Lemons

[ dead prairie ]

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It made sense that Sarah couldn't find who she was looking for, as the young woman in question was leaning against the wall in the corner, the slump reducing her height even further. Combined with the crowd, it made her nearly invisible. And she was just fine with that. She hated the crowds. She missed her solitary apartment, with its blessed silence and isolation. But that simply wasn't viable anymore, not without resigning herself to a terrible fate as either Fogged or dead, and everybody knew it. There was safety in numbers. Even if she hated how high those numbers were. Another consequence of the Great Fog to add to the ever-swelling pile, though a comparatively minor one. She did her best to hide herself in her beaten-to-hell coat.

As reclusive as she was and as reclusive as she remained, though, she'd made a few acquaintances since then. As much as she hated attention, she was still a human being. She needed some kind of companionship. And, she had to keep reminding herself, she deserved it too, just like everybody else did.

The person who'd called her name, though, was not one of them. Evidenced by the butchery of her name. But she would take any excuse to get out of the press of people without putting herself in undue danger. So upon hearing her name called by—what was her name again? Sara? Sabine?—she straightened up, standing on her tiptoes and raising a hand to be seen through the people. "Amber Westbrook. That's me." She shouldered her way up to the other girl, standing as tall as she could so she didn't need to crane her neck to meet her eyes. She laced her fingers together nervously behind her back, linking her hands inside of her warm long sleeves as she bit her lip anxiously.

A sudden, half-formed insult born of poorly-contained stress leapt unbidden to her mind, and she had to bite her tongue instead to keep it down. She did her best to keep the flash of frustration off of her face. Christ, you don't even know her. What is wrong with you? Cool your jets, dumbass.

[ dead prairie ]

Amber Westbrook

Name

Amber Hope Westbrook

Age

23

Place of Residence

17 Thurston St.

Personality Traits

Quiet - Amber very much does not like being the center of attention. Rather, she prefers being on the periphery of things; she is an intensely introverted individual. Being put on the spot makes her break out in a cold sweat. She always tries to tuck herself away in the corner, making herself look as small as possible to avoid calling attention to herself. This is not difficult, given that she is only 4' 6" tall.

Repressed - So...Amber doesn't like showing her negativity. Not at all. So instead of showing it—instead of letting that frustration out—she puts it in a little bottle and tucks it away on a shelf in her brain, instead doing her best to project an aura of constant calm happiness and courtesy. But, inevitably, no shelf can hold all of the bottles. Eventually, when she's put up with about as much as she can stand, something in her breaks, and the bottles crash to the ground and shatter. She snaps. But it doesn't come out in a single outburst of emotion; rather, it's a controlled release that takes the form of annoyance, sarcasm, and biting insults. This has happened increasingly often as of late; her control has been shaken by the onset of the Fog. These days, she's almost more angry than she is calm.

Unattached - Amber has never been a notable individual in Hvass. This is partially by design; after all, I've discussed how little she likes being the center of attention, and how much she prefers to sink into the background. But in addition, she's just...not very good at expressing attachment, whether it be to people, or things, or places. Despite living in Hvass for almost a year now, she can count on one hand the amount of people in town that she actually knows the name of.

Inferiority - Due in large part to the bullying that was a fundamental part of her life for years and also due to her diminutive stature, Amber has a pretty bad inferiority complex that she masks with either constant and assiduous positivity or her typical dry, sardonic insults. She reacts with not insignificant anger if people harp on her being short for any length of time. When she's not lashing out at someone for it, though, her complex simply sits there in the background, absolutely assassinating her self-worth and self-esteem.

Background

Amber's life has been very polarized for a very long time.

At home, she was sheltered. The only child of two college professors in New York City, she was coddled and babied by her family. Not just her parents Geoffrey and Eileen, but her grandparents, her aunts, her uncles...her entire family treated her like a princess. Even as she aged. She could do no wrong to them, as scathing as she was. They secured her easy admission to Columbia U, and of course she took it, but she felt so...so controlled. No matter what she did, they treated her like royalty. And paradoxically, she felt powerless.

At school? At school, she was treated like a punching bag. A quiet girl since the day she was born, her bizarre silence had people mocking her even in elementary school. But the bullying really kicked up a notch once she hit middle school. When all of her peers hit their growth spurts. When she waited and waited, but hers never came. High school was even worse. Quiet, introverted, academic, and of course tiny, she was bullied absolutely mercilessly. Even in college, she was absolutely slaughtered. No matter what she did, they treated her like garbage. The few friends she had were hesitant to ever grow closer to her, in fear that they might draw the ire of her tormentors themselves. She was, by and large, alone.

Amber was babied and bullied, and nothing in between. And she hated all of it.

She hated her family for treating her like a child for her entire life, she was an adult she wanted to be treated like one goddamnit. She hated her peers for making her school life hell. She hated her friends for never bothering to stand up for her, for selling her up the river and cutting their losses whenever she needed them most. She hated this goddamn city. She hated everybody she knew. So the first chance she got, she took her biology major and left. She cut off everyone from her old life, sold all her possessions, bought a shitty sedan, and fled to the Midwest. She drove like a woman possessed until she found a town that felt as off-the-map as she could, a little place called Hvass. She started renting a place, got a job as a waitress to pad out what she had left. To do her best to make a new start. And in a town where nobody knew her, she finally, finally felt like she could breathe. Chronically-introverted even still, she stayed inside most of the time, keeping her distance from everybody else in fear of what might happen. And it was good that she stayed inside, wasn't it?

Because then came the Fog.

Other Info

She is the champion of cardigans. Her favorite colors are pink, white, orange and red, in that order. She has a pair of vintage USAAF goggles that her grandfather wore in World War II. She usually hangs them around her neck, but they're there if she needs them on her eyes.

[ dead prairie ]

Same dawg let's get this bread

[ dead prairie ]

Amber Westbrook

Name

Amber Hope Westbrook

Age

23

Place of Residence

17 Thurston St.

Personality Traits

Quiet - Amber very much does not like being the center of attention. Rather, she prefers being on the periphery of things; she is an intensely introverted individual. Being put on the spot makes her break out in a cold sweat. She always tries to tuck herself away in the corner, making herself look as small as possible to avoid calling attention to herself. This is not difficult, given that she is only 4' 6" tall.

Repressed - So...Amber doesn't like showing her negativity. Not at all. So instead of showing it—instead of letting that frustration out—she puts it in a little bottle and tucks it away on a shelf in her brain, instead doing her best to project an aura of constant calm happiness and courtesy. But, inevitably, no shelf can hold all of the bottles. Eventually, when she's put up with about as much as she can stand, something in her breaks, and the bottles crash to the ground and shatter. She snaps. But it doesn't come out in a single outburst of emotion; rather, it's a controlled release that takes the form of annoyance, sarcasm, and biting insults. This has happened increasingly often as of late; her control has been shaken by the onset of the Fog. These days, she's almost more angry than she is calm.

Unattached - Amber has never been a notable individual in Hvass. This is partially by design; after all, I've discussed how little she likes being the center of attention, and how much she prefers to sink into the background. But in addition, she's just...not very good at expressing attachment, whether it be to people, or things, or places. Despite living in Hvass for almost a year now, she can count on one hand the amount of people in town that she actually knows the name of.

Inferiority - Due in large part to the bullying that was a fundamental part of her life for years and also due to her diminutive stature, Amber has a pretty bad inferiority complex that she masks with either constant and assiduous positivity or her typical dry, sardonic insults. She reacts with not insignificant anger if people harp on her being short for any length of time. When she's not lashing out at someone for it, though, her complex simply sits there in the background, absolutely assassinating her self-worth and self-esteem.

Background

Amber's life has been very polarized for a very long time.

At home, she was sheltered. The only child of two college professors in New York City, she was coddled and babied by her family. Not just her parents Geoffrey and Eileen, but her grandparents, her aunts, her uncles...her entire family treated her like a princess. Even as she aged. She could do no wrong to them, as scathing as she was. They secured her easy admission to Columbia U, and of course she took it, but she felt so...so controlled. No matter what she did, they treated her like royalty. And paradoxically, she felt powerless.

At school? At school, she was treated like a punching bag. A quiet girl since the day she was born, her bizarre silence had people mocking her even in elementary school. But the bullying really kicked up a notch once she hit middle school. When all of her peers hit their growth spurts. When she waited and waited, but hers never came. High school was even worse. Quiet, introverted, academic, and of course tiny, she was bullied absolutely mercilessly. Even in college, she was absolutely slaughtered. No matter what she did, they treated her like garbage. The few friends she had were hesitant to ever grow closer to her, in fear that they might draw the ire of her tormentors themselves. She was, by and large, alone.

Amber was babied and bullied, and nothing in between. And she hated all of it.

She hated her family for treating her like a child for her entire life, she was an adult she wanted to be treated like one goddamnit. She hated her peers for making her school life hell. She hated her friends for never bothering to stand up for her, for selling her up the river and cutting their losses whenever she needed them most. She hated this goddamn city. She hated everybody she knew. So the first chance she got, she took her biology major and left. She cut off everyone from her old life, sold all her possessions, bought a shitty sedan, and fled to the Midwest. She drove like a woman possessed until she found a town that felt as off-the-map as she could, a little place called Hvass. She started renting a place, got a job as a waitress to pad out what she had left. To do her best to make a new start. And in a town where nobody knew her, she finally, finally felt like she could breathe. Chronically-introverted even still, she stayed inside most of the time, keeping her distance from everybody else in fear of what might happen. And it was good that she stayed inside, wasn't it?

Because then came the Fog.

Other Info

She is the champion of cardigans. Her favorite colors are pink, white, orange and red, in that order. She has a pair of vintage USAF goggles that her grandfather wore in World War II. She usually hangs them around her neck, but they're there if she needs them on her eyes.

Current Mood in One Gif

[ Dead Prairie ] - Looking for Interest

Oh hell yes let's get after it!

Lem's Stash

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Lem's Stash

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The Voyagers of Duonia: A Medieval Fantasy RP

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The corners of Entyrea's eyes crinkled up as she smiled, laughing lightly and scratching her face in embarrassment as she looked back and forth between Dular and Chip. "Ah, you're both right, it's always been foolish of me to travel like this, hasn't it? The staff helps me be taken a bit more seriously, but I really shouldn't wear this around all the time!" She gestured at her silk dress, smiling broadly. "Thank you, Dular. I appreciate it!"

With that said, she made no motion to correct her wealthy appearance, instead opting to twirl her staff dexterously in one hand with the skill clearly born of long practice before pulling the hood of her cloak over her head, shaking her hair out to settle it. She heaved in a heavy breath, and her face became more serious for a moment. "I understand not trusting people that you haven't worked with. I'll see if I can acquire something more fitting to the environs while in Auonar. But as it stands," she pulled the deep hood back a bit, enough that she could see everyone's faces and they could see hers, and beamed a huge smile straight at them, "I hope we can still get along!"

With that, she shouldered her backpack and twirled her staff once more before speeding up a bit, trotting further towards the center of Auonar, idly rolling sparks of flame between the fingers of her left hand. Her smile remained. I like them. This should be fun!. She turned, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. "Well? What are you all waiting for? Time waits for nobody, and there's a whole city of knowledge out there!" She waved at Gudrik receding into the distance as she pulled the hood back down again to conceal her face. "And thank you for the ride, Master Temfarrow!"

Current Mood in One Gif