Post by IMOGEN ELIZABETH GREEN on Oct 13, 2011 12:29:30 GMT -5
IMOGEN ELIZABETH GREEN
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I'D STAY THE HAND OF GOD[/color]
but the war is on your lips[/font][/center]
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BRACE MYSELF FOR RAZOR BLADES
[/color]everything with meaning is shattered[/font][/center]
NICKNAMES: Izzy, Gen, Genny
SEX: Female
AGE: Eighteen
SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Heterosexual
ETHNICITY: Caucasian
YEAR: Senior
CLIQUE:[/color] Nerds[/font]
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THIS DAY WILL DIE TONIGHT
[/color]and there ain't no exception[/font][/center]
HAIR: Izzy has long, blonde hair that is well kept, straight and just hits the curve of her shoulder blades.
EYES: Bright and vibrant blue
HEIGHT & WEIGHT: Just under five-foot-eight and weighing around 130 pounds.
BODY TYPE: Imogen's body is decidedly lean. Long and tall, her body is feminine. Her legs are long and toned, her torso flat and slender. Her breasts are ample and her hips noticeable. Her bottom is small and pert, her body full of well placed and attractive curves,
DISTINGUISHING FEATURES:[/color][/font]Nothing out of the ordinary, apart from a faint smattering of cute little freckles across the bridge of her nose[/ul]
TRICK WITH A DOUBLE TONGUE
[/color]but the only fool here's me[/font][/center]
Art (mainly sketching)
Museums
Nature
Travelling
Peaches
Romance languages
Getting lost
Nightlife
Reading
Learning
DISLIKES:
Cold weather
Reptiles
Awkward silences
Anything containing mushrooms
Loud noises
Early mornings
Jocks, athletes, popular people
Being misunderstood
Seafood
Dishonesty
STRENGTHS:
Articulate
Smart
Strong-willed
Focused
Intuitive
Sympathetic
WEAKNESSES:
Secretive
Bit of a pushover
Sarcastic to a fault
Quick to judge
Holds grudges
HABITS/QUIRKS:
Corrects people when they use colloquial speech
Draws random doodles on any piece of paper in front her and always carries a pen or pencil to facilitate this habit
Collects “My Little Pony” figurines and tells no one about it
OVERALL PERSONALITY:Overall, Imogen is a fairly nice girl and she's very good at blending in. Always armed with a book, she prefers their company to that of most of the other students in the school. Imogen doesn't like to socialise an awful lot and because she had one or two close friends, she thinks that's all she really needs. An academic, Izzy is the type of girl who excels in most, if not all, of her classes but because of her pushover streak, it's not uncommon for one of the more popular or stronger kids to make her do their homework for them.
That being said, she isn't a terribly shy girl. Naive in ways of the world perhaps but she definitely isn't stupid. She uses sarcasm as a reflex when faced with people she doesn't know and she always has a derogatory quip on hand. It seems to be a defence mechanism for Imogen; she doesn't want to get too close in case she gets burned.
A creative girl, she has a number of sketchbooks that are positively overflowing with art. Her nature is fairly easy going and malleable and she'll befriend and aid anyone she can. Izzy is a warm person, providing someone hasn't wronged her. The downside to all the niceness is the simple fact that once bitten, twice shy. She can't let go of past wrongs which tend to make her slightly bitter towards a few students who have made fun of her since elementary school by telling her that she wasn't pretty or that her clothes looked silly or making fun of the fact that she wears glasses.[/color][/font]
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LOVE ME IN THIS FABLE
[/color]my heart is in your hands[/center][/SIZE][/font]
Paul Green, 44, artist
SIBLINGS: Benjamin, 22, graphic designer
OTHER FAMILY: N/A
PETS: ---
OVERALL HISTORY: Typical boy meets girl scenario.
Well…maybe not. Both Paul and Anne-Marie first met when they were nineteen and actually met on a complete accident. Both had been set up on blind dates by their respective friends. Paul had been set up with a redhead called Annie, a trainee primary school teacher from Chicago and Anne-Marie had been paired with a rather dull man by the name of Martin. Paul had been at the bar for twenty minutes or so, nervously ripping off the label from his bottle of beer as he waited. He had no idea what his date for the evening looked like, the only information he had was that she was supposed to be called Annie. He looked around the bar, feeling more and more anxious and cursing his friend for even talking him into this when he set his eyes on a young blonde girl a few tables away from him, doing the exact same thing as he was.
Swiftly, he put two and two together, just as Annie arrived but he walked right past her, believing that the blonde was the girl he was meeting. Mustering up his courage, Paul gave a charming smile and said hello, the blonde introducing herself as Anne-Marie. He put two and two together, wrongly, thinking that this must have been the Annie he was supposed to be meeting up with that night.
Blonde, pretty and non-threatening, Anne-Marie looked up and couldn't quite believe her luck. Paul was tall and handsome, dark wavy hair and the most beautiful green eyes she'd ever seen. He said his name was Paul and she knew she was meant to be meeting a Martin but with a blush, she soon decided she'd rather get to know this man. The evening was filled with laughs and silly stories, discussing a number of topics from families and jobs to where they'd like to holiday. There was never an awkward silence during their conversation and the night went far too quick for Anne-Marie's liking. Loitering by the door to the bar, they shared a goodbye that lasted several minutes with Paul asking if he could see her again and Anne-Marie saying she'd love to.
Reaching for a beer mat from a nearby table, she carefully pulled the paper apart to write down her name and address before handing it to him. She leant in, going to kiss his cheek but he got the wrong idea, moved his head and kissed her squarely on the mouth. Flustered, she gave a laugh and a blush which he found most endearing before bidding him goodnight, accidentally slipping on her heel and jogging off down the street.
Left reeling by the night's events, Paul went back to his apartment with a huge grin on his face and setting off to find her the very next day. Anne-Marie had given him her address and he headed there to find her room mate who, with a knowing smile, directed him to where she worked in a florist's shop. Heading straight there, he leant in the door way and watched how she worked. She looked so pretty in her little green apron with her long hair tied back and that disarming smile as she served her customers or arranged the lilies. Were they lilies? Oh, who cared?
Waiting patiently until a customer had left, he strolled up to the counter to surprise her. As soon as Anne-Marie smelt his cologne, she knew who it was. Laughing, she asked what he was doing there and with a smile, he simply said he'd come to take her to dinner. She complained that she was a mess but he assured her she looked absolutely gorgeous. Heading to the restaurant, they were kissing over their starters and they didn't even get to the main course because they ended up going back to his apartment.
Six years later, Paul made Anne-Marie breakfast in bed. A perceptive young man, he'd learnt after the second time she'd stayed over, she only ever ate fruit for breakfast. Neatly, he'd cut a slice of pineapple into a little heart and placed a silver engagement ring in the centre. Caught by surprise, Anne-Marie nearly choked on her slice of watermelon as she saw it before exclaiming she would, throwing her arms around his neck as the breakfast went all over the place as she laughed, tackling him to the mattress before they rolled out of it and to the floor.
Born into a comfortably wealthy family in Orange County, Imogen had an equally comfortable life. A quiet but intuitive little girl, her parents were a little worried when she didn't tend to join the other kids when they played jump rope down their street but were impressed when they could see the artistic spark in her even at such a young age. When other children were happily finger-painting in kindergarten, Izzy had already progressed onto much more practised pictures with crayons and pencils.
It wasn't that Izzy couldn't make friends, she just seemed to prefer her own company and this continued into her teens. When her classmates were experimenting with make up and going all goo-goo over boys, she threw herself into her books and effectively, began to shy away. It was okay, though. Books didn't lie like girls did. They were always there, dependable and provided a much needed escape from the snide looks girls the girls her age shot her. She didn't want to bare her navel, did that make her a stick in the mud? Maybe. Besides, she liked her feminine little dresses and much preferred them over denim cut off shorts any day.
In her late teens as her class mates were dating boys, she couldn't help but find the whole ordeal of sex a little...scary. She'd read about it and everything but seeing students macking in the halls, itkind of made her feel even more left out of things. In a last ditch attempt to distract herself from her own short comings, she joined a collection of student lead clubs. Imogen wasn't built for sports, she was built for the sciences. Instead of attempting to join the cheerleading team in an effort to boost her popularity, she forewent the ordeal of making an ass out of herself and causing more people to pick on her. Instead, she joined the chess club, chemistry club and debate teams. It didn't really matter much to her because one day, when all their looks faded, she'd be their boss and enjoy sweet revenge.
Now in her final year of high school, Imogen is looking forward to graduating and pursuing her dream of attending a prestigious high school and starting a new life, effectively leaving the torture of high school far behind her.
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WON'T CRY FOR MY SOLITUDE
[/color]lay my head and dream of you[/font][/center]
The only reason she was doing this was plain and simple; she needed the money.
With a heavy sigh, Imogen slung her battered and worn leather book bag over her shoulder as she stepped out of the chem lab. Heading to her locker, she was buffeted from one side of the narrow hall to the other, bouncing off one of the walls as a group of boys wearing letterman jackets rudely pushed past her, whooping and hollering, asking what each other was doing tonight and it only made her roll her eyes. No, Imogen did not care to go to Randy Matthews keg party at eight o'clock tonight. No, she did not care that Kelly Johnson stripped when plied with alcohol. Tonight, rather than going to an alcohol fuelled sex party, she was staying home as a documentary about Leonardo da Vinci was showing on TV.
With a sigh, Izzy stooped to collect the pile of books the boys had knocked out of her hands, shaking her head as she adjusted the lapel of her jacket. It wasn't that she was feeling patriotic at all, she'd just found the jacket in a thrift store for a bargain and she couldn't ignore a bargain. Her long, pale fingers reached up to slide her glasses back onto her face and up the bride of her nose, the noise of wedge heels of her knee high cream suede boots were swallowed up by the loud school bell and the onslaught of adolescents who forced her forwards.
Keeping her head low as she wandered alone, her long tresses escaped her bow shaped hair clip and slipped over her shoulders as she took a left, placing one hand on the bannister rail and jogging up the stairs to the Library. It was her second home, really. It was a little after three and it was always quiet, especially on a Friday as everyone seemed to want to rush home and hang out with their friends. Izzy, on the other hand, oh no. She, for some reason, had been roped into tutoring. Usually, she didn't mind as it both helped her and her companion learn but it wasn't just anyone, it was Luke Moreau. School slut, constant failure, big mouth, serial party boy. He should win an Olympic medal for not giving a shit about stuff.
Today's topic was History. More specifically, The Battle of Trafalgar. If anyone asked her, she was fairly certain he had no idea where Trafalgar was, who was involved or who won. Sliding off her jacket and placing it neatly on the back of her chair, rays of the New York sun highlighted the freckles on her shoulder blades as she plonked her collection of leather bound and dusty books on the table with a dullthud.
Ruffling her hair, Izzy slid down her seat a little as she got comfortable, her bright blue eyes sliding to the clock on the wall as she was convinced Luke would be late for their little session. She'd also brought snacks; chips, cookies, candy, general junk food for general merriment. The blonde cracked open a can of her energy drink, ignoring the fact the fizzy liquid inside was a shocking shade of luminous green as she took a delicate sip. Something told her that she'd need all the help she could get this afternoon. Who else was betting he'd totally forgotten?
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CELEBRATE NO VICTORIES
[/color]and my promises are sand[/font]
THIS HURR APPLICATION WAS CREATED BY FOR THE WINCHESTER ! OF CAUTION. THE TITLES ARE LYRICS FROM THE SONG 'MAYBE TOMORROW IS A BETTER DAY' BY THE FAHMAZING BAND CALLED POETS OF THE FALL. THIS CODE WANTS TO BE USED, BUT DON'T ABUSE IT. BASICALLY, YOU CAN CHANGE THE COLOURS, BUT DON'T EFF WITH IT ANY MORE THAN THAT AND DON'T TAKE THIS CREDIT OFF![/center]
