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Name: Katy Kergland
From: Birmingham, England [technically. She’s American]
Grade: Senior
Bio: {Personality: temperamental, bad home life, scholarship student, drinker, sailor mouth}
Katy Kergland’s sailor mouth is justified by a life spent mostly at sea; her father, a rugged tugboat captain, and her mother, his first mate, traveled the coats on the Atlantic as a cargo ship, aiding in the trading of valuables that clientele didn’t trust on bigger, more efficient ships, while her mother studied ocean life below. Katy grew up around sailors and in coastal bars, adapted to the constant feeling of seasickness with only the open sea as her home. But things got cloudy when a storm took her mother’s life, and her father, as roughwaters as he was, fell into a drunken stupor. And Katy’s father is a mean drunk who took his pain out physically. When she was 14, they docked in a small town in Maine, she stowed away on a bigger ship headed for England, where her mother’s sister lived the life of a quirky author. Her aunt took her in, and has been protecting her from her father since but has yet to civilize the girl. In an attempt to educate her, she applied her niece for Thorton Academy for her sophomore year, who were impressed by Katy’s home schooled knowledge of cartography, oceanography, and astrology. Little did they know what a handful she’d actually be. Like father like daughter, Katy has a taste for rum stemming from childhood, and is loud, rude, and teasing whenever she can be. She much prefers to have fun, but she is also easily insulted, and dare you mention her family, she’ll be insulting right back.
Model: Judith Bedard

Do you know what is mighty tasty at sunrise? Whiskey and hot cocoa. It's about negative five here in...oh, hell, I'm just forgotten what country I'm in....heh heh heh...but it's a damn cold one yet I sit gargoyle style on the roof of the Academy in a skirty thing and not much to boot on top. When I drink whiskey I think I'm eeeeeeeyerish. I am asked if I'm a Mc O' Patty all the time cus of my harlot hair. All red heads are harlorts, don't you know. And look, there the sun rises icey pink and lavender over the frosted countryside and there's a new day and here's a toast. To me! Katy the Harlot, how do ya do, the gargoyle of Thorton.
Sometimes I think I have bat wings when I stand on the edge.
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