[muchlove] LARK SiMMONS.

[lark.]

THE SHAKE ,
awful feeling.

name , Emma
age , fourteen
years roleplaying , four
when can you be on , almost every day, as long as school and my actual life complies.
who/what showed you this site ,a girl on neopets, I neglected to check the username. D;

MOVING ON ,

pb , Model "Deya" from Borissov on DeviantArt
full name , Lark Dahlia Simmons
nicknames , n/a
age , seventeen
grade , junior
family ,
Father : Eugene Simmons - 47 - Alive
Mother : Sarah Simmons - 40 - Alive
(first born)Brother : Erik Simmons - Died at 18
Brother : Leonardo "Leo" Simmons - 20 - Alive
Brother : Jack Simmons - 19 - Alive

personality ,
Lark is difficult to understand. One thing for sure if that she's manipulative. She gets what she wants by using that infamous Simmons charm, or by other means. She has been known to be underhanded and downright cruel, but others say she is spirited and wild, untammable and uncontrollable. She can be very kind, who can't? But she would much rather use her recources and prove someone wrong than admitting defeat. She is determined and proud, sometimes a little too much.

Lark prefers solitude to large groups. When she is alone she is much more likely to complete an assignment than, say, with a partner or study group.
She enjoys reading and the arts, and there have been scattered reports of sighitngs at local art galleries and orchestra concerts. She's very regal: she holds her head high and swins in an ocean of pride that she would not endanger for anything. She's smart: she calculates, analyzing a situation fully to make sure its worth the effort needed to extort what she desires.
likes ,
+ clever comments
+ sweet potatoes
+ arguing
+ eating
+ laughing
+ green tea
+ alcohol
dislikes ,
- baked carrots
- snobs
- people who think they're better than her
- thieves
- bright colors (like neon's)
- smoking/smokers
secrets , Lark is deeply afraid of dying, especially that concerning cancer. When her brother passed, it changed her perspective on the afterlife and it's cost. She's also afraid of needles. Lark gets completely awkward around clowns, and she would never admit it, but she's completely OCD about clean dishes.
flaws , Her hair has a tendency to look greasy in the right light, she burps much to loudly and unexpectedly. She sometimes where's see-through clothes and doesn't realize it, she's been known to have sex with someone and pretend like it never happened next time they meet up. Lark has a terrible singing voice, ironically, and sings in the shower much to often.
history ,
Lark grew up in a world much too fast for her particular liking. At a young age she was introduced to gambling and deceit, manipulation and underhanded deals. Terms like 'under the table' and 'washed up' became much too frequently used, and each day seemed to pass more sluggishly than the last.
Each day was a chore, though lets not wallow in a story of self pity. We can be much more realistic and say that for the life of those well endowed, chores included having absolutely nothing to do with all that you had because it was just too much. One could not appreciate the simple things when they were drowned in them.

Lark's father was a high stakes horse racer and breeder. When he was ten he got his first horse and won nationals. A slim man in fine condition for just tipping the scales at forty-seven, he worked diligently to maintain his idol status in the world he surrounded himself in. He was a multi-millionaire, due to both his underhanded wit when it came to low principal, off the book and hardly viable deals to betting all he had on a horse no one would expect to pull out into the lead around the thirty-eighth lap.
He was a scoundrel, for lack of a better word. He had lost track of the jockeys he had paid off, the countless lives he had ruined because of it. All he knew how to do was win. It had never occurred to him that you could lose on a different front.

Lark's mother had not been a part of the circuit until she met Eugene. When she found out about his deals, her particularly gold-digging state of mind would not let it go. She convinced him to marry her soon after she found out about his status and wealth. Both Eugene and Sarah were among the beautiful people, they were both derived from carefully maintained and watched bloodlines of prestigious families. It only made sense that they would come out with healthy, handsome children.

This was not the case, however, for the first born of the family, Erik, who was diagnosed with cancer shortly after turning fifteen. He fought it for three years and quietly slipped away in his sleep shortly after his eighteenth birthday and a shot of bourbon, so the doctors supposed.
What the doctors did not know that the life support that Erik was on at the time had been unplugged, and then re-plugged after his passing. Erik had begged her to do it, and Lark, knowing that it was the one thing she could ever do for her brother that could possibly make him happy again, she obliged.

After Erik's death, the family did not seem to change much. Well, to Sarah and Eugene, anyway, who were, are, still wrapped up in the races. Lark(now twelve), Jack(fourteen), and Leo(fifteen) all quietly mourned together, grieving the loss of their oldest brother.
Lark began to become more secluded, but lashing out violently when confronted. Leo and Jack moved out against their parents' wishes when Lark was fifteen, promising to come back for her.
After her remaining brothers left her, Lark locked herself in her room. When she finally came out, her parents had her restrained by maids and told her that she was going to a school far away, so that she could be watched and continue her studies in a better environment than the private school she had been attending.

She's been at Harlequin ever since, waiting for the day her brothers come back to find her, though she is unsure whether or not her parents told them of her location.
Lark's tuition is funded by her parents, who also send her a fat check every month for clothes and food, or whatever she feels she needs to buy. She has a substantial amount of money saved up in a personal account, and has assured herself that when she does get out of this hell, she'll hit the ground running.
aspirations To get as far away from her parents as possible, maybe live somewhere near her brothers. She doesn't know about marriage or kids, but she wants to find work as a florist.
roleplay ,
Perhaps it was the general allure of doing something so out of the blue, so random, that had attracted her. Like a small infant to shiny pennies, she was naturally drawn to the idea of skipping. Of course, what teenager wasn't? Having been inclined to do such spontaneous acts her entire life, this was nothing really new to her. She loved skipping. Probably about as much as she loved cookie dough and late night horror flicks, curled up on a sofa to escape the treacherous storming outside her bedroom window.
Whatever it was, she liked it. She liked that it liked her, too, because if it didn't like her, then how ever in the world could it possibly be attracted to her, thus creating the relationship in the first place?

Running a hand through her hair she sighed. It just didn't seem to want to cooperate today. She pouted slightly, staring at it in the mirror. She was one of those 'scene' or 'emo' kids, she supposed, dressing like she did. She really didn't feel scene. Or emo. Were there even emotions that went along with those? She had never thought about it. But still.

Hair so brown is looked like running chocolate, lighter hues here and there to match. Bright hazel eyes illuminated her face, and thick lashes lined them naturally. Mascara and a little blush, and she was set to go any day.
Shrugging, she ruffled the shoulder length, pin straight and choppy hair roughly and turned around, looking down at herself. A yellow tank and a pair of lime green panties. Splendid. She would need a little bit more to got out to breakfast, though.
Hastily she pulled on a pair of tight straight leg jeans that came just to the center of her hips, pulling a studded checker belt through the loops. Simple and easy.

Still not satisfied with her upper body, she rooted around in her closet until finding a gray hoodie with darker gray stripes running across in an even, parallel pattern, white scribbles on the back forming undecipherable words.
Slipping into a pair of socks and Adidas flip flops, she strolled out the door of her apartment, not really bothering to pick anything up. She could get stuff later.

Although, on second thought.
She hastily jogged back in after unlocking the dorm with a deep groan of annoyance, snatching her wallet from off the shelf of her nearby dresser and stuffing it in her back pocket. Now she was ready.
She went casually, hands in her pockets, not bothering to even so much as wave at the passers by.. She held up a hand to respectively block her mouth as she let a yawn escape, heading down towards her destination: an on-campus coffee shop.
Maybe not the most original personality, look, or attitude in the grand scheme of things: there were thousands out there like her, but she really could care less. She liked who she was. And apparently so did other people, because she had enough freaking friends to make a bridge across the god damn pacific, all the way to Europe.

Or maybe China.
...Whatever.

Head held high against the warm spring sun, she sucked in her bottom lip and bobbed her head to lyrics only she could hear, releasing the lip and beginning to murmur the lyrics so carelessly under her breath. She stopped at a bridge, glancing over the side to catch the glimmer of brightly colored fish swimming below in the stream, which fed into a large pond that encircled the first half of the 300 acre campus.

And finally, she was there. The belle gave a little jungle as she strolled in. The place was bustling with students trying to start their day on the right foot with the right food. She went up to the counter and sat on a swiveling chair, one she decided to test as she waited to be serviced.

“What can I get you, Izzy?” A short, plump woman asked seemingly out of no where, which had not startled the young lady at all, apparently. She was very in tune to her surroundings.
“A diet coke and a cinnamon bun thing, with lots of that cream on top. There's a twenty in it for you if it's lukewarm and here asap,” 'Izzy' said, glancing at the girl before raising her chin a little after the comment fully registered. “And Charisse, we go over this every time. You know I hate being called that..” Izzy whined with a hint of humor in her smoldering brown eyes.
“Whatever you say Isybelle, or Belle, or whore, whatever it is you go by nowadays..” Isybelle slumped a little in her chair and pouted halfheartedly.
“Awe c'mon now, Charisse, don't get into this again... You might be my aunt, but that doesn't mean you can push me around,” Isybelle stated, pointing a finger at the woman as a coke was set down in front of her.

Charisse walked away without a word and Isybelle sighed, sipping her soft drink slowly and casting her eyes downward.
Isybelle was among the few people in the world with a gift, or a curse, however you looked at it. Not that she wasn't the only of her kind, no there were many more along the same lines as her, but none as specific as she. Not here in this facility, anyway.
The enormous school had been founded on the basis that everyone deserved a chance to prove themselves and to show their potential. This school had been pumping out super heroes in secrets for generations, and they were the next.

Isybelle was a shape-shifter. She hadn't heard of one living as long as she had in eons. She was seventeen by most standards. Not many reached ten, because their genetic code was so unstable that they would collapse in on themselves in a slow and rather painful death. So she had read. She didn't have complete control over it though, but she knew how to keep it under wraps. There were rumors that she didn't even have a power, because she had never used it on campus, around public anyway. If there was a fight, people expected other people to do something, and sometimes they even looked to her, wondering if this would be the moment she would flash her power and astonish them all, but she never did.

As the cinnamon bun was set down in front of her she neglected to look up at Charisse, who snatched the waiting twenty off the the counter, Watching momentarily as Isybelle began to eat, still lost in deep thought. It wasn't like her, but then again, when one gets lost in their past, they sometimes prefer to stay there.
anything else , None that I can think of. ^^ She's a whole new character for me, just recently developed. This is the first place I've ever used her.
Oh, a cute little tidbit: Her middle name, Dahlia, was the name of an American-bred Hall of Fame Thoroughbred racehorse who won major races in France, England, Ireland, Canada, and the United States. She was extremely popular with racing fans because she frequently competed with male horses.
Thats where I got some of my muse for her parents, actually. xD;