Ok. I lied about not auditioning anymore. I can't resist writing for this character (er, me). So here we go.
Jordan McGill (20)
Hometown; Seattle, WA
Birthday; October 18, 1991
Likes; candles, traveling, the east coast, the smell of old books, fall, sad indie music, riding boots, minimalism, makeup, chandeliers, Paris, speaking french, reading tabloids (secretly), the idea of love, astrological signs, collared shirts.
Dislikes; closed mindedness, girls who act dumb, snakes, heights, stomach aches, zucchini, wearing sunglasses, drugs, the taste of alcohol, stepping out of her comfort zone, flirting, people who talk during movies, eggplant.
Never Without; painted nails, perfume (usually ysl Paris), her agenda, her iphone, mini hand sanitizer, lip balm, a book ready to read at anytime, pepper spray (just in case).
Bio; Jordan spent most of high school studying. She took every AP and Honors class she a could and managed to get a 4.0 every year (well except geometry, but she doesn’t like to talk about that.) All of her hard work paid off. She was accepted into the school of her dreams: Columbia University. A few student loans and a plane ticket later she was in New York City. And, well, it wasn’t exactly what she was hoping for. Because of her studious ways in High School she had never really come out of her shell which made socializing and having fun at college a hard thing for her. She graduated with a major Journalism and a minor in French Language and History and started a job search that she assumed would be much more laborious. She took an interview with L’Express, a French language magazine. They liked her and offered her a job…one catch. She had to move to Los Angeles. And so reluctantly she did. Now that she’s moved she’s trying once again to become the social butterfly she wants to be and she might just be able to thanks to the handsome French boy in the office next to hers.
Model; Anais Pouliot
Taken By; @heart-shaped-bruises
*The French might be really bad. I’m only in my second year at school so, sorry about that!
“Yes, Mom. No, it’s fine. Small but definitely less roaches than in New York. ”
“I do wish you were somewhere, I don’t know, somewhere roachless.”
“There’s only so much a person can do with 100,000 dollars in student loans.”
“Should have gone to U-Dub!” My dad huffed somewhere in the background of the phone call. I could feel the dysfunction creeping through the telephone wires. “I guess you are close to home. That’s nice. You can come home and see the cats.” My mom said ignoring dad.
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to get away much. Work seems like it’s going to be…” I struggled for a word that fit. “Fulfilling.” I sat down on the corner of my futon bed. There was a lump under my butt that caused me to shift. IKEA is cheap for a reason.
“Just, please, enjoy life. It’s the first time in fifteen years that you don’t have to study.” I heard her breath form a sigh on the other end.
“I will but now I need to go do my hair. I really don’t want my boss to see me with bed head.”
“No one wants that. Try and call me again sometime this week.”
“I will. Love you, mom.”
“Love you, too.”
“Jesus Christ.” My ankle was twisted in a weird position. “Really fucking great. This is a fucking sign. I shouldn’t have fucking moved.” Standing in the middle of a street was probably not the best place for a breakdown. People were peering out of the corner of their eyes, pretending not to look so they had no responsibility to help.
I stood up straighter and tested some weight on my foot. It was fine. Overreacting as usual, I thought. The L’express offices were about a block away if I had the directions right. So far I wasn’t impressed by LA. How could I be after New York? Which, granted, wasn’t the best experience of my life but I loved the city. I needed the city. I actually belonged there, or I could see myself eventually belonging there, which is more than I could say for where I grew up. LA was looking to follow in Seattle’s footsteps.
The building was gray… and there wasn’t much more to say than that. Inside, the walls were the color of a dusty terracotta pot. A few wooden desks were in the center of the floor. Each seemed to be piled high with papers and pictures of loved ones pushed to the corners so as to fit their computers.
I walked to the receptionist who most definitely looked chic and beautiful enough to be French. The wood paneled nameplate on the desk read Aurelie. “Bonjour. Je m’appelle Jordan McGill. Je suis ici pour ma premiere jour.”
“Oui, you can speak English here you knows.” She said with a light accent. “Zis is America, after all.”
“Oh,” Feeling dumb after being in the office for about forty five seconds. Great. “I just thought that might be preferred.”
“Non,” Her eyes creased in a sympathetic smile. The smile that meant, once again Jordan you’re out of place.
“Bonjour?” The voice was rough. An unpaved road or a scratchy wool sweater. “Hello?”
“Oui.” I stood up and smoothed out my skirt. Suddenly more aware of how the wind had untucked it from my chignon this morning. “Hi, you must be Pierre. “
“Indeed.” Oh god. His accent. Oh god. “We are office partners, non?”
“Uhm. Uh. Yes. Oui.” Oh god. His hair. Oh my god. His Eyes. Fucking hell.
“Nice to meet you…?”
“Jordan.” My name sounded strangled compared to his elegant French. Pierre > Jordan.
He leaned in to give a kiss on the cheek. What a cliché French man. I liked it though. I couldn’t tell if my skin prickled from excitement or the light stubble on his chin. “Nice to meet you Jordan.” I noticed how much more beautiful it sounded when he spoke it. “I’m sorry I was away this morning. I had to see my sister off at the airport.”
“It’s really not a problem.”
“I’m just glad you’re my new office partner not old Berthe.” He chuckled which revealed a dimple in his left cheek. “She has ze breath like a dragon.” He smiled at me expecting a laugh and I didn’t let him down.
“Does he have a girlfriend?” Amara, my best friend since high school asked.
“We didn’t exactly go over our relationship status as some get to know you game. How am I supposed to know? ”
“Well, you could ask him to fuck you. That should give you a definite answer.”
I rolled my eyes. She couldn’t see it over the phone but she knew what I was doing. “That’s a little too prostitute-y for me.”
“Sex does not equal prostitution.”
“I’m hanging up now, Amara.”
“Bye.” I sat down on the lone stool in my kitchenette. The walls were covered in grandma’s quilt floral wallpaper. The floor was linoleum. You could call it homey if you were on social security.
“Jordan,” I was speaking aloud. To myself. This is what happens when you’re an only child. “Every time you meet a nice, friendly guy you think it’s more than it is. No. Not this time.” I walked over to the cupboard of a bathroom I had in this apartment. I reached for a random blush, primping for some event I definitely wasn’t going to. “You are a strong woman. Oh my fucking god. I’ve become a self help book. A walking self help book example.” Lipstick next, a dark berry shade. Smacking my lips I walked out of the bathroom. “Stop thinking about him. Or about anything. I should start meditating or some shit. Cleanse the mind.” But as I laid back on my pillow I went over the conversations I could have with Pierre the next day.
I think getting to write as me but actually not me would be a really interesting experience. I’m brimming with story ideas and paths for this character to go and I’d really like to show them. When I wrote the bio I tried to be realistic about what I thought the future could possible hold for me (well minus me looking like a model and having a French love interest, one can only hope) so that other people in the group can get a real feel for who I am and in a weird way I think I could learn things about myself and about how I really want the next few years in my life to go. I have a lot of exciting things in mind for this character and I know that I want to be dedicated to writing it. Hopefully I’ll have the chance to keep exploring my future even further.
P.S. This made it seem like it was going to be really romance focused and that’s not necessarily true. There are lots of things that can happen!
@sophiaspastic and @the-clary-project