Post by Evie•○•Ashton on Apr 16, 2006 21:50:56 GMT -5
Name: Ashton Kutcher - hawt -
Age: 17
Sex: MALE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Personality: Ashton is a charmer, and is basically able to get what he wants through flattery and flirtation. He is such an extrovert, and, if he tried hard enough, he could probably convince one of those British guards that never moves to let him play with their oh so dangerous guns and wear their hats. He can talk to anyone without faltering, and has never ending confidence and charisma. He is also a terrible flirt, and a pretty big horn dog. What can he say? He loves women. Ashton is a social er, butterfly, and is popular among everyone. He loves to have a good time, and a couple of beers.
Physical Appearance: hes hawt... - look at sig -
History: Ashton was born in Orange County, California. He had an older brother, a mum, and a dad. His family is wealthy, and likes to let people know their wealthy. Ashton was never into the whole "I'm rich" business, but instead liked to mellow low. He basically hated his family, they could all kiss his ass. He was born a rebel, and a partyer. When he turned seventeen he left his family... And hopefully for good.
Sample Post: The golden femora ambled at the edge of the lake; her honey orbs flickering back and fourth, from the orange trees to the delicate blue water that was creating ripples. It was a gorgeous autumn day, the air was brisk, and light, and the sun beautifully shone and darted off the azul liquid, creating more rays of yellow.
The Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever mix loved this season so far! It was gorgeous, and was a massive break from summer’s hectic hot spell. The sunny season had left a dent in so many canines’ lives. It left some to mourn for their loved ones, with tears dripping from their pools. And it hit all with the burden of a dried up throat and tongue. But Ruse looked on the brighter side; at least it killed off the weak dogs, the living scum. Nobody in this world needed them, they were far too fragile for the real world, heck they were too fragile to dream land.
The grumble of her stomach awoke her from her personal thoughts. The femme was hungry, her stomach was naked, and had been without food for hours. The reason for not eating wasn’t that she was too busy, the explanation was that she had not noticed her itch for food until now.
The orange femme came to an adjourn, her cranium turned to face Bear Lake. Pools imaginatively dug through the H20, in search of a large bass. And there he was, with her fawn optics she spotted the scaly piece of meat. Her legs stepped slowly and quietly into the lake, the fish still mellowed at the bottom of the pond. Ruse finally lashed forward, her skull dove into the water and her lids closed over her eyes. Ivories dug into the bait’s flesh, she left the bitter blood sink into her trap and down her throat. The bitch brought her tiara out of the water, and her cocoa lenses peered at the pine trees to see if there was anyone watching her. There was none that she could see. Droplets of water filtered from her now soaking coat. Her frame turned the other direction, her paws gripped the border of the lake and she pushed herself onto the grass. Ruse released the dead fish and watched as it’s lifeless body crashed onto the blades. The lass lay down on the soft terrain, and began pulling it apart.
*Picture: - so hawt -
Age: 17
Sex: MALE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Personality: Ashton is a charmer, and is basically able to get what he wants through flattery and flirtation. He is such an extrovert, and, if he tried hard enough, he could probably convince one of those British guards that never moves to let him play with their oh so dangerous guns and wear their hats. He can talk to anyone without faltering, and has never ending confidence and charisma. He is also a terrible flirt, and a pretty big horn dog. What can he say? He loves women. Ashton is a social er, butterfly, and is popular among everyone. He loves to have a good time, and a couple of beers.
Physical Appearance: hes hawt... - look at sig -
History: Ashton was born in Orange County, California. He had an older brother, a mum, and a dad. His family is wealthy, and likes to let people know their wealthy. Ashton was never into the whole "I'm rich" business, but instead liked to mellow low. He basically hated his family, they could all kiss his ass. He was born a rebel, and a partyer. When he turned seventeen he left his family... And hopefully for good.
Sample Post: The golden femora ambled at the edge of the lake; her honey orbs flickering back and fourth, from the orange trees to the delicate blue water that was creating ripples. It was a gorgeous autumn day, the air was brisk, and light, and the sun beautifully shone and darted off the azul liquid, creating more rays of yellow.
The Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever mix loved this season so far! It was gorgeous, and was a massive break from summer’s hectic hot spell. The sunny season had left a dent in so many canines’ lives. It left some to mourn for their loved ones, with tears dripping from their pools. And it hit all with the burden of a dried up throat and tongue. But Ruse looked on the brighter side; at least it killed off the weak dogs, the living scum. Nobody in this world needed them, they were far too fragile for the real world, heck they were too fragile to dream land.
The grumble of her stomach awoke her from her personal thoughts. The femme was hungry, her stomach was naked, and had been without food for hours. The reason for not eating wasn’t that she was too busy, the explanation was that she had not noticed her itch for food until now.
The orange femme came to an adjourn, her cranium turned to face Bear Lake. Pools imaginatively dug through the H20, in search of a large bass. And there he was, with her fawn optics she spotted the scaly piece of meat. Her legs stepped slowly and quietly into the lake, the fish still mellowed at the bottom of the pond. Ruse finally lashed forward, her skull dove into the water and her lids closed over her eyes. Ivories dug into the bait’s flesh, she left the bitter blood sink into her trap and down her throat. The bitch brought her tiara out of the water, and her cocoa lenses peered at the pine trees to see if there was anyone watching her. There was none that she could see. Droplets of water filtered from her now soaking coat. Her frame turned the other direction, her paws gripped the border of the lake and she pushed herself onto the grass. Ruse released the dead fish and watched as it’s lifeless body crashed onto the blades. The lass lay down on the soft terrain, and began pulling it apart.
*Picture: - so hawt -
