Post by arrabelle leigh on Oct 12, 2008 10:33:36 GMT -5
Arrabelle Swan Leigh IS SO FAR AWAY
[/color] full name:[/b] Arrabelle Swan Leigh________________________________________
( THESE ARE MY WORDS )
the puppet master
you can call me shayla because it's what the birth certificate says
but everyone else calls me brook without an ‘e‘ but someone has already taken that name so just shayla i've traveled around the sun 14 times
chittering monkey, all you gotta do is reach me by my e-mail artist10111@yahoo.com and i'll answer
i looked up your number in the Life in Westchester directory
i've been playing this game of cat and mouse for almost one year and the cat almost won
you can often find me impersonating any other characters on this site
the puppet master
you can call me shayla because it's what the birth certificate says
but everyone else calls me brook without an ‘e‘ but someone has already taken that name so just shayla i've traveled around the sun 14 times
chittering monkey, all you gotta do is reach me by my e-mail artist10111@yahoo.com and i'll answer
i looked up your number in the Life in Westchester directory
i've been playing this game of cat and mouse for almost one year and the cat almost won
you can often find me impersonating any other characters on this site
( ONE LIFE CONTAINED )
the character
the character
x. age: sixteen
x. gender: female
x. birthdate: August the sixteenth
x. sexuality: straight on the edge though
x. race: Caucasian. But British.
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( AND THIS SMILE )
the appearance
the appearance
x. eye color: deep chocolate brown. Sometimes she wears zebra patterned contacts.
x. height: 5’9
x. weight: 104 lbs.
x. tattoos: One on her back. Right about parallel to her buck crack. It’s a simple outline of a star.
x. piercings: Only her ears are pierced.
x. play by: Cory Kennedy
x. overall:
Arrabelle also known as Belle or Arra- it depends on who you are- is a beauty. She’s model height with the small thin frame to prove it. But Arrabelle doesn’t like to be in front of the camera. She likes to be behind the camera and that’s the way she likes it. When people first see her they mistake her for a real live model. She’s only sixteen and goes to a public school so that can’t be possible. Or it could. Arrabelle likes to do things differently and she likes to be original. So you see she likes to wear funky fashion fads that come all the way from Japan and such foreign places and mix it up with American fads. She loves the zebra patterned contacts that she recently bought. She likes drawing attention to the eyes. There’s a meaning with the eye. The fascination you get when you look someone in the eye. It’s intriguing and that’s the way Arrabelle likes. Despite her tall and thin frame Arrabelle suffers from bulimia nervosa. A terrible disease that can take a life but Arrabelle is getting immediate help from her parents and specialists.
Curly, wavy, and straight. No more than that. Carrabelle’s hair is naturally curly and wavyish. She hates having to straighten her hair. It dries her hair out and it resembles straw, so that’s why she usually wears her hair ‘bed head’ style and curly. Meaning that she usually doesn’t brush her hair for days. Coming out in public with her knotted up hair in a beehive. She doesn’t care though because it’s her style and many girls at her school have turned to her. She is the queen of ‘different’ at her school. She likes it that way also. Whether she’s rocking the new leg warmers or is wearing a pair of acid wash skinny jeans she is always eyed in a crowed.
The one thing Arrabelle would like to change about her appearance is her beauty. She would like be average, but most boys describe her as the most beautiful thing on Earth. Despite the worn out metaphor Arrabelle despises her good looks which she gets from both sides of the family. She would just wan to look like a normal person. Even though everyone has flaws Arrabelle thinks that her flaws are hidden. Inside.
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( THESE ARE MY DREAMS )
the personality
the personality
x. dislikes: She tends to hate when people laugh at her, nutella on saltine crackers, the smell of car exhaust, knots in her hair, when people copy her creativeness, reading love soaked poems, taking pictures of her friends, the snobs at her school and the way her beauty gets noticed more than her personality.
x. strengths: Photography, dancing crazy, and fashion.
x. weaknesses: Being clumsy, scowling and stuttering.
x. habits/quirks: Chewing her finger nails and singing out weird songs she’s made up.
x. fears: Being a model and dying.
x. goals: To make friends with one snob at her school and to dress in pink one day.
x. personality:
Arrabelle is the kind of girl who doesn’t care about your money and mediocre things. She’s more about personality and interests and things. She’s funny and nice as she can be winning over the hearts of a lot of guys but the end of most relationships is her heart being broken. Her creativity is the most important thing to her. Arrabelle likes to be noticed for her weird and different style. She strives to be someone who isn’t un-original. She thinks that everyone should be different, instead of being replicas of one another.
School- She tends to love and hate school. It isn’t the easiest thing to go through for her. Arrabelle looks like she might be popular but she only has three particularly close friends whose names are confidential. Her friends are the important to her also and they have their own sense of style. Especially her guy friend who is totally gay but dresses like a girl. She loves him a lot, though people make fun of him. When it comes to sexuality Arrabelle sees herself as straight, but on the edge. Meaning that she may fall for a girl one day.
Outside- Energetic! Arrabelle is loud and loves to randomly dance. She’s the most inspiring person to people. She sets aside differences and racial differences in order to have a great time. She definitely loves to party hard and she shows it too. Even though her eating disorder makes it kind of impossible to party.
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( I MUST BE SLEEPING )
the history
the history
x. mother: Laurs Morris I 48 I divorced stay at home mother
x. siblings: N/A
x. other family: N/A
x. hometown: Brighton, England
x. history:
Arrabelle hasn’t grown up in the most perfect house ever. Her family is far beyond perfect. Her mother had always been there for her only child but her father had always been away, playing starring roles in movies. His absence had a great affect on Arrabelle because she had always grew up saying that she had never saw her own father before. It was a sad reality to live through when your own friends were driven to school by their own fathers. Arrabelle became ill at the thought but then she didn’t care any more. It didn’t matter any more. Her father would always be absent.
That’s when the divorce happened. Everything went downhill by then. At age fifteen Arrabelle lapsed into bulimia. Food became her comfort as her mother lost the battle. Her mother was depressed but noticed how her daughter was taking it. Did it matter that much to her? Yes it did. But then bulimia almost killed Arrabelle and both parents wanted to help. She let them. Would it bring them together? A bit more than before. But her father was happy with his family. Which saddened Arrabelle a bit. But, in fact, it was life. Life has it’s ups and downs.
Growing up in Brighton was the best. But then once the divorce had ran through her mother moved to the United States to be with her American lover. Arrabelle was so used to being in the crowd. But in America she stood out. Everyone noticed her ‘adorable’ accent and her style. Others tried to copy her. But weren’t successful. Arrabelle was Arrabelle.
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( SOMEBODY SHAKE ME )
the ability
the ability
x. roleplay sample:
Emmanuelle tugged at the short choppy locks of her hair. Remembering how she had went off that night still haunted her memory. She had went on one of her episodes trashing her suite and trying to tear everything apart that she could get her hands onto. Well that night unfortunately Emmanuelle had run out of things to destroy and had came across her lengthy hair. The reddish brown locks fell delicately against her mid back and Emmanuelle was tired of tucking stray hairs behind her ear. With the feeling satisfaction running through her veins she had took a pair of scissors and started chopping off her hair. Only jagged edges on one side of her hair was left. The hair on that side of her head (the right side) was fairly short. Not as short as a pixie cut, but just to her jaw line. Emmanuelle had been pursued while she was going on her little stunt and her fire had been quickly doused. So now she was sitting down on her bed facing the large window of her suite at the Bishop Strachan Center. Her hell away from home.
There was tubes of open paint lying on the up set easel outside on the balcony. How Emmanuelle longed to wrap her fingers around a brush and dip it into paint and just paint her life away. She would define her own style of painting and there would be something else besides cubism, impressionism and on. But instead Emmanuelle was in a trance. Her hands were gripping the sides of her bed with a such a force that her knuckles were white as snow. She wanted to tear away from her bed and rush to the bathroom. But to only know that she wouldn’t get very far, she would be questioned til her death if she tried to relapse. So then she tried to calm herself down and stay still.
An hour before they had made Emmanuelle consume a whole entire meal. Yes, there was nothing harmful in that. Emmanuelle loved food. She was in fact a glutton after all. So no harm done. But once she had ate all her food (which was just a small piece of steak, mash potatoes and gravy as well as a small bun) they made her go to her room. She was escorted the whole way. The horror. The whole while when Emmanuelle was walking with her escort Bertha beside her she was debating whether to take off or just go on. She had the feeling that she was going to throw up any second as her body was trying to resume it’s normal routine. But Emmanuelle kept her mouth pursed and took step after step after step.
“Alright how are you doing today Miss. Laurent?” a cheery voice behind Emmanuelle said.
She didn’t bother to turn around. It was no use. Everyday the same person asked her that question and everyday Emmanuelle got tired of saying, “I’m doing fine.” She decided to change her response by getting up and walking out to the balcony where her easel was stationed.
Her book of poems was right there on top of the stool that she would usually sit on. When was the last time she had written a poem? Matter of fact when was the last time she had actually played her violin? But instead of taking a seat she picked up a thick bristled brush and tapped it to her chin. A good light coral would reflect her mood. She squeezed out a blob of thick paint and forcefully stabbed her paintbrush into the thick liquid.
“What kind of paint is that?” A pointy black boot came into Emmanuelle’s view as she looked down.
“Impasto,” Emmanuelle answered lightly. She ran her brush down the plain white canvas. The mark on the page was resembling a jagged edge. Maybe a symbol of her hair? Emmanuelle tugged on her short locks of hair and processed another thick line this time.
“Alright. I see you’ve gained ten pounds since your stay. Very impressive Emmanuelle.”
Emmanuelle grimaced at the sound of her name being spoken from this person’s mouth. Why couldn’t her name just be something simple but yet had the same sense of uniqueness as Emmanuelle. She had always wished that her name was Emma. It was more feminine and less manly. But alas she was stuck with her unique manly name. “Yes I know.”
The food in her stomach was bubbling up as she ran more strokes of her brush down the canvas. Yes her love handles were slightly visible. She was still a whopping one hundred pounds which grossed her out. But at least she started to fit her clothes well.
Emmanuelle was dressed simply in a floral patterned vintage skirt and a oversized sweater. The sweater not meant to withhold her small skinny frame but just to show some class. Around her waist was a brown leather belt and on her feet were plain white Keds. She had taken into loving those shoes ever since one of her friends said how cute they were at a mall on one of the off days. But still in Emmanuelle’s eyes she resembled a fat pig.
There was tubes of open paint lying on the up set easel outside on the balcony. How Emmanuelle longed to wrap her fingers around a brush and dip it into paint and just paint her life away. She would define her own style of painting and there would be something else besides cubism, impressionism and on. But instead Emmanuelle was in a trance. Her hands were gripping the sides of her bed with a such a force that her knuckles were white as snow. She wanted to tear away from her bed and rush to the bathroom. But to only know that she wouldn’t get very far, she would be questioned til her death if she tried to relapse. So then she tried to calm herself down and stay still.
An hour before they had made Emmanuelle consume a whole entire meal. Yes, there was nothing harmful in that. Emmanuelle loved food. She was in fact a glutton after all. So no harm done. But once she had ate all her food (which was just a small piece of steak, mash potatoes and gravy as well as a small bun) they made her go to her room. She was escorted the whole way. The horror. The whole while when Emmanuelle was walking with her escort Bertha beside her she was debating whether to take off or just go on. She had the feeling that she was going to throw up any second as her body was trying to resume it’s normal routine. But Emmanuelle kept her mouth pursed and took step after step after step.
“Alright how are you doing today Miss. Laurent?” a cheery voice behind Emmanuelle said.
She didn’t bother to turn around. It was no use. Everyday the same person asked her that question and everyday Emmanuelle got tired of saying, “I’m doing fine.” She decided to change her response by getting up and walking out to the balcony where her easel was stationed.
Her book of poems was right there on top of the stool that she would usually sit on. When was the last time she had written a poem? Matter of fact when was the last time she had actually played her violin? But instead of taking a seat she picked up a thick bristled brush and tapped it to her chin. A good light coral would reflect her mood. She squeezed out a blob of thick paint and forcefully stabbed her paintbrush into the thick liquid.
“What kind of paint is that?” A pointy black boot came into Emmanuelle’s view as she looked down.
“Impasto,” Emmanuelle answered lightly. She ran her brush down the plain white canvas. The mark on the page was resembling a jagged edge. Maybe a symbol of her hair? Emmanuelle tugged on her short locks of hair and processed another thick line this time.
“Alright. I see you’ve gained ten pounds since your stay. Very impressive Emmanuelle.”
Emmanuelle grimaced at the sound of her name being spoken from this person’s mouth. Why couldn’t her name just be something simple but yet had the same sense of uniqueness as Emmanuelle. She had always wished that her name was Emma. It was more feminine and less manly. But alas she was stuck with her unique manly name. “Yes I know.”
The food in her stomach was bubbling up as she ran more strokes of her brush down the canvas. Yes her love handles were slightly visible. She was still a whopping one hundred pounds which grossed her out. But at least she started to fit her clothes well.
Emmanuelle was dressed simply in a floral patterned vintage skirt and a oversized sweater. The sweater not meant to withhold her small skinny frame but just to show some class. Around her waist was a brown leather belt and on her feet were plain white Keds. She had taken into loving those shoes ever since one of her friends said how cute they were at a mall on one of the off days. But still in Emmanuelle’s eyes she resembled a fat pig.
( FEELINGS IVE SHARED )
[/color][/font]the credits[/font]
alrighty, it breaks down like this. I, aka the amazing squirrel tamer, made this application and it took FOREVER to do. I actually lost track of how much time I put into this. steal and i will find you and come for you in the middle of the night with the leader scrat and a platoon of squirrels to chew off those thieving fingers by telling them you stole their acorns, they won't be happy and neither will i. credit for the lyrics go to the band staind from their song 'so far away'. and okay, I know people don't like crediting other people but even if it might mar the application, you had better keep my name and credit on here cause if you don't the aforementioned squirrels will come for you.[/center]
