NAME
Marla Singer

AGE
29

SERIES
Fight Club

SPECIES
Human

GENDER
Female

OCCUPATION
Leech

POINT OF CANON

LEVEL
Abyss

APPEARANCE
Marla is a gorgeous tumor. Her appearance warns. She's pale - a sickly pale, a pale she manages to pull off as more attractive than healthy skin. She has very dark brown hair that shoots out in curly waves from hre head. And her face fits perfectly in the streets (mysteriously). It's too elegant to exist in the healthy world.

Her clothes are the clothes taken from landromats or stumbled across in Goodwill. They're usually feminine, somehow, and stylish, though extremely worn. They're oversized leather coats and prissy dresses. She's Marla. She doesn't care. And she likes to wear sunglasses when stumbling around the outside world with a cigarrette in hand.

PERSONALITY
There are few things Marla cares about. Why should she? She's of the opinion that her death is going to happen eventually and life is very much like a required class before graduation. So she walks through traffic without worry, pisses off killers, falls asleep with lit cigarrettes. There's no real reason why she's alive and no real reason she isn't. So Marla lives life as if biding her time, however she feels like.

Her actions are akin to idle pulling out of threads form clothing to make bigger holes. She's bored and her sense of (perhaps morbid, or cruel) humor is a decent way to occupy her time. But though she's nihilistic, in a way, she still has more morals than many in the city, her own messy set of them. She doesn't take well to torture, murder, rape. Leaving small animals to die. It's wrong, and she knows it very well. No matter what Tyler might say.

She cares about some things, though. She has a tendency to fall in love and tries to squeeze out all she can from love - she thrives on it. She'll grow fond of people, love them, but not in healthy or normal ways. Marla's very human, but a different type of one altogether.

ABILITIES
Lying, telling stories, being a thief, fucking with people, slinking away, making love,  mood swings, throwing items at Tyler's crazy face, screwing over welfare projects, accidentally deciphering the meaning of life while smoking in bed, accidentally setting sheets on fire .

HISTORY


FALSE MEMORIES
Marla Singer was born into a boring, working-class family in Terra. She was the youngest child out of four, and just a little spoiled by the rest of the famiily. She attended a decent Catholic grade school and was a devout little girl, in her own way. As a child, she was imensely popular with the other kids - there were small streaks of rebellion and drama in her that quickly upped her to the post of childhood queen bee of the class. She wanted to be an actress when she grew up.

High school continued in the same vein. She wasn't as popular - having developed coherent thoughrs that had began to differ very much from the general view of the world - but still had much fun being the star of student productions, fucking boys behind the dumpster during lunch, getting drunk by the park. Mid-high school, she began to become what Marla is now - a content sort of pariah.

She made it to college, though, and eventually went into film. Until her mid-twenties, Marla was the anchorwoman of NeoGenesis News. This bore her after a few years and she eventually quit her job and slid away from the world, pessimistic about the whole issue of life. Her money dwindled down and she ended up having to move to Abyss to survive, and broke ties with her (admittedly, apathetci) family.

She worked odd jobs at first, before realizing that society had created a perfect, small, parasitic niche on her area of the city. And now she's content to pass the time in a cheap rented rooms, collecting love and amusement as she moves through them.

SAMPLE JOURNAL POST
You might know a man named Tyler. He's not very handsome (or even any good in bed), so maybe you don't. You might though...if you're another one of those crazy dipshits playing wrestler to get all that homoeroticism out. You know.

That's all it is, though. Being gay. He's not in it to teach you to be a...man. A man. Ha! Tyler, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this -- I really am. I'm a wreck. I-I. But somebody's got to, big men. Tyler wants to see you mostly naked and -- sweating. Which I bet you are, rolling on his little clubhouse floors. You're his porn. Ugly porn. Guess I'm not good enough naked. Well. He looks like.

A retarded office worker in bed.He does. There's your - what is he? Your Jesus. Your car insurance savior. Idiot fuckers. And I thought...

I know. He told me. We're best friends. Fuck buddies. But he's gay. I told you. [long exhale]. And I - God!, I'm such a good person, he told me himself. Public service announcements. Courtesy of NeoGenesis news. But he wants to see your hot, man bodies - that's the entire point of his - what's the asshole call it - Fight Club. Not the - not the fighting. [inhale]

Kick his ass, you know? I would. But you should. Because he's using you - go find him. Do it.
It'll be fun. And good for you.

SAMPLE ROLE-PLAYING POST
His office was nothing like him. It was study, it stood in the middle of a lot, clear and hideously distinct in its location. While Tyler -- Tyler was a strange kind of guy. Who couldn't decide if he was a man or a goldfish. A table or an suave and beautiful asshole. It was mildly endearing, but she'd gotten sick of it, after the first five minutes.

And this morning had been the kicker. Woken up in her apartment and screamed at her like a girl, as if she had abducted him, as if she would want to, anyhow. Who would? Little skink with...with...a stupid job in an ugly buildling. Marla lit her cigarrette with a fair helping of fury, and headed in.

She didn't know his office, but she was a tracker, Marla, and she searched for him with a clear-cut method. Shove her head into each office and yell, hoarsely, for Tyler. "TYLER?" She screamed into the next at a mousy-looking woman. "TYLER?" She screamed at a man resemblent of a pig. He was here, she knew it, she could feel his presence on the borders of her black and red veins.

(and why did she do this, stomp around like a heavy shadow in a 21st century office building's interior, calling out his crazy name? it wasn't what she had wanted to be when she grew up -- here, inhaling her smoke and striding down maroon carpet. but here she was.)

Next door. She opened it like a slap, and there he was -- startled. "You fucker." She said hello.