my characters x

[farewell]

This is a thread for me to post my characters and keep track of them. Please do not post unless I ask you to. Thanks! Please keep in mind some information is subject to change depending on the roleplay.Eilonwy "Lonnie" Lydia Royle

This character could probably use some work

• Introduction
• Biography
• Biography
• More About Me
• More About Me
• Personality
• Personality
• Pictures
• Pictures

• Hello!
  
  
  
  
  My name is Elionwy. That's pronounced "eye-lahn-wee," by the way, but you can just call me Lonnie. I was named after a Disney princess who isn't a Disney princess. My middle name is Lydia, though nobody ever calls me that, and my last name is Royle. I like being addressed as "Miss Royle"; it has a nice ring to it. Maybe that's why I was named after a princess.
  
  
  
  
  I'm twenty one years old though I am often mistaken for being younger than I am due to my size (5'2"), my birthday is October 14th, biracial, a cisgender human girl, and I like anyone who catches my attention. I guess you might say that's pansexual, though I think I may have a preference for girls. I am currently a college student, working on getting my degree in organic chemistry. If you'd like to know more about me, feel free to go through the tabs. You might also learn more that's not mentioned here from interacting with me, and not just reading about me, so take things with a grain of salt.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Spoiler

  [imagefloat=left][img=http://i.imgur.com/sATZZ2B.png][/imagefloat]
  [indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][tabs][tab=Introduction]Hello!
  
  My name is Elionwy. That's pronounced "eye-lahn-wee," by the way, but you can just call me Lonnie. I was named after a Disney princess who isn't a Disney princess. My middle name is Lydia, though nobody ever calls me that, and my last name is Royle. I like being addressed as "Miss Royle"; it has a nice ring to it. Maybe that's why I was named after a princess.
  
  I'm twenty one years old though I am often mistaken for being younger than I am due to my size (5'2"), my birthday is October 14th, biracial, a cisgender human girl, and I like anyone who catches my attention. I guess you might say that's pansexual, though I think I may have a preference for girls. I am currently a college student, working on getting my degree in organic chemistry. If you'd like to know more about me, feel free to go through the tabs. You might also learn more that's not mentioned here from interacting with me, and not just reading about me, so take things with a grain of salt.

• My black mother lived in Harlem her entire life, working as a (very talented) nurse at a local hospital that didn't have enough funding and saw an unfortunate amount of drug addicts. She met my father when he passed through as a patient - a white man who was on a leave of absence from the military. He'd sustained some type of lingering injury - if memory serves, it had to do with a torn ligament or tendon or something that never quite healed. Either way, it started acting up as he was passing through Harlem and so he dropped by the nearest hospital, where he met my mother.
• 
  
  
  
  
  My father didn't live in Harlem; he lived about a half an hour bus ride from the city, out in New Jersey. My mother, who was on her own at the time, moved in with him in New Jersey and found a new job there. After a few years of marriage I came along. My parents were in a good place, and my mother was incredibly fond of children's stories, especially Disney ones. She'd always felt bad for poor little Princess Eilonwy Leer, whose name was so unique and strange, and yet she wasn't even considered an official Disney princess. That's where I get my name from. The Lydia is from my father, who simply liked the name (Royle was also his name, by the way). Five years later, my father returned to the army and was deployed overseas. Not two months into his deployment, my mother found out she was pregnant again with my little sister. My father, from an ocean away, suggested the name Miriam, "their little mermaid." And then we stopped hearing from him, like he'd dropped off the face of the earth. It was very sudden. My mother was beside herself. After some time, he was declared M.I.A. As her pregnancy furthered, so did my mother's depression, until somehow six year old me was the one in charge of reminding her to take care of herself so that Miriam would be healthy.
  
  
  
  
  In the beginning of spring, Miriam Stevie Royle was born, and my mother regained some life. What she regained, she dedicated entirely to caring for Miriam, which suited me just fine. I took up my own ballet classes at school, which my mother agreed to without any consideration. I borrowed used leotards from school to dance in. And the three of us were as happy as we could be, we really were. Perhaps if I didn't care for Miriam so much, I would have been very much unhappy. But as it was, I was content to care for myself and to watch Miriam grow - my own little sister. As my sister navigated through her third year of life (and I my 9th), my mother fell back into depression. Miriam and I learned to work with her and to work through it. And we managed. My mother, to her credit, hid her depression well, and was the best mother she could be despite the circumstances. It was almost entirely for Miriam's benefit, but by that point, I really didn't mind. I knew, and I still know, that my mother loved me. Maybe not as much, or maybe not in the same ways she loves Miriam, but she did love me - she still does. On her good days, it felt like Miriam and I were equally adored.
  
  
  
  
  That was just my life at home, though. In school, I was not well liked. I was a pariah, and an obvious one at that. Weirdly bubbly and frilly, and not to mention the only black kid most of those white suburban kids ever saw before the age of sixteen, I was not only widely avoided, but actively picked on. My mother never found out, and by some miracle, Miriam never experienced what I did to the same extent. She received comments in school, but she was already prepared, not to mention a whole lot more down to earth. It took me longer to get my wits about me, and the bullying didn't really help. With Miriam's support and my own optimism I did manage, though. I improved at ballet, took up drawing (which would later become embroidery, done with collected needles and thread), and fostered an interest in the sciences (it was a good thing we knew by that point just how allergic to latex I am!). As I neared the end of grade school, I matured. I'd already grown up too quickly, but I hadn't really gained the sensibility I needed. Once I did, I became more assertive. I was already independent and self-reliant, but those traits gained an edge of logic that they hadn't previously had. I graduated, not at the top of my class, but my performance was far from shabby. All in all, grade school wasn't so bad. We were living comfortably with the money from my father, even if my mother was mentally absent and school was not the most welcoming place. I needed to move away, though. It was never a choice. Somewhere, somehow, I always knew I'd have to leave for college, but Miriam would be okay. When I graduated, she was only twelve, but she was mature and she knew it. She has a good head on her shoulders, Miriam. I moved away three years ago to pursue a degree in organic chemistry, and I've kept in touch with both my mother and Miriam ever since (mostly Miriam, but I make an effort to speak to my mother as well).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Spoiler

  My black mother lived in Harlem her entire life, working as a (very talented) nurse at a local hospital that didn't have enough funding and saw an unfortunate amount of drug addicts. She met my father when he passed through as a patient - a white man who was on a leave of absence from the military. He'd sustained some type of lingering injury - if memory serves, it had to do with a torn ligament or tendon or something that never quite healed. Either way, it started acting up as he was passing through Harlem and so he dropped by the nearest hospital, where he met my mother.
  
  My father didn't live in Harlem; he lived about a half an hour bus ride from the city, out in New Jersey. My mother, who was on her own at the time, moved in with him in New Jersey and found a new job there. After a few years of marriage I came along. My parents were in a good place, and my mother was incredibly fond of children's stories, especially Disney ones. She'd always felt bad for poor little Princess Eilonwy Leer, whose name was so unique and strange, and yet she wasn't even considered an official Disney princess. That's where I get my name from. The Lydia is from my father, who simply liked the name (Royle was also his name, by the way). Five years later, my father returned to the army and was deployed overseas. Not two months into his deployment, my mother found out she was pregnant again with my little sister. My father, from an ocean away, suggested the name Miriam, "their little mermaid." And then we stopped hearing from him, like he'd dropped off the face of the earth. It was very sudden. My mother was beside herself. After some time, he was declared M.I.A. As her pregnancy furthered, so did my mother's depression, until somehow six year old me was the one in charge of reminding her to take care of herself so that Miriam would be healthy.
  
  In the beginning of spring, Miriam Stevie Royle was born, and my mother regained some life. What she regained, she dedicated entirely to caring for Miriam, which suited me just fine. I took up my own ballet classes at school, which my mother agreed to without any consideration. I borrowed used leotards from school to dance in. And the three of us were as happy as we could be, we really were. Perhaps if I didn't care for Miriam so much, I would have been very much unhappy. But as it was, I was content to care for myself and to watch Miriam grow - my own little sister. As my sister navigated through her third year of life (and I my 9th), my mother fell back into depression. Miriam and I learned to work with her and to work through it. And we managed. My mother, to her credit, hid her depression well, and was the best mother she could be despite the circumstances. It was almost entirely for Miriam's benefit, but by that point, I really didn't mind. I knew, and I still know, that my mother loved me. Maybe not as much, or maybe not in the same ways she loves Miriam, but she did love me - she still does. On her good days, it felt like Miriam and I were equally adored.
  
  That was just my life at home, though. In school, I was not well liked. I was a pariah, and an obvious one at that. Weirdly bubbly and frilly, and not to mention the only black kid most of those white suburban kids ever saw before the age of sixteen, I was not only widely avoided, but actively picked on. My mother never found out, and by some miracle, Miriam never experienced what I did to the same extent. She received comments in school, but she was already prepared, not to mention a whole lot more down to earth. It took me longer to get my wits about me, and the bullying didn't really help. With Miriam's support and my own optimism I did manage, though. I improved at ballet, took up drawing (which would later become embroidery, done with collected needles and thread), and fostered an interest in the sciences (it was a good thing we knew by that point just how allergic to latex I am!). As I neared the end of grade school, I matured. I'd already grown up too quickly, but I hadn't really gained the sensibility I needed. Once I did, I became more assertive. I was already independent and self-reliant, but those traits gained an edge of logic that they hadn't previously had. I graduated, not at the top of my class, but my performance was far from shabby. All in all, grade school wasn't so bad. We were living comfortably with the money from my father, even if my mother was mentally absent and school was not the most welcoming place. I needed to move away, though. It was never a choice. Somewhere, somehow, I always knew I'd have to leave for college, but Miriam would be okay. When I graduated, she was only twelve, but she was mature and she knew it. She has a good head on her shoulders, Miriam. I moved away three years ago to pursue a degree in organic chemistry, and I've kept in touch with both my mother and Miriam ever since (mostly Miriam, but I make an effort to speak to my mother as well).

  
  
  CondensedI was born to a poor, black mother (a wonderful nurse) and a rich, white, military father. When I was five years old, my father was deployed overseas and went MIA. Shortly afterwards, my mother discovered that she was pregnant again, but fell into a depression from losing my father. It became my duty to make sure she took care of herself for my little sister, who would be born in the beginning of spring and would be named Miriam. Once Miriam was born, my mother brightened a bit - she poured all of her life and soul into caring for my little sister. This suited me just fine. I was already accustomed to caring for myself, and I adored my little sister. At school, I was bullied for standing out as a black girl in an entirely white suburban area of New Jersey. Despite making no friends, I started taking ballet classes with a borrowed leotard as a hobby. When Miriam was three and I was eight, my mother again became too depressed to care properly for even Miriam, but she did her best, and Miriam and I learned to manage. On good days, my mother loved me as much as she loved Miriam. My sister never experienced the kind of bullying I did - there were comments made about her, sure, but she wasn't quite as awkward as a child. We'd both grown up too fast. Over the years I improved in ballet, took up drawing, which would later extend to embroidery, and fostered an interest in sciences and a desire to pursue medicine. By the time I graduated high school, I was doing alright as far as my performance went, and I knew I was ready to leave home. Miriam, twelve at the time, would be okay without me. Since I've moved away for college, I've kept in touch with both my mother and my sister, but mostly my sister, whom I miss very much and is probably the only person I ever really do miss.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Spoiler

  I was born to a poor, black mother (a wonderful nurse) and a rich, white, military father. When I was five years old, my father was deployed overseas and went MIA. Shortly afterwards, my mother discovered that she was pregnant again, but fell into a depression from losing my father. It became my duty to make sure she took care of herself for my little sister, who would be born in the beginning of spring and would be named Miriam. Once Miriam was born, my mother brightened a bit - she poured all of her life and soul into caring for my little sister. This suited me just fine. I was already accustomed to caring for myself, and I adored my little sister. At school, I was bullied for standing out as a black girl in an entirely white suburban area of New Jersey. Despite making no friends, I started taking ballet classes with a borrowed leotard as a hobby. When Miriam was three and I was eight, my mother again became too depressed to care properly for even Miriam, but she did her best, and Miriam and I learned to manage. On good days, my mother loved me as much as she loved Miriam. My sister never experienced the kind of bullying I did - there were comments made about her, sure, but she wasn't quite as awkward as a child. We'd both grown up too fast. Over the years I improved in ballet, took up drawing, which would later extend to embroidery, and fostered an interest in sciences and a desire to pursue medicine. By the time I graduated high school, I was doing alright as far as my performance went, and I knew I was ready to leave home. Miriam, twelve at the time, would be okay without me. Since I've moved away for college, I've kept in touch with both my mother and my sister, but mostly my sister, whom I miss very much and is probably the only person I ever really do miss.

• I do ballet as a hobby, and I'm rather good at it, but I don't plan to make any type of career out of it. I've done it since I was six years old. This has left me with some lingering pains or susceptibility to injuries, especially in my feet, ankles, and calves. I carry Advil around with me for this reason.
• 
  
  
  
  
  I like to embroider things. Usually, I'll personalize small things - bags, scarves, pillows, etcetera. I'm also okay at sewing and knitting, but embroidery is my favorite by far. I started by learning to draw in my early to mid teens, and extended the talent to embroidery. I have a collection of spools with various colors of thread in a shiny black box that we used to keep dominos in when I was smaller. It has little magnets in the lid, so it snaps shut very loudly if I'm not careful. There's also a pin cushion with tons of needles. I collect these things, and I'm very proud of my collection.
  
  
  
  
  I'm also very good at hiding! I'm rather small and it makes it easy for me to hide. If I don't want to be found, there's no way you'll find me. I have a knack for finding the smallest, most secluded spaces and, when necessary, contorting myself to fit into them. I once got stuck in a cupboard when I was twelve, playing hide and seek with my younger sister. My mother was not happy when the door got stuck and she had to use a crowbar to get me out.
  
  
  
  
  I really like pomegranates (which I started eating to try to help with ballet) and dried mangoes. I like postcards, which I send to my sister as often as possible whenever I'm away, and I like dresses (sometimes). I absolutely hate the smell of gasoline, receiving flowers as a gift (when I receive gifts, I'd prefer it if they didn't die so I could keep them!), and leather. I am somewhat seriously allergic to latex. I cannot swim, and at this point, I'm a little apprehensive about trying.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Spoiler

  I do ballet as a hobby, and I'm rather good at it, but I don't plan to make any type of career out of it. I've done it since I was six years old. This has left me with some lingering pains or susceptibility to injuries, especially in my feet, ankles, and calves. I carry Advil around with me for this reason.
  
  I like to embroider things. Usually, I'll personalize small things - bags, scarves, pillows, etcetera. I'm also okay at sewing and knitting, but embroidery is my favorite by far. I started by learning to draw in my early to mid teens, and extended the talent to embroidery. I have a collection of spools with various colors of thread in a shiny black box that we used to keep dominos in when I was smaller. It has little magnets in the lid, so it snaps shut very loudly if I'm not careful. There's also a pin cushion with tons of needles. I collect these things, and I'm very proud of my collection.
  
  I'm also very good at hiding! I'm rather small and it makes it easy for me to hide. If I don't want to be found, there's no way you'll find me. I have a knack for finding the smallest, most secluded spaces and, when necessary, contorting myself to fit into them. I once got stuck in a cupboard when I was twelve, playing hide and seek with my younger sister. My mother was not happy when the door got stuck and she had to use a crowbar to get me out.
  
  I really like pomegranates (which I started eating to try to help with ballet) and dried mangoes. I like postcards, which I send to my sister as often as possible whenever I'm away, and I like dresses (sometimes). I absolutely hate the smell of gasoline, receiving flowers as a gift (when I receive gifts, I'd prefer it if they didn't die so I could keep them!), and leather. I am somewhat seriously allergic to latex. I cannot swim, and at this point, I'm a little apprehensive about trying.

• I'll start with the most obvious things: I am assertive, independent, and self-reliant. I tend to veer towards the quiet side, and I will not speak unless I have to. Left to my own devices, I prefer to do things to occupy my mind, so I can come off as spacey and isolated. I am used to being friendly and polite, especially to adults, but I am not used to having friends, so I'm not always affable and not particularly gregarious. I am loyal, however, as well as patient and dedicated to those close to me - namely, my mother and my sister, though mostly my sister. I'm very protective (even nurturing) of my younger sister, which gets on her nerves sometimes, but I don't mind. These things are not true of strangers, unless they have some quality that resembles my little sister - absentee parents, for example, might garner my sympathy. I can act the part, but I'm mostly concerned with finishing what needs to be finished.
• 
  
  
  
  
  I try to approach situations logically and sensibly. I am very rarely if ever frustrated. On the other hand, I can be very sensitive, especially to criticism, but you might never know it. Despite this, I am fairly confident in what I like and what I do, so as much as criticism might hurt me personally, it doesn't deter me. I prefer to play things safe, even if it's boring. As much as I don't dislike other people, I don't exactly care for them either. I try to be considerate and cooperative when dealing with others, but I know what I want - sometimes, when dealing with people who are more indecisive or passive, I can get impatient. Shows of affection are few and far between, but casual sentimentality is rather abundant in my life, like postcards sent to my sister.
  
  
  
  
  The trust I extend towards people depends on the circumstances, but I have trouble counting on others to do their jobs. I was not a fun partner for group projects in school. Generally, for this reason, I work better alone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Spoiler

  I'll start with the most obvious things: I am assertive, independent, and self-reliant. I tend to veer towards the quiet side, and I will not speak unless I have to. Left to my own devices, I prefer to do things to occupy my mind, so I can come off as spacey and isolated. I am used to being friendly and polite, especially to adults, but I am not used to having friends, so I'm not always affable and not particularly gregarious. I am loyal, however, as well as patient and dedicated to those close to me - namely, my mother and my sister, though mostly my sister. I'm very protective (even nurturing) of my younger sister, which gets on her nerves sometimes, but I don't mind. These things are not true of strangers, unless they have some quality that resembles my little sister - absentee parents, for example, might garner my sympathy. I can act the part, but I'm mostly concerned with finishing what needs to be finished.
  
  I try to approach situations logically and sensibly. I am very rarely if ever frustrated. On the other hand, I can be very sensitive, especially to criticism, but you might never know it. Despite this, I am fairly confident in what I like and what I do, so as much as criticism might hurt me personally, it doesn't deter me. I prefer to play things safe, even if it's boring. As much as I don't dislike other people, I don't exactly care for them either. I try to be considerate and cooperative when dealing with others, but I know what I want - sometimes, when dealing with people who are more indecisive or passive, I can get impatient. Shows of affection are few and far between, but casual sentimentality is rather abundant in my life, like postcards sent to my sister.
  
  The trust I extend towards people depends on the circumstances, but I have trouble counting on others to do their jobs. I was not a fun partner for group projects in school. Generally, for this reason, I work better alone.

• More pictures of me here.
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  Spoiler

  More pictures of me here.
  
  [center][heightrestrict=300][img=http://i.imgur.com/HHswjFP.png][img=http://i.imgur.com/5kpL84t.png][img=http://i.imgur.com/9ZUuuCm.png][/heightrestrict][heightrestrict=300][img=http://i.imgur.com/ngNQLQp.png][img=http://i.imgur.com/rQsFF8W.png][img=http://i.imgur.com/5X3hCWz.png][/heightrestrict]

 

[farewell]

• Introduction
• Biography
• Personality
• Miscellaneous
• Appearance

• 
  
  Name:
  
  Flannery Spitzer Sergeant
  
  
  
  
  
  Nicknames:
  
  Spit, Sergeant Sarcasm
  
  
  
  
  
  Age:
  
  Twenty one
  
  
  
  
  
  Birthday:
  
  August twenty seventh
  
  
  
  
  
  Height:
  
  5'7"
  
  
  
  
  
  Sexuality:
  
  Lesbian
• Spit doesn't talk about her childhood much. Here it is, put as briefly as possible: Spit was born to an abusive father and a neglectful mother. She was not allowed to go to school or meet people. When she was six, Bette Sergeant hung herself in her closet, and Llewelyn, her father, used Spit as a replacement for the next two years. Llewelyn was arrested and Spit taken into custody by CPS when a passing car heard a window break and called the police. Spit was raised from that point on by her aunt and uncle, her mother's sister, who had no children as of yet. Jocelyn, her aunt, and Eric, her uncle, doted on her, and respected her every wish, even her decision to go by her middle name instead of her first. Spit started going to school, working exceptionally hard to catch up with the other kids her age. She didn't make any friends, though. She didn't know how, and she was prone to random paroxysms of rage and despair which made her unpopular for a long time.
  
  
  
  
  Spit's life really began when she started high school, mostly if not entirely recovered from her experiences. In some way, she loved her aunt and uncle, but there was a lingering tension and distrust between them. It was an uneasy truce, but a truce nonetheless. As for school, she attended a different high school and started anew for the second time. Though she no longer had meltdowns, she was still as prickly as ever, and teachers often complained of her poor behavior (though they remarked with some surprise that she still managed to perform very well in everything but actual participation). For her part, Spit was determined to do things her own way. No longer did she have to be the kid who took special classes just to be on par with her classmates and no longer did she have to be quiet and removed. She was no freak, she just wouldn't let anyone too close. In high school, this was easily arranged. The friendships she made tended to be with stoners and other rebels, who didn't make friendships for the actual companionship, but just to pass the time. Spit eased herself into the party scene - sex, drugs, alcohol, and loud music a few nights a week - while still miraculously maintaining her grades. The kids she hung out with didn't care what she did and never asked, so Spit managed to have her own little circle of "friends" without any of them knowing anything more than her name and address. It was a good dynamic.
  
  
  
  
  In her sophomore year, Spit gained the nickname when she started taking small things from other people - pens, cigarettes, etc. - and spitting on them to claim them as hers. It worked, and she proudly started to become known as Spit instead of Spitzer. Few people ever got mad at her for it, and when they did, Spit shrugged and laughed them off (which earned her the bitter nickname "Sergeant Sarcasm," which Spit embraced fully). Some people definitely avoided her, for her spitting habits or for her personality in general, but Spit didn't mind. On her own time, Spit developed an interest in programming and coding when she started customizing an online blog to pass the time. What she knew of it was self-taught, but she continued to improve on her own, without anybody's knowledge. That was until she started taking programming classes, easily picking up on various computer languages but mainly HTML. By junior year, Spit had her sights set on web design. While she enjoyed programming, it wasn't what she wanted to do as a career - she wanted to be able to make beautiful, creative things all with just a keyboard. Paid good money, too. Some kids commissioned her for various projects, some to help with school, others for personal use. Either way, Spit was easy to go to and easy to do business with, and the results were great. Spit continued blogging with no real aim or direction, simply as recreation. It was around this time that Spit started dyeing her hair, sticking to the same pattern but alternating colors. Finally, she settled on a sea foam green, which she maintains regularly. Jocelyn and Eric supported her every interest and desire which, even for a teenager, tended to be pretty modest and easy to accommodate. Spit learned how to drive, which she really enjoyed doing, and often went for drives on her own just for the sake of driving. She thought that she might like a motorcycle one day.
  
  
  
  
  Finally, Spit graduated high school. She'd done well in school and had her fill of high school. Jocelyn and Eric supported her decision to move away for college, to live on her own, citing that it'd be a good experience for her and she was an awfully responsible young woman, anyway. Spit kept her dyed hair and unusual nickname (though she dropped the habit that earned her that name), even when she moved off to school to pursue a degree in web design, with a minor in computer science. At college, Spit no longer actively pursued parties, sex, and drugs, though she didn't often turn them down when offered. She came into her sexuality a little more, as she began focusing more on herself than on the way she came off to others. Admitting that she was lesbian was nothing new to her nor her aunt and uncle - what was new about it was that she started casually mentioning it as part of her identity, instead of concealing everything that went on in her head. The kind of friendships she made remained similar to the ones in high school, but with a tint of adulthood and responsibility to them where there hadn't been before. Really, college suited Spit very well. She kept in touch with Jocelyn and Eric, who kept up a constant flow of encouragement and love. Nowadays, Spit spends her time blogging, designing, coding, and partying, which all keep her pretty busy. She'd still maybe like a motorcycle, though for right now, she's pretty content with the car her aunt and uncle bought her as a present for starting college.
• Spit is prickly at best. She's not rude, but she's not friendly either - she keeps people at a safe distance. She has quite the talent for being present at everything without having told anybody a single thing, or making a single impact on anyone. Spit's always been aloof, a trait she never quite grew out of. Often, she has a habit of lying, sometimes just for the fun of messing with people without them knowing, other times to protect her little secrets. With very little attachment to anything or anyone, screwing with people is easy enough for Spit, though not quite a pastime. To her credit, Spit is creative and whimsical in her work and passions, which she rarely ever discusses. She loves for things to be aesthetically pleasing. It would seem to many that Spit cares little for anything, and Spit prefers it that way - nobody expects anything of her, and so there's no room for disappointment. Spit likes to take risks and try new things, though more often than not she's incredibly impassive about the things she does that aren't related to her passions (for example, if you were to ask her opinion of a book or movie, you'd easily get something along the lines of, "I don't know," or "I don't care").
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  Likes
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  Sea foam green
  
  
  
  
  
  Blogging
  
  
  
  
  
  Driving
  
  
  
  
  
  Programming
  
  
  
  
  
  Coding
  
  
  
  
  
  Designing
  
  
  
  
  
  Aesthetics
  
  
  
  
  
  Nicknames
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  Dislikes
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  Sports
  
  
  
  
  
  Chick flicks
  
  
  
  
  
  Lemonade
  
  
  
  
  
  Philosophy
  
  
  
  
  
  Authority
  
  
  
  
  
  Doctors
  
  
  
  
  
  Strawberry
  
  
  
  
  
  Her first name
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 5'7" with long dark brown hair that appears black, halfway dyed sea foam green, hazel eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  

  

  
  
  
  
  

  

  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

Spoiler

[imagefloat=left][img=http://i.imgur.com/ygfse1N.png][/imagefloat]

[indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][tabs][tab=Introduction][b]Name: [/b]Flannery Spitzer Sergeant 
[b]Nicknames: [/b]Spit, Sergeant Sarcasm
[b]Age: [/b]Twenty one
[b]Birthday: [/b]August twenty seventh
[b]Height: [/b]5'7"
[b]Sexuality: [/b]Lesbian[/tab][tab=Biography]Spit doesn't talk about her childhood much. Here it is, put as briefly as possible: Spit was born to an abusive father and a neglectful mother. She was not allowed to go to school or meet people. When she was six, Bette Sergeant hung herself in her closet, and Llewelyn, her father, used Spit as a replacement for the next two years. Llewelyn was arrested and Spit taken into custody by CPS when a passing car heard a window break and called the police. Spit was raised from that point on by her aunt and uncle, her mother's sister, who had no children as of yet. Jocelyn, her aunt, and Eric, her uncle, doted on her, and respected her every wish, even her decision to go by her middle name instead of her first. Spit started going to school, working exceptionally hard to catch up with the other kids her age. She didn't make any friends, though. She didn't know how, and she was prone to random paroxysms of rage and despair which made her unpopular for a long time.

Spit's life really began when she started high school, mostly if not entirely recovered from her experiences. In some way, she loved her aunt and uncle, but there was a lingering tension and distrust between them. It was an uneasy truce, but a truce nonetheless. As for school, she attended a different high school and started anew for the second time. Though she no longer had meltdowns, she was still as prickly as ever, and teachers often complained of her poor behavior (though they remarked with some surprise that she still managed to perform very well in everything but actual participation). For her part, Spit was determined to do things her own way. No longer did she have to be the kid who took special classes just to be on par with her classmates and no longer did she have to be quiet and removed. She was no freak, she just wouldn't let anyone too close. In high school, this was easily arranged. The friendships she made tended to be with stoners and other rebels, who didn't make friendships for the actual companionship, but just to pass the time. Spit eased herself into the party scene - sex, drugs, alcohol, and loud music a few nights a week - while still miraculously maintaining her grades. The kids she hung out with didn't care what she did and never asked, so Spit managed to have her own little circle of "friends" without any of them knowing anything more than her name and address. It was a good dynamic.

In her sophomore year, Spit gained the nickname when she started taking small things from other people - pens, cigarettes, etc. - and spitting on them to claim them as hers. It worked, and she proudly started to become known as Spit instead of Spitzer. Few people ever got mad at her for it, and when they did, Spit shrugged and laughed them off (which earned her the bitter nickname "Sergeant Sarcasm," which Spit embraced fully). Some people definitely avoided her, for her spitting habits or for her personality in general, but Spit didn't mind. On her own time, Spit developed an interest in programming and coding when she started customizing an online blog to pass the time. What she knew of it was self-taught, but she continued to improve on her own, without anybody's knowledge. That was until she started taking programming classes, easily picking up on various computer languages but mainly HTML. By junior year, Spit had her sights set on web design. While she enjoyed programming, it wasn't what she wanted to do as a career - she wanted to be able to make beautiful, creative things all with just a keyboard. Paid good money, too. Some kids commissioned her for various projects, some to help with school, others for personal use. Either way, Spit was easy to go to and easy to do business with, and the results were great. Spit continued blogging with no real aim or direction, simply as recreation. It was around this time that Spit started dyeing her hair, sticking to the same pattern but alternating colors. Finally, she settled on a sea foam green, which she maintains regularly. Jocelyn and Eric supported her every interest and desire which, even for a teenager, tended to be pretty modest and easy to accommodate. Spit learned how to drive, which she really enjoyed doing, and often went for drives on her own just for the sake of driving. She thought that she might like a motorcycle one day.

Finally, Spit graduated high school. She'd done well in school and had her fill of high school. Jocelyn and Eric supported her decision to move away for college, to live on her own, citing that it'd be a good experience for her and she was an awfully responsible young woman, anyway. Spit kept her dyed hair and unusual nickname (though she dropped the habit that earned her that name), even when she moved off to school to pursue a degree in web design, with a minor in computer science. At college, Spit no longer actively pursued parties, sex, and drugs, though she didn't often turn them down when offered. She came into her sexuality a little more, as she began focusing more on herself than on the way she came off to others. Admitting that she was lesbian was nothing new to her nor her aunt and uncle - what was new about it was that she started casually mentioning it as part of her identity, instead of concealing everything that went on in her head. The kind of friendships she made remained similar to the ones in high school, but with a tint of adulthood and responsibility to them where there hadn't been before. Really, college suited Spit very well. She kept in touch with Jocelyn and Eric, who kept up a constant flow of encouragement and love. Nowadays, Spit spends her time blogging, designing, coding, and partying, which all keep her pretty busy. She'd still maybe like a motorcycle, though for right now, she's pretty content with the car her aunt and uncle bought her as a present for starting college.[/tab][tab=Personality]Spit is prickly at best. She's not rude, but she's not friendly either - she keeps people at a safe distance. She has quite the talent for being present at everything without having told anybody a single thing, or making a single impact on anyone. Spit's always been aloof, a trait she never quite grew out of. Often, she has a habit of lying, sometimes just for the fun of messing with people without them knowing, other times to protect her little secrets. With very little attachment to anything or anyone, screwing with people is easy enough for Spit, though not quite a pastime. To her credit, Spit is creative and whimsical in her work and passions, which she rarely ever discusses. She loves for things to be aesthetically pleasing. It would seem to many that Spit cares little for anything, and Spit prefers it that way - nobody expects anything of her, and so there's no room for disappointment. Spit likes to take risks and try new things, though more often than not she's incredibly impassive about the things she does that aren't related to her passions (for example, if you were to ask her opinion of a book or movie, you'd easily get something along the lines of, "I don't know," or "I don't care").[/tab][tab=Miscellaneous][center][Row]
[Column=span4]
[check=check][b][size=4]Likes[/size][/b][/check]
Sea foam green
Blogging
Driving
Programming
Coding
Designing
Aesthetics
Nicknames
[/Column]
[Column=span4]
[check=cross][b][size=4]Dislikes[/size][/b][/check]
Sports
Chick flicks
Lemonade
Philosophy
Authority
Doctors
Strawberry
Her first name
[/Column][/Row][/center]

[/tab][tab=Appearance]5'7" with long dark brown hair that appears black, halfway dyed sea foam green, hazel eyes.


[center][HEIGHTRESTRICT=250][img=http://i.imgur.com/1LtU0Vv.png][img=http://i.imgur.com/Q5c62Wq.png][img=http://i.imgur.com/4bxprTr.png][/HEIGHTRESTRICT][HEIGHTRESTRICT=250][img=http://i.imgur.com/J9BwNgy.png][img=http://i.imgur.com/MxKH0Lp.png][img=http://i.imgur.com/UuoRVUX.png][/HEIGHTRESTRICT][/center]

[/tab][/tabs]

 

[farewell]

⎡i was

s c a r e d

of

dentists

and the

dark

⎦

✭





✭

❨ i was

s c a r e d

of

pretty girls

and

starting conversations

❩

…

• Introduction
• Biography
• Personality
• Appearance

• 
  
  
  

  
  some information may be subject to change...​

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  N A M E :
  
  
  
  
  Elodie Amelie Bellamy
  
  
  
  
  
  
  N I C K N A M E S :
  
  
  
  
  El, Ellie, Dee
  
  
  
  
  
  
  G E N D E R :
  
  
  
  
  Cisgender girl
  
  
  
  
  
  
  B I R T H D A Y :
  
  
  
  
  May 12th
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A G E :
  
  
  
  
  Eighteen
  
  
  
  
  
  
  S P E C I E S :
  
  
  
  
  Human
  
  
  
  
  
  
  O R I G I N :
  
  
  
  
  French, though born in the U.S.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  H E I G H T :
  
  
  
  
  5'2"
  
  
  
  
  
  
  E Y E S :
  
  
  
  
  Blue
  
  
  
  
  
  
  H A I R :
  
  
  
  
  Blonde, curly
  
  
  
  
  
  
  S E X U A L I T Y :
  
  
  
  
  Lesbian
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  Hi Elodie,
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My name is Emmanuel, and you've probably never heard of me. Believe it or not, I'm your big brother and I'm fourteen years older than you. I know you're only eight and that's a really big surprise, but I think you can handle it. I've heard a lot about you, Elodie. Listen, I hope this letter found you first, because your mom doesn't know about me yet, and she might be really upset if she did. I know you're afraid of her, and you have every right to be. But I'm coming for you, okay? I'm going to help you. You're going to live with me and everything's going to be okay.
  
  
  
  
  
  Love,
  
  
  
  
  
  Your big brother
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  My mother met my father in France, when they were both eighteen. My father wanted to move in with his wealthy uncle in the States to attend college and brought my mother with him, though she was far less wealthy and far less ambitious. Together, they had my brother, Emmanuel, but they weren't capable of taking care of a baby yet, so the baby went to my father's uncle and they continued with their lives. My father finished school while my mother remained stagnant and they lived together for the next fourteen years, their relationship slowly deteriorating. My father became an affluent businessman who took very few things seriously and my mother became an aloof drug addict who could barely hold a conversation. It came to a head when my mother found out she was pregnant with me and my father accused her of cheating. Indignant, my mother left to live in the slums with a community of people more like herself, but not at all suited for a child.
  
  
  
  
  For the first eight years of my life, I lived alone with my mother, who, in retrospect, was neglectful and absent. Mostly, I fended for myself while she spent her money on drugs and alcohol and one-night stands in between cheap, deadbeat boyfriends who sometimes paid too much attention to me, but my mother never noticed nor cared. This part of my life is spotty in my memory. At home, my mother spoke French to me, but everywhere else, people spoke English. I did go to school, though. My mother signed me up at a public school and I packed my own lunch and walked myself to and from school every day. I was punctual and diligent, so nobody worried too much. Besides, I was one of many, many children. What set me apart from the others was perhaps what made me all the more inconspicuous: I was totally, completely silent. With so many young children to deal with and so much noise, nobody paid any attention to my lack of a voice and I was perfectly happy never being noticed. I was scared.
  
  
  
  
  When I was eight, I came home from school to find a letter in our mailbox addressed to me. It was from a big brother I didn't know I had, Emmanuel Richard Bellamy, who turned out to be a recent college graduate at 22. He was living on his own by then and reconnecting with his father when he heard about me and investigated. What he found shocked him. My father was hesitant: he wasn't really the fatherly type, and didn't feel capable of taking care of a child, much less a little girl who'd been living such a different life. He did, however, offer my brother full financial support. And my brother took full advantage of it and came for me. I was excited and nervous waiting for him. Someone wanting me was an as of yet unfathomable concept. Despite that, I was terrified of my mother finding out. I walked on eggshells around her as it was and I was afraid that I'd somehow reveal the secret (despite the fact that I couldn't talk) and ruin everything. Needless to say I did not, and when Emmanuel came for me, my mother didn't care a bit. There was no fanfare or arguments. Emmanuel just helped me pack a suitcase he'd brought with him, took my hand, and took me home.
  
  
  
  
  Emmanuel was wealthy; at that point, mostly because of my father's contributions. He could afford to live in a nice home for two and support me going to school. It was strange to me having someone so invested in my wellbeing and comfort. He even
  
  drove
  
  me to school. What he quickly realized was that when my mother said I was a quiet kid, she was understating it. I was completely removed and isolated and appeared scared of everyone and everything. I sometimes had trouble sleeping and would have crying fits without any provocation or anyone ever noticing if they weren't looking. I would flinch and cower at loud noises and people touching me. When he started sending me to my classmates' birthday parties, other parents would tell him that I would hide in the bathroom for the entire time - sometimes teachers observed this phenomenon as well. He wondered if something hadn't happened to me to make me that way, but never asked (for my part, if anything specific happened, I don't remember. As far as I know, I've always been the way that I am). I started going to doctors. They surmised that I was mute, presumably due to a traumatic incident that must've happened as a child, but they started supposing differently when I started whispering to my brother at home - simple things like, "I'm hungry," "I'm tired," "Can you help me?" The diagnosis became selective mutism and anxiety. However, I became more and more comfortable with Emmanuel. At home, I became bubbly and cheery, though I couldn't speak above a whisper. Emmanuel was amused to discover that I often switched between French and English. Luckily for me, Emmanuel was also fluent in French, and so French became our main language (which was a little easier on me, since I knew that for the most part nobody could understand). We both worked on learning ASL though out of necessity. Emmanuel bought me a piano, thinking it would help me to be able to create sound and have a talent. I started taking private lessons and not only became good at it, but enjoyed it quite a bit.
  
  
  
  
  Despite my disability, I did well academically. My teachers tended to leave me alone, as did most of the other students. For a while, anyway. In middle school, it wasn't so acceptable anymore. I wasn't a cute, shy kid - I was a freak. Even my teachers became impatient with me. Thankfully, I made one friend during my middle school years whose name was Milly. She was patient and understanding, particularly for a twelve year old. In private, I whispered to her and we got to know each other. In public, when I hid and shied away, she spoke for me when and where she could. She protected me from bullies, teachers, and everyone else. As I started my teens, I started getting frustrated with myself. I wanted to be more like Milly, who had friends and boyfriends and a social life, but my anxiety always got the better of me. I started trying new things, only to chicken out and hide in my room for a few hours. Emmanuel and Milly encouraged me, but never pushed me too far. In the middle of high school, Milly moved away, but we kept in touch over text. That was when school became no longer manageable. The nasty words and sneers got to be too much. When I started skipping school for the first time in my life, Emmanuel quickly made arrangements for me to change high schools.
  
  
• 
  
  
  The most obvious thing about me is my anxiety. I am extremely nervous, shy, and quiet, which is where my selective mutism comes in. But that's not all I am. I'm also optimistic and hopeful, though not always when it comes to myself. I want to believe in good things and good people and a good world, even when it seems impossible. Without this hope, I wouldn't be able to get by. As long as it doesn't involve other people I'm adventurous and artistic. I love being able to do something new, no matter how small it is (and with my obstacles, my victories are often unnoticeable by anyone but Emmanuel), and it helps me to express myself through making things pretty since I can't use words. In social situations I'm sometimes visibly uncomfortable and silent. I am friendly insofar as I can interact with others. At a first glance, I'm cold, unfriendly, and unwilling to socialize - on the rare occasion, I've even been called rude. It isn't really reticence, though. If I could talk, I would, and sometimes this is a source of frustration. I take the things people say about me and to me to heart, which can be both good and bad. This makes me receptive to criticism and compliments alike, but the things people say and do can also stay with me for a long time.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ✓ L I K E S :
  
  
  
  ☆
  
  Music; playing piano
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ☆
  
  Vance Joy, Tessa Violet, Lenka, and Lorde
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ☆
  
  Pastels
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ☆
  
  Little things/cute things/pretty things
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ☆
  
  Solitude
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ☆
  
  Emmanuel and Milly
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ☆
  
  Animals, particularly small ones
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ☆
  
  Being feminine
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  ✕ D I S L I K E S :
  
  
  
  ✭
  
  Loud noises
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ✭
  
  Parties
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ✭
  
  Metal/screamo/dubstep
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ✭
  
  Presentations
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ✭
  
  Drugs/alcohol
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ✭
  
  Horror
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ✭
  
  War/guns/weapons/violence
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ✭
  
  Anxiety
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

Spoiler

[imagefloat=left][img=http://i.imgur.com/ZS64iZr.png][/imagefloat]

[indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][font=arial][size=2]⎡i was [color=white][s][color=black][b]s c a r e d[/b][/color][/s][/color] of [i][font=book antiqua]dentists[/font][/i] and the [i][font=book antiqua]dark[/font][/i]⎦[size=1]✭[/size][/size][/font]
[indent][font=arial][size=2][size=1] ✭[/size] ❨ i was [color=white][s][color=black][b]s c a r e d[/b][/color][/s][/color] of [i][font=book antiqua]pretty girls[/font][/i] and [i][font=book antiqua]starting conversations[/font][/i] ❩ [size=4]…[/size][/size][/font]


[tabs][tab=Introduction][centerblock=75][center][font=arial][size=1]some information may be subject to change...[/size][/font][/center]



[size=2][font=courier new][b]N A M E :[/b]
Elodie Amelie Bellamy
[b]N I C K N A M E S :[/b]
El, Ellie, Dee
[b]G E N D E R :[/b]
Cisgender girl
[b]B I R T H D A Y :[/b]
May 12th
[b]A G E :[/b]
Eighteen
[b]S P E C I E S :[/b]
Human
[b]O R I G I N :[/b]
French, though born in the U.S.
[b]H E I G H T :[/b]
5'2"
[b]E Y E S :[/b]
Blue
[b]H A I R :[/b]
Blonde, curly
[b]S E X U A L I T Y :[/b]
Lesbian[/font][/size][/centerblock][/tab][tab=Biography]


[center][print=line]Hi Elodie,

My name is Emmanuel, and you've probably never heard of me. Believe it or not, I'm your big brother and I'm fourteen years older than you. I know you're only eight and that's a really big surprise, but I think you can handle it. I've heard a lot about you, Elodie. Listen, I hope this letter found you first, because your mom doesn't know about me yet, and she might be really upset if she did. I know you're afraid of her, and you have every right to be. But I'm coming for you, okay? I'm going to help you. You're going to live with me and everything's going to be okay.

Love,
Your big brother[/print][/center]



[centerblock=85][size=2][font=arial]My mother met my father in France, when they were both eighteen. My father wanted to move in with his wealthy uncle in the States to attend college and brought my mother with him, though she was far less wealthy and far less ambitious. Together, they had my brother, Emmanuel, but they weren't capable of taking care of a baby yet, so the baby went to my father's uncle and they continued with their lives. My father finished school while my mother remained stagnant and they lived together for the next fourteen years, their relationship slowly deteriorating. My father became an affluent businessman who took very few things seriously and my mother became an aloof drug addict who could barely hold a conversation. It came to a head when my mother found out she was pregnant with me and my father accused her of cheating. Indignant, my mother left to live in the slums with a community of people more like herself, but not at all suited for a child.

For the first eight years of my life, I lived alone with my mother, who, in retrospect, was neglectful and absent. Mostly, I fended for myself while she spent her money on drugs and alcohol and one-night stands in between cheap, deadbeat boyfriends who sometimes paid too much attention to me, but my mother never noticed nor cared. This part of my life is spotty in my memory. At home, my mother spoke French to me, but everywhere else, people spoke English. I did go to school, though. My mother signed me up at a public school and I packed my own lunch and walked myself to and from school every day. I was punctual and diligent, so nobody worried too much. Besides, I was one of many, many children. What set me apart from the others was perhaps what made me all the more inconspicuous: I was totally, completely silent. With so many young children to deal with and so much noise, nobody paid any attention to my lack of a voice and I was perfectly happy never being noticed. I was scared.

When I was eight, I came home from school to find a letter in our mailbox addressed to me. It was from a big brother I didn't know I had, Emmanuel Richard Bellamy, who turned out to be a recent college graduate at 22. He was living on his own by then and reconnecting with his father when he heard about me and investigated. What he found shocked him. My father was hesitant: he wasn't really the fatherly type, and didn't feel capable of taking care of a child, much less a little girl who'd been living such a different life. He did, however, offer my brother full financial support. And my brother took full advantage of it and came for me. I was excited and nervous waiting for him. Someone wanting me was an as of yet unfathomable concept. Despite that, I was terrified of my mother finding out. I walked on eggshells around her as it was and I was afraid that I'd somehow reveal the secret (despite the fact that I couldn't talk) and ruin everything. Needless to say I did not, and when Emmanuel came for me, my mother didn't care a bit. There was no fanfare or arguments. Emmanuel just helped me pack a suitcase he'd brought with him, took my hand, and took me home.

Emmanuel was wealthy; at that point, mostly because of my father's contributions. He could afford to live in a nice home for two and support me going to school. It was strange to me having someone so invested in my wellbeing and comfort. He even [i]drove[/i] me to school. What he quickly realized was that when my mother said I was a quiet kid, she was understating it. I was completely removed and isolated and appeared scared of everyone and everything. I sometimes had trouble sleeping and would have crying fits without any provocation or anyone ever noticing if they weren't looking. I would flinch and cower at loud noises and people touching me. When he started sending me to my classmates' birthday parties, other parents would tell him that I would hide in the bathroom for the entire time - sometimes teachers observed this phenomenon as well. He wondered if something hadn't happened to me to make me that way, but never asked (for my part, if anything specific happened, I don't remember. As far as I know, I've always been the way that I am). I started going to doctors. They surmised that I was mute, presumably due to a traumatic incident that must've happened as a child, but they started supposing differently when I started whispering to my brother at home - simple things like, "I'm hungry," "I'm tired," "Can you help me?" The diagnosis became selective mutism and anxiety. However, I became more and more comfortable with Emmanuel. At home, I became bubbly and cheery, though I couldn't speak above a whisper. Emmanuel was amused to discover that I often switched between French and English. Luckily for me, Emmanuel was also fluent in French, and so French became our main language (which was a little easier on me, since I knew that for the most part nobody could understand). We both worked on learning ASL though out of necessity. Emmanuel bought me a piano, thinking it would help me to be able to create sound and have a talent. I started taking private lessons and not only became good at it, but enjoyed it quite a bit.

Despite my disability, I did well academically. My teachers tended to leave me alone, as did most of the other students. For a while, anyway. In middle school, it wasn't so acceptable anymore. I wasn't a cute, shy kid - I was a freak. Even my teachers became impatient with me. Thankfully, I made one friend during my middle school years whose name was Milly. She was patient and understanding, particularly for a twelve year old. In private, I whispered to her and we got to know each other. In public, when I hid and shied away, she spoke for me when and where she could. She protected me from bullies, teachers, and everyone else. As I started my teens, I started getting frustrated with myself. I wanted to be more like Milly, who had friends and boyfriends and a social life, but my anxiety always got the better of me. I started trying new things, only to chicken out and hide in my room for a few hours. Emmanuel and Milly encouraged me, but never pushed me too far. In the middle of high school, Milly moved away, but we kept in touch over text. That was when school became no longer manageable. The nasty words and sneers got to be too much. When I started skipping school for the first time in my life, Emmanuel quickly made arrangements for me to change high schools.[/font][/size][/centerblock][/tab][tab=Personality][size=2][font=arial][centerblock=75]The most obvious thing about me is my anxiety. I am extremely nervous, shy, and quiet, which is where my selective mutism comes in. But that's not all I am. I'm also optimistic and hopeful, though not always when it comes to myself. I want to believe in good things and good people and a good world, even when it seems impossible. Without this hope, I wouldn't be able to get by. As long as it doesn't involve other people I'm adventurous and artistic. I love being able to do something new, no matter how small it is (and with my obstacles, my victories are often unnoticeable by anyone but Emmanuel), and it helps me to express myself through making things pretty since I can't use words. In social situations I'm sometimes visibly uncomfortable and silent. I am friendly insofar as I can interact with others. At a first glance, I'm cold, unfriendly, and unwilling to socialize - on the rare occasion, I've even been called rude. It isn't really reticence, though. If I could talk, I would, and sometimes this is a source of frustration. I take the things people say about me and to me to heart, which can be both good and bad. This makes me receptive to criticism and compliments alike, but the things people say and do can also stay with me for a long time.[/centerblock][/font]

[centerblock=75][row][column=span4][font=courier new][b]✓ L I K E S :[/b]

[indent][size=1]☆[/size] Music; playing piano
[size=1]☆[/size] Vance Joy, Tessa Violet, Lenka, and Lorde
[size=1]☆[/size] Pastels
[size=1]☆[/size] Little things/cute things/pretty things
[size=1]☆[/size] Solitude
[size=1]☆[/size] Emmanuel and Milly
[size=1]☆[/size] Animals, particularly small ones
[size=1]☆[/size] Being feminine[/indent]

[/column][column=span4][b]✕ D I S L I K E S :[/b]

[indent][size=1]✭[/size] Loud noises
[size=1]✭[/size] Parties
[size=1]✭[/size] Metal/screamo/dubstep
[size=1]✭[/size] Presentations
[size=1]✭[/size] Drugs/alcohol
[size=1]✭[/size] Horror
[size=1]✭[/size] War/guns/weapons/violence
[size=1]✭[/size] Anxiety[/font][/size][/indent]


[/column][/row][/centerblock][/tab][tab=Appearance]

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[img=http://i.imgur.com/fWS41W9.png?1][img=http://i.imgur.com/bhFKgeO.png?1][img=http://i.imgur.com/R1h8AcC.png?1][img=http://i.imgur.com/dfT47cD.png?1]
[img=http://i.imgur.com/uwgCNhh.png?1][img=http://i.imgur.com/U0y77hg.png?1][img=http://i.imgur.com/eDSU9PA.png?1][img=http://i.imgur.com/OrElpSB.png?1][/center]

[/tab][/tabs][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]

 

[farewell]

Tabitha Carla Hadley

freckles on your shoulder ammunition like a soldier and visions ambitions to be the best

​

--------

INTRODUCTION


































saw your

face

, heard your

name

name

?

tabitha carla hadley

nicknames

?

tabby, tabs

age

?

twenty one

likes

?

mother; sister; nephew; boyfriend; rollerskating; drawing; tattooing; hairstyling; piercings; tips; outdoors

gender

?

cisgender female

sexuality

?

pansexual

job

?

waitress, aspiring hairdresser/tattoo artist

dislikes

?

handwriting; grandparents; boyfriend; swimming; freeloading; silence; commitment; confrontation; planning; sports; whipped cream

PERSONALITY​

--------




































you might think i'm one

thing

, but i am

another

Tabby's determined, let's start there. She believes that nothing is impossible, but she's not exactly sunshine and rainbows either. Not everything is hunky-dory all the time and she knows that. She's all about not just saying, but doing. She's also fairly playful and charismatic, good at making just about anyone feel more at ease with how laid-back and patient she is (though she wasn't always, she's become so out of necessity). Alongside her charm is a talent for lying and schmoozing which she doesn't employ often if she doesn't have to, but she doesn't believe in honesty always being the moral high ground or the maxim she needs to stick to. While Tabby likes other people and likes being around others, she craves and strives for self-sufficiency and self-reliance, neither of which have been attainable thus far in her life. And even though she doesn't particularly like confrontation, thinking it a waste of time and energy (as she very much preaches doing what you need to do or want to do with little to no obligation to others who may not have your best interests at heart), she will stand up for herself when the need arises - unless it's her boyfriend pointing fingers at her, then all bets are off. She would never consider herself meek, passive, or a "damsel in distress." All she wants, at the core of her being, is agency over her life.

​

--------

BIOGRAPHY


































there's every

possibility

we have got a

history

Tabby was the second born to a mother who, out of necessity, spent almost all of her time doing sex work to make what money she could to care for Tabby and her younger sister (her older sister being fourteen years older than Tabby herself, Tabby knew very little of her and vice versa). Tabby spent her childhood playing games in the backyard with her younger sister and making use of what hand-me-downs they were given, including a pair of roller-skates that became her main method of transportation. In high school, Tabby took to an older crowd of "punks" who taught her how to draw, tattoo, pierce, and hairstyle. Through these people, Tabby became easy and comfortable with her sexuality, dating girls, boys, and everyone in between and outside. Her younger sister followed in their mother's footsteps and became pregnant at fifteen. Tabby, then seventeen, dropped out to start working at the local cafe and doing odd jobs for people to support her and her sister. Tabby's nephew was born when she was eighteen and both she and her sister loved caring for him. When he was two and Tabby twenty, Tabby met her boyfriend through her job and hit it off; they soon moved in together, only for him to become overly controlling and clingy to the point of violence and abuse. Regardless, he supported her financially and so Tabby had little other option (besides, she did harbor a fondness for him, particularly on his good days). Currently, Tabby is saving up money in the hopes of one day escaping her current situation, finishing school, and becoming a professional hairstylist and tattoo artist.









Tabby was the second daughter to her mother, who gave birth to her at the age of 31. Her mother's first daughter, Tabby's older sister, was born when their mother was only 17 and still living with her parents, Tabby's grandparents. Tabby's mother was what her grandparents called a "wild child"; reckless, promiscuous, and carefree. Tabby's grandparents, being unconditionally loving but also conservative and concerned with appearances, kept Tabby's mother home until the baby was born and then told friends and neighbors that the baby was adopted. The girl grew up knowing about the situation, but, so Tabby's heard, was a prim, proper child who did well at everything. After the birth of her baby, Tabby's mother came down to earth a bit but, being poor as dirt and needing to fend for herself (much like Tabby would grow up to emulate), ended up moving into the house next door and taking up occasional sex work (since she'd never finished high school and had no other skills). Through this work, Tabby was conceived. By the time Tabby was four, her older sister was off to college, so Tabby knew little to nothing of her and had no memories of her. Two years after Tabby was born, her younger sister came along. The girls, their mother, and their grandparents knew that they had different fathers and there was no telling who either of those men could be, so they were simply raised without one. There were no luxuries at home. Their grandparents put their feet down (made easier to do by the fact of their not condoning sex work) and insisted that their mother be a responsible adult, and so their mother started working full time - in fact, all the time. The girls saw very little of her, but as their mother was embarrassed about what she was doing, wouldn't tell her parents next door that she didn't always come home at night - on those nights, the girls would either have to fend for themselves or go hungry, since there was rarely ever leftover food in the house and their grandparents were not to know that their mother wasn't home. Also, with no electronics to fiddle with, the girls both became very imaginative and creative. Their only toys were whatever they could find in their backyard, so they spent a lot of time camping outside, playing pretend, and running around. As they got a little older, the girls would receive occasional hand-me-downs from their grandparents, who had various knickknacks left over from raising their oldest sister. Among these presents was a pair of roller-skates that Tabby took to immediately. Since they couldn't afford a car or even a bike, the roller-skates became Tabby's best mode of transportation and she quickly became not only very good at rollerskating, but very fond of it as a pastime. Her younger sister tried, but could never match Tabby's coordination, and so was content to occupy herself with other things. There was little to no animosity or rivalry between Tabby and her younger sister; they shared everything and could not complain without much lecturing and punishment from their grandparents. They both went to school and made friends; neither excelled, but neither came anywhere near failing. However, they gravitated towards different social circles; whereas Tabby preferred the older "punks" as her grandparents called them - eccentric kids who liked dyeing their hair and piercing lips, noses, ears, tongues, and bellybuttons, and who liked kissing everyone and anyone - her younger sister preferred a much laxer crowd who were primarily concerned with enjoying themselves by whatever means. While Tabby started learning how to draw, wield a tattoo gun, style hair in many different ways, pierce effectively, and kiss girls, boys, and everyone else, her younger sister followed in their mother's footsteps and learned how to have brief, meaningless, intimate nights with plenty of people. Tabby dated a bit in high school, but rarely ever got intimate with people, and nowhere near as easily as her younger sister did. Their grandparents didn't always love Tabby's choices in dates, especially when they were girls, but Tabby paid no mind and just tried to avoid provoking them. Predictably, Tabby's younger sister became pregnant at the age of fifteen (and Tabby seventeen). Since they couldn't afford an abortion (and wouldn't even consider one, given their grandparents' opinions) they both dropped out of high school; her younger sister upon the insistence of their grandparents and for ease and convenience, and Tabby to care for her sister and her baby. Tabby took up a job at the local cafe to earn regular money while taking odd jobs on the side, since she was a fairly good tattoo artist and hairstylist and could do quick and easy piercings. Unsurprisingly, her grandparents weren't thrilled by her occupations, but as she was making money and comfortable and confident doing what she was doing, they didn't stop her. To get as many tips as possible, Tabby made good use of her inherent charisma and even enjoyed chatting with customers and coworkers, at the cafe and in her own time (she did fairly well finding customers of her own for hairstyling, piercing, and tattoos). Being so preoccupied, Tabby began seeing less of her grandparents anyway and just about nothing at all of her mother (who did care about what had become of her younger daughters, yes, and so doubled her efforts if that was possible, but the girls saw little direct effect of this). Her time was taken up by dropping everything to tend to her sister or work, and so Tabby rarely ever made any type of plans; everything she did she did spontaneously and with flexibility. Tabby's nephew was born when she was eighteen and her sister sixteen; together, along with their grandparents and a few contributions here and there from their mother, they raised him and gave him as much love, affection, and attention as they could. Tabby made sure he never went hungry and her sister made sure he was never ignored (to her credit, at the age of sixteen she was a good mother). When he was two (and Tabby twenty), she met an endearing, loving guy while waitressing. The two hit it off and moved in together after a few months. Tabby was eager for this life change, despite a reluctance to commit to a partner; while she loved her sister and nephew, she wanted to feel like she was doing things on her own and being her own person, which overcame her reluctance to commit. Of course, this backfired. He was more affluent than Tabby had ever been, and was happy to get them a nice house together. To Tabby's knowledge, he worked odd hours at the local bookstore, which she rarely had any occasion to visit, having no time for pleasures like reading. Tabby's primary goal was to save up money, finish high school, and become a professional hairstylist and tattoo artist - it was the only plan she'd ever made in her adult life. Considering how well things were going and how lovely her boyfriend was, she was at first quick to make excuses for him when he became clingy, jealous, and possessive, sometimes even angry and violent. He wanted to know everyone she talked to and would often look over her shoulder at her phone (which he'd bought for her upon their moving in together) and even check her phone when she wasn't around. Automatically, he was quick to dislike anyone she mentioned, regardless of their relation to her, with the exception of her family (although he didn't like little kids, and loathed her nephew). He would demand attention, affection, and intimacy until Tabby gave it to him whether or not she wanted to. Anyone who wanted her services would have to come to their house because her boyfriend would have a meltdown if she went somewhere aside from work without him (and even then, he'd grill her on the details of her day, and sometimes even went to meet her at work). He had friends too and when she was home or at work, would spend time with them. Tabby once jokingly pointed out how he could spend time with friends but she couldn't, which was the first time he hit her, leaving bruises on her legs and torso, but never somewhere she couldn't cover up. He did apologize afterwards too and the two would cry it out and comfort each other and fall asleep wrapped in each other's arms. Even though Tabby intuitively knew that this situation was not the best for her, she had little other option; besides, he had his good days and she wanted to help him be better, which he often begged for (threatening suicide if she ever left him). For the most part, Tabby just did her best to stay out of his way and provoke as little of his anger as possible. She knew what triggered him and what irked him, as he was fairly predictable. Luckily for her, they didn't live far from her family, so she could still see her sister and nephew regularly and even babysit when she had the time, her sister aiming to graduate high school herself. This is the life Tabby currently lives, but she's working on saving up money to change things - maybe even leave one day.

MISCELLANEOUS​

--------
























saying that i want

more

, this is what i

live

for

appearance

Tabby is diminutive and petite in stature at only 5'2" and with a very fortunate metabolism, could be described as svelte, though a little curvier. She has two piercings in each earlobe, each piercing next to the other, and regularly changes her hair. Her current hairstyle is the one pictured in the introduction section with the sides shaved and the top a pale blue, just long enough to reach her eyebrows when swept forwards. Her skin is fair and can burn if she's not careful, though not by simply walking around on a sunny day. While she doesn't actually have any tattoos yet, it not being particularly easy to do one on oneself, she has every intention of getting one someday but she's not yet sure what she wants. Her attire usually falls into the categories of feminine, alternative, and perhaps even punk, depending on who you ask; however, while she loves wearing skirts and shorts, she'll often forego them for leggings and pants when/if she has any bruising. Her eyes are a pale blue/grayish color, which tend to be very expressive and welcoming. Though she dyes her hair plenty she doesn't dye her eyebrows, leaving them her natural hair color: a chocolate brown.

relationships

mother: lisa marie hadley, 52

does sex work full time; almost entirely absent from the lives of her family members, but works hard to provide them with resources; her daughters respect and appreciate her but have no bond with her





father: unknown



the result of lisa's work. there's no telling who he is, as lisa has never married nor been in a committed relationship





older half sister: unknown name (kept from tabby), 35



tabby knows nothing, other than that she was raised by her grandparents as their own and excelled in everything; pride of the family, but doesn't engage with them due to grandparents' interference





younger half sister: sylvia elise hadley, 19



close with tabby, but they're both adults now and doing their own thing; asks tabby to babysit while she does schooling; still lives with their mother





nephew (son of sylvia): jude herman hadley, 3



loves his mother and aunt tabby (and vice versa); doesn't know much of his grandmother or great grandparents





boyfriend: arthur caleb penn, 23



initially got on very well with tabby, but things got hairy once they moved in together; he's a drug dealer, but doesn't tell tabby; supports tabby financially as he is wealthy and is often sweet and affectionate to an unhealthy extent; works part time at the local bookstore (though tabby thinks he works full-time and odd hours at that due to his pastime drug dealing)