So wat's yer name, kid? ::a young African woman glances up from absently picking at her shoelace, one eyebrow arching imperiously as she speaks in a lightly Southern accent:: My name is Janie 'Lisabeth Starks, thank you. Can I help you?

You got a nick-name or was 'dat it? That's it. I don't think very much of nicknames, but most of the girls here just call me Starks or Janie. That's more'n enough for me, I think.

Where you from, anyways? Originally, I'm from Baton Rouge, Louisianna. My mama raised me on the farm that she works at. Don' got no father, he's dead. They say he was killed by the sheriff and bloodhounds for what he done to my mama, but I ain't too sure about that. Anyway, I decided that spending my life down in the South, workin' all day, wasn't the life for me. So what do I do? I set off an' came here, and I ain't never been happier.

Whadd'a yah look like? You got eyes, you can see me for yeself. ::she glances to you with another raised brow, her exotic face pleasantly amused. She's tall, maybe 5'6, and very lean, with few scant curves of womanhood on her body. Flawless chocolate skin, and darker eyes of the same color. Her hair is black and kept short in a knotty little pattern on her head. She dresses as any other newsgirl would, in ragged pants and a plain white cotton shirt. She's beautiful, but in an oddly exotic sort of way::

Got any 'ahhh, distin'guishin charact'ahristics? Distinguishin' features? Ah, sure, hell. I got the usual scar or two, you know. ::what she doesn't show you are the jagged cuts up and down her left forearm from years before::

If you emptied out yah pockets on dis' table right now, wat�would fall out? No money, that's for damn sure. I got some lint in my pockets, and a pocketwatch that hasn't worked for years. It's stuck on 1:37, but I can't remember what was goin' on then. I also got a little necklace. It was mine when I was a baby, and it don't fit no more, but I keep it with me.

How'd you find 'da place? I jest stumbled upon it, you could say. I was lookin' for a place to stay the night, ended up here, and I haven't felt like leavin' since. It ain't a bad place to be stuck at, if you know what I mean.

You drink, smoke, gamble...� Sho' do. Not gamble, though. Don't have any money to bet with. I do gotta bad a habit of cigars, though. Ain't terribly ladylike, but then again... neither am I. I like to drink, too. Another bad habit of mine, but hey... we were born to die, right?

Related tah any'bady�we'd know? No one you'd want to know. And I'd ratha' not talk about them, either. I ain't too proud of my fam'ly and some of the things they done.

Who's yah best friend? Who's got time for a best friend? Not me, at least. I get along with most everyone, though. I talk to Ryder some, she ain't too bad.. a little bit of a bitch, but hell. I can live with that.

Got any woyds tah live by? Words to live by? Hell, I could give you plenny of words to live by, but they're the words -I- live by, so I don't feel like sharin'. ::she gives you an irritating little grin and slinks out of the bunkroom::

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So wat's yer name, kid?	::a young African woman glances up from absently picking at her shoelace, one eyebrow arching imperiously as she speaks in a lightly Southern accent:: My name is Janie 'Lisabeth Starks, thank you. Can I help you?
You got a nick-name or was 'dat it?	That's it. I don't think very much of nicknames, but most of the girls here just call me Starks or Janie. That's more'n enough for me, I think.
Where you from, anyways?	Originally, I'm from Baton Rouge, Louisianna. My mama raised me on the farm that she works at. Don' got no father, he's dead. They say he was killed by the sheriff and bloodhounds for what he done to my mama, but I ain't too sure about that. Anyway, I decided that spending my life down in the South, workin' all day, wasn't the life for me. So what do I do? I set off an' came here, and I ain't never been happier.
Whadd'a yah look like?	You got eyes, you can see me for yeself. ::she glances to you with another raised brow, her exotic face pleasantly amused. She's tall, maybe 5'6, and very lean, with few scant curves of womanhood on her body. Flawless chocolate skin, and darker eyes of the same color. Her hair is black and kept short in a knotty little pattern on her head. She dresses as any other newsgirl would, in ragged pants and a plain white cotton shirt. She's beautiful, but in an oddly exotic sort of way::
Got any 'ahhh, distin'guishin charact'ahristics?	Distinguishin' features? Ah, sure, hell. I got the usual scar or two, you know. ::what she doesn't show you are the jagged cuts up and down her left forearm from years before::
If you emptied out yah pockets on dis' table right now, wat�would fall out?	No money, that's for damn sure. I got some lint in my pockets, and a pocketwatch that hasn't worked for years. It's stuck on 1:37, but I can't remember what was goin' on then. I also got a little necklace. It was mine when I was a baby, and it don't fit no more, but I keep it with me.
How'd you find 'da place?	I jest stumbled upon it, you could say. I was lookin' for a place to stay the night, ended up here, and I haven't felt like leavin' since. It ain't a bad place to be stuck at, if you know what I mean.
You drink, smoke, gamble...�	Sho' do. Not gamble, though. Don't have any money to bet with. I do gotta bad a habit of cigars, though. Ain't terribly ladylike, but then again... neither am I. I like to drink, too. Another bad habit of mine, but hey... we were born to die, right?
Related tah any'bady�we'd know?	No one you'd want to know. And I'd ratha' not talk about them, either. I ain't too proud of my fam'ly and some of the things they done.
Who's yah best friend?	Who's got time for a best friend? Not me, at least. I get along with most everyone, though. I talk to Ryder some, she ain't too bad.. a little bit of a bitch, but hell. I can live with that.
Got any woyds tah live by?	Words to live by? Hell, I could give you plenny of words to live by, but they're the words -I- live by, so I don't feel like sharin'. ::she gives you an irritating little grin and slinks out of the bunkroom::