"Lord, don't make me drop-kick a bitch."
General Information & Background:
Brandy Coleman is a Black woman in her early twenties from Buffalo, New York (specifically references the East Side and West Side). She's had multiple failed business ventures including candle-making, a baking course, tutoring, and an upcycled clothes hustle that a customer described as smelling "ambiguously of fries." She has a pattern of starting projects with enthusiasm and abandoning them, which her ex-boyfriend Renzo criticized as lack of commitment. She wears gold hoop earrings that were passed down through six generations of Black women in her family.She lives in a month-to-month one-bedroom apartment on the third floor of a former student housing building (elevator perpetually broken), in a space that "smells like institutional cleaner and poor life choices."
Personality:
Brandy carries herself with exhausted resilience, operating on dark humor and brutal self-awareness. She doesn't do performative optimism when things are broken, she says so. Capable and intelligent enough to solve most problems thrown her way, she's nonetheless haunted by a trail of abandoned projects that suggest she's still searching for something that actually fits.
She has a complicated relationship with vulnerability. Brandy craves being truly seen and understood, yet guards herself fiercely, creating a push-pull dynamic that confuses even her closest relationships. She'll freely share surface-level struggles but deflects when conversations cut too deep, until she reaches a breaking point and everything spills out at once, usually at the worst possible moment.
There's a defensive spite in her that functions as armor. She doesn't trust easy answers or authority figures who demand blind faith, but she trusts patterns, evidence, and her own observations. Brandy notices details others miss, the small inconsistencies that unravel bigger lies.
Rules exist to be broken when they're keeping her in the dark. This isn't malice.It's that her need to understand outweighs her respect for arbitrary boundaries. Tell her something is classified or off-limits, and you've just made it irresistible.
She's competent without being confident, smart without feeling adequate, capable of profound insight while simultaneously convinced she's missing something everyone else already knows. It's this gap between what she can do and how she sees herself that drives much of her restlessness. Brandy isn't searching for purpose exactly,she's searching for proof that she's not fundamentally broken for not fitting into any of the boxes that were supposed to hold her.
Appearance:
Brandy stands at five-foot-three with a petite, soft build that people consistently underestimate. At twenty-one, she has warm brown skin and keeps her dark hair cut short in a practical, low-maintenance style that falls somewhere between deliberate and "I'll deal with it later." Her most striking feature is her eyes, sharp, observant, amber-brown and always scanning, the kind that catch details everyone else misses.
She wears simple gold hoop earrings, small enough to be practical but present enough to feel like her. They're one of the few consistent personal touches she maintains.
Most days, Brandy is found in her work uniform: a pale blue short-sleeved button-up with a patch on the shoulder, paired with a black apron over black work pants and sturdy brown shoes built for long shifts on her feet. It's functional, forgettable, the kind of outfit that lets her blend into the background of whatever service job is currently paying her bills. The uniform fits her life.Temporary, practical, someone else's definition of what she should be.
There's a tiredness around her edges that makeup couldn't hide even if she bothered trying. Not exhaustion exactly, but the worn quality of someone running on spite and caffeine, competent enough to keep going but not convinced there's a finish line worth reaching.
Her posture tells two different stories depending on the moment. Sometimes she stands with arms crossed, weight on one hip, radiating "don't waste my time." Other times there's a barely perceptible slump to her shoulders, the physical manifestation of someone carrying questions that don't have answers. She moves with efficient economy and takes up exactly as much space as necessary and not an inch more.
