Ness Brillick. Capitol. {DONE}

Ness Brillick. Capitol. {DONE} Jul 21, 2011 20:37:59 GMT -5

Post by Ally is tentatively back on Jul 21, 2011 20:37:59 GMT -5

In the mirror...

Seems like everybody's got a price.

Eyes. It's all in the eyes- or so they say. So what do my eyes say about me? They've been surgically altered, no longer pale blue, but dark brown. My mother altered them in the vain hope that new eyes would equal a new way of seeing. But no... The girl with the blue eyes is still me, even if I don't look the same. I'm a different person, but I still see the same world.

I wonder how they sleep at night?

I'm a colorful individual. I have straight hair -usually- that you would say is scarlet. Unless it's blonde or dark brown. Or light brown. It changes colors a lot. I can't decide on a color, so I just keep changing it. It was blonde originally, so I don't go back to that except for my birthday, which I have to share with my brother.

When the sale comes first,

I have pale-ish skin, unless I've been tanning. In which case it's not that tan, but it does have a tan-er tint. It's silky soft, which it should be for all the moisturizers and sugar scrubs and, -ugh I hate to say it- spa treatments. Yeah, my mom drags me around for all these beauty treatments, because "You're my little girl, Nessie dear, you have to be pretty." So I'm not pretty? Thanks mom. Just thanks.

And the truth comes second.

I'm not that tall. Maybe 5'4"-ish? Maybe? Oh well, I don't really care, as long as my mom doesn't start talking about leg surgery to give me a couple more inches. Ugh. All I know is that I am the perfect height for dancing at all my favorite clubs. Not that I need to let my parents know that.

Just stop for a minute and, SMILE.

Yeah, I'm thin. My mother's obsessed with power-dieting or whatever the hell she's calling it now. And I'm the oldest girl, so all this crap gets foisted on me. I've been "Mommy's little pet project." since I was three. I have to be perfect and pretty and normal. This means I'm supposed to have a stick-thin body with gentle curves and be a generally quiet and petite person. News flash, NO.

Why is everybody so serious?

My face is shaped somewhere between a heart and an oval. My eyes -I did already tell you they were brown, right?- glitter with fun and intelligence, with a pretty little nose set between them, always crinkling with laughter or confusion. My mouth is a pair of pretty, pouty, full lips. Those pouty lips are usually just glossed so they glitter. There are glittery imprints of my lips on the walls of, oh, maybe five clubs? Unsanitary, yes. Fun as all hell, YOU BET.

Acting so damn mysterious.

My arms are thin and graceful, ending in slim wrists and hands. When I have a choice, my long-ish nails are painted glittery silver, and I have little silver charms dangling from them. Yeah, I'm a glitzy girl when I get the chance. I like to sparkle, light up the room. I don't like to look preppy-ish, but a bit of sparkle touches up my look.

Got shades on your eyes,

I dress pretty weird, my style somewhere between dressy, punk, and grunge. As in... ripped-up blue dress, tiara, and high tops. Love that outfit. Or... white sundress meets torn-up flip-flops and a bunch of bangles. That kind of thing. Although, with my mom, it's high-heels, pencil skirts, and button-up shirts. And she won't even let me wear my leather jacket. Damn.

And your heels so high,

But pretty faces, pretty bodies, always hide scars. Like the ones I got when my cousin pushed me down the stairs. It doesn't pay to be abnormal. Unique, yes. but abnormal is not something to deal with. So I cover the scar on my back, and the one above my knee. I cover my surge scars. Just cover it up and hope it goes away, right? Right.

That ya can't even have a good, TIME.

A peep inside my mind.

Everybody look to their left!

I suppose I should start with what makes me so abnormal. Well, I'm synesthetic. This means that whenever music plays, or any sound is being made at all, I see it. In colors. I can also figure people out by the color of their voices. For example, my twin brother Shar has a blue voice... dark blue. This makes him a calm and controlled person. My voice is hot pink. This makes me an energetic and generally bouncy person. Simple enough, right?

Everybody look to their right!

I'm smart. Simple as that. Not exactly crazy smart, with an IQ off the charts... but I'm smart. Smart enough to play crazy, cunning pranks. Smart enough to outsmart my friends. Smart enough to evade my mother... most of the time. I don't always use my head, I act like a total idiot sometimes...
But I know that appearances are deceiving.

Can you feel that? Yeah.

I'm a rebel. I wasn't always, but twelve years of being told you aren't good enough and that something's wrong with you... you chafe a bit. I'm not asking you to pity me, and my awful childhood. I'm not asking you to hug me because my mom always insisted that who I was wasn't good enough. I'm not asking you to cry, because I'm not.

We're payin' with love tonight!

Ask anybody. I'm a lover, not a fighter. Or maybe... temptress is a better word. I like being in love, even if it never lasts. I like having someone who wants to kiss me, and I frankly like sex. And if you have a problem with that, you can fuck off. Do I maybe have commitment issues? I surprised myself by saying maybe. Am I a cold-hearted bitch when I get over you? No doubt. But I like being in love, and I'm damn good at it.

It's not about the money, money, money!

I'm a surprisingly immaterial girl, living in the Capitol and all. I like pretty things, but among my friends... I have no personal possessions. I'll reach out and snag a friend's beer, and would let anyone do the same to me. I'll go home with someone else's shoes if it gets crazy, and more than once a friend has ended up with my wallet. We all just share things. It's more fun that way.

We don't need your money, money, money!

As you've probably figured out by now, I like fun. Fun, and the pursuit of fun, is my life. I've done drugs, stolen, gambled, gotten drunk, danced, done karaoke... you name it, I've probably done it. And probably had Shar pick me up from each of these activities multiple times. I'm like a morphling addict with my fun... always searching for a fix.

We just wanna make the world dance.

How did this story begin?

Forget about the price tag.

It was a rainy night in the capitol. One of those perfect warm rains, not a bone-chilling one. Bad rain isn't permitted. Where was I? Oh yeah. That was the night Mr. Jacob Brillick and his wife, Suzanne, had their first two children. A boy and a girl, coming into the world three and a half minutes apart, around eight-ish. Both babies weighed in around seven pounds, the boy being just slightly heavier. Their father was not there, of course, but their mother had high expectations the minute she saw the children. The nurse, who Suzanne had befriended in her many paranoid visits to the hospital, would later tell the children that their mother had chosen their names on the spot.
Sharden Miral, and Illuminessia Iridien.

Ain't about the -uh- cha-ching cha-ching.

Well, onto a more cheerful subject than my rather painful birth, my years as a toddler were pretty average. I learned to walk when I was a year and four months old, as did Shar. We got the gift of a little sister at age two, around the time we started talking. This sister, little Persephone (don't ask.) trailed after the two of us as much as humanly possible. It wasn't until I was about five -little sister number two had been born, Hyacinth- that my... anomaly, as mom calls it, was discovered.

Ain't about the -yeah- b-bling b-bling.

I remember it like it was yesterday. Coloring with Shar, Perry babbling as she reveled in having Cinth to play with. Mom walking in, her hair done up perfectly, and she turned the music on. For not ten seconds had it been blasting when I put my hands over my eyes and protested "Mommy! Too many colors!".
That day was when all of my problems started.

Wanna make the world dance.

The two years that followed were a whirlwind of tests and attempts at 'correction'. Between my 'disturbing condition' and the next baby -a boy, Richard- it was just chaos at the Brillick house. I remember doctors telling my mom "Nessie's perfectly fine, Suzanne. She's got a remarkable mind." and my mom shouting back that I was NOT fine and that I was a freak. Not what six-year-olds wanna hear.

Forget about the price tag!

None of my mom's family approved of me. One of my older cousins pushed me down the stairs once when I was nine and they came over to visit. I broke my arm and cut my head open. I needed fifteen stitches. After that, I never went anywhere near my cousins without Shar within arm's reach.

We need to go back in time.

The first time I ran away, I was thirteen. Shar didn't come with me that time. I was only gone until the next morning, but in that time I had made a couple crazy friends, had my first beer, and fell asleep in a club. As soon as I came home, my father petted my head, mom demanded to know where I'd been, and Shar, Perry, Cinth, Ricky, and even five-year-old Lillie attempted to smother me with hugs. (Although, to this day I'm convinced Lillie and Ricky just wanted hugs.)

When music made us all unite.

The three years between then and now are a blur of sex, drugs, alcohol, strobe lights, lots of colors, and spilling my guts when Shar comes to drag me home after a really crazy night. I try to blur it all, because it's fun, but I don't want to have to think about what happens outside my party scene. I don't want to think, I want to be a creature of instinct... but that me is threatening to swallow the rest of me whole.

Odair!