Grace (Marlowe) Bowen

[gracemarlowe]

Grace Bowen


PB: Emilie de Ravin

[/li][li]~My Name is Mikaela (Kaela in cbox)
[/li][li]~I am 25 years old.
[/li][li]~I found the site through a Firefly RP
[/li][li]~If you wish to talk to me, the best way to reach me is through PM
[/li][li]~I have been role playing for 10 years and I am a literate fan of description & detail

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~*Full Name: Grace (Marlowe) Bowen

~*Alias: Grace Bowen. Dr. Bowen

~*Age: Goes by 27. Technically 36, but hasn't physically aged past her early 20s.
~*Born: September, 1976

~*Race: Lycan

~*Gender: Female

~*Appearance: Grace is average in the sense that she stands at 5'6” and carries her weight on a slim, modestly curved and lightly toned physique. As a teen she enjoyed running track alongside general school sports like netball and tennis. Once she reached university though, she only managed to fit in regular jogging to maintain a trim and healthy figure. Since then, she still keeps fit by jogging every morning or evening, depending on her work schedule. As for her facial features; triangular brows accentuate wide and slightly hooded, almond shaped eyes fanned by a medium splay of lashes. The azure, baby blue hues can at times be piercing, but usually reflect her emotions before the expression appears elsewhere. She has her mother's straight nose and a widely set, pert pout. Yet the higher cheekbones, square chin and widely set jawbone, are inherited from her late father. Even though she swears by her twenty-seven years, she has an undeniably youthful quality about her that almost conflicts with her more mature personality.

Overall, Grace might be deemed 'pretty'. Her natural, light-blonde waves fall past her shoulders, but are more than often tied back into a ponytail or bun for work. Really, she's just the simple, girl-next-door. The type who will quite happily throw on a pair of sneakers, jeans and a t-shirt, and not fret about getting her hair wet or leaving the house without make-up. That's not to say she doesn't like more feminine things though, just like her soft, physical features reflect a more gentle and nurturing nature. Both her career and 'species' as it were, reflects and in some cases, dictates her often very busy, go-go lifestyle. Sometimes she is neat, while other times she is rushed off her feet and therefore messily arranged. It's easier to tell when the full moon is approaching though, as she'll be more disorganised in general.

In Lycan form, Grace retains some of her human features. The most prominent being her eyes, which remain a piercing, baby-blue. To reflect her fair features, her fur is a smoky mix of light grey speckled with tawny browns. Growing to stand just under six feet, even as a Lycan her physique is slim-lined and athletic as opposed to heavily muscular, which reflects her preference for agility and speed over brute force.

While the majority of her mental and physical scars have healed over time, the three, deep claw marks that turned her into what she is now, remains as a faint scar across the majority of her back.

~*Personality: Even after being 'turned' and facing a series of great ordeals, the secretive Grace has managed to atone for her past by preserving a gentle, honest and caring nature. She has matured despite her appearance, and her career generally requires a serious and focused outlook. The moon cycle can still dictate mood swings though, but if she does happen to lose her temper or her patience, she will apologise later once she's calmed down. She will always speak her mind though, and won't be forced into doing anything that she doesn't agree with. Of course, since turning, she has generally become more guarded of people, especially other wolves. She is very much a lone-wolf who would rather associate peacefully with humans than with her own species. These stubborn morals and ways of thinking might be considered radical or even treacherous to the pure-bloods, and so, she tries to distance herself entirely from both them and the war. Fortunately though, being a werewolf means she can more or less live her life the way it was intended, and being female means she was always accustomed to keeping track of the monthly calendar, only now with the added dangers of the full moon. It's a small price to pay for the ability to walk in the daylight, even if it does mean that her senses are heightened at the worst of times.

Consciously, Grace doesn't consider herself to be a danger to anyone, unless provoked. What happens when she turns is purely down to an animalistic nature that she can't really deny, unless she wishes to starve to death. She mostly has a blasé and almost scientific attitude towards hunting, in which she understands that she has to eat to live, just as humans feed on animals, and animals in turn will feed on the weak to survive. She does of course, prefer to hunt animals for flesh rather than humans, which is potentially why her lycan form is weaker compared those who fully embrace their nature. Obviously she can't always control what she does, especially on the full moon, so she's no stranger to waking up to circumstances she'd rather not be in.

If it wasn't for her ulterior life, Grace would just be an average young woman amongst many others living in the city. She keeps to herself mostly, and her line of work as a Doctor at St.Judes pays the bills while allowing her to maintain contact with humans in a professional manner. Regardless of her preference for humans, she still keeps them at bay outside her work hours. Being able to save humans lives on a daily basis evens the scales though, especially when they tip down too far. It definitely keeps thoughts of the past at bay, helping her sleep more peacefully at night.


~*History: Bridget Saunders had no idea what she was getting herself into when she fell for the ordinary James Marlowe. It was 1976, but the abnormally long and hot British summer brought forth a spontaneous love affair between the two, university students. One studying art and design, while the other focused on business and economics; their match seemed fruitlessly based on opposites attracting. But it wasn't fruitless; Bridget graduated with a swollen belly, and the baby shower gifts from family and friends seemed far more important than her actual diploma. Not exactly the way she'd planned to start her life as an educated woman, but James promised to take care of both her, and the new life she would bring forth into the world.

Grace Marlowe was born at the end of the summer heatwave, on a rainy day that finally broke the harsh drought. Over the next year, James worked hard to establish his own business in Bristol, while Bridget worked from home designing clothes for a business of her own. The young couple had high hopes and dreams, and a wedding ring sealed their fates together by spring. Fast forward eight years to 1984, and the not-so-happy couple were on the verge of their second separation. But it was James' escape to Scotland for two weeks, that changed everything. His 'business trip' was extended by an extra week, and when he finally came home, he was more aloof than ever. Packing his things, he made excuses about his marriage being a hopeless farce, and left both his wife and daughter with nothing but a letter and a cheque each month to cover the costs of raising a child. Divorce papers followed soon after, and Bridget re-claimed her maiden name. Grace too, became known as a 'Saunders', even if her birth certificate and passport still legally read 'Marlowe'.

The years that followed were a struggle that eased with the support of Bridget's parents, and an invisible ex-husband. Moving in with her parents in Oxfordshire, Bridget opened up her own shop in selling clothes both old and new, while Grace grew up with the ambition to pursue a career as a Doctor. The absence of a father-figure proved not to be a negative factor in her life, as she excelled in the sciences at school, and seemed to have a focused goal. The letters she received from her father became rarer and rarer until extinct altogether by the time she was 15. Her opinion of him lessened, and whereas deep down, she wanted to meet the man who'd abandoned her and her mother, she swore never to let that mar her future. So, with university fees supposedly covered by her grandparents 'rainy day' savings, Grace moved to the big city of London to start her six year, medical training course in 1994 at King's College - School of Medicine. Yet unknown to her, history was marked to repeat itself before the dawning of the new millennium. The dark and brooding Antoine Perrot, a French exchange student at the School of Humanities, crossed paths with the young medical student in her second year of study. Though she was adamant to get involved with anyone, he was equally keen to get to know her after their chance meeting. Once he had her name clarified, he asked to meet for dinner that night. She told him no, but it didn't matter. On her way home from a study night with friends the next evening, Grace was 'snatched' from the dark, London streets. By the time she was declared missing, it was already too late. People go missing in the capital city all the time; finding them can sometimes be like tracing a needle in a haystack. Such was the case for poor Gracie.

Waking up in a damp and cold basement with her hands tied at the back of a chair, and her mouth gagged, the 'exchange student' guarded over her from the doorway. Downstairs, she would hear hollow chatter from both male and female voices; some agitated enough to growl their words. “Why wait? Just kill her now and send him her teeth.” One voice would say, while another would semi-agree, but replace teeth with a finger or an ear. A deeper voice would bellow louder than the rest, with a growl that rumbled with unspoken threats. “Enough! We stick to the plain. Wait, and he'll come. End of discussion.”. As if that wasn't frightening enough, the young man, otherwise known as 'Antoine', chose to advance from the darkened shadows of the room. Moonlight creeping in from the narrow, street facing window, lighting his features as he came closer, and closer. She saw that he was more rugged than usual; the 5am shadow dark around his jaw, and his coal-black hair tangled in a messy array. “Shhh,” he placed a finger to his dry and chapped lips, and for a split second, Grace swore that she saw the pupils in his caramel eyes narrow into slits. It didn't matter that she was gagged because she screamed her lungs out, and then screamed some more until he pressed his palm harshly against her mouth to drown out the sound. A growl vibrating from his chest in warning, as if so say; don't you dare make another sound.

When the only sound was the victim's heavy and nasal breathing, Antoine begun to explain in a hoarse yet rushed voice. He spoke of 'Marlowe' the hunter who had been causing problems for 'his kind' lately. The very same 'Marlowe' who had, once upon a time, attempted to live a normal life. The result of which, was the bargaining chip now tied and gagged in that very room. When the tape was eventually torn from her mouth, Grace pleaded in a multitude of ways. First she declared that they had the wrong Marlowe, then she went on to explain that she didn't even know her father. It only solidified her guilt in the eyes of her kidnappers, who knew for certain that they had the right girl.

The fact was, James Marlowe was indeed a hunter. He never asked for the lifestyle, but his trip to Scotland all those years ago had uncovered the supernatural beings that lurked in the ordinary shadows of mankind. His business partner murdered at the hands of two, straying wolf-men; a fate he almost shared had it not been for the Hunter already tracking the beast. As a survivor, Marlowe had witnessed too much. One wolf-man escaped, gravely injured, but not with the final confirmation of death. He might live to speak again; of a witness to those who hunted in the moonlight. “Your life is now forfeit,” the Hunter had said in thick, Edinburgh accent. “Leave what you once had behind you. On this night, the man you were ceased to be.” But James had been too weak to follow the exact instructions of the hunter's guild. First was the mistake of going back to his wife, then the monthly cheques and letters like footprints ready to be inevitably traced and tracked down. After combating the werewolf issue across Scotland for years, he was assigned to France, where he gradually made enemies with a larger, more dangerous pack. The same pack who'd tracked down Grace as their trump card to play against the careless father.

He came at the stroke of daylight after the new moon, knowing that the Lycans would be weaker. And with him he brought four more Hunters intent on thinning the same pack they'd traced from Scotland, to France, and now, to the very outskirts of London. The attack on the secluded shack came swift with the bangs of silver bullets and the notching of silver-tipped arrows. Yet the pack leader was older than they anticipated; his strength and speed far outmatching the opportunist Hunters. While some managed to kill the younger fledglings, the alpha remained untouched. Biting the head clean off one Hunter, two more were mauled from behind, leaving only one remaining. The one whom the pack had in turn, been hunting all along. The handful of surviving wolves surrounded him; their barks and growls merging into laughter as they changed back to their human forms. From her basement captivity, a bound Grace emerged led by Antoine. For the first time in years, her blue eyes locked onto the darker eyes of her injured father, and stung in apprehension of what might happen next. Were they going to kill them both?

“Shhh. It's alright,” Antoine finally said, stooping down to cup the weeping girl's face. “I'm going to give you a special gift, for your father's sake.”

“Please,” she barely managed to whimper, as her kidnapper begun to transform...

At precisely 05:17am on the morning of November 14th 1995, Grace Marlowe was no more.

The newborn pup awoke surrounded by the strong scent of blood. The bite marks in her neck had congealed, but the larger and deeper scratch down her back was still fresh and wet. Over the next month, Grace weakly recovered in feverish intervals. What had transpired before, was a blur. Scraps of barely cooked meat were tossed her way, and Antoine remained an almost constant guard over her. At last, the eve of her first full moon approached, and she shoved into another room in the worn-down shack. There, for the second time, she came face to face with her half-starved father. He knew what was coming, having witnessed the bites and the scratches, but nothing could prepare either of them as the excruciating pain of the first transformation kicked in. A werewolf was finally born out of bitter revenge, and her eyes filled with blood lust and hunger latched onto to the human meal oh-so conveniently placed in the room. That night, she tasted human flesh, and her initiation into the pack was complete.

The next morning, the knowledge of her revolting deed kicked in as Grace awoke next to the remains of James Marlowe. Both physically and mentally weakened, the pack moved further south, taking their newest fledging with them. The same process would happen again the next month, and the month after; each full moon a foretelling of pain and murder. Grace became numb to everything around her. The pack enjoyed the taking of human lives, viewing themselves as a far greater species who were further ahead on the food chain. Over time, the connection between the jaded pup and her maker grew stronger by nature; and it was hard to resist the magnetic pull between them that would brand them lovers. In that den, surrounded by wolves, Grace temporarily forgot who she truly was. Over the course of next year, she became one with the pack, learning about what she was rather than who. Months faded into one another, until one fateful day when the pack ventured onto Vampire turf. When the bloodthirsty alpha fell after an over-confident attack, the pack were separated, and their allegiances were torn. Antoine especially didn't want to get caught up with the stronger Vampires, and was generally growing tired of Europe. With contacts in America, he arranged for both he and Grace to catch a flight together, and leave England behind them. But when Grace arrived at the airport and boarded the plane, Antoine never joined her.

Fortunately, America presented the possibility of a new life, and a fresh start. Despite her decision to derail from the original plan, and use the money Antoine had given her as a means the start over, Grace was still on new turf. The 'contacts' managed to sniff her out in a matter of days, but fortunately for her, they were just a handful of lycans who, unlike the previous pack, just wanted to survive. Seeing that the young woman had undergone a trying ordeal, they offered her a life-line which included a new identity. No longer was she a Marlowe, or even a Saunders; from then on, she was Grace Bowen. A new passport and birth certificate was issued, still indicating that she'd been born in England, and had moved to the states to pursue her education. Her 'initiation' into the new pack involved a period of mental rehabilitation. An elder would monitor her, posing as a relative as she came to terms with her past, and looked to the future. At last, Grace remembered fragments of the life she'd locked away. Most important of all, she recalled her scientific gifts.

In return for promising that she would keep her secrets safe, and not stray from her new pack, Grace re-enrolled at medical school where she spent the next six years re-attaining the training and knowledge that would make her a doctor. Those years of re-adjustment into the ordinary world were difficult and trying; some months she purposefully 'slipped' and feasted on human flesh, other months it was purely accidental or coincidental. By the end of it all though, she was ready to be placed at St. Judes medical centre in New York. The years after have been kinder to her, and as a result, she leads a lonely and private personal life. A sturdy metal cage in the spare room of her simple apartment means that she is always fully prepared for her full moon transformations. The only other time she will transform, are during days off work when she needs to hunt. This is always conducted far away from her home 'territory', usually in rural, woodland outskirts. Though humans are her prime patients, occasionally the odd wolf will sniff her out, but only to take advantage of her medical skills. As such, she has became a very neutral force in the war; helping those who ask for it, only to show them to the door soon after.


~*RP Sample: (using another character)

Far across the rooftops, a bell tolls. At the sudden acquisition of awkward sound reverberating around her, it occurs to Laurie that to be alone in this hellish city is a false assumption. She pauses in the still shadows of the back alley, mimicking her surroundings as she closes her eyes to the deeper swelling of thoughts and an appreciation of the repetitive and perfectly, equally spaced sound. Dong.... Dong.... Dong. Her chin tilts up, and her large eyes stare past perfectly placed, symmetrical windows in crumbling brick. For a moment, she runs away with her imagination as she blindly gazes into the colourless timbre that resonates through the stillness. Someone is standing way up high, far across the unseen horizon in the watchful bell tower. For some reason, she envisions it as the shadow of an ageless man, taking it upon himself to pull the clapper rope again, and again. Why? What announcement does he make? What news does he bring to the city this eve? Or is he merely a monster of his former self; a hunchback gargoyle performing a routine task which lacks purpose or further reason.

“Heh.” She audibly scoffs at her own romanticism in her grainy, hoarse voice. The defined cupid's bow of her mouth curving to aim an amused arrow at her own meaningless contemplations. What did it matter who stood on that tower, when she was still down there! Leaning against the adjacent apartment block wall, Laurie sets her mind to more useful tasks. Inquiring sapphire hues narrow, investigating the short row of equally spaced windows. By the time she reaches the second to last of the set, she realises how Lady Luck might just be on her side of the court, for now.

“I spy with my little eye...” She finds a melancholy satisfaction in talking aloud to herself, enough to encourage a satisfied half-smile onto her pout. There is an open gap in the wall, large enough for an abundance of warm air to fill the perfectly square space within. The wooden frame is empty; glass fragmented shards of inconsistent shapes and sizes littering what may have once been fashionably beige carpeting. Dust has long since settled; layers of varying particles swept in by nature's breath. Yet the living space is still strangely welcoming; a single armchair atop a darker rug, facing the forgotten, slate and brick fireplace. The door beyond is shut, but perhaps that is for the best. She convinces herself that she could lay low here for the night, but easily slip out should any sign of trouble arise from the other rooms. It wouldn't be the first time she'd put her sneakers to a use befitting their name...

Optional

*Likes:
+ The smell of freshly cut grass, pine and damp weather
+ The great outdoors, especially the countryside, woodlands and lakes
+ The colours yellow, blue and green
+ Being able to fully trust someone
+ Time & Space to be able to Think and Breathe on her own
+ Keeping busy, primarily with work
+ That wonderful feeling you get when you just saved someone's life

*Dislikes:
- Violence (at least, as a human)
- Vampires, other Lycans & Hunters: Basically anyone who could pose a threat to her more peaceful lifestyle
- Judgements & Stereotypes; nothing is black and white
- Liars, cheats and deceivers
- Car fumes, nicotine smoke and general, bad odours
- The 'Rat Race' of society, and its' 'Dog-eat-Dog' attitudes
- Losing a patient

*What you want to see happen to your character:
~ Befriend an 'enemy'
~ Meet a shadow from the past (possibly Antoine)
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