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saintaugustinerp · 5 years

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Congratulations Juliet! You have been accepted for the role of The Wallflower with the faceclaim Lisa Teige. Please be sure to check out the accepted applicants checklist! Also be sure send us a link to your blog within the next twenty-four hours. Welcome to St. Augustine!

OUT OF CHARACTER Name/alias: Juliet Age (18+): 25💀 Gender/Preferred pronouns: She/Her Timezone: EST

IN CHARACTER Desired Skeleton: The Wallflower Character Name: Elizabeth “Lizzie” Bright Age (18+): 19 Gender/Pronouns: Cis-Female, She/her Desired Faceclaim: Lisa Teige Hometown: Bristol, UK (England) Major: Photography (Art) with a Psychology minor. Character blurb: Lizzie Bright is not a girl you notice right away. In fact, you may not even notice her at all, but she has surely noticed you. She sees everything, hidden in plain sight, like a shadow in faded light. The unlit corners of a crowded room call to her like a comforting hug, shielding her into obscurity. The whites of her eyes search for answers to questions she has never spoken aloud. You can never tell what she’s thinking; her face is always hidden behind a curtain of auburn hair. She stands with hunched shoulders, as though trying to crawl into herself until she morphs into something bold and beautiful. She is a wallflower–but make no mistake: just because you can’t see her, doesn’t mean she can’t see you.

Developed Head Canons: 1) SHE IS NEVER WITHOUT HER CAMERA. Wherever she goes, her Canon DSLR is surely with her. There is so much beauty in the world, *so* much that that she can’t appreciate it all the first time around. To be able to experience special moments more than once is nothing short of a gift–except for that night at the bonfire last year. The photos on her memory card show some things she would rather forget, and yet she can’t gather up the courage to delete them. That would require her to look at them, and that is the last night she wants to relive. What would happen to her if someone discovered she had them? She never wishes to find out.

2) SHE HAD A CRUSH ON THE GOOD SAMARITAN. Freddie Wells was everything she was not: funny, smart, chivalrous, valiant. He was magnetic; she had been drawn to him ever since they met. She never felt nervous around him like she did with everyone else. Over time, her safety blanket changed from the safety of the shadows to the guiding light of his smile. He gave her the courage to stand up straight, to laugh out loud, to be herself in the face of adversity. If only he had given her enough courage for her to confess her feelings to him. Last year, he had been her strength, and now he was gone, she had never felt so weak.

3) SHE HAS A DUSTY-PINK SUEDE DIARY, and it holds all of her secrets. Everything she sees, everything that plagues her, she writes down. It is a place where she can safely express the words that threaten to spill from her lips. Here, she is not frightened of the consequences of her silence, for the lined pages are filled to the brim with her confessions. Her guilt leaks from her gel pens and her gray eyes onto the paper, and sometimes it feels like the only way she can hold it all together. If someone were to breach her trust, to read her private words so carelessly, she wouldn’t be able to handle being so bare and exposed–not to mention, she would have a lot of explaining to do.

4) SHE PLAYED SOFTBALL FOR TEN YEARS. As a child, she was terrible uncoordinated, constantly tripping over her own feet. Had her mother been around, she might have decided to enroll her daughter in dance classes, but she had left when Lizzie was still a toddler. Instead, her father signed her up for the community softball team he coached. She fell in love with the feeling of worn leather against her palm, and the rush of a victory after long, strenuous hours of practicing. Up until the day she died, she played as hard as she could to make him proud. He passed away when she was sixteen due to a heart attack; she hasn’t picked up her glove since. 5) SHE GREW UP IN HER FATHER’S CANDY SHOP, in what could be considered every child’s dream. Her father’s inherited business boomed, allowing them to live comfortably. Despite their wealth, they lived far below their means. Her father, having grown up below the poverty line, taught her to be grateful for what she had. He would spend his mornings in meetings, developing new technology and speaking of aerodynamics, modeling and wind tunnels. By the time Lizzie got back from school, he would switch out his suit and tie for an apron and be ready to hand her a scoop of her favorite ice cream—chocolate chip cookie dough—with a smile. It wasn’t until the business was sold after her father’s death that she realized how successful he had been.

6) SHE DOESN’T CARE MUCH ABOUT HER APPEARANCE. Lizzie has never been one to be interested in fashion. Growing up with a single father, she became much more enraptured with sports than style rules in a fashion magazine. Her closet ranges from athletic-leisure wear, to an abundance of soft cotton tees and worn denim jeans. Her dresser is filled to the brim with leggings, hooded sweatshirts, and sweatpants. Only in the back of her closet will you find a dress (worn once, for a wedding) or a pair of heels (for the same aforementioned wedding—her father’s, to her stepmother). She has the money to shop at high-end stores, but sees no reason to. Her underwear comes in six-packs, and she wears primarily comfortable t-shirt bras. She always has a flannel tied around her waist. Her long, wavy auburn hair drapes over her shoulders like a security blanket, or gets hidden beneath a beanie or a wide-brimmed cap. Her only fashion rule: comfort always takes priority over style.

Writing Sample:

10:00 PM “What’s this?” Lizzie took the red solo cup from Fred’s offering hands and gave it a quick sniff. “It’s Peach Schnapps,” he said with a smile. “It’s sweet, you’ll like it. Trust me.” She took an experimental sip from the plastic cup before letting out a surprised hum. “Hey, that’s not bad!” She gave the cup a quizzical glance. “Told you.” His smile warmed her from the inside-out, in more ways than the flickering bonfire in front of them ever could. It was the very same smile she was met with in September, the one that made her heart speed up at the sight of him. Maybe this liquid courage would be just what she needed. Maybe she would finally work up the guts to tell him how she felt. She took another sip from the cup, heartier this time, and looked over at her second-year friend. Freddie was already handsome, but in the glow of the licking flames, he was simply incandescent. Yes, she would tell him tonight.

11:15 PM Lizzie had never felt so free. The alcohol that flowed in her cup gave her the bravery to be who she always wanted. It was the push she needed to be her true self, impenetrable to judging gazes and bitter words. Her cheeks were flushed as red as her hair, her puffy jacket discarded and forgotten somewhere in the snow. “Peter, buzz off.” She threw her head back and laughed, giving her friend’s shoulder a playful shove. “Alright, fine. Dare me.”

12:45 PM "Hey, Peter?” Lizzie still felt warm, but slightly more sober now. She was running out of time; she needed to tell Fred how she felt about him, before her bravery shriveled up like a prune. “Have you seen Freddie?” “He walked off that way not too long ago,” he said. “Why?” “Tell you later!” She was ready running toward the gestured direction. “Thanks, bye! Wish me luck!” The brunette watched as she sprinted off into the distance. “Good … luck?”

1:15 AM “Fred!” she hissed, pinching the fabric of his wool coat with frozen fingers. “Fred, don’t!“ His valiance was no match for her; his coat ripped from her grasp as he rushed towards the lake. Her whisper was barely picked up by the wind: “Please, be careful.”

1:40 AM Everyone’s gone now. As the voices of the departing group trailed off into the distance, the howling wind surrounding her felt much too quiet. Footprints in the packed snow were the only evidence that they had even been there. Not a tree branch was out of place, not a stray twig in sight—and not one of them had even so much as glanced back as they walked away. They were all worried about themselves, what their consequences would be. And now she was all alone. You need to stand up. Lizzie inhaled deeply through dry, cracked lips, the icy breath stabbing her lungs like pointed icicles. Come on. Get up. She hadn’t realized how tightly she had curled herself into a ball until she tried to untangle her limbs. Anchoring her cold hands into the wet snow, she slowly pushed herself up to a crouch. That’s it. You can do it, Lizzie. With trembling legs, she cautiously rose to her feet, resting her hand on the rough tree bark to her right for support. Flexing her frozen fingers, she rubbed them together for warmth, cupping them over her mouth and blowing warm life into them. There you go. Baby steps.

1:42 AM The snow was stained red. In the distance, scarlet drips of Fred marked the powdery field with his memory. A wave of nausea hit her like a bullet train. She turned sharply and spilled the contents of her stomach into the base of the tree. Stiff fingers gathered her mass of auburn hair behind her head and hunched over, coughing through the burning sensation in her throat. Fred was dead.

1:43 AM He’s not coming back he’s not coming back he’s not coming back he’s— A second wave of nausea. The first time felt like an accident, but this time felt like a much-deserved punishment for her cowardice.

1:44 AM Something cold and wet hit her face. She blinked and looked up, numb. Fluffy white particles began falling from the sky. Eventually, it would cover up the very layer of snow she was standing on. The snow by the bonfire, and by the lake. Slowly, but surely, it would blanket what remained of Freddie’s memory, erasing him from existence. It would be as though he was never even there.

1:45 AM Lizzie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand with a tired sigh. After spitting one last time at the ground, she picked up her camera case from where it had fallen on the ground and pulled the strap over her shoulder. Step by step, she trudged through the snow back to her dorm, keeping her gaze firmly ahead. Just like the group before her, she would leave, and never look back.

Other: Pinterest Board: https://www.pinterest.com/donutcryforme/ch-elizabeth-bright-the-wallflower/ Mock Blog: http://www.elizabethwallflower.tumblr.com

#rpg #roleplay #rp #ask #wallflower #accepted

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