Post by shinkikker on Nov 29, 2011 21:44:07 GMT -5
N A M E
Cleo Abbott
A G E
19 years old
S E X
Female
T Y P E
Medium
O C C U P A T I O N
Unemployed
L O C A T I O N
56614 Alamo Lane
North Liberty, IN
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Most people thought Cleo was... odd. She often sat alone on street benches and forced eye contact with passers-by until she could see the tension in their puzzled faces. The truth was, she was bored. She had dreams of ridiculous candy feasts and cabins made out of glass logs instead of wooden ones, so that at night time the moon light could shine through and there'd be no need for a light.
When she was alone, Cleo would entertain herself by doing Mad Libs by opening a Merriam-Webster dictionary and picking a random word. She didn't have a single friend, but she kept herself good company. No one really understood her humor, she thought, and people nowadays were way too concerned with matters that had no significance to her at all, like careers, grades, and money. After she graduated high school, a wave of apathy washed over her and she believed that it set her free.
She was a good soul, but her disinterest in the average world was getting the best of her. In her eternal search for adventure, she was bound to run into some sort of trouble.
A P P E A R A N C E
With natural, stringy white-blonde hair and porcelain skin to match, Cleo resembled what one would imagine an ice queen might look like. She had black eyes that were like two orbs of polished ebony set softly in the untouched snow. A single scar ran down her upper lip, indistinguishable from one of the folds of her philtrum.
Her build was thin with curves at her hips but nothing extraordinary. She dressed simply: solid, neutral-colored t-shirts most days, and skinny pants that slimmed her short legs. On most days, she wore plain black sneakers with strange pattered socks, but occasionally she would exchange them for simple black leather boots that rose up her shins and stopped just under her knees.
H I S T O R Y
Cleo's grandmother, Hanna, used to tell her fantastical stories about the empty plantation house across the street. She claimed that there was a boy there who lived there for over fifty years and never grew old. He was a kind boy who used to help Hanna's parents by sneaking them some of their leftover pork that was supposed to be given to the dogs.
On a cool September night, a thunderstorm started an unforgiving fire that swallowed the west side of the house within minutes. The boy was never seen after that night, and they never found any of his remains. Some people say that he had runaway several hours before and never actually knew about the fire. But some nights, Cleo would gaze out her window lovingly at the old house and see an unexplainable shadow's movement through one of the west windows.
She was an only child and grew up in her grandmother's house, because her parents were always on business trips to Chicago and rarely made trips home; they didn't see the point. But Cleo enjoyed her grandmother's house. It was cozy... quaint. It had character that new houses just seem to lack.
Other than that, she led a relatively average life, which gave her all the more reason quench her thirst for excitement. Each day gave the promise of something fresh and new. But she could sense something was about to happen soon... something big. And she was going to be there to watch it go down.
Cleo Abbott
A G E
19 years old
S E X
Female
T Y P E
Medium
O C C U P A T I O N
Unemployed
L O C A T I O N
56614 Alamo Lane
North Liberty, IN
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Most people thought Cleo was... odd. She often sat alone on street benches and forced eye contact with passers-by until she could see the tension in their puzzled faces. The truth was, she was bored. She had dreams of ridiculous candy feasts and cabins made out of glass logs instead of wooden ones, so that at night time the moon light could shine through and there'd be no need for a light.
When she was alone, Cleo would entertain herself by doing Mad Libs by opening a Merriam-Webster dictionary and picking a random word. She didn't have a single friend, but she kept herself good company. No one really understood her humor, she thought, and people nowadays were way too concerned with matters that had no significance to her at all, like careers, grades, and money. After she graduated high school, a wave of apathy washed over her and she believed that it set her free.
She was a good soul, but her disinterest in the average world was getting the best of her. In her eternal search for adventure, she was bound to run into some sort of trouble.
A P P E A R A N C E
With natural, stringy white-blonde hair and porcelain skin to match, Cleo resembled what one would imagine an ice queen might look like. She had black eyes that were like two orbs of polished ebony set softly in the untouched snow. A single scar ran down her upper lip, indistinguishable from one of the folds of her philtrum.
Her build was thin with curves at her hips but nothing extraordinary. She dressed simply: solid, neutral-colored t-shirts most days, and skinny pants that slimmed her short legs. On most days, she wore plain black sneakers with strange pattered socks, but occasionally she would exchange them for simple black leather boots that rose up her shins and stopped just under her knees.
H I S T O R Y
Cleo's grandmother, Hanna, used to tell her fantastical stories about the empty plantation house across the street. She claimed that there was a boy there who lived there for over fifty years and never grew old. He was a kind boy who used to help Hanna's parents by sneaking them some of their leftover pork that was supposed to be given to the dogs.
On a cool September night, a thunderstorm started an unforgiving fire that swallowed the west side of the house within minutes. The boy was never seen after that night, and they never found any of his remains. Some people say that he had runaway several hours before and never actually knew about the fire. But some nights, Cleo would gaze out her window lovingly at the old house and see an unexplainable shadow's movement through one of the west windows.
She was an only child and grew up in her grandmother's house, because her parents were always on business trips to Chicago and rarely made trips home; they didn't see the point. But Cleo enjoyed her grandmother's house. It was cozy... quaint. It had character that new houses just seem to lack.
Other than that, she led a relatively average life, which gave her all the more reason quench her thirst for excitement. Each day gave the promise of something fresh and new. But she could sense something was about to happen soon... something big. And she was going to be there to watch it go down.