Post by Liz ♥ A L L A R D on Jan 11, 2009 18:13:32 GMT 1
;; fundamentals
full name;; Elizabeth Morgan Allard
nickname;; Liz or Emma
birthday;; the 11th day of May 1909
age;; 18
sexual orientation;; Straight
job;; Barista
Canon;; Unfortunately Not
Species ;; Human
;; appearance
general;;
She's 18 and a beauty queen,
she makes the boys feel so weak
it's her hands on my hips, i can't escape 'em
it's that mouth and those lips, try not to chase down.
head to toe, you know she's dressed to kill
and she could the way she's looking at me.
Lyrics are often the best way to describe someone, and in two different songs by The Maine, you can find ways to think of Liz. She could be a beauty queen if she wanted, five feet and 6 inches tall , but she thinks they're too full of themselves. Her blond hair is enhanced, she's a natural blond, but it wasn't white enough for her. Generally her long, chest length hair can be found straightened or styled in a messy fashion, depending on her mood. Her brown eyes have flakes of gold and honey in them, and dance when caught in the light. They're the window the soul, right? Thick black lashes burl away from her eyes, and they're pretty handy when making ga-ga eyes as a boy. Her sharp, Greek nose tapers above her small mouth, which is generally painted pink.
That brings me to my next topic, makeup! Liz looks good with a lot, a little, or no makeup at all. She generally wears tons of black eye liner and a dark shades of eye shadow on her small eye lids. She don't need much foundation or cover up, she takes such good care of her skin, why wouldn't she want to show it off? If nail polish is a makeup, then she uses a lot of it. She likes to paint her nails black with white tips and put little sparkly skull stickers on her thumbs. She does the same with her toes in the summer.
If you ask Liz what her 'style' is, she'd say its High Fashion Scene. She loves to wear band tee shirts with her expensive Calvin Klein Jeans and her Ugg boots. Of course, that's one outfit. Sometimes she like to wear a skeleton tank top with a too-too over black leggings and her low heel Gucci boots or Prada sneakers. Of course, then there's her summer outfit, which is a mesh type white sundress that she wears over a bikini. You may think her spoiled rotten, but they're all gifts from her Aunt in Paris.
She had the most amazing....smile.
I bet you didn't expect that.
With eyes like sunsets baby.
And legs that went on for days.
favorite;;
hate;;
heritage;;
ethnicity;;
;; personality
general;; People look at Liz and immediately think snobby. That would be wrong honey. Just because she has fabulous cloths, rock star hair and a set of killer legs doesn't make her a diva. In fact, Liz understand what it mean to work for what she wants. She's determined as hell to do her best at everything. If she fails miserably, its her own fault. She wants nothing more than to succeed on her own, not have success handed to her. Head strong and totally willful Liz will never be under someone's thumb. She's got too many opinions and ideas of her own to deal with following someone around like a puppy.
Caring and compassionate, Liz absolutely adores children. She's also got this soft spot for guys who aren't complete jerks. If anything, she enjoys intelligence and integrity over looks, but those weigh heavily too. She's not shallow or self centered or selfish, in fact, she's know to help other out every chance she gets. She knows she can reach a higher station in life, and she's determined to show others that too. Fun loving and full of personality, Liz can be the life of the part, if she so chooses to be.
hobbies;;
dislikes;;
likes;;
Fears;;
Secrets;;
;; origins
general;; There is nothing more depressing than growing up in Forks. Liz was born in Forks, enough said. Her life was dull and drab for God knows how long. She was an 'accident' that forced her parents to get married, but it all worked out for the best. She was four when little Corrine was born, and Liz would like nothing more than to put a knife through that little witch's heart. Stuck up and so full of herself, Corrine utterly disgusts Liz, and this aint no sibling rivalry. Liz tried to point the kid in the right direction, but she went running off on her own and came back a whore...oops! Did I say that? Oh well, its true.
Lucky for Liz she and Corrine didn't really see much of each other in school, which worked just fine for her. Then, when her world seemed solid BAM! Bradly was born. Liz was 7 when he was born, and he immediately clung to Corrine. Fed up with younger siblings, she gave up caring about them and went on with her life. As twelve she was the most mature girl in her class and her parents adored her to no end. So much, that they asked her Aunt Camilla if Liz could spend a few years with her in Paris, and that was how Liz was introduced to the jet set life. She was given everything on a silver platter, anything she wanted Aunt Camilla would give. When she was 16 she was the life of the Paris party scene, a regular at fashion week (her Aunt happened to be a designer) and than....she got dragged back to the black abyss that was Forks.
For the last two years, she's been trying to bring some kind of life to this stupid city. She plans to move back to Paris when she graduates High School. Only the rest of this year to go, and she'll be free of this stupid little town forever.
parents;; Michale Allard & Denice Allard
siblings;; Corrine - 14 and Bradly - 11
other;; Isn't afraid of the 'Supernaturals'
;; roleplaying
sample;;The two wolves circled quietly, each focusing on the other’s movements. Their paws made no sound on the fire scarred ground, they seemed to be dancing on air. Several tense moments passed, one waiting for the other to make a mistake, the take a wrong step, but they were both old warriors, and they wouldn’t slip up that easily. A deep, throaty growl escaped the alabaster brute, he was becoming quite irritated with his younger brother. It also boiled his blood that the fool moved like a ghost, his eyes dancing with amusement, that stupid grin on his face. Oh how he would love to just tear that smug look off his face.
Young brother, the color of storm, was indeed amused. He would sense Arathorn’s frustration like it was a physical being, but it didn’t threaten him at all. He was in a kind of trance, seeing his target and only his target, feeling the ground under his feet, yet not feeling it. Every nerve and every muscle was well aware of the wolf across from him and the threat that lingered there. His ears twitched as the pure one growled, but it just entertained Modred more. It was highly amusing to see Arathorn so angry at not being the best. It was actually rather sad, for all his muscle, it seemed the older brother had forgotten how to really fight.
Quick as lightning, the two forces clashed. At the same moment they launched at each other, cloud and storm slammed together with the force of a falling tree. Their inertia was neutralized, as each had used the same force to launch at each other, but when the fog shift to show who held control, it was a surprise. Arathorn, who was older and supposable stronger, had hold of Mordred’s shoulder, if just barely. Mordred held more control, his white ivories had sunken into the flesh of Arathorn’s scruff, and with a sickening ripping sound, pulled his muzzle free, tearing off bits of fur and flesh with him.
Snarling, Mordred slammed the side of his skull into the top of Arathorn’s, stunning the white wolf into letting go. The look his Mordred’s eyes was no longer amused, in fact, it was a completely different look. A slight twinge of crimson filled his gaze, he was no longer the complacent little brother: he was the demon who would tear Arathorn apart. Snarling savagely again, Mordred rushed forward, a little too hastily. Arathorn had regained his senses and was ready for his little brother’s attack. There was sickening snap and a slight yelp, Mordred had a better hold once again. While Arathorn had a better grip on the bleeding shoulder of his brother, Mordred held the upped part of Arathorn’s foreleg, and with a twist of his head snapped the bone.
Pain seared through the white wolf, and he was blinded by it for a moment. Mordred took the opportunity to let go again and slam his skull into Arathorn once again. When Arathorn let go, Mordred leapt back and began to circle his immobile brother. It had been a devilish trick, to break Arathorn’s leg, but it was necessary to win once and for all. It was normally against the rules of combat, but Mordred never had played by the rules. His snaring smile showed his red tinted ivories as he launched at Arathorn once again. The force of his lunge sent them both flying, and another sickening crack filled the air and Arathorn landed hard on a number of jagged rocks. He yelped, unable to hold in his cry of pain as the rocks ripped through his side.
Mordred, feeling cruel, bit and ripped Arathorn’s ear, his cry of pain and disgust like music to the twisted wolf’s ears. He took a step back and looked at his broken brother, laying helplessly on the mountain rocks. Blood was slowly trickling out of Arathorn’s nose and mouth, a tell tail sign of the damage the rocks had done. Arathorn knew he’d lost, as soon as his leg had snapped, he’d known. His death was near, that he knew, and he whimpered in pain, no longer caring about his pride. Please, his strangled whisper barely escaped his flooding throat, just kill me now. His vision was blurred, whether by pain or damage to his eyes, he did not know. The pain that was throbbing from above his right eye, the one that lay against the rocks told him that his skull was cracked, and he knew, even if he was left in this state, he would die before the night was over.
”But that would be far too easy brother,” Mordred sneered as he looked up to the mountain pedestal where the queen sat. Of course she would have watched her beta battle. She may not care for him at all, for they were all pawns in her game, but she would have also come to see how well they fought. Bowing to her before picking up his head to look at her feet, Mordred called: ”Does his live or die your majesty?” Mordred already knew what she would say, but it was just to drag out the inevitable for poor, broken Arathorn. It amused Mordred to no end that he had finally bettered the older wolf, the one who'd always made such a fool of him.
The extremely twisted part of the storm cloud brute wanted to leave Arathorn to suffer, he wanted Arathorn to die slowly and painfully, he wanted his older brother to know what it felt like to suffer. However, it was Mirage's call, whether or not he killed Arathorn.
;; behind the character
name;; Maddie
age;; 16
gender;; Lady
years roleplaying;; close to 5
location;; O-H-I-O
How You found us;; Sigh....
