Post by LUNE DUPONT on Apr 28, 2012 23:42:24 GMT -6
lune dupont
[atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,3,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=valign, top][atrb=style] LUNE SEVENTEEN INNER SENSHI HETEROSEXUAL | [STYLE=width:345px; font-family:open sans condensed; color:8D8D8D; font-size:40px; text-transform:lowercase; background-color:bbbbbb; padding:3px; letter-spacing:2px; border-left: 10px solid #000000; text-align:right;]☽back to basics[/style] NAME: Lune Eclaire Dupont [STYLE=width:345px; font-family:open sans condensed; color:8D8D8D; font-size:40px; text-transform:lowercase; background-color:bbbbbb; padding:3px; letter-spacing:2px; border-left: 10px solid #000000; text-align:right;]☽freestyle[/style]NICKNAMES: Lune is all. BIRTHDAY AND AGE: July 5th / Seventeen. GENDER: Female. OCCUPATION: Student. CANON/ORIGINAL: Canon- Sailor Moon. "Mother isn't going to be happy." "Shut up." "You failed another test. She's going to yell at you. Call you stupid. Tell you how disappointed she is." "That's none of your business." "Yes it is." "Just leave me alone." "Stupid. I am you." You paint your picture as delicately as you paint every other painting. You've made a mess, but you don't care, because the outcome is worth it. Paint is on your arms, on your nose, in your hair, and on your old clothes next to past paint stains. You've painted an entire array of flowers; a meadow of pink, white, and light yellow. It has no meaning, unless the images you see when you sleep really do mean something. They're in an impossible place, but the only give away is behind the prettily painted flowers. A sea of bright stars engulf the night sky. Flowers on the moon, you think, placing your hands on your hips as you give your creation a final glance. You offer up the smallest of smiles. How silly. You keep a clear head, lately anyways. Realism is the only thing that gets you brownie points in the real world when compared to your other traits. Ignore the silly pastel colored paintings; those aren't real, they're only comforting images that get you through the week. You've managed to make yourself believe that the only other thing that they're good for is that they reveal the fact that you have your moments filled with daydreams and fantasies, but over the years you've also made yourself believe that it's best to hide those things. Mother wouldn't like them, so you shouldn't let yourself indulge in them too much, at least, not without your paint brush. Fortunately Mother doesn't care enough to pay attention to and scrutinize your paintings. Sometimes, you wonder what made her so cold. Maybe it was when dad died? Or maybe it was when you were born? You still haven't decided. Regardless, without your father, you were still well off. You had a big house, a few good nannies, and plenty of money made by your successful mother, a highly paid professor at NYU, to make you comfortable. Your mother, a teacher if there ever was one, taught you plenty of things, but nothing stuck. Nothing any of your teachers said made sense, and tension in your household began to escalate. It's a miracle when you make at least a B on your report card, and your mother has half a mind to kick you out when you receive your first college rejection letter. The only thing your mother taught you that did catch onwas how to make friends. You constantly try win people over with smiles, laughs, and stupid jokes. If you can make decent grades then you can at least try to make a decent amount of friends. You know how to comfort other people when they're feeling down, or approach even the most awkward social outcast. It's almost a skill, the way that you talk to people, and you gladly show it off when you can. A majority of the school calls you 'that friendly girl' or 'that one girl who smiles'. Some of your teachers even feel guilty when they fail you, because despite being a lazy student, you're still a nice enough girl to your instructors. Sometimes you wonder if you could be a leader. You're surely bossy enough to be one, as many of your friends complain of your many demands, but are you wise enough? Confident enough? Several of the decisions you make are second guessed, and your ideas are constantly thrown out the window. You're just a swirl of possibilities. That's all. your name/alias: cait your age: seventeen country/time zone: usa / central standard time face claim: astrid berges-frisbey how you found us: B) |
