RAYEN, MICA JAYLYN

Full name: Mica Jaylyn Rayen
Age and D.O.B.: 22, October 20, 1990
Sexual orientation: Homosexual
Gender identity: Genderfluid
Occupation: Hair Sylist
Member group: Local

Face claim: Katherine Moennig
Distinguishing features: ALWAYS has a choppy haircut (varying lengths), two silver rings in her right ear, likes to wear vests, always moves very fluidly/sensually.

Likes:

• Vests
  
• Animals
  
• Poetry
  
• Nature
  
• Dream catchers
  
• Folktales/stories/lore
  
• Time alone every once in a while
  
• Cuddling [with pretty girls]
  
• Cigarettes
  

Dislikes:

• Bullies
  
• School
  
• Being trapped indoors
  
• Weed [it stinks]
  
• Cigars/chew
  
• Being cold
  
• Rain
  
• Wearing makeup that isn't eyeliner
  

Strengths:

• Cutting/styling hair
  
• Dancing [burlesque/strip]
  
• Making friends
  

Weaknesses:

• Friends asking her to do things/for help
  
• Animals in trouble
  
• Pretty girls
  

Fears:

• Dying
  
• Turning into an alcoholic like her mother
  
• Falling in love
  

Habits:

• She always wears a dream catcher necklace her brother Barret made her
  
• She taps the toes of her shoes on the ground after she puts them on
  
• She tends to sit in odd ways on chairs/etc.
  

Secrets:

• Mica worked as a burlesque dancer/stripper for four years before moving to Newport.
  
• She wants to move to the country so she can own a horse/lots of land
  

Overall Personality: While she isn't extremely extroverted, Mica is by no means an introvert. She likes to talk to people and hear their stories, hear how they've grown up and what experiences they've had. She doesn't like to talk about herself, but she'll talk to others endlessly. Figuring out what makes people tick the way they do is something she's always done. She doesn't trust many people with her story, though. Her mind is hidden beind a cocky, confident smile and an often-uttered, "Oh, you know, I didn't do much growing up." If pushed on the subject of her family, she tends to shut down and push whoever she is talking to away. There are very few people she trusts enough to let them into her head, and even fewer of those people are still alive.

She has a great passion for whatever she does. Dancing, hair dressing, even just walking down the street. If she is going to do something, she's going to give it her all, even if she knows the project will be a total wreck. She's willing to learn to do almost anything, if it will benefit her or help out her friends in some way.

She hates drinking, though she can tollerate being in bars (as long as no one forces her to drink). Smoking, however, is something Mica has done since she was 16. Thoroughly addicted, she has no intentions of quitting. It's much better than drinking, in her mind.

Animals have always been a source of comfort for Mica. She can talk to them about anything and they won't go spreading rumors or telling lies or turning their back on her. She likes knowing there is love in this world, even if that love comes from animals. She isn't sure humans are truly capable of unconditional love.

Losing her brother two years ago has devastated her more than anything else in her life. She frequently dreams about him, about when they were kids and all they felt like they had was each other. She wonders about Jace, her other brother who is now 16, sometimes, but she does not speak to anyone in her family. She doesn't own a cell phone (she doesn't have the money for one), nor does she keep up with her e-mails (going to a library is a pain in the ass).

She leads a rather simple, technology-lacking life, but she doesn't mind it. She's got her car and her two jobs, and she's hoping she will be able to save up enough money to rent an apartment soon. She's tired of living in hotel rooms.

Mother: Annabelle Collins, alcoholic, deceased at age 24
Father: Nanook Rayen, 42, unemployed
Siblings: Barret, brother, deceased at age 16; Jace, 14.
Other: Cassie Rayen, 40, step-mother.
Pets: None

Overall History: Mica's mother moved near the Black Hills Indian Reservation when she was 19. She fell in love with Nanook, a man who had grown up on the res. Their relationship got very serious very quickly, though the two never married. Mica was born a just under a year later, a baby neither of the couple knew what to do with, one neither really wanted. Nonetheless, they cared for her. Nanook slowly distanced himself from Annabelle and Mica, who now lived on the reservation. Annabelle drank away her pain and sorrow. At 24, she attempted to drive home from a bar and was killed when she lost control of the car and hit a tree.

Mica was put under her father's care. Her father was never the best role model; most nights and weekends he was doing drugs with his friends. For four years Mica learned slowly to take care of herself, being as sufficient as a child can. Nanook met another woman when Mica was eight, the woman having her own four-year-old to add to the family. Mica and Barret quickly bonded, becoming friends. Mica liked her step-mother. Unlike her father, her step-mother genuinely tried to be a part of her child's life, and a part of Mica's life. Two years after Nanook and Cassie married, Cassie had another child, Jace. Nanook doted on his new son, leaving the other two children feeling very left out.

12 years old was the first time Mica tasted alcohol. She liked the way it erased everything, made the pain go away. She never let Barret drink with her, telling him it was too dangerous. She doesn't remember much of her life between the ages of 12 and 14, because most of it was drowned away by alcohol. One day Barret, only ten at the time, stopped her from going out at night. He held onto her until she promised to stay home. That night, the one of the teens at the place Mica was going to go drink brought a gun and shot some of the other teens. Her drinking slowly petered out, her fear of something happening greater than her desire for alcohol. Barret made her promise she wouldn't go anywhere without telling him where she was going, lest something like that happen again. A few days later Barret gave her a dream catcher necklace he had made, telling her it would keep her safe. She never takes it off.

Barely graduating highschool, Mica attended a nearby beauty school to get a license to cut hair (she had been cutting her brothers' and friends' hair for years). To pay for school, she worked in the nightclubs as a dancer. She didn't tell her father or step-mother any of this, nor her younger brother. Barret found out when he caught her sneaking out one night. Not wanting to keep a secret from him, she told him what she had been doing and made him promise not to tell.

As the time passed she could see Barret was struggling. He was depressed and much, much quieter than he had been before she had graduated high school. He got into drugs. She tried to get him to talk to her, but he wouldn't. Some nights he would come home barely knowing he lived there and Mica took care of him, getting him to bed and making sure their parents didn't find out.

When Mica was 20, she moved out of her parents' house (since she now had her license and had saved up enough for an apartment of her own). Her brother committed suicide two weeks after she moved out.

She was devastated. She didn't work--cutting hair or stripping--for two months. She got kicked out of her apartment. Her father told her she was being stupid; there was nothing she could do about it, so why didn't she just get on with her life? But it was like a hole had been ripped in her chest. She refused to move back in with her parents. She couldn't live there, knowing her brother was gone.

She left the reservation, walking. She stopped in small towns, staying for a few months here and a few there. She worked in a few strip clubs, earning enough money to be able to keep going.

She finally stopped moving in Newport, thinking maybe she could make a decent living there. She managed to get hired at a strip club and a salon, though she is currently living in a hotel room on the more run-down [scary] side of town.

The bushes rustled slightly as a dark-haired teen emerged from between them, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. The night made him appear paler than he was, his skin standing out against the blackness of his hair and wardrobe. He was thin, his pants low-riding on his hips. His shirt was cut off just below his rib cage, the edge of it jagged, one sleeve hanging over the edge of his shoulder. A red heard with an eight in the center could be seen on his hip, the end of the heart disappearing just below the waistline of his pants. His eyes were nearly as dark as the navy-black sky, standing out against his face. His mouth now clean of the sticky substance the warden had left on his lips, the boy tucked his hand into his pocket, moving away from the bushes, ignoring the sound of the leaves rustling as the warden he had previously engaged with left the area. Getting cigarettes for his service was just as good as money, and the warden he had “helped” was one Dareynn knew he could count on to get him what he wanted when he wanted it. Sure, blowing one of the men that kept him locked in this place was almost tacky, but…he wanted the little cancer sticks that his body was convinced that it needed. It was almost an ache, when he went without having them. He would tremble and shake, and he couldn’t do anything, it seemed like.

It was during one such time that the warden had set up their little agreement. One blowjob for two packs of cigarettes. Dareynn had been so desperate for the nicotine that he’d agreed almost instantly; had he been less shaky, he would have demanded more cigs. Since then he’d driven up the price, because the two packs where nowhere near what he would normally charge. As long as he got the things, though…he couldn’t complain. Much. At least the guy wasn’t bad-looking. That would make it unpleasant. As it was, the dark-haired teen didn’t mind blowing the guy. He didn’t shove his thing down Dareynn’s throat, as a lot of his previous customers had. Being able to do his job without nearly choking was definitely a plus. Not that he couldn’t go that far—he could. Just, when it was unexpected…that made it harder to control his gag reflex. And it made him feel a little like a low-class whore when guys did that. He was not low-class. Or a whore. He got paid, those ugly bitches didn’t.

Running his tongue over his teeth and lips, the boy frowned slightly. Even after countless times of swallowing some guy’s cum, it still left a nasty flavor in his mouth. At least, it did most of the time. There was the occasional guy that didn’t taste horrible, but they were few and far between. He wandered through the grounds, the weight of the cigarettes in his pocket a comfort. He had a lighter tucked away in his back pocket, along with the twenty dollars the warden had given him. The guy had only had a single pack of cigs with him, so Dareynn had made him pay twenty in cash as well. It was a bargain, really. A deal, even.

He waited until he was well away from the bushes before sliding the pack out of his pocket, all but tearing off the plastic the cigarettes were encased in, shoving it into his pocket. He yanked open the pack, slipping one of the thin white cancer sticks out and replacing the pack in his pocket before sliding out his tie-dyed lighter. Placing the cig between his lips, he flicked the lighter a few times before a small flame appeared, burning the end. He inhaled, feeling his body relax as the nicotine infiltrated his lungs. He’d need a new lighter soon, but he could deal with that later, when he wasn’t busy enjoying giving himself cancer.

He was just walking, minding his own business and sucking away at the cigarette, when he stumbled over…something. He didn’t know what it was, really. Just that it almost made him drop his precious little white stick. Luckily the object in question had been in his hand, not between his lips. If it had been in the latter place, it would have ended up on the ground, because he had gasped. At least he hadn’t completely fallen; then the cig would have been on the ground either way. He turned and glared at the thing he’d tripped over, slightly disappointed to realize that it was just the sidewalk. Damn cement, moving around on him.

Scowling, the thin teen went and leaned against one of the few light poles lining the path, his free hand resting in his pocket as the other lifted the cigarette to his lips, allowing him to take another drag. It relaxed him, shoving away any tension or worry he had felt earlier. He was unconsciously standing with his hips forward, a soft sort of pout on his lips. It was just a habit, standing that way. It attracted customers. And customers meant money. Money meant cigarettes. Cigarettes were pure bliss. Yes, it was a good habit. One he never really intended to break. He didn’t mind the sexual favors; he’d never really had someone he cared an awful lot about, so what was the point in trying to stay with one person? There wasn’t one, really. Until he found someone he figured he would be able to stand that long, anyway. Once he found that person, he could get all the sex he wanted from them and maybe they’d get him cigarettes, too. That would be amazing. Heaven, if such a thing existed. Excellence. A Utopia, if he was pushing it. But there was no need to push it, really, since he had no person that he liked in “that” way.

alexander; central U.S.; 7-8 years; jax alexander jones