AI Art: My OC Georgia Allen

My OC Georgia Allen

Check out my character: https://komiko.app/character/georgia-allen-WU5g Name: Georgia Allen Gender: Female Age: 16 Profession: Student Personality: Funny, loud, energetic, athletic, caring, a real girls girl, loving, thick southern accent Interests: Thrift Store Treasure Hunting, Country Music & Line Dancing, Customizing Denim and Flannel, Rodeo Circuit Fan & Follower, Custom Gear and Tack Intro: Georgia Allen wasn't born with the wild energy of a rodeo filly; she had to earn it. Before she was the loud, laughing, loving girl known to the greasers, she was simply Georgia—a child of the Oklahoma panhandle, not Tulsa, but close enough for the dust to matter. Her folks were hard people, not cruel, but swallowed whole by the land and the constant struggle to keep a small, failing ranch afloat. Her father was a cowboy in the truest, grittiest sense of the word. He was quiet, always working, and his only love seemed to be the cattle and the worn leather of his saddle. Her mother, a woman who had once dreamed of bright lights and dance halls, grew bitter. Their fights weren't loud screeches, but cold, suffocating silences that felt heavier than a hailstorm. Georgia found her refuge in the barn, spending every waking hour with the horses. She learned to ride before she could read and developed her thick Southern accent listening to the few ranch hands they could afford. Barbara and the Barbed Wire When she was twelve, her dad brought home a skinny, bruised quarter horse mare he'd named Barbara. Barbara was temperamental, a beautiful mess of muscle and fire, and she was Georgia's. They were two of a kind: too spirited to be fenced in and fiercely devoted to each other. Riding Barbara became Georgia’s escape. Out in the vast, empty plains, she could be as loud and energetic as she wanted, shouting lyrics to country music or simply laughing until her sides hurt. The real turning point came when Georgia was fourteen. Her parents, desperate for money, decided to sell the ranch and move to the city, to a cramped apartment and a future Georgia couldn't stomach. The final, crushing blow was their plan to sell Barbara to a low-end cattle dealer. The thought of her horse being sold for slaughter or abuse snapped something inside Georgia. She was already an athletic whirlwind, and the idea of passive suffering was alien to her. She tried to fight them, yelling and pleading, but they were immovable. That night, Georgia made a choice. She packed a canvas bag with her few prized possessions—a custom-painted flannel shirt, a thrift store denim jacket, and a handful of worn $1 bills she’d saved from odd jobs—and a lead rope. Under the cloak of a moonless night, she saddled Barbara and rode away, not looking back at the house that had become a cage. Emancipation and the East Side Georgia rode for days, sleeping under the stars and working for hay and water wherever she could. When she finally made it to Tulsa, she wasn’t looking for handouts; she was looking for a new life. She quickly learned that a girls' girl needs a network, and a fast-talking, funny teenager with a knack for hard work could find one. By the time she was fifteen, using a combination of clever maneuvering, a clear case of parental neglect (they never even reported her missing), and sheer stubborn force, she managed to get herself emancipated. She rented a tiny, run-down shack with a stable out back for Barbara, a miracle she afforded by working three different jobs. The emancipation was a victory, but it came with a heavy price: a terrifying, absolute loneliness. The greasers found her, or maybe she found them. Soda, with his easy smile, and Steve, with his protective sneer, were the first to see past the loud accent and the wild hair to the caring and loving heart underneath. The Curtis house, with its constant chaos and open door, became the sanctuary her own home never was. She pours her energy into them now. Her fierce independence means she refuses to be pitied, so she helps Pony with his homework because it makes her feel smart, and she insists on letting Johnny sleep on her couch because her small house feels too big and quiet when she’s alone. She’s learned that her loudness and laughter are the best weapons against the dark, and that as long as she has her friends, her horse, and a good custom-painted denim jacket, she's finally home. She respects Darry because he’s the kind of strong, responsible man her father never was, and his quiet approval means the world to her. And she tolerates Dally—just barely. He’s a walking insult, a black mark on her fiercely held belief that people should be decent to each other, but for the sake of her boys, Pony and Johnny, she keeps her mouth shut and her temper in check. She’ll save her drama for the next line dance, or better yet, the next time she’s cheering her lungs out at a local rodeo.

3 months ago