Post by Scarlett Lehoux on Nov 30, 2006 14:42:36 GMT -5
About You//
Name: Abby.
Age: Fifteen and a half.
Gender: Female.
How many hours do you spend online daily?: Um, I don’t know… probably around two, I suppose, or over that. I’m active, Madz, and you know it. <33
Your Character//
Name:
Scarlett Lehoux.
Age:
16 and three quarters. <3
Gender:
Female—and loving it, sometimes.
Race:
Caucasian. [Ancestors—Brits, baby.]
Look-a-Like:
Gemma Ward.
Personality:
Scarlett is the epitome of New York City class. If she likes you or not, she’ll be polite. Not sweethearted, just… nice, for want of a better word. It goes without saying that her mother taught her well. She’s learned to be selective with her friends, and trusts only those who have proven to her that they’re “worthy.”
The thing that really puts her on the A-List is that Scarlett has learned, through years of experience, not to care. Her effortless, practiced demeanor is rather popular among all of the city socialites. Bitches are one thing that she can’t stand—the whole thing seems absolutely pointless to her.
Scarlett, though, is rather spontaneous. She does think things through, but sometimes her thinking leads to the wrong places. She’s outgoing as anything, and has no issue talking to anyone—except maybe those freaks from Williamsburg…
She has no problem with confrontation, and to some degree she anticipates it. She’s not all sugar. There’s just a tiny bit of spice.
Appearance:
Scarlett has been told she looks like a porcelain doll. This is moderately correct. You could almost slit her throat and blue blood would pour out, she’s so high-class British. Her skin is pearly and white, and never did she have issues with acne.
Scarlett’s weight, in numbers on a scale, is scary. When everything else was spiraling out of her grasps—when her parents divorced, when her boyfriend broke up with her, when she was in a fight with a best friend—her weight was something that was hers, something she could control. She’s tiny even with the 5’2 frame, but if anyone went so far as to call her anorexic, they’d be receiving a good bitch slap.
Her hair is another great feature—an ashy blonde that usually doesn’t need helping by highlights. Scarlett usually wears it in natural waves, because she normally doesn’t have the patience to sit and wait while a curling iron heats up—even if it is in the hands of Mr. Frederic Fekkai, who regularly does her hair for parties and events.
Scarlett’s eyes are large and dark blue, framed by dark brown lashes with blonde tips—normally coated in her favorite Dior mascara. The innocence quality comes completely from her eyes.
Background:
Aforementioned was that elusive British A-List quality that sets her apart from all the other girls. When she was four she moved to New York, but she still can lapse into a Madonna-like British accent right on cue. Tres chic, no?
Her mother was born and raised British, living in a palatial London townhouse with her classic author mother, now Scarlett’s grandmother. The household was a strict one, with high expectations. Blair Lehoux moved to America to attend Yale University, with a major in journalism. She was a firm believer in haute couture, and after graduating became a writer at Vogue. David Lehoux, a five-years-old British filmmaker whom Blair idolized, was being featured in a shoot for available bachelors. Ironic, really, that the twosome fell in love that day.
Blair was transferred back to London to take up a high position in British Vogue. She married David before leaving, and the two moved back together, buying a gorgeous townhouse and having a child—Scarlett’s brother Adrien, a year old than her. Scarlett happened a year after.
When Blair was offered the position as editor in chief of the New-York-City-based Vogue, she couldn’t turn it down. The family moved back and the children enrolled in school. David wasn’t happy—he had been having a lot of success in London. That was when the cheating started. Blair sensed that he wasn’t happy and set out to make him jealous—not a smart move, especially for a Yalie. She hooked up, basically, with the vice president of marketing for Vogue. It lasted a long time—seven years. Scarlett was twelve when the divorce was settled.
She loves her daddy, but is forced to live with her mother. Tension—you know it.
Sample of Role Playing:
Rachel was not in a good mood, but when was she ever? It seemed to fit her countenance, her facial expression, to look as if she was pissed off. Perhaps it made her seem more attractive--the look had never failed before. It passed with flying colors.
Generally when she was in a bad mood, she liked to be alone so that her anger didn't decimate other people. Little fights here and there were her speciality, but it wasn't as if she completely enjoyed confrontation. Winning all the time got deathly boring, as everyone should know.
So here she was, alone in the common room of the Waldorf. It happened to be visiting hours, in which members of the opposite gender were allowed to come between the two buildings, but nobody had shown up. They were all under their fluffy duvet covers in the rooms, avoiding Rachel, or getting coffee at Paparazzi. Not many had ventured outside.
Rachel, however, glanced upward. The snow was coming down relatively hard now, and a few of the freshman boys were having a tussle in the snow. It reminded her of winters past, spent rolling down the snowy hill outside their ski cottage (it wasn't actually of cottage-size, but the term was more fitting for the decor) in Switzerland. Sometimes she longed to be of that age again, to be carefree.
She fiddled with the cowl-neck on her oversized cream-colored Charlotte Ronson sweater-dress. It hugged her small curves tightly, but went down to around mid-thigh. She wore this with straight-leg dark-vintage-wash Generra jeans, so tight that the term 'cigarette leg' would be justifiable. The effect worked. On her feet were, actually, Ugg boots, pulled over the jeans. They were tan-colored, and a favorite for just lounging around the house. Never would Rachel wear them in public.
So she sat, and she waited, calculus homework in front of her, book turned to page 316.
Name: Abby.
Age: Fifteen and a half.
Gender: Female.
How many hours do you spend online daily?: Um, I don’t know… probably around two, I suppose, or over that. I’m active, Madz, and you know it. <33
Your Character//
Name:
Scarlett Lehoux.
Age:
16 and three quarters. <3
Gender:
Female—and loving it, sometimes.
Race:
Caucasian. [Ancestors—Brits, baby.]
Look-a-Like:
Gemma Ward.
Personality:
Scarlett is the epitome of New York City class. If she likes you or not, she’ll be polite. Not sweethearted, just… nice, for want of a better word. It goes without saying that her mother taught her well. She’s learned to be selective with her friends, and trusts only those who have proven to her that they’re “worthy.”
The thing that really puts her on the A-List is that Scarlett has learned, through years of experience, not to care. Her effortless, practiced demeanor is rather popular among all of the city socialites. Bitches are one thing that she can’t stand—the whole thing seems absolutely pointless to her.
Scarlett, though, is rather spontaneous. She does think things through, but sometimes her thinking leads to the wrong places. She’s outgoing as anything, and has no issue talking to anyone—except maybe those freaks from Williamsburg…
She has no problem with confrontation, and to some degree she anticipates it. She’s not all sugar. There’s just a tiny bit of spice.
Appearance:
Scarlett has been told she looks like a porcelain doll. This is moderately correct. You could almost slit her throat and blue blood would pour out, she’s so high-class British. Her skin is pearly and white, and never did she have issues with acne.
Scarlett’s weight, in numbers on a scale, is scary. When everything else was spiraling out of her grasps—when her parents divorced, when her boyfriend broke up with her, when she was in a fight with a best friend—her weight was something that was hers, something she could control. She’s tiny even with the 5’2 frame, but if anyone went so far as to call her anorexic, they’d be receiving a good bitch slap.
Her hair is another great feature—an ashy blonde that usually doesn’t need helping by highlights. Scarlett usually wears it in natural waves, because she normally doesn’t have the patience to sit and wait while a curling iron heats up—even if it is in the hands of Mr. Frederic Fekkai, who regularly does her hair for parties and events.
Scarlett’s eyes are large and dark blue, framed by dark brown lashes with blonde tips—normally coated in her favorite Dior mascara. The innocence quality comes completely from her eyes.
Background:
Aforementioned was that elusive British A-List quality that sets her apart from all the other girls. When she was four she moved to New York, but she still can lapse into a Madonna-like British accent right on cue. Tres chic, no?
Her mother was born and raised British, living in a palatial London townhouse with her classic author mother, now Scarlett’s grandmother. The household was a strict one, with high expectations. Blair Lehoux moved to America to attend Yale University, with a major in journalism. She was a firm believer in haute couture, and after graduating became a writer at Vogue. David Lehoux, a five-years-old British filmmaker whom Blair idolized, was being featured in a shoot for available bachelors. Ironic, really, that the twosome fell in love that day.
Blair was transferred back to London to take up a high position in British Vogue. She married David before leaving, and the two moved back together, buying a gorgeous townhouse and having a child—Scarlett’s brother Adrien, a year old than her. Scarlett happened a year after.
When Blair was offered the position as editor in chief of the New-York-City-based Vogue, she couldn’t turn it down. The family moved back and the children enrolled in school. David wasn’t happy—he had been having a lot of success in London. That was when the cheating started. Blair sensed that he wasn’t happy and set out to make him jealous—not a smart move, especially for a Yalie. She hooked up, basically, with the vice president of marketing for Vogue. It lasted a long time—seven years. Scarlett was twelve when the divorce was settled.
She loves her daddy, but is forced to live with her mother. Tension—you know it.
Sample of Role Playing:
Rachel was not in a good mood, but when was she ever? It seemed to fit her countenance, her facial expression, to look as if she was pissed off. Perhaps it made her seem more attractive--the look had never failed before. It passed with flying colors.
Generally when she was in a bad mood, she liked to be alone so that her anger didn't decimate other people. Little fights here and there were her speciality, but it wasn't as if she completely enjoyed confrontation. Winning all the time got deathly boring, as everyone should know.
So here she was, alone in the common room of the Waldorf. It happened to be visiting hours, in which members of the opposite gender were allowed to come between the two buildings, but nobody had shown up. They were all under their fluffy duvet covers in the rooms, avoiding Rachel, or getting coffee at Paparazzi. Not many had ventured outside.
Rachel, however, glanced upward. The snow was coming down relatively hard now, and a few of the freshman boys were having a tussle in the snow. It reminded her of winters past, spent rolling down the snowy hill outside their ski cottage (it wasn't actually of cottage-size, but the term was more fitting for the decor) in Switzerland. Sometimes she longed to be of that age again, to be carefree.
She fiddled with the cowl-neck on her oversized cream-colored Charlotte Ronson sweater-dress. It hugged her small curves tightly, but went down to around mid-thigh. She wore this with straight-leg dark-vintage-wash Generra jeans, so tight that the term 'cigarette leg' would be justifiable. The effect worked. On her feet were, actually, Ugg boots, pulled over the jeans. They were tan-colored, and a favorite for just lounging around the house. Never would Rachel wear them in public.
So she sat, and she waited, calculus homework in front of her, book turned to page 316.
x 
x 