“Wandering between two worlds, one dead,/ The other powerless to be born”
|Name| Pascale Noble
|Nickname| "Little Miss Sunshine" to her family, often dripping with irony/ Sometimes "Pass-calli" by mistake/ Noble by those that fear the work involved pronouncing her name
|Age| 23
|Race| French, English
|Sexual Orientation| Bisexual
|Nickname| "Little Miss Sunshine" to her family, often dripping with irony/ Sometimes "Pass-calli" by mistake/ Noble by those that fear the work involved pronouncing her name
|Age| 23
|Race| French, English
|Sexual Orientation| Bisexual
|Height|5'7
|Build| Lean and wiry
|Skin Tone| Pale with freckled complexion
|Hair Color| Sandy blonde with red highlights
|Eye Color| A piercing blue
|Scars/Tattoos/Piercings| Has a long scar that curves around her back from the car accident, has several small tattoos
|Build| Lean and wiry
|Skin Tone| Pale with freckled complexion
|Hair Color| Sandy blonde with red highlights
|Eye Color| A piercing blue
|Scars/Tattoos/Piercings| Has a long scar that curves around her back from the car accident, has several small tattoos
|Quirks/Habits| Chain smoker, habitually late, blunt, a little rough around the edges, promiscuous, cannot sit still
|Abilities/Skills| Can pick a lock or break into a car, counterfeiting ID cards, flirting her way out of trouble
|Likes| Cigarettes, late nights, watching the stars on the rooftops
|Dislikes| Authority, intimacy, schedules
|Fears/Secrets|
She wishes to run away from her life. Pascale is waiting for the opportunity to start over, to rid herself of guilt but she fears it will never come. She fears she will never be forgiven.
|Abilities/Skills| Can pick a lock or break into a car, counterfeiting ID cards, flirting her way out of trouble
|Likes| Cigarettes, late nights, watching the stars on the rooftops
|Dislikes| Authority, intimacy, schedules
|Fears/Secrets|
She wishes to run away from her life. Pascale is waiting for the opportunity to start over, to rid herself of guilt but she fears it will never come. She fears she will never be forgiven.
|Personality|
As a small girl, she had many memories of painted footprints and clay in her hair. Her early life was filled with her mother's projects and stories of her homeland and the great City of Lights. She was indulged in whatever artistic fancy she had. Windows would be covered in little blue dots, chalk flowers would trail down the sidewalk, little origami cranes would pop up in the cupboards... Her father was absent. An editor for a large publisher, he was more serious and sober. After the initial thrill of her parents' courtship, they parted ways, leaving Pascale in the middle. Having nothing in common with her father, she was often ignored. She later began searching for his approval in all the wrong places.
It was her friend that offered her stability. He was the voice of reason, the old soul, and gave her what her family could not. They were inseparable and spent most of their time getting into and out of trouble. When he died, she carried the weight of blame with her. Her bright personality and curiosity became destructive. She began pushing herself further, taking bigger risks, chasing after the monsters in the dark.
As a small girl, she had many memories of painted footprints and clay in her hair. Her early life was filled with her mother's projects and stories of her homeland and the great City of Lights. She was indulged in whatever artistic fancy she had. Windows would be covered in little blue dots, chalk flowers would trail down the sidewalk, little origami cranes would pop up in the cupboards... Her father was absent. An editor for a large publisher, he was more serious and sober. After the initial thrill of her parents' courtship, they parted ways, leaving Pascale in the middle. Having nothing in common with her father, she was often ignored. She later began searching for his approval in all the wrong places.
It was her friend that offered her stability. He was the voice of reason, the old soul, and gave her what her family could not. They were inseparable and spent most of their time getting into and out of trouble. When he died, she carried the weight of blame with her. Her bright personality and curiosity became destructive. She began pushing herself further, taking bigger risks, chasing after the monsters in the dark.
|History|
In a great clash of metal and flashing lights, Pascale's life ended. She was fourteen. Too smart for her own good, too clever to play the game, too young to know better... She was a wild thing, running free with only the wind in her hair. And in the untempered city of New York, it was the perfect place for a wolf. One night, she took a friend of hers to a concert. After sneaking through the back, they spent the night jumping over people's heads to catch the view and singing loudly along to bands they had never heard of. It was one in the morning by the time they had stumbled from the venue. Both groaned as their bus had zipped past them. It was then an older classmate came to them, staggering and laughing. He was impressed by their moxie and offered them a ride. Pascale had been riding high on rebellion and agreed but her friend shook his head. "No, we can walk," he said, taking her arm. But Pascale would not be swayed. If she had known, if she had paid attention, she would have seen the bloodshot eyes and stink of alcohol on his breath. Instead, she and her friend got into the car that night.
It happened so fast. Something came out of nowhere; a tree, another car, a bus, she couldn't say. But suddenly she was thrust forward like a ragdoll; glass shards falling like rain around her. Metal crunched and wheels screeched. The driver cursed in a panic. Her friend was silent. They spun around until they hit a wall and then there was nothing. When she woke up, she was in a hospital bed and her friend was in the morgue. The wild thing had been broken. Her parents tried to console her. They took her to therapy. But nothing could convince her that she hadn't killed her best friend. She had been put into support groups and forced to move to the suburbs. But the desire for self-destruction had taken root and grew strong with her guilt.
At eighteen, she returned to New York. She drifted from place to place, taking odd jobs that would suit her restless personality. She drifted from one lover to the next, looking for an absolution that would never come. Pascale settled for her turbulent existence until one day she had come across someone she'd never hoped to see again. It was her friend, back from the grave. She was too stunned to speak but as he turned the corner, she broke into a run. She never caught up with him but it sent her on a journey; bringing herself back to life.
In a great clash of metal and flashing lights, Pascale's life ended. She was fourteen. Too smart for her own good, too clever to play the game, too young to know better... She was a wild thing, running free with only the wind in her hair. And in the untempered city of New York, it was the perfect place for a wolf. One night, she took a friend of hers to a concert. After sneaking through the back, they spent the night jumping over people's heads to catch the view and singing loudly along to bands they had never heard of. It was one in the morning by the time they had stumbled from the venue. Both groaned as their bus had zipped past them. It was then an older classmate came to them, staggering and laughing. He was impressed by their moxie and offered them a ride. Pascale had been riding high on rebellion and agreed but her friend shook his head. "No, we can walk," he said, taking her arm. But Pascale would not be swayed. If she had known, if she had paid attention, she would have seen the bloodshot eyes and stink of alcohol on his breath. Instead, she and her friend got into the car that night.
It happened so fast. Something came out of nowhere; a tree, another car, a bus, she couldn't say. But suddenly she was thrust forward like a ragdoll; glass shards falling like rain around her. Metal crunched and wheels screeched. The driver cursed in a panic. Her friend was silent. They spun around until they hit a wall and then there was nothing. When she woke up, she was in a hospital bed and her friend was in the morgue. The wild thing had been broken. Her parents tried to console her. They took her to therapy. But nothing could convince her that she hadn't killed her best friend. She had been put into support groups and forced to move to the suburbs. But the desire for self-destruction had taken root and grew strong with her guilt.
At eighteen, she returned to New York. She drifted from place to place, taking odd jobs that would suit her restless personality. She drifted from one lover to the next, looking for an absolution that would never come. Pascale settled for her turbulent existence until one day she had come across someone she'd never hoped to see again. It was her friend, back from the grave. She was too stunned to speak but as he turned the corner, she broke into a run. She never caught up with him but it sent her on a journey; bringing herself back to life.
