Post by Zen Montero on Sept 19, 2006 15:52:26 GMT -5
The Roleplayer
Name: Casey
Age: 15
How you found Anomaly: St. Joes
How long you have been roleplaying: Three 1/2 Years
Other: Purple crayons, cafeteria cheese sticks, The Wizard of Oz, and.... Oh yeah. Blueberry Chapstick
The Character
Name: Zenaire "Zen" Catherine Montero
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Race: Caucasian
Illness: Multiple Personality Disorder or Dissociative Identity Disorder (Def: Dissociative identity disorder is a diagnosis described in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 4th Edition (DSM), Revised, as the existence in an individual of two or more distinct identities or ego-states, each with its own pattern of perceiving and interacting with the environment. To qualify as dissociative identity disorder (multiple personality disorder), at least two personalities must routinely take alternate control of the individual's behavior, and there must be a loss of memory that goes beyond normal forgetfulness. This memory loss is often referred to as "losing time". These symptoms must occur independently of substance abuse or a general medical condition.)
Appearence: The Face
Zen has a delicately built face, though her general attitude doesn't reflect that delicacy. She's pretty enough, she supposes, though she doesn't like others telling her so. She has an almost sad look about her. Her eyebrows turn down at the ends and her eyes are slanted upwards, creating the morose effect. A small beauty mark is place a little bit below her left eye.
The Build & The Grace
Zen is slim and tall. She has a languorous way of moving, almost catlike. She stretches often, further enhancing her seemingly lazy grace. She may seem to be listless, but she's actually pretty quick when she needs to be. She's extremely proud of her height of 5'9. Her sister is older (by six minutes) but Zen is two inches taller. She'll often use this to pick on her twin, calling her names such as 'Shortstop' or 'Midget'.
The Usual Duds
Zen doesn't dress in a feminine fashion, that's for sure. She dresses in baggy pants, but close-fitting shirts. She hacks her midnight black hair off, wearing it everday in the same mussed style. She ruffles it very often, more out of habit that necessity, furthering the messy effect. She doesn't wear make-up, since there is really no need for it and she has no clue how to put it on. Her jet eyes are already framed with naturally dark lashes anyway, so it doesn't really matter.
The Hospital Duds
Since Zen's a patient at the hospital, she's usually confined to wearing their regulated uniforms. She'll often complain about them, finding the idea of 'free balling' rather uncomfortable.
The Voice
Being a typical New Yorker, Zen has a slight New York accent. She imitates her father's thick accent sometimes, which is always good for a laugh. Though her voice has an interesting sound to it, Zen can't hold a note to save her life. It would be a very unadviseable to ask her to sing for you.
The Smile
When Zen smiles or laughs it lights her face up. Her teeth are straight enough, though not perfect. She has a small mouth, giving her smile a slight rectangular shape. She rarely laughs, since she has yet to meet anyone other than her siblings who's clever enough to make her laugh.
The Tattoos
On Zen's sixteenth birthday, her two older brothers, James and Matt took her out for a little present. They all three got two tattoos. Zen got the number nine on her shoulder/back and the word 'Believe' over a pair of eyes on her lower back. Her brothers thought that one was creepy but she liked it.
Personality:
Zen:
Zen, of course, is widely known as being very outspoken. She doesn't take part in small talk, and has what some would call a 'staring problem'. She's not bashful in the slightest, and she refuses to take part in coquette. She finds it frivilous and idiotic, though she does enjoy their conversation sometimes. Because of this, most call her 'frigid' but she doesn't really give a damn.
Zen may seem like a loner, but shes actually very outgoing. She has a quick wit, therefore giving her somewhat of an advantage in arguements. She likes to make people laugh, and challenges herself to find people capable of making her laugh. It's rare that she meets that challenge.
Zen enjoys argueing with people. It entertains her for some reason. Since she's clever, she has a great repertoir of comebacks, things she won't hesitate to use. She doesn't usually fight physically, but she won't hesitate to do that either. She's had a ton of practice with her brothers.
Zen is the worst kind of fan. A Yankee fan. She grew up in New York City, so she's a huge supporter of the team. She's addicted to sports, baseball more than the others, but she still likes to play them.
Zen has a bit of a temper on her. Having several brothers she's used to being beat up. In her family, the siblings are more inclined to duke it out, even with the girls, rather than talk matters over. She wouldn't hesitate to punch someone in the face, though she's not full of that 'female empowerment', which tricks a woman into believing she's strong or skilled enough to take on a man in a fight. She knows she's not the strongest or biggest person around, but she's a mean street fighter. Since she's come to the hospital she's calmed down her temper a bit, and she's not as violent as she used to be.
Zenaire is a very private person. She detests nosey people, and will often answer questions with a question. She's has a slight paranoia that if someone know too much about her they have some sort of power over her. It's very hard to get a straight answer out of her, due to her unusual inclination to lie.
Spider:
Spider is the more macabre personality. Spider hates everyone and won't hesitate to tell them so. She was the first personality to develop, other than Zen of course. Spider is the only name she'll answer to. She's completely anti-social and a bit suicidal. If there's ever any trouble, Spider is most likely to be the one causing it. She revels in wreaking havok.
While Zen is the private person, Spider's life is an open book. She's extraordinarily blunt and could almost be described as fearless. She openly criticizes others, telling them exactly what she thinks of them. As is Zen, Spider is wickedly smart. She knows a lot about a lot, but rather than using it to her benifit, she uses her intelligence to reduce others to carbon black. She enjoys the torment of others in a very sadistic way.
Spider has the delusion that there was a WWIII and she's being held prisoner because she knows too much about what happened. She's very paranoid, not trusting anyone around her. She's come up with several plots to escape the 'War Camp' as she calls it, and make it out into the real world.
Monet:
Of all three personalities, Monet is the most sane by far. Monet has an affinity for word games. She enjoys teasing and confusing others, even the ones she likes. She's known to play tricks a lot, even in the face of serious situations. Monet could be called an optimist. She tends to make a joke out of serious situations. That's always been her way of coping. She's a prankster, to say the least.
Monet has an artistic nature. She can appreciate good art (something that she attributes to her "French" birth) and has a particular liking for music. She'll listen to anything other than Rap or Country. Rap she considers offensive to women, and country is just too syrupy for her taste. She can sketch pretty well, and she tried her hand at painting but found she was horrible at it. She's an excellent dancer, having studied in France. She spends much of her time reading the few books she has on hand.
Monet is also the mostly likely to take part in the dramatics. She loves to exaggerate and does it often. She takes offense easily, and holds grudges for a very long time. She has an excellent memory, so it's not likely she'll forget any qualms with other people.
History:
Zen:
"I was born in NYC, the greatest city in the world. Not only the U.S. but the world. The year was 1984, the date December 7. My parents, Ray and Nancy Montero, lived in Hyde Park, a nice little part of town. I had four older siblings when I was born, Susie, who was nine, Steve, who was seven, Tom, who was five, and Laura who was three. Not to mention my twin sister, Caroline. After me there was Kathy, Missy, Kevin, Brian, Michael, Julie, and Amy. Brian and Mike were twins, and so were Julie and Amy. We lived in a three bedroom house in Evanston, Illinois.
I grew up outdoors. All of my time was spent playing sports. My brothers and I played baseball, football, fastpitch, basketball and street hockey. We didn’t play soccer though. Soccer was for chutney ferrets. We all went to Catholic school, our father being a Catholic as well as a drunk. My… fondest memory of Catholic school had to be the time I pulled that confessional prank. In confessionals, you kneel down on a panel on the floor, which lights a little red light above the door, signaling to everyone outside that someone was inside. Well one day I got the bright idea to kneel on the floor instead and press the plank repeatedly, causing the little light to flicker. All my friends were sitting outside, as well as the nun and they saw the whole thing. The nun couldn’t come in to get me, since I was in confessional, so she sat outside waiting for me to come out. I got paddled for that. Another one was the time I was asked to recite the Lord’s Prayer. I stood up in class and said, “As I lay here, down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. But if I die before I wake, give my peanuts to Uncle Jake.” I got paddled for that as well, but that time it wasn’t on purpose. My dad had told me that that was the way it went and I was young enough to believe him.
I didn’t have the best parents. My father was a drunk wife-beater, and my mother wasn’t a drunk, but she was mean as a snake. My mother didn’t hit us, but she got our older brothers to do it for her. That was another reason we stayed out of the house. Family life wasn’t so good.
I learned to drive when I was eight. My father was drunk and decided to go for a drive. He took me and my twin into our beat-up truck, sat me in the driver’s seat, and had me drive all over downtown Chicago. We got home late at night to meet our furious mother. She’d told us never to go anywhere with our father when he was drunk.
From a very young age I learned things a kid should never learn. By the time I was six I could tell from across the room if someone had been drinking. I knew what a black eye looked like on my mother. Those were things a kid should never learn. Today I can tell from a mile away if someone has been drinking or not.
When I was twelve, my father beat my mother severely. He left to go to a bar, leaving the kids at home with our mother. Tom was furious. By that time, Susie and Steve had already left the house, leaving Tom as the oldest. Tom took a baseball bat and went looking for my father. He didn’t find him, so he came back to the house to wait for him. My dad stumbled in several hours later, a bag of candy in his hand. He was raving drunk. At the time, I was playing in the front room by myself. The door was slightly cracked so I could see Tom come up. I stayed quiet, not wanting them to know I was there. Tom had the bat. He told my dad that he needed to leave and never come back. I was shocked. I’d never seen anyone challenge my father before. Ray stood there, looking at Tom. Now Ray was a regular alley cat. He could take a punch and it wouldn’t phase him. He was used to beating the pulp out of people, or having the pulp beat out of him. Tom couldn’t take the old man in a fight. But Ray didn’t say anything. He threw the bag of candy on the couch and left. I haven’t seen him since.
We found out about my disorder when I was thirteen. I began to have gaps where I forgot what happened, what doctors call 'losing time'. My second personality fully developed before I turned fourteen. I went to all kinds of shrinks, and was on every med known to man. I became addicted to Percaset, Adavan, and Colonapen and I'm kind of being weaned off of them now. I was put into a mental institution when I was twenty because my mom refused to take care of me, and I couldn't do so myself. And that's my story."
Spider:
"I had a happy life. Well, I thought I had one. I was born into a family as the second child, preceded by an older brother named Aden. My parents were loving, my father more so than my mum. I think my father knew what was coming, because he seemed scared most of the time. I was born in London, my younger twin brothers being born four years later. Being the only girl in the household, I became a complete and total tomboy. I suppose I still am. My older brother taught me how to play every sport proficiently, but I took a particular liking to baseball. It became a sort of obsession for me.
My relationship with my dad was great. He played sports with us, teaching us new tricks. He took us to get icecream every Friday, and spent every spare moment he had with us. I loved that man. I suppose I still do, though he did something not so admirable. But I'll get to that later.
My mum, on the other hand, didn't exactly approve of my boyish nature. She wanted me to be the prodigal daughter, amazing at cooking and cleaning. She believed that the purpose of a wife was to take care of her husband, and that one day I would have that responsibility and not be ready for it. I couldn't care less about a husband. Of course boys fascinated me, but I didn't want to kiss any of them. Disgusting.
Now, about my father. When I was eleven my father disappeared, leaving only a note in his wake. The note read:
Molly,
I don't regret doing this. I did at first, but I don't now. I was already dead. You have to understand that. I love you and the kids, of course, but I just can't live like this. Day after day scraping together enough money to feed the kids. Having to bum a smoke from my friends, rather than being able to afford my own. Now, we both know that our relationship wasn't the best. But I loved you. I swear I did.
I know you'll probably poison the kids against me, telling them that I'm a no good wanker. I am a no good wanker, but please don't tell our children that. When I see them again I don't want them to know about these. Please Molly, if you have any decentcy, don't show them this note.
Liam
That was all he left us. A short note scribbled on the back of an envelope and stuck in the door. My mum, lacking her decentcy, showed every one of us the note. My brother, who was fifteen at the time, and myself were old enough to understand what the note meant. My two younger brothers, Gage and Randy, weren't. We simply told them that dad had gone on a vacation.
But it wasn't my dad who was going on the vacation. It was us. My mother uprooted our lives and moved us to New York out of spite for our father. We attended school there, and to drown my sorrows I threw myself into baseball. I became the roughest kind of baseball fan there was. A Yankee fan. I talked my mom into buying my brothers and I seasons tickets when I was thirteen. We went to every game for the next season and swore that we would return every season. We didn't know that that would be the only season.
The war happened when I was fourteen. We all saw it coming, but we either didn't realize or believe that the signs were for real. We knew and understood why our father had been afraid. He had seen it coming. New York was hit hard. They evacuated the city, sending everyone into hiding. My family and I were making our way to the shelter through the crowded city streets when I lost them. One minute I was trudging behind Gage, and then they were gone. I called for them, but the bustle of the streets was too loud. Cell towers were down, so I couldn't call them. I was on my own from then on out. I never made it to the shelter.
I took up shelter in the basement of an abandoned apartment building. I raided the apartments, finding enough food to last me for a long time. I held down the fort there, watching the streets for any sign of my family. To this day I don't know the whereabouts of any of them, but I have hopes that they might be alive.
After the war ended, I was picked up by a troop looking for survivors. They took me to an institution, because I knew that the Americans were behind the attack. They just want me to keep my mouth shut, but eventually I'll get out and spread the word."
Monet:
"I was born to Clara and Michael Montero in Paris, France. My parents were both very wealthy, my father owning his own business, and my mother being a famous designer. Francois, my older brother, often called Franco, was ten years old when I was born.
I joined Balet when I was ten years old. By that time my brother had moved out and gotten a job as a waiter at a fancy restaurant. I used to go and sit at one of the empty tables, just to watch my brother. He'd treat me like royalty, whispering rushed french in me ear about many of the customers. I'd always giggle innocently, and whisper my own add-ons to his quips. I excelled at Balet, as well as in school. My mother used to call me her 'Golden Child'. I trained in Balet until I was fifteen, when my mother died of breast cancer. Everything went downhill after that.
The beatings started for me when I was fifteen. The beatings got more and more severe as I father got older. He'd always tell me about Eve's original sin when he did these things. Saying that the beatings were for the sins I would commit that I wouldn't be punished for. I was sixteen the first time he put me in the hospital. I had to get stitches on my scalp, had two broken ribs, and a dislocated shoulder. My father forbade me to tell her Franco. He threatened to kill me if I did. This sufficiently scared me, and I never said anything. When my brother asked me why I hadn't been at the cafe, I told him I had joined the school newspaper and they had to work overtime to get out the years first print. I had a feeling that my brother knew, if only subconsciously, that I hadn't been at the school those days. He'd seen my cast, and the breathless way I laughed in order not to stress my ribs.
I was seventeen the first time my father sexually abused me. This time he gave no explanation, but I assumed that it was for my sins as well. He'd sort of brain-washed me by then. I now felt guilty, that I deserved the beatings. I never really knew how Franco found out about the sexual abuse. Maybe it was the haunted look that I had now taken on. Maybe it was some drunken grumbling Franco had over heard one night. Nevertheless, he found out. One day I came home from school to find my brother waiting inside the apartment. We both knew our father would be home in about half an hour. Franco told me to go into her bedroom and lock the door. He made me swear not to open the door, no matter what I heard. I did as I was told, knowing deep down what was going to happen. I heard my father come in the door moments later, and he said something to my brother. There was a moment when they exchanged words. I heard my father tell Franco to put the knife away. Then there was a scuffle. A sharp intake of breath. Her father screamed 'You've killed me!' and then dropped to his knees. I heard Franco, barely audible, say 'This is what your sins have brought you'. They never found Michael's body.
After that I went to live with Franco. Life was good, but it only lasted for a month. Of course Franco was great. We had fun together. I turned sixteen in that month and got a job where Franco worked. But somewhere along that month I changed. I grew more and more outgoing, developing a wicked sense of humor and a quick wit. But again, it only lasted for a month.
When I was eighteen, I got sick. I never really found out what it was, since none of the doctors will tell me now. But I was so sick that I had to go away. They put me in a hospital. No one will tell me what happened.
Your character loves:
-Chocolate
-Cats
-TV
-Food
-Music
-Reading
-Arguments
-Humor
-Pranks
-Smoking
Hates:
-Doctors
-Shrinks
-Hospital gowns
-Hospital food
-Hospitals in general
Home Town: NYC, New York
Sample: Catherine thought she was over it. She had been, hadn't she? At least for a while. Now it seemed her life was growing hazy and dim. Maybe she mentally had cataract. Wouldn't that be irony personified. The day, sometime in September, was the epitome of Indian Summer. The temperature was just right, ranging anywhere from 70-75 degrees. The townspeople were taking advantage of the dwindling heat. Parents taking their children out to play in the fountains, sallow writers searching for inspiration among the diverse crowd of Douglas City Park. It seemed that everyone had showed up at the little patch of green at the same time. Catch hated when the park was crowded. Crowds disoriented her. She'd given up chaos so long ago. She didn't want it back in the form of a crowd.
Recently Catherine had been thinking about her childhood, something she'd tried to forget when she crossed the Atlantic. But the wisps of bad memories hadn't floated away in the cerulean water. No, they'd latched onto her coattails, staying in the back of her mind for those long eleven years. She'd thought about it before, of course, but she'd never got such a large dose as she was getting now. Her brother was what really stuck with her, not her father. Well, small details of her father stuck with her. Such as the way his voice deepened dramatically when he was drunk, or the sound of his blood hitting the hospital-white linoleum tiles of the kitchen floor. She mostly remembered his fists. That was what stuck with her the most.
But it was her brother who really broke her heart. He didn't do so intentionally. He loved her, and she loved him. They could have been happy together, she was sure they could've. But her late father's lackeys had more in mind than happiness. She disregarded the physical pain she felt the day her brother was killed, only remembering the way his eyelids fluttered and the gurgling sound he made as he tried to draw a breath. That memory would be with her until her dying day. And for the first time in eleven years, Catherine hoped that would be soon.
As a teenager she'd attempted to take her own life. Twice. The first time she'd vomited, coughing up the pills she'd swallowed. The second time her father heard her fall as she passed out, breaking down the bathroom door to intercept the Grim Reaper. The carpenter should've made stronger doors. She'd seen a psychiatrist, and never again attempted to take her own life. She wouldn't try now, but she could only pray for an accident. At that exact moment, 2:43 it was, Catherine Elegant lay under a tree in the park, her fingers intertwined on her flat stomach. Her bluish eyes stared unseeingly upward, unfocused and glossy. She was lost in her reverie, oblivious to her surroundings.
Catch often wondered if she should be on pills of some sorts. Like an anti-depressant or something. She was far too proud to go to a professional, not to mention the fact that she abhorred shrinks. They were so... analytical. She always felt like such a freak in the presence of a shrink. Like she was a lab rat or something of the sort. No, she wouldn't see a professional. She didn't need the pills. All she needed was the ability to cope. She'd done so for so long. Why was her world collapsing on itself now? She'd put her sweat and blood into building this fool-proof facade, but somewhere along the road her past had squeezed through the cracks. She sighed explosively, unlatching her fingers to rip up a few strands of grass. What a day.
Name: Casey
Age: 15
How you found Anomaly: St. Joes
How long you have been roleplaying: Three 1/2 Years
Other: Purple crayons, cafeteria cheese sticks, The Wizard of Oz, and.... Oh yeah. Blueberry Chapstick
The Character
Name: Zenaire "Zen" Catherine Montero
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Race: Caucasian
Illness: Multiple Personality Disorder or Dissociative Identity Disorder (Def: Dissociative identity disorder is a diagnosis described in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 4th Edition (DSM), Revised, as the existence in an individual of two or more distinct identities or ego-states, each with its own pattern of perceiving and interacting with the environment. To qualify as dissociative identity disorder (multiple personality disorder), at least two personalities must routinely take alternate control of the individual's behavior, and there must be a loss of memory that goes beyond normal forgetfulness. This memory loss is often referred to as "losing time". These symptoms must occur independently of substance abuse or a general medical condition.)
Appearence: The Face
Zen has a delicately built face, though her general attitude doesn't reflect that delicacy. She's pretty enough, she supposes, though she doesn't like others telling her so. She has an almost sad look about her. Her eyebrows turn down at the ends and her eyes are slanted upwards, creating the morose effect. A small beauty mark is place a little bit below her left eye.
The Build & The Grace
Zen is slim and tall. She has a languorous way of moving, almost catlike. She stretches often, further enhancing her seemingly lazy grace. She may seem to be listless, but she's actually pretty quick when she needs to be. She's extremely proud of her height of 5'9. Her sister is older (by six minutes) but Zen is two inches taller. She'll often use this to pick on her twin, calling her names such as 'Shortstop' or 'Midget'.
The Usual Duds
Zen doesn't dress in a feminine fashion, that's for sure. She dresses in baggy pants, but close-fitting shirts. She hacks her midnight black hair off, wearing it everday in the same mussed style. She ruffles it very often, more out of habit that necessity, furthering the messy effect. She doesn't wear make-up, since there is really no need for it and she has no clue how to put it on. Her jet eyes are already framed with naturally dark lashes anyway, so it doesn't really matter.
The Hospital Duds
Since Zen's a patient at the hospital, she's usually confined to wearing their regulated uniforms. She'll often complain about them, finding the idea of 'free balling' rather uncomfortable.
The Voice
Being a typical New Yorker, Zen has a slight New York accent. She imitates her father's thick accent sometimes, which is always good for a laugh. Though her voice has an interesting sound to it, Zen can't hold a note to save her life. It would be a very unadviseable to ask her to sing for you.
The Smile
When Zen smiles or laughs it lights her face up. Her teeth are straight enough, though not perfect. She has a small mouth, giving her smile a slight rectangular shape. She rarely laughs, since she has yet to meet anyone other than her siblings who's clever enough to make her laugh.
The Tattoos
On Zen's sixteenth birthday, her two older brothers, James and Matt took her out for a little present. They all three got two tattoos. Zen got the number nine on her shoulder/back and the word 'Believe' over a pair of eyes on her lower back. Her brothers thought that one was creepy but she liked it.
Personality:
Zen:
Zen, of course, is widely known as being very outspoken. She doesn't take part in small talk, and has what some would call a 'staring problem'. She's not bashful in the slightest, and she refuses to take part in coquette. She finds it frivilous and idiotic, though she does enjoy their conversation sometimes. Because of this, most call her 'frigid' but she doesn't really give a damn.
Zen may seem like a loner, but shes actually very outgoing. She has a quick wit, therefore giving her somewhat of an advantage in arguements. She likes to make people laugh, and challenges herself to find people capable of making her laugh. It's rare that she meets that challenge.
Zen enjoys argueing with people. It entertains her for some reason. Since she's clever, she has a great repertoir of comebacks, things she won't hesitate to use. She doesn't usually fight physically, but she won't hesitate to do that either. She's had a ton of practice with her brothers.
Zen is the worst kind of fan. A Yankee fan. She grew up in New York City, so she's a huge supporter of the team. She's addicted to sports, baseball more than the others, but she still likes to play them.
Zen has a bit of a temper on her. Having several brothers she's used to being beat up. In her family, the siblings are more inclined to duke it out, even with the girls, rather than talk matters over. She wouldn't hesitate to punch someone in the face, though she's not full of that 'female empowerment', which tricks a woman into believing she's strong or skilled enough to take on a man in a fight. She knows she's not the strongest or biggest person around, but she's a mean street fighter. Since she's come to the hospital she's calmed down her temper a bit, and she's not as violent as she used to be.
Zenaire is a very private person. She detests nosey people, and will often answer questions with a question. She's has a slight paranoia that if someone know too much about her they have some sort of power over her. It's very hard to get a straight answer out of her, due to her unusual inclination to lie.
Spider:
Spider is the more macabre personality. Spider hates everyone and won't hesitate to tell them so. She was the first personality to develop, other than Zen of course. Spider is the only name she'll answer to. She's completely anti-social and a bit suicidal. If there's ever any trouble, Spider is most likely to be the one causing it. She revels in wreaking havok.
While Zen is the private person, Spider's life is an open book. She's extraordinarily blunt and could almost be described as fearless. She openly criticizes others, telling them exactly what she thinks of them. As is Zen, Spider is wickedly smart. She knows a lot about a lot, but rather than using it to her benifit, she uses her intelligence to reduce others to carbon black. She enjoys the torment of others in a very sadistic way.
Spider has the delusion that there was a WWIII and she's being held prisoner because she knows too much about what happened. She's very paranoid, not trusting anyone around her. She's come up with several plots to escape the 'War Camp' as she calls it, and make it out into the real world.
Monet:
Of all three personalities, Monet is the most sane by far. Monet has an affinity for word games. She enjoys teasing and confusing others, even the ones she likes. She's known to play tricks a lot, even in the face of serious situations. Monet could be called an optimist. She tends to make a joke out of serious situations. That's always been her way of coping. She's a prankster, to say the least.
Monet has an artistic nature. She can appreciate good art (something that she attributes to her "French" birth) and has a particular liking for music. She'll listen to anything other than Rap or Country. Rap she considers offensive to women, and country is just too syrupy for her taste. She can sketch pretty well, and she tried her hand at painting but found she was horrible at it. She's an excellent dancer, having studied in France. She spends much of her time reading the few books she has on hand.
Monet is also the mostly likely to take part in the dramatics. She loves to exaggerate and does it often. She takes offense easily, and holds grudges for a very long time. She has an excellent memory, so it's not likely she'll forget any qualms with other people.
History:
Zen:
"I was born in NYC, the greatest city in the world. Not only the U.S. but the world. The year was 1984, the date December 7. My parents, Ray and Nancy Montero, lived in Hyde Park, a nice little part of town. I had four older siblings when I was born, Susie, who was nine, Steve, who was seven, Tom, who was five, and Laura who was three. Not to mention my twin sister, Caroline. After me there was Kathy, Missy, Kevin, Brian, Michael, Julie, and Amy. Brian and Mike were twins, and so were Julie and Amy. We lived in a three bedroom house in Evanston, Illinois.
I grew up outdoors. All of my time was spent playing sports. My brothers and I played baseball, football, fastpitch, basketball and street hockey. We didn’t play soccer though. Soccer was for chutney ferrets. We all went to Catholic school, our father being a Catholic as well as a drunk. My… fondest memory of Catholic school had to be the time I pulled that confessional prank. In confessionals, you kneel down on a panel on the floor, which lights a little red light above the door, signaling to everyone outside that someone was inside. Well one day I got the bright idea to kneel on the floor instead and press the plank repeatedly, causing the little light to flicker. All my friends were sitting outside, as well as the nun and they saw the whole thing. The nun couldn’t come in to get me, since I was in confessional, so she sat outside waiting for me to come out. I got paddled for that. Another one was the time I was asked to recite the Lord’s Prayer. I stood up in class and said, “As I lay here, down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. But if I die before I wake, give my peanuts to Uncle Jake.” I got paddled for that as well, but that time it wasn’t on purpose. My dad had told me that that was the way it went and I was young enough to believe him.
I didn’t have the best parents. My father was a drunk wife-beater, and my mother wasn’t a drunk, but she was mean as a snake. My mother didn’t hit us, but she got our older brothers to do it for her. That was another reason we stayed out of the house. Family life wasn’t so good.
I learned to drive when I was eight. My father was drunk and decided to go for a drive. He took me and my twin into our beat-up truck, sat me in the driver’s seat, and had me drive all over downtown Chicago. We got home late at night to meet our furious mother. She’d told us never to go anywhere with our father when he was drunk.
From a very young age I learned things a kid should never learn. By the time I was six I could tell from across the room if someone had been drinking. I knew what a black eye looked like on my mother. Those were things a kid should never learn. Today I can tell from a mile away if someone has been drinking or not.
When I was twelve, my father beat my mother severely. He left to go to a bar, leaving the kids at home with our mother. Tom was furious. By that time, Susie and Steve had already left the house, leaving Tom as the oldest. Tom took a baseball bat and went looking for my father. He didn’t find him, so he came back to the house to wait for him. My dad stumbled in several hours later, a bag of candy in his hand. He was raving drunk. At the time, I was playing in the front room by myself. The door was slightly cracked so I could see Tom come up. I stayed quiet, not wanting them to know I was there. Tom had the bat. He told my dad that he needed to leave and never come back. I was shocked. I’d never seen anyone challenge my father before. Ray stood there, looking at Tom. Now Ray was a regular alley cat. He could take a punch and it wouldn’t phase him. He was used to beating the pulp out of people, or having the pulp beat out of him. Tom couldn’t take the old man in a fight. But Ray didn’t say anything. He threw the bag of candy on the couch and left. I haven’t seen him since.
We found out about my disorder when I was thirteen. I began to have gaps where I forgot what happened, what doctors call 'losing time'. My second personality fully developed before I turned fourteen. I went to all kinds of shrinks, and was on every med known to man. I became addicted to Percaset, Adavan, and Colonapen and I'm kind of being weaned off of them now. I was put into a mental institution when I was twenty because my mom refused to take care of me, and I couldn't do so myself. And that's my story."
Spider:
"I had a happy life. Well, I thought I had one. I was born into a family as the second child, preceded by an older brother named Aden. My parents were loving, my father more so than my mum. I think my father knew what was coming, because he seemed scared most of the time. I was born in London, my younger twin brothers being born four years later. Being the only girl in the household, I became a complete and total tomboy. I suppose I still am. My older brother taught me how to play every sport proficiently, but I took a particular liking to baseball. It became a sort of obsession for me.
My relationship with my dad was great. He played sports with us, teaching us new tricks. He took us to get icecream every Friday, and spent every spare moment he had with us. I loved that man. I suppose I still do, though he did something not so admirable. But I'll get to that later.
My mum, on the other hand, didn't exactly approve of my boyish nature. She wanted me to be the prodigal daughter, amazing at cooking and cleaning. She believed that the purpose of a wife was to take care of her husband, and that one day I would have that responsibility and not be ready for it. I couldn't care less about a husband. Of course boys fascinated me, but I didn't want to kiss any of them. Disgusting.
Now, about my father. When I was eleven my father disappeared, leaving only a note in his wake. The note read:
Molly,
I don't regret doing this. I did at first, but I don't now. I was already dead. You have to understand that. I love you and the kids, of course, but I just can't live like this. Day after day scraping together enough money to feed the kids. Having to bum a smoke from my friends, rather than being able to afford my own. Now, we both know that our relationship wasn't the best. But I loved you. I swear I did.
I know you'll probably poison the kids against me, telling them that I'm a no good wanker. I am a no good wanker, but please don't tell our children that. When I see them again I don't want them to know about these. Please Molly, if you have any decentcy, don't show them this note.
Liam
That was all he left us. A short note scribbled on the back of an envelope and stuck in the door. My mum, lacking her decentcy, showed every one of us the note. My brother, who was fifteen at the time, and myself were old enough to understand what the note meant. My two younger brothers, Gage and Randy, weren't. We simply told them that dad had gone on a vacation.
But it wasn't my dad who was going on the vacation. It was us. My mother uprooted our lives and moved us to New York out of spite for our father. We attended school there, and to drown my sorrows I threw myself into baseball. I became the roughest kind of baseball fan there was. A Yankee fan. I talked my mom into buying my brothers and I seasons tickets when I was thirteen. We went to every game for the next season and swore that we would return every season. We didn't know that that would be the only season.
The war happened when I was fourteen. We all saw it coming, but we either didn't realize or believe that the signs were for real. We knew and understood why our father had been afraid. He had seen it coming. New York was hit hard. They evacuated the city, sending everyone into hiding. My family and I were making our way to the shelter through the crowded city streets when I lost them. One minute I was trudging behind Gage, and then they were gone. I called for them, but the bustle of the streets was too loud. Cell towers were down, so I couldn't call them. I was on my own from then on out. I never made it to the shelter.
I took up shelter in the basement of an abandoned apartment building. I raided the apartments, finding enough food to last me for a long time. I held down the fort there, watching the streets for any sign of my family. To this day I don't know the whereabouts of any of them, but I have hopes that they might be alive.
After the war ended, I was picked up by a troop looking for survivors. They took me to an institution, because I knew that the Americans were behind the attack. They just want me to keep my mouth shut, but eventually I'll get out and spread the word."
Monet:
"I was born to Clara and Michael Montero in Paris, France. My parents were both very wealthy, my father owning his own business, and my mother being a famous designer. Francois, my older brother, often called Franco, was ten years old when I was born.
I joined Balet when I was ten years old. By that time my brother had moved out and gotten a job as a waiter at a fancy restaurant. I used to go and sit at one of the empty tables, just to watch my brother. He'd treat me like royalty, whispering rushed french in me ear about many of the customers. I'd always giggle innocently, and whisper my own add-ons to his quips. I excelled at Balet, as well as in school. My mother used to call me her 'Golden Child'. I trained in Balet until I was fifteen, when my mother died of breast cancer. Everything went downhill after that.
The beatings started for me when I was fifteen. The beatings got more and more severe as I father got older. He'd always tell me about Eve's original sin when he did these things. Saying that the beatings were for the sins I would commit that I wouldn't be punished for. I was sixteen the first time he put me in the hospital. I had to get stitches on my scalp, had two broken ribs, and a dislocated shoulder. My father forbade me to tell her Franco. He threatened to kill me if I did. This sufficiently scared me, and I never said anything. When my brother asked me why I hadn't been at the cafe, I told him I had joined the school newspaper and they had to work overtime to get out the years first print. I had a feeling that my brother knew, if only subconsciously, that I hadn't been at the school those days. He'd seen my cast, and the breathless way I laughed in order not to stress my ribs.
I was seventeen the first time my father sexually abused me. This time he gave no explanation, but I assumed that it was for my sins as well. He'd sort of brain-washed me by then. I now felt guilty, that I deserved the beatings. I never really knew how Franco found out about the sexual abuse. Maybe it was the haunted look that I had now taken on. Maybe it was some drunken grumbling Franco had over heard one night. Nevertheless, he found out. One day I came home from school to find my brother waiting inside the apartment. We both knew our father would be home in about half an hour. Franco told me to go into her bedroom and lock the door. He made me swear not to open the door, no matter what I heard. I did as I was told, knowing deep down what was going to happen. I heard my father come in the door moments later, and he said something to my brother. There was a moment when they exchanged words. I heard my father tell Franco to put the knife away. Then there was a scuffle. A sharp intake of breath. Her father screamed 'You've killed me!' and then dropped to his knees. I heard Franco, barely audible, say 'This is what your sins have brought you'. They never found Michael's body.
After that I went to live with Franco. Life was good, but it only lasted for a month. Of course Franco was great. We had fun together. I turned sixteen in that month and got a job where Franco worked. But somewhere along that month I changed. I grew more and more outgoing, developing a wicked sense of humor and a quick wit. But again, it only lasted for a month.
When I was eighteen, I got sick. I never really found out what it was, since none of the doctors will tell me now. But I was so sick that I had to go away. They put me in a hospital. No one will tell me what happened.
Your character loves:
-Chocolate
-Cats
-TV
-Food
-Music
-Reading
-Arguments
-Humor
-Pranks
-Smoking
Hates:
-Doctors
-Shrinks
-Hospital gowns
-Hospital food
-Hospitals in general
Home Town: NYC, New York
Sample: Catherine thought she was over it. She had been, hadn't she? At least for a while. Now it seemed her life was growing hazy and dim. Maybe she mentally had cataract. Wouldn't that be irony personified. The day, sometime in September, was the epitome of Indian Summer. The temperature was just right, ranging anywhere from 70-75 degrees. The townspeople were taking advantage of the dwindling heat. Parents taking their children out to play in the fountains, sallow writers searching for inspiration among the diverse crowd of Douglas City Park. It seemed that everyone had showed up at the little patch of green at the same time. Catch hated when the park was crowded. Crowds disoriented her. She'd given up chaos so long ago. She didn't want it back in the form of a crowd.
Recently Catherine had been thinking about her childhood, something she'd tried to forget when she crossed the Atlantic. But the wisps of bad memories hadn't floated away in the cerulean water. No, they'd latched onto her coattails, staying in the back of her mind for those long eleven years. She'd thought about it before, of course, but she'd never got such a large dose as she was getting now. Her brother was what really stuck with her, not her father. Well, small details of her father stuck with her. Such as the way his voice deepened dramatically when he was drunk, or the sound of his blood hitting the hospital-white linoleum tiles of the kitchen floor. She mostly remembered his fists. That was what stuck with her the most.
But it was her brother who really broke her heart. He didn't do so intentionally. He loved her, and she loved him. They could have been happy together, she was sure they could've. But her late father's lackeys had more in mind than happiness. She disregarded the physical pain she felt the day her brother was killed, only remembering the way his eyelids fluttered and the gurgling sound he made as he tried to draw a breath. That memory would be with her until her dying day. And for the first time in eleven years, Catherine hoped that would be soon.
As a teenager she'd attempted to take her own life. Twice. The first time she'd vomited, coughing up the pills she'd swallowed. The second time her father heard her fall as she passed out, breaking down the bathroom door to intercept the Grim Reaper. The carpenter should've made stronger doors. She'd seen a psychiatrist, and never again attempted to take her own life. She wouldn't try now, but she could only pray for an accident. At that exact moment, 2:43 it was, Catherine Elegant lay under a tree in the park, her fingers intertwined on her flat stomach. Her bluish eyes stared unseeingly upward, unfocused and glossy. She was lost in her reverie, oblivious to her surroundings.
Catch often wondered if she should be on pills of some sorts. Like an anti-depressant or something. She was far too proud to go to a professional, not to mention the fact that she abhorred shrinks. They were so... analytical. She always felt like such a freak in the presence of a shrink. Like she was a lab rat or something of the sort. No, she wouldn't see a professional. She didn't need the pills. All she needed was the ability to cope. She'd done so for so long. Why was her world collapsing on itself now? She'd put her sweat and blood into building this fool-proof facade, but somewhere along the road her past had squeezed through the cracks. She sighed explosively, unlatching her fingers to rip up a few strands of grass. What a day.
