the application
...you *required
Name Trinity
Age 29
Email spoongirltrinity@gmail.com
AIM spoongirltrinity
Time Zone EST
Years of rpg experience 13
Read the rules? Yeah

...general character *required
Full Name Sarah Renee Carver
Nickname none, really
Birthday April 28, 1988
Age 20
Race Were
Residence Highland Avenue Apartments
Occupation Slave to the man - I mean, assistant manager at the local pizza place. Musician.

Personality: Sarah can be kind of prickly if you don't really know her. Her sense of humor tends towards the sarcastic, and her wit can be pretty biting. It's misinterpreted as angry sometimes, and at one point in her life, that's all it was. Nobody would really define her as sweet, but she's not nasty, either. Where her personality really comes out is in her music - it's guitar driven and kind of angsty, in the same vein as Michelle Branch, Kelly Clarkson, Sarah Bareilles, and Anna Nalick. Writing and performing is the best way Sarah has of getting out everything she can't say, all those emotions she keeps inside and is pretty sure nobody would understand. She's nice, but not very charming or darling, and she sure as hell isn't adorable. If she were a taste, she'd be umami; she's enjoyable but not sickeningly sweet or girly, but neither is she very tomboyish or masculine. Sarah is who she is, and either you get it, or you don't.

History: It was the best of times, it was...well, okay, it really just was the best of times. Born on April 28, 1998, Sarah Renee Carver grew up on an average street in an average middle-class neighborhood in the average suburban town of Reston, VA, just outside of Washington, DC. She was the baby that Janine and Robert Carver had to try and save their marriage. That didn't work, unfortunately, and they divorced when Sarah was barely a year old. Janine and the baby stayed in Virginia; Robert moved to Oklahoma and started a new family that Sarah rarely saw when she was younger and doesn't care to see now. When Sarah was four, Janine remarried. Sarah considers that man, Patrick McConnell, her father. Patrick worked in commercial real estate, which allowed Janine to be a stay at home mother. Sarah, and her half-sister Carolyn born when Sarah was five, had the best life imaginable. The two little girls never wanted for anything. Both their parents were heavily involved in their education, serving on the PTA and volunteering in their children's schools. Sarah and Carolyn were honor roll students and involved in many extracurricular activities; Sarah preferred music and dance classes, while Carolyn took foreign language classes and played several sports. They were, in a nutshell, the average American family.

Until the year Sarah turned 16. Being a teenager, she wasn't perfect my any means, but she wasn't out of control, either. She did as much as her parents let her get away with, and occasionally things they didn't. On one particular night, she was sure she was going to get away with this: her first high school party. Late-night parties and illegal drinking were nothing new to South Lakes High School students; they weren't the type you'd think of to be rule-breakers, but it happened more than any adult in the community knew about. Sarah was almost through her sophomore year when she finally worked up the nerve to attend one. Her plan seemed immaculate: she told her parents she was staying the night at her best friend's house, which she did so often that they'd stopped questioning it long ago, and her best friend told her mother that they were going shopping at Tyson's Corner. Nobody asked why the girls were all dressed up - because who thought twice about two teenage girls getting all dolled up to go to the mall? Nobody. It was perfect.

It was supposed to be perfect, anyway. And for a while, it was. Their plan went off without a hitch; the girls got to the party to find it in full swing, someone's parents gone for the weekend and alcohol courtesy of someone else's college-junior sibling. Sarah had a couple drinks and even met a cute guy - an older guy at that, someone named Jason from nearby Herndon High School. She thought Jason was a really nice guy and in fact, he was - nice enough to catch her when she started to fall over from the roofies he'd slipped in her drink.

What happened after that is anyone's guess. Her memories of everything after her third drink are so hazy that she didn't realize what had happened to her for several hours after she woke up the next morning: mostly naked in a bed she didn't recognize, with no memory of how she got there and sharp pains in her pelvic area. There was blood on the sheets and, if that wasn't enough, there was a long, large scratch on her ribcage. Most of it made sense. The pain, the blood, the lack of clothing, the hole in her memory...Sarah had been raped; drugged and taken off to some back room of the house where this guy she'd thought was decent had taken advantage of her at least once, probably more than once. The scratches, though, didn't fit in with the pieced-together account of that night. They were deep enough to leave faint white scars below her breasts, jagged lines that - and at first, Sarah was positive there was no way this could be the case - looked like claw marks. Even to this day, the best Sarah can figure is that her rapist, a high school senior named Jason with a kind smile and eyes that crinkled at the corners, was also a wereleopard and scratched her as he fled the scene, changing her life forever.

It was both a blessing and a curse that she was alone when the first change happened; her parents were with her sister at some sports thing, leaving Sarah alone at home. They almost didn't leave her, but it was only overnight and she felt so awful that there was no way she could have gone anywhere. Her mother was convinced she had mono and was demanding to know what she could have done to catch it. Sarah wasn't telling. She hadn't told anyone about the rape, and she wasn't going to, either. She managed to convince her mother - and herself - that it was just the flu. At moonrise, though, the flu stopped explaining the chills and aches and the persistent fever. The reality was much, much worse. She was frightened and crazy and completely unprepared for her new animal form, and going through the change alone was the worst experience of her life. Looking back, Sarah was glad nobody was around and in harm's way, but in that moment and the horrible realization after, all she wanted was her mother. But her mother could never know she was a monster. Nobody could.

The days and weeks after found Sarah a changed person. The once happy teenager was now sullen and angry, very depressed for a time. Everything about her changed, from the clothing colors she preferred to the grades she brought home to the attitude with which she carried herself. People at school started describing her as goth, and with her black nailpolish and new interest in all things supernatural, maybe she was. It didn't matter to her what they called her. Not a lot mattered to her for a long time. Nothing in her life was the same anymore. She started cutting class, sneaking around, and lying to damn near everyone, first out of the necessity of explaining her need to disappear once a month and then just because she could. Self-preservation was at the top of her new list of priorities, and she did whatever she needed to to keep her secrets.

Being a were had ruined everything. All her plans for after high school were gone, replaced instead by the need to protect society from the raging animal she became every month. College was no longer in her vocabulary - too many innocent people. For a while, she considered total isolation, but the human part of her remembered that once upon a time, she'd actually liked being around people (and kind of still did), so self-inflicted loneliness wasn't the answer. There didn't seem to be an answer. Aside from her speculation about her rapist, she was the only one of her kind she knew of. It was frustrating - Reston was a big enough place that there had to be others like her, but she didn't have a clue how to find them. What was she going to do, go up to people and ask them if they turned into giant cats at the full moon? She'd be run out of town.

That's when she heard about Nottingham. Described in overheard conversation as "that town where all the weird people are," that and a few other choice words about "those freaky werewolf-things" were enough to convince Sarah that this might be the place for her. Two days after she graduated high school, she packed her things and left Reston, telling her parents that she was moving closer to DC to go work for some little-known politician's campaign. They bought it, and she was out of there.

That was two years ago. Now Sarah is 20. She's been a were for four years and is slowly coming to terms with it. The anger has mellowed out into sarcastic bitchiness as she's learning to accept that this is just her lot in life, no matter how much it sucks. Her days of playing the what if game - what if she'd skipped the party? What if she'd offered to be the designated driver? What if she hadn't accepted that drink from Jason - are gone. She gets now that she has to put her big girl panties on and get over it. It's hard and she certainly hasn't perfected the art of sucking it up, but she's trying. Moving to Nottingham has helped. It wasn't long after she moved into her Highland Park apartment that she started meeting people, supernaturals like her and suddenly, she wasn't so alone anymore. She found a job behind the counter at the local pizza place and was able to turn her guitar-and-song-writing hobby into a fairly regular Friday night gig at Genos. Slowly, the lonely, angry teenaged were is turning back into her former self, or at least, some semblance of it.

Family: Mother, stepfather, younger half-sister

Physical Appearance:
I'm going to be honest here. I can't write a multi-paragraph essay about her raven hair or luscious lips. Purple prose eludes me. Instead, I offer you pictures (which are worth a thousand words, after all), and a rundown of the basics:
One Two Three
Height: 5'6
Weight: Not anorexic skinny, but she's pretty tiny. Her guitar is wider than she is.
Hair color: naturally light brown, but she dyes it black
Eye Color: brown
Style of dress: A combination of punky and trendy. Examples:
One Two Three
Other details not evident by looking at pictures/icons: Favors black nail polish and wears lots of stainless steel jewelry. It was hard giving up her beloved silver, though. Has a small scar above and below her right eyebrow from a short-lived eyebrow piercing.
Played-by Kate Voegele

Sexual Orientation straight
Marital Status single
Turn-ons
Turn-offs
Can I call them "likes" and "dislikes" instead? Sarah doesn't think much about sex given how scarring her first experience with it was, and "turn ons" and turn offs" have sort of a sexual connotation to them.

Likes: girl rock bands like Paramore and Flyleaf. Watching House. Coffee - black, two sugars. Bad jokes. Woodsy smells like sandalwood and patchouli. Playing her guitar. Horror movies. Singing. Writing poetry and songs. Driving on the highway. Talking. Old Christmas specials like that Charlie Brown one - in fact, she loves anything related to Peanuts. Her computer.

Dislikes: Math. Traffic. Classical music. Tea of any kind, except when she's sick, at which point the only thing she'll drink is chamomile tea. Writing in pencil. People who shirk their responsibilities. Getting drunk. The color pink. Romantic comedies. Talk radio. Tuna fish. Most vegetables.


IF A WERECREATURE
Species Leopard
Born or Made? made
Pack or Loner? (If he/she is in a pack, which one?) loner

...the role
First person Roleplaying Sample {a journal entry} Here.
Third Person Roleplaying Sample {potential first post of a thread/log}
There weren't many positive things about working in the fast food industry (although Sarah was always skeptical of anyone who called this particular pizza place "fast food," as the last thing anyone in this restaurant was was fast) - time. Lots of time. Sarah was pretty sure she spent more time standing at the counter than anything else, but she sure wasn't complaining, because they paid her to hang around and do exactly what she was doing now, which was a whole lot of something other than work.

"I never feared the unexpected..." She sang under her breath, her fingers finding guitar chords only she could see. Every few bars, she'd stop and scribble on a napkin some lyric or chord progression; a handful of napkins were already scattered around her on the counter, the beginnings of some new song that would probably only wind up half finished, like most things she wrote. It was a wonder she ever had enough material to fill a set list.

Her foot tapped a sharp rhythm on the linoleum as she scratched out more of her song. "I'm moving in reverse, under your...under your...shit!" Sarah threw down her pen, scowling. "This song sucks," she muttered, then cursed under her breath as the bell over the restaurant's front door rang out. Another fucking customer, just what she needed. She looked up to see who it was.