Roof Second Floor Lobby Back Door

Kate Buell 'ey kid, what's yer name? *looks up from the Gentle Critic section of the Sun and raises an eyebrow speculatively* *replies in near-monotone, through plump pale lips* Katherine Buell 'ave you been blessed wit a newsie nickname yet? *again, looks up, but lips upturn in a small smile* Not as of yet. If you can find somethin' to fit me *waves a small hand* then go right ahead. *smiles a bit more* Until then, feel free to call me Kate. Everyone else does. Where'd dat come from, anyway? n/a When's yer birthday? September 11. *snorts slightly* S'pose the next question'll be, "How old are ya?" The answer to that, my friend, is sixteen. Whatcha look like? *looks a bit frustrated by the question, but obliges you* I'm me. *shrugs her thin, scrolled shoulders* 5'4", 119 pounds the last time I was in the infirm. *glances away momentarily, narrowing her blue eyes as someone walks past, then looks back at you and tucks her chin-length, turned-under bright red hair behind her ears* My hair's a bit ornery, but I manage to keep it straight...*trails off, eyes falling to the newspaper again* And what about yer poysonality? *slightly unnerved, but controlling her voice so she doesn't sound unnerved* I'm analytical, I'm active, I'm decisive, I'm of fair intelligence, I'm curious, and I have a sarcastic streak, which I do my best to control. *finally glances up at you with eyes to penetrate, and an scrutinizing pout* An' I love to read *hint, hint* *eyes go from you to the paper* So... let's 'ear a liddle 'bout yer past. Where'd youse come from? *sighs and leans back, folding her precious distraction and setting it aside* My past. It's the same story as a half dozen hundred kids in the general vicinity. Decent family, illness strikes, little girl left to fend for herself until the authorities come to pick her up. Flash forward a year 'r so, girl meets boy, boy's born an outlaw, breaks her out of the hell of an orphanage she's imprisoned in. *fights a smirk* Boy ditches girl, girl stumbles into *looks around* a god-forsaken lodging house. *pauses, then sighs* I...don't mean to sound ungrateful. I'm not. But *thoughtfully* I am discontended. *glances at her dirty white cotton blouse, then to her ragged gray pants* There has to be more to life than this. Got friends? A few. *nods* What about a "significant otha", hmm? *wink wink, nudge nudge* Every other person is significant. *smiles honestly* But as in a boy? *shakes her head slightly* No. And what about yer status as a newsie? *grins amusedly* My status as a newsie? Hm. *looks around for Rebel or Remedy* You'd be best off askin' one of the leaders for the dirt on that one. Anythin' else? *pushes her slowly yellowing, straight teeth together and looks as if she's divulging a major secret to you* I'm sick fairly often. So if seem like I'm hard or angry, most of the time it's because I'm ill. *takes up her newspaper and nods politely to you* Good day. *walks off* Back to the bunkroom