Post by marilyn on Sept 8, 2007 12:13:52 GMT -8
Name: Marilyn Koper
Age: 15
Height: 5'1
Weight: 90 lbs
Blood Type: AB
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Eye Color: Icy Green
Hair Color: Raven
Pass Time Information
Hobbies: None currently.
Talents: None currently.
Favorite things: None currently.
Mental Information
Personality: Shy, distant. The invisible girl.
Mentality: Sane
Ideal: None currently.
Belief: Christian
Physical Information
Build: Light.
Head: Oval-shaped.
Torso: Tiny, with the appropriate amount of curves.
Arms: Long and nimble.
Legs: Short, obviously.
Feet: Tiny.
Apparel Information
Head Gear: Sometimes something, sometimes nothing.
Shirts: Mostly long sleeves to make sure nothing is exposed.
Pants: Mostly cheap denim or cloth items.
Shoes: A single pair of nail heels.
Misc: Faux leather windbreaker.
Fighting Information
Fighting Stlye: Street Basics
Years Practiced: A couple
Description of style: Nothing very specific. Simple combination of: get a hold of + slug the tar out of.
History Information
History:
Grew up with my dad(who isn't actually my real dad, but a step dad because my real dad wasn't around after I was born. Ever.), Warrick Clark. Wasn't - isn't - a real nice man, but I deal. My mom died when I was four and I grew up with Warrick in her apartment in the sunnier side of California. But then Warrick lost his job when I was seven and took up drinking. Even though I was still kinda young, I recall telling him to get one, advising him to stop his new acquainted habit. He didn't listen. The bills piled up and he drank more and more, finally he was consuming two six-packs a day, a little later, it was more. Then the landlord kicked us out. Warrick couldn't afford the rent anymore. He couldn't aforrd anything. He took me and we went and tried to stay with his parents in Iowa, but, like I should have known back then instead of getting all excited about "visiting the grandparents", they didn't let us. They hated him, but who wouldn't? Who doesn't?
I'd better not get into that right now... anyways. They didn't let us in so instead he brought me back to California, "I'll show them that I can get a job!" was what he ranted all through out the trip back. Him get a job? Ha! That was almost as funny as saying we could afford a cab, which we couldn't, we took a bus back. Several buses actually. When we got back to California he arranged to stay over with a "friend". Later on I found out that this friend of his was actually just some random guy that had helped him get home from a pub one night - that is, when we had a home. Anyhow, the house was small and it stank of alcohol. I didn't want to live there, I would have rather laid out on the street, but Warrick didn't care. He doesn't care about anything I think. We stayed there for a little it with "Fred", but then even he got fed up with how Warrick was just sitting around the house in his underwear all day and drinking alcohol, making a mess. He kicked us out. I was relieved, until Warrick hit me and declared it had been my fault. We started looking again, for a place.
We found one. Screwed up as Warrick may be, what he did that day was more screwed up then anything I would of expected. He took me to the other side of Long Beach, to the side where hoods and gang members live, to the part where you have to watch whose turf you're on and when, and he brought me to a house. It was an old house, windows were boarded over, yard was dug up. I had a suspicion that I might catch some deadly disease there, but Warrick looked at it like it was a thing of beauty. And to him it was. It was the only thing his cheap ass(pardon my french) could muster up.
He had no money, no credit, nothing to sell because he never owned much. So he brought me inside after so politely kicking the door in and showed me around. The floors were coming up, or should I say sub-floors, and the wallpaper was falling off in front of my eyes. The bathroom had mildew growing in it, the bedrooms had suffered some water damage, the kitchen consisted of an ancient stove, fridge, and a sink that looked like it had three years worth of puke piled up in it; not pretty.
And then he said it, "This is our new home." Disturbing. But I swallowed whatever disgust I had inside of myself and dealt.
Hey, at least his sorry ass hadn't abandoned me! Which I can't say was a good choice or not.
So I lived in that piece of crap. Surprisingly I had a large enough immune system to keep me from dying how many times over, but that didn't mean I liked the place. I lived there since I was six and a half, it was in a ghetto kind of neighborhood. People smoked, swore, killed, robbed. Nothing like the first five years of my life, which I vaguely remember. And Warrick didn't even attempt to get us out of that hole.
He did the same damn thing he had gotten used to doing by then. Drinking and sulking. "My life is a piece of shit!" was his favorite sentence I recall, or at least he thought it was catchy or something, using it every day! I went to school, but it was low class and filthy. The only real thing you could learn there was how to conceal drugs in quite uncanny places of your body and how to kick a guy whose twice your size's ass. I hated it. But what could I do? Warrick couldn't afford to put me in a better school. Or at least I thought that. Couple years later, I was thirteen years old and pretty much mentally scarred for the rest of my natural life, if I could call it natural for much longer, I came home and saw Warrick doing what he loves: sitting on his ass.
But he was dressed, looked shaven, and was fairly sober.
"Sup?" I asked him.
"Money," he said back.
"What?" I looked at him like he had just said "Basjaskas asna" and it actually meant something. I repeated the question. That's when he told me, stupid toothy grin and everything, that although he hadn't any cash his credit was good. What the hell did that mean? I didn't know, nor did I intend to find out. But he dumped it on me.
"I took out a bank loan!" he cheered like it was a frigging new year, which it was, but not like anything'd be different about it. "Hell does that mean?" I asked, not knowing.
"Means I got me some money, baby! The bank loaned me ten grand!"
Sick as I am to say it, I was happy. All kind of stupid, childish thoughts came into my mind. Did that mean we were going to move, could I get a bed now, would we have all our old stuff back, could I go to a better school?
One of those questions were answered with a yes...later. The others were pretty much shoved right up my --! He put away the money in a bank account, took out five hundred bucks to buy me some clothes, but then after a couple of months things were slowly changing back to normal. His debts sunk lower thanks to that half ass bank loan, and he started drinking more. 'cept now he had money to drink. He took the bus to different cities just to hang out at pubs sometimes, he never came back for weeks, I learnt not to worry about his dumb ass though. For all I knew, him getting hit by a train or something else would only make things better then they were.
When I hit fourteen I ran away for the first time. Out of the neighborhood. Stayed on the streets for a couple of days, sleeping in alleys, hiding in dumpsters, washing myself with the sink at public faculities. It was sick and it was low, but it was better then hanging around being beaten and cursed out by a drunk step dad. I came back after two weeks. The dick didn't even notice my absence. So a couple of months later I ran away again, this time it wasn't beacuse I wanted to be away from Warrick but because I had just witnessed- well not really, just been told by some of the staff members who didn't even really care - someone dying in one of the school corridors. Guy got shot by another kid who got upset because he didn't want to sell him any "stuff". Three guesses on what that means.
So I ran away, stayed away for a bit. Slept in the library. Slept in a park. Practically starved myself out, then I came back. Started going to that poor excuse for a school again. Then another killing happened. This would be three weeks ago - three weeks from now, today - it was at the school again. And when it happened, I wasn't going to joke around anymore.
"Send me to another school!" I shouted, adding some words that shouldn't be aired on prime time. Warrick, his dumb drunken head bobbing all over the place, didn't say anything. But he got some papers and arranged for me to get shipped to a different school. Out of the neighborhood. I was glad.
259, it's called. It's about twelve blocks from this piece of shit place where I live and I start going there tomorrow. I like the distance because that way I get to be away from "home" for a long time, since it takes about an hour or two to walk twelve blocks. I wonder what it'll be like.
What I know for sure though, or hope at least, is that there won't be any morons shooting each other and trying to sell drugs in the school halls.
And I'll be away from Warrick. That's always a plus.
New Entry: Adopted. Heard of the word? You know, it's the one where, if you tell it to some really down kid, they might brighten up and go jumping for joy or secretly fantasizing about what it might be like. But me? When I heard Warrick come into the "house" last night and share the "great news" about him signing me up for adoption, I felt like bawling.
I mean, I hate the man. I hate his guts. In fact, I hate him so much that I could marry Hate so we could hate him together! But something inside of me felt a little bit sad when he told me. Was I sad that there was a possibility that I could be leaving? Shit, no! But I was sad. I know it...
Adoption. I wonder something... when?
New Entry: Warrick talked to me about it. It should be soon, he says. There'll be a lot of different people that I'll have to talk to, to be interviewed by or something. Personally I am not excited. But I look forward to it. Warrick shouted at me last night, I can't wait to leave him.
Living Status Information[/u]
Type of residence: House
Roommates: Warrick ( NPC )
Cases Against The Faculty: 0
Cases Of Hurting Students: 0
| Slot | Item(s) |
| Head | |
| Hat/Bandana | Row 19 Column 2 |
| Earrings | Row 20 Column 2 |
| Glasses | Row 21 Column 2 |
| [/td | |
| Torso | |
| Shirt | Row 2 Column 2 |
| Jacket/Coat | Row 3 Column 2 |
| Necklace | Row 4 Column 2 |
| [/td | |
| Arms | |
| Arm | Row 6 Column 2 |
| Wrist | Row 7 Column 2 |
| Gloves | Row 8 Column 2 |
| Ring | Row 9 Column 2 |
| [/td | |
| Legs | |
| Pants | Row 11 Column 2 |
| Shin | Row 12 Column 2 |
| Shoes | Row 13 Column 2 |
| Belt | Row 14 Column 2 |
| [/td | |
| Misc | |
| 1 | Row 16 Column 2 |
| 2 | Row 17 Column 2 |
