Post by Valérie Gaston on Aug 1, 2012 0:36:55 GMT -5
Name: Valérie“Val” Gaston
Age/School Year: 17/Senior
Picture and Description of OC: Val typically wears her shoulder-length jet black hair in a thick ponytail held with a red ribbon. She'll usually be seen wearing a lot of red and yellow in her outfits, with a good chance of her nails being one color or the other. She usually favors high-heeled motorcycle boots. Her style tends towards girly with a hint of toughness (a red floral dress paired with a leather jacket, for example. Or sunglasses with anything.) Her school uniform consists of a grey knee-length skirt, a white dress shirt, a cardigan, and a yellow ascot. And her red ribbon, of course.
She is almost always wearing bright red lipstick.
Picture of Parent:
Quote: “Being better than everyone else means doing what nobody else can.”
Special Talent/skill inherited from parents: Val has always found she was able to build muscle easily and keep it on even when she neglects exercising (and probably took the large appetite that fuels her from her father too). She is also very attractive, without any effort on her part. She just seems to roll out of bed perfect.
Also, if arrogance can be said to be a special talent, she has inherited it in spades as well.
History: “White Trash” “Whore” “Lesbian”. This was what Valérie Bodine grew up hearing.
The first was obvious enough. Her father was a mechanic and her mother a homemaker, if the trailer in a park full of them could be considered a home. Perhaps they thought they were being clever or sophisticated when they gave her a french name, accent and everything. All it did was make the taunting worse. For the first decade or so of her life, she had hand-me-downs that were handed down to the person who handed them down to her. Her haircuts, done by her mother in the kitchen to save money, were choppy at their best and butcher jobs at their worst. Her shoes had holes, she was always dirty, and she and everything she owned smelled like smoke. Such was life in a redneck family. She wanted more. She was lucky enough that her parents' rusted old bucket happened to settle down on the border of a rather wealthy neighborhood in Atlanta, and got the benefit of what her heard her parents call at least once “fancy learnin'”. She idolized the other girls, who even at 9 had designer clothes and perfect hair that Val would probably never get no matter how old she got. They returned the favor by treating her like the scum she felt she was.
As she grew older, a peculiar thing began to happen though. The other girls grew up and filled out, as girls are prone to doing. But Val just...developed. It wasn't anything particular about her so much as EVERYTHING about her. Suddenly, even with her patchy clothing and matted hair, she was the only girl who was catching the eyes of the boys. The popular girls couldn't stand it. Pretty soon, boys decided to step up and make a pass, often with a gift or two. Money, jewelry, shopping trips, even homework assistance. Suddenly, she was able to afford things she wanted. And she only had to give them one thing in return. In hindsight, she should have had more respect for herself. She should have realized she was being used. But when you go from literally going to school in wading boots to confidently clicking along in Dolce & Gabbanas, you don't tend to question yourself too much. And so she became another teenage statistic. A child not old enough to drive but old enough to use and be used by boys. If she was popular with boys purely by arousing their fantasies, she went supernova in popularity when she started fulfilling them. By 15, Val was widely considered one of the most popular girls at school. Her clothing was always designer label. Her hair and nails were always perfectly coiffed and manicured. She had taken to wearing her red bow, her first real purchase, in her hair, forming a loose ponytail. She had a decision long ago that she would never let anyone mistake her for anything less than a refined lady. Even pants and sneakers seemed abhorrent to her now, reminding her of the cast-off boys clothing she had to endure as a child. And, of course, her parents didn't complain about their “new” daughter. She was richer than they were, thanks to her various “boyfriends”. The one thing that bothered her was her body just didn't have that model-like thinness to it. She wasn't fat, not by any means. She was actually in stellar shape. Her body was just...powerful. Despite even doing the bare minimum in gym class, her arms and legs were well-toned. Her stomach was a six-pack. She invested in a lot of outerwear, blazers, jackets and cardigans, hoping to hide the muscle. If guys even noticed it was there, they never seemed to care.
Throughout it all, her personality never quite caught up with her leaps and bounds in appearance. She always had that niggling sense in the back of her mind that she to prove she wasn't some white trash woman that was going to marry her cousin and get knocked up at 16. Not that she didn't run the risk of it though (the second, never the first). It drove her to always make sure she was the center of attention. That everyone knew she was the best. That she was the queen bee. But she made sure she wasn't like the bitches from before. She would be polite, courteous, helpful to her inferiors. A lady in every way. But being poor for formative years of your life trains you to be quick with your guard and quicker to a punch, and more than once she was put a stubborn stain on her new cream-white skirt or lost an earring. Sometimes she was the winner, sometimes the loser (though she somehow managed to make casts and bandages look in vogue). But after a while those who didn't respect her learned the pretty girl was more trouble than she was worth, no matter what you wanted from her.
When the letter arrived, she was floored. Her wishes had been answered. She had made herself into a lady, picked herself up by her bootstraps and become a lady of sophistication. But she always knew, deep down, that her blood still made her trash. But now...BUT NOW...she could barely even think it was so wonderful. Her father was a brave hunter, a legend in his community, and a romantic who risked everything for love and paid the ultimate price. She had never much cared for animals. The mongrels that roamed the trailer park would as soon bite you as look at you, and Val never got over her childhood fear of them. But Her father, this Gaston, he fought monsters, mystical and mundane alike. He was the paragon of everything she had hoped to be. He truly was fit to call her father. She dropped the “Bodine” from her name right there, headed out to California, and never looked back.
Adoptive Family: Buford “Biff” and Elisabeth “Peggy” Bodine
Likes
Presents
Beer
Boys (among others)
An empty classroom
Cardigans
Red and Yellow
Her Hair Ribbon (A LOT)
The Word “Sophisticated”
Dislikes
Dogs
People misspelling her name (That's not a smudge over the e!)
People referring to her as a slut, implying she is white trash, or that she is butch or a tomboy.
Large Earrings
Shaving (She inherited her father's hair, which as one would expect is not fun to try and shave)
Fun Facts
She once tried dying her hair bottle blonde. She loved how it looked, but it just didn't feel “right”. Plus, the bimbo look was just so...not sophisticated.
She's been on birth control since she was 13, thanks to the helpful fatherly prescription pad lying around the home of a tall-for-his age sophomore rugby player.
Sometimes, girls can have useful things to offer you too.
Sample Post: “Stop at once!”
She had gotten involved before she even knew what she was doing. It wasn't even her fight. Just a couple of boys roughing up another. Not the domain of any lady, but certainly not the domain of one would had been with at least one of the boys the night before. But she couldn't help herself. She guessed it was the patches on the boys dirty trousers, the trademark of a poor upbringing. Perhaps her white trash blood was just boiling over. But as she passed by, she had to stop and call out. She had to admit, it had an immediate effect. The boys stopped up and looked up sheepishly. That was the power of the being who she was. Every boy in the whole school would stop whatever they were doing to please you.
“Sorry, Val, we were just...” they said, before kind of trailing off. She waved them wordlessly away and approached the young man, on the ground. She recognized him immediately now. Roger Herman. His family was on welfare, but he was the top math student in the entire state. She smiled and offered her hand to help him up, and he took it, though when he got up he could barely make eye contact.
“T-t-t-thanks, Valérie. I really apperciat...” his stuttering was cut off by Val's ruby lips, pressed against his. “If you appreciate that, I'm sure we can figure out a way for you to repay me...”
Age/School Year: 17/Senior
Picture and Description of OC: Val typically wears her shoulder-length jet black hair in a thick ponytail held with a red ribbon. She'll usually be seen wearing a lot of red and yellow in her outfits, with a good chance of her nails being one color or the other. She usually favors high-heeled motorcycle boots. Her style tends towards girly with a hint of toughness (a red floral dress paired with a leather jacket, for example. Or sunglasses with anything.) Her school uniform consists of a grey knee-length skirt, a white dress shirt, a cardigan, and a yellow ascot. And her red ribbon, of course.
She is almost always wearing bright red lipstick.
Picture of Parent:
Quote: “Being better than everyone else means doing what nobody else can.”
Special Talent/skill inherited from parents: Val has always found she was able to build muscle easily and keep it on even when she neglects exercising (and probably took the large appetite that fuels her from her father too). She is also very attractive, without any effort on her part. She just seems to roll out of bed perfect.
Also, if arrogance can be said to be a special talent, she has inherited it in spades as well.
History: “White Trash” “Whore” “Lesbian”. This was what Valérie Bodine grew up hearing.
The first was obvious enough. Her father was a mechanic and her mother a homemaker, if the trailer in a park full of them could be considered a home. Perhaps they thought they were being clever or sophisticated when they gave her a french name, accent and everything. All it did was make the taunting worse. For the first decade or so of her life, she had hand-me-downs that were handed down to the person who handed them down to her. Her haircuts, done by her mother in the kitchen to save money, were choppy at their best and butcher jobs at their worst. Her shoes had holes, she was always dirty, and she and everything she owned smelled like smoke. Such was life in a redneck family. She wanted more. She was lucky enough that her parents' rusted old bucket happened to settle down on the border of a rather wealthy neighborhood in Atlanta, and got the benefit of what her heard her parents call at least once “fancy learnin'”. She idolized the other girls, who even at 9 had designer clothes and perfect hair that Val would probably never get no matter how old she got. They returned the favor by treating her like the scum she felt she was.
As she grew older, a peculiar thing began to happen though. The other girls grew up and filled out, as girls are prone to doing. But Val just...developed. It wasn't anything particular about her so much as EVERYTHING about her. Suddenly, even with her patchy clothing and matted hair, she was the only girl who was catching the eyes of the boys. The popular girls couldn't stand it. Pretty soon, boys decided to step up and make a pass, often with a gift or two. Money, jewelry, shopping trips, even homework assistance. Suddenly, she was able to afford things she wanted. And she only had to give them one thing in return. In hindsight, she should have had more respect for herself. She should have realized she was being used. But when you go from literally going to school in wading boots to confidently clicking along in Dolce & Gabbanas, you don't tend to question yourself too much. And so she became another teenage statistic. A child not old enough to drive but old enough to use and be used by boys. If she was popular with boys purely by arousing their fantasies, she went supernova in popularity when she started fulfilling them. By 15, Val was widely considered one of the most popular girls at school. Her clothing was always designer label. Her hair and nails were always perfectly coiffed and manicured. She had taken to wearing her red bow, her first real purchase, in her hair, forming a loose ponytail. She had a decision long ago that she would never let anyone mistake her for anything less than a refined lady. Even pants and sneakers seemed abhorrent to her now, reminding her of the cast-off boys clothing she had to endure as a child. And, of course, her parents didn't complain about their “new” daughter. She was richer than they were, thanks to her various “boyfriends”. The one thing that bothered her was her body just didn't have that model-like thinness to it. She wasn't fat, not by any means. She was actually in stellar shape. Her body was just...powerful. Despite even doing the bare minimum in gym class, her arms and legs were well-toned. Her stomach was a six-pack. She invested in a lot of outerwear, blazers, jackets and cardigans, hoping to hide the muscle. If guys even noticed it was there, they never seemed to care.
Throughout it all, her personality never quite caught up with her leaps and bounds in appearance. She always had that niggling sense in the back of her mind that she to prove she wasn't some white trash woman that was going to marry her cousin and get knocked up at 16. Not that she didn't run the risk of it though (the second, never the first). It drove her to always make sure she was the center of attention. That everyone knew she was the best. That she was the queen bee. But she made sure she wasn't like the bitches from before. She would be polite, courteous, helpful to her inferiors. A lady in every way. But being poor for formative years of your life trains you to be quick with your guard and quicker to a punch, and more than once she was put a stubborn stain on her new cream-white skirt or lost an earring. Sometimes she was the winner, sometimes the loser (though she somehow managed to make casts and bandages look in vogue). But after a while those who didn't respect her learned the pretty girl was more trouble than she was worth, no matter what you wanted from her.
When the letter arrived, she was floored. Her wishes had been answered. She had made herself into a lady, picked herself up by her bootstraps and become a lady of sophistication. But she always knew, deep down, that her blood still made her trash. But now...BUT NOW...she could barely even think it was so wonderful. Her father was a brave hunter, a legend in his community, and a romantic who risked everything for love and paid the ultimate price. She had never much cared for animals. The mongrels that roamed the trailer park would as soon bite you as look at you, and Val never got over her childhood fear of them. But Her father, this Gaston, he fought monsters, mystical and mundane alike. He was the paragon of everything she had hoped to be. He truly was fit to call her father. She dropped the “Bodine” from her name right there, headed out to California, and never looked back.
Adoptive Family: Buford “Biff” and Elisabeth “Peggy” Bodine
Likes
Presents
Beer
Boys (among others)
An empty classroom
Cardigans
Red and Yellow
Her Hair Ribbon (A LOT)
The Word “Sophisticated”
Dislikes
Dogs
People misspelling her name (That's not a smudge over the e!)
People referring to her as a slut, implying she is white trash, or that she is butch or a tomboy.
Large Earrings
Shaving (She inherited her father's hair, which as one would expect is not fun to try and shave)
Fun Facts
She once tried dying her hair bottle blonde. She loved how it looked, but it just didn't feel “right”. Plus, the bimbo look was just so...not sophisticated.
She's been on birth control since she was 13, thanks to the helpful fatherly prescription pad lying around the home of a tall-for-his age sophomore rugby player.
Sometimes, girls can have useful things to offer you too.
Sample Post: “Stop at once!”
She had gotten involved before she even knew what she was doing. It wasn't even her fight. Just a couple of boys roughing up another. Not the domain of any lady, but certainly not the domain of one would had been with at least one of the boys the night before. But she couldn't help herself. She guessed it was the patches on the boys dirty trousers, the trademark of a poor upbringing. Perhaps her white trash blood was just boiling over. But as she passed by, she had to stop and call out. She had to admit, it had an immediate effect. The boys stopped up and looked up sheepishly. That was the power of the being who she was. Every boy in the whole school would stop whatever they were doing to please you.
“Sorry, Val, we were just...” they said, before kind of trailing off. She waved them wordlessly away and approached the young man, on the ground. She recognized him immediately now. Roger Herman. His family was on welfare, but he was the top math student in the entire state. She smiled and offered her hand to help him up, and he took it, though when he got up he could barely make eye contact.
“T-t-t-thanks, Valérie. I really apperciat...” his stuttering was cut off by Val's ruby lips, pressed against his. “If you appreciate that, I'm sure we can figure out a way for you to repay me...”
