Post by Abby Foster on Apr 19, 2010 21:31:50 GMT -5
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- NAME: Abigail Catherine Foster
- ALIAS: Previously known as Thimble, she now goes by Abby
- BIRTH DATE: December 4, 1986
- AGE IN 2006: 19 (She’s 24 now)
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- LOOKS:
- Height: 5”3’
- Weight:110 lbs
- Hair Color: Brown
- Other Details: A petite young woman by all accounts, Abby has an almost boyish figure. With a long history of sexual abuse she is grateful for her lack of curves and often wears loose, baggy clothing to further hide her femininity. Sweaters and jeans are her favourite, though in warm weather she will submit and wear a t-shirt (not tight fitting of course). All the clothes Abby wears are muted colours, never anything vibrant that might draw attention, and she doesn’t wear accessories. Her mousy brown hair is usually worn down and hangs in front of her face, though for work she must tie it back. She has wide, doe-like hazel eyes, delicate facial features, and a shy smile that is rare to appear.
- PLAY BY: Shiri Appleby
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- OUTWARD PERSONA: Abby is an extreme introvert. She appears surprised and frightened by the world about her, and goes out of her way to avoid social interactions. She hates to be touched, even a gesture as mild as a hand shake, as she has a deep rooted mistrust of people in general. For the length of her prison sentence, about five years, Abby has been living with the anxiety disorder: Selective Mutism. Near the end of her sentence Abby has begun to overcome this with the help of fellow inmate and friend, Roman Churchill. This is a continual struggle for Abby, especially in uncertain circumstances, and as a result she rarely speaks or if she does it is hardly above a shy whisper.
Abby is struggling to adapt to the changes in her environment, unused to the sudden freedom that she is allowed outside of prison. Her world is no longer confined to a tiny cell and fenced in yard, and Abby isn’t entirely sure of how to handle the bustle of the city streets.
- DEEPER DETAILS: Although Abby is an easily frightened and intimidated girl, she resolutely drives herself forward, pulling hope from the little things. While she can have horrible days where the thought of leaving her half-way house terrifies her, Abby attempts to focus on the reasons for getting out of bed and getting out the door. Rome Churchill is one of them, as she visits him as often as she can. Despite her fear of people, Abby displays great trust while in Rome’s company. Indeed, he is the only person allowed near enough to touch her (holding hands only of course). Within the past month or so Abby has begun to struggle with the possibility of romantic feelings towards her friend. Having undergone trauma both mental and physical throughout her life Abby is extremely confused about her feelings for Rome, but being a painfully shy girl, she will never take action one way or another.
Abby also draws hope from one day dancing again. She suffered a torn ligament while competing many years back, and before she could fully recover and begin dancing again, she was convicted of manslaughter and driving while under the influence of alcohol and was sent to Fox River. Any thought of dancing again was quickly abandoned in that hell hole, but now, with so many possibilities at her finger tips, Abby likes to day dream about the idea of picking up her training again. She thinks it to be a farfetched idea – not something that in truth she will try again, but it makes her smile.
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- CAREER: Waitress at a small bistro called Duke's Cafe
- SPECIAL SKILLS: Because she keeps herself well away from social situations, Abby is quick at working behind the counter as she focuses wholly on her tasks to tune out the social world. Though they do not assist her in work, Abby was once a skilled dancer - in ballet and contemporary mostly, though she has a background in ballroom, jazz and hip hop having studied dance all her life - and an average pianist. These skills could be picked up again if she had the means to apply herself.
- FINANCIAL STATUS: Poor. Abby is earning minimum wage and gets a meagre percentage of the tips when they are counted out each month.
- CAR: None. Abby relies on public transport.
- HOUSING: New Beginnings Halfway Housing, 8791 Fenway Street, Apartment 155. Abby lives in a studio apartment where her small single bed faces opposite her kitchen and is adjacent to the bathroom. There are two windows, equally filthy and equally impossible to clean. One is above her kitchen sink; the other is in the bathroom.
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- BIRTHPLACE: Lincolnwood, Illinois
- FAMILY: Elizabeth Faith Barker, mother, 51; Tobias “Toby” Michael Foster, father, 55.
- FRIENDS:Roman Churchill
- SCHOOLING: Received her high school diploma, and was in her second year attending Trinity Academy School of Dance.
- HISTORY: Abby was the only child born to Elizabeth and Tobias Foster, and as a result she was often spoiled with material items. She grew up in a wealthy suburban area, knowing the comfort of a well off family. Her mother had been a dancer though she had married young and given up her dreams of making it big, so as soon as Abby was old enough she donned the tutu, tights and ballerina shoes and took to the stage. However she lacked her mother’s love of attention, instead taking after her father’s reserved nature, and while Abby could dance well, she was too shy to step forward and claim the spotlight. This aggravated her mother to no end and she continually pushed and bullied her daughter into more and more dance competitions. Abby’s schedule was controlled by her mother into different sections, school, homework, free time and dance. Dance was the predominant aspect of her schedule, and often interfered with the time she would have spent otherwise socialising with friends. As a result, Abby found it hard to make and keep friends, always unsure of how to navigate in social situations. Abby, not a rebellious child by nature, folded to her mother’s wishes and worked hard at dance and school, slowly finding confidence in the dance studio in order to win her mother’s respect.
After graduating from high school at the age of eighteen, Abby was accepted into Trinity Academy School of Dance in Chicago. She moved into residence on campus and shared her dorm room with three other girls. It was the first time she had ever lived alone, and Abby, a shy girl who was eager to please, would find herself swept up in a maelstrom of late nights after hours of recital and competition. Abby always felt uncomfortable in these situations, but her friends refused to let her bow out. It was at one of these parties during her second year, shortly after she tore a ligament, that Abby foolishly set her drink down and left it to help her inebriated friend to the bathroom. After ensuring that her friend was alright and leaving her with a large cup of water and a chunk of bread, Abby went back to pick up her drink where a small group of third years encouraged her to finish it, chanting ‘chug, chug, chug’. Feeling pressured, Abby smiled and complied, gulping down the rest of her drink to a sound of cheers. The rest of the night was a sickening blur of faces and voices, and Abby was vaguely aware of staggering upstairs and collapsing on a bed. She awoke periodically, though it was a struggle to even open her eyes, and the heavy weight atop her body kept her from moving.
Abby woke slowly in the morning, rolling over on the bed to be immediately sick over the side of the mattress. It was several moments before her stomach was finished emptying itself and she was able take stock of her situation. Her jeans she found at the foot of the bed, along with her bra and the shirt she had bought only the day before. Her underwear she couldn’t find at all. With shaking fingers she pulled on her clothes, finding bruises she didn’t remember receiving. Abby staggered from the bedroom and down the stairs. Her only thought was to get home as quickly as possible, and to avoid being seen. She saw her roommate’s car keys on the kitchen counter, surrounded by cups and beer bottles. Without thinking Abby grabbed them and stumbled outside, momentarily blinded by the bright sunshine. She found the yellow car without a problem and pulled herself into the driver’s side. She made it two blocks before she ran up the side of the curb and killed a pedestrian: a young man on his way home from class.
Abby, stricken with guilt and shame for what she had done and what had been done to her, told no one the reasoning behind her impairment and so was charged with manslaughter and driving while under the influence of alcohol. Abby was sentenced to nine years in prison (but would get out on early parole) and sent to Fox River Penitentiary where she met the infamous Kylie Barker, best known as Mama. Abby’s own parents disowned her upon her confessed guilty conviction, and as Mama’s cell mate, the young sheltered girl who had been guided through most of her life, was easy prey for the older woman. Abby became one of Mama’s working girls though her shy attitude pulled very few customers. Her innocence appealed to Mama’s appetite however, and it wasn’t long before she pulled Abby off the market and made the young girl her ‘personal favourite’. Mama nicknamed Abby ‘Thimble’ for more reasons than the young girl’s small stature, and Abby shrank behind the title, slowly losing her power of speech as Mama exerted more and more control.
It wasn’t long before Abby stopped looking up from her shoelaces. She lost herself to a world completely her own, never responding to those who spoke to her as she learnt to let Mama do all the talking. It was rare for anyone to speak to her anyways; no one cared about prison bitches, they usually didn’t last too long.
Three people did take notice of her, though two of them would have their friendly ties severed permanently. May-Tag was the first, a pocket holder like herself though he didn’t seem to mind. His friendship was an astonishing change that seemed to require no reciprocity in any form other than their shared companionship. Thimble slowly began to delight in his presence, though she wasn’t quick enough to hide this change of character and Mama quickly caught on. She threatened May-Tag severely, chasing him off forever. The second person to befriend Abby was Shawna, a young woman who sought to separate Abby from Mama altogether. Mama learnt of this through the gossip of her girls and paid Shawna a visit which ended in a knife fight and Shawna was carried out in a body bag. A chance meeting in the library would lead to a long lasting and possibly the most important friendship of her life. Roman Chruchill withstood all of Mama’s threats and beatings, ignoring her forbiddance to speak to Abby even when the girl herself couldn’t and wouldn’t speak back to him. Slowly, relentlessly, he drew Abby out of her shell, accepting her minimal words as success and sticking by her until she was speaking whole sentences, and on a good day talking for minutes at a time. Flouting Mama’s rules gave Abby the confidence she needed to face each day and the horrors of the nights shared with Mama. Her progress was ruined when Abby encountered Nick, a fellow inmate, in the library. He took quick advantage of Mama and Rome’s absence and Abby’s resulting vulnerability, promising that he would kill her if she so much as breathed a word. At this point Abby took matters in to her own hands, tired of being petrified by the world and it’s inhabitants around her. She thought to write a good bye note to Rome, but thought the whole thing to pathetic, and attempted to commit suicide. She was unsuccessful however and spent several months in the sick bay recuperating. When she was at last considered well enough to leave Abby was returned back to her cell – though she would again be unable to talk. It felt like being back at square one again, but Abby worked to regain what strength she had lost, eventually leaving Mama’s gang and relying on Rome’s friendship to help her survive.
Several years would pass before Abby was released from prison and set up in New Beginnings Halfway Housing. Her parole officer got her a job at Duke’s Cafe, a quiet coffee shop off the main strip where the owner, a tough old woman, work patiently but firmly with Abby. Ever since then Abby has worked and saved her money for the day when she will be able to own her own home, with her own things, paid for with her own money. It’s a fantastic dream that often keeps her up at night.
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Abby’s hands convulsed as she gripped the two plates of sandwiches, and a couple of fries skittered off the creamy porcelain dish to fall onto the linoleum. Abby peeked over her shoulder and quickly kicked the fries under the counter where she mentally promised to come back and pick them up later – she had bigger things to concern herself with now: namely delivering the lunch order to table thirteen.
Abby set down the plates for a third time, wiping her sweaty hands on her apron. She sucked in a deep breath and let it go slowly; closing her eyes and willing her thundering heart to slow down. ‘You can do this,’ she thought to herself firmly, her small hands clenching momentarily into fists. ‘You can do this.’
“Do it,” she mumbled under her breath, nodding to herself and opening her eyes. She picked up the plates and turned, plastering a fake cheery smile on her face. It quickly slid from her lips however when she saw the two young men that occupied table thirteen. She studied their clothes, their faces, the books that rested on the table top and the back packs by their chairs. Abby’s mind reeled back to Trinity Academy and her chest tightened at the thought that her attacker from so many years ago could be one of those men sitting at the table. She had never seen his face, at least not that she could remember, and so couldn’t identify him. He had been walking around Chicago, completing his degree, finding real work and love, and fulfilling his life goals while Abby had been shut away in prison. The horrors experienced there were the next things that struck at her and Abby pivoted on her heel and hurried into the back, dropping the plates onto the counter with a clatter. She dragged at her apron and gave up when she couldn’t get the knot undone, burying her face in her hands.
Abby drew in great shuddering breaths, pressing the heels of her palms against her quivering mouth and her knuckles against her eyes. ‘I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.’ The thoughts became a silent mantra that she chanted over and over in her head. How could she be expected to go out there and wait on that table when the very thought of pleasantly greeting those men made her feel sick to her stomach? Already she could feel her throat constricting, her quiet voice growing even smaller and smaller. Roberta, the owner of Duke’s, never had made her wait on tables before, but today she’d been tied up in the office with paperwork and had asked for Abby’s help. Abby had accepted, not only through an employee’s obligation but also because she liked Roberta, the woman was never forthcoming with praise but was patient and kindly in her own way. She seemed to understand without asking what had happened to Abby, and had allowed the girl her own quiet corner, usually delegating her with the task of working behind the bar making coffees – it was a job that required little small talk with customers and suited the girl nicely.
Abby’s hands dropped from her face and she hugged her skinny arms about herself, hunching her shoulders, her head automatically drooping as she regressed into her protective shell.
‘Ya ain't gotta be scared.’ The memory of Rome’s speedy Texan drawl was so vivid it startled Abby and she wheeled about, half expecting to see him leaning against the door frame, that arrogant smirk on his face but his blue eyes alive with concern and care for her. Abby blinked and closed her eyes again when his absence reminded her of the physical distance between them. After living in such close quarters for so long it felt bizarre to not have him close by now, especially when she felt she needed him so badly. Rome would have known what to do. He would have known and he would have had her laughing too, chattering on the way he did.
From behind her closed eyes she smiled at the memory of his eager torrents of words about cars, half of which she didn’t understand but she listened anyways because it was important to him. That was the thing about Rome; even in the hellish nightmare of Fox River Penitentiary he could still remember the better things of life.
‘Ain't nothin' gonna hurt ya again.’
Abby opened her eyes slowly, a tentative smile hinting at the corners of her lips. She paused for a moment to straighten her rumpled apron and nod to herself, picking up the plates and heading out of the back room. Abby took a couple of deep breaths and marched over to table thirteen, setting the plates down in front of the men with steady hands and a small smile.
“There’s your ham and swiss sandwich with salad, and your grilled cheese sandwich with fries. Is there anything else I can get for either of you?”
