Post by Sally Valentine on Sept 9, 2010 18:32:45 GMT -5
Valentine, Sally Weatherfield
( B A S I C )
I created the Sound of Madness[/i][/color][/size]
FULL NAME:
Sally Weatherfield Valentine
DATE OF BIRTH AND AGE:
14/02/1992 | eighteen
SPECIES:
A little piece of heaven in a human wrapper | Homosapien
Original or Canon:
Original Character
GENDER AND SEXUAL ORIENTATION:
female | likes boys
CURRENTLY LIVES:
forks
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:
At a glimpse, a person will undoubtedly notice two things about Sally Valentine. First and foremost, that she is skinny to an extreme, which often makes passers-by wonder if an unexpected gust of wind may carry her away. Secondly, they will distinguish something in her vast, chocolate eyes so wild, so impossibly feral for a girl of her petite stature that they will have to take a second glance. Just to be sure. And from that moment they will be captivated, because Sally is quite a thing to behold, even if she does say so herself.
Yes, from her long hair, which she frequently dyes a variety of fluoro-colours and will often cut in a mullet accompanied by a lengthy block fringe, to her sylph-like facial features, Sally is a thing of beauty. Well, that is once a person has gotten over the fear that she may shatter into a thousand pieces at any moment.
Admittedly, the undomesticated gleam in her eyes and her multiple piercings can often lead people to be wary of Sally, but the coquettish smile so neatly juxtaposed alongside will often overcome any apprehension she may evoke.
( O T H E R )
Wrote the book on pain[/i][/color][/size]
LIKES:
painting; partying; photography; dancing like no-one's watching; cherries; pear drops; her vices; boys who like to live on the wild side; laughter; rain; the smell of freshly mown grass; harmonica; horror movies; singing (badly); men in uniform, memories; Paris; plaiting her hair; patterns; spontaneous behaviour; green and purple; falling in love.
DISLIKES:
people who chew with their mouths open; motorbikes; thunder; balloons; liars; marshmallows; top buttons; bad grammar; being late; complainers; disco music; The Bee Gees; technology failing; hot weather; violins; confusion; fat; tiredness; reverse psychology; falling in love.
STRENGTHS:
Determination - Sally has been knocked down more times than any normal person would be able to withstand, and yet every time she picks herself and moves on. Maybe a little more damaged, maybe a little more of her old self torn away and left behind, but she still moves forwards.
Charm - Having succeeded in finding herself in many a situation few would ever even have to consider the possibility of facing, Sally has become quite gifted at twisting her way out of some rather tight spots with her effortless wit and wiles.
WEAKNESSES:
Paranoia - Life has taught Sally that little is as it appears and as a result she has developed a keen paranoia, which plagues her every move. She is forever suspicious and has deep trust issues to accompany.
Vanity - Since a very young age, Sally has developed a fixation with mirrors. Initially it was probably just their shine and mystery that attracted her infant self, but now, like Narcissus her own image spells her in place.
FEARS:
Sally has horrendous, although understandable abandonment issues, which has caused her to, as previously mentioned, develop serious trust issues. Simultaneously she craves human affections and comfort, which can often lead to quite erratic behaviour on her behalf in relationships, which as a result rarely last long.
She is also, less understandable, absolutely terrified of clowns. From the ghostly white paint to the over-sized shoes, clowns knock the wind right out of Sally's sails. She simply can't comprehend how anybody could possibly consider that entertainment or child appropriate. Ever!
PERSONALITY DESCRIPTION:
Sally is a whirlwind of colourful emotions that blur together in a rainbow tornado all too frequent. She is unafraid to show her anger or frustration, but when it comes to matters of love she keeps her cards close to her chest. Or so she'd like to believe. In reality, she's quite the open book, but this by no means should fool people into believing she's easy to read, but as her moods can change with the wind, it's hard to tell which pages are even worth beginning.
She's highly opinionated and makes decisions very easily where others would sit on the fence. However, this can lead to problems, usually exacerbated by her stubborn nature. Sally has a superior intellect, but due to her declined interest in school she left before she could make anything of it and refuses to go back to college or any form of education. This doesn't have any effect on her sharp wit, however, which aids her no end in job interviews and countless other situations.
(H I S T O R Y )
Somehow I'm still here, To explain[/color][/size]
MOTHER:
Ms. Juliet Weatherfield - forty-three - co-habiting - fitness instructor.
FATHER:
NO.
HOMETOWN:
Dallas, Texas
HISTORY ESSAY:
A blind man and his dog could pinpoint the exact moment when Sally Weatherfield's practically perfect life was turned on its head. She had it all. Stepford-issue mum, a 3.5 grade average, the five bedroom detached in the best area of the 'burbs. Then, at 4:37pm on the 24th April 2005 she came home to discover her father making out with her French tutor, Kieran. She remembers the time exactly because not once as they tried to explain themselves, not once, did she take her eyes off the clock.
It was only a matter of weeks, however, before they stopped trying to explain and started living together. The whole neighbourhood was buzzing with the gossip in no time: Sally and her mother couldn't walk with their heads any higher than their heels. It wasn't long before there was no alternative but to move away from all Sally had known and loved. From her friends, from her school, from her simple, safe life.
They ended up in Idaho in a small rented apartment that smelt like death and Sally was sent to attend the local high school. The slip in her grades was almost instantaneous, but the worst was yet to come. She began to lose weight, slowly at first, but then dramatically. Her mother was the only person to never notice, too wrapped up in her own misery to see her daughter slipping away. Sally didn't care. She cared about how wild, how dangerous the face in the mirror looked. How nobody would dare hurt a girl with a look in her so perilous. Also, that there was less of her. That maybe one day, there'd be so little she'd just blow away.
But it was not to be, instead she had to stick around and watch her mother search for her lost dignity at the bottom of a liquor bottle, until one day, at the age of fifteen, she couldn't take it anymore and left.
Many times she considered going back, but her pride wouldn't let her. Instead, she hitch-hiked in exchange for unmentionable favours across America, becoming someone utterly unrecognisable. But she wouldn't have it any other way. The latest stop on her travels is a small town called Forks, Washington. It seems a quiet sort of place; a quaint little town. A place where a person could disappear and nobody would bat an eyelid. Her sort of place.
( P U P P E T E E R )
That the darkest hour never comes in the night
[/i][/color][/size]
ALIAS:
Paradox
AGE:
seventeen
ROLEPLAY EXPERIENCE:
four years, I think...
HOW DID YOU FIND US:
Matchknee and Zeppelin :')
OTHER CHARACTERS?:
Perhaps, in the future?
SECRET PHRASE:
take it one word at a time rules
RP EXAMPLE:
Dorothy hadn’t been meddling, honestly she hadn’t. She’d merely noticed William’s desk could do with a spot of cleaning, and thought it best she did it herself, after all, when would he ever make the time to do so?
One of the countless sheaves of paper had been balanced too precariously to withstand her gentle dusting and had collapsed in a confused heap upon the floor. Dorothy had scrambled to reform the organised chaos of her brother’s work when a leaf caught her eye. A title, to be precise. One she didn’t recognise.
At first, Dorothy had presumed herself to be quite mistaken; William always showed her each poem through every step of its development. Before she could stop herself she had read the first line. I wandered lonely as a cloud. She dropped the paper as if burnt. It felt erroneous to read his words without invitation. Cramming the mysterious folio in with the others, Dorothy swiftly rearranged the pile upon his desk and hurried to focus her mind upon another task. Her efforts were in vain; her mind continued to meander back to the Lonely Wanderer.
It wasn’t long before she held the paper in her hands once more, absorbing the lines with growing horror and revulsion. She may not have recognised the title, but she knew the words, the thoughts, the feelings. The Daffodils. The scene of beauty they had witnessed and she had celebrated in her diary, not two months ago.
Yet she was nowhere to be seen. As lonely as a cloud? A dull roaring filled her ears; a red mist clouded her vision. In an instant, she was before him, the offending sheet striking him sharply in the chest and fluttering to the ground with an accusatory whisper.
“You’ve gone too far this time, William!” She exclaimed, her voice shrill, wavering. A perplexed look flashed across William’s face, but was soon replaced with one of amusement mixed with mild exasperation as he scrutinized the page that lay at his feet.
“Dorothy, please, you’re being terribly melodramatic. This is no different to before –” the admonishment fell like a slap across her cheek.
“– My diary, Will! You wrote me out of my own diary. Before, I found it flattering, you thought my ramblings a source of assistance, but this...blood isn’t thicker than ink, William,” Dorothy warned, stabbing a critical finger into his chest, “and these bridges you burn with the fires of your egotism are unsalvageable.”
All traces of amusement were swept from William’s face, “Hold your tongue,” he snapped, seizing her wrist in a vice-like grip.
“No! I will –” She began to protest, but he twisted her wrist sharply. Tears of pain and frustration blossomed in Dorothy’s eyes.
“You will stop this foolishness. Without my writing, you would be nothing.” There was a malevolent shimmer in his eyes as he continued, “Destitute. Still begging for clothes from your friends. I am all you have and you would do well to remember that.” She hung her head in shame. A voice echoed somewhere in the house, sounding far more distant to Dorothy than was possible in their cottage. He released her and strode from the room, calling out in a jovial tone; a facade and seamlessly raised as those in his writing.
Dorothy slumped to the ground beneath the unbearable humiliation’s weight. She felt betrayed, cast adrift in a fierce and savage sea of deception. So lonely.
Nothing like a cloud, she thought bitterly.
One of the countless sheaves of paper had been balanced too precariously to withstand her gentle dusting and had collapsed in a confused heap upon the floor. Dorothy had scrambled to reform the organised chaos of her brother’s work when a leaf caught her eye. A title, to be precise. One she didn’t recognise.
At first, Dorothy had presumed herself to be quite mistaken; William always showed her each poem through every step of its development. Before she could stop herself she had read the first line. I wandered lonely as a cloud. She dropped the paper as if burnt. It felt erroneous to read his words without invitation. Cramming the mysterious folio in with the others, Dorothy swiftly rearranged the pile upon his desk and hurried to focus her mind upon another task. Her efforts were in vain; her mind continued to meander back to the Lonely Wanderer.
It wasn’t long before she held the paper in her hands once more, absorbing the lines with growing horror and revulsion. She may not have recognised the title, but she knew the words, the thoughts, the feelings. The Daffodils. The scene of beauty they had witnessed and she had celebrated in her diary, not two months ago.
Yet she was nowhere to be seen. As lonely as a cloud? A dull roaring filled her ears; a red mist clouded her vision. In an instant, she was before him, the offending sheet striking him sharply in the chest and fluttering to the ground with an accusatory whisper.
“You’ve gone too far this time, William!” She exclaimed, her voice shrill, wavering. A perplexed look flashed across William’s face, but was soon replaced with one of amusement mixed with mild exasperation as he scrutinized the page that lay at his feet.
“Dorothy, please, you’re being terribly melodramatic. This is no different to before –” the admonishment fell like a slap across her cheek.
“– My diary, Will! You wrote me out of my own diary. Before, I found it flattering, you thought my ramblings a source of assistance, but this...blood isn’t thicker than ink, William,” Dorothy warned, stabbing a critical finger into his chest, “and these bridges you burn with the fires of your egotism are unsalvageable.”
All traces of amusement were swept from William’s face, “Hold your tongue,” he snapped, seizing her wrist in a vice-like grip.
“No! I will –” She began to protest, but he twisted her wrist sharply. Tears of pain and frustration blossomed in Dorothy’s eyes.
“You will stop this foolishness. Without my writing, you would be nothing.” There was a malevolent shimmer in his eyes as he continued, “Destitute. Still begging for clothes from your friends. I am all you have and you would do well to remember that.” She hung her head in shame. A voice echoed somewhere in the house, sounding far more distant to Dorothy than was possible in their cottage. He released her and strode from the room, calling out in a jovial tone; a facade and seamlessly raised as those in his writing.
Dorothy slumped to the ground beneath the unbearable humiliation’s weight. She felt betrayed, cast adrift in a fierce and savage sea of deception. So lonely.
Nothing like a cloud, she thought bitterly.
credit to Jenna aka Alice Cullen who designed this application.
If you would like to use it, please contact an admin and do not remove credit.
Lyrics credit to SHINEDOWN - Sound of Madness.[/size]
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