Sydney Jessica Blake - Finished

[Sydney Jessica Blake]

Character Picture:

Nickname(s): Fish (unwillingly)
Age: 17
Gender: Female
Date of Birth: 19 May
Date of Change: N/A
Birthplace: birmingham, alabama
Hometown: birmingham, alabama
Current Residence: harper Valley
Species: Human
Main Animal: N/A
Occupation: unemployed
Ability(ies):

N/A

Playby: Julia Stiles
Height: 5' 4
Weight: 121 pounds
Scars/Marks: Burn scars down her left side and on her hands; prosthetic leg from above her knee down.
Personal Style:

Jeans, T-shirts, and hoodie jackets, but not sweatshirts. Flat shoes, usually converse, and she no longer bothers with trying to look nice or stylish or fashionable: she wears whatever's within reach and clean, and that is it. Why bother dressing well if she looks inhuman?

Species Appearance:

N/A

Likes:

~ Reading: long, old novels, especially those which most people have never heard of

~ History, but not American

~ Foreign languages: she is always learning a new one, and presently knows Spanish, French, and Japanese

~ Using her sharp intelligence to baffle or irritate people who irritate her

~ Dance, even if she can no longer dance herself

~ Music: she plays the harp, the piano and the violin, but only loves the first

~ Theater: watching, not participating

Dislikes:

~ Vanity, although she knows she's vain herself

~ Arrogance in those she knows she is superior to

~ The feeling of vulnerability: she will do anything in her power to avoid that feeling, or that reality

~ Her birth parents, business moguls who ruined her childhood in the name of making her a powerful adult

~ Foolishness and immaturity

~ Having attention called to her by anyone but herself

~ Indirect people: subtlety is a tool of the weak-hearted

Strengths:

~ Her intellect

~ Her ability to learn quickly

~ Her musical skills

~ Ability to rationalize

~ Speaking four languages, and planning on learning a fifth

~ Convincing people that she is right, even if they do not want to be convinced

Weaknesses:

~ She can no longer dance, and believes she never will again

~ Physical insecurity: she has some moderate nerve damage, and is missing the lower half of her right leg

~ Not admitting to things such as genuine appreciation, passion, vulnerability, weakness, and being dependent on anything but her own self

~ Confidence in her mind, but not in anybody or anything else

~ Reluctance to trust people the way they want or deserve to be trusted

~ Not allowing herself to enjoy something or someone to the point where it would hurt her to lose them

Habits/Quirks: Tapping the butt of her cane on the floor
Fears: Vulnerability, above everything else
Secrets: She fears ever becoming dependent on another person, of losing what little physical ability is already left to her
Goals: To see her parents to prison, at least, and to live the rest of her life comfortably on their money
Overall Personality:

Sydney is still vain, even though she has no right to be, but she is honest past the point of a fault. A harsh critic of both herself and others, most people would say that she struggles making meaningful connections with others, but she wants to know who needs them? She is sharply intelligent and learned, which puts her in a different sphere than most of her peers, but being so young also alienates her from adults who don't know how to treat her. Most people tiptoe around her because they know that while she rarely loses her temper, she has a venomous attitude toward those she doesn't like, and she doesn't seem to care if others are hurt by what she says. Sydney doesn't care because she thinks that those who are hurt allow her to hurt them, and that they should grow a thicker skin if they want to survive in this world.

Sydney has adhered to a strict schedule and strict expectations all her life, so she has no patience for those who are late or lazy, however her patience is apparently endless when she is waiting for something, not someone. If her parents were not tried for child abuse and neglect until five years had passed, she would not mind. She knows they will be tried eventually.

Called Fish because her demeanor is almost unwaveringly cold, Sydney has long been a self-made outcast from any of those who wish to help her or protect her, but she needs to learn that living properly does not mean living apart and making no mistakes and never being hurt again. Eventually she will. But she would rather attack the person who tries than admit that she's wrong in this. And she may be cold, but earn her respect, and you'll have her loyalty whether or not she likes you.

Father: Bryon blake; stocks investor; living
Mother: Elena blake; foreign management; living
Siblings: none
Additional Family: N/A
Other Important People: ELITA; BLAKES' HOUSEKEEPER
History:

With a creamy skin tone, shell-pink lips, honey-and-molasses blonde hair, egg-blue eyes, and slight five-foot-three frame, Sydney had long been considered a lovely girl. Almost entirely raised by Elita, their Latin-American housekeeper who taught Sydney her first foreign language—Spanish—Sydney had learned such things as compassion, fairness, morality, and the other tedious things that people thought one needed to ‘make it’ in the world. But Elita’s soft presence could not entirely enlighten the oppressive shadow of the girl’s own parents.

Thrust into ballet lessons at the age of three, Sydney quickly learned balance, grace, and elegance. Beginning tutoring for French in age four, she next learned discipline, memorization and study. By the age of six she was almost perfectly fluent in Spanish, by the age of seven in French. In her elementary classes she surpassed her peers on a regular basis, and was sharply reprimanded by one or both parents when she didn’t. Tutors for public speaking, for business, for foreign relations, for world cultures and stocks and etiquette and anything else her parents believed she needed paraded through the house both before and after school, so that by the time she was in middle school she began her day at five AM and her last tutors left only at seven-thirty.

Surrounded by the constant admiration of her peers and frequent attention from her parents business relations, Sydney grew up believing she was entitled to everything in the world that she felt she needed. Want was never much a part of her life—she had been taught to disregard such baser desires—and when she was tossed her own credit card at the age of thirteen, she never spent a dime more than she required, her most expensive purchase being her small, fuel-efficient, silver Lexus on her sixteenth birthday, which her parents forgot about. Elita did her best to save Sydney from the cold height of the pedestal she had been bound to nearly since her birth, but Elita was only one woman, and the world loved Sydney for the façade she had become.

Six months after Sydney’s sixteenth birthday, she and her best friend were driving to the next state over for the dance competition they had both qualified for. Ella was driving. As they rounded one of the narrower turns on the freeway, they saw too late the overturned tanker spanning both lanes of the freeway. Ella shrieked and yanked the wheel to the right. The little car flipped, turned, twisted in the air, and slammed jarringly against the silver belly of the tanker, rocking back and forth on its roof. At first they didn’t even smell the gasoline. When the two girls saw that they had survived the impact, they faced each other, hair hanging in tangles to the roof of the car, and laughed.

But then the combined sparks from their impact fluttered up into the fuel leaking out of the side of the tanker, and Ella’s little car burst into flames and she into screams.

Emergency personnel had come around that sharp curve only seconds before the girls got onto the freeway, and watched the car erupt. The fire engines turned all of their attention to the blazing vehicle while the firemen managed to affix a hook to the bumper of the car. One of the engines dragged the flaming car away from the source of the fuel, and the surges of water from the hoses managed to put it out within thirty seconds.
Thirty seconds was too long for Ella. She died on the wet pavement moments after the firemen cut her free. When Sydney stirred in the intensive care unit days later, she wished that she had been so lucky as to perish too.

Third-degree burns on sixty percent of her body had ruined her fine features, the left side of her face left rippled and tingling, her scalp, her hands and arms, half of her torso and one of her legs as well. Her right leg hadn’t caught on fire because—though she hadn’t realized it when they first crashed—it had been crushed by the collision. The surgeons had taken it off just above the knee.

Now Sydney walks with a cane, half of her face looks as though it's submerged in water, she can no longer dance, and she always keeps her hood up, as her hair no longer grows consistently enough to hide the scars; she spends an hour each morning shaving around the contorted skin because she would rather be bald than have her hair look as though half of it had gotten stuck in an electric mixer.

Alias: Ivy
Time Zone: eastern standard
Application Number: 1
Who Else Do I Play?: N/A
Contact: pm
Where Did You Find Us?: Ishy