Post by megan on Apr 26, 2011 16:35:03 GMT -5
Hi, my name is Megan and this is my First character. I found this site through forum ad hopping. Something you should know about me is I wear fezes. Fezes are cool.
Canon: The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.
Custom Title: Pretty Girls Make Graves
PHYSICAL
Age: Twenty two years old.
Gender: Female.
Appearance: She’s a fragile flower of a girl child, with delicate features and a slight frame. Her long hair is cut simply, classically, and its dark shade contrasts completely with her otherwise intangible colouring. There’s an intelligent, broken quality about Sybil, a solemnity that is most apparent in her large eyes.
Height: Five feet, six inches.
Body: Slender, girlish.
Other distinguishing features: That faint suggestion she was not always so disenchanted.
Wardrobe: She’ll wear anything and everything, provided it’s given to her by the wardrobe mistress and meant for the stage; in her day to day life, however, the young woman prefers timeless, understated pieces in a muted colour palette. [/ul]
Play By: Ciara Nugent.
PERSONALITY
General personality: Sybil has the weary, introverted mindset of one who has had to grow up a great deal in a small amount of time. Her sense of humour is particularly jaded for her age group, and her tolerance for fools, jerks, and the like is extraordinarily low. With those who do not fit into that category, she will feign polite interest when she is spoken to, and on rare occasions she will begin a conversation herself in very much the same manner; on the whole, however, she prefers isolation to interactions, privacy to parties. So she keeps to herself for the most part: burying her nose in scripts and novels, exploring art galleries and historical exhibits, and generally losing herself in the vast madness that is New York City.
Not one to confuse her craft with her life, the girl does not allow her withdrawn demeanor interfere with her work as an actress: once inside the backstage doors, she is personable, cheery, and utterly agreeable in all manners relating to the current production. Yet even here there is evidence that much has changed for the actress in the past five years: she shies away from personal small talk, and her sardonic temperament makes itself known from time to time.
There is a method to this madness, however, and cracks developing in her façade. The way she sees it, Sybil’s cynicism keeps her safe from further, future heartbreak. And if such caution keeps her from making friends or growing attached? All the better—there is the potential for ruin in everything. This is what she tells herself, at least, when a kind soul catches her eye or she wishes to be more personal with an acquaintance.
Quotes, frequently used expressions: “Fairy tales are for dreamers.”
Likes:
Dislikes:
Strengths: A certain tenacity of spirit; after all, not every girl can become mostly functional members of society after a suicide attempt. Her trials have led to her developing the rather healthy defense mechanism of self-deprecation, which saves her from more unfavourable outbursts. And at least one thing hasn’t changed: goodness, can Sybil Vane act.
Weaknesses: The ‘Prince Charming’ affair has left the young woman sufficiently rattled, seeing as she has a particular fear of intimate relations, and has brushed off any attempts to start one in the past five years. But her heart hasn’t entirely hardened, perhaps unfortunately, seeing as she will forgive nearly any offense if given a proper explanation. Perhaps her biggest fault, though, is that tendency to misread social cues; it’s cost her several opportunities at stable friendships and potential partners.
BACKGROUND
Family:
Father—Lloyd Vane (deceased)
Mother—Constance Vane (née Douglas) (deceased)
Half-brother—James Vane
Education: Home educated, up to college level.
Occupation: Actress.
Image: A quiet, odd sort of lass, too young to be as serious as she is.
History: It was certainly a disappointment to the theatre going set when matinee idol Constance Douglas—award nominee, leading actress in the Private Lives revival, and all of twenty six years old—announced her impending retirement at the end of the season, in order to marry mild-mannered architect Lloyd Vane, father of her unborn child. The decision, however, hurt no one quite so much as Connie herself. The pregnancy, unlike everything else in her life—her career, her social circle, everything—was unplanned. And Lloyd just had to rush out and buy a ring, now didn’t he? Didn’t even stop to think of other solutions, solutions in which she could continue her passion...very well, then. This thing, this baby would just to be put on the stage itself. Live out its mother’s dream, even if Connie had to push and threaten it all the way—that was how much theatre meant to her.
Thankfully, for all parties involved, the child in question turned out to be young Sybil herself. She was one of those sweet infants adults can’t help cooing over, earning her daddy’s undying love and softening her mother’s snubbed heart. Her childhood was rather idyllic, so far as childhoods go: she had tea parties and splashed in rain puddles and worked on make believe with Connie and built legos with Daddy and played with her little brother James (who, in all honesty, was her half-brother; Connie, being Connie, still had contacts in the West End and simply fell back into an old, bad habit). For the first decade of her life, Sybil was carefree and happy.
Then Lloyd died. As if that wasn’t bad enough for the young family, the poor architect left little behind in the way of inheritance and money, putting them in a rocky position. Connie, though secretly delighted at the chance to return to her craft, was sensible enough to realize that the salary of an actress was too slight to support her and the children. So, naturally, she did what any other sensible mother would do: when Constance Douglas returned to the theatrical world, her revival occurred alongside the debut of Miss Sybil Vane.
Life with the Happy Prince Repertory Company, however, was rather much so a step down for them: quality was secondary and glamour last of all, for the troupe performed worn out farces, hollow tragedies, and pantomime romances by rote. That was the way to make a living, Connie was forced to learn, when one is a third tier, former starlet. Yet the young girl loved it. Suddenly, oh so suddenly, she found herself traveling around the country with a whole group of adopted uncles who called her ‘princess’ and foster aunts that told her stories of their glory days. Some nights she played a simple peasant girl with flowers in her hair, who discovered before the curtain fell she was royalty; other nights she was royalty, the clever daughter who saw through the usurper’s façade and saved her family from ruin. It was her make believe with Mother put into practice, day after day after day. How marvelous.
Somehow, despite everything, the girl managed to grow up into a fine young actress, and as well adjusted as any child in such a situation could be. It was not long before the company leader, a Mister Isaacs, took note of Sybil’s talent and began casting her accordingly. As a pretty, competent young woman, Miss Vane appeared in the roles all pretty, competent young woman do: ingenue after ingenue, scores of sweet little lady loves who pine for the hero and end happily ever after right as the lights dimmed. Unfortunately, playing the same sort of role in different costumes became a chore for the girl. Oh, yes, she would go on stage, and smile and flirt and charm her way through whatever farce was required of her, but her heart wasn’t truly in it. Yet it was while playing one particularly well-known ingenue that Sybil returned to her dressing room to find a bouquet of flowers and a declaration of admiration, signed “Prince Charming”.
The company was only booked in London for a week, so the courtship was brief: a few stolen whispers backstage in between shows, late night chats in coffee shops...finally a proposal of marriage, followed by the girl’s first kiss that was not for a play, was not choreographed or learnt. The mere spontaneity of the whole affair was more than enough to hook her, so Sybil threw her training aside and said yes. Even James’ brotherly distrust of her Prince and Connie’s hints her career could take off any day now did nothing to dim her dreams; she and the well spoken, beautiful youth would live together, here in London, and travel when they wished to, not because it was required of them. She could audition for theatres that did more than the old standards, get the chance to grow as an artist. At seventeen, she could send her life spinning in a whole new direction.
That was the plan, at least, until Mister Isaacs came to congratulate her on the engagement. With a smile, he informed her that, of the circumstances that would excuse her of her contract with the Happy Prince Repertory Company, marriage was not one. As it stood, she’d have to serve the remaining eight years—unless, he implied, his expression now more leer than smile—other circumstances were to arise.
She was awful that night. She wanted to explain herself, explain how she’d meant to play her role so terribly, her hope that if she was rubbish she’d be free to leave with him...but the boy was so angry. Very hateful. He didn’t love her anymore, he told her. Couldn’t love her, now that the illusion was ruined.
Contrary to the reports in the tabloids, Sybil did not try to kill herself by drinking any type of acid; her method was sleeping pills, stolen from her mother. It would have worked, too, if James hadn’t gotten her to the hospital in time. By this point, Prince Charming was long gone.
The past five years have been relatively uneventful, save for Connie’s death. True to form, the fallen starlet waited until the afternoon’s performance had ended to pass. Though they flew back for the funeral, James and Sybil were not there when it happened; as it so happened, ‘mental instability’ was a suitable circumstance to leave under. They did not remain in London, but made one final move to New York City. They’ve been happy, for the most part, and Sybil’s been busy chasing down parts on Broadway. On the whole, therefore, the entire debacle has left her sadder but wiser.
THE SAMPLE
In Character Sample:
“I already told you, Bosie,” Sybil sighed, examining her sleep deprived appearance in the bathroom mirror. “It’s not the play for me. You know it, I know it, and this Mister Oscar of yours most likely knows it. Why ask me again?”
The other end of the line was quiet, save for a few petulant whimpers and the crackle of cellophane wrappings. She rolled her bloodshot eyes with more than a bit of exasperated amusement. Typical, typical Bosie: imply he was a drama queen, and he’d be more queen than one could ever wish. “It’s no good giving me the silent treatment; I’ll just hang up, shall I?”
“Don’t!” came the wail at last. The young woman chuckled darkly, only half listening as her friend—one of...three she felt comfortable calling such, truth be told—told her how she simply must come, it was vital, she’d never forgive him if he didn’t make her come, and so on and so forth, just like he always did. By this time in their relationship, Sybil knew which parts of the man’s speeches she should listen to and which parts she’d heard already. Cradling the phone between her head and shoulder, she focused on lining her eyes in charcoal gray, to distract from her lack of rest this last of evenings. After all—some masks are external.
”—and besides, your mother was in it when she was your age—”
She stiffened, almost unwillingly, before coolly replying, “Yes, Constance Douglas made a whole career out of Private Lives; if she had not wound up with me, I suspect she’d be at it still. But my taste in plays is different than Connie’s, you know.”
”I know, dearest. Still, though—won’t you consider it? For me?”
She ran her free hand through her hair. “He wants me to play Sybil, your Mister Oscar, doesn’t he,” the actress sighed, more of a statement than a question.
”Perhaps—”
She put the phone down on the counter carefully. “Tell him I’d rather be Amanda, would you,” Sybil directed in a louder tone as she moved from the bathroom to the bedroom and her closet. “If you’re making me do Noël Coward, Bosie, I at least want a substantial role.”
Bosie’s exclamations of delight and gratitude, much like his pleading and coercing, was easily tuned out. Shaking her head ruefully, she flicked through the hangers for a suitable audition top. Though there was, in all honesty, little difference between her ‘everyday’ and ‘audition’ clothing: all dark colors and flattering cuts and minimal displays of skin. “I would go out tonight,” Sybil half-murmured, half-sang, “but I haven’t got a stitch to wear...”
Sybil Ramona Vane
| Middle Class |
| Middle Class |
Canon: The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.
Custom Title: Pretty Girls Make Graves
PHYSICAL
Age: Twenty two years old.
Gender: Female.
Appearance: She’s a fragile flower of a girl child, with delicate features and a slight frame. Her long hair is cut simply, classically, and its dark shade contrasts completely with her otherwise intangible colouring. There’s an intelligent, broken quality about Sybil, a solemnity that is most apparent in her large eyes.
Height: Five feet, six inches.
Body: Slender, girlish.
Other distinguishing features: That faint suggestion she was not always so disenchanted.
Wardrobe: She’ll wear anything and everything, provided it’s given to her by the wardrobe mistress and meant for the stage; in her day to day life, however, the young woman prefers timeless, understated pieces in a muted colour palette. [/ul]
Play By: Ciara Nugent.
PERSONALITY
General personality: Sybil has the weary, introverted mindset of one who has had to grow up a great deal in a small amount of time. Her sense of humour is particularly jaded for her age group, and her tolerance for fools, jerks, and the like is extraordinarily low. With those who do not fit into that category, she will feign polite interest when she is spoken to, and on rare occasions she will begin a conversation herself in very much the same manner; on the whole, however, she prefers isolation to interactions, privacy to parties. So she keeps to herself for the most part: burying her nose in scripts and novels, exploring art galleries and historical exhibits, and generally losing herself in the vast madness that is New York City.
Not one to confuse her craft with her life, the girl does not allow her withdrawn demeanor interfere with her work as an actress: once inside the backstage doors, she is personable, cheery, and utterly agreeable in all manners relating to the current production. Yet even here there is evidence that much has changed for the actress in the past five years: she shies away from personal small talk, and her sardonic temperament makes itself known from time to time.
There is a method to this madness, however, and cracks developing in her façade. The way she sees it, Sybil’s cynicism keeps her safe from further, future heartbreak. And if such caution keeps her from making friends or growing attached? All the better—there is the potential for ruin in everything. This is what she tells herself, at least, when a kind soul catches her eye or she wishes to be more personal with an acquaintance.
Quotes, frequently used expressions: “Fairy tales are for dreamers.”
Likes:
- Irony
- Tennessee Williams
- British rock of the mopey, shoegazing variety
- Old fashioned horror films
- Museums
Dislikes:
- Bouquets
- Noël Coward
- Poetry
- Folk singer/songwriters
- Musicals
Strengths: A certain tenacity of spirit; after all, not every girl can become mostly functional members of society after a suicide attempt. Her trials have led to her developing the rather healthy defense mechanism of self-deprecation, which saves her from more unfavourable outbursts. And at least one thing hasn’t changed: goodness, can Sybil Vane act.
Weaknesses: The ‘Prince Charming’ affair has left the young woman sufficiently rattled, seeing as she has a particular fear of intimate relations, and has brushed off any attempts to start one in the past five years. But her heart hasn’t entirely hardened, perhaps unfortunately, seeing as she will forgive nearly any offense if given a proper explanation. Perhaps her biggest fault, though, is that tendency to misread social cues; it’s cost her several opportunities at stable friendships and potential partners.
BACKGROUND
Family:
Father—Lloyd Vane (deceased)
Mother—Constance Vane (née Douglas) (deceased)
Half-brother—James Vane
Education: Home educated, up to college level.
Occupation: Actress.
Image: A quiet, odd sort of lass, too young to be as serious as she is.
History: It was certainly a disappointment to the theatre going set when matinee idol Constance Douglas—award nominee, leading actress in the Private Lives revival, and all of twenty six years old—announced her impending retirement at the end of the season, in order to marry mild-mannered architect Lloyd Vane, father of her unborn child. The decision, however, hurt no one quite so much as Connie herself. The pregnancy, unlike everything else in her life—her career, her social circle, everything—was unplanned. And Lloyd just had to rush out and buy a ring, now didn’t he? Didn’t even stop to think of other solutions, solutions in which she could continue her passion...very well, then. This thing, this baby would just to be put on the stage itself. Live out its mother’s dream, even if Connie had to push and threaten it all the way—that was how much theatre meant to her.
Thankfully, for all parties involved, the child in question turned out to be young Sybil herself. She was one of those sweet infants adults can’t help cooing over, earning her daddy’s undying love and softening her mother’s snubbed heart. Her childhood was rather idyllic, so far as childhoods go: she had tea parties and splashed in rain puddles and worked on make believe with Connie and built legos with Daddy and played with her little brother James (who, in all honesty, was her half-brother; Connie, being Connie, still had contacts in the West End and simply fell back into an old, bad habit). For the first decade of her life, Sybil was carefree and happy.
Then Lloyd died. As if that wasn’t bad enough for the young family, the poor architect left little behind in the way of inheritance and money, putting them in a rocky position. Connie, though secretly delighted at the chance to return to her craft, was sensible enough to realize that the salary of an actress was too slight to support her and the children. So, naturally, she did what any other sensible mother would do: when Constance Douglas returned to the theatrical world, her revival occurred alongside the debut of Miss Sybil Vane.
Life with the Happy Prince Repertory Company, however, was rather much so a step down for them: quality was secondary and glamour last of all, for the troupe performed worn out farces, hollow tragedies, and pantomime romances by rote. That was the way to make a living, Connie was forced to learn, when one is a third tier, former starlet. Yet the young girl loved it. Suddenly, oh so suddenly, she found herself traveling around the country with a whole group of adopted uncles who called her ‘princess’ and foster aunts that told her stories of their glory days. Some nights she played a simple peasant girl with flowers in her hair, who discovered before the curtain fell she was royalty; other nights she was royalty, the clever daughter who saw through the usurper’s façade and saved her family from ruin. It was her make believe with Mother put into practice, day after day after day. How marvelous.
Somehow, despite everything, the girl managed to grow up into a fine young actress, and as well adjusted as any child in such a situation could be. It was not long before the company leader, a Mister Isaacs, took note of Sybil’s talent and began casting her accordingly. As a pretty, competent young woman, Miss Vane appeared in the roles all pretty, competent young woman do: ingenue after ingenue, scores of sweet little lady loves who pine for the hero and end happily ever after right as the lights dimmed. Unfortunately, playing the same sort of role in different costumes became a chore for the girl. Oh, yes, she would go on stage, and smile and flirt and charm her way through whatever farce was required of her, but her heart wasn’t truly in it. Yet it was while playing one particularly well-known ingenue that Sybil returned to her dressing room to find a bouquet of flowers and a declaration of admiration, signed “Prince Charming”.
The company was only booked in London for a week, so the courtship was brief: a few stolen whispers backstage in between shows, late night chats in coffee shops...finally a proposal of marriage, followed by the girl’s first kiss that was not for a play, was not choreographed or learnt. The mere spontaneity of the whole affair was more than enough to hook her, so Sybil threw her training aside and said yes. Even James’ brotherly distrust of her Prince and Connie’s hints her career could take off any day now did nothing to dim her dreams; she and the well spoken, beautiful youth would live together, here in London, and travel when they wished to, not because it was required of them. She could audition for theatres that did more than the old standards, get the chance to grow as an artist. At seventeen, she could send her life spinning in a whole new direction.
That was the plan, at least, until Mister Isaacs came to congratulate her on the engagement. With a smile, he informed her that, of the circumstances that would excuse her of her contract with the Happy Prince Repertory Company, marriage was not one. As it stood, she’d have to serve the remaining eight years—unless, he implied, his expression now more leer than smile—other circumstances were to arise.
She was awful that night. She wanted to explain herself, explain how she’d meant to play her role so terribly, her hope that if she was rubbish she’d be free to leave with him...but the boy was so angry. Very hateful. He didn’t love her anymore, he told her. Couldn’t love her, now that the illusion was ruined.
Contrary to the reports in the tabloids, Sybil did not try to kill herself by drinking any type of acid; her method was sleeping pills, stolen from her mother. It would have worked, too, if James hadn’t gotten her to the hospital in time. By this point, Prince Charming was long gone.
The past five years have been relatively uneventful, save for Connie’s death. True to form, the fallen starlet waited until the afternoon’s performance had ended to pass. Though they flew back for the funeral, James and Sybil were not there when it happened; as it so happened, ‘mental instability’ was a suitable circumstance to leave under. They did not remain in London, but made one final move to New York City. They’ve been happy, for the most part, and Sybil’s been busy chasing down parts on Broadway. On the whole, therefore, the entire debacle has left her sadder but wiser.
THE SAMPLE
In Character Sample:
“I already told you, Bosie,” Sybil sighed, examining her sleep deprived appearance in the bathroom mirror. “It’s not the play for me. You know it, I know it, and this Mister Oscar of yours most likely knows it. Why ask me again?”
The other end of the line was quiet, save for a few petulant whimpers and the crackle of cellophane wrappings. She rolled her bloodshot eyes with more than a bit of exasperated amusement. Typical, typical Bosie: imply he was a drama queen, and he’d be more queen than one could ever wish. “It’s no good giving me the silent treatment; I’ll just hang up, shall I?”
“Don’t!” came the wail at last. The young woman chuckled darkly, only half listening as her friend—one of...three she felt comfortable calling such, truth be told—told her how she simply must come, it was vital, she’d never forgive him if he didn’t make her come, and so on and so forth, just like he always did. By this time in their relationship, Sybil knew which parts of the man’s speeches she should listen to and which parts she’d heard already. Cradling the phone between her head and shoulder, she focused on lining her eyes in charcoal gray, to distract from her lack of rest this last of evenings. After all—some masks are external.
”—and besides, your mother was in it when she was your age—”
She stiffened, almost unwillingly, before coolly replying, “Yes, Constance Douglas made a whole career out of Private Lives; if she had not wound up with me, I suspect she’d be at it still. But my taste in plays is different than Connie’s, you know.”
”I know, dearest. Still, though—won’t you consider it? For me?”
She ran her free hand through her hair. “He wants me to play Sybil, your Mister Oscar, doesn’t he,” the actress sighed, more of a statement than a question.
”Perhaps—”
She put the phone down on the counter carefully. “Tell him I’d rather be Amanda, would you,” Sybil directed in a louder tone as she moved from the bathroom to the bedroom and her closet. “If you’re making me do Noël Coward, Bosie, I at least want a substantial role.”
Bosie’s exclamations of delight and gratitude, much like his pleading and coercing, was easily tuned out. Shaking her head ruefully, she flicked through the hangers for a suitable audition top. Though there was, in all honesty, little difference between her ‘everyday’ and ‘audition’ clothing: all dark colors and flattering cuts and minimal displays of skin. “I would go out tonight,” Sybil half-murmured, half-sang, “but I haven’t got a stitch to wear...”
Accepted! (sorry for the wait there 
)
