maura evelyn scott
• eats really fast.
• sticks her tongue out the corner of her mouth when focused.
• habitually cracks all her joints.
maura, maura, maura... oh, hold up. you prefer scout, don’t you? it’s a silly little nickname you picked up for yourself somewhere in middle school, but by now it’s almost exclusively what you respond to. it’s not because maura’s an ‘old lady name’ (although that’s part of it, you’re not gonna lie) — it’s because at the age of eight you and your friends decide your favourite outdoor game is zombie hunting, and the role of the frontrunner is always called the scout, and you always, always volunteer for it.
and that’s you, in a nutshell: eager, proactive, fearless, opportunistic, and always ready to kick zombie ass. the zombies may have been taken out of the equation by now, but scout isn’t just a nickname, it’s your whole identity.
people don’t really like you at first glance, because — let’s be real, here — you’re kind of obnoxious. vulgar-mouthed and quick-tempered, snarky as hell and always pretending you’re cleverer than you are. you have no concept of personal space. you get by on grades just good enough to let you keep playing sports. you take up any dare or gamble no matter how stupid or dangerous, and your first instinct when things don’t go your way is to try and headbutt the problem.
you’re a bit of a flirt, too, though with you it’s less ‘witty banter’ and more ‘vague innuendoes with eyebrow wiggling’. paired with your usual antagonistic tendencies, you’ve earned somewhat of a reputation for being just as likely to punch someone as you are to kiss them. (it’s supposed to be an insult, but what you hear is ‘unpredictable and dangerous’, so you’re happy to tack it onto the rest of your labels.)
so yeah, you’re kind of a mess at most things, but if anyone asks you, it’s because you have a one-track mind — you only put effort in the things you want to. you’re ambitious, relentless. brave and dutiful and diligent. you still don’t really know whatever the hell it is algebra’s about, but you’ve got two whole cupboards full of sports medals and trophies you’ve won since kindergarten, and you’re currently the captain of the girl’s varsity volleyball team. all of that’s got to count for something, right?
you’re such an overachiever when it comes to sports that it only seems fair to fail at everything else.
(this is the excuse you tell your dad, but unsurprisingly, he disagrees.)
see, your dad’s some hotshot businessman. CEO of something or other — to be honest, you’ve never really listened. your eldest brother is working under him and being groomed to take over the company, while your older sister is in university studying law. it’s really not too shocking that daddy dearest doesn’t take kindly to your flunking grades and troublemaking attitude, but as long as you get that college sports scholarship you’re aiming for, you figure you don’t need his approval.
you’re kind of the black sheep in your family, but it wasn’t always your fault. they started it! it’s as childish as excuses get, but when you first come crying into the world and tear your mother’s diaphragm in two on your way out, fate itself has set you up for familial ostracisation.
and it’s kind of pathetic, but if you don’t count your massive rottweiler slash canine best friend (which twelve year old you adopted and happily named the lieutenant, or LT for short), the person in your family you feel closest to is your dead mother. you’ve never met her, but there are pictures of her around the house and she looks just like you; or rather, you look just like her. the only thing that doesn’t match is hair colour — she’s blonde to your father’s-side brunette — but you’ve been dying your hair pink since freshmen year, so that doesn’t really count either way.
all in all, you know basically three things about your mum: she was beautiful, she had died giving birth to you, and everyone in the family had loved her very much. but you, you like to add in another fact — that your mum had loved you. because there are times, late at night, where you miss her, intensely, with the sort of longing that doesn’t make sense, because you’ve never met her in your life. you don’t know what her voice sounds like, or if her eyes crinkled when she smiled, but if you love her regardless, then she must have loved you — it’s flawed logic, but it’s necessary logic.
you make a point to ignore your family’s disdain, telling yourself you don’t need them, but it still sucks sometimes. you could be watching a movie (and you watch movies a lot — you’re a shameless film buff and it’d almost be nerdy if you didn’t threaten to beat the living daylights out of anyone who made fun of your fanatic gushing) and suddenly, wham-bam, you get smacked in the face with surprise “warm moments” and “family values” that remind you just what you don’t have. you act like you don’t care about ‘belonging’ with the rest of the scotts, but really? it’s a touchy subject to think about. it makes you sniffly. you hate being sniffly, and so the logical conclusion is to never, ever think about it.
actually, that’s how you deal with most of your problems, assuming you can’t punch the shit out of it, first. you’ve got two tried and true methods — aggressive violence or violent avoidance — and so far, it’s been working out for you. never mind that people think you’re dense or emotionally-stunted; you think it’s okay as long as it helps you keep it together.
and as far as anyone else is concerned, you’re keeping it together just fine. you’re a little hotheaded, sure, but you’re still social. talkative, passionate, friendly. you like people, you like company, you like goofing off with your friends. you’ve got your fair share of problems, but you still feel so full, like you’re indestructible. you go by your instincts; you let down your guard; you laugh at your own jokes. you refuse to be weighed down by anything. beyond all else, you are unapologetically who you are, and you’re going to do whatever the heck you want.
everything else can go screw itself, really.