Post by kynie logan ! on Dec 26, 2008 1:39:18 GMT 1
;; fundamentals
full name;; kynaveta elizabeth treason logan
nickname;; kynie, KV, veta
birthday;; February 11, 1991
age;; seventeen
sexual orientation;; straight
job;; student and babysitter
Canon;; sort of
Species ;; human
;; personality
general;; Kynaveta is like an inner-frame backpack. She broadcasts herself as comfortable, friendly, and durable, but she retains the potential to hurt like hell if you break her or use her wrong. Start with the durable. Sure, she's relatively strong, she's not your dramatic blonde, hey, maybe she'll even stick up for you if you're a really great friend, but if you're climbing up a mountain in a rainstorm, you're not going to want to rely on her to stay calm, comfortable, and waterproof. Because maybe she's not a dramatic blonde, but she's sure got a fair share of that collective unconscious. In other words, she freaks out. A lot.
Don't get me wrong, she's a great friend, and she's efficient, and she's intelligent, and teachers love her because of that. But she's not going to carry you up a mountain. She's probably going to turn around, yell, "Climb your own damn mountain!" and run away to go drink hot chocolate. Once you're back off the mountain, she'll ask you how it went and be all chummy again. But seriously, what's the point of a backpack if it won't get you over the mountain without soaking your clothes and bruising your hips? Yeah, exactly.
Plus, she's sentimental and sensitive. Yeah, she cries a lot. Except when she's mad. If you get her really, truly mad, she'll beat you up. With words. Most of the time. And then she'll regain her senses, freak out because your nose is bleeding and bake you cookies. She's really weird like that.
She also has intense mood swings. She's hardly reliable. Which brings us back to the innerframe backpack. If she's in one of those moods, the innerframe will snap. Another of those moods, and the hip strap will be way too small for you to fit it around your waist. Another, and she'll punch a hole in your backpack so all your stuff floods onto the path. Get her riled, and she'll make it rain, so all your stuff floods onto the path soaking wet and filthy. Watch your words around her, because she'll take them wrong. She's like that old Calvin and Hobbes comic, the one where he's like, "Anything you say will be misquoted and used against you." By the way, she loves Calvin and Hobbes.
When she's happy though, which is relatively often, she's awesome. She has this intelligent, almost sick sense of humor that just comes out, according to her self-diagnosed lack of a brain-to-mouth filter. That's one thin about Kynaveta. She doesn't bottle things up. It just comes out. Anything. She could be sitting in a history class and then just start laughing, which sucks if they're talking about, say, Ivan the Terrible. Words, laughter, tears, you name it, she does not keep anything inside. It's something you're just going to have to live with if you want to be her friend.
And she's probably a perfectionist when it comes to school. She cares. She's not afraid to have fun, as long as that ten-page term paper is done and perfect. She loves sticking her head out the car window if it's good and done. That probably came from her parents, who were the kind of people who asked about their kid's every homework assignment and supervised its completion until about sixth grade when they suddenly just stopped. Kynaveta liked it. Somehow, she knows her parents want her to fail, to prove themselves right. Ha ha, she thinks. Sucks to you.
So, Kynaveta makes a crappy innerframe backpack. But she's a decent friend. It just takes the right person to befriend her. And trust me, she'll work hard to find a reason you're the wrong person. But actually, she values her friends more than she lets on. So don't trust her to keep your stuff dry and intact. But you might find you can trust her with your secrets.
hobbies;; watching movies, finally receiving money, bugging her siblings, various computer-oriented stuff, watching TV, snowboarding
dislikes;; English classes, Forks High, idiots, filthy rich people (not too many here in Forks), the color yellow, thick winter coats, shorts, high heels
likes;; math in general, music in general (but especially her iPod), running, animals, spring and fall, the wind, the sound of the piano
Fears;; losing her family or her home, failing anything, having a crappy future and life, falling from large heights, the eternal life
Secrets;; she has nightmares but feels stupid complaining about them because she's seventeen
she has no idea where she wants to go to college
she wishes her life could be simple and perfect like a movie
;; appearance
general;; Back to the innerframe backpack. It's got a nice design, you know? That sleek North Face logo, embroidered carefully onto blue-gray waterproof fabric that's not particularly attractive but good enough to do the job? Plus, there's some nice black segments stitched on there that kind of remind you of tiger stripes. Yeah, those are probably patches, trying to masquerade the tears, but they do a pretty good job of it. It's a pretty big backpack, but rather compact, with five billion pockets everywhere, pockets within pockets, stuffed with tissues and granola bars and dirty socks and all that crap that gets stuck in there when you use it that you always forget to take out. It's got nice straps with okay padding, but the hip strap is bare. Huh. That's interesting. There might have been pads there before, but not now. Let's all massacre our hips, shall we?
Anyways, that's probably more relevant than you thought it was. Because let's face it, Kynaveta isn't really that special. Yeah, she's attractive, but she's not Cunningham's pick of the crop. She knows she's not going to get guys with her body, but she'd rather it be that way. Let them work for her, that's what she says. She's good enough for the boys, and they can go the extra mile.
Her eyes are a stormy dark blue gray, like the faded American flag hanging from an old disabled veteran's ranch home. They're not particularly beautiful, but there's something about them that hits you, an image that reminds you of something much deeper, that you carry with you as you pursue other options. You remember those eyes. Those eyes haunt you, especially if you've made tears flow from them, if you're one of those idiot guys. Those are crazy eyes. She used to have an eyebrow piercing, but she's letting it close, because nothing she found went with her eyes. She loves her eyes. There is no dulling down those eyes by random scraps of metal thrust through her eyebrows. Those eyes are power personified.
Her body's nice. She's slender, maybe even underweight, but she loves food way too much to be an anorexic or anything. She eats all the time, but she has a crazy fast metabolism. Plus she runs every morning. That probably helps too. Running for her is like coffee for your average joe (pun intended). It spices her up, peps her up, makes her focused. Plus she's seen some extremely cool sights on her runs--a golden eagle, a rattlesnake, a coyote. So far, there's been no one in her life, ever, special enough to go running with her in the morning, and she wouldn't mind keeping it that way. Her legs are long, runner's legs, with thin things and calves thicker than said thighs. When she wears heels, the boys come running. Well, not really. But it would be nice if they did.
favorite;; Kynie loves her hair and her eyes.
hate;; She's not too keen on her build. She's kind of a board; bigger boobs and wider hips would help.
heritage;; European and American
ethnicity;; Caucasian
;; origins
general;; Kynie was born into a happy family with a two-year-old daughter, her sister Eva, who they loved and adored almost as much as they loved her. She's been blessed with a life of not much strife or danger and she's very happy because of that.
When she was two years old, her younger brother was born. Kynaveta instantly fell in love with that baby and was around him almost as much as her mother was. She was upset when she had to attend kindergarten the next year, because it meant spending time away from him. She's always been the nurturing type, though as he grew older she was eager to roughhouse with him.
Back to school. On the second or third day of it, Kynaveta sat in a kindergarten class. A teacher with an annoying voice wrote some numbers up on the board. 5, 10, 15, 20, 25, 30. "These numbers are divisible by five," she drawled. "Understand?" Most of the kids sat in complete confusion. But Kynaveta rose her hand. "Yes, Keenavayta?" the teacher asked, horribly mispronouncing her name.
"It's Kai-na-veh-ta," she began. "But can't you divide all numbers by five? You won't always get whole numbers, but you could." Kynaveta had a mind for numbers. She was horrible at science and couldn't spell at all, but there was something about numbers that made complete sense to her. That day, her mother came to pick her up. Kynaveta remembers that she never went to that school again. She had attended for about a week.
Her mother homeschooled her for a while, teaching her everything but math. That was her father's job, and he loved it. Every night when he came home from work, he would sit down with Kynaveta for an hour or two and just talk to her about numbers. She loved her father. She loved their chats about math, because he never made her feel stupid, even if she forgot something. She always felt like she'd done a good job.
Once she turned ten, her family began looking for a regular school for their younger daughter. this was relatively complicated because her mother was pregnant with her youngest sister, who was born the same fall that Kynie enrolled in Forks Middle School. It was pretty much her only option, and she did okay. She currently is a junior at Forks High and has no idea what she's going to do with her life.
parents;; not made up yet
siblings;; Vangie Logan, her older sister, and two younger siblings.
other;; nope.
;; roleplaying from FYR!
sample;; Alice closed her eyes, not willing to make contact with Rosalie for fear of what she'd discover there. She attempted futilely to calm the volcano of insults and logic that bubbled up inside of her and threatened to erupt from her ice-cold lips in torrents of lava that would burn both of them. It wasn't worth it. Rosalie was right. I think we're finished here. The words hung above them, not willing to evaporate into the stormy sky nor sink into the cold ground. They stung, wrapped themselves around Alice's body and threatened to squeeze the unspoken words out. Alice forced them away, tried no to think about them. It was impossible.
For as long as she could remember, she and Rosalie had refused to get along. They'd always been able to find some excuse, some minute contrast in viewpoint that exploded into this, a battle of words that left both of them wounded. It wasn't like she hadn't seen that. Oh no. The second she'd decided to adopt the Cullen family, Alice had given up that freedom, that unrestricted viewpoint that she'd enjoyed on her own, and replaced it with family, people she could relate to. And so the lion was tamed. She loved Rosalie. But ultimately, they were two very different people. Fire and water. Night and day. They were like human siblings, except it was an intense eternity, filled with the ups and downs, the arguments, the backstabbing, and the ultimate familial bond that brought them back to the surface. Being immortal didn't help the time pass.
The reality was, it would never end, It would always be this way, an infinite wavelength, invisibly fluctuating and carrying with it energy, energy that tore apart and bonded together and affected everything around it. The pattern was omnipresent and inevitable. Words were not enough to do anything, and silently, slowly, Alice Cullen pivoted on the balls of her feet and took a few steps away from the battlefield of words.
She didn't dare look back. If she had, all she would have seen was Rosalie's blond hair whipping around in the now-violent wind, her coal-like beautiful eyes fixated on nothing in particular. No, she walked, nothing moving but her legs, and the more she moved, the faster she went, until finally she was running again, the wind free to do whatever it wanted with her cropped black hair, her arms spread out and touching nothing. It was too much, but it wasn't enough. Alice let the cold wind soak itself into her colder skin while her mind leaped ahead of her, examining the future.
Edward was at home, waiting to go hunting. Esme, Emmett, and Carlisle would eventually end up back at the Cullen house, probably before she or Rose did. Her visions leaped further ahead, faster than her legs carried her, until there it was. That looming dark blur. A fight.
She stopped herself, inches shy of slamming into a tree, and slowly crouched to the ground until she leaned against the oak, where she allowed herself to get lost in the vision and return to the real world at an indeterminate point int he future. Her face went blank, her eyes staring straight ahead, her mind racing ahead, unaware of her surroundings.
Six of the Cullens were at the dining room table so loved and cherished by Esme. Alice looked closer and realized that she and Jasper were absent. This was new; not before in any of the visions had the Cullens been separated. They sat silently, most of them fiddling with something. Rosalie was fixing her hair, staring straight ahead, and Alice focused away from her, the wounds still too fresh and painful. Esme and Carlisle sat at the head of the table. Esme's face was contorted into an expression of worry and pain. Alice blinked again. Everything about this picture, though subtle, was uncomfortable.
Suddenly, everything became blurry again, and Alice cursed the future. Slowly she stood. That hadn't helped anything; just added to the guilt straining her shoulders. She sighed again, and fished around in her back pocket for her keys. As she extracted them, she began running, slower this time, her head turned down, unwilling to search through the future or encounter the present, and with no desire at all to recall the past. She ran, clearing her mind of thoughts, trying to focus on nothing, on emptiness, and finding it impossible. There was always the possibility that Rosalie was right, that Alice was only focused on personal gain, but she couldn't bring herself to think that. Finally, the sight of a certain yellow Porsche rid her of the plaguing thoughts. She rushed to the car, flung herself inside, and thrust the keys in the ignition. The freeway was empty, void of traffic on this Tuesday afternoon, and Alice flew down the road, tuning out the outside world. She didn't want to be a part of anything except the car, except this one road she was going down, except this concrete image of the present without distraction from what wasn't right now.
She wasn't about to go back to the Cullen house. It was too much. Alone was the best thing she could manage for herself, and so she turned right where she normally would have gone left and pulled up to a small shop in the middle of nowhere, which described Forks rather well. She flicked off the ignition and sat silently, finally breathing after an hour without air. The rush of hot air down her throat was welcome--it was real, it was unquestionably there, and it was something to focus on.
She felt herself slipping into the future yet again. This time, a vision of her and Jasper in a dark room came into focus. She was leaning on him, eyes closed. The room was simply decorated, with a few candles burning and a fire turned to embers on the back wall. This vision was far more comfortable than the other one. Alice had grown comfortable to seeing herself in visions.
Slowly, the Alice in the vision opened her eyes. Instantly, Alice noticed.
They were red.
;; behind the character
name;; Erika
age;; thirteen.
gender;; female
years roleplaying;; one point five.
location;; Colorado
How You found us;; this is Alice. again! gawd!
