[color=#918ABB][center][img]https://static1.squarespace.com/static/5049e979c4aa06de7c43aa8b/5476120fe4b0dd288728b872/55c89b7fe4b0b6c7b4ac296b/1439210958678/?format=500w[/img]

[img]https://i.imgur.com/soNvU7p.png[/img]
[COLOR=#ffec21][I]"Never regret thy fall,[/I]
[I]O Icarus of the fearless flight -[/I]
[I]For the greatest tragedy of them all[/I]
[I]Is never to feel the burning light."[/I][/COLOR][/CENTER]
[CENTER]Oscar Wilde[/CENTER]





[center][h3][sub][i]𝒢𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓁 𝐼𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃[/i][/sub][/h3]
—   [b]۵[/b]    [b]۞[/b]    [b]۵[/b]   —[/center]

Name:
[indent][color=#ffec21]Alice Hallark[/color][/indent]
Nick-Names:
[indent][color=#ffec21]Al[/color][/indent]
Gender:
[indent][color=#ffec21]Female[/color][/indent]
Age:
[indent][color=#ffec21]17[/color][/indent]
Birthday:
[indent][color=#ffec21]3rd April 2000[/color][/indent]
Distinguishing Features:
[indent][color=#ffec21]Her skin is transparent and anaemic, seemingly stretched taut around her bones. The veins and capillaries underneath create tapestries of reddish-violet colour around and under her eyes, nose and lips. These features are framed with a fine halo of remarkably long, straight, blonde hair. Her eyes are like marbles. They are glassy and blue and tend to roll idly from object to object, never really focusing on one thing for too long unless she is busy.

The only striking feature in Alice’s looks is the pallor and sickliness of her appearance. Her skin tone coupled with the platinum blonde sheet of hair have often provoked questions about albinism, which she emphatically refuses having (although she’s one of the rare few who could probably get a sunburn on a cloudy day if she took less care of herself). She is easy enough to spot in a crowd because of this. Not to mention that a lifetime of particularly extreme periods of Lent, a loss of appetite, and skipped meals have stunted her growth significantly. She is just about 5'3.
[/color][/indent]





[center][h3][sub][i]𝑅𝑒𝓁𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 𝐼𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃[/i][/sub][/h3]
—   [b]۵[/b]    [b]۞[/b]    [b]۵[/b]   —[/center]

Relationship Status:
[indent][color=#ffec21]Single[/color][/indent]
Sexuality:
[indent][color=#ffec21]Repressed Homosexuality[/color][/indent]
Partner:
[indent][color=#ffec21]N/A[/color][/indent]
Father:
[indent][color=#ffec21]Jacob Hallark[/color][/indent]
Mother:
[indent][color=#ffec21]Evelyn Hallark[/color][/indent]
Siblings:
[indent][color=#ffec21]N/A[/color][/indent]
Pets:
[indent][color=#ffec21]N/A[/color][/indent]
Current Guardian:
[indent][color=#ffec21]Raymond Chadling[/color][/indent]






[center][h3][sub][i]𝒫𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝐼𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃[/i][/sub][/h3]
—   [b]۵[/b]    [b]۞[/b]    [b]۵[/b]   —[/center]

Personality:
[color=#ffec21][center]♦ Perfectionist ♦ Hypocrite ♦ Guarded ♦ Anxious ♦ Restless ♦ Conflicted ♦ Afraid ♦[/center]
[indent]To the common observer Alice is remarkably human. She’s a cocktail of incongruence; like everyone else she presses a front of wary politeness around strangers which eventually melts off to reveal her equable demeanour coupled with a sarcastic sense of humour, often taking jibes at those she’s truly comfortable around. Her movements are both delicate yet slothenly and usually mistaken for laziness. She thinks before she acts and keeps those thoughts to herself whenever possible. She claims that she does not care what others think of her but her dress sense and the way she obsessively guards her secrets say otherwise.

And yet upon closer examination it is clear that Alice is a woman torn in half. Parts of her behaviour seem to awkwardly juxtapose others. She seems to be stuck in an ever-changing internal conflict between a constant strive towards perfection and a rebellion against the deeply ingrained ideologies within her. She never outwardly displays it, but Alice is in constant motion; whether she is working, playing or relaxing there is always some sort of purpose behind everything she does. She abhors failure and always over-reacts whenever she gets something wrong. Despite that veneer of jovial indifference that she possesses, Alice is more than capable of exerting herself to near-exhaustion unless someone intervenes.

Her body language is unique. She hardly looks at others in the eyes when she’s talking and her fingers seem to dance across each other smoothly whenever she isn’t preoccupied with something else. When agitated, her fidgeting becomes more frantic and she seems to collapse in on herself, becoming tense and reticent.
[/indent][/color]

Likes:
[color=#ffec21][indent]✔ Exploration
✔ Classical Literature
✔ Catholicism
✔ Naps
✔ Playing the Piano
✔ Learning New Languages
✔ Exotic Food
✔ Ornate/Delicate clothing[/indent][/color]
Dislikes:
[color=#ffec21][indent]✘ Boredom
✘ Repetition
✘ Catholicism
✘ Failure
✘ Pressure
✘ Danger
✘ Deep Water [/indent][/color]

[IMG]http://i.imgur.com/JVuN3Cu.png[/IMG]
[hider=LONG backstory!]
[color=#ffec21]“But you’re not allowed to say anything, right? There’s this whole...confidentiality thing that stops you from talking about what I say in here?”

The therapist smiled softly, re-arranging the papers on her desk. “Miss Hallark, we’ve been through this before you even signed up for these sessions. I’m legally bound to client confidentiality.” She picked up a chewed ballpoint pen and a clipboard, scratching a few preliminary notes onto a series of forms. Alice was stiff on the leather chair, her fingertips sliding over the nails on her other hand whilst her lips were pursed into a wary scowl. “If you’re worried about your friend finding out, know that me telling him anything would be against the law.”

“But you can certainly hint about whether or not I co-operated,” Alice retorted softly. Her head tilted to one side whilst an ahsen brow quirked up and she leant backwards slightly in resignation. The therapist glanced up from her paperwork and paused.

“Alice,” the therapist sighed, “It would be counterintuitive to not co-operate in these sessions. The fact alone that you’ve been persuaded to attend them is a clear signal that people are concerned-,” Alice rolled her eyes and a hiss of breath left her nostrils irritably. “-...so it would be in your best interest to at least try to be open in here.” There was another long pause as the pen hovered over the first of the larger boxes on the form patiently. Alice shut her eyes and nodded miserably. “Let’s start at the beginning then. How would you describe your childhood?” With one last weary glance towards the frosted glass panel of the office door, Alice spotted a blurred figure waiting outside and reclined even further in the seat defeatedly. Her voice was quiet and ponderous as she began her explanation.

“Like living in a snowglobe, I guess. Like-...an actual snowglobe, this is a literal metaphor. Everything was laid out so neatly and perfectly in this bubble with a beautiful house and some trees and maybe a few little decorations here and there but that didn’t mean it wasn’t cut off from the real world, sealed so tight that you’d drown in if you stayed there for too long and every so often someone would come along and give you a good hard shake to make it pretty again.” Alice shifted from toying with her nails to tapping the knuckles on each hand; a forceful and rapid action as her gaze slipped from the therapist to some point on the desk. “Takes a lot for a little porcelain person in one of those things to be able to break the glass and flee...” she mused bitterly.

“That would be about you running away, I assume?” When the therapist received no sort of response from Alice, she shifted the topic. “We’ll get to that later. Tell me about your parents. No doubt they influenced you quite a bit when you were little…?”

“Oh, you know,” Alice shrugged her shoulders weakly, “caricatures of suburban stereotypes. My mom was pretty...uh...pretty strict. Super Catholic and really, really overprotective. It was all prayers and church, full-length skirts and long sleeves in the summer, no TV or games, that sort of thing.” She glanced up at the therapist and answered the question that she knew would be coming next, “Dad had no spine. He probably married her because of her ‘passion’ or something and ended up getting stuck under her thumb. He was nicer; I’ve got a load of fond memories of us playing with one of those Fisher Price plastic rocking horses in the backyard. That didn’t stop him from basically parroting out what mom would say though.”

“And what did your mother say, exactly?”

“She made it out like I was destined for greatness. When I was little, I thought I’d become the next Virgin Mary. That through my hard work and devotion, I’d become the pinnacle of purity and lead humanity into an age of peace and…” Alice trailed off and abruptly began drumming her fingers on her lap. Her voice had taken a monotonous edge towards the end of the sentence which clearly alarmed her. “It got drilled into me. I wasn’t allowed a lot of contact with the outside world. Couple of friends in my bible studies and school friends, plenty of them but…since I wasn’t ever allowed out to their place and I had to play twenty questions just to background check them for a playdate at mine, they weren’t really that close. The result? I honest to Christ thought I’d become a saint. At least, in the beginning.”

“What do you mean by ‘in the beginning’? Did something change?” came the therapist’s soft inquiry, encouraging Alice to elaborate. Alice’s fidgeting had settled into a constant drumming noise that she did not seem aware of. She would not meet the therapist’s gaze.

“As I got older and school got more serious, I grew out of that ‘I’m gonna become godlike’ phase because my mom basically told me it’d be very very unlikely since we’ve all got sin in us...hence the confessions and the mass and all those rituals to prove to God that we were trying to be good and-...sorry, I’m rambling. I got to around eleven, twelve years old and the tone changed. My dad left when I was seven, so it was just my mother and God. I had to show my devotion through prayer and good grades. But prayer is...unsubstantial, it’s not like God ever reached down and gave you a pat on the head for it, you just had to be satisfied that you did the right thing. Grades are concrete, they’re real. At some point mom decided a low grade was the same as a weak connection with God or an affiliation with the devil. See where I’m going with this?”

“Miss Hallark, you’re...it looks like you’re slightly distressed. Do you want to take a minute?” Again, there was no response from Alice, merely a frantic drumming noise and a brief flickering glance towards the therapist. “....Even something like this can be quite harrowing when it’s all you knew at the time. You’ve adjusted quite well, all things considered. If you’d like, we-”

“I’m sorry, but can we just keep going?” Alice interrupted sharply. The fidgeting stopped and she smiled placidly at the therapist. “I mean no offence, of course, but since this whole situation’s been blown out of proportion by my guardian I see no reason to drag it out any longer than it needs to. You must be quite busy,” she made a vague gesture to the door behind her, “and I’m worried I’m taking up time that could be more important for other patients.”

The silence seeped through the therapist’s office for a good half minute before more scratches of pen on paper filled the space. When the therapist spoke again, she retained the usual softness but it seemed somewhat artificial. “So-..you were pushed towards achieving high grades, I presume. That must’ve been a lot of stress, especially during those formative years. How did you cope?”

“Mom had this sort of system in place that reinforced ‘good’ behaviour and punished ‘bad’ behaviour. When I was getting good report cards, waking up early, doing all my chores - she’d relax a bit on the rules. I’d get to watch TV under supervision and eat junk food she bought for me. I kind of thought that if I managed to get one, two more percent on those report cards I might be able to make her loosen up to the point of having a pretty normal life. So when I lost even a little bit on my test scores it was more frustrating than flat-out catastrophic. It felt like an escape plan that kept failing. It wasn’t as stressful as you’re probably making it out to be. I was pretty happy then.”

“What about when you didn’t do so well?”

“The opposite, really. One step forward, two steps back. Bedtime was put an hour earlier, no TV, more chores - without my dad to hold back my mother's passion, she would often recite bible verses at me whilst I worked...” The therapist hesitated as a phone buzzed twice in her handbag. Her hand slipped into the bag briefly then she gave Alice her full attention once more.

“I think it’s time we approach the whole ‘running away’ part. Like you said, you didn't feel like you were suffering at the time. What pushed you over the edge?” asked the therapist. Alice’s features puckered into an expression of deep thought and she slowed her words down again as she carefully considered what she had to say.

“I guess in order to understand this, you need to understand how learning worked for me. I wasn’t smart. I’m still not smart - I do irrational stuff all the time. I don’t think I ever actually learned anything until I ran away and realised what learning really meant. So all those papers and reports and all that, what happens is I sort of...I look at something and remember the way it looks, not the content itself. I remember all the senses too. It’s like the flashbacks you see in movies - they’re not like proper memories which, from what I’ve been told, are all fuzzy and indistinct. It’s literally two, three seconds of footage from a previous time where I was sitting in my room studying. I can read the page, I can also feel the fan blowing on my right shoulder, the sound of kids playing in the park down the road, the empty glass around a palms-width away from the textbook-...you get what I mean? It’s always been like that. Mom thought I was blessed. Dad called it photographic memory. They both thought that it’d make me a supergenius and as a result I thought the same as well.” A set of bony fingers slipped through Alice’s hair with exasperation as she rolled her eyes once more.

“20/20 vision. Hindsight,” Alice’s words were blunt and tetchy. “Nowadays I get that it doesn’t work like that, but imagine how infuriating it was as a 15 year old girl so sheltered that she didn’t know who Britney Spears was, let alone why her special gift from God wasn’t working out to make her into a doctor? It wasn’t a rash decision, I genuinely thought that I was imperfect, or I sinned real bad somehow and that sort of...nibbled away at my self esteem, then when mom noticed the grades starting to slip and the punishments became more severe, I sorta...I kind of…” Alice shifted in her seat and pushed out another sigh. “I didn’t even pack anything. What was there to bring? I thought I’d just go out on a pilgrimage like all the other saints before me and God would make it all better again. Mom had the old oak tree a little ways off from my bedroom window cut down after I did it.”

At this point the therapist was struggling to keep up with Alice’s erratic pace and it took her a short while to confirm that her paperwork was up to speed with what her client was saying. “When logic failed, you turned to religion. That makes sense. You were gone for...almost a year, right? How’d you manage to survive with nothing but the clothes on your back?”

Alice’s head snapped upwards to stare down the older woman sitting opposite her. Jaw clenched, she let loose another one of those bland, empty smiles that she displayed the last time her therapist hit a nerve. “Oh, you know. I covered a lot of distance and got into the inner city. Abandoned apartments, the charity of...of strangers, people who knew the streets better than I did.”
“Did they ever…?” There was a slight twinge of concern in the therapist’s voice as her brows knitted and her grip tightened on her pen, ready to write down a flurry of notes. Surprisingly, Alice looked a little insulted and shook her head fervently.

"No, no! You don't understand. He was a detective. It was mid-January. I was freezing, I was starving. Delirious. Scared. Elbow-deep in a dumpster trying to find something that was mostly wrapped up so I could eat it without emptying the contents of my stomach onto the paving stones again. He had just come out of the bar around the corner, it was my regular spot because any food that didn't sell got chucked out after midnight. He had been watching me for a while, I don't know how long, things are a bit fuzzy. That night, he walked up to me and I ran, thinking he'd give up on me." Alice shook her head and laughed, a soft chuckle that reverberated hollowly in the office. "He ran two blocks before pinning me to a dead end and immediately took off his jacket and threw it over to me. Then he walked off."

The defensive behaviour slid off the therapist now as she grew accustomed to Abigial’s tone. She moved on seamlessly to the next question after a few more notes. “This must be Mr. Chadling, correct?"

Alice nodded, smiling. "I'm not sure why he did it," she mused, "all I know is he was in a bad place at the time and seeing me in a worse place made him...feel less bad? Feel sorry? For the first few weeks he treated me like any other homeless person; he used to sit down beside me, have a chat, make sure I had a sandwich and some coffee. Then he'd go into the bar, and when he went home he'd check in on me. It was - undoubtedly - the highlight of my day. All the rest of it was just fear. Hellish. You find places to hide and then you need to move, constantly. I barely slept. I still don't sleep."

There was a faint squeak as Alice gripped the armchair tighter. "Late February, I fell ill - I thought that was going to be the end of it, that one day I'll say goodnight to Ray and go crawl off somewhere to die. I kept coughing and coughing. I prayed and kept praying until my fever made me fall asleep in the street. Raymond must've noticed. He asked me, after nearly seeing me every day for a month, why I was here. I agreed to at least explain why I ran away in the first place and he took pity. Well, it wasn’t pity. It was something else. Something more decisive. He took me back with him..." Alice trailed off, ponderous and careful with her words, "...He was going to call CPS, I think. But he saw how sick I was and decided to give me a few days to recover. He gave me this ancient nokia phone and taught me how to hide it, told me to keep in touch. I think he knew what’d happen next.” With the therapist looking at her blankly, Alice explained, “He didn’t bring me back right away because he started pulling background checks, testing the waters. It wasn't social-services worthy in the end but this...absolute stranger realised that when I’d go back there wouldn’t be a teary reunion and a promise to make everything better. He kept tabs on me for almost another month or so."
Alice laughed, a thin wispy sort of laugh which trailed off into a much smaller and genuine smile as she nodded and glanced back at the frosted glass panel again. The therapist did not need to ask any more questions, Alice found herself talking and talking without being able to stop. She seemed much more at ease.

"Although I may have fallen to sin my mom was still a pure and holy Catholic and wouldn’t let my nefarious ways impede her worship. I don’t blame them. I’m still grateful for what they did.” Alice read her therapist’s expression again. “Well, think about it; just because I got out of that life doesn’t mean my mother changed, right? Being disruptive in church and the arguments and the loss of appetite, the nightmares, the sleeping problems, that wasn’t her fault, I was just upset that I tasted freedom and had it taken away from me again - and then some. When I came home she did her damnedest to try and save my soul and my education and that’s probably one of the most genuine and heartfelt things she ever did for me. It was their way of saying ‘we love you and want you to be perfect again’...shame I figured out that perfection didn’t work outside of the snowglobe.”

The therapist did not seem too impressed - in fact, she was rather concerned at Alice's behaviour. She leant forward and promptly interrupted the girl. "Miss Hallark, you need to understand that what happened to you after you returned home was a form of domestic abuse. Your mother never reportedly struck you but those sorts of punishments are illegal."

Alice’s laughter came back in another gentle wheeze. “You don't seem to understand either. I was never in any danger back then. I had my escape, I had Raymond's cell phone hidden in a shoebox in the cupboard. I should have chucked it out, maybe. I don't know. I can't figure it out. You don't get it," Alice's voice raised in pitch and quavered slightly, "You weren't in there. You need to understand the-...the [I]isolation[/I], the complete separation from the real world that I experienced. To me, it made sense! I needed to go through those sorts of things to repent for my transgressions."

The therapist leant back with a heavy sigh, looking defeated. "You need to come back. Weekly. Part of you knows that what you are thinking is wrong but it will take time and effort to work it out. At the very least, you must see that your mother is immensely, indescribably guilty for what she put you through. Otherwise, she would not have agreed to make Mr. Chadling into your legal guardian." She put the clipboard down, her voice becoming sterner. "And you [I]must[/I] continue to listen to Mr. Chadling, even if you think he may be incorrect sometimes. He fought long and hard to take you out of the home alongside the CPS. You are flying over to visit your mother this week, aren't you?"

Alice nodded uncertainly. The therapist handed her a slip of paper. "This is your proof of attendance. Make sure she sees this, one way or another. Get Raymond to show it to her if you don't feel like you should. She'll want to know that you're getting better."
[indent][/indent][/color][/hider]





[center][h3][sub][i]𝒫𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓂𝒾𝒹 𝐼𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃[/i][/sub][/h3]
—   [b]۵[/b]    [b]۞[/b]    [b]۵[/b]   —[/center]

Plasmid One:
[indent]Name Of Plasmid: [color=#f375ff]Unknown[/color]
Color Of Plasmid: [color=#f375ff]Pink[/color]

[center][img][/img][/center]

Powers And Attributes: [color=#f375ff]Unknown.[/color][/indent]
Plasmid Two:
[indent]Name Of Plasmid: [color=#ffff77]Unknown.[/color]
Color Of Plasmid: [color=#ffff77]Yellow[/color]

[center][img][/img][/center]

Powers And Attributes: [color=#ffff77]Unknown.[/color][/indent]





[center][h3][sub][i]𝒟𝑒𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝑅𝑒𝓁𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 𝐼𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃[/i][/sub][/h3]
—   [b]۵[/b]    [b]۞[/b]    [b]۵[/b]   —[/center]

Relationships Between Friends:
[indent][center][color=#ffec21][b]۞[/b][/color] [color=#ffec21]Name of friend here[/color] [color=#ffec21][b]۞[/b][/color]
[color=#ffec21]"𝒮𝓂𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒."[/color][/center]
[color=#ffec21]۵ A little more in depth relationship. This will change as the roleplay goes on. People can become closer, farther apart. Even romance can blossom. It's all up to you.[/color][/indent]
[center][img][/img][/center]
[/color]