Post by vivienne claire sharpe on May 13, 2012 13:49:28 GMT -6
[atrb=style,width: 500px; background-color: B9B9B9; border: 10px dashed #754A4A; border-right: 15px solid #754A4A; border-left: 15px solid #754A4A; padding: 5px, bTable][th] vivienne sharpe ART STUDENT - CITIZEN - JESSICA LOWNDES | |
 the basics FULL NAME vivienne claire sharpe AGE & DOB twenty | jan. 19th HOMETOWN valkyrie, ca ETHNICITY american LANGUAGES SPOKEN english SEXUAL ORIENTATION heterosexual HAIR COLOR dark brown EYE COLOR blue HEIGHT & WEIGHT 5"8 | 134 lbs DISTINGUISHING MARKS n/a | freestyle |
freestyle
life has always come in snapshots for you. your memories are constructed in frames. collectively, the documentation of your life is rather beautiful. childhood especially. you grew up the baby into a family full of loving arms. there's a picture of you and your two older brothers posing for the camera, all smiles and rosy cheeks. the next picture is of you rolling around in the dirt with them -your mom smiles from a few feet away with that all-knowing look she's always been so good at.
your childhood was full of light. your family was wealthy but not nearly as cold as the jewels they surrounded themselves with. warmth emanated from the inside ou -nothing was ever taken for granted, lessons were learned, and rewards were never just given. you were the baby girl in the close knit group and hopelessly treated like such. your brothers were always a little careful with you and your mom worried for you until her hair went grey from it. not that you ever asked for such treatment. you were always ready to get your hands dirty and see if you could take one of your brothers out singlehandedly. you went toe to toe with them as many times as they would allow and accepted your role as the baby so long as you could have 'tough' attached to the title.
even as a child, your passion was always taking pictures. your parents got you your own -nearly indestructible- camera when you were seven and all you did for months on end was snap pictures of every damn thing you saw. the family dog. a tree. a spot on the carpet. your mom's pretty evening gown on party nights. your brothers in their matching suits. the lights. the glimmer of the elite of valkyrie, and so on. but you liked the darkness as much as you liked the surface world. you enjoyed broken cans in the street, the dirt, the streets themselves. anything ugly was deemed beautiful in your eyes. it was a quality that your parents had instilled in both you and your brothers -that being rich didn't mean you had to act above anything. people were people. and thus, beauty was beauty.
so you carried this view with you growing up. you ware constantly hyperaware of the juxtapositions of your life and your morals. your expensive dress, your two-hundred dollar shoes, your fingers caked in dirt and your skin smelling like photo solution. it was a common theme for your family. you know your brothers felt it to, it was so hard to try and separate what was a fantasy life full of expensive galas to attend and classy people to what was at the heart of your family. pure love. simple, priceless and not much to look at. but more special than all your luxuries put together.
school was easy for you. your brothers were smart before you, your father and mother too. it was only natural for your brain to follow in the same footsteps. all subjects came easy to you for the most part. in fact, they came so easy that you had time for extracurricular activities. namely, the school newspaper. since childhood your tastes had developed. the eye for the pretty things in life had faded a bit and your penchant for the dark and gritty came twofold. it was hard to find the darkness with such rose colored glasses, but you worked your way through. investigative journalism blossomed for you under your eager fingertips. it was the perfect direction, and one you took to with gusto.
your schooling was solid enough to let sit on the back burner for a while. your high school paper became your top priority. there was always a story to find, always something to uncover and snap a picture of. you were the leggy girl with the sharp wit and a camera always hung about your neck in high school. gained quite a reputation that way. your friends nicknamed you lois lane. you kind of liked it. no -really liked it. determined to live up to the name you poured your heart and soul into that newspaper and by the time you were a senior you got editor.
it was only natural that by the time you graduated, you were fairly certain you'd found your niche. you'd never had any real desire to get out of valkyrie. there was still so much to uncover in your hometown. so you enrolled at valkyrie university, your father and brother's alma mater. you had the grades and the money to get accepted and as soon as you got the letter you packed up your camera and film and set out for life at university.
the paper welcomed you once they saw how bloodthirsty you could get when it came to a good shot or a good story. and once you got outside your pretty, glittery home bubble valkyrie opened up for you. it was like you had peeled back the carpet and the mess of bugs and filth underneath writhed, just ready for you to take your pick of which you wanted to bring to light first. you wanted dark and gritty? you got dark and gritty. that's how your 'street life' project got started. at least that's what you're calling it for now. it seemed to make the most sense to start in the streets when hunting down the shadows of valkyrie. crime ran rampant, blood collected in the streets, some people went hungry, it frothed like an angry sea for you and you reveled in it.
until you went too deep. until one night, the waves went right over your head and sucked you down. your life full of bright snapshots cut short and stained black. it happened two weeks ago. it feels like yesterday. every snapshot is burned into your memory. you don't even have to look at the film to remember every cutting detail. you still wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, clenching your sheets in your white, clean hands. hands you thought you were brave enough to get this dirty.
the man was outnumbered. you were out late working on the 'street life' project when you heard yelling. you ducked behind a dumpster on instinct but held your camera out just in case. you watched from behind the lens as the dark faces crowded over him. he plead for his life. he cried. he said something about his kid. the other men didn't let him finish. the first one hit him in the jaw. the next kicked him in the ribs. someone hit him with a bat so hard he went sprawling face first on the asphalt. you watched blood spray from his mouth and reflect under the street light. you wanted to run. you wanted to scream. you probably should have done something other than just sit there and watch them beat the man to death but all you could do was snap pictures. one after another. frozen snapshots of the last moments of this man's life.
they beat on him for a few minutes. the sound of blood and crunching bones echoed in the alley. when it was over, one of the men pulled a gun with a suppressor on it and shot the limp rag doll of a man through the head. you had to put a hand over your mouth to keep from retching aloud. they dispersed after that. they left you and the dead man alone in the alley. you wanted to cry but couldn't find any tears for him. there was only rage. white hot passion that seeped from you in waves. you ran back to your dorm after that and didn't look back.
but after one sleepless night you knew what you had to do. you developed the pictures with a vengeance and you set them up in your dark room like it was a crime scene. you stared at the sequence night after night. thirty-two pictures. seven men. one corpse. after a little digging you found out his name. you pasted it next to the final image of his face that you snapped -the glaring bullet hole feels like its driving through your own head. the name haunts you in the middle of the night. but not nearly as much as the blank pieces of paper next to the shadowed faces of the man who killed him.
you haven't spoken a word of this to anyone. not even your brothers, who you trust with your life. this is your secret. and this has become your cause. you will bring these men to justice no matter what it takes. just because you were born with a silver spoon up your ass doesn't mean you're going to sit around and watch while the city swallows up an innocent man's life without a trace. you're walking into the depths of the black valkyrie ocean now. and you're too deep to even think about turning back.
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the player
ALIAS bay
YEARS OF EXPERIENCE 10+
OTHER CHARACTERS n/a
HOW'D YOU FIND US? caution
RP SAMPLE
YEARS OF EXPERIENCE 10+
OTHER CHARACTERS n/a
HOW'D YOU FIND US? caution
RP SAMPLE
laura despised lacking control in any area.
her entire life had been built upon the foundations of control. of order. of calculation. of execution without a hint of doubt or hesitation. she was taught to always yield the upper hand in any situation. she was one step ahead. sometimes even two. there could be no other option –variables were not allowed in her previous line of business. she had to have all of them on her side of the table or nothing. she built her life off of those rules, her every movement.
these principles were engrained into her programming. which made it that much harder for her to feel any slipping of her hold on them. laura liked information. she liked cold, hard facts. she didn't know enough of her gut yet to trust it and it irritated her that it swayed her so heavily since she'd been out of the institution. she didn't understand her instincts. she had not been taught to follow them. she was given instincts, they were written into her like a code and she didn't have to feel any of it for herself.
now that she was allowed to explore her body's innate, natural defenses, she found them unsettling.
but there was no denying something was wrong. all day she'd felt it, since she'd left her apartment to the present where she had cornered herself in an alley of the city just as the sun dipped half in grey shrouds. you didn't get to be a lethal killer without learning a few tricks or without being able to pick out the signs.
she was not alone. she hadn't been for some time. the feeling made the hairs stand up on her neck and sent unfamiliar chills down her spine. she was not afraid. merely uneasy. it was a stomach turning, uncomfortable feeling that she wanted to tear off.
a normal, level-headed person might have alerted the police. or kept themselves in the public eye for as long as possible. run, if necessary. but laura tended to be most comfortable looking things in the face. her entire demeanor was no-nonsense. she was blunt to a fault in most aspects. social graces, rhetorical questions, banter –if anyone was so bold to engage in that with her- they all fell a little flat when it came to her understanding of them. she dealt with friends and enemies alike in this manner. flat, monotonous, unwavering.
so standing alone in the alleyway, as the shadows clawed with hungry hands at her wispy figure, she turned full circle and addressed the darkness. green, predatory eyes flickered into the abyss.
"i know you are there," she announced.
to whom she was speaking with, she did not know. all she knew was that she had been followed, and she would not stand for it any longer. the uneasiness would end. she would make sure of it.
"show yourself," she commanded with a sharp note. and in the exhaled breath of her words, she popped her claws.
her entire life had been built upon the foundations of control. of order. of calculation. of execution without a hint of doubt or hesitation. she was taught to always yield the upper hand in any situation. she was one step ahead. sometimes even two. there could be no other option –variables were not allowed in her previous line of business. she had to have all of them on her side of the table or nothing. she built her life off of those rules, her every movement.
these principles were engrained into her programming. which made it that much harder for her to feel any slipping of her hold on them. laura liked information. she liked cold, hard facts. she didn't know enough of her gut yet to trust it and it irritated her that it swayed her so heavily since she'd been out of the institution. she didn't understand her instincts. she had not been taught to follow them. she was given instincts, they were written into her like a code and she didn't have to feel any of it for herself.
now that she was allowed to explore her body's innate, natural defenses, she found them unsettling.
but there was no denying something was wrong. all day she'd felt it, since she'd left her apartment to the present where she had cornered herself in an alley of the city just as the sun dipped half in grey shrouds. you didn't get to be a lethal killer without learning a few tricks or without being able to pick out the signs.
she was not alone. she hadn't been for some time. the feeling made the hairs stand up on her neck and sent unfamiliar chills down her spine. she was not afraid. merely uneasy. it was a stomach turning, uncomfortable feeling that she wanted to tear off.
a normal, level-headed person might have alerted the police. or kept themselves in the public eye for as long as possible. run, if necessary. but laura tended to be most comfortable looking things in the face. her entire demeanor was no-nonsense. she was blunt to a fault in most aspects. social graces, rhetorical questions, banter –if anyone was so bold to engage in that with her- they all fell a little flat when it came to her understanding of them. she dealt with friends and enemies alike in this manner. flat, monotonous, unwavering.
so standing alone in the alleyway, as the shadows clawed with hungry hands at her wispy figure, she turned full circle and addressed the darkness. green, predatory eyes flickered into the abyss.
"i know you are there," she announced.
to whom she was speaking with, she did not know. all she knew was that she had been followed, and she would not stand for it any longer. the uneasiness would end. she would make sure of it.
"show yourself," she commanded with a sharp note. and in the exhaled breath of her words, she popped her claws.
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