Post by Francesca Limoli on Jun 11, 2008 11:43:25 GMT -5
'Francesca Louise Limoli;
'Things are Shaping Up to Be Pretty Odd;
About The Character
Name: francesca louise limoli
Nicknames: fran, franalan, louise, lulu, france
Age: seventeen
Birthdate:june 1
Gender: female
School Year: senior
School: Lording's Academy
Sexual Orientation: straight
'What You Do on Your Own Time's Just Fine;
Likes:
Dislikes:
Hobbies:
Habits:
Goals:
Fears:
General Personality:
Francesca suffers from what she likes to call "awkwarditis". She has an internal censor, but she rarely chooses to use it. She doesn't feel out of place draping herself over her friends, or strangers, as it were, and usually says what's on her mind. That said, it makes sense that Fran is rather blunt. She doesn't pretend to like people; if she canj't stand someone, she'll let the know. Not in a malicious way, of course, but she would rather make it clear that she doesn't want to be their best friend them be a fake friend.
Generally a laid - back girl, being a jazz pianist fits Fran. She's very relaxed and usually willing to go with the flow. She's easy to get along with most of the time, awkwarditis aside. Fran's pretty mellow, but she gets excited about things easily, and she loves having a good conversation about music, books, and film most of all, although she'll talk about anything. She wants real conversation, though, in which both participants listen and speak, as opposed to having one person sit and talk about themselves while the other zones out.
Unfortunately, Francesca has a tendancy to flirt with people without realizing it, and she has led on quite a few guys, unintentionally. Once someone tells her what she's doing, she feels bad and apoligizes, but the damage is still done.
Fran has a very, very low tolerance for stupidity, and when she's surrounded by shallow people, melodramatic folks, or annoying kids, she just plain old doesn't talk. This is partly because she's afraid that if she opens her mouth, similar nonsense will come spewing out, and that would make her a hypocrite. That was one of the reasons she chose to attend Lording instead of Lucy Madison; she figured there would be more intellectual folks. For the most part, she was not disappointed. She likes to be able to discuss last night's Literature assignment without irony. She also loves that she can actually take film classes, since she does want to go to film school.
'You Are My Heroine;
Looks Like: Sarah Ruba
Appearance:
Francesca is five feet, seven inches tall. She thinks this is the perfect height; being "pocket sized" has never appealed to her. Her hair is chocolate brown. Frankly, she's never been very intersted in dying her hair; she likes the colour it is. It's wavy and she has heavy bangs that sometimes grow a little long for her liking; when this happens she ressurects her habit of shaking her head every time she tries to look at something and also tilting her head back a little bit and just looking through them. Fran doesn't really style her hair, she just washes it and lets it do whatever it wants to. She keeps it long, though, because she likes to headbang sometimes, and headbanging and short hair really don't mix.
Her eyes are blue - grey, and they're big. They get squinty when she smiles or laughs, and sometimes people think they're closed, but they're not, she can see just fine. Francesca's very good about eye contact. When she talks to someone, she stares them dead in the eye. She's never needed glasses or contacts or anything of that sort. Her eyes do get dry a lot, though, so she generally carries around a bottle of eye drops in her pocket. Blessed with a high metabolism, Fran's always been pretty thin. Her chest is fairly flat - she's a 32 B - and so is her stomach. Her legs are thin as well. Even though she eats a lot - never take her on a dinner date, the bill will be insane - she never seems to gain weight.
Francesca's favourite feature about herself is her smile; her teeth are straight and white, which is all well and good, but what Fran really likes is that when she smiles, her whole face opens up. She likes to smile at people. It's hard to not smile when Fran does; it's just sort of contagious. She likes to wink, too, sometimes at perfect strangers, just to brighten their day.
Clothing Style:
As far as style goes, Francesca's pretty classic. She likes t-shirts and jeans. She has a thing for knee - socks, though, and she loves belts in bright colours. Her favourite colour is yellow, and she owns about a hundred yellow shirts. She loves her high - heels, but she also loves her Chuck Taylor All - Stars. Fran owns a few pairs of Birkenstocks, but her favourite thing is to be barefoot. Francesca occasionally likes pants with a little more flair than her usual blue jeans. Stripes, plaid, checks, you name it. She only occasionally wears make - up, but usually just basic black eyeliner. She's not really one for drawing birds on her cheeks, but she'd probably let someone try it on her if they really wanted to.
'The Hours That Were Left Behind;
Family:
Frank Limoli - father, 50, executive chef
Lila Limoli (born Sacco) - mother, 49, interior designer
Jared Limoli - brother, 20, prelaw at Columbia University
History:
Frank and Lila met in Switzerland twenty - two years ago, where Frank was a sous chef at a restaurant in Geneva, and Lila was an American, backpacking Europe with some friends. After meeting Frank, Lila decided to remain in Geneva, instead of continuing on to Prague, as was her original plan. She had graduated from RISD the year prior, and she quickly found work as a freelance interior designer. Frank and Lila were married in September of the next year, and they bought a small house together outside of Geneva.
Two years later, the couple had their first child, Jared Limoli. The small family was happy, enough so that they wanted a second addition, so two years later, along came Francesca. Unlike many brother - sister duos of the same age difference, Francesca and Jared were close from the beginning. Francesca was something of a tomboy for the beginning of her childhood, as she spent most of her time with her older brother. According to her mother's wishes, the children were raised bilingual, speaking French and English. When Fran was five, the family moved to Paris, France, where her father had gotten a new job.
This is where Francesca truly grew up, and where she discovered her love of film. It all started when she was seven, and first looked at the famous Robert Doisneau photograph, The Kiss. She begged her father for a camera, and he obliged. Fran spent the next few years taking pictures of anything that would stay still long enough. When she was ten, she first watched Le Ballon Rouge, and fell completely and irrevocably in love with cinema.
Unfortunately, Francesca was not to pursue her passion in Europe; both her mother and her father had found excellent jobs again, this time in Roanoke Valley, United States. Fran was fifteen when the family moved to the States, just beginning to study for her Bac exam. She resisted moving to America at first, but eventually decided that it would be better to just go along with it. When given the choice between Lucy Madison High and Lording's Academy, Fran chose Lordings almost without a thought. It was the place where she could pursue her love of cinema, and it would help her get in to a good college.
Fran's original plan was to apply for university back in France, but with a school system no longer teaching to the Bac, this proved to be a very difficult quest. When Jared decided to attend college at Columbia, in New York City, Fran began to look at colleges in the state. If it was good enough for her brother, she figured, it was good enough for her. That's how she discovered NYU's study abroad program, as well as it's film program. Her new goal is to go to NYU and spend a year studying back in Paris.
She likes Lording's alright; Fran has her friends and generally enjoys her classes. She's excited to graduate this year, though; it feels like she's been in high school for just about ever. And she's also excited to be living closer to her brother again; they both had a rather hard time adjusting to not being able to see each other every day. Fran still sometimes steals hos clothes - the ones he left at home, anyway. He's her best friend, and she misses him dearly.
'Imagine Knowing Me;
About you
Name: remy
Age: seventeen
Experience: ohhh a really long time. too long. six or seven years? obviously i wasn't very good when i first started out...i like to think i've gotten better in the past few years.
Contact: PM; i don't check my email very often and i'm on MSN very rarely
Other: nahhhhhhh
How You Found This Site: advert hopping!
RP Sample:
recycled. from a harrypotter/twilight crossover, don't ask.
Elaborately frosted cakes. Crépe paper streamers hanging from ceilings. Candlelit meals in upscale restaurants. Gifts.
All were the traditional marks of a birthday, yet none of the afore mentioned items made their way to the roof of Edward Cullen on the morning onf June 20th, almost the last day of term. It was not because Edward had nobody to give him things with which he would mark his birthday -he was close with six or seven people, none of whom lived near Hogwarts- that he awoke to a seemingly normal day. It was simply because Edward Cullen had not told anybody it was his birthday.
It was his eighteenth birthday, or so it would seem, as he had told anyone who asked that he was seventeen all year long. Alas, appearances can be decieving, particularly so in the caase of Edward Cullen. It was not Edward’s eighteenth birthday. It was his one - hundred - and - third birthday, but that was strictly mathematical. For all intensive purposes, Edward was still seventeen. He had the body of a seventeen year old. His mind was catching up to his actual age, but we must allow for the two years when he was in denial and the ten years he let himself live like a true monster, instead of a civilized being. Edward would be seventeen forever, or at least, his body would be, because he was seventeen when he was changed.
Being changed was a painful process, he would admit, although he hadn’t exactly resisted when it happened. Truth be told, he was strapped to a hospital bed in London, near death, so how much resistance he might have offered is debatable. If complete honesty is to be given, then Edward would admit that it wasn’t the bite itself that pained him, although he was sure that had to have been painful [eighty - some years later, there was still a scar on his neck]. It was the three days that followed that he could remember, and even they blurred in his mind. Carlisle had told him the details of what exactly had happened -a venom of sorts had been transferred from Carlisle’s bite to Edward’s body, and it had spread, rendering him immobile for three days, body racked with pain.
But immortal being or not, the morning of June 20th went unmarked by everyone in the castle except Edward.
For his part, Edward climbed gracefully out of bed very early, as he never actually slept [his snores were a complete façade], and looked out the window. Clouds hung low over the castle, seemingly close enough to reach, and effectivly blocking out any and all rays of sunlight that were trying to peer through. While that may not be good news for the Quidditch teams, it was definitly good news for Edward. He’d chosen a school in northern Scotland for presisely this reason: there wasn’t much sunlight. Edward did not shrivel up and die in direct sunlight. Contrarywise, he actually liked being in the sun. But even the slowest student would notice if someone started reacting to the sun the way Edward did.
Edward climbed out of a steaming hot shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and rubbed a section of the mirror dry. There was his face, framed by fog. Yes, he did have a reflection. Edward leaned in close, so the tip of his nose was almost touching the mirror, and he searched, as he did every year, for something that made him look older. Of course, there was nothing. There never would be anything. Instead, Edward’s face presented itself in all its beauty. Dark darts of eyebrows were above his ever changing eyes -today they were golden; he was at peace- and beads of moisture clung too his long eyelashes. His skin was pale, almost translucent, making the large veins in his neck stand out. His shock of dark hair had flecks of gold scattered through it as well. None of that meant to Edward what it meant to the rest of the world. He was immune to himself. To the rest of the world, he was dazzling.
“Do I dazzle you?” he asked, his voice low and soft. He prodded the mirror, which occasionally could be tempted to reply, but recieved no answer.
Dissappointed, as he was every year, Edward dressed quickly -black slacks, a white turtle neck, and a grey sweater, in case you wondered- and headed downstairs. It was getting to be time when normal people began to wake, and Edward needed to get to the Great Hall and pretend he’d already eaten something before anybody else arrived. It was a plan that worked every morning...except this one, of course.
“Bloody poltergeist,” Edward hissed under his breath. Peeves was directly above him. swinging off of a chandelier. He smiled, showing off teeth, but his eyes had already changed to black, aggrivated, angry.
He took a step forward and waited to hear the rope snap.
Elaborately frosted cakes. Crépe paper streamers hanging from ceilings. Candlelit meals in upscale restaurants. Gifts.
All were the traditional marks of a birthday, yet none of the afore mentioned items made their way to the roof of Edward Cullen on the morning onf June 20th, almost the last day of term. It was not because Edward had nobody to give him things with which he would mark his birthday -he was close with six or seven people, none of whom lived near Hogwarts- that he awoke to a seemingly normal day. It was simply because Edward Cullen had not told anybody it was his birthday.
It was his eighteenth birthday, or so it would seem, as he had told anyone who asked that he was seventeen all year long. Alas, appearances can be decieving, particularly so in the caase of Edward Cullen. It was not Edward’s eighteenth birthday. It was his one - hundred - and - third birthday, but that was strictly mathematical. For all intensive purposes, Edward was still seventeen. He had the body of a seventeen year old. His mind was catching up to his actual age, but we must allow for the two years when he was in denial and the ten years he let himself live like a true monster, instead of a civilized being. Edward would be seventeen forever, or at least, his body would be, because he was seventeen when he was changed.
Being changed was a painful process, he would admit, although he hadn’t exactly resisted when it happened. Truth be told, he was strapped to a hospital bed in London, near death, so how much resistance he might have offered is debatable. If complete honesty is to be given, then Edward would admit that it wasn’t the bite itself that pained him, although he was sure that had to have been painful [eighty - some years later, there was still a scar on his neck]. It was the three days that followed that he could remember, and even they blurred in his mind. Carlisle had told him the details of what exactly had happened -a venom of sorts had been transferred from Carlisle’s bite to Edward’s body, and it had spread, rendering him immobile for three days, body racked with pain.
But immortal being or not, the morning of June 20th went unmarked by everyone in the castle except Edward.
For his part, Edward climbed gracefully out of bed very early, as he never actually slept [his snores were a complete façade], and looked out the window. Clouds hung low over the castle, seemingly close enough to reach, and effectivly blocking out any and all rays of sunlight that were trying to peer through. While that may not be good news for the Quidditch teams, it was definitly good news for Edward. He’d chosen a school in northern Scotland for presisely this reason: there wasn’t much sunlight. Edward did not shrivel up and die in direct sunlight. Contrarywise, he actually liked being in the sun. But even the slowest student would notice if someone started reacting to the sun the way Edward did.
Edward climbed out of a steaming hot shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and rubbed a section of the mirror dry. There was his face, framed by fog. Yes, he did have a reflection. Edward leaned in close, so the tip of his nose was almost touching the mirror, and he searched, as he did every year, for something that made him look older. Of course, there was nothing. There never would be anything. Instead, Edward’s face presented itself in all its beauty. Dark darts of eyebrows were above his ever changing eyes -today they were golden; he was at peace- and beads of moisture clung too his long eyelashes. His skin was pale, almost translucent, making the large veins in his neck stand out. His shock of dark hair had flecks of gold scattered through it as well. None of that meant to Edward what it meant to the rest of the world. He was immune to himself. To the rest of the world, he was dazzling.
“Do I dazzle you?” he asked, his voice low and soft. He prodded the mirror, which occasionally could be tempted to reply, but recieved no answer.
Dissappointed, as he was every year, Edward dressed quickly -black slacks, a white turtle neck, and a grey sweater, in case you wondered- and headed downstairs. It was getting to be time when normal people began to wake, and Edward needed to get to the Great Hall and pretend he’d already eaten something before anybody else arrived. It was a plan that worked every morning...except this one, of course.
“Bloody poltergeist,” Edward hissed under his breath. Peeves was directly above him. swinging off of a chandelier. He smiled, showing off teeth, but his eyes had already changed to black, aggrivated, angry.
He took a step forward and waited to hear the rope snap.