Post by Tabitha Jones on Feb 27, 2009 20:49:07 GMT -5
-Student-[/i]
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put your image here[/img]
”'But I don't want to go among mad people,' said Alice. 'Oh, you can't help that,' said the cat. 'We're all mad here.'”[/b][/font]
[/right]
with the occasional spot and some veins[/b][/color][/font][/center]
NICKNAME(S): Tab, Tabby
AGE:17
BIRTHDATE: 1st of April
GENDER: Female
GRADE: The last but one (Sorry i'm clueless on the american system)
SEXUALITY: Unconfimed
[/ul]
and not all of it you can see[/color][/font][/b][/center]
WEIGHT:196 Pounds
BUILD: Medium framed
TATTOOS & PIERCINGS:N/A
FACE CLAIM:None
GENERAL:
over and over the same old lines[/b][/SIZE][/color][/font][/center]
Tabby doesn’t make a very good first impression, shy, withdrawn, awkward – no not a good start. She flows through life knocking off sides down the path of least resistance, its not like she could change anything. Perhaps that the worst thing people can cope with shy, but her apathetic, helplessness is just a bit to much, it shocks people how little she cares. When bullies bother Tabby she truly turns a blind eye, knocked to the floor and kicked she doesn’t fight, it’s only her shell, they won’t kill her. Perhaps buried deep is the firey little rebel of her youth or perhaps that flame is long extinguished.
Tabitha likes to pretend she doesn’t care about anything but that’s what it is a pretence, she knows she’s a failure and hates herself for it. Underneath she wants to be liked wants to be likeable but it’s no longer worth the effort to be likeable easier just to be the fat, swotty, ginger girl. Occasionally Tab's has been known to attach herself to people, almost accidentally she finds herself watching their every move, following them around - until they notice and firmly tell her where to go.
She cannot explain even to herself why she does this it just occasionally happens. Without intending to Tab does well at her studies simply because she has nothing to distract her, except the zone.
LIKES:
DISLIKES:
[/ul]
thoughts make me go insane[/b][/SIZE][/color][/font][/center]
SIBLINGS: Liam, Finn and Bill (William
OTHER:
HISTORY:
i’ve got a family and i drink cups of tea[/b][/color][/font][/center]
NAME: Second Hand Rose
BREED:Shetland
DISCIPLINE:English
[/ul]
i’ve got familiar faces[/b][/color][/font][/center]
Age:17
Contacts:
Other characters: None yet, but i've got one or two up my sleeve.
Fun fact: I've got a 5000 wd research journal that I said i'd hand in tommorow but i've only written 20% of it - shoot me now. ^_^
[/size][/ul]
and I’ve got favourite places[/b][/color][/font][/center]
SAMPLE POST:
Look at yourself you’re a mess, a bloody mess, in the literal and physical sense, whose fault is that you lazy half wit, why do I bother. Connor jerked awake, said something unmentionable and unfit for civil conversation and groaned.
He followed these motions by instinctively stretching, then swore again and held himself still half cradling himself as he pulled him thoughts together.
He’d dozed off, slumped sideways on a bench, exposed and looking like some fag big issue seller. Look at yourself.
Frankly he was glad he couldn’t, half his finely boned face was still a bit discoloured, eight black stitches graced his brow and his lip though scabbed was still showing the split. Beautiful. How n earth was he suppose to charm his way around this wretched place, while looking like a cross breed between a brawler and a tramp. Never mind that wasn’t his main concern at present. What is then? He metaphorically shock himself, he wasn’t a muser, he wasn’t a moper and he wasn’t about to change now just because of a little fight.
He stood up slightly stiffly running his eyes over the boxy waiting room with its magnolia walls and neutral décor; the only things of interest were the horse photos and hell he wasn’t going to ogle them. Now he was standing up he came to the conclusion he wasn’t actually in pain. Well not any worth noting a week in a cell had evidently turned him into a right wuss, that or going ‘ouch’ was becoming habitual – pathetic. Anger rose in him, now he was properly awake he wanted to hit something or a drink or a decent roll up, all three by preference. How long had he been waiting? Probably next to no time, since the incident - he didn’t like to think about the details, the smell, the cries. Enough. He lost his train of thought, then found it again; since the incident he’d found it difficult to keep track of time, that was it.
Connor exhaled deeply he felt calmer now, weird that, he could kill for a coffee or even a decent cuppa; although obviously he’d prefer something stronger, but well what was the chances of that this wasn’t prison. Realizing he probably looked daft just standing staring into middle distance, he sat back down, back rigidly straight and carried out the obnoxious habit of cracking his knuckles and determinedly not thinking.
[/ul]
, TabbithaWinifredJones !
[/size]”'But I don't want to go among mad people,' said Alice. 'Oh, you can't help that,' said the cat. 'We're all mad here.'”[/b][/font]
[/right]
, this is my face covered in freckles !
[/color][/font]with the occasional spot and some veins[/b][/color][/font][/center]
NICKNAME(S): Tab, Tabby
AGE:17
BIRTHDATE: 1st of April
GENDER: Female
GRADE: The last but one (Sorry i'm clueless on the american system)
SEXUALITY: Unconfimed
[/ul]
, this is my body covered in skin !
[/color]and not all of it you can see[/color][/font][/b][/center]
WEIGHT:196 Pounds
BUILD: Medium framed
TATTOOS & PIERCINGS:N/A
FACE CLAIM:None
GENERAL:
Tabitha, what a pretty name pity about the face. You know a horsey boarding school type when you see one, skinny as a whip and strong as an ox, with bright, sharp eyes and Tabby, well she watches them. Watery blue eyes, peering out of doughy, freckled covered face, topped off by a shock of red hair. Yes a ginger, it gets worst, Tabs is no trim UK 10, she’s not even an American size 10 no more like 12 on a good day. A crime against humanity…[/ul]
When it comes down to it Tabitha would rather not think of her figure, when she was fit and strong a tomboy she didn’t care and now? Yes she cares but fit, strong or boyish? Sadly no, she carries her weight awkwardly perhaps a sign she isn’t quite use to her bulk. Her thighs are flabby, her bottom wobbly and her stomach leers over her jeans threatening to escape her baggy shapeless T-shirts and despite being generally big her bosom is a modest B-cup not that this particular fact bothers her.
Some people pull off the ‘fat look’ the confident and the jolly type, but not the wobbly, nervous, self loathing type. Tabitha wouldn’t know how to describe herself, well, maybe blue eyes, red hair, about 5.5, f-f-fat, she doesn’t like to think about.
In fairness to her most people agree she could perhaps be pretty, if she lost a bit of weight, although, her nose is perhaps a bit beaky and her chin, errr sorry - chins a bit square … Well perhaps she would have a nice jaw line, oh and there yes nice hair, a bright chestnut mane, could do with a brush and well everyone has nice eyes, yes her eyes are rather sweet the blue, grey, relatively large, yes nice eyes .
, and this is my mind it goes !
[/color]over and over the same old lines[/b][/SIZE][/color][/font][/center]
)It’s funny how different life is when your fat, not just a bit podgy but fat, fat. Its amazing how the most lovely of people shy away from sitting next to you, or the barbed comments that just, well slip out. “god that girl big” Its funny how your weight changes how society views you, if your fat you must be lazy or greedy, else you wouldn’t be fat. This perception shapes people, even you learn to laugh or you learn to find the zone, or maybe the zone finds you – it certainly found Tabby.
Tabby doesn’t make a very good first impression, shy, withdrawn, awkward – no not a good start. She flows through life knocking off sides down the path of least resistance, its not like she could change anything. Perhaps that the worst thing people can cope with shy, but her apathetic, helplessness is just a bit to much, it shocks people how little she cares. When bullies bother Tabby she truly turns a blind eye, knocked to the floor and kicked she doesn’t fight, it’s only her shell, they won’t kill her. Perhaps buried deep is the firey little rebel of her youth or perhaps that flame is long extinguished.
Tabitha likes to pretend she doesn’t care about anything but that’s what it is a pretence, she knows she’s a failure and hates herself for it. Underneath she wants to be liked wants to be likeable but it’s no longer worth the effort to be likeable easier just to be the fat, swotty, ginger girl. Occasionally Tab's has been known to attach herself to people, almost accidentally she finds herself watching their every move, following them around - until they notice and firmly tell her where to go.
She cannot explain even to herself why she does this it just occasionally happens. Without intending to Tab does well at her studies simply because she has nothing to distract her, except the zone.
LIKES:
• Her brothers
• Open countryside
• Equines
• Standing in crowds
• Watching people
• Reading
• Pencils
• Dreaming
• Meeting genuine people
DISLIKES:
[/blockquote]
• Being abandoned
• Psychologists
• Her mother
• Most TV
• People who 'try to be nice.'
• Being touched
• Crying
• Pity
• Pizza
• Most dairy products
[/ul]
, and this is my brain it’s tortures analytcal !
[/color]thoughts make me go insane[/b][/SIZE][/color][/font][/center]
SIBLINGS: Liam, Finn and Bill (William
OTHER:
HISTORY:
[/ul]
Once she was happy, a happy wild laughing child, unruly hair and scraped knees up to a hundred kinds of mischief and loving every minute of it. Fast and fit, she could shift bales with the best of the lads, mucking out easy, a weekend of shearing effortless. She lived with a tangle of brothers there pet and pest, everything was fun it was all a lark; she adored all three of them, it was simple. Life is never simple, the British farming industry was on the rocks and they were working tenant’s on a farm, when the farm folded their family folded.
Tabby’s parents had always fought, she had always hated it but there was always an escape. Between her and her brothers were shared two stocky ponies of indiscriminate breeding, Spider and Fraggle and they were that escape. Tabby began to change when her escape route was sold and her oldest brothers the twin left home. Then the remnants of the family moved off the farm onto a council estate and the rows began; between her mother and father and between her mother and herself. They grated on another, the house was tense, angry- was it any wonder the last of the boys left, left without her. Tabby blamed her mother nagging, moaning, whining. At least her dad was only drunk, for her mother vicious finally she declared they were moving to her aunts in America without her father.
Her dad moved out, she begged to go with him he left without her and Tabby ceased caring and became the lump. It was a state of existence, she stopped fighting and began drifting semi focused through life, sleeping, eating, sleeping doing the minimal to get by. She dispassionately hated the NY school, hated the people in a bleary way and they hated her in return, her school reports read: Talented but sullen and lazy – needs to re-think her attitude. She dreamt of horses, dreamt of cobby Fraggles and silly old spider, dreamt of her dad and her brothers and longed for the English countryside and the endlessness of Exmoor. Years passed, she gained weight a protective suit to shelter her from the world, her shell. She chose to be lost in herself, useless but uncomplaining as her mother tried to make them a life, Tabs was a depressing companion. If she had been asked that would have been why she thought she was to be sent away to Elmendorf, because her mum and mums new partner were fed up with her; she didn’t, she didn’t care.
, and i use mouthwash and sometimes i floss !
[/color][/font]i’ve got a family and i drink cups of tea[/b][/color][/font][/center]
NAME: Second Hand Rose
BREED:Shetland
DISCIPLINE:English
[/ul]
, i’ve got nastalgic pavements !
[/color][/font]i’ve got familiar faces[/b][/color][/font][/center]
Age:17
Contacts:
Other characters: None yet, but i've got one or two up my sleeve.
Fun fact: I've got a 5000 wd research journal that I said i'd hand in tommorow but i've only written 20% of it - shoot me now. ^_^
[/size][/ul]
, i’ve got mixed-up memories !
[/color][/font]and I’ve got favourite places[/b][/color][/font][/center]
SAMPLE POST:
Look at yourself you’re a mess, a bloody mess, in the literal and physical sense, whose fault is that you lazy half wit, why do I bother. Connor jerked awake, said something unmentionable and unfit for civil conversation and groaned.
He followed these motions by instinctively stretching, then swore again and held himself still half cradling himself as he pulled him thoughts together.
He’d dozed off, slumped sideways on a bench, exposed and looking like some fag big issue seller. Look at yourself.
Frankly he was glad he couldn’t, half his finely boned face was still a bit discoloured, eight black stitches graced his brow and his lip though scabbed was still showing the split. Beautiful. How n earth was he suppose to charm his way around this wretched place, while looking like a cross breed between a brawler and a tramp. Never mind that wasn’t his main concern at present. What is then? He metaphorically shock himself, he wasn’t a muser, he wasn’t a moper and he wasn’t about to change now just because of a little fight.
He stood up slightly stiffly running his eyes over the boxy waiting room with its magnolia walls and neutral décor; the only things of interest were the horse photos and hell he wasn’t going to ogle them. Now he was standing up he came to the conclusion he wasn’t actually in pain. Well not any worth noting a week in a cell had evidently turned him into a right wuss, that or going ‘ouch’ was becoming habitual – pathetic. Anger rose in him, now he was properly awake he wanted to hit something or a drink or a decent roll up, all three by preference. How long had he been waiting? Probably next to no time, since the incident - he didn’t like to think about the details, the smell, the cries. Enough. He lost his train of thought, then found it again; since the incident he’d found it difficult to keep track of time, that was it.
Connor exhaled deeply he felt calmer now, weird that, he could kill for a coffee or even a decent cuppa; although obviously he’d prefer something stronger, but well what was the chances of that this wasn’t prison. Realizing he probably looked daft just standing staring into middle distance, he sat back down, back rigidly straight and carried out the obnoxious habit of cracking his knuckles and determinedly not thinking.
