Name: Cashmere Gold
Meaning:
Cashmere~ A wool created from the downy fibres of the Cashmere Goat. A cashmere scarf was the first gift exchanged betwixt our heroine’s parents. Subsequently, Cashmere herself was the penultimate gift; divorce papers following in quick succession.
Gold~ A precious, metallic mineral widely sought for its value. Her mother’s maiden name. Completely misleading.
Age: 16
Date of Birth: 23rd October
Gender: La femme
Affiliation: Trainer ~ Gamma

Eyes: Cobalt. The particular hue of our heroine’s iris is well known in the artistic world as a dangerous material to master, due to the toxic glitter malevolently teased within the thick blue. While this should ignite a certain fear into the minds of those well educated within the arts, these are but a rarity in Cashmere’s stolen little paradise, ergo the shade is overlooked with the false presumption of a serene oasis flecked with rippling sunlight. Not often does she stare vainly at herself in the glass, but whenever the chance is snatched, Cashmere herself attempts to see the divine sanctum that others determine the perimeter of her pupils. Futile remain her efforts, however, for irises are but the separation betwixt the harsh ebony and ivory, are they not?

Hair: Raven. Her mother noted at intervals with lingering disdain that Cashmere’s silky tresses adopted the same hue as the swiftly graying, thinning scalp of her late husband, insisting with increasing ferocity that a true daughter should wear with sentiment the colour of her mother’s own locks. The girl always regarded this statement with an air of disguised guilt, for her mother inherited threads of autumn-leaf auburn, complimenting her snowy skin with unreachable elegance, while Cashmere found her own, sable tresses clashed harshly against the shallow curve of her cheeks. With this philosophy, the teen never chose to waste her precious hours with styling and taming the wrongly-inherited mess, keeping it to a considerable length and securing it to the top of her skull in the knot of a simple, fern ribbon. There it is immediately out of sight and out of mind, as well as readily available as an aesthetically-pleasing weapon. Thrashing people in the throat with a ribbon of hair is always amusing.

Skin: Ivory white. This trait her mother favoured with particular relish. The milky, supple sheen of her epidermis her mother often compared with a geisha, the entertainers adored by the woman that was fairly accustomed to their way of life. However, such a beautiful veil has to be laced with a certain irritant, and sensitivity is paramount across Cashmere’s entire body. Harsh toiletries and heavily scented perfumes act as a curtain of embers to prickle violently at the soft exterior, thus why she is certain to cradle a tube of medicated moisturiser close to her wandering form, so to permit such an unwanted sensation.

Clothes: Philosophy numero uno: Life is as dynamic as a coastline, forever mobile, constantly interweaving with the bizarre and the beautiful. Therefore, she feels as if she should dress for the occasion, preferring beachwear to adorn her frame over all four of the year’s seasons. Slouchy, neutrally toned kaftans over block-hued minishorts, secured across her narrow hips by the bow of a sallow ribbon predominantly intended as headwear, teamed with sienna-stroked gladiator sandals, are a particular favourite outfit of choice, both for comfort and to appear presentable. Bare legs are a fashion must, so to accentuate a height she seems to lack, so the winter months she bundles herself within a lightweight trenchcoat, so not to encourage the frost to gorge mercilessly at her exposed limbs.

Physique: Slim. Rather than pointlessly starving herself in order to achieve what is preached by the relentless media to be a flawless figure of perfection, a feat her mother is surely accustomed to, Cashmere herself is naturally slender, due to the branch-like physique of her late father. Unlike the cliche that all trainers of Pokémon should have a layer of toned muscle just beneath the layer of skin, though the space between the exterior and the skeleton is remarkably sparse, this particular teen is a stranger to excessive exercise, ergo is ordinary, not a fabricated mess. She can elegantly release a Pokeball as well as even the most macho of males, so why participate in pointless exercise routines when she could be studying?

Height: 5’1”. Caressing the stars has never been a dream of Cashmere’s, possibly because recollecting a time when she was taller than her peers happens to be completely nonexistent. Belittled (Pardon the pun) by the scathing nickname of ‘Runt of the litter’ by many a bitchy schoolgirl, she has yet to this day to embrace her small stature, often cursing and blaming totally irrelevant problems on her lacking height. Seems easier to stockpile blame on uncontrollable hereditary traits rather than a hole in her refined knowledge.

Weight 107 lbs. Obviously, as her BMI falls a little precariously into the ‘healthy’ weight range, Cashmere’s mother is not pleased. A real lady, quoth she, should nestle herself deep within the folds of being underweight, constantly at threat from collapsing. Therefore, when she manages to sashay into an event in six-inch heels with the rosy musk of fatigue settled across her cheeks, she can feel proud at the fact she is assembled upright under such constricting pressure. Yes, her mother does talk incessant bullshit.

Other: The teardrop of transparent moonstone that sits at a chunky angle across her collarbone belonged to her father’s true love, the woman he was married to for twenty years of his indulgent life. It resided tranquilly, in an undisturbed embrace around the still woman’s throat, as she lay stiffly in her open coffin within one of the topmost bedrooms of the exquisite mansion. Cashmere’s mother stole the piece, in a spasm of jealously, from the preserved corpse after the realisation that her husband did not love her with the relish she bestowed upon him. She kept the pendant about her person for years, never daring to lace it around her own throat in case the phantom lover entwined her ethereal fingers through the silver weaves and strangled her angular throat. So, in yet another spasm of uncontrollable emotion, she slipped it to her daughter, insisting she purchased it when in her teenage years. Unable to question the severity of her mother’s insisting, Cashmere complied, and still wears it to this very day, seemingly enveloped by a contorted emotion that permits her to remove it.

Species: :persian Persian ~ Male ~ Peppermint
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