Post by lace on Dec 22, 2010 0:10:26 GMT -5
amberlynn emmaleigh desmarais
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 , amberlynn emmaleigh desmarais
NICKNAMES , amber
AGE , twenty-one
BIRTHDAY , january fifteenth
SEXUALITY , straight
GRADE , if applicable
OCCUPATION , stripper / erotic dancer
MEMBER GROUP , socialite
hello, my name is LACE. i am FIFTEEN years young and i consider myself a(n) ADVANCED roleplayer. i found this site through ADVERTISEMENT. so, here's an example of my average post:
hell no, he wasn't going to acknowledge the fact that he'd been here last night, and actually made something more out of it than a casual fuck. you know, those quick fucks. it's in and it's out once you're spent and sated. once it's out, you're as good as gone. he clung tightly to that statement, he believed in it naturally. it didn't matter if he had somewhere else to go once he was finished or not. even if there was a nuclear bomb with all the koreans dancing around it jubilantly outside, a war zone, world war three, or the god forsaken mafia, he would ditch. he'd pick up his pants and go. even if he'd worn himself out to the point of serious fatigue. he could handle it. all he'd have to do was climb back into his ancient, rusty, beat up and dented suburban and drive off to the one parking lot in town that didn't have some bastard tow off vehicles. if his car was gone, he was homeless. and if he were homeless, he'd live here on the streets. he had too much pride to go back home to his parents after his final appearance six years ago, and he had too much dignity to ask anyone he knew if he could stay.
ruben believed strongly in his own honor. he wouldn't give a shit if it meant suffering the worst of it to preserve it all. he'd go through hell and back on his own if it meant doing it himself. he wouldn't, allow others to help him, and he wouldn't take charity. he wouldn't take a lent hand if he'd fallen into a bed of needles. he didn't believe in taking something he hadn't earned; and when he earned it, was when he decided. if others thought he earned it, that wasn't enough. he had to prove to himself that it was his. he had to have that mindset. if he didn't, whatever the problem was would be out of the question. it was simply how he was. he'd been accustomed to it ever since he'd left home, right after he'd gotten off of probation. he hadn't done too serious of an act, although it had drawn blood and it had landed him in jail for a while. but ever since, he'd been glued on his own independence. he did things for himself. although he didn't take the sense and put it in the right direction, he still thought of it as if he did. the options were out there for him - he had the potential to do so much more. if he were set in the right direction he'd have his own job, working whatever hours, making the money to put forth for a house. but he didn't- instead, he lived in this old suburban, the victim to usual and common breakdowns. instead, he sat back and did whatever the hell his heart desired every day. whether that should be smoking three packs a day to turn his lungs deep black, tearing up the insides of either gender sexually, drinking away his past and his hopelessness for the future, or relaxing himself with the sweetest kush.
that was exactly what he needed. some mary jane, and a good chilled bottle of his old buddy, jack. those were his two best friends. mary was a sweet woman. he loved her so. she was always there for him, always soothed away the tension and calmed the ache in his bones. sometimes when he smoked her his eyes would grow rimmed with redness; sometimes he'd cry and sometimes his deep chocolate brown eyes would look bloodshot in the mirror of the piece of shit he drove. if it weren't against the law, he would have crushed his reflection already and continued from there to drive without a rear view mirror. and jack, oh jack. he was a real dick sometimes; giving him headaches out the ass and giving him the most horrible cases of amnesia in the morning. so bad of amnesia, he wouldn't recognize where he was in the morning. there was an occurrence regarding him awakening in a field once, alone with the marks of what he had thought were sharpies at first sight. this reoccurred and eventually he figured out that the sharpie all over his arms and neck was permanent, and didn't wash off in the shower. he continued to wake up in the same field, always rolling over and hitting his head against a log of some sort - and when he looked down at himself through hazy eyes, he'd notice a change and a bigger splatter of ink sucked into his skin. he always had no memory of these tattoos he received from a place of mystery. but it was fine by him, as long as he didn't wake up with a mushroom stamp.
he'd smoked something earlier, but it had come and gone by now. he was working hard, forcing his lungs to let him breathe, wheezing and hacking all the way. he was tired, but he had endurance. the door of his suburban was open; he had one hand on the wheel to make each and every laboring turn, while his other hand was on the bar just between the hood and the roof, angling upwards. he pushed with the force of his legs, a slow walk up such a big hill. damn him to hell, ru thought agitatedly to himself, damn him to hell for living in a house up a goddamn hill. he'd stripped himself of his shirt long before he began. it sat in the driver's seat now, a clump of grey cloth. he felt his calves burn with the work he was making them do, and he continued coughing all the way. he figured maxwell could hear his arrival. he was close, and while he pushed he told him so via text message. of course, it was a cheap tracfone. nothing special at all. it was silver, plastic, and he knew if he dropped it in a rain puddle it'd be toast. he'd spent thirty dollars or so on it total; there was no telling where he got his hands on that money, but sometimes he'd awaken and just have a couple bills stuck in his usually-empty wallet.
just as he sent the latest text, he'd arrived at his doorstep. he was drenched in sweat and his shirt was draped over his shoulder - just in case the other boy had some kind of problem. his shirtlessness revealed the presence of abs on his slender frame, although he couldn't exactly be very correctly described as something similar to muscular. he was lean but strong, and he actually gave off an intimidating aura when he strutted himself to different places. as the opposite male leaned against the open door, ruben scrutinized his happy gaze behind narrowed eyes that accused him of his house's location, blaming all the perspiration clinging to his torso on him. he didn't watch him for too long - he eventually pushed past almost impatiently and pressed his weight against a wall built in front of the couch which max took a seat on. his eyes rolled at his words, heaving a frustrated sigh as he glowered dangerously. "oh, i did forget," he muttered, then added a challenging smirk, over-articulating his next word to make it stab hurtfully with his newly-found knowledge: "willingly."
ruben believed strongly in his own honor. he wouldn't give a shit if it meant suffering the worst of it to preserve it all. he'd go through hell and back on his own if it meant doing it himself. he wouldn't, allow others to help him, and he wouldn't take charity. he wouldn't take a lent hand if he'd fallen into a bed of needles. he didn't believe in taking something he hadn't earned; and when he earned it, was when he decided. if others thought he earned it, that wasn't enough. he had to prove to himself that it was his. he had to have that mindset. if he didn't, whatever the problem was would be out of the question. it was simply how he was. he'd been accustomed to it ever since he'd left home, right after he'd gotten off of probation. he hadn't done too serious of an act, although it had drawn blood and it had landed him in jail for a while. but ever since, he'd been glued on his own independence. he did things for himself. although he didn't take the sense and put it in the right direction, he still thought of it as if he did. the options were out there for him - he had the potential to do so much more. if he were set in the right direction he'd have his own job, working whatever hours, making the money to put forth for a house. but he didn't- instead, he lived in this old suburban, the victim to usual and common breakdowns. instead, he sat back and did whatever the hell his heart desired every day. whether that should be smoking three packs a day to turn his lungs deep black, tearing up the insides of either gender sexually, drinking away his past and his hopelessness for the future, or relaxing himself with the sweetest kush.
that was exactly what he needed. some mary jane, and a good chilled bottle of his old buddy, jack. those were his two best friends. mary was a sweet woman. he loved her so. she was always there for him, always soothed away the tension and calmed the ache in his bones. sometimes when he smoked her his eyes would grow rimmed with redness; sometimes he'd cry and sometimes his deep chocolate brown eyes would look bloodshot in the mirror of the piece of shit he drove. if it weren't against the law, he would have crushed his reflection already and continued from there to drive without a rear view mirror. and jack, oh jack. he was a real dick sometimes; giving him headaches out the ass and giving him the most horrible cases of amnesia in the morning. so bad of amnesia, he wouldn't recognize where he was in the morning. there was an occurrence regarding him awakening in a field once, alone with the marks of what he had thought were sharpies at first sight. this reoccurred and eventually he figured out that the sharpie all over his arms and neck was permanent, and didn't wash off in the shower. he continued to wake up in the same field, always rolling over and hitting his head against a log of some sort - and when he looked down at himself through hazy eyes, he'd notice a change and a bigger splatter of ink sucked into his skin. he always had no memory of these tattoos he received from a place of mystery. but it was fine by him, as long as he didn't wake up with a mushroom stamp.
he'd smoked something earlier, but it had come and gone by now. he was working hard, forcing his lungs to let him breathe, wheezing and hacking all the way. he was tired, but he had endurance. the door of his suburban was open; he had one hand on the wheel to make each and every laboring turn, while his other hand was on the bar just between the hood and the roof, angling upwards. he pushed with the force of his legs, a slow walk up such a big hill. damn him to hell, ru thought agitatedly to himself, damn him to hell for living in a house up a goddamn hill. he'd stripped himself of his shirt long before he began. it sat in the driver's seat now, a clump of grey cloth. he felt his calves burn with the work he was making them do, and he continued coughing all the way. he figured maxwell could hear his arrival. he was close, and while he pushed he told him so via text message. of course, it was a cheap tracfone. nothing special at all. it was silver, plastic, and he knew if he dropped it in a rain puddle it'd be toast. he'd spent thirty dollars or so on it total; there was no telling where he got his hands on that money, but sometimes he'd awaken and just have a couple bills stuck in his usually-empty wallet.
just as he sent the latest text, he'd arrived at his doorstep. he was drenched in sweat and his shirt was draped over his shoulder - just in case the other boy had some kind of problem. his shirtlessness revealed the presence of abs on his slender frame, although he couldn't exactly be very correctly described as something similar to muscular. he was lean but strong, and he actually gave off an intimidating aura when he strutted himself to different places. as the opposite male leaned against the open door, ruben scrutinized his happy gaze behind narrowed eyes that accused him of his house's location, blaming all the perspiration clinging to his torso on him. he didn't watch him for too long - he eventually pushed past almost impatiently and pressed his weight against a wall built in front of the couch which max took a seat on. his eyes rolled at his words, heaving a frustrated sigh as he glowered dangerously. "oh, i did forget," he muttered, then added a challenging smirk, over-articulating his next word to make it stab hurtfully with his newly-found knowledge: "willingly."
------ this section is optional for those who want a detailed app------
character details
TURN YOUR BACK ON MOTHER NATURE, EVERYBODY WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD
IT'S MY OWN DESIGN, IT'S MY OWN REMORSE, HELP ME TO DECIDE.
TURN YOUR BACK ON MOTHER NATURE, EVERYBODY WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD
IT'S MY OWN DESIGN, IT'S MY OWN REMORSE, HELP ME TO DECIDE.
HEIGHT , 5'6"
EYE COLOR , blue
HAIR COLOR , blondie.
PLAY-BY , taylor momsen.
LIKES , cash, cocaine, alcohol, cigarettes, sex, classic rock, the internet, sleeping in, fast food, dirty humor, games, cartoons
DISLIKES , quiet, the nerve to insult her, most girls, being broke, bad parties, country music.
FEARS , silence, the dark, rejection, love
DREAMS , to turn out to be a good person
SECRETS , molestation by her father.
HABITS/QUIRKS , always carrying a gameboy
OVERALL PERSONALITY , ruthless, ambitious, sensitive, well-guarded, hardened, emotional, rude, egotistical, witty, spiteful, determined, child-like, dependent, cruel, outgoing, two-faced, vain.
character history
HELP ME MAKE THE MOST OF FREEDOM AND OF PLEASURE. NOTHING
EVER LASTS FOREVER. EVERYBODY WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD.
HELP ME MAKE THE MOST OF FREEDOM AND OF PLEASURE. NOTHING
EVER LASTS FOREVER. EVERYBODY WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD.
MOTHER , katherine eleanora desmarais
FATHER , felipe richard desmarais
SIBLINGS , none
PETS , dog - goddard
OTHER IMPORTANT FIGURES,
HOMETOWN , paris, france.
OVERALL , will modify when i have more muse D;