Yashira "Momo" MomokoGenderFemale
Age19
NationalityJapanese
ElementHeart
RoleHeart
AppearanceIt's clear enough that Momo does and does not care what she looks like. She wears what she feels like, but she wants you know
know she's wearing what she feels like. Punk in the 'I do what I want' sense of the word, she eschews the typical high-maintenance hairstyles and fashion decisions of the Harajuku 'punks' and is significantly more likely to be found dressed in a pair of broken-in pants and a tank top. She likes colors and patterns as much as she likes the lack of either, and it's a toss-up as to whether you'll catch her in a pair of two-sizes-too-big blue plaid slacks or a black yoga pants and a sweater. She dresses for comfort but wears it like gang colors, attitude forward. Immediately apparent as well are her piercings, of which she has several--her ears are lined with rings, her lips studded in snake-bites to hide a thin scar.
Phsyically, Momo is an almost textbook ectomorph. Long and willowy, lanky and lean, from her knife-sharp collar bones to her pianist fingers she looks like she needs nothing in this world more than a good sandwich. Really just a bit
too thin for most people, including herself, at 6'1'' she's taller than most of the boys she knows and
still about half their weight. Though reasonably toned after having spent some time trying to bulk up, her smoking hasn't helped her endurance.
PersonalityMore than anything, Momo is sick of being lied to.
A perceptive young woman, Momo has dealt with enough bullshit in her life to be able to smell it a mile away. Whether it's your white-boy-wanna-be-gangster or your celebutard-teenage-pop-princess, Momo has the unsettling and somewhat unpleasant knack of shearing away all the little things that people hide themselves with and getting to the heart of the matter, and enjoys doing so a bit more than she should. After so many years of pretending and stumbling through things herself she's more than a little bitter, and if she takes it out on other people, well...
That's just who she is. Deal with it.
A deeply caring and passionate individual, Momo's outward aggression is in direct response to the hypocrisy she sees what seems like everywhere. Her mother was a hypocrite, her step-father was a hypocrite, that asshole on the street is probably a hypocrite, and in the end so is she. More than anything, Momo would like to be 'nice'. She'd like to have friends who want to be around her, who laugh at her jokes, who she'll back up no matter what and who she never has to watch do all the awful, shitty things that people do, but she knows that won't happen. She knows
exactly how mad and bitter and hurt she is, and all that crap just doesn't add up to a good person. Self-deprecating and venomously depressed, she wears it all on her sleeve so that no one else can 'out' her on it.
She's done giving people ammunition. Not like she's lacking targets.
BackstoryMomo's mother was a slut and everyone knew it. She always had been--mild-mannered and aloof, she was the kind of woman who was very fortunate to find the caring corporate lawyer that had been Momo's father. She was very fortunate that, when he passed away of an aneurysm at thirty in a shopping mall while out with his wife and then five year old daughter, she was close enough with his best friend to have sold the house and be sharing a room with him a two weeks later. She was similarly fortunate when, after said best friend was fired from his company two years later, the boss who she'd met at more than a few company outings was happy to let her move in even if it meant having her daughter underfoot. And so on and so forth--for most of Momo's young life, father figures came and went with such regularity that she eventually stopped looking at them.
Instead, Momo fixated on her mother. When the two were alone they were thick as thieves, marathoning stupid television shows on whatever couch happened to be present and working their way through mochi like it was going out of style. They were best friends in the way that only a mother and daughter could be, the only constants in each others' lives; it was them against the world. That, at least, was how Momo saw it. During most of school she was a reasonably bright, otherwise uninteresting girl who didn't make many friends thanks to juggling districts on a semi-regular basis. When she wasn't there--which was, in hindsight, frequently the case--it was easy to pretend that Momo's mother was just 'playing along' with whoever happened to be boning her at the time. Affairs became games, affection became a facade, and the wink her mother gave her before she left always made her feel like they were still playing on the same team.
Long story short, they weren't. Momo's mother's latest boytoy seemed, for the first time, to want to pay as much attention to Momo as her mother. He would insinuate himself into couch time, staying up too late with them so he could be with 'his girls'. He'd ask Momo how her day was, if her uniform fit alright, if she wanted to go shopping. He'd try to talk like he was her father (which she ignored) and rub her shoulders when he caught her sitting down. He set up a web-cam in her shower, at which point she'd had absolutely enough and confronted her mother with the issue and was shockingly and summarily dismissed. There was no outrage, no frustration, no repercussions, just a little frown and an 'I'll take care of it, sweetie' and the world kept on spinning.
Nothing changed. Things got worse. When they got worse enough, Momo called the cops; her mother was
furious in a way that Momo had never seen before. It was the first and only fight they ever had, and it was enough to completely blow the pair of them apart. Had they, Momo wanted to know, ever been together to begin with? If her mother wasn't there when she really needed her, if she could be upset about
this, had they ever
really been on the same team?
It was a lot harder to be just Momo against the world.
Her mother's boyfriend got out of the charges; she had refused to testify. They sent Momo in for therapy and counseling and so she stayed away from home. Always a spiteful little thing, she fell in with a bad crowd and did enough bad things to earn her cred. Eventually she and her friends staked the house out one night and made sure that said jackhole would never look at little girls quite the same way ever again. Afterwards, though, when all was said and done, it didn't feel as good as she'd thought it would. Yeah, he was a creep, but could she really close her eyes, remember the quivering mess of what used to be a person before all the boots and chains and baseball bats and really say he deserved it? That she did the right thing?
A good, long look at her life put some things in stark contrast for her...so she moved on. Did what she had to do to get some money for a down payment, found a shitty temp job doing data entry, and became someone else.
Or tried.
LikesTonkatsu ramen.
Rain.
Plants.
3-D movies.
DislikesScary movies.
Lord of the Rings.
Posers.
Conspiracy Theorists.
