WESTWOOD, audrey mae

[audreywestwood]

AUDREY MAE WESTWOOD

I'VE JUST SEEN A FACE

character name: audrey mae westwood
“My mother always wanted to be someone famous. An actress, I’d say. Audrey Hepburn and Mae West were beautiful and talented women, but I don’t think I really fit my name. Maybe one day I’ll become something great, but my face won’t be on the big screens. My delusional, but wonderful, mother most likely will not get over that.”
nicknames: aud, mae.
“I don’t have very many friends who call me very many things. My mother refers to me as Mae West whenever I go and visit her. I’m not sure if she necessarily realizes that I am not Mae West at all. I’d much rather she call me Audrey Hepburn, though.”
age: Twenty-One.
gender: Female.
sexuality: Simply sexual, though not many people would know that by looking at her or even knowing her, at that. But behind closed doors, she’s the kind of girl who will try anything. She likes to be dominated, too, likes to be spanked and held down. Though, she’s only slept with three people in her lifetime.
pb: darla baker

THE LONG WINDING ROAD

occupation: intern at the las vegas times. aspiring (and failing) writer. hostess with the mostess at dolce.
residence: balmoral apartments.
“I don’t really like living off of my crazy mother’s money. I do understand that she’s in a home and hardly uses it herself, but sometimes it makes me feel awful. So, I found a cheap apartment. I’ve been renting it for three years, since I turned eighteen.”
been in vegas for how long and why: “I’ve lived here all my life. Well, maybe not in Vegas. Just outside of Vegas. I grew up in a tiny little house in a tiny little town with my delusional mother. She raised me, though; I love her with all my heart. We didn’t have much, but we got by. Until she sort of went completely crazy. I was fifteen and suddenly I was taking care of her. Exhausted, almost failing school, and suddenly there was an officer standing on my doorstep. She was taken away when I was sixteen. My grandmother took care of me until I was eighteen, and then I moved to Vegas. It’s flashy and it’s sexy and I honestly wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

FULL OF EXCITING STORIES

likes: __ the smell of old books
__ leave a penny, take a penny
__ thrift stores; worn, cheap, clothes with memories and stories
__ poetry, especially works by henry david thoreau and walt whitman
__ fried chicken and purple kool-aid
__ rainy days; thunder and lightening
__ a nice glass of blackberry chambord every now and again
__ the simple pleasures, like rough sex and a little spanking
__ music of all sorts; classical, rock, punk, hip hop
__ anything that kicks her muse into gear
__ salty, buttery movie theater popcorn
__ cuddling in front of a warm, toasty fireplace
__ scotch, whiskey, rum and the fiery feel they leave in her stomach
__ large dogs
__ being dominated by a man who knows what he’s doing
__ girls who can show her some sweet lovin’ when she wants it
__ boxer briefs
__ wearing men’s long shirts
dislikes: __ wrestling
__ cooking anything that isn’t sweet and gooey
__ beer, wine coolers, most spirits
__ drugs of any sort; she’s never even tried any
__ her mother’s illness
__ the smell of stale cigarette smoke
__ menial tasks that are meant to demean her
__ nasty patrons of dolce
__ manhandling drunks
__ crowded clubs
__ dancing in a mass of sweaty bodies
__ too loud music
__ cats
__ television
__ vanilla scented candles
personality: __ EVEN TEMPERED
“I’m one of those girls who don’t like to get into arguments, who can’t really be pushed into something catty. I guess I got that from my mother. While she liked to watch drama on television, she kept it there. I tend to keep a clear head when things get heated; I refuse to be in the middle of something that I don’t belong in, especially when it has to do with yelling. I keep my voice low, even, and I usually have a way of keeping things from getting too out of hand. Perhaps I’m the only person who can stay unbiased, or perhaps I’m just the only person who knows how to think clearly. I’m intelligent and I was raised well; I simply use what I know. Maybe that makes me sound pretentious. At least I’m honest. I’m simply a fan of keeping the peace, no matter who the aggressor or aggressee happens to be.”
__ SHY
“I’m not necessarily the most outgoing person out there. I didn’t have many friends growing up. I was terrified of people. I don’t know why. I simply couldn’t get the nerve to just walk up to my peers and initiate any sort of conversation. I sort of blush and laugh weirdly, a high pitched noise that makes things ten times worse, and then I have to run away. Those who can actually stand to be around me after that became my friends. Those who said nasty things behind my back did not become my friends. I guess working as a hostess for the last three years has changed some of that, but I still find it hard meeting new people.”
__ DETERMINED
“I make up my mind very quickly. Decisions are rarely hard for me to make. The difficulty usually lies in other people who might happen to be affected by those decisions. For me, once I set my mind on something, I rarely let anything get in the way, nor do I change what I think or how I think. If I want something, I will go for it. If someone tries to get in my way, I find another way to go around (or sometimes over) whatever obstacle is blocking me from getting what I so desperately want. My mother always told me to reach for my dreams and I have every intention of doing just that. If only to make the woman proud.”
__ SPONTANEOUS
“I might not seem like the time who doesn’t think before jumping. In fact, I can be rather spontaneous when I want to be. I like to pick up and go when I’m feel particularly stressed. A nice drive to somewhere far away clears away the intensity, takes away the pressure, even if I go missing when something important is due. I always get my work done on time, so that doesn’t really matter. I like to think on my feet, I always have. I could pick out the best little getaways for my mother and I when I was younger.”
__ BLUNT
“Honesty is the best policy. I don’t let peoples’ feelings get in the way of what they need to hear. Some people call me brutal. Some people call me a bitch. Either way, I don’t mind. I don’t need to make friends when we have deadlines and I’m the only one without my head shoved up my ass.”
__ SEXUAL
“Not many people know this about me. I might be what some call a freak in the bedroom. I guess I like to get a little down and dirty, if you will. I’m not a slut by any means of the word, though. I’ve really only had three partners in my lifetime. None of those men could handle me. I’m a masochist; I get off on a little pain, on being dominated by someone who can pull it off well. I’m submissive by nature, most people can at least see that when they get a feel for me. But when the door is shut, it’s a little more than that. I’m willing to try anything anywhere. And I certainly won’t discriminate against a pretty girl, either. I guess … If it makes me feel good, I’m for it.”
__ INTELLIGENT
“My mother taught me that intelligence and wit would get me anywhere in life. I hit the books hard all my years of schooling. I graduated high school at the top of my class, though it was a small one. Maybe I’m a little hard on myself, but I consider myself to be rather educated. While I might not speak out often, I have plenty to contribute to a conversation. I’m not a show off, not a know it all. I don’t enjoy being the center of attention, though I won’t pretend to be an idiot, won’t dumb myself down to make someone else look good. Do that on your own, please.”
fears: “I’ve always hated spiders. And birds, especially big ones that flap and squawk a lot.”
In all actuality, there are a lot of things that terrify Audrey, though she won’t actually tell people these things. Her mother is a sick woman and she is afraid the woman will fall into her own world sooner rather than later. Reality is starting to become a far thing from her mind. Not to mention, she’s afraid she’ll wind up like her mother somewhere down the road. She doesn’t want to be alone, doesn’t want to grow old with no one. Like her mother, who has no one. Everything always comes back to that woman.
secrets: “I’m a fan girl. I, Audrey Mae Westwood, am a fan girl to a coworker. I plan on keeping this my little secret.”
Audrey goes to work every day at the Las Vegas Times and needs to physically hold her jaw closed to keep from drooling every time Dean Braxton walks into the room. She knew what to expect; his book told it all and she had heard all the rumors, all the nasty little things about him. To be honored with his presence nearly every day is almost too much to ask for. She sort of craves to see him and is highly disappointed the days she does not. She has every intention of sleeping with him as often as she can. If only she can manage to get the nerve to say something to him once in awhile.
She is a sexual deviant, really, and doesn’t go an hour without having some sort of sexual fantasy. While it does get in the way of her work, sometimes they turn out to work very well in real life, as well.
goals: “I guess I want to get married one day. Have a couple cute little kids. Live in a house with a white picket fence.”
She’s a dreamer, Audrey is, and a romantic at heart. She has every intention of finding the man who can satisfy her in mind, body and soul. When she does, she plans on keeping him all to herself. She wants to have the family life she was never given, wants to be loved and give love and all those cute little things.
“A book of poetry with my name on the front cover? It’ll be a classic.”
Audrey is a poet, though she isn’t doing so well for herself as it is. It’s difficult without a muse to keep her thoughts together. Too much stress keep her from sitting down and writing her thoughts in a cohesive, yet artistic, manner. But one day, she wants to sit behind a table and sign books for gushing fans. She dreams of it.
“I’d like to at least know the name of my father.”
She was, literally, a bastard child. She knew nothing about the man, not even a name to help her narrow the field. And now that her mother is getting crazier by the second, she’s sure she’ll never know.

WHEN I GET HOME

family: __ Marie Westwood [mother]
“My mother means the world to me. She provided for me when we had no one else. She raised me to be who I am today. I cannot thank her enough for the love and respect and support she provided for me for all those years, even when her illness started to take over. I wish there was more I could do for her, more I could give her. For now, I’ll keep visiting her and taking her flowers. She likes daisies the most.”

__ Milton Bradley [father]
“Of course, that’s not really his name. I never knew the man. My mother was deeply in love with him. I always assumed he was married and had a family, so when he knocked my mother up, he ran like a coward with his tail between his legs. She used to tell me his name was Milton Bradley. I say his name everywhere when I was a little girl. I never understood why the other kids laughed at me when I told him he was my father.”

she has no siblings. her grandmother died nearly two years ago.
history: “I often like to wonder where I come from. My mother’s womb, of course, but it takes two people to make a child. I often wonder if there was any love from my birth father, if he ever thinks of the child he has somewhere out in the world. I wonder what he looks like. Dark hair, dark eyes like mine. My mother is a blonde with these brilliant bright blue eyes. She’s beautiful. I’m sort of plain looking. I must be his spitting image. I often wonder if I made my mother go crazy.

I know she was only sixteen when she found out she was pregnant with me. A teenager, still in high school, now with the burden of a small little peanut growing inside of her stomach. She used to tell me she was in love the moment she knew I was there, that despite her own mother’s urgings, she had to keep me and take care of me and watch me grow into a beautiful young woman. When she told my father, he took back everything he had ever said to her. Sometimes, when she used to get particularly upset (probably after a night of one too many cocktails at the kitchen table), she’d cry about how they were supposed to make a life together. He had promised her so many things, things he couldn’t truly keep at the end of the day.

He ran away and he disappeared and he never sent me anything. He didn’t have anything to do with us. I was born almost exactly eight months after my mother found out she was pregnant. She named me after her two favorite classic actresses, two beautiful legends. She wanted me to become something great. I think she sort of wanted to get back at my father, shove it in his face, look what our little girl became without you. Because you weren’t there. I never had the heart to tell her I didn’t want to be that kind of something great.

For awhile, we lived with her parents, until my mother turned nineteen and had a job of her own and at least a high school diploma. We didn’t move far, just down the block to a small two bedroom house. It was white and the wildflowers overtook the lawn. She didn’t want to do anything to it, not even touch up the peeling paint. So we left it the way it was, homey and quaint and it was perfect for the two of us. She had a decent enough job, plus money from her parents to keep us sustained. I loved growing up in that house. I remember writing on the walls with Marie above me, praising me for my creativity. She wanted nothing but the best for me.

School was difficult for me, even from the start. Not the learning matter, of course. That always came quickly, I always had my nose buried in a new book. Marie had so many books in the living room and I wanted to read all day long. It was the people who made things so hard. They made me uncomfortable; they made me squirm. I hated being called on, hated getting up and standing in front of so many pairs of eyes. I couldn’t handle any of it, not when I knew they were laughing at me. My mother was eccentric and she had a reputation in our small town. Everyone knew who we were, what I was. I couldn’t stand to be around those people.

I didn’t make many friends during those years. High school was just that much worse. I had known all of them for so long and spoke to, maybe, three or four. It didn’t help that my mother was simply getting worse. She’d watch her shows all day and talk about those people as if they were real when I came home. I remember when it really started. I was fourteen. Marie stopped going to work. I didn’t understand how we could survive without her income and just that small amount of money my grandparents would give us every month, especially with my grandfather sick at home. I got a job as a waitress. It was easy enough talking to those people. They pitied me. I worked like a hound. And Mom only got worse as the days went by. And then she started drinking.

When I was fifteen, I was supporting the both of us and taking care of her, working and going to school. My grandfather had passed away. I wouldn’t, couldn’t, dare ask my grandmother for any more help. When I was sixteen, my teachers thought something strange was going on and called the police to investigate. My mother was taken from my life and put in a home. They called it a home, she calls it a home, I call it a home. It’s a home for the insane; I hate leaving her there. Grandma moved in with me when she was taken away. Apparently, Mother had been lying to me for years. I had a bank account to last me for years. My father cared enough, I suppose, though I never looked at it as my money. He owed it to Marie much more than to me. I moved out once I graduated high school. It was all so stifling.

The move to Vegas was an easy one, I suppose. I found a decent apartment for myself. It was enough to not completely waste my money. I didn’t go to college. Mom wasn’t happy, though she’s hardly lucid enough these days to notice much that’s going on in my life. I waitressed around for awhile, starting in diners and working my way up. Soon enough, I landed my current job as hostess at Dolce. It pays decently. Now I intern at the Las Vegas Times, too. I don’t make any money; they’re teaching me through the ranks, but I love it anyway. It’s sort of my stepping stone, I like to call it. Who knows, maybe I will be great one day.”
pets: “I’m not actually allowed to have pets in my apartment. That’s why I make sure Bucky stays quiet. He’s a black and white spotted Great Dane.”

FROM US TO YOU

ooc name: sammy
age: nineteen
years roleplaying: like, nine or ten.
other characters: none right now.
how did you hear about us: londonnnn. she’s very persistent.
roleplay sample:

Rapid heart beat, shaky hands, clammy forehead: these things were the telltale signs of a nervous teenager. First dates with long-time crushes, first visit to a new country, first time away from your family. Any and all options would come to mind if one got a good look at this teenager’s face. But none of them were the answer; none of them were the cause of the jitters that were coursing through his body at such a rapid pace. It was a strange sight to beheld, one Laurent Yves Delacour actually nervous. He had been on hundreds of first dates, that was a fact. He didn’t crush on the young women, they crushed on him. In fact, he was known for crushing hearts, moving on to a new girl at the drop of a hat. Thoughts were running rampant in his head at that point; getting ready had been damn near impossible. And it was all because of Dahlia Malfoy and the simple, single way she made his heart flutter in a way it had never done so before. It was such a strange feeling, though he wasn’t exactly averse to it all. Miss Malfoy was doing all sorts of crazy things to him.

She had been everything he saw in himself. If he had been a female, they could have been twins. One mind, two very different bodies was what there were and he wouldn’t have liked it any other way. The first time they had ever been introduced, he knew he had to have her, if only for one night. And when he finally did have her, he just wasn’t able to let her go. The sex had been phenomenal and he couldn’t get enough. They were always coming back for more. But then a strange thing started to happen. Instead of leaving the bed before morning, he stayed and he would hold her, if only to be able to watch the way her chest moved as she slowly breathed in and out. Her hair was soft; his fingers were never far from running through it when ever he had the chance to do so. His heart was swelling and he felt more alive than he had in years. No other girl had ever been able to that to him. None had made him want to keep going back for more.

Laurent Delacour was so in love and he was so amazed. He thought he would have been terrified of the feelings that coursed through his body like new life, but fright was the last thing from his mind. The feelings had developed so quickly out of carnal desire, but he wasn’t afraid. He worked hard until she was his and only his. He threatened anyone who got too close and he was sure she had eventually started to do the same. And now … Well, now he was letting the nerves get to him. He had to look his best, had to smell his best, had to simply be the best. It had once been such an easy task to be that person, but now knowing that he truly had to work hard to keep his love forever by his side was rather rapidly affecting the way his mind was working. That was the scary part, not the strong love that radiated off of him in waves. His pounding heart, his sweaty palms: these were the things that were ever so daunting.

His hands wouldn’t stop; it had been damn near impossible to get himself ready. He had quickly recruited the help from any house elf that wasn’t entirely too terrified to even step near him. His outfit was picked out and his hair combed out after his shower had been taken, quickly styled by small hands that worked diligently to please her master. It was one of his favorite styles and he was pleased the elf had remembered so: a Mohawk of sorts, though it was a fake one. A faux-hawk, if you will. With a pleased grin on his face, he thanked the elf without a second thought of the words that had come from his lips. A thank you? A thank you that was so obviously honest and earnest and he was being real? Well, the world was surely going to end at any moment then; there was no doubt about it.

Laurent’s outfit was one Dahlia had picked out for him on one of their many excursions. An expensive outfit it had been, made from one of those many French muggle designers he so loathed. But having been begged and pleaded with and dragged around, he had been unable to say no. Dahlia was even better at manipulation than he was, he dully noted. A fine pair of black slacks, with one pleat right down the middle, covered his bottom half in an elegant manner. On his top half were two things: a blood red silk shirt, buttoned up and left not tucked in, and a black blazer that matched his slacks. The blazer was more fitted than that which would have belonged to a suit and stopped an inch or two above where the shirt itself stopped. And on his feet were a pair of black dress shoes with a red stitching. It was a subtle thing, the red a deep color, nearly to the point of it being black. And with one last check in the mirror, he was gone.

The apparation landed him on the front steps of the Malfoy Manor. His sharp nose quickly picked out the smells of a home cooked meal. He smiled softly, sweetly, and nearly burst through that door without a second thought. He needed to smother his love in kisses, until she couldn’t breath and then he would simply hold her until the food was cold and their stomachs were rumbling. It was so weird, Laurent being sweet and sentimental and caring, even he thought so. But, when Dahlia was in mind, that was the only way he managed. Mostly, anyway. One hand against a pillar, the other in one of his pockets, he leaned casually against the building material, one leg crossed over the other and connected at the ankle. He had to look that part of calm, cool, and collected. He couldn’t be the erratic boy he had been but moments before. Certainly not in front of Dahlia. She could only see the best.

[/blockquote]

[LONDON!]

accepted!


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GREAT APP! Love the shout out to Dean. Can't wait for plottage with you!