ARMSTRONG, emmie aurora `

[emmie armstrong]

Name: Emmie Aurora Armstrong.
Age: seventeen.
Gender: Female
Year: Junior
Clique: Musicians
Appearance:

Really, Emmie looks just like everybody else. She has two eyes, a nose, two legs, two arms... You know the rest, surely. She has hair too - it's rather long, reaching just past her shoulders, and the colour of it is always changing. Few people know what colour her hair is naturally (brunette - you wouldn't think it, right?) or what colour it was when they met her. Her hair colour usually stays one of three colours: yellow, orange or red. Sometimes, it's even a mixture of the above. But enough about her hair.

Emmie has always been rather short, even though most of her family are pretty tall. Some great aunt or distant relative that she rarely sees once commented, jokingly, that Emmie was the 'runt' of the family but it didn't really bother her. After seventeen years of being short she couldn't really imagine herself being tall. It's rather annoying when people thing that she's alot younger than she actually is, but you can't really have everything in life. She does have a tendency to get rather upset with people who do, but she usually gets over it. She knows that size doesn't matter but that doesn't stop her getting protective over her height.

Her complexion - it's been flawless ever since the day she was born. Free of blemishes, scars, or anything else along those lines. The problem is that she's always been rather pale. No matter how long she spends in the sun she never tans, just freckles. When she was twelve she did experiment with her mother's fake tan during the summer... She kinda, sorta, maybe used just a little too much and spent the rest of the holidays looking like she had been tangoed. Maybe that's why she has such a love of orange these days, hm? Although, it's really something that she does her hardest to forget about - if you ask her mom about photographs from that year, she'll explain how they happened to 'disappear' a few years ago and she still hasn't found them since.

You can't forget the clothes, either! Skinny jeans, band t-shirts and hoodies. That's Emmie's usual attire in a nutshell - for school, at least. She won't wear things that everybody else seems to be wearing, usually going mad if she sees somebody else wearing an outfit similar to one she wore a few days prior. Her wardrobe mainly consists of Glamour Kills, Converse, Vans, band merch and a few random items that she picked up from random stores whilst trailing around her usual stores. Some people would say that she has a rather tomboy-ish taste in clothes, but she disagrees. She does wear skirts... Sometimes, just not as often as most other girls do. What's the big deal with girls and skirts?

Personality:

HYPER. When describing Emmie's personality, the word 'hyper' is definitely an understatement. She passed hyper a long time ago and told it to eat her dust. Most people doubt there's a word in the english language (or any other language, for that matter) that could describe such random behaviour as hers. Never - I repeat, never - give her lucozade. Not even a sip, as this simply increases her sugar levels and causes her hyperactivity to multiply be ten-fold; which ends up with Emmie being much more troublesome than normal and causing twice as much chaos as she would on a daily basis. Anybody who doesn't consider that as a scary thought really needs to sort out their fears.

REPETETIVE. Emmie, bless her soul, has a habit of repeating the same thing several times in one conversation. If there's something she needs to tell several people then the chances are, she'll end up telling the same person the same message at least three times and forget about all the rest. The problem is that she usually forgets whom she has told and who she hasn't, so she goes around and tells everybody again just to make sure. It's just a shame that every once in a while she usually ends up leaving somebody out - everybody else hears the same thing half a dozen times and somebody else doesn't hear it at all. Erk. Really, she shouldn't be aloud to deliver any news at all; it's a shame that people just don't seem to pick up on this fact after all of the slip-ups that she's made in the past.

EVASIVE. Never ask Emmie to break bad news to anybody either, because it's most likely that she will sit and beat around the bush for half an hour until the person she's talking to finally catches her jumbled drift. She hates to be blunt in fear of hurting peoples' feelings, but there are situations when she's forced into it as people are too impatient to sit and listen to her ramblings. To be perfectly honest, she doesn't blame them. The only reason she carries on like she does is because that she tries to say things in the nicest way she possibly can - but never gives it any thought before hand, leaving her to make it up as she goes along. She means no harm by it, honest.

RANDOM. Oh, look! Another understatement while describing the personality of Emmie Armstrong! Wow - I should try for a record. This girl is not just random in the way that most people claim they are. She's the kind of person whom has run around the school campus in everything from Minnie Mouse costumes to her pajamas so many times that she was nearly expelled and will stand in the middle of busy public places and hug nearly every passer-by that doesn't look too suspicious or smell bad. On several occasions she has been kicked out of (even banned from) places for doing so, but for some reason that never seems to phase her in any way at all. Who would refuse a hug from somebody that you've never met before in your life?

PUSHOVER. It doesn't take much to persuade Emmie, to say the least. She's a little weary when she's asked to do certain things by people she doesn't know or haven't gained his trust but they can usually twist her around their little finger in a matter of minutes. If it's somebody that she trusts well or possibly has a crush on, then the poor girl doesn't even pause to think about what he's about to be agreeing to. The only time she acts the slightest bit stubborn is in situations such as when her friends offer to pay for her own ice cream as well as theirs - she will insist to pay herself until she gets her own way. Sometimes she forgets what she's said yes to and what she hasn't; usually landing her in 'but you said you'd do [insert errand here] for me' situations, that often end with arguments. Emmie believes that arguments hurt people's feelings; which makes her upset. She's a freaky little chick.

WORRIER. It's not really her fault, but Emmie always worries about the little things in her life. If she thinks that she said something to upset a person then she won't be able to think straight until she's fixed it. When she believes that she's going to flunk a test then she won't be able to sleep until she sees her grades. But the worst is when that somebody she loves has to go away for a couple of days, or she has to part from them for a little while. She insists that everybody stays in contact with her throughout the period of time that they are away from each other. Say somebody is supposed to call her at 4:00pm - if they still haven't called by 4:05pm then she instantly begins to think that the worst might have happened to them. Yes, it can be annoying for some of her friends and family, but she only does it because she cares.

History:

( mother ) Annelise Armstrong, fashion designer.
( father ) Patrick Armstrong, movie director.
( hometown ) New York, New York.

Ah, Valentine's Day. For some it's another excuse for shops to sell absolute tat at extreme prices, but for others it's a day when you show that 'special person' in your life just how special they are. It was also the day that Emmie Armstrong happened to be born on, which had came as a shock to everybody really. Emmie's mother Annelise was a fashion designer, who had refused to declare maternity leave until the last two months of her pregancy. The problem? The baby decided that it wanted to be born two months early. Five minutes before she was going to leave for work, her waters broke. There was a big rush to the hospital, and there was worry that the baby may have to be born in the back of their family car. They got to the hospital and, by some crazy miracle, they managed to get Annelise to a bed just before she actually gave birth. By this point her husband Patrick was on the verge of hyperventilating, and nurses had to try and calm him down whilst the baby was being delivered.

Growing up was easy for Emmie, supposedly. She rarely saw her parents because they were always busy working - her mother had her fashion company and her father was a film director. In the end, she spent more time with her live-in babysitter and the houseworkers (she didn't like to call them servants or butlers, it sounded snobby) than she did with her actual family. Some of her teachers looked rather confused when her carers showed up to the Parent-Teacher evenings instead of her parents, but it was something that they had to get used to as her parents were always busy. On her birthday she would always hope that maybe, just maybe she could spend the day with her parents - but then their cell phones would ring simoltaneously, her mother hurriedly rising from her seat due to some emergency at a photo shoot and her dad following not far behind because some stroppy actress was threatening to walk out. It was the same with Christmas, and it got to the point where she found it easier to just avoid getting her hopes up altogether.

Emmie never told anybody at school about her money, mainly because she didn't know about it until middle school. She asked one of her small group of friends to come to her house one day after school, and her friend was shocked by the size of it. This confused Emmie - she thought that most houses looked like that on the inside and most kids had as many toys and things that she did. Apparently not. Word apparently got around that she had more money than most, people who had barely acknowledged her before were suddenly acting like she was their long lost sister. She knew that something must have been up, but she didn't dare to confront them about it in case they got offended. Maybe it was just her, being paranoid. Or they were using her. But she didn't know where to go to as for help - her parents didn't have the time to sit down and listen to her and her babysitter, not wanting to upset Emmie, would assure her that everything would turn out okay and that it was only coincidental.

She waved goodbye to middle school and welcomed high school with open arms. Emmie was totally confident that this could be a new start for her. A chance to make friends who liked her for who she was, not what she owned. Things didn't really work that way for her and she ended up turning into an introvert. At least she didn't have to worry about being used if she didn't have any friends, right? With all the time she had to herself; Emmie became interested in music. She was almost always seen with her iPod about her person, a tatty notebook full of songs tucked under her arm or resting on the desk she was sitting at. By the time she reached the end of Sophomore year she had taught herself to play guitar, piano, and even dabbled in the drums. Spending most of her lunch times in the music room meant that she got to meet people who shared her love of music. Some of them were older, some of them were younger. To be perfectly honest, Emmie had never really been introduced to the big bad world of high school because she spent the first two and a half years by herself - and now she was being thrown in at the deep end.

That sounded weird. But the whole time, she had been in the middle of a school where everybody was split into groups - sorry, cliques - and she had no idea about it. Her happy little introvert bubble had a pin stuck right in it. What was she supposed to do? Tell her newly-acquired friends; "oh, I don't like all of this clique lark. I'm going to carry on going about my business by myself." Instead, she thought one thing and one thing only: shove cliques. She was going to talk to who she wanted to and she wasn't going to let some labels stop her. It didn't really go to plan - but like the fake-tan experiment, she doesn't really like to talk about it.

Goals/Fears:

`` work on her music.
`` start a band.
`` be famous, maybe.
`` live a happy life - cliché, much?
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
`` athazagoraphobia - fear of being forgotten.
`` taphophobia - fear of being buried alive.
`` autophobia - fear of being alone.
`` masklophobia - fear of mascots/people wearing masks.
`` nyctophobia - fear of the dark.

Sample rp:

certainly not my greatest of posts but it's all I have.

the way we're living makes no sense,
take me back to the age of innocence.

6:34... 6:35. "STAY SEVENTEEN!" A loud scream filled the dorm room, followed by a loud thud; drowning out the loud music that was currently blasting from the occupant's alarm clock. There was a muffled groan of both irritation and agony from somewhere in the bundle of multicoloured bed sheets and bright pink hair. After several moments of flailing her limbs around and screaming a selection of hand-picked curse words at the top of her lungs, the girl in question managed to free herself from her own material death trap. Adrienne picked up the pile of sheets and deposited it onto her bed in the tangled mess that she had left them. You would have thought that after over six months of waking up in exactly the same way then she would have gotten used to it by now. Erm, nope. "THE PARTY SCENE HAS GOT THE BEST OF ME AND YOU!" Eventually she realised that her alarm clock was still going. Instead of walking over and turning it off like everybody else would, she threw a pillow at it. "Five minutes late. Again." She muttered, padding over to her wardrobe in order to get today's utterly random outfit. Oh, and towels. Towels were very handy little things when you were about to climb into the shower.

Adrienne placed her desired items of clothing in a small pile on her dressing table, as her mess of sheets was taking up most of the space on her bed. The towels stayed tucked under her right arm as she walked around the room and gathered everything that she needed; underwear in particular. Just like the towels, underwear was good. Arms filled with everything that she thought she needed, she made her way into the bathroom. Unlike most, she didn't shut the door completely; nor did she lock it - she had suffered from claustrophobia and cleisiophobia since the age of three, after accidentally locking herself inside of her toy box and had to wait roughly four hours until somebody let her out again. It wasn't like anybody could walk in on her, so she hoped. As far as she knew there was nobody else in the dorm room, although she had no idea about the whereabouts of her room-mate. Ah well, it wasn't like she had to keep the girl on a leesh or microchip her to keep track of where she was. The truth was that Adrienne didn't even like the girl that much, she just put up with her to avoid any awkward moments. Anyway. She turned on the shower and perched on the very edge of the sink basin, waiting until the room had condensated slighty (but not too much - claustrophobia, remember?) before finally taking her pajamas off and getting into the shower to, y'know, shower.

After roughly ten to fifteen minutes, she was out and dry. Adrienne made her way back into her dorm room and picked up her clothes, keeping her hair wrapped in a towel the whole time. She was dressed - now it was time to find her shoes. Oh no. Sighing slightly; she decided to save that until last and firstly do something with her hair. She unwrapped the towel and left it on the floor next to her feet, deciding that she could pick it up later, before shaking her head around so that her hair would fall into its natural parting. The girl studied her reflection in the mirror and frowned faintly. Since she could remember, she had always felt insecure about herself. Even when she thought she looked pretty, there would be a small voice in the back of her mind worrying about whether everybody else thought the same. For a few moments she regretted putting on shorts, but she decided that she couldn't be bothered to change. After a few seconds of ruffling different areas of her bright pink locks she decided that she didn't look too bad, picked up the damp towel and placed it into her black and white polka dot wash basket with the rest of her towels. Now for the shoe search. Checking in every gap and under every pile of clothing, Adrienne searched high and low for her favourite slip-on Converse.

Finally she succeeded - they had been in the box the whole time, exactly where she had put them after the last time she wore them. "Typical." She mumbled, not that anybody except herself could hear. Shoving her Sidekick into her pocket, along with a Hello Kitty pocket mirror for no reason; she placed what she liked to call her 'lens-less glasses' upon her face and walked straight out of the dorm room. Adrienne had no idea what time it was, but the dorm building was neither busy nor quiet. Strange. Shrugging it off, she made her way to anywhere but her next class. Oh yes, Adrienne was a skipper. It wasn't a frequent thing - she only missed the ones that she didn't like and didn't think would be helping her in later life, mainly gym and math - and anyway, at least she used her time doing something useful instead of getting high like most of the kids in this school. Deciding that the auditorium would be a good place to hide, she quickly and quietly opened the door before sliding inside and shutting the door again like nothing had happened. She was expecting it to be empty, but apparently not. The sound of singing filled her ears and a yapping noise caused her to jump. Focusing more on the puppy than where she singing, she kneeled on the floor and ruffled the labrador's ears. Smiling faintly, she looked up to the middle of the room to see where the music was coming from.

FOR. Franklin.
WORD COUNT. roughly 989 ( without codes. )
STATUS. done.
IMAGE&LAYOUT. mine. no stealing.
LYRICS. Hollywood by Cute Is What We Aim For.
MUSIC. Hometown Heroes; National Nobodies by All Time Low.
OUTFIT. outfit here.
OOC. hai. x]

( her whole app is terrible, I seriously apologise. I'll fix it tomorrow if needed. )

[alek gregory]

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im certainly not going to force you to add anything :]
remember to check out the sign up's and claims[/size][/ul]