Post by kayleah on Jul 1, 2010 1:34:10 GMT -5
AVERY GRACE BEHRENS
Name: Avery Grace Behrens
Nicknames: Avery is fine
Age: Eighteen
Date of Birth: November 7, 1991
Grade: Freshman
Orientation: Heterosexual
Nationality: English
Home Town: Liverpool, England
Degree:
- Minor: Modern Forms[/ul]
Play by: Jac Vanek[/blockquote][/blockquote]
--- DETERMINED
Whilst the word determined may not be the first word that comes to mind when peering upon the tiny, quiet girl, it is, in fact an accurate word to describe her. From a young age, there was nothing that Avery could not accomplish, granted she set her little mind to it. She was the little girl who took the time to set goals for herself and actually follow through on them. For example, when she first began taking ballet classes, she told herself that she was going to make a career out of this passion. This goal set at age five still remains the driving force for her as she enters college as a ballet major.
--- LIKABLE
Honestly, the girl was never really the outwardly friendly type. Even as a young girl she was quite introverted and preferred time alone to time with her friends. Despite this, she never really had much of a problem making or keeping friends. It could be said that she just attracted people to her, even when she didn't want them to be. People just enjoy being around her and talking to her about their problems or their life or just about anything. Though she may not be the most outgoing girl, she is a pretty good friend once you get to know her.
--- UNOBSERVANT
Now this girl is the poster child for people who live in their own little world. No, she is not snobbish or ignoring of the world around her. Her mind is just always somewhere else. Whether she be day dreaming about future recitals on a beautiful stage or just planning out the day ahead, she never seems to be grounded in the moment. Because of this she tends to miss a lot or not pick up on subtle hints. For example, she often fails to realize when a male is flirting with her because her dance class in ten minutes is more important to her train of thought than his pretty blue eyes.
LIKES: dance. her mother. sleeping. coffee. being outdoors. roaming. smiles. late nights. french fries. reading. the stage. performing arts. movie nights. cuddling. fairies. reality television. ramen. children. popcorn. spiders. did I mention coffee?
DISLIKES: rude people. substance abuse. alcohol. closed spaces. ankle injuries. large crowds. animal abuse. taco bell. being exhausted. math. popping gum. death. large animals. smelly things. smudged eyeliner. too many calories. unmanicured nails. overall sloppiness.
For some reason, people who don't live in Liverpool expect everyone who does live in Liverpool to be as talented as The Beatles. Unfortunately this is generally not the case. In fact, Liverpool is filled with boring, untalented people. One of these many boring, untalented people was a woman by the name of Tegan Behrens. This woman happened to make a mistake. Since all mistakes have consequences, she ended up with a blonde baby named Avery Grace.
The two lived alone in a small flat in the center of Liverpool with their cat named Billy. When Avery was born, Tegan decided that her daughter was not going to end up like her, an uneducated, plain, single mother. Because of this vow, for Avery's fourth birthday Tegan took her to a ballet studio for her first lesson. It was love at first position.
Avery fell in love with dancing, and her life began to revolve around it. While most little girls were having slumber parties or prank phone calling their little enemies, Avery was instead doing pirouettes or leaps across the cold, wooden dance floor. Who needed any friends when you had your pointe shoes and a tutu? As aforementioned, Avery made a secret vow to herself that this was going to be her life. She was going to devote every fiber of her being into this passion. She was going to leave Liverpool for the States and attend an arts college to major in ballet. With a ballet major in hand, she was going to become a professional dancer, and hopefully a famous one at that. With this little promise always in mind, she let herself become completely immersed in this art. This ballet obsession would soon turn unhealthy.
Over the years, many little prospective ballerinas went their separate ways. Perhaps they wanted to try their hand at a sport, or perhaps their mother was tired of forcing them to lace up the shoes. Whatever the reason, her class dwindled down to herself and a few other dedicated girls. This class was the best of the best in Liverpool. Because of this, competition for the best dancing parts became fierce.
Avery was always determined to be on top, because only the absolute best succeed in this art. She soon saw that it was necessary to fast, as she liked to put it, in order to stay tiny to be more flexible. Despite how she starved herself, she could never achieve the so called perfect dancer body. In the process of trying, she developed an extreme case of anorexia, as so many dancers do.
Her weight dropped to an ultimate low of eighty-four pounds. Her ribs were visible and she was losing the strength and vitality that she once had. Tegan could see her daughter's disease and checked her into a rehab facility to be treated. Avery spent almost the entirety of her junior year of high school in the facility, which almost caused her dreams of professional dancing to come crashing down around her.
After a long battle, she was released and allowed to return back to school and the studio, under the stipulation that she have regular check ups and three square meals a day. At the time of her release she weighed a healthy one hundred and nineteen pounds. However, she still struggles with her anorexia and has lost, over the course of two years, nineteen pounds. Currently she weighs a mere one hundred pounds, which is quite unsafe. However her mother isn't around to keep an eye on her, which Avery sees as a plus regarding her weight.
Returning to her high school career. Once released, she had to work twice as hard to regain much of the skill and strength she once had. Her work paid off though. During her junior year of high school, she auditions for countless American universities, and was offered a full ride scholarship to quite a full, including Emerson, which she is now attending.
Why Emerson?
That is a good question. After numerous auditions and acceptances into many good schools, including the one and only University of North Carolina School of the Arts, Avery chose Emerson. She primarily chose it because of the dance program that it offered. Talented and knowledgeable professors, plus a state of the art studio were very appealing to her. Also, it seemed to be just the right size for her; not too big nor too small. Lastly, being an international student, she was looking for a place that would allow her to fully transition into American culture, and Emerson was perfect for that.
The ten millionth yawn escaped escaped the thin lips of the boy who was legally an adult, but never really acted like one. He shut his tired eyes for a moment, enjoying the simple feeling of rest. He ran his hands through his messy hair, and shook it out a little trying to wake himself up. Honestly, he didn't really want to wake himself up; all he wanted to do was sleep for a thousand years. It was too bad that sleep wouldn't come to him. The poor boy was an insomniac who never really rested. Well, if he couldn't sleep he was going to at least do something sort of productive. Blinking his eyes several times, he refocused them on the sheet of filler paper in front of him. It was covered in red ink; it appeared as if he bled all over the paper. The way he thought of it, the ink was his blood. The words on the paper were the his thoughts and feelings out poured from his veins and his soul; so to him, it was his blood.
Most people didn't know that he wrote poetry. Everyone thought of him as the big, huge, immature goof ball. And he was. However, he was able to be serious sometimes. Those sometimes came very late at night when he was laying awake in his bed. It was at these times that he would open up his soul and drain himself of all of the creativity and feelings that had built up during his hyper, and immature moments during the day. The boys eyes read over the words that he had written, scanning over the big read spots where he scribbled out a line that just wasn't right. Tonights piece was a glimpse of the dark side of the boy. His poem was about a suicidal teen who loved a girl unrequittedly. Luckily, this one wasn't autobiographical. Some of his work was, but not a lot of it. His poems were generally written in a story format; they had characters based on his life, his friends, or just his imagination.
This one was definitely not autobiographical since he wasn't in love. He was pretty sure that he would never be in love; it just wasn't his thing. He did have a pretty hot fucxk buddy for when he needed a quick fix, but it wasn't love. It wasn't anything close to love. As much as he hated to admit it, he was using her for her body and for the fun times that she provided him with. Yeah, he was a selfish male pig. But he was a teenager, and that's how teenage boys were. None of them were interested in love, just sex. As wrong as he knew it was, he couldn't help but like it. It was almost like love, but no commitment, no getting hurt. He thought of it as having all the benefits, but none of the negative aspects of love. He couldn't complain about that.
And it's been forty days, I've tried forty ways. You will never quite leave your sins behind, they'll haunt you, taunt you until the day you die. Mmm nothing better than being 'waken up' by some good old ska, Streetlight Manifesto style. Actually, there were probably better ways to wake up, perhaps if he had actually slept a little. Quickly, he folded the paper with his poem written on it in half and shoved it into an old folder, which he in turn shoved under his bed. His parents would flip a shxit if they found some of his work, since not all of it was as PG-13 as his parents would expect of him. The 'rents were so delusional about him. They still thought that he was a good little boy who went to football games with his friends on Friday night. However, those nights were either spent in a weed indused haze or fucxking Molly somewhere.
With a grunt, he rolled his exhausted body off of the twin bed that he has been sitting on previously. Bucket probably should hurry up a little bit while getting ready for the day, but he wasn't going to do so. He found it rather ironic that the boy who had all night to get ready for school was consistently late. Bucket just couldn't get moving in the morning. He figured it was something to do with his insomnia since his body had no time to rest. He stood for a moment looking around the room. Did he actually want to shower, or would he would just grunge it like normal? After a moment of consideration, he decided that he didn't actually care enough to make himself respectable for school. After all, it was just school. There was no one there that he was trying to impress. Actually, he was just a trashy kind of guy. Bucket blamed it on his Barbetown roots. He was from a trashy little town in Ohio, so he wasn't nearly as classy as all these nine oh two one oh kids were. It definitely showed too.
So grunge it was for today. Bucket grabbed a towel from off of his bedroom floor; he at least had to get his hair wet so that he could style it. His hair was the one and only thing that he could give two shxits about; well, that and his friends, they were pretty important. He pulled his tee shirt over his head and let it drop to the floor to join the embarassingly large amount of clothes that were already there. Bucket dragged himself into the bathroom that was attached to his bedroom. Now that room was a mess; it was probably worse than the black hole of Calcutta. Well, maybe not, but there was so much stuff growing in there that he probably came out dirtier than he was going into it.
Bucket dropped down to his knees and stuck his head under the faucet in the tub, letting his hair get pretty saturated with warm water. After turning the faucet off, he wrapped the towel around his head in a rather feminine way. He also splashed some water on his face to clean off some of the grease that had developed over night. After glancing at his tooth brush, he decided that he would just chew some minty gum after breakfast. Yeah, he was kind of a gross guy.
With a wide toothed comb, he styled his wet hair before blasting it with hot air to get it looking cute. Bucket was so experienced with a blow dryer and a flat iron, that he was done in no time. Now it was on to his outfit. This part was always a bit tricky. As much as he would love to roll up in the cheerleader sweats he stole from a friend, that probably wasn't a great idea. Bucket headed back to his room and grabbed three shirts off of the ground. After sniffing all three, he decided on his monster shirt that has a rather cynical message on it: 'we're all going to die.' As far as pants went, he just grabbed a pair of skinnies off the floor since they were the ones with his studded belt still in the loops. After pulling on a black and white striped track jacket, and putting on a pair of nonprescription 'emo' glasses he felt complete. Honestly, he didn't really match, but his outfit was comfortable, and that was all that mattered.
Without bothering to give a quick once over to himself in the mirror, Bucket ran down the stairs and headed into the kitchen. Ever since laying down in bed the night before, his stomach had been growling, and now it was finally time to eat. After glancing at the clock display on the microwave, he realized that he was running late as usual. Although he probably smelled, he was pretty glad that he chose not to shower. If he had, who knows how late he would be now.
Aww fuxck my life, Bucket muttered upon opening up the cupboard. Someone had eaten the last Hot Fudge Sundae Poptart, and the Lord knows that a Strawberry one would not be passing his lips. Those ones were far too healthy for his liking. He slammed the cupboard shut a little bit harder than necessary, but it made him feel good. He guessed he would have to settle for the next best thing: a Coke. Bucket grabbed a can and cracked it open before grabbing his book bag and running out the door.
Bucket hopped into his black Suburban and shoved the keys into the ignition. He loved his big SUV; there were definitely perks to having money, since he would never have gotten this car back home. After taking a moment to navigate his iPod to 3OH!3 and putting on Colorado Sunrise at the inappropriately loud volume, Bucket was sipping Coke and heading out of his little gated community and towards the school. He was lucky that he lived within a fifteen minute walk from the school, because if you ignored all speed limits and traffic lights, you could get there in just under four minutes. Bucket knew this from experience.
Bucket killed the ignition and hopped out of the car. Before heading into that school, he took a moment to check the two text messages that he missed on the drive here. There was something about texting and driving that he was totally against. Bucket could be painting someone's nails or getting it on while driving, be texting was where he drew the line. They were just from Mia. Oh gosh how she was such a doll, and a very cute doll at that. Then again, all Asian girls were cute because they looked so daxmn cuddly.
Slipping the phone into his back pocket, he decided against replying since Mia was probably already in class learning something. After slamming the door shut and popping some Stride in his mouth to substitute for brushing his teeth, Bucket jogged towards the front doors in time to hear the first bell ring. If he sprinted, there was a chance he could make it to first period on time. However, he thought jogging was exuding enough energy. Plus, the professor was used to him being late, and they had kind of developed a mutual hate of each other because of it.
He stopped at his locker to stash the can of Coke and grab a text book and a binder. After doing so, he started off in the direction of first period at a speed walk. There was no use running, he was already late. Still, he going just a tad too fast to stop himself from colliding into a girl, and knocking both his and her books all over the floor.
Shxit, he muttered as he dropped to his knees to start gathering the other person's stuff for them. Honestly he felt bad. They were probably in a hurry too, and he just made them even later. Sorry about this, he apologized sincerly as he started to stack both of their stuff in separate piles. This was already promising to be a horrible day.
[/size][/center][/justify]Hi, I'm KAYLEAH ANN and I'm SEVENTEEN old. I'm CONSISTENTLY INCONSISTENT. This is my FIRST application. I found Failure's Not Flattering from PROBOARDS SUPPORT.
