Shiv
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Post by Shiv on Jul 2, 2011 17:52:11 GMT -5
Name: Cassandra “Cassy” Stanton
Age: 17
Occupation:
Student. Cassandra was attending high school at the time of the outbreak, studying a potpourri of subjects while indulging in her one big love: Dancing.
Personality/Looks:
Strict regimes, gymnastics, gym, and serious dance training have left their mark. Cassandra has both the face and body enough to become a pageant, though her preoccupation with her hobby, and a severe lack of a strong, outgoing personality has dashed any such chances. Long blonde hair frames a cute, vulnerable face and big blue doe eyes. Her body is lean and toned, a body many would give their right hand –or more- to possess.
The resent lack of food has severely taken its toll though. Her body has grown weaker and thinner from malnourishment, leaving her more gaunt than anything else. In the same way her face has become shielded, guarded, with a perpetual haunted look and bags beneath her eyes that no amount of sleep seems to be able to dispel. She was most certainly beautiful once, though comparing her to how she was, she’s little more than a husk. Preferring durable materials for clothing, such as denim, though never tight enough to impair her movement, Cassandra dresses in what she can scavenge. The one distinguishing item of clothing she has is the long dark blue coat, rimmed with fur, that she salvaged from her locker before leaving school.
After having seen her perform one would be surprised to learn that Cassandra was never the one to take space in a room. She’d be quiet, careful and gentle. Sure she had friends, but they were of the close knit kind. She’d let her metaphorical hair down on sleepovers or in private, seeming to fade into the background like smoke when in social situations where she felt uncomfortable. On stage however she’d experience what would be best described as a bedroom role reversal, the timid girl literally bursting out of her shell in an intense, energetic display of confidence and power. Many dancers claim that they can only be truly free to express themselves through their moves, and Cassandra would fit such a description to a T. For her the simple primordial joy of movement was her sanctuary and the way for herself to cleanse her thoughts. The body, the admiration, and looks she’d receive from others were just a bonus.
Background:
Cassandra was born and raised in New Kingston city, in a quiet street of little importance in the grand scheme of things. Born into the upper middle class, she enjoyed the perks of suburban life, with safe neighborhoods, respectable martial assets and a plethora of choices in life. Her father a ranking official at the local bank, and her mother running an internet-based jewelry from home, Cassandra never had to endure the hardships many others in her school or city were. Stable as it was she was never sheltered, not falling into any kind of “rich girl”-stereotype, much in thanks to being placed in a reputably “rough” public school. Except for opening her eyes to the workings of the world, her school-life in general was uneventful and serene. She’d get acceptable grades, she’d dance her evenings away and she’d spend her week-ends with her friends. It was a simple and uncomplicated life, with little to deviate from how a normal girl would live. A bit of truancy, a bit of mischief (though never instigated by Cassy, she’d merely tag along for the ride) nothing that would get her in serious trouble and nothing that would endanger her future.
Considering her looks and demeanor, she did not have a lack of interest from the boys at school, though nothing serious had ever sprung from it. With time constraints and a very controlled life, there was never any time for her to seriously date. This changed recently when she –to the lukewarm reception of her parents- started seeing a boy named Nathan from her dancing class. For Cassandra it was a invigorating experiment much in thanks to the fact that she’d never taken time to notice boys before, and she’d never been happier than the day when she got her first kiss…
…which unfortunately was only a week before the outbreak.
Recent history:
Sometimes she can still hear the screams.
When the outbreak occurred, when the floodgates broke and the dead poured in, Cassandra was at school. It was early afternoon and the sun was shining in through the windows. She was practicing her choreography. There was so little time to act, so little time to think; there was screaming in the hallway, the doors broke down, the dead poured in, the students died. Either standing in shock, wondering if the whole thing was a big joke, a prank of epic proportions, or clinging to the walls in the auditorium, trying desperately to get away from the broken nails and the dripping fangs of the bloodied corpses shambling towards them. Cassandra did neither. She bolted, pure instincts sending her scuttling up the wall like a beetle towards the open air vent almost fifteen feet above the floor. Sometimes being a athlete really helps, especially when you’re scared witless and still holding on to a bottle of water in one hand. Clawing and kicking her way up the wall, Cassandra managed to grab the ledge and, throwing he bottle ahead of her, pull herself, head first, into the tight opening. Almost out of harm’s way, she could feel a hand grabbing at her exposed ankle. She could hear a girl scream her name, someone who needed her, someone who needed her to pull her leg up behind her and save the person from the horde below. Cassandra shot a single look at the cramped space, her mind clear for an instant, and then she kicked whoever was holding onto her square in the face, crawling further into the duct as the pained screams of girl being eaten alive echoed behind her. But at least she was safe, at least that is what she kept telling herself. Crawling further into the duct Cassandra desperately sought a way out, some exit with which to escape the school and make her way home to the imagined safety of her house. What she didn’t count on was the narrowing of the duct, the almost intangible shrinking of space, not until it was too late anyway. Not until she’d crawled far enough that turning back was no option, and going forward was not possible, did she feel the walls press down around her.
Caught like a clot in the arterial system of the school Cassandra could do little but listen at the screams of the dying and the panicking steps of those trying to escape the devouring masses. She could do nothing but cry as the suffocating sense of claustrophobia set in, the dread of starvation, and the hopelessness of one too many doomsday scenarios shown in zombie films flashing through her mind. Stuck like a foolish cat crawling where its body could not possibly fit, Cassandra gave up on life, hoping that when the end came it would come quickly.
She’s still not sure how long she lay there. Several days no doubt, switching between hysterical crying, sleeping or pleading to god for death or salvation. The only thing that saved the girls life was her bottle of water, which she would surely have thirsted to death without. In time her body, without any intake of feed, lost weight, not much, but just enough to allow Cassy to slither back the way she came, skin bruising and stretching as he crawled out of the tight hole, dropping into an abandoned stage where dried puddles of blood and rotting lumps of meat were the only indications of the dance macabre that had taken place.
What emerged from the school that day was a broken shard, a mirror cracked so bad it could only show the briefest reflection of self. Cassandra wandered the streets for several days. Too scared to make her way back home, yet too frightened to stay in one place. Finally she met others, she found the safe house, and could enjoy the relative comfort of company against the dread hunger that lurked outside, yet she still remained reclusive, what little spirit she had before the outbreak quenched by her days of entrapment.
Sometimes she can still hear the screams.
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