Post by headache on Aug 3, 2011 14:14:07 GMT -5
SALEM ELYSE RAMSEY
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► FULL NAME: Salem Elyse Ramsey[/img][/blockquote][/size]
► NICKNAMES: Sae
► PLAY BY: Bambi Northwood - Blyth
► SEX: Female
► AGE & DOB: October 29th, 19 yrs
► NATIONALITY: American
► SEXUALITY: bisexual ( but she calls it free love or s/t like that )
► MARITAL STATUS: single
► OCCUPATION: songwriter, amateur vocalist, bass player
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► HEIGHT: 5'6"
► WEIGHT: 134 lbs
► BUILD: lean?
► SKIN TONE: pale unless you leave her in the sun
► DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: self inflicted scars on her arms that scarred too dark, the doe she has tattooed on her wrist
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► LIKES: Gingerbread houses. Writing. Feeling calluses on my fingers. The sound tap shoes make. Smoking a bowl at three in the morning with people you just met. Noel. Movies with subtitles. Growing my hair out. Watching my hair fall to the ground when it's getting cut. Smooth legs on a girl. Smiles. Chapstick. Eating take-out from boxes and fighting over fortune cookies. Making out on top of buildings. The smell of brand new journals. Drinking coffee in a bookstore while reading on the floor. Black and white photographs. Music that's older than I am. Sex. Dandelions being pretty even though they're weeds. Buy a box of chocolates and eating it myself. A bathroom with no mirrors. Marilyn Monroe. Waking up with someone who loves you. Girls with funny laughs. Boys who try to be tough. Thunderstorms. Puppies. Attempting to speak French. Passports. Buying flowers. Elevators. Silence. Having too many pillows on the bed. The Beatles. Learning the piano. Writing words on bathroom stalls. Forgetting. Books without stereotypes. Driving on highways at four in the morning when the lights look like stars. The beach. Holding my breath underwater. Bathtubs. Food coloring. Being able to fix my mistakes. Polka dots. Santa Claus. Socks that don't match my jeans. Walk-in closets. Blue applesauce. Eating a hamburger at lunch in a restaurant booth. Christmas lights. Halloween. Marbles. Key chains. Skinny-dipping. Kissing someone on a balcony at night. Wishing on stars. Pregnant women who glow. Perfume bottles. Getting my jeans dirty because I'm rolling in the grass getting covered in kisses. Feeling my heart beat faster because he's in the room.
► DISLIKES: Mornings. Lipstick that smears when you move your lips. Bad jokes. Lies that don’t make sense. Being out of cigarettes. Bad trips. Waking up in the middle of the night. Stale coffee. Filler words. Music that sounds like noise. When people say that she’s crazy. Too young fangirls. No. old museums that charge entrance fees ( art should be free ). War. Being alone. The smell of honey. Gardens that have been forgotten. Small spaces. Ignorance. False happiness. Noel’s girlfriends ( but only because they’re ridiculous looking and it’s not like he likes them anyway and then the fact that they see her as threat and try to take Noel away from her. ) Disastrous love. Fairy tales that never make any sense. Hanging out during the day. Being awake. Scars. Lukewarm smiles. That feeling that she gets when she sees someone that she wants that she knows she can’t have. Insomnia. Tall women. High heels. Dresses that look like they should be on a mormon. Writers block. Being told to act like a lady. Hugging strangers. Stories that don’t have a satisfying ending. Holding hands with someone in a platonic way. Mirrors that lie about the way you look. Fake smiles. Hair flips. Boys who don’t know how to dress. Boys that look like their mothers dressed them. Children who have too parents. False hope. Air kisses. Giraffes. Not getting into a club. Being boo’d off stage. The feeling you get when you’re trying to explain something to someone and they have no idea what you’re talking about. Stockings. Razor blades. Wolfish grins. Lewed remarks from too-old men ( or women ). Labeling sexuality. Sandalwood. Not being closer to a proper beach. Models. Hunger pains. Always being broke. Crying.
► OVERALL PERSONALITY:
One of the first things that people notice about Salem is that she’s warm. Amiable and very easy to approach. She likes having conversations with random people because it’s a chance to explore their lives for a few moments. Contrarily, though, she’s constantly surprising her surroundings by making irregular actions impulsively. It’s no good to expect things from her because she’ll sporadically let you down. She doesn’t like making plans, because something that she wants to do right now is something she’ll balk at the idea of an hour from now. But everything she does has a purpose. She wants to experience everything at least once, and the best things a few more times. She’s convinced she’s the type to die young, so there’s a lot to fit in.
People – namely teachers- are constantly telling her that she has a sharp mind. Bright and empathetic of peoples emotions to the edge where its almost too much. She shies away from that most of the time, choosing when and how to show that she cares in the most subtle ways imaginable. Much of her sensitivity comes through in her writing – which is such a big part of who she is that it practically is her personality. she’s not grounded in reality in the same ways that everyone else is. Hers is constantly adapting and changing to fit certain situations, or certain people, or even just a certain time. And her words reflect that, show how little attention she pays to the world when it’s not offering something to her.
She’s impatient. She hates waiting, expects everything to happen right away. It might be a casualty of being an only child, but it’s one that she can live with. Nothing is ever happening fast enough for her – or the way that it should be happening for her. which is probably another huge character flaw. She wants to be in charge of everything, say when it’s going to happen, where, and to whom. Things hardly ever come out the way she expects them to, and as frustrating as it is – she forgets about it hours after its happened. She’s incapable of staying mad at anything or anyone for too long because anger usually morphs into something else.
Different from her calm appearance, she’s incredibly passionate and headstrong. Anything she can, she challenges boldly. Once she decides to do something, she carries it out with a will stronger than anyone would expect from her. her grandmother once told her that she had strong yielding spirits, and that’s always stayed in the back of her head. Spirits, like there’s more than one – more than just her. she shoulders the labor of it all, and she makes her efforts into successes. She’s tolerant of others, and if the mood strikes, will do whatever she can. But for the most part, she becomes temperate and can’t restrain herself. She has a terribly short temper, and if things don’t have a conclusion, she can become irate.
Salem is also an incredibly sexual person. It’s something she found when she was fourteen and never gave up, instead choosing to explore and cultivate it until she turned her sexuality into something of an art itself. She’s only self aware in the fact that she knows and understands that she’s attractive, and that it’s something that can be used against people. The only person that she’s never managed to charm is her noel. And that’s the way she sees him – as hers. regardless, she’s been accused of being a nymphomaniac, a slut, and other ridiculous names. And they are ridiculous because for the most part she knows exactly what and who she’s doing, and to her as long as she’s aware – there’s nothing wrong happening.
She’s selfish. Everything she comes in contact with is hers – especially people. She doesn’t like sharing, and even the idea that she would ever have to share annoys her. it’s another one of those character traits that she’s tried to work on but gave up after it was unsuccessful a couple times. There’s select people that she’ll share parts of her life with, and the only reason they’re getting access is because they’re already so much a part of her that it would be ridiculous if they didn’t know.
Love something that Salem worries about often. Her parents are so in love that its almost sickening to watch, and her grandparents are not much better. And its fascinating. The only person that she’s ever loved that she isn’t related to is Noel, but she’s convinced that that’s that platonic – you’re almost family kind of love, which shouldn’t count. She’s not a romantic, she doesn’t know the first thing about romance. To her – true love equals fantastic sex and maybe matching costumes on Christmas. Its not that she doesn’t have anyone to learn from – she’s just unperceptive and naive.
Salem doesn’t count on people very often. She’s the type to believe that the only way to get things done the way they should be is to do it herself. Noel is the only person that she’ll ever trust with anything she deems important – and that’s only through years and years of coaxing, and even then she’s still skeptical and has to be there with him all of the time. she also doesn’t feel safe alone with herself. She’s self destructive when she gets bored; she’s in a constant state of boredom. Its scary, and she doesn’t even notice its happening until its all over.
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► HOMETOWN: New York City, NY
► CURRENT RESIDENCE: Williamsburg, NYC, NY
► FAMILY: parents, Georgia Elyse and Ulysses Ramsey & Grandparents Rose and Martin Elyse
► HISTORY:
Histories are a tricky thing. Salem doesn’t remember much of her childhood. She remembers the shitty sixth floor apartment with one bedroom that she and her parents had to sleep in, and how new york wasn’t this bright amazing place that you saw in movies but dark and damp and lonely and hungry. She grew up with music, with a father for a musician and a mother so blinded by love that she’d support any one of his failed endeavors if he smiled enough. And somehow, salem was never bitter about it. There was something comfortable in their tiny little studio, and the way her dad bought her her first bass when she was seven despite her implicit demand to have barbies – and how they’d sit by the window and he’d teach her how to strum the chords, how to twist her voice with the music her fingers were making until it was something resembling music.
That was her childhood. Window guitar playing sessions with a dad who was fantastic with strings and a mother who’s voice was beautiful in this raw raw way. They were all rockstars in their own heads, all had fantasy lives and fantasy familes… and one day Salem woke up and her parents didn’t want her anymore. It wasn’t some big procession, just a quiet dinner conversation about how they were barely pulling in enough money to keep their music going, and Salem had never been in their plans anways and they’d tried the best that they could and it was great for the first twelve years of her life wasn’t it?
And still, she loved them. Loved her psudo-rockstar parents and their dreams of superstar rockstar life. Her grandparents took her in without a word. Were so ready for the move that it was like they’d always been expecting it. At first it was so different, and everyone had that look when she told them that she was from new york city, and called her a freak when she spent her free time on the front porch, strumming along to the radio. From an outsiders perspective it would be heartbreaking, a dank childhood only to be shunned by your parents to the point where your mothers mother has to become your mother. But in reality… it was better. It didn’t fix her way of thinking – but she was so old by the time she moved that nothing would. But it was nice. At least she had her own room.
She met a lot of people after her move, but Noel was one of the firsts. He was beautiful, and he had the kind of accent that made her want to grin and bury her face into a pillow with a blush, and he was… so smart. Smarter than anyone else that she’d ever met before in her life. And that’s how their friendship blossomed. She told him about her life, and he told her about his and everything was similar enough for them to empathize with each other but different enough that they were their own – and still, they both understood the others situation so flawlessly that it was like it had happened to them.
She sucked in school, joined the cheerleading squad because it was something to do, but only preformed if she was looking to get laid. Flakey to the core, and to her there was absolutely no problem with that. As far as she was concerned, if adults could flake on responsibilities than there was no reason for kids to be any different. Noel was her only saving grace, always had problems a little bigger than hers that they could focus on and sort out. And when things were quiet and comfortable theyd lie in bed together and write, or play music together. Talk about being something famous.
When Noel’s mother died, and he showed up on Salem’s doorstep, it was something that changed a lot of their relationship. She stayed in bed with him, curled up against him and petting his hair, making him anything he bothered to ask for just for something to distract her hands and his mouth and it was this kind of pain that ached through both of them. And when her parents showed up right before she turned eighteen ( seven years without so much as a card or a call ), he was the only one that it was logical to go to. He kept her from pulling her hair out or killing someone, or worse – herself.
And then it was time to grow up. And she got her own apartment just to show that she was independent, that she could make it on her own. Never mind that she hated the way an empty house felt, and how scared she could make herself at night. College wasn't even in the plans, playing on street corners and in pubs was the best she could do. Work all day, open mic’s and parties all night. Constant writing, waiting, looking, trying for the songs that could make it onto the cd. Could be the ones that could turn her into what her parents could never be – what her grandparents thought she would never be.
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► ALIAS: mik
► OTHER CHARACTERS: no one
► WHERE YOU FOUND US: nobie (:
► ROLE-PLAY EXAMPLE:
it was everything.
It was the stars and the moon and the black-as-pitch sky as he walked home from the store. It was the snow like powdered sugar in his hair and on his shoulders that he didn’t bother to brush away because he thought if he took his hands out of his pockets for even a second he was going to get frostbite, or something. It’s sharing the cold with everyone else on that street as he passed the guitar shop he hadn’t stopped to browse at that last year before the great Summer Of Like because he'd been running late.
It was the story of his life, and isn't that just always the way? Missing out on something potentially interesting because of his own distraction. He was already thinking about the night he'd had, how it took him an extra fifteen minutes to get off his street because there was something going bump in the night, a slave, as always, to whatever the city decided to throw at him, pulling him like a fishing hook behind his gut back to the things that he loved to hate, and then another five because as soon as he'd finally left the apartment and closed the front door he realised that he'd forgotten to brush his teeth, and thus, the cycle started again. He was thinking about the long walk alone to Al’s house, passing the community center and he was thinking plastic playgroup chairs and disinfectant smell and disgusting free coffee.
It was the group leader, a forty-something lady by the name of Pam whose floral shirt Neve couldn't help imagining in all of its previous incarnations--as a tablecloth perhaps, or a pair of curtains--asking him what life means to him, and his silence wrapping up the session.
And he hadn't stopped thinking about it since.
He'd wanted to give her an honest answer, but honestly he wasn’t sure what kind of answer it would have been. He wanted to explain a symphony of sound and touch and taste and feeling, but for the first time in his life he couldn’t quite find the words, or maybe just thought that words will diminish things by making them less whole.
He thought, What Is It? It's everything, it's where he is. It’s the one set of footsteps on the snow-blanketed concrete, lonely and sad, one lost shoe, an empty tire swing. A man without arms.
That's almost it, but not quite. If he could pinpoint the feeling, which has been as hard for him over these past couple of second hand rotations as trying to hit the bulls-eye on a dartboard blindfolded. He didn’t really know, it’s just…goddamn everything. If he could specify he’d say he was walking around with half a brain, half a torso, half an arm, half a leg to stand on. More importantly, half a heart to be reckless with, half his ribs to cage it, and half a hand to touch himself, pretend it belongs to someone else. Like he belongs to someone else. If he didn’t know any better, if he didn’t know that it was wholly, completely impossible he’d say that he was about to spill his guts from his half a body right out onto the dirty asphalt out of half a shirt.
It was totally, completely impossible. He knew this, but it didn’t stop him tightening his coat around himself. Just in case
God, it was just the smell of exhaust and oil and sidewalk hot dog vendors. The smell of a city they’d thought was endless and sprawling and the be-all and end-all of everything.
He kicked his feet a little bit as he walked, a discarded memory of him and some nameless, faceless woman trying to drunkenly navigate these streets making him want to be light on his feet, to be the best - the most dangerous, the most fun - that he can be.
It’s the lights that no longer reflect in those honey-explosion dark brown eyes that would help him find his way better and sweeter than any streetlight. This city was in a constant state of sleeping, and yet there were still darker parts, like their own Badlands, where shadows overtook the perfect blanketing snow and remained untouched by any kind of lights, and he would keep him safe, would keep him warm.
It was smiling with just a quirk of his frozen lips upwards, already an alien feeling, at the memory of himself trying to navigate his way through these same streets, one of his arms wrapped tightly around the girl's waist under his jacket and only a gas lighter for guidance and insisting that he didn't need any help, him laughing with all his teeth, casting insane shadows in the tiny pool of light and asking why didn't she just move to a place with more lights?
God, he had no idea what he was doing. It wasn't like he knew Al all that well. He was just a mildly interesting man who had a disturbing way with words that could get under his skin. Maybe that was part of what was bugging him about the man, part of what made him want to get closer. Everyone got to him in some way, but that way was usually annoyance and irritation and other darker feelings that would make it only too easy to push them into a wall and let their bones crumble underneath his skin. With Al it was...
why was he even thinking about this. why try to be philosophical when this was just a casual fuck. sleep with a person and get them out of your system, because once you know what you were playing with, the game lost all of its allure.
Everything would go back to normal.
He sighed, relaxing slightly at the thought, and hesitantly knocked on the door.
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