Scarlett Emaurri

Name Definition: Industrial power of brilliant red.

Nicknames: Scar, Princess, Firecracker

- ❤ -

✦ || Twenty-three [Human years] ||  || ♀ Female || ✦ || Djinn || ✦ || Australian/Arabic || ✦ ||  Five feet, seven inches [171cm] || ✦ || 130lbs [59kg] || ✦ || Tattoo of a bar code on her right wrist || ✦ || Tattoo of a heart on the outer side of her right wrist || ✦  

Place of Residence: Jingleheim, Wonderland

Employment: Thief on Earth, contracted builder in Wonderland

Transportation: Teleportation & Black matte Chevy Camaro '69

Languages: Fluent in English & Arabic, rough French

Known Allies: None

Bound to: None

Pride & Joy: Sparta, a pink colored male wolf pup with fire-based abilities. 



كان ياما كان

"Indeed, He created man from dried clay of black smooth mud. And He created the Djinn before that from the smokeless flame of fire."

(Surah Al-hijr 15:26-27)

[Pictured above: Scarlett's relic]

"ماما؟" Flames engulf the air, consuming all oxygen rapidly as the tips of the fire climb higher and higher, licking up the sides of the building around them, "ماما !!" Wood splinters and burns, becoming victim to the intense heat and furious power. There is no oxygen left and only smoke fills her lungs when she gasps. She's fallen, knees skimming across the wooden flooring which is radiating warmth through her skin, "ماما، أين أنت ..؟" The abrasions to her knees are worn through flesh and shed blood to the flooring. Frantic, she begins to sob, head thrown back as a helpless hallowing cry escapes from her. No tears of sorrow are to be found, but the pain in her voice that ricochets from the flames express the emotions. The sounds are drowned out and lost beneath the roar of the flames and cracking whip of the house beginning to cave under the pressure, "أنا بحاجة لكم، من فضلك! أين أنت؟"

Growing up fatherless was never an issue to Scarlett Emaurri. He had passed away in mysterious circumstances long before her birth. As long as she can remember there was only ever her mother and herself. Her mother had been a beautiful woman with an elegant grace that Scarlett had not inherited. And it was that very grace that enchanted the man who would come to steal her heart in an intense love that would burn on even long after his death.

Her father's death brought the birth of the solitary and protective woman who would raise Scarlett.  

The fingers of her mother's hand wrapped securely around Scarlett's wrist was more of a leash than a protective embrace. Everything was off bounds without supervision, this included social encounters. Humans, in particular, were a big no-no. Her mother had grown to be a suspicious woman, always looking over her shoulder and never wanting to stay in one place for long. But being so young and having so little to compare her life with, Scarlett could see no harm in being sheltered from the world. She was a caged bird, stuck in the embrace of a mother's fingertips who refused to let her go.

But what does a bird who's been caged all it's life do when the doors of freedom are finally unlocked?

She cried and she screamed, distraught with the grief of her mother's death. The scent of those flames smelled exactly like her mother's hair and they burned down the home quicker than they should have. The fire was around her and for the first time in her life they did not bring comfort, only emptiness, and pain. Crying, she fell to her knees and when the presence of her mother dwindled into an empty roaring fire she continued to call out for her. In the middle of those flames is where she sat until they licked away every last structure of the home and died off. There was nothing but ashes, soot and the sobbing form of a blonde haired woman, completely unharmed by the fire.

The Destruction of Fire

It has been said that we want the things that we can't have.

Eve was seduced by a snake to eat the forbidden fruit and Scarlett was seduced by a man with a handsome smile to communicate with the people her mother spent a lifetime warning her about. The humans.

But because most of her life had been spent sheltered by the intense protection of a mother who was too afraid to let go of her daughter, Scarlett grew up to be an awkward individual with no experience in socializing with others. Her methods of growing close to a beautiful man were strange and frowned upon but she was blind to the mess she would come to tangle herself in. Sticking to the shadows and keeping her flames hidden from the eyes of humans, she watched him. Little by little an obsession grew into a delusion that had Scarlett convinced this man was her soulmate. 

She stalked him. She watched him share his bed with other women to fill the empty void of his life and grew to love the scent of cigarettes that flowed around his being wherever he went. Hooked and single-mindedly obsessed with a man who didn't know she existed, it was only natural that one day she would come to finally approach him.

Sitting side by side on the stools of a bar, the pair engaged in conversation.

"So, what's your life story?"

His question came unexpected and being as naive as she was, Scarlett had taken those words more seriously than he intended. Word after word fell from her, telling the tale of her life right from the beginning. The father she never knew, a mother who loved her like no other and how she had been taken from her and claimed in the embrace of death. The more she spoke, the harder it was to stop. Eventually, one word turned into many and many words turned into confessions. Not only had she revealed her obsession with the man, but also that she was not human. Scarlett shared one too many secrets about the species of Djinn that lead to unfortunate results.

The man was greedy for the power she spoke of and manipulated Scarlett with the knowledge of her obsession for him. He appealed to her in the way he knew that she wanted. With soft touches and delicate words meant only to coax her out of the bar with a man she thought she knew so well.

And just like that, the free bird was caged yet again.

Trapped behind bars and cowering in the corner, he had demanded to know more information about her ability to grant wishes. The more she told him, the more determined he grew to take every little bit he could from her. His anger grew more intense when she told him she did not know where the relic he needed in order to gain wishes from her was.Threats turned into acts of violence which would begin to slowly shatter an already broken soul. Dousing her forever burning flames in water and performing sessions of deprivation of oxygen, he continued to torture until there was almost nothing left of her. And Scarlett, who was caught up in her obsession and refusing to see through her own delusions of him, could not bear to fight back and took all the abuse as it came.

And fire consumed the second person she loved in this world.

Scarlett was curled in the corner of a cage, arms bound behind her back and sleeping when the accident happened. Her captor had been tinkering with new experiments and mixing strange solutions together. A miscalculation became the result of an explosion that awoke Scarlett with a start. The explosion had gone off directly in his hands and the force of it knocked the man over into an unconscious state while the building lit up in flames. Flasks and the like shattered into a million pieces and flooded the room with a sickly chemical scent which fueled the power of the fire. There were more explosions and a heat like no other that wrapped around Scarlett's being in a protective embrace. Thick poisonous smoke that had been laced with suspicious chemicals was all around in the air and gradually those scents began to mix with the distinct smell of burning human flesh. 

And the caged bird? She screamed at her captor to wake up, grabbed the rungs of the cage bars and shook them violently in a hopeless attempt to rouse him from sleep. Despite all he had done to her, she was still convinced the pair were meant to be together. To watch his flesh bubble, boil, pop and burn away was painful. She could have stopped the flames with a flick of her wrist, but just like how she could have easily escaped the hellish prison she had been forced to endure, she did nothing. She accepted the pain and watched him die.

 ✦ || Single  || ✦ || Heteroflexible  || ✦ || No interests || ✦ 



Androphobia details: 

Her condition has lessened a considerable amount. Determined to fight off her fear, Scarlett diligently tackled all tasks set to her by her very helpful psychiatrist. Things were slow going, but once positive results surfaced, Scarlett gained the confidence to overcome her fear. She tries her best in her day to day life, but the battle is not over yet. Sometimes two steps forward may mean one step back, but what she has accomplished so far is what drives her to reign more control over her life. Previously, something as simple as conversing with a man appeared an impossible task, but she's pushed through that barrier and learned to confidently speak with men. However, physical contact is still an issue with the Djinn and she will be reluctant to engage in hugs. Even handshakes are occasionally difficult for her.

Alcoholism details:

It's a sad truth to admit that Scarlett is no stranger to the feel of a bottle wrapped around her fingers. She refuses to admit that she has a problem and does not see that her behavior has become destructive and is slowly spiraling out of control. All alone and refusing to open up to anybody who tries to break through her walls, Scarlett is in need for somebody to open her eyes to the painful truth of her addiction. She is a speeding train with broken brakes just waiting for an accident to happen. Spending more time buzzed from alcohol than she does in a sober state of mind, alcohol makes her feel more normal than sobriety ever has. When unable to get a drink into her day, she suffers from withdrawal symptoms that include a foul mood and an uncontrollable shaking of her hands. Although she will not admit it, she drinks to drown away the sorrows of her lost both her mother and the man she considered the love of her life. Even deeper inside, she feels as though both the deaths were her own doing and drinks the guilt away.

Pyromania details:

It comes as no surprise to know that a being of fire is attracted to flames. But Scarlett's connection with flames is unlike any other ordinary Djinn. She is addicted to the sensation of heat and can even find herself in states of sexual arousal from fire. Her eyes will always linger over the flicker of a simple pocket lighter or the burning embers at the end of a cigarette. It takes a lot of self-control to keep herself from reaching out to fire whenever she sees it. There have been incidents where Scarlett has caused massive explosions and set things on fire for her own enjoyment, but this addiction is not just a form of entertainment. Flames also calm her down and settle emotions when the Djinn is feeling nervous. It could be argued that her intense love for fire comes from the nature of which the two most important people in her life were taken from her. 

It Started With a Wish

In present times Scarlett Emaurri is cautious to release information in regards to her nature and what this enables her to do. Being a Djinn that grants three wishes of any nature to the holder of her relic puts her in a dangerous position of possible enslavement and/or worse scenarios. As a result, she has located her relic after losing it and hidden it away. She will refuse to inform anybody of where it is and also the terms and conditions concerning it. If one so desires to obtain her relic, it will cost a great deal of trust or extreme torture to get it out of her. 

Things To Know

 All content is 18+ 

Will not write smut-based stories

Preference for parastyle

My character is androphobic, please remember that

Come at me with exciting plots, the crazier the better

OOC chats are welcome, I'm very friendly and sometimes need a little downtime

I have other commitments, please respect that I can't be online all the time

Scarlett speaks Arabic and French, however, the writer does not. Please excuse any language errors. Corrections are welcome.

[Threads: Open]

Profile Style (customize your page with CSS here!)

body{ background-color: #000000 !important; background-image:url(transparent) !Important; background-repeat: no-repeat !important; background-size: 100% 100% !Important; background-position: center center !important; background-attachment:fixed!important;} /* Header Picture */ .banner-header{ width: 100% !Important; height: 1024px !Important; background-image:url( !Important; background-repeat: no-repeat !important; background-size: 125% 125% !important; } .banner-frame {border-radius: 0px!important; border-color:#000000!important; border-width: 0px!important;} .sheet {border-radius: 1px; border-color:#CA3D00!important; border-width: 3px; background-color: #000000!important;} .banner-header{border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px!important;} .banner-frame { border-radius: 50px; border-color: white; border-width: 0px; background-color: transparent !important; } .site-header.container {display: none;} .span4 {display: none!important;} .navbar {display: none!important;} .banner-frame {border-radius: 3px!important; border-color#000000!important; border-width: 3px!important;} .sheet {border-radius: 3px; border-color#000000!important; border-width: 3px; background-color: #000000!important;} .banner-frame {border-radius: 0px; border-color: #000000; border-width: 0px; background-color: #000000!important;} .banner-header{border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px!important;} .site-body {padding-top: 10px; padding-right: 10px; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 10px;} /* center column */ .span12.push4.tablet16.mobile16.column.column-wide{ width: 1250px !important; max-width: 90% !important; left: 5% !important; position: relative !Important }

Character Name

Scarlett Emaurri

Comment Wall

You need to be a member of Writer's Realm - Roleplay to add comments!

Join Writer's Realm - Roleplay


  • What follows is a noisy, bumpy, uncomfortable van ride to gods know where, and the conversation the men in the front of the vehicle are having is muffled by the noise of a struggling engine. This vehicle hasn't exactly had the best maintenance and care it could have been given, a suggesting it might not belong to those using it in the first place. Stolen, perhaps. Maybe borrowed. Or, maybe, worn down is the most inconspicuous it could be in a place like this. Unlike others who might make the mistake of picking a windowless one, this car is in reality a dark blue and bears high, small windows along the back. The markings on the side, unbeknownst to her, speak of a painting company.

    Why take chances and draw suspicion? When the cargo is this precious, that simply cannot be afforded.


    The Geist is following pure impulse, treading where his feet may take him and knowing some higher (or perhaps lower) power is making it so. There's an itch he can't place poking at the back of his mind repeatedly, like an uncomfortable whisper beckoning him forward and telling him what turns to make. Eventually, when steps become to painful, he floats upwards as fast as he can, keeping his feet close together as he gets a scan of the neighborhood from above. Through the red-tinted lenses of his goggles, his one good eye focuses on the roads below. What is it he's looking for? Where is he going to get his sign?

    He's not sure what it is that's woken him up, but he hasn't felt this sure of his importance in a situation in a very long time. Something vital will occur today. The question is whether he'll be able to complete his task or not, whatever it may be. Or will he fail, as he failed in the 1940s? He simply cannot let that happen again.

  • ((I am so sorry for keeping you waiting on me, I got caught up with some personal stuff but I haven't forgotten about ya, I'll have your starter sent to you tonight when I get home from work.))
  • Short
  • (Sorry it was shory
  • So here it was, a peaceful night just chilling at the crossroads. Peaceful until some car pulled up and out came a woman looking distraught. She had some box inher hands that held items needed to summon a crossroads demon. Apparently it was deal time and Zura just happened to be in the area.

    She would go be nosy and watch the woman as the crossroad demon would soon appear.

    "Hello there. What is your desire, mortal?"

    "Ummm. Yes. My husband. I think he is cheating on me. With this pretty, blond hussy. I want him an her to both pay."

    She said as her hands shakes while speaking. The demon laughed.

    "Done. Know that you will have to pay a price for this and to seal our contract. One must bind with a kiss."

    Zura didn't care about this chick and would've let her sell her soul before jumping in like she was about to but whatever. She was going to save the poor lady and gave her own fun. She appeared behind the demon and tapped him on the shoulder and as he turned around. She shoved a knife into his chest. His body began to flash as a shock looked came on his face as the demon died. She then looked at the lady and smiled.

    "I think I'll do it for you without you paying the toll. Just cause I'm bored as fuck so tonight you get lucky. Now then. Tell me all about your hubby and his supposed mistress. "

    Once she got all the deats, Zura teleported away and reappears a while later at the house belonging to the woman.

    "Alrighty then. Let's get the show on the road. "

    She would create two fireballs in her hands and throw them at the home. Igniting it and the fire would quickly spread. Now she thought of just setting the bed on fire with the chick in it and then let it spread but figured this might be more fun. So she would watch as the fire spread and waited to hear the screams.

    "Ahhhhh. What a great night for a bonfire. "
  • (Gonna work on starter. Soon as I can think of something.
  • Ancient Gothic- it figures that one of the bastards of the forties would look to his heritage to try and find a solution. It's unfortunate that it seems to have worked. From a closet tucked near the room's front door, two men slip out after they've rolled the mirrored door open. Conversation is quiet and quick from that point on.

    "Eile. Wir wissen nicht, wie lange es noch funktionieren wird." The first man, a pudgy and nervous German, seems as if he thinks this is going to backfire in their faces at any given moment. He moves with the trepidation of someone tossed in a lion's den, each step trembling with fear.

    "Es wird in Ordnung sein. Hilf mir." The second is nervous as well, but determined not to show it so as to remain superior to his comrade, who he considers a quaking fool. His accent gives away that the language he speaks is not his native tongue, but he is quite adept at it never the less, like someone devoted to a higher cause might be if they considered it the only pure one to be spoken. In his arms is a body bag, a thick and tough one likely stolen from emergency supplies somewhere, or perhaps purchased online or at an army surplus store. Wouldn't that kind of thing send up red flags somewhere? Shouldn't it? Then again...

    They're not here to do something awful just yet. A light  blanket is tossed over her form, and she is manhandled into the bag as delicately as they can manage. It zips before her face, as if she were the deceased, not the victim, and no light filters in from the outside of the waxed container save for a few spots where they seem to have poked airholes, thinking ahead of time it would be a shame to suffocate their prize in transit.

    The jostling move after this series of events has to be disorienting, and figuring out where, exactly, they are going beyond down a flight of stairs once several doors have opened and closed is going to be nigh impossible, even for someone who might have walked the halls of the hotel before instead of arriving as she had.

    Elsewhere, in the city of Almaty, Kazakhstan...


    He wakes up with a headache so bad he swears his brain is expanding inside of his skull. Skeletal hands clutch at the sides of his head, pressing inward as if it would help. His ruined jaw grinds uncomfortably, teeth gnashing against teeth. When the wave of pain ends, he draws his hands back, spying blood on the sides of them. He reaches up to the familiar, usual spots and comes away with more blood on his ashen hands. The old wounds are bleeding again. With a whine of defeat, he lays back down, good eye looking nearly as foggy as his bad one from the pain.

    Something is wrong. He can feel it.

  • Something is wrong about the atmosphere of this place, something deeply woven into its fibers. It's a taint horrible men leave behind them, something that permeates even into the air of a location for days to come. It isn't so much a smell as it is a heaviness, as if the thoughts they carry have the ability to permanently destroy the balance the world works so hard to maintain. But is that really a surprise? Is not the source of most evils human in nature?

    There's no immediate sign of reasoning here, simply a body still warm and cheap, padded carpet absorbing his bodily fluids as easily as if it were intended for the purpose. There is no sign of a struggle and a bit of spatter on a wall. The entry and exit wounds suggest a small weapon, hardly anything as large as a .45 of some kind. The blade was smooth, not serrated. These clues are weak, at best, and completely useless at worst. But something is wrong beyond the body.

    Something is very, very, very wrong.

    There's a piece of paper resting on top of the bed, which is perfectly made. The language is long extinct, all pronunciation mere speculation, and far more so than that of Latin.

    And suddenly...the air feels...a bit harder to get down. Everything is sluggish, like one might feel upon the injection of a sedative. And it's then and only then the Djinn will likely realize she is not alone.

  • "Hi there."

  • 2017. Kazakhstan.

    It's always easiest to travel for risky business to countries that don't scrutinize visitors as heavily. Those that are desperate for visitors are even more prone to welcome in some of odd backgrounds. This includes, unfortunately, several European men hailing from the Netherlands, Germany, and Belgium who are all chasing ghosts- literally and figuratively- through a hand-written journal that must be least 95 yeras old now, if not older. The pages are brittle and stained with blood, ink, dirt, and oil from hands. But the content inside is still as clear as ever.

    Demons didn't work out. Vampires were not so useful out of the camps. But there is one thing the Nazis of the 20th century never got the chance to try, though they were close- a Djinn. They were nearly to the point of attempting to capture one when the war ended, and not in their favor. The owner of the notebook spirited it away, and it has since fallen into the hands of many collector's hands over the years. The most recent purchaser of this time is one Max Carroll, a 20-something Dutch man who has, since his teenage years, fawned over his idol and hero, one Jurgen Steinholtz, the Obergeist and butcher of Birkenau.

    A lesser known cult figure than the bigger names but one still taught in schools, Steinholtz has gone down in history primarily for his apparent defection and execution. The body was never discovered. This, of course, only increases the mystery. Many Neos believe he escaped and is alive, the supposed death merely a distraction so that he could run from the advancing Soviets.

    But what is the truth? And will anyone ever know?

    The hotel is nice, although aging. It is here that an innocent man must die. A bullet to the head and a slit throat for good measure create a corpse, which is now posed near the open door to the balcony in open invitation. A murder most foul, and unwarranted.

    What will come of it?

This reply was deleted.