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Coraline Marlie

"The difference between me and you is outrageous."

0 · 243 views · located in California

a character in “Notting's”, as played by RainbowFace

Description

Image

Name:Coraline Marli

Nickname(s): Corry, Mai-Mai (From her Specifics younger years. The nickname stuck.)

Race: Notting

Age: 21

Gender:Female

Ethnicity:(The appearance of a)Russian

Orientation: Bisexual

Romantic Interest: ?

Residence: With her Specific, amusing them at all times.

Appearance: Between her black hair, slate grey eyes, and her chubby cheeks, Coraline isn't particularly striking, but beautiful all the same. Standing at 5 foot 6 inches, and weighing around 130 pounds, Coraline is slightly pudgy around her cheeks and stomach, but is by no means fat. Her skin is a pale ivory, set off an extreme amount of freckles along her cheeks and nose, and the occasional scar. Her hair is long, reaching her mid-drift in length, and is on the curly side. She usually wears it up in a lose bun, with her bangs hanging over her face. Coraline can generally be found wearing a pair of dark jeans, and a sweater.

Personality: Coraline is a walking, talking contradiction. Beneath her soft, sweet exterior, lies a girl who craves anarchy and disorder. But if you want somebody to have a heart-to-heart with, she's your girl. Many define her usually expression as "Melancholy", but the truth of the matter is that she isn't very expressive (She can be, if she wishes to). She is kind to all (usually), and will always lend a helping hand. She isn't very talkative, but when she does, she often stutters from nervousness, even when she is with people she knows and trusts. Now, onto her inner demons! As previously stated, Coraline secretly loves chaos. Sometimes, if she's feeling like it, she'll deliberately try to muff things up, and cause trouble. If you annoy her (Which tend to happen very easily), she'll often let her anger build up, until she finally "explodes". This usually causes dishes to be thrown, hair to be pulled, and screams and curses to be heard around the world. She has a dark, morbid side to her, yet never lets this side of her to be shown.

Family: Her Specific, Linus. (Will add name when assigned partner has submitted character.)

Tattoo(s):
1.) Tattoo: A large, creepy smile, along with a pair of large fangs protruding from the lips of the smile.
Placement: Back of her neck
Symbolism: This tattoo represents her "dark side", and (as her hair usually covers the tattoo) how not many know of it.

Other: Her accent? Thick and Russian. She also speaks Russian, though she has never been to Russia once in her life. She often wonders what was going through her Specifics mind when he/she created Coraline.

So begins...

Coraline Marlie's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Linus Finnley Character Portrait: Dante Knox Pike Character Portrait: Coraline Marlie
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She gnashed her teeth. Her fingers clicked, subconsciously clawed and dangerous. White molars mulled tirelessly against adjacent molars, dragging clear as if they were grinding ivory dust to trade off to toothless-beggars loitering black market streets. It sent a dull ache through the connecting intersections of her jaw – an ache that made her want to throw the blaring fucking alarm clock clear through the spattered window. Whose bright idea was it to buy a machine that sounded like an incoming ship, blaring it's fucking sirens? Oh yeah. Linus bought it. Initially, she'd thought it was endearing: poetic, even. Throw her a life jacket. Sweep the lighthouse' light across her before she was completely overcome – somewhere she'd be safe. More than that, it reminded her of soft touches, fingertips dipping across bird-bones and a jingling laughter she was hard pressed to forget. She was foolish. She was tired. Her sleeplessness shuttered her eyes closed, tightly. When did it become so hard to drag her lazy ass out of bed?

Wooden bracelets flashed on her thin wrists – probably the only bird-like thing about her. Everything else screamed something else, something inexorable and bawdy: firecracker. She swam in a sea of beautiful women with bigger tits, plumper lips, blonder hair, but still she crackled with an energy they lacked. It didn't matter. She didn't belong in the gender-spectrum. Those women never interested her, anyway. A half-snuffle half-snort puffed from her nose as she dragged her knuckles against the laminated flooring: click-lock boards, installed herself. She was handy like that. Her eyes, like two pieces of rusty pennies, glinted in the darkness of her three-bedroom apartment, in search of her half-empty packet of Cordon Bleu smokes strewn across her nightstand. Cardboard righteously massacred from her many attempts to calmly extract one of the damned things and carelessly tossed on the floor in front of the rubbish bin. She'd clean up later.

Behind the tightly closed curtains, she could feel the time passing and her thoughts drifted back to the blaring siren invading her ears. A tightly-wound snarl rumbled from her throat as she immediately shifted forward on her belly, much like a beached seal, and slammed her hand across the alarm's snooze button: off off off. β€œY'know I'm gonna' throw your dumb ass out, right?” She threatened groggily, rubbing casually at the corners of her eyes to instill some kind of wakefulness. She wouldn't. She knew she wouldn't. Clearly, it was her fault. Her eyes rolled, then met squarely with her curtains. Small tubes of light filtered through a myriad of burnt holes littering it's front like a smattering of unwanted freckles, ugly ashen brown at the edges. If anyone asked, she'd blame it on the imaginary moths. Admitting that she often investigated the burning properties of matches and cigarettes would only raise eyebrows, and even if she didn't particularly give a shit about what people thought of her... it wasn't something she'd want to get into. Oh yeah, lady, burning holes in your curtains? Perfectly normal.

The tattooed woman clucked loudly, rolling her tongue ring against the inner ribs of her teeth. It sounded like rosary beads running down the corner of a table, comforting, rhythmic, a xylophone of repeated noises. Instead of resuming her hourly routine of staying-the-hell-in-bed-and-not-moving, Linus heaved herself up like an awkward sack of potatoes and swept the curtains open to reveal the full effect of the blazing sun, straight in her face. She probably would've hissed if she were some pansy vampire from Twilight. Wasn't she supposed to schedule an appointment today? Or was she supposed to attend something important? Return a call? Whatever. It'd come back to her if it was important enough. She moved away from her bed like a zombie: all limp limbs and a vacant, droning expression. She wasn't a morning person – didn't even want to experience β€œwaking up.” It was a waste of time. Where the hell was Coraline, anyway? It hit her. Suddenly, like a freight train. Oh yeah, Linus was supposed to contact her therapist. That was Dr. Pike, otherwise known as Knox. They were on a first name basis because they got along pretty well, but she didn't like calling him Dante. Too stuffy. Too biblical. Linus knew Knox was some kind of therapist badass or whatever. He understood that she wasn't some damage, kicked puppy who was feeling sorry for herself. If it were her choice, then she wouldn't even attend the mandatory sessions. But, like all things, it wasn't in her power. It wasn't her choice. They both played their parts, perfectly. Nobody deserved to know. But she gets lonely. A lot. She wasn't taking nothing at all out of the sessions. At least, Linus was learning more about herself – maybe, more than she'd care to know.

She doesn't like people much. She supposes it's rather obvious. She would get tired of hearing someone's voice. She hated people who talked too much. It's like people who overstayed their welcome – but, it's not really like that with Knox. They had a mutual understanding and mutual dislikes. With him, it felt like there was a balloon in Linus' chest cavity, swelling and filling with air. It's not so bad a feeling. With him, it's confidential. With him, she doesn't need to put up any fronts. It's unnecessary. Her lazy limbs automatically carried her through the motions of her morning routine: quick shower, brush teeth, scarf down a bagel with herb and garlic cream cheese and get her silly ass dressed in whatever was conveniently in arms reach. Blue All-Star chucks? Check. Oversized grey band T? Check. Pair of ripped jeans? Check. Old leather jacket? Check. Linus didn't bother checking how she looked in the mirror: didn't really care, not one bit. She snapped her phone open and stomped down the stairs, flicking through names and numbers and addresses until Knox' name came up. Then, she promptly dialed and announced that she'd be meeting up with him later. Split coffee or something.

She never bothered to ask if his schedule was clear.