20 years old. ¾ human, ¼ something like Elf. Tall, slender. Hair like fire with curls to match (tamed with an industrial-strength straightening iron). Bright eyes, bright smile.
She’s got a taste for life, for bright things, for energy.
She likes, she adores, she loves, indiscriminately. She even loves her enemies, if there’s a hint of humanity in them.
She moves to live, lives to move, and the line in between is blurring more and more all the time.
She’s been addicted to music--rhythm--from the beginning. There’s no cure, and the withdrawal is a hell that ends in death.
And yet, it defines who she is. The addiction doesn’t harm. It creates. It cultivates. It’s made her more her than anything else--her parents, her history, her body--has. Sure, the 12-hour time limit is a little stressful. But that’s what iPods are for.
She bounced off the walls before she could walk. Her parents started with karate. (she hated that.) Then came gymnastics. She loved that. Then came ballet, aikido, irish dance, acrobatics, and capoeira.
That was it.
Aerial silks and parkour came years afterwards, and those stuck, too, but capoeira wormed under her skin and seeped into her bloodstream. She played the game in her sleep, hummed the rhythm under her breath, and still echos the ginga in her own heart.
Capoeira shapes her life.
She never had the patience for educaton. She barely made honor roll, and then only by the mercy of her parents' endless patience.
One subject, though, captured her attention from the start:
She was drawn to them as a fly to honey. She devoured all the lessons she could get her hands on; she’s about as tuneful as a howler monkey, but language is the one (metaphorical) song she can sing.
She's now fluent in Latin, proficient in Italian, and studying Anglo-Saxon on a whim.
Her own personal history is neither long nor complicated. Born Adila Kiebrie--no middle name--to Linarien Gesine and Charlie Kiebrie on May 17th, she has traveled with her parents from world to world, assisted by her many adopted aunts and uncles, since she can remember. Her brother joined her, and then her sister, three and six years later. Her parents never ceased their missionary work--at least, not until she requested they settle down so she could study Latin properly.
They stayed in one place for three years--long enough for her to graduate from high school--and then she decided to live a less nomadic life style and went to Heather Sky. Her family continues to travel--both of her siblings are content to world-hop every few months--and she keeps in touch with them through letters while creating a life for herself at Heather Sky.
Her parents’ history, and that of her many aunts and uncles, is the complicated story. It is as much hers, and the rest of Reality’s, as it is theirs. She will tell it, when asked, but the perceived truths contained in the story may not sit well with the world view of some.
Besides, it is a long story, and she is no story teller.
Her biological family is countless distances away, beyond this Plane and many others, but she finds brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews in the people around her all the same.
Her little apartment on the 18th floor is shared by her cousin-slash-ward Eirny, and by proxy the stray cats, dogs and people Eirny brings home with her. Her workplace—a deceptively little-big music store by the name of Music Millenium—attracts the sort of people she describes as ‘baffling and completely wonderful’, many of whom find comfort in the wood-walled shop that smells like coffee and music. It’s a home.
Anywhere she goes usually turns out to be a home. Or it used to. But Adila thinks that maybe, perhaps, Heather Sky might be the right one.