Post by ROSE CHARIS WILDE on Apr 16, 2010 14:54:39 GMT -5
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rose charis wilde
[/size][/justify]rose charis wilde
Hullo, the name is rose, but I guess you could call me rose, rosie-poo, zie, whatever flies your kite, really. I'm twenty-two years old and currently making my way through life as a local.
Everyone who knows me will be able to say that I'm instinctive, impatient, moody, gullible, dependent and childish, but that I'm also pretty passionate, energetic, blunt, affectionate and loyal. They'd warn you that I love singing, drinking, mascara, christmas, flowers, spazzy lights, glittery things, accoustic guitars, coffee, poetry, jewelry and blue eyes and that I loathe beez, wasps and other buzzing insects; thongs, baby voices, nymphos, when people say "no", corn, annoying twilight fangirls and people who leave hair on the bathtub sink..Oh, hai there, you. My name is, as you probably figured out already, Rose. And that’s what most people call me - along with the regular shortened cutesy version, “Roo” and "Rosie-poo", and whatever your sick mind manages to invent. I really don’t mind nicknames, but I really hate being called “Charis” or anything on the same lines.
I honestly don't know what I'm doing here in Boston. Yeah, I know. Don't even say it. Perhaps a masochistic desire of emancipation, coped with a wish to trace my origins, or some crap like that.
I'm working full time in a café as a waitress - glamorous, huh? The pay’s honestly bad - shitty enough that one can’t afford more than a pair of tacky looking shoes per month, if that much, and has to live solely on free sample packs of gummy bears for the last week of the month. But, even though it’s not the best job ever, I figured I might just give it my all. And I totally get to get on the stage and perform every once in a while. Because we have a free stage, where amateurs can perform. And some pretty good doughnuts. It isn’t my ideal job, if course - but it’s what I have so far. And, honestly, I kind of like it. Funny people come along every once in a while - and I get to have free cups of coffee ever so often. Though it's still kinda lousy.
In my free time here... Well, I kinda have a job. Meaning… in my time here… I work. Oh. My. God!, right…? I get some free nights every once in a while - but that’s not convenient at all seeing my income isn’t enough to buy a flippin’ gumball. If you are nice, cute and are willing to take me out to the movies and for dinner, you’ve just become my best friend. If not, I can say I llove window shopping, swimming - if you have a pool I love you too - singing, listening to the beatles… Decorating my tacky apartment so it doesn’t look so tacky… drinking coffee… oh! and going out for a few drinks every once in a while. There are always nice boys who pay, if you smile and batter your lashes at them enough. OH!, and I kind of like pretending I’m someone else when meeting new people - going all like “Who, me…? I’m Elton John’s illegitimate child, was born in Taiwan. Oh, and my name is Magoof.” - and making friends with them. Well. Just when I’m really bored.
Does this whole Boston, coffee-shop thing belong to my dreams...?
Of course it does!, who wouldn’t love putting up with snot nosed brats throwing juice with their straws at people and serving coffee to old people for a living?!
…
Of course I’m joking. I never really pictured myself as a waitress. In fact, I’ve always meant to be a singer dash songwriter. And yes!, I know what you’re thinking. That I’m not getting anywhere so far. That dreams like those are for really good people, not crazy, skittles addicted, ADD waitresses who can’t even afford a taxi ride. Well, I’ve got news for you. If I dream about it enough, I might get it. Instead of becoming a frustrated, old, ugly lawyer with no sense of humor and no goddamned empathy. Which I might be, you know. In an alternative universe.
I like singing, I like writing songs. People like them. And if it means that the only time I can do it is sitting in a torn stool in the middle of a tiny stage in a shady café in some unknown Boston greasy street, so be it!
Though the glam and fame would be nice too. The money especially.
Hmm. What else... I’ve been told the worse thing about me is my impulsiveness, both for the good and for the bad. Meaning I come off as pretty brave - mainly because I don’t think much before jumping into things - and stupidly frank at times. But then again, if I’m in a poor mood, I might chop off your head instead of being the smiling, good-humoured - and awsomely hot? - chick I usually am. I might deny you something I wouldn’t even consider not doing for you some other time. I might sulk and be insanely depressive just as easily as I’d brighten your day up. I might be in dire need of affection instead of being all tough, every once in a while. Also, I’m apparently a “deluded dreamer” - and I quote - “who lives in a fairy-tale world, unrealistically thinking that anything she puts her mind into, she can do". And, well. I guess half of it is true - I can’t take "no" for an answer. Oh. And right. I’ll downright kick your butt if you mess with people I happen to like.
Hell. What else is there to say...? I'm an only child and often people tell me I look like rachel bilson, but I think that's stupid, don't you...?Once upon a time, in a small town in Georgia, Lilian Wilde was a part-time waitress at a café. She was seventeen, and was finishing high school, dreaming of becoming a famous singer and songwriter. The sort who everyone loved - every boy’s favourite high school crush, every old person’s darling, every teacher’s pet, every child’s beloved playmate. All in one, a lovable and happy little thing, who climbed up stage and was enthusiastically applauded by everyone - because she was just universally liked. Until the day Jayson Smith entered the pub she worked at…
Jayson lived in Boston. He was twenty, a college sophomore in a Law major who was on Georgia with his parents, spending the summer. And when he saw Lilian - and she saw him - it was love at first sight. Pure, unhampered and shockingly cuddly love. As the weeks passed, they fell more and more in love with each other - and did about every single thing they could do with each other.
It was in one of these escapades that the story truly begins.
In the end of the summer, Jayson fled home, leaving a month pregnant, heartbroken - not to mention totally ignorant of her condition - Lilian behind. Only when the bulge began to become noticeable did she understand the full magnitude of the biznai - that she wasn’t just becoming fat. It also became noticeable to her parents - who disowned her before she could say “damn”.
And it was in these times of sorrow, that Helen Bran entered the stage.
Lilian’s best friend for what had seemed an eternity, Helen brought her to her own home, where she lived during the first year or so with her and her husband. And, when it became only too clear that Lilian was not only heartbroken but also way down in the dumps as she saw her dream of being a singer going down the drain, Helen was the one who offered to keep little Rose. Who sent her to Boston to find her one true love - who was just one among millions of Jayson Smiths in Boston - and pursue her dream - to never see her return or hear anything from her ever again. Who raised and brought rose up as if she were her own child. Who discovered Rose’s unusual talent for music - also, her passion for it-, who encouraged it and supported it. And who gave Rose her full support when the girl decided to move to Boston - like her mother had - even if she knew, with an anguised heart, that the story might repeat itself.
And that was how Rose got to Boston, along with her odd accent and awkward quirks. And that’s how she is now, working as a part-time waiter on a shady cafe - that happens to hold a particular interest because it has a stage where amateurs can perform - singing in cafes, bars, weddings and parties, babysitting and just living her life - hoping, wishing that she may find her mother and father one day. And that they may see her name on the green cover of a double-platinum CD.
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rose charis wilde is played by ree
