Post by Callan Urquhart on Jul 6, 2012 6:08:40 GMT -5
| [atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 460px; background-image: url(http://i44.tinypic.com/34fb0ns.jpg);-moz-border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px; -webkit-border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px; border: 4px ridge #9c5f5b, bTable][tr][cs=2] faye alicia stanley. fifteen. fifth year. kristen stewart. | |
[rs=2] | I was born on March the thirty-first, 2007. Apparently I was an accidental baby. I don't have a clue what I weighed. I probably looked the same as any other newborn baby - tiny and red-faced with a little tuft of hair. I don't have any interesting story from when I was born - shit, I don't think I have an interesting story from when I was a baby at all. They called me Faye. Faye Alicia Stanley. They brought me home. I grew up. Not very note-worthy, I'll admit that. I have no problem admitting that sort of stuff. I'm not looking for attention. They brought me home to three other siblings - the oldest was Tobias (a guy, obviously), and then Zanna (although back then, she was Suzanne) and the youngest, only just three, I think, was Sam. I was probably passed around and ogled at and prodded in the most irritating of manners and I sincerely hope that I started wailing at some point to put them all off. Well, Sam and Zanna. I know they're my brother and sister, but I wouldn't trust either of them with a baby, not now and especially not then. Sam was three and Zanna was six. Toby would've been alright, I think - nine, and apparently the best-behaved. Not that Sam and Zanna make it very difficult to be the best behaved. I've been the best behaved for ages. My Mum's Dora and my Dad's Clive. Mum's a Muggle, from a dead conservative family who pride themselves on being really, really smart and educated and that, and she's head teacher at this posh private school. I like being known as her daughter if ever I meet anyone from there, it makes me seem really important. Mum's what you'd call stoic. Dad's a wizard. Halfblood. His Dad's a muggleborn. Well, he was a muggleborn, he was murdered in the Second Wizarding World War after refusing to give up his wand. And now Dad works in the Wizengamot. He's very proud. To be perfectly honest, I'd rather stick pins in my eyes than be in the Wizengamot, but there you go. Dad's Mum is a real character, she's pureblood and hasn't remarried but she calls her long-term partner her boyfriend and embarasses Dad terribly. Dad's an only child, so he gets sort of doted on by Gran, but at the same time I think she puts a lot of pressure on him. Must be difficult, your Dad being a hero. Anyways, by the time I turned two Tobias had gone to Hogwarts so I was at home with Zanna and Sam and Mum and Dad. Obviously I can't remember much those few years, but I don't think I could have been that chuffed at that arrangement. I know they're my family, but I'm prickly. That's what I've been told, anyway. I was always fairly well-behaved in Primary School, but I remember once one of my teachers stood me up and demanded why I was so prickly and that stuck with me. I hated that teacher for years on end - I've always been one to hold grudges, even really small ones, and I'm terrible at letting things go, even really tiny things. Once a girl in Primary School broke my butterfly-shaped rubber - the ultimate offence - and I didn't speak to her for an entire week until she bought me a new one. I wanted to throw it at her head, but I didn't. That'd be Zanna-ish, I thought. Mum and Dad tried to make us all really polite and educated and religious and conservative but I think by the time I came along the family was already a bit of a lost cause. I have to give them props, though, they did their absolute best with what they had. They brought us to church every Sunday (more for Mum's benefit), gave us a bedtime, talked to us like adults, the whole shebang. They had this entire routine worked out, and I suppose it could've gone either way - us becoming really prim and proper and perfect (Jesus) or us becoming the opposite. Well, when I say 'us', I'm sort of referring to Zanna and Sam more. If you're looking for interesting, I seriously suggest you pop over to talk to them. They're not into prim or proper or good behaviour. And it's obvious they preferred each other over me. I got on with it, though. Well, no. It's a bit of a piss-take when you're the second-favourite (possibly third-favourite?) sibling, because siblings are supposed to love unconditionally, but I kind of got to a point where I stopped caring. I think everyone gets to that point. Sometimes they're seven, sometimes they're seventy. I think it was always in me, that sort of not-caring - I've never been into the things other Muggle girls squealed over, never really noticed it if someone didn't like me - but I just kind of got to a point when I realised either you control the world or the world controls you. I've never been quite like Sam or Zanna, though. I don't get stirring up trouble. It's not what I do. I don't smooth it over, either, though. I'm a pretty average child, I suppose. I have this amazing expression that makes it seem like I've seen everything, done everything. Zanna went to Hogwarts when she was eleven, and got sorted into Slytherin (when I learned more about the houses, I realised that that was no surprise) and then it was just me and Sam. He tried his best to corrupt me, but please. I'm not like him and Zanna. I like being in control, and I don't stir up trouble if I can help it. The few years with me and Sam were okay. Poor guy had to cause trouble all on his lonesome. My heart bleeds for him. Another thing teachers have accused me of - sarcasm. The way I say these things, prickly and sarcastic, makes it sound like I'm in trouble all the time. I'm not. Seriously. I have better things to do. But without realising it I developed this really keen sense of sarcasm and for a couple of months you'd barely be able to have a conversation with me without my words ending up completely dripping in the stuff. Sarcasm, I mean. I like having sarcasm, though. I like being smart. Sometimes I think I'm the smartest person in the room, which souns like I'm completely up my own arse, but I'm not. But if it's true, then why is it wrong to say? I never get that shit. Or like, when people start saying bad stuff about themselves so that they'll get compliments from other people? They're going, "Oh, I'm so fat, oh I'm so ugly," and they're expecting every other fucking person in the joint to say "no, you're gorgeous! I love you! Marry me!" I can't bring myself to lie about that stuff. If pushed, I can manage a tiny white lie, but I'm generally crap at lying. I push my hair back and look at the floor and blush. Anyways. Back to my history. Sam went to Hogwarts three years before me, and got sorted into Gryffindor, which I think baffled him a bit but there's not that much difference between Gryffindor and Slytherin, in my opinion. People make out like the houses have these massive differences. I don't think it's the big things that count, I think it's the small things. Like the choices you make. How you love another person. That stuff. Simple little things. It was just me with Mum and Dad, then, and that was fine. Just fine. Say what you like about my parents (actually, no, don't) but they love me and they love my brothers and sister and I think that should count for something. And I love them back. They might just not get it, not get me, a lot of the time, but we're not created for everyone to get us. I don't like people who assume everyone should connect with them on an emotional level. Generally I keep schtum, I'm not one of those chicks that cause argy-bargies whenever something they don't like is mentioned, but I have an opinion on most subjects. I like to keep a calm dignity and simply respond to most stupid things with a quirked eyebrow. Back to my parents. They're good. They're just good. Not necessarily good parents, but good people. I mean, obviously, I'd have preferred them to have done certain things in different ways. Like the sex talk. They could've done that better. Mum explained it all really methodically and I wanted to ask shit like - the normal stuff. I just think that parents and children should be able to talk to each other openly about everything, and Mum and Dad tried, and I love them for that, but I wanted to know other things about sex. It's not like you get a manual delivered to you at sixteen telling you what exactly to do. That makes me sound like a massive perv, but I'm not. What I do like about the way they brought me up, though, is that we're all so - I dunno. Independent? The way they spoke to us like adults. The routines. I've never been shy. I know some girls who get scared walking into a room on their own, but I've never cared. Amazingly, I think I can be a bit intimidating sometimes, too. Alright, fair enough, not that amazingly. Like I said, I'm prickly. And straight-up. I'm too bad a liar not to be straight-up. I turned eleven, and then I started Hogwarts, obviously. I'd gone to Platform nine and three quarters before, of course, but let me tell you, it's an entire different ball game when you're boarding the train on your own for the first time. By then I'd developed my own sort of style - big guys' shirts and pale skinny jeans, messy hair, converse trainers, and I remembered freaking out a bit because I was wondering how on earth I'd remember to change into my robes, but I snapped the couldn't-care-less look on my face. And it was fine; first year. Easy enough. I got sorted into Gryffindor as well, even though I don't think I'm your average Gryffindor at all. But it's like I said; it's not the big differences between houses, it's the small differences. I got on better with guys and older students, like I'd known I would. Not that any of the older students gave me the time of day at first, but they did eventually. Mum says that I'm just smarter than most people, that I'm ahead of my generation, but that makes me sound like a freak in my opinion. Like some genius girl. Let me assure you, I am absolutely not. I know what a genius is, and I am not one. Nor have I ever met one. And if I ever did, I probably wouldn't like them. I know I said I usually consider myself the smartest person in the room, but hey, I'm usually in a room with about twenty other teenagers. Not difficult to be the smartest, although I think people would be surprised I think that because my grades have never been very wow-worthy. I just do enough to get by. That's my motto. I study a bit, just to make sure I pass, but I don't break my neck learning incantations or theories or whatever. The question people always ask you, when you go to a new school, is about the friends you've made. Even more so in boarding school, because they're expecting you to have a sisterly bond with every girl and a teasing sort of platonic friendship with every boy. Well, I did make friends. Quite a lot, actually. Not that I'm that sort of girl. One of the bubbly, giggly ones that flirt with every boy in sight and fall head-first into every conversation they can and probably imagine they're thrilling people with their hilarious shenanigans. I could be. Anyone could be. But you've got to play it cool, and that's what I did. I think at first a lot of the girls assumed I was a bitch because I don't smile that much (like I said, it's not difficult to be the smartest in the room) but that theory was proved wrong because I'm not a bitch. I have potential to be a bitch, obviously, and sometimes I can be bitchy but I'm not a straight-up, to-the-core bitch. When it was realised I was mostly harmless and definetely cool, most people in my year tried very hard to give me a nickname. They battled to give me a nickname. I had so many FiFis and FaFas thrown at me in the space of an hour one morning early on in first year I thought I was going to puke. So I put my foot down, and said that you could either call me Faye or Stanley or not call me anything at all, and I think something in my expression made them all obey. Standing up for yourself is important. I can stand up for myself - and anyone else who comes along. And you don't even have to shout or pout or stamp your foot. I just fold my arms and fix someone with a look and keep looking, right into their eyes, until they get embarassed and drop their gaze and then I've won. I didn't cause trouble in school, unlike Zanna and Sam. I think that when the Professors heard the name 'Stanley' they probably thought, great, here's another one, and were dead wary of me, but I was fine in class. I'm not one of those people who loves to hear themselves speak (I know I'm saying a lot now, but you asked) so I never got hauled up for speaking out of turn much, just the odd joke here and then, sitting at the back, slumping, sometimes not paying attention. But I think Mum and Dad were proud of me when I came home the summer after first year with not one detention done, not one incident. I think they'd have preferred it if all of my Professors were writing letters to them about how utterly fabulous I am, and reports of perfect grades, but whatever. I did well. I could've done a lot worse, believe you me. By this time my sister Zanna was a vegan, you know, no meat or cheese etcetera etcetera, and started wearing black and white and lace, of all things, and sort of exiled herself from us during the holidays. Except for Sam; him and her have this weird sibling bond, the extra-special sort you read about and wonder why they're never real. But they are real. Sam and Zanna are proof of that. Anyways, everyone knew Zanna up and down the school, because she was seen as a most impressive figure indeed. And most people knew Sam, as well. Before you go and think that I'm one of those whiny younger siblings that go on and on about how much they're in the shadow of their siblings, I'm not. I established a different reputation for myself; unnervingly cool. Strong. Dark-humoured. I didn't want to be like either Sam or Zanna, and I know that probably sounds like I don't love them, but you'd be an idiot to think that. I love them loads. Fiercely. But with them, it's sort of like a clash of personalities. Anyways, Zanna expressed interests of being a writer, and that worried Mum and Dad to no end, although I'd thought at the time never in a million years would Zanna ever be successful. She's smart and witty and all of that jazz, but negativity has always been very much my thing and I just seriously doubted she'd fulfill that dream. Summer before first year was relatively boring. I stayed in most of the time, lounged around, watched some telly, went on my bike with a neighbour my age a couple of times. I just drift, you know? I just do my own thing, take care of myself, and if anything happens to me, then I go with that as well unless it's totally disagreeable. But seriously, by the time first year had ended, I was probably the most capable twelve-year-old you'd ever come across. Obviously I still fucked up, because you can't be good at everything when you're twelve, and I do have a temper. It sort of settles in my stomach for days on end, this kind of rage building up, and then I explode over a tiny thing. Rage doesn't send out the right image, though, so if I'm angry I generally leave the room. I get angry for other people, as well. If someone starts picking on me, I'll just fold my arms and give them a look or ignore them completely or send a comment their way and they generally jog off but it really gets at me when I see other people being picked on. I don't get picking on people who can't fight back, kicking them when they're down. Second year was mostly the same as first. I was twelve, you know? Nothing that interesting happens when you're twelve. The boys got a bit cockier. It's weird, girls are the ones who are supposed to have been waiting for their so-called Prince Charming to sweep them off their feet since they were, like, five, but boys are the ones who really want to get the party started. Not the Prince Charming stuff, but the other stuff. Not that I think anyone should really want Prince Charming. Sounds like a bit of a sap to me. I never played those sort of games when I was younger, though - I vaguely remember often being either an assassin or a cowboy or an auror in the vast majority of the imaginary games I played. As long as I was flailing about an imaginary gun or wand about I was happy. I think people can tell I was that sort of girl from the word go because when a lot of my classmates considered themselves ready to start flirting at twelve (they were acting like they thought they were about seventeen or something when they didn't know anything, I shit you not) the boys always kept away from me. I was fairly chuffed at that, and thought I'd always have that sort of unspoken agreement with the silly little boys in my year. I was completely mistaken. I started slacking just a bit in second year. Not much in comparison to most of my classmates, but enough to let my grades slide a bit, not that they matter in second year. I started dressing differently, hats and leather jackets and ripped jeans and big patterned jumpers, leaning more on the girly side but never quite entering the pink-ruffled-skirts zone. Jesus, I'd rather walk around in a bin bag. I became a vegetarian, as well. I'd never been that big a fan of meat anyway. I drew the line at being a vegan, though, but being a vegetarian was fine with me. I got ticked off every now and then in class for not paying enough attention, but I'd always pay extra attention, absolutely bomboard them with attention in the next class to make a point. When I finished second year, Sam finished fifth year and Zanna finished school entirely, and it was fairly obvious to me that Zanna was going to leave home. The Zanna thing, I forgot to mention - I think during her fifth or sixth year she started insisting everyone calls her Zanna. I don't see the big deal, but I call her Zanna because I can't think why the fuck not. Sam's the only one who gets away with calling her Suzie. Anyways, she did leave home, booted herself out and went to Bristol. I sort of wished it was me because, honestly, I've been wanting to be out there on my own for years, although I've not got a clue what I want to be when I'm older. I wish I did, but I don't. I'll figure it out sometime. Then there was third year. Thirteen. Should've been a 'wow' year, I suppose. It wasn't. Everyone else had their little dramas going on but I was way above those. That was the year everyone started getting really into the whole girlfriend/boyfriend thing, you know, when thirteen year olds try to act like they're adults but they're really just knobheads. I think at thirteen boys start forgetting you're scary and I had to work hard to remind them. I had to talk really slow. "I do not want your hand on my boob. Take it off now." That sort of thing. I realised then, that age, thirteen, that boys my age are not for me. Girls are supposed to mature five years faster than boys, aren't they? Something like that. I don't know about you, but I've never particularly fancied a boy with the mental capacity of a nine-year-old slobbering all over me. So I'm strictly a girl only interested in older guys. The opposite of a cougar, I suppose. Fourth year was much the same as third year. Sam was in seventh year, lucky him, and I just kind of went about my way as I always did. I had my first kiss in fourth year, with a guy in fifth year at the time - when I say I like older guys, I usually mean two years at the very least, but this guy was okay. Pretty cool. It was at a party, which is the most lame, cliche setting anyone could think up for a first kiss. I'm that much into the drinking scene. I like smoking well enough, but if I do it, I do it by myself. People who wave their fags around acting like smoking when they're fourteen makes them just about the coolest thing ever sets my teeth on the edge. I do it alone. I can't quite see the draw towards getting smashed, though. You drink, get smashed, some guy puts his hand down your knickers, repeat. So I was at the party, but sober; I'd only had one small glass of firewhiskey and I was perfectly fine. I was sat with a couple of other older guys, and I'd like to make it perfectly clear that I was just mates with all of them. Anyways, I was sat there, and this guy who was in fifth year at the time comes over, starts hitting on me, and obviously doesn't know who I am. But he's pretty cool, even though I remain aloof at the start, one leg crossed, sipping my drink, the guys I'm with probably waiting eagerly for me to send this guy off in the other direction completely rejected. I decided to give him a chance, though. And I was nice, alright? I know I probably don't come across as nice, but I am. Just because my face doesn't break in two when I smile. I gave this guy a chance - we headed to the corner of the room, chatted a bit, and he flirted quite outrageously for quite a while. Tried to feel me up too, obviously, but I'm a very let's-keep-our-hands-where-we-can-see-them type of girl unless I'm sure the guy I'm with is totally worthy. Anyways, we had a bit of a snog. I have no idea what people mean when they talk about fireworks. I thought I'd feel a bit different after kissing someone, my first kiss, but I was fine. When I'd had enough, I pulled out, gave the guy a pat on the shoulder and left it at that. And that brings us to now; summer before fifth year. I told you - nothing note-worthy. I mean, I'm cool. I know I am. Not particularly extraordinary. But I'm cool and in-control and I'd like to think I'm fierce and tough and a survivor. That's what life's all about, isn't it? Surviving. And that's how I survive. Going into fifth year sounds mostly like how going into fourth year sounded, except for the OWLs looming ominously in the distance. Oh, crap, forgot about everybody else - Mum and Dad and Toby are still Mum and Dad and Toby, Sam's in Bristol as well now, and Zanna's started up her own newspaper. You should check it out, it's not bad. A bit controversial, but I like that. I really admire that in Zanna, even if I don't want to be like her. She and her mate Miranda, that run the newspaper - they really have balls to do it. I even felt sort of sorry for thinking Zanna would never be a writer in a million years. Maybe I should get rid of the negative attitude. And...that's it. Nothing spectacular, I'm afraid. Nothing mind-blowing or jaw-dropping. But whatever. Like I said, if you're looking for interesting or noteworthy, I'm not your girl. With me, you're basically only guaranteed sarcasm, pessimism and my famous I-couldn't-care-less expression. I've got to go now, anyways, so I suppose it's good that I don't have boyfriends coming out of my ears and drama consuming my life because otherwise I'd still be going on for another age. See you. |
it's britney bitch. 17. 3. gmt. |
i don't think i have to do this but i will if i do so yes
