Post by Caitlin Elizabeth Fox on Oct 7, 2012 12:59:53 GMT -4
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, border-top: 15px solid #3287a1; border-bottom: 15px solid #3287a1; border-radius: 0em 0em 0em 0em; -moz-border-radius: 0em 0em 0em 0em; width:480px; background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/lcbO2.png), bTable][tr][atrb=vAlign,top][classy=app1][atrb=vAlign, top] [/classy] | [atrb=vAlign,top][style=width: 260px; height: 190px; overflow:auto; background-color:#cce1e7; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; color:#000000; text-align:justify; margin-top: 30px; margin-left: 50px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 10px; padding-bottom: 10px;] FULL NAME Caitlin Elizabeth Fox NICKNAMES Cait, Caitie GENDER Female AGE, BIRTHDAY Nineteen, 7th of March GRADE/JOB Part time employee at a floristry shop MEMBER GROUP Visitor/NYU undergraduate student SEXUALITY Hetereosexual PLAY BY Imogen Poots PERSONALITY Caitlin is a kind girl. Very friendly, honest and sweet. There really isn't a bad bone in her little body. She's a ray of sunshine but she's shy. An easily flustered girl, she's not great around members of the opposite sex and boys often talk to her because they know they'll get a reaction from her; a giggle or a blush. Caitlin is as quiet as a church mouse. In fact, her professors often forget her name because she just sits in the back of her classes, minding her own business and working as hard as she can. Intuitive and compassionate, Caitlin is a sucker for happy endings and she does honestly believe in true love. A bit of a dreamer, she seemed to put her faith in Fate, trusting that the universe has a way of working things out and that she really shouldn't worry because every cloud has a silver lining. She has a gentle, patient and malleable nature and she has many generous qualities. She's friendly, good natured, easy going and affectionate. Caitlin has a submissive nature which is no threat or challenge to stronger, more exuberant characters. Artistically inclined, she's very much into her art. She loves renaissance painters and moden art equally. She loves the feel of art galleries, the smell of old libraries and the excitement of new and unusual architecture. Her major is photography and it's certainly a passion of hers. Caitlin also adores going to gigs, watching live music and losing herself in a moment. She also enjoys winter, exotic food, travelling, fallen leaves, sweaters, food markets, fresh flowers and hugs. Awkward in social situations, Caitlin doesn't often attend parties that other girls in her dorm throw. When she is forced to go, she usually just lingers by the food and people watches. On the flipside of her personality, she's secretive and escapist. She doesn't speak a lot about herself, feeling uncomfortable by the subject and it's not uncommon for her friends not to know anything deep about her. She's not one to face her problems head on, she runs away from them. She has a weak will but she's not naïve. She knows enough about the world but if someone sweet talks her, flashes her a smile or strokes her hair, she'll melt on the spot. Caitlin also dislikes mushrooms, plain fabric, loud people, chat up lines, fizzy drinks, cheating, vodka, rain and thunderstorms. HISTORY Typical boy meets girl scenario. Well…maybe not. Both Paul and Anne-Marie first met when they were nineteen and actually met on a complete accident. Both had been set up on blind dates by their respective friends. Paul had been set up with a redhead called Annie, a trainee primary school teacher from Chicago and Anne-Marie had been paired with a rather dull man by the name of Martin. Paul had been at the bar for twenty minutes or so, nervously ripping off the label from his bottle of beer as he waited. He had no idea what his date for the evening looked like, the only information he had was that she was supposed to be called Annie. He looked around the bar, feeling more and more anxious and cursing his friend for even talking him into this when he set his eyes on a young blonde girl a few tables away from him, doing the exact same thing as he was. Swiftly, he put two and two together, just as Annie arrived but he walked right past her, believing that the blonde was the girl he was meeting. Mustering up his courage, Paul gave a charming smile and said hello, the blonde introducing herself as Anne-Marie. He put two and two together, wrongly, thinking that this must have been the Annie he was supposed to be meeting up with that night. Blonde, pretty and non-threatening, Anne-Marie looked up and couldn't quite believe her luck. Paul was tall and handsome, dark wavy hair and the most beautiful green eyes she'd ever seen. He said his name was Paul and she knew she was meant to be meeting a Martin but with a blush, she soon decided she'd rather get to know this man. The evening was filled with laughs and silly stories, discussing a number of topics from families and jobs to where they'd like to holiday. There was never an awkward silence during their conversation and the night went far too quick for Anne-Marie's liking. Loitering by the door to the bar, they shared a goodbye that lasted several minutes with Paul asking if he could see her again and Anne-Marie saying she'd love to. Reaching for a beer mat from a nearby table, she carefully pulled the paper apart to write down her name and address before handing it to him. She leant in, going to kiss his cheek but he got the wrong idea, moved his head and kissed her squarely on the mouth. Flustered, she gave a laugh and a blush which he found most endearing before bidding him goodnight, accidentally slipping on her heel and jogging off down the street. Left reeling by the night's events, Paul went back to his apartment with a huge grin on his face and setting off to find her the very next day. Anne-Marie had given him her address and he headed there to find her room mate who, with a knowing smile, directed him to where she worked in a florist's shop. Heading straight there, he leant in the door way and watched how she worked. She looked so pretty in her little green apron with her long hair tied back and that disarming smile as she served her customers or arranged the lilies. Were they lilies? Oh, who cared? Waiting patiently until a customer had left, he strolled up to the counter to surprise her. As soon as Anne-Marie smelt his cologne, she knew who it was. Laughing, she asked what he was doing there and with a smile, he simply said he'd come to take her to dinner. She complained that she was a mess but he assured her she looked absolutely gorgeous. Heading to the restaurant, they were kissing over their starters and they didn't even get to the main course because they ended up going back to his apartment. Six years later, Paul made Anne-Marie breakfast in bed. A perceptive young man, he'd learnt after the second time she'd stayed over, she only ever ate fruit for breakfast. Neatly, he'd cut a slice of pineapple into a little heart and placed a silver engagement ring in the centre. Caught by surprise, Anne-Marie nearly choked on her slice of watermelon as she saw it before exclaiming she would, throwing her arms around his neck as the breakfast went all over the place as she laughed, tackling him to the mattress before they rolled out of it and to the floor. Born into a comfortably wealthy family in the suburbs of New York City, Caitlin had an equally comfortable life. A quiet but intuitive little girl, her parents were a little worried when she didn't tend to join the other kids when they played jump rope down their street but were impressed when they could see the artistic spark in her even at such a young age. When other children were happily finger-painting in kindergarten, Caitlin had already progressed onto much more practised pictures with crayons and pencils. Growing up, Caitlin had a strong bond with her older brother, Daniel. Like two peas in a pod, they were thick as thieves. Her family was close and loving and happy. Her high school days were also happy. Cait didn't have a lot of friends but the ones she did were close. She didn't want to be a cheerleader or popular and so, she joined many extracurricular clubs and activities. Chess club, environmental club, art club and debate team. Caitlin was determined to fill up her CV and get into her university of choice. In her chosen clubs, Caitlin seemed to open up a little more. She made friends there, the “unusual” students. She didn't care, they were awesome. Her grades were good, her college applications were going well but there was only one place she wanted to go; NYU. And thankfully, she'd been accepted. Her parents had gone there, they'd met, fell in love and got married. Caitlin wanted that. She wanted to find a bohemian artist, a free spirit, someone who would want to paint her picture, tell her she was pretty, shower her in gifts and claim her to be his muse. How fabulous would that be?! Caitlin was eager to start a new chapter in her life and her family were behind her one hundred percent. She had big dreams. She wanted to become a photographer for National Geographic, she wanted to travel, she wanted to...be famous. She'd been a wallflower her entire life so now, this was her time to shine, to reinvent herself and she planned on having a good time whilst doing it. SAMPLE Pictures made it worse? Imogen simply blinked. She didn't really understand what he was trying to say. He had her on Facebook, surely he could just stare at her on that? Of course, she had very little pictures. She always thought that she wasn't a particularly photogenic girl. The photo of that stupid, reckless kiss was burnt to the back of her mind. She'd thought they were alone but she'd forgotten about camera phones. Clinched in a passionate embrace, arms around each other, eyes closed. She was thankful that she didn't look fat but suddenly, that had become the lease of her worries. Her lips felt like they were on fire after he'd kissed her. Tingly from the impassioned way his had moved so expertly over his. For a fleeting moment, she thought it must have contained some deeper feelings before she realised that Luke was just a great kisser. Subconsciously, Imogen pressed a pale index finger to her lower lip. Flashes came when she slept. Brief fragments, back and forth. She'd felt the way his strong hands had gripped her waist, grabbing handfuls of her pretty black dress, the way he'd run his hands through her hair, his expensive cologne. Too much. She needed space. He wasn't budging. "I'm listening," she said flatly. Did she really want to let him explain? Maybe. But she'd shut down, she didn't want to let him hurt her again. Her head snapped upwards sharply, fixing him with a curious stare. "You didn't lose anything," she said before she could stop herself. He really hadn't. "There was a blip on your radar and then you carried on. You didn't have to be laughed at, humiliated, gossiped about. You didn't get punched in the face like I did," she said, forcing herself to swallow, trying to calm herself right down. Imogen Green did not cry, not any more. She needed to protect herself. "Your car wasn't egged. You didn't have to eat lunch by yourself," she continued. It was a runaway train of emotions now. "You…ruined me," she said, her pretty face looking grim, eyes wide and incredulous. Her pale hands were in her long blonde hair, tightening on the follicles to her knuckles turned white. "I was fine," she whispered, not caring if he'd stopped listening. "I was fine. I was fine by myself, I liked it. I was fine being sarcastic and smart. I liked being under the radar, I liked being invisible but then you came along," she said, dropping her hands in defeat to rest them by her sides. "You. All tall and charming, handsome and so utterly…disarming that I honestly thought this would all be okay. But no," she whispered, more to herself. "You derailed my plan. Just like that," she snapped her fingers. "I went from a nerd with a bad attitude to a slut who everyone hated, just because you and I made a mistake. Do you really think I should have been persecuted?" Imogen asked, eyes wide as she locked them on the Frenchman, wanting him to answer her now. Now on her bed, Imogen pressed her palms to her forehead. They felt cool and clammy. This was all just too much. Too fast, too soon, too intense. He couldn't handle it? Bollocks. "I'm just a girl," she whispered to her knees. "A particularly insignificant one at that. You've handled plenty of girls," she said, her usual velvety voice taking on a steely tone. She let out a bark of derisive laughter. "I never thought I'd be stupid enough to be added to your long list." Then it hit her like a train. Unable to help it, a little gasp escaped her plump lips. No, the voice in the back of her head commanded her. It's just a line. You know that. You're smarter. Don't. She made the fatal mistake of looking at him as her insides melted. Swiftly, the blonde gave a little, unsure shake of her head. "Not any deeper than a physical level," she managed to croak. Honestly. No one ever said they had feelings for her except Mario, the deli guy who tried to grope her. "You can't. You don't feel with anything other than your dick. Just…just stop, okay?" She said softly. "I let you in," Imogen said, sounding mystified at her own stupidity. "You broke me," she finally admitted, clenching her hands into fists. "Wanna know the really sad thing?" She asked, looking at him with a sad little smile. "I always knew you would." A game he'd likened their relationship to and all she could do was smile again. "Chess," she said. "And you obliterated the queen." It was so strange. Imogen felt numb, oddly empty. She was saying all this personal stuff but it felt like an out-of-body experience, like it wasn't really her. "I pride myself on that," she mused as Luke said she wasn't like other girls. Was that why he'd played cat and mouse with her? To see if she'd crack? If she'd give in to his advances? She felt violated. It hurt. Imogen gave a curt, clipped nod of her head. She agreed. Ending things was the best thing for them. "Best thing for you," she replied without thinking. "I'd hate to tarnish your reputation. A lifetime to build, one stupid, stupid kiss to destroy." Honestly, she hated herself. Hated. She felt sick whenever his name was mentioned. "How could I be so stupid?" The artist said, eyes wide. For the very first time, she looked and felt lost. Her hands went to her head again in the classic sign of exasperation. Oh God. For womankind, she'd let the side down. "It's just hormones," she rationalised. I'm not exactly boyfriend material. That much was true. He was restless, jumping from girl to girl, having lots of fun and then the moment the girl falls for him, she's off like a shot. "Then why are you even here?" Imogen asked, confused, looking at her untouched pizza with a sigh. This was tough. "Are you trying to say you're a changed man?" There was a hint of mocking in her tone. He wasn't. If he was truly a changed man, he'd say he was enrolled in a school, doing something with his life, getting some direction, not throwing his father's money around. If he was in college, she probably would have taken him seriously. Luke Moreau; serial playboy. Only eighteen and too stuck in his ways. |
[classy=nyan]
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hey there! i'm sioban, and i'm twemty years old. i've been in this whole roleplaying business for 10+ years now, and my other characters include no one :[. i just have to say eeeee! excited!.
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