LEBEDEV, valeriya

[valeriyalebedev]

valeriya lebedev

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“A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.”[/center]



NAME:[/color] Valeriya Lebedev

APPARENT AGE:[/color] around twenty

REAL AGE:[/color] twenty-two

GENDER:[/color] female

SEXUALITY:[/color] hetrosexual

RACE:[/color] human | freak

SIDE:[/color] Valeriya tries to stay out of the politics that surround the circus. She's only there to get her job done, get paid and keep in work.

CANON OR ORIGINAL:[/color] original character

i'm creeping my way out
so you can see me

HAIR:[/color] Valeriya's hair is dark brown and around shoulder length. It is thin and falls in uneven wisps. Valeriya's hair is normally tightly twisted into a bun on the top of her head.

EYES:[/color] Valeriya's eyes are simply put brown. When looking closer Valeriya's eyes are a lighter brown, with flecks of gold thrown into their optical pools. The light brown is surrounded by rings of brown so dark it's almost black.

HEIGHT:[/color] five feet four inches

BUILD:[/color] Even though Valeriya is made to flip in the air with out any muscle tone, she has worked hard to gain it. She has pushed herself further then necessary to gain it so that her act would be more then perfection. While Valeriya is small she is thick and toned because of hours of working out.

DISTINGUISHED BY:[/color] Valeriya is not distinguished by how she looks but rather how she acts. The egotistical, cold hearted aura that this woman has wrapped herself in proceeds her.

PREFERRED PLAYBY:[/color] Polina Semionova

FULL DESCRIPTION:[/color]
The first thing people notice about Valeriya is her size. She is small, but extremely fit. The second thing people notice is her facial expression. Valeriya constantly has a grimace on her face. Her thin eyebrows are almost always pressed together in a frustrated way. Her thin pink lips are normally pressed together into a little frown. She wears this face unknowingly. It just naturally happens. Off-stage Valeriya looks small, she holds her shoulders slumped down, and her arms are normally twisted in front of her.

She can constantly be found wearing practice clothes. Normally they are muted colored spandex shorts and tight shirts. when not in practice clothes she wears loose dresses that float away from her body. While she dresses in light colors and wears such arterial clothes people think nothing angelic about her.

When she is on stage Valeriya's physical appearance is completely different. Her face is relaxed from it's constant look of frustration. Her thin lips are painted full and red; a true smile pasted across her features. Her clothes are tight fitting and brightly colored, somehow reminiscent of a Vegas Show girl. On stage she is all glitz and glam. She is extremely graceful, appearing larger than life -- until you set her next to one of the men who hold her bar. On stage she looks like an angel of desire.

i'm crawling my way
round a thousand cities

PERSONALITY:[/color]
To other members of the circus Valeriya may seem overly focused, cold, quick tempered, and like just another stuck up acrobat. And Valeriya will agree openly with anyone who confronts her about her snotty nature. She likes to be viewed that way. She takes pride in her lack of people skills and her addiction to perfection. She speaks with a thick Russian accent that she has never tried to hide, and she curses and insults most people in Russian. Never letting anyone forget that she is from a family of circus performers, and never letting them forget that she grew up living this. These facts add another layer to the egotistical vibe that she has rolled herself into while working with this circus. That is of course the circus act.

She does remember how she was back in Russia. She was constantly being scolded for talking to much, laughing to loud, flirting to much off stage. The natural things that young adults did. Not anymore. Even with her bar holders Valeriya is slightly standoff-ish. She cannot help it even with the men she must trust with her life Val cannot seem to completely let them help her.

However there are moments when the old Valeriya pokes through the new Valeriya. Times when she's drunk, times when she's acting stupid, times when she's coming out of the ring on an audience high, times she's being shunned out of the ring, times when she just need to release all of the tension that has built up. That's when she gets funny. She is openly sarcastic and extremely sassy. During times like that she flirts and lets down her guard. She laughs obnoxiously and lays over people, acting like a friend would, giving advice. That's the Val that hides beneath the cracks, the monster that comes out when she can't hold it together.

Holding it together is another thing that dictates reactions and personality shifts. Control is a major issue for this acrobat. Not only does she need and crave it, Valeriya survives on her control. She has control of her body, she has control of when she leaves the ground, she has control of watch tricks she pulls. The unpredictability of her life style nearly kills her every night. She cannot control where she will land, she cannot control how she will land, she cannot control who will catch her. Every single time she flips up off the bar her life is offically being threatened. If the bar men move, if she looses a trick, if she lands on the bar-- she could be dead. That fact drives Valeriya insane.

Then there is always the freak. Having a body that mimics rubber is truly a gift to any acrobat... Wether Valeriya wants this gift or not is a completely separate thing. She keeps it hidden most of the time, since it is easy to keep away from the world. That is unless someone hits you to hard, attempts to kill you, or starts to question why you are able to do such amazing acrobatic tricks.

Valeriya's only escape is her dreams. She can privately put away seal herself up. Tuck herself away from all the noise, the screaming circus kids, the yelling from trailer to trailer, the music acts practicing-- and just dream. Dream without sleeping. Think about becoming a ballerina, think about having a house, think about getting married. Dream about the things she won't have. Then she dreams about the reachable dreams. Becoming a main act, getting better at flying, things of that nature.


GOALS:[/color] Valerriya wants me bring the Lebedev circus family name out of Russia; that is her main motivation for leaving her family. She also wants to find something. Not a what or a who, not a person or a missing link, a something. What that something is-- she really is not sure yet. Another major motivation is to further her acrobatic education.

FEARS:[/color] When asked what scares her Val usually snaps that nothing scares her. That can't possibly be true, and it isn't. Valeriya's biggest fear is heights. Everything single time she mounts the bar, or stands on the platform her heart literally drops into her toes and stops beating. A close second fear is falling, which is rational for someone who spends most of the time soaring through the air. Irrationally she is scared of crickets and small dogs.

LIKES:[/color] Valeriya likes performing. Her world is as simple as that. Get better is burned into her brain. She also loves her culture and her background. She always stays with her strict Russian roots and is not open to change. She also likes true circus people. Valeriya is a tenth generation circus person and she likes to meet others who are old blood in the circus; though it's getting harder to meet old blood while working at Cirque Du Freak.

DISLIKES:[/color] Valeriya hates people who are not dedicated. She is here to further herself in the world of performing and others who are here to play around annoy her. She also tends to steer clear of those who aren't part of the show. Valeriya isn't trying to meet anyone who is going to get her taken out of the show or who is going to distract her. Besides the show Valeriya hates people who pry and people who question authority.

you all stop and stare
i don't need your pity

TITLE:[/color] n/a

JOB:[/color] Acrobat | The Russian Barre

DATE OF CHANGE:[/color] n/a

ABILITIES:[/color] Valeriya is an amazing acrobat. She can perform tricks that will take your breath away. Since her body has bones like rubber is easy to understand why she is so good. Her specialty is the Russian Barre, though she excels in all acrobatics.

i'm living my life in this hell

COMMON KNOWLEDGE:[/color]
Everyone knows that Valeriya is extremely devoted to her craft. She is known for being the Ice Queen, and not much else. People do also know that if you catch her off guard (or drunk) she becomes a completely different person.

SECRETS:[/color]Not many people know that her body mimics rubber. People also don't know much about her in general. They don't know about the family she left back in Russia, they don't know about her failed happily ever after, they don't know about her need for people to admire her.

HABITS:[/color] Valeriya has a bad habit of speaking in broken English around her fellow performers. She also doesn't stand still often, she sways back and forth and twist her hands around. If she has things in her hands she pulls it apart or twirls it around.

STRENGTHS:[/color]Valeriya is good at staying walled in. She can tuck away her emotions and forget about everything. She is also very good at her job and always pushing herself forward.

WEAKNESSES:[/color]Valeriya mainly struggles with her control issues. She must be in control at all times, and she cannot deal with the feeling of being out of control. She is also cannot deal with people taking pity on her. She doesn't want pity and she doesn't know what to do when people feel that way for her.

now i'm crawling away
cause the stress has killed me

PARENTS:[/color] Dominika her mother who taught her the Barre and her father Anton who was a strong man who held the bar for her mother.

SIBLINGS:[/color] Valeriya has no siblings

RELATIONSHIPS:[/color] Henry, a past relationship that does not have to show up in this roleplay.

HISTORY:[/color]
]Valeriya was born, as her parents tell it, outside the ring in Moscow. Between the jugglers and the lion tamer. Of course the couldn't be true. Mom couldn't be flying with a huge stomach, but she liked the way that her parents made sure that she knew that circus was in her blood. Her mother was Dominika Lebedev an eight generation circus acrobat who had been the main act before getting pregnant. Her father was Anton the circus's strong man and for a ten generation circus family.

She started performing in the circus when she was four years old. Gymnastics had been her first act. She was twirled by the bigger kids and adults, and she was always the top of the pyramid. The beginning of her addiction with the ring started here and the joy of performing swelled with every rush of applause. She wasn't the most important, and she wasn't the best tumbler, but she wanted to get better. That was before the circus was work, before the reality of a job set in.

When she was ten years old Valeriya was started on the bar. Of course she wanted to do something more glamorous. At the time the trapeze act was the main act. Her mother and father's bar act was near the beginning, and while it grabbed attention it didn't get the response from the audience that the trapeze act got. By mom would not hear of that. The women of her past had always done the Russian Barre and her daughter would do the Barre too. Valeriya could not get the bar at first, but to learn trapeze she needed to master the bar. It confused and frustrated her. The way that the steel metal bar was solid under her feet and like a trampoline at the same time made it hard to master. Valeriya was so used to just being flung around and twisted in the air, having to rely on her own strength and her own momentum was something new for this young girl.

In two short years Valeriya's mother felt like she was ready for her first performance. She ate the dirt the first night. In the middle of a back flip she lost her focus. Her eyes went some where else, her mind escaped her, she lost her trick. Her legs untucked and broke into a messy split. Her left leg smacked the pole and her arms sprawled as she tried desperately to grab on to anything to keep her from the ground. The pole bowed under the sudden impact then sprang up sending Valeriya into another flip. Her cheek then shoulder hit the ground, followed by the rest of her body. She laid there. She couldn't get up, the breath knocked out of her and her heart beat pounding in her face. After what seemed like years she felt her father picking her up and carrying her backstage. She was left crumpled in the corner until the end of the show. She'd broken her cheekbone and bruised her ribs.

For that time on she was terrified of falling, and she swore she would never get up on that bar again. Of course her mother had a different idea, and her father had no room to speak against in. In the eyes of the circus she had been saved, she could have died coming off the bar, but instead she only had a broken bone some bruising and a hurt confidence. For a year she stayed out of the ring. She stuck around the trailer, didn't practice, didn't even set foot in the big top. Then suddenly she began to crave it again. All of her friends were now to busy to play with Act work and shows. She needed to be in that life again.

When she approached her mother about reentering an act it became clear that it was the bar or nothing. And because she needed it, she needed something. So Valeriya tucked herself away for the first time. She threw away her true self and became what her family wanted and needed. She learned to twist and flip and spin twenty feet above a five inch bar held by two constantly moving men. She worked her way to main act by the time she was sixteen. Her mind focused only on success and pleasing her family. And she was happy, if only for the money she was bringing in. She liked having the responsibility, she liked carrying the show, she liked knowing that people looked up to her.

Her second year as a main act it became clear that the circuses in Russia were dying, and that her seemingly hereditary circus skills would die with her. Halfway through that season their circus died, in a town a few miles from Moscow. They were left on the train tracks for circus's to pick over their dying carcass. Her mother was past her bar years, and her father was not able to do the strong man act anymore. She was the only one left, officially the only one. Instead of waiting to get picked up she and her family went to Moscow.

She tried to work a regular job after the season came to an abrupt end. She tried so hard. But after so many years of her lift had been devoted to threatening her life while dressed like a show girl it was impossible to only sell flowers. She couldn't get into the swing of real life. She was so different from the other seventeen year old girls. They talked about marriage, or they were married, they complained about things that seemed alien to her like dances and gossip. Around this time was when she saw the ballerinas. They were the picture of perfection to a girl who had lived an amped up mockery of their lives. They were slim, they were graceful, they had no flaws, they weren't infected. She knew she could never be one, she wasn't chosen when she was still in her developmental stage, she wasn't picked. Now it is irrational to think that she could have been picked, but in the back of her head she wanted so badly just to have been a prima ballerina.

On her eighteenth birthday another decision was made by her mother. She was leaving Russia to join another circus. At first Valeriya was again confused and frustrated. She did not want to leave Russia, she did not want to leave all she had ever known. And yet she found herself on a boat moving across the ocean. Her family had set up for her to be picked up by a circus as soon as she stepped off the ship. She followed the plan, becoming the main act of a small circus. She followed the plan until she met Henry, one of her bar men, and fell in love. Love is not the right term to use. She fell into emotions. She'd never been free to express emotions and now she was running wild as her own act. The strict devotion she had, had in Russia lapsed and henry convinced her to run away with him and start their own show. Something small that would make enough money.

Before they even saw the season out Henry and Valeriya ran away from the circus. And away from the circus, living on your own, living from skimpy pay check to smaller pay check, living in the big city, living with a man she knew nothing about... Valeriya's idea of a happily ever after wasn't the picture. But she was willing to work with it. She was willing to try. Try until he ran away from her. Ran because she had changed, run because he didn't love her any more.

That's when Valeriya ran back to the circus. She tucked herself away again, pulling on the tricks from her past. She worked hard again, threw herself into it, worked and worked. This time she swore to stick to the plan, to send money home, to live traditionally instead of frivolously, to trust no one, and to not give anyone any reason to suspect she was weak.

She lived out two seasons with that circus then signed on with Cirque Du Freak after the owner found out about her special talents after seeing a thief try to stab her. She needed this to work. She needed to find her way again, and she needed the addictive pleasure of success.

i feel like i fell
from a ten-story building

NAME/NICKNAME:[/color] Historian

AGE:[/color] I'm eighteen

EXPERIENCE:[/color] I've been roleplaying for like seven-ish years

OTHER CHARACTERS:[/color] nope

TIME ZONE:[/color] Eastern Standard Time

RP SAMPLE: [/color]The day had been pretty boring, fluttering between friends’ houses and different beds. Between these happy happenstance where the OC’s golden boy graced you with his presence, said golden boy got a phone call. It was from Lyuns Inc., a personal invitation to the opening of the Mufasa line. So standing there, dressed in a simple tee shirt and jeans, Gaston could only say yes. He normally would have turned down the company opening—but you do not say no to the Lyun family, they were the real royalty of the OC. His night was already booked between three parties, and a few impromptu drop ins with a few people who thought they could claim the title of, “Gaston’s lover.”

He did not bothering calling them to announce he would not be attending each of their petty parties, and he did not bother to even text the few people he was going to drop in on. No, Gaston assumed that since this company opening would be known though out the city soon enough that everyone who knew him—even just met him for a moment—would know that he would be invited to the opening and would not be in attendance at their party. So his phone clicked shut, and was slid back into his pocket. He was still standing stock still in the middle of a sidewalk, people passing keeping distance as if he would burn them if they accidently brushed up against him. Suddenly a goofy lopsided grin split Gaston’s stoic features, and with no warning at all he huge man turned on his heel and began to run.

His arms pumped at his sides, and his lunges pushed air in and out of his body, this forced heart beats and blood flow—but his mind was not working so easily. Jumping from thought to thought--- should he bring someone? Was he expected to bring someone? What should he wear? What should he do with his hair? Warm colors or cold? Should he be early? Should he be late? Was wine an acceptable gift? Were you even supposed to bring a gift to company openings? He was running and thinking, his breaths coming out in heaved sighs. He began to sweat as his run kept on, large grey stains growing under his arms and across his back. His tan skin was becoming an even blush color as he ran on, and his feet were creating a rhythmic beat against the pavement. As he went he pushed people out of his way, not stopping to here the threats yelled after him and not pausing before hand to mutter a simple “excuse me.” Oh no no, Gaston did not have time for things like that. He only refrained from this run once, and that was to pull the now soggy sweaty tee shirt off of himself. So once more Gaston found himself standing still in the middle of a sidewalk. His was breathing heavily, and his whole body was thumping along with his heart. The grease he had slopped into his hair that morning was running down his pink cheeks, and he was forced to squint to keep the stinging mixture of sweat and grease out of his eyes. Yet even when a man should look gross and disgusting, as Gaston began to tug the thin layer of cloth off of his perfect sculpted body sudden awkward giggles erupted around him; heels clacked slower along the pavement to watch him strip; and women rushed away in embarrassment as their faces turned red. To this explosion of sound Gaston offered the world a wide smile, and a few nods towards the women who ventured closer to him. He appreciated the attention, he really did. As their eyes outlined the shape of his bulging muscles, Gaston pulled himself up straighter. As they drew nearer to gaze more intently, he puffed out his already large chest. And as a few women drew the courage to actually speak to his god-like creature, Gaston threw himself forward into his long gated run. The trick with women—he knew—was to always remain an untouchable to them. He must always be their fantasy. They could talk to him, ask for his number, go out on a date with him… But then he would be reachable; he would not be some far of distance hope for the future. He would just be another boy that would eventual show them the night of their lives, ending in a mind blowing fuck. He would be the face that, that woman plastered onto every one nightstand and failure boyfriend. Honestly Gaston was not the type that you forgot about—he was the one you longed for with out really needing.

He was still running when he reached his apartment, stripped down to only his jeans, his sweat-logged shirt long forgotten. It was most likely being prodded by some kid with a stick, or being picked up by a homeless person. Gaston really did not care where it was—at this point in time he could not even remember why he had worn a shirt in the first place, the sun warming his already bronzed shoulders and back. He kept up his jog outside the elevator door, but stopped when he noticed it was coming down from the 30th floor. So he just stood, all eyes on the spandex clad women who were exiting the ground floor gym. It only took a minute for him to quickly change his gaze, because men dressed to match the preceding women were tumbling out of the huge glass doors as well, and as much as he wanted to look Gaston could not let himself slip back for a second. Luckily the elevator bell pinged gently and saved him from further torment.

Fifty-six floors up and Gaston was home. His very own bachelor pad, everything his decked out just the way every bachelor would want it. Large circular rotating bed, huge TV, deck with a hot tub, bar—everything except the disco ball. Gaston did really want a disco ball that lowered out of the ceiling—but he wasn’t sure how that would go over with some of his friends so a few strobe lights and huge stereo system sufficed.

As you can imagine, Gaston’s pad was extremely large—in actuality he was the only person on this floor and the two other suites that shared the fifty-sixth floor belong to him—and at times his friends. It took our boy five minutes to pace to the back of the apartment, into his bedroom. He resisted the sudden urge to throw himself onto the round silk covered bed and forced his feet further into the room. He stopped a large white door and threw it open. It looked like a cave, shadowy shapes sharply sticking out from every angle making the room look like it wanted to eat you up. Gaston hastily stepped inside, being the smartie that he was the man had installed a clapper, and with two loud claps—the walk in closet was illuminated.

Gaston instantly started grabbing everything in sight, stripped button downs, J. Crew pull over’s, polos, silk shirts. With a new determination he bent and began to pull out drawers, rifling through slacks and jeans. Then it hit him—a company opening meant suit. Automatically Gaston dropped everything that had been collecting in his arms and moved deeper into his closet.

He stood, tight line pressed into his lips as he examined the plastic covered suits. He had narrowed it down to these five, and was now staring at two. They were identical minus the lining—which apparently is a big deal. Gaston himself was standing there naked, wet hair dripping down his well defined cheek bones then sliding down his body and to the ground. His fingers were tapping lightly against his six pack, as his mind drummed away at pros and cons of coloring. Finally, his body fully dry now, he slipped on a white shirt, and then the jacket with blood red lining. He did tuck in the shirttail, but he purposely did not button the top—not wanting to look to put together. Then he slid his sock feet into deep red leather shoes and walked out of the apartment. He was fixing his hair, staring intently into the elevator door when he remembered a gift. His perfectly down turned lips pursed together as he gave one last tussle to his ungreased just dry hair. The elevator pinged and he stepped inside, mind turning over a good type of wine to bring to a company opening.

Twenty minutes later he was having his limo pull over at this hole in the wall liquor store. He did not exactly like being associated with the place, but it housed some of his favorite party starters. As he stepped in a thick musty smell hit him—and though he scrunched his face up like he didn’t appreciate his nose being assaulted so violently Gaston loved the smell. Face still forced into a disapproving mask, Gaston nodded to the man commonly known as Jacob. Unlike the other regulars the naturally friendly man did not offer any greeting, he only nodded back with a forced smile. Gaston—on a mission did not notice the distaste pointed towards him and only slunk back to the wine section. His fingers traced along familiar labels, tickled with the contours of the imprinted shapes and the soft feeling of wax. Finally his eyes his eyes caught on the bottle he was searching for, the black and white label jumping out at him from the other bottles. His fingers hastily grabbed it up, quickly swiping the dust off of the rest of the bottle. “Screaming Eagle.” He was speaking softly to himself, his eyes traveling up and down the bottle as he spun it in his large hands. He smiled to himself, thinking of the bottle that had sat in his parents cellar for years before they drank it—he remembered his first taste of the strong full bodied wine. Involuntarily his tongue slid over his lips at the memory before he turned to make his way to the register. That’s when he caught sight of another thing he wanted.

Something that resembled a smirk passed across his features as he stalked up to her. A few steps away he broke the heavy silence that always set itself into liquor stores. “Belle,” his greeting followed with a big grin, in an attempt to play nice, “shopping for a party?” His large brown eyes fell first to her chest, then to her bare legs—then lastly her face. He held her gaze, his own eyes unnaturally bright with his grinning lips. [/blockquote]