Post by bethalee on Jan 27, 2009 5:11:55 GMT 10
[/size]`Beth Leanne Rodriquez !!!
Ambitious. Practical. Sarcastic.
Name: Beth Leanne Rodriquez.
Nickname(s): Having a one syllable name severely limits your options for pet names. Rodriquez is used amongst her peers when endearment is required, though there are a select few who can get away with calling her by her childhood nickname, Bethalee.
Major: Visual Arts, mainly silkscreening and painting, though she does dabble in photography and film. The girl wants to be the next Andy Warhol, you know.
Age: Eighteen.
Grade: Sophomore.
Birthdate: January 15th, 1989.
Orientation: Questioning. She’s almost certain that those knots in her stomach she gets when she talks to a pretty girl are the same kind she gets when she talks to a pretty guy.
Location: Petoskey, Michigan.
`Appearance ,,
“Natural” is the best way to describe the way Beth looks. Her Hungarian and African-American ancestry have blended nicely, giving her the best traits of her mother and her father. Like her mother, her shoulder length hair is dark, thick, and richly curled; and her skin is smooth and the color of burnt sugar. Like her father, she’s long limbed; and her prominent cheekbones are small, balancing out her wide forehead. Her eyes are completely her own, hazel and long lashed, with a tendency to dart all over the place as if she wants to take in everything at once. Makeup, except for the smallest amount of eyeliner, seems out of place on her wholesome face with its organic beauty, so she rarely uses it.
Beth’s build is a happy medium between a voluptuous earth mother and a fragile waif, making her look more like her paternal grandmother then mother. Her breasts are full but small, and her waist is healthily tiny. Hips are wide and complimented with a plump ass, complete with sturdy birthing thighs to hold everything up. At 5’6”, she is not very tall (except in comparison to other young women her age), but her legs are solid and long. Her delicate shoulders and thin hands round out her otherwise strong physical appearance, full of inherited contradictions that makes her look charming and comfortable in her own form.
“Natural” is the best way to describe the way Beth looks. Her Hungarian and African-American ancestry have blended nicely, giving her the best traits of her mother and her father. Like her mother, her shoulder length hair is dark, thick, and richly curled; and her skin is smooth and the color of burnt sugar. Like her father, she’s long limbed; and her prominent cheekbones are small, balancing out her wide forehead. Her eyes are completely her own, hazel and long lashed, with a tendency to dart all over the place as if she wants to take in everything at once. Makeup, except for the smallest amount of eyeliner, seems out of place on her wholesome face with its organic beauty, so she rarely uses it.
Beth’s build is a happy medium between a voluptuous earth mother and a fragile waif, making her look more like her paternal grandmother then mother. Her breasts are full but small, and her waist is healthily tiny. Hips are wide and complimented with a plump ass, complete with sturdy birthing thighs to hold everything up. At 5’6”, she is not very tall (except in comparison to other young women her age), but her legs are solid and long. Her delicate shoulders and thin hands round out her otherwise strong physical appearance, full of inherited contradictions that makes her look charming and comfortable in her own form.
Best Feature: “My eyes. Fabulously curly lashes attached to these golden brown orbs. No one else in my family has them, except for possibly a great-aunt on my mother’s side, but otherwise they’re just for me.”
Worst Feature: “Oh, god, definitely my hair. All thick, frizzy curls, and impossible to manage. I’d cut it, but my scissors are no good and I can’t afford a hairdresser. At least it can go a few days without washing and not look disgusting.” [/size]
`Personality ,,
Ambitious.
When you’re one of five siblings and the third born to boot, it becomes a necessity to stand out any way you can. Ever since Beth was ten and really started enjoying her art classes, her plans have gotten larger. She wants to be an artist. She wants to be well known. She wants her own work space. She wants to paint. She wants to take photos. She wants to silkscreen. She wants to make short films. She wants to do everything. Maybe if she hadn’t gotten that Andy Warhol biography for her twelve birthday, her intents would be smaller, but middle child syndrome tends to make one a dreamer. Beth has big, big ambitions, and won’t let anyone tell her they’re impossible.
Practical.
She may not put up with others squashing her dreams, but Beth is perceptive enough to know which ones are improbable. Just because you want something doesn’t mean you’ll get it has been her belief since the age of four, when she got a Pocahontas doll instead of the tea set she had asked for. This acknowledgement of the foreseeable has kept her grounded, making her one of the only careful young adult spenders she knows. Household supplies and necessities are bought in bulk, in Washington or Michigan, depending on where it’s cheaper; she mends her clothes, and recycles fashion from her mother’s and older sisters’ closets; her library card is her most used possession outside of an art studio, save for her bike. Perhaps most notably, the reason Beth is able to attend college in Washington at all is because she worked at her schoolwork in order to earn scholarships. Just because you want something doesn’t mean you’ll get it; but if you work hard enough, you just might.
Sarcastic.
Beth uses snarkiness like one might use a sweater; it keeps her safe from the coldness of others, and its warmth keeps her company when she’s feeling alone. She doesn’t like getting close to people, as her sprawling family is companionship enough, and has found her wry, dark humor to be a great tool, since it prevents them from getting to know her, yet keeps them amused so they don’t know what’s going on. It’s because of her gift with words that she generally befriends other intelligent people, as you have to be smart to be properly sarcastic. Those bonds are the sort she keeps, since she can appreciate others' deadpan tones even when it’s directed at her.
Ambitious.
When you’re one of five siblings and the third born to boot, it becomes a necessity to stand out any way you can. Ever since Beth was ten and really started enjoying her art classes, her plans have gotten larger. She wants to be an artist. She wants to be well known. She wants her own work space. She wants to paint. She wants to take photos. She wants to silkscreen. She wants to make short films. She wants to do everything. Maybe if she hadn’t gotten that Andy Warhol biography for her twelve birthday, her intents would be smaller, but middle child syndrome tends to make one a dreamer. Beth has big, big ambitions, and won’t let anyone tell her they’re impossible.
Practical.
She may not put up with others squashing her dreams, but Beth is perceptive enough to know which ones are improbable. Just because you want something doesn’t mean you’ll get it has been her belief since the age of four, when she got a Pocahontas doll instead of the tea set she had asked for. This acknowledgement of the foreseeable has kept her grounded, making her one of the only careful young adult spenders she knows. Household supplies and necessities are bought in bulk, in Washington or Michigan, depending on where it’s cheaper; she mends her clothes, and recycles fashion from her mother’s and older sisters’ closets; her library card is her most used possession outside of an art studio, save for her bike. Perhaps most notably, the reason Beth is able to attend college in Washington at all is because she worked at her schoolwork in order to earn scholarships. Just because you want something doesn’t mean you’ll get it; but if you work hard enough, you just might.
Sarcastic.
Beth uses snarkiness like one might use a sweater; it keeps her safe from the coldness of others, and its warmth keeps her company when she’s feeling alone. She doesn’t like getting close to people, as her sprawling family is companionship enough, and has found her wry, dark humor to be a great tool, since it prevents them from getting to know her, yet keeps them amused so they don’t know what’s going on. It’s because of her gift with words that she generally befriends other intelligent people, as you have to be smart to be properly sarcastic. Those bonds are the sort she keeps, since she can appreciate others' deadpan tones even when it’s directed at her.
Likes:
- Art
- Making Art
- Reading
- Cult Films
- New Wave, Glam Rock, and Blues Music
- Coffee
- Wedges
- Logic Puzzles
- Cats
- Late Nights
- Wit
Dislikes:
- Muffins
- Early Mornings
- False Cheeriness
- Explosions
- Frivolity
- Small Talk
- Flowers
- Romantic Comedies
- Censorship
- Pointless Critiques
- Emo, Punk Rock, and Folk Music
Positive Traits:
Compassionate - As much as Beth generally dislikes people, she is the first one to lend a shoulder and a carton of ice cream when you’re going through a crisis. She’ll listen to you sympathetically for a while, since she believes everyone needs to rant at some point, and a rapt audience always helps. Once you’ve run out of steam, she’ll make characteristically wry comments, making you laugh through your tears until you’ve stopped crying.
Assertive - Beth knows what she wants, and she’s not afraid if you know it. It may take her a bit to figure out how to reach her goal, making her quietly flirtatious or solemnly attentive for a few weeks, possibly confusing you on the way. Once she knows how to get what she wants, though, you might want to watch out if what she wants involves you.
Polite - You haven’t properly heard the words “please” and “thank you” until you’ve heard them come out of Beth’s mouth. Thanks to a mostly traditional upbringing, her demeanor is delightful, and what’s more, she uses each social grace with a smile and sincere tone. It’s no wonder she’s loved at the restaurants and stores surrounding campus.
Negative Traits:
Cruel - You remember Beth’s famous wit? Well, it tends to get her in trouble when she uses it against other people. Apparently mocking someone isn’t nice even when it’s done in love and with humor. She just has to accept the fact not everyone’s amused, and she should be careful who she’s being sarcastic with. Like she can do that.
Suspicious - A life of cynicism has made it hard for Beth to trust just anyone. She doesn’t respond well to chatting with strangers, and it might be months before she begins to believe you. She likes to think she only filters out the really dubious things she experiences, but that’s most likely not the case.
Introverted - As if it wasn’t clear enough already, Beth likes to be left alone. She sits in class quietly, headphones in place when she can get away with it, and ignores the socializing going on around her. It’s certainly hard to make her come out of her shell, but it might just be worth it. Who knows?
Greatest Ambition: To be a successful, multi-talented artist.
Greatest Fear: Having to tell to her parents that maybe she should have become a scientist.[/size]
`History ,,
Beth Rodriquez was born Beth Leanne Rodriguez-Vargas in Petoskey, Michigan, on January 15th, eighteen years ago. Her mouthful of a name was given to her by her loving parents, English teacher Miranda Rodriguez and architect Simon Vargas. She was the third of what would be the five Rodriguez-Vargas children; her older sisters, twins Erika and Vanessa, were both six at the time of her birth. Brothers Mark and David arrived three, then five years later. Her childhood was a rather uneventful one, full of play dates with preschool friends and squabbling with her siblings and learning to read at age four. Both of her parents’ families were large, and visited often, filling her family’s household to the brim with relatives. During these visits, shy young Bethalee tended to hide in a closet with a flashlight and a storybook until her mother came to find her.
All of the Rodriguez-Vargas children attended the same schools at one point or another, resulting in Beth being scrutinized for the academic brilliance of her sisters and general adorableness of her brothers by nearly all her teachers. Unable to be greater than or equal to her siblings, she was left alone for the most part, which suited her just fine. The school week became a routine: walk to school while arguing with her brothers and sisters, take halfhearted notes in class while daydreaming, listen to her CD player during lunch, then walk home. She had a few friends, but none who weren’t also friends with her siblings. Simon and Miranda worried about their middle child when they had time, since she had no life plans, while her siblings (Erika wanted to be a psychologist, Vanessa a politician, Mark a journalist and David a father) were all set. It seemed like Beth was destined to be a lifeless drifter.
Then Mrs. Randolph became the new art teacher when Beth entered fifth grade. None of the other Rodriguez-Vargas children had art that semester, so she got to be the first for Mrs. Randolph to teach. The eccentric lady took a liking to the isolated girl, and her admiration grew once she realized how unconsciously gifted Beth was at art. She became her favorite teacher, and lent the bookworm several books on art. Beth devoured stories of Monet, Van Gogh and Picasso, and certainly enjoyed the projects they worked on in art, yet felt there was a vital piece to the puzzle still missing.
The book was titled “Andy Warhol: Prince of Pop”; it was a gift from Simon as a reward for his daughter’s continued streak of ‘A’s in art and ‘B’s in her other classes. Everything clicked into place for Beth. Claude, Vincent, and Paulo, they were swell guys, but none of them challenged and inspired her like the former Andrew Warhola. Beth read and watched everything she could get on the Pop artist, reproducing his greatest works in her childishly talented hand.
High school was easier than elementary school and middle school for the teenage artist, as she was able to make a name for herself in the art classes she took each semester. It was during freshman year when Beth found her perfect school; the only problem being it was in a state 2,181 miles away, which wouldn’t be cheap. Pursuing her dream at the Washington University of Arts would require a ton of scholarships, scholarships that would in turn require her to work harder at her hated subjects of science and history. Motivation is a very helpful tool, however, and Beth rose to the top of her class, where it was discovered there was no more room for her intelligence, and pushed her into the junior class for what would have been her sophomore year. It was an accomplishment admission offices certainly noticed; unfortunately, so did her parents. They knew their youngest daughter could do anything she could put her mind to, and hoped she would pick a nice, sensible career. Upon learning her intentions, they were scandalized; why couldn’t Beth, they asked themselves, use the brain she had?
She eventually made her peace with her family before entering her dream college, though not before changing her last name to Rodriquez due to a strange turn of events. WUoA was everything she had hoped for, a place to further hone her craft and escape the identity of being the middle Rodriguez-Vargas child. She even managed to make time for a boyfriend, though that relationship ended...poorly. Nevertheless, life is currently good for Bethalee. It’d be a pity if things got complicated.
Beth Rodriquez was born Beth Leanne Rodriguez-Vargas in Petoskey, Michigan, on January 15th, eighteen years ago. Her mouthful of a name was given to her by her loving parents, English teacher Miranda Rodriguez and architect Simon Vargas. She was the third of what would be the five Rodriguez-Vargas children; her older sisters, twins Erika and Vanessa, were both six at the time of her birth. Brothers Mark and David arrived three, then five years later. Her childhood was a rather uneventful one, full of play dates with preschool friends and squabbling with her siblings and learning to read at age four. Both of her parents’ families were large, and visited often, filling her family’s household to the brim with relatives. During these visits, shy young Bethalee tended to hide in a closet with a flashlight and a storybook until her mother came to find her.
All of the Rodriguez-Vargas children attended the same schools at one point or another, resulting in Beth being scrutinized for the academic brilliance of her sisters and general adorableness of her brothers by nearly all her teachers. Unable to be greater than or equal to her siblings, she was left alone for the most part, which suited her just fine. The school week became a routine: walk to school while arguing with her brothers and sisters, take halfhearted notes in class while daydreaming, listen to her CD player during lunch, then walk home. She had a few friends, but none who weren’t also friends with her siblings. Simon and Miranda worried about their middle child when they had time, since she had no life plans, while her siblings (Erika wanted to be a psychologist, Vanessa a politician, Mark a journalist and David a father) were all set. It seemed like Beth was destined to be a lifeless drifter.
Then Mrs. Randolph became the new art teacher when Beth entered fifth grade. None of the other Rodriguez-Vargas children had art that semester, so she got to be the first for Mrs. Randolph to teach. The eccentric lady took a liking to the isolated girl, and her admiration grew once she realized how unconsciously gifted Beth was at art. She became her favorite teacher, and lent the bookworm several books on art. Beth devoured stories of Monet, Van Gogh and Picasso, and certainly enjoyed the projects they worked on in art, yet felt there was a vital piece to the puzzle still missing.
The book was titled “Andy Warhol: Prince of Pop”; it was a gift from Simon as a reward for his daughter’s continued streak of ‘A’s in art and ‘B’s in her other classes. Everything clicked into place for Beth. Claude, Vincent, and Paulo, they were swell guys, but none of them challenged and inspired her like the former Andrew Warhola. Beth read and watched everything she could get on the Pop artist, reproducing his greatest works in her childishly talented hand.
High school was easier than elementary school and middle school for the teenage artist, as she was able to make a name for herself in the art classes she took each semester. It was during freshman year when Beth found her perfect school; the only problem being it was in a state 2,181 miles away, which wouldn’t be cheap. Pursuing her dream at the Washington University of Arts would require a ton of scholarships, scholarships that would in turn require her to work harder at her hated subjects of science and history. Motivation is a very helpful tool, however, and Beth rose to the top of her class, where it was discovered there was no more room for her intelligence, and pushed her into the junior class for what would have been her sophomore year. It was an accomplishment admission offices certainly noticed; unfortunately, so did her parents. They knew their youngest daughter could do anything she could put her mind to, and hoped she would pick a nice, sensible career. Upon learning her intentions, they were scandalized; why couldn’t Beth, they asked themselves, use the brain she had?
She eventually made her peace with her family before entering her dream college, though not before changing her last name to Rodriquez due to a strange turn of events. WUoA was everything she had hoped for, a place to further hone her craft and escape the identity of being the middle Rodriguez-Vargas child. She even managed to make time for a boyfriend, though that relationship ended...poorly. Nevertheless, life is currently good for Bethalee. It’d be a pity if things got complicated.
Best Memory: Beth’s favorite memory is the day she received her acceptance letter to WUoA. Even the stationary of the school made her picture freedom in a brand new state and the intoxicating smell of paint in a studio. She silently danced around her bedroom in happiness after reading the good news, and flopped onto her narrow mattress to read the letter more thoroughly. She had to read the formal address “Dear Ms. Rodriquez” several times before realizing what was wrong. There hadn’t been enough room on her application form for her full last name, so she had just put ‘Rodriguez’. Evidently the admissions office at WUoA had made a typo. Still, she repeated the names over and over to herself: Beth Rodriquez. Beth Rodriguez-Vargas. Beth Rodriquez. Maybe this accident was just the push she needed to start her own life.
Worst Memory: Beth’s worst memory is the day she visited her boyfriend for the last time. She and him had a tradition of coffee and muffins on Sunday mornings, and they generally shared them at his place, curled up in bed and listening to the birds chirp. They hadn’t slept together yet; he wanted them to wait, and she fancied him enough to agree without asking why. As she unlocked the door, she felt an odd urge to leave, but ignored it and continued onwards. The blonde thing he was curled up with in bed most certainly wasn’t her. And he most certainly hadn’t asked her to wait. Normally, Beth would have made a scene; but she felt exhausted suddenly, so she simply set the muffins down and left with their coffee, the couple in the bed not even stirring. The confrontation in class, however, wasn’t as pleasant.
[/size]
`Writing Skill ,,
Winnie had never had a good relationship with dates. She could never remember when she's busy or what days she can do what, even after writing it down in the planner that invariably gets lost. It wasn't even as if she has to keep track, given her family always dragged her along with them to dinner or the theater, and her friends just showed up at her door with plans for the night. Not having to think about what is scheduled, leaving it to other people, had always made her feel save, and secretly pleased they cared enough to do something with her. To be sure, her acquaintances' schedules often irked her, causing her to avoid them and their "great nights out"; but it had never occurred to her to outright hate events and plans.
Until she had received her mail this morning, that is.
She walked down the hallway, ignoring her surroundings apart from the directions she had memorized - take a right here, third corridor on the left there - as she re-read and re-re-read the letter in her furiously shaking hands.
Dear Winifred,
As you've probably forgotten, the fourth anniversary of Raymond's death is next week. Edward wishes for you to attend the grave with him and that woman, but your mother and I don't think it's a good idea. Partly because you've only just gotten into rehab, and partly because we don't want you causing a scene like at the funeral. I'm telling you this just in case your brother calls, and for your own good, dear.
Your father,
Wayne K. Mason
P.S. Be sure to tell your doctors about your mother's drinking problem.
"Just doesn't want his new whore to meet his screwed-up daughter, he's more screwed up than I am, where'd my mother get her 'drinking problem' from, 'that woman' is Eddie's wife, didn't want to go anyway," Winnie muttered slightly incoherently, nearly tripping as she rounded the corner to the staff members' offices. She paused in front of the doors, taking the time to read the names printed in capital letters, as she alternately crumpled and smoothed out her father's letter.
DANFIELD, DEXTER
LECROIX, ANGELA
TURNER, KATHERINE
Suddenly making up her mind, Winnie shoved the letter into the waistband of her skirt and opened one of the doors without knocking. She stopped in the doorway, feeling embarrassed and slightly guilty about her actions.
Four again, she shrinks away from her father who is yelling at her for interrupting his phone call to his secretary to tell him Eddie bumped his elbow. She nods her head up and down, mutely agreeing that Yes, daddy, it could have waited, and Yes, daddy, it wasn't that important in the first place. Scuffing her shoes against the floor, she miserably wonders if the other girls at preschool have fathers like hers.
Unexpectedly twenty-three again, Winnie looked up with some surprise and blurted out, "Can we talk?"
[/size][/center]Winnie had never had a good relationship with dates. She could never remember when she's busy or what days she can do what, even after writing it down in the planner that invariably gets lost. It wasn't even as if she has to keep track, given her family always dragged her along with them to dinner or the theater, and her friends just showed up at her door with plans for the night. Not having to think about what is scheduled, leaving it to other people, had always made her feel save, and secretly pleased they cared enough to do something with her. To be sure, her acquaintances' schedules often irked her, causing her to avoid them and their "great nights out"; but it had never occurred to her to outright hate events and plans.
Until she had received her mail this morning, that is.
She walked down the hallway, ignoring her surroundings apart from the directions she had memorized - take a right here, third corridor on the left there - as she re-read and re-re-read the letter in her furiously shaking hands.
Dear Winifred,
As you've probably forgotten, the fourth anniversary of Raymond's death is next week. Edward wishes for you to attend the grave with him and that woman, but your mother and I don't think it's a good idea. Partly because you've only just gotten into rehab, and partly because we don't want you causing a scene like at the funeral. I'm telling you this just in case your brother calls, and for your own good, dear.
Your father,
Wayne K. Mason
P.S. Be sure to tell your doctors about your mother's drinking problem.
"Just doesn't want his new whore to meet his screwed-up daughter, he's more screwed up than I am, where'd my mother get her 'drinking problem' from, 'that woman' is Eddie's wife, didn't want to go anyway," Winnie muttered slightly incoherently, nearly tripping as she rounded the corner to the staff members' offices. She paused in front of the doors, taking the time to read the names printed in capital letters, as she alternately crumpled and smoothed out her father's letter.
DANFIELD, DEXTER
LECROIX, ANGELA
TURNER, KATHERINE
Suddenly making up her mind, Winnie shoved the letter into the waistband of her skirt and opened one of the doors without knocking. She stopped in the doorway, feeling embarrassed and slightly guilty about her actions.
Four again, she shrinks away from her father who is yelling at her for interrupting his phone call to his secretary to tell him Eddie bumped his elbow. She nods her head up and down, mutely agreeing that Yes, daddy, it could have waited, and Yes, daddy, it wasn't that important in the first place. Scuffing her shoes against the floor, she miserably wonders if the other girls at preschool have fathers like hers.
Unexpectedly twenty-three again, Winnie looked up with some surprise and blurted out, "Can we talk?"
`Behind The Character ,,
Name: Violet.
Age: 16.
Role-playing experience: Been at it for four years.
How you found us: RPG-Directory.
OTHER: Just wanted to point out that I’m not very good at long descriptions of appearance, so I hope what I have is alright![/size][/blockquote]