[ application ]
Self;
Name/Alias: Litzi
Personal LJ: litzplosion
E-mail Address: glitz-x [@] hotmail.com
AIM: Uber Technology
Other Messengers: MSN → same as email
Character;
Character: Hallelujah Sparks
Fandom: ORIGINAL. Oh yeah, I'm pretty awesome.
Character age: 17
Residence: Upper East Side, Manhattan, New York City
Occupation: Being a rich bitch, Hallelujah doesn't have a job. Teehee. But for real, she's a student.
If [student], then specify school: Constance Billard School for Girls
Reserved Character? No
History;
Canon or AU? Canon
Supernatural powers? None. She's a normal person, sorry. 8(
Wikipedia [or other] link to Canon Information: N/A
Anything else we should know? Hallelujah has The Gene, that gene that pushes people towards homicide. It was very prominent when she was a child-you know, torturing mice and rats she found in the basement, peeling the wings off of flies, that sort of thing-but has since receded to a voice in the back of her head, whispering to her to killkillkill. Jason has persuaded her to channel her anger and homicidal tendencies into art, which she likes very much.
Additionally, she has a ridiculous accent, some kind of hellish mix of Texas and Boston. Don't make fun of it, or she'll CUT YOU BITCH be very upset.
In-Game Backstory: Catherine Cleveland was born the bastard child of James Cleveland, a self-made media giant, and German Victoria’s Secret model Hilda Young. For the sake of both their careers, Hilda gave up the child for adoption, citing the father as unknown. Unwilling to lose the child, James adopted Catherine and brought her into the prestigious Cleveland family. A year later, he died in a tragic car accident in Providence, Rhode Island.
James Cleveland’s wife, Astrid, had no love for the child, and treated her like a slave. Catherine never left the house. She waited hand and foot on her mother and elder sister, Jasmine, until she was eight years old, missing James every moment. A week or two before her ninth birthday, she snapped. In the middle of the night, Catherine stabbed her mother and sister to death with a kitchen knife. She washed the knife thoroughly and replaced it in the drawer. Immediately after, what she'd done really hit her, and she fled the scene in a panic.
Jason Sparks, a pricey mafia hitman ("the 'quivalent of a fancy-ass callgirl," he says), otherwise known as Eric Smith, Raymond Harrison, or his birth name, Jason Hollister, found Catherine wandering the streets. He took her home, his intent to dump her off in an orphanage the next day. However, in the right light, he could see the blood on her dress. Jason knows you're not supposed to ask an assassin about their work, so he kept his mouth shut, but he felt strange doing so. He gave her a big t-shirt and let her sleep in the bedroom, taking the couch for himself. Catherine was incredibly jumpy the whole time she spent at Jason's, and only left the bedroom for meals and bathing. She liked Jason, sure; she was just terrified she would leave the bedroom one day and see the police in the foyer. Luckily, this never happened.
Several days later, Jason read about Catherine's family in the newspaper. He got the real story from a sobbing Catherine, who begged him not to turn her over to the Clevelands. After much careful thought, Jason decided to strike a deal with her: let him weed out her killer instinct, and he'd adopt her. Catherine was thrilled and agreed immediately. She certainly liked Jason much more than the Clevelands.
After that, it was just a whirlwind of legal processes: turn Catherine in to the police, talk to the remaining Cleveland family, get the OK for adoption. All of the things turned out to be much easier than Jason anticipated. When it was time to fill out the adoption papers, Catherine asked to change her name from Catherine to Hallelujah. When asked why, she said she didn't want to name the Clevelands gave her. She hated it. Plus, Hallelujah sounds much cooler than Catherine. Such is the thought process of a nine-year-old.
Jason, as a freelancer, couldn't live in one place for too long. Because of this, Hallelujah has lived and attended school all over the country, including Kansas, Hawaii, Colorado, and a brief time in Puerto Rico. Finally, a 42-year-old Jason thought it was best to retire and not jeopardize Hallelujah's future any more than he already has. New York City seemed like the best choice (so said Hallelujah), so the father-daughter duo decided to splurge on a beautiful townhouse in the expensive Upper East Side neighborhood of Manhattan. Jason still takes the occasional job, but Hallelujah turns a blind eye and holds her questions.
Don't ask what you don't want to know.
Presentation;
Third Person Sample: When Hallelujah comes home from school, stomps directly to her room and shuts the door, Jason knows something's wrong. The conscience he's built over the last ten years nags at him until he goes and knocks on her door softly, three times (always).
"Lulu?"
"Mmmmph."
He takes that as an invitation inside and lightly pushes the door open. His daughter is splayed out on her double bed, purse spilling contents on the floor. She clutches a pillow to her chest almost possessively. Jason sits beside her in silence, crossing his legs at the ankle, resting his elbows on his knees. Settling in for what looks like a long talk.
(He doesn't comment on the length of her skirt or the bright pigment of her eyeshadow.)
"Y'alright?" He asks gently. Hallelujah just stares at the ceiling, tightening her grip on her pillow. It's a long time before she looks at him, but Jason can't read any emotion in her eyes.
"S'it all worth it? Movin' a million times, I mean. Goin' all over the U-S-of-A an' gettin' new jobs."
(They both know what that means, but neither of them elaborate.)
"Yeah. S'worth it."
"Don't we got enough cash? Fuck, J, we can open a fuckin' bank."
Jason's silent. He watches her with the cold eyes of a killer that Hallelujah doesn't find cold in the slightest. She catches on slowly, but when she does, she still fails to show emotion.
(She struggles not to, in fact.)
"Oh. ‘Cause you like to."
"You know this, Lulu."
Hallelujah looks back to the ceiling. She opens her mouth briefly, but when she realizes she has nothing of value to say, she closes it again. Jason manages to put it together in this time and asks gently, "You wanna get a job, baby?"
Hallelujah's eyes snap to look at him, surprised he guessed it so quickly. Wordlessly, she rolls over to face the wall. She really does want a job. It's usually not a conscious thing, but from time to time, she'll find herself thinking up ways to kill people on the streets, imagining escape plans, imagining her trial.
(She hates it, but it's the truth.)
Jason runs a hand through his hair. "'M sorry, baby, but shit ain't healthy for a good kid like you."
"'M a good kid alluva sudden?"
Silence.
"You a great kid, Hallelujah."
Jason says this with such warmth that Hallelujah doesn't want to argue. In her world, whatever Jason says is the truth, after all. She hugs the pillow even tighter.
"Top Model's on, baby."
Pause. Hallelujah rolls over to look at him. "For real?"
"Yeah, s'a marathon. make y'feel better?"
Hallelujah stares up at him, thinking. She wanted to spend more time upset and collect generic, father-like praise, but if Top Model's on…
"We got ice cream?"
"Shitloads."
"Well shit, shoulda said that in the first place, hombre."
(Jason hates Top Model.)
Questions;
Set I.
If you could have any superpower, what would it be? Oh, shit, man, don't get me started! I fuckin' wanna... be all... I wanna like read minds, or some coolshit, y'know? Know what peeps is thinkin'. Like, say some bitch was wearin' polka dots an' stripes at the same time, yeah? I'd wanna know what that bitch was thinkin' when she decided to put that ugly shit on in the mornin'.
Is the glass half empty or half full? Uhh, s'half empty? Shit can't be half-full. S'either full or empty or half-empty. Half-full, y'kiddin'?
Would you sleep with your boss to keep from losing your high-end job? Fuck, no! Sex s'a important thing. I ain't wastin' a fuck on some Wall Street fat cat for a job. Look, way I see it, if I got a fancy-ass high-end job in the first place, chances are I can get another one, yeah? Duh.
What is your favorite thing to do when you’re alone? MASTURBATE. Nah, nah, 'm kiddin'. I like paintin'. Can't paint with another guy in the room, y'know? S'distractin'. I mean, 'less they're modelin'. Then s'cool.
What is your biggest pet peeve? Crackin' gum. Holy shit, I can't fucking stand that shit. Wanna punch any bitch that does it, damn.
Who or what, if anything, would you kill for? Jason. S'my daddy, y'know? Love 'im like fuckin' cray-zay.
Do you believe in God? Nah. Idea's totally ridix.
If you were on the Titanic and there was only room for one person on your lifeboat, would you save your mother or your best friend? M' best bro, 'less I suddenly got a mom or some shit. Wait, izzat interchangeable with daddy? Then fuck my best bro, Jason's top priority.
Which would you rather give up: television or books? Books. Fuck, I hate books, 'specially all that "required reading" bullshit they got at some schools. Y'know I read Romeo-an'-fuckin'-Juliet four times? Christ.
Your hearing, or your eyesight? Hearin'. Can't paint with no eyes, right? Plus, like, if you at a baseball game, an' you can't see shit-then what the fuck, defeats the purpose, don't it?
What is your guilty pleasure? Fuuuck. Uhh. 'Merica's Next Top Model there I fuckin' said it. Shit, man, I love that show.
If you could kill any living person in the world, who would you kill? That mutha-fuckin' ump at that one goddamn Mets game. Holy fuckin' shit, asshole, we woulda won that goddamn fuckin-
Would you rather learn everything there is to know, or experience everything there is to experience? The second one. Experiencin' is just so much better, y'know? The hell's the point 'a learnin' if y'never use it, yeah?
If you could save any historical figure from their untimely death, who would it be? Uhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhh. Lincoln?
If you could be on one TV reality show, which would it be? 'Merica's Next Top Model! Shit, I'd blow those bitches away. 'M hot shit, y'know?
Set II.
Describe how you met your best friend. M' best friend's my dad, gay as it sounds. See, I, uh, ran away from home, yeah? 'Cause my mom and sis died. Anyway, I was runnin', an' m' dad found me, 'cept he wasn't m' dad then. He 'dopted me, though, like, a coupla weeks later, so. Yeah.
Describe the worst thing you’ve ever done. This shiiiiiiit's con-fee-dental, right? I, uhh, killed my mom and sis. Look, they treated me like goddamn shit. Bitches deserved it. I'd fuckin' do it a-goddamn-gain, too. But shit, uh, don't tell that last shit to Jason, yeah?
Describe your first kiss. AW DAMN that was a gazillion years ago. Liiike, there was this guy, right? In Hawaii, when I wassssss twelve and he was, uhh... well he said he was thirteen. We got to talkin', I liked him, he liked me, shit happened, and BAM, we kissed. It was real nice, actually. He wasn't so bad at kissin'. Then I found out he was like, sixteen, 'cept he looked young. Pissed me right off. Moved to Kansas a week later, haven't heard from the asshole since.
Describe the most difficult experience you have ever had to deal with. This one time, Jason came home all shot-up with heroin. Thought he was gonna fuckin die, man, I was scared as shit. Followed 'im around, kept 'im away from the booze. He passed out on the couch, like, an hour later, but shit, I was scared. Stayed with him all fuckin' night. Christ, if Jason ever died, dunno what the fuck I'd do with m'self.
Describe a situation in which you took charge. Jason got shot once, yeah? On a job innnnnn Los Angeles. So he came home all bloodied-up and still bleedin', an' I was like, "Shit, Jason, sit the fuck down!" An' he was like, "Naw, baby, s'not so bad." An' I was like, "You fuckin' bleedin'! Siddown!" An' he sat down and I put my mad health skills to work an' made a tourniquet an' shit. An' I was like, "We gotta get this shit outta you." An' he was all, "The fuck you gonna do that?" An' I was like, "Pliers." An' he was like "Fuck, wash 'em first." So I did, an' I pulled the shit out, an it healed up right fine.
He said it hurt like shit, though. Shoulda drugged him up first, huh?
Name/Alias: Litzi
Personal LJ: litzplosion
E-mail Address: glitz-x [@] hotmail.com
AIM: Uber Technology
Other Messengers: MSN → same as email
Character;
Character: Hallelujah Sparks
Fandom: ORIGINAL. Oh yeah, I'm pretty awesome.
Character age: 17
Residence: Upper East Side, Manhattan, New York City
Occupation: Being a rich bitch, Hallelujah doesn't have a job. Teehee. But for real, she's a student.
If [student], then specify school: Constance Billard School for Girls
Reserved Character? No
History;
Canon or AU? Canon
Supernatural powers? None. She's a normal person, sorry. 8(
Wikipedia [or other] link to Canon Information: N/A
Anything else we should know? Hallelujah has The Gene, that gene that pushes people towards homicide. It was very prominent when she was a child-you know, torturing mice and rats she found in the basement, peeling the wings off of flies, that sort of thing-but has since receded to a voice in the back of her head, whispering to her to killkillkill. Jason has persuaded her to channel her anger and homicidal tendencies into art, which she likes very much.
Additionally, she has a ridiculous accent, some kind of hellish mix of Texas and Boston. Don't make fun of it, or she'll CUT YOU BITCH be very upset.
In-Game Backstory: Catherine Cleveland was born the bastard child of James Cleveland, a self-made media giant, and German Victoria’s Secret model Hilda Young. For the sake of both their careers, Hilda gave up the child for adoption, citing the father as unknown. Unwilling to lose the child, James adopted Catherine and brought her into the prestigious Cleveland family. A year later, he died in a tragic car accident in Providence, Rhode Island.
James Cleveland’s wife, Astrid, had no love for the child, and treated her like a slave. Catherine never left the house. She waited hand and foot on her mother and elder sister, Jasmine, until she was eight years old, missing James every moment. A week or two before her ninth birthday, she snapped. In the middle of the night, Catherine stabbed her mother and sister to death with a kitchen knife. She washed the knife thoroughly and replaced it in the drawer. Immediately after, what she'd done really hit her, and she fled the scene in a panic.
Jason Sparks, a pricey mafia hitman ("the 'quivalent of a fancy-ass callgirl," he says), otherwise known as Eric Smith, Raymond Harrison, or his birth name, Jason Hollister, found Catherine wandering the streets. He took her home, his intent to dump her off in an orphanage the next day. However, in the right light, he could see the blood on her dress. Jason knows you're not supposed to ask an assassin about their work, so he kept his mouth shut, but he felt strange doing so. He gave her a big t-shirt and let her sleep in the bedroom, taking the couch for himself. Catherine was incredibly jumpy the whole time she spent at Jason's, and only left the bedroom for meals and bathing. She liked Jason, sure; she was just terrified she would leave the bedroom one day and see the police in the foyer. Luckily, this never happened.
Several days later, Jason read about Catherine's family in the newspaper. He got the real story from a sobbing Catherine, who begged him not to turn her over to the Clevelands. After much careful thought, Jason decided to strike a deal with her: let him weed out her killer instinct, and he'd adopt her. Catherine was thrilled and agreed immediately. She certainly liked Jason much more than the Clevelands.
After that, it was just a whirlwind of legal processes: turn Catherine in to the police, talk to the remaining Cleveland family, get the OK for adoption. All of the things turned out to be much easier than Jason anticipated. When it was time to fill out the adoption papers, Catherine asked to change her name from Catherine to Hallelujah. When asked why, she said she didn't want to name the Clevelands gave her. She hated it. Plus, Hallelujah sounds much cooler than Catherine. Such is the thought process of a nine-year-old.
Jason, as a freelancer, couldn't live in one place for too long. Because of this, Hallelujah has lived and attended school all over the country, including Kansas, Hawaii, Colorado, and a brief time in Puerto Rico. Finally, a 42-year-old Jason thought it was best to retire and not jeopardize Hallelujah's future any more than he already has. New York City seemed like the best choice (so said Hallelujah), so the father-daughter duo decided to splurge on a beautiful townhouse in the expensive Upper East Side neighborhood of Manhattan. Jason still takes the occasional job, but Hallelujah turns a blind eye and holds her questions.
Don't ask what you don't want to know.
Presentation;
Third Person Sample: When Hallelujah comes home from school, stomps directly to her room and shuts the door, Jason knows something's wrong. The conscience he's built over the last ten years nags at him until he goes and knocks on her door softly, three times (always).
"Lulu?"
"Mmmmph."
He takes that as an invitation inside and lightly pushes the door open. His daughter is splayed out on her double bed, purse spilling contents on the floor. She clutches a pillow to her chest almost possessively. Jason sits beside her in silence, crossing his legs at the ankle, resting his elbows on his knees. Settling in for what looks like a long talk.
(He doesn't comment on the length of her skirt or the bright pigment of her eyeshadow.)
"Y'alright?" He asks gently. Hallelujah just stares at the ceiling, tightening her grip on her pillow. It's a long time before she looks at him, but Jason can't read any emotion in her eyes.
"S'it all worth it? Movin' a million times, I mean. Goin' all over the U-S-of-A an' gettin' new jobs."
(They both know what that means, but neither of them elaborate.)
"Yeah. S'worth it."
"Don't we got enough cash? Fuck, J, we can open a fuckin' bank."
Jason's silent. He watches her with the cold eyes of a killer that Hallelujah doesn't find cold in the slightest. She catches on slowly, but when she does, she still fails to show emotion.
(She struggles not to, in fact.)
"Oh. ‘Cause you like to."
"You know this, Lulu."
Hallelujah looks back to the ceiling. She opens her mouth briefly, but when she realizes she has nothing of value to say, she closes it again. Jason manages to put it together in this time and asks gently, "You wanna get a job, baby?"
Hallelujah's eyes snap to look at him, surprised he guessed it so quickly. Wordlessly, she rolls over to face the wall. She really does want a job. It's usually not a conscious thing, but from time to time, she'll find herself thinking up ways to kill people on the streets, imagining escape plans, imagining her trial.
(She hates it, but it's the truth.)
Jason runs a hand through his hair. "'M sorry, baby, but shit ain't healthy for a good kid like you."
"'M a good kid alluva sudden?"
Silence.
"You a great kid, Hallelujah."
Jason says this with such warmth that Hallelujah doesn't want to argue. In her world, whatever Jason says is the truth, after all. She hugs the pillow even tighter.
"Top Model's on, baby."
Pause. Hallelujah rolls over to look at him. "For real?"
"Yeah, s'a marathon. make y'feel better?"
Hallelujah stares up at him, thinking. She wanted to spend more time upset and collect generic, father-like praise, but if Top Model's on…
"We got ice cream?"
"Shitloads."
"Well shit, shoulda said that in the first place, hombre."
(Jason hates Top Model.)
Questions;
Set I.
If you could have any superpower, what would it be? Oh, shit, man, don't get me started! I fuckin' wanna... be all... I wanna like read minds, or some coolshit, y'know? Know what peeps is thinkin'. Like, say some bitch was wearin' polka dots an' stripes at the same time, yeah? I'd wanna know what that bitch was thinkin' when she decided to put that ugly shit on in the mornin'.
Is the glass half empty or half full? Uhh, s'half empty? Shit can't be half-full. S'either full or empty or half-empty. Half-full, y'kiddin'?
Would you sleep with your boss to keep from losing your high-end job? Fuck, no! Sex s'a important thing. I ain't wastin' a fuck on some Wall Street fat cat for a job. Look, way I see it, if I got a fancy-ass high-end job in the first place, chances are I can get another one, yeah? Duh.
What is your favorite thing to do when you’re alone? MASTURBATE. Nah, nah, 'm kiddin'. I like paintin'. Can't paint with another guy in the room, y'know? S'distractin'. I mean, 'less they're modelin'. Then s'cool.
What is your biggest pet peeve? Crackin' gum. Holy shit, I can't fucking stand that shit. Wanna punch any bitch that does it, damn.
Who or what, if anything, would you kill for? Jason. S'my daddy, y'know? Love 'im like fuckin' cray-zay.
Do you believe in God? Nah. Idea's totally ridix.
If you were on the Titanic and there was only room for one person on your lifeboat, would you save your mother or your best friend? M' best bro, 'less I suddenly got a mom or some shit. Wait, izzat interchangeable with daddy? Then fuck my best bro, Jason's top priority.
Which would you rather give up: television or books? Books. Fuck, I hate books, 'specially all that "required reading" bullshit they got at some schools. Y'know I read Romeo-an'-fuckin'-Juliet four times? Christ.
Your hearing, or your eyesight? Hearin'. Can't paint with no eyes, right? Plus, like, if you at a baseball game, an' you can't see shit-then what the fuck, defeats the purpose, don't it?
What is your guilty pleasure? Fuuuck. Uhh. 'Merica's Next Top Model there I fuckin' said it. Shit, man, I love that show.
If you could kill any living person in the world, who would you kill? That mutha-fuckin' ump at that one goddamn Mets game. Holy fuckin' shit, asshole, we woulda won that goddamn fuckin-
Would you rather learn everything there is to know, or experience everything there is to experience? The second one. Experiencin' is just so much better, y'know? The hell's the point 'a learnin' if y'never use it, yeah?
If you could save any historical figure from their untimely death, who would it be? Uhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhh. Lincoln?
If you could be on one TV reality show, which would it be? 'Merica's Next Top Model! Shit, I'd blow those bitches away. 'M hot shit, y'know?
Set II.
Describe how you met your best friend. M' best friend's my dad, gay as it sounds. See, I, uh, ran away from home, yeah? 'Cause my mom and sis died. Anyway, I was runnin', an' m' dad found me, 'cept he wasn't m' dad then. He 'dopted me, though, like, a coupla weeks later, so. Yeah.
Describe the worst thing you’ve ever done. This shiiiiiiit's con-fee-dental, right? I, uhh, killed my mom and sis. Look, they treated me like goddamn shit. Bitches deserved it. I'd fuckin' do it a-goddamn-gain, too. But shit, uh, don't tell that last shit to Jason, yeah?
Describe your first kiss. AW DAMN that was a gazillion years ago. Liiike, there was this guy, right? In Hawaii, when I wassssss twelve and he was, uhh... well he said he was thirteen. We got to talkin', I liked him, he liked me, shit happened, and BAM, we kissed. It was real nice, actually. He wasn't so bad at kissin'. Then I found out he was like, sixteen, 'cept he looked young. Pissed me right off. Moved to Kansas a week later, haven't heard from the asshole since.
Describe the most difficult experience you have ever had to deal with. This one time, Jason came home all shot-up with heroin. Thought he was gonna fuckin die, man, I was scared as shit. Followed 'im around, kept 'im away from the booze. He passed out on the couch, like, an hour later, but shit, I was scared. Stayed with him all fuckin' night. Christ, if Jason ever died, dunno what the fuck I'd do with m'self.
Describe a situation in which you took charge. Jason got shot once, yeah? On a job innnnnn Los Angeles. So he came home all bloodied-up and still bleedin', an' I was like, "Shit, Jason, sit the fuck down!" An' he was like, "Naw, baby, s'not so bad." An' I was like, "You fuckin' bleedin'! Siddown!" An' he sat down and I put my mad health skills to work an' made a tourniquet an' shit. An' I was like, "We gotta get this shit outta you." An' he was all, "The fuck you gonna do that?" An' I was like, "Pliers." An' he was like "Fuck, wash 'em first." So I did, an' I pulled the shit out, an it healed up right fine.
He said it hurt like shit, though. Shoulda drugged him up first, huh?