Ambrosia Callione

Ambrosia Callione stands about 6’3, towering over most of the kids her age and was very petite at around 136. Her hair hangs just over shoulder length, cut in a bob style and a dark cherry color with eyes as dark as the night sky. Her skin dark like a coffee and cream hue and for her height her ears were slightly smaller than one might expect. Her nose resembled that of a mouse, like a cute button with a bit of a tip that curved up at the end. Her looks would put even Aphrodite herself to shame.  She never could stay cooped up inside and she loves people and to be noticed where ever she goes, her slender stature and loud voice makes sure of that. In most aspects, she seemed much like her father Frank. They are an Italian family who immigrated to the states 40 years ago. She always stood proud of her Italian heritage, but noticed how often people judged her on the fact she could be such a loud, sometimes obnoxious girl. She never wanted to fit in, always felt the need to be different. She loves music, generally classical and blues, which seems weird for someone in her social standings and loud manner. One of her favorite past times would be to head down to the local arcade/comic shop near the pier after school, another strange habit that she knew many of her friends would look down upon. Afraid they might find out, she would wear a blonde wig and glasses as a disguise that seemed to work quite well for her. She never slacked on her homework or duties at home, she always tried to be school and family oriented. She knew the responsibilities she had to her family and herself and wouldn’t let anything stand in her way. Now being part of a large Italian family, she of course acquired quite the appetite. Her brother swears she once ate 3 plates more than him at a Thanksgiving dinner at his aunts 2 years ago, but no one believes him due to her petite size. She grew up with a family of men, aside from her mother and 2 aunts. She was the 2^nd youngest of 5 children which meant she was raised with 4 brothers. This didn’t prove difficult for her as she learned to hold her own against them and after a while they were the ones who shown trouble keeping up with her. When she was 11, her brothers dared her to climb the old bridge on 32^nd and Fourth Avenue, the place where Old John the Bum met a horrible fate with a bus 5 years before this. Not wanting to look weak or get made fun of, she went for it and almost half way up the side of the bridge wall, slipped and she caught the side of her forearm on a protruding bolt. This left a nice scar stretching about 6 inches.