My borrowed face and my third-hand grace only reflect your glory

She'd probably forget the date, but four off-key renditions of "Happy Birthday" via cell phone and a Hallmark card with a twenty dollar bill from her Paw Paw remind her yet again that she really should be grateful to be alive.

NOTE: Aaron is lookoutearth and is used without permission, but lots and lots of tender loving care.

Even in the air conditioned terminal, the oppressive heat beat down through the exposed windows with a promise of sweat and slow movement to all who dared step outside its sanctuary. The desert was unforgiving in the heart of summer, making up for weeks of unseasonably cool weather.

Inside the airport, heat of another kind was building as Anne strolled through the crowd, nostrils flared and eyes alert as she scanned the building for some trace of him. She knew he was there, could feel it like a phantom breath on the back of her neck, but the heat magnified every scent and the saving AC blew scents every which way, recirculating the air until it became too rich with smells, tainted by the scent of Freon and too much electricity.

She saw him before she smelled him, seated at a table with a coffee and a newspaper. The break in the crowd was just long enough for her to see him bring the cup to his lips and slow to a stop midway. His neck flushed with the same heat as he found her, as his head lifted and tipped back just a touch too far.

( He was sniffing the air. He was looking for her. )

Muse: Anne Forsythe
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 477

Ways I've Defied Stereotypes:

- I graduated in the top five percent of my class from UCLA.
- I'm very finicky about who I sleep with.
- I walk and chew gum at the same time almost daily.
- I've never been paid for sex.
- I've never traded sex for anything but sex.
- I wear panties quite often.
- I have, in fact, been known to not have as much fun as a brunette.
- My boobs are real.
- I stripped because it was fun.

Unique Items I Own:

- a Playboy Bunny costume
- a Tiffany diamond engagement ring
- a mint condition copy of Get Your Wings
- a stripper pole in my living room
- I don't own it, but I lease a house that used to belong to Henry Rollins. I own the lease? ;)
- a beautiful antique pearl necklace that allegedly belonged to Clara Bow
- a genuine black rose...well, just about. It's that dark a shade of purple.
- the affections of a rather charming Cincinnati lawyer. ;)

Note: Annabelle and Cadence walker are themamma_bear and gunpowder_eyes respectively, and are used without permission but lots of love. Horatio and Carlton are mine to use and abuse as I see fit. :P

“The pickles are staring at me!”

“Cadence Jolene Walker, if you don’t eat your food this instant…”

“But Moooooommaaaaaaaa!...”

Frowning, sixteen year old Anne chewed on her lower lip and reached up to toy with the end of her ponytail as she rearranged the vegetables on her plate with her fork.

“You heard yer momma, Cady. Eat yer food.”

“I *can’t*, Paw Paw! I can’t eats my burger when it stares at me!”

( Anne shifted in her seat and bit the inside of her cheek. It wasn’t her place, it *really* wasn’t her place. Mother would be disappointed in her if she gave these people cause to regret taking her in… )

Muse: Anne Forsythe
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 535

Anne loved working Saturday afternoons at The Body Shop because the customers just didn’t come in, and for the few who did show up she had a pretty wide berth to do whatever she felt like.

Or so it was until Saturday afternoons became one of their busiest periods, starting just a couple of weeks after she got hired.

This week was no different than any other as the spotlight hit her, irised onto her face as the music began, a pop ballad that was nothing like the usual bump and grind that accompanied her routines. Animal eyes stared out at the crowd as she moved with the music, but the woman onstage was purely human as the irised spotlight followed her, moving over her body as she slowly stripped off her clothing piece by piece.

The lights never rose. The spotlight lingered over her hands as her gloves peeled away from her arms, as her skirt slid off her hips and to the floor. It followed her fingers as she unlaced her corset and slipped it off her body. She swayed, she gyrated, and moved away from the crowd, backing down the stage runway with every step until she made her exit offstage.

The lights lever came up. All she showed the audience was pieces of the picture, glimpses of bare breast and skin unveiling, looks and glimmers of more than just sex. On these lazy Saturday afternoons where she was free to play, to wander, she told stories and created fantasies the customers came in droves to lose themselves in.

Left to her own devices, she told erotic fairy tales crafted from bare flesh and sensuality, and promised more than pleasure: she promised happily ever after.

She promised love…and for that, her customers would pay any price to take in the beautiful lie obscured by the darkness behind her irised spotlight.

Muse: Anne Forsythe
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 313

“Annie? Heyyyyy…”

A warm, heavy weight settled against her back and around her shoulders, wrapping her in comfort and strength. Turning her face away from the tear-stained pillow clutched between her arms, seventeen year old Anne let Harvey lay on top of her and drew comfort from his body sprawled over hers. Her brother, her pack…even after a year, sometimes it still didn’t feel like home except in moments like these, when she was too lonely and too filled with hurt to care.

( “What’s up, Buttercup?” )

Muse: Anne Forsythe
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 590

- BIRTHPLACE: Boston, Massachusetts
- BUST: 36"
- WAIST: 22"
- HIPS: 36"
- HEIGHT: 5' 6"
- WEIGHT: 158 lbs
- AMBITIONS: To finish school and further pursue a career in modeling, publishing, or both.
- TURN-ONS: Strength, kindness, intellect, long hair, a man who isn't afraid of a strong woman.
- TURNOFFS: Brown nosers, narrow mindedness, willfully poor fashion sense.
- FAVORITE BOOK: Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman.
- WHO MAKES ME WANT TO DANCE: The Black Crowes, Aerosmith, Meat Loaf, AC/DC, George Thoroughgood.
- MY MTV MOMENT: The video for The Black Crowes' "Soul Singing"
- PETS: a white cockatoo named Happy Jack and a blue Merle chihuahua named Hulk
- FAVORITE FOODS: steak tartare, spaghetti alfredo, sushi, and genuine Philly chese steaks

Anne Forsythe
Original Character

Chameleon

Early on in life, she had to face the facts: she would never fit. She wasn’t built to blend in, wasn’t made like her brothers and sisters to become a part of the landscape and escape detection. In the unforgiving urban jungle, even under her designer labels and makeup it was clear she didn’t belong. The clothes fit and the composure was accepted, but through the Revlon and DKNY the world could still see flashes of fresh leaves and moonlight in her hair and on her skin.

She did her best, carefully sculpting an image and a look. She made a life, bought a house and filled it with beautiful things. Her closet was her pride and joy, her career was her everything. Still, of all her brothers and sisters she was the one that was always hungry. Sex, prey, recognition, she was always stalking something or someone. She danced, and under the graceful movements and come-hither smiles they could see the flash of teeth that tore greedily into red meat and the hands that could snap a coyote’s neck without so much as hesitating.

When she posed, she was more than a fantasy, a warm and eager body. Under the tanned skin were the muscles of a hunter, in her eyes there was blood red behind the warm brown. Even when she edited a piece for print, she showed her targets no mercy. Her demand for perfection was as ruthless as a wolf on the hunt.

Among her darker siblings, she glowed like the sun. In the city, she was the one that got noticed, the wild animal kissed with the scent of Chanel No. 5...she just couldn’t blend in.

Even in the bosom of her family, she would never quite fit.

Muse: Anne Forsythe
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 293

She doesn’t remember being found by Horatio Walker, not with any sort of coherency. The days before, the days after…there isn’t detail enough to form even a partial memory, but the day she was found is different.

She doesn’t remember anything but the color red.

It’s everywhere, in everything…the fabric of a shirt, the viscous wetness soaking her clothes and skin, the blood singing in her veins and tinting her vision with pure animal fury. There was nothing left of the nice girl from Boston, just a beast running on pure adrenaline.

There were harsh periods of light when she woke and splashes of dark when she slept, noise and confusion in the moment between between. There was food when she was hungry…red and warm, meat that still tasted of fresh blood and a fresh kill…and there was red warmth, safety and comfort in the worn, faded red duvet that she still keeps on her bed to this day.

There are no distinct memories, just knives of sensory assault slicing through her mind whenever she tries to recall that day, stark swatches of light, dark, dizzying shades of red. Before and after the blades grow fuzzy and dim until she gets to her life before the loss of her family and her rebirth into a brand new one.

It doesn’t bother her too much…it’s normal in its own way. After all, nobody really remembers the day that they’re born, and if they do? It’s not much more than light and dark and living, screaming red.

Muse: Anne Forsythe
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 255