Origin Stories- Indiana

Indiana Cedoris is my grandma's great grandma on my mom's side (or something weird like that). I have no historical representation of her, especially considering this is another view of what would have happened in the future. I just knew she lived in Illinois.
One day, I decided to wear a full side braid (a Katniss braid if you will) and I thought of her. I dressed a  little like a farm girl that day, so all day I felt like I was Indiana. (At the time I couldn't remember her last name.) I got home took my current Facebook picture, and decided I needed to make a character. So I did. I like her.

<3 HRT

Chapter 1: Indiana Warnings

There are not many warnings for this chapter. I am not Indiana, but I am also not Charlotte. Each represents an aspect of me. I always prefer my characters like that.
This isn't specifically a romance story, but it gets there.

<3 HRT

Chapter 1: Indiana

Indiana Cedoris was an eighteen-year-old rebel in small town. She never could wear those infernal skirts and corsets, both signified bondage. Indiana longed to be free, though she never quite knew what she longed to be free from. She assumed it was the small town in which she lived. All the girls were to behave, wear skirts and be good girls.

Indiana thought herself bigger and better than a mere good girl. She was smarter than a whip. She could make a witty retort to anything, in mere seconds. She was strong inside for that ability and the ability to show no emotion.

She was strong physically since she helped her father with the farming. Their parents never got a boy, so Indiana had to go plow the fields and then come home to be a lady. Her father was also a toymaker, so he would go work and Indiana would have to go work on the farm. Her mother taught her how to sew dresses and mend socks, but she figured out how to sew pants. Pants were looked down on for a young woman, so she wore them only when she was in the fields.

Indiana hated imagining she would have to get married soon to some man. She had already gotten many offers, but all from men who she didn’t know. Most of them she didn’t care to know. The few she knew were men she simply had no interest in whatsoever. She knew there would be someone to change her mind one day, but he hadn’t come along yet. She was saving her heart for someone special, though many townspeople called that feminism.

Her sister, Charlotte was much more traditional. Charlotte never understood Indiana, even in the simplest of terms. Charlotte never comprehended why her sister would long for more than doing the chores around the house, sewing and trying to find a husband. Charlotte had her heart set on her future husband since she had hit puberty, about six years ago. She had never acted on her emotions, but she also had no intention of ruining a good friendship.

Her crush was on Simon Adams, Mr. Cedoris’s apprentice. Charlotte described him as a “smart, handsome, hard-working tinkerer” in her least loving words. In Indiana’s most loving words she described him as “a kid with a head full of gears and parts.”

Simon, to many, was a sweet boy who any girl would be lucky to have. He was skinny and tall. He was usually covered in soot from working on certain projects. He always used coal to power his larger scale projects. His black hair had a natural puff to it, and the more stressed he became, the more his hair rose. His goggles were always on his forehead, unless he was working on an invention or more likely working at the toyshop. Usually, it was the one clean area of his face.

Charlotte could only assume Simon loved her back, since he would blush as she would bat her eyes. He would always show her his new inventions, and she would always have faith in his inventions. Simon always enjoyed her company and loved how sweet she was.

Indiana thought about this as she put on her dress to go to town. She always got the most coverage in her dresses. She wore a dress with three parts that were sewn together, each a different shade of gray. (Her mother taught her to think of each layer of a skirt or extra something she didn’t particularly like as a part of the dress or another dress, sewn in to that one.) The bottom was a simple light gray dress, that was a turtleneck gown. The next layer was charcoal gray. It also included what Indiana called a bib (a frilly white garment with buttons that is in the bib area) though the two were not connected. The top layer had the same light gray. Indiana would have loved a simple dress in her closet, nothing so fussy. Indiana’s frills and such were black.

Charlotte wore a pink and white, off the shoulder dress that had frilly sleeves and a layered skirt. Indiana was disgusted, not only by the frills, bow and lace, but by the amount of baby pink. Charlotte also wore her hair in a soft, feminine side braid, which only used a little of her hair on one side.  Indiana, on the other hand, wore hers in a full side braid, using all her hair.

As the two left , their mother was busy mending Indiana’s dresses and getting the stains out of Indiana’s dresses. Indiana heard her mother mutter as she walked on by “Indiana’s stains are almost as stubborn as her.” She was trying to lift a dirt stain from Indiana’s best dress.

The two were going into town to give their father his lunch and to deliver some crops to the local market. Charlotte went straight over to Simon, leaving the two tasks to fall to Indiana. Charlotte planned to be there at exactly Simon’s lunch break, so she could talk.

“Hi Charlotte!” Simon called.

Charlotte called back “Hi Simon!” She ran over towards him.

Indiana fled the scene as quickly as possible in her lady-like high heels. Her father was busy, so she left his lunch on the countertop. He was probably hand-making a toy car, since everything was homemade in that store. Simon was perfect for the job since he had thin fingers and the mind of a tinkerer.

She then took the crops and sold them for about twenty bucks, which she stuffed into her corset as she called to Charlotte, who promptly ignored her.

Indiana wound up sitting on a bench, waiting for her sister to be done. Simon was showing Charlotte a new plan for something that Indiana did not care about.

 The sky ships would pass through and get people excited beyond imagination. They would allow the mind to dream of adventure in stark daylight. The enormous ship, intricately designed, made Indiana understand what she was missing for all of these years. She needed to be free like those sky pirates. She needed adventure. She would be able to die or marry (same thing) happily if she could have that experience. She also figured she didn’t have the experience or the body parts. Normally they expected men, and picked men. If a girl like Indiana had the passion and drive to be a sky pirate, they would consider, but she was a long shot.

It was clear now. She wanted to be a sky pirate.

I will post Indiana and Tristan soon.

I love this story way too much not to share it with the world. I only have written three chapters, but I honestly love it. Tristan is such an awesome sky pirate and now has quelled one of my issues regarding Steampunk, actually my only issue, everything is run off of coal. So, Tristan uses alternative energies, mainly water (also popular during the industrial era) and solar. Indiana is a tough girl, bent on breaking the chains of her society. She does not want to be a farmer or a seamstress. She wants to be an adventurer. Tristan also longs for more adventure than merely collecting lightning. I am looking forward to someone else enjoying this story too.

<3 HRT

I NEED TESTERS!!

You, yes you need to tell me if you, yes you, will please read a story I am starting. It is Steampunk (though I recognize that means little to anybody). It is about this girl named Indiana Cedoris who is very rebellious to society's view of how women should act. She is this amazing character. Right now I am thinking of a plot having to do with sky pirates (the most awesome thing about Steampunk).

Okay, so Steampunk is what writers like HG Wells and Jules Verne thought the world was going to be like now. Since they are both from the Industrial Revolution, everything runs off of coal or water. There also are ideas like sky pirates that are just awesome. They are flying ships! That is straight from a child's dream! Normally top hats, metallic looking materials and pipes are distinctively Steampunk.

This story also incorporates an agricultural aspect. The area surrounding the town is farmland. So, there is lots of juxtaposition.

<3 HRT

(PS juxtaposition is "the fact of two things being seen or placed close together with contrasting effect" from the Oxford American Dictionary)

Origin Stories- Dmitry

Okay, believe it or not, Dmitry Sholokhov (Project Runway)'s win has a lot to do with this blog. My Dmitry character is based VERY loosely off of this real-life designer. They both have the same accent (I actually studied real Dmitry's accent so I could have it in my head when I was writing my Dmitry). They both are good dancers and the similarities stop there, despite the fact they have the same spelling and everything. Anyways, I thought real Dmitry's victory would give me a chance to explain where my Dmitry came from.

I didn't truly decide I needed a character named Dmitry until I watched Anastasia again and the longing for a character of that name just came too much to bear. For weeks I was trying to cram Dmitry into Carson and Lucy, but he just wouldn't fit, so I came up with this idea I had been trying to do ever since I started writing- the wizard school. I also had to break-up with my boyfriend to get this overwhelming surge of "what do I want in a guy?", so the night I broke up with him I made a list, which wound up being a non-instument playing and Canadian version of Dmitry. In the end, I wound up writing this character  who I am proud to call my favorite.

<3 HRT

Chicago (playlist)

Dmitry's favorite song. feel free to skip to 1:14, the other part is a piano intro

<3 HRT

Saturday in the Park- Chicago

Charlotte's favorite song. :)

Chapter 2 Warnings

Dmitry and Charlotte are just friends for a good week or two in the story. At this point, the two are just developing an interest in each other. They are finding things in common like their mutual love of Chicago (I will post the two mentioned songs) and Dr. Seuss.

Dmitry plays sax, but most of the music is old stuff every one should know, like in this chapter he plays "New York, New York"which is not really his style. It is the Frank Sinatra song and frankly, Dmitry would like more Chicago.

Dmitry is Russian, and is just working on his English, so occasionally while speaking, he will screw up. The actual writing style will still be that of an AP English student, since he has always had better writing skills and enough time has passed when he is writing, he is a master of the language.

<3 HRT

Chapter 2: Dmitry

I was new to Salem High. My parents sent me from Moscow to enter as a junior, so of course I was apprehensive. I was far from home (though my home wasn’t the best place in the world, it was still home), but it was the only way I could foster my talents. Not only was it the only Wizardry and Witchcraft school in the world, it also had a renowned band program.

I was always introverted. I made friends with the characters of War and Peace in their native tongue better than real people. I could read huge novels such as those in a matter of days. I eventually got around to some English literature, which in my heart I knew was not as good in its translations, so I started learning English. It was difficult, but I knew I had succeeded when, after six years of studying English, since I could read “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” by: Washington Irving. I had already been interested in English when I first started listening to a band called Chicago, and then I decided to try translating the lyrics and trying to comprehend them.

I played the saxophone and loved every second I could play. I got a very similar feeling when I could lift all the objects in my room using only my mind. It made me able to skip from where most newcomers, regardless of their actual place in school go, from Wizardry I to Wizardry II. Technically I should be in my third year, but I didn’t know how to use force fields yet. If I knew I had that power, I would’ve used it.

Thinking about force fields and the ability to levitate made me wonder why we are taught physics. I am a master of it, like all of my other subjects; I just never understood the point when clearly a wizard could make a table resist gravity. I could control force to shield myself. A vector for something like that would be impossible.

I suddenly recognized my head was in another world, so I focused, until it found yet another world to reside. The girl I saw looking at me had a beautiful mix of green and gold in her eyes, making a brilliant hazel. A pair of silver glasses shielded them. Her hair was brown, long and well kept.  I felt a mysterious connection.

The connection was explained when I got to Magical Attraction, another class in which I was one of the few juniors and my second period. It was the equivalent of a health class. It talked mainly about relationships and sex. Most of the class was just foul and disgusting (especially the middle aged man who wore sweaty, short gym shorts and called himself coach) but he described a feeling in which the class learned the person with whom your path is intertwined forever. It was supposed to be something of a spark, a sudden realization that the person is interesting and will make a great partner. I found that spark with that girl and I didn’t even know her first name.

I was fairly fluent in my English, but saying I wasn’t totally fluent yet (which was somewhat true, since I wasn’t immersed in the culture) allowed me to not talk very often. Teachers rarely put me on the spot, since I was pretty fluent but with an extremely heavy accent. I had read lots of literature, so my reading and writing was up to par with everyone else’s, but my spoken English, not so much. So, I would have talked to the girl, had I known she would understand me.

Band was next, which meant a period of unadulterated tenor saxophone. I had auditioned already for the music teacher, Mr. B, who loved my “insane talent”. I just practiced a couple of songs in my book, some classic jazz pieces. It had so much Sinatra. I am not totally opposed to playing “New York, New York”, but there are other (better) songs. I convinced my band back home, that Chicago is a classic. I must admit that I did a lot of convincing back home. Jazz isn’t their first choice. Good classical music is their first, I convinced my music teacher to use some jazz, and that way the brass section could be heard. I still droned on with the notes, in sync with everyone else. I still felt more liberated than back home.

The bell eventually rang, cueing for the class to be over, so I walked to Broom Flying I.   She stood there, we were lined up by first name, and I was apparently close to hers.

She introduced herself. “My name is Charlotte Holmes.”

“My name is Dmitry Petrov.” I introduced myself in the heaviest accent possible with still being English. The “v” has an “f” sound.

“I love your accent. Russian right?” She asked.

“I’m from Moscow.” I responded.

“That is awesome. I am from Vancouver.”

“Were you raised with English?”

“Of course. French also. I love hearing people with accents.”

“That is great! I have a very heavy one. I am not used to speaking.”

“I can’t see any differently. You just have a pretty voice is all I am saying.” She responded. “And already you are more interesting than half the people here.”

I smiled. She was even more charming than I could have ever imagined. I knew she would be a great person to meet and like, even if she wasn’t going to be my love. I already knew I liked her regardless.

The teacher showed everyone how to levitate the broom. No spell required it, even for witches. My broom easily flew itself into my hand.

Charlotte noted, “You are good at levitating.”

“Thank you. You haven’t seen me lift up a room in a thought.” I responded, showing off without being narcissistic.

We all flew around for the period. I really enjoy flying. The wind whipping through my hair feels relieving. (I have my hair cut short and it still feels that way.) The feeling you may die just makes the blood pump quicker. I felt like a bird. I worked on my turns mainly, since the feeling of eminent death only increases when one is headed straight for a tree.

Charlotte and I did not talk much during the rest of the school day, until I happened to see her on her way to her dorm after school. There are two huge buildings one after the campus. On the other side there is a fifties diner type thing. I tapped her shoulder. She stopped and smiled at me. She took out her iPod ear bud.

She was a little surprised. “Hi Dmitry! I was just listening to my favorite song.” She exclaimed.

“Which one?” I asked.

“’Saturday in the Park.’” She responded.

“I love Chicago!” I exclaimed.

She smiled. “So few people appreciate it.”

“Try living in Moscow.” I countered. I was just being witty

She laughed. “What is your favorite?”

“’Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?’ is my favorite.” I responded. “The saxophone part is great, I should know, I play it.”

“Oh my god! You play saxophone? You are now the most awesome person I know!” She exclaimed loudly.

“I play very good too.” In that comment I made the fatal grammatical error that set me apart.

“Well.” She corrected, in a very nice way. “Many people make that mistake.”

“My English has been going very well so far.” I responded.

“Good. I would like to have lunch with someone other than my gay brother, so would you want to eat with me?” She offered. “You know, and practice your English.” She added.

I nodded. “I just sat alone.” I responded.

“You are too awesome to sit alone.” She responded. She started walking, so I walked after her.

“So does that mean we are friends?” I asked.

 “We both need friends, and I enjoy hanging out with you. So yeah, I guess we are.” She responded.

“I have never really had a friend.” I admitted.

“You’ve got a friend in me.” She responded. I smiled. She asked “So friend, what do you watch on TV?”

“I am a book person.” I responded.

“Good, I only watch three shows. What books do you like?”

“Classics. I love ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow’.”

“Me too. I love classics.” She admitted.

“What is your favorite book?” I asked.

“I must admit I am a sucker for George Orwell and Dr. Seuss. I memorize lines from those books like some people memorize Shakespeare.” Charlotte responded.

I laughed a bit. “I do the same thing. ‘A person is a person no matter how small.’”

“‘Horton Hears a Who’ isn’t nearly as good as ‘The Lorax’.” She told me. She cleared her throat, and in her best Lorax voice she quoted, “ ‘I speak for the trees!”

I nodded. “You have a nice Lorax voice.”

“Thanks. I always loved the Lorax.”

“I always felt like Horton, just a lonely elephant talking to a speck of dust, with the world against me.”

“I guess I always felt like a Lorax, only my brother was always the tree.” She admitted.

“I am not a homophobe.” I told her. I meant it; people are people no matter what, which I learned from my favorite Dr. Seuss book.

“Good.” She responded, as she arrived at her door.

She hugged me. I didn’t quite know why, but I enjoyed it anyways. It was even a little awkward, until I just hugged her back.  It only lasted a couple seconds, because it was a friendly hug.

She told me “Bye.”

“Bye.” I echoed, as I left for home.

This was the start of a great friendship.