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Description
Application for !! I'm... really excited to have been able to be a part of this group and I'm excited to finally see it in action!! Thank you all for being so warm and welcoming I'm so happy..

Marisol Foley info sheet
Character Spreadsheet
Current Friend Sheet

n e c e s s i t i e s
✂----------------------------------

Name: Dorothy Marisol Foley
Gender: Female
Age: 22 ( and a half, the half is very important)
Height: 5'4
Job / Income: Tattoo artist / low to medium income
Affiliation: DIVISION17
Abilities: 01 - Inducing Madness 02 / currently unknown

d e e p e r s e n s e o f b e i n g
✂----------------------------------

Warm ◇ Worrywart ◇ Meticulous ◇ Reliable ◇ Fussy ◇ Emotional ◇ Imaginative ◇ Grudging ◇ Indecisive ◇ Youthful ◇ Adventurous
It might be easy to sum Marisol up into a few words, but what isn’t easy is to capture her exact essence into those words. Each word can detail a small part of what she is, but not who she is. On the outside, she can appear to be meticulous, always taking the time to calculate what she does, but surface level Marisol is a liar.
On the inside, her thoughts are chaotic. Her emotions tend to fuel the decisions that she makes, making her very much a heart-over-head person as she tries her best to sort those thoughts and feelings away from one another. Sometimes—in fact most times, it doesn’t work that way. Marisol has a habit of drawing emotions from the people around her, feeding from the room so to speak. When her friends are upset, she is upset, when her friends are happy, she is happy. If there’s varying strong emotions in the vicinity she tends to get anxious and stressed out because she can’t mirror the people around her. Much like a ripple in a pond, or an echo in a cave, making her easily susceptible to change, be it on purpose or by mistake. On her own, she worries and fusses over everything. People, objects, situations. Though she was never diagnosed with OCD, it’s not unlikely that she has a least a minor form of it; suffering from internal thoughts that barrage her at any given chance, repetitive and impossible to get away from. She hates being on her own because of this. People distract her from the storm in her mind.
Other than that, she tends to be overly adventurous, especially with things like food—loving to try new things and new tastes at any given opportunity. Ever chasing the thrill she can garner from a new pair of pants, followed by ripping a hole in them by accident or, potentially if she’s feeling extra adventurous, even dripping some teriyaki sauce on them. Gasp! Every time she comes home it’s time to figure out what kind of dirt stains she has on her this time.

a t a l e o f f o l l y
✂----------------------------------

Marisol was born Dorothy Marisol Foley, named after her grandmother, Dorothy Abigail Foley on her father's side. Her father, speaking of which, was a fisherman in the portly state of Maine, where he would drive fishing boats and be gone for days or even weeks at a time. The family used to say that his true love was the sea, second only to his wife and child. Her mother made and sold hand made quilts that she would pour her blood sweat and tears into. Each quilt meant something not only to her, but to the people that would order or purchase them. Both of her parents had a deep love for what they did, though it didn’t seem like much, it was a humble living. Marisol grew up in that same port town in Maine, where she would help both with chores around the house, and assist her mother in quilting. Though she wasn’t very good at it the quilting in and of itself, on her way home from elementary school she would often pick up fabric or thread for her mother. Some days, she would wait at the docks alone, watching for passing boats to see if her father would return home soon.

The days were lonely for Marisol walking to and from school alone at such an early age. Listening to the seagulls fly and swoop overhead, screaming at the sea, begging for the next meal or a chance dive. She longed to be like them, looking up at the clouds and spreading her arms, closing her eyes and yearning to be lifted off the ground. The only time she was ever lifted was when her father actually was coming home from the docks, swooping her off her feet and carrying her on his shoulders back into town. Up the sleepy hills and through the thicket towards their home.

It was late in the year 2016 just before Christmas when her grandmother, who was her namesake, passed away in her home in San Francisco, all the way on the other side of the United States. Her father, being the woman’s only son, was called urgently to her side to settle her states and affairs, though, he was nervous to travel and leave his family behind, even if it was only for a short while, he decided that he would take them with him under the guise of a family vacation for Marisol. Of course, she was old enough at the time to realize that there was a stark difference between a funeral and legalities, and a family vacation, but played along for the sake of her father as he packed their bags. One for him and his wife, one for his child.

Unfortunately, they would wish that they had packed more for a variety of reasons.

Marisol and her family found themselves stranded in San Francisco over the next few months with the start of the war. They had planned to be there for a few weeks at most, but things hadn’t worked that way. Between legal problems and a storm brewing in the country, bad timing had gotten them caught right in the middle of the whole ordeal, though they had been staying at her grandmother’s home instead of a hotel while her father was sorting through her things, it didn’t exactly provide a good shelter. With the fallout of the war, the country was dishevelled, and so was her family, having been stranded in the middle of the city, torn from everything they had owned and too afraid to travel back. Nothing seemed safe to the young girl anymore; where she had found solace in the clouds and the clear skies before, wishing to fly with the birds now left a pit of despair in her stomach. The once blue skies transformed and twisted into what Marisol considered nightmare fuel.

Her father was seen as useful to their small community at the time of the war starting to calm down, spending his time at the docks helping to drive boats to different locations. Her mother started working at local kitchens, helping to cook at different places, never staying in one for too long. “Too many people to help” she had said. Meanwhile, Marisol was left on her own again, though she doubted that it was on purpose. The world presented a lot to her. It presented and opened up challenges, and dreams for her. Between school and play, she would scale rubble just to test her bravery. Closer and Closer to the sky. Until she learned it was dangerous. That was when her mother got sick.

The illness didn’t last long before it took her.

“Everyone gets sick, Mari. Especially out here.. With how things are now.”

It was one of the last things that Marisol was told. One of the last things she heard her mother say to her. But there was no time, no room for burial now. Her father spread her ashes at sea, in hopes that she would return home when they couldn’t. Marisol would remember her father putting a hand on her shoulder, comforting her, wrapping her in blankets and walking her back home just like he did back in Maine. It was like they were home again. Away from the burned, brightly coloured scars of the world. Before things were so bad. The cubicle they called a home felt empty without her mother there. The sudden leg room only made her legs ache more.

Years would pass and Marisol would come to find herself more and more as she grew with her surroundings. Finding a passion for different kinds of art as she did so. With the world changing, she had to change too, even though it frightened her, it shaped her into the woman she was now. She still lives with her father in the small box of a home, though he works on the docks so often she rarely gets to see him. Marisol despises the loneliness she’s learned the live with and seeks out new friends and new adventures whenever she can to escape it.

a l i t t l e m o r e
✂----------------------------------

◇She finds it hard to get pants that fit properly and needs to hem most of them.
◇Never was a fan of drugs or alcohol being in or around her system. (Imagine all the drunk/high tattoo’s she’s had to do and never wants to be in that position tbh )
◇Wants to look cool. Isn’t cool.
◇Has a pet duck named Wicker
◇Collects all the cards she’s ever received from anyone, and adores homemade gifts. Claims they have more ‘spunk and pizzazz’.
◇Marisol’s favourite colours are pink and yellow.
◇There was once a time that she tried to make her own quilt, but it was a haphazard mess with holes in it. She kept it anyway, and sleeps with it when it’s particularly cold, wrapped around her feet.
◇Has a tattoo of an octopus on her leg in honor of her father. This tattoo is what inspired her to become an artist. ( I’ll link a ref when I finish it I’m sorry )

◇Marisol adores magic and magic tricks, she's been practicing card tricks for years as an escape, but never got good at them. She tries though. Really hard.

◇Death Tattoo is on opposite thigh of her octopus tattoo

Description
Application for !! I'm... really excited to have been able to be a part of this group and I'm excited to finally see it in action!! Thank you all for being so warm and welcoming I'm so happy..

Marisol Foley info sheet
Character Spreadsheet
Current Friend Sheet

n e c e s s i t i e s
✂----------------------------------

Name: Dorothy Marisol Foley
Gender: Female
Age: 22 ( and a half, the half is very important)
Height: 5'4
Job / Income: Tattoo artist / low to medium income
Affiliation: DIVISION17
Abilities: 01 - Inducing Madness 02 / currently unknown

d e e p e r s e n s e o f b e i n g
✂----------------------------------

Warm ◇ Worrywart ◇ Meticulous ◇ Reliable ◇ Fussy ◇ Emotional ◇ Imaginative ◇ Grudging ◇ Indecisive ◇ Youthful ◇ Adventurous
It might be easy to sum Marisol up into a few words, but what isn’t easy is to capture her exact essence into those words. Each word can detail a small part of what she is, but not who she is. On the outside, she can appear to be meticulous, always taking the time to calculate what she does, but surface level Marisol is a liar.
On the inside, her thoughts are chaotic. Her emotions tend to fuel the decisions that she makes, making her very much a heart-over-head person as she tries her best to sort those thoughts and feelings away from one another. Sometimes—in fact most times, it doesn’t work that way. Marisol has a habit of drawing emotions from the people around her, feeding from the room so to speak. When her friends are upset, she is upset, when her friends are happy, she is happy. If there’s varying strong emotions in the vicinity she tends to get anxious and stressed out because she can’t mirror the people around her. Much like a ripple in a pond, or an echo in a cave, making her easily susceptible to change, be it on purpose or by mistake. On her own, she worries and fusses over everything. People, objects, situations. Though she was never diagnosed with OCD, it’s not unlikely that she has a least a minor form of it; suffering from internal thoughts that barrage her at any given chance, repetitive and impossible to get away from. She hates being on her own because of this. People distract her from the storm in her mind.
Other than that, she tends to be overly adventurous, especially with things like food—loving to try new things and new tastes at any given opportunity. Ever chasing the thrill she can garner from a new pair of pants, followed by ripping a hole in them by accident or, potentially if she’s feeling extra adventurous, even dripping some teriyaki sauce on them. Gasp! Every time she comes home it’s time to figure out what kind of dirt stains she has on her this time.

a t a l e o f f o l l y
✂----------------------------------

Marisol was born Dorothy Marisol Foley, named after her grandmother, Dorothy Abigail Foley on her father's side. Her father, speaking of which, was a fisherman in the portly state of Maine, where he would drive fishing boats and be gone for days or even weeks at a time. The family used to say that his true love was the sea, second only to his wife and child. Her mother made and sold hand made quilts that she would pour her blood sweat and tears into. Each quilt meant something not only to her, but to the people that would order or purchase them. Both of her parents had a deep love for what they did, though it didn’t seem like much, it was a humble living. Marisol grew up in that same port town in Maine, where she would help both with chores around the house, and assist her mother in quilting. Though she wasn’t very good at it the quilting in and of itself, on her way home from elementary school she would often pick up fabric or thread for her mother. Some days, she would wait at the docks alone, watching for passing boats to see if her father would return home soon.

The days were lonely for Marisol walking to and from school alone at such an early age. Listening to the seagulls fly and swoop overhead, screaming at the sea, begging for the next meal or a chance dive. She longed to be like them, looking up at the clouds and spreading her arms, closing her eyes and yearning to be lifted off the ground. The only time she was ever lifted was when her father actually was coming home from the docks, swooping her off her feet and carrying her on his shoulders back into town. Up the sleepy hills and through the thicket towards their home.

It was late in the year 2016 just before Christmas when her grandmother, who was her namesake, passed away in her home in San Francisco, all the way on the other side of the United States. Her father, being the woman’s only son, was called urgently to her side to settle her states and affairs, though, he was nervous to travel and leave his family behind, even if it was only for a short while, he decided that he would take them with him under the guise of a family vacation for Marisol. Of course, she was old enough at the time to realize that there was a stark difference between a funeral and legalities, and a family vacation, but played along for the sake of her father as he packed their bags. One for him and his wife, one for his child.

Unfortunately, they would wish that they had packed more for a variety of reasons.

Marisol and her family found themselves stranded in San Francisco over the next few months with the start of the war. They had planned to be there for a few weeks at most, but things hadn’t worked that way. Between legal problems and a storm brewing in the country, bad timing had gotten them caught right in the middle of the whole ordeal, though they had been staying at her grandmother’s home instead of a hotel while her father was sorting through her things, it didn’t exactly provide a good shelter. With the fallout of the war, the country was dishevelled, and so was her family, having been stranded in the middle of the city, torn from everything they had owned and too afraid to travel back. Nothing seemed safe to the young girl anymore; where she had found solace in the clouds and the clear skies before, wishing to fly with the birds now left a pit of despair in her stomach. The once blue skies transformed and twisted into what Marisol considered nightmare fuel.

Her father was seen as useful to their small community at the time of the war starting to calm down, spending his time at the docks helping to drive boats to different locations. Her mother started working at local kitchens, helping to cook at different places, never staying in one for too long. “Too many people to help” she had said. Meanwhile, Marisol was left on her own again, though she doubted that it was on purpose. The world presented a lot to her. It presented and opened up challenges, and dreams for her. Between school and play, she would scale rubble just to test her bravery. Closer and Closer to the sky. Until she learned it was dangerous. That was when her mother got sick.

The illness didn’t last long before it took her.

“Everyone gets sick, Mari. Especially out here.. With how things are now.”

It was one of the last things that Marisol was told. One of the last things she heard her mother say to her. But there was no time, no room for burial now. Her father spread her ashes at sea, in hopes that she would return home when they couldn’t. Marisol would remember her father putting a hand on her shoulder, comforting her, wrapping her in blankets and walking her back home just like he did back in Maine. It was like they were home again. Away from the burned, brightly coloured scars of the world. Before things were so bad. The cubicle they called a home felt empty without her mother there. The sudden leg room only made her legs ache more.

Years would pass and Marisol would come to find herself more and more as she grew with her surroundings. Finding a passion for different kinds of art as she did so. With the world changing, she had to change too, even though it frightened her, it shaped her into the woman she was now. She still lives with her father in the small box of a home, though he works on the docks so often she rarely gets to see him. Marisol despises the loneliness she’s learned the live with and seeks out new friends and new adventures whenever she can to escape it.

a l i t t l e m o r e
✂----------------------------------

◇She finds it hard to get pants that fit properly and needs to hem most of them.
◇Never was a fan of drugs or alcohol being in or around her system. (Imagine all the drunk/high tattoo’s she’s had to do and never wants to be in that position tbh )
◇Wants to look cool. Isn’t cool.
◇Has a pet duck named Wicker
◇Collects all the cards she’s ever received from anyone, and adores homemade gifts. Claims they have more ‘spunk and pizzazz’.
◇Marisol’s favourite colours are pink and yellow.
◇There was once a time that she tried to make her own quilt, but it was a haphazard mess with holes in it. She kept it anyway, and sleeps with it when it’s particularly cold, wrapped around her feet.
◇Has a tattoo of an octopus on her leg in honor of her father. This tattoo is what inspired her to become an artist. ( I’ll link a ref when I finish it I’m sorry )

◇Marisol adores magic and magic tricks, she's been practicing card tricks for years as an escape, but never got good at them. She tries though. Really hard.

◇Death Tattoo is on opposite thigh of her octopus tattoo