Post by Claire Littleton on Sept 28, 2008 13:01:30 GMT -5
;; fundamentals
full name;; Claire Elizabeth Littleton.
nickname;; Mamacita (by Sawyer), but not much else. She’s not really a nickname kind of person.
birthday;; October 27, 1982.
age;; Twenty-two.
sexual orientation;; Heterosexual.
job;; When she was younger, Claire worked in a tattoo parlor, but later she cleaned herself up and got a minimum wage job at a Fish N’ Fry.
Canon;; Yes.
;; appearance
general;;
favorite;;
hate;;
heritage;;
ethnicity;;
;; personality
general;;
hobbies;;
dislikes;;
likes;;
Fears;;
Secrets;;
;; origins
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general;;
Hurt but recovering, Claire returns to Malkin requesting another reading. He agrees reluctantly, but what he has to say only makes her feel worse. He tells her that she has to raise the baby alone, and she refuses. She had already began looking for adoptive parents, and a silly psychic wasn’t about to change her mind. For months he called her, begging for her to raise her baby, but she simply told him to stop contacting her.
On the day that she was due to sign the adoption papers, she asked the parents if they would sing “To Catch a Falling Star” to the baby. The consent happily, but when she goes to sign the papers the pen doesn’t work. Then the second pen doesn’t work. Taking these possible coincidences as a bad omen, Claire apologized profusely and left the agency. That same day she went to see Malkin, who gave her a plane ticket to Los Angeles. He said that the perfect adoptive parents were waiting there for her at the airport. Little did she know that he knew all along the plane would crash and she would be forced to raise the child as a single parent.
Before getting on the plane, a very pregnant Claire visited her mother at the hospital for the last time. She apologized for being a terrible daughter and admitted that she blamed herself for causing the accident. The guilt caused her to break down into tears.
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parents;;
siblings;;
other;;
;; roleplaying
sample;;Being in the company of people, more specifically, strangers did not have a pleasing effect on Braelynn. If she was with her friends or family the situation would be different. Perhaps then it would have been easier to block out the noises that circled her like vultures. She couldn’t think of anything to say to these strangers, and had barely spoken since the crash. She’d taken to referring to them as “these people”. They were physically close to her, these people who she’d never met, and they all seemed to be getting along great. It was as if there was a certain link labeled “conversation starters” that had been broken inside of her brain. Then that link had permanently damaged the “pleasant responses” section, which had in turn impaired all of her communication skills.
The survivors tried to look after her as well as they could, insisting on fetching her water and hauling her bags across the beach. They probably figured Braelynn was in too much emotional shock to take care of herself. She was already sharing a shelter with a generous woman who she couldn’t recall saying more than a dozen words to. For some reason these people didn’t pay attention to the muscles that lined her body and they seemed fairly surprised when she declined their offer to carry her suitcase. Instead, she had lifted and transported it herself. What a shocker. Her attitude towards these people had been nearly hostile. Rather than joining in on their campfire discussions the previous night, Bee had wandered off and done her stretches. She didn’t mean to be rude or unsociable, but there would be time to make friends later. Like on the rescue boat.
It wasn’t as though she was being useless, though. She didn’t just sit around all day waiting for someone to find their mutilated plane. After getting her forehead stitched up, someone asked if she could help sort clothes. Of course she had accepted the offer, since there wasn’t much else to do. In the beginning, Braelynn thought the task would be simple and leave her with plenty of time to find a secluded and flat (she learned her lesson) area to practice her tumbling routines. What she hadn’t realized was how tedious and time consuming sorting the contents of suitcases could be. First she had to empty them out on towels, careful not to get anything covered in sand. Then she would divide the articles of clothing by size and gender. There was a medicine pile and a carrier bag full of toiletries.
The job would have been considerably easier if someone else was doing it, or if Braelynn could at least be performing the task in a private place. The people strolling around noisily made her jump. It was worse when they weren’t walking and instead sat quietly in their lean-tos. How could she be expected to concentrate when she couldn’t even hear where they were? Somewhere on her left she heard the scrape of a blade against wood. The noise made her self conscious, and she began watching every minute move she made. She felt like whoever was slicing bamboo poles to her left must be watching her every move. It wasn’t a conceited thing; it was simply a paranoid aspect that Bee could deal with in small quantities. A few hours in such a state might pass by slowly, and several hours could potentially give her an anxiety attack. But two days? It wasn’t just unreasonable, it was practically criminal.
Nonetheless, things could always be worse. She had a number of things to be grateful for – including the fact that her limbs, however bruised and scraped, were still attached to her body. Being in one piece definitely gave her a reason to live through the nervous breakdown that she felt coming along nicely. Her self consciousness made her awkward and clumsy, but surely she would be fine up until an arm went missing. She felt if not optimistic, then at the very least determined. Braelynn would finish sorting the bits and pieces from inside the suitcases, and then she would run off into the jungle to calm her nerves. The plan sounded plausible enough, and it gave her a sense of purpose.
Another noise from the left reminded her of the chance that another human being could possibly be staring at her vulnerable form. She tried to watch whoever it was from the corner of her eye, but using peripheral vision didn’t help Bee’s sorting. Her elbow collided with a neat stack of shampoo bottles and they promptly fell over. She blushed pink and sighed. This was not going well. Folding her hands in her lap, she turned to see the man (boy?) who appeared to be building some kind of shelter. It took about five minutes for the war waging inside of her head to finish. Then Braelynn calmly stood up and started to walk over to him (just like a normal person). After all, it would be better to be near someone she knew rather than someone she didn’t. Her bare feet dragged along the sandy shoreline with reluctance. Even though it took ages to walk over, when she finally approached this new man (boy?) she couldn’t think of anything to say.
Um.
Right.
What would Jesus do?
Well, he would walk over the entire ocean until he reached civilization. He would call up his buddy Moses to part the sea. He would not have gotten on that damn flight in the first place.
Um.
Okay.
Stupid question.
“Hi, um,” Braelynn began, fighting against the blush that was coloring her cheeks. She felt unbearably stupid. “Can I…” She changed her mind partway through her sentence. “Do you need any help with that?”
;; behind the character
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name;; Rose.
age;; Fifteen.
gender;; Femme.
years roleplaying;; At least four, though I don’t know the exact number.
location;; Arizona, US.
How You found us;; There was an advert for this site on another Lost RP.
