From the outside, he probably looks like any ol' nerd, but through his eyes, he is a stud. He likes to read and research, to know a lot about a lot of things. He prides himself on tidbits of information that he can throw at anyone but that never stick in anyone's mind other than his own. He thinks this will make him memorable, especially to girls.
One thing that Christopher does not share with other nerds is the inexplicable fear that comes with talking to or (in any way) interacting with girls. He has too much confidence to be afraid of any little girls that he gets near. His first thought is always to bedazzle them with his knowledge. His folly is not knowing how to pick the right kind of knowledge to bedazzle. He has been seen talking about computer hardware to girls clearly raised on Macs and iphones, who had no idea what he is saying. And he thought he was making good progress too.
Christopher used to play video games during every free moment he had. The kind played online, with other people. The frustration of being taken advantage of by players he thought were girls, that turned out to be guys looking for hand outs, led him to leave the gamer world behind. It demanded too much of his time, and he needed that time for his budding romance life.
His downfall was his introduction to the peacock theory. "Just be remembered for something, something out of place to the setting you're in." This concept did not hit Christopher the way it should have.
She's closer to twenty than twelve but refuses to accept it; she plans on looking like a little girl for as long as she can get away with it. All of her notebooks are covered in Lisa Frank's overly colored, anatomically incorrect animals and girls, her socks are all covered with lace.
Emilie dreads the day she will be worthy of being called ma'am. She dreams of keeping her face wrinkle free and her attire bright pink and purple. She despised dresses when she was young enough to look adorable in them, but since she stopped growing when she turned thirteen she has decided to make up for the time she lost. She is old enough now to keep her nails up to par with her cute outfits; her cuticles are always neatly trimmed, nails painted a pastel pink and always kept short.
Emilie always gets a mean little smile whenever she actually reveals her age to someone. She loves seeing their expression after hearing that she'll be turning nineteen in two months. She has yet to realize what kind of creepy attention she is collecting.
Perhaps it was his hyper active imagination and constant jittery condition during his childhood that made him as paranoid as he grew up to be. His father used to enjoy chasing him up stairs and sneaking up behind him when he was busy, only to see him jump. Now, he cannot help but dash up every flight and turn at every step-sounding thud that he hears behind him.
Timothy can't help but feel like someone can see everything that he is doing. He gets worried even if he isn't doing anything that needs to be hid. The thought just hovers in the back of his mind all the time.
He has trouble sitting still. His foot is always shaking back and forth, his fingers are constantly in his mouth, nails can't stop being bitten. He gets accused of having "one cup too many" multiple times a day and it makes him laugh every time. Caffeine always had the opposite effect on Timothy; he only drinks it when he wants to pay very calm attention to something. He is also used to being asked if he has attention deficit disorder, which he is always tempted to give a smart ass answer to. But, instead, he just asks what gave them that idea, hoping they actually give him a straight answer.
He was a nightmare to raise and never really shed all of his childhood obnoxiousness. A couple of those traits just grew to be a part of his ...charm. Jr's mother used to have the patience to ask him ten times to do something that woulds only take him a couple of minutes, but over time that patience dwindled. As he got older, his mother's voice got louder with less provocation. She eventually resorted to standing over her son and watching him take out the trash, wash the dishes or clean the litter box. Whatever the chore, she would watch to make sure he did it. The boy became accustomed to having an audience. He started refusing to do anything unless someone was watching.
Now, even in his twenties, Jr must always be seen. He must still be asked multiple times to do anything and, if he finally agrees, he requires that whoever is asking stay with him until the chore is complete. He gets offended if he is not asked at all, even though it would get the job done faster.
Attention became Jr's addiction early in life. Now that he cannot demand it with every fit, he pulls stunts in front of strangers to catch some eyes. But if he notices those eyes the he collected, he exclaims that he's outraged they are there.
A man in his eighties, but everyone's guess at his age has three digits. At least.
Jefferson's main source of happiness comes from his collection of ironically placed garden gnomes, although he does not like to discuss his strategic placements. He changes it occasionally, but not for anyone's amusement but his own. He enjoys the company of his ornaments more than the neighbors who always attempt to engage his conversational attention. Gnomes are the hardest workers Jefferson knows of; they live for hundreds of years and must build their own homes before even thinking about marriage. Their families seem impossibly happy.
Jefferson did not grow into a bitter old man. He can easily admit that he has never been terribly likable and that does not bother him. He likes himself and he enjoys his solitude. Company requires too much effort exertion and he is not that interested in making other people happy.
There is a common assumption going around Jefferson's street that his house is piled to the ceiling with old newspapers, aged mail and cat corpses, but it could not be any less inaccurate. The old man's house is extremely tidy and sparingly furnished. There are two chairs in the kitchen, in the off chance that Jefferson's little brother Edward will forget the ancient dispute that tore them apart and visit. He will not admit, not even to his gnomes, that he has hope in his brother forgetting just like he did years ago... but he has never moved towards getting rid of the excess seat.
Noana is almost definitely the most constantly irritable person you can meet. She's very particular about the things she doesn't like, and very pushy about distancing herself from them whenever confronted. Her list of peeves is long and always growing: dragging feet, nail biting, annoying laughs, people who are too loud, people who don't speak up, people who talk too much, people who avoid the question, people who walk too slow or chew with their mouths open, hyperactive children and their spineless parents, loud breathing, and so on...
Noana doesn't smile too often. She squints her eyes into a glare whenever her attention hits the face of one of her bugaboos, all of which pale and crumble in comparison to her most hated quark. She sees it every morning and it renews her disgust every single time. She doesn't understand how these people can live with such a terrible and rude habit. She cannot stand to watch it or to look at the person after catching just half a glimpse of them yawning without covering their mouths. Most of all, she can't comprehend how no one else seems to have a problem with this rampant defect in tired or sleepy people. Noana always covers her mouth when she yawns, alone or in the company of others. She doesn't want to run the risk of getting caught mid-way through, mouth wide open and face stretched beyond recognition... things would never feel the same between her and that person again.
It's hard to believe that Noana has any friends at all, but she has managed to keep a few close ones for years now. She hasn't seen any of them in an unprotected yawn, which allows her to let some things go with them. The group is held together by their shared love of clay-mation films and board games. Each takes turns hosting one or the other event, at least once a week.
Noana grew up before she turned fifteen; she felt that her parents were the ones in need a guardian and that the responsibility fell solely on her. Her younger brother could not handle such an undertaking and held no authority in the household anyway. And he was more interested in playing outside than cleaning the house. He didn't start listening to his sister until the day both of his parents went on an a spontaneous road trip and Noana, then only twelve, arranged for him to be picked up from his after school green club meeting. She had called their babysitter and asked for a favor.
Noana moved out of her parent's house as soon as she was old enough to leave for college. She doesn't talk to them anymore unless she has to. She is awaiting the phone call that will inform her that her childhood home has burned to the ground due to neglect.
That is a self proclaimed and secret title. Ally is an only child and spends a lot of time on her own, entertaining herself with her imagination. She has an array of little games that only she would ever play and she doesn't talk about them. She cannot imagine that anyone would find them the slightest bit amusing and she would feel invaded if they knew about them, like they would notice as soon as she started playing them.
She has a love/hate relationship with her oldest game. She has tried to stop playing it but always finds herself starting it again. She blames it on her subconscious every time she fails quitting. What else could it be? This particular game, her oldest and (she thinks) most ridiculous, can be played almost anywhere, but she plays it almost exclusively on city streets using sidewalk lines and garage doors. The only objective of her game is even distribution; she must divide passing garage doors in two between her left and right halves. Sidewalk lines are easier to explain, their thickness determines their value; if the left foot stepped in a more gaping line, the right one must step on the next two or three lines that are thinner. If the right foot happens to step on a thicker line in this evening out process, then the left foot must catch up. It's a very solitary game, and very hard to stop since Ally usually looks at the ground when she walks, to avoid eye contact. This game makes her feel somewhat isolated from the sidewalk line norm.
Ally enjoys playing video games but refuses to get too invested in them. She prefers quick, almost thoughtless wastes of time. But she doesn't spend too much time on them.
Ally is not a terribly talkative person. She doesn't feel interesting and does not want to waste people's time on uninteresting mumbles that they would have to strain in order to hear. She is very quiet and enjoys filling up the background, rather than being the center of attention. Her hobby is in noticing very small, very insignificant details, which she feels can speak for a person without them knowing. She sometimes worries what her own details are saying about her, but is comforted by her belief that no one sees her.
She doesn't understand why anyone would think that was a lonely way to think.
