Post by Remy on Mar 11, 2007 17:34:14 GMT -5
OOC Name: Remy
Character Name: Carolyn Thanet Nolan
Gender: She's a lady
Year: Sophomore
Age: Twenty
Major: Preferably a double: Photography & Journalism. But if she really had to pick just one, it would be Journalism.
Sample: --Hope it's alright that it's not as Carolyn. I can provide one for her if so desired--
Teen hearts are fragile things.
They are easily broken, but hard to put together. Ryan knew this, not from his own heartbreak, but from the endless string of romance and drama that stemmed from living in a castle with three hundred teenagers. It was hard to avoid, really. Every day, somebody new was sobbing in a bathroom stall before class. Somebody new was avoiding someone's glance and was scrawling notes professing their undying love. And everyone, always, was searching for the one person who could put them back together.
Now, Ryan wasn't exactly broken. He had never been raped, molested, hit, or otherwise physically hurt. Likewise, his heart had never been broken. There wasn't a piece of him missing. Really, he was fine. Except for one thing: something was missing. He couldn't quite put his finger on what, exactly, was missing. But something was. He had a feeling that it was because he felt things too much. He knew this was his problem. It stemmed from being a writer. Things that normal teenagers wouldn't give a second thought bothered him. But then again, Ryan had never been 'normal'. He was a writer.
And he sort of thought that was what set him apart. He wasn’t some great egotist or a narcissist or anything, but he had words, and he didn’t know anyone else who did. When Ryan heard people speak, he saw it in his head how it should be written down and when Ryan looked at the night sky, he got an ache in his heart that meant he just had to spend another ten minutes out there searching for the right word to describe the great big dusky blackness of it all. He worshipped Shakespeare and strove to be just as articulate and elegant with his words as the Bard.
Ryan also happened to be a romantic. He thought this kind of tied in with being a writer, really, and also with being a reader. He knew it wasn’t very masculine, but Ryan loved stories about girls that had their hearts broken, then fell in love with their best friends who’d been there for them all along. It went along with having a teen heart.
Most teenagers are hopeless romantics.
And besides, Ryan wasn't very masculine in any respect. He was small and slight, and he wore his brown hair long. Each day, he decorated his face with some manner of paints and eyeliners. He felt like his face was narrating some sort of story. Today, birds flew across his right cheek, and his eyes were rimmed with purple powder. He didn't have anything to narrate. There was nothing to narrate, sitting in the empty Room of Requirement staring into a fire feeling empty.
This struck him as either deep or pathetic.
It was leaning towards pathetic.
Ryan stood up and brushed himself off. Dust clung to his slightly tight, grey flannel trousers and partially unbuttoned school shirt. He wrinkled his nose, knowing that the smell of smoke would cling to him, and he walked towards the door. He didn't like being pathetic, nor did he knew anyone who liked being pathetic. He pushed open the door to the Room of Requirement and stood still for a minute.
He didn't know what time it was.
Therefore, he didn't know where to go.
Character Name: Carolyn Thanet Nolan
Gender: She's a lady
Year: Sophomore
Age: Twenty
Major: Preferably a double: Photography & Journalism. But if she really had to pick just one, it would be Journalism.
Sample: --Hope it's alright that it's not as Carolyn. I can provide one for her if so desired--
Teen hearts are fragile things.
They are easily broken, but hard to put together. Ryan knew this, not from his own heartbreak, but from the endless string of romance and drama that stemmed from living in a castle with three hundred teenagers. It was hard to avoid, really. Every day, somebody new was sobbing in a bathroom stall before class. Somebody new was avoiding someone's glance and was scrawling notes professing their undying love. And everyone, always, was searching for the one person who could put them back together.
Now, Ryan wasn't exactly broken. He had never been raped, molested, hit, or otherwise physically hurt. Likewise, his heart had never been broken. There wasn't a piece of him missing. Really, he was fine. Except for one thing: something was missing. He couldn't quite put his finger on what, exactly, was missing. But something was. He had a feeling that it was because he felt things too much. He knew this was his problem. It stemmed from being a writer. Things that normal teenagers wouldn't give a second thought bothered him. But then again, Ryan had never been 'normal'. He was a writer.
And he sort of thought that was what set him apart. He wasn’t some great egotist or a narcissist or anything, but he had words, and he didn’t know anyone else who did. When Ryan heard people speak, he saw it in his head how it should be written down and when Ryan looked at the night sky, he got an ache in his heart that meant he just had to spend another ten minutes out there searching for the right word to describe the great big dusky blackness of it all. He worshipped Shakespeare and strove to be just as articulate and elegant with his words as the Bard.
Ryan also happened to be a romantic. He thought this kind of tied in with being a writer, really, and also with being a reader. He knew it wasn’t very masculine, but Ryan loved stories about girls that had their hearts broken, then fell in love with their best friends who’d been there for them all along. It went along with having a teen heart.
Most teenagers are hopeless romantics.
And besides, Ryan wasn't very masculine in any respect. He was small and slight, and he wore his brown hair long. Each day, he decorated his face with some manner of paints and eyeliners. He felt like his face was narrating some sort of story. Today, birds flew across his right cheek, and his eyes were rimmed with purple powder. He didn't have anything to narrate. There was nothing to narrate, sitting in the empty Room of Requirement staring into a fire feeling empty.
This struck him as either deep or pathetic.
It was leaning towards pathetic.
Ryan stood up and brushed himself off. Dust clung to his slightly tight, grey flannel trousers and partially unbuttoned school shirt. He wrinkled his nose, knowing that the smell of smoke would cling to him, and he walked towards the door. He didn't like being pathetic, nor did he knew anyone who liked being pathetic. He pushed open the door to the Room of Requirement and stood still for a minute.
He didn't know what time it was.
Therefore, he didn't know where to go.
