Post by Alexander Burke on Mar 10, 2013 14:27:57 GMT -6
n a m e ---[/color] Alexander Burke
n i c k n a m e ’ s ---[/color] Alex
d a t e o f b i r t h ---[/color] (nineteen) 9/7/1993 [/blockquote]
p l a y b y ---[/color] Andrew Garfield
h e i g h t ---[/color] 6’1
w e i g h t ---[/color] 164 lbs.
b a s i c ---[/color]
Alex is a tall kid with a lanky sort of build. His skin is paled, though clear, by his brown (and rather fluffy) hair, but is altogether is not overly pale nor overly tanned. His hair, like said before, is rather fluffy, a grayed sort of brown that never seems to stay flat or neat no matter how many times he brushes it. He has dark brown eyes, rather big, though they tend to be squinted or furrowed due to his often very concentrated look he wears. Alex has a twitchy sort of smirk, a slow smile, and he has that kinda wide-eyed distant look, like he’s always thinking or daydreaming. He has a square face, a flat chin, and a large hands which tend to be smeared with ink due to the fact that he’s left handed.[/blockquote]
s t r e n g t h s ---[/color]
Alex is very courageous. It’s not something he really thinks about, nor has he had the opportunity to show, but it is something about him that sets him apart—even if the desire to prove himself taints the bravery. He’s fairly selfless, confident (perhaps overly so), acts instead of talking about acting, and is surprisingly gentle with those he cares about. He’s an optimist and an extrovert, someone who’s outgoing, flirty, and loveable in the puppy-like sort of way.
w e a k n e s s e s ---[/color]
Here’s the thing though. Alex is impulsive. His action of acting without thought, while might be good in intention, can get himself and others into trouble. He’s lived a fairly sheltered life, is slightly gullible, and has a crippling inability to ask others for help. He has a longing to prove himself, to be better, to show people he can. He’s direct, sometimes overly so, and struggles with communication.
w a n t s ---[/color] Alex wants very badly to travel the world. He grew up on a single island almost his entire life, and the most he’d ever seen of the world was on, embarrassingly, the internet. He’d love to travel, never really settle down, see the world—maybe find a girl.
f e a r s ---[/color] Alex hates the prospect of being permanently injured or disabled, the thought of having to rely on others permanently or being unable to do all he wants to terrifying to him. He fears dying alone.
p e r s o n a l i t y ---[/color]
Self-Control: Boom. Nothing. Alex has the worst self-control ever. xD Sure, if his life, or someone else’s, is on the line, he can clam up—but sometimes he just doesn’t know when to let up or pull punches.
Conflict/Danger: Alex can become very calm very quickly. He’ll be very passive and compliant under demands, if reasonable, up to a point. After that—
Fear: Fear for himself Alex can conquer. Fear for others will have him panicking though—his ability to form bonds perhaps a little too strong. If someone else is fearful though, Alex will get this sort of sad aura and (if he cares for them) want to help in a slow and quiet sort of way.
Sex/Flirting/Romance: Alex is very awkward with the female variety at first, but after a few minutes of getting into it/being comfortable, he can become quite charming and flirty.
Pain: Probably a few muted swear-words and over-dramatic, holy-crap I’m dying.
Guilt: Alex will become very driven in guilt. He’ll adapt a sort of frantic nervous personality trying to fix it, and, if he can’t, become darker for a while.
Being criticized: Alex has a very deep need to prove himself to others. He can take most criticism, but it can cut deep if left unchecked and he will drive himself to prove them wrong and search for their approval.
Offending others: If they deserve it, Alex will get a slight glow of satisfaction for a few hours. If they are on bad terms to begin with, he won’t think twice of it, but if they were close, he’ll slowly dissolve into guilt and need to reaffirm their approval.
Praise/Love: Alex has a sort of deep driven need for approval and will seek it out in subtle ways, building things for others to see them smile, try and push himself, etc.
Being hated: Alex, if the feeling is mutual, really won’t give a damn.
Humiliation: An icy cold demeanor. You can see the change in him, and how he’ll get ready to lash out and back at the person who did.
Expression of Anger: Slamming of doors, tenseness of body, etc. Irritation is usually very icy, and extreme anger is often very fiery and bright.
Expression of Sadness: Alex will sort of curl in on himself, get smaller, and loose the wittiness very quickly.
Expression of Happiness/Excitement: Alex’s laugh is usually very breezy and lightly amused sounding. His smile is usually a twitch of the lips, like he can’t decide whether he’s amused or not, that slowly grows into a grin.
Expression of Love: Alex will be very gentle with those he cares about, as well as very fond. He’ll joke around with them a lot and tend to be more happy in general around them.
Expression of Stress/anxiety: Alex fiddles with things. He hates not doing something and the boredom that comes with it. He rolls his fingers and clicks and unclicks pens and softly snaps his fingers when nervous.
h i s t o r y ---[/color]
We are after 500 + words on their history, more detail the better guys.
w h a t t h e y d i d ---[/color]
Alex’s father is known as the third-richest man in the entire world. Until very recently, Alex, nor most of the world, did not know the full extent of how and what the man had done to achieve his fortune besides his oil and technology trade. Alex recently learned his father was a weapons dealer, dealing out powerful technology and weaponry to the highest bidder—not really caring what the weapons were used for. Alex himself knows computers and engineering like the back of his hand He can hack nearly anything, design almost anything, and build it all. His genius, while limited mostly to mathematics, computers, and most sciences, is a big part of his character, and will set him apart as one of the most promising minds on the planet.
y o u r a g e ---[/color] sixteen (truth)
g e n d e r ---[/color] female
c o n t a c t ---[/color] admin of site (daze)
r o l e p l a y s a m p l e ---[/color]
Kaija left Yvonne with a cheerful goodbye, saying she was going to go check out the other floors or something of the other as she'd already checked all of the other rooms. Be careful,she'd said before she'd slipped downstairs.[/blockquote]
Yeah. Supposed murderer on the loose and all.
Yvonne paused outside the next dark brown wood door, placing a hand lightly ontop of it and letting the tip of her forehead thump softly right below the gold letters of the room. Allana Knolls rattled softly at the force, and she gave a soft sigh with her eyes closing briefly before reaching down to pull the handle of the door. The door opened soundlessly—she would have to fix that if Kaija's prediction ended up being true—and Yvonne hesitated outside the shadowy interior of the room. Slowly, she entered, hand coming up to flick the lights on. They lit up steadily with a faint hum, illuminating the fair sized room. It was simple, soft red carpet, paneled wooden walls, queen sized bed and dressers. A closed door to the left probably led off to the bathroom, and the sliding wooden doors to her right probably held clothes, just like all the other rooms she had visited with Kaija.
Yvonne moved slowly over to the dresser, pulling the top drawer out and looking slowly inside. Nothing in particular caught her interest; the room seemed to be as standard issue as the other had been. A blanket, a blank journal, some night clothes, nothing too spectacular. And then—
Yvonne stared down into the drawer, narrowing her eyes. What was—was that…?
The woman abruptly closed the drawer with a soft click, taking a step back. No. No. No. She had to get rid of that right away. Anything like that, in this situation, this circumstance—it would be—
Pushing herself off the dresser, Yvonne quickly made her way to the bathroom, pushing the door open and slipping inside. She pulled open the medicine cabinet next to the shower, scanning past the bottles and gauze, eyes lighting up at spotting some scissors. She fingered them for a moment, thinking. Maybe—
No. Yvonne put the scissors down abruptly, closing the door of the cabinet and moving over to the next. No, she'd have to burn it, or bury it, or something. No. Burning it. That was the best thing to do. Hiding it—she had learned this time and time again in the past—would never work. Someone would always find the evidence and point it back to you. But… maybe she could hide it under the floorboards if she pried one up with a knife or something—
Yvonne staggered over to the sink, leaning heavily on the smooth white surface, arms locking and heels of her hand pressed to the sink edge. She ducked her head, closing her eyes, running one hand back through her red hair. God. How was this even real? This shouldn't be—it couldn't be—
You're not going to die. We're not going to die. We're going to be fine. Yvonne took one shaky breath. It was really hitting her, just hitting her, how real this was. How that someone could—even her—could die. No. No, Mathew had a plan. Even if he didn't—she could pack up her bags with as much food as she could carry and slip off easily in the night. So what if there were endless miles of forest far ahead? So what if that journey could just as likely kill her as any of these people could? She wasn't trapped here, and nothing was going to hold her. Yvonne could feel the tension slipping out of her shoulders, calming down.
It was fine. Yvonne relaxed minutely, opening her eyes. Everything was going to be fi—
LIAR.
Yvonne jumped back from the mirror overtop the sink with a scramble of shaking limbs and a freakout very few people could be proud of. Half a second too late, she realized the dripping letters was actually on the wall behind her, and she spun, pushing off the wall and smearing her pale hands on the black liquid running down the wall. She tripped, ever graceful, smacking her head on the back of the sink in the small bathroom and yelling as she hit the ground hard. She clutched her head, feet working even then to push herself back, wedge herself in under and between the sink and the wall itself, breathing hard.
Finally, when the pain passed and she lifted her head out of her shaking hands, Yvonne looked up at the still smeared letters of the words.
Liar, it jeered at her. At least it hadn't been written in blood—she couldn't take all these clichés.
"You were so not there ten seconds ago," she whispered furiously.
Blood would've been so much worse.