Post by lisbeth on Mar 25, 2013 5:32:40 GMT
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; height: 380px; background-image:URL(http://i800.photobucket.com/albums/yy284/brooklynlolli/x0r3w0.png); border-left: 10px solid #1e1e1e; border-right: 10px solid #1e1e1e;] LISBETH LEANNE CREED ”We’re all so full of shit, born and raised by hypocrites”  ------------------------------------------------- [style=font-family:tahoma; font-size:10; color:fff; width:350px; text-align:justify;] HEY THERE! SO, TELL US ABOUT YOU ... LET'S START OFF WITH THE BASICS. WHAT DO WE NEED TO KNOW? “I’m Lisbeth Leanne Creed, also known as Liz. Call me Lizzie and you’ll lose a limb. I’m a faerie, 17. Look it, act it, live it. Though that’s not to say I exactly follow the stupid human age laws. What sort of goody-two-shoes do you think I am? Jeez! At any rate, if you’re a girl, you’re flat out of luck, because honey, I bat for the other team. Though you never know, I suppose. Guess I could give it a whirl. And if you can’t tell, I’m quite the dark-sided bitch. It’s the evil life for me! Hah, humans…. Have fun - while you can.” SO, A LITTLE BIRDY TOLD ME THAT YOU ARE GORGEOUS. DESCRIBE YOURSELF. “Tch, alright, if you have to know. People say I look like some Taylor Momsen chick, which sucks, ‘cuz I freaking hate the name Taylor. At any rate, I’m a blonde, and not the bottle sort and my hair’s long and always kind of scraggly and messy looking. I’ve got light grey blue-green eyes that one stupid lovesick boy once compared to the sky in the center of a hurricane. But he’d never seen one, so when hurricane season rolled around I took him to see one in person…. He was terrified. It was delicious. Let’s see…. I’m pretty average-sized, maybe a little on the skinny side. 5’7”, probably 130. But who really cares about that sort of thing, honestly? It’s not like it matters. “Naturally, I haven’t got any piercings or tats – metal. Duh. Not much into bracelets and things, either, except for the occasional leather cuff or whatever. But I’m always wearing pretty heavy black eyeliner and mascara, so I don’t like a total square. The boots help, too. Black leather, sometimes they’re platform, sometimes they’re combats, but I wouldn’t be caught dead without ‘em. Other than that, it’s mostly black – tanks, jeans, skirts, tunics. Whatever, really. Not too picky, to be perfectly honest. Can we be done with this bullshit already? I mean, come on. You aren’t blind as well as stupid, are you? Wait, hold on, I guess you are, or you’d be running and screaming.” I'M SURE YOUR PERSONALITY IS SOMETHING ELSE COMPLETELY. TELL US ABOUT YOURSELF, WE WANT TO GET TO KNOW YOU BETTER! “Hah, something else is probably the best way to describe it. If you can’t already tell? Yeah. Whatever. If you really want to nitpick, I guess I can just list stuff out for you. Honestly, you’re so freaking…. “I’m obviously not the outgoing prom queen sort, although I do give them credit where credit is due: they’re damn good manipulators. Not nearly as good as me, of course, though I have a bit of something they don’t. A word to the wise, honey? Don’t ever try and pit your manipulating skills up against those of a faerie. It won’t end well for you. At all. Anyway! I rather enjoy toying with guys, chocolate, pit bulls, heavy metal and Christian rock, and playing the viola. Yes, heavy metal and viola. I know. Get over it. “I hate when humans look down on you because they can tell there’s something different about you, but not what. I mean, honestly, they’re such animals anyway. How such a creature could even presume to be above me and mine…. Though I will admit, they can be entertaining playthings. And I’m always up for a good philosophical debate. What can I say? I’m a bundle of surprises. Other than that, I’m not really the sort to truly hate on things, though I’m not exactly a fan of those bright, clear days that follow rainstorms, or of cats, apples, or drawing. Though the last could definitely have something to do with the fact that I suck at it, and I can’t stand failure. “I don’t like admitting to weaknesses or fears, but I have them, of course, just like anyone else. Unlike many others, though, few learn of them and live to share. Not that I’m planning on killing you. At least, not right now. To be perfectly honest, I’m terrified of love. I’ve seen what it does to people, and not just those idiot humans. I mean, honestly. No. But of course, there’s that other little part of me that wants to fall in love, find an ‘other half’, and all of that nonsense. But for the most part, I’d like to steer as clear as possible. Though I’m not above feigning it for whatever boytoy I’m keeping. And of course, metal is totally draining to me, as it is to anyone of my ilk, and I can’t really hack school. Stupid freaking human institution. Honestly, do they really feel the need to lock up their kids? And we have to go along with it. “That’s pretty much it, to be honest. My desires are power and enjoyment; I’m fueled by lust. Everything that is me, is just a means to an end – winning. Forever. I use what I have to get what I want. It’s that simple. If that puts me on your naughty list, then so be it. I’ll be sure to burn it with you. And as for my secrets, those shall remain my own.” I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR HISTORY ... I'M SURE IT WILL BE INTRIGUING! “Ugh, my past. Do we really need to go there? … Fine, since you’re so desperate to know all the little bloody details. Every pun intended. “Let’s start from the beginning, with me, Mom (Raella Strix-Creed), Dad (Marshall Creed), my one point six siblings (Lukas Creed), two point three dogs, and nice house with a green lawn and a white picket fence. Perfectly normal, happy family. Psh, yeah, right. Picture of normalcy, my ass. Even if you want to go all philosophical and ask, ‘define normal’ – whatever your definition, we weren’t it. “To start with, the typical definition of ‘normal’ includes human as one of the main parameters. Seeing as my family is all faeries, the whole ‘American dream’ thing ended right there. Kinda hard to be normal when you’re only playing with the girls down the street because you want lunch. Kinda hard to be normal when you can’t invite anyone in because your dad’s probably on a bender. Or because your big bro’s got another girl over, down in his basement-turned-bedroom. Not to mention all the awkward questions, like why there’s never any food cooking, and hardly ever anything in the fridge or on the counters. Or why your mom always seems almost pleased when someone’s hurt themselves or gotten in an argument. “And of course, the humans could always tell that there was something a little off, even though they didn’t know what. Their fear and their discontent was always welcome, desired, even, delectable. Their hate? Another thing entirely. Same with their pity, when Dad took himself and Lukas off a cliff, driving too fast down too little road when Lukas was seventeen and I was nine. They didn’t care when our family was intact. Why should they pretend to care once it was broken? We moved after that, of course, from our run-down home in Phoenix, Arizona to a crummy little apartment here in Manuka. Aside from the scenery and the size of our hovel, nothing much changed. “I constantly got into fights, picking them when there wasn’t one readily available. I lost more ‘friends’ then I ever really had time to know I had. Humans learned to hate me, and I them. Life went on. I was closer with the pitts that lived in the alley behind our complex than any of the people living within ten miles of it, partially by default, and partially by choice. The girls started wearing makeup, sickly sweet perfume, and short, short skirts. The guys learned to sag, forgot how to shower, and wore cologne like it was going out of style. I learned how to use and abuse the humans’ emotions. And I grew to be everything I’d once hated. Of course; who doesn’t? You spend so much time focusing on what you hate in people, and you don’t notice when you become what you’ve spent so much energy hating. “And that’s basically the whole sad sorry story. Glad you stuck around to hear it? ‘Cuz I’m not. And if you don’t get the heck out of my face, you’re going to rue the day you got it into your sorry fluff-filled head to ask me questions.” AH, AND WHO IS THIS AMAZING MASTERMIND BEHIND THE LIKES OF YOU? Who, me? You can call me Muse, call me poet, call me whatever you like, really. Chances are, though, that I’ll only respond to Muse. I’m younger than some and older than most, and that’s going to have to satisfy. I’m way over here in PST, so… *shrug* I love the 88 cent Baskin soft serve, like to spell color colour, and dislike using capital letters when it’s not something formal. Lisbeth’s my only love…. For now. *mischievous grin* RP SAMPLE Lisbeth slipped lithely through the door of the club, flashing a smile at that night’s bouncer, who, like all the rest, had seen her – and her fake ID – too many times to count. Humans might be under the impression that one wasn’t either mature enough or stupid enough to drink until one was twenty-one, but she had quite a different opinion on the matter. Besides, it’s not like it mattered. As long as she never got caught, no one need ever know. And, of course, just the knowing that you might get caught made the whole charade all that much more fun. She paused just inside the door, inhaling deeply, savoring the sweet scents within. Clubs were such wonderful places to go for a meal – the alcohol made human emotions so very unruly, and with so many packed into such a small space, things were sure to get out of hand. Though of course, around here, the clubbers weren’t all human. Not that it really mattered to her, seeing as she hadn’t quite yet gotten around to starting feuds with any of those that didn’t fit the “human and clueless” description. So long as she didn’t tread on anyone’s toes or steal anyone’s toy – or dinner, for that matter – she’d be fine, just like always. With the practiced ease of someone who spends way too much time at this sort of establishment, Lisbeth set off amongst the crowds, twisting and twirling this way and that as she forged a winding path towards the bar. Every movement she made was synchronized to the pounding music that filled the air – not exactly her favorite sort to listen to, but it did put her in a clubbing sort of mood. She made it to the bar without mishap, settling down into her favorite corner seat, which was positioned in such a way that she could see nearly the entire club without much effort. With an impatient wave of her hand, she summoned the bartender. “Margarita, no salt, thanks,” she requested with a slight smile, as if daring the man to question her. She turned sideways so she could relax and lean against the bar and wait for anything. ((sorry it's not the greatest, muse was coming and going on that one. and sorry it took so long. but there we go!)) . |
made by brooklyn at caution[/center][/quote]
