that'll be all.
{ BABETTE FISCHER
There's a lot of drive but no fuel for the engine.
[ basics ]
FULL NAME: Babette Marie Lynn Fischer
NICKNAMES: Babe (like the pig)
CURRENT AGE: 23
DATE OF BIRTH: June 21st
PLACE OF BIRTH: South Chicago, Illinois, US
MARITAL STATUS: Single
SEXUALITY: Bisexual
OCCUPATION: Convenience store clerk, dance instructor, amateur dancer.
CURRENT RESIDENCE: Eastvale Pointe - Building 2, eighth floor.
FAMILY: Benjamin Fischer (Father, Deceased), Marie Anne Fischer (Mother).
AIM: bleu skirt
PB: Lee Minyoung
appearance & impressions
Old habits are hard to break, but you weren't.
Most likely, you’ve seen the top of Babe’s head before the rest of her. She’s a solid below-average in the height department, and never bothers with tall heels to remedy the issue. She can be easily recognized by the shoulder-length light brown hair, and the collection of baggy sweatshirts and t-shirts, gym shorts, boots or socks with flip flops that she wears every day (all through winter, too). She has a childish sense of carelessness where her wardrobe is concerned. If it’s comfortable and easy to dance in, she’ll throw it on regardless of the fashion consequences or weather restraints.
First impressions don’t mean a whole lot to her (if you couldn’t already tell by her outfit), and Babe is the type of person to speak before she thinks. It’s the reason she lost her department store job -- “Oh, no, don’t buy that one. Your thighs look massive.” She doesn’t try to be rude, it just sort of happens on its own. While it can be a curse some of the time, her honesty has also made her a pretty easy person to trust. Babe’s always been a people-person, and when she says she has your back you can bet she’d do anything for you. Find a creepy spider in your bathroom at two in the morning that needs squashing? She’s your girl.
Babe is a dancer, she’s been shaking and wiggling to music since she could walk, and nothing pleases her more than spending hours in the studio practicing. She’ll even sashay around her apartment, swing her hips down the hall, pirouette while she picks up her mail. She’s probably bumped into you at some point or another, but she’s bumped into walls and railings far more -- and she has the bruises to prove it.
If you’ve ever seen her in a tank top, you’ve probably also seen the white, splintery scar on her left arm, just below her shoulder. She’ll avoid talking about it if possible, or try and make up an outrageous story just to distract you, but she’s especially horrible at keeping her own secrets. Almost everyone knows she got it in the car accident that killed her father (but not everyone knows that he was picking her up from the police station at the time). The incident sobered her up extremely, and she tries to be a lot more careful about her behavior nowadays.
history
You can count on me, I never meant to hurt you.
Babette’s mother was a practical woman, businesslike and crisp in all her affairs. Quite literally, actually, as she had at least five different short-term boyfriends before her husband filed the divorce papers and left Chicago with his then four-year-old daughter. They moved to the west coast, her father’s consultation firm faring quite well with companies in Los Angeles. She didn’t like the west very much, though -- she missed her mother when she was still small, and couldn’t understand why her father had decided to leave.
At fourteen she hit a rebellious phase. Her dad was busy, her mother was estranged, and she was restless. She got a nose ring, tattooed a few glittery stars on her hip, and ran away from home for several weeks. Looking back, her father was remarkably forgiving of all the nonsense she put him through; more than she deserved, for sure.
At eighteen she enrolled in an Arts college as a dance major, but her behavior didn’t improve with further schooling. She’d only been studying for a year and a half when her father passed away; they were side swiped at an intersection after he picked her up from the police station -- caught drunk at a busted club party. She lost her motivation and dropped out of school afterwards. When she turned twenty-one she decided not to waste any more time in a place with such bad memories, so she packed up and left, meandering her way across the country and purposefully avoiding Chicago.
Eventually she found herself in New York, and discovered a new home in a dance studio that accepted her as an instructor even without a completed degree. It doesn’t pay a lot, but combined with other odd part time jobs and the insurance money to make up the difference, she manages the rent on a respectable one bedroom apartment. She says she’d still like to go back to school and become a professional dancer some day, but she’s all talk and no action. Her life has become rather enclosed in a safe routine, though she’ll deny it if asked.