JezebelDevil Posted October 13, 2021 Share Posted October 13, 2021 Rosalia Toussaint Rosalia was born in the bayous of Southeastern Louisiana by her auntie midwife. Her papi was a bonafide Haitian Cajun, going down a long line of slaves turned fisherman. He lived the humble and poor life with his wife, who was an immigrant from Colombia. They were tied together by their faith, Catholicism running true in their blood. They prayed to the Saints daily and for any infraction. Tides were given in charity to give thanks for their life by means of meager donations and extravagant hauls of fish to those in need. They were also loyal and true to each other to the very end. Rosa learned to live by boats and the catholic code, going to school in a nearby parish. She was a quick learner and was already speaking French (by her father), Spanish (by her mother) and English fluently by the time she reached middle school. At the same time, Katrina ravaged the area, killing Papa Toussaint as he attempted to protect his wife and children. With what little they had, the Mami Toussaint took her family to New Orleans where her and Papi's extended family lived. In the Treme area Rosa would learn much more about her family's heritage and strengthen her resolve in God. However, her Auntie Toussaint would fill the girls' head with stories and takes of spirits and the people who roam the different planes, striking her curiosity for that aspect of spirituality. When Rosalia was in high school, she was hanging with her cousins who chose a path of slinging drugs, meeting their friends and going to parties in the 7th Ward. She kept her secrets but never from God. She confessed on the regular as she watched as some of her cousins died from bad blood or deals. She was never the type of girl to give it up on the first date. She grew older, waiting for God to give her direction. She worked odd jobs here and there. Dancer, bartender, store clerk. She went where the money seemed to flow best and when it was drying up she'd pray for the next direction. Eventually Mami Toussaint passed and the house in New Orleans was sold. It was time for a new direction and what could be newer than San Andreas? This thread will detail the past, present, and future of Rosalia Toussaint. This will include inspirations, screenshots, music, et cetera that will pertain to the character. All comments and suggestions are welcome. 1 Link to comment
JezebelDevil Posted October 16, 2021 Author Share Posted October 16, 2021 "A Fire Starts to Burn" Auntie had always said that fire was a cleansing ritual. You throw in paper, trash, old clothes and it becomes dust. It's not completely gone, but it becomes ash, which can mark the earth or skin. They tell students in school that its a chemical reaction. Rosa was always good at the sciences. The pool behind the apartments on Lindsay Circus had a barrel. A fire danced inside the rusted round oil drum as something popped and pang against it. It was nighttime and Brody had asked her a favor. She was used to these kinds of favors. She had done more than enough for her cousins back him and their friends, and their friends' friends'. Mami Toussaint would treat them all the same, feeding them like they were her own. Rosalia would treat them all the same. She was everyone's cousin. Everyone's sister. Everyone's guide. She was also the one that regretted it, praying to her Santa Maria with her mother until she passed. The Santa Maria picture was on a table, Rosa watching the fire as she went between saying Catholic prayers and rubbing her scarred rosary tattoo. Her skin bumped up around her wrist, each bump textured out into a rosary bead, with the Santa Maria symbol go up her arm about an inch or so. Her thumb went over each 'bead', after saying her prayer. She thought she had ran away from the life when she sold her house in the Treme. It was a shotgun, a history and ghosts behind it that Rosa and Mami Toussaint would cleanse with sage. She wondered if the rich folks that owned it would cleanse it on the regular like her family did? Did they believe or would they think it was a bunch of shit? She wondered if the apartment she was living in now had spirits? The magnolia smell of the last tenant remained, like a lingering reminder. She was starting to notice a pattern, hearing people talk about this person like a living person, worry in their words and hearts. Rosa wondered if the woman died or not. She wondered if the woman left the world behind, running from demons like she was. Rosa wondered what she looked like. Who was she? Rosa opened her eyes, looking at the tattered Santa Maria picture and then picked up the beer and started to drink from it. Her eyes watched as the fire danced again, thinking about the friends she's made so far. Irishmen. Crazy misandrists. Beautiful women. Bikers. Gangsters. Los Santos seemed to have it all. Despite the diversity, the crime remained the same. Murder. Robbery. Slinging drugs. She was so used to seeing it in Louisiana is felt like she was fitting right in, except for her language. Nobody seemed to understand what she was saying. It wasn't her fault though. That was just how she was raised. She can read and write really well. In fact, she loved to read books and write poetry. When it came to speaking though, it was nothing but words only she could understand. It was growing exceedingly frustrating to try and speak out in her cajun accent. She could only do so much. She stood, heading over to the barrel and picked up a big stick, about two inches in diameter and three or four feet tall. She'd use it to push down the evidence of anything that happened in Vespucci. There was no murder. There was no vengeance. It was just ash now. All that remains is the fire. Link to comment
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