LOLA; dingo, female [wip]

[radical ! ?]

LOLA
KINDNESS IS A CARD GAME, OR A BENT UP CIGARETTE
IN THE TRENCHES, IN THE HARD RAIN, A BULLET AND A BET

NAME • Lola
ALIAS• Lo
SPECIES • Canine – Dingo
BREED • Australian Dingo
AGE • 4
GENDER • Female
SEXUALITY • Homosexual


PERSONALITY •

Lola is characterized by her unpredictability--don't expect anything consistent out of her. Don't put faith in her. But, most of all, don't trust her. She's isn't the the type of girl you want to get messed up in. She tries her best, she really does; but by the end of the day, Lola gets distracted by materialistic things. She tries to be a good person. She tries to do the right thing. But she's often tempted by more sinful desires, by greedy thoughts, by vanity. She's passionate in what she does, in everything that she does, and she throws her heart and soul into her actions--but her actions aren't always for the better. She's focused on self-gain, on relationships, on finding happiness in all the wrong places.

Lola is the type of reckless girl who's trying to figure out what its like to feel alive--she does all the things no self-respecting girl would even think about. She walks on the edge of danger whenever she has the opportunity. She teases and she mocks--she has a tongue sharper then a knife, when she wants to. Lo makes an effort of hiding her compassion, of putting on a stone-faced front, an impenetrable mask. Despite her tough front, despite her utter wildness, despite her wild, fiery emotions, Lola is a very fragile individual.

Beneath her pretense, she's somewhat melancholy.

LIKES • At least 3
DISLIKES • At least 3
WEAKNESSES • thin/underweight, not very strong, reckless, impulsive, self destructive, greedy, cocky, hates killing/death
STRENGTHS • intelligent, quick on her feet, confident, compassionate
FEARS • We take it for-granted; life. We toss it, cut it out, wet the flame until it stops flickering. How can you do that? How can you kill someone, someone with a family, with a life? You're all monsters. I won't do it. Lola fears that one day she'll be forced to kill someone. She would rather face death then become a murderer.

APPEARANCE •

PELT COLOR • A mix of tans, off-whites, and creams.
EYE COLOR • Dark, chestnut brown.
HEIGHT • 22inches
WEIGHT • 35lbs
BUILD • Extremely lean, with a sinewy build that teeters towards underweight.
SCARS? • A scar that resembles a Glasgow on the left side of her mouth--it gives her a sneering expression, constantly making her mouth tilt up in something almost like a smile. Various other scars, particularly along her haunches, forelimbs, and muzzle.
MARKINGS • None


HISTORY •

At least 150 words, please.

ROLEPLAY SAMPLE •

Why was he laughing? Why am I laughing?

As soon as he asked the question, he knew the answer. He was laughing at himself. He was laughing at her. He was laughing at the whole goddamn world. He had realized something—something so unfunny that it was hilarious. He was laughing at the angle of light as it slanted through the stained glass. He was laughing at the way colors stained his fur. He was laughing at how broken they were. He was also laughing at the fractures in the glass, that beautiful glass. God, they were such sad people. All of them. And for a moment, he pitied her. He pitied himself. He pitied his father. He pitied Mauaji. He pitied every single dog—and human—he had ever seen. Why? Because they were all so broken.

He listened to her words after his laughter ebbed, but with the disappearance of his misplaced, morbid humor, his pity went away too. She was broken. He was broken. So was everyone else. He’d had his own insecurities for longer than he could remember—his whole life, for God’s sake. And now here he was. Here he was. It seemed, strangely, as if this dog was making him realize something he had shoved into the back of his head. He was no longer insecure. Before now, before now he had been too concerned with the wellbeing of others, and with his own moral high ground. That much was gone. Now he had nothing, and this nothingness allowed him to speak his mind. It allowed him to think and do without concern.

Fell turned away from the window. He stood and watched her. He watched her with those immovable brown eyes, eyes that had seen the whole world (or at least it felt like it). They did not belong in the face of a dog who was only a year and two months old. They belonged to someone ancient. She did not argue with him; that was the last thing he had expected. He hadn’t, originally, thought it would be so easy to knock the bitch down a peg or two. But it had been. He hadn’t even known he was attempting to knock her off her so-called pedestal. Now she refused to meet his eyes. Inside, however, there was nothing but a slight sense of accomplishment. Was that wrong? Yes. I shouldn’t feel happy about this, about seeing her flaws. But he was, in a cruel way. He wanted to say, I spent months looking into my shattered self. It’s your turn.

It was undeserved cruelty, but he didn’t give a damn, for once. He felt like he had wings. Like nothing could bring him down. Fell’s lips quirked in that smile that wasn’t quite a smile—that smile with nothing behind it but an empty man. “You’re sadly mistaken if you expect me to pity you. There are people out there who have had it worse off, and I know that for a fact. Look at your feet if you want, refuse to meet my eyes. You aren’t doing yourself a favor, dwelling on whatever you’re thinking about. But then again, what do I know about you? Not a damn thing.” His voice was matter-of-factly, but beneath that was a bit of mockery, still.

The silence stretched; stretched so long he thought it might go on forever. But then she spoke again, and began to walk towards the door of the church. Was she planning on leaving? Fell didn’t care if she did or not. Her words had very little effect on him. He shrugged one shoulder, shook his head slightly. “What? You want me to admit all my flaws? I’m not going to. I’ve lived that part of my life already. I’m done dwelling on that. I’m not perfect. I never implied I’m perfect. But I’m still better off than you are. I know who I am. Do you?”

He kept his bitterness hidden inside of him, inside some secret chamber of his heart. His voice, and even his expression, came off as cruelly ridiculing. He wondered, suddenly, if he could make her break—make her break more then she already was broken. And then he was thinking, strangely, I don’t know who I am I don’t know who I am I don’t know who I am.