Bennett Striker (finished)

[Lady Firework]

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worn out places, worn out faces [/font][/color]



name;; Jill/Izzi
age;; 14
years of experience;; Writing, too many to count; RPing, three years.
other characters;; This is my first character!
how you found us;; I am happily married to the creator of the board, Kay
contact method;; I’ll get to PMs quicker.
other;; I love dystopias 8’D!

BRIGHT AND EARLY FOR THEIR DAILY RACES[/font]
going nowhere, going nowhere

name;; Bennett “Lady Firework” Striker
custom title;; Hot-tempered with Heroin; Magician of Meth
label;; Mentally Impure – pyromaniac with slight homicidal tendencies, definite violent tendencies, anger issues.
birthday;; 12/08/05
age;; 19
playby;; Jane Birkin
description;; Bennett would be a very attractive young lady if she wasn’t Jilted. It’s not that she’s Jilted that’s the problem, because there isn’t anything very wrong with her physically—it’s the state she’s been in since she’d been shipped to Australia. If she stood in front of you, you would at once notice her hair; red as a flame, naturally straight as a board, to the middle of her back, and bangs that cover her eyebrows—one can usually see her eyebrows through them anyway. When she’s angry, her hair goes in disarray; she has a deep frown line between her brows that forms when she’s glaring. Her face and arms are covered with soot and burn marks, and her clothes are singed—not as if they’d be any less trashy if they weren’t singed. She can usually be seen wearing loose red cargo pants, haphazardly tucked into worn and peeling black combat boots; a tight white tank top is all that covers her top-half in any season. She stands at about 5’10” and is paper-thin, so that one can see her ribs if she breaths in.

As for the rest of her face, she has a hard, angular jaw that ends in a fierce, pointed chin—her eyes are just as fierce as her jaw, large and a deep almost sapphire blue. Her lips are straight and nude, frowning even when she isn’t angry. Even her happy face seems to be angry, really. Her nose, like her chin, is hard and ends in a fierce point, the bridge slightly off-center because of some hand-to-hand combat gone wrong. She wears an outrageous amount of eyeliner that is often smudged, but is always kept—when she has no money for makeup, she uses soot. Besides that, she uses no makeup. Bennett used to have a lip piercing, but it became infected, so she sold it. Accessories like lip-rings and other jewelry that she could potentially sell aren’t present, but she often wears plastic gold Mardi Gras beads in her hair, like they’re some kind of Cleopatra headdress—no one can be too sure why, and she gives no explanation.

Her appearance is striking at first, but is overshadowed by the air she holds about herself. Bennett’s whole being says ‘Don’t you fucking cross me, punk’ and if you ignore what her look says, she’ll say it out loud. She keeps a demeanor that’s somehow firecracker-hot and stone-cold at the same time, often crossing her arms and just glaring at whoever she’s speaking to. While selling out her drugs, she often hunches over and speaks in a more growling tone; when she whips out her lighter, she’s either about to hurt you, or about to play with it. When playing with fire, she’s different—she’ll get a little frantic and laugh nervously, like she’s high and jittery.

Bennett is hardly graceful. And it isn’t that she’s clumsy, because she most certainly isn’t, but no movement of hers is graceful—all of her movements are hard and abrupt. She’s only moderately graceful when she’s running, especially if it’s from something—after something, her footfalls are much harder. Her hands and fingers are very long, with fingernails that are jagged from being bitten, but their length still doesn’t make them any more graceful. She often clenches her hands into fists

Along with her over-all angular, sharp look, her voice is just as sharp. She has an unaccented American brogue (so, California is the only place I can think of that talks like that), low in pitch except when frantic and usually snappish. It’s not often that her voice isn’t either raging mad or sarcastic. Everything about her, really, is sharp and abrupt—like a firework, really.

likes;;

• fire, fire, and FIRE!
  
• drugs
  
• gullible customers
  
• any customers
  
• good fucking coffee
  
• sex (not that she gets much, as she "don't like fucking creeps.")
  
• MONEY
  
• heavy metal music
  
• big trucks
  
• her lighter
  
• honor, in people
  
• honorable qualities in people in general; aren't too many around anymore.
  

dislikes;;

• the government
  
• corporate scum trying to "treat" her
  
• corporate scum in general
  
• police
  
• idiots, if she can't use them to her advantage
  
• little kids
  
• big kids
  
• kids
  
• any animal that's not a big fuckin DOG
  
• nosy people
  
• people in general
  
• cold coffee
  
• wine and beer; she prefers her liquor worth her money
  
• country music; she'll listen to ALMOST anything but
  
• pop music
  
• other people on the street, unless they're fucking USEFUL
  

fears/weaknesses;;

• animals bigger than her
  
• catching some sort of disease
  
• genocide
  
• dying before finding out her name
  
• going barefoot
  
• doctors offices, or any sort of medical facility
  
• her pyromania could be counted as a weakness
  
• goes doe-eyed for HONOR
  
• can't ask for help
  
• hostile and vicious toward everyone
  
• constantly in a bad mood, or at least snappish easily
  

strengths/goals;;

• aims to earn all the money she can
  
• aims to find who she is really
  
• aims to get back on her feet
  
• great fighter
  
• good with a gun
  
• makes her own drugs, even though it's difficult to find supplies; usually ends up stealing from other peoples' labs
  
• street-wise
  
• great pick-pocket
  
• clever and witty, even though it comes with meanness
  

quirks;;

• flicking her lighter on and off when she's angry or bored
  
• crossing her arms
  
• snorts a lot (in more ways than one!)
  
• tugs on her bangs
  

hopes/dreams;;

• all she really wants is a name
  
• to somehow get on her feet
  
• to somehow break free of the government oppression
  

THEIR TEARS ARE FILLING UP THEIR GLASSES[/font]
no expression, no expression


personality;; On the surface, Bennett seems like a very unpleasant, one-dementional person. She always seems to be in a bad mood, and when she's not in a bad mood, she doesn't even act happy. Her bad moods range from outbursts to violence, to just plain rudeness, and of course depression--but she only shows the depression when she's alone. Strictly. She'll do what she must to cover it up around people, even if that means just flat out not being around people.

Bennett is withdrawn, but not because she's shy--on the contrary, she's extremely bold--but because she just doesn't like dealing with people. She believes that a good 98 percent of the people she deals with are complete and utter idiots...and she's not entirely wrong. She's also extremely blunt-- if you look like a fool, she'll tell you. If she thinks you're hot, you'll know about it. If she thinks you do anything stupidly or otherwise, she'll point it out to you.

She finds it amusing when people get mad at her, or try to intimidate her. She has a really hard time comprehending that some of the people she meet really could probably kill her. But she's small and knows how to charm her way out of situations if she has to-- if she possible can, though, she'll resort to violence before the charm.

Her violent nature extends to many different forms; she will kill if she has to, and has before. If you're in her way, you're in her way, and there's no if, ands, or buts about it. She will get rid of you if you stand in the way of something she wants, without blinking an eye. She's also quite abusive, especially with hitting people with various objects--even people she likes and is just irritated with.

Even though she has a hard outer shell, she, like all people, has a soft side. She finds a high level of respect for people she finds sensible--people who preserve themselves, can fight if they need to, have a good amount of honor. Even though the world she's a part of is turning mostly to anarchy, she finds a certain something in the honor and sacrifice that comes in a team, such as a group of rebels or any type of movement. She's a lone wolf, of course, but she likes the feeling of having a specialty and being able to use it to the advantage of a cause. She doesn't like not having a purpose.

This is a very important part of her personality, because although she's a bit of an anarchist, it shows that she's only trying to preserve herself. It's every man for himself in her world, and although she wishes everything could be uncorrupted, she knows that's not going to happen soon, so she has to do what she must to stay alive. Bennett has a driving instinct to stay alive, and yet she really doesn't care if she dies. She could die right this minute, and all it would be was her death. All she wants--the only thing she wants--is to know her name. (see history) She believes deep down that if she finds out her name, she'll finally have a shred of truth and might be able to claw her way up from the ashes of what is now her life. She wishes that she knew who she was, or who she was always meant to be; the thought that maybe she is what she's made herself today is a bit too much for her unstable mind to handle.

Along with the honor thing, she would never even think about stabbing someone helpless in the back. She may cheat some unsuspecting costumers, but she would never work as a spy for corporate, or kill someone who didn't do anything to her (unless she's in a fit of anger, then she can't control her actions). She won't go out of her way to help you in a normal situation, but if you're partnered with Bennett and are in a fighting situation, she'll do what she can to cover your ass, but also to cover hers. All in all, she's a bad person, but she is far, far from evil. She just tries to do what she can to survive in this world. In a word, she's jaded.

history;; Lady Firework was born Bennett Striker to two very young parents. Her father, Peter Striker, was just 18, freshly joining the military; her mother, Lisse Clearwater, was a drop-out from highschool, working as a waitress. Her mother died shortly after her second birthday, and was left in the care of her father, who was allowed to leave and take care of her. By the time she was four, Bennett has exhibited behavioral problems such as setting paper on fire, but her father didn't think anything of it. The problem was, Peter was beginning to get involved in everything that was happening; the building of the beginnings of Catharsis, all that process--he didn't have a lot of time for her, and the court deemed him an unfit parent.

When she was five, Bennett was put in the care of her first foster home. Unfortunately, she was not all they had hoped for, and so did not neglect her, but didn't show her any substantial love. Just before her sixth birthday, she got lost at a grocery store in Washington state, half way across the country from where she was supposed to be living. She was transported to an unnamed orphans' home, where the eccentric owner called her Firebug. Over the years, she grew to hate the name, and it was passed down with her, the original name they gave her--Alison--essentially forgotten. Her caretakers noticed some behavioral issues like setting things on fire, but she was always promptly scolded and she seemed to understand that what she did was wrong.

She was eventually adopted by a man with a daughter about her age. But it was an adoption akin to adopting a puppy; his spoiled daughter, Brandy, had wanted a sister her age to play with, so he decided to get her one. He took good care of her, but there was no love, much like her earlier foster home; he instead doted on Brandy. Bennett's least favorite part was that Brandy refused to call her 'Alison' instead calling her 'Firebug'. Also the fact that, although Bennett had expressed the wish to take piano lessons, she was denied because he couldn't afford lessons for anyone but Brandy. She doubted this, but accepted it.

When she was just a little over fifteen, she put some clothing and medicine in a plastic bag and left for the grocery store. She never came back.

Bennett left for California as soon as she could. There, she went by the name Alison Potter, working any shady place she could find and trying to somehow get back on her feet. Through clever observation, she found a substantial market in the drug-selling business, and decided to try that. She was, at first, determined to stay off the drugs and solely sell them, but that didn't quite work out. She kept her strict limits on what she did have, though, keeping herself as sane as she could. In the beginning, she didn't earn so much money, a lot of her funds going into trying to make a new drug--one no one had ever heard of, something that would be big. She worked the three years trying to pull it together while still having a place to stay and food to eat.

At this time, she adopted the name Lady Firework, throwing Alison, Firebug, and anything else she'd ever been called out the window. People who knew her knew her by either 'Lady' or 'Firework'. Other pseudonyms included 'Red' and some other random ones, to be used by creeps who tried to be friendly with her to swindle her out of some of her stock. She never allowed those things. She hurt and/or killed anyone that called her Firebug.

Turns out, she didn't have a lot of food to eat (hence why she's so thin), and her apartment was really quite crummy. Even though she got about 150 bucks per gram of something like, say, meth, it was work to make it, and she was big on saving money instead of spending it. If she was richer, she was what some people would consider a miser.

She was sixteen when she was convicted for shooting a man in one of her manic fits. She plead self-defense and then insanity and, seeing as she was still a minor, was sent to an asylum--they called it a "wayward girls' home" but she knew what that meant, especially when they gave her a white uniform. The last anyone saw of her, she was in the TV room, and then was not present for that night's roll call. When they went to check on her, the TV screen was smashed through, sparks flying in every which way. Security tapes showed her escaping from a barred window, somehow.

From then on, she had to move from her current city, heading East in the hope that she would eventually make it out of California. She didn't quite, but settled on the border until 2023. There, she continued the final stages of making her new, experimental drug, Firework (also now nicknamed "The Bug" by hard users).

When she turned eighteen, everything seemed to change--the place she knew and the connections she had melted away when she was pronounced Jilted and moved to Australia. One of the reasons she hates corporate so much is because she knows they know her past, but there's no way she can find it out. From the time she was eighteen to present, she's been trying to set up like she was in California, and has so far been mostly successful. Her apartment is a little crummier and she's a little hungrier, but she figures business will pick up soon. Firework is still selling, along with her other stock.

HIDE MY HEAD I WANNA DROWN MY SORROW[/color][/font]
no tomorrow, no tomorrow


rp sample;;

Things came and went, especially for Firework; there was money, but it was eventually spent on her needs; there was fire, but it eventually went out. She preferred it when things came better than when they went, of course, as every person does, but she didn't feel a driving need to keep her things. Things were just that--things--and they could be replaced.

Her sweatshirt was one of those things.

The sweatshirt wasn't too great to begin with; stained and smelling heavily of cigarette smoke, the shoddy zipper jammed, the pull string on the hood fraying and uneven. It would be gone within a few days, whether she lost it in a fight, or a bet, or it just plain got stolen. It was nice, though, to have something warm on her arms, especially considering how cold this morning was.

She was currently walking to the nearest shady place she could get coffee, her hands stuffed into her pockets. Her left hand was clutching the wad of ones stuffed deep into the crevice of the fabric; her right was fingering the cool metal of her favorite lighter. Firework was so tempted at that moment to pull it out, but she'd seen the looks she got, even from the other Jilted. This wasn't the time or the place.

In her search for a decent fucking cup of coffee (which always ended in disappointment, around here) she came upon a little corner place she was familiar with. It was a bar, but they didn't mind if she popped in for a drink every now and again, even being underage. It wasn't as if they were really that law abiding to begin with, and she usually just grabbed a coffee. With an irritated mumble, she pushed her way in, clomping up to the bar in her too-big boots.

"Coffee," she snapped simply, sliding some bills over the counter like the transaction they were making was secretive.

"Bad mood, Miss F?" the bartender asked in a heavy accent that she couldn't identify--that she didn't really care to identify. Firework only mumbled in reply to this. "Black as night, sweet as sin, correct, Miss F?"

Finally, a small smirk appeared on her face; him remembering how she took her coffee just saved her the time and effort of conversing with him. For the first time that day, she spoke clearly, her crisp and frank American accent cutting through the rest; there were few American accents in this bar: "Yup. And, shit, I need it, so on the double."

A cup was shoved into her open hand; startled, she instinctively pulled out her lighter and dropped the cup that had been thrust at her. Stark, black coffee spilled everywhere, but she didn't seem to notice the tar-like puddle collecting at her feet. She was more focused on the creep that had shoved it into her hand.

He looked to be about 35, his chestnut hair done in a comb-over; he wore a blue pinstripe suit and a permanent glare. He wasn't that bad looking, Firework decided quickly, but that wouldn't excuse him from randomly shoving his coffee at her.

"What the fuck?!" she snapped, lowering her lighter.

"Well, Christ," the man said in an accent stunningly like hers, "don't care for free coffee, honey?"

Oh. So he was just a creep. She put the lighter back in her pocket slowly, tugging at her bangs in agitation, much to angry to do anything about it. "Don't call me honey, assclown."

"Whatever, Red," he said dismissively, looking at the puddle of coffee at her feet. "Wanna clean that up? I'm sure everyone here'd want to see you on your knees."

"Oh, fuck off," Firework retorted bluntly, turning back to the bartender with a fierce glare. If this creep was looking for action, it wasn't going to happen this early in the morning, and especially not after he'd made a goddamn fool of himself.

"Someone's saucy," he said, nudging her gently.

She elbowed him back, hard, and grabbed the coffee that was being slid across the bar to her by the bartender.

"Bitch!" he cried, his fist clenching on the bar top.

Firework whipped around to face him, her eyes narrowed and her expression incredulous. "Yeah, because this is totally the way to get in a lady's pants," she snapped, her shoulders shrugging. "You shove hot coffee at her and then call her a bitch."

The man shrugged, smirking. "Always seems to work."

Firework shook a moment, glaring daggers at him, before the cup of hot coffee in her hand promptly exploded. Her hostile, claw-like grip on it had broken the styrofoam, and now her whole arm was running with the sticky, smelly drink. Fuck...there goes my sweatshirt, she thought, cursing in her mind. It didn't show on the outside, though, as she untangled her fingers from the cup and threw it to the side.

"You're lucky that wasn't your head, rat," she hissed, leaning in so that their noses were nearly touching. She then turned on her heel and stomped to the door, forcing it open faster than it wanted to go.

Firework began out the door, but stopped a moment, looking back. "Oh. And he's corporate," she added, flicking a finger in Pinstripe Man's direction. She swung back and started down the street, knowing full well that he wouldn't leave that bar without a few cuts at least.

The thought was more satisfying than a caffeine boost.

[/ul]

[James Wessing]

Before I accept you I just want to point out that any and all godmodding needs to be in a different color. And I want to point out that there are a few grammatical errors but nothing too serious. Keep an eye for them in the future.

[Lady Firework]

I know, I'm not finished editing in the least! XD

[James Wessing]

ACCEPTED