THOMPSON, Memory Belle

name
Memory Belle Thompson.
nickname
Just Rory. (Never call her by her full name)
age
Sixteen years, almost seventeen.
gender
Female, as you can tell.
grade
Junior at Baum Academy.
hometown
Montreal, Canada.
sexuality
Heterosexual, thanks much.
personification
Seventh good fairy from 'Briar Rose/Sleeping Beauty'.
status
Awake. Very much awake.
face claim
Troian Bellisario.

hair color
Dark, dark brown. Her sister once tried to get her to dye it or highlight it or something, but Rory refused. It lightens a little in the sun, but not much.
eye color
Hazel. On a good day, one could describe them as almost a caramel color.
build
She's got almost a classical dancer's figure, though Rory has never danced in her life. She tries to stay healthy, though.
height
Five-foot-seven inches. Average.
clothing style
Rory has two different styles. When she's in classes or out in public and out and about, she has a sort of professional style. Nice tops, nice jeans or some sort of trouser, professional looking shoes. But when she's sitting in her dorm or at home, she sticks to sweatpants. Rory likes to believe that if you look put together on the outside, no one will realize that you've fallen apart on the inside. She hates dresses, though. Even though the frickin' fairy always wants her wearing one.
distinctive traits
Rory has a couple freckles dotting across her face,but they're not that prominent to really be noticeable. She has a scar on her left shoulder from getting caught in a crossfire when she was younger, but thankfully, the bullet only grazed her arm.

When she gets really mad about something, her French accent comes out. If she's really mad, she'll start talking in French. Let's hope she doesn't get mad...

personality
DISTANT --- Rory doesn't like to get too close to people. She might have a select few who know her a little bit better than everyone else, but normally, Rory does not really like to socialize with a lot of people at once. She doesn't like to be the center of attention.

DETERMINED --- When Rory sets a goal for herself, she wants to make sure she achieves it. Nothing will get in her way, which can lead to a lot of fights. Usually with the fairy, but Rory will never admit aloud that she's arguing with a voice in her head. She doesn't want to seem crazy.

INSECURE --- Ever since Rory was little, she's never really felt all that sure of herself. Sure, she can pretend to be this really self-actualized being who doesn't care what people think, but it's just a facade. When her mom left, Rory started to question herself, if she wasn't what her mom wanted. Then when her brother died, it just got worse. Rory started to question basically everything.

SECRETIVE --- Rory doesn't believe in sharing her feelings and thoughts with other people. Especially not when she has a voice claiming to be a character from literature in her head. Even without that, though, Rory wouldn't share about her life. She's got a past that does not need to be heard about, in her opinion.

REALISTIC --- Rory tends to focus on what's actually going to happen. She doesn't necessarily like to put that optimistic spin on things, and on a bad day, she can tend to be a little pessimistic. But she will always tell you like it is. Or attempt to. Sometimes the fairy gets her to sugar-coat things, much to Rory's annoyance.

GIRLY --- No. Rory is not girly at all. That's the fairy talking. She's not necessarily a tom-boy, but Rory doesn't like to dress up in dresses and giggle over boys and all that jazz like her sister did. No. That's just what the fairy wants, and Rory refuses to grant that.


past
MAY 1st, 1996 --- "Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. It's a girl."
Their third child, a second daughter. Named Memory Belle (because Elle Thompson wanted her name to be different), she was a spitting image of her mother, even in infant form. To say that the Thompsons were happy would be an understatement. They were overjoyed. Well, at least Chandler was....


JANUARY 5th, 2001 --- "I'm sorry, Chandler. But I can't do this anymore. I'm leaving."
It was late at night, when the children were supposed to be sleeping. Rory wasn't, though. She was crouched behind the couch, hidden in the shadows with a clear view of her mother and father standing by the front door. Her mother had suitcases lined up in the hallway, and she didn't look happy.

Her father was sad, Rory could tell by his face. He wanted her mother to stay, but Elle wasn't having it. A few more moments of talking -- Rory couldn't hear every word, and they were speaking quickly -- and then the woman was picking up her bags and leaving. It was a wet night, with thick snowflakes falling and a brisk wind. Rory watched the snowflakes dance inside from the open door, then melt on the floor when they hit the warmth. Her mother had just left. And she wasn't coming back.


JUNE 18th, 2002 --- "Rory, let's watch Sleeping Beauty!"
At the age of six, Rory knew she wasn't going to grow up to be girly like her sister. Nicolette was eleven, already into boys and make-up and clothes and whatnot. Rory didn't even play with Barbies. No, she preferred to have her father and siblings read big books to her, something she wished she could do on her own. And she liked trying to play the piano in the parlor, though on bad days, Nicolette and Ben would both yell at her to keep it down.

That day, though, Rory was content with watching a movie with her big sister. They settled down on the sofa, with the video popped into the VCR, and it was only a few minutes in when Rory suddenly heard the voice.

"Oh, no, no, no. That is not me. Absolutely not."

Rory had looked at Nicolette, thinking that her sister was speaking. But the elder girl was watching the movie intently, and hadn't made a sound. Plus, the voice didn't sound like Nicolette's. No, it sounded more like a grown-up.

Rory went back to watching the movie, but the voice was in her head again. "No, no. They're telling it all wrong. That is not how it happened."

Though Rory didn't know it at the time, the seventh good fairy had awakened inside her, stirred by the audacity of the animation that Disney had given to the world. And now that she was awake, she wasn't going back to sleep.


OCTOBER 17th, 2002 --- "I'm sorry to tell you this. Your son didn't make it."
Chandler Thompson didn't exactly know what to think of the doctor's words. His son, Ben, had been rushed to the hospital just minutes before, not moving or breathing. A few more moments of speaking with the doctor, and Chandler realized his son had overdosed. The man hadn't even known that Ben was messing around with drugs. Ever since his wife had left two years before, Chandler had been doing his best to keep his children happy. He had never noticed that Ben was drifting into a depression caused by his mother's departure. Sure, Chandler had been worried for his boy when his grades started to slip, and the friends he hung out with, but he had never expected it to sink to this.

And to think it was Rory who had found him. She had gone to his room to ask Ben to borrow a piece of paper, and found him lying on his bed, not moving or breathing. She had screamed, and Chandler had come running. Now, Rory was in the other room, waiting with Nicolette for her father to come and tell her that Ben was alright, it was a false alarm. How was Chandler going to explain this to his daughters? Not only did they no longer have their mother, but now their older brother? This was just too much to handle.

As it was, the fairy was the one who ended up telling Rory that she wasn't going to have her brother anymore. When Chandler walked out and stumbled with his words, the fairy had been the one to gently break the news that Ben was not coming back. By now, Rory just assumed she was going through the stage of an imaginary friend. When she had asked Nicolette about the fairy, that had been the answer. She had an imaginary friend. Rory just took the answer in stride, and figured the fairy would go away soon enough. She could be helpful, while she was there, at least. Especially in situations like this.

DECEMBER 8th, 2006 --- "You're too old for an imaginary friend. Why don't you just grow up?"
And it was happening again. Other girls heard Rory sometimes answer the voice in her head -- she tried to keep silent but sometimes the stupid fairy annoyed her enough to be vocal -- and they were criticizing the idea that Rory was talking to someone who wasn't really there. Imaginary friends were something you left behind after kindergarten, with the finger paint and naps. She was in fifth grade now, long overdue to have ditched the childhood fantasy of someone being there.

But Rory knew more than these stupid girls did. She knew that this voice in her head was more than imaginary. An imaginary friend was someone you created on your own, something you could control. This voice in her head? Rory couldn't control her. She actually manipulated parts of Rory's life, "making her into a proper young lady". These girls were stupid; they didn't know anything. At least not anything worth knowing...

present
The summer before Rory became a freshman at Baum Academy, her father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Thankfully, they were able to catch it, but it was close to being in the third stage. Every day, Rory worries that she'll get a call from her sister saying that Chandler Thompson has relapsed.

She came to Baum Academy as a freshman, full ride, because her father wanted her to have a good education. Nicolette had already been attending school in America and often came home talking about the wonders of the American school systems. She was the one who gave Chandler the idea to send Rory to an American school for high school, and Baum seemed like a pretty decent choice. This way, Chandler can also work without having to worry about his daughters too much. He knows they're safe and sound in America.

Rory's been attending Baum for two years, and she's still deciding whether she likes it or not. It never helps that the fairy in her head is forever bugging her about manners and being a lady and all that. The fairy wants Rory to make more friends, but Rory doesn't really see the point. She likes having time to herself. Friends would just take away that time.



family
FATHER --- Chandler Thompson; 49; in remission from pancreatic cancer; possible relapses in the future
MOTHER --- Elle Bouchard; 46; absent from Rory's life at the moment
BROTHERS --- Benedict Laurent Thompson; 27; deceased
SISTERS --- Nicolette Aline Thompson; 21; goes between living at home and going to school in Maine
likes
-Music
-Quiet time
-Reading
-Watching the stars at night
-Orchid flowers
-Americans (they're okay in her book)
dislikes
-Rude people
-Montreal winters
-Taxi drivers (doesn't matter what country they're from - they still never stop)
-Girly behavior
-When the fairy won't shut up
-Drugs (she won't even take aspirin)
other notes
((sorry the history is long. and the present day sort bites. XP))

book title Briar Rose / Sleeping Beauty
backstory
Disney didn't get it right. There were about eight fairies in the original tale, seven being good. When the princess was being christened, there was supposed to be this huge celebration. The seven good fairies were all given a place at the table, and they were all giving the princess a gift. Unfortunately, before the seventh could give her gift, the eighth (and evil) fairy decided she was going to be a party-crasher. She gave the princess a curse instead of a gift, saying that on a certain birthday -- I think it was the sixteenth? -- the princess would prick her finger on a spindle and die. Well, the seventh good fairy was not having that. Therefore, instead of a gift like the other fairies had given, she decided to counteract the curse as best she could. She made it so that the princess would still prick her finger, but she would fall asleep for one hundred years instead of dying. (She's a hero!)

name the fabulous cici.
age FOREVER YOUNG. no. i'm eighteen.
gender i think y'all should realize by now that i'm a girl.
rp experience seven-ish years.
how you found ouac through olley. but i've been here a while already.
rp sample

The stupid city was always overrun with the night creatures, feeding off the unsuspecting humans who thought that vampires and werewolves were just from a silly novel and demons only existed in the Bible. Blake Cordell Bennett sighed as he loaded the shotgun he always kept stored in his car, his dark eyes watching a young, fair-skinned girl get trailed by a hungry-looking fellow. Everyone would automatically assume that the man was a pedifile or a rapist, but Blake knew he was so much worse. Putting someone like him in jail would only fuel his rage, make his hunger stronger. No, someone like him had to be killed immediately. While he was on the streets. Not out in the open, though. No, that would cause alarm and questions and chaos that they didn't need. No, Spencer would lure him in.

Speaking of, Spencer Audrey Bennett sat in the seat next to her brother, watching the man just as intently, if not more. She wasn't fond of being the bait for this one hunt, but it would have to be done. The two of them had been tracking down this paticular creature for a good while. He thrived on the helpless lives of young human women, going for the older teenagers who were fresh out of high school, the college girls who had just set their eyes on degrees, the graduates who were aiming for a better future. Yes, he'd attack them, tear their limbs apart. And still be hungry. Yes, werewolves were never satisfied with just one kill. They always wanted more.


Just as Spencer was about to get out of the car, though, to become the lure for this ugly being, he stopped. Turned away from the girl, and headed in the direction he'd just come, shaking his head and muttering to himself. With a sigh, Spencer sunk back down in her seat, scowling at the loss of a fight. If she could have things her way, the twenty-year-old would be chasing down the werewolf in his human skin, killing him right off the bat. But Blake had a different set of rules when it came to their hunting. If the animal didn't pose a threat, they didn't attack. There was always hope, after all.

The twenty-three-year-old male unloaded the shotgun and placed it in the backseat again, sliding the bullets into his front pocket. No need to leave a loaded weapon around, especially when Spencer was itching for a fight. He could see his sister's disapproval of letting the creature go, but it was their policy. Despite their titles as 'rogue hunters', he still had rules for the two of them to follow. Rules that kept them safe and alive.

"C'mon," Blake muttered, starting the car and turning onto the empty road. "I'll buy you a drink." It was an empty offer, as neither of them drank alcohol. Clouded your senses, made you unaware to your surroundings. In their line of work, you always needed to make sure you were alert. However, that didn't mean the two couldn't enter a bar and order a soda or something. Besides, bars were great sources. Creatures tended to gravitate towards them, either for their own hunting or to just relax. Whatever the case, Spencer and Blake knew that they still had to be watched.

As they drove, Spencer gave another little huff of exasperation, slumping in her seat and crossing her arms. "We should have went after him," she grumbled, not looking at her brother. Between the two, Blake was always the more level-headed sibling. He made the decisions usually, and basically took on an almost parental role. Despite only being three years older than his sister, the male definitely had the wisdom.

Spencer, on the other hand, was the hothead of the duo. She tended to strike first, ask questions later. Very often, she allowed her emotions to control her, which usually meant that her rage and infuriation would overcome her and she would wreak havoc. Tempermental was an understatement when it came to the dark-haired young woman, who fully believed in the phrase that 'action speaks louder than words.'

They were rogue hunters, something that could almost be looked down upon when it came to hunters as a people. They didn't belong to one of the societies or associations, if only because there was always one rule or another that they didn't agree with, or someone just didn't like their methods. Which suited the Bennetts just fine. Or at least it suited Spencer just fine. She didn't like the idea of answering to higher authorities, whether it be a job or not. Blake was one thing; he was family, and she would never go behind his back purposely. Plus, he had saved her life countless times. She owed him her respect and gratitude, if nothing else.

A silence came between the two until they reached the bar, Blake parking and getting out. "Coming?" he asked Spencer, holding the door open as he leaned forward into the car to speak to his sister. Spencer nodded, her violet eyes innocent as she met his gaze.

"I'll come in a moment. Order me a Coke, okay?"

Blake nodded, shutting the door and pocketing the keys. He knew Spencer would lock the car from the inside, as she always did, so there was no worry. He headed inside, the bar humid from shared body heat and human sweat and evaporated liquids. Taking a seat at the bar, the dark-haired male ordered the two sodas -- Coke for Spencer, Sprite for him -- before glancing around the bar. Best to make sure there wasn't any danger in the bar before even thinking about relaxing.