Post by ORIANA CAVALLONE on May 10, 2012 22:59:42 GMT -5
[classy=apptitle] CAVALLONE, ORIANA GELTRUDE [/classy][classy=appbord][/classy][classy=appbg][classy=appalias] oria, oreo, jello, antidolorifico[/classy]
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[/classy][classy=appfield] AGE :: [/classy]Seventeen; December 18th.
[classy=appfield] GENDER :: [/classy]
Female.
[classy=appfield] SEXUALITY :: [/classy]
Heterosexual.
[classy=appfield] NATIONALITY :: [/classy]
Italian.
[classy=appfield] FACTION :: [/classy]
Mafioso.
[classy=appfield] OCCUPATION :: [/classy]
The twelfth boss of the Cavallone Famiglia. Also known as the Dodicesimo.
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[classy=appfield] PERSONALITY :: [/classy]
[classy=appfield] LIKES :: [/classy]
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[classy=appfield] DISLIKES :: [/classy]
[classy=appfield] MISC INFO :: [/classy]
The assurance of an heir had always been an unspoken duty shouldered by the Don.
In certain situations, failure to deliver—in more senses than one—was excusable but unwelcome. Cavallone's Undicesimo, christened Crescenzo at birth by the Decimo himself, was heirless when he took up the mantle of Don, for it had never truly occurred to him to marry. He knew naught but the Family itself; there lay no romantic edge to his resolute soul. Habit and nature dictated that he refuse, time and time again, to let himself succumb to such trivialities as love. Nonetheless, he had never been one to let his Family down. When he finally married, it was not a marriage of sentiment, but a marriage of alliances. His wife, a charismatic woman by the name of Bianca Tedeschi, hailed from another Mafia family; their union would cement the foundations of a powerful alliance. Several months later, she was pregnant with child.
Oriana's birth was a quiet occasion marked by subdued disappointment and last-minute relief.
Crescenzo Cavallone had wanted a son; instead, he had received a daughter. His wife, due to complications, could bear children no longer. Nonetheless, rather than do his wife's old Family the insult of taking on a second wife or mistress—for such slights were the things that crumbled alliances—he made the best of what he had. Oriana's earliest years were tinged with the faintest wisps of true happiness. Hair like gold, her father had always said, admiring the flaxen hues of her fine hair; she grew to realize that she had been named for the brilliant shade of her hair, for Oriana meant sunrise and gold. Her father taught her a number of things, and though he neglected to show his affection explicitly, she had always understood his silences and his need for them, for they were simply his way.
One day, he had taken her into the quiet of his study to show her something: a painting of a man with the most arresting stare she had ever beheld and the same flaxen hair as she. Sometimes, she fancied she resembled him more than her father. There had always been more to the painting than the beauty of its fascinating subject; on more than one occasion, her eyes had strayed to the whip curled in his hands, the glimmering ring on his finger—the dangerous, lethal grace that shrouded him, clinging to him like second skin. The Decimo, her father had told her, and though she had not understood the word, she had repeated the name on her lips until she could remember it forever on the tip of her tongue. Unbeknownst to Oriana, her resemblance to him had not gone unnoticed by her father. He showed her several old relics, among them the same whip she had seen in the painting, and she let her fingers curl around the handle like they were meant to be there. It would take years before she realized that this man was none other than the tenth Don of the Family she would eventually come to know like the back of her hand.
As a child, she had not understood her parents' situation, let alone the fact that Cosa Nostra lay deep in her veins, justifying her very existence, but she suspected there had always been more to her family's situation than what lay at the surface. Though her mother had striven to safeguard her childhood and keep her away from bloodshed while she was still young, the Mafia reared its presence frequently. It bore its fangs in the cautious prowls of her bodyguards, always lurking in the shadows and watching her as she played, even within the safe recesses of one of Cavallone's finest castles. It taught her, through the vicious thrum of assassination attempt after assassination attempt, that her life was not simple—that the security she felt was a lie. She was six years old when she was almost killed for the first time, trembling in terror before the barrel of the gun her would-be assassin turned upon her. He had been the first to breach her bodyguards' determined security, and he was also the last. It was the first time she saw her father kill another human, one of many of hundreds, in such cold blood.
Thereafter, her father wrested her from her mother's indulgent ways and had her tutored in every subject that held knowledge pertinent to a future Don's interests. Oriana learned, gradually, of just what the Family dealt with on a regular basis—how there were more firearms hidden in the castle than pieces of furniture, how there were too many enemy Famiglias to count with merely ten fingers, how every uttered word was just as important as everything that remained unsaid. The Mafia lay mired in subterfuge, deceit, lies, power, money, and politics. She learned to understand it all.
For a time, she was briefly enrolled into Mafia school, if only to sample a taste of what the rest of the Mafia world was like, but she soon returned to private tutoring as the number of threats the Cavallone faced began to multiply over the years. All the while, she took to frequenting her father's study, particularly as business brought him out of the castle. She studied as much as she possibly could about the Decimo, admired the way he had raised the Cavallone from nothing to a Family universally feared and admired. She had heard the whispers amongst the Family and its allies at social gatherings and political events. She looks so much like the Decimo, they all said, and it only spurred her to strive to one day fill the enormous legacy left behind by her grandfather. There had always been murmurs of dissent against her father's policies—not so much against the Decimo, who had been beloved by all. Her father had not filled Dino Cavallone's footprints, but Oriana wondered if, one day, she would be capable of such a feat. Nonetheless, such concerns soon became the least of her worries.
When the blood feud between the Cavallone and a major enemy alliance first erupted, Bianca Cavallone was one of the first to die in the initial bloodbath.
Oriana's father did not mourn his wife's death, but as the blood feud continued on and further conflict arose both within the Family and outside, she saw the beginnings of his inescapable grief and knew that the end was coming soon. No amount of assurances she uttered would ever soothe him, especially as his closest subordinates began to fall, picked off during battles by the enemy's sheer numbers. His descent into corruption both dismayed and sickened her, but he had long stopped seeing her and—she knew, even though her mind rebelled against such a notion—he no longer cared for her.
Soon, the blood feud finally concluded in the annihilation of the enemy's alliance and her father's death, Oriana did not know what to do but promise her father she would raise the Family back to greatness and don the mantle of Don for herself. She stepped forward for the occasion—several days later, Cavallone hailed the rise of its Dodicesimo.
Antidolorifico, her Family christened her, time and time again. The name was heaped with expectations, mired with doubts that she would fail as Don—and yet, nonetheless, there were some who believed she would be the sword to cut away the Family's foes, others who believed she would be the flame to end the Family's sufferings, and others still who believed she would be the sky to heal the damage that had been done to the Family.
Rather than limit herself, she resolved to encompass all such things and drag the Cavallone out of the mud and into the light.
Oriana Cavallone would kill all who hurt her Family—even pain itself.
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[classy=appfield] FACE CLAIM :: [/classy]
★ [b]panty & stocking with garterbelt[/b], [i]anarchy panty[/i] -- oriana cavallone[/classy]
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[classy=appfield] AGE :: [/classy]
Seveenteeeeeen.
[classy=appfield] EXPERIENCE :: [/classy]
Five to eight years—or something like that! I can't remember very well. 8'D
[classy=appfield] DISCOVERY :: [/classy]
OTE ad, waaay back.
[classy=appfield] OTHER CHARACTERS :: [/classy]
Shokichi Rihito.
[/classy][/classy][classy=appbord2][/classy][classy=appsign] SIGNED, (CRUX) [/classy]
[classy=appcr] TEMPLATE BY AUXILLE FOR ONS [/classy]
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