Anli
Literate Addict
I'm just going to put all my characters here, so they're in one place.
Character Sheet
Soren - Reversed
Name: Soren Emanuel Dermot
Name meaning: Stern / god is with us / free
Personality:
Soren is a piece of work. He had to go through the confusing mess of being raised like an angel in demon’s skin. It didn’t turn out well. He’s undoubtedly demonic in nature—despite his parents’ best effort to smother it out of him—but he’s a bit too stubborn to cross over like the others. Instead, he developed a sense of sarcastic chivalry. It’s a nice way to do what he’s supposed to while mocking the concept altogether.
He’s lazy and unmotivated, usually procrastinating and taking the most convenient way out of everything. He doesn’t really care about what people think of him. That being said, he’s quick to defend—or rather, attack—when someone tries to hurt him. He’s incredibly aggressive and quick-tempered. Authority gains no respect from him—in fact, he’ll be completely and utterly amused by anyone who tries to exert control over him by any means. Even if it works.
He is incredibly rebellious, but he rebels in such a way that he can manipulate the situation to escape any wrongdoing. This may include indirect sinning or just plain old secrecy and pining crimes on others. He’s generally uncaring towards others and inconsiderate of their feelings—whether it be intentionally or just speaking what’s on his mind. For all his bad qualities, he does have one thing going for him. When asked directly, he will be completely honest. It stems back to an old bet that he’s too stubborn to lose. There are times he’ll use careful word choice to deceive or manipulate others, but he never truly lies.
He’s incredibly arrogant and a smart-ass. He’s also very irresponsible and undisciplined, often showing up late or not being able to control his tongue. Despite being pessimistic and perhaps a bit over-dramatic, he does have a child-like naivety about him. He trusts others too much, assuming their words have the same value as his own.
He has a serious nature when he isn’t killing people with sarcasm. There are times he seems to have trouble focusing. It’s usually after drinking coffee—which he adores, by the way—and it makes him seem a bit scatterbrained. He’s also pretty forgetful in general.
A word from Soren:
My name is Soren. As for my favorite color… it’s green. Spiders scare me—as unmanly as that sounds—and I’m allergic to… god—what am I allergic to? Oh, that’s just great. I’ll probably encounter it and die of anaphylactic shock. Bloody hell.
Anyway, it’s a pleasure to meet you.
Yeah, so… I’m a demon. Wait—no—not metaphorically. I mean I’m literally a demon. Did you know that if you say “Jesus” backwards, it sounds like the word sausage? Well, it does. I guess I’m a pretty laid back guy. Wait—am I a guy? That’s how they describe humans. I’m not a human, so does that mean I’m not a guy? But what am I, if not a guy!? Good god—I’m really not. I’ve never heard someone describe an animal as a guy—and I’m closer to an animal than a human—so I’m really not a guy at all! T-this is… not how I planned…
I… I seem to have lost a piece of myself today…
Quotes that relate to Soren:
“I want to KI- - you. (options may vary)”
“Give a damn. Many damns. More damns than anyone.”
“It makes me happy to know that none of us get a how-to guide. We’re all just kind of winging it.”
“If I’m weird around you, it’s because I’m comfortable.”
“Don’t sweat the petty things and don’t pet the sweaty things.”
“Only dead fish go with the flow.”
“Quit slackin’ and make shit happen!”
“There is no force equal to that of a determined woman.”
“When I get sad, I stop being sad and be awesome instead. True story.”
“You can’t buy happiness, but you can buy ice cream. And that’s kind of the same thing.”
James - Bloodstream
Sebastian - Blurred Lines
Zachariah - Old Kings and new Queens
Gabriel
Cyprian
Jason Bennett
Character Sheet
Name:
Name Meaining:
Nickname:
Age:
Appearance:
Personality:
Quotes that relate to __:
A word from __:
Theme song(s):
Past Fragment:
Name Meaining:
Nickname:
Age:
Appearance:
Personality:
Quotes that relate to __:
A word from __:
Theme song(s):
Past Fragment:
Name: Soren Emanuel Dermot
Name meaning: Stern / god is with us / free
Personality:
Soren is a piece of work. He had to go through the confusing mess of being raised like an angel in demon’s skin. It didn’t turn out well. He’s undoubtedly demonic in nature—despite his parents’ best effort to smother it out of him—but he’s a bit too stubborn to cross over like the others. Instead, he developed a sense of sarcastic chivalry. It’s a nice way to do what he’s supposed to while mocking the concept altogether.
He’s lazy and unmotivated, usually procrastinating and taking the most convenient way out of everything. He doesn’t really care about what people think of him. That being said, he’s quick to defend—or rather, attack—when someone tries to hurt him. He’s incredibly aggressive and quick-tempered. Authority gains no respect from him—in fact, he’ll be completely and utterly amused by anyone who tries to exert control over him by any means. Even if it works.
He is incredibly rebellious, but he rebels in such a way that he can manipulate the situation to escape any wrongdoing. This may include indirect sinning or just plain old secrecy and pining crimes on others. He’s generally uncaring towards others and inconsiderate of their feelings—whether it be intentionally or just speaking what’s on his mind. For all his bad qualities, he does have one thing going for him. When asked directly, he will be completely honest. It stems back to an old bet that he’s too stubborn to lose. There are times he’ll use careful word choice to deceive or manipulate others, but he never truly lies.
He’s incredibly arrogant and a smart-ass. He’s also very irresponsible and undisciplined, often showing up late or not being able to control his tongue. Despite being pessimistic and perhaps a bit over-dramatic, he does have a child-like naivety about him. He trusts others too much, assuming their words have the same value as his own.
He has a serious nature when he isn’t killing people with sarcasm. There are times he seems to have trouble focusing. It’s usually after drinking coffee—which he adores, by the way—and it makes him seem a bit scatterbrained. He’s also pretty forgetful in general.
A word from Soren:
My name is Soren. As for my favorite color… it’s green. Spiders scare me—as unmanly as that sounds—and I’m allergic to… god—what am I allergic to? Oh, that’s just great. I’ll probably encounter it and die of anaphylactic shock. Bloody hell.
Anyway, it’s a pleasure to meet you.
Yeah, so… I’m a demon. Wait—no—not metaphorically. I mean I’m literally a demon. Did you know that if you say “Jesus” backwards, it sounds like the word sausage? Well, it does. I guess I’m a pretty laid back guy. Wait—am I a guy? That’s how they describe humans. I’m not a human, so does that mean I’m not a guy? But what am I, if not a guy!? Good god—I’m really not. I’ve never heard someone describe an animal as a guy—and I’m closer to an animal than a human—so I’m really not a guy at all! T-this is… not how I planned…
I… I seem to have lost a piece of myself today…
Quotes that relate to Soren:
“I want to KI- - you. (options may vary)”
“Give a damn. Many damns. More damns than anyone.”
“It makes me happy to know that none of us get a how-to guide. We’re all just kind of winging it.”
“If I’m weird around you, it’s because I’m comfortable.”
“Don’t sweat the petty things and don’t pet the sweaty things.”
“Only dead fish go with the flow.”
“Quit slackin’ and make shit happen!”
“There is no force equal to that of a determined woman.”
“When I get sad, I stop being sad and be awesome instead. True story.”
“You can’t buy happiness, but you can buy ice cream. And that’s kind of the same thing.”
Name: James Thomas Mallory
Nickname: Bloodstream
Age: Thirty-Five years
Appearance:
Personality:
James is something of a two-faced soul. There are often times when he differs in his mannerisms from one moment to the next. He attributes it to a strange insanity that took hold of him when he was just a young boy. In fact, he acquired his mental instability at such a young age he doesn’t quite know what personality is truly his own. Is he truly the unstable wretch that lusts for blood and misfortune, or is he the calm, scholarly soul he so aspires to be? Only time will tell. Or so he says.
If there’s one thing that’s certain, however, it’s his undying love of tea. Oh how he adores his tea. There are times he forgets to eat and perform basic tasks, such as medicating and sleeping, but he never forgets his tea. He does hate to make it, though. He’s more of a thinker than a doer. It’s rather difficult for him to take action or stick with anything for a reasonable amount of time. Ideas are fleeting and inspiration frequent. Why deny one idea the pleasure of existence when another has already had ample time in this world?
James is rather quiet. But when he does speak, his words are chosen carefully and eloquently. He simply adores planning out every detail and befuddling whatever victim acquired his attention. At the same time, however, he hates action! Thus, in order to coerce himself into some semblance of accomplishment, he has to forsake cautiousness in favor of its careless brother. It’s rather amusing when he acts on impulse. He chides himself the entire time.
I have briefly mentioned the more docile side of him, but now I must relate the erratic mess that dwells on the other side. When the insanity takes over, he loses all semblance of self-restraint. Violence is always a possibility, though as of late he’s more likely to slaughter you with words than knives. It’s said that wise people know when to keep silent. I suppose in this state he isn’t really wise at all. He rambles on and on about whatever nuggets pass through his mind, failing to think his words through, and losing his former eloquence. In short… just consider him drunk off his own insanity.
Theme Song: Stateless [ Bloodstream ]
Favorite Quote: “Forget the one reason it won’t work and believe the one reason it will!”
Past Fragment:
It seemed like everything was always quiet. But that wasn’t true. It was actually quite loud. The screams were sometimes there. The voices he heard were there. Now, the sirens were coming too.
He was a dead man.
Longing for silence to return, he sipped his tea. It was raspberry. The color of blood. It was his favorite and most reviled color. He was addicted to blood, but he hated it. Everything was covered in blood. The garden of corpses he kept in the basement—those were stained in blood. Even the bones were tinted red. They had piled so high he couldn’t even open the door anymore. The bodies migrated to the bedrooms, now. So much blood. Everywhere. The walls had blood splattered on them. The floors had aged and sometimes fresh puddles in every room. Even his own body was sticky with blood. It disgusted him. But it also pleased him. He didn’t know how to feel about it anymore. Was he a monster, or wasn’t he? He felt like he was still human, but anyone who happened across his rotting house would disagree.
He was afraid to sleep there at night, you know. The maggots might burrow into his skin as though he were a living corpse. That terrified him. He had a treehouse outside—a mile and a half to the east. It was there he slept.
He was a dead man. The cops were finally going to get him. He wasn’t going to run. They would have enough evidence here to convict him. He would either get death or several life sentences, but they would kill him before he died of old age. The reporters would all say he was finally locked in prison. Yet that wouldn’t be the case at all. He’d be somewhere else, getting illegal punishment. Screw the bill of rights. He was a monster. That’s what they’d think. He knew it.
But they didn’t know anything.
Someday, they would need him. Yes. They would need him. They didn’t know it yet, but it was true. The monster was intelligent. It knew something they didn’t. One day they’d be fucked and he’d be their only protector. He only hoped he lived long enough to see that day come to pass.
Throughout his dark speculation, victimized lungs screamed at him—but his brain wasn’t heavy enough to comprehend it. He was lightheaded. Dazed. Hyperventilating. Panicking. He was a dead man. A living corpse. They were going to kill him. It was real.
The sirens screamed louder and louder as they approached—he heard them over his fervid lungs. He was going to die. They would kill him. Could he handle that? No. He would plead insanity. He was insane, wasn’t he? No—he wasn’t. He was quite sane. He knew exactly what he was doing. If he didn’t, how could he escape incarceration for so long? He was sane. He wasn’t a monster. It was okay.
Everything was going to be okay.
Nickname: Bloodstream
Age: Thirty-Five years
Appearance:
Personality:
James is something of a two-faced soul. There are often times when he differs in his mannerisms from one moment to the next. He attributes it to a strange insanity that took hold of him when he was just a young boy. In fact, he acquired his mental instability at such a young age he doesn’t quite know what personality is truly his own. Is he truly the unstable wretch that lusts for blood and misfortune, or is he the calm, scholarly soul he so aspires to be? Only time will tell. Or so he says.
If there’s one thing that’s certain, however, it’s his undying love of tea. Oh how he adores his tea. There are times he forgets to eat and perform basic tasks, such as medicating and sleeping, but he never forgets his tea. He does hate to make it, though. He’s more of a thinker than a doer. It’s rather difficult for him to take action or stick with anything for a reasonable amount of time. Ideas are fleeting and inspiration frequent. Why deny one idea the pleasure of existence when another has already had ample time in this world?
James is rather quiet. But when he does speak, his words are chosen carefully and eloquently. He simply adores planning out every detail and befuddling whatever victim acquired his attention. At the same time, however, he hates action! Thus, in order to coerce himself into some semblance of accomplishment, he has to forsake cautiousness in favor of its careless brother. It’s rather amusing when he acts on impulse. He chides himself the entire time.
I have briefly mentioned the more docile side of him, but now I must relate the erratic mess that dwells on the other side. When the insanity takes over, he loses all semblance of self-restraint. Violence is always a possibility, though as of late he’s more likely to slaughter you with words than knives. It’s said that wise people know when to keep silent. I suppose in this state he isn’t really wise at all. He rambles on and on about whatever nuggets pass through his mind, failing to think his words through, and losing his former eloquence. In short… just consider him drunk off his own insanity.
Theme Song: Stateless [ Bloodstream ]
Favorite Quote: “Forget the one reason it won’t work and believe the one reason it will!”
Past Fragment:
It seemed like everything was always quiet. But that wasn’t true. It was actually quite loud. The screams were sometimes there. The voices he heard were there. Now, the sirens were coming too.
He was a dead man.
Longing for silence to return, he sipped his tea. It was raspberry. The color of blood. It was his favorite and most reviled color. He was addicted to blood, but he hated it. Everything was covered in blood. The garden of corpses he kept in the basement—those were stained in blood. Even the bones were tinted red. They had piled so high he couldn’t even open the door anymore. The bodies migrated to the bedrooms, now. So much blood. Everywhere. The walls had blood splattered on them. The floors had aged and sometimes fresh puddles in every room. Even his own body was sticky with blood. It disgusted him. But it also pleased him. He didn’t know how to feel about it anymore. Was he a monster, or wasn’t he? He felt like he was still human, but anyone who happened across his rotting house would disagree.
He was afraid to sleep there at night, you know. The maggots might burrow into his skin as though he were a living corpse. That terrified him. He had a treehouse outside—a mile and a half to the east. It was there he slept.
He was a dead man. The cops were finally going to get him. He wasn’t going to run. They would have enough evidence here to convict him. He would either get death or several life sentences, but they would kill him before he died of old age. The reporters would all say he was finally locked in prison. Yet that wouldn’t be the case at all. He’d be somewhere else, getting illegal punishment. Screw the bill of rights. He was a monster. That’s what they’d think. He knew it.
But they didn’t know anything.
Someday, they would need him. Yes. They would need him. They didn’t know it yet, but it was true. The monster was intelligent. It knew something they didn’t. One day they’d be fucked and he’d be their only protector. He only hoped he lived long enough to see that day come to pass.
Throughout his dark speculation, victimized lungs screamed at him—but his brain wasn’t heavy enough to comprehend it. He was lightheaded. Dazed. Hyperventilating. Panicking. He was a dead man. A living corpse. They were going to kill him. It was real.
The sirens screamed louder and louder as they approached—he heard them over his fervid lungs. He was going to die. They would kill him. Could he handle that? No. He would plead insanity. He was insane, wasn’t he? No—he wasn’t. He was quite sane. He knew exactly what he was doing. If he didn’t, how could he escape incarceration for so long? He was sane. He wasn’t a monster. It was okay.
Everything was going to be okay.
Name: Sebastian Alexander Lowell
Name meaning: Majestic / defender of men / little wolf
Nickname: Satan
Appearance:
Personality:
Before he was damaged:
Sebastian is a rather quiet guy. He prefers to hang back and analyze the surrounding world, not making a fuss until he understands it well. His position and overall personality tend to isolate him from others. To further his isolation, a series of events in his childhood gave him an odd set of values that few empathize with. If someone violates his values, he can become very passionate and aggressive in his attempts to “restore order.” Despite this, he rarely seeks to justify his actions or defend himself. He fights hard for a cause that no one knows anything about.
When it comes to change and life in general, he’s extremely indecisive. He’ll consider his options for long periods of time before finally deciding on one, only to change his mind at the last minute. He often struggles between two factions of himself—trying to decide if he should act according to his values or proceed in the most logical way. This inner conflict extends to many other aspects of himself as well. It seems his entire life is devoted to better understanding himself—trying to figure out if he’s more good or evil, trying to figure out if he should trust one set of opinions or another. On most days, it seems the negative traits win out, but he’s reluctant either way.
He has the ability to be extremely compassionate and gentle, but only to a select few, as he doesn’t reveal himself easily. Emotion might attract unwanted attention (he hates making a spectacle of himself) and expose vulnerability. Though he is reluctant to reveal his own emotions, he is very sensitive to the feelings of others, possessing an intuitive quality that he uses to take in information. Believe it or not, he’s something of a romantic. It’s embarrassing and he tries to hide it, but there are times he’ll subconsciously let his feelings slip out. Animals typically see the softer side of him. He likes animals. To everything else, however, he constructs up a dense wall of untrusting indifference. The world is full of evil. He doesn’t want any part of it unless it’s his evil.
On the surface, he seems incredibly mature. But he’s quick-tempered and slow to forgive. Those that know how to get under his skin will find that he’s actually rather childish and immature—he just hides it well when he isn’t upset. It wouldn’t be surprising for him to give you the silent treatment or try to guilt you over something you said. He’s often forgetful and bad at taking care of things. That includes himself—it isn’t uncommon for his hair to be messy or his wounds left unattended.
A word from Sebastian:
We all have some form of helplessness. Weakness is just another part of life. But it isn’t our weakness that makes us weak. It’s our inability to hide our shortcomings that makes us weak. Because, really… fear means nothing until someone makes it reality. Vulnerability is nothing until someone finds out about it. So I offer you this advice.
Don’t ever listen to anyone. Everyone lies. Don’t ever trust anyone. No one cares. Don’t ever love anyone. Love is treacherous. Don’t ever trust your emotions. They’re misguided. Hide your emotions. Wear a mask. Push everyone away. People are wounds waiting to happen. Sink into complete solitude. Use your despair to fuel you. Remember that revenge is stupid. But know that you’ll never be at peace until you try it. Try to be happy. But… know that you’ll never feel happiness again.
This isn’t what I wanted to say to you… I wanted to say encouraging things. I tried to grit my teeth and say what I had originally wanted to… but I couldn’t. I don’t believe it anymore. And I don’t want to lie to you like everyone else has. I guess it doesn't matter in the end, though. My words will never reach you.
Quotes hat relate to Sebastian:
“I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Or just not exist. Or just not be aware that you do exist. Or something like that. I think wanting that is very morbid, but I want it when I get like this. That’s why I’m trying not to think. I just want it all to stop spinning.”(--the perks of being a wallflower)
“So, I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we'll never know most of them. But even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. We can still do things. And we can try to feel okay about them.” (--the perks of being a wallflower)
"Hearts are wild creatures, that's why our ribs are cages."
"Isn't it scary to be ready to die at such a young age?"
“If nobody hates you, you’re doing something wrong.” (--House)
“The concept you have about me won’t change who I am, but it can change my concept about you.” (--House)
"The most confused we ever get is when we try to convince our heads of something our hearts know is a lie." (--Karen Moning)
"My happy place is your happy place burning to the ground."
Theme songs:
Bastille – Pompeii
James Arthur – Impossible
James Arthur -- Recovery
Name meaning: Majestic / defender of men / little wolf
Nickname: Satan
Appearance:
Personality:
Before he was damaged:
Sebastian is a rather quiet guy. He prefers to hang back and analyze the surrounding world, not making a fuss until he understands it well. His position and overall personality tend to isolate him from others. To further his isolation, a series of events in his childhood gave him an odd set of values that few empathize with. If someone violates his values, he can become very passionate and aggressive in his attempts to “restore order.” Despite this, he rarely seeks to justify his actions or defend himself. He fights hard for a cause that no one knows anything about.
When it comes to change and life in general, he’s extremely indecisive. He’ll consider his options for long periods of time before finally deciding on one, only to change his mind at the last minute. He often struggles between two factions of himself—trying to decide if he should act according to his values or proceed in the most logical way. This inner conflict extends to many other aspects of himself as well. It seems his entire life is devoted to better understanding himself—trying to figure out if he’s more good or evil, trying to figure out if he should trust one set of opinions or another. On most days, it seems the negative traits win out, but he’s reluctant either way.
He has the ability to be extremely compassionate and gentle, but only to a select few, as he doesn’t reveal himself easily. Emotion might attract unwanted attention (he hates making a spectacle of himself) and expose vulnerability. Though he is reluctant to reveal his own emotions, he is very sensitive to the feelings of others, possessing an intuitive quality that he uses to take in information. Believe it or not, he’s something of a romantic. It’s embarrassing and he tries to hide it, but there are times he’ll subconsciously let his feelings slip out. Animals typically see the softer side of him. He likes animals. To everything else, however, he constructs up a dense wall of untrusting indifference. The world is full of evil. He doesn’t want any part of it unless it’s his evil.
On the surface, he seems incredibly mature. But he’s quick-tempered and slow to forgive. Those that know how to get under his skin will find that he’s actually rather childish and immature—he just hides it well when he isn’t upset. It wouldn’t be surprising for him to give you the silent treatment or try to guilt you over something you said. He’s often forgetful and bad at taking care of things. That includes himself—it isn’t uncommon for his hair to be messy or his wounds left unattended.
A word from Sebastian:
We all have some form of helplessness. Weakness is just another part of life. But it isn’t our weakness that makes us weak. It’s our inability to hide our shortcomings that makes us weak. Because, really… fear means nothing until someone makes it reality. Vulnerability is nothing until someone finds out about it. So I offer you this advice.
Don’t ever listen to anyone. Everyone lies. Don’t ever trust anyone. No one cares. Don’t ever love anyone. Love is treacherous. Don’t ever trust your emotions. They’re misguided. Hide your emotions. Wear a mask. Push everyone away. People are wounds waiting to happen. Sink into complete solitude. Use your despair to fuel you. Remember that revenge is stupid. But know that you’ll never be at peace until you try it. Try to be happy. But… know that you’ll never feel happiness again.
This isn’t what I wanted to say to you… I wanted to say encouraging things. I tried to grit my teeth and say what I had originally wanted to… but I couldn’t. I don’t believe it anymore. And I don’t want to lie to you like everyone else has. I guess it doesn't matter in the end, though. My words will never reach you.
Quotes hat relate to Sebastian:
“I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like that. That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years. Or just not exist. Or just not be aware that you do exist. Or something like that. I think wanting that is very morbid, but I want it when I get like this. That’s why I’m trying not to think. I just want it all to stop spinning.”(--the perks of being a wallflower)
“So, I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons. And maybe we'll never know most of them. But even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. We can still do things. And we can try to feel okay about them.” (--the perks of being a wallflower)
"Hearts are wild creatures, that's why our ribs are cages."
"Isn't it scary to be ready to die at such a young age?"
“If nobody hates you, you’re doing something wrong.” (--House)
“The concept you have about me won’t change who I am, but it can change my concept about you.” (--House)
"The most confused we ever get is when we try to convince our heads of something our hearts know is a lie." (--Karen Moning)
"My happy place is your happy place burning to the ground."
Theme songs:
Bastille – Pompeii
James Arthur – Impossible
James Arthur -- Recovery
Name: Zachariah Cato Quintrell
Age: 27
Personality:
Having acquired a rather despicable personality over the years, Zac has resigned himself to the life of a recluse who enthusiastically annoys others to the fullest of his ability. It’s a personal challenge, really, to get under each person’s skin and infuriate them in ways only he can. He possesses an intuitive nature, easily perceiving the inner workings of whatever target without much trouble. Although, if a person can resist his intuitive prowess and harassment, it simply encourages him to pursue them more. He enjoys the challenge of overpowering difficult people. They are the interesting ones. Yet they’re also the most dangerous, and risky, and he doesn’t enjoy being overpowered by his prey. Such is the perilous conundrum he often engages in.
Zac is extremely stubborn, though he is more likely to yield if he’s facing an equally stubborn opponent who would engender a deadlock. It’s all about strategy and manipulation. It’s far better to be perceived as one lacking in strength during the course of the game than losing the challenge because pride reared its illogical head. He tries his absolute best to take a logical approach to everything, having abandoned frivolous emotion long ago, and fakes whatever feeling he might need to best control the situation. Boasting quick-wit and a false charisma, Zac manages to lie and smooth talk his way through most unsavory confrontations. If there was ever a person that could render him tongue-tied, however, they would encounter deathcon-5 defense he so masterfully utilizes. Sarcasm—as much sarcasm as he can manage—and in really horrific situations—angry silence.
Overall, Zac is an apathetic mastermind who comes off as a complete asshole with a bit of old-fashioned con-man dashed in. Such are the outer layers of Zachariah Quintrell. The inner layers... well, that's another matter entirely.
A word from Zac:
“Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just here to idly observe your complete obliteration, as I always do, in my attempt to likewise obliterate this god-forsaken boredom that I so woefully possess. Please… do get on with your destruction. I so enjoy the lingering residue of your terror.”
"Alcohol is a wonderful thing. It's my best friend, and it should also be yours."
Quotes that relate to Zac:
“Maybe it’s not about the happy ending. Maybe it’s about the story.”
“I desire the things which will destroy me in the end.” – Sylvia Plath
“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.” – Helen Keller
“I’m not really a control freak but… can I show you the right way to do that?”
“I lied because I don’t want you to know how much it hurts me.”
“So this is how the world ends… Not with a bang but with a whimper.”
“I’ll be there just to watch you fall.”
“It’s so hard to have a heart when you’ve stopped so many others.” – K. M. Howell
“You’re appealing to emotions I simply do not have.”
“Don’t be surprised when I disappear.”
Theme Songs:
Matchbox Twenty – She’s So Mean http://www.azlyrics....shessomean.html
One Republic – Something I need http://www.azlyrics....thingineed.html
Matchbox Twenty - Unwell http://www.azlyrics....x20/unwell.html
Age: 27
Personality:
Having acquired a rather despicable personality over the years, Zac has resigned himself to the life of a recluse who enthusiastically annoys others to the fullest of his ability. It’s a personal challenge, really, to get under each person’s skin and infuriate them in ways only he can. He possesses an intuitive nature, easily perceiving the inner workings of whatever target without much trouble. Although, if a person can resist his intuitive prowess and harassment, it simply encourages him to pursue them more. He enjoys the challenge of overpowering difficult people. They are the interesting ones. Yet they’re also the most dangerous, and risky, and he doesn’t enjoy being overpowered by his prey. Such is the perilous conundrum he often engages in.
Zac is extremely stubborn, though he is more likely to yield if he’s facing an equally stubborn opponent who would engender a deadlock. It’s all about strategy and manipulation. It’s far better to be perceived as one lacking in strength during the course of the game than losing the challenge because pride reared its illogical head. He tries his absolute best to take a logical approach to everything, having abandoned frivolous emotion long ago, and fakes whatever feeling he might need to best control the situation. Boasting quick-wit and a false charisma, Zac manages to lie and smooth talk his way through most unsavory confrontations. If there was ever a person that could render him tongue-tied, however, they would encounter deathcon-5 defense he so masterfully utilizes. Sarcasm—as much sarcasm as he can manage—and in really horrific situations—angry silence.
Overall, Zac is an apathetic mastermind who comes off as a complete asshole with a bit of old-fashioned con-man dashed in. Such are the outer layers of Zachariah Quintrell. The inner layers... well, that's another matter entirely.
A word from Zac:
“Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just here to idly observe your complete obliteration, as I always do, in my attempt to likewise obliterate this god-forsaken boredom that I so woefully possess. Please… do get on with your destruction. I so enjoy the lingering residue of your terror.”
"Alcohol is a wonderful thing. It's my best friend, and it should also be yours."
Quotes that relate to Zac:
“Maybe it’s not about the happy ending. Maybe it’s about the story.”
“I desire the things which will destroy me in the end.” – Sylvia Plath
“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.” – Helen Keller
“I’m not really a control freak but… can I show you the right way to do that?”
“I lied because I don’t want you to know how much it hurts me.”
“So this is how the world ends… Not with a bang but with a whimper.”
“I’ll be there just to watch you fall.”
“It’s so hard to have a heart when you’ve stopped so many others.” – K. M. Howell
“You’re appealing to emotions I simply do not have.”
“Don’t be surprised when I disappear.”
Theme Songs:
Matchbox Twenty – She’s So Mean http://www.azlyrics....shessomean.html
One Republic – Something I need http://www.azlyrics....thingineed.html
Matchbox Twenty - Unwell http://www.azlyrics....x20/unwell.html
Name: Gabriel
Quotes that relate to Gabriel:
Why do you stay in prison when the door is so wide open?” (Jalal ad-Din)
“I’m not great at advice… may I interest you in a sarcastic comment?”
“I’d kill a thousand men before I let one make me his slave.”
“You have no idea how many times I’ve tried to tell you the truth through my jokes.”
“The flashbacks hurt…”
“Do not ask the price I paid. I must live with my quiet rage and tame the ghosts in my head that run wild and wish me dead.”
“You don’t understand how much I hate myself.”
“Hearing something that kills you inside and having to act like you don’t care.”
“Sooner or later I’m going to have to think about it and then I’m going to be a mess.”
“Please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand.”
“If by my life or death I can protect you, I will.” (J.R.R. Tolkien)
“The worst part about it all is that I have to go back there tomorrow and pretend everything’s fine.”
“The night is the hardest time to be alive and 4 a.m. knows all my secrets.”
“I’m fiercely independent, but I’m also terrified of being alone.” (Adam Levine)
“I closed my eyes and spoke to you in a thousand silent ways.”
“I spent this year as a ghost and I’m not sure where home is anymore.”
“I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.”
“The boy never cried again, and he never forgot that to love is to destroy and to be loved is to be destroyed.”
“I often miss this little girl… whose dreams had no barriers…. Who believed in a world where anything is possible with a heart that was full and unbroken.”
Past Fragment:
“There will come a day when you realize that all I’ve said is true. You’ll notice the horror that awaits you up ahead, but you won’t be able to stop moving towards it. You’ll realize that there’s no escape for you, no backspace, no detours, and though it may be fate that you kill me here, it is also fate that I get my revenge on you. Even the kingdoms of gods are just playthings for other gods, and even though I’ve died here, I’ll be painting your fate one universe above you… Heh… be sure to take good care of my daughter, boy.”
He was always afraid of words. They were such careless things, so easily made, but they had power over people. They have power over him. That’s why he wasn’t one for talking. When he was quiet, he could almost forget it all. He only had to suffer at night when his soul cursed him in dreams for keeping his agony so close to his heart. He only had to suffer when the darkness smothered out all distractions and left him in an empty room with nothing to do but wait for his insides to leak out. That’s the only time he had to suffer if he could just shut up for the rest of his life. But it was never that easy. He couldn’t be silent, so even the day tormented him. Because of her, the vampires could creep just as flawlessly in day as night. Just looking at her inspired fear. She had power over him. Just like words. It’s true he wouldn’t mind that much if she’d just asked him for actions—he could surrender actions in the day just fine; they were distractions, and he needed and liked distractions—but he knew it was words she wanted. Every day, every goddamned day, he’d watch her—wondering if today was the day she’d ask him to cut out his soul and present it to her on one of their shattered serving plates. It wouldn’t even be a whole one, he knew, because she wouldn’t understand his fragmented words and the shards would pierce both her hands for touching the subject and his heart for revealing itself in the unforgiving air. Living like this was starting to destroy him. He now understood why her father had ordained this as his punishment. At night he was cursed with insomnia and nightmares. In the day he lived in fear and flashbacks. He couldn’t escape from it anymore. It was a hideous, primal monster that chased him day and night without rest. He was going to break. His emotion was bound to slip out eventually. Then she would know. They would all know. And his promise would be broken.
He knew it was going to happen eventually. He followed her every order without fail until it did, resigning himself to objective recital that would hopefully spare him any outburst. But he couldn’t delete his emotions—as much as he hid them, they were still there. So when she finally called him in one night and looked him in the eyes and “Tell me why you killed my father” fell off her tongue, he couldn’t do it. Everything fell apart—just like the old man said it would—and he realized for the first time just how damned he was. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t look her in the eyes and see all his shame shot back to him along with whatever hatred she mixed into the powder. For the first time she saw his weakness; she saw the suffering he tried so hard to restrain. And then his promises were broken. He’d cried in front of her and ran from his punishment. He broke his oath to always obey his master. And for the first time, everyone knew that he hadn’t been a dog chained and forced to do what he was told. They knew he’d been collarless this whole time. He did what they said by force of will. It was never because of some cursed mark bestowed on him by that damned old man he killed that night. They all knew it was true, now that he’d fled in tears instead of telling her what she wanted to know.
They all knew the secret, now. And he knew they’d want to know more. They’d want to know why he stayed and listened and why he ran and what happened that day and all the answers would just beget more questions and rather than face the wrath of all those words and memories that he only wanted to bury he would rather just die and face that damned old man that predicted it all. He had abandoned his pride long ago, but it still hurt to know that man was right about everything. It hurt to know that if he was right about all the pain that chased him up to this point, he was probably right about the monster that waited in ambush just ahead in the darkness. He was probably right when he said there was no escape.
After running that night, he ran for another two years. For two years he tried to outwit his fate. But in the end he knew. He was doomed. The old man was definitely watching him, and no form of recompense would save him from a dead God’s vengeance. So after running for two years and trying to postpone the inevitable for one, he returned to the door of his master and resigned himself to living without completely falling apart.
Quotes that relate to Gabriel:
Why do you stay in prison when the door is so wide open?” (Jalal ad-Din)
“I’m not great at advice… may I interest you in a sarcastic comment?”
“I’d kill a thousand men before I let one make me his slave.”
“You have no idea how many times I’ve tried to tell you the truth through my jokes.”
“The flashbacks hurt…”
“Do not ask the price I paid. I must live with my quiet rage and tame the ghosts in my head that run wild and wish me dead.”
“You don’t understand how much I hate myself.”
“Hearing something that kills you inside and having to act like you don’t care.”
“Sooner or later I’m going to have to think about it and then I’m going to be a mess.”
“Please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand.”
“If by my life or death I can protect you, I will.” (J.R.R. Tolkien)
“The worst part about it all is that I have to go back there tomorrow and pretend everything’s fine.”
“The night is the hardest time to be alive and 4 a.m. knows all my secrets.”
“I’m fiercely independent, but I’m also terrified of being alone.” (Adam Levine)
“I closed my eyes and spoke to you in a thousand silent ways.”
“I spent this year as a ghost and I’m not sure where home is anymore.”
“I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.”
“The boy never cried again, and he never forgot that to love is to destroy and to be loved is to be destroyed.”
“I often miss this little girl… whose dreams had no barriers…. Who believed in a world where anything is possible with a heart that was full and unbroken.”
Past Fragment:
“There will come a day when you realize that all I’ve said is true. You’ll notice the horror that awaits you up ahead, but you won’t be able to stop moving towards it. You’ll realize that there’s no escape for you, no backspace, no detours, and though it may be fate that you kill me here, it is also fate that I get my revenge on you. Even the kingdoms of gods are just playthings for other gods, and even though I’ve died here, I’ll be painting your fate one universe above you… Heh… be sure to take good care of my daughter, boy.”
He was always afraid of words. They were such careless things, so easily made, but they had power over people. They have power over him. That’s why he wasn’t one for talking. When he was quiet, he could almost forget it all. He only had to suffer at night when his soul cursed him in dreams for keeping his agony so close to his heart. He only had to suffer when the darkness smothered out all distractions and left him in an empty room with nothing to do but wait for his insides to leak out. That’s the only time he had to suffer if he could just shut up for the rest of his life. But it was never that easy. He couldn’t be silent, so even the day tormented him. Because of her, the vampires could creep just as flawlessly in day as night. Just looking at her inspired fear. She had power over him. Just like words. It’s true he wouldn’t mind that much if she’d just asked him for actions—he could surrender actions in the day just fine; they were distractions, and he needed and liked distractions—but he knew it was words she wanted. Every day, every goddamned day, he’d watch her—wondering if today was the day she’d ask him to cut out his soul and present it to her on one of their shattered serving plates. It wouldn’t even be a whole one, he knew, because she wouldn’t understand his fragmented words and the shards would pierce both her hands for touching the subject and his heart for revealing itself in the unforgiving air. Living like this was starting to destroy him. He now understood why her father had ordained this as his punishment. At night he was cursed with insomnia and nightmares. In the day he lived in fear and flashbacks. He couldn’t escape from it anymore. It was a hideous, primal monster that chased him day and night without rest. He was going to break. His emotion was bound to slip out eventually. Then she would know. They would all know. And his promise would be broken.
He knew it was going to happen eventually. He followed her every order without fail until it did, resigning himself to objective recital that would hopefully spare him any outburst. But he couldn’t delete his emotions—as much as he hid them, they were still there. So when she finally called him in one night and looked him in the eyes and “Tell me why you killed my father” fell off her tongue, he couldn’t do it. Everything fell apart—just like the old man said it would—and he realized for the first time just how damned he was. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t look her in the eyes and see all his shame shot back to him along with whatever hatred she mixed into the powder. For the first time she saw his weakness; she saw the suffering he tried so hard to restrain. And then his promises were broken. He’d cried in front of her and ran from his punishment. He broke his oath to always obey his master. And for the first time, everyone knew that he hadn’t been a dog chained and forced to do what he was told. They knew he’d been collarless this whole time. He did what they said by force of will. It was never because of some cursed mark bestowed on him by that damned old man he killed that night. They all knew it was true, now that he’d fled in tears instead of telling her what she wanted to know.
They all knew the secret, now. And he knew they’d want to know more. They’d want to know why he stayed and listened and why he ran and what happened that day and all the answers would just beget more questions and rather than face the wrath of all those words and memories that he only wanted to bury he would rather just die and face that damned old man that predicted it all. He had abandoned his pride long ago, but it still hurt to know that man was right about everything. It hurt to know that if he was right about all the pain that chased him up to this point, he was probably right about the monster that waited in ambush just ahead in the darkness. He was probably right when he said there was no escape.
After running that night, he ran for another two years. For two years he tried to outwit his fate. But in the end he knew. He was doomed. The old man was definitely watching him, and no form of recompense would save him from a dead God’s vengeance. So after running for two years and trying to postpone the inevitable for one, he returned to the door of his master and resigned himself to living without completely falling apart.
Name: Cyprian Alexander Harris
Age: 27
Appearance:
Quirks: Often speaks cryptically and in metaphors. Quotes/alludes to literature. Speaks in fragments. Oddly defensive to touch. Prone to insincerity and deceit. Falls asleep at weird times.
Significant Quotes:
“You overrate my capacity of love. I don't possess half the warmth of nature you believe me to have. An unprotected childhood in a cold world has beaten gentleness out of me.” ― Thomas Hardy, Far from the Madding Crowd
“The first time it was reported that our friends were being butchered there was a cry of horror. Then a hundred were butchered. But when a thousand were butchered and there was no end to the butchery, a blanket of silence spread. When evil-doing comes like falling rain, nobody calls out "stop!" When crimes begin to pile up they become invisible. When sufferings become unendurable the cries are no longer heard. The cries, too, fall like rain in summer.”― Bertolt Brecht, Selected Poems
Soliloquy / Creed:
A person’s life is equivalent to a man stranded on one side of an abyss with the singular goal of making it to the other side. He has three paths. First, he could delude himself into believing his goal to be attainable—thereby remaining stationary until he is overtaken by time’s impatience. Whether he schemes or simply waits for a miracle, it doesn’t matter. The reality is he’s waiting for death to come to him. Second, he could accept the futility of his goal and lament his inability to move forward. Instead of waiting for the demons behind to stab him, he jumps into the abyss. A half-assed attempt to reach the other side, doomed to fail, but perhaps giving a little more comfort than simply waiting for death. Third, he could accept the impossible forward trajectory and move along the edge. He lives on, constantly running from the death-demons, but he’s doomed to never reach his goal. Running left or right will never get him to the other side. He possesses his life… but his life doesn’t amount to anything when death finally comes to him.
I chose to live my life according to the last scenario. I’m not really afraid of death. I think it’s just something you should avoid if you can. Because… if death is coming at some point, I might as well do what I can to survive until then. I refuse to be some dumbass who just gave in to demise. I won’t lose my footing so easily. I’ll survive even if it’s pointless.
Fragment:
Droplets of water slid happily down overgrown blades of grass, not caring about the filth that lingered below, while over the hill other droplet clans slid down far deadlier blades. Stained blades. Their kin painted tears on rotting faces and mingled with blood on shattered spikes. Some say rain is the tears of God. Is it really? Even if it is true, and He does cry for mankind, crying sure doesn’t do a damn in the end. The sky should stop tearing up and do something for a change.
A deep rasp dashed through waves of dancing chains and steadfast bars and unnatural breathing. It was his voice. He was saying something.
“I wonder if I’ll die today.”
That’s right. He whispered that every morning, nowadays, whether it was his turn to fight or not. The others all cried or begged or stared off into the distance with a different shade of gloom, but not him. He just slept and woke and said the same nonchalant words and uttered the same type of facetious remarks whenever his eyes returned from their long respite. Was he insane? Many believed so. But it wasn’t the usual color of insanity. Those who lost their minds in the holding cells were violent and loud, shrieking nonsense and playing cryptic Picasso on their walls. He was different. He didn’t seem to care. He was quiet and sarcastic, marching off to face death when he had to but not without baffling the reaper with his latest enigma. He was definitely insane. They all knew it. But he was insane intelligently.
Chains clicked. Vision blurred. Words slurred and ran together in a wretched painting not even a mother could dare admire. Before he knew it he was at it again, playing the same game he always did, running from a force he couldn’t defeat. Back and forth. Near and far. Left. Right. Roll. Dodge. Run. Keep running. He went through the motions. Yes, it was instinct at this point. But his head wasn’t there. It hadn’t been there for weeks. Months, even. He didn’t even know if he had a head anymore. Maybe it was cut off. Maybe his head was crying God’s tears on a bloody, broken stick up on a hill somewhere. They couldn’t even splurge on an unbroken stick. As if it’s that hard to go and pick up a new one somewhere. Those bastards.
Loud. Louder. What were those noises, he wondered, as the walls roared and cheered and called his name. He was the frontrunner. He was the example. He had won the game again. But even then, with his newly stolen hours of guaranteed life, his head wasn’t there. He didn’t hear them. He couldn’t. It all didn’t matter. It never mattered. He was just a ghost forced into a game he didn’t like. Crying wouldn’t help. Begging wouldn’t help. Crazy would only help him to his grave… and pride was a distant dream that only fools feigned. But maybe he wanted pride. Maybe pride was the reason he fought. Did he have a reason to fight? If he had a reason, he surely wasn’t conscious of it. That was his curse. He existed… but he didn’t know why he existed. Or if he even wanted to.
Age: 27
Appearance:
Quirks: Often speaks cryptically and in metaphors. Quotes/alludes to literature. Speaks in fragments. Oddly defensive to touch. Prone to insincerity and deceit. Falls asleep at weird times.
Significant Quotes:
“You overrate my capacity of love. I don't possess half the warmth of nature you believe me to have. An unprotected childhood in a cold world has beaten gentleness out of me.” ― Thomas Hardy, Far from the Madding Crowd
“The first time it was reported that our friends were being butchered there was a cry of horror. Then a hundred were butchered. But when a thousand were butchered and there was no end to the butchery, a blanket of silence spread. When evil-doing comes like falling rain, nobody calls out "stop!" When crimes begin to pile up they become invisible. When sufferings become unendurable the cries are no longer heard. The cries, too, fall like rain in summer.”― Bertolt Brecht, Selected Poems
Soliloquy / Creed:
A person’s life is equivalent to a man stranded on one side of an abyss with the singular goal of making it to the other side. He has three paths. First, he could delude himself into believing his goal to be attainable—thereby remaining stationary until he is overtaken by time’s impatience. Whether he schemes or simply waits for a miracle, it doesn’t matter. The reality is he’s waiting for death to come to him. Second, he could accept the futility of his goal and lament his inability to move forward. Instead of waiting for the demons behind to stab him, he jumps into the abyss. A half-assed attempt to reach the other side, doomed to fail, but perhaps giving a little more comfort than simply waiting for death. Third, he could accept the impossible forward trajectory and move along the edge. He lives on, constantly running from the death-demons, but he’s doomed to never reach his goal. Running left or right will never get him to the other side. He possesses his life… but his life doesn’t amount to anything when death finally comes to him.
I chose to live my life according to the last scenario. I’m not really afraid of death. I think it’s just something you should avoid if you can. Because… if death is coming at some point, I might as well do what I can to survive until then. I refuse to be some dumbass who just gave in to demise. I won’t lose my footing so easily. I’ll survive even if it’s pointless.
Fragment:
Droplets of water slid happily down overgrown blades of grass, not caring about the filth that lingered below, while over the hill other droplet clans slid down far deadlier blades. Stained blades. Their kin painted tears on rotting faces and mingled with blood on shattered spikes. Some say rain is the tears of God. Is it really? Even if it is true, and He does cry for mankind, crying sure doesn’t do a damn in the end. The sky should stop tearing up and do something for a change.
A deep rasp dashed through waves of dancing chains and steadfast bars and unnatural breathing. It was his voice. He was saying something.
“I wonder if I’ll die today.”
That’s right. He whispered that every morning, nowadays, whether it was his turn to fight or not. The others all cried or begged or stared off into the distance with a different shade of gloom, but not him. He just slept and woke and said the same nonchalant words and uttered the same type of facetious remarks whenever his eyes returned from their long respite. Was he insane? Many believed so. But it wasn’t the usual color of insanity. Those who lost their minds in the holding cells were violent and loud, shrieking nonsense and playing cryptic Picasso on their walls. He was different. He didn’t seem to care. He was quiet and sarcastic, marching off to face death when he had to but not without baffling the reaper with his latest enigma. He was definitely insane. They all knew it. But he was insane intelligently.
Chains clicked. Vision blurred. Words slurred and ran together in a wretched painting not even a mother could dare admire. Before he knew it he was at it again, playing the same game he always did, running from a force he couldn’t defeat. Back and forth. Near and far. Left. Right. Roll. Dodge. Run. Keep running. He went through the motions. Yes, it was instinct at this point. But his head wasn’t there. It hadn’t been there for weeks. Months, even. He didn’t even know if he had a head anymore. Maybe it was cut off. Maybe his head was crying God’s tears on a bloody, broken stick up on a hill somewhere. They couldn’t even splurge on an unbroken stick. As if it’s that hard to go and pick up a new one somewhere. Those bastards.
Loud. Louder. What were those noises, he wondered, as the walls roared and cheered and called his name. He was the frontrunner. He was the example. He had won the game again. But even then, with his newly stolen hours of guaranteed life, his head wasn’t there. He didn’t hear them. He couldn’t. It all didn’t matter. It never mattered. He was just a ghost forced into a game he didn’t like. Crying wouldn’t help. Begging wouldn’t help. Crazy would only help him to his grave… and pride was a distant dream that only fools feigned. But maybe he wanted pride. Maybe pride was the reason he fought. Did he have a reason to fight? If he had a reason, he surely wasn’t conscious of it. That was his curse. He existed… but he didn’t know why he existed. Or if he even wanted to.
Name: Jason E. Bennett
Age: 20
Special Attributes: Supernatural
Personality:
As a victim of child abuse and neglect, Jason harbors many emotional scars. He doesn’t trust anyone. This lack of trust causes him to isolate himself from others both physically and mentally.
He lives by himself in a second floor studio apartment, where he makes paintings and sculptures to sell in the art gallery below. The owner of the gallery, Emelyn, is the sole person that Jason can bring himself to almost trust. Her interactions with him are strictly based off personal gain, so he knows he’ll be fine so long as he has something to offer. He feels there’ll be enough of a warning to prepare himself before she drops him, so it offers some comfort.
While many turn to suicide in light of negative socialization, Jason’s experiences have given him a great appreciation for life. He values the lives of everyone, despite his mistrust of them, and can’t help but lend a hand when he can. He’s a very sensitive and kind person, but that’s warped by his insecurities and cynicism. Still, he’ll often feign trust to defend both his own feelings and the feelings of others. He has a hard time expressing his emotions and will lie or simply remain quiet when forced to reveal them.
His lack of true social experience shades him as a very awkward and naive person. He’s extremely innocent in the ways of love, having never so much as kissed before, and would probably be acutely oblivious to even the most straightforward advances. And, if someone was able to make their emotions obvious enough to him, he would most certainly talk himself out of believing them. He tends to overthink things. As far as other non-romantic social whatnot, he’s little better.
He prefers dark colors, and he only likes it outside when it’s raining, foggy, overcast, or overly windy. He likes food and video games. And books. He currently has no family, other than an older brother he wouldn’t talk about even if he had someone to talk about it to.
Quirks:
Sometimes talks in rhymes. Has a deep loathing of umbrellas. His skin is pretty pale, so when he blushes his entire body turns red. Ears, arms, legs…. everything.
Age: 20
Special Attributes: Supernatural
Personality:
As a victim of child abuse and neglect, Jason harbors many emotional scars. He doesn’t trust anyone. This lack of trust causes him to isolate himself from others both physically and mentally.
He lives by himself in a second floor studio apartment, where he makes paintings and sculptures to sell in the art gallery below. The owner of the gallery, Emelyn, is the sole person that Jason can bring himself to almost trust. Her interactions with him are strictly based off personal gain, so he knows he’ll be fine so long as he has something to offer. He feels there’ll be enough of a warning to prepare himself before she drops him, so it offers some comfort.
While many turn to suicide in light of negative socialization, Jason’s experiences have given him a great appreciation for life. He values the lives of everyone, despite his mistrust of them, and can’t help but lend a hand when he can. He’s a very sensitive and kind person, but that’s warped by his insecurities and cynicism. Still, he’ll often feign trust to defend both his own feelings and the feelings of others. He has a hard time expressing his emotions and will lie or simply remain quiet when forced to reveal them.
His lack of true social experience shades him as a very awkward and naive person. He’s extremely innocent in the ways of love, having never so much as kissed before, and would probably be acutely oblivious to even the most straightforward advances. And, if someone was able to make their emotions obvious enough to him, he would most certainly talk himself out of believing them. He tends to overthink things. As far as other non-romantic social whatnot, he’s little better.
He prefers dark colors, and he only likes it outside when it’s raining, foggy, overcast, or overly windy. He likes food and video games. And books. He currently has no family, other than an older brother he wouldn’t talk about even if he had someone to talk about it to.
Quirks:
Sometimes talks in rhymes. Has a deep loathing of umbrellas. His skin is pretty pale, so when he blushes his entire body turns red. Ears, arms, legs…. everything.
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