Post by stella on Apr 17, 2010 13:20:29 GMT -5
[/font]stella jasmine dawson !
{'i wanna be a billionaire so bad }[/center]
Name: Stella Jasmine Dawson[/size]
Nicknames:Stel, Jazz
Age: Seventeen
Usergroup: Lady greaser
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Birthday: March 18th
If you feel so empty so used upLikes :
[+] strawberries
[+] working on cars (a little guilty pleasure picked up from her brother)
[+] writing
[+] jazz from the 1920s
[+] cheeseburgers and milkshakes
[+] nighttime
[+] drive-in movies
[+] cigarettes
Dislikes:
[+] where she lives
[+] looking like a greaser (she cares how she looks, thanks)
[+] violence
[+] alcohol
[+] school
[+] her home
[+] chocolate ice cream
[+] mornings
Strengths:
• Stella is very empathetic. She has a motherly nature that makes her a really good shoulder for anyone who needs it. She can put herself into anyone’s shoes if she tries. (Though she never does when it comes to socs). She's an excellent listener and usually has something constructive advice to give after hearing something. She'd talk to a total stranger for hours if the situation arose.
• As motherly as she is, Stella's a hard ass. She is very levelheaded, sacrastic and sharp. But this gives her the ability to make quick, decisive acts when the situation calls for it. She usually works very well under pressure.
• Stel has a good sense of 'street smarts'. Which is only natural spending so much time on them. She knows how to handle herself, how to protect and handle others, and how to get what she wants. Shes certainly not a body builder and doesn’t participate in rumbles –she’s all of a hundred pounds. But if she’s in danger, she knows where to hit rather than use brute strength.
• She's honest. Sometimes brutally so, which could be a character flaw depending on how one looks at it. Stella is not the kind of woman to dance around the truth, unless she has a very solid reason inside her head. She will tell it to you straight and upfront and though she has compassion for those she cares about, she will not hesitate to hurt someone's feelings to make sure they understand a point. Better to be not-so-blissfully aware than to be left in the dark.
•Stella has a good sense of humor. Which is necessary in times as dreary as these. She’s not afraid to make a scene by laughing loudly –she has a whole bodied laugh that can easily carry across street blocks- and making silly faces. She is a light hearted young woman despite all the things that plague her generation’s adolescence and can usually be relied upon to diffuse a situation with her grin. It’s a coping mechanism more than anything for her home life. Smiling through things is much easier than resisting them.
Weaknesses:
• She has a bit of an attitude. Alright, maybe a lot of attitude. It comes with the street rat thing. Even if you dressed her up and put her in a mansion she'd still probably be a bit...brassy-mouthed, shall we say. You can take a girl out of the streets but you can't take the streets out of the girl.
• She's kind of all over the place. She's isn't sure where she belongs, she's chronically fearful of not making it to twenty, she likes life fast paced and dangerous -she's like a five year old stuck in a woman's body. She can be a lot to handle, and frankly a bit annoying. She's stubborn as a mule too. If something isn't her way, it isn't an option. She has a bit of a complex too about needing help, she's like most men in that regard -she doesn't need your help, and she doesn't need to ask for freaking directions, okay?!
• Although she's a good judge of character, she can be easily manipulated. Right now, she's more lost than she ever has been. It would be effortless to someone say a few words that sound good to her and have her in their clutches for good. She's stubborn and intelligent but sometimes she doesn't have a mind of her own and let's the world run her brain for her.
• Stella throws her emotions into things and people far too easily and heavily. She puts her heart into everything she does and trusts people quickly in her innocence. She is a driven young woman and very passionate about everything but it sometimes gets her into trouble when her heart gets pushed back or stomped on in the process. She grows too attached to things and people and has a hard time pulling back when forced to.
Distinguishing Scars/Marks:You’d never guess if you looked at her. At face value, she’s picture perfect. No scars to be seen. But lift up her shirt a bit and there’s a surprise waiting. The car crash that took her brother’s life a few years ago left her right side torn to hell. One side of her abdomen is smooth and soft, the other is raised with long white scars that extend up with violent fingers towards her rib cage. She was pinned against the door on that side and it was a wonder they were able to stitch her back up again and give her full mobility and usage of that side.so let down if you feel so angryOverall Personality:
Caring & Motherly
This is really self-explanatory if one was ever to witness Stella interact with her friends. She’s obviously never had children of her own, but for some reason has deep rooted maternal instincts that are so strong, they tied her to everyone she meets. Her natural instincts are to care and to fix what is broken, she is always the one try and be a peacemaker to end a fight, to welcome everyone into her house –when its empty of course- it gets lonely or everyone becomes too busy, to lend a kind ear and a warm heart to anyone who needed it. All these things just started to add up and pretty soon she was interconnected to her every day life and friends, caring for them like they were her brothers and sisters even though they were just strangers not so long ago. She worries for strangers and acquaintances alike, scolds some for smoking indoors and laughs with them like some twittering mother and will often get teased about it. She’s even been called Mom by a few of her friends, something she rather takes pride in than be annoyed with. She enjoys her role, even if it wears her out a bit.
Blunt & Headstrong
She’s a sweetheart in one sense, but this girl won’t let you push her around. She’s one tough cookie. She won’t let you walk all over her, she’ll hold up her argument and she won’t back down in a fight. She is straight to the point and will most likely get pissed off when someone tries to beat around the bush with her. She doesn’t care about the details as much as she cares about the larger picture –so just get to it already. She is a quick moving person by nature and when anything slows down her path she gets annoyed with it. She likes things to be abrupt and efficient. And she hates feeling weak. Also, she’s just like a man when it comes to being stubborn. She won’t budge an inch on something she’s set her mind to. She won’t ask for directions either. If she doesn’t want to do something, there’s no way in hell you’re ever going to convince her unless you annoy her enough to just make her want to get you out of her face. She never wavers on something she’s set her path on and this can make her difficult to deal with. Being a ‘mother’ of a group makes it necessary for her to draw firm lines and act decisively when something needs her attention. Of course she’d never a true leader, but she has her place in the mess of things and to earn that position she’s had to prove she has a spine.
Passionate & Raw
She cares for those she loves more fervently than she does anything else and if they are ever threatened she makes it her personal mission to see that the threat fizzle out. Loyalty is also very important to her. As for passion, she lives to the fullest. She is a woman who is determined to grab life by the reigns and demand it give her all it has to offer. But at the same time sometimes her ride goes too quick and the woman’s demons come back. Stella’s a mess of dualities between her overconfidence and her fearful image of the future, toying between self-esteem and self-loathing.
Lost & Overwhelmed
At times, she doesnt know where she belongs. She doesn't know who she is. She's afraid of who she might become. As she gets older she gets more and more reclusive. But her lonely lifestyle and the weight of her past makes this confident, sultry woman a bit small on the inside. Her mask is almost impenetrable but if someone managed to crack it they’d see something quite different on the inside. She doesn’t want to live like this forever.
Sunny & Optimistic
Stella doesn’t let much get her down. She smiles widely, laughs with her entire body and has a spark in her eyes that flickers endlessly. She has a positive outlook on most things and tries to get everyone else to subscribe to the sunshine and flowers as well. Which can make her tiring and annoying at times, when everyone else wants to fight and she just wants to make things end peacefully. Yeah, she’s a hard ass, but more often than not you’ll see her smiling. She’s got a lot to be thankful for and she’s one of the few people in the world that can acknowledge that.
.
so ripped off so stepped onHistory: Stella has lived here all her life. She was born into a shit poor family in a shack with her only saving grace being wonderful older brother to play with her. Her parents were more or less drunks and had more time to attend to their bottles and screaming arguments than they did their children. But Stella was more or less content. Her brother looked out for her, sheltered her from her parents and the world outside their little house. She has no real complaints about her childhood.
That was until she was thirteen. She was riding in her brothers car, him at the wheel, when they were suddenly hit head on by a drunk driver. She was pinned against the door and sustained various serious injuries. Her brother died upon impact. Her world disintegrated. Everything he’d tried to protect her from all those years rushed in at her and she was broken open and raw, letting the world infect her. When she was well enough to be out of the hospital she returned to a home that was even more broken than she remembered it. Her parents couldn’t bear to see her face because she looked so much like her brother. They sent her off to her aunt’s house in Georgia for a year and by then she was so angry at everyone and everything she was insufferable. She started smoking and developed that famous attitude of hers that betrays her doll-like face. Her aunt and uncle couldn’t stand her for another year and sent her back home in exasperation.
Home sweet home was anything but. It was so awful that she spent more time outside than she did in, preferring to sleep in alley ways than return to her own bed. She hardly ever talks about her parents, or her brother. Most people close to her don’t even know she had one. Perhaps her maternal instincts blossomed from her need for family in the absence of her own. She cares for her friends like siblings and children and creates one around herself. Because she prefers to block everything of her real family out and pretend like it’s only her. Stella against the world, the one girl show –because that’s how it feels more often than not. But deep down she knows, the street, the gang, the cigarettes –its not what her brother would have wanted. But is there any way out of the cycle? She’s becoming less and less sure.
you're not the only one
How did you find us?: Caution!
Time Zone: Eastern
Rp Sample: Every morning was the same. Wake up, roll over with a smile a murmur for him to get up. Open eyes. Realize he’s not there. Move to his cold side of the bed. Smell him faintly on the pillow. Finally get up. Check messages. It’s from Mom again, there’s at least twenty. Play them while searching through the closet. Honey, it’s me. You know I’m here if you need me. This isn’t healthy you know –staying cooped up in your apartment for weeks on end. Find one of his old dress shirts. Slip it on as the message beeps. Allison, it’s you’re mother again. Not that you’ll call back but your father is having a barbeque party on Friday with some of the neighbors. You should really come; it’ll be good for you. Smell the collar of the shirt absently. Find a pair of his boxers, those funny ones with the hearts you got him for Valentines day last year. Pull them over a waist much too small. The message beeps again. Hey Alli, it’s Jessica. I was just wondering when you think you’re gonna be able to come back to work. No rush, I mean take your time, but I just needed to ask. How’re you holding up, sweetheart? Really, if you need anything, call me. Walk to the dresser. Put on his cologne. Stare at the mirror for a long time, look at the bags under your eyes, the week old make up, the messy curls, the emptiness. Honey, it’s Mom again. Please call me.
Eventually, the messages stop. The young widow of only twenty-six years of age would then pad barefoot into the black hole that had become her living room. Pizza boxes were strewn over the coffee table, empty soda bottles littered the floor, cartons and cartons of ice cream hung over the TV, her dresser, the countertop, boxes of eaten Chinese food made an path between her bedroom and the kitchenette. Clothes were thrown every which way. Mail piled up at her door. And in the corner was a mirror, and pinned to it was at least twenty pictures of Kevin. Kevin as a child, as a teenager, with her, kissing her, throwing his arms around her at a party, grinning that million dollar grin at the camera. Allison would touch each of these pictures upon entering the living room, pausing a moment to collect herself before the tears came. It was astounding how she could keep crying. She assumed in the beginning that she’d dry out eventually, but she never did. Wiping away whatever she allowed to fall, the woman would then turn to the stereo. All she had to do was press play and Frank Sinatra’s When Your Lover Has Gone would spill into the room.
She wouldn’t eat until nighttime. Her appetite –not that you’d know it from the state of her apartment- was surprisingly docile. Until around nine o’clock at night when romantic comedies would play on the TV. Then she’d eat like a 300 lb football player. But in the morning, she would slump and fall onto the couch and curl herself into a ball. She’d always been a tiny, pixie-like thing, dwarfed very much so by her husband. Curled into herself she almost resembled a child. She was always the bird and he the strong, protective bear. He’d always been invincible until the tumor, so much stronger than her, so much braver. He’d always been at least a foot taller than her too. That made the wedding pictures the joke of the family. He was just so perfect. The embodiment of all that was good in the world. And with these thoughts of him, Allison would fall asleep once again. Curled into herself, his crisp shirt providing little comfort to her bare torso, his cologne torturing her with something so much stronger than nostalgia. It was always the same sleep. Frank would sing to her until tears burned her eyelids and crept out from under her lashes. The salt burned for a moment and then numbed everything and she would slip back into darkness. When she was sleeping, she was happiest. She would dream of him endlessly. He would be there on the couch with her, rubbing her arm in smooth circles, brushing away her knotted curls and whispering sweet nothings to her. Sometimes, her hallucinations of him would be more practical. Sometimes, she swore she felt his warm breath on her neck. Babe, you really should get up. Put on some nice clothes, go to work, do something. I hate seeing you like this. But she was always unconcerned and just smiled sleepily at the sound of his voice.
Tonight was the same as any night. She’d woken up a few hours ago only to turn off Sinatra and turn on the TV. She’d eaten the last of her chocolate peanut butter ice cream and felt sick to her stomach. Whether it was because of eating or waking up to her empty reality after her dreams of Kevin, she was never sure. Sleepily –which was odd since she was asleep more often than awake these days- she ran a hand through her dark curls. With a deep sigh she leaned over and rested her chin on the arm of the couch, uninterested in the movie that was playing. Her eyes scanned the apartment, it was much too small with out him. And she saw him everywhere. Cooking his famous pasta in the kitchen, gesturing wildly as he told her a story from work. Taking off his shirt in the bedroom and making some cheeky comment about her having too much clothing on. Shaving in the bathroom in the morning while she tried to elbow him out of the mirror so she could put on makeup. Cheering wildly in front of the TV for a football game. Knocking over her grandmother’s vase in the process. She’d gotten so mad at him that day –and it was so stupid now. If anything, Kevin’s death had taught her to respect how fragile life was. Unfortunately that was the only good thing it had done in the midst of a thousand destructive habits.
The tears started again. Unmotivated really, it was just on a timed schedule it seemed. She hadn’t cried in the last six hours or so –it was time to start again. Her cell phone was on the table and in the midst of choking down a sob she reached for it. He was on speed dial and she knew the phone was off. It rang once before it went to voice mail. The realest Kevin she’d heard in a long while spoke to her through static speakers. Hey, it’s Kevin. I’m not here right now so leave me a message and I’ll try to get back at you, thanks. Her face turned red and the tears came quicker. Not just one from the corner of her eye, but two, racing streams down her cheeks. She could feel the heavy weight and hotness of the water stroll down her skin, curve around her frail jaw, dribble down her throat and finally crush against the stiff collar of his shirt she was still wearing. She hung up and called again. Hey, it’s Kevin. I’m not here right now so leave me a message and I’ll try to get back at you, thanks. She hung up and called again, and again, and again. Thirty minutes was all it took for her to get a migraine from her sobbing. She threw the phone without conviction and it bounced listlessly along the carpet. She then hung her head back against the cushions and tried to control her breathing. Wipe away the water works. The hum of the TV made her squirm in pain. Her eyes felt like fireballs. Her stomach twisted into knots. And then, as routine directed, she sighed in a cracked voice, “I love you baby,” and rolled over to stare at the wall until it was time for bed.
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