HPM Application - Cassandra

Name: Cassandra Bancroft (Cassie)
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Pokemon: Houndoom
Height:  5' 10''
Bodystyle: Mildly athletic
Birthday: April 3rd
Home Island: Rapture Retreat
Personality:  Stubborn, headstrong, and proud. Cassie has a definite trouble with authority, and takes no word seriously but her own. She's selfish at times, and prefers that everything goes her way. Pranks are her magnum opus. She always is looking for a laugh, lightheartedly bringing jokes wherever she stomps. But her heart is kind, beneath the occasional lies, and she is fiercely devoted to the people she cares about. (Sometimes, caring more for them then they for her). This, of course, isn't exactly coupled with a clingy nature, as, when things start to get awkward or hairy, she'll tend to bail to avoid confrontation. This isn't to be confused with a serious problem, of course, as her loyalty will remain steadfast to her grave. A bit flirty and sarcastic by nature, she occasionally lets her mouth run when she really should sit back and shut up.
History: "I grew up in downtown suburbia, about ten minutes walking distance from the nearest grocery store. I was the only child in my small family, living in our small house with our cute little yard. We had no forests or animals, nothing natural or farm-like of any sort; the city wasn't terribly far from where I went to school, our town was, like, at the tail end of the shopping quarter. Concrete walls and steel playgrounds were my jungle, coated in what had to be decades worth of tagging and art.
"I was your average trouble child. I stuck crayons up my nose; I drew on all the walls. I put paste in Richard's hair on the first day of kindergarten. I was headstrong, prideful, and keen to get my way. I would, sometimes, bully the smaller kids into getting into trouble with me. It was all in good fun, of course: a little poliwag put in the teacher's desk, or all the building blocks replaced with rocks, or even putting one of the kids out on the roof and locking the door behind us.
"They were all harmless enough at the time; I was just looking for some fun.
"I guess it came from home, my outlandish actions. I was an only child, the bonding act between two parents who would rather not have their hands tied in the laws of holy matrimony. They loved me, they both did, and for that I should be grateful, but, of course, due to that, they spend years and years fighting and arguing over the smallest things, doing their best to keep a family together for only my benefit.
"I couldn't help but feel bad. I couldn't stop myself from sitting out there on the curb of our little yard, watching the neighbor's growlithe play out in the yard, as I heard them yelling behind the closed front door. Was I being selfish? Was it really me that was the problem?
"Would mom and dad love each other if I hadn't been born?
"These were frequent thoughts. But I was a strong girl, a stubborn girl, and the way I saw my dad's heart break every time I cried... I shaped up. As early as kindergarten I promised I'd never cry in front of them again. I was angry and impulsive, and, as the years went by, it only got worse.
"I got into trouble just for the thrill of it, using scapegoats to cover my name, alibis to cover my tracks, and a good assortment of other nonsense. I knew mom and dad were going to, finally, divorce, and, despite their best efforts, I wasn't the shining example of a child they had hoped to raise.
"I didn't care. Not at that point. Life was about me, about adrenaline and excitement. I would come home in the wee hours or the morning, or, sometimes, never at all. I would shoplift little things from the gas station. I mixed with the wrong crowd. I wanted out. I wanted to get away.
"My mates and I would go out every weekend to various city parks. Armed with spray cans, we'd march like a small army of misfits, swarming over the unassuming uppity rich towns, tagging and decorating the world as we saw fit (my contributions and art at the lead). Anarchy was our bulletin.
"Where else could it have gone but down?
"Eventually, one of the guys got in touch with the deeper side of town. One night he came back to our hangout, practically brimming with pride, his arms loaded with plastic bags.
"Inside those bags were syringes.
"The whole world reeled. Everything was in technicolor. The sky was on fire, and all my friends grew wings. We were so high, so unbelievably high, and, in our amazingly good judgement, we took to the town.
"I don't remember anything about that night. Not a drop. But the next morning I woke up, hungover as you could possibly believe, in a jail cell.
"Apparently my buddy Nate had gotten into a fight with one of the locals, a kid named Ryan or something. As doped up as Nate was, he wasn't in any condition to think, to act rationally. I guess some of the others, maybe even me, joined in on it. By the time we were done, the local wasn't moving. His sister had watched from her window, and, horrified, called the cops.
"I never saw Nate again.
"The majority of us got out of there. There wasn't enough evidence to convict us with assault, (only Nate was charged with that), and so they kept us on drug charges.
"The worst part of it all, though, the absolute worst, was when I came home. When I came back and faced my parents, to see my dad's tears and hear his broken heart.. Man, I couldn't take it anymore.
"I ditched the guys. I.. I promised dad I would get better. I promised I'd shape up.
"It wasn't easy, going it on my own. I was still as stubborn as you'd get, angry at everyone, including myself, unable or unwilling to conform to a system that refused to understand me. The teachers wouldn't make do. The other kids wouldn't hang near me. I was just as sad as I'd always been, just as furious, but no one would help me.
"Highschool was my last stop, my last chance. I struggled through my first semester, working but failing, ditching class, causing fights, and getting into a general assortment of trouble.
"I thought that was it. That was my best hope, and I wasn't going to make it.
"Second semester, I took an elective art class.
"My teacher was amazing. He was phenomenal. He was unlike any of the other teachers: he listened to me.
"Mr. K, actually, found me at one of my lowest points. He'd stayed late that night to grade stuff, heavens only knows what, and, on his way to his car, he found little old me out back, recklessly tagging the school building with all manners of 'art'.
"I thought I was dog meat. I hadn't been caught in the act before. But, to Mr. K's overwhelming credit, he didn't just shove me aside. He actually asked, no, begged, the school to give me that wall. To let me decorate it, to color it and let my 'vision' soar. I couldn't believe him, and neither, apparently, could much of the school board.
"'Rewarding her bad behavior with a reward?' 'You're just letting her have it!' and so on.
"But he was adamant.
"That wall... Oh, that wall meant so much to me. I spent every waking hour working on it, stressing over it. After school I would stick around, arms coated in spray, empty cans by my side.
"I.. I was determined. I was determined to set things right. I had made mistakes, I had messed up, sure. I was in trouble more often then not.
"But Mr. K gave this to me. He gave me this wall without question and without judgement, and... man, I was determined to do him proud. To do them all proud.
"That dork of a teacher got my on the right track. My habits were made legal. He gave me an ear for when I wanted to shout, to rant. He coaxed the other teachers into helping me.
"I scraped by, but I made it.
"On graduation day, Mr. K was up there with the teachers, presenting my diploma to me with a rapturous amount of roars streaming from the audience. I couldn't thank him enough, no, really, I couldn't. Words weren't escaping my mouth.
"All I could manage was a faint 'Why?' Why help me, why care about me. I was the bottom of the ladder. The dropout kid.
"'I had a daughter, once,' He replied. 'She was a lot like you: headstrong, terrible with authority, and maybe a little bit bratty.' We hugged. 'I wanted to give you a chance, because nobody had given her one.'
"Mom and dad split up once I graduated. That tenuous pact, held together by a growing little girl, finally snapped. It was better for them, it really was. I knew they had only stayed for me.
"It didn't stop the wave of self loathing, of course, or the nights I would stay up, wishing they loved each other.
"I bailed on home, too. I didn't want to stick around, to flit from home to home, deciding which parent I loved more, which one I wanted to stay with.
"I was a floater for a while. I took jobs here and there, doing what work I could. Nothing made me happy. Nothing took as much of my love at that wall at the school, as my art. I wanted to paint, no, to spray paint, to make the blank, stone walls of this world something different.
"And I did it, still. The real trouble was finding somewhere legal to decorate.
"Eventually, my 'soul searching' got me on a boat, a little, nondescript, tiny boat, to this place where things, I heard, would be different."
Job: Graffiti artist
    Shop Name:  Sassy Cassie's
    Stock Type: Murals
Dog's Race: Houndour
        Dog's name: Doppelganger (Doppel) ♂
Talents:
  Artist, spray paint by choice. Want something graffiti'd? She's your girl.
  Rather excellent dancer, actually.
  She's an eh sort of cook; her ideal good recipe is the kind that comes in a box
  She's decent at sports, though football is her favorite.
  When she paints, she tends to get into it. Like, really into it. Like, moving around everywhere arms covered in spray smudges all over her face.
  100% excellent prankster

Funfacts:
  She wears heavy eyeliner; thats not natural coloring