Post by sinner on Nov 23, 2008 23:27:47 GMT -5
.out of character
Your Name: Alison. Call me Al - or Sin. Your choice, love.
How Long Have You Been RPing?: ... upwards of five years? Hell if I know.
.in character
.basic info
Name: Connor Murdock Moore.
Nickname: Connie, Conn, Skinny, Murdock, Dublin Boy. "M'stage name is Heidi Glitterglitter, my drag name, Rat Face Malahide... I had this mate, he was, uh, called Girth Brooks..."
The more friendly sobriquets, at the very least. Pretentious boys and girls with upturned noses tend to refer to him as Hand-out, Drug-pushing reject, Scholarship - and the like.
Age: Seventeen.
Birthday: June 12
Year: 3rd.
Nationality: Prominently Irish and Scottish.[/size]
.appearance
Hair Color: Brown, he does believe; the boy's dyed it too many times to be entirely sure.
Eye Color: Blue. Nothing special, in his opinion. The truth behind why he tends to cover one eye with his hair? He's colorblind in the left.
Height: 6'1".
Clothes Style: The school's uniform, needless to say, is what he finds himself in nowadays. Minor alterations here and there, the random clipping of safety pins along the sleeves or legs of his trousers, his tie too loose about his neck, or, instead of being knotted at his throat, it went elsewhere. About his skull, 'round a bicep, tied off on the knee. Typically, on the 'outside world', he borrows clothing from friends. His own personal wardrobe consists prominently of torn and faded jeans, graphic t's, plain shirts and wool overcoats... Wifebeaters or collared shirts, whatever struck him as 'right' at the moment.
Jewelry ranges from classy white gold to jelly bracelets, alexandrite and mexican fire opal to hemp necklaces and Rasta beads - he knows no limits, simply wears what he likes.
Basic Appearance:
Indeed, he's decidedly effeminate, in some aspects, though he'd grown into a more masculine look. A decent expanse of shoulder, narrow waist, square jaw, though his face was still angular as ever... British blood shows in him: light eyes and dark hair, that beautiful European completion and rugged features. Sharp jawline, a nose that was just the correct proportion for his face, and brows which cast a shadow over his eyes. A thin upper lip only brings further notice to a fuller bottom, a very kissable mouth all in all.
He dresses himself fairly well, though he tries to stick to nondescript things: always neutral colours, if only to ensure the fact that he doesn't have to make sure any of his clothing matches. It's only an added bonus if his pale flesh seems to glow next to his colour scheme. No facial hair to speak of - puberty had thoroughly disgusted him, and he'd wanted to be a clean-shaven man like his father. He was meticulous about shaving every day, some days twice, even when it wasn't needed.
Along with facial hair, Connor was blessed with his height from his da, standing it at a solid six-foot-one. The height seems a bit much for someone with a more wiry build, but it seems that the height works well on him. His body's lean and fit, so the added inches made him appear stronger than he truly was; not trying to create the idea that Connor's weak, he's strong, but he looks even more intimidating with his stature, which is good in his line of work. Overall? A previous fling had figured it out, simple, "Tall, dark, and handsome."
[/ul][/font][/size]
.attitude
Talents: He might as well be one of the kindest souls you'd encounter once you get to know him, but years of growing up in his old and wealthy family had still left its mark upon his personality. When Connor needed it, manipulation and intimidation came naturally to him.
Likes:
(+) Tea and scones
(+) Jack Sparrow
(+) Sex
(+) His iPod Touch
(+) Cheesy Pickup Lines
(+) Smack
(+) William Faulkner
(+) James Joyce
(+) The Mighty Boosh
(+) Smoking
(+) The rumor (spread by a particularly nasty jock) that he was raised by wolves.
Dislikes:
(-) His father; he is, as Connor so often claims, "A right nasty bloke."
(-) Stretch Armstrong, the Incredible Hulk - any sort of person that's ridiculously deformed.
(-) Racial slurs
(-) Fuzz
(-) The idea of an upcoming zompocalypse
(-) The Cold
(-) Emotional pain
(-) American brew
(-) His lack of brute strength, but he's got agility on his side.
(-) Large amounts of cologne or perfume
Fears: Being alone, dying alone, not making his mark on the world, having no one notice or comprehend his death - he still has nightmares of no one attending his funeral. Being arrested for what he does, being in over his head in places foreign to him... He also fears his father learning of his essentially being a poof, he does not want his sire to learn of his true nature.
Strengths: Murdock happens to be a real 'people person'. He's an intelligent opportunist, gaining friends in all the right - or wrong, depending solely on one's perspective - places. Friends are easy enough to make, though he makes it a point to not associate with customers until after the money's in his more than capable hands. He hardly cares what others think, because he often believes himself to be above them. He'd made it there on a scholarship, he hadn't bought his way in. Another's opinion? He could care less.
Connor Moore is, in most every regard, the typical student - college student, more than a high schooler, really, but... His ambition is unrivaled, his work ethic questionable, and his extracurricular activities, dubious, at best. He was the same age as everyone else, but there's often a seriousness and a depth to his thoughts and, sometimes, though less often, his personality that was lacking amongst the poses and pretenses of most any other teen. He had good marks and learned easily, and he used that to his advantage, to learn even more. He didn't slack, he needed to study.
He's very open-minded, organized, friendly, hardworking.. everything he rightfully ought to be with his occupation as a dealer and in this time in his life.
Weaknesses: Grudge-holding. Expressing his feelings. He's dreadfully short-tempered, as well. There's the aspect of his getting into fights; he doesn't need to draw the attention to himself while he's on campus, he can't risk being booted from the school when he's doing so well. He really oughtn't allow himself so many enemies, and he's still hoping that no one snitches, but some things... They don't always work to his benefit.
Dreams: He dreams of someday living up to his father's standards. Past that? He's just hoping to survive the school year - scarce future plans, as of yet, though he's hoping to one day work beneath the Moore patriarch. Fat chance. He's discovered that it's good to have a plan for the future, but he's also keeping in mind that plans seldom work the way he expects. He's just trying to keep his focus on the 'here and the now' because he still had much to learn.
Personality:
He can be more than what he is, he could be once upon a time. He hates liars, and he tries his best to not be one. Evade questions, sure. Ignore you, sure. Lie to you - probably not. The rare words with feeling behind them are almost always the truth. He's intelligent: give him a math problem, and he'll give you an answer, no matter how difficult. When it comes to schoolwork and certain other aspects in life, he enjoys the cut and dry, black and white, no room to fuck things up the way that mathematics operate. He almost wishes his life could have gone as simply and tidily as a math problem. He taps his fingers together (thumb, index; thumb, middle, and so on, in quick succession) if his mind is somewhere else or if he's nervous, and on the off chance that he's feeling sad, one might catch him running his fingernails over his mouth repeatedly. His sense of responsibility is strong, and if he feels that it's his "duty", then he'll undoubtedly follow through with it until the bitter end.
He feels strongly, with every fibre of his being, and his loyalty is infinite. Not that the people he'd ever been loyal to would know that; most of them have left him by now. All in all, he's rather complex, and it's not suggest that anyone attempt to understand him to a totality. It's almost impossible to do so.
[/ul][/font][/size]
.ze past
Family Members: Father: Colin Michael Moore, businessman and company owner via inheritance, 42.
Mother: Maureen Reid Moore, 38, waitress.
Infamous Uncle Ashby, 40. Then there's Aunt Eileen, forty, as well, who takes Connor in when he has no where else to go save for home. Various 'uncles' in their twenties through their fifties, those of whom come and go. He recognizes them to not be family at all, though the Moore boy can hardly complain, seeing as they're all so much more interesting than most of his kin and associates.
Hometown: Dublin, baby, all the way.
History:
They ignored it even when Connor was a "sullen" thirteen year old with no friends (to the best of their knowledge) and no interest in anyone but a few of his relatives. Guidance counselors warned them that something was wrong with the boy, but this was hardly news to the 'rents. Their hands-off parenting seemed to be paying off when he made a friend that year - in all truths, the other boy was simply the only one he'd allowed his parents to know was in existence. He was called Ben, a friendly, outgoing, affable boy of the same age. He was his total opposite, but they became an inseparable pair, the two of them facing the world, the challenges of growing up. By fourteen and fifteen, they were drinking and partying hard with the seniors, and, naturally, they'd fooled around. He'd lost his virginity in Ben's plaid-sheeted bed, and his feelings were never hurt in the process. Best friends and something else, too. He quickly dropped back into his old self in his parents' and classmates' presences when Ben broke off their sessions to be with a girl.
He didn't blame Ben for his bisexuality; yes, he believed there to be a reason why he was a three on the Kinsey scale.
Remembering back was easy enough, really, as his ability to remember rarely ever failed him. Childhood, however, was something he was typically unable to recall to an entirety. His first time ever seeing anything sexual? He knew. He'd been young. Young enough that he hadn't trained his memory - hadn't trained himself to remember every little detail that might turn out to be important. His father's expensive suits and frequent disappearances had been a vague sense of something for the future. It had been, for the most part, a comforting dream. Connor had been Connor. And his first time seeing something carnal... He could sift through all available memory and he always came to the same conclusion. He's been over this ground a hundred times if he's been over it a dozen, and his first time seeing something erotic had been when he was a mere seven years old.
His Uncle Ashby meeting his curious gaze while he was being serviced by one of his 'friends' in the den. Another male - on his knees, while Ashby Tomlin leaned back into the sofa and peered at a wide-eyed and gape-mouthed child. A subtle tilt to the lecherous man's mouth, before his thick lips had puckered and he raised a hand and... Blew a kiss. It was never mentioned again. There had been no explanations, nothing - only miniscule grins and winks over the passing years that had confused the boy to no end.
Fifteen and Beyond: After the mess with Ben, he had reverted into his old self, yes. But there was another part of him, the extrovert, the bad boy--gregarious druggie, running numbers for infamous Uncle Ashby and his employers after having originally relocated to Boston quite a few years prior.
He'd been born into a wealthy family and just as quickly tossed out. Affluent grandparents and mother and father, which had given him a large advantage in the world that not many were fortunate enough to be granted. His grandfather and old man established and maintained a large corporation that continued to expand over time. Because of this, his mother had no incentive to search for a job of her own; instead, she'd spent her days as a content housewife, trying to break into her boy's shell and resenting his uncles and cousins for being the ones to catch and keep his attention.
Even in spite of an introverted child, things had seemed almost flawless, it had been a picture perfect family.
All good things came to an end. At the age of fifteen, Connor's parents decided to finalize a divorce that seemed long overdue, leaving the court system to determine which parent was to have full custody of the boy. Though Maureen seemed the apparent choice in this matter, Colin, at Ashby's urging, argued that she had no means of taking care of him, being an unemployed, single mother. The judge ruled in the man's favour, instructing him that Connor was to be under his custody at all times with the exception of visiting his mother every other weekend. Of course, the young man handled the separation well, though he had resolved to being stubborn about living with his father and often being disobedient now that he wasn't under her watchful eye. Visits and escapes downtown increased, and he found himself promoted, now peddling narcotics on the streets under a relation's care.
He'd long-since managed to convince his sire of letting him go to public school; he'd attended private for most of his life, but he wanted to experience it all. At sixteen, his mother filed a lawsuit against his father, and in the end earned custody of him. Regardless of the well established and lavish lifestyle he'd led up to that point, he seemed ecstatic to downgrade and reside in his mother's home. It would be easier to get away and work.
Maureen had been making a living by working as a waitress at a local restaurant and piling away her income, having lain aside away the money awarded once the divorce was concluded. The home she made for herself was small, including two bedrooms and two baths, and though it seemed standard for many families, it was a considerable alteration of the life Murdock had become accustomed to.
He attends parties to sell his goods, stands on the street corner often: and now? Now he's busying himself with skulking about bashes and the grounds of Eddingborough, selling his goods to his contemporaries and the staff. Eddingborough. The school he currently attends on a scholarship, and things really couldn't be better.
[/ul][/font][/size]
.other
Anything Else: ... he knows Brad Pitt. He does - a mate of Connor's from Springfield, Illinois, knows Jane Pitt from church and he was introduced to her son... And the next thing Murdock knows, he's meeting Brad and receiving frequent updates on the man.
The boy's a bit random, at times... an example? He's come up with an invention of 'chowder nugget molecules' and he's drawn it out and explained it while a camcorder was trained on his face. He's the type of young man who's not afraid of making a fool of himself. Once, just before Christmas, his mother pointed out the fact that girls were giggling and gawking and what did he do? He took Maureen's hand and called out, "'ey, mum - let's skip!" And skip they did.
-
I fear I might've overdone it, but I'd copied and pasted the template into TextEdit and, well... My Internet went out. Needless to say, this is the product of time not well spent. cx
.roleplaying[/font]
Please provide a roleplaying sample:
Bruce felt odd without his hood and the top half of his armor. The Joker was truly seeing him, now. The baring of a straight white neck, elegant cheekbones, eyes once blackened by paint and a tousle of brown, sweaty hair. His skin was paler than it looked in the tabloids, and photographs didn't get across the actual color of his eyes, a mixture of green and blue and brown. All of this was visible without the cowl, without that infamous hood or 'mask', and the billionaire could only think quietly to himself that he looked like the man most thought him to be before they truly met him: fake. Playing dress-up. Pretending at responsibility.
How much of the Bat was real, how much an act? No. Bruce Wayne was the act, or had been - Batman certainly was not without his own drawbacks, but he was not one to leave people in doubt that he was.. there. Present. Real. He was controlling, distant and occasionally sarcastic, but warm and affectionate, expressive even without words, generous and caring. That all couldn't be an act. In retrospect, Bruce's own outrageous antics made more sense than ever; all lies were better couched in distractions. Theatricality was a key segment of deception. Somewhere between true extremes of this man lay, well, the man; the true blending of personas, an authentic meeting of the minds. But how to truly locate this being?
Weight above that fleetingly confused man, forcing him to still himself. "Lucky?" This single word was grit with an air of irritation. Unpredictable, the clown. Always unpredictable. "Hate me so much it almost hurts," he released an exhale, sharp and derisive; almost a laugh. "Do something about it, then. When you really, really hate me--don't hold back," he licked his lips, almost repeating that little tic of the Joker's. "Let yourself go." His pupils dilated slightly and he angled up, just slightly, until that blade was pressed too firmly against him, only ceasing when he felt a beading and then a trickle of warmth. The slight smile that crossed his features was enough to send tremors down the spine of a lesser man. "I want you to."
(and I'm gonna stop there, while I'm somewhat ahead. Apologies if this is kind of.. crappy - I wrote most of it while I was only partially lucid, so, yerrr. But I'm just trying to post it before I lose my nerve or forget. Horrible memory. Bleh. Cheers.)
Your Name: Alison. Call me Al - or Sin. Your choice, love.
How Long Have You Been RPing?: ... upwards of five years? Hell if I know.
.in character
.basic info
Name: Connor Murdock Moore.
Nickname: Connie, Conn, Skinny, Murdock, Dublin Boy. "M'stage name is Heidi Glitterglitter, my drag name, Rat Face Malahide... I had this mate, he was, uh, called Girth Brooks..."
The more friendly sobriquets, at the very least. Pretentious boys and girls with upturned noses tend to refer to him as Hand-out, Drug-pushing reject, Scholarship - and the like.
Age: Seventeen.
Birthday: June 12
Year: 3rd.
Nationality: Prominently Irish and Scottish.[/size]
.appearance
Hair Color: Brown, he does believe; the boy's dyed it too many times to be entirely sure.
Eye Color: Blue. Nothing special, in his opinion. The truth behind why he tends to cover one eye with his hair? He's colorblind in the left.
Height: 6'1".
Clothes Style: The school's uniform, needless to say, is what he finds himself in nowadays. Minor alterations here and there, the random clipping of safety pins along the sleeves or legs of his trousers, his tie too loose about his neck, or, instead of being knotted at his throat, it went elsewhere. About his skull, 'round a bicep, tied off on the knee. Typically, on the 'outside world', he borrows clothing from friends. His own personal wardrobe consists prominently of torn and faded jeans, graphic t's, plain shirts and wool overcoats... Wifebeaters or collared shirts, whatever struck him as 'right' at the moment.
Jewelry ranges from classy white gold to jelly bracelets, alexandrite and mexican fire opal to hemp necklaces and Rasta beads - he knows no limits, simply wears what he likes.
Basic Appearance:
Indeed, he's decidedly effeminate, in some aspects, though he'd grown into a more masculine look. A decent expanse of shoulder, narrow waist, square jaw, though his face was still angular as ever... British blood shows in him: light eyes and dark hair, that beautiful European completion and rugged features. Sharp jawline, a nose that was just the correct proportion for his face, and brows which cast a shadow over his eyes. A thin upper lip only brings further notice to a fuller bottom, a very kissable mouth all in all.
He dresses himself fairly well, though he tries to stick to nondescript things: always neutral colours, if only to ensure the fact that he doesn't have to make sure any of his clothing matches. It's only an added bonus if his pale flesh seems to glow next to his colour scheme. No facial hair to speak of - puberty had thoroughly disgusted him, and he'd wanted to be a clean-shaven man like his father. He was meticulous about shaving every day, some days twice, even when it wasn't needed.
Along with facial hair, Connor was blessed with his height from his da, standing it at a solid six-foot-one. The height seems a bit much for someone with a more wiry build, but it seems that the height works well on him. His body's lean and fit, so the added inches made him appear stronger than he truly was; not trying to create the idea that Connor's weak, he's strong, but he looks even more intimidating with his stature, which is good in his line of work. Overall? A previous fling had figured it out, simple, "Tall, dark, and handsome."
[/ul][/font][/size]
.attitude
Talents: He might as well be one of the kindest souls you'd encounter once you get to know him, but years of growing up in his old and wealthy family had still left its mark upon his personality. When Connor needed it, manipulation and intimidation came naturally to him.
Likes:
(+) Tea and scones
(+) Jack Sparrow
(+) Sex
(+) His iPod Touch
(+) Cheesy Pickup Lines
(+) Smack
(+) William Faulkner
(+) James Joyce
(+) The Mighty Boosh
(+) Smoking
(+) The rumor (spread by a particularly nasty jock) that he was raised by wolves.
Dislikes:
(-) His father; he is, as Connor so often claims, "A right nasty bloke."
(-) Stretch Armstrong, the Incredible Hulk - any sort of person that's ridiculously deformed.
(-) Racial slurs
(-) Fuzz
(-) The idea of an upcoming zompocalypse
(-) The Cold
(-) Emotional pain
(-) American brew
(-) His lack of brute strength, but he's got agility on his side.
(-) Large amounts of cologne or perfume
Fears: Being alone, dying alone, not making his mark on the world, having no one notice or comprehend his death - he still has nightmares of no one attending his funeral. Being arrested for what he does, being in over his head in places foreign to him... He also fears his father learning of his essentially being a poof, he does not want his sire to learn of his true nature.
Strengths: Murdock happens to be a real 'people person'. He's an intelligent opportunist, gaining friends in all the right - or wrong, depending solely on one's perspective - places. Friends are easy enough to make, though he makes it a point to not associate with customers until after the money's in his more than capable hands. He hardly cares what others think, because he often believes himself to be above them. He'd made it there on a scholarship, he hadn't bought his way in. Another's opinion? He could care less.
Connor Moore is, in most every regard, the typical student - college student, more than a high schooler, really, but... His ambition is unrivaled, his work ethic questionable, and his extracurricular activities, dubious, at best. He was the same age as everyone else, but there's often a seriousness and a depth to his thoughts and, sometimes, though less often, his personality that was lacking amongst the poses and pretenses of most any other teen. He had good marks and learned easily, and he used that to his advantage, to learn even more. He didn't slack, he needed to study.
He's very open-minded, organized, friendly, hardworking.. everything he rightfully ought to be with his occupation as a dealer and in this time in his life.
Weaknesses: Grudge-holding. Expressing his feelings. He's dreadfully short-tempered, as well. There's the aspect of his getting into fights; he doesn't need to draw the attention to himself while he's on campus, he can't risk being booted from the school when he's doing so well. He really oughtn't allow himself so many enemies, and he's still hoping that no one snitches, but some things... They don't always work to his benefit.
Dreams: He dreams of someday living up to his father's standards. Past that? He's just hoping to survive the school year - scarce future plans, as of yet, though he's hoping to one day work beneath the Moore patriarch. Fat chance. He's discovered that it's good to have a plan for the future, but he's also keeping in mind that plans seldom work the way he expects. He's just trying to keep his focus on the 'here and the now' because he still had much to learn.
Personality:
He can be more than what he is, he could be once upon a time. He hates liars, and he tries his best to not be one. Evade questions, sure. Ignore you, sure. Lie to you - probably not. The rare words with feeling behind them are almost always the truth. He's intelligent: give him a math problem, and he'll give you an answer, no matter how difficult. When it comes to schoolwork and certain other aspects in life, he enjoys the cut and dry, black and white, no room to fuck things up the way that mathematics operate. He almost wishes his life could have gone as simply and tidily as a math problem. He taps his fingers together (thumb, index; thumb, middle, and so on, in quick succession) if his mind is somewhere else or if he's nervous, and on the off chance that he's feeling sad, one might catch him running his fingernails over his mouth repeatedly. His sense of responsibility is strong, and if he feels that it's his "duty", then he'll undoubtedly follow through with it until the bitter end.
He feels strongly, with every fibre of his being, and his loyalty is infinite. Not that the people he'd ever been loyal to would know that; most of them have left him by now. All in all, he's rather complex, and it's not suggest that anyone attempt to understand him to a totality. It's almost impossible to do so.
[/ul][/font][/size]
.ze past
Family Members: Father: Colin Michael Moore, businessman and company owner via inheritance, 42.
Mother: Maureen Reid Moore, 38, waitress.
Infamous Uncle Ashby, 40. Then there's Aunt Eileen, forty, as well, who takes Connor in when he has no where else to go save for home. Various 'uncles' in their twenties through their fifties, those of whom come and go. He recognizes them to not be family at all, though the Moore boy can hardly complain, seeing as they're all so much more interesting than most of his kin and associates.
Hometown: Dublin, baby, all the way.
History:
They ignored it even when Connor was a "sullen" thirteen year old with no friends (to the best of their knowledge) and no interest in anyone but a few of his relatives. Guidance counselors warned them that something was wrong with the boy, but this was hardly news to the 'rents. Their hands-off parenting seemed to be paying off when he made a friend that year - in all truths, the other boy was simply the only one he'd allowed his parents to know was in existence. He was called Ben, a friendly, outgoing, affable boy of the same age. He was his total opposite, but they became an inseparable pair, the two of them facing the world, the challenges of growing up. By fourteen and fifteen, they were drinking and partying hard with the seniors, and, naturally, they'd fooled around. He'd lost his virginity in Ben's plaid-sheeted bed, and his feelings were never hurt in the process. Best friends and something else, too. He quickly dropped back into his old self in his parents' and classmates' presences when Ben broke off their sessions to be with a girl.
He didn't blame Ben for his bisexuality; yes, he believed there to be a reason why he was a three on the Kinsey scale.
Remembering back was easy enough, really, as his ability to remember rarely ever failed him. Childhood, however, was something he was typically unable to recall to an entirety. His first time ever seeing anything sexual? He knew. He'd been young. Young enough that he hadn't trained his memory - hadn't trained himself to remember every little detail that might turn out to be important. His father's expensive suits and frequent disappearances had been a vague sense of something for the future. It had been, for the most part, a comforting dream. Connor had been Connor. And his first time seeing something carnal... He could sift through all available memory and he always came to the same conclusion. He's been over this ground a hundred times if he's been over it a dozen, and his first time seeing something erotic had been when he was a mere seven years old.
His Uncle Ashby meeting his curious gaze while he was being serviced by one of his 'friends' in the den. Another male - on his knees, while Ashby Tomlin leaned back into the sofa and peered at a wide-eyed and gape-mouthed child. A subtle tilt to the lecherous man's mouth, before his thick lips had puckered and he raised a hand and... Blew a kiss. It was never mentioned again. There had been no explanations, nothing - only miniscule grins and winks over the passing years that had confused the boy to no end.
Fifteen and Beyond: After the mess with Ben, he had reverted into his old self, yes. But there was another part of him, the extrovert, the bad boy--gregarious druggie, running numbers for infamous Uncle Ashby and his employers after having originally relocated to Boston quite a few years prior.
He'd been born into a wealthy family and just as quickly tossed out. Affluent grandparents and mother and father, which had given him a large advantage in the world that not many were fortunate enough to be granted. His grandfather and old man established and maintained a large corporation that continued to expand over time. Because of this, his mother had no incentive to search for a job of her own; instead, she'd spent her days as a content housewife, trying to break into her boy's shell and resenting his uncles and cousins for being the ones to catch and keep his attention.
Even in spite of an introverted child, things had seemed almost flawless, it had been a picture perfect family.
All good things came to an end. At the age of fifteen, Connor's parents decided to finalize a divorce that seemed long overdue, leaving the court system to determine which parent was to have full custody of the boy. Though Maureen seemed the apparent choice in this matter, Colin, at Ashby's urging, argued that she had no means of taking care of him, being an unemployed, single mother. The judge ruled in the man's favour, instructing him that Connor was to be under his custody at all times with the exception of visiting his mother every other weekend. Of course, the young man handled the separation well, though he had resolved to being stubborn about living with his father and often being disobedient now that he wasn't under her watchful eye. Visits and escapes downtown increased, and he found himself promoted, now peddling narcotics on the streets under a relation's care.
He'd long-since managed to convince his sire of letting him go to public school; he'd attended private for most of his life, but he wanted to experience it all. At sixteen, his mother filed a lawsuit against his father, and in the end earned custody of him. Regardless of the well established and lavish lifestyle he'd led up to that point, he seemed ecstatic to downgrade and reside in his mother's home. It would be easier to get away and work.
Maureen had been making a living by working as a waitress at a local restaurant and piling away her income, having lain aside away the money awarded once the divorce was concluded. The home she made for herself was small, including two bedrooms and two baths, and though it seemed standard for many families, it was a considerable alteration of the life Murdock had become accustomed to.
He attends parties to sell his goods, stands on the street corner often: and now? Now he's busying himself with skulking about bashes and the grounds of Eddingborough, selling his goods to his contemporaries and the staff. Eddingborough. The school he currently attends on a scholarship, and things really couldn't be better.
[/ul][/font][/size]
.other
Anything Else: ... he knows Brad Pitt. He does - a mate of Connor's from Springfield, Illinois, knows Jane Pitt from church and he was introduced to her son... And the next thing Murdock knows, he's meeting Brad and receiving frequent updates on the man.
The boy's a bit random, at times... an example? He's come up with an invention of 'chowder nugget molecules' and he's drawn it out and explained it while a camcorder was trained on his face. He's the type of young man who's not afraid of making a fool of himself. Once, just before Christmas, his mother pointed out the fact that girls were giggling and gawking and what did he do? He took Maureen's hand and called out, "'ey, mum - let's skip!" And skip they did.
-
I fear I might've overdone it, but I'd copied and pasted the template into TextEdit and, well... My Internet went out. Needless to say, this is the product of time not well spent. cx
.roleplaying[/font]
Please provide a roleplaying sample:
Bruce felt odd without his hood and the top half of his armor. The Joker was truly seeing him, now. The baring of a straight white neck, elegant cheekbones, eyes once blackened by paint and a tousle of brown, sweaty hair. His skin was paler than it looked in the tabloids, and photographs didn't get across the actual color of his eyes, a mixture of green and blue and brown. All of this was visible without the cowl, without that infamous hood or 'mask', and the billionaire could only think quietly to himself that he looked like the man most thought him to be before they truly met him: fake. Playing dress-up. Pretending at responsibility.
How much of the Bat was real, how much an act? No. Bruce Wayne was the act, or had been - Batman certainly was not without his own drawbacks, but he was not one to leave people in doubt that he was.. there. Present. Real. He was controlling, distant and occasionally sarcastic, but warm and affectionate, expressive even without words, generous and caring. That all couldn't be an act. In retrospect, Bruce's own outrageous antics made more sense than ever; all lies were better couched in distractions. Theatricality was a key segment of deception. Somewhere between true extremes of this man lay, well, the man; the true blending of personas, an authentic meeting of the minds. But how to truly locate this being?
Weight above that fleetingly confused man, forcing him to still himself. "Lucky?" This single word was grit with an air of irritation. Unpredictable, the clown. Always unpredictable. "Hate me so much it almost hurts," he released an exhale, sharp and derisive; almost a laugh. "Do something about it, then. When you really, really hate me--don't hold back," he licked his lips, almost repeating that little tic of the Joker's. "Let yourself go." His pupils dilated slightly and he angled up, just slightly, until that blade was pressed too firmly against him, only ceasing when he felt a beading and then a trickle of warmth. The slight smile that crossed his features was enough to send tremors down the spine of a lesser man. "I want you to."
(and I'm gonna stop there, while I'm somewhat ahead. Apologies if this is kind of.. crappy - I wrote most of it while I was only partially lucid, so, yerrr. But I'm just trying to post it before I lose my nerve or forget. Horrible memory. Bleh. Cheers.)
