Valentine
01-15-2010, 12:58 PM
Username: Valentine
- - - - - - - -
{{ Oh god, it's Kitty Valentine. Somehow, one knows shit's going to get blown up. }}
Welcome to this Nightmare.
Stamina: 130
Strength: 91
Defense: 114
Speed: 270
Total Skill Points: 606 SP 4 TP
That would be the S-Rank Maelstrom Queen to you.
Champagne, anyone?
A-T Information: Kitty is very fussy about having everything come together well enough, and her A-T’s are no exception to that distinct rule. They come up high enough to rest below her knees but don’t quite reach, wrapped around her skin up to the tops that seem to jut out like unattached pieces of a suit of armor. Fashioned entirely of leather and satin, they tie and buckle with long strands of pale grey ribbon that hang behind her legs in neat bows (if she can manage enough coordination or un-laziness to tie them). The wheels are a gunmetal color slightly different from the deep onyx of the rest of them, and the toes of the skates are white, just to be difficult and different. Kitty has grown greatly fond of them.
Size doesn't mean anything. (http://i1177.photobucket.com/albums/x356/smoosh_smoosh/kitty.png)
Forest green eyed. Midnight blue haired. Snow white. Only 5'0". 117 lbs of itty bitty Kitty. Bleeds O-.
This Beautiful thing.
Kitty is what some would call an enigma of the physical realm. Her physique comes from several years, ranging from childhood to adolescence, of ballet and gymnastics. Kitty is well known for being light on her feet, and her natural inclination toward flexibility leaves her name open to cheap and typical puns. Although her build is very small, particularly in the waist, her legs and stomach are suitably toned. The majority of her muscle definition can be owed to her status as a prima ballerina, top of her charts when she still danced, and a gymnast for just as long. Movement comes as easily as breathing to Kitty.
Because she’s only half of Asian descent, Kitty’s eyes contain an extremely delicate slant that gives them an almond shape. Her eyelashes are long, very black, but she still insists on using mascara (for reasons unknown to most). Her eyes tend to have a very calm, peaceful appearance once one can get over how hawkish they are because of the deep moss coloring.
Kitty’s hair is never, ever tied back or tamed, seeing as it is borderline impossible. It’s wild as the wind, one would say, more a mane than hair at all. She claims that it's just not capable of listening to her. Some have said it’s the same color as the night sky, woven eloquently into long strands of wispy black. She likes it that way; it gives her the slightest feeling like she can be a little dangerous. It falls in choppy strands that seem almost naturally layered, straight with a certain degree of thickness to it. Though it can be hard to manage, her hair is her pride and joy. She never ties it back (unless ballet class rigidly demands it), but constantly wears a flesh toned, standard rubber band around her wrist.. just in case.
Kitty will never be the one to wear anything even remotely baggy or unflattering. Every piece of clothing she owns is either skin-tight or barely an article of clothing at all. She’s a big fan of things like corsets and leather pants, but can settle if necessary for skinny jeans when the occasion calls for it. She will never be seen in skirts or anything overtly feminine of that sort, though rumor has it she’s once or twice been coerced into wearing a little black dress that she felt clashed too hard with her pale-as-the-undead skin. By way of color she prefers none at all, opting too often for blacks or dark blues and the occasional deep red. Almost all of her outfits expose her midriff and all of her pants ride low enough to clearly make the definitions of her hip dents obvious. She’s known to never be seen without a small, fitting leather jacket that ends just below her chest and is literally impossible to zip because, shall we say, she’s… gifted in the cleavage area. Stitched into the left sleeve of the black jacket is the name ‘Glinda’, hidden as much from view as possible, with a small heart sewn just below it. This is what poetic Kitty likes to call ‘wearing your heart on your sleeve’. Or, rather, in it. By way of footwear she prefers boots to sneakers, as they go rather nicely over fitting pants and make good use of upping her badass factor.
♥~:
♥Leather
♥Art
♥Ballet
♥Sleep (When she can get it)
♥The color pink
♥Soft things that can be hugged
♥Milk chocolate
♥♥♥Glinda Jessica West
=(:
xSpeaking out loud in front of more than three people
xCrowds
xHaving her height noticed
xNot being in full control of a situation/being the one played rather than being the player
xRationalizing
xDark chocolate
xBeing touched without warning
=D:
~Sketching
~Air Trek
~Guitar
~Reading, even if she can’t define most of the words in half intelligent literature
~Ballet, gymnastics, or any form of physical sport that utilizes her talented flexibility
These things are to be kept secret, but I know I'll get through.
Kitty is frightened deeply of being by herself. She tends to get terribly wound up and anxious when it’s quiet and there’s no one around but herself, so she avoids it as much as she can by generally staying nearby some degree of sound. The drawback to this is that Kitty’s terror at being alone conflicts with her almost painful social anxiety. While she craves attention and contact, Kitty’s sensational panic amongst many people ruins her need for social comfort. She is genuinely scared of making purposeful eye contact and skittish of verbal conflict within her vicinity. Kitty’s raging temper that she keeps very quietly locked away is the source of a large and imperative fear of hers: the dire phobia that she’ll one day hurt those around her. She’s scared to speak aloud to a large group of people, too, because she isn’t very good at ‘finding her voice’. In making so many new friends, Kitty has gained a terrible anxiety that she won't be able to protect the people she loves most. This can lead to fits of isolation, which she must be typically dragged out of. Kitty's frightened of wide, open spaces and has an ironic terror for being submerged underwater, as the feeling reminds her of being closed inside of what appears to be nothing. She's uncomfortable around seriously tall people, and large dogs of any sort make her skittish. Let's not get started on how jumpy she is..
Everybody has a dream. Sometimes you just need a little pick me up.
If you ask her, Kitty is the definition of failure. Her sole goal in everything is to drag herself out of that feeling that she is utterly useless and incapable of doing anything right. It’s a simple enough thing to reach for: she wants to find herself a place, a spot where she feels like she belongs and she’s actually worth something. [X] Tiny bit of confidence. NOW Fix the mess she calls her life.
Voulez vou cou shay-- who am I kidding?
To say Kitty is suitably self-loathing would be an understatement of the phrase. She’s hard on herself for almost everything, almost always inwardly. She doesn’t let very much go when it comes to her own shortcomings and doesn’t let herself forget any of her instabilities.
Kitty’s sense of humor is fairly simplistic. She finds things that are generally crude funny because, let’s face it, she’s not exactly the most brilliant human being alive. Being un-brilliant, Kitty tends to miss the punch line or end of a joke easily if it’s not clear or explained. This is also typical of her for most areas of life because she has a tendency to think on very simplistic terms. This makes her more philosophical than most, because Kitty sees what’s in front of her and not too far beyond that.
When around up to three people at a maximum (herself included), Kitty can be very charming. She’s known to have a lazy, Casanova-like outlook on almost everything when she feels as though she’s in her element, saying things you’d expect from a philosopher or a mind greater than hers. She is very inclined toward a grin that only shows itself at the right side of the mouth, a subtle quirk of her lips when she finds something amusing or funny, or when she’s generally flirting without the realization. In a small, small group, Kitty can prove to be the most laidback, thoughtful, gentle thing. She’s known predominately for being soft, but she isn’t very well learned on the subject of personal space. As someone who yearns for physical contact to bridge an emotional gap, Kitty tends to touch when speaking to another person, normally the arm, the hair, the shoulder, anything to feel skin for even a few moments.
This varies drastically in a group of more than three. She becomes skittish to the point of shifting uncomfortably, and declines to even quieter than usual (as if she says words in the first place). She has a grandiose tendency to fiddle constantly with her hands and refuses to look up from her feet or the ground. She becomes painfully shy and awkward, so much so that her stomach will start to hurt or she’ll find herself swallowed up by her own inner dialogue.
Kitty looks at the world through the eyes of what some would consider a child. Everything has something to be appreciated in it, to hold onto. If she finds someone she attaches to or loves (in whatever way), she'll hang onto them and do her best to learn from them or look up to them in innocent wonderment. There's an unshakable sweetness to the girl with a closeted temper that has the danger of a (you guessed it) Maelstrom. Although, one should beware making her truly angry (as if that's even fully possible) because, despite her minute size, her wrath is definitely something one does not want to incur. Temper, temper was self-taught, but, beneath that landslide of emotion that feels too potently there is an overwhelming amount of pure, untapped rage.
Recent developments have coaxed back a side of her that seemed lost beneath the rubble of her damaged self. Life has been breathed back into her knightly view of things, an adamant loyalty attached to those who have proven themselves true to her. Kitty has also rediscovered a love of sex that is, of course, miles deep. She can easily shed her skin and take on a new one, whether this be the charming Romeo, the tragic Juliet or everything in between. A single goal can be expected and utilized: to get the other person between the sheets with a certain handsome/beautiful Valentine. Returning are the charms of old, as well as the ancient sliver of confidence. But with this rekindling of a snuffed-out flame brings about a world of confusion, loss, pain and mistrust toward even those closest to her. The slightest kind gesture will make her expect that you are hunting to take something from her. Kitty is incapable of understanding affection on a genuine level; as such, friendly pats or physical contact is always interpreted as an attraction. A hormonal necessity to 'appreciate' beauty rages within this overtly passionate creature, seeing no distinction between male or female. Kitty's personal space bubble is not to be breached, and things like hugs are always met with flinches or expressions of physical pain. Look, don't touch, until she extends the contact first. Unless she trusts you with all of her being, unless she looks up to you like her big sister Jesse, it's best to keep your own hands to yourself.
These were darker times, my child.
Birthplace: Tokyo
Birthdate: July 13th
Birthtime: 2:13 AM
Parents:
Father: Joss Valentine
Mother: Mimiru Hokkaido
Siblings: Jesse Valentine
Overall:
Once upon a time there was a handsome, American art student who took his travels to Tokyo to marvel at the art. Everything he looked at was beautiful, vivid, new, a sensory fascination to the eyes. When he met her she’d been a model, and he fell in love with her so quickly his head spun. It was a swift process, truly smitten from the outside, in. And everything he spoke of felt to her like a fairytale, so she fell in love with his words and his art long before she ever really knew him.
Joss declared that he wasn’t returning home and this infuriated his parents. He was only a boy, they insisted, but he ignored them, dizzy with romance, and he and the model moved in together to speak sugarcoated words of lust and dance when the moon was full.
Jesse was their first child, born shortly after they were married. She had her father’s blonde hair and his stunning blue eyes, and she was smart and precocious and only cried when she wanted something. Jesse would grow to be the golden child, with a valuable internship to become a full-fledged fashion designer and an IQ comfortably above average.
Kitty was born five years after her sister. She looked very much like her mother, with her dark black hair and her gently sloped eyes. The color was a subject of much debate, but by the time she was brought into the world Joss and Mimi were already tired of each other. They fought loudly over a million different things, mostly including their frustrations with Kitty at an early age, who was stuck attending speech classes to control a heavy stutter. Jesse was still the trophy daughter, intelligent beyond her years at the age of five and never the victim of her parent’s arguments. Kitty received the majority of the punishment for Joss and Mimi’s unhappiness, being constantly condemned to the solitary aloneness of her room. But becoming the source of blame for every problem her parents had at an early age would take a heavy toll on her when she got older.
By seventeen she was barely getting by in high school, with grades that reflected a mind incapable of being tied down. Kitty was much more pleased to dream than to perform mathematic equations. By this point Joss and Mimi were hardly talking at all, and then the silence would explode into some form of argument that ended in Kitty thrown into her room or objects thrown in general. Jesse was living on her own by then, having fled the nest before the true mess and taken up her own dwelling with a few friends at her university. Kitty’s method of escape from it was the comfort of gymnastics or ballet classes, or the fact that she’d found she had her father’s talent. She could sketch things, almost anything, make almost anything beautiful with only her hands. She relished the fact that, even though it was so hard for her to academically grasp things, she could make creations more admirable than even the smartest of students.
Halfway through her junior year a transfer student was accepted to her high school. They said her name was Glinda, which Kitty found extremely silly because who named their child after a character in a very stupid movie? She feigned disinterest and kept sketching, until the ‘transfer student with a stupid name’ intruded on her personal space and innocently remarked that her anatomy was off, but in a way she liked it. They talked when school was over, when they were both alone enough that they could successfully breathe. She would be Kitty’s first and most honest love.
While juggling this illegitimate relationship of her’s and grades that were drastically slipping, something inside Kitty snapped. Suddenly she had to draw, sketch, do anything at all that quelled this fire in her she seemed incapable of putting out. She drew and drew and drew until papers were strewn everywhere, gratuitous and lavish poetry spilt across every page. It only took a matter of a few days before something departed this seemingly manic insanity from her and it was replaced with a sensation of worthlessness like she’d never felt before. Not knowing what to do and being unable to go to anyone else (her parents? Useless. Glinda? Too troublesome, she didn’t want to be a burden… Jesse? Too busy…), Kitty attempted to kill herself with an efficient razor blade and an incorrect effort at wrist slitting.
She was taken out of classes and admitted to a psych ward where she would be monitored for some time, until she was medicated and calmed enough that she could be released back into the outside world. She was diagnosed with bipolar depressive disorder (known mostly as manic depression) and a very possible prognosis of paranoid schizophrenia.
When she’d returned home she found a gift waiting for her from her older sister. It was a big box, stashed in her closet where almost no one would see it. When she removed it, therein sat her very own pair of Air Treks, beautifully crafted from black leather personally by brilliant Jesse. She said they were made to suit her ‘style’, and that it was a good excuse to get out of the house whenever she could, just to fly away from it all, and wouldn’t she come visit some time? Jesse was missing her awfully much. For the first time in a greatly long time, Kitty Valentine had found some brief glint of hope that maybe, just maybe, things would get better.
You'll like me once you get to know me. You might even really like me.
-Kitty is extremely bisexual in that she’ll find anything attractive and find herself drawn to absolutely anything that so happens to be pretty.
-She plays the guitar left-handed and prefers an acoustic to an electric.
-Her favorite book is Thinner by Stephen King.
-She and Jesse both speak English, because their parents spoke predominately English around them and each other.
-Kitty sketches always in hot pink gel-pen and shades in cigarette ashes. It's just a strange habit. She always has her precious sketch pad on her.
-Kitty travels with a bag full of clothes (and her stuffed, baby blue elephant named.. Mr. Elefont) because she never knows where she'll be crashing that night. Also, she keeps a change of sneakers just in case she needs to switch out of her AT's.
Sample:
She hadn’t known her at all. The only thing she knew was that the entirety of the student body was speaking in whispered voices and hushed, quick sentences that flew by like hawks grabbing swiftly at field mice. And Glinda, what kind of dumb name was that? Well, she didn’t assume her name was that much better, but Glinda? At least she hadn’t been named for one of the Witches of Oz.
“I like the way you draw the muscular layout of one’s back, but the shoulder-blade seems incorrect. Perhaps I may be wrong.” When she’d looked up, she physically felt her entire body drain of all its blood. Her face flushed so hot it was up to her ears; leaving her defenseless beneath the sapphire gaze and the blondest-goldenest-yellowest head of hair she’d ever seen. “Does everyone usually make this big a deal about a transfer student? You would assume I was a mythical unicorn.”
What the Valentine girl had wanted to say was ‘No, but you’re just as beautiful’, but her normal charisma failed her. It was as though her heart had plunged the twenty stories to her feet and was pooling there, around her ankles in thick, beating fluid. She didn’t know what to make of it so she nodded her head, feeling very much like someone else’s hand had done it for her, and muttered dumbly, “Uh—huh.”
“You’re very cute. Would you happen to be able to show me around?”
This thought left Kitty dizzy with anxious terror. Show her around? No, that was impossible. She was tiny and terrified and feeling all kinds of ridiculous, hard to understand feelings that were vengefully racing through her chest and up to her head. She couldn’t, by any means, show this girl around. It didn’t even matter to her that she’d said ‘cute’ like Kitty was to be a handbag or some sort of small dog (ironic) to be carried within one.
Without meaning to let the words leave her mouth, she nodded again, and gulped, “uh-huh.”
- - - - - - - -
{{ Oh god, it's Kitty Valentine. Somehow, one knows shit's going to get blown up. }}
Welcome to this Nightmare.
Stamina: 130
Strength: 91
Defense: 114
Speed: 270
Total Skill Points: 606 SP 4 TP
That would be the S-Rank Maelstrom Queen to you.
Champagne, anyone?
A-T Information: Kitty is very fussy about having everything come together well enough, and her A-T’s are no exception to that distinct rule. They come up high enough to rest below her knees but don’t quite reach, wrapped around her skin up to the tops that seem to jut out like unattached pieces of a suit of armor. Fashioned entirely of leather and satin, they tie and buckle with long strands of pale grey ribbon that hang behind her legs in neat bows (if she can manage enough coordination or un-laziness to tie them). The wheels are a gunmetal color slightly different from the deep onyx of the rest of them, and the toes of the skates are white, just to be difficult and different. Kitty has grown greatly fond of them.
Size doesn't mean anything. (http://i1177.photobucket.com/albums/x356/smoosh_smoosh/kitty.png)
Forest green eyed. Midnight blue haired. Snow white. Only 5'0". 117 lbs of itty bitty Kitty. Bleeds O-.
This Beautiful thing.
Kitty is what some would call an enigma of the physical realm. Her physique comes from several years, ranging from childhood to adolescence, of ballet and gymnastics. Kitty is well known for being light on her feet, and her natural inclination toward flexibility leaves her name open to cheap and typical puns. Although her build is very small, particularly in the waist, her legs and stomach are suitably toned. The majority of her muscle definition can be owed to her status as a prima ballerina, top of her charts when she still danced, and a gymnast for just as long. Movement comes as easily as breathing to Kitty.
Because she’s only half of Asian descent, Kitty’s eyes contain an extremely delicate slant that gives them an almond shape. Her eyelashes are long, very black, but she still insists on using mascara (for reasons unknown to most). Her eyes tend to have a very calm, peaceful appearance once one can get over how hawkish they are because of the deep moss coloring.
Kitty’s hair is never, ever tied back or tamed, seeing as it is borderline impossible. It’s wild as the wind, one would say, more a mane than hair at all. She claims that it's just not capable of listening to her. Some have said it’s the same color as the night sky, woven eloquently into long strands of wispy black. She likes it that way; it gives her the slightest feeling like she can be a little dangerous. It falls in choppy strands that seem almost naturally layered, straight with a certain degree of thickness to it. Though it can be hard to manage, her hair is her pride and joy. She never ties it back (unless ballet class rigidly demands it), but constantly wears a flesh toned, standard rubber band around her wrist.. just in case.
Kitty will never be the one to wear anything even remotely baggy or unflattering. Every piece of clothing she owns is either skin-tight or barely an article of clothing at all. She’s a big fan of things like corsets and leather pants, but can settle if necessary for skinny jeans when the occasion calls for it. She will never be seen in skirts or anything overtly feminine of that sort, though rumor has it she’s once or twice been coerced into wearing a little black dress that she felt clashed too hard with her pale-as-the-undead skin. By way of color she prefers none at all, opting too often for blacks or dark blues and the occasional deep red. Almost all of her outfits expose her midriff and all of her pants ride low enough to clearly make the definitions of her hip dents obvious. She’s known to never be seen without a small, fitting leather jacket that ends just below her chest and is literally impossible to zip because, shall we say, she’s… gifted in the cleavage area. Stitched into the left sleeve of the black jacket is the name ‘Glinda’, hidden as much from view as possible, with a small heart sewn just below it. This is what poetic Kitty likes to call ‘wearing your heart on your sleeve’. Or, rather, in it. By way of footwear she prefers boots to sneakers, as they go rather nicely over fitting pants and make good use of upping her badass factor.
♥~:
♥Leather
♥Art
♥Ballet
♥Sleep (When she can get it)
♥The color pink
♥Soft things that can be hugged
♥Milk chocolate
♥♥♥Glinda Jessica West
=(:
xSpeaking out loud in front of more than three people
xCrowds
xHaving her height noticed
xNot being in full control of a situation/being the one played rather than being the player
xRationalizing
xDark chocolate
xBeing touched without warning
=D:
~Sketching
~Air Trek
~Guitar
~Reading, even if she can’t define most of the words in half intelligent literature
~Ballet, gymnastics, or any form of physical sport that utilizes her talented flexibility
These things are to be kept secret, but I know I'll get through.
Kitty is frightened deeply of being by herself. She tends to get terribly wound up and anxious when it’s quiet and there’s no one around but herself, so she avoids it as much as she can by generally staying nearby some degree of sound. The drawback to this is that Kitty’s terror at being alone conflicts with her almost painful social anxiety. While she craves attention and contact, Kitty’s sensational panic amongst many people ruins her need for social comfort. She is genuinely scared of making purposeful eye contact and skittish of verbal conflict within her vicinity. Kitty’s raging temper that she keeps very quietly locked away is the source of a large and imperative fear of hers: the dire phobia that she’ll one day hurt those around her. She’s scared to speak aloud to a large group of people, too, because she isn’t very good at ‘finding her voice’. In making so many new friends, Kitty has gained a terrible anxiety that she won't be able to protect the people she loves most. This can lead to fits of isolation, which she must be typically dragged out of. Kitty's frightened of wide, open spaces and has an ironic terror for being submerged underwater, as the feeling reminds her of being closed inside of what appears to be nothing. She's uncomfortable around seriously tall people, and large dogs of any sort make her skittish. Let's not get started on how jumpy she is..
Everybody has a dream. Sometimes you just need a little pick me up.
If you ask her, Kitty is the definition of failure. Her sole goal in everything is to drag herself out of that feeling that she is utterly useless and incapable of doing anything right. It’s a simple enough thing to reach for: she wants to find herself a place, a spot where she feels like she belongs and she’s actually worth something. [X] Tiny bit of confidence. NOW Fix the mess she calls her life.
Voulez vou cou shay-- who am I kidding?
To say Kitty is suitably self-loathing would be an understatement of the phrase. She’s hard on herself for almost everything, almost always inwardly. She doesn’t let very much go when it comes to her own shortcomings and doesn’t let herself forget any of her instabilities.
Kitty’s sense of humor is fairly simplistic. She finds things that are generally crude funny because, let’s face it, she’s not exactly the most brilliant human being alive. Being un-brilliant, Kitty tends to miss the punch line or end of a joke easily if it’s not clear or explained. This is also typical of her for most areas of life because she has a tendency to think on very simplistic terms. This makes her more philosophical than most, because Kitty sees what’s in front of her and not too far beyond that.
When around up to three people at a maximum (herself included), Kitty can be very charming. She’s known to have a lazy, Casanova-like outlook on almost everything when she feels as though she’s in her element, saying things you’d expect from a philosopher or a mind greater than hers. She is very inclined toward a grin that only shows itself at the right side of the mouth, a subtle quirk of her lips when she finds something amusing or funny, or when she’s generally flirting without the realization. In a small, small group, Kitty can prove to be the most laidback, thoughtful, gentle thing. She’s known predominately for being soft, but she isn’t very well learned on the subject of personal space. As someone who yearns for physical contact to bridge an emotional gap, Kitty tends to touch when speaking to another person, normally the arm, the hair, the shoulder, anything to feel skin for even a few moments.
This varies drastically in a group of more than three. She becomes skittish to the point of shifting uncomfortably, and declines to even quieter than usual (as if she says words in the first place). She has a grandiose tendency to fiddle constantly with her hands and refuses to look up from her feet or the ground. She becomes painfully shy and awkward, so much so that her stomach will start to hurt or she’ll find herself swallowed up by her own inner dialogue.
Kitty looks at the world through the eyes of what some would consider a child. Everything has something to be appreciated in it, to hold onto. If she finds someone she attaches to or loves (in whatever way), she'll hang onto them and do her best to learn from them or look up to them in innocent wonderment. There's an unshakable sweetness to the girl with a closeted temper that has the danger of a (you guessed it) Maelstrom. Although, one should beware making her truly angry (as if that's even fully possible) because, despite her minute size, her wrath is definitely something one does not want to incur. Temper, temper was self-taught, but, beneath that landslide of emotion that feels too potently there is an overwhelming amount of pure, untapped rage.
Recent developments have coaxed back a side of her that seemed lost beneath the rubble of her damaged self. Life has been breathed back into her knightly view of things, an adamant loyalty attached to those who have proven themselves true to her. Kitty has also rediscovered a love of sex that is, of course, miles deep. She can easily shed her skin and take on a new one, whether this be the charming Romeo, the tragic Juliet or everything in between. A single goal can be expected and utilized: to get the other person between the sheets with a certain handsome/beautiful Valentine. Returning are the charms of old, as well as the ancient sliver of confidence. But with this rekindling of a snuffed-out flame brings about a world of confusion, loss, pain and mistrust toward even those closest to her. The slightest kind gesture will make her expect that you are hunting to take something from her. Kitty is incapable of understanding affection on a genuine level; as such, friendly pats or physical contact is always interpreted as an attraction. A hormonal necessity to 'appreciate' beauty rages within this overtly passionate creature, seeing no distinction between male or female. Kitty's personal space bubble is not to be breached, and things like hugs are always met with flinches or expressions of physical pain. Look, don't touch, until she extends the contact first. Unless she trusts you with all of her being, unless she looks up to you like her big sister Jesse, it's best to keep your own hands to yourself.
These were darker times, my child.
Birthplace: Tokyo
Birthdate: July 13th
Birthtime: 2:13 AM
Parents:
Father: Joss Valentine
Mother: Mimiru Hokkaido
Siblings: Jesse Valentine
Overall:
Once upon a time there was a handsome, American art student who took his travels to Tokyo to marvel at the art. Everything he looked at was beautiful, vivid, new, a sensory fascination to the eyes. When he met her she’d been a model, and he fell in love with her so quickly his head spun. It was a swift process, truly smitten from the outside, in. And everything he spoke of felt to her like a fairytale, so she fell in love with his words and his art long before she ever really knew him.
Joss declared that he wasn’t returning home and this infuriated his parents. He was only a boy, they insisted, but he ignored them, dizzy with romance, and he and the model moved in together to speak sugarcoated words of lust and dance when the moon was full.
Jesse was their first child, born shortly after they were married. She had her father’s blonde hair and his stunning blue eyes, and she was smart and precocious and only cried when she wanted something. Jesse would grow to be the golden child, with a valuable internship to become a full-fledged fashion designer and an IQ comfortably above average.
Kitty was born five years after her sister. She looked very much like her mother, with her dark black hair and her gently sloped eyes. The color was a subject of much debate, but by the time she was brought into the world Joss and Mimi were already tired of each other. They fought loudly over a million different things, mostly including their frustrations with Kitty at an early age, who was stuck attending speech classes to control a heavy stutter. Jesse was still the trophy daughter, intelligent beyond her years at the age of five and never the victim of her parent’s arguments. Kitty received the majority of the punishment for Joss and Mimi’s unhappiness, being constantly condemned to the solitary aloneness of her room. But becoming the source of blame for every problem her parents had at an early age would take a heavy toll on her when she got older.
By seventeen she was barely getting by in high school, with grades that reflected a mind incapable of being tied down. Kitty was much more pleased to dream than to perform mathematic equations. By this point Joss and Mimi were hardly talking at all, and then the silence would explode into some form of argument that ended in Kitty thrown into her room or objects thrown in general. Jesse was living on her own by then, having fled the nest before the true mess and taken up her own dwelling with a few friends at her university. Kitty’s method of escape from it was the comfort of gymnastics or ballet classes, or the fact that she’d found she had her father’s talent. She could sketch things, almost anything, make almost anything beautiful with only her hands. She relished the fact that, even though it was so hard for her to academically grasp things, she could make creations more admirable than even the smartest of students.
Halfway through her junior year a transfer student was accepted to her high school. They said her name was Glinda, which Kitty found extremely silly because who named their child after a character in a very stupid movie? She feigned disinterest and kept sketching, until the ‘transfer student with a stupid name’ intruded on her personal space and innocently remarked that her anatomy was off, but in a way she liked it. They talked when school was over, when they were both alone enough that they could successfully breathe. She would be Kitty’s first and most honest love.
While juggling this illegitimate relationship of her’s and grades that were drastically slipping, something inside Kitty snapped. Suddenly she had to draw, sketch, do anything at all that quelled this fire in her she seemed incapable of putting out. She drew and drew and drew until papers were strewn everywhere, gratuitous and lavish poetry spilt across every page. It only took a matter of a few days before something departed this seemingly manic insanity from her and it was replaced with a sensation of worthlessness like she’d never felt before. Not knowing what to do and being unable to go to anyone else (her parents? Useless. Glinda? Too troublesome, she didn’t want to be a burden… Jesse? Too busy…), Kitty attempted to kill herself with an efficient razor blade and an incorrect effort at wrist slitting.
She was taken out of classes and admitted to a psych ward where she would be monitored for some time, until she was medicated and calmed enough that she could be released back into the outside world. She was diagnosed with bipolar depressive disorder (known mostly as manic depression) and a very possible prognosis of paranoid schizophrenia.
When she’d returned home she found a gift waiting for her from her older sister. It was a big box, stashed in her closet where almost no one would see it. When she removed it, therein sat her very own pair of Air Treks, beautifully crafted from black leather personally by brilliant Jesse. She said they were made to suit her ‘style’, and that it was a good excuse to get out of the house whenever she could, just to fly away from it all, and wouldn’t she come visit some time? Jesse was missing her awfully much. For the first time in a greatly long time, Kitty Valentine had found some brief glint of hope that maybe, just maybe, things would get better.
You'll like me once you get to know me. You might even really like me.
-Kitty is extremely bisexual in that she’ll find anything attractive and find herself drawn to absolutely anything that so happens to be pretty.
-She plays the guitar left-handed and prefers an acoustic to an electric.
-Her favorite book is Thinner by Stephen King.
-She and Jesse both speak English, because their parents spoke predominately English around them and each other.
-Kitty sketches always in hot pink gel-pen and shades in cigarette ashes. It's just a strange habit. She always has her precious sketch pad on her.
-Kitty travels with a bag full of clothes (and her stuffed, baby blue elephant named.. Mr. Elefont) because she never knows where she'll be crashing that night. Also, she keeps a change of sneakers just in case she needs to switch out of her AT's.
Sample:
She hadn’t known her at all. The only thing she knew was that the entirety of the student body was speaking in whispered voices and hushed, quick sentences that flew by like hawks grabbing swiftly at field mice. And Glinda, what kind of dumb name was that? Well, she didn’t assume her name was that much better, but Glinda? At least she hadn’t been named for one of the Witches of Oz.
“I like the way you draw the muscular layout of one’s back, but the shoulder-blade seems incorrect. Perhaps I may be wrong.” When she’d looked up, she physically felt her entire body drain of all its blood. Her face flushed so hot it was up to her ears; leaving her defenseless beneath the sapphire gaze and the blondest-goldenest-yellowest head of hair she’d ever seen. “Does everyone usually make this big a deal about a transfer student? You would assume I was a mythical unicorn.”
What the Valentine girl had wanted to say was ‘No, but you’re just as beautiful’, but her normal charisma failed her. It was as though her heart had plunged the twenty stories to her feet and was pooling there, around her ankles in thick, beating fluid. She didn’t know what to make of it so she nodded her head, feeling very much like someone else’s hand had done it for her, and muttered dumbly, “Uh—huh.”
“You’re very cute. Would you happen to be able to show me around?”
This thought left Kitty dizzy with anxious terror. Show her around? No, that was impossible. She was tiny and terrified and feeling all kinds of ridiculous, hard to understand feelings that were vengefully racing through her chest and up to her head. She couldn’t, by any means, show this girl around. It didn’t even matter to her that she’d said ‘cute’ like Kitty was to be a handbag or some sort of small dog (ironic) to be carried within one.
Without meaning to let the words leave her mouth, she nodded again, and gulped, “uh-huh.”