26 years old

human

REBEL

FEMALE

WHATSERNAME

KNOWN

character overview

positive traits

negative traits

things they like

things they dislike

character description

they call us "problem child", we spend our nights on trial

The world breathes and changes, but Whitney – clothes ripping, bones snapping – manages to outrun it time and time again.

No stone tougher, no knife sharper, she presents herself as a mentally hardened woman who can be moved by no one, will not bow to any who may try. To see her with a mallet in hand would seem more appropriate than without, the heavy swing of the weapon as damaging as her more often than not merciless verbal jabs, and for a long time now, she has been the one at the bar that no man dares come across if only for the fact that she has a reputation of ripping the heads off those who so much as look at her wrong one too many times. It's not true, really, and she really doesn't look it at a first glance, but the way she holds herself with chest strutting out and chin tilted toward the heavens can easily convince anyone otherwise. Regardless of whether or not she's as physically strong as she would like to lead people to believe, though, there's no doubt that she is an independent soul, always assuring herself and those around her that there is no problem that humanity and its world can throw at her that she cannot overcome. She's a rebellion of one when she needs to be, the lone voice in a crowd that shrieks no if she must, and there isn't a single soul in all of time and space that will weigh her down and pull her from what she believes she must (wants to) do. Despite her unwillingness to do as she's told, however, even going so far as to do just the opposite at times to spite whoever believes they can order her around, quick is she to expect most anyone and everyone to do as she, herself, states. Authoritarianism sits pretty in this one, always calling the shots and refusing to answer those of another, and too fast is she to take on a “my way or the highway” mindset, one or two refusals ending in the severing of relationships or even ties altogether. Do as your told or prepare to say your goodbyes to her back; often times, such an ultimatum is all that is presented to those who have to misfortune of disobeying. (That doesn't mean, however, that she won't look back – just that she'll only do so when it's too late.)

Whitney, though, is by no means cruel. Sarcasm is spoken as a second language, yes, and she may make jokes out of what others may consider “touchy subjects,” but when it comes down to it, she enjoys a laugh just about as much as she enjoys giving everyone else around her a laugh at the same time. Her humor may be dry at times (most of the time, that is), but few can meet her in life without admitting that she managed to elicit at least a chuckle or so out of them in the time frame that they were around one another. In general, as well, she doesn't wish any ill will toward anyone, unless they make the mistake of doing something cruel enough to make her think otherwise. Spit on the system and not the people who run it, she thinks to herself, and while she's quick to wave a gun in the face of someone, very rarely will she actually shoot. Guns, however, cannot compare to the wounds that she does, without meaning to, inflict due to her own lack of confrontational abilities. Friends lost because of misunderstandings she couldn't bring herself to clear up, family isolated by her inability to truly speak to them, a boy who didn't want to be an American idiot heartbroken because she couldn't tell him to his face that she was going to be leaving him. They think she says all she needs to say through turned heads and tear stained letters – but she locks all of the things she couldn't say far, far away. Another thing to flee from.

The blonde has found herself grabbing for such a vast variety of things, needy fingers reaching for most anything she can hold in her hand and the rest of her body burying itself in it until it loses its charm. One day, it's archery, and before the week has met its demise, she's already off on a painting spree, delicate hands bruised red, white, and blue. She excels in no one particular thing, cannot claim herself a master of any one art, but years and years of taste testing have allowed her approximate knowledge of many things that most people her age have yet to even bother touching. More than her inability to tie herself down to one hobby, however, is that it isn't just what she's doing that finds itself different from day to day. It's who she is. What she looks like, how she acts; she sheds her skin like a snake by coloring her hair, wearing it different at each turn of her life, wearing moderate clothes on a Monday and something a little edgier come Thursday. She changes when things begin to catch up to her – and with the chop of a lock of hair, jewelry collapsing to the ground to never be picked up again, she's off to a new life, a new face, a new – her. The truth is that she's terrified that the world will catch up to her. Her life is led on a never ending river, and the moment she settles down, the moment she decides to stay the same is the moment that she allows herself to sink like a rock to the riverbed, unwanted, unnoticed, and thoroughly stuck. Commitment takes shape as her greatest fear, the likes of which have ruined relationship after relationship, platonic and not over the entire course of her life, and she runs from each failure by pretending that it never existed. Who is the pigtailed female? Where has she been, what has she seen? To her, they're all husks that have been discarded in favor of a new exoskeleton, abandoned and left to rot, and she'll never tell a soul of each and every incarnation that has come before the terrible Ms. Barker that stands before them that day -

(- because she hates those incarnations, all of them. If she can only drop them before they stick, pretend that they never existed in the first place, then maybe she can change, really change.)

New clothes. New makeup. New hair. A new attitude. And at their core, Whitney Barker never really changed at all.

we walk an endless mile - we are the youth gone wild

Human. She is human, and will never be anything else. Perhaps her only redeeming quality in self preservation is sheer amount of diversity, having dabbled in just about everything the world could possibly offer her, and while she cannot boast herself as a master in anything but running – and, even then, that's more in a metaphorical sense than a literal one – she can easily pick up anything from a gun to a sword to a crossbow and wield it with relative skill. At least, enough skill to have kept her alive thus far.