Post by zee on Jan 14, 2010 20:24:46 GMT -5
JAYDEN JEREMY DAWSON.
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* FEELS JUST LIKE WE'RE LOSING CONTROL.
and if you let go, then i'll let go tonight.[/center]
TELL US ABOUT YOURSELF.
"i would say make me, but somehow that seems like it would provoke something i'm not necessarily equipped to deal with at the time, and so i suppose i'll proceed. take it to mind that a laziness which i can present will definitely be distinguishable amongst other things, such as a tone of leisure that will inevitably drive you to madness, as it has done with the rest of the inmates. my name is jeremy jayden dawson, or perhaps jayden jeremy, i can't seem to remember and it doesn't hardly matters, considering i prefer to go by jj regardless of your own intentions. call me anything else and we won't necessarily get in a scuffle, but i do assure you won't walk away forgetful of the encounter. i was born somewhere around eighteen years ago, or at least that's what i've gathered from the physical maturation of my body and other evidence: pictures of me in early nineties clothing as a small boy, the like. each year that passes, i prefer to celebrate my day of birth in a different month; this prevents complication and ultimately keeps me from becoming further frustrated with myself.
i believe i finished high school previously, but the details are a bit of a blur.. i may have finished early and with honors. on the same token, i may have flunked out in tenth grade and gotten the education of a third-world immigrant, it doesn't seem to affect me whilst i'm here, now does it? as for appearance, i'm all about deceiving - there is rarely an instant when a pleasant smile does not sit on my lips, nor a second when my hand is not running quite humanly through my brown mop of hair. as for blending into a crowd, i do not... i'm too tall for that, and too slender. apart from these slightly distinctive features, my eyes are perhaps the only thing that gives away my ultimate intention - to turn my body into a walking calendar so it becomes ultimately impossible to forget. and if you think you're going to stop me, you're sadly mistaken."
TELL US ABOUT YOUR MEDICAL HISTORY.
[/size][/font]"i was first attacked with bouts of forgetfulness as a child, but it wasn't as horribly progressed as it is now; i could remember simple things like my birthday and the day of the week. then, of course, in preschool such things were completely relevant and quite important. as for now, the day of the week matters hardly, considering every moment of my life to come will inevitably be spent here. anyway.
when i entered puberty, or the time around then, i imagine, i began to realize the severity of my forgetting things. i was not struggling in school because i didn't feel the need to participate, although that was the diagnosis i was given through a series of parent-teacher conferences and principal interrogations. i was not completely disregarding the fact that i'd beaten my classmate senseless the day previous on purpose; it was something that i couldn't avoid merely because my memory was disintegrating slowly. or so it would seem.
my mother found me with the small hunting knife, carving the date of my next test the day before i turned sixteen, or so i was later told, and decided to do nothing about it - she figured it was a form of expression, or that's what the artist in her seemed to say. i don't remember anything other than what my scar tells me, and although i greatly appreciate the fact that it does so, my otherwise pale skin looks completely ludicrous in comparison. maybe i'll become a sort of reference book, maybe people will use my skin to make historical associations with the future... maybe. but otherwise i do it for me, and i'm much obliged to continue on, as it seems to work. thus, when my mother finally came around and realized there was a problem, i was sent here. to alkaline. such a peculiar name for an asylum, isn't it? "
HOW CAN WE ACCOMODATE YOU BETTER?
[/size][/font]"well, clearly, it would start with letting me out. i dislike this place greatly; i find the white suffocating and the lack of calendars to aid me in my supposed 'healing' is really beginning to frustrate me. a kitchen in my dormitory would also be a welcome addition, because you assuming that just because i prefer good food to the relatively horrible slop provided here and can cook decently mean i will use the knives to pare myself is absolutely ridiculous, i can't say i appreciate it. i may seem a bit demanding, but i promise i'm not - just rather imposing and rudimentary. i suppose that's expected considering my currently described as 'insane' state, or at least that's what the hospital declares - clinically insane. wonderful. carving myself up better than a christmas ham would get me that, but it's really not that in depth. i'm just a flawed person in a sea of people denying it, the only difference the fact that i spend a good deal of my time embracing it. i suppose you could also call me slightly prone to violence, although that's only when i'm provoked, no matter how absolutely small the provocation is. it doesn't take much to make me angry, if i'm being honest.. although it might be slightly difficult for you to tell the difference between when i'm doing so and when i'm telling you the truth. a life of secrecy thus far has kept me in the untruth limitations, and i don't plan on moving out of them. it's too easy living life this way. one would suppose that would make me a slacker, and i'd be resolute in that assumption until i realized that i'd forgotten i'd made it - remembering really isn't my strong suit. a cigarette is much appreciated on the occasion, but considering it isn't exactly permitted here i don't resort to smoking it. resentful? yes. but never quite rebellious enough to act upon those impulses unless, of course, i forget they're not permitted. venomous of speech and tongue but never of fists, i'm much more likely to rip your head off verbally than assault you. but i guess you knew that."
TELL US ABOUT YOUR PAST.
[/size][/font]"i was born to merely a mother in tampa, florida, somewhere around the early nineties. although don't recall the birth year, i've seen pictures that testify to my approximate age, which is probably somewhere between eighteen and seventeen. it doesn't matter anyway; age is nothing but a number and in this case, it has no effect over my treatment. i'm stuck here until i'm declared sane and given the ability to sign myself out, which has been denied by the government. officially, i will declare war on america the instant i am free. but i suppose that might be a little off topic. i think. i don't really recall. yes... tampa. it was a lovely place, really. nice beaches, beautiful sunsets and relatively high as far as the population gradient, unfortunately the majority of those citizens were elderly and i spent a good deal of my younger years battling through the traffic with my mother. when i first entered the dredges of puberty, i began to lose track of things. first my wallet, containing a good deal of christmas money, then an identification bracelet my slightly overprotective mother had given me.
we weren't well off, i know, but we weren't poor, and she gave to me the best education i could receive, as well as a decent upbringing in a slightly less-than-glamorous neighborhood. i was by no means rolling in money, but i had a job the moment i could get one and was generating my own money. unfortunately, my mother was an artist and never really saw the reality aspect of things, which ultimately lead to my going here - she noticed what i'd been doing and said nothing, continuing on the way things had always been. of course, i knew she'd noticed only by the bandaids she left on the counter the previous morning, but she may have forgotten she'd done it - there is little to no doubt that i managed to receive that nature of mine from her side. and so, it came to be that the incident was put aside until she realized, months later, that distinctive dates stood out against my forearms. it was then that she decided to send me here, and i've been contained here since."
IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE?
[/size][/font]"no you insignificant, annoying oaf. if you'd please, i'd like to go now."
THE MASTERMIND BEHIND IT ALL.
[/size][/font]hey, my name is ZEE.[/color] i have AGE OPTIONAL[/color] tracks spinning on my record. this is my FIRST[/color] character. i have been roleplaying for AROUND TWO YEARS[/color]. the password is silicon, saline, poison, inject me[/color].[/font][/size]
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Flannery sighed, her slender, elegant digits running through her hair in a sort of vicious manner, a scowl present on her features. She wasn’t doing anything productive, although living in a state that emitted that vibe to people in other countries and even their own set of states usually produced that sort of feeling, that sort of longing to just sit around and relax. Needless to say, it wasn’t uncommon for her to lay around the house in a pair of silky underwear and perhaps a camisole, maybe less if it was warm outside. As of now she felt very limited in clothes, and had resorted to strutting around her small apartment almost bare, the only veil between her body and the world a half-sheer baby doll dress she’d picked up in a fetish shop some time ago.
There was nothing to do around here, she noted with another frown, her lips protruding slightly from her attractive face in what someone might consider a pout, if it didn’t have Flan stamped all over it. That added a sort of angry edge to nearly everything that she did. Tugging half heartedly on the strap of her dress, she made her way effortlessly towards the window in the cluttered space, nudging over a pile of postcards with her foot by accident and finally resting her hip against the figure she’d purchased in a flea market in Brazil, the one that seamstresses used to use so long ago, the ones that people paid thousands for. She’d paid what, fifteen bucks? It was one of her favorite things in the house, especially since for her fourteenth birthday her moms had brought it to a tailor and had them adjust it to exactly her proportions. She toted it with her when she moved, after that.
For a hooker, her house didn’t seem nearly as dirty as one might think. Excluding the smell of smoke and sex that seemed to linger, although she had a febreeze as a weapon in combat and used it frequently, ignoring the needle on the kitchen table, half-loaded with the stereotypical amber liquid she seemed to adore so much, it was rather clean and normal for someone her age. There was no paraphernalia, there was no box of dildos as some people might have imagined there would be. They underestimated hookers, they really did. She chuckled lightly at herself, groaning when she realized the implications of such a thing. Good god, she was laughing at herself without prompting now; someone, do something!
Crossing one lean arm over her chest, braless because such support was, for the most part, unnecessary, she used her free arm to bring her cigarette to her lips, her chiclet white teeth shining flashing briefly before she inserted the tube in between her teeth and bit down gently on the edge of it. She didn’t drag, instead watching from a close distance as the smoke curled up through the air, contaminating the room and making it slightly difficult to breathe.. That was, if you weren’t accustomed to such an atmosphere. Given she’d been living in it since practically birth, she was well used to it and actually seemed to thrive in that sort of air, taking strength from the nicotine.
Now she was slightly dozing on the heroin, her eyes drooping just slightly, a sort of glamorous view on the whole drugs.. She didn’t have track marks, not yet at least. The drug was something she’d recently figured out she liked and it had yet to kill her veins, although it was certainly doing it’s job quite successfully by way of making her feel better. One of her customers had had some.. He insisted she use it before they fucked and who was she to say no to something that could potentially change her existence for the better? So she’d shot up, the first time in her nineteen years, and could honestly say it was a lot more enjoyable than she’d originally imagined. Finally allowing herself a drag, she inhaled deeply and felt the warmth spread throughout her system, felt her spirits lift momentarily before she exhaled, pushing the comfort away, relishing in the barren feeling she was left with.
She’d always been more comfortable with next to nothing than with everything, it was a small quirk no one else seemed to notice about her, and for that she was thankful.
Flannery extinguished the cigarette quickly, sliding on her professional shoes, as she’d affectionately deemed them, and exited the apartment. She didn’t know where she was going, as with many things in her life it was uncalculated and she didn’t feel like spending time elaborating on it. Once outside, she brushed back the piece of her hair that continuously flopped into her eyes, swallowing somewhat deeply and started the long walk towards the beach, deciding quickly on her destination. Of course it wasn’t long before she felt the impact of her body on someone else’s, as she’d been lost within her thoughts and not paying direct attention to where she was going. A bit of rage brushed through her, and she frowned deeply at the other person before planting her hands on her slender hips, not motherly at all but in fact, intimidating. “Low-key my ass, is it too much of a vacation for you to watch where you’re going?”
