Post by JULIA QUYNN on Sept 5, 2010 21:12:54 GMT
PRISONER DATA
J U L I A
Q U Y N N
FIFTH / JUNE / NINETEEN EIGHTY-SIX
MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE
ONE COUNT OF SECOND DEGREE MURDER AND ONE COUNT OF GBH (pleaded insanity)
THE STATEMENT
HISTORY
I'm going to start her history at two years old, because until that point, she was a bog-standard crying, burping, farting, beautiful baby. Growing up with three elder brothers, she naturally became less feminine than most little girls. But she wasn't just unusual in this aspect, her parents instantly saw that she had a vivid imagination. Inventing imaginary friends seemed normal at first, but her insistence that they really existed started interfering with her life. Calling these imaginary friends names like 'purple', 'number 950', 'number 40' and 'ten thousand', she soon invented an entire array of animals and humans which followed her everywhere. They existed in a different world in her head, which she delighted in telling her parents about. At first they cooed over this obvious creativity, but when she started acting because these creatures "told her to", her parents began to worry. Her elder brothers had never acted in this way, was it a 'female thing'?
By the age of seven, Julia had to be home-schooled, because she was too dangerous around other children. These violent streaks were completely unprompted, unprovoked, and would occur without warning. When calm, Julia was an amiable, sweet child, but when her 'friends' stared to take over, she was capable of anything. Her parents began to argue because of the stress, only increasing Julia's inability to remain calm under the influence of her imaginary friends. Julia hated remaining inside, and often crawled out of windows when locked in the house. This would happen whatever the time of day or night, meaning that she needed 24hr surveillance. Her elder brothers began to hate her because she was demanding so much of their parents' time. By the age of nine, Julia had been diagnosed with schizophrenia. The drugs worked, but left her in a vegetable-like state when she was taking them. Her days were spent in the garden, longing for her friends to return. Her nights were no longer filled with the vivid dreams of her personal utopia.
For Julia, ten years passed in a relative blur. Her sense of time was warped from the drugs, the regular and consistent hospital visits were the only things to mark passing weeks and months with. Her body was frail and she had no purpose. On her eighteenth birthday, her parents thought that it would be a good idea to half her usual dosage, so she could fully appreciate her big day. After all, she was now an adult. The day went smoothly with few hiccups, and they saw no reason to continue giving her the full dosage. Julia didn't mention that her friends were returning, no longer as colourful or as vivid as before, but they were slowly ebbing their way back into her imagination. Keeping quiet and well behaved for now, her parents continued to lower her dosage without the knowledge of doctors. She was now capable of holding small conversations, but the drugs were still making her imaginary friends seem distant. Despite her pleas, her parents force-fed her pills every morning and evening. This violent struggle always resulted in her consuming the pills, until one day when she managed to escape this torture. Lashing out far more spectacularly than usual, she fought off her parents, barely conscious of her limbs moving at all. There were distant screams, but she continued throwing about her body, clawing, scratching, stabbing at any part of human body that she could reach.
Julia wasn't sure what happened next. There was another hospital, a waiting room, an unfamiliar building which looked like a police station, more waiting rooms. The drugs were soon running around her system, but were no longer forced down by her parents. They forced her to see everything through thick fog, so confusion ensued. Her pale yellow bedroom walls were replaced by white ceiling, white walls, white floors and men in white coats. It seemed that she'd been moved to Kronos Pyre Refomatory for her own safety, and the safety of others.
PERSONALITY
It is hard to tell what Julia's genuine personality is like, since it is rarely not restricted by either drugs or her illness. When calm and clear-headed, she is a completely different to how she is on her pills or with her imaginary friends.
The personality of drugged-up Julia is just nothing. There is no personality left once the drugs have taken hold. She stares blankly for hours, occasionally twitching or turning her head as if someone's just tapped her on the shoulder. Nothing angers her, nothing frightens her, nothing saddens her, and nothing makes her feel joy. There is always an expression on her face as if she's thinking hard about something which happened years ago, trying to remember the finer details. It is hard to talk to her when she is in this state, as she finds it hard to comprehend what is being asked of her. Taking the drugs makes her feel as if she has a foggy glass fish bowl over her head.
Julia without the drugs and without the hallucinations is friendly, quirky, fun and surprisingly quite sexually driven. She really has a 'thing' for older guys, but has never been in love, as no one fights to find out who she is beyond the illness. Naturally creative, she enjoys painting and drawing, even though her work is more a form of expression than it is pretty to look at. Looking beyond the 'crazy', she is a genuinely lovely, fun girl, but this side of her is rarely shown. She is also mildly attractive, even though she looks a little odd, and so likes to take care of her appearance, although it tends to slip during her 'crazy' periods which can sometimes last for weeks.
Perhaps the most interesting version of Julia to interact with is during her 'crazy' stages. At this time, when she is hallucinating and being 'spoken to' by these imagined creatures, she is the most entertaining and child-like. Conversations will rarely stay on topic, and she can't sit still for more than five minutes. Her sperch becomes quicker, her movements jerky, and her eyes seem brighter and more alive. Of course, there are times when her friends lead her to feel angry and violent, at which point her memory blacks out. When Julia is going through one of these stages, it doesn't matter who's her friend and who's her enemy - she'll lash out at anyone.
THE DETAILS
SENTENCE
MENTAL PATIENT
INDEFINATE
SENTENCE SERVED SO FAR
18 MONTHS
RECORDED STATEMENT
Julia, you've not taken your pills for two days, so I want you to answer these questions now that you can remember.
What ...? I don't know. I don't understand. I don't remember anything.
Julia, do you know what crime you're being charged of?
Can I go home yet? I was due to have my pills days ago, but I don't mind if you don't want me to have them because they're nasty, angry pills. Where's my parents?
You murdered your mother and your father is in critical condition, that's why you'-
Oh, of course, what happened? I don't understand what's going on. Please can I just go home?
We were hoping you could tell us what happened.
It wasn't me, it was all of them. All of them did it, not me. If I try to fight them they hurt me. They bite me and scratch me and it wasn't me. Where is my mum? Can I see her?
Your mother's dead Julia. We have reason to believe that you murdered her.
I didn't! I didn't kill her! Where is she? She'll tell you, it wasn't me, it was all of them, they take over, they're angry because of the pills.
Why did you kill her Julia?
Stop talking to me, stop, stop! No. I just want to go home. Please let me go home, I want to see my parents, let me go home. I didn't kill anyone, please, please just let me go home.
Interview terminated.
THE PLAYER
NAME
Rachel
AGE
17
CONTACT DETAILS
RBurnham@hotmail.co.uk
HOW DID YOU FIND US
'Westwood Manor'
CODEWORD
Death Row
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE
The final bell had just rung at Westwood, and most of the students had scuttled away from the classrooms in a hurry. Just because it was the end of the day for the students, it didn’t mean that the staff were going home any time soon. In fact, it wasn’t rare for Miss Robyn Pringle to remain for three or four hours after the students were free of the classrooms. Well, apart from last night. Robyn resented staying after school, but last night it had been a little more interesting. Mr Ward and a female student stayed after school also, and Robyn felt smug that she now had some 'dirt' on Aiden. This corridor was from where she'd seen the *cough* incident, last night. The art doors all had glass windows, which made seeing this incriminating moment even easier. At the time Robyn hadn't said anything, but now she wondered when she would mention that she was in on their secret. Heels echoing down the deserted corridor, Robyn’s head poked above the enormous pile of papers and sketchbooks she was carrying. She certainly didn’t envy Mr Ward, who would now have to sift through these papers, marking and grading each and every one. Robyn felt no sympathy for him though, as she usually would with any other teacher. After all, Mr Ward was an art teacher.
Never had Robyn heard of such a useless concept; art lessons? What use were they? Helping students “express” themselves? Surely they could find a more useful way of “expressing themselves”. Why not express yourself through science, maths or English? In Robyn’s opinion (although she feared that she was the only one who felt this way) teaching students art was a waste of money and resources. It would be easier to hate the subject further if Mr Ward wasn’t a totally decent human being. Robyn wasn’t about to start hating on him completely seeing as he wasn’t a total imbecile, but still, she felt that he was wasting his time. They had met in the staff room repeatedly, and often held polite conversation. Robyn built up quite a lot of respect for him before she found out that he was in fact an art teacher. Ever since, there had been a slight edge to the relationship. It was a little immature, even Robyn could see that. Aiden seemed to feel so passionate about art that whenever Robyn mentioned her hatred of it, she suspected that he must take it rather personally. If Robyn had a passion for something (which she really didn’t at the moment) she knew that she’d take it personally if someone slated it.
Reaching the door to the art room, she kicked it twice and waited for an answer. Grumbling, she set the papers down on the floor and tried the door handle. It was unlocked, so she let herself in. Carefully hauling the papers over to the desk, chin resting on the top of the pile to prevent them from toppling onto the floor, she placed them down among the other clutter on Aiden’s desk. Ready to make a quick exit – she didn’t want to get roped into helping with anything else – she saw a pile of sketch books to the right of the desk. She hated to admit it, but was a little curious about what was in them. After all, she had every right to see what the school was spending it’s money on. Plus, she had every right to know what Mr Ward has these students wasting their time on. Taking a quick look at the closed door, she scooted over, moved a tea stained mug out of the way and sat on the desk, picking up the first sketch book. Frowning with scepticism, Robyn opened the first page. She was greeted with a student’s name, and then a scribbled drawing. This was ‘abstract art’ Robyn supposed, but continued flicking through the sketchbook. Uninterrupted, she made her way through half the pile, yet to be impressed by a single drawing.
Hearing the creak of the door, she jumped and the book fell onto the floor, scattering tracing paper and crepe paper over the floor. Eyes darting over to the door, she saw that Aiden had been watching her sift through the sketch books. The last time she'd seen the art teacher was just 24 hours ago; he'd been locked in a passionate embrace with someone he really shouldn't have been. Deciding not to mention it for now, she realised that she was just looking blankly at him. "I was just ... I'm not interested in their 'art'." she stuttered, embarrassed to be found nosing in the student's work. Kneeling down to collect up the pieces of paper, she did not worry that they were getting crumpled and dusty on the art room floor. "I mean, what is this meant to be?" she scoffed, picking out one of the pieces of tracing paper with what looked like a fat purple dog scrawled on it. Pushing the paper into a messy pile, she bundled it back into the sketch book. Robyn was aware of the fact that her face was tinged slightly pink.
wordcount , 875
tagged , aiden ward
outfit , clickie here
notes , meh, sorry it's kinda sucky. still a bit rusty after my 6-month break.
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I look forward to rping with you.
