Name:
Sally. She refuses to even admit to having
a last name.
Description:
Sally is 5'11", taller than most of the
people she hangs around with. She looks like she isn't a day over 16, but
somehow seems much older. Her hair is white and has been bleached so many
times that it has a consistency more like straw. It looks like it's been
cut with a knife and certainly hasn't had a comb or brush near it in years.
Her face is slender and quite pretty, other than a scar that crosses diagonally across one cheek, from right above her left ear, almost to the corner of her mouth. Between that and the ragged mess of hair, no one ever seems to look past to the strangely slanted green eyes and the very definitely pointed ears, and she likes it that way. It stops them from asking questions that she has no intention of answering. She's skinny almost to the point of emaciation, and has very little figure to speak of.
Clothing:
She wears a pair of oversized pants, belted
with a length of rope, and a jacket with very different camo prints. Both
are definitely the worse for wear and were before she rescued them from
the trash can. With them, she wears a cropped tank top showing a xylophone
of ribs. The top was originally black but is more grey now. Like her, her
clothing is in bad need of a wash.
Background:
Sally's background before the age of seven
is unknown. She was found wandering the streets, apparently alone, already
scarred. She couldn't tell anyone what her name was or where she'd come
from. She spent the next eight years in foster care, bouncing from one
home to another, some good, most bad. After being kicked out of the last
home for beating up a foster brother who had been trying to rape her, she
ran away, preferring the streets. Since then, she's made her way as a squeegee
kid and a thief, refusing to even think of selling her body. In fact, even
the suggestion of sex sends her into a rage.
Unfortunately, she tried to steal from the wrong person, so here she is, waiting for her first owner.
They better watch out.
Environment:
Brick walls and pavement mimic an alleyway,
but without the garbage. A pile of rags and old blankets make up her bed.
A commode is cleverly hidden inside a fake dumpster, to avoid offending
customers with the sight or smell of bodily wastes. And Sally waits, eyes
on the door, planning what she's going to do to anyone stupid enough to
try and touch her. Her eyes seem to glow in the dim light of the fake alley
and small green sparks like miniature lightning flash around tightly clenched
fists.
Sally is ready.
Return to the Flower Chains