Post by Iuliana Holloway on Mar 22, 2011 20:51:07 GMT -5
The full name's iuliana erzsébet holloway, but most people call me iuli, or cripple. In case you couldn't tell, I'm an owner of double-x chromosomes. I came into this world kicking and screaming on january 2, and 18 years later, I still haven't stopped. Back then, I lived in sibiu, romania. I'm a gypsy at heart dealing with the stress of 12th grade.
eye color :: black
hair color :: dark brown
height :: 5'7
weight :: 134
body type ::formerly kindly dubbed an 'ectomorph' and more crudely but accurately described as 'a ruler' or 'a beanpole' or 'a tall, skinny girl with no butt or boobs', iuli gained some weight after her accident, when rigorous training for ballet, and most other forms of exercise, became impossible. her face remains long and lean, but the rest of her body has gained a slight softness to counteract her former harsh, angled lines, and even a few curves have made themselves apparent, much to her chagrin.
likes :: ballet, green tea, Degas, cheeseburgers (a guilty pleasure), subtle sarcasm, being comfortable, cathedrals, snow, jokes in bad taste and satire (in small doses; “Yo Mama” jokes are another guilty pleasure), languages, indie rock and underground bands, rings (and lots of them), silent black-and-white movies that come on at 1 AM, scary movies (good for a laugh), acoustic guitars, or when someone can play the acoustic guitar (that doesn't guarantee that she likes the person--only their ability), reading the National Enquirer (who comes up with that crap?), songs with lyrics she can't understand, Cockney accents, giraffes, the smell of smoke, oversized sweatshirts, pain killers, big dogs, and some little ones, as long as they don't bark and attempt to eat her ankles, chocolate, pajama pants, dance wars
dislikes :: migraines (she has one constantly), being crippled, euphemisms, especially people who call her a 'disabled person'--she's a cripple, thanks; get over it, memories, orange juice, large bodies of water, people who complain nonstop, people who never re-dye their roots, people who are bigots, or idiots; they're synonymous, people?, cats, her weaknesses, being an insomniac, makeup, carrots, taking naps, her job, high-pitched sounds or voices, hair in her face, being incapable of or unable to do something, being underestimated, alcohol, and its smell, when someone blinks too often
habits :: drumming her rings against a surface, hiding behind her hair, slouching
flaws :: pessimistic, cynical, pig-headed, apathetic, closed-off
positive attributes ::blunthonest, smart, resilient, good at impersonations, open-minded
secret :: absolutely terrified of the prospect of a meaningless future
pet peeves :: people who blink too often; people who carry more Hello Kitty charms and meaningless beaded kitschy things they made six years ago on their key rings than keys; people who talk too loudly; people unable to see something right in front of their noses; rude customers; sequins; bad pseudo-French accents; reading out loud in class; uncomfortable shoes; text lingo; caps lock; four messy pirouettes instead of a clean double
personality :: There exists not so much a pre- and post-crash Iuliana as an Iuli that is pre- and post-ballet.
Whenever she was offstage, Iuli was never an extrovert, never one who had throngs of friends and myriad acquaintances whose names she could never remember. She wasn't quiet, most certainly not shy, but she was notoriously picky when it came to friendships. Most people annoyed her; finding someone with enough redeemable qualities to cancel out the negative ones was difficult. The friends she did have, however, she was infinitely close with. They appreciated her sense of humor--dry, subtle sarcasm sprinkling every word she spoke and practically oozing from some syllables, always spoken with a straight face and a seemingly blasé arc of the brows, vanishing whenever she genuinely smiled or laughed--and would start small bickers and banters with her just to watch as the beast of her raging argumentativeness emerged. In return, she was the level-headed, down-to-earth member of their group, the one who could see right through a person, who never wasted time with petty lies or exaggerations and was as straight-forward and blunt as she could be. This tended to further push people away from her, but the ones who were endeared by it were the friends she knew she would keep, and be loyal to with every breath in her body. She was never dependent on her friends, constantly clinging to them as some girls did; instead, she simply could not imagine life without them, and did not bother to do so.
When she was onstage, though, something changed; perhaps everything. Onlookers would watch as the girl who drank black coffee, loved black humor, and was prone to black moods would blossom into some unknown creature of beauty and radiance in the glow of the stage lights. She could read people so well that she had an uncanny talent of shaking off her own self like a cloak and adopting the persona of whatever character she was supposed to be portraying only through the expressions of her face and, most importantly, body. Often, when a performance ended, she could remember none of it. It was an out-of-body experience. Following it, however, she became a creature of energy and passion, laughing and running, heart pounding, suddenly transformed into an addict to adrenaline. She lived for these performances because they made her feel alive.
The greatest shift in Iuli's personality post-ballet, understandably, is that she lacks ambition. When she was so focused on her craft, she was adamant in reaching her goal of becoming prima; now, disabled and weakened both mentally and physically, she sees little in her life worth fighting for. There thankfully remains, however, a spark that has no intention of being extinguished. This spark, unfortunately, is called pig-headedness. While most people are said to maintain a stubborn streak, every fiber of Iuliana's being, every globule of blood in her veins, is obstinate. If she doesn't like something, she won't do it; if something evil approaches, she will stand her ground and stare it in the face until it attacks or retreats. She will accept help nor pity from no one. This, coupled with her newer quiet and withdrawn nature, her coldness to strangers and her unwillingness to let anyone get close enough to see the whites of her eyes or the scars on her soul, tends to push people away more effectively than a battering ram. Iuli is no longer bothered by this. Apathy has replaced ambition.
Yet there is a deeper section to every heart that is soft and safe inside a cradle of scars and scratches. In Iuliana's is harbored a profound, aching yearning for her life to be as it once was that wakes her at night and brings her to bitter tears; there is also an immense self-hatred for allowing herself to commit a single act of stupidity that ruined everything. Less poignant, still existent, is a whisper of affection for the friends that abandoned her or the ones to whom she closed herself off. If she ever allows anyone to get close to her, or if anyone can fight their way past the defenses of her sarcasm and crossed arms, they may be able to see these secret chambers of her heart.
Until then, Iuli dreams only in secret, and lives the best she can when she no longer has a life.
mother :: Ecaterina Dutrimescu, gypsy (Kalderdash); deceased
father :: Andrei Dutrimescu, gypsy (Kalderdash); deceased
adoptive mother:: Nancy Nolan, former waitress turned secretary
step-relations: :: Landon Holloway, step-dad; ob/gyn
background check ::
Contrary to popular belief, gypsies--the Roma--originated in a central region of India. They did, however, migrate to various pockets of the world and fill them with the enormity of their presence. One of these pockets, particularly deep, chill, dark, was Romania, and one of its most densely populated regions was Transylvania, a region renowned for its cosmopolitan society, rich mineral resources, castles, and the grandfather of all vampires or the inspiration for many serial killers.
Neither macabre nightmares of folklore nor reality, Andrei and Ecaterina Dutrimescu were kindly gypsies, of a particular group called the Kalderdash, jewelers. They inhabited the streets of Sibiu with an enthusiasm that rivaled the happiness of the wealthy modernists. When they welcomed their first and only child, a long-faced girl with a full head of dark hair, they were overjoyed. Their culture valued children above all, and something about young Iuliana, a happy but stubborn child even in infancy, completely enraptured them.
Yet harsh slaps in the face from reality soon brought the family to their senses. They were poor. They were hungry. They were oppressed. When Iuliana was two, they became further debilitated when Andrei broke his hand while shoeing a horse, and their income plummeted with his jewelry making. Devastated but grimly determined to secure the best possible life for their beloved, Andrei and Ecaterina kissed their precious child goodbye and put her up for adoption.
Iuliana's only memories of this, her early childhood, her culture, are fleeting; most of her information came from Nancy Nolan, her adoptive mother. Nancy was a recent divorcee living relatively well in Chicago on the alimony from her cheating ex-husband, and she wanted to fill her empty apartment with something that furniture or a toy poodle could not. She chose Iuli because their large, sloe-black eyes seemed to label them as kin. Nancy, chain-smoker, waitressing, a lover of dark humor with the mouth of a sailor, was not optimal mother material, but she and Iuli proved to be alike in many ways. Her childhood in their cramped apartment was nowhere near ideal, but her birth mother, on the streets of Sibiu, recently widowed, was overjoyed by every letter Nancy sent her detailing her daughter's life.
When Iuli was 7, however, her personality was already beginning to clash with Nancy's. Frustrated, trying to get the child out of her hair, Nancy dragged a literally kicking and screaming Iuli to a ballet class down the street.
She hated it.
Every little girl was blonde and blue-eyed with an affinity for all things pink, sequined, feathered, or sparkly. The classical music was too slow and every muscle in her body ached after class and her feet didn't like to stay turned out. Her teachers, however, recognized promise in the curve of her long arms and fingers, the emerging elegance of her legs, the expression in her dark eyes and the carriage of her upper body. Thus encouraged by the raw talent that they were beginning to unearth, her teachers pushed her and prodded her until Iuli, incredulous, discovered something: this–ballet–was not merely plies and jetes, words and movements and arms and legs. This was a lifestyle. This was a passion. It was beautiful and frightening and amazing simultaneously.
As cliché as the statement is, saying that dancing was her life became the most truthful statement she could ever utter. She started working at Starbucks when she was 15, trying to support herself and Nancy, but every other ounce of her free time was consumed by ballet. She took 8 classes 6 nights a week at the Joffrey Academy of Dance and was still in the studio every other evening. Although she had several close friends, she was never a social butterfly, so she had plenty of time to develop her talent and progress in her notoriety. Majoring in ballet in college was already firmly fixed in her mind.
When she was 15, several shifts in her life began to place her in different positions beyond the ones she knew so well from ballet. Nancy had begun working as a secretary at the office of a well-known ob/gyn, Dr. Landon Holloway, and was suddenly swooning and simpering at any mention of her boss. Soon, this wealthy and respected man was coming to dinner, taking Nancy out, hugging Iuli when he saw her and coming to see her ballet performances. After a four-month courtship, Nancy and Landon were wed, and Iuli was suddenly shoved from their tiny apartment into a life of wealth and renown with her new step-daddy, whose choice of career slightly disturbed her ("Mom, seriously, he makes a living by looking at other women's--" "Iuli!").
Although highly uncomfortable with their sudden shift in social status, and everything that came with it, Iuli was overjoyed by a single fact that became evident four months before her 16th birthday: she now had enough money to allow her to go to London's renowned Central School of Ballet to participate in its summer course with several girls from her studio. The time for the intensive arrived, and Iuli was intoxicated with the city, with the freedom and independence it presented, and, mostly, with the ballet she learned and the new teachers that eyed her with approval in their tight smiles.
Iuliana–down-to-earth, level-headed, no-nonsense Iuliana– had not intended to become intoxicated by an unchaperoned night out on the town with her friends. She had not intended to become intoxicated with alcohol as she got into a car with a boy in a similar state.
They did not see the car swerving across the road towards them.
Iuliana suffered a broken hand and nose; bruises caused by her seatbelt colored her chest and right shoulder; various cuts and scratches spanned the canvas of her face as if they were the revenge of an infuriated painter. However, it was not these injuries that forced her to remain in a London hospital for weeks– it was her leg that would change her life forever. In the accident, the vessels in her right leg had busted, and her leg unceremoniously shattered; rods were inserted and other measures attempted, yet Iuli was told a week following her accident that her leg would forever be useless. This was not a mere slap to the face, but another car accident to the soul. No leg meant no dance. No dance meant no life.
The boy who had been driving the car emerged from the accident unscathed. Iuli never saw him again.
Neither did she seem to see anyone. When she returned home, she was coddled by Nancy and was forced to remain home for nearly a month. Iuli passed the time by alternately dissolving into fits of rage, guilt, and overwhelming grief. When her junior year of high school began, she found herself distant from any and all of her old friends, and from any other member of the student body. Halfway through the year, her parents removed her from the school. Nancy claimed that they now had enough money to send her somewhere better. Iuli knew that her mother was crossing her fingers for Iuli to have another try at life.
Thus, in the middle of her junior year, Iuli was unceremoniously shipped to Lumini High, and immediately dubbed crippled, bad-tempered, sharp-tongued social outcast and pariah. Her status has changed only in slight increments, if at all. Iuli still devotes her time to her job at Starbucks--although unnecessary and highly loathed, it convinces her that she is not so useless, and is a staple of normalcy and routine in the utter tedium and uselessness in her life, now that she is unable to pirouette through it.
role play sample ::The red badges of disgrace, not courage, scarlet letters like V for volatile and T for temperamental, seemed to be permanently branded on her cheeks. Iuli found herself welcoming every opening of the door, for each one was accompanied by a refreshing breath of air. She was a fire that needed to be extinguished, and quickly. Any more flare-ups could ignite the manager's wrath and cause her a lost job (and, inevitably, singed eyebrows). She pressed the cool palm of her hand to her cheek to aid the cooling process at the thought; the other retained its tight grasp on her cane, her anchor to sanity and her tether to shame.
She blended, for a moment, into the accumulating chaos, the crescendo of noise and increase of hither-and-yon hustle-and-bustle of the shop's patrons. The one good thing about mornings here--or, more broadly, the only good thing about mornings--was that the shop was always busy. It gave her less of an opportunity for sheer ennui; it also, unfortunately, presented a higher chance for her to beat someone with her cane. Fortunately, the early perpetrator, too, had disappeared into the building busyness. She could no longer see his bald pate and had thus lost the desire to fling the purple plastic basket at it. Instead, she seized said basket and placed it just beside her hand on the counter; next time she could simply hurl the packets, wrapping and all, into the cups of ignorant customers. Additional points would be rewarded if the customer remained unaware of the foreign floating entity in their coffee cup.
The final tongues of her anger that had been licking away at her composure were dying down. Still, Iuli found herself moving in quick bursts of movement, her hand brushing away the hair from her face, her gaze scanning the crowd, individually identifying every face, a precaution. Who was most likely to annoy her next? If discovered early enough, she could usher them over to another cashier.
Him. He, right at the counter, right before her startled and suspicious eyes, was trouble. Jocks from the Academy stopped by every day to flirt with whatever attractive members of the fairer sex they could, and, inevitably, to prank and bother and aggravate and taunt Iuli. They boasted apparent immunity to even Iuli's bitter sarcasm, their imperviousness granted by their good looks and lofty statuses. She had seen this particular offender--he had to be a jock; she could smell them from a mile away--once or twice, in and out of school, and common sense dictated that he could not possibly be here for any positive intentions. There was devilry in the tilt of his smile, in his laugh;her own lips molded into a shallow slash of a frown in automatic response. He was going to present a problem, and another predicament was the very last thing she needed right now--besides someone searching for the elusive sugar.
When he spoke, however, his words did not volley against the natural barriers she had thrown up in haste. He was teasing her, yes, but not maliciously. Yet. Apprehensive, her eyes narrowed.
"Dunno," she said, warily, moving to make a latte to inform Wise Guy here that he would not monopolize her attention. A drop of scalding liquid sizzled against the back of her hand and she said a curse beneath her breath matter-of-factly. "You'll know within a minute," she said to him as she was forced to hand the latte to the waiting customer, and, thus, to return to her post. "If you don't black out or start projectile vomiting you should live to see another day. Thank your lucky stars."
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