Cordelia's sheet. May have messed up some of the formatting, I'm terrible with bbcode. The spelling mistakes/grammar errors are intentional, as is the needlessly caustic attitude.

[u][b]PITY -[i]Court-Mandated[/i] Application for Academic Year 2015/2016[/b][/u]

[b]Student Name:[/b] 
[INDENT]Cordelia Lynn Holmes. Lynn.[/INDENT]
[b]Gender:[/b] 
[INDENT]Female.[/INDENT]
[b]Nationality:[/b]
[INDENT]Nationality? Uh, white? [/INDENT]
[b]Age:[/b] 
[INDENT]17[/INDENT]
[b]D.O.B.:[/b]
[INDENT]Dunno exactly. December 31st. 199..whenever makes me seventeen.[/INDENT]

[b][u]Appearance[/u][/b]
[Please attach a photographic image of yourself for our records]

((I'm not really used to the bbcode on this forum so I'll just attach a link.))

[url]https://images.search.yahoo.com/images/view;_ylt=AwrB8p18FVFVjjgAR.IunIlQ;_ylu=X3oDMTIyb2h2dmdrBHNlYwNzcgRzbGsDaW1nBG9pZAM2ZTEwN2I0NDliYjdjMDk2YjI4YjQ1NTU2OGZlN2JlZgRncG9zAzEEaXQDYmluZw--?.origin=&back=https%3A%2F%2Fimages.search.yahoo.com%2Fyhs%2Fsearch%3Fp%3Dgirl%2Bflipping%2Bthe%2Bbird%26n%3D60%26ei%3DUTF-8%26fr%3Dyhs-mozilla-001%26fr2%3Dsb-top-images.search.yahoo.com%26hsimp%3Dyhs-001%26hspart%3Dmozilla%26tab%3Dorganic%26ri%3D1&w=640&h=480&imgurl=www.corbisimages.com%2Fimages%2FCorbis-42-16850261.jpg%3Fsize%3D67%26uid%3Df959a58d-e51d-4356-b8b5-bff2edee1909&rurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.corbisimages.com%2Fstock-photo%2Frights-managed%2F42-16850261%2Fteenage-girl-flipping-the-bird&size=79.3KB&name=Teenage+%3Cb%3EGirl+Flipping+the+Bird%3C%2Fb%3E&p=girls+flipping+the+bird&oid=6e107b449bb7c096b28b455568fe7bef&fr2=sb-top-images.search.yahoo.com&fr=yhs-mozilla-001&rw=girls+flipping+the+bird&tt=Teenage+%3Cb%3EGirl+Flipping+the+Bird%3C%2Fb%3E&b=0&ni=160&no=1&ts=&tab=organic&sigr=1316mc0i7&sigb=15l4vaoeq&sigi=133tikdpc&sigt=115796upo&sign=115796upo&.crumb=5eotzh8N1Uc&fr=yhs-mozilla-001&fr2=sb-top-images.search.yahoo.com&hsimp=yhs-001&hspart=mozilla[/url]

My probation officer said to take a nice respectful picture of myself for your files so here ya go. I really don't care if this application gets accepted or not because it's probably gonna turn out the same either way. School sucks but I hear you guys have a pretty dope cafteria so I guess it's a mixed blessing or whatever that phrase is. Uh description. I'm like 5'2 or something, I don't remember the last time I checked. Shit, when was the last time I was in a doctor's office? People make short jokes about me sometimes but generally if you kick those people in the nuts really hard you wind up standing taller than them so hey funny how that works. I'm like a hundred pounds or so. I think it's supposed to be higher. Fuck it. I've got a couple tattooes. Big-ass phoenix going down my back and left arm. It's pretty badass I'm not gonna lie. Got a sleeve of the four horsemen on my right arm. That's pretty boss. Nothing on my stomach. Should probably get something to cover up the ribs. Uh clothes are normally whatever. I...found...some pretty cool shoes. Got a pair of jeans with holes and stuff in them, but they're comfy as all hell. Big-ass red sweatshirt. It's baggy. People give you less shit when you have baggy clothes on because they think maybe you're packing. Which my probation officer has told me I am also not supposed to do. I got a little chip on one of my teeth from that time I pissed off those Mexicans. Or maybe they were Puerto Ricans. I don't know, I was pre-occupied kicking their asses to find out for sure. Yeah how's that for a school application. can I apply for security or some shit instead of being a student? Okay what else. Uh, hair, normally back in a ponytail. Also the hair and the eyes change color sometime. It's a thing, just roll with it. I got a bunch of scars. Not those sideways "I'm really sad" kind but like the real ones you get from out and doing shit. One on forearm from a barbed wire fence, a few on my legs from whatever. Got one on my knee from trying to jump out of a car. Didn't work out so well. Uh I also got a scar over my nose, going all horizontel. Touches both cheeks. It's pretty badass. 

[b]Hair Color:[/b]
[INDENT]Brown.[/INDENT] 
[b]Eye Color:[/b]
[INDENT]Blue. Are we done with these dumbass questions yet?[/INDENT] 
[b]Ethnicity:[/b]
[INDENT]White? What's the difference between this and nationality?[/INDENT] 
[b]Height:[/b] 
[INDENT]5'3. 5'2. Somewhere in there.[/INDENT]
[b]Weight:[/b] 
[INDENT]100. Maybe a little less?[/INDENT]

[b][u]Powers & Abilities[/u][/b]

[b]Power Name:[/b]
[INDENT]Oh, they're supposed to have names? Um, shit. Uh, the flame...no that's dumb. Gimme a minute.[/INDENT] 
[b]Power Description:[/b]
[INDENT]I'm a phoenix, or whatever.[/INDENT] 
[b]Abilities:[/b]
[INDENT]Are there a lot more sections? Because I'm already tired of this. Fine. The highlights. Basically I'm like a phoenix or something. Got the tats to match it. Whenever I get all fired up (hah that wasnt even intentional) I start to smolder up a bit. Hair lights up and stuff. Makes me tougher. I get angry enough or scare-uh, serious enough, goes all out. Ignite more, helps amp me up. I think I heal quicker from stuff but I don't really know. Not like that movie with the guy with the claws. Wounds and stuff usually calterize I guess. My hair and my eyes change color sometimes. Red, white, blue, yellow, fire stuff. So that's pretty dope. Oh and stuff around me is...hotter? Nah that's not right. Like shit warms up more easily. Water boils faster. Shot a gun one time, barrel was warped as all hell. Guess the heat and cold don't bother me a whole lot either. But that could be a side effect of my other power, not being a little bitch.  [/INDENT] 
[b]Drawbacks & Weaknesses:[/b]
[INDENT]Well normally my clothes aren't non-flamamable. So that sucks. I burn out too. Dunno how to describe it. I get hit too hard or go too long and I just...skin starts peeling off like ash. Fire sputters and goes out. Hair falls out, my vision gets all weird. Cold. Really cold. Like beyond temperature cold, you know, like something...I dunno. Start thinking about dark shit. It's not fun. So on general principle I avoid getting my ass kicked. Happens if I get hurt real bad too, the...burnout. When I'm trying to warm back up (takes a while) it's not...I dunno what happens if something happens then. I guess I burnout for real, you know? Never played with it much to find out. And I go through cigarettes real fast. It sucks. I can't like control it either, I'm not like those guys from that cartoon with the bald kid. Whenever we get fucked up we watch that sometimes. Also, whenever I let the fire-stuff start happening, I get, like, super hungry afterwards. And I'm usually pretty hungry. So that's saying something.[/INDENT]  

[b][u]About You[/u][/b] 

[b]Family:[/b]
[INDENT]None. Really appreciate the reminder, though, thanks.[/INDENT]
[b]Personal Statement:[/b]
[INDENT]The hell is a personal statement. Fine. My name is Lynn. I do not like filling out applications. Pretty sure I spelled half this shit wrong. But half right for somebody who dropped out of high school's pretty alright. Reading is stupid and gay anyways, I don't need to be good at it. I am a dear friend of the Chicago Police Department and they really like reminding me I have one year unil I start going to big girl prison. I like reminding them their wives are probably out sleeping with police officers from a city that doesn't suck so much. But now I'll be in New York in your school or whatever so that's cool. School's kinda pointless, but the judge said it was this or juvy and I did juvy before and it was boring as all hell. So I guess I'll stick around your school long enough to get a degree so I can be a happy member of the real world. What? That not enough? Fine. I don't play well with others. Most people are dicks and most people deserve what's coming to them. I don't like cops, rich people, and have been told I have "trouble with authoritity". I'm kind of a loner. Most people get on my nerves. Most people don't have to deal with real shit, so most people aren't worth talking to. Here's my daily routine. I wake up at whatever time I wake up at and then go to the nearest TV and watch the news to see if I recognize any names on there. Usually a few people show up. Then they cut to the royal baby or some shit, which is just wonderful. Then I'll go and find food somewhere. Sometimes I skip this step. Uh, usually I skip this step. Normally try and figure out where I'm stayin' that night early on. Word gets out I'm a mutant, it's a lot harder to find places. I've got too many tattooes to really get a lot of help from shelters, plus I've been in one or two once and a few jackasses came looking. Don't want to get anybody else caught up in all that you know. Then I'll try and earn some cash, I got a few people who are cool with the mutant thing cause I do good work. I got quick hands, all I'll say about that. Then I'll get some food if I can, try and spend the rest of the doing whatever. Every now and then when I'm feeling like a functional member of society I'll go try and get a job. That usually ends up the same way. Dropout mutant with no references and criminal history? Yeah can't imagine why Hobby lobby didn't want me working a register. It's whatever though. I do pretty fine. Try and avoid familiar places. Where I grew up-piece of shit orphanage with piece of shit nuns in charge of it-or school. Couple teachers there were pretty decent. Don't like seeing them. Or kids I used to go to school with. Wasn't a mutant before I dropped out, just...hung with the wrong crowds, went down a slippery slope, all that other shit they throw at you in PSAs. But I'd do it all again you know. People always talk shit about drug dealers or whatever. Not all bad. A few assholes, but I know some good guys. Tough to earn respect being a skinny ass white girl but I made it work. Damn I rambled. So yeah accept me to your school or whatever, I dunno. Im sure your guidance counselor will turn my life around. Assuming your school is not full of rich fucks Ill make friends, do all my work on time (unless its retarded) and be like the coolest person ever. Yeah. Woooooo. I dont know how long that old-ass judge wanted this thing to be. He only said i had to APPLY to get out of goin to juvy. I'm pretty sure. Wait, shit, he might not have. I shoulda taken this more seriously. Uh okay. talents. Im okay at singing. Mostly rap. I write some too. I guess I'd be alright at sports, I got quick eyes and reflexes. Also I'm pretty good at picking up on whenever people are lying because Ive spent a lot of time around teachers and cops. I keep my word and stuff. Also I'm not bad at like fighting and stuff. No, shit, I can't say that to a school. Uh. Um. I'm very determined...and keep on going no matter what life throws at me. Yeah. That sounds right. I'm also poor as hell and bisexual so yeah wooohooo I'll make your d[s]emograph[/s] [s]dimograp[/s] fuck whatever that word is-numbers look really good if you take me




((This is a fair deal longer than 2-3 paragraphs-I apologize for that, but since Lynn's template is in-character, and Lynn's character is pretty damned prideful, I wanted to try and touch on some other stuff with this. My bad! I can shorten it if necessary, or answer any other questions.)) 

[HIDER=Sample post]Cordelia was a pretty recognizable figure-not that she was famous, but she generally stuck to the same ensemble. A backpack held together by electrical tape, blue jeans held together by duct tape, and a face that appeared to be held together by a permanent scowl. A crier on the street turned to offer her an advertisement and not-so-subtly withdrew. He may have a suspicion that Lynn was not entirely interested in Chicago's opera house.

If you were to watch Lynn as she walked-well, you'd have to do so from a distance, and very subtly, or else you would have a hundred pounds of fury with nothing better to do coming to ask you a few questions. I digress. You'd notice she walked quickly, the seasoned walk of a city native. Her eyes flickered back and forth as she darted in and out of slower people on the sidewalk, just keeping a good sense for where she was. Lynn didn't really stick to the nicer parts of town-a pinch of paranoia carried you a pretty long way. Occasionally she'd shudder, miss a step. Clutch her chest or rub at her stomach. A wide and weary yawn. Her neck twisted to unhealthy angles as she walked past food vendors. Occasionally she'd pass the sorts who linger outside the tourist traps, panhandling or sleazing. Lynn's reaction was varied-to a few, she'd roll her eyes, call them by name, give them a jovial "Fuck off!". A few she ignored, keeping her eyes straight ahed and moving on through. A handful brought a quieter reaction-Lynn would let her eyes roll over them and grimace a bit before she recovered. That wasn't her. She wouldn't be that. No. Of course not. She was different.

Stop to smoke. Supposedly, those things were pretty bad for you. Lynn figured even if she did live long enough for that to matter, the fact her body spontaneously burst into flame kinda offset any health risks. She was gonna be breathing in smoke (or breathing it out) one way or another. Might as well get a little chemical tranquility in the process. She leaned back against a corner, backpack cushioning her frame (underneath that sweatshirt, Miss Holmes, just how skinny how are you?) as she took long draws. Her eyes stared off across the street, not really focusing on anything. Occasionally a noise would break her reverie, making her flinch and jump up, right hand falling to her back pocket, her other clenching around the lit cigarette (which would flare up with hunger). These little smoke breaks never lasted long-she burned through the whole cigarette in maybe two, three minutes. She was pretty environmentally conscious-there was never any butt to leave lying on the ground.

The hours would pass. These got spent in a myriad of ways-Lynn had a few usual haunts, and was somewhat in-between posses. There was a sizable number of mutants in Chicago's underground, and it...complicated things. Gang wars had a tendency for escalation whenever the superhuman were around. Between arrests or deaths, Chicago's gangs were a revolving door since mutants went public. Lynn watched the morning news every day. Read the numbers and tried to see if she recognized the faces. Not much else she could do. She did little jobs-pickpocketed a bit, occasionally did some running across town. Guns or drugs. These were riskier, and she didn't get too many offers. Fine by her.

Around once a week there'd be a run-in with the law-Lynn, for her trash talk and put-on bravado, was pretty Machiavellan about what she did. The girl stayed clear of anything violent, and the serious stuff was few and far between. A mutant girl was enough of a target-one without the money for legal fees or any real allies? Lynn played it pretty smart. Relatively speaking-the girl was still not in the best of situations, and whenever she put her head down at night (wherever it wound up being) she'd get that low feeling in her gut. Tick. Tock. Not many people ran in her circles past the age of twenty five. Sooner or later she'd get her ticket.

Lynn walked slowly, one arm clinging to the pack slung over her shoulder and the other hanging at her waist, fingers dancing about. Immediately, she got that electric-wire fear of stepping between a mother bear and her cub. The alleyway was pretty narrow, and a casual glance over her shoulder confirmed Lynn's suspicions. Blocked in. Shit. Ahead there were two of them-Lynn didn't recognize them. Didn't see any noticeable marks, no lightning bolts from the brotherhood, not any colors she picked up on. Might've just been loners like her. Lynn kept walking steadily, but began to prepare herself. In most fights, Lynn was generally outgunned. She fought holding nothing back out of necessity-a hundred pounds and a few hairs over five foot? Not exactly the top contender in street fights.

"You lost?" one of them asked, sizing her up as she had done to them. Within about three seconds, both parties had full situational awareness of the other. Lynn was walking alone and, judging from her dress, not going to be going to the cops about this. These thugs were not tough enough or smart enough to roll with any real group so they were hanging here, in the middle of nowhere.

Lynn sighed, more resigned than really frightened. The girl may not have been able to make above a C, but she was far from foolish. She stayed cold and collected in situations like these-it would be later, when she was lying in bed? That's when the panic sets in. "Fuck off."

There was a brief pause-the thugs weren't really used to that kind of brevity.

"You know who you're talkin-"

"I don't give a shit who I'm talking to," Lynn said with a genuinely bored tone of voice. "You're either gonna try and jump me or let me by. Let's just get this over with, one way or ano-"

Lynn had a code of honor-it was warped, perhaps, but it was there. She stuck to her word, tried to avoid messing with anybody who was, you know, actually a good person. Her cynicism made the threshold for "good person" pretty damned high, but she wasn't evil. Just lost. Regardless, she didn't really like to take chances, especially when she was outnumbered three-to-one. So, halfway through her sentence, as she continued walking forward, Lynn drove her knee into the groin of the first unlucky, would-be mugger. He yelped, pained and surprised, and staggered back. His partner was caught off guard but had begun to recover, reaching for something. Lynn didn't really want to find out what-not hesitating, she shifted her weight and threw all she had at the second guy, forcing him to stagger to the side a step or two and delaying whatever nasty trick he had up his sleeve for a moment or two more.

The third one-from behind-kicked the back of Lynn's bag and knocked her to the ground pretty easily. She caught it in a roll and bounced up, making up for muscle mass with quickness and coldness. Lynn didn't half-ass her punches, and unlike a surprising amount of the people she'd been forced to fight, she fought to win. She didn't care if she played dirty. Lynn grunted and felt her sweatshirt becoming uncomfortably warm-sweat started to course down her arms and torso, and as she breathed out (through closed teeth-if you open them, it's a lot easier to get knocked out, and Lynn preferred to not be unconscious in Chicago's streets at night) a wisp of smoke darted between her not-so-pearly whites.

Her hair and eyes began to shift in color-ever so slightly, and Lynn darted forward, letting the bag fall from her shoulder. It landed behind her, provoking another startled grunt-one of the other two had tripped on it. Lynn didn't want to try and focus on any one of the three and wind up getting suckerpunched from behind as a result. 

Unfortunately, the other one had recovered faster than she thought, and she wound up getting suckerpunched from behind as a result. For the second time in about ten seconds, Lynn fell to the concrete, starting to bounce up before another kick knocked her back down. 

"'Fuck off'? You know, manners go a long way wit-" Lynn didn't really care to hear the rest of his speech, especially with his dirty-ass shoe pressing down on her neck. Her right hand snaked up-(the sweatshirt's sleeve, too bag, fell back and her tattooes bared to the night air) and her fingers laced around his ankle as she pushed up as hard as she could. It wasn't going to budge his leg-not with brute force. The stench of burning denim followed shortly by burning flesh, however, did make the man fall back. Lynn's form glowed softly, her hair beginning to well and truly ignite-the ponytail burst free from its bands and fell to her shoulders as Lynn scrambled back up, pressing her back to the wall and crouching, offering as little vulnerable space to them as she could afford. Her eyes began to smolder, matching her hair as they climbed to a furious red.

The other three, who, in all fairness, had probably not been able to anticipate this as an outcome to their evening, stared in varying degrees of shock. 

"Whenever," Lynn panted, "I force-feed you your own dicks, do you want them cooked medium, or well-done?"

There was a moment of silence in which the thugs considered a great many things. The rising air temperature around the scrawny girl, a long series of unfortunate life choices that had led them to this point, and the rather nauseating proposition Lynn offered.

About twenty seconds later, Lynn picked up her bag and began walking out of the alleyway, cursing her stupidity for walking down it to begin with. Her body shook with adrenaline. Christ, they hit hard. Lynn rolled her neck around a bit and massaged the spot where she'd hit the concrete that second time. Her shaking fingers fumbled with her backpack's outer pocket for-oh, those bastards. They'd taken her cigarettes. "Well, this is shaping up to be a pretty good night," Lynn muttered, taking out her fury on a nearby trashcan. It smashed against the wall and fell with considerable noise. Shit. Also probably not a good idea. She emerged from the alley, hair tussled, skin slimy with sweat, and the faint odor of singed clothing lingering about her, and walked straight into her parole officer.

"Aw, damnit. That trashcan was like that when I got here."

He stopped and sniffed the air for a moment, glancing at her clothes, and then back at her eyes. He could've sworn they were a different color last time he saw her. "Looking for you. Skipped out on your hearing this morning."

"Wait, shit, what day is it?"

"Tuesday."

"Tuesday? It's Monday!"

"No, it's Tuesday."

Lynn frowned, making the scar on her face stretch down to mirror her lips. Tuesday. Shit. That...would probably not look good in court. "Uh, I'm, like, 1/8th Cherokee, and, uh, it was a holy day..."

"Not in the mood.Get in the car. Assuming I can talk you out of skipping your meeting, they've been throwing around something else instead of juvy."

Lynn was helped into the back of the car, something that was not at all unfamiliar. She took the opportunity to lay down across the back of the seats. Her parole officer hadn't handcuffed her-while she would never show otherwise publicly, she did hold a degree of respect for the guy. He was a cop, which made him by default a douchebag, but he was always pretty decent to her. Lynn figured it wasn't cool to be a dick to people that helped you out where they could. "Something else? What, like, picking up trash or..."

"Nah. School."

"Oh, Christ, just kill me now." She paused. There was a moment of silent understanding between the two-her pride would never let her say thanks, but...going back to juvy would not be ideal. He picked up on it, and didn't need to press. "...well, I guess I'll, uh, check that out." she closed her eyes before the post-adrenal hunger kicked in. "Is there gonna be a lot of paperwork or whatever? Because last time you made me do that, it really sucked. Like, a lot."[/HIDER]