Emma was born in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne on August 1, 1978 to a modest family. Her parents had grown up in relative poverty, and wanted better for their children. They emphasized education as the most important aspect of her life. Through education, all things were possible. For the first 13 years of her life, Emma obeyed without question. She was quiet, studious, and not given to the mischievousness of her peers.

The summer of her 14th year, however, everything changed. It was as though with the awakening of her hormones, she realized she had been sat behind a book and was missing out on all of the socializing. She openly rebelled. Studying was cast aside in favor of hanging round on Northumberland Street with her sudden pack of friends. She took on a leadership role within the crew, mainly because as she began to blossom, she took on a stunning austerity. Her body was developing into that of a comely woman, her face flawless, with aquamarine eyes that never lost their intellect. It privately amused her that she knew she had been made to lead the pack based on a superficial misconception that because she was pretty, she must be the best. She was the best, but it wasn’t her breasts, or hips, or face that made her so. It was her instinct and intelligence that made it easy to lead the others into doing her bidding.

Her parents were completely powerless to stop the streak in her that was becoming more and more dominant. Power given to her by her peers made her even more rebellious, challenging authority at every given turn.

By the time she was 18, she had transformed completely. Gone was the little girl in the middy blouse with her nose in a book. Here now stood a girl, 1.75 metres, 7 ½ stone, with long legs, a captivating smile, and a gamine personality. She had a clique of friends, who rallied about her, boys and girls, and she felt safe and secure. At any rate, she was absolutely fearless.

She wasn’t entirely without heart, however, and acquiesced to her parents wishes that she go to university. Her parents implored her to go to University outside of Newcastle, even though Newcastle University was a first rate institution. They were afraid her studies would suffer further if left in the town where all of her “mindless minions” as her father liked to call them, would distract her from getting her degree. She refused to leave Newcastle, but she did promise her parents that she would complete her education.

She did. She received her Bsc. in 3 years from Newcastle University, curtailing her social habits so as not to completely shatter her parents. Weekends she held court, leading her friends around the town, seeing concerts at MetroRadio Centre, shopping or socializing at Eldon Garden, or going to Collingwood Street for a round of drinks at the pub.

Her parents were sufficiently pleased with her performance at University to offer her a once in a lifetime opportunity of a holiday wherever she wanted to go. She was delighted with the turn of events, and took a considerable amount of time deciding where she wanted to go. After two weeks of researching everything from Gibraltar to Ibiza to America, she decided. She going to Las Vegas, Baby. Her parents were fairly stunned. They didn’t really expect she would go far outside the British Isles, and now she wanted to go 6,000 miles away, to a city they were certain would corrupt her even further. They stuck to the bargain, though, and found a decent excursion fare, 14 days, and had her stay at a place called The Excalibur Hotel. Emma thought that was exceedingly amusing, having to stay in a pseudo-English hotel.

The night before Emma left, she gathered her friends around, and decided to have one last go at the town before she knocked off for the two weeks. They caught a Manic Street Preachers concert, knocked back about 6 pints, and prepared for her adventure in America.

To be continued…

(sorry it's a little wordy - this creature was one of my first LARP characters, so it's a bit windy. apologies)

Never apologize for fleshing out a character.

Seems like a great character based on actual personality traits as opposed to powers and clan. Always great to see.

Welcome Emma!

The morning Emma left for America, she was alight with anticipation. She still couldn’t believe that her parents made good on their promise, especially when she had told them where she wanted to go for her holiday. At the airport, among countless admonitions regarding her safety, she finally extricated herself from her parents, and with a smile back at them as she went through the security gate, left for her grand adventure. For a moment, her eyes lingered on them, as they walked away from the gate, and a feeling of apprehension came over her, but then she dismissed it out of hand as nerves – after all, she was travelling six thousand miles from home. Later, when all was said and done, and she was on her new path, not chosen for her, she wondered if it was some kind of premonition.

After a long and harrowing 10 hour flight, with children wailing, and gross amounts of turbulence, her plane finally landed at McCarran International Airport. Emma found that she was as jittery as a priest in a whorehouse. 10 hours in a metal tube whizzing by the world at 900 kilometres per hour had offended her sensibilities, and she couldn’t wait to take a breath of fresh air and stretch her body.

Presently, a taxi whisked her off to her new home for the next fortnight. When she came upon the site of “The Strip”, her heart leapt into her throat. Thousands of lights dancing for her own benefit, it was a sensory overload that she wanted to savor.

Her enthusiasm quelled somewhat as the taxi pulled into the front of her hotel, “The Excalibur”. She didn’t know whether to be amused or offended by this tacky representation of a castle, or the horrid mannequin depicting the famous Arthurian Druid, Merlin, welcoming all. “Tacky, tacky, tacky”, she thought, as she made her way to the registration queue, looking around at all the lights of the casino, and the people wandering around. She imagined she could smell an overpowering sense of despair and forced merriment. She made a note that, although she intended to spend time in the casino, she wasn’t going to lose her head about the gambling. Otherwise, it would prove to be a miserable trip.

Over the next few nights, she wandered around the city, walked miles up and down The Strip, and took in the sights. She laughed at the hyper-sexy pirate show at the Treasure Island, stood in somewhat bored silence as the Volcano spewed at the Mirage, and thoroughly enjoyed the Water and Music show at The Bellagio. She wandered downtown and partook of the “Fremont Street Experience”, all the while thinking it was the perfect place for a pickpocket, because everyone’s attention was diverted to the sky for 15 minutes.

The place she enjoyed most of all, however, was a bar 64 floors above the city, in the Mandalay Bay Hotel. It was called “The Mix” and it gave her an amazing light show every evening. It also was packed with other twenty-somethings, most of them on holiday and on the make, looking for a happy little fling that no one would ever know about. After 6 days, she was ready for her own fling.

It was almost as though she had conjured him up. While most of the men that chatted her up were boorish drunks with absolutely no tact, there was one who stood out. He was older, at least 35, and although he wasn’t exactly handsome, there was a feral beauty that drew her eyes to him again and again. While other men came up to her time and time again, he stood back, but she could always sense that he was looking at her. She sensed he was waiting for the opportune moment to make his move, and she decided that he was what she wanted on her holiday, and orchestrated an opening for him to make it.

Excusing herself from the throng of fans she seemed to have collected, she went outside on the patio (a patio 64 floors up…this city was unbelievable) and lit a cigarette, a newfound hobby that she enjoyed. She stared out among the lights of the city, marveling at the electric beauty of it all. She suddenly sensed she was not alone.

What was said was unimportant, and out of the head as soon as it was said. She had a single minded purpose to enjoy this night, and this man who had caught her eye. Once he was up close she thought perhaps he might be older than she had originally assessed. Although physically he didn’t look a day over 35, his eyes belied an age and wisdom not concurrent with his physicality. And for a moment, she thought she might be a bit outmatched, although the comfort returned almost by sheer force of will. Hers or his, she wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t questioning, either.

His name was Matthew Crenshaw, and he professed to be an architect. He designed for this city, and then usually ran from it as far as he could when he was done with a project. He lived on the outskirts of a town called Summerlin, and spent a lot of time at a place called The Red Rocks.

Emma half-listened to this abbreviated courtship, so strong was her desire to have a little physical contact during her holiday. They spoke for hours, exchanging amusing anecdotes. The conversation was light and airy, no need for too many truisms when considering a one night stand. The fact that Emma was a virgin was of no consequence to her. Sexuality had always seemed something natural and when it happened, it happened. It wasn’t necessary for her to be in love, just in heat. And finally she was.

Toward the end of the night, as the conversation was winding down, she was working up her nerve to invite him back to her hotel room, when he suddenly leaned in, kissed her on the cheek, and excused himself. ‘It’s late’, he said, I should probably be off. Although I hope I will see you again.” Without another word, he was gone. When Emma’s head stopped reeling, she slowly made her way back to her hotel room, and suddenly she was more tired than she had ever been in her life. She barely had time to change into her pyjamas before she was out.

To be continued….