Kensington Boarding School for the Mentally Ill.

Name:

Clarissa Faye Chilcott--- but call her Clarice.

Age:

Fourteen

Gender:

Female

Appearance:

Clarice has a hair color that is a cross between sandy light brown and orange, though she'd most likely be classified as a ginger. Her hair is straight, and reaches about three inches below her shoulders, and she has front bangs that are just above her eyes. She has light sea-green eyes, though she usually wears big dark sunglasses just for the sake of wearing them. She wears a black headband in her hair and she always refuses to take it off for the sole reason that she “looks strange without it” She has a round, child-like face that makes her look about three years younger. She has light skin, though not pale. She's slightly overweight, but not so much that she can't run around like an idiot. She’s short for her age at 5’3.

Personality:

Clarice is the kind of girl who always seems to be on sugar rush. She’s friendly and talkative most of the time, and gives everyone a chance to be her friend. Well, not much of a chance, seeing how you have about a minute to not p`ss her off, and if you do p`ss her off, she’s going to cause chaos every time you’re in the same room. She lacks manners, so nobody ever really expects a ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ to come out of her mouth. She’s somewhat of an idiot. Well, make that ’complete idiot’. She’s always making a complete fool of herself, even when she attempts to act somewhat logical. She’s always asking questions. Like… always. They’re never logical questions, either. Like they say--- there’s no stupid questions, only stupid people. Sometimes she asks things for the sake of annoyance, though most of it, is because her curiosity gets the best of her. She likes to talk a lot, and there’s no avoiding it, either. If you walk away, she’ll follow you. If you go into the bathroom, she’ll wait outside and keep talking. Heck, if you walk into the middle of traffic, she’ll still follow you. Aside all this immaturity, however, she has rage deep down somewhere. P`ss her off a lot, and she’ll probably put everything aside to make sure that you don’t live to see another day.

History:

Clarice had a fairly rough childhood. She grew up in London, England, with an older brother, a mum, and a dad. Her dad, however, was hardly at home, so Clarice never really knew him. He was always with his co-workers at bars getting drunk. When she was six, her dad decided to drive while drunk and got into a rather bad accident and died. She hadn't known him well, so she didn't care. When her father died, her mother became depressed and somewhat suicidal, eventually letting it all out and murdering someone. Who knows what they did to peeve her off, though. None the less, Clarice's mum went to prison, and she hasn't seen her since. Clarice and her brother got put in a foster care system when she was 8, and wasn’t too fond of her new caretakers. Well, they were the kind, caring, well-off parents she’s always wanted. But… the thing is… they had a pet dog. And not just that, a big Doberman. Clarice was afraid of dogs, so she would always cling onto her brother for safety. She got made fun of a lot at school due to her very low grades. Rather than getting depressed about it, the exact opposite happened. She became rather optimistic and tried to become friends with everybody. Even though nobody really wanted to be friends with someone as childish as her, she still pretended she had friends and became clingy to a different person every day.

What's wrong with them?:

Oh Gott, what isn't wrong with Clarice? Well, anyway. She's pretty much the type of person that comes to mind when someone mentions "mental patient." Yeah, that's right. Those type of people that are over-the-top crazy and laugh at everything and try to be friendly with everyone, even though it's just plain creepy. So long story short, she just kind of... lost her mind and ended up here before it became too much to manage.

Other:

piggehs

Name: Lucy Connor

Age: Fifteen

Gender: Female

Appearance: Lucy has amazingly speshul blonde hair that falls in messy curls to her chest. And when I say messy, I mean messy, because she never bothers to do more than quickly drag a comb through her hair once or twice before leaving her dorm. She has big brown eyes that glisten and are ttly awesome that are quite pale, and seem to be unblinking. Lucy is just taller than average height, and is a normal weight. Her skin is quite pale, because she does not like to go out in the sun much. She has a habit of wringing her hands and avoiding eye contact, a distinctive physical trait.

Personality: Lucy acts rather childish for most of the time. She has the same irrational phobias that a child would have, and seeks protection from older people when facing these phobias. She will burst into tears at the smallest things, as a young child would, and she is curious and inquisitive. She will get confused easily, which will either cause tears, or an anger outburst. These anger outbursts can be triggered randomly, usually by seemingly random things, but she can get scarily out of control. It is simular to a temper tantrum, but with a lot more power and energy. She is not just childlike in the way she acts- She has a lower IQ than normal, and has difficulty picking things up as quickly as other people.

History: Lucy was the result of a teenage pregnancy. Her mother was 15, and almost had an abortion, but was talked out of it by her mother, who was very religious, and had strong beliefs about abortion. Lucy was brought up pretty well, she was fed, clothed and cared for. She wasnt short of love, but her mother worked long hours and could not spend much time with her. The symptoms of Lucy's mental illnesses are unknown, but the symptoms started to appear when she was 6. It took several years to confirm the diagnosis of DID, among other things (see below), in which time she was having panic attacks, anger outbursts and a lack of time concept. She was sent to this school early this year, after her diagnosis, for 'her own safety'

What's wrong with them?: None cuz she's speshul Lucy really drew the short straw with her mental illnesses. Her main illness is a form DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder). This is an illness that can cause a loss of time concept (Unable to distinguish between night and day, or different times of the day), severe memory loss, anger outbursts and panic attacks. This is also the cause of her childlike behaviour, because DID is a form of Multiple Personality Disorder. She also has a few symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder, including splitting all objects and things into "good" things and "bad" things. Her lower IQ is down to Borderline Intelligence Functioning, which is a disorder than means she is not completely incapable, but has more trouble learning and remembering information than other people.

Other: I don't think so. piggehs

Yay look I'm back! Well, kind of.

Name:

Derek Galt.

Age:

Twenty-six.

Gender:

FTM. Therefore, he identifies himself as a man, but he has 'female parts.'

Appearance:

Standing at a height of 5'9", Derek has styled black hair that is down to his chin - cut thinly and has a sort of bed-head look to it; however, his hair is very much brushed. Derek wears somewhat 'stiff' clothing - tight sleeves but loose torso, tight pants (But they are not skinny jeans, that is preposterous!), such is his wardrobe. Shirtless, he wears a black binder, but he lets seldom people see him shirtless, only removing the binder to bathe. He would be a few centimetres taller if he didn't have a bit of a slouch; years of concealing his chest before his parents recognized his identity and allowed him to buy such things. On his feet are shoes that are typical business boots, a bit of studs on them that mark up the tiles if he dragged his feet.

Personality:

Strict. No-nonsense. Glass half empty kind of man. He is not touchy-feely and he hates being touched by anyone, from his parents to a partner to even by strangers that may bump into him. He despises gender roles with a burning passion, and believes that guys can be exactly like girls - being promiscuous, flirty and happy, backstabbing and cruel. There is no such thing as gender roles to Derek. Both genders are the same. Everyone is the same. Most of the time he forgets his students names; not because he is forgetful, he just doesn't care about them. They will hand in their work and then he'll remember them. Derek often spends nights before bed asking whatever God or Mighty Being that is above them why he became a teacher.

History:

Derek comes from Ireland, used to be a peppy little kid from Dublin, moving to here when he was roughly five or six. Through his life he realized, no, he didn't want to be Deirdre Galt. He wanted to be Derek. Which hardened his personality by around grade six. When growing up, he received snippy comments about how he acted from school mates, occasional student teachers, and even his older sibling. Eventually in grade ten, he finally came face to face with his real identity, received his approval from his parents, and lived until now as a man, something he's seen himself as since he was younger. After graduating and pursuing a career in teaching, the boards most likely thought it would be funny to throw the trans* (who had developed a form of depression and anger issues from the bullying) into a school to teach the insane. Make it as best as he could.

What's wrong with them?:

Depression, anger issues. Pops Prozac for the depression, goes to counselling for the anger.

Other:

He's a teacher. The age itself should speak for it. He also still has his Irish accent, but it's mild. Piggehs.

Yay :3 Everyone's accepted~

Name: Gloria Night

Age: 17

Gender: Female

Appearence: Gloria is a blonde, no doubt about it. Her hair is also very long - it's not quite at her waist, but she's aiming on getting it there. Because of this, it's normally left down, but every now and then she'll either tie it up in a messy bun or a very long ponytail. If she's feeling 'radical', she'll put it n a plait (which actually amuses her greatly, as she only has to turn around to hit someone in the face with it. Hard.) She's about average height for her age, but she always boosts it by wearing very high heels. Her eyes are a dark green colour, and she almost never covers them up with sunglasses or similar. Make up, however, that's a different story. Gloria's always wearing make up - not too much that she looks completly fake, but enough to change her normal appearence considerably. Clothing wise, she wears as little clothing as she can get away with around here. Her wardrobe consists of very short and revealing tops, with short skirts as a side order, and she always wears her high heels and often quite a few bracelets, no matter what she's wearing. That's mainly to show off her wealth though. Well, her dad's wealth anyway.

Personality: Gloria seems like nothing but an innocent, dumb, giggly blonde. She's always very sweet and nice to everyone she talks to or bumps into, quickly walking away in her high heels with a light "Sorry!" and a wave. Almost every thing she says will have a giggle somewhere, whether it be at the beginning, in the middle or at the end of her sentence. She doesn't do it because she finds everything funny, far from it - it's just a habit. In short, she seems to be very childish, what with the giggling and the simple things she often says. However, this whole personality is just an act, an act to cover up the real Gloria. The real Gloria is a cruel and cold hearted girl. If someone gets in her way, god help them, because she will happily do whatever it takes to 'deal with them' and remove the problem from her seemingly perfect life. She's actually a very violent girl, albeit a skilled one, in the sense that she'll get it done quickly and with as little attention recived as possible. Well, she could get it done quickly, but Gloria prefers to play around with her prey - a side effect of getting to the top via bullying.

History: Gloria's lived the cushy life for as long as she can remember. Her parents both have (or had, in her mother's case) good jobs, so the family gets a lot of money coming in which she can use as she pleases. She had her parents wrapped around her little finger back then, even at a young age, and still has control over her father now. She also had a good school life too - as a bully. Gloria cemented her position in the social scale by generally terrorising everyone there. No friends, apart from the fake ones who just used her for their own popularity and safey, but she didn't care. Fay didn't actually care about much, even when her mother got depressed about losing her figure and commited suicide, and even when she got shipped out to this 'crappy boarding school'. It was a new place, new start, new meat.

Gloria was actually glad to leave London though. A few months beforehand, a bullying got a little out of hand. Gloria had held the girl underneath the water for a little too long, and after a few minutes she realised she was holding a drowned body in her arms. Thing was though, she liked it. After 'disposing' of the body, Gloria realised she got a kick out of the whole thing. Hence why a boy who'd tried to ruin her social status was found a month later lying in a ditch. Then of course there was the random chav that tried to get a handful. Got more than he expected, didn't he? It was around then tht Gloria - although she'd never admit it - started getting a little scared. Not just for her, but for her dad (her dad's money, anyway). what would happen if an MP's daughter was exposed as a murderer? She started getting a little careless, so careless that her dad caught wind of something. Obviously he was shocked and more than a little scared. Still weary from the loss of his wife and tired of his daughter's demands, he listened to his daughter's pleas and sent her to Kensington.

What's wrong with them?: It may seem that Gloria has a split personality, but it's not that. She created the giggly personality herself. In truth, it's well disguised sadism, with maybe a touch of erotophonophilia (getting a 'kick' from killing someone) on the side. Only a touch though, as she hasn't killed anyone in a while and gets her kicks from boys in other ways...

Other: Yep, this is the Gloria who's, amazingly, head girl. I wonder how she managed that? piggehs

Name:

 

Santo Valeriano Giovanni.

 

Age:

 

Thirteen.

 

Gender:

 

A manry man.

 

Appearance:

 

For somebody hailing from a very sexy country, Santo isn't exactly the most pleasant thing to look at. His hair, though it's certainly looking a lot nicer ever since the school convinced him to finally cut some of it off, is a thick, black mess of Godknowswhat. It should just about reach the bottom of his neck, but years of neglect and his own really bad haircutting skills mean that, instead, it sticks out in every direction like he's just been electrocuted. He has brown eyes, like most Italians, but unlike most Italians (especially those from the Southern half) he's pretty freaking tall for a thirteen year old, around 5'8'', and pretty dxmn scrawny, but don't judge his physical strength simply by looking at him. Sure, he isn't exactly Hercules, but have you ever been elbowed by a skinny person? It hurts. His skin is, well...pale, by Mediterranean standards, anyway, and he has dark circles under his eyes as if he hasn't slept in weeks. The eyes themselves are brown, but this is pretty irrelevant since I'm not one of those jerks who goes around describing a character's “large, chocolate brown orbs” because they simply have nothing else to talk about. So can you picture him in your head, yet? No? Well, screw you.

 

As for what he wears, Santo's clothing style is...clothes. He honestly couldn't give two shxts what he wears, as long as it's male clothing, long-sleeved and not at all tight because “tight clothes are for douches who want to show off their junk”. Oh, and his pants are never on the ground because even he finds that look ridiculous.

 

Personality:

 

Santo is an absolute jerk, plain and simple. Although he's charismatic for his age, it's clear that he really couldn't care for anybody but himself. Although he is capable of showing affection, particularly towards animals, it seems as though Santo doesn't think of other people as...well, people, but rather objects which he's in every right to use to his own advantage. He's a rather violent boy and his high temper means that he doesn't often have a chance to plan out his actions, but when he does he plans them well and will resort to desperate measures to go through with his plans, not thinking twice to “take care of” any poor sap who gets in his way and most likely won't feel any remorse for it afterwards. Hell, he'll probably be laughing all the way to prison. He has a pretty hard time taking anything seriously. If somebody comes crying to him about their problems he'll either use them to his advantage or charm them with his “witty” sarcasm. Empathy? Pfft, he probably doesn't even know the meaning of that strange word.

 

History:

 

Santo was born to Stephano and Francesca Giovanni in Naples, Southern Italy. His father wasn't around for most of his childhood because he was...he was a busy, busy businessman, let's just leave it at that, so Santo was mainly raised by his mother as an only child. Francesca was a rather nervous woman, rather gullible and a bit of a pushover, meaning that, unless his father “dropped by to visit”, as Stephano's mother, Beatrice (who lived with the family), would say, Santo pretty much got to do whatever the bloody hell he wanted. The only thing Francesca really made him do was learn English, as she believed that this was the key to success. He picked up the language fairly quickly, since Francesca surprisingly managed to convince Stephano to give her enough money to hire an overpriced tutor before Santo had even started school, so by the time he did start school he was rambling away in both Neapolitan Italian and English and soon got popular by teaching the other kids English swear words (though, at that age, Santo's idea of a badaxs swearword was “crap”).

 

When Santo was ten he ended up with a baby sister – dear little Rosalba. As sweet as the little girl was, she was the result of a broken condom and the pregnancy and birth had been so traumatic that Francesca was left depressed for months, so it was Beatrice who had to take the role of being the kids' mother while their real mother wallowed in self-pity. During this time the old woman realised how much of a manipulative twerp her grandson really was.

 

Then, two years later, tragedy struck. It was Stephano and Francesca's anniversary and Stephano's boss was giving him the night off, so they decided to go to a nice restaurant in Sorento. It was a wonderful evening, the first time they'd been together like that in a while, but just as they were walking home a car suddenly swerved round the corner. The window opened and, before the couple could react, there were two gunshots. The guy, whoever they were, had actually been aiming for Stephano, but instead their lousy aim and the fact that the car was still moving meant that they hit Francesca in the neck instead. By the time the ambulance arrived she was as dead as a doornail.

 

The police done some investigations into the shooting but, being the Italian police that they were, they probably never will find who the killer was, nor will they ever know Stephano's true occupation. The murder caused Stephano to spend even more time at work – probably a lot more than necessary. He was probably taking the case into his own hands. Meanwhile, at home, Beatrice, upset by the death of her daughter-in-law who'd become closer to her than her own son, decided that she couldn't be bothered putting up with Santo's shxt anymore, so, after consulting Stephano, decided to send him to a nice little boarding school in England where he could clean up his act. Stephano had agreed to the idea without much of a fight, saying that a stay in England would be great for Santo to improve his English. Poor Santo didn't get any say in the matter, however.

 

What's wrong with them?: Although he denies it constantly, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Santo is most likely a Sociopath who's addicted to a certain, err, illegitimate substance.

 

Other:

 

Herp derp. Sorry, this is kind of rambly and stuff. I'm sick in case you haven't figured that out yet.

piggehs. Like piggies, but piggehs.

Gloria, for some reason, had been awake and up since 6am.

Sighing, Gloria shifted her position on the windowsill and looked out of the single window that her dorm room had. Being head girl didn't get you any more windows, sadly, or any other dorm perks. That is to say, no perks came with the job. Gloria had... earnt them all herself. Take the DVD player she had sitting underneath the TV that she had gotten her dad to ship in. Somewhere in the school was a guy wondering where the hell his DVD player was, seeing as there had been no hints left as to where it might have gone. Gloria had been here long enough to become that skilled. Of course, she wasn't not considered a target for robbery e.t.c either. That was probably why she had managed to set up a little spy camera in the corner of the room, so she could easily identify the person that had dared to nick something belonging to Gloria Night. And of course, she always got changed in the en suite so no-one could hack in and access... interesting footage.

It was coming up to 9am. Gloria was supposed to be making her way to class right now, but she had something else to do today. Yep, it was time to welcome the new recruits. Or rather, it was time to welcome new students. Said students had been here at this hole known as Kensington for at least a week now, but now that they were - apparently - settled in, Gloria felt it was time to introduce herself. Gloria giggled at past memories. Oh, it was always a fun meeting! Except the incident with the pyromanic, but Gloria had dealt with that the next day. Was he out of the hospital wing yet? Possibly... taking once last glance out of the window, Gloria straightend up and turning around with a flick of her blonde hair - currently down - which was more for dramatic purposes than any particular reason. Adjusting her top show it didn't show quite as much (but still showed off a fair bit) Gloria giggled once more and left her room.

(a slightly short post to begin with, but neh.)

Clarice woke up the second she fell from her bed to the floor. "SON OF A...!" She shouted out loud enough for anyone within a 10-dorm range to hear. She rubbed her forehead, which now ached. She got up off her dorm floor and looked in the mirror, brushing her strawberry blonde hair quickly with her fingers. 'Screw the hairbrush.' she thought to herself. She threw off her pajamas and replaced them with her pink plaid button-up top and her gray ripped shorts. Her shirt, however, wasn't even buttoned up. But she was wearing a black tank top underneath, so it didn't matter. She fumbled around in her suitcase to find her sunglasses. After about ten seconds [not even] of trying, she screamed "I CAN'T FIND THEM!" She turned around. "Oh..." she said to herself, giggling. "There they are!" They were on her desk, no surprise.

This happened to Clarice.every morning. Waking up on the floor, and pulling a fit over something so minor, such as losing her sunglasses, or not knowing what shorts to wear. So anyway. She put her sunglasses on and ran out into the hallway without even socks on her feet. She didn't like socks, and she was too busy [Ha! Busy?] to even think about shoes. She sprinted down the hallway, and not paying attention to where she was running [like usual], she ran into a blonde girl with a fairly-revealing shirt. She giggled. "Whoops!" she said. "Who are you? I'm Clarice! You know what? We should be friends. Yeah. That sounds nice!"

Derek really hated interacting with people.

He was already in the classroom - bloody hell, when did he get up? - with his thing set out and rubbing his forehead, currently asking God or whatever other Mighty Being that may be out there why the hell he became a teacher. He should've just moved back to Ireland to start again, get his accent back and marry there, not be doomed to be in a relationship with his on-again-off-again girlfriend who always seems to slide off his arm and into the car of whoever bought her enough drinks. Oh, but recently, he had been putting up with the bullsh`t coming from the twits he called students - their names often became "Black haired girl" or "Short ginger kid" due to completely forgetting all of their names quite often. So, with three months left until he could usher his brats out of his classroom for another three months, he would buckle down and attempt to make sure not a single one of these kids were here in six months time. Which wasn’t very likely, considering his class was only the best of the best. He had worked hard for the position, but he eventually made it to the best Literature Course the school had to offer, and he was a merciless ruler. He didn’t play favorites – hell, half the time he forgot the names of the kids, and he didn’t spare feelings when they turned in assignments – he didn’t bring in cupcakes for Valentines like some of the other teachers did, and he—well, to be quite frank, he was just a huge a`shole to the lot of them. He was most likely the teacher everyone hated. But no matter how much the students talked about him, they kept showing up for class, because d`mn if his class on their record didn’t look good for them...

Derek rolled his shoulders and silently prayed he could have a student teacher - well, a better student teacher. A co-op student. Maybe a pretty lady who would offer Derek her assistance? Oh, if only that was the case. His co-op student now was a doll but he was too timid and too shy and too small, Derek often forgetting his existence until he walked over and addressed the Irish man as "Mistuh boss Derek" instead of simply "Mister Galt".

Let this day begin, and Heaven help whoever may annoy the Irish man today.

((Could it be? An rp I can use my dear Larkykins?~ I thought I'd never be able to rp with him again! Just have to make a few minor tweaks, as he was originally made for a rp with a specific time period... Also forgive, I haven't been able to do many lit rps in quite some time. I may be rusty. I can't write accents so don't expect me to.))

Name: Lark Hartley

Age: 16

Gender: Male

Appearance: He's unusually tall and lanky, with rather long limbs. He has short brown hair swept off to the (our left his) right. He generally tries to keep a rather well-kept and gentlemanly appearance, so his hair is well kept and very smooth. His eyes are a light blue that look darker due to his hair and the dark rings that are often under his eyes from lack of sleep. If you ignore the dark rings, he actually has a rather handsome ((well I think so)) face. His nose is small and even his eyebrows are well kept. He dresses rather formal as well, black dress pants and a black dress shirt and a pair of brown boots is his general wear, but for special occasions he will wear his suit. He still own some of the costumes from when he was a performer. his favorite being a cat costume from when he was young. The ears and tail still fit him so he will wear them on occasion when he is alone. He is always wearing a silver broach with his family's emblem on it.

Personality: Quiet. Very quiet. Like, selective mute that knows sign language but only signs when spoken too quiet. Once you crack his shell of silence he is a very nice and kind young man. He, like with how he dresses, always tries to be the kind gentleman to all he meets. It was just how his family taught him. Unfortunately, he can be extremely irritable at times due to lack of sleep, as well as quite paranoid and jumpy. He spends much of his free time (read: the middle of the night) singing and reenacting musicals and operas he was once in with noting but himself and his imagination.

History: He was born into a rather large, wealthy English family of musicians, singers, performers, and thespians. Unfortunately for him his family is very old-fashioned. He had a lovely soprano voice that his parents thought was angelic, and castrated him against his will, so he refused to sing at any performance his parents wished of him. As he grew older he became increasingly self-conscious of his voice, and suddenly stopped talking to all but his brothers and sisters (he refused to talk to his parents.) He was diagnosed as a selective mute. Soon after, his eldest brother suggested he learned sign language. His teacher lived down the street and has a lovely young daughter who he fancied. He would often hang out with the girl before or after a class, and they quickly became close. After much consideration he decided that he could talk to her. When he did, she laughed at his voice. Breaking his heart as well as making him snap. He started beating her in blind fury. Her father stopped him before he could actually kill her though.

What's wrong with them?: Selective mute with chronic insomnia and hallucinations plus irritability because of this. Has issues with trusting people.

Other: He has two older brothers and two older sisters. Is very fluent in sign language. Fun fact: His original sketch had him as an anthro long-haired cat. Uh... Yeah... PIGGEHS! oink oink!

Like many teenagers, Santo couldn't stand mornings. He occasionally – very, very occasionally – woke up before the alarm, but as soon as he heard that dreaded, high pitched trill he would groan and bury his face in the pillow to try and drown out the noise, his bed suddenly seeming a whole lot more comfortable than it had the previous night. This morning, however, he had managed to sleep right throw the bloody alarm, and was woken up about half an hour later by the sound of some lunatic running around the hallways like Rosalba on a sugar-high.

 

With a sigh, Santo rolled over to check the time on his phone, apparently overestimating the width of the bed in doing so and landing on the floor with an uncomfortable thud. He lay there for a few moments, rubbing the back of his head and muttering something in an unintelligible mixture of English and Italian under his breath, then dragged himself off the floor, having to hold onto the bedside table for support, and pressed a random button on his phone to make the screen light up,

 

...Jesus Christ, was it really half eight?

 

“Oh, affanculo,” he said, not bothering to say it quietly this time. It's not like anybody could hear, anyway, and even if they could they probably wouldn't have understood the Italian. Thankfully, exhaustion meant that he hadn't bothered to change out of his school uniform last night before collapsing into bed and falling asleep before his head hit the pillow, so all he had to do is put on his school blazer and shove on his already-filthy “smart, black shoes” (what was the deal with these school uniforms, anyway? Italy only had them in certain schools, and even then it was usually just the snooty private schools like the kind his dad originally wanted him to go to) then grabbed his bag and rushed out of the door, slamming it behind him with enough force to make the whole dormitary shake.

 

He couldn't wait for the weekend.

(I'll wait to post until I'm approved )

Name: Aisling Smith

Age: 18 Years, 3 months, 2 days. (She's very anal about keeping track of exactly how old she is.)

Gender: Female

Appearence: Aisling used to be very pretty girl. However, as her condition got worse, her illness hid the prettiness. She is not a "beautiful speshul snowflake", nor does she care about being one. She has black hair that is kept in a pixie cut (that was not of her choice, it was done so it would be harder for her to pull her hair out). Her skin is pale from avoidance of going outside, and it seems a bit pasty and sickly looking. She's extremely thin, and her weight is at an unhealthy low. Her eyes are probably her only redeeming feature, a dark shade of gray. However, she has bags under her eyes, so it detracts from any normalcy her looks could have a chance of achieving. When it comes to clothes, she has a collection of dresses that look like they're from the forties, with full-ish skirts and tighter bodices. That's the only concern she has about her looks, which is a really weird contrast to her physical appearance. She's very short, only about 5' 3", and is sometimes mistaken as a young teenager, and not an adult.

Personality: Aisling is very soft spoken, feeling that it's better to be quiet and be thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt. When she says something, it is well thought out, and usually has some other meaning tacked on to what others hear. She is pretty nice, but can easily become aggravated, at which point she sulks and avoids everyone, crying in silence. When she is in a good mood, however, she has a soft smile on her face occasionally, and is more open to people. During the night, however, she becomes an emotional mess, crying and shrieking from her fears and her nightmares. She hates confrontation, and avoids it as much as possible. She's a very submissive girl, with very low self esteem. She'll do anything to make other people happy, putting aside her own self interest. She makes herself a welcome mat for anybody, really, and lets them wipe their feet all over her (metaphorically speaking).

History: Aisling is actually from New York City, where she had a career as a child actress on Broadway. Her mother, who raised her alone, pushed her to be a pageant girl, a perfect little actress and singer, and eventually into modeling. Aisling's father had been a guitarist in a rock back, while her mother was one of his backup singers. He wasn't what people would call a "good guy", and he abused drugs and alcohol whenever he had the chance. When Aisling's mother found out she was "knocked up", she tried to keep it a secret from everyone. But people noticed her rounding belly, and she was kicked out of the tour. She had Aisling in a dirty motel room, and vowed that, no matter what, she would make her daughter's life amazing. Aisling's dad was around for the first year, but then he just vanished into thin air.

Aisling's mom got a steady job, and began sending her little girl to talent agencies and auditions. Eventually, she was propelled into the lights of Broadway- and at a young age, she loved it! But as years went by, it became tedious, and she couldn't stand not having a choice. When she was a freshman in high school, she started going to a normal school, and thought that maybe the hard times were over. But then her mom pushed her into pageants, and then modeling. Her body was criticized, she was criticized, and had no control of her life. She began to believe she wasn't strong enough to go out into the real world, and began hiding away from everything and everyone-- especially her mother. She began self harm in private, and eventually tried to jump from the balcony of her apartment. Her mother, afraid for the success of her daughter's career, sent her to the boarding school.

What's wrong with them?: Aisling has full blown Panic Disorder, as well as depression. She also suffers from a severe case of Agoraphobia-- the fear of leaving her house. She also is claustrophobic.

Other: piggehs

(( Okay, I know this is technically SPAM, but it won't let me edit anymore so...yeah, you know that part about the school uniform? Just...pretend it never happened, all right? Santo is wearing...IDK, jeans and a hoodie. ))

Everyone is accepted, yet again ^^ Wow, this is going well.

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Gloria had literally been walking for all of two seconds before someone slammed into her. Typical of this place! You couldn't even step outside of your room in peace, not without some hyperactive kid slamming into you. Gloria really, really wanted to grab this kid, punch her in the face and then, if she fell to the floor, stand on some important pressure point with the heel on her shoe. But no. Not here, not now. Although, if it happened again, she probably wouldn't hesitate to take her annoyance out on the girl. Well, she said annoyance - it was more... because she could, really. Oh, hello. The girl was speaking. Compared to Gloria, who was wearing really high heels, she was a small thing, with an annoyingly high pitched voice to match. Great, just great. Thank god Gloria didn't have a hangover. If she did, the previous fantasy would have been carried out long ago, only maybe with a weapon added.

Sticking on a smile, Gloria looked down at Clarice. Clarice. Interesting name she had there. Oh lord, she wanted to be friends. Could Gloria have picked up another tag along? That could turn out for the best - tag alongs could be fun! She could often get them to do stuff that she would dare do, in fear of being caught and losing her position. It wasn't that she didn't want to have to 'hurt' more people to climb back up to the top again, oh no. She'd loved that bit. It was just... it took effort, you know? Something she couldn't always be bothered with... better to stay where she was and send out disposable kids like this one. "Hi there!" she said brightly, with a little giggle. "I'm Gloria! And that does sound-"

Gloria's words wre cut off by a loud slam from further down the hall. Briefly dropping the giggly act, purely by accident, Gloria spun around, hissing 'Son of a...' She pulled herself together before she could complete the curse and dish out a very detailed threat to the boy who was heading towards them. Oh dear, Gloria seemed to have stumbled into the boys section! Who could have guessed that that would ever happen? Ah well. Taking in the boy coming towards them, the one who had slammed the door, Gloria took in what he was wearing and held back a giggle - oh dear - before speaking. She figured he might stick around for a bit - Gloria and her choice of clothing (how little of it to wear) often had that effect on boys. "Hi! I'm Gloria, that's Clarice-" She prodded the girl standing next to her, before continuing, "And you are...?"

Aisling was staring at herself in a window, twirling slightly, the yellow dress similar to the color of the morning sun. It was a nice sun dress, but for some reason Aisling wasn't quite content. Well, she wasn't content with anything. She was trapped inside, too afraid to try and go out during breaks, to frightened to step outside of the safety bubble. She remembered how, when she had been forced to come here, she had experienced her worst panic attack as they drug her out of her New york apartment. She remembered screaming in the car, her reactions worsening when she saw a billboard with one of her advertisements on it. She'd had long, silky black hair then, she'd had the right curves, the perfect face. But it wasn't enough. it would never be enough for anyone. She'd begged to go home, told them she could change, but her words fell on deaf ears. Then came the plane ride.

She shook her head quickly, feeling nauseous at the reminder of that horrible experience. If she wasn't careful, she would go into a panic attack, or worse, even have a seizure. She stepped into the hallway, relieved that her illness didn't confine her to her room-- yet. Peering down each direction of the hall, she could hear the screaming, laughing, smashing sounds that were normal in this place. To her, these sounds were better than the screaming of directors, the snapping of cameras,the critiques to her body-- She stumbled back a bit, gripping the wall as a wave of panic surged over her. D*mn She thought bitterly. They're here somewhere, aren't they? Just waiting for me... When the uncomfortable feelings subsided, she pushed herself away from the wall, and gasped for breath.

She forced herself to walk down the hallway, needing to get to the safety of the classroom as quickly as possible. Feeling the nervousness flooding her mind, she started running, her Grecian sandals making dull thuds against the floor. lease don't let them get me... oh God, please save me from them! When she reached the classroom, she peeked inside before entering, letting out a sigh of relief. She looked at the teacher and gave a slight smile. "Good morning Mr. Galt," she said softly, before sitting down at her desk, far away from the window. She took out her notebook and pencil, and started doodling idly on a sheet of notebook paper.

Mr. Galt calmed her down for some reason, probably because he provided some sense of structure, even though he was a bit of a jerk. Okay, he was a major jerk. But because of her upbringing, she was drawn to those people, she listened to those people, the ones who were hard-nosed and gave strict orders. However, the most she would say to him was "hello", "goodbye", and occasionally "have a nice day". And she would answer in class quite often, because she loved literature. Shakespeare was her favorite playwright, she could quote major portions of Dante's "Inferno", Victor Hugo happened to be her favorite author, and she considered Poe a master of horrific poetry. In fact, literature was the only class she excelled in. Every other subject, she barely managed to pass.

Lucy had been awake for a couple of hours by now, lying in bed. She was singing to herself under her breath, and she had almost forgotten where she was, and that she had school in about an hour. She rolled over and looked at her clock, and stared at it, bemused, before slowly rolling out of bed, and walking, zombie-like, towards her wardrobe. As soon as she pulled the doors open, clothes spilled out around her feet, screwed-up, and some still on their hangers.

“Oops,” Lucy giggled, grabbing all of her clothes up and stuffing them back onto the bottom shelf, until she realised that she had to use some of these clothes today. Oh well, out they come again she thought, pulling all of them back out of the wardrobe and onto the carpet, falling to the floor in the middle of them to sort them all out. She pulled a pair of jeans and a zip-up hoodie out of the mass of clothes around her, and walked of into the corner of the room, away from the open window, to pull them on. She left her clothes lying in a heap on the floor, telling herself that she would clean them up after school. Probably. Stopping only to slip on a pair of scuffed trainers, grab her bag from beside the door, and look in the mirror to run her fingers through her hair, she half-skipped out of her dorm door, and into the corridor.

Lark watched the digital clock that was placed on the small side table next to his bed. He had to have been watching said clock for at least a few hours. It was about 8:15am by the time he decided he should get moving. He grabbed his clothes for the day and went into the small bathroom that was in his dorm to change. After getting changed he decided to fix his hair. It didn't take long considering he never went to bed to begin with. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and sighed.

"Blasted insomnia, couldn't sleep a wink at all last night..." He muttered to himself, his voice barely a whisper. He turned around with a yawn and headed back to his room to grab his messenger bag of school supplies. He bought it specifically for going to this new school, though it wasn't anything special. It was black and made with leather with no design. He had a simple clip-on calculator attached to the bag as well. He hefted it over his shoulder with a soft grunt. He looked around his room once more to make sure he wasn't missing anything. The area around his bed seemed a bit off, though he couldn't quite place his finger on what was off. "It's nothing." He thought. Then shut his eyes and shook his head before turning around to leave into the hallway.

He stepped out into the hall and looked around, and noticing all the people froze. There was quite a good deal of people in the hall today. Now it makes sense that there was a good deal of people, considering Lark was in a school and all, but he was home schooled up until this point, and the only time he was around a large number of people is when he is performing, but he doesn't have to interact with all of them. Also insomnia helps with getting to class extra early. His mind then began to wonder what if there were crazy people who tried to hurt him? There was no way he could stand up to anyone in a fight. Better yet, what were the chances of any of them even knowing sign language? Someone would probably walk up and talk to him expecting him to hold a conversation and he'd just lock up and start signing or something and not a soul would be able to understand him. Tragic! But he couldn't just stand there gawking like an idiot, he has to get to his classes sooner or later. He then started digging in his bag for a map of the campus, not yet sure of the lay of the land. His brows furrowed in confusion. He found his class schedule, not needed because he memorized his classes already, but not his map. He closed his eyes and sighed. He has already been here for, oh about a week, he should at least know some of the way, right? Right. So after a few more seconds of mental preparation he turned and finally took a step away from his door.

Of course, sitting in the classroom in one place for too long made her legs ache, so she got up from her seat and peered out into the hallway. Okay... there aren't that many people out there. Maybe I can just walk down the hall and back without being noticed. She gave a soft sigh, then began walking down the hallway as quickly as she could, the feeling coming back to her legs. Her legs felt more comfortable, but her mental state didn't. She felt like everyone was oggling her, whispering foul secrets about her, trying to tear her apart with their gazes. She gulped, trying to supress the wave of panic that threatened to seize her. There were more people then she initially thought.

She kept walking, until she saw a boy with his map out. I remember being like that... completely lost and confused. A month sure can change a lot of things, can't it? She walked up to him, a concerned look on her face. "Um... excuse me. I couldn't help noticing that, uh... you look a bit... lost?" Her voice was definitely a soprano voice, clear and melodic, proper intonation forced into each word. "Is there any way I can be of help to you?" She wrung her hands nervously, afraid of what he was thinking about her. She bet he thought she looked like a doofus, that she was annoying, that she wasn't much help at all. Forcing herself not to puke, she eyed the boy carefully, trying to size him up with a glance.

He was really tall, especially in comparison to herself, looking like a pixie next to a giant. He wasn't bad looking, really. In fact, he was kind of cute, with that brown hair and put together clothes. Looking at his face again, she swore she recognized it from somewhere... "If you don't mind me asking, what is your name?" She said softly, trying to peek at his schedule to distract herself from his face. Where had she seen it before? The thought nagged at her as she tried to file through her memories, thinking of people she could have worked with or met with in the past.

Derek had muttered a "Good morning," to Aisling, slouching more on the desk. He wouldn't try to kick up a friendly conversation with the girl, he knew very well her condition - just because he didn't give a dang about the kids he taught didn't mean he forgot their conditions. Most of them, anyways. The five hundred something kids at this bloody school made any teacher slowly forget the ones they taught. Some of the conditions stood out, though. And he was alright with that; he had to take care of them. As rude as he was, as Irish as he was.

... Screw this. He wasn't sitting in the classroom doing nothing. Wasn't there some brat wandering the halls and thought she owned the mother glubbing place? Go crush her moral, young man! Head east!

Pushing back in his chair and making it scrape along the floor, the Irish man stood up and walked out of the classroom, hands in pockets and eyes on the floor. He kicked the door shut behind him and headed down the hallway, ignoring any passing glances he may get from students or teachers. He ignored the 'Hello sirs" and "Hello Mister Galts" he received, occasionally looking up to acknowledge the person. However, he mostly just stayed quiet and kept to himself, shifting a little in his shoes. He was waiting, waiting for someone to stop him and talk to the unpleasant b`stard.

Clarice glared at the girl who had addressed herself as 'Gloria'. "God dammit!" she muttered to herself, rubbing her shoulder. Did this girl really just jab her like that? Really? Did this girl even know what Clarice was capable of? Sure, she seemed friendly and cheerful, [if not mentally retarded] at first, but deep down inside [deep down inside, but there, none the less], she was the type of person who could and would break someone's arms with a hammer over something so unimportant. Yes, she'd done that before. Twice before, to be exact. And heck, she'd even stabbed somebody before. Though, she'd never kill somebody. She just wasn't that type of girl. For someone who broke down and cried minutes after hurting somebody even a little, there was no way she'd actually commit murder. No way was she going to go that far; she was already messed in the head, she didn't need something like that to mess with her mind even more. She shook her head, quickly ridding of the angered mood she was in and replaced it with her usual cheery grin. Hell, she'd just met Gloria not more than a few minutes ago, and she wasn't just going to get back at her. Besides, a small jab like that wasn't going to bruise even a little. Plus, it was just too early in the morning to get into a fight, she wasn't going to waste her energy.

She looked up at the boy Gloria was talking to. D'mn, he was tall. Well, not really 'giant' sized, but compared to the tiny ginger girl, he was pretty freaking tall. She smiled at him. "Hello!" she said to him. "Your hair is messy! Why is it messy? You should fix that, you know. And maybe like... get it cut, and shampooed, and brushed. And then your hair will look nice! That'd be nice..." and she just kept rambling on and on whether-or-not anybody was paying attention to her. She stopped talking for a second. "I'm hungry!" she announced, childishly pouting. She got down on the hallway floor and layed on the carpet. "I'M NOT MOVING UNTIL SOMEBODY AGREES TO GET ME SOME FOOD." Yep, an average morning for Clarice. Lying down on the floor and screaming for somebody to get her breakfast... or until a teacher came along and made her get up. One of the two, whichever came first.