Post by Braelyn Evan Chapman on Dec 25, 2008 16:23:47 GMT -6
BRAELYN EVAN CHAPMAN !
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[/font]CAUSE YOU'RE HOT THEN YOU'RE COLD[/color][/font]
hey there ! my name is fionnghuala, and yeah, i'm a person of the female persuasion. i know, crazy right ?! anyway, i've been gracing you with my presence for nearly seventeen years, and i love this place; thanks to summerland for leading me here. you can also find me at fionasmkearney@hotmail.com (email or MSN), or through PMing me. let's let the fun begin[/font]
YOU'RE YES THEN YOU'RE NO[/color][/font]
well, my full name is braelyn evan chapman, but i like to be called raelyn, brae, bree, ree, lyn, linny, evan, eve, vanny, beck, becky, becks, bex. my full name means the unknown; probably because of some voodoo nuts. i'm seventeen years old, yeah; i'm barelylegal - and a girl, thank you very much. you can find me on the original list, where it'll say i'm a twelfth year. oh, and i almost forgot, my birthday is on 25th december, wanna throw me a party ?! i knew it[/font]
YOU'RE IN AND YOU'RE OUT[/color][/font]
i'm damn good looking, wouldn't you say? i've been told that i look like megan fox, but everyone knows i'm way sexier. don't even lie ! what, you didn't think that picture was flattering? well i have dark brown hair; sort of like curly, but loosely, and it's quite long, y'know?. and my eyes - they're two pools of hazelnut chocolate; you could say they're very soulful and emotive. at least, that's what i've been told. i'm such a beast, almost five foot ten, can you believe it? yeah, i take after my dad. and not that it's any of your business, but i weigh one hundred and twenty pounds, and have a slim or athletic body type. i know, i know; i should make an exercise video. i stay this way by skating and training and stuff, it's a lot harder than it sounds. you can usually find me wearing casual clothes, though i'm notorious for crazier things. oh trust me bby, you ain't seen nothing yet[/font]
YOU'RE UP AND YOU'RE DOWN[/color][/font]
jeez ! some people just piss me off. it's like they don't get that i like
YOU'RE WRONG WHEN IT'S RIGHT[/color][/font]
i was born and raised in Palm Springs but now live in Adeline. i've had a crazy life, but i'm alright. my biological parents are joseph lilley and charlotte pankhurst, and the people who raised me are different - william chapman and veronica chapman. i have some rascal flats too, my sibling(s): N/A. i also have a great little pet, N/A. yeah, i know you're jealous. i got him in the freezer aisle. but seriously, my life is important. the happiest memory of my life was probably when i got my own flat; i know, i almost cried i was so thrilled. but then there's the worst - jeez i hate thinking about it. that cupboard.... it's disgusting. sigh, i've had a hard knock life.
after (very little) soul-searching, the sisters of the post-natal ward decided that it would be best to send the little girl to the nearest orphanage where they could keep an eye on her. of course, work was hectic, and they forgot all about the child of the street-crawler. by the time braelyn was crawling, she was put to work inside the orphanage, cleaning things by way of cloths that jezebel and judith tied to her knees. and, of course, if the cleaning wasn't satisfactory, she would get a slap. it started off rather softly at first, not wanting to arouse any suspicion to the outside public (a house full of children covered in bruises that were in their charge wasn't exactly a good advertisement), but the blows grew steadily harder as she got older and tougher, and they thought they were growing weaker with age when, in actual fact, their hands were as hard as ever.
it took eight years of abuse in that place, during which time no-one would ever dare try to run away unless they were the older kids, because miss jezebel and miss judith always caught the little ones, and the little ones that weren't caught always came back for supper (when they had it, which was rare) because they weren't old or wise enough to fend for themselves. eight years, but finally a family decided to foster braelyn. maybe it was the slight twinkle in her eye, despite the fact that she looked positively skeletal and worked to the bone. she didn't like to imagine what it was that had drawn them to her, but that didn't matter. the fact was that she and her little suitcase of clothing (along with her single threadbare teddy) were shipped away to live with the vanderbilts in their big house.
call it wishful thinking, but braelyn thought that, upon escaping from that hellhole, things were going to get better. they didn't. instead, they got increasingly worse. they fed her more than she got fed at the orphanage, though, which was always something that braelyn was grateful for, and on good days, she may get a new item of clothing, or a toy to play with when she wasn't working. unfortunately, the good days were few and far between. most days, in the summer, she would toil in the garden, weeding and mowing and planting and hoeing. to anyone that asked, she enjoyed working in the garden; it was something of a hobby of hers. but her true hobby wasn't in the gardening - it was in the obeying of instructions.
when she did as she was told, she was greeted with a stony silence and an air of disapproval that said 'fine, now go away'. however, when something was subpar (and one would find that, with a prison warden as a mother, many thing were subpar), there was anger and violence, which always ended up the same way - braelyn crumpled on the floor in the cupboard under the stairs with numerous bruises and the occasional cut. there were always spiders in that cupboard, and being trapped with them didn't help her conquer her fear of them. she would never beg, though, and that redeemed her slightly. she had never been reduced to sobbing, tears, banging on the door, begging to be let out. maybe, she mused, that was the only reason that she stayed in there for such short spells (never longer than a day without food. they were oh-so kind to her).
she didn't go to school when she was in her cupboard. she couldn't let herself out from the inside, and even if she could, letting herself out would just warrant another punishment. the only time that braelyn was rarely confined to her cupboard was when it was winter. in the winter, veronica had a much more bitter punishment for the waif-like girl. she would send the girl out every morning in the snow and the ice to salt it so that the two vanderbilts didn't slip on their way to their cars. not only that, though, but she would force braelyn to undress down to her underwear before she did it. no shoes on her feet, barely anything to protect her skin from the harsh weather, it was a wonder that braelyn hadn't died from pneumonia or some such thing, the amount of cold she had been subjected to.
this punishment caused more and more of a stir in the neighbourhood as braelyn grew older and, eventually, veronica devised a scheme. she wouldn't punish braelyn when everyone was going out to work - she would do it between shift changes, when people had left to get to work, but others on their ways back would still be far enough away that no-one ever saw her. this punishment, oddly, lead to many of the things that braelyn now enjoys - ice skating, which she learned from slipping and sliding around the ice in the mornings, which lead to figure skating and hockey, and roller blading, which is similar to ice skating.
when braelyn turned sixteen, though, she decided that eight years in each hellhole was quite enough. she got the pity of a landlord just by the sight of her, and he allowed her to stay in a one-bedroomed bedsit on the other side of the city to where the vanderbilts lived. it was little more than a hovel, but to braelyn, it was a heaven on earth.
she now holds a job at a restaurant near her 'home', and she goes to the rink almost every day, training for either figure skating or hockey, sometimes both on the same day.
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IT'S BLACK AND IT'S WHITE[/color][/font]
so i've been role playing for one year. i know, i'm practically a veteran. i'd consider myself to be a beginner/intermediate roleplayer; i like playing girls better. whaat, you want some proof ?! well, here you go.
If there was anything that Braelyn hated more than simple failure, it was failure on the ice in front of her instructor. If she absolutely had to fail, Braelyn would much rather do it in the comfort of her own (tiny) apartment when her room mate was nowhere to be found. Face planting in the ice never seemed so bad with the hockey team, probably because they were already a violent lot, and could just assume that someone had tripped or pushed her. However, she was alone on the ice here, save for her trainer, who was at the other side of the rink. She couldn't blame this on anyone but herself, and she didn't plan to. Much as she hated failure, she hated lying much, much more.
Her spell of lying on her right side on the cold ice didn't last long. She didn't like pity or sympathy, and she was fully capable of getting up herself. Nothing was broken, and she'd venture a guess at not even being bruised, as it seemed to be the smaller, less noticeable knocks that seemed to give her bruises of varying hues and sizes. She pushed herself to her feet with a hand that was almost red raw from the cold, artificial or not, and distinctly bare of any jewellery. Most skaters would at least wear a sparkly ring, Olya had told her many a time. Braelyn's response was that she couldn't afford one, therefore would not have one. It was simple, unwitting phrases like that that had gotten the Russian to pity her at the start, and that was what had spurred her to watch the girl that she would later refer to as 'Sputnik'.
"Sputnik." The name rapped out over the ice, as hard as granite, and Braelyn immediately took to her skates and stopped a metre or so from Olya. She dipped her head on an incline that said 'Yes? What it is? I know I did it wrong' before her gaze met that of the seemingly emotionless Russian. "Sputnik..." Olya repeated, a weariness passing over her face. "You know that when you are to land in 'attitude', you centre the weight on the back of the foot, yes?" Braelyn nodded her assent, though she was thinking 'Of course! How could I have forgotten? I was centred on the ball of my foot from the lift!' She resisted the urge to slap her forehead with the heel of her palm (something she actually did quite often, if she was honest) as Olya continued. "Good. Then you are ready to try this again. From the top."
Braelyn frowned, then, as she tried to stifle a yawn. She was unsuccessful, so covered her mouth with the back of her hand as she skated with her back to Olya. "Once more, then I'm taking a break. I've been up since four." Braelyn called back, her voice carrying clearly over the rink. Olya gave a curt nod of assent, though she normally wouldn't have allowed it, and gestured to the man in the sound and lighting booth to take things from the beginning.
The music started up, and the house lights dimmed until they were off, one spotlight remaining, which Braelyn had positioned herself in with a precision that was almost scary, considering the harsh fluorescent house lights were almost twice as bright as the spotlights that were installed, whether or not they had colour filters in front of them (this one didn't). The arm movements were first, as Braelyn skated backwards doing crossovers to gain speed and turn the corners, purposely going obnoxiously close to the boards before turning smoothly. Toe picks and a couple of axel jumps started off her combinations, though at this point they were still very simple. Olya had done the natural thing, and started off easy, building up to a climax, just as the music did. Well, the music mellowed out, but she was having the track cut down so it ended at the climax. She couldn't afford to mess up anything after the quadruple stunt combination that would end the piece, so she didn't try.
Throughout the routine, there were several Biellman spirals, which involved spinning on the spot on one skate with the other pulled over the head from behind, and butterfly jumps, which were simple two-footed take-offs and then the legs would split in a scissoring motion before the feet returned to the ice. They seemed to be the favourites of Olya, though Braelyn could think of things that she would much rather be doing, such as catch-foot layback spins, or flying camel spins. She had never managed to get them incorporated into a routine yet, but it was only a matter of time.
This time, Braelyn centred herself correctly, and landed on her skate with her weight aimed at her heel as opposed to the ball of her foot, and she skated backwards in 'attitude' position for a few moments, the impersonal smile of a seasoned competition skater still on her face, despite how hard she was concentrating. There were a few more jumps and spins between that difficult element and the quadruple combination she still had to master, but there was nothing too pressingly difficult (at least, not for her). She let her mind detach and wander as she got to the final combination, knowing that if she concentrated too hard, she'd cock it up.
A double lutz, I-spin, quadruple axel (she wouldn't mention this, but she's the only skater ever to have achieved one of these in competition) and the Russian split came next, but the last movement had a bit of a twist on it. Olya had told Braelyn what it was, and it was a move she had done several thousand times before, but this time, she wanted Braelyn to land on the ice in the position that she would normally be in at the height of her jump. So instead of being tempted to split too early, Braelyn jumped and span simultaneously, going into the side splits as she headed back towards the ice. The smile never left her face as her legs landed perfectly straight on the ice, her hands raised to show the judges that her routine was complete. The music shut off, the house lights rose to full glare, and Braelyn picked herself up off the ice, refusing to let herself shiver at the lack of heat in her lower body.
She skated past Olya, who had no praise or accolades for her, save a look that said 'it was good, but you can be better', and stepped off the ice. "Excuse me." She smiled, politely, as she slipped past the boy with a paper bag in his hand. She hadn't seen him before, and he didn't look like he was much of a skater, but that was no concern of hers. She sat on a bench near to the rink and sat on her hands in an attempt to warm them up a little before she caught her breath and had to go back onto the ice to repeat the routine.[/font][/center]
