Post by JOELLE BRADY on Sept 6, 2010 3:08:15 GMT
PRISONER DATA
J O E L L E
B R A D Y
31 / OCTOBER / 1983
NEWYORKCITY
T W O C O U N T S F I R S T D E G R E E M U R D E R
THE STATEMENT
HISTORY
"Your fucking locking me up in this hell hole and you want me to tell you about myself? FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE. Hey, don't fucking touch me. Ugh, fine. Don't even try to give me that fucking pill. I'll kick your ass. Yeah, try me, dickhead. Ugh, you're so fucking annoying. 'Just take the pill. It'll make you better'...Blah blah blah! FUCK YOU. The fucking pill will only make me pass out. Heh, maybe then I'll get out of this fucking 'interview' or whatever the fuck you want to call it. Gimme that fucking pill. Oh, so now you won't give it to me? You're all a bunch of dickheads, you know that?
Alright, let's just get this the fuck over with. So from the beginning, right? Uhm, I was born in New York City, New York. My twin sister and I are about seven minutes apart. Lucky number seven, right? Fucking wrong, man. For one, my sister and I were both born with this super rare disease where you don't have any fingerprints. See? None. AND THAT'S WHY I DIDN'T FUCKING KILL ANYBODY. IT WAS MY SISTER. But of course you can't prove it because NEITHER OF US HAVE FINGERPRINTS. And we're identical twins. What the fuck? How does someone end up so unlucky. Ugh, whatever.
So, yeah, I guess you could say I had a decent childhood. My dad was some CEO of some fucking company and my mom was a major fashion designer. Mommy and Daddy weren't home all too much. I was fucking fine with it, cause I hated them both. My sister was all lovey-dovey attached to my parents and had separation anxiety or some shit like that. And when they got divorced...she went fucking psycho. Like I'm not even joking. She flipped her fucking lid and was violent. And it happened at the most random times. Like we'd be in class and someone would say something with no relation to our parents and she would just fucking lose it. And not like verbally. She was fucking violent. She would throw pencils and attack other kids and it was fucking scary.
And we were only nine, maybe ten...She got progressively worse as the years went on. My mom all but forgot about us. She left us with our dad. He quickly made the decision to throw her into a mental institution. Sis pulled a ten-year stint in the one here in New York and then got shipped out to some extreme one in Texas for two years. When she came back, she was the most mellow chick I had ever known. Within those twelve years, I had graduated high school, I had gone to college to become a fashion designer like my mom and had gotten my degree. We were both twenty-two when she came back, and I had just began working at a big time fashion firm.
Sis was so calm it was sort of scary. She never talked out of place, and she rarely participated in anything. I knew something was off with her....Anyway, for the next four years I rose to the top of the company I'd been working at. I was close to being the CEO of the company when IT happened. I got the call one night...my sister was at her apartment and she sounded scared and estranged. So I headed over there. Her clothes were blood-stained. I thought she'd been attacked, but she was fine. I asked her what happened, and she said she didn't remember. I offered her my clothes for whatever god damn reason. So we traded clothes. And then there are knocks on the door.
Before she answered the door, I realized what I'd just gotten myself fucking screwed into. There was blood on the phone, which was hanging off its cord. There was a bloody knife. My own sister had fucking framed me. The cops slapped me into handcuffs and began questioning my sister. Her story was so perfect and believable that they didn't even fucking ask me for my side. And when they brought me to the precinct to get my fingerprints, surprise surprise! They can't fucking get them. So they pull up my records and see that both my sis and I have the disease. But does that stop them from throwing me in a cell or even considering calling up my sister? Fuck no.
Oh, of course, you say it's just a nice little story that I made up to get myself out of jail. IT FUCKING ISN'T! I DIDN'T KILL THAT FUCKING COUPLE. MY SISTER DID. FUCKING A. I'M ON DEATH ROW AND YOU'RE GOING TO BLAME ME FOR DEATHS I DIDN'T CAUSE? FUCK YOU."
PERSONALITY
"Oh, so now you want me to fucking tell you about my 'personality'? Whatever asshole. You just force-fed me that fucking pill and I'm probably going to pass out in a half-hour. Ugh, what the fuck do you make those pills with? They taste like fish and...ass. Definitely ass. Just like you, asshole. That's fucking right..I just called you an asshole to your face. Hey, don't fucking come near me! You fucking touch me and I'll kick your ass. Thank you.
Now that we're all civilized here, maybe I will tell you about myself. Because I'm just filled to the brim with self-confidence like a little barbie bimbo! It's just so easy to talk about me and my perfect hair! Fuck you. Alright, alright, back off. I'll talk. Ok, where to start? Well, I guess you could say I'm loads of fun. Swearing and yelling are my favorites. How do you think I almost became CEO of a major fashion company? You don't just get those things fucking handed to you. You have to work for them. So I guess you could call me a hard worker, then. I never give up, no matter what. Stubborn, bitchy, cold-hearted, hard-working...oh, don't let me forget clever. I can unscrew any box you get stuck in...except, obviously this one.
Those were pretty much bad qualities, weren't they? Haha yeah, I'm just filled with piss and vinegar. But I guess if you get close enough to me you'll see my 'true side' or whatever the fuck it's called. If I like you, you'll see some compassion and generosity from me. And straight up kindness. I love doing things for people that I like. I'll say yes to anything, no matter what it is. If you're going to jump off a bridge and you want me to tag along? Fuck yes I'll do it. Sounds like fun. Risk taker, then? I don't fucking know. I was never good at talking about myself.
Oh, love, eh? You want to know what I see in the opposite gender? If I wear my heart on my sleeve? Fucking A I do. Of course not, dumbass! I don't have time for love. Or, at least, I didn't. Now I almost wish I had had someone to love. But I guess it's too fucking late considering I'm on DEATH ROW, ASSHOLE. THANKS A FUCKING LOT. If he fucking hovers over me one more time, I'll hang him from the rafter's by his balls. Don't think I will? Fucking try me. Come on, try me. Oh! And arguments! I love arguing. If someone will stick around and argue with me, I might take an interest. Maybe. Hey, he's fucking hovering. Come closer, Mr. Security Guard. I'll fucking hang ya! Ha ha ha."
THE DETAILS
SENTENCE
DEATH ROW
SENTENCE SERVED SO FAR
ONE MONTH
RECORDED STATEMENT
"I didn't fucking kill that couple! How many fucking times do I have to fucking tell you? My sister committed that crime! I don't know how the hell she fucking killed those people! I couldn't tell you where they were killed because I DON'T FUCKING KNOW. All I know is that she framed me. Do you know what it's like to see where you're going to be killed for something you didn't do? YOU DON'T FUCKING KNOW. It's the fucking scariest thing I've ever had to see in my life. GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE NOW. FUCKING A, DO IT NOW. Listen, record this, asshole: I DIDN'T KILL ANYONE. YOU HEAR ME? I...KILLED...NO ONE."
THE PLAYER
NAME
SOLARA
AGE
TWENTY
CONTACT DETAILS
solara.sun@gmail.com or pm me here.
HOW DID YOU FIND US
AD JUMPING.
CODEWORD
DEATH ROW.
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE
Joelle Brady's hand wrapped around the half-filled mug filled with a dark brown amber liquid. She lifted the glass and put it to her lips, inhaling the scent of the alcohol as it flowed down her throat. Slowly, she put the glass back down on the bar. Joelle was the only girl in the whole enitre tavern, but did that stop her? No. Joelle talked and drank like a man, although it was an act to rebel against her parents. She was actually a proper lady who knew how to drink properly and how to properly care for herself.
But that was the exact kind of life Joelle didn't want. She wanted to be able to live like one of the boys, basically. Her mother had insisted that Joelle sit properly, eat food properly, etc etc. And it was constant scolding; everytime Joelle messed up, she wasn't allowed to forget about it. All this was to try to turn Joelle 'proper'; all her parents succeeded in doing was making her more rebellious. She would sneak out at night to walk the town of Port Royal. She would go down to the ships and admire the workmanship. Anything that would piss her parents off was on Joelle's to-do list. Eventually, her parents set her up in an arranged marriage, and she wasn't particularly happy about that. Joelle started planning to run away. And then along came Logan. She remembered the night they met as if it were yesterday...
Joelle had snuck out of her house and was just walking around, looking at the stars. She was dressed in a white ruffly blouse, brown knickers, and a pair of her father's best leather boots. Her hair was down and flowing in the breeze. She had dressed that way because she had always been fascinated with the idea of being a pirate, and although she had never seen one, she imagined they looked like a scruffier version of her then current state. She'd been about to enter a tavern just to see what it looked like (she'd never been in one before) when a man stopped her. He was wondering what a woman like herself was doing out alone. At first, Joelle had been afraid, but then she'd realized the man was no harm. They got to talking, and she found out his name was Logan and that he was an apprentice. She told him that she was being forced into a marriage to a guy who was twice her age.
Logan hadn't agreed, and so they began planning how they were going to run away. As Joelle began sneaking out more and more to see Logan, the more she began to fall in love with him. By the time Logan had enlisted the help of his brother and his ship, Joelle had known who she wanted to marry: Logan. He was just as in love with her as she was with him. The plan was that they would get to Tortuga, far out of reach of the law, and they would be able to wed there. But the problem was that neither Joelle nor Logan had money to spend on even the cheapest of weddings.
And so, a year and a half later, at the age of twenty-five, Joelle found herself still on the island of Tortuga with no husband. If they were going to be able to raise enough money for their marriage, Logan had to go work for his pirate brother...which meant that Logan himself would become a pirate. Joelle found it very exciting that she was soon to wed a pirate, having dreamt her whole life of just being able to meet one. She didn't mind that she was stuck in a ratty tavern with a roof that leaked when it rained, or that she hadn't been able to bathe on a daily basis. Or even the fact that she was living in the basement of an old gypsy woman. As long as Logan was going to return to her, she would stand through it all.
Joelle spent most of her nights like this one: at the tavern, drinking away the time in her tattered clothes and boots. She never had to pay for her ale because the old bartender thought she was pretty enough to deserve free drinks. And besides, all she had to do was shake what her momma had given her in order to get what she wanted, right? It didn't matter that everything Joelle was doing at the moment went against her very morals and beliefs, right?
