Groups
Description
Cora Fawn Gibson -::Age::-Eighteen-::Gender::-Female-::Physical Appearance::-
Cora could best be described as exotic, her skin naturally the color of coffee, her complexion on account of being half-white, half-black. She's always been told she was stunning by her materialistic mother and all of her awful friends ("Have you ever considered modeling?" or "I swear, if you cleaned yourself up, you could be so pretty. I could wed you in two months flat.") but she roughly brushes it off, usually with a crude remark and sour face. She stands at an average height, about 5'5" or so since the last time she'd gone to the doctor, with a noticeably well-endowed body, having the hourglass figure of a superhero's typical femme fatale counterpart. Just call her cat woman. No, actually, don't do that. Cora has thick, brown,curly hair, a couple shades darker than her skin. She always wears her hair in a lose ponytail, keeping the matted tendrils out of her face and exposing her bold, angular jaw line, large pointed ears, and thin neck. Her hair contrasts greatly with her feminine, girly facial features (which she curses with all her might)
She has large smoldering amber eyes, slanted and thickly lined with long, black eyelashes, as well as a particularly small aquiline nose. Along with this are high-set, chubby cheeks that are splashed with freckles and overtly large, pouty lips that are more often chapped than not, making it so that she'd naturally look like some sort of innocent doe weren't it for her bold attire. Cora has expressive, arched eyebrows, one of them almost always raised higher than the other in an intimidating, challenging sneer. She never wears makeup, too lazy and confident in her appearance to bother with it.
Cora wears a small military jacket made for children, pulling the sleeves up to her elbow and the jacket stopping at the smallest part of her waist. Under is a tight, faded grey tank top that stops just below her jacket, revealing at good deal of toned tummy and a moderate amount of cleavage. Whether she chooses to zip her jacket up or not depends on her environment, tending to zip up when she feels out-of-place or uneasy. Her bottoms are thick, off-black skinny jeans that are tucked into her brown cowboy boots. Indeed, she is not the typical sight to behold. Still, though, she looks more rough and care-free than slutty, her stand offish attitude letting others know that, while her body is relatively exposed, she's hardly up for being anyone's pet.
Cora is a healthy weight, not by any means skinny but also not the least bit overweight. She has defined muscles and a womanly figure, showing that she's always up to kickin' ass and she's a fully grown woman... Or, she likes to think that, at least. As far as piercings go, she's got quite the collection of metal along her ears, from the outer lobe to the inner core, but her face is untouched. She also has a belly button tassle, and she wears large rings on every other finger (it packs for a meaner punch). Other than a wallet in her jacket pocket, she carries nothing else with her. -::Method of Suicide::-She stocked up on painkillers, hopped in her bathtub, and dropper her radio in with her.-::Personality::-Cora is a deeply aggressive soul, typically rude, feisty, and rough. She's known for her aloof, condescending nature and sassy attitude. She'll often crack jokes at other's expense and, when she's in a good mood, she's only mildly insulting. Thrill-seeking is one of the many hobbies of Cora's, constantly doing brash, risky things for the sake of getting the adrenaline rush. Some see her as stupid and reckless, others see her as fearless and courageous. Whatever floats your boat, really. She doesn't take other people into consideration, much too proud and haughty to take heed to what others think. She absolutely refuses to be walked on, commanding respect from everyone. Still, she's an exciting person to be around if you're tough-skinned. A person will soon learn to find that, while she tries her best to hide it, Cora has a heart of gold. All it takes to win the instigative girl over is a bit of spunk and a smidgen of interesting traits. Once she fancies you, it's not long before her sarcastic, crude remarks become a way to show affection as opposed to a way to get you to back off.
Though she'll nag and complain about them, she's fiercely loyal to her loved ones, and secretly protective of them too. She'll sneak behind backs to give punishment to those who deserve it, but never ever tell the person she's helping. I guess in that sense, she's modest. In all others, though, she's ridiculously confident. While she doesn't take to bragging and boasting, it's clear to everyone that Cora thinks she's hot shit and her superiority complex doesn't need to be spoken to be felt. In some sense, she's a control freak. Hell, she committed suicide to have control! This explains why she has a very hard time openly showing affection because it makes her feel and appear weak, so she chooses to be an asshole for the sake of being in control.
Cora retrieves most of her amusement from teasing others, a smug grin usually found on her pretty face. When she's not cheekily sassing off with that lovely smile of hers, though, she's furious. It's easy to set Cora off, and she's so impulsive that she doesn't mind screaming at others. Profanity might as well be her first language, having a truly foul mouth. And when Cora's upset, she knows exactly how to word things so that they're wildly inappropriate and uncannily hurtful. She can be a violent little bugger, too. Just never mention her past or show any prejudiced tendencies (racism and separation of class are some of the things that can drive her up a wall) and you may keep your face how it is.
These all may seem like terrible qualities to possess, but Cora can be a hoot if you're the right kind of person. Obviously, all of her antics are a defense mechanism. She makes herself appear tough and fearless almost to convince herself that she's invincible. She might not admit it, but she hates how she can't open up to others.
-::History::-Cora was a happy little girl with a picture-perfect family. They weren't exactly well-off, no, but she was undoubtably quite delighted with her life. Her father and mother bickered sometimes, and of course there were your everyday tribulations, but it was pretty tame. As we're all aware, though, shit happens. When she was eight, Cora was abducted for only a few hours and sexually assaulted. Yes, yes, it's sick. Cora still has day frights and nightmares about it- or, had before she killed herself. Cora feels that the man's face will never leave her thoughts. She was returned to the park that she had been picked up from that very same day, little girl in her pretty sun dress propped back up like she was still good as new. Of course this wasn't the truth. She remembers crying and crying and crying for hours after she was left alone in the park until a policeman came to her and she was brought back to the station. Her parents had naturally felt as guilty as a parent could. The man was caught and put in jail for life, and she was told he felt very bad for what he'd done- Like hell he did. No, things were never the same after that night. They liked pretending it was, liked faking smiles and giving her gifts, but Cora knew. Cora would forever be seen as that "poor, poor girl", her newly forming rebellious tendencies being passed off because of "her terrible past". She hated it- hated feeling so different. She began to despise pity, and soon she would mistake kindness for pity, and politeness for kindness. That's when she started hating everything everyone did, viewing a person's nice actions as fake and greedy. As a teen, she hated the world, deeply antisocial and bitter.
It was to be expected, though. When she was fifteen, her parents got a divorce mostly because of her. They'd stayed together for as long as they could, and were actually planning on separating before her accident, but had held on for their child's sake. She then lived with her uppity, strung-out mother who drove her absolutely mad without her father to balance things out, and stretched her bad-girl-wings out ever farther than before. She drank and partied and got piercings and anything else a teenager could possibly do to give their parents a hard time. Her mom never budged, still doting her like she was eight no matter what she did. Tired of it, at seventeen she moved out (more like ran away from home), drove to another state, bought a shitty apartment, and lived for a year as a "dancer" and a waitress. She was still ungodly depressed, despite her thinking that "getting away" would make her feel better.
I guess it goes to show that trauma at an early age really screws a person's head up, because Cora couldn't seem to make herself happy no matter what she tried. It didn't matter how many friends she had or how smart she was or how many parties she attended, she was still unappreciative. After a long day of work, a night of promiscuity, and a sleepless morning of too much thinking, Cora thought "to hell with it". A person's main goal in life was to be happy, and Cora certainly was not, nor would she ever be. With a sense of vengeance (towards her mother for being such a fake bitch, her father for deserting her, and the rapist for ruining her life) and a good deal of vindication, she poured herself an ice cold bath, hopped in completely clothed, downed a bottle of aspirin, sobbed for a half hour or so- it'd been the first time she cried since middle school too- and then yanked the radio on her counter into the bath with her. And then she was dead.
Slanted eyes fluttered open with in quick, forced blinks as Cora's irises focused her pupils to the appropriate size with this new lighting. It felt like she'd been sleeping for an eternity, and had awoken because she'd been stuffed inside a microwave and was slowly dying. Pain filled her mind, blocked out any other sensations that she might have felt in that moment. She instinctively stumbled up to her feet, clutching her forehead and not bothering to repress a facial expression that mirrored the pain she felt. Why the hell wasn't she dead? Actually, where the hell was she? Her skin felt like it was on fire, and she scampered forward in unpredictable patterns because of the extreme, excruciating feeling. Jitters racked up her body occasionally, like a bad twitch had strangled her into submission and taken over her body. Cora hadn't expected to ever gain consciousness again, not after she'd plunged into the frigid waters of her crummy apartment's bathtub and thereby proclaimed herself dead with the invitation of her good old friend, the radio. The song that'd been playing as she died circulated her brain right now the same way the electricity had circulated her body... how long ago was that?
Again, where the hell was she? With another and particularly strong aftermath tremor racking her body, she crumbled back to the asphalt like a broken doll, her feet tucked haphazardly underneath her body. She put her face in her hands, chocolate dreads sprawling out around her like some sort of shower curtain. "Goddammit."she hissed angrily through clenched teeth, frustration pumping through her body.
She was supposed to be dead.
Her incessant depression should have been cured.
Was she in some weird version of hell or had she just dreamt it all? She really hoped that her suicide hadn't been some fantasy lived out through her sleeping, otherwise she'd have to do it again and that would be such a mighty blow to her pride. It'd be worse, though, if she'd simply botched her suicide. Then everyone would know she tried to kill herself and failed, and if that happened she'd blow her brains out because of humiliation instead of the troubles that haunted her. She pulled her tanned face from her palms, noticing the discolored skin on her hands. They were burns. So she had botched her suicide. But, wait a second, why didn't she feel like she was stuck in a deep fryer anymore? She looked at her body in wonder as she realized that she'd already healed quite some bit. She whipped her head back and forth, tendrils flying about as she did, and looked at her surroundings for the first time since she'd arrived at... whatever this was.
A bland, relatively empty cityscape greeted her, and she felt her arched eyebrows furrow atop her amber eyes. She ignored the tremor that moved her body as she stared skeptically at the environment she'd been placed in. She didn't recognize it at all. It didn't even seem real...
"What. the. fuck. One hell of an escape this was." she mumbled bitterly, eyes still scraping against her view as if she was suspicious that someone was going to jump out and scream "YOU'VE JUST BEEN PUNKED, YOU SELFISH, PSYCHOTIC BITCH." It didn't happen, mind you, but she was prepared for it if it did. Then, there in the distance, she spotted a single brown haired male, probably a couple years younger than herself based on his height, walking forward. If she could see correctly, there were also two other people farther away from him. She felt her feathers ruffle with suspicion, zipping up her jacket on instinct. She looked around her to see if she could use anything as a weapon, but couldn't see anything. If she was attacked, she'd use her fists. She was a good fighter, anyway. At the moment though, she tensely waited whatever may come with a deep set frown and an angry, confused, desperate glare.
When a whole gaggle of people walked directly past where Cora had been crouching, a new fear crept up her spine. Was she invisible as well as dead? Now that would be funny, to be more damned than the rest of them for whatever reason. She decided to stay in her position, which wasn't far from where a crowd was beginning to form, sitting down in the shadows. At least she wasn't being attacked or some shit. She watched them all with curious, skeptical eyes, listening to their simple conversations with awe. They all seemed so normal.
Upon hearing the brown haired boy who was the first person she'd seen surface in this place say "This is Fulgor. A lot of people call it the City of Suicides, though." she nodded approvingly. So, she had killed herself. At least that was right. There was more conversation before another person made themselves known and he was labeled as being "new here" and that Mr. Brown-hair had all the answers. That's when she decided to move. She, too, was obviously new here. Even the stubborn Cora had to admit she had no clue what she was supposed to be doing. So as much as her stomach churned thinking about openly asking for help, she knew she had to get done what needed to be done. These people were perhaps her only chance, and Cora had always been a "do-er" anyway. She was a woman of action, not of words. With that in mind, she stood to her feet and was pleased to find that she was no longer shaking. Her dreads and clothes were still damp, though, and they felt cold on her back. She was only thankful that she'd decided to go out in her clothes, shoes and all. At the time she thought it wise 'cause she didn't want to cops seeing her naked, and she loved her boots too much to part with them right before her death. She'd owned them for years, one of the only things she hadn't discarded when she moved away from home. It seemed that the leather was ruined, but oh well. If she hadn't done that, she'd probably be naked right now. Yikes.
She strode over to the group just in time to hear the guy with the can ask for names and a pale girl introduce herself. "Well, now to test if they can see me or not." she thought experimentally. Cora sniffed and avoided eye contact. This was all very humiliating, you see. She coughed out a "I'm, uh... I'm new here. My name's Cora. It's nice to meet you." she said, not standing particularly close to any of them, hands in pockets. While she knew from what she'd heard and seen that they meant no harm, she couldn't help but feel like she was prey. This whole place gave her the creeps. She awaited a reaction to see if they'd acknowledge her presence. If not, she'd just have to ride solo- something that she could both agree and disagree with.
RPG
