Quand elle était vraiment petite, Mme Summers lui a dit qu'elle avait été portée sur le dos du Sandman avant qu'ils ne l'aient eue, qu'elle était faite de rêves et de drivel, et que la raison pour laquelle elle dormait tant était parce qu'elle avait toujours l'envie de retourner à l'endroit où elle était née, où rien n'avait de sens...
C'était une ligne de taureaux, bien sûr, mais elle l'avait aidé à accepter son existence endormie, semblable à un chat, comme quelque chose d'unique et beau, plutôt que la raison pour laquelle elle n'avait pas d'amis.
Summers était sur un bateau pirate vaguement caricaturé au milieu d'une mer technicolore, l'horizon sans obstacle par ni terre ni bateau, et le ciel sombre et cobalt rempli de grappes d'étoiles si près qu'il était difficile de dire où le ciel a rencontré l'eau. La mer elle-même grouillait de vie, de calmars et de poissons éblouissants et souriant d'un gros griffon de griffes. De plus, les Monkees jouaient d'une source inconnue. Donc, si elle devait deviner, elle dormait ou très, très haut.
Maintenant conscient qu'elle rêvait, Summers a dirigé sa propre route, en utilisant les cartes étoiles sur le ventre d'une baleine qui a gentiment tourné pour elle comme une carte, et est arrivé sur une île remplie de chats et de supermodèles et-- et était-ce un bar tiki? Oh bon sang, oui. Avant qu'elle ne puisse abandonner la Black Pearl, cependant, quelqu'un l'a serrée sur le côté.
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Dans le monde réel, elle dormait depuis vingt minutes.
Snrrrrrrrkk-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Le ronflement était obscènement bruyant.
Elle a été la première face dans un hamburger bun uneaten qui avait longtemps depuis sur-saturé, et maintenant le drool débordait le plateau et rampant vers l'un de ses collègues punk's technie travail. La fille--qui ressemblait à un lézard mélangé à un nightjar--pourrait faire face au ronflement, mais les quantités abondantes de salive de Summers étaient en train de salir l'encre et assez était suffisant.
Summers gémit et tourna la tête pour lui faire craquer les yeux. Eh bien, ce qui semblait être la lune à l'intérieur d'une prise des yeux avant de s'estomper sur le craquement caractéristique de l'interférence, au coude offensif, la moitié de son visage encore dans son pain musclé. Elle s'est tirée de son plateau et a essuyé la pâte de sa joue, avant d'envoyer un regard sale vers le punk lizjard, se vouant mutilement de le faire à nouveau en quantités plus épaisses de drool chaque fois qu'elle a eu la chance. Puis elle regarda le reste de la serviette de poisson sur sa table.
Elle s'est éparpillée de son pull et a mis le bas de sa femme avant d'essuyer la table à mi-cuir avec le premier, et a rapidement frappé son visage à nouveau sur la fausse surface en bois.
Dans une dizaine de secondes, elle serait éteinte comme une lumière.
Name: (unknown given name) Summers
Species: Psuedo-human, I guess. Maybe a fever dream.
Age: 15
Gender: Female
Appearance: Standing at about 5'5” and weighing in at 145lb, she's a average-sized girl. The rest of her appearance is a little...off, I guess one could say. Her skin ranges from a light grey to nearly transparent, with darker greys in her hair and nails. It's almost as if she was straight out of a noir film if not for the bright, technicolor clothes she likes to wear and her eyes.
Normally, her eyes lack irises and pupils in favor of—well, static usually. Little black ants running over white sand (or is it white ants running over black sand?) fill her sockets when she's feeling apathetic, bored, or tired—her default emotions. When she's feeling other emotions, the static clears into a corrupted VHS tape (x (<-- epilepsy warning), x, x) in her eyes, lines where the film has been scratched blurring the images of friends and animals when she's happy, storms over the ocean when she's angry, distant galaxies when she's hopeful. Sometimes silent memories show up. But mostly, it's static. When she cries, the image liquifies and runs out of the corners of her eyes before reverting to those damn ants again.
Her fashion vocabulary includes “neon” and “comfortable”. She likes long, yellow raincoats and multicolored sweaters, and her jeans are a more than a little baggy and ripped to point of falling off her legs. When she tries to put them on in the morning, she keeps catching the holes with her feet and ripping the jeans further. It's not like she's going to go out and buy new ones, though. Everything she owns is covered in pins, especially smiley faces, 'fight the power' fists, and cats.
Faction: Punk
Personality: Summers is sleepy before she's anything else. She's turned sleeping into an artform; she can do it whenever, wherever, however. In fact, she's so fond of sleeping that if you wake her up from one of her infamous catnaps, she'll sleep somewhere inconvenient for you just to spite you. She's terribly lazy, too, as work comes before death (disappointing death, at that), and must be avoided at all costs.
After sleepy comes snarky. After snarky comes flirty. Summers likes girls (mostly) and (a select few) boys and has no concept of a good pick-up line. She looses it around people she thinks are cute, turning into a pile of grey, stuttering goop (not literally but she thinks that'd look really cool).
Fourthly, Summers dislikes authority. Though she's always tip-toed the line between nerd and punk, this is what settles the issue—imperatives grate on her like no other. Just put a question mark at the end of sentences you direct towards her, please, it's not worth the two months she'll spend being petty over a command. As far as the Punk cause goes, she wants to see a world where private property no longer exists and social conventions are a thing of the past.
In her opinion, a locked door that does not lead to a bathroom or a bedroom is both an insult and challenge.
Conversely, she's rather respectful to others and will level with anyone regardless of age, rank, or intelligence until they say something that insinuates she's beneath them. In other words, she's easy-going, friendly, and pretty funny until someone acts like a jerk.
Do not doubt her abilities. She'll break antiques she don't give a shit.
Fifthly—well, more as a side note—she suffers from Cuteness Proximity Syndrome, where the closer she's standing to an animal (or a really endearing person), the less intelligent she becomes. IQ = k x closeness to object of adoration in feet.
Biography: Summers was a problem child, which would suck for her parents if they hadn't died in a house fire when she was eight (at least she got the family dog out). She's been bumped from foster home to foster home for the past seven years, and after one too many authoritarian homes that didn't care for her, she's developed a firm distrust of adults.
Her social worker, Jacques, has always liked her “spunk” but his seemingly endless patience is running thin.
She landed in Sun Ridge last week after her latest stunning success story (she pushed her foster brother into a pile of maneur and that was the last straw ((hah farm joke)) for her loving, agricultural family of a two and a half months) and was pretty quickly nudged into the Wastelands.
Powers: Her memory can be summed up as “shit” but if she does remember something in enough detail, she can play the memory via her TV-eyes.
Abilities: Summers excels and breaking and entering, whether it be lock picking or infiltration through the ventilation system. She's also a gadgeteer genuis. She'll fix your TV if you ask nicely.
Weapons: An aluminum slugger that she claims is just for baseball. For the most part, it is.
Other: Ayy, so, one of my favorite OC's. The image is of Mamimi (FLCL) and I manip'd it to look odd—and, like, it took forever dude. If anyone wants to use it, that's cool, but throw me a bone via credit--it's still my char design. She speaks in yellow. Also, char theme for the heck of it: (x)