Post by jennifer siobhan wren on Aug 31, 2010 14:00:00 GMT -5
( JENNIFER SIOBHAN WREN )
( SIXTEEN , SOPHOMORE , TAYLOR SWIFT , BIPOLAR )
( SWEET , INNOCENT , NAIVE , RELIGIOUS , UNPREDICTABLE )
( SIXTEEN , SOPHOMORE , TAYLOR SWIFT , BIPOLAR )
( SWEET , INNOCENT , NAIVE , RELIGIOUS , UNPREDICTABLE )
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
First and foremost, Jennifer is a vicar's daughter. She was born on the 24th of August, 1994. Two weeks late, she was a large baby by most standards, weighing in at birth at nine pounds, six ounces. She was the first and last child of William and Sarah Wren, and got everything that she wanted. Born in Surrey, England, in a large mansion-style house, she had room to roam, every toy conceivable, and every amenity extended to her. Doors and windows were opened and closed at her whim, as soon as she could articulate her needs and desires, but still she was raised in a staunchly religious family. Most children, perhaps, would have shied away from worshipping an unseen and unknown entity (and more than that, recoiled from pleasing their parents), but Jennifer had never entertained the rebellious phase. It was messy, noisy, and, in her opinion, completely unnecessary.
She spent her time doing things that her parents had chosen for her to do, or that her parents would approve of. Strangely, she didn't feel any remorse, regret, or negativity towards the activities. In fact, she quite liked them. At the age of four, she was partaking in ballet classes (which, for the record, were populated evenly with boys and girls) and piano lessons. Even though she was a quiet and graceful child, she took to piano much more quickly, and with more enthusiasm, than she did ballet. However, she did persevere with ballet, and other forms of dance, and is extremely accomplished for a girl of her youthful years.
At seven, she took up the acoustic guitar and equestrianism, and at nine, she tried her hand at the harp and fencing. At age twelve, she could play any hymn on demand, on any of the three instruments. If she didn't have any of those at hand, she was requested to sing, as she had the sweetest soprano voice that had graced the church's choir since Maria Hibbard. That year, a month before her thirteenth birthday, the first major milestone since she had learned to walk and talk (and the milestone her parents were most dreading, for fear of what may happen), her paternal grandfather passed away. Normally, a well chosen passage from the Bible would ease her suffering and restore her faith in God, but this time, she was inconsolable. Her parents worried that this would be the end of their sweet, God loving daughter, but all it took to reignite her religious fire was a simple creative outlet. The writing of a song. She never shared this song with another pair of human ears, but she returned to her sweet tempered self, and people thought no more of it.
Her diagnosis came eighteen months later. Usually, she was happy, chipper and sociable, almost impossible to anger or upset, but she had taken to withdrawing to her room more and more, and on more than one occasion, melancholy music had been heard coming from within. If anyone had ventured in, they would have seen her in floods of tears, or writing or drawing of death and destruction. A child psychologist had referred her twice, and the resounding medical opinion was that the death of her grandfather had triggered a neurological disorder typically known as Bipolar Disorder, less commonly as Manic Depressive Disorder. Her case wasn't bad, as they went, as her 'bad' days were well outnumbered by those when she didn't feel depressed or upset at all (roughly one or two per month, if it is of any interest), but she was still prescribed medication, and she was very careful in remembering to take it every day, even if it didn't feel like it was helping. She was and is a conscientious child, and she hates the idea that what she does, feels or says could hurt another person.
The teenage rebellion her parents had expected didn't happen, but the closest it ever came to emerging was before her sixteenth birthday when her father told her that they would be spreading the word of the Lord. That, in itself, she was fine with. As long as she didn't have to leave her friends, her house, her horses, and the country she had been born in. She asked where, quite calmly, pleasantly, quite happy to take a few car trips around the United Kingdom. When the word 'Trenton' came out of his mouth, she looked puzzled, and asked where it was. A physically impressive man himself, William had shrunk from her, as if anticipating a blow, as he said 'New Jersey, America'. Demonstrating admirable self control, Jennifer had nodded and asked when they were leaving.
Although she wasn't a spoiled child in the way that she was petty and bratty, demanding things left, right and centre, Jennifer threw a tantrum at his answer. Her words came back to haunt her even now, as did her actions. "TWO WEEKS?! WHEN WHERE YOU GOING TO TELL ME?! WHY DO I HAVE TO GO ALL THE WAY OVER THERE WITHOUT EVEN HAVING MY SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY FIRST? I HATE YOU! YOU'RE RUINING EVERYTHING!" She had then proceeded to call him several unpleasant names (although none of them were curses - she has not and will not swear, on principle) and thrown a glass figurine at his head. The scar just above his left eyebrow is the only visible remaining link to the altercation.
She had come with her parents, as she didn't really have a choice, but she wasn't particularly happy about it. She spent her sixteenth birthday largely alone, as she had refused to go with her mother to meet the neighbours and invite them over (a dismal attempt at a party, in her opinion) and her father had travelled to New York the previous weekend to spread the word there, promising he would be back the night of her birthday, when they could open all of her presents together, as a family. She sulked, drew pictures that all got screwed up and thrown away, and tried to practice fencing to calm down. Without anyone to hit, though, it just wasn't the same.
Jennifer doesn't do very well in social situations any more. She just doesn't have the energy or will to start a conversation, or carry one on. As it was, she could barely even understand what they were saying to her. She understood greetings, profanity, and the occasional insult. Other than that, she didn't really listen. She excelled in Music, Gym and English at her previous school. She didn't expect it would be much different in America. Overall, she was considered hard working, but extremely quiet. By the students, she imagines she will be pretty much ignored, and, oddly, she doesn't mind that. What does she want to interact with these Neanderthals for anyway?
For all she wants people to consider her a mute, if a person is polite and interesting in the first five seconds of their acquaintance, she could never be as rude as to ignore them. She will believe most of what she is told, unless she knows it to be false and can back it up with facts, and she is generally extremely placid, mellow, and calm. If she doesn't like a person, she will be neutral, civil, indifferent. She will display nothing that would lead them to think she disliked them, but if asked directly, she wouldn't deny it. She doesn't judge easily, and her opinions are easy to reform, should you bother trying.
Another word to describe Jennifer could be innocent, in almost all senses of the word. She hasn't been privy to much violence away from the piste, and alcohol, drugs and sex very rarely enter her mind, and never stay there for longer than a couple of seconds. She knows she isn't an average teen, and certainly nothing like most American adolescents, but she views that as more of a positive than a negative.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
EXPERIENCE Like, seven years
CONTACT email or PM, AIM or MSN
MEMBER TITLE piety over promiscuity
OTHER CHARACTERS Alphonzetta Innes
CODE WORDS lovelikewoe
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE
Sometimes it was easier to just stand there and let her instincts take over, and so that was what Ronnie did. She had a wealth of music at her fingertips, in the form of two full external hard drives and a large case of CDs (just in case her software on her computer decided to cut out), and most of the people at camp weren't picky about what they danced to, as long as it had a good beat. She knew what she was doing, crossfading songs with similarities into each other, blending the music, skipping between young and old. The oldest person in the room was probably only in her early thirties, so Ronnie only ever went back to the late seventies. She had some sixties music, but it was pretty obscure, and she didn't want people to stop dancing.
Standing on the stage, visible to every single person in the room, Ronnie should have felt self-conscious, and she did, but only a tiny little bit. She had done this so often that it was like second nature to her and anyway, it's not like she was ever shy. She never had been, which definitely helped when it came to meeting new people. She glanced at her watch, but it was only for curiosity's sake, not from boredom. Nearly nine. These parties had been known to go on until two or three in the morning, including the after parties in cabins, and Ronnie was more than happy to play until they were done, but it didn't stop her feeling lonely.
Everyone was down on the floor having a good time, with genuine smiles on their faces as they met or made friends, hung out with people they'd known for a while or had just met, and there were couples in the first flushes of love. And there she was, all alone on the stage, barely even getting looked at. Of course, she always had a smile ready for the odd glance that shot her way, but it wasn't as real a smile as it could have been. She sipped her punch, frowning and swallowing a sputter as she realised the drink had been spiked with alcohol. At that moment, Yvonne looked up and, armed with the knowledge of fifteen years of counseling at camp, immediately knew what had happened. With a dark look in her eyes, barely brightened by a pasted smile, she swept past the refreshment table, taking the punch bowl with her. She knew that the next one would also end up with alcohol in it, but some of the younger kids might get to it before that time, and she didn't want them imbibing any more illegal substances than they had to. It was unfair to those that didn't drink, and Ronnie glowered at the usual suspects, who shrugged. Hadn't been them, this time. Must have been a new camper.
Tutting and shaking her head, Ronnie put her plastic cup on the edge of the stage, hoping someone would take it mistaking it for their own. She didn't drink, because she didn't like the taste, and found that it made her nightmares worse, but if she ever did partake in an alcoholic beverage, it tended to be a small glass of wine or champagne at Christmas or on a birthday. She knew that camp was meant to be about breaking all the rules, but if she didn't like something, she wasn't going to drink it just for the sake of being disobedient. Plus, if she got found out, it was an immediate call home, and that wasn't good for her grandmother.
In her distraction, she hadn't noticed a song finishing and another, one that few people knew, starting. Tutting at herself, she apologised over the microphone before quickly changing the songs. "Sorry. Daydreaming."
Standing on the stage, visible to every single person in the room, Ronnie should have felt self-conscious, and she did, but only a tiny little bit. She had done this so often that it was like second nature to her and anyway, it's not like she was ever shy. She never had been, which definitely helped when it came to meeting new people. She glanced at her watch, but it was only for curiosity's sake, not from boredom. Nearly nine. These parties had been known to go on until two or three in the morning, including the after parties in cabins, and Ronnie was more than happy to play until they were done, but it didn't stop her feeling lonely.
Everyone was down on the floor having a good time, with genuine smiles on their faces as they met or made friends, hung out with people they'd known for a while or had just met, and there were couples in the first flushes of love. And there she was, all alone on the stage, barely even getting looked at. Of course, she always had a smile ready for the odd glance that shot her way, but it wasn't as real a smile as it could have been. She sipped her punch, frowning and swallowing a sputter as she realised the drink had been spiked with alcohol. At that moment, Yvonne looked up and, armed with the knowledge of fifteen years of counseling at camp, immediately knew what had happened. With a dark look in her eyes, barely brightened by a pasted smile, she swept past the refreshment table, taking the punch bowl with her. She knew that the next one would also end up with alcohol in it, but some of the younger kids might get to it before that time, and she didn't want them imbibing any more illegal substances than they had to. It was unfair to those that didn't drink, and Ronnie glowered at the usual suspects, who shrugged. Hadn't been them, this time. Must have been a new camper.
Tutting and shaking her head, Ronnie put her plastic cup on the edge of the stage, hoping someone would take it mistaking it for their own. She didn't drink, because she didn't like the taste, and found that it made her nightmares worse, but if she ever did partake in an alcoholic beverage, it tended to be a small glass of wine or champagne at Christmas or on a birthday. She knew that camp was meant to be about breaking all the rules, but if she didn't like something, she wasn't going to drink it just for the sake of being disobedient. Plus, if she got found out, it was an immediate call home, and that wasn't good for her grandmother.
In her distraction, she hadn't noticed a song finishing and another, one that few people knew, starting. Tutting at herself, she apologised over the microphone before quickly changing the songs. "Sorry. Daydreaming."
Trying not to sigh, Ronnie's eyes swept across the room again. So many people having fun. That should have made her happy enough, but today it felt like it didn't really matter what she did - she never seemed to make lasting friends, and everyone seemed to shy away from her. It was like she was giving off VIBES that told people there was something wrong with her. The only real friend she seemed to have made this summer was the only other person she'd ever met outside her family with the same ability as her, and even she hadn't spoken to Ronnie all night. Granted, she was with Tyler, her new beau, and they seemed, from the looks of things, to be having issues, but even a simple hello could have staved off Ronnie's melancholy for another half an hour.[/quote]
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THIS APPLICATON TEMPLATE WAS MADE BY JANASAURUS! OVER AT CAUTION!
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