+ I have owned CGH for almost 2 years, and have roleplayed in other clubs as well. I think you know what I have done / what I am capable of.
+ Originality is something that I pride myself on. I often recycle character ideas, but they were always my own.
+ I deserve a chance because I am creative and witty. I honestly love stories more than anything in the world. It's why I'm majoring in Cinema, because I love stories. Love, Loss, Lust, Wonder, Hope, Joy, Insanity. It's all so intriguing to me. Why people do the things they do.
+ I am involved with CGH mainly. Hopefully Jackson, and /sometimes/ Benton.
+ I honestly don't use the same model many times. I like to keep things flowing. So, I'll just name my favorite models to my favorite characters. I shamefully admit I ADORE VS models: Candice Swanepoel, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, Adriana Lima & Miranda Kerr. The non-VS would be: Ginta Lapina, Gemma Ward, Montana Cox, Cintia Dicker & Barbara Palvin.
+ Tempest Beretta Steele +
+ Tempest is known by her last name. The government knows her as Steel. She's a South American assassin, of the most dangerous kind. +
+ polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=40387227 +
+ The year is 2040, USA has turned communist +
&- You see Steel, the gorgeous raven haired girl with piercing-soul hooking ice blue eyes and the most perfectly plump lips. She walks down 5th avenue, unfortunately, she draws the attention of the most beautiful socialites in the world. They've heard of her, the think, the unbearably stunning girl with... a bite.
&- You, a tourist, intrigued and blind to the 'real' world decide to be a dumbass and follow her. Steel smiles brightly at the stunned doorman at the famed St. Regis Hotel. And is let in without a question, you take a moment and realize that your khaki pants and your puffy blue long Gap coat probably aren't going to get you in. Not compared to the Raven beauties, Balmain leather pants (which is the cost of your mortgage) and her Rick Owens Black Leather jacket (which is your car payment) not to mention the black jimmy choo stilettos (which is your insurance payments) You sigh, and watch the ever mysterious girl from outside. Like a pathetic window-shopper looking at everything you will never have.
&- She walks to the front desk and smiles, she checks in, under the name, "Rosie Prye," she pulls her ID out of the LV wallet she held in her pocket. The only thing she needed right now was her gun. That was tucked safely. She checks in. She starts down the golden hallway, Choo's clacking on the $1500 per tile marble flooring. So clean, she could check her reflection. Noticing not her lips, she pulls out her Marilyn red D&G lipstick and applies a coat. She lightly drops it back in her pocket and fluffs her hair.
&- She stops infront of the elevator and looks around. It's on-season the wealthy tourists from the west are /everywhere/ she sighs and can't take safety off her gun until she reaches the penthouse suite. Where her target, the President, awaits. She smiles devilishly making the other people in the lift, rather uncomfortable, but more terrified than anything. After 18 floors the last people get off. The next two were the penthouse suites. One mine, One Mr. President's. She quickly and stealthily pulls out two magnums she had tucked under her shirt on her back. She makes sure the knife around her ankle is easy access. But before she does any of this, she deactivates the cameras that are no doubt in the lift. With what? With her lipstick of course. All female assassins /must/ have some sort of beauty product that doubles as an electronic device.
&- The lift doors ding open, she glances up, giggles and stares dead ahead. Let the games begin.