basically how it goes;
basic
Name: Cordelia Marie Bradford-Smith.
Nickname: Cordie.
Age: Eighteen.
Birthday: November 1, 1989.
Hometown: Syracuse, New York.
occupational
Location: Syracuse, New York.
Profession: High School Senior.
Email: nevermoregirl@gmail.com
fairy-tale
Fairy-Tale Character: Aesop's Raven.
Ability: She’s kind of a good omen, good luck charm, in the flesh. But it’s really not noticeable - in fact, she’s not even aware of it herself.
Cordelia and the Raven: Cordelia thinks it’s completely unfair turnabout that in this incarnation the Crow is this gorgeous, successful blonde, and she’s, well. Dark-haired and kinda dumpy, if you ask her! The Crow is supposed to be jealous of the Raven, not the other way around! Just watch, everything will get totally turned around and the Swan will try to be more like Cordie, and die in a freak breast enhancement surgery or something.
Bizarre Tale relationship switcheroos aside, Cordelia’s most obvious connection to the Raven is her ‘good luck charm’ effect. Of course, nobody really appreciates it as most Raven culture these days is all about carrion and Thought and Memory and war goddesses, but it’s cool. Cordie’s down with all that. She likes shrouding herself in mystery.
Status: If you ask, she will tell you. And make big "spooky" eyes and stage-whisper 'NEVERMORE'.
personality
As much as she professes that her brother is the crazy one in her family, there is definitely a zany side to Cordelia Bradford-Smith. She likes to keep people on their toes, and approaches things from out of left-field, marches to her own drummer, etcetera. She’s open-minded, but also a loud champion of her opinions. And, well, her thoughts in general - she’s notorious for using her Compendium as her own personal sounding board and LiveJournal.
Like many creative and independent girls her age, Cordie is confident in her own intelligence and drive, but rather insecure when it comes to finding her own place in the world. She definitely has some issues with her body image, as most teenage girls do, although she would never admit to it outright (though she will complain loudly about her breasts and about the diet she’s trying out that week - she’s never stuck with one for longer than a month). Her main area of interest lies in journalism - she delights in all its facets, from petty gossip, to hard-hitting breaking news, to poignant expositions on the human condition. Her thirst for knowledge manifested in finding a story, a true one, and telling it to the world, with all the facts straight.
Getting out and getting the interviews requires a certain amount of extroversion, and Cordie’s got enough to go around. She loves meeting new people, and chilling with old ones. But she also has a bit of a loner in her - sure, she’s outgoing enough in person, but she also spends much of her time alone, reading, and surfing the web and Compendium. It drives her nuts that so many of her most awesome friends are so far away, and she cannot wait to get into a NYC college so she can be reunited with them all.
Likes:
Dislikes:
history
So this is basically how things went down. There was a man, and a woman, and some birds and some bees and BAM babies, two story house, yard, dog that wouldn’t bark at Osama frickin’ bin Laden if he came up behind the house with an army of terrorists. Seriously, Pepper would probably lick Osama and tell him in doggie language that if he could vote, he would totally vote for him because not only does Pepper fail at being a watch dog, he is also the STUPIDEST CREATURE ON THE PLANET.
But I digress. Okay, so. Mr. and Mrs. Jeffrey Bradford-Smith - does that make sense? I mean, is it even kosher to put it all traditional-like ‘Mr. and Mrs. Malename Surname’ when the last name is hyphenated because the Mrs. is all ‘whoo woman’s rights’ and stuff? Probably not. Okay. Jeffrey Smith and Margaret Bradford were wed in holy matrimony way back in the dark ages before homestarrunner.com and they had some kids. Well, I guess they frolicked around the country being all happy newlywedded with big plans for changing the world through, whatever, art or something and then OOPS the pee-stick said Y for You Suckers Are Never Going to Realize Your Dreams of Grassroots Theater Because Hahahahaha This Baby is Gonna Kick Your Ass.
I am so not even kidding. Frank was a maniac. I say this with love, because he is my big brother, but he is seriously insane. I am pretty sure that if Dad had any time to do real art, it would have been called his ‘Red Phase’, ‘cause, you know, red with rage. Or possibly Dark Navy with Despair. Not that he really had the claim to all that pent-up frustration, because, hi, stay-at-home mom!
But whatever, who cares about Frank the Maniac. It only took four years for MOI, the darling angel from above to burst forth to rain love and serenity upon all. And smack some sense into Frank because dude, he needed it, and he needed to learn who was boss from day one, or else WHO KNOWS what would’ve happened to Barbie and Friends.
Actually, can I just go on a tangent here and say, ‘WHAT THE HELL, MARGIE AND JEFF’? Because, seriously, what the hell. Syracuse? Syracuse! There is nothing here. I mean, sure, it’s not all ghetto-tastic or overrun with hippies or something, but it could have been Queens! Queens is not five hundred billion miles away from the city! It is on the subway system! Not the Greyhound! I mean, seriously, Margie should’ve stuck close to home. I get the whole leave the nest thing - I mean, seriously, if anyone’s going to know about nests, it is going to be me - but maybe it could have been… Brooklyn, instead of Syracuse. I already have a healthy hatred of college kids, and I haven’t even graduated high school. Also, the color orange is a terrible color.
Anyway. The lovely, magnanimous me came into the world on November 1, 1989. Damn straight, All Saints Day/Day of the Dead/Samhain/World Vegan Day/Cordie Bradford-Smith Day. Mark it on your calendars. ‘Twas a lovely day, full of good omens and pink balloons and presumably sassy OB-GYNs that didn’t take crap from no one and made witty banter with hot surgeons. I would not know, as I have never been to the maternity ward, but I assume the TV only tells the truth. Basically, it was an awesome day, and I was an awesome baby. Frank was totally jealous.
Yaddayadda first words, first steps, first brawl with maniac brother who thought the lincoln logs should be his and his alone, blahblah. I guess things got interesting when Mom and Dad decided to start up their own little advertising schtick, and hey, it’s still going strong! Go them! Now use all that money for my education! Frank should totally be bailing his own stupid ass out when he gets arrested for trying to cook a giant omelette in the middle of an Arizona parking lot. Or MAYBE he should stay in jail, and the world can be free of his crazy.
Like I said, things got interesting once the ‘rents were full time working folks and we - aged 8 and 4 - started to run the gamut of daycares and babysitters. Those were definitely some definitive years. Definitely definitive. I would probably pin my journalistic ambitions on Snotty Nose Tiffany, who totally idolized the CBS news anchor and would make us all play News on TV (creative!). She had no love for journalistic integrity, and I think basically she just wanted to draw weather maps with those markers that changed color when you put another marker, but dude! I was so on top of things! "Hewwo I am Cordie and today we will be having peanut-butter sammiches, unless you are allergic like Bobby and then you will have tuna which stinks and makes your breath smell. Play time at 2, 3, and 4 o’clock. Melissa has a new doll."
Obviously, I was destined for great things even then. That particular daycare didn’t last long - I think it fell somewhere between Babysitter #3 with the Really Long Hair and Old Lady #2 with the Five Million Cats. I hate cats. I hate cats so much. Oh! And then there was Babysitter #7 with the really creepy boyfriend and oh my god, I am so glad I was never left alone in a room with him, because he was so creepy.
Somewhere in there I started school, and hey, good times, good friends, really awful cafeteria food, but you know, I was a kid, and Pizza Fridays were Pizza Fridays, didn’t matter if the cheese was basically a reduced form of rubber that the really gross kids (ie, me) took off and tried to make masks and/or fake boogers out of. I was a riot in art class, I won’t lie. Worst grade was probably 2nd, because of that stupid teacher’s aide. She had it out for me. Always saying, “Cordelia Bradford-Smith! Just you wait until I tell your mother!” Whatever! My mother didn’t care! And if you thought I was bad, you should count my blessings you didn’t have to deal with my brother, because at least I only glued pompoms to your fat ass and didn’t eat the glue and then puke everywhere.
So, yeah, elementary school. Looking back on it, it was pretty good. I mean, people are always idealizing kids’ lives, and there were some cruel motherfuckers on that playground, but all in all, I wasn’t the butt of the bullying and nothing bad ever really happened around me. Which is kind of weird, I mean wouldn’t you expect like, haha, Raven’s here, TIME FOR WAR? But I guess Greece and Ireland are pretty far apart, so no luck being a goddess of carnage.
Middle school, though. Middle school sucked ass. I was the first freakin’ kid to get boobs, and the jokes have not stopped since. I mean, okay, they’re BIG, I GET IT. And if they did pack some kind of arsenal, you would be dead by now. It really did not help that I decided to play tuba in the band. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I think it had something to do with my crush on the kid who played tuba in the grade above me, which is even more unfathomable because that face? Mother’s love only. And twelve-year-old me, apparently.
Eventually I made it through, switched to trumpet, found new love in Ian O’Grady. Oh, right, and then the dreams started. WoooOOOOoooOOOoo, yeah, okay, they seriously weren’t that bad, considering the Raven is the star of, oh, two fables. The Crow dream is pretty awesome, because the Crow basically just made an ass out of herself trying emulate my incredible-tude. The Swan dream sucks because I die, trying to wash my feathers white. Seriously, what is up with that, that’s something Frank would do. (Let’s not talk about the time I dyed my hair blonde to be more like Whitney and try to get Ian to love me back, because that is so totally not on the same level of stupid, and also, those pictures have been burned, so as far as I’m concerned IT DIDN’T HAPPEN.)
I guess I’ve always been down with the Raven stuff. Ravens are pretty frickin’ awesome birds, okay? They are smart. And they play in snow banks. (I may also like my hamburgers rare, but that’s the kinda gross part so we won’t get into that.) We’re all over the place in mythology! And Poe? Hell yes. So when Noah (who is the hottest best Librarian EVER) rolled up the street and was all, ‘weird dude hanging around at marching band practice’ told me, it was pretty cool. The Compendium? IS AWESOME.
Marginally less cool, though, was the phone call. Grandma Bradford calls pretty frequently, so, not a big deal but she wanted to talk to me right off the bat and I was all, ‘OMG, the vase was totally the dog and also, like, forever ago, I am innocent!’ But, no, no. Gigi is Molly Whuppie. Hahahahahaha, Whuppie. I mean. Righteous feminist hero action, yo. Anyway, so that was weird and kind of disappointing because now I couldn’t be like, deep dark secrets on the magic journal and all, but whatever, G.G. is an awesome old broad, and I think I’m pretty darn lucky to have Tale family. Plus, more reasons to go to New York.
Time went by (so slowly), and I, you intrepid heroine, entered HIGH SCHOOL. Cue the ominous music here, and dude, it better be the best ominous music you can find because the phases? I went through them all. I was a Mean Girl, I was a Goth Girl, I was an Art Kid, I was definitely a Band Kid (I can show you my medals, and my trumpet cost more than, like, two of my laptops, and also I have a mysterious scar from that band trip to Hershey Park), I was Geek Kid, and I tried track and field for a whole week despite the massive boob pain (oh, the things you do for love). Defining moments thus far (and I think probably in sum, except for the senior trip, prom, and graduation because I AM ALMOST FREE): punching Ian in the nose in 10th grade. winning the student journalism prize in 11th grade and getting to meet the editor of the Post-Standard. Whale-watch trip in 10th for first really awkward and disgusting kiss in front of the whole boat and a pod of dolphins, I am never living it down. Completely failing trumpet solo… in the middle of the concert. First kegger, where I got really drunk and spewed (literally and figuratively) all over the Compendium and GG had to call someone to pick me up. Never drinking Bud again. Car crash five months ago, not fun, but obviously not lethal either, except for Fordie. Still will not be given new car, is very annoying.
Yeah, that’s pretty much it. THE LIFE OF ME. Stay tuned for the next episode, Waiting to Hear Back from COLLEGE. Thank you, thank you very much.
ooc
Portrayed By: Kat Dennings.
Player: Emily.
Disclaimer: I have nothing to do with Kat Dennings or Aesop.
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