Name:
Age:
Birthday:
Preferred PB: Michelle Trachtenberg
Appearance: She walks with the lilting gait of one not in control of her own limbs. Her movements are jerky, off-cadence, and if she keeps to the shadows, she gives the impression of floating, or sinking.
She likes dark eyeshadow and blush a few shades lighter than paper. Sometimes she forgets how to use make-up, or maybe her hand just slips? Known to appear in the strangest of places completely disheveled and completely unconcerned with the fact.
Her wardrobe tends towards blacks and blues. Occasionally she freaks people out by putting on a sun-dress.
She looks older when she smiles.
Personality: Kind of like a cat. Easily distracted, short attention span. Likes bright things, dark things. Can't carry on a coherent conversation for all the diamonds in the world. Prefers everything to be short and to the point. Takes personal offense at the most arbitrary of imagined grievances. Likes to poke her nose into other people's business, curious, but won't ever stay long enough to lend a hand. Hates sitting still. Prone to wandering around at night. Gets into locked rooms in mysterious ways; touches everything, alters nothing. Mostly disappears during the day; no one knows where to.
Light, like many cats. Blanks in the face of obstacles. Doesn't fuss, doesn't put up resistance, merely seeks a way to tiptoe around.
Always lands on her feet, or not at all.
History: Showed up one day at the Hive and basically never left. No one even knows if she's actually a T-virus victim, because she's never been seen eating so much as tofu, much less human flesh.
She's hard to talk to, but from what fragments others have gathered, she seems firmly to believe that she is dead.
Physical/Mental Defect: This is one messed up chick, my friends. She has so many issues it's hard to say which, if any, are results of the virus.
First, she appears to be a walking specimen of every sleep disorder known to man. She can't fall asleep at night, can't stay awake during the day, walks while she's asleep, occasionally finds herself paralyzed when she wakes, and sometimes she wakes up in the middle of the night to a sound like an explosion inside her head. It is nothing short of fascinating to watch her (attempt to) sleep. She snores, too, and loudly.
She believes that she is dead, a wandering spirit, but it's hard to imagine that the pallor of her skin and the bags under her eyes are any sort of defect when they can be wiped away with a Kleenex.
Just as firmly believes that she is a prophetess. Many a Hive member has looked up in the middle of the night to see her luminescent eyes, wide with a light perilously close to madness, and been treated to her vision of the future. How does she know? When she walks in the presence of someone with a future to be told, sometimes her skin will split and bleed. She shows no pain or surprise as she inspects the bleeding wounds; she's convinced that she can somehow divine the nebulous yet-to-be from their shape and depth and taste.
Age:
Birthday:
Preferred PB: Michelle Trachtenberg
Appearance: She walks with the lilting gait of one not in control of her own limbs. Her movements are jerky, off-cadence, and if she keeps to the shadows, she gives the impression of floating, or sinking.
She likes dark eyeshadow and blush a few shades lighter than paper. Sometimes she forgets how to use make-up, or maybe her hand just slips? Known to appear in the strangest of places completely disheveled and completely unconcerned with the fact.
Her wardrobe tends towards blacks and blues. Occasionally she freaks people out by putting on a sun-dress.
She looks older when she smiles.
Personality: Kind of like a cat. Easily distracted, short attention span. Likes bright things, dark things. Can't carry on a coherent conversation for all the diamonds in the world. Prefers everything to be short and to the point. Takes personal offense at the most arbitrary of imagined grievances. Likes to poke her nose into other people's business, curious, but won't ever stay long enough to lend a hand. Hates sitting still. Prone to wandering around at night. Gets into locked rooms in mysterious ways; touches everything, alters nothing. Mostly disappears during the day; no one knows where to.
Light, like many cats. Blanks in the face of obstacles. Doesn't fuss, doesn't put up resistance, merely seeks a way to tiptoe around.
Always lands on her feet, or not at all.
History: Showed up one day at the Hive and basically never left. No one even knows if she's actually a T-virus victim, because she's never been seen eating so much as tofu, much less human flesh.
She's hard to talk to, but from what fragments others have gathered, she seems firmly to believe that she is dead.
Physical/Mental Defect: This is one messed up chick, my friends. She has so many issues it's hard to say which, if any, are results of the virus.
First, she appears to be a walking specimen of every sleep disorder known to man. She can't fall asleep at night, can't stay awake during the day, walks while she's asleep, occasionally finds herself paralyzed when she wakes, and sometimes she wakes up in the middle of the night to a sound like an explosion inside her head. It is nothing short of fascinating to watch her (attempt to) sleep. She snores, too, and loudly.
She believes that she is dead, a wandering spirit, but it's hard to imagine that the pallor of her skin and the bags under her eyes are any sort of defect when they can be wiped away with a Kleenex.
Just as firmly believes that she is a prophetess. Many a Hive member has looked up in the middle of the night to see her luminescent eyes, wide with a light perilously close to madness, and been treated to her vision of the future. How does she know? When she walks in the presence of someone with a future to be told, sometimes her skin will split and bleed. She shows no pain or surprise as she inspects the bleeding wounds; she's convinced that she can somehow divine the nebulous yet-to-be from their shape and depth and taste.
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