Post by Lisbeth Holt on Oct 3, 2010 17:33:56 GMT -5
LISBETH ALIÉNOR HOLT
HEY THERE! my name is kalina and i'm fifteen years old.
i'm a wiminz and i've been roleplaying for three years.
I'm puppetmaster of no one else D8 here on SIT, and i found out about you from my dear friend Kim~, but enough about
me, here's my character. =]
nicknames: Lissy, Lis, Airhead
age: 25 – July 3rd, 1985
religion: Atheist
affiliation: independent
sexuality: Bisexual, comes off as asexual
species: Human
marital status: Single
member title: -ROCK ME- like a wagon wheel
playby: Talulah Riley
cannon or original: Original~
hometown: Truro, Cornwall, Great Britain
current residence: Cardiff, Wales, Great Britain
parents: Mother: Steren Lorene Holt (née Germain), age 52; Father: Ellis Holt, age 50
siblings: Only child
brief history:
A brief note on her parents: Steren was born and raised in Cornwall, in a not-too-affluent, not-too-poor family. She was very close to an aunt on her father’s side, who instilled in her a love for her very faint Provencal origins. The aunt sat proudly at the wedding where young Steren married a Welshman named Ellis, and said aunt passed on soon after the newlyweds had their first child, young Lisbeth. Though Lissy had never met the aunt herself, she was spoon-fed stories of things the crazy old woman had done. Somethink Lisbeth outshined in her aunt in sheer insanity; she chose aliens over religion very young in life, and was found more than once snoozing on the roof, nestled up by the chimney, presumably fallen asleep while keeping an eye out for those tell-tale fairy lights in the sky.
As a young girl, Lisbeth went to an all-girl’s school up until she was about sixteen. At said school, she only managed to cement her reputation as the nutty one, with her occasional crackpot theories about aliens of various species. She did have a number of close friends, both from her school and ones she met when she snuck out, and some of them did share her views. She even managed her first girlfriend (yes, girl), though the two broke up soon and returned to being just friends. Unfortunately, they were forced to part ways when, at sixteen, she moved to her father’s hometown of Cardiff. It took some months to break the barrier between the local accent and her own thick Cornish accent, but once that was accomplished, she managed to slide in like any other girl at her school. At this point, she had her first ‘alien encounter’. Lisbeth claimed that, during one of her occasional rooftop snoozes, she had finally seen her lights and that someone had grabbed her hair. In actuality, she had a heavy fever and imagined the entire ordeal, but she held true to her story.
Lisbeth managed high scores on her A-levels and went to the University of Wales, studying to be a journalist, as well as learning the local Welsh in addition to her native English and Cornish. Upon graduating, she joined a small newspaper, writing feature pieces for just enough to pay for her apartment. She hardly gave up on her aliens and conspiracy theories and occasionally tries to submit a piece to her newspaper, always having a back-up for the inevitable rejection.
[/size]
[/ul]
[li]acoustic music
[/li][li]conspiracy theories
[/li][li]languages
[/li][li]scarves
[/li][li]Sudoku
[/li][li]fairytales
[/li][li]rainy nights
[/li][li]romantic novels (whether romantic as in the fluffy lovey-dovey or romantic as in dramatic adventure depends on her mood)
[/li][li]exotic teas
[/li][li]mysteries and scary stories
dislikes:
[/li][li]overbearing heat
[/li][li]closed minds
[/li][li]frustration
[/li][li]failure
[/li][li]black coffee
[/li][li]bad advice (‘bad’ can be legitimately nonfunctional or just not to her tastes, again depending on mood)
[/li][li]swim team
[/li][li]most mainstream music
[/li][li]headaches
[/li][li]heels above three inches
[/li][li]the color black
[/li][li]pure darkness
[/li][li]her middle name. Despite her love of aliens, as far as she’ll let anyone know, she has no middle name. (It’s actually a form of Eleanor, and the name of a slightly insane Provencal aunt)
strengths:
[/li][li]has an ear for languages
[/li][li]quick reader
[/li][li]quicker typist
[/li][li]strong imagination
[/li][li]good at puzzles
[/li][li]good at following orders (as long as she likes her work)
[/li][li]stubborn
weaknesses:
[/li][li]tends to lose her head in power outages
[/li][li]everything is a conspiracy. Few exceptions.
[/li][li]gets lost in daydreams
[/li][li]impulsive
[/li][li]bad balance
[/li][li]something talks so fast and longwindedly that others can’t keep track of what she’s saying
[/li][li]stubborn.
secrets:
[/li][li]so scared of the dark that she still uses a nightlight (she hides it in her chest of drawers during the day, just in case)
[/li][li]somewhere, on someone’s phone, there is a video of her singing drunken ABBA karaoke (she intends to destroy said video when she finds the source)
[/li][li]once managed to convince all of her friends that she was a wiccan; Lisbeth laughed madly when she revealed the truth
fears:
[/li][li]the darkness
[/li][li]high dives
[/li][li]stumbling on something she shouldn’t have and someone coming after her for it
habits:
[/li][li]cursing in Cornish
[/li][li]after rough days, going to the roof of her apartment (said roof being flat, lined with a fence, and even has a convenient door leading up to it) and watching the stars. She usually falls asleep after an hour or so
[/li][li]working until three in the morning and having the ‘a’ through ‘g’ keys glued to her face in the morning after falling asleep at her laptop
[/li][li]talks a mile a minute
overall personality:
At first glance, Lisbeth is actually quite average. Not so much when you get to know her; she sheds the vaguely cheerful personality for one that is serious and completely convinced that, somewhere, in the government is hiding something the public should be aware of, whether it’s extraterrestrial life or weaponry. She has believed wholeheartedly in aliens ever since she was a young girl, spending many a brisk night wrapped in her comforter, sitting on the roof with only a thermos of warm tea to keep her company as she scanned the skies. Aside from acute paranoia whenever it came to government issues, the few times she was asked to visit a psychologist or therapist, she was deemed completely sane, if not a bit strange.
Though it may sound contradictory, Lisbeth is a half-hearted workaholic. She has spent more than one night working gleefully until three in the morning even though her deadline wasn’t for days, but there are many things she puts ahead of her journalism. She’s a strong, proud person with firm beliefs, and would have been promoted much sooner if not for her loving delight in conspiracy theories. Despite a distaste for coffee, she seems to have a never-ending reserve of energy, as is evident when she gets enthusiastic about a topic, and a single sentence can run on for miles. More than once has an employer or professor been forced to cut her off for time purposes.
Unfortunately, Lisbeth sometimes lets her imagination get away from her. Despite usually sticking to cold, hard logic, she sometimes finds ‘evidence’ where there is none, and finds a way to tie it in, whether said ‘way’ is far-fetched or not. Sometimes, it would make sense, if not for the longwinded explanation that came with it. Other times, it’s one of ‘those things’ that would only make sense to one Lisbeth Holt. [/size]
[/li][/ul]
Home, sweet, home! Lisbeth, age twenty-three, was not one for clichés. In fact, she would occasionally give the Evil Eye to whatever poor soul thought to utter such a thing in her presence. But she had graduated last week; clichés were excusable, especially now that she had her own apartment. It wasn’t outfitted with the highest-tech, and the building didn’t even have an elevator to make it up to her tenth floor, but it was hers. Her own money. Her own furnishings. Her own decision, her own direction, her own life.
Oh yes. Life was good.
Within minutes she was unpacking her new bedroom. Funds were still tight, so instead of a bedframe, her queen-sized mattress was set right on the ground, with a steamer drunk at the foot serving as a desk for the moment. Her laptop and a plastic pencil case full of index cards, a pocket notebook, and a number of flash drives sat on top, easily movable if she needed to get it. Lisbeth now sat in front of the trunk, attempting to handle a poster (some Australian group that had come through the area some years prior) that was refusing to stay uncurled, strips of tape hanging out from between her teeth and attached to each finger.
Her phone rang, sending the dulcet tones of Slade Echeverria singing of how he had danced with the devil and dreamed with demons. She somehow managed to pick up and put the phone on speaker.
“Yoo!” called the voice, with a Cornish accent thicker than her own.
“Morning, Jago,” she said, plucking the tape from her mouth. “Bit early to be calling, don’t you think?”
“Nonsense. I’m bored, and if I remembered correctly, which I always do, you were moving in today. Now, I can’t drive all the way over to bloody Cardiff to help you, so I figured, why not entertain you with my jolly voice?”
Lisbeth chuckled; Jago was one of her friends from back in her hometown of Truro who had never failed to call her once a week, minimum, for the sole sake of chatting. This particular tradition had been going for five years, minimum, by this point. She had offered to split the apartment with him, as he was still living with his parents following his own graduation, but he had no intention to live in ‘bloody Cardiff’. His own sights were set on Denmark for the moment for reasons unknown, since he didn’t speak a word of the language.
“Come on, we’re both graduated. Why don’t you drive on up to ‘bloody Cardiff’ for a night? We’ll go out, have a drink, I’ll tell you what the idiots at uni were up to?”
“Drive four bloody hours? I think not!” Jago laughed. “Maybe another time, Lissy, unless you’re willing to pay my gas. Oh, that’s the door – some of us are heading out for a little celebration. Catch you later, Lis!”
Lisbeth’s goodbye was barely out before she heard the steady buzz that meant he had hung up on her. Still, it had been nice to hear a familiar voice. Most of her friends, whether Cornish or Welsh, had moved to bigger cities to find their fortune. With a sigh, she looked out at breezy Cardiff and set back to hanging up that poster.
credits! template by MOLLIVER ! @ Caution 2.0.
lyrics are from "one more time" by the epically awesome daft punk.
i think we can have some realy fun with this one 
