Yulia Bjørnstad

• Character Information

  What’s in a name? A surname, to be specific.

  Lies? Secrets? Family?

  Yulia both longs to know but rues imagining what that cloud of mystery conceals.

  She has the greasy, thinning locks of her neighbors. The sunken cheekbones propping up icy, light starved eyes. A complexion to match the dust that clings to every soggy, ripped coat she tries to mend.

  Yet, it may not all be circumstantial.

  Bjørnstad. Few bother with the dash and she can’t blame them- linguistics has long since been put on the back burner in favour of survival skills. Her mother spoke of a place further west before she lost it. Sifting through her minimal belongings revealed something of a clue; a faded, mould eaten brochure with ‘universitetsutveksling’ as its only semi legible print.

  Her father was as Russian and as absent as could be, apparently. A grown man taking a shine to a foreign teenager; disgustingly, hardly the worst thing this world has delivered.

   His embrace was not welcomed and she was hardly planned. But never unwanted. A much loved daughter left to piece together what little scraps of history, of home that become more and more scarce in the wake of her only family members torn mental state.

  How much of it is true? To even try and decipher her mother’s mumblings is a task on its own.

  Each day brings new garments; new moth, cold and decay eaten jackets too finite to toss away. Its one thing to be resourceful and not fussy; but to cling so aimlessly to a scrap of goretex long past the magic touch of her needle and thread?

  It’s a sad reminder that her struggle, her desire for understanding is not indifferent to those clinging to scraps of comfort. A torn jacket serves little purpose in the winter, but the familiar weight can stop you feeling exposed.

  Wherever he is. Devil or man, the very idea that there’s someone with answers about her mother’s identity and past drives her.

  Either to shared insanity, or a strange new world.

• Possible Plots

  Yulia doesn't talk much- not unless spoken to first, but she is far from unwelcoming.

  - Perhaps in her little makeshift 'seamstress' shop someone well travelled, versed in norwegian could comment on her surname. Maybe an older character from before the war? Curiosity might get her talking.

  -Girls gotta stick together. I'm down for any plot that has her bonding with another girl/perhaps we could beginning the makings of a support network for characters 'unpleasantly influenced' by the close quarters. 

   

Recent Posts

1. 

   Needle and Thread

   May 20, 2022

   Julia smiled, 'It's how it always is; small little tear, then every day it gets bigger until you have to fix it.' She couldn't help but note how well that mirrored life in the metro. Her eyes studied the bag once again; noting that it was more than a routine rip from age or loose stair railing. It was a contrast to its owner- the woman holding it seemingly kind and contrasting to the dark world around her.
   'I must admit... I'm impressed,' she murmured, 'Rest of your clothes don't seem to have suffered at all.' In her work, there was a certain habitual humour to referring to tasks as though she were a medic. Part of her ability was, admittedly, attained through studying how the few medics made do with what supplies they had to fix humans. The topic of payment soon came up, to which she shrugged. 
   'I can't guarantee it'll be pretty...' she leant closer, as though performing some great crime by omitting any numeric value, 'If you can get me some fishing wire, we'll call it even.' 
   
2. 

   Needle and Thread

   April 29, 2022

   Her efforts, though lazing in intensity and enthusiasm as the day grew longer had payed off. She glanced up at the woman before her; eyes casting over seemingly fine clothes before falling to the satchel.
   Yulia’s mind deconstructed the object into a list of steps and scarce materials; canvas with nylon straps, gonna need stronger thread to patch it. The little spoon of cotton in her hand would not suffice but maybe a bit of borrowed fishing wire would. 
   Or maybe it wouldn’t- she wasn’t the kind to turn away any chance of business nor was she keen on the consequences an unfulfilled promise could bring. ‘I’ll do my very best,’ she said honestly, studying it further. 
   ‘You did quite the number there, i’m impressed,’ a soft smile that hopefully assured the other woman it was merely a jest. Couldn’t be too careful here; a wrong expression, misplaced leer or accidental bump could have you in hot water very quickly. 
    
    
   
3. 

   Needle and Thread

   April 15, 2022

   Arms folded neatly behind her, one leg propped against the pillar with her spine lazily curved. It was a stance that warded off any chances of being mistaken for inattentive, but allowed her to not appear too keen at the prospect of working.
   Every second soul that brushed past her little corner could’ve benefited from a resewn hem or split elbow. ‘I can fix that for you,’ few stopped; some slowed in consideration, but seemed content too maintain a far from uncommon, disheveled appearance.
   Nothing came free here. They assumed correctly she couldn’t afford to provide any act of charity.
   The small piece of tarpaulin above her had long since gotten the same treatment. It served its purpose; kept most of the dust from coating her desk, but was hardly a selling point. Ironically, her own items were often the last to be repaired.
   Yulia had crudely patched it many months ago, but it was the small spindle off mustard thread in her coat pocket that would give it new life. Her fingers absentmindedly threaded the needle; the tips of her digits long ago rendered immune to the small pricks of the needle. Sometimes, it was the only way she knew the cold hadn’t sawn them off entirely.
   Slowly but surely, a roughly embroider star appeared on the scrap piece of cotton. She had aspirations of a whole, faux ceiling of them above her ramshackle little booth. Alas, workable, colored thread was far from a necessity.
   Like company, glimpses of the real sky and any cuisine beyond canned food, her newfound hobby took a backseat. Even in a bustling alley, there was something lonely about continuously threading for no real purpose.
   ‘Clothing repair,’ she shouted, her sales pitches becoming quieter and all the more sporadic as she grew fatigued.
   

Topics I Participated In

1. 

   Needle and Thread

   Started by Yulia Bjørnstad · April 15, 2022

   Arms folded neatly behind her, one leg propped against the pillar with her spine lazily curved. It was a stance that warded off any chances of being mistaken for inattentive, but allowed her to not appear too keen at the prospect of working.
   Every second soul that brushed past her little corner could’ve benefited from a resewn hem or split elbow. ‘I can fix that for you,’ few stopped; some slowed in consideration, but seemed content too maintain a far from uncommon, disheveled appearance.
   Nothing came free here. They assumed correctly she couldn’t afford to provide any act of charity.
   The small piece of tarpaulin above her had long since gotten the same treatment. It served its purpose; kept most of the dust from coating her desk, but was hardly a selling point. Ironically, her own items were often the last to be repaired.
   Yulia had crudely patched it many months ago, but it was the small spindle off mustard thread in her coat pocket that would give it new life. Her fingers absentmindedly threaded the needle; the tips of her digits long ago rendered immune to the small pricks of the needle. Sometimes, it was the only way she knew the cold hadn’t sawn them off entirely.
   Slowly but surely, a roughly embroider star appeared on the scrap piece of cotton. She had aspirations of a whole, faux ceiling of them above her ramshackle little booth. Alas, workable, colored thread was far from a necessity.
   Like company, glimpses of the real sky and any cuisine beyond canned food, her newfound hobby took a backseat. Even in a bustling alley, there was something lonely about continuously threading for no real purpose.
   ‘Clothing repair,’ she shouted, her sales pitches becoming quieter and all the more sporadic as she grew fatigued.
   

Other Characters by this Player