Post by Spade on Jan 21, 2007 7:35:09 GMT -5
Name: Charlotte Sophia Gage
Age: 21
Height: 5'6
Hair color: Dark brown
Eye color: Dark brown
Social class: Lower
Occupation: Student/ Club Trinity pianist/ vocalist
Studies: Music Theory/ Music Management
Hometown: Cape Mary
Introduction:
"And that’s why they call it the blues..."
A sultry, melancholy voice rang out of the apartment on the third floor of 9 Westbury Road, apparently intent on expressing the singer’s current feeling. And express it did.
Her voice, a blend of lows and highs and trebles and sharps, would weave around a listener’s consciousness, teasing them with soft notes, before slinking in with a legato chord, perhaps E minor, pricking at their emotions until they were in tears.
It was true; Ms. Charlotte Sophia Gage wasn’t exactly under-endowed in the talent department, nor the looks department, but what she gained in talent and beauty; she lost in income and wages.
Long brown hair swayed down her back, stopping just between her waist and her shoulder blades; the waves cascading and spiraling, confined in a low, loose pony-tail.
A lean body, perfected by years of stage performance and track running, danced with itself in the glow of the dim lamp on her desk. Curves were where they were supposed to be, soft and supple, and firmer parts were in their places too.
Eyes the color of melted chocolate and toffee gazed sadly at the almost barren closet that she had. Nothing but her work outfits, paid for by her boss, two pairs of jeans, a black skirt, four or five shirts, and a coat.
“I’ll have enough eventually,” she sighed, reaching down to pick up a soft, fluffy kitten that had wound its way around her legs.
“What do you think, Zeus?” she said, stroking the purring kitten behind his ears, “When are we going to have enough to get you some proper food? And when I say proper I don’t mean those gross mice that you’re so attached to. I mean the stuff that’ll help you get big and fat.”
She smiled gently at him, her full, red lips moving up at the corners, making her soft, almost angelic features look much sadder.
Her eyes didn’t convey the happiness that she tried to display, but that was alright. Things would get better soon.
She slipped into a pair of tattered jeans and a t-shirt, pulled on her socks and shoes, and wrapped herself in a scarf, her coat, and her mittens.
Not the most stylish outfit, but it got the job done. She grabbed her work outfits too; slinky, sexy dresses that she’d never wear otherwise, too-tight black pants and a dark purple shirt; she stuffed them all into a bag, being unmindful of the damage she might be doing to them.
It would be a long night, and she was certain that Damien, her boss, was going to work her into the ground.
Doing nights in one of the most exclusive, secretive, clubs in Westerleigh was a privilege, she told herself. It couldn’t get much better than that, right?
She glanced around the apartment, cheery, with white furniture and well kept wooden floors, but she still wasn’t happy. There wasn’t any decoration, no style, no flair, nothing that really made the “Charlotte” in the room come out.
She grabbed a best selling book that she had picked up at Barnes and Noble on her way out, Killing Dr. Pondicherry ; it was supposed to be a great read, but she hadn’t gotten to it yet.
“Yea,” she muttered, walking over to the bus station that would take her to work, “this is the life.”
And then it began to rain.