Name: Amelia Eldridge
Nicknames: Amy, Mel, Black Lotus
Age: Early 20s
Race: Human
Height 6'0
Weight: 145lbs
Markings: Birth Mark Shaped like a Clover on the Small of her Back
Piercings: Ears, Bellybutton
Personality: Amelia has led a very sheltered life from the start so she is a rather quiet girl who doesn't speak much to humans, but has a way with machines and animals. Very calculating, she solves problems that would stump most geniuses, but she doesn't really let that be known about her. Strict about her daily regiment of dance training, she is also very punctual. One could say that she was robotic in her ways, but it is just because she doesn't try to involve herself in the ways of man.
Likes: Magic, Ballet, Mechanics, Creating Weaponry, People Watching, Animals, Books
Dislikes: Not being on time, Imperfections in her Dancing and in her Mechanics, Most People (Not ALL)
My name is Amelia, and I was not always meant to be who I am today. I suppose I should start my story from the very beginning. My parents were star-crossed lovers, rather fitting that I was their daughter. Father, Kenneth, was upper-class musician, his father a greedy business man who thought his son's passions were useless and therefor he was as well. My mother, Morgan, was from the lower-class, though through years of hard work and sacrifice she had gone from chorus line to prima ballerina at the age of 17. It is pretty clear how they met, I mean you would have to be dense to not figure it out, but I suppose I can continue. It was love at first sight for my father, my mother took the stage and danced her heart out, and my father snatched it up for himself. When his father learned of his infatuation he was irate, no upper class, had ever sought the love of lower class, at least not so brazenly, so openly.
When father could not be swayed to leave my mother, his father decided to use my mother to his advantage. What better way to sell products than to have a girl that was raised and lived as lower class make it big and earn her rite to be called upper class, and who better than his son would travel with her for publicity? They would wed and he would make the headlines and all the money he could ever need. Poor bastard, more like stupid bastard, didn't think anything would go wrong with his plan. That's their story though.
I hate to give the ending to my parents' story away, but it is the start of mine. You see, they died, well; they were killed if you want to get right down to it. I wasn't even a year old and ended up in an orphanage. It wasn't all that bad, I mean, the worst part was when someone was adopted and you were left behind. Yeah, we didn't wear great clothes, and we ate rather poorly, but compared to the workhouses and the streets, it was great. I took to my mother's passion rather early in life and began some basic dance classes from one of the nannies at the age of 3. Growing older, I began my education, and when I was not dancing, I was reading everything I could get my hands on or tinkering with any mechanics I could find. I was an information sponge and at the age of 8 I had learned all I could from those at the orphanage, though when I turned 9 years old, a man came to visit with me, and told me the story of my parents. He had known them quite well and had spent 9 years looking for me, as he promised them he would take care of me. He asked me to go live with him, to be the daughter I was intended to be. That had been what I always dreamed of, so of course I said yes and took my mother's name as my middle name, and my father' last name as my own.
His name was Carl Mason, and he had been like my mother, born lower class, made upper class due to his talents. They had grown up together, like siblings, so when I began to call him Uncle Carl, it made sense. The rest of my childhood was exactly how I wanted it, tutors from all corners of the world came to teach me, the top tinkerers and mechanics were brought in to show me the latest technology and watched me advance it, and ballet instructors and gymnastic coaches lined up to train the daughter of the youngest prima ballerina. I wanted for nothing.
Uncle Carl was a very private man, and everyone that came in and out of our home did so, secretly. I thought nothing of it until I was 13. I wondered why he never went to or hosted parties like the other upper class people did, why he did not let me even walk outside without someone watching over me. His answer was always, to keep me safe. On my 21st birthday, he came to me with a gift and a story. It was the story of my parents, who they really were, and why they had been killed. When they had left to go on tour, he had approached them, and asked them to become part of an underground spy network. My parents did not wish to do his father's bidding so they joined with him and became agents. Mother was so agile and nimble that sneaking was no problem; her beauty, grace, and status would get her close to targets. Father, as her "manager" would be there for protection and was quite the thief, and Uncle Carl had been their tech man. It worked wonderfully for many years, mother was still dancing, father had been composing pieces for her to dance to, and Uncle Carl booked appearances in the places they needed to go, that is until she became pregnant with me. Mother worked until the very last day, thankfully she was not on a mission when I wanted to come out, but they had just found out that there had been a leak in the network, their unit had nearly been wiped out. Being on the run with an infant is hard, but it is even harder when you have been in the public eye and everyone wants to see your baby. Eight months, it took them 8 months to devise a plan to get to my family. They thought Uncle Carl to be dead, and he nearly was until a doctor found him and replaced his left arm, right leg, and the inside of his left ear with mechanics that function off of his regulated blood pressure rather than steam. They left me, in the snow, to freeze to death, but the last thing that my father did was drag himself, with me, back into the house. They found me, swaddled in bloody blankets, still in my father's arms, and took me to the orphanage, though he doesn't know who.
The gift was a small music box that belonged to my mother, inside, my mother and father's wedding rings on a necklace. It was in that moment that I finally knew who my parents were, and I mourned them as though they had just been killed. The moment after, he asked me to become an agent.
I have yet to decide..
