Post by shayh on Oct 24, 2010 19:58:54 GMT -5
The full name's shayleen alexandra hill, but most people call me shay. In case you couldn't tell, I'm a chick. I came into this world kicking and screaming on october twenty-first, and sixteen years later, I still haven't stopped. Back then, I lived in Manhattan, New York City. I'm a Caucasian dealing with the stress of tenth grade.
eyes :: Shay's eyes could be one of three colors, depending on the lighting. Sometimes, they're icy grey. Other times, they're sparkling blue. Still other times, they're a light green. No matter what the color, there's a faraway-ness to them that never truly fades...
nose :: Shay's nose is relatively short. It's also extremely thin, especially at the point just above her nostrils where the bridges of everyones' noses randomly cave inward. Also, it's upturned at the end, and slightly rounded.
hair :: The tresses of Shay are dark brunette. They cascade past her shoulders, falling a few inches short of middle of her back. Naturally, there are loose curls in her hair. On occasion, she will brutally murder these with a straightening iron. She parts her hair slightly to the left.
face :: Thin, dark eyebrows curve delicately above Shay's eyes. Her eyes are often outlined in black liner, and less often, shadowed with makeup (this "skank" look is reserved for parties). There are flushes of rose in her cheeks. Shay has a small mouth, the corner of which lives in a constant state of curled-ness, as she's almost always smirking. Finally, there is a small, oddly shaped indentation in her forehead, a constant reminder of her past.
body :: One of Shay's most notable physical attributes would be her anorexic thinness. Legit. She's nearly knocked over every time the wind speed picks up. On top of that, she has virtually no curves. She's just thin, flat, and long. Long legs, long neck... She stands at five feet, seven inches and weighs in around ninety seven pounds. No lie. There is a pallor about Shay that is borderline ghostly. In short, she looks like she could keel over and die any minute.
likes :: cigarettes, fishnets, being smashed out of her mind, sleeping around, parties, loud music, starting shit, fights (either participating or spectating), dark colors, vintage clothing, ink, metal, leather, motorcycles
dislikes :: chewing gum, listening to people chewing gum, waking up early, attending classes, anything of or relating to mathematics, her teachers, authority figures, bottle blonds, hangovers, coughing her lungs out, herself and her figure
habits :: spacing in and out of conversations, tugging on her index finger, biting her thumb nail, tapping her pencil against her paper
flaws :: self-loathing, masochistic, defensive, cynical, pessimistic, violent when angry, short-tempered, kleptomaniac
positive attributes :: intelligent, cunning, self-sufficient, open-minded, creative, determined
secret(s) :: Shay hates herself because she's following in her mother(whom she hates)'s footsteps
pet peeve(s) :: the slopping sound chewing gum makes when being chewed with an open mouth, visible stains on her clothing or the clothing of others, long monologues that go in circles and never really say anything
personality :: Shay is an emotional trainwreck for various reasons. The first and most prominent of these would be the fact that she hates herself. No, seriously. While everyone else is skipping merrily along, thinking, Look at me, I'm so great. I'm majestic and amazing and superawesomefun and I shit rainbows and butterflies, she's skulking in a corner, picking at her wrists and purposely avoiding the small portion of food on her plate, thinking, I'm such a miserable being. I shouldn't be allowed to exist. The world would be a much better place if I weren't alive. Why? You'll find out in her history, silly!
It was this complete lack of anything even remotely resembling self esteem that lead to Shay's recklessness. She just doesn't not care what happens to her anymore. She'll chug seven, eight beers a night, smoke at least a pack of cigarettes a day, and sleep with anyone who expresses an interest. Her outlook on life: if she's going to hell, she might as well give the devil a run for his money. Now, that doesn't mean she'll talk to anyone who expresses an interest. Quite the contrary. Shay avoids clingy, outgoing people like the plague. For a couple reasons. One being perky, positive attitudes induce vomiting, the other being that she doesn't want to get close to anyone. She knows if she does, he or she will only hurt her in the end. So she brushes off any best-friend contenders as harshly as possible.
On to some redeeming qualities. Whomever Shay does grow to love (i.e, Devon) (which, by the way, means she only loves Devon and is incapable of loving anyone else), she loves wholeheartedly. She will defend and care for them (or, in her case, him) with her dying her breath. Unfortunately, sometimes defending Devon involves reverting to the snippy half that resides beneath the surface. When angered, Shay becomes an entirely different person. She goes from mellow and quiet to loud and aggressive in the blink of an eye, hurling insults and fists (and the occasional knife).
mother :: Jeanie Hill, forty-seven, "working girl"
father :: Eathan Hawk, forty-eight, C.E.O. of an insurance company, is completely unaware of Shay's existence
brother(s) :: none
sister(s) :: none
step-relations: :: Devon Hill, fourteen, step-brother, student
other relatives :: none
pets :: none
background check :: Shay was never supposed to exist. Working girls weren't supposed to have children. But Jeanie did. Growing up in a large family, having one of her own was always a dream of hers. Then her family disowned her after she fell into poverty and was forced into prostitution, and the dream became a necessity. Jeanie had no clue who the father was, but she knew she had to keep the baby. So she made up some excuse to take a long, long leave from work (without revealing her pregnancy), blew up like a blimp, and had her child -- a gorgeous baby girl she named Shayleen.
Everything should have been easy after that. Jeanie resumed her work with plenty of time in the mornings to make sure Shay was all set before she left for work, and plenty of time in the evenings to feed Shay her dinner. Shay slept during the days. After four months of this cycle, a complication arose. A complication in the form of another child. This time, she couldn't keep the secret from her employer. Word leaked out to her clientele. She was able to keep her job, but after Devon was born and she went back to work, her hours shrank. There was a shortage of men interested in sleeping with the mother of two children.
Money was tight. Jeanie was underworked and over-stressed. She turned to alternative methods to relieve said stress -- namely alcohol. Once she'd tucked her little angels in for the night, Jeanie drank like a fish. She paid less and less attention to her children, barely noticing when Shay would barrel head-first into a table or chair because she wasn't old enough to know that she couldn't craw through such objects. That was how Shay got the scar in her forehead -- she crawled into the sharp corner of a wooden coffee table.
When school started, Shay was the kid everyone else alienated. She was left to color by herself. After a few weeks of this, Shay had a meltdown. She broke all the crayons, kicked a couple of the other kids, tore open the "class pet" (which was the stuffed-animal rendition of a hamster), and broke a window for good measure. That's how she was demoted to the "special" class for the other troubled kids. In that classroom, the teachers all spoke in sickly sweet voices and treated her like she were fragile. Shay hated them. She hated their long, plastic fingernails, their painted faces, their inhumanly white teeth. School was hell.
Endless mockery forced Devon and Shay together on countless occasions throughout their childhood. Nobody else wanted to talk to them, so they stuck with each other. Though Shay was the oldest, it was only by thirteen months. Neither of them assumed the leadership role -- they simply each looked out for the other, though in different ways. If guys were trashing Shay, Devon would knock a few of their teeth out. If they were trashing Devon, Shay would insult them to tears faster than they could cry for their mothers. Shay and Devon and the rest of the student body had a kind of mutual hatred for each other.
Junior high proved better than elementary school. That was when Shay and Devon found their own niches. Devon fit in with a crowd of antisocial boys who gravitated toward each other because they could sit in comfortable silence and unite to tear down anyone who dared upset this balance. Shay fell in with a crowd of druggies, making close friends with one of them who turned out to be a total whore. The girl, Jayden, kept pestering Shay to try "It" sometime, but Shay refused, thinking of her mother. Then, toward the end of ninth grade, Jayden and Shay were at a party. Jayden drugged Shay's drink and set her up with one of Devon's friends. ... misery ensued.
Long story short: Shay lost her virginity. The school found out and started calling her a slut like her mother. Devon beat the shit out of the guy that ruined Shay's life. Shay and Devon became the object of ridicule for the remainder of the school year. One the very last day, another member of the gang Devon used to hang with caught Shay behind the school dumpster where she was having a smoke. He would've had his way with her if Devon hadn't shown up. Once the situation was resolved, Devon brought to light the idea of running away. The siblings returned to their home, packed their bags, and hitch hiked. By the next week, they were in Chicago.
Starting their new life wasn't easy. The first few nights, the siblings slept on the streets. Then Shay scouted out an abandoned warehouse. Next, they picked up some transfer papers from the school, Lumini. With a little forgery and a lot of stolen food (and pickpocket-ed money), they made due.
role play sample ::Aah, coffee. It was the one human beverage that vampires could not only consume without feeling sick to the stomach, but also the single most alluring scent. Apart from that of blood, of course.
Breezing gracefully through the doors, Jun stopped inside the Starbucks and took a deep breath, inhaling as much of the glorious scent as he could. His gaze skirted the establishment, passing over a couple mortal floozies who looked at him with a strange mixture of fear and disgust. Jun's response was to stare them down. They turned away, each of them shivering. A self-satisfied smirk curled the corner of the vampire's mouth as he raked a hand through his hair. It was thick and soft to the touch, just the way he liked it. He then strung his fingers through the belt loops of his slacks and marched passed the pair of humans as though he owned them. Which, in all honesty... he did.
He knew the poor soul behind the counter. A vampire named Pete. It was a pity the fellow had to spend his nights serving the humans, especially when everyone else usually took advantage of the time and went hunting. A nice fresh deer was sounding pretty good around then, but deer blood couldn't make Jun's mouth water like coffee. If he couldn't have his blood, this was the next best thing. He spared Pete a sympathetic look before rattling off his usual. "I'll take a half-calf double decaf with a twist of lemon." His words came out crisp, clean, and perfectly enunciated, same as always. It wasn't because he was a vampire. You'd be surprised at some of the shmutzy English he heard among the underground. His manner of speaking had been developed over years of practice.
Pete poured him his coffee and handed the cup back. It might have been warm - even burning hot - to the touch, but Jun couldn't feel anymore. Warmth, cold... it made no difference. He thanked Pete with a half-smile, paid him for the coffee, and turned to face the rest of the shop. There was an open booth tucked into one of the back corners. It was there that Jun headed, taking a sip of his drink as he went. He seated himself, placing his cup on the table in front of him. He then propped his elbows up on the tabletop, folded his hands, and set his chin on his knuckles. He was settled in to watch.
.. And wait.
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hey. my alias is robin (a.k.a. bob the tomato / batman's steward / roberto/ pwner of the universe and owner of your mom), I'm sixteen years old, and I've been slashing for about four years. I heard about you guys through ellie & zee & emmy, and let me say, TEAM ADMIN OWNS YOUR FACE.
