting of about two girls and three boys, all about one to four years older than me, immediately confronted me and tried to get me to give them money, which I didn't have. When they were getting a little bold, searching me and asking questions, I in a fit of what I thought was self-preservation at the time -- I told them I wanted to join their little group, and i would make them money. In return, they would provide a roof over my head and relative protection. They reluctantly assented to this suggestion, and I lived as a beggar and pickpocket for a while.

I learned all the tricks of the beggar's trade from my group, and since i was a child of Hermes, the god of thieves, I made a pretty good pickpocket, lifting an innocent passerby's (who had been carefully chosen by our group before hand) wallet without being caught. Sometimes, when we decided to beg, which mostly happened on bad days, I was useful because I was small for my age, and could pretend to look helpless and pitiful - something I refined over my time with my small huddles of who I could now call friends.

When I turned thirteen; that's when all the trouble started. I'd been walking back to our hidey-hole after a successful