Demeanor: Physically shy, though very much interested in knowing people.
Nature: Hopeful, optimistic, and forgiving to a fault. She's missed having friends for _far_ too long to rule anyone out now.
Description: Almost fifteen, slender built, with dark, wavy hair and a Mediterranean complexion. She's usually wearing plain clothes, though nicely made, and she tends to favor greens and earth-tones more than bolder colors. Her wrists are circled in a pair of 'slave' bracelets, thin gold chain that runs around each wrist and up to her middle fingers, draping the back of her hands; apart from that the only jewelry she wears is a cheap necklace with a star of david attached.
- People Watcher - She's attentive of her surroundings, certainly, but she pays more attention to the people near her than anything else. She's an excellent read of intention, and she tends to get a good sense of what someone's truly about the longer she spends time with them. Brains (4)
- Obscure Knowledge - It's been a focus of her life since well before she left her home and came here; myths, legends, all things occult and the deeply historical, she's probably read at least a _little_ about it, and if not, well, now she's got something new to research. Brains (3)
- Danger Sense - It's less any sort of power, and more just a consequence of watching those around her, and growing up in the home she did. If there's something bad about to happen, especially if someone's about to cause it, she's usually just barely alert enough to flinch out of the way before it hits. Agility (3)
- Caregiver-in-Training - Not so much trained as forced to learn. She's had more practice giving first aid than she'd like, and she knows that care and healing isn't all physical. With how well she reads people, and her innate optimism, she's usually on the lookout for ways to help others mend, whether it's a wound of the body or the heart. Brains (2)
The Right Hand (4)
Don't Touch Me! - It's not fast enough to be a reflex, but if she knows something's coming or if she simply chooses to, Naomi can fade from existence until she's almost imperceptible. It only lasts a short time, and she can't really interact with anyone until it wears off, but she's mostly immune to physical harm, and walls and barriers become something that happens to other people.
Leyline Reader - If she's not concentrating, she has a vague sense of the flow of magic in her vicinity; whether it's being drawn on, who else is dabbling in that particular pond. If she _is_ concentrating, she can see magical workings like eddies in a stream, and that awareness makes it much easier for her to step out of the way before she's caught in the current.
The Left Hand (3)
Servitor's Call - Naomi can pour enough of herself into the world to create (or feed?) servants to work for her. At the lowest level, they're all sorts of illusions, static or animate, but sight and sound without substance. The more she gives, the more real they become, until they're able to interact with the world, to be interacted with, and act on her behalf, by her command.
Soothing Balm - There's a bit of magic in everyone and everything. If she has time to concentrate, and a willing subject, she can knit flesh and bone back together, mend bruises and burns. She's no surgeon, and she can't fix what's long-broken, but she can coax a body to remember what it felt like before all the unpleasantness it's recently suffered.
- Whatever else the bracelets have done for her, they've put limits on what she's allowed to do with them. If they are touched by another person, she loses all access to her powers until she's had time to 'cleanse' them. Said cleansing usually takes at least a quarter hour, a quiet place, and a _lot_ of chalk, or some other way to draw what she needs around her.
- Bracelets of Kalkumachi
She knows their name, at least. They don't come off, they can't be removed, but thin gold chain's at least not so flashy it draws attention. And failing that, there's always gloves.
- Waterproof field notebook and pencil
She's not the sort to take notes at all times, but she keeps pad and pencil close enough to jot down anything interesting enough to look up later.
- Artist's box full of charcoal and chalk
White and black, nothing fancy, and the box itself is the sort of cheap plastic tat you'd find at a dollar store.
Stuff in Her Dorm Room:
- Her Torah
- Sufficient clothes to get through the week without laundry
- A few empty notebooks, and a few filled ones, as she works her way through converting one to the other
- Paper, pencil, and envelopes, for the writing of letters
Naomi's father was a logger, and her mother worked at the bar in the logging town they'd both been born in. Naomi was an accident, but not an unhappy one, at first; that came later. A year or two after she was born, her dad was involved in an accident at work, and left his leg in the hospital when he finally came home. Home life changed at that point, and she was largely left to raise herself, to keep out of the way, as alcohol and anger consumed her parents lives, bruising and battering her own in the process. The less said about that, the better, in her opinion.
The only bright spot in a life spent hiding, staying quiet, was the letters she exchanged with her uncle. Her mother's brother, who seemed always to be traveling, writing larger-than-life stories from some exotic locale, and sending back snippets and photographs of the things he collected to sell back home. She lived to hear from him, and to hear what he thought of her latest adventures, small though they were in comparison, an escape that kept her from crumbling. As soon as she was old enough to ask, her bags were packed, and she moved into the tiny loft apartment above his curio shop. She read every book on his shelf, every record he kept, and she caught the same fascination with hidden mystery that he always had. She learned the business, learned how to keep the stock tidy, and how to catalog the packages and parcels that arrived home more often than her uncle ever did.
The last package was the problem, though. Two thin gold chains, filigree meant to clasp a wrist, with smaller loops running along the back of her hands to circle her ring fingers. She doesn't remember putting them on, doesn't remember taking them from the box, and no matter what she tried they don't come off. She's learned that they have power, or that she does, now, but all she wants to know is how to get her life back, to take them off so they can go to whoever they "should" belong to. Hiding what she can do is a toll she's had to pay and pay again, and the moment she found out about the School she packed her bags again, leaving a vaguely worded note for her uncle and boarding the first bus bound that direction.