Florence Miller
Aug 1, 2011 9:26:38 GMT -5
Post by Florence Miller on Aug 1, 2011 9:26:38 GMT -5
YOURSELF
NAME
Fran
AGE
Eighteen
GENDER
Femme
CHARACTER
NAME
Florence Robin Miller
AGE AND GRADE
Fifteen/Freshman
GENDER
Female
SEXUAL ORIENTATION
Bicurious
TALENT
Art
LOOK-A-LIKE
Aislinn Paul
PERSONALITY
At first glances, Flo comes across as shy. Cripplingly shy infact. She doesn't really like to talk to people. The reasons for this are two-fold: 1) She was bullied as a child, and as such, can't help but think people here will treat her the same way – and 2) After the bullying, she developed a fairly intense distrust of people, and is so out-of-practise when it comes to socialising that she has entirely lost the ability. And so, it is hardly surprising that she may appear rather meek. The illusion is only aided by her approach to school work. Florence is, in class, a quiet student. She won't ask questions, and neither will she answer them – the girl is perfectly happy to simply work away, taking her notes and, after a good few hours of study, she will turn out a fantastic piece of work. Studious and apparently timid, she is an easy favourite with the staff.
Florence is quiet, studious and a little insecure. She is terrified of being fat, and refuses to eat. She seems fragile, but you can't live in the worse parts of London without being a little harder than you seem. So, unsurprisingly, Flo has her rougher sides. Should someone take on the role of bully, or push the girl too far, she has a violent streak a mile wide – and she isn't above putting a knee below the belt. She's small, as she's shy... but she doesn't put up with rudeness or cruelty. People are always taken by surprise by the sudden and often dramatic realisation that the little girl in the art rooms is, in fact, as tough as nails.
And, should you be lucky enough to get under the quiet, anti-social shell, you'll find this more fiesty Florence Miller just waiting to burst out. The girl has a tomboyish sense of humour – surreal and often crude – and anyone lucky to be on the end of her fictional annecdotes is in for an honest laugh. And Flo isn't scared to laugh herself: the girl is incredibly amused, and those lucky few friends will find that her smile brightens up a room. She is also capable of being serious, and playing the guru. Her life has seen her through some pretty troubled times, and she is always willing to help others through their own dark episodes. For a fifteen year old she is 'refreshingly blunt', if that is what you call brutal honesty. She'll tell the truth no matter how much offense it will cause. And yes, she may be quiet around the vast majority of people – but if encouraged by close friends, Flo is quite capable of being the life of the party – her ridiculous antics and stunts often proving quite memorable.
And, of course, Florence is ferociously independent. She's been looking after herself since she was ten, and she has always been the head of her house (her mother being nothing but a drunken mess). She knows how to look after herself, and she hates for that independence to be infringed upon. But, really, she needs someone to take care of her. Yes, she can cook and clean and work – but she doesn't take care of herself. She's never had the chance or the reason to. She doesn't stop working herself, she never has a relaxed 'pampering' day – and she's always pushing herself to be better, and thinner and... perfect, in the end. Florence Miller needs someone to tell her that she's fine just the way she is.
APPEARANCE
Flo is, at first glances, small. She is shorter than average – though not absurdly so – and so painfully thin she looks as if she may snap in too strong a breeze. But then, what else can you expect from a girl who all but refuses to eat? Florence is the sort of girl you can imagine would, if folded down, fit quite happily in your pocket.
Her pale complexion is classically British, and she is cursed with that all-too-English inability to tan, though in the summer months a light mist of freckles will spread across her nose and shoulders. Her wide almond eyes are remininscent of a deer in the headlights, and this combined with her soft jaw line scream innocence: misleading. Her nose is a little too large for her delicate face – but no one is perfect. Flo's hair is naturally a pale brown, though she isn't above dying it if the mood takes her – her hair naturally falls into gentle waves around her face, but can be teased into curls or straightened, which it often is thanks to its rebelliously 'fluffy' nature.
As far as fashion goes, Florence can be a little flamboyant. As a child she was never lucky enough to have pretty dresses or expensive clothes – and now that she is funded by the newly discovered wealthy Aunt Helen and Uncle Rufus, she has gotten rather excited. Her style is eclectic, to say the least: her closet full of velvet jackets, silk tie-dye dresses, ruffled shirts, doc martins... anything you care to imagine. It is impossible to guess what the girl might be wearing from one day to the next, but it is always eye-catching. She rather puts the fashion design students to shame.
HISTORY
The Miller family – if family they can indeed be called – are from England. London. Camden. Camden town, home of the famous Camden Market, and infamous haunt of troubled celebrities and some of the most messed up families in England. Camden is a drugs capital of almost epic proportions, any yet, somehow, a vibrant, cultural place filled with color and character. Visitors see the color in Camden – unfortunately for the residents however, not all of them do. Elise Miller was one such resident: brought up in a council flat by her loud, fat mother and unemployed benfits fraud father, she was never likely to see the stars. Like most girls in her position, she turned to drink and drugs as an escape – and after that, the unwanted pregnancy was almost a done deal. Elise cannot remember the father's face, let alone his name or address. Her parents threw her out of the house, and the cycle of benefit reliance continued, as Elise was given her own council flat – and nine months later her daughter, Florence, was born.
You would imagine, after the unfortunate affair with the pregnancy, that Elise would have learnt her lesson about the dangers of drugs and alcohol – but, as is so often and so sadly the case, she simply turned to them more than ever. The baby was ignored. There was no space for her in Elise's 'hectic' life. Luckily for Flo, a young boy – the son of the family in the flat next to theirs – heard the crying baby, and, with maturity beyond his years, stepped in to help. Meet George Thistlethwaite. George's father was a heavy drinker, and an abusive man towards both his wife and his son: George knew what a hard upbringing could do to a child. And, by the age of ten, he had determined that it was wrong to let a baby die next door when he could help. From then on, he was basically Flo's father. He fed her, he washed her, he played with her – all while Elise continued her reckless drug-led existance.
Florence grew up (as children do) and learnt how to live her life around her mother's habits. By the age of nine, she was a real little adult. She cleaned, she cooked, she ironed and she carefully avoided her mother at all times – knowing how drugs had sharpened her temper over the years. She worked hard at her school, and she earnt herself good grades. Even then she had a flair for art. Sculpture was her medium of choice, though clay, bronze and even wood were expensive commodities for the Millers. It was about this time that George Thistlethwaite (now nineteen) left for his hard earned scholarship place at university – and with that Flo's only rock in her awkward little world moved away. For the next four years, the child was basically alone. She struggled to make friends at school as she was always busy running the home – and the other children often mocked her for her messy appearance and old clothes. So, she developed a violent streak. If someone gave her trouble, the little girl would give them trouble in return – and she didn't follow the rules. She bit and she scratched, she pulled hair and she hit below the belt. And, in time, they left her well alone.
When she was fourteen, something happened which triggered a significant change in Flo's life: little Florence had her first meeting with the police. Graffiti was an almost compulsory recreational activity within the estate – and, once she was introduced to the spray-can by a local gangster, Flo took to it like a duck to water. Art was, after all, her talent. Before long, Camden was full of her brightly colored murals – and not long after that, the police caught her literally red-handed.
A brief interogration at the police station, and Flo spilled her life story – successfully earning her the pity of the London police department. Social Services were called, and she was removed from her mother's house – and was carted off to Sussex, to live with a wealthy Aunt and Uncle she had never known existed. They did their best, but were not the sort of couple who were good wiith children. Florence, equally, was not a girl who was used to being looked after or told what to do. The arrangement crumbled fairly quickly, with Florence standing protest by refusing to eat. This silly, childish sulk, however, quickly developed into a real issue – Flo developed anorexia, her protest turning into a compulsive hatred of eating, and, in turn, an obsessive fear of getting fat. And her Aunt and Uncle had no idea what to do with her.
They took the issue to a child therapist, who asked them if there was anything which appeared to take Flo's mind off things. And the answer was obvious: art. And so, with that notion lodged in their brains, Auntie Helen and Uncle Rufus set about finding an art school that would take their niece – and hopefully cure her. And they heard that Gordon Park's was the very best.
So, the application was made, and, on it's acceptance, the tuition fees were paid, and Flo was carted off to America with a generous yearly allowance. And it was best for everyone. Florence was allowed to attend a prestigious Arts Academy, and her Aunt and Uncle were able to get rid of their troublesome niece with a clear conscience.
ROLE PLAYING SAMPLE
Daph laughed loudly as Bobby smouldered angrily at her – almost enough to be insulting, as if Bobby was faaaar from the most attractive man in the world. Not of course that she meant it like that – she just had a generally rude tone in life, and luckily Bobby had never really seemed to mind or notice. She got to her feet, ruffling his unruly hair affectionately as she placed a light kiss on his forehead. “Okay honey – Mama'll make you dinner” she teased with a patronizing smile, moving over to their tiny kitchen and opening up the fridge.
There was, as usual, not much to work with, as neither of them were reliable in terms of grocery shopping – and Daph pulled a face, rolling up her sleeves as she set to work on creating another culinary miracle. “It's nearly midnight Bobby – you seriously haven't eaten? - What would you do without me~?”, she shook her head in disbelief: sometimes her husband seemed genuinely incompetent, and she worried momentarily over how he had existed over the past few days – but he was able to look after himself, and the anxiety didn't last long. Working over the stove, she looked over her shoulder at the man on their small couch – missing his friendly, familiar, unthreatening touch almost instantly. Her emotions were confusing her recently, and she needed Bobby. He was meant to be her rock – but the scowl on his face gave a worrying indication that she had, once again, trusted the wrong man. It seemed to be becoming a light motif for her young life.
The dark threat in Bobby's sensuously accented voice told her instantly that he was thinking of the right man – it was the same tone she had always used for him before. No one else could inspire such overwhelming hatred (with the possible exception of herself) – and she felt the sudden need to defend him... even if it was only to defend her own poor taste in men. “I know he's an idiot, Bobby – an arrogant, cocky little twit, but...” she blushed deeply, not believeing what she was saying, “I like arguing with him, and... he's nice to me. That's a lot from him, right~? And he takes care of me: Not that I need it!”. That was something that needed to be made perfectly clear. Daphne needed no man. Not Nixon, and not even Bobby. She was fine – fine – on her own, wasn't she? She had always been certain of it until now - but perhaps it had been simply out of necessity. She had never had many friends, and looking for support in her family had been a dead end... but now? Now, somehow, she had finally found people who made her feel safe and welcome. And perhaps, she was coming to realize, she had needed them all along.
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[/size] NAME
Fran
AGE
Eighteen
GENDER
Femme
CHARACTER
NAME
Florence Robin Miller
AGE AND GRADE
Fifteen/Freshman
GENDER
Female
SEXUAL ORIENTATION
Bicurious
TALENT
Art
LOOK-A-LIKE
Aislinn Paul
PERSONALITY
At first glances, Flo comes across as shy. Cripplingly shy infact. She doesn't really like to talk to people. The reasons for this are two-fold: 1) She was bullied as a child, and as such, can't help but think people here will treat her the same way – and 2) After the bullying, she developed a fairly intense distrust of people, and is so out-of-practise when it comes to socialising that she has entirely lost the ability. And so, it is hardly surprising that she may appear rather meek. The illusion is only aided by her approach to school work. Florence is, in class, a quiet student. She won't ask questions, and neither will she answer them – the girl is perfectly happy to simply work away, taking her notes and, after a good few hours of study, she will turn out a fantastic piece of work. Studious and apparently timid, she is an easy favourite with the staff.
Florence is quiet, studious and a little insecure. She is terrified of being fat, and refuses to eat. She seems fragile, but you can't live in the worse parts of London without being a little harder than you seem. So, unsurprisingly, Flo has her rougher sides. Should someone take on the role of bully, or push the girl too far, she has a violent streak a mile wide – and she isn't above putting a knee below the belt. She's small, as she's shy... but she doesn't put up with rudeness or cruelty. People are always taken by surprise by the sudden and often dramatic realisation that the little girl in the art rooms is, in fact, as tough as nails.
And, should you be lucky enough to get under the quiet, anti-social shell, you'll find this more fiesty Florence Miller just waiting to burst out. The girl has a tomboyish sense of humour – surreal and often crude – and anyone lucky to be on the end of her fictional annecdotes is in for an honest laugh. And Flo isn't scared to laugh herself: the girl is incredibly amused, and those lucky few friends will find that her smile brightens up a room. She is also capable of being serious, and playing the guru. Her life has seen her through some pretty troubled times, and she is always willing to help others through their own dark episodes. For a fifteen year old she is 'refreshingly blunt', if that is what you call brutal honesty. She'll tell the truth no matter how much offense it will cause. And yes, she may be quiet around the vast majority of people – but if encouraged by close friends, Flo is quite capable of being the life of the party – her ridiculous antics and stunts often proving quite memorable.
And, of course, Florence is ferociously independent. She's been looking after herself since she was ten, and she has always been the head of her house (her mother being nothing but a drunken mess). She knows how to look after herself, and she hates for that independence to be infringed upon. But, really, she needs someone to take care of her. Yes, she can cook and clean and work – but she doesn't take care of herself. She's never had the chance or the reason to. She doesn't stop working herself, she never has a relaxed 'pampering' day – and she's always pushing herself to be better, and thinner and... perfect, in the end. Florence Miller needs someone to tell her that she's fine just the way she is.
APPEARANCE
Flo is, at first glances, small. She is shorter than average – though not absurdly so – and so painfully thin she looks as if she may snap in too strong a breeze. But then, what else can you expect from a girl who all but refuses to eat? Florence is the sort of girl you can imagine would, if folded down, fit quite happily in your pocket.
Her pale complexion is classically British, and she is cursed with that all-too-English inability to tan, though in the summer months a light mist of freckles will spread across her nose and shoulders. Her wide almond eyes are remininscent of a deer in the headlights, and this combined with her soft jaw line scream innocence: misleading. Her nose is a little too large for her delicate face – but no one is perfect. Flo's hair is naturally a pale brown, though she isn't above dying it if the mood takes her – her hair naturally falls into gentle waves around her face, but can be teased into curls or straightened, which it often is thanks to its rebelliously 'fluffy' nature.
As far as fashion goes, Florence can be a little flamboyant. As a child she was never lucky enough to have pretty dresses or expensive clothes – and now that she is funded by the newly discovered wealthy Aunt Helen and Uncle Rufus, she has gotten rather excited. Her style is eclectic, to say the least: her closet full of velvet jackets, silk tie-dye dresses, ruffled shirts, doc martins... anything you care to imagine. It is impossible to guess what the girl might be wearing from one day to the next, but it is always eye-catching. She rather puts the fashion design students to shame.
HISTORY
The Miller family – if family they can indeed be called – are from England. London. Camden. Camden town, home of the famous Camden Market, and infamous haunt of troubled celebrities and some of the most messed up families in England. Camden is a drugs capital of almost epic proportions, any yet, somehow, a vibrant, cultural place filled with color and character. Visitors see the color in Camden – unfortunately for the residents however, not all of them do. Elise Miller was one such resident: brought up in a council flat by her loud, fat mother and unemployed benfits fraud father, she was never likely to see the stars. Like most girls in her position, she turned to drink and drugs as an escape – and after that, the unwanted pregnancy was almost a done deal. Elise cannot remember the father's face, let alone his name or address. Her parents threw her out of the house, and the cycle of benefit reliance continued, as Elise was given her own council flat – and nine months later her daughter, Florence, was born.
You would imagine, after the unfortunate affair with the pregnancy, that Elise would have learnt her lesson about the dangers of drugs and alcohol – but, as is so often and so sadly the case, she simply turned to them more than ever. The baby was ignored. There was no space for her in Elise's 'hectic' life. Luckily for Flo, a young boy – the son of the family in the flat next to theirs – heard the crying baby, and, with maturity beyond his years, stepped in to help. Meet George Thistlethwaite. George's father was a heavy drinker, and an abusive man towards both his wife and his son: George knew what a hard upbringing could do to a child. And, by the age of ten, he had determined that it was wrong to let a baby die next door when he could help. From then on, he was basically Flo's father. He fed her, he washed her, he played with her – all while Elise continued her reckless drug-led existance.
Florence grew up (as children do) and learnt how to live her life around her mother's habits. By the age of nine, she was a real little adult. She cleaned, she cooked, she ironed and she carefully avoided her mother at all times – knowing how drugs had sharpened her temper over the years. She worked hard at her school, and she earnt herself good grades. Even then she had a flair for art. Sculpture was her medium of choice, though clay, bronze and even wood were expensive commodities for the Millers. It was about this time that George Thistlethwaite (now nineteen) left for his hard earned scholarship place at university – and with that Flo's only rock in her awkward little world moved away. For the next four years, the child was basically alone. She struggled to make friends at school as she was always busy running the home – and the other children often mocked her for her messy appearance and old clothes. So, she developed a violent streak. If someone gave her trouble, the little girl would give them trouble in return – and she didn't follow the rules. She bit and she scratched, she pulled hair and she hit below the belt. And, in time, they left her well alone.
When she was fourteen, something happened which triggered a significant change in Flo's life: little Florence had her first meeting with the police. Graffiti was an almost compulsory recreational activity within the estate – and, once she was introduced to the spray-can by a local gangster, Flo took to it like a duck to water. Art was, after all, her talent. Before long, Camden was full of her brightly colored murals – and not long after that, the police caught her literally red-handed.
A brief interogration at the police station, and Flo spilled her life story – successfully earning her the pity of the London police department. Social Services were called, and she was removed from her mother's house – and was carted off to Sussex, to live with a wealthy Aunt and Uncle she had never known existed. They did their best, but were not the sort of couple who were good wiith children. Florence, equally, was not a girl who was used to being looked after or told what to do. The arrangement crumbled fairly quickly, with Florence standing protest by refusing to eat. This silly, childish sulk, however, quickly developed into a real issue – Flo developed anorexia, her protest turning into a compulsive hatred of eating, and, in turn, an obsessive fear of getting fat. And her Aunt and Uncle had no idea what to do with her.
They took the issue to a child therapist, who asked them if there was anything which appeared to take Flo's mind off things. And the answer was obvious: art. And so, with that notion lodged in their brains, Auntie Helen and Uncle Rufus set about finding an art school that would take their niece – and hopefully cure her. And they heard that Gordon Park's was the very best.
So, the application was made, and, on it's acceptance, the tuition fees were paid, and Flo was carted off to America with a generous yearly allowance. And it was best for everyone. Florence was allowed to attend a prestigious Arts Academy, and her Aunt and Uncle were able to get rid of their troublesome niece with a clear conscience.
ROLE PLAYING SAMPLE
Daph laughed loudly as Bobby smouldered angrily at her – almost enough to be insulting, as if Bobby was faaaar from the most attractive man in the world. Not of course that she meant it like that – she just had a generally rude tone in life, and luckily Bobby had never really seemed to mind or notice. She got to her feet, ruffling his unruly hair affectionately as she placed a light kiss on his forehead. “Okay honey – Mama'll make you dinner” she teased with a patronizing smile, moving over to their tiny kitchen and opening up the fridge.
There was, as usual, not much to work with, as neither of them were reliable in terms of grocery shopping – and Daph pulled a face, rolling up her sleeves as she set to work on creating another culinary miracle. “It's nearly midnight Bobby – you seriously haven't eaten? - What would you do without me~?”, she shook her head in disbelief: sometimes her husband seemed genuinely incompetent, and she worried momentarily over how he had existed over the past few days – but he was able to look after himself, and the anxiety didn't last long. Working over the stove, she looked over her shoulder at the man on their small couch – missing his friendly, familiar, unthreatening touch almost instantly. Her emotions were confusing her recently, and she needed Bobby. He was meant to be her rock – but the scowl on his face gave a worrying indication that she had, once again, trusted the wrong man. It seemed to be becoming a light motif for her young life.
The dark threat in Bobby's sensuously accented voice told her instantly that he was thinking of the right man – it was the same tone she had always used for him before. No one else could inspire such overwhelming hatred (with the possible exception of herself) – and she felt the sudden need to defend him... even if it was only to defend her own poor taste in men. “I know he's an idiot, Bobby – an arrogant, cocky little twit, but...” she blushed deeply, not believeing what she was saying, “I like arguing with him, and... he's nice to me. That's a lot from him, right~? And he takes care of me: Not that I need it!”. That was something that needed to be made perfectly clear. Daphne needed no man. Not Nixon, and not even Bobby. She was fine – fine – on her own, wasn't she? She had always been certain of it until now - but perhaps it had been simply out of necessity. She had never had many friends, and looking for support in her family had been a dead end... but now? Now, somehow, she had finally found people who made her feel safe and welcome. And perhaps, she was coming to realize, she had needed them all along.
READ THE RULES?
admin edit