Daryn
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Tears don't mean your losing, everybody's bruising
Joined: Sept 2011
Gender: Female 
Posts: 1,120
Location: Falling from cloud nine
Karma: 27 |  | Karma Prescott(Finished)
« Thread Started on Jan 30, 2012, 10:13pm » | |
Name: Karma
Age: 17
Gender: Female
District/Area: District 1
Appearance: ![[image]](http://i1122.photobucket.com/albums/l527/nerrad3215/600full-briana-evigan.jpg "[image]")
Briana Evigan
Personality: YEA, YEA, I'M A PROSTITUTE, IT ISN'T LIKE
I WANT IT. SECRET DREAM LAND. SAVE ME!
DON'T TEST ME. I'LL BREAK YOU! I GET
ENOUGH SHIT FROM MY "DADDY" YOU
GOT BEEF? DEAL WITH IT, ALRIGHT? History: PERFECT LITTLE CHILDHOOD. DADDY GOT NUTTY. I GOT SCREWED. Codeword: ODAIR
Comments/Other: THIS BIO IS FINISHED!!!
SONG:Turn Me On!!WHOOP WHOOP!
FIGHT CLUB PLOT, YO!
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Daryn
Capitol Resident
[M:-2770]
member is offline
Tears don't mean your losing, everybody's bruising
Joined: Sept 2011
Gender: Female
Posts: 1,120
Location: Falling from cloud nine
Karma: 27 | | Re: Karma Prescott(Finished)
« Reply #1 on Jan 30, 2012, 10:42pm » | |
Karma
Gisele
Prescott
![[image]](http://i1122.photobucket.com/albums/l527/nerrad3215/BrianaEvigan011212.jpg "[image]")
Age . Seventeen Years, And Nothing To Show For It
Gender . I'm A Girl. You Want To Check?
District . District One.
Occupation . None Of Your Damn Business!
Sexuality . Does It Matter?
Appearance .
"I need your love, I need your love, I need your loving."
"You got that kind of medicine that keeps me going."
Look, I'm not going to sit here and brag about how beautiful I am, and I'm not gonna whine about every little thing that's wrong with me. I'm gonna tell it to you straight, and that's that. My hair is brown in the warmer months, and black in the colder ones. It is set on staying curly, regardless of how much product I put in it. It's not too terribly long, but it isn't short, either. If I had to put a certain length on it, I'd say it was about a foot long, though. My hair doesn't really have a specific part, so it makes it a little easier for me to do things with it. When looking at it, you think it's nasty and coarse, but really, it's quite soft to the touch. I take care of it, so I don't really understand why it always looks so gross. It is something I'm self conscious about, but whatever. The thickness of it causes me to have head aches. I mean, thick hair is beautiful, right? Well, with beauty comes pain, sweetie, and pain packs quite a punch when It's yanking on your scalp 24/7.
Next on the agenda, my eyes. Now, to some people, the round, boring brown saucers are pretty. They say that my eyes make me look unique, and I always seem highly alert because of them. It isn't just my eyes making me look like that all the time, though, although I do blame it on them constantly. To others they are too big and make me look like an alien. They creep a lot of people out, and even though it insults me, I agree, but what makes my opinion any more important than anybody else stupid enough to care's? Exactly. Above them there are a set of eyebrows that have to be cared for daily. If they aren't, then I look like I have bushes growing on my forehead, trust me, the sight isn't a pretty one. However, when there are cared for, they look pretty nice, actually. The arch that is so drawn out helps size down my eyes sometimes.
My nose isn't really all that bad. The end of it is pointed upward in a tiny point, as if it once belonged to a mouse. It's relatively on the small side, which only makes my eyes even bigger. My nostrils, even when flaring, never get really big. It's annoying sometimes, and something I'm grateful for as well. If I had a big nose, I'd be slap-ass ugly. It's pretty straight, but there is one minor bump in it about half way down that makes the whole thing look round, again, resembling the mouse nose.
The pouty pink things toward the bottom of my face, also known as my lips, are the primary money makers. My lips complete my face. They tie it all together and make it work. Why? Don't ask me, because I don't have a clue, but it's true. Just picture me with thin lips, rather than the puffy ones I have. It doesn't really work, does it? Though both of my lips are full, my bottom one is fuller, by a landslide. It is so round, I often get asked if it is swollen by rude people. Like it's bigger sister, my top lip is really soft to the touch. When they aren't chapped, at least. They chap at the tiniest wisp of wind sometimes, and that really agitates me.
Both my arms and my legs are long, and toned. I do take pride in my body, seeing as how I have been forced to sell it for three years now. The funny thing is, I don't really have to do a lot to stay in shape. A quick jog here, and a few walks there, and I'm healthy and fit as a horse. My..erm, torso, is pretty nice, if you ask one of my clients. They are all just so fascinated my my breasts, it's honestly repulsive. I mean, you'd think getting compliments on something like that would make you feel more self confident, but it only makes me want to slap a person. I don't want just anybody to be able to see me...like that, and they don't by choice, but we'll get into that in a second. I'm not exactly the tallest person you'll ever meet, but I don't need to be, because I can take care of myself just fine.
I dress like a young woman sometimes, others I dress up like what people call me constantly(a whore) and then others I dress like a total tom-boy. It all depends on where I'm going, really. By girly, I mean dresses, and blouses. By Slutty, I mean mini skirts and low cut shirts, by tom boy clothes, I mean blue jeans, and T-shirts. Pretty simple, right? If I am going out to a party, or something of the sorts, I dress in either my girly clothes, or my slutty ones, depending on the type of party. If it is one of those stuffy "I-can't-wait-to-leave" parties, then girly clothes work great, if it's a kick ass party, then my slutty clothes are going be used. I only wear them to give people a reason to talk about me like they do. I never chose to become what I am, and they don't seem to realize it. When I'm going to relieve some of my stress (you'll understand in a minute) I wear my more comfortable, and personal favorite, clothes, or the ones you'd call "boy-ish" clothes. I like the colors purple, pink, silver, and anything that will match, so most of my wardrobe is filled with those colors, and the occasional blue or green. As for shoes, I usually accompany any of my outfits with heels, but when I'm going to fight, I wear more comfortable shoes. (sneakers, stuff like that...)
Personality .
"Make me come alive, come on and turn me on."
"Touch me, save my life, come on and turn me on."
I'm cold by choice, but I'm a prostitute by someone else's. I don't like letting people know me. The real me, at least. I feel like I am always setting myself up to get knocked down when people know the real me. Really, only a few people have ever met the real me, and it took them a little time to find her. I guess I just hate being vulnerable, like once somebody knows the real me, there is nothing holding them back from ruining me. I hate losing control like that. I need to be in control, it isn't just a want. If people found out that I really wasn't some cold heartless bitch, my life would be over. People would take advantage of me, I know this because they have in the past.
Being a prostitute means you have to be strong, both physically, and emotionally. You get hurt if your not. It's a lesson I learned the hard way, and I don't really wish that feeling on anybody. Prostitution was never my choice, no matter what people think, and it still isn't. I know I'm strong enough to say no and suffer the consequences, but every time I try to, I remember the wonderful man my Father used to be. I loved him, everybody did. I just can't bring myself to hurt him, regardless of the constant agony he causes me. To be honest, most of the time, you know, "during" I'm not even there completely. Sure, my body is, but my mind is in a place were pain doesn't exist. A place where the only tears that fall are those of joy. I go to a place that I wish was real, unlike the one I'm stuck in.
I'm a fighter, in all senses of the word. Sure there is the corny "I never say no" version of it, and I am like that, but I am more of a fighter in the sense of hurting people in any way I can. Not all people, of course, but my "clients" that go to far, or the people I am matched up against in what we call "Fight Club" are the unfortunate victims of my violence. I do enjoy hurting them, I wont lie. I've been hurt so much that I wish everybody felt the way I have. I can't just walk around beating the shit out of random people, though, so a lot of times I back down from a fight. I'm not afraid to stand up for myself or anything , and I shouldn't be. Being a girl, and having a bad reputation means I'm going to take a lot of shit, so I need to stand up for myself, right?
I have an extreme problem with sleeping. I'd like to blame it on Dad's drug use, but I can't, because I have always had trouble sleeping. The reason? I can't turn my mind off. Sometimes I wish my brain had a switch, where I could easily flip it on and off with no trouble, but I don't, and that's that. I obsess over the smallest little things when I lay down. I can remember a single thought I had that day, and think about it for hours. It annoys me to no end, but there isn't really anything I can do about it. Every medicine and remedy you've heard of, I've tried it, and it doesn't work. Well, either it doesn't work at all, or it doesn't work fast enough.
My temper doesn't let me tolerate a lot of bull shit, so usually when I don't want to fight, I have to literally run away. Fighting in school was never something I looked forward to. It was the one place I didn't have to worry about my safety, or so my pathetic little mind let me think. Those stupid girls kept asking for a fight, begging, even, so I gave them one. I beat the shit out of one of them. I feel really bad about it now, but I felt so happy that she was hurt so badly at the time. I literally knocked her out, and stomped on her obnoxiously pretty head. Ended up giving her a concussion, but after that fight, most of the girls left me alone. The boys loved that I was a good fighter, I don't know why, but they did. I attracted them, completely not by my choice. They all wanted the same thing, and when I wouldn't give it to them, they resorted to rape. Well, they tried to, at least, but I beat them just like I would have any girl that had a bone to pick.
Once you get to know me, I'm really not that bad. Sure, I'm really sarcastic, and I'm a smart ass, but I'm really a funny person. I love to laugh just as much as the next person. I can make people see the lighter side of any situation. The problem is that I can't do that to myself. I might pretend I can see the brighter side of my life, but I can't.
History .
"I'm too young to die, come on and turn me on."
"Turn me on, turn me on, turn me on, turn me on."
During the 43rd Hunger Games, on the specific date of November 14, my Mom, Adoura, gave birth to me in the small Hospital in the outskirts of District One. I was spoiled by my parents, just like any other typical District One child. If I wanted something, I got it. This includes my want for a little sister. When I was four, I was gifted with one. Her name was Timmery, and I loved her from the start. As soon as she was old enough to walk, I had her following me everywhere. She was my best friend because we literally did everything as a team, despite our age differences. Two years later, when I was six, my parents gave us yet another sibling, only this one was a boy, named Quill. I liked to put make up on him and play dolls with him, but only because I knew he wasn't supposed to do stuff of the sort.
So, you get it, my life was a fairytale, right? Well that all changed when I was eleven, and Timmery, Quill, and I got home from school one day, and found Mom and Dad arguing. This was new to us. None of us had ever seen them even gripe at each other, let alone act like they wanted to kill each other. My mother was shouting things at Dad about how "My children will not be around an addict!" and "We are leaving! All four of us!" I was just getting old enough to know how life worked, so I knew what Mom meant when she said the word "addict" and I especially knew what she meant when she said "leaving". Within a few hours, we were out of the house, and on our way to my grandmother's house.
Over the next few months, Mom and Dad battled it out in court. The judge gave all of us the option to stay with Mom, or go with Dad. I missed Dad. I mean, I was eleven, and all of a sudden Dad was gone. I didn't realize that my decision was determining who I lived with, I just knew I was getting to see Dad for a while. I really didn't think It meant I'd never see Mom, Timmery, or Quill again. After about two months of living with Dad, I quickly realized I'd made the wrong decision. His habits were too strong to break, and it was only getting worse. By the end of the year, it was rare to see him sober.
He became mean. Meaner than any other person I'd ever met. Abuse, both physical and mental became a new, favorite habit of his. He beat the shit out of me for stuff I had no control over. Like the time when he bruised my ribs with a pool stick because he forgot to pay his rent, or the time he pushed me down the stairs because He'd left his jacket outside. The man that lived with me wasn't my father. He was a complete stranger with his face, and I didn't like it. However, I quickly realized that he didn't care to hear my opinion on what he should be doing at all. I learned to shut up and stay in the background as much as I could.
I was fourteen when Dad's friend raped me. Dad had gone out, no doubt to get more of his precious drugs, and instead of him being the person who walked into our front door, it was his friend, Zame. Apparently, he was there for an "exchange" with Dad, and he grew quite angry when he discovered he wasn't there. He threw me down on the living room floor, and I'll stop there. When Dad returned, and walked in on the crime, he blamed me. He said that if I was going to act like a whore, then I was going to be one. I'd hoped that he would forget, but he didn't. He had me out in the streets within hours, mere hours. I was so terrified that I was sick for days after it was over.
I could lie to you and say things got better after that, but that's just it, it'd be a lie. Your probably thinking "Well, why didn't you just run, Karma?" and here is the answer: I did. More than once. But every time I ran, Dad found me. Almost every time, at least. Once, I ran into what I thought was an abandoned warehouse, and found that it was very much alive. "The Fight Club" was what people called it. That was it. I'd go there to become strong, to become tough. It may be hard to believe, but getting my ass handed to me was the best thing that could've happened to me. I don't take people's shit anymore, you mess with me, your going to get pay back, that's how it is, and that's how it always will be.
Out Of Character .
"Boy you make it, make it right."
"My temperature is super high."
Code Word .Odair
Face Claim . Briana Evigan
Lyrics ."Turn me on" by David Guetta Featuring Nicki Minaj
Layout . Ripped off from the amazing Elegant
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