Post by ``Cash "Jack" Harper on Aug 10, 2008 23:35:37 GMT -5
Cash Hayden Harper;;
underneath it all;;
[/color] and I'm sixteen years old. I'm been doing this for three years
and you cant reach me by pm or email(if you ask nicely).
I also master of OTHER CHARACTERS[/size][/center][/ul]
all about me;;
name;; Cash Hayden Harper
nicknames;; Jack
birthday;; June fourteenth
age;; nineteen
year;; Drop-out
sex;; Male
sexual orientation;; Bisexual
band && position;;Jill, jack & the ripettes::backing vocals & bass
mirror image;;
LUSCIOUS locks;; Brown
PRETTY eyes;; Brown
WEIGHT;; 165
HEIGHT;; 5'11
DISTINGUISHING features;;
Two tattoos, small stars on his wrists, and a large star on his side
LOOK alike;; Paul Griffiths
overall appearance;;
Hair,
Cash's hair has been the same ever since he could remember, absolutelabsolutelys. Its naturally brunette never touched with any kind of color change and he plans to keep it that way. Its not long but it isn't exactly short either. He tries to keep it just above his shoulders and usually he does a good job with that, but when your on tour you can't exactly keep your hair just so. He usually just lets his hair fall anyway it wants to. Sometimes he uses gallons of hair spray and sometimes he spends hours trying to make it stand just right. Most of the time he gets it right sometimes it simply looks like he rolled out of bed. However despite the countless hours of straightening it and the infinite amount of hair spray he manages to keep it perfectly soft.
Body,
Five'eleven simple not to tall not too short pretty average. He always wishes he was taller but once you hit nineteen there is not much more you grow after that. He doesn't have much muscle a little bit in his arms from constantly carrying his own instruments, and some on his abs from the little bit of exercise he commits to. Also the minimal amount of decent meals he has time to consume helps him out sometimes, and other times it slows him down. He is a little pale and he is self conscious about that but he is much to afraid of skin cancer to do anything about it.
Eyes,
Brown eyes, just like everything else about him they are simple. However most people don't really know the color of his eyes. Why? well for the simple reason that he always hides them behind a pair of over-sized sun glasses which he refers to as his "stunna shades". A different pair for everyday he is almost never without them. Even when he is without them they still don't show, his hair is usually in his eyes.
Clothes,
Cash's wears whatever he thinks would be most comfortable. Which is always jeans that are a little to tight in all the right places. Always a form-fitting shirts unless he simply doesn't wear a shirt. He likes to layer things with one or two jackets usually. He loves flat billed hats but almost never wears them. His clothes defiantly don't scream look at me.
deep down;;
LOVE it;;
In people
A little clingy. Bubbly. Dependable. Eccentric. Exciting. Fun. Gullible. Happy. Individual. Loyal. Optimistic. Random. Real. Spontaneous. Superstitious. Trust worthy.
In general
Bass. Cold nights. Dancing. Drinking. Driving. Fans. Fire. Flirting. Friends. Full house. Gambling. Getting lost. Hats. Music. Parties. Pranks. Rain. Scary movies. Simplicity. Singing. Smoking. Snow. Sun glasses.
In music
Cash basically like just about any kind of music as long as it has beat melody and nice lyrics he's game. He likes things he can dance to.
HATE it;;
In people
Annoying. Arrogant. Bad tempers. Bitchy. Close minded. Depressing. Disrespectful. Easily annoyed. Fake. Ignorant. Liars. Overly Judgmental. Petty. Vain.
In general
Audible breathing. Bad gigs. Bars. Being alone. Bird. Boredom. Broken instruments. Distance. Hangovers. Heat. Mornings. Sports. Takeout. Tapping. Waiting.
In music
Cash cannot stand but two kinds of music. Rap is one, its not really even music the people aren't really even singing and there is no melody. Country is the other, who wants to hear people whine about broken hearts and cheating and tractors?
REALLY GOOD at;;
Bass. Singing. Dancing. Holding his alcohol. Getting out of trouble. Keeping secrets. Organization
KINDA BAD at;;
Cooking. Sports. Direction. lying. getting serious. calling people back. Picking up his phone.
THOSE little THINGS;;
pulls on his ears when he is annoyed. Bites his lip when nervous. often pops his fingers. grinds his teeth. Bites the end of his pens. Constantly humming
GOALS;;
Keep all his friends. make it big world-wide. meet all his fans
overall personality;;
Organized
In a band and organized? Cash is organized almost to the point of OCD. Everything must be in its place, when its not he will put on his mother suit and fix it. It may seem like it takes more time to clean up all the time, but it simply makes it easier to find things when he really need to hurry. He doesn't know if it annoys his band mates or not but then he doesn't really care.
Childish
Cash is the kind of person who stays up all night playing rather than sleeping even if the most important thing in the world is the next day. He loves playgrounds and video games and energy drinks of course to keep him up through the night.
Indecisive
Cash has always been a bit indecisive on just about everything. Weather or not he likes what he is wearing, should he eat that or this, and should this go here or there. This usually wastes a lot of time and though he tries to make up his mind he simply can't he likes to make the better choice he just doesn't always know what that choice is.
Serious
Despite his childish behavior Cash does have a serious side. It rarely shows because there is rarely anything that he needs to be serious about however when there is Cash becomes almost a different person he is attentive although he is still a little fidgety. He hates when people are distressed and loves to give advice although sometimes the advice isn’t all that helpful.
Social
Cash loves to talk to just about everyone and is in no way at all shy. Some of his favorite people are the fans and photographers and his band mates of course. He can talk about absolutely anything and everything, which may be annoying to some people. Cash love to stay out all night dancing and meeting people. He loves going to parties and he absolutly loves his alcohol so its a pretty good thing he can hold a fair amount.
valuables;;
BEST memory;;
His best memory was his first night on stage with the band. It was a small crowd in a small venue but the mood was absolutely perfect. The sweat was sliding down the back of his neck and soaking his clothes. The bright lights were killing his eyes and he was sure his voice cracked more than once, but the crowd was screaming and dancing, and thats all that matters.
WORST memory;;
His parents divorce. He remembered them fighting a lot in those days over little things like his fathers hours, money and more often then not his little sister and him. When he got home from school he found that all his mothers possessions had been completely moved out, and his father was at work. Then he got a call a couple hours later from her telling him that he would be staying with his father while things got sorted out and before he knew it he was spending summer months in San Francisco and school months in Sacramento.
MOST VALUED possession;;
His most valued possessions are his bass guitar and his extensive sunglasses collection. If anything were to ever happen to these items he would most likely suffer from a major panic attack
HOME is where the HEART is;;
hometown;; Sacramento, California
parents;;
Cole Harper
Bailey Harper
pets;; none
history;;
It all started with a little girl who wanted the fairy tale life. She wanted the prince charming and the perfect child and the perfect marriage. Sadly she didn't get quite that.
She was the cheerleader and he was the football jock. The perfect match everyone said so, and so there friends had hooked them up and they settled down in Sacramento California.
He turned into a business man she turned into a nurse and they were still the perfect couple. Still held hands even after a few years of getting married. Then the kids came along.
Things got a little rocky with the couple but love held them together. First came a perfectly healthy little boy. Two years later a baby girl. They had the perfect family, they ate dinner together every night they had family outings and the older brother constantly looked out for his little sister.
Things went on like that for many years. Eventually Cash got into music and he joined a band of friends from high school. He was vocals and bass. He had no idea that they would eventually leave the garage.
After a while the he stopped hanging out with his little sister. He stopped going to family outings Jill Jack & rippettes were his life now.
His parents began arguing they didn't know each other anymore they were spending to much time at work and fussing over the kids. Eventually things got a little too rocky and they split.
He was left with his father. Cash was upset to say the least. He refused to go to school,do chores or even stay in the house until his parents got back together. His parents were less than amused, and still refused to see each other. He was a sophomore in high school then.
He got more enthralled with his music and lost touch with everything. He barely noticed that his father had a new girlfriend and he slid through the second marriage without even remembering his new mommy's name.
He still isn't close with his family at all and he wouldn't even recognize his sister if he saw her. It doesn't phase him at all. The only thing he needs is the band.
FOLLOW my LEAD;;
secret phrase;;
Its not a party if it happens every night (but actually it is >.<)
your OTHER work;;
A football Player Jumps, landing heavily with muscle and force on his feet, running and holding down the 200 pounds of himself not to mention of the other three men building on his back. A Ballerina lifts, poised and graceful, landing on their toes and falling gracefully back upon one foot, lifting their own 110 pound self four feet in the air in a graceful swing of limbs and landing again just as steadily. Their expression never falters, their toes continue to point, even when they have been broken so many times in youth and learning stages. Their body remains straight, as if a pole ran right through them and into the ground. Holding them there like some lifeless plastic toy forever doomed to dance in circles for the entertainment of others.
Luka had been the entertaining plastic toy his entire life, on and off the dance floor. Never stopping unless it was to second guess himself. Never falling even if it would please others to see him do so. Stopping and starting again to the musical chattering and the delighted pleas of others. Stopping only when the disgruntled voices tell him to. He eats, sleeps, and breaths the aching muscles of exhaustion when he has spun so many times his legs are tight and his cheeks are flushed. The rush of air that flies through his falling hair when he spins. The gentle melody portraying a story of nature and love and death and spirit and envy and humbleness and confidence and expounding hope or morbid manifest destiny through the magical flagstaff's and eight-notes swaying through the air from his speakers. He is just the spinning toy, breathing in the wonder he expounds and the discipline he has developed thus far. Only for others. But secretly because it is all he knows. Secretly for himself. secretly the need consumes him, until at times he finds himself running for an empty room to dance in like an addict runs for alcohol or a panic attack runs for fresh air. It fuels him, keeps him alive, and eventually becomes all he lives for. His obsession grows to a need and a part of him. Until it is so deeply attached that to remove it would be taking away the very soul of him, and he would remain nothing but a shell in which to keep the magic that once lay there. Dancing is his air, Dancing is his alcohol, Dancing is his obsession. Dancing is all he is.
There is an empty classroom. On a long corridor in the northern most wing. He assumes that it used to be an old green room or maybe a sun room, by the plant hanging railings on the walls. He doesn't question the convenience of the bar. He just holds fast until his knuckles are white with need for balance and his legs had been aching 100 pliés ago but he keeps going until they have ached for 300 and he can't stand anymore. Its unhealthy, its inhumane, its dancing. And its beautiful. Especially when he does it. he has never seen himself dance, despite the wall of mirrors in the ballet room. He has seen others many times in shows, on stage. He wants to be like them. He wants the silent confidence they hold. The gleam in their eye that they know what they're doing and they are fierce about it. That they can handle anything that steps out on that stage because they were born with the ability to do this. He wants that so much that the need constricts his chest and forces him to stand and do 100 more pliés. His muscles are tight from stopping and starting again. And his body collapses. He has pushed herself to the limit, now to push it a little more.
When he was younger and learning to be flexible thats what his instructor had told him every day. he needed to bend to his full potential ,till he ground his teeth in pain and frustration, and then push himself a little more. So that eventually one day, all he could do was the best.Period.
He just sits there. Panting and aching. If his feet had not been full of calluses so long ago then they would be broken and bleeding. he got over those elementary wounds a long time ago. he uses the bar to pull himself up, feeling his muscles protesting. His hand once again squeezes the bar for dear balance and he begins his Chaînés, Clenching his teeth and feeling the hot waves flash through his body. After ten he stops and let himself drop to the floor. He isn't quite satisfied with himself. He isn't ever satisfied with himself, which is what always causes him to clean up and come back again the day after next. He only does enough to maintain his muscles, not build them up.
He looked around the room, still panting and sweating. This corridor was alway bright, but the lights had turned on and he realized that it was getting darker outside. The school would be hitting curfew times soon but he wouldn't stop now. He put his clothes in a stack and set them by the door. If he got in trouble for being out to late he would simply tell the professor that he was planning a lesson for the younger kids. They would smile, and let him off with a warning and he would go to bed. It always worked that way.
He was about to start his jumps when he realized that someone else was standing in the doorway. His gaze ran to the face of the person and he smiled. He had seen her in his classes she was good. " Come for a lesson" he smiled she was known for her wit and he wanted to see some of that flare.
Luka had been the entertaining plastic toy his entire life, on and off the dance floor. Never stopping unless it was to second guess himself. Never falling even if it would please others to see him do so. Stopping and starting again to the musical chattering and the delighted pleas of others. Stopping only when the disgruntled voices tell him to. He eats, sleeps, and breaths the aching muscles of exhaustion when he has spun so many times his legs are tight and his cheeks are flushed. The rush of air that flies through his falling hair when he spins. The gentle melody portraying a story of nature and love and death and spirit and envy and humbleness and confidence and expounding hope or morbid manifest destiny through the magical flagstaff's and eight-notes swaying through the air from his speakers. He is just the spinning toy, breathing in the wonder he expounds and the discipline he has developed thus far. Only for others. But secretly because it is all he knows. Secretly for himself. secretly the need consumes him, until at times he finds himself running for an empty room to dance in like an addict runs for alcohol or a panic attack runs for fresh air. It fuels him, keeps him alive, and eventually becomes all he lives for. His obsession grows to a need and a part of him. Until it is so deeply attached that to remove it would be taking away the very soul of him, and he would remain nothing but a shell in which to keep the magic that once lay there. Dancing is his air, Dancing is his alcohol, Dancing is his obsession. Dancing is all he is.
There is an empty classroom. On a long corridor in the northern most wing. He assumes that it used to be an old green room or maybe a sun room, by the plant hanging railings on the walls. He doesn't question the convenience of the bar. He just holds fast until his knuckles are white with need for balance and his legs had been aching 100 pliés ago but he keeps going until they have ached for 300 and he can't stand anymore. Its unhealthy, its inhumane, its dancing. And its beautiful. Especially when he does it. he has never seen himself dance, despite the wall of mirrors in the ballet room. He has seen others many times in shows, on stage. He wants to be like them. He wants the silent confidence they hold. The gleam in their eye that they know what they're doing and they are fierce about it. That they can handle anything that steps out on that stage because they were born with the ability to do this. He wants that so much that the need constricts his chest and forces him to stand and do 100 more pliés. His muscles are tight from stopping and starting again. And his body collapses. He has pushed herself to the limit, now to push it a little more.
When he was younger and learning to be flexible thats what his instructor had told him every day. he needed to bend to his full potential ,till he ground his teeth in pain and frustration, and then push himself a little more. So that eventually one day, all he could do was the best.Period.
He just sits there. Panting and aching. If his feet had not been full of calluses so long ago then they would be broken and bleeding. he got over those elementary wounds a long time ago. he uses the bar to pull himself up, feeling his muscles protesting. His hand once again squeezes the bar for dear balance and he begins his Chaînés, Clenching his teeth and feeling the hot waves flash through his body. After ten he stops and let himself drop to the floor. He isn't quite satisfied with himself. He isn't ever satisfied with himself, which is what always causes him to clean up and come back again the day after next. He only does enough to maintain his muscles, not build them up.
He looked around the room, still panting and sweating. This corridor was alway bright, but the lights had turned on and he realized that it was getting darker outside. The school would be hitting curfew times soon but he wouldn't stop now. He put his clothes in a stack and set them by the door. If he got in trouble for being out to late he would simply tell the professor that he was planning a lesson for the younger kids. They would smile, and let him off with a warning and he would go to bed. It always worked that way.
He was about to start his jumps when he realized that someone else was standing in the doorway. His gaze ran to the face of the person and he smiled. He had seen her in his classes she was good. " Come for a lesson" he smiled she was known for her wit and he wanted to see some of that flare.
administrator opinion;; great (: APPROVED welcome to the tour
KEEP my SECRETS;;
this page was created by livv
this page was created by livv
