Post by clara on Dec 30, 2010 14:40:02 GMT -5
clara maria giannini
character basics
WELCOME TO YOUR LIFE, THERE'S NO TURNING BACK. EVEN WHILE
YOU SLEEP, WE WILL FIND YOU ACTING ON YOUR BEST BEHAVIOR
WELCOME TO YOUR LIFE, THERE'S NO TURNING BACK. EVEN WHILE
YOU SLEEP, WE WILL FIND YOU ACTING ON YOUR BEST BEHAVIOR
FULL NAME , clara maria giannini
NICKNAMES , none.
AGE , twenty one.
BIRTHDAY , july sixth.
SEXUALITY , bisexual.
GRADE , n/a
OCCUPATION , waitress at a casual fish fry restaurant.
MEMBER GROUP , townie.
hello, my name is bok. i am infinitely many years young and i consider myself a(n) i don't like to define myself by societal constraints roleplayer. i found this site through an ad. so, here's an example of my average post:
The brunette boy, his hair discreetly combed back, brown eyes sparkling behind a pair of raybans and forearms incased in an unbuttoned long sleeved work shirt, a plain white wifebeater showing through, really was nothing exceptional the cold, rainy day that had hit Rowe Island. Sunglasses were present only to hide the blooming dark circles just under the iris, the evidence that it had once more been weeks, if not months, since his last night of full sleep – that and the fact that he'd been sitting outside, in the rain, under nothing but a tiny awning, for the past two and a half hours. Cigarette after cigarette had been burned down to his finger tips without really being smoked, his lips wrapping around them once, maybe twice if he got around to it. The coffee cup in his left palm had long since gone cold and he had yet to realize it; his expensive leather loafers had been drenched by the island dew, and then rain, toes were soggy and he didn't seem to pick up on that either. In his head, he could see it. He was writing an entire novella in the space it took to comprehend these things, obviously something missing at the moment, but the waitress knew him so it made it at least partially okay that he was so spacey and distraught. Lips curling downwards at the side as a decently proportioned chunk of ash fell off the cancerous stick between his fingers, he brought it to his mouth and sucked on the end, hard enough to draw through the smoke that would so easily make his mind clearer. Or at least, that's what it usually did – perhaps that's why he clung so desperately to the thought of something there to make his life at least a little less grim. For now, he was stuck on an island. For now, the only thing he had to look forward to was the event in the middle of the following month, the assurance that the time and dedication he'd spent at the school was worth it for a little practical joke that only a few people understood. The dreary weather of Maine was an offset, as well as the behavioral status of the majority of the students at Siren-Bishop. Sure, it was prestigious but honestly, he'd much rather have finished his years out at Santa Croce; you couldn't beat a personal maid with lattes from your favorite cafe around the corner every morning. No, lattes from Milan were simply incomparable to everything else.
He did, however, have a waitress who was blatantly attractive and not questioning him for sitting out in the rain, so for the time being he was placated. Stubbing out the cigarette amongst the others he'd hardly smoked, he picked the engraved pen off of the table, the one that had been in his family for generations and given to him when Gio disappeared; it had been a present for the oldest Montague brother and that hadn't happened, so he'd gotten it instead, along with a huge share of his brother's stock, because apparently he died or whatever. Not that he wanted it, he promptly gave it to various organizations. Aaliyah had been right – he didn't want anything he was set up for, and eventually he'd get around to telling someone who mattered exactly that, but for now, the plot was laid out in his head. A haunted lighthouse, and the main character would be a keeper of it, a man who's wife stands at the top every day, looking out to see for their son to come home from his trip around the world. It would be an easy write, and even better, an easy read. A hop, skip, and a jump to sales all around the world, he'd promote it with ease and find himself living off of whatever could come from it – when that stopped working, he'd take Aaliyah to New York and they could live in his family's apartment on fifth avenue, the one he was inheriting within the next year. It would be good, it would be clean and pristine and there was his future, mapped out for him with no effort. Lips turning up at the corners with the prospect of a good deal, he tilted his head back, only to notice a shadow – a very obvious one, at that. “Yo,” he greeted unceremoniously, nodding to the person.
He did, however, have a waitress who was blatantly attractive and not questioning him for sitting out in the rain, so for the time being he was placated. Stubbing out the cigarette amongst the others he'd hardly smoked, he picked the engraved pen off of the table, the one that had been in his family for generations and given to him when Gio disappeared; it had been a present for the oldest Montague brother and that hadn't happened, so he'd gotten it instead, along with a huge share of his brother's stock, because apparently he died or whatever. Not that he wanted it, he promptly gave it to various organizations. Aaliyah had been right – he didn't want anything he was set up for, and eventually he'd get around to telling someone who mattered exactly that, but for now, the plot was laid out in his head. A haunted lighthouse, and the main character would be a keeper of it, a man who's wife stands at the top every day, looking out to see for their son to come home from his trip around the world. It would be an easy write, and even better, an easy read. A hop, skip, and a jump to sales all around the world, he'd promote it with ease and find himself living off of whatever could come from it – when that stopped working, he'd take Aaliyah to New York and they could live in his family's apartment on fifth avenue, the one he was inheriting within the next year. It would be good, it would be clean and pristine and there was his future, mapped out for him with no effort. Lips turning up at the corners with the prospect of a good deal, he tilted his head back, only to notice a shadow – a very obvious one, at that. “Yo,” he greeted unceremoniously, nodding to the person.