Mini-CDBZ 1

[Juno]

I ask that you format your post in a similar way that I've done mine, with a picture of your character at the top to help with imagery, the title of the quest you're participating in (which for now, should all be the same) and the name of your character, followed by a short break before your roleplay starts. Thanks!

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Quest Title – “Collision Theory”
Character – Jezebel
Location – Earth-sei

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For Jezebel, happiness was in abundance.

The low growl of her pink Volkswagen churned as ambient noise beneath the girl’s thoughts, which were currently preoccupied with the daisies on the side of the road as opposed to the cars in front of her. It didn’t take long for her to feel the jolt of her front end colliding with another vehicle’s bumper.

Despite being a bit shaken up following the wreck, the strawberry-blonde girl was, for the most part, unscathed by the accident. The airbag had deployed properly, and she had been sure to wear her seatbelt. Everything seemed to be just peachy.

There was, of course, the other driver. They were not quite as cheerful as the pink-haired girl concerning the outcome of the impact, more concerned with how their brand-new bumper stick was ruined than actually being concerned with the teenager’s well-being. It was no matter, thought Jezebel; the accident was, clearly, her fault, and with her wages that she’d earned over the past year at the ice cream shop, she was pretty sure she could afford to fix a broken bumper.

Normally, a person would have also been concerned about their own car’s well-being; after all, the Volkswagen Beetle’s engine had just rammed into the back of a fairly large pickup truck. In case it was not already clear, Jezebel was not a normal person—quite the opposite, in fact, she believed the dent in her front end gave the car character. Sort of like, she supposed, the white smiley face she’d painted on the driver’s door did.

It had been several minutes since the accident, and Jezebel had resigned herself to sitting in the car, waiting for the police to show up. She wore a bright smile on her face, staring out in an almost creepy way at the other driver, whose jaw was contracting at a rapid rate from all the yelling he’d been doing. She’d seen him call the police earlier, and heard him yell about the mother-well-you-know-who’d-wrecked-his-freaking-car. She supposed that she had been cast in that role. Honestly, she’d just thought that the name he’d given her was way too long, and had been content to condense her title to ‘Jezebel.’ She hadn’t informed her fellow of that artistic change.

It didn’t matter much. The siren-blaring cop car that had been assigned to them pulled up soon, complete with notepad and a gun latched to his side just in case things got around. Jezebel sincerely hoped they wouldn’t; she’d never really been a fan of violence, not even in the movies. It kind of grossed her out, to be honest.

“Afternoon, officer,” she greeted cheerfully, opening the rickety car door of her rustic old bug and skipping up to him, hands held behind her back. Her single ponytail drifted from a random spot in the side of her head, spilling onto her left shoulder as she smiled at the young cop. He nodded to her with a grin, and the other driver simply glared. She avoided his gaze. She didn’t do well with conflict.

“You’re how old…?”

“Seventeen. I go to Orange High School, just inside Satan City.”

“Now, the gentleman here,” the officer began, gesturing to the red-faced victim, “Says that you weren’t paying attention and rear-ended him.”

“That’s true,” Jezebel admitted without argument. The officer’s face brightened. It was, perhaps, the easiest confession he’d ever gotten in one of these situations, so he quickly wrote her up a ticket and told the two to be on her way. Any normal person would’ve been slightly mad that they had to pay 200 zeni to fix a bumper sticker, but as it’s been made perfectly apparent, this girl was in no way normal at all. She glanced down at the traffic ticket, smiled, and thanked the officer, holding out her hand for him to shake.

“You’re a freak,” the other driver insulted her as the officer, noting that the girl was slightly off her rocker, cautiously took her hand and attempted to counter her vigorous handshake. The fuming man quickly turned on his heel, got in his car and drove off, and the officer left just as quickly once the strawberry-haired girl had released his hand.

It was only when she turned back around did she realize she had no idea what to with her car. Maybe it would run, but there was a much larger possibility that she wouldn’t be able to drive it until the engine had been checked and fixed, if any problems arose. Biting her lip and attempting to look at the bright side, she leaned on the back of the car and quickly found herself lying face first in the backseat.

She lifted her head curiously, glancing around the car that she now found herself lying in. It was a strange situation, to be sure; one minute, she’d been leaning against the trunk, and the next minute, she had fallen on her face into the cloth-lined seats of her bug.

It was almost as if the outside shell of the car hadn’t been there at all—or, maybe, she hadn’t been there at all. “That’s weird,” she muttered to herself, touching the ceiling of the car and the back window. They seemed solid enough. She shrugged it off; maybe she had actually lain down in the back seat to think, and had simply dreamed that she had fallen through the trunk. After all, she’d heard of those dreams you can have where you wake up in the middle of a fall.

Hearing the hearty laughing of boys, she stayed low, not afraid of them, but not wanting to shock them by jumping out of a broken down car randomly. She lifted her eyes to peek out the window: they were dressed in unkempt clothing, and one of them was carrying a baseball bat. They looked at the beat-up Volkswagen.

“Whoa,” said the biggest one, “Look at this hunk of junk—ha, look at that, it’s smilin’ at us!” His friends laughed, noticing Jezebel’s artwork. They examined the rest of the car, and the strawberry-haired girl rolled into the floor of the car, hiding herself in the shadows of the front seats. The boys didn’t notice her, but continued to encircle her car. She would admit—she normally welcomed things with open arms, but these boys’ obsession was making her rather paranoid about their intentions. And it was a well-known fact that if a conflict started, Jezebel wouldn’t be sure how to handle it.

BAM—the sound of a bat crashing into her engine. Sparks flew out of the front of the car and Jezebel shook, fearful. “Haha!” laughed the boy with the bat, bringing up the weapon again and smashing it into the windshield. The strawberry haired girl climbed up into the backseat, out of the way of any glass shards that made their way into the floor she had previously been lying in. However, her ghost-form that she had thought a dream suddenly activated again, she hit the street with a resounding thud.

“Well, what’ve we got here? A pretty little thing, you are.”

She scrambled to her feet, tears forming in her eyes. She didn’t like conflict, at all. It made her extremely nervous, and these people obviously had no good intentions. She was good at seeing light in people, but these boys had strictly selfish intentions.

“Come on, gal,” said the boy with the bat, “Come closer to Billy.” Jezebel backed away, lifting up a palm to tell him to stop. Something sparked on her fingers, however, which surprised her and shocked the guys even more. They took a step back. Billy, however, decided to be bold in front of his guy friends, and approached the resistant gal, tapping the bat against the palm of his other hand.

Fear swelled inside of her, and was released in the form of a yellow blast of ki that erupted from her hand, slamming into Billy’s stomach and knocking him to the ground.

“Well, damn,” said his friend. Billy quickly stood up, leaning against the car for support and looking at the ki-using girl. Jezebel, just as surprised as the guys were about this new ability, turned her palm toward her face and began to focus her attention on finding any abnormal creases or lines in her hand. Nothing unusual seemed to be there, so she gave up the search and turned her attention back to the would-be tough guys with a renewed sense of confidence in her abilities to defend herself.

Despite this, her hands still shook in fear.

OOC: Anyone can meet up with Jezebel, if they so desire. If not, I'll probably be posting again tomorrow night.