Character Sketch
I forgot to post this yesterday, even though I said I was going to! I got distracted by multiple porn tigs, I'm sorry.
For my Production Design class, I had to come up with an "alter ego" who's basically the polar opposite of me. I had trouble doing that, so this person's kind of opposite, but kind of not...? Whatever, though. I can't help that I'm a pretty well-rounded person. I mostly just described the girl I'd like to fuck. Or the girl I'd like to fuck me, that works too. She's unnamed in this; I don't know if she needs a name or not. ~760 word character description.
Flashing lights dance over her body, highlighting the brightly colored tattoos that adorn her shoulders, thighs, and stomach. She’s barefoot, and a thorny rose tattoo circles her left calf, twining down to her ankle, leaves fanning out to the top of her foot. Coiled around her other thigh is a swirling spiral of words, too small to read from a distance but clearly written in a variety of block, script, and traditional serif fonts. Her left arm is covered from shoulder to wrist in color, but the patterns and objects are so interwoven and she moves so fast and fluidly that it’s hard to decipher what the tattoos are. From fingers to elbow, her right arm is covered by a satin opera glove with the fingers cut open and fraying.
She’s the life of the party, the very center of the dirty dance floor, and revels in the hands and bodies that press against her. Someone hands her a bottle and she sucks down the dregs of whatever’s inside, then hands it off to another nameless face in the crowd. It doesn’t do much to add to the high she’s already on, from drink and smoke and the energy of nature and everyone around her, but she appreciates it anyway, always one for more, for pushing her own limits.
There’s a slight tan line on the top of her chest, from falling asleep beside the lake in her bikini, and the thin, glittery shirt she’s wearing now does nothing to cover it. Tan skin bleeds into pale skin bleeds into glitter that’s transferred from her clothes. Under some of the bright strobe lights, the material is almost transparent, and it’s only the loose sequins that hide her chest and ribs from view. Visible under the bottom of her shirt, jagged lightning bolt tattoos arc down on her stomach, following the curve of her hips, and then disappear beneath the low waistband of her pleated skirt. The skirt barely skims her thighs, and it’s more for show than anything else. The pleats flare out every time she swings her hips in time to the music, catching on the jeans and skirts and bodies of the dancers around her.
Blood-red nails scrape across her throat; her own, as she scratches the dripping sweat off her skin. There’s makeup caked onto her cheeks, hiding the flush of exertion, and her mascara has started to clump together in the muggy, thick air, running slightly into the corners of her eyes. It exaggerates the dark streaks of eyeliner already staining her skin, stretching out toward her temples and down her cheeks in delicate curlicues. The colors on her eyelids, bright blues and greens to bring out the hazel of her eyes, still fade smoothly into the purple stars painted across her cheeks and temples, the lines of eyeliner weaving around them.
Her hair hangs in thick, stiff clumps, almost dreadlocks, mostly black with highlights of neon colors breaking the monotony. As she shakes her head, the locks tangle together, creating a bright, vivid mess against the heavy black, mostly dominated by pink and purple to match the stars on her cheeks. Natural blonde roots lighten the hair close to her scalp, where the hair dye is growing out. The dreads almost reach her shoulders, and there are glittering barrettes and beads interspersed in them, flashing and sparkling in the changing light. They fall in front of her face every time she shakes her head to the music.
She loses herself in the sharp, electronic sounds of the dance mixes, feeling the bass pumping through the ground, shaking the leaves of the trees, through her toes digging into the hard-packed dirt and up to her outstretched fingertips. Bodies press against her on all sides, her hands find sweaty, bare skin and damp fabric, and she grabs hold, letting it all pull her along through the crowd. This is her environment, and everyone notices when she moves past. Most turn their heads to look, some even reach out and touch, almost afraid of how she would react. But like this, she almost never snaps at the greedy hands; she pushes herself into them and gives herself over to instinct. It tells her who to touch, who to kiss, who to dance against, and the alcohol only makes that little voice more insistent. Keep moving, it says. Never stop. Keep dancing. She casts a glance upward, at the moonlight filtering through the dark branches leaves and getting lost in the Technicolor strobes, and breathes the hot air, smelling sweat and dirt, inhaling nature’s energy.
So, yeah, I pretty much just described girls (and guys) I think are hot. Lindsey, Kat Von D, Alicia, Frank, a little bit of Gerard, a lot of my old roomie Zalika, the list goes on. lol But wtf! I have no hot girl icons except Gerard/Lindsey kissing and Frank/Jamia being adorable! Shame on me. Need moar icon space. :(
For my Production Design class, I had to come up with an "alter ego" who's basically the polar opposite of me. I had trouble doing that, so this person's kind of opposite, but kind of not...? Whatever, though. I can't help that I'm a pretty well-rounded person. I mostly just described the girl I'd like to fuck. Or the girl I'd like to fuck me, that works too. She's unnamed in this; I don't know if she needs a name or not. ~760 word character description.
Flashing lights dance over her body, highlighting the brightly colored tattoos that adorn her shoulders, thighs, and stomach. She’s barefoot, and a thorny rose tattoo circles her left calf, twining down to her ankle, leaves fanning out to the top of her foot. Coiled around her other thigh is a swirling spiral of words, too small to read from a distance but clearly written in a variety of block, script, and traditional serif fonts. Her left arm is covered from shoulder to wrist in color, but the patterns and objects are so interwoven and she moves so fast and fluidly that it’s hard to decipher what the tattoos are. From fingers to elbow, her right arm is covered by a satin opera glove with the fingers cut open and fraying.
She’s the life of the party, the very center of the dirty dance floor, and revels in the hands and bodies that press against her. Someone hands her a bottle and she sucks down the dregs of whatever’s inside, then hands it off to another nameless face in the crowd. It doesn’t do much to add to the high she’s already on, from drink and smoke and the energy of nature and everyone around her, but she appreciates it anyway, always one for more, for pushing her own limits.
There’s a slight tan line on the top of her chest, from falling asleep beside the lake in her bikini, and the thin, glittery shirt she’s wearing now does nothing to cover it. Tan skin bleeds into pale skin bleeds into glitter that’s transferred from her clothes. Under some of the bright strobe lights, the material is almost transparent, and it’s only the loose sequins that hide her chest and ribs from view. Visible under the bottom of her shirt, jagged lightning bolt tattoos arc down on her stomach, following the curve of her hips, and then disappear beneath the low waistband of her pleated skirt. The skirt barely skims her thighs, and it’s more for show than anything else. The pleats flare out every time she swings her hips in time to the music, catching on the jeans and skirts and bodies of the dancers around her.
Blood-red nails scrape across her throat; her own, as she scratches the dripping sweat off her skin. There’s makeup caked onto her cheeks, hiding the flush of exertion, and her mascara has started to clump together in the muggy, thick air, running slightly into the corners of her eyes. It exaggerates the dark streaks of eyeliner already staining her skin, stretching out toward her temples and down her cheeks in delicate curlicues. The colors on her eyelids, bright blues and greens to bring out the hazel of her eyes, still fade smoothly into the purple stars painted across her cheeks and temples, the lines of eyeliner weaving around them.
Her hair hangs in thick, stiff clumps, almost dreadlocks, mostly black with highlights of neon colors breaking the monotony. As she shakes her head, the locks tangle together, creating a bright, vivid mess against the heavy black, mostly dominated by pink and purple to match the stars on her cheeks. Natural blonde roots lighten the hair close to her scalp, where the hair dye is growing out. The dreads almost reach her shoulders, and there are glittering barrettes and beads interspersed in them, flashing and sparkling in the changing light. They fall in front of her face every time she shakes her head to the music.
She loses herself in the sharp, electronic sounds of the dance mixes, feeling the bass pumping through the ground, shaking the leaves of the trees, through her toes digging into the hard-packed dirt and up to her outstretched fingertips. Bodies press against her on all sides, her hands find sweaty, bare skin and damp fabric, and she grabs hold, letting it all pull her along through the crowd. This is her environment, and everyone notices when she moves past. Most turn their heads to look, some even reach out and touch, almost afraid of how she would react. But like this, she almost never snaps at the greedy hands; she pushes herself into them and gives herself over to instinct. It tells her who to touch, who to kiss, who to dance against, and the alcohol only makes that little voice more insistent. Keep moving, it says. Never stop. Keep dancing. She casts a glance upward, at the moonlight filtering through the dark branches leaves and getting lost in the Technicolor strobes, and breathes the hot air, smelling sweat and dirt, inhaling nature’s energy.
So, yeah, I pretty much just described girls (and guys) I think are hot. Lindsey, Kat Von D, Alicia, Frank, a little bit of Gerard, a lot of my old roomie Zalika, the list goes on. lol But wtf! I have no hot girl icons except Gerard/Lindsey kissing and Frank/Jamia being adorable! Shame on me. Need moar icon space. :(