x x x

you're the one that died;;
so give me a break;;
with all these innocent lives;;
we could be great;;

. x .

. x .

. x .

. x .

. x .

. x .

x x x

Code:

Vanek, Jac - Harlequin Hale

<sub>BASIC INFORMATION.



Name: harlequin pheobe hale
Reason/Meaning Behind Name: --
Gender: female
Age: seventeen
Birthdate: march third, 1991
Birthplace: las vegas, nevada
Dorms of choice: tolstoy
Ethnic Background: american
Orientation: straight

PERSONAL INFORMATION.

Nickname: harley
Religion/Religious Background: atheist
Social Class: middle
Health: pretty good
Pets: hedgehog named squirt
Languages Spoken: english
Intelligence: smart but lacks her grades because she doesn't care
Type Of Friends Preferred: people who care, can make her laugh, and always truely have her back.
Type Of Lovers Preferred: a guy who isn't afraid to cuddle or expose their relationship, someone who won't use her.
Smoker/Drinker: no/yes
Talents: has a great singing voice but doesn't expose it, very flexible, & can move her ears.
Hobbies/Pastimes: dancing; mostly clean, drawing obscene pictures, getting on people's nerves, bothering the teachers aimlessly.
Clothes/Accessories: most of the time; jeans, a t-shirt with a smart remark, and a pair of multi-colored converses or flats.
Taste In Art, Literature, Decor: isn't into those things much

FAVORITES.

Favorite Book: "like i read."
Favorite Newspaper: "newspapers are stupid."
Favorite Band: Hawthorne Heights & Say Anything & AFI
Favorite Solo Artist: P!nk
Favorite Place: her room
Favorite Color: doesn't have a favorite; anything but brown
Favorite Food/Diet: sweets
Favorite Drink: pepsi

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

Height: 5`4
Weight: 108 lbs.
Eye Colour & Shape: blue-ish green & regular
Lips: pale pink and normal
Eyebrows: barely any
Hands: average
Complexion/Skin Tone: rather pale
Nose: average
Teeth: nice, white & straight
Feet: american size seven in women's
Hair Colour, Texture and Style: lightest blonde/soft/varies
Posture: straightened when not drunk
Predominant Feature/What Noticed First: hair
How They Walk: girl-ish
Tattoos: nada
Piercings: belly button & ears

FAMILY BACKGROUND.

Father: james scott hale
Profession: doctor
Residence: las vegas, nevada
Living/Dead: living
Mother: marlene angela hale
Profession: stay at home mother
Residence: las vegas, nevada
Living/Dead: living
Parents' Marital Status: married, but hitting some rough edges
Siblings: allen james hale & maria hayley hale

SCHOOL.

Favorite Subjects:
Least Favorite Subjects:
Grades:
Quality Of Work Performed:

PSYCHOLOGICAL ANALYSIS/CHARACTER TRAITS.

Ambitions, Aspirations, Desires: to make school a better place to want to come everyday & fall in love with the right boy
Character Flaws/Weaknesses: clutz sometimes, too sensitive, trusts to easily
Character Strengths: a normally nice kid & sweet
Habitual Mannerisms: doesn't wear make-up in her dorm and lets her hedgehog run around freely.
Fears/Phobias: spiders & ducks
Attitude Toward Life: doesn't think it's worth living since she has no amusement or boyfriend.
Attitude Toward Death: doesn't want it to come but isn't afraid of when it does.
Leader/Follower/Dropout: leader
Worst Habit: sensitivity
Biggest Source Of Pride:
How They Talk/Speech Patterns: gentle but purposeful
How They Dance: carefree
Pet Peeves: people calling her 'emo' or different & people who talk bad about squirt. <3
Attention To Detail/Degree Of Concentration: not very good. normally catching some 'z's in class.
Confidence Factor: medium
Generosity: depends on what it is.
How They React When Angry/Upset: throwing things, doesn't eat, stays alone.
Sense Of Humor: wonderfully excellent
Most Instructive/Meaningful Experience: when she put on eyeliner and didn't jab her eye out. xD
Attitude Toward Authority: "who cares."
Attitude Toward Money: likes it but isn't all over it
Attitude Toward Work: is stubborn about being forced into working
Attitude Toward Play: isn't too big on playing
Feelings Toward Family: doesn't really care, they never treated her equally with her brother and younger sister.

SAMPLE POST.

The girl in her dreams didn’t mean anything to her, except the relevance to the look alike to herself. Sure, what were the chances anyway? Perhaps she had some relative and unknown sister that her mother had been off away on holiday having to keep the family from complete shame? The point being, Paris wasn’t at all ready to believe that her mother had anything to do with the dreams, or rather nightmares as they were. They had been occurring more recently since moving and discovering the loss and disappearances of her friends. Now she thought about it further, her friends had done this once before, so there was surely no shock to come out of it, but the result could not always end up the same. Her birthday was in seven days, and last time they had been away planning a surprise, although it hadn’t been much so when she was tipped off about what was going on. But in a new city where neither parents nor other relatives remained, there was no one who would know them to tell her. Stop this Paris; there is no point in dwelling on the past or what is not to be. Concentrate on your future and your job. Paris you’re spilling the coffee! With the liquid having now hit her leg, she almost jumped up in shock. Surely it was not that simple for her to completely lose her mind in the thoughts. She placed the mug back on the table before further damage could be done other than the already stained bright red skinnys. What a mark would be left; the marks of a coffee stain against that of bright redness. What would her mother say? Hell, her mother wasn’t here to scorn her for the misfortunes of her clothes becoming suddenly and unexplainably dirty. So now she was making up excuses for her lack of caring over how she looked? What on earth was happening to this poor girl? She lived, ate, breathed, and funnily enough, all on her own. She was twenty four, had no involvement of a relationship of any kind, and she was planning on keeping it that way, and she had a poor job, although it paid the bills, left her with little to purchase many needed Christmas presents, hence the overtime and extra work she was trying to pile in. The people swanning around with cash bundled in their pockets didn’t help. Of course she could go to her parents for help, but Paris had passed the stage where conversations with her parents reached over more than five words. In fact, nowadays, she couldn’t even get one single word out when she was sat faced in front of both or one of her parents. It was unrealistic, yet to others they wouldn’t notice the poor girl with the coffee stain.

After the waiter approached Paris had signalled his attention whilst he was busy with another table. Of course the man probably thought something else of her need, messed up weirdo, but Paris clearly stated in her voice and tone complete with finality, “Cloth, please” If anything was going to happen, it would be her cleaning up this mess on her leg, and get some more drinking down. The weather beat cold against her face, but it seemed a pretty nice day. Perhaps it was her lack of warm take in of coffee that caused her to act a bit strange. Her thoughts were the reason for her mistake on pouring the coffee down her clothing, and now looking at herself properly, it had decided to climb to her top. How more perfect could things get? At least the cloth came seconds later with a small procession of napkins, before she was left to her own devices. She dampened the marks on her skinnys first, before rubbing them and then drying with the napkins. Then she moved on to her top, only to realise that a bigger mark of splodge was visible. With a glare at the mug Paris aimed, and successfully threw the napkins used into the rubbish bin nearby. What a good shot for one who didn’t sit here every day drowning herself in such sorrows. Yet she hadn’t exactly been in this city long, so did that count? She stretched and yawned; rubbing her eyes and noticing the torn arm warmers she wore. It made her stand out much from the others sitting down in posh work outfits in which they were ready in setting off for work that morning, unlike the girl staring at them in trashed emo clothes. Excuse the fact that she wanted to dress this way, the hypocrites. Paris aimed her glares in a different direction yet stopped when she realised that quite honestly they had nothing to do with her anger and often annoyance at the poor knowledge of knowing nobody in this massive city. Did she not want to meet new people? Then why did she not get up and out there? The world had many things for her to discover, as she loved travelling, hence her love for the photographer position. It was the newspaper she worked for that earn her little, but if she continued, she would hopefully get some pictures for better places and more interesting prospects. And yes, she was sad, sitting her, thoughts babbling on about work like nothing else in the world mattered.

As was always the case often with her, and many others seeing as speakers wished to reveal themselves at the last moment when it was indeed too late for the victim, a voice which spoke to her, as she seemed the only one with the camera, entered her ears, and indeed, she instantly looked up from wiping down her top to where ever the figure may be hiding. Fifty bucks? Did he think she was rich or something? She was well prepared to say no, go and find another person to bother with the makings of money. Fifty bucks indeed…and that would get her to have no money to buy food with, unless the guy was prepared to knock something up for her. Then of course his intentions could be completely different to what she was imagining them to be; an innocent voice belonging to a boy, no a grown man, who seemed to be asking little favour in return of a very wrong sounding sentence. She wasn’t someone you could pick up and toss at, so this would take some time to think. He couldn’t actually be serious, could he? Indeed he might be, but then you never really know, do you, until you give the guy a chance. Chances were rare to take when you’re being pulled around by someone who was probably aiming to attack you in some darkened alley way, you didn’t get second chances then. And it was a bit like backing up your experience; you don’t get to say to a bomb explosion ‘hey, blow up a second in my face so I can get used to the feeling’. It just wouldn’t happen. You only really get one shot at things, so should Paris give this a go? She eyed around a bit more, yet no picture came into her vision, at least not yet.

And there was the culprit. An indeed sort of interesting looking person, amazing features. But the one thing she noticed about him was his hair; it was pure amazing. In that instant she wanted to just pat it, or poke it, or even wonder whether she could touch it, but that was stupid. She knew he would think her a lunatic for thinking such things, but that was how her mind worked. However, she remained in her seat with the thoughts of him, his generous sounding offer, the concept of money, and the somewhat clearly obvious coffee stain on her top. He shouldn’t notice, she kept telling herself, yet he would be pretty blind to not. Interested indeed, she was curious as to what he could offer. “Indeed,” she said, a little pause and yet curiosity hinting in her tone as her short reply awaited another explanation after. What was she going to say? That yes, she would come with him, and possibly endure a rapist attack later? But this person did not seem like it, and there was little that she could completely say about it. He seemed nice, and he looked stunning, absolutely amazing. She seriously was tempted to hug him right there and then, his cute fluffy looking hair all scruffy, and his appearance that he did not seem bothered with hers at all. But the question remained, would they get along? Was there any need at all to get along if she stood up and left? She would not to that surely, as his offer was still there, and Paris did need some extra shots. But then, what other places was he thinking of taking her? “Are you saying, ‘interested in the offer’ or, ‘interested in me?’” She shouldn’t have said that really, but to set some sort of question for him whilst she still contemplated what he was saying. And why was it so expensive? She had sworn the bus tour was little no more than five bucks at the most, and that would take her some many places. What he could be possibly imagining to take her she didn’t really want to know. Safe or not safe?

“My mother always warned me not to take off with strangers,” Paris smiled slightly, showing she wasn’t completely serious about taking her mother’s advice. “Prove to me you’re not a serial rapist and you might have yourself a deal,” That was fair, was it not?</sub>