Elizabeth Allan!

Life is fucking worthless. To Elizabeth Allan, this ain't shit but an objective truth.
She's worked so, so hard to move on from the endless number of days from her childhood spent pacing, pacing, and pacing while daydreaming or burying her nose in the worn, faded pages of a book behind the prison ass walls of a bland little room. Working blue-collar jobs the second she was of age, full-ride scholarships, hyper-independence, hustling upon hustling, academic success and embodying black excellence, manufactured passions, all in the name of the pursuit of happiness and a nebulous Leathucarian dream.
Everything amounted to nothing. Liz was a naive dumbass, she'll confess. It was doomed from the start.

…Stars-damn, all of that and for what, exactly?
For a college GPA in the shitter and countless hours mindlessly watching frictionless, useless slop online while buried beneath her dark sheets? Being constantly poor despite working her ass off along with her numerous achievements? Watching her assignments and emails pile up at the same rate as her stress? Fingers twitching for the smooth curves of a beer bottle or the weightlessness of a cigarette? Messy ass friends and hookups who leave the moment Liz can't financially cover their asses or shower them with gifts and mediocre sex?
Fuck all that. Liz hasn't felt like a real person in genuine years; it even feels wrong to not think of herself as some vague concept, really. Maybe that's because of her parents constantly bitching and punching and drinking and— Ugh.
Who gives a fuck anymore, like, actually? Speak now or forever hold your peace, because she can't hear shit besides crickets, and she can't bring herself to care.

Shit, dude. Her life is withering away before her eyes and — genuinely — what the hell is she supposed to do about it but scroll and drink and dance and fuck until her vision's too blurred to notice? It's either this or tear herself apart trying to look pretty and perfect again. Pick your poison, babes, cause there's no point to any of this!

Life was never supposed to be like— like this. Useless, needless, frictionless suffering. Liz is barely holding herself together long enough to not look slow in front of others, but she can feel her breath hitch whenever she drunkenly envisions slicing the flesh of her wrists to red ribbons. She can't— she can't continue while being so disgusting like this.

The end seems closer than ever before. And you know what Liz thinks?
Thank the Stars.

Attributes

Equipment

• Digicam
  A shitty, cheap, and bedazzled digital camera found in the trenches of a thrift store. Uses it to post "aesthetic and fucking fire" pictures on social media.
• Pepper spray
• Hunting knife
  A small black knife that Liz dutifully maintains and cares for. It makes her feel at least a little bit safer, since owning a firearm would probably be a bad idea for her.
• Sketchbook
• Pencils
• Laptop

Notes

• Gender is for freaks. Who's got time for shit like that? Liz is nonbinary, though she keeps this fact, along with her also using he/they pronouns, limited to her closest friends. Mostly enjoys referring to herself as a woman and presenting as feminine, but isn't adverse to androgyny nor masculinity.
• Expressive! Emotive! Usually bubbly and cheery with a big toothy grin!
• Has a tooth gap between her two upper central incisors.
• Used to be deathly skinny in the past. Now, she's, "weird and pudgy," according to her.
• The hat wings move in response to emotions. How? Don't worry about it.

Trivia

• Favorite food is extra-thick waffles, especially with powdered sugar, honey, berries, chocolate, and whipped cream on top. Will also devour cake rolls and beignets.
• …Also harbors an irrational disdain toward pancakes, unless they're shaped like something or have some design drawn with chocolate syrup.
• Avid gardening fiend because her therapist recommended it. Although, she kind of sucks at it because she's new to the whole thing.
• Great cook! Terrible baker. Gets baked goods by either buying them or nagging her friends into baking for her.
• Has a rabbit-filled paracosm named Sunset Silver. Or, well, used to, anyway.
• Massive fan-fiction lover.
• Everyone calls her Liz and gets miffed when people refer to her as Elizabeth… Unless it's Virgil; he's done that ever since they first met and can't break the habit.
• Regularly visits the plentiful mascot cafes within Nouvelle-Yorke and is able to recall the respective characters from every single one.
• Currently testing weight loss techniques via endless pacing while daydreaming. Just ends up with really sore feet every time.
• Enjoys roller skating while blasting music from her walkman.
• Also likes blogging and pretending she's one of those stereotypical preppy girls from shitty teen movies.
• Says hi to people by waving one arm in massive arcs over her head.
• Greatly enjoys binge-eating while watching/playing bad horror media. …And then gets upset later because she was binge-eating.
• Amazing at racing games despite rarely touching them.
• …But she's terrible at air hockey.
• Convinced Lourdes' population of pigeons to obey her every command by training them during a severe mental episode in high school, then crowned herself as Lourdes' Pigeon Lord and hasn't relinquished her title since. Currently at war with Staten's King of Rats.
• Almost misses Hometown due to Nouvelle-Yorke's constant chaos and bustle. Almost.
• Was the person who crafted her and Virgil's matching hat-wings. Virgil convinced Liz to let him shove magnets into the wings in their high school years to "make them even cooler."
• Regularly bites people. Nearly broke her teeth off trying to bite Virgil once and, much to Liz's dismay, hasn't bitten him that hard since.