RumpledMind's Characterssszzzzz....
Page 1 of 1
RumpledMind's Characterssszzzzz....
by RumpledMind Wed Jan 14, 2009 3:05 pm
Photo/Image: None yet (working on a more recent piece)
Name: Rumplestilskin Merryweather Bitchpants
Race: Fey (born Unseelie, raised human)
Age: Unknown (assumed to be at least 300)
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Gender: Female (Gender Identity: Androgynous)
Hair Color and Style: Waist length braids with an occasional dred thrown in. Multi colored neon, mostly blue and black.
Eye Color: Blue Gray
Ht. & Wt.: 6’11” 120lbs
Identifying Marks: Her hair is a bit of a trade mark, most fey tend to use glamour to modify their appearance, but Rumple takes pride in actually styling her own hair, doing her own make up, and wearing clothes. She also stands out due to her extreme height and small build, not to mention her love for platform shoes. She towers above most men. There are two things that she uses glamour to hide in the daylight: her skin color, and her willow like frame. You have to imagine, nearly seven feet tall, and only 120lbs. She barely looks human. She plumps herself out most of the time, but at night, in her club, she's whisper thin. Her skin is the faintest shade of green. Almost egg shell white, but for the occasional ray of sun reflecting an emerald tinge. It takes very little energy to mask this, so most of the time she does it without realizing.
General Appearance: Gaudy, gaudy, gaudy! If you need to blend in, don’t go anywhere with Rumple. Big jewelry, big shoes, big coats, big glasses, shiny canes, obnoxious make up, bright manicures and of course, last but not least, her larger than life attitude. She does what she pleases, and most of the time, no one stops her. She may not use much glamour when it comes to her appearance, but when it comes to getting what she wants out of life, no one takes advantage more than she. Her nails are custom, french tipped in iron. Some of her formal wear has thin iron wire sewn between the layers. This helps protect her against most close range attacks from her own people. It also works well when posturing and intimidation are necessary.
Background: Her birth parents are unknown, assumed Unseelie. A farmer found her as an infant in the marsh that bordered his land, and with his wife, raised her to woman hood. She was taught the value of a hard day’s work, and that humans are more than what most fey give them credit for. Eventually she realized what she was, and left home for years on a mission of self discovery. When she returned decades later, her mother was dead, and her father on his death bed. She told him all she had learned about herself, and he smiled and made her promise to treat all creatures fairly, and to remember him and his wife as long as she lived. Present: In the Fey community, she is regarded as a scandal waiting to happen due to her controversial treatment of humans. They believe her to be weak, but as of yet, have taken no action. She owns a club for Fey and the humans that have an addiction to them. It’s called Feythful, and it bounces with activity nightly.
Pets: None (not animals anyhow...^_~)
Special Abilities:
Glamour: The fey can change the appearance of just about anything using glamour. The chief use is personal appearance: clothes, hair, make up, body. It can also be used on objects such as: leaves to money, garbage to cupcake, etcetera. The general rule is that the object will lose it's glamour when the heat of the faerie's hand leaves the object. Human scientists are looking into a way around this problem, namely to pass off large quantities of, say, monopoly money as legitimate currency for longer periods of time. Glamour is a skill to be learned, not something that comes naturally, although an untrained faerie can accidentally preform the trick, especially as a child. Like any skill, the more it is practiced, the stronger it becomes. It does drain energy, so a wounded or tired fey might have trouble depending on their skill level. Glamour can also be used to cloud the minds of mortals to either get them to do your bidding, make them forget, put them in a trance like state for as long as you like (depending on the strength of the faerie), or merely suggest things. This usually requires eye contact, and for the more complex mind control, speech. Rumple is trained in using glamour, but isn't nearly powerful enough to control hordes of humans like others her age. Namely because she doesn't care to do so.
Strength: Depending on the race of the faerie (i.e. pixie, selkie, brownie, troll etc.) inhuman strength can come into play. Most fey are stronger than a normal human of the same size, but trolls, for example, are known for their strength, just as pixies are known for their cleverness. The little she was able to deduce from her travels, led her to believe that she may be a mix between a pixie and a troll, having the strengths of both, but the weaknesses of neither. This is still a theory, and has not been proven. Though her body may look weak, Rumple can bench press almost twice her own weight.
Iron Tolerance: As a young faerie, she chose not to participate in the cruelty of either court, but chose to live amongst the humans and the exiles. She knew the consequences (others would regard her as weak, and a traitor to her kind, and the saturation of iron in the city would make her sick) so she subjected herself to iron torture for three years to gain a reasonable tolerance. She wears iron every day to keep it up, though she tries to avoid direct skin contact. What might kill a fey who had never touched iron would only wound her, but if used in large enough quantities, she would die from it. No faerie is completely immune to the effects of iron.
Weapons: When it comes to the city Fey, weapons rarely enter the picture. Most are too weak to fight from the nasty conditions, so diplomacy is a common practice. When it comes right down to it, she is trained in knife fighting, and various fire arms, though to use them might cause more damage to her own hands than to an enemy. Blades are her preferred weapon of choice.
Personality: Bubbly and playful right down to the core. Although her responsibility in the community might cause her to be harsh on occasion, she dislikes doling out punishment and tends to be overly lenient. She attempts to remain straight faced and serious like her counterparts, but most of the time her mischievous side peaks out and causes trouble. An undying curiosity about everything and everyone pumps through her very veins, and as she often reminds her advisers, "Though curiosity may have killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back."
Name: Rumplestilskin Merryweather Bitchpants
Race: Fey (born Unseelie, raised human)
Age: Unknown (assumed to be at least 300)
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Gender: Female (Gender Identity: Androgynous)
Hair Color and Style: Waist length braids with an occasional dred thrown in. Multi colored neon, mostly blue and black.
Eye Color: Blue Gray
Ht. & Wt.: 6’11” 120lbs
Identifying Marks: Her hair is a bit of a trade mark, most fey tend to use glamour to modify their appearance, but Rumple takes pride in actually styling her own hair, doing her own make up, and wearing clothes. She also stands out due to her extreme height and small build, not to mention her love for platform shoes. She towers above most men. There are two things that she uses glamour to hide in the daylight: her skin color, and her willow like frame. You have to imagine, nearly seven feet tall, and only 120lbs. She barely looks human. She plumps herself out most of the time, but at night, in her club, she's whisper thin. Her skin is the faintest shade of green. Almost egg shell white, but for the occasional ray of sun reflecting an emerald tinge. It takes very little energy to mask this, so most of the time she does it without realizing.
General Appearance: Gaudy, gaudy, gaudy! If you need to blend in, don’t go anywhere with Rumple. Big jewelry, big shoes, big coats, big glasses, shiny canes, obnoxious make up, bright manicures and of course, last but not least, her larger than life attitude. She does what she pleases, and most of the time, no one stops her. She may not use much glamour when it comes to her appearance, but when it comes to getting what she wants out of life, no one takes advantage more than she. Her nails are custom, french tipped in iron. Some of her formal wear has thin iron wire sewn between the layers. This helps protect her against most close range attacks from her own people. It also works well when posturing and intimidation are necessary.
Background: Her birth parents are unknown, assumed Unseelie. A farmer found her as an infant in the marsh that bordered his land, and with his wife, raised her to woman hood. She was taught the value of a hard day’s work, and that humans are more than what most fey give them credit for. Eventually she realized what she was, and left home for years on a mission of self discovery. When she returned decades later, her mother was dead, and her father on his death bed. She told him all she had learned about herself, and he smiled and made her promise to treat all creatures fairly, and to remember him and his wife as long as she lived. Present: In the Fey community, she is regarded as a scandal waiting to happen due to her controversial treatment of humans. They believe her to be weak, but as of yet, have taken no action. She owns a club for Fey and the humans that have an addiction to them. It’s called Feythful, and it bounces with activity nightly.
Pets: None (not animals anyhow...^_~)
Special Abilities:
Glamour: The fey can change the appearance of just about anything using glamour. The chief use is personal appearance: clothes, hair, make up, body. It can also be used on objects such as: leaves to money, garbage to cupcake, etcetera. The general rule is that the object will lose it's glamour when the heat of the faerie's hand leaves the object. Human scientists are looking into a way around this problem, namely to pass off large quantities of, say, monopoly money as legitimate currency for longer periods of time. Glamour is a skill to be learned, not something that comes naturally, although an untrained faerie can accidentally preform the trick, especially as a child. Like any skill, the more it is practiced, the stronger it becomes. It does drain energy, so a wounded or tired fey might have trouble depending on their skill level. Glamour can also be used to cloud the minds of mortals to either get them to do your bidding, make them forget, put them in a trance like state for as long as you like (depending on the strength of the faerie), or merely suggest things. This usually requires eye contact, and for the more complex mind control, speech. Rumple is trained in using glamour, but isn't nearly powerful enough to control hordes of humans like others her age. Namely because she doesn't care to do so.
Strength: Depending on the race of the faerie (i.e. pixie, selkie, brownie, troll etc.) inhuman strength can come into play. Most fey are stronger than a normal human of the same size, but trolls, for example, are known for their strength, just as pixies are known for their cleverness. The little she was able to deduce from her travels, led her to believe that she may be a mix between a pixie and a troll, having the strengths of both, but the weaknesses of neither. This is still a theory, and has not been proven. Though her body may look weak, Rumple can bench press almost twice her own weight.
Iron Tolerance: As a young faerie, she chose not to participate in the cruelty of either court, but chose to live amongst the humans and the exiles. She knew the consequences (others would regard her as weak, and a traitor to her kind, and the saturation of iron in the city would make her sick) so she subjected herself to iron torture for three years to gain a reasonable tolerance. She wears iron every day to keep it up, though she tries to avoid direct skin contact. What might kill a fey who had never touched iron would only wound her, but if used in large enough quantities, she would die from it. No faerie is completely immune to the effects of iron.
Weapons: When it comes to the city Fey, weapons rarely enter the picture. Most are too weak to fight from the nasty conditions, so diplomacy is a common practice. When it comes right down to it, she is trained in knife fighting, and various fire arms, though to use them might cause more damage to her own hands than to an enemy. Blades are her preferred weapon of choice.
Personality: Bubbly and playful right down to the core. Although her responsibility in the community might cause her to be harsh on occasion, she dislikes doling out punishment and tends to be overly lenient. She attempts to remain straight faced and serious like her counterparts, but most of the time her mischievous side peaks out and causes trouble. An undying curiosity about everything and everyone pumps through her very veins, and as she often reminds her advisers, "Though curiosity may have killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back."
Last edited by RumpledMind on Thu Jan 15, 2009 1:34 pm; edited 2 times in total (Reason for editing : Lack of info, may edit again later.)
RumpledMind-
Number of posts : 12
Age : 35
Location : My Cave
Registration date : 2009-01-05 -
Carlson Smith
by RumpledMind Fri Jan 23, 2009 2:48 am
Photo/Image: None yet
Name: Carlson Smith (But that’s Mr. Smith to you!)
Race: Human
Age: 28
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Gender: Male
Hair Colour and Style: Long, scruffy, unkempt, dirty. Those are the four words that best describe this man’s hair. A dark brown, it shines red in harsh sunlight, though he usually hides it beneath a wide brimmed cowboy hat. He rarely shaves, so most of the time, he sports a scruffy goatee.
Eye Colour: Sharp green
Ht. & Wt.: 6’1” 180lbs
Identifying Marks: A nasty scar runs from his left cheek bone down to his collar bone. Some say it was an accident, some say he was carved up. He doesn’t talk about it.
General Appearance: Thin and lean but muscled. He’s tough as nails, and it shows in his walk. Generally, he sports a pair of dusty as hell dungarees and a once white button down shirt that he leaves half open, exposing his tanned, muscular chest. His boots are black to match his hat, and from his neck hangs a very expensive looking piece of woman’s jewelry: a cross made of silver, specked here and there with tiny red sapphires. No One has tried to take it from him in 10 years. They all heard what happened to the last guy that tried. A long tailored black jacket completes the ensemble, hanging just past his knees. He uses guns but feels no emotional attachment to them. His knife, Belshazzar, holds a special place on his belt.
Background: His mother was a whore and died early of consumption (tuberculosis) leaving a 15 year old Carlson to care for his two younger siblings, Jessica and Pete. He became strong through the physically taxing farm work that became his only source of income. The farmer (having a wife and son of his own) took pity on the small family and allowed them to stay in the loft of his barn, feeding and clothing them in exchange for help. When Pete was old enough, he too helped on the farm, and Jessica assisted the farmer’s wife in her duties. It went on like that for five years. By this time, Jessica was nearly a woman, and everyman in town pined over her. She could have easily made money by selling herself, but she didn’t want to follow in the footsteps of her mother. It was her dream to be an educated woman and to teach small children how to read and write. Carlson always supported her in whatever she wanted to do. Pete wasn’t as well off as the other two, he was small and sickly, and nothing they ever did would help. Eventually it became clear that he would die if not cared for properly. The farmer once again took pity on them and loaned Carlson enough money to take Pete to a doctor. It was of no use. The doctor had never seen his condition before, and sent him home with his siblings to die. Shortly after Pete’s passing, the son of the farmer, who had grown into a despicable man, threatened Jessica into laying with him. He said that if she did not, he would tell his father that he’d caught her stealing money from him. After all the farmer had done for them, he’d surely feel betrayed and cast them from his land. She felt backed into a corner, knowing the farmer would never believe her over his son. And so, the farmer’s son raped her. When Carlson learned of this, he went into a blind fury and killed the farmer’s son. He took Jessica and their few belongings and fled to the distant hills, but it wasn’t long before the towns folk found them. They burned the forest they hid in and took Jessica’s life as Carlson watched. After beating him to within inches of his life, they left him for dead beside his sister. Somehow, the need for revenge kept him alive, and after burying the last of his family, he wandered the land for a year, preparing for his great reign of vengeance. When the time finally came, his fury descended upon the small town, and everyone but the farmer and his wife were destroyed. He wore his sister’s necklace to remind them of that strange peasant girl they killed that long ago night in the hills. After his work was done he chose to wander the streets, a mad man, until his days were numbered.
Pets: None
Special Abilities: THE SCOWL OF DOOM. (+2 intimidation) <==Just kidding. He's human, no special powers, per say, but he does have a mean mug that can melt paint.
Weapons:Belshazzar and perhaps a nice sawed off shot gun if he can find it. He knows how to use a pistol. But he likes Belshazzar.
Personality: He’s the strong quiet type. Doesn’t say much, doesn’t do much, but when it really comes down to it, he can save your ass in a pinch. He’s kind hearted, but rarely finds a person worthy of his compassion. He sees himself as Justice, and will try to right a wrong if he comes across one. He’s a drifter at heart. Doesn’t want to be on the earth, so he tempts fate, looks for adventure, laughs in the face of danger as if to say, “Kill me, I dare you.”
Name: Carlson Smith (But that’s Mr. Smith to you!)
Race: Human
Age: 28
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Gender: Male
Hair Colour and Style: Long, scruffy, unkempt, dirty. Those are the four words that best describe this man’s hair. A dark brown, it shines red in harsh sunlight, though he usually hides it beneath a wide brimmed cowboy hat. He rarely shaves, so most of the time, he sports a scruffy goatee.
Eye Colour: Sharp green
Ht. & Wt.: 6’1” 180lbs
Identifying Marks: A nasty scar runs from his left cheek bone down to his collar bone. Some say it was an accident, some say he was carved up. He doesn’t talk about it.
General Appearance: Thin and lean but muscled. He’s tough as nails, and it shows in his walk. Generally, he sports a pair of dusty as hell dungarees and a once white button down shirt that he leaves half open, exposing his tanned, muscular chest. His boots are black to match his hat, and from his neck hangs a very expensive looking piece of woman’s jewelry: a cross made of silver, specked here and there with tiny red sapphires. No One has tried to take it from him in 10 years. They all heard what happened to the last guy that tried. A long tailored black jacket completes the ensemble, hanging just past his knees. He uses guns but feels no emotional attachment to them. His knife, Belshazzar, holds a special place on his belt.
Background: His mother was a whore and died early of consumption (tuberculosis) leaving a 15 year old Carlson to care for his two younger siblings, Jessica and Pete. He became strong through the physically taxing farm work that became his only source of income. The farmer (having a wife and son of his own) took pity on the small family and allowed them to stay in the loft of his barn, feeding and clothing them in exchange for help. When Pete was old enough, he too helped on the farm, and Jessica assisted the farmer’s wife in her duties. It went on like that for five years. By this time, Jessica was nearly a woman, and everyman in town pined over her. She could have easily made money by selling herself, but she didn’t want to follow in the footsteps of her mother. It was her dream to be an educated woman and to teach small children how to read and write. Carlson always supported her in whatever she wanted to do. Pete wasn’t as well off as the other two, he was small and sickly, and nothing they ever did would help. Eventually it became clear that he would die if not cared for properly. The farmer once again took pity on them and loaned Carlson enough money to take Pete to a doctor. It was of no use. The doctor had never seen his condition before, and sent him home with his siblings to die. Shortly after Pete’s passing, the son of the farmer, who had grown into a despicable man, threatened Jessica into laying with him. He said that if she did not, he would tell his father that he’d caught her stealing money from him. After all the farmer had done for them, he’d surely feel betrayed and cast them from his land. She felt backed into a corner, knowing the farmer would never believe her over his son. And so, the farmer’s son raped her. When Carlson learned of this, he went into a blind fury and killed the farmer’s son. He took Jessica and their few belongings and fled to the distant hills, but it wasn’t long before the towns folk found them. They burned the forest they hid in and took Jessica’s life as Carlson watched. After beating him to within inches of his life, they left him for dead beside his sister. Somehow, the need for revenge kept him alive, and after burying the last of his family, he wandered the land for a year, preparing for his great reign of vengeance. When the time finally came, his fury descended upon the small town, and everyone but the farmer and his wife were destroyed. He wore his sister’s necklace to remind them of that strange peasant girl they killed that long ago night in the hills. After his work was done he chose to wander the streets, a mad man, until his days were numbered.
Pets: None
Special Abilities: THE SCOWL OF DOOM. (+2 intimidation) <==Just kidding. He's human, no special powers, per say, but he does have a mean mug that can melt paint.
Weapons:Belshazzar and perhaps a nice sawed off shot gun if he can find it. He knows how to use a pistol. But he likes Belshazzar.
Personality: He’s the strong quiet type. Doesn’t say much, doesn’t do much, but when it really comes down to it, he can save your ass in a pinch. He’s kind hearted, but rarely finds a person worthy of his compassion. He sees himself as Justice, and will try to right a wrong if he comes across one. He’s a drifter at heart. Doesn’t want to be on the earth, so he tempts fate, looks for adventure, laughs in the face of danger as if to say, “Kill me, I dare you.”
RumpledMind- Number of posts : 12
Age : 35
Location : My Cave
Registration date : 2009-01-05 -
Re: RumpledMind's Characterssszzzzz....
by RumpledMind Fri Jan 23, 2009 3:00 pm
Photo/Image:
Note: This picture of Alister was taken on his 15th birthday, and he's aged a bit since then.
Name: Alister Dor
Race: Human
Age: 26
Alignment: True Neutral
Gender: Male (Gender Identity: Androgynous)
Hair Colour and Style: Long, curly, jet black, and BIG. Alister has big hair. It’s not his fault he was blessed with volume and body. His hair is kind of a creature on its own (maybe I should post a character sheet for it). It sort of billows around in the wind as one large mass, letting a few curls escape to billow on their own here and there. Occasionally, he wears it back in a high ponytail. This is usually only when he wants to feel/look extra manly/badass. Most of the time, he leaves it down to wander.
Eye Colour: Bright, clear, deep, unadulterated cerulean blue. They really stand out against his black hair and pale skin. It’s actually his favorite color, and when he was young, he wore a lot of blue make up to match his eyes. He’s always been very proud of them.
Ht. & Wt.: 5’5” 125lbs
Identifying Marks: The letter “R” is tattooed behind his left ear.
General Appearance: When he was younger, he wore nothing but women’s clothes. He was never gay or bi-sexual; he just liked women’s clothes. It was very natural. Most mistook him for a woman until he spoke, which was followed by a hearty laugh from all who were present. When he got to be 18 he toned it down a little and found that he actually enjoyed both men’s and women’s fashions. He still dresses like a fruit, but acts scarier than ever before. Though he’s small and looks like a disheveled male prostitute, most people either stay out of his way or aid him in his quest.
Background: The winter he turned twenty was the winter his life changed forever. He was working at a strip club called “Gent” as a cocktail waitress. There was a dance club across the street. He’d never been inside, even though his life had once revolved around similar places. That wasn’t his life anymore, so he stayed away. It didn’t look appealing anyhow. One night, he was outside Gent having an after-shift-cigarette, waiting for his cab, when a drunken idiot stumbled across the street towards him and asked him out for coffee. As soon as Alister spoke, it became clear that the man was mistaken. However, he didn’t back down. “You a fruit or something?” Alister goaded. “No, but…aren’t you?” The man replied, confused. After a long talk, Alister had explained his gender identity, his lack of homosexuality, and the fact that if he never went to coffee with this man, it would be too soon. When the cab showed up, the man insisted that they split it. “You don’t even know where I’m going” Alister protested, but the man hopped in anyway. The night ended with the man, Rodrick, sleeping on Alister’s couch. The two became close friends and a year later they were in love. As most romances do, this one ended in heartache. The two had a fight, and parted ways. One evening, on Alister’s way home from work, a stalker attempted to have his way with him in an alleyway. Luckily, Rodrick had just gotten out of a cab nearby and when he heard the ruckus, went to investigate. When he came upon the scene he grew mad with rage and even though Alister had put up a decent fight, wounding the man in several places, Rodrick beat the man about the head and shoulders with the butt of his pistol before emptying the entire clip into him. When the cops arrived they took Rodrick into custody for murder. He was later tried and convicted of voluntary manslaughter. He couldn’t claim self defense, as the autopsy concluded that the man was incapacitated before the first shot was even fired, then to fire a whole clip…it looked bad. So he told the truth of the situation, and the jury took pity on him, suggesting a sentence of two years rather than the usual ten. Alister promised to wait for him, and they both got tattoos of each other’s first initial behind their ears (Alister the left, Rodrick the right). Unfortunately, they transferred him to various prisons and wouldn’t tell Alister where Rodrick was. Eventually two years passed, and he still hadn’t come home. Where was he? Four years after that, we find ourselves in the present, where Alister carries a disheveled Polaroid of his love and wanders the world asking everyone he meets, “Have you seen this man?”
Pets: none
Special Abilities: none
Weapons: His fists work nicely, and so does random debris laying about on the ground.
Personality: He’s always been an angry, world-weary person, but now his aura of tired desperation comes off of him in waves. He’s managed to retain his beauty, but he’s no longer the fresh faced youth of his past. The shadows under his eyes grow darker and his demeanor is almost one of frantic despair. He’s become careless, wandering through dark alleys, challenging others to make quick work of him, looking for any outlet for his rage.
Note: This picture of Alister was taken on his 15th birthday, and he's aged a bit since then.
Name: Alister Dor
Race: Human
Age: 26
Alignment: True Neutral
Gender: Male (Gender Identity: Androgynous)
Hair Colour and Style: Long, curly, jet black, and BIG. Alister has big hair. It’s not his fault he was blessed with volume and body. His hair is kind of a creature on its own (maybe I should post a character sheet for it). It sort of billows around in the wind as one large mass, letting a few curls escape to billow on their own here and there. Occasionally, he wears it back in a high ponytail. This is usually only when he wants to feel/look extra manly/badass. Most of the time, he leaves it down to wander.
Eye Colour: Bright, clear, deep, unadulterated cerulean blue. They really stand out against his black hair and pale skin. It’s actually his favorite color, and when he was young, he wore a lot of blue make up to match his eyes. He’s always been very proud of them.
Ht. & Wt.: 5’5” 125lbs
Identifying Marks: The letter “R” is tattooed behind his left ear.
General Appearance: When he was younger, he wore nothing but women’s clothes. He was never gay or bi-sexual; he just liked women’s clothes. It was very natural. Most mistook him for a woman until he spoke, which was followed by a hearty laugh from all who were present. When he got to be 18 he toned it down a little and found that he actually enjoyed both men’s and women’s fashions. He still dresses like a fruit, but acts scarier than ever before. Though he’s small and looks like a disheveled male prostitute, most people either stay out of his way or aid him in his quest.
Background: The winter he turned twenty was the winter his life changed forever. He was working at a strip club called “Gent” as a cocktail waitress. There was a dance club across the street. He’d never been inside, even though his life had once revolved around similar places. That wasn’t his life anymore, so he stayed away. It didn’t look appealing anyhow. One night, he was outside Gent having an after-shift-cigarette, waiting for his cab, when a drunken idiot stumbled across the street towards him and asked him out for coffee. As soon as Alister spoke, it became clear that the man was mistaken. However, he didn’t back down. “You a fruit or something?” Alister goaded. “No, but…aren’t you?” The man replied, confused. After a long talk, Alister had explained his gender identity, his lack of homosexuality, and the fact that if he never went to coffee with this man, it would be too soon. When the cab showed up, the man insisted that they split it. “You don’t even know where I’m going” Alister protested, but the man hopped in anyway. The night ended with the man, Rodrick, sleeping on Alister’s couch. The two became close friends and a year later they were in love. As most romances do, this one ended in heartache. The two had a fight, and parted ways. One evening, on Alister’s way home from work, a stalker attempted to have his way with him in an alleyway. Luckily, Rodrick had just gotten out of a cab nearby and when he heard the ruckus, went to investigate. When he came upon the scene he grew mad with rage and even though Alister had put up a decent fight, wounding the man in several places, Rodrick beat the man about the head and shoulders with the butt of his pistol before emptying the entire clip into him. When the cops arrived they took Rodrick into custody for murder. He was later tried and convicted of voluntary manslaughter. He couldn’t claim self defense, as the autopsy concluded that the man was incapacitated before the first shot was even fired, then to fire a whole clip…it looked bad. So he told the truth of the situation, and the jury took pity on him, suggesting a sentence of two years rather than the usual ten. Alister promised to wait for him, and they both got tattoos of each other’s first initial behind their ears (Alister the left, Rodrick the right). Unfortunately, they transferred him to various prisons and wouldn’t tell Alister where Rodrick was. Eventually two years passed, and he still hadn’t come home. Where was he? Four years after that, we find ourselves in the present, where Alister carries a disheveled Polaroid of his love and wanders the world asking everyone he meets, “Have you seen this man?”
Pets: none
Special Abilities: none
Weapons: His fists work nicely, and so does random debris laying about on the ground.
Personality: He’s always been an angry, world-weary person, but now his aura of tired desperation comes off of him in waves. He’s managed to retain his beauty, but he’s no longer the fresh faced youth of his past. The shadows under his eyes grow darker and his demeanor is almost one of frantic despair. He’s become careless, wandering through dark alleys, challenging others to make quick work of him, looking for any outlet for his rage.
RumpledMind- Number of posts : 12
Age : 35
Location : My Cave
Registration date : 2009-01-05 -
Page 1 of 1
Permissions in this forum:
You cannot reply to topics in this forum