Post by carly on Dec 21, 2008 18:19:43 GMT -5
everything ` you've never said.
might just catch up, with you ` tonight.
.out of character
Your Name: Carly !
How Long Have You Been RPing?: Eee. Four years, give or take.
.in character
.basic info
Name: Maximus Reese Patel
Nickname:Maxxie, Max, Maxipad.
Age: 17
Birthday: July 11, 1991
Year: 3rd. (1st, 2nd, 3rd)
Nationality: Made in England ![/size]
.appearance
Hair Color: A thin mop of dirtied brown and auburn strands
Eye Color: Dark Brown.
Height: 5'5
Clothes Style:
Dressing simply with a wide variety of fitted t-shirts. Several of which, being branded with fimiliar bands, sayings, and labels. A prefered, and constant choice of darkened skinnies, and other 'form fitting' apparel. Generally, if one was to look at Max - it would be apparent that he was none of the kind, for style, or fashion. Most would even say, he could've gotten dressed in the dark, and looked better then he did on a school morning. His shirt untucked, his tie hanging loose and limp. His hair, in sparatic ravages of bedhead.
Basic Appearance:
After fighting in the womb with Noel, it was clear that Max had lost an important battle. One to get less nutrients, and one to gain less weight. His body looked frail and petite, and his features seemed to appear ghostly. If no one had known any better, Max and Noel's relation, could've been questionable. People had concluded that Max's tiny, fragile frame, wouldn't even hold in his defence, against a fight, or a sickness. None the less, the boy appeared to be attractive. Softened cheek bones, and that of a friendly smile - dressed with thin, curious lips.
Deep dark brown, puppy dog eyes - being an advantage, in his time of need. All in all, Max Patel had it set. He was comfortable in his own skin. As far as he was concerned, that was what mattered the most.
.attitude
Talents:
Music was something that Max had always been passionate about. In his thoughts, he figured. It didn't even matter what kind of music it was. He strived to play it - with no difference. Taking a strong interest in guitar, and vocal work. However, in recent news. Been found trying to take up piano.
Likes:
Boys.
Girls.
Home.
Pride.
Fights.
Opinions.
Vegetables.
Snow.
Rain.
Attitude.
Originality.
Rebellion.
Truth.
Shows/concerts.
Music.
Tattoos.
Piercings.
His mummy.
.. and those little soap sweets that you buy at the corner store back home.
Dislikes:
Pain.
Commitment.
Liars !
Quiet.
Fear.
Fears :
Getting close to someone, then being pushed away.
Putting too much trust in someone, or something, and having it fall apart.
Silence.
Death.
Strengths:
Being opinionated. However, works both ways. Sometimes, can get him into alot of shit.
Sex !
Belief.
Weaknesses:
Very short tempered.
Loud mouthed.
Secretly, and what you could say. A mummy's boy.
Being ontime.
Dreams:
Like most other boys his age, Max's dreams are big. Since he was as young as he could remember, he had always wanted to join a band, and get big. He knew that music was his passion, his safe zone. His life. What else would be better? Then to spend your days, writing lyrics, and scribbling out catchy tunes?
Personality:
It wasn't easy, to put your finger on Max's personality. His attitude varies from day to day, depending on his mood and mindset. In comfort and assurance, you could promise yourself that Max /always/ has something to say. Whether it be, an opinion, a smart ass remark, or even - if you're lucky, a compliment. The boy spends most of his time, friendly chit chatting, and wandering the halls at lunch. Commonly, bouncing from group to group, sparking up interesting conversations. With the addition of a short temper, and the lack of trust he gives his friends, fights, either physical, or verbal - are more then expected when being with Max. Although he looks like he couldn't stand a pop to the face, or a brawl, in fact. When the boy's temper is rising, and he grits his teeth -
I wouldn't want to be the person who's standing between him, and the door.
When with close friends, Max's worries seem to dissolve, and things that priorly had been eating away at him, seem to fade away. A boy with many acquaintances, but few best friends - leaves him in a sense, overly protective. Deep down, he knows he cares for those few who cherish him. It's only ever been a problem, trying to show it. He doesn't work well with feelings, or anything of the remote sort. In some cases, he found himself denying that he loves his own twin brother.
Something that he knew he needed to work on. But in the instance, and time. Didn't know how.
Max spends most of his time, nit picking his work, and questioning his talents. Many believe that he is /far/ to hard on himself. A mistake on a music exam, a mess up in a performance. It wouldn't sit well with him . Always striving to be the best musician he could possibly be - overworking and exhausting himself is common. He doesn't know when to stop.
.ze past
Family Members:
Twin brother; Noel Elliot Patel / 17 / Student.
Mother; Catherine Amillete Patel / 32 / table dancer.
Hometown: London, England.
History:
Growing up, Max was the problem child. Close to every other day, his mother would receive phone calls from the school secretary. Droning the same message, over, and over again. Max had either fallen off something, broken a bone, or gotten into a fight. His troubles in school only grew, when he hit puberty. Noel seemed to be getting plenty of attention from be it boys, or girls - and Max felt like he was being left in the haze of his brother's memory. Jealousy had never been a thing of his preference. But, as far as Max was concerned. He was living in Noel's shadow, and he wanted out. That was when, the boy began to speak his mind. From gossip, to opinions, to secrets. His tree of friends grew most rapidly, and before he had hit 16, he felt equal to Noel, and a lot of their fights, as brothers, began to die down.
Growing up with a mother, like Max's, still wasn't easy. Catherine was pregnant by the time she was 15. Pregnant with two, twin boys. All alone, in a world where she, herself, figured - no one cared. Her boyfriend left her, as soon as he found out about the pregnancy. Her parents, disgusted by the thought. Max and Noel weren't wanted. They were dreaded.
Throughout Max's life, the thought often puzzled his mind. Why his mum hand chose to keep them. Why she had given up her life, just to see Max and Noel grow from newborn babies, to fine, young men. After years, and years of asking himself.
All he had ever come up with, was love.
When she spent her time, in skimpy clothes, turning across men's tables, and sliding along metal poles. In a life that she clearly never wanted - for her two sons.
For Christmas presents, birthday parties, the whole shebang.
She must've really loved those two boys.
And those two boys.
They must've really loved her, too.
.other
Anything Else: Accent? =o
.roleplaying
Please provide a roleplaying sample:
'Fight, fight, fight ! ' The crowd of teenagers screamed, shoving the bodies around them. The sound of helpless yelling in the courtyard, thundered through his ears. ' Go on, Max ! Fight ! '
Raising his arms in defence, the young boy swung furiously. His heart was heavy with rage, and his eyes burned with the hot sting of tears. The punches continued, hitting his opponent
with the thick thought of hate. He stared back at the boy who had called his mum those names. How embarrassing it was, to have one of the lads at your school, see your mum at a strip club.
To see her swinging back and forth across tables, asking for money. The money that she'd use, to provide for her sons. To keep them alive, and off the street. He didn't understand.
No one understood.
The tears, that only welled up minutes before, were now streaming down his face. He shoved the other boy once more, as he continued to chant, fueling Max's pain.
" I bet she fucked my brother, too. " Came the cruel torment, of the voices around him. He couldn't stand the sound. He paused for a minute, to look at the kids who had formed a circle around him. It was too much.
He couldn't handle the yelling, the chanting. He couldn't handle anymore fights.
It was in that span of a second, the second he paused to think, he earned his visit to Royal Colombian hospital.
An innocent wince shifted across his features, as he fell to the ground helplessly.
The other lad had struck him, smack dab in the head. The pale, fragile body, hit the floor with a thud. The last thing he could remember, was feeling a rush of cold, pierce through his veins.
When he woke up, he was in a hospital bed. His dark brown eyes, searching the room frantically.
'Mum? ' He called, his eyes welling up once more. He felt his head. Stiches.
He remembered the fight. It left the feeling of nausia in his stomach, and his mouth dry without words.
People could be so cruel. Without the slightest understanding of the other's life, or past.
Cruelty was what the world was made of. He had grown to believe that now, more then ever.
When he layed his sight on the tiny, blonde lady in the corner, he sat up.
Catherine lay quietly, asleep on the chair closest to him. His heart sank. Gently, he shifted his own body, out of his bed. The feeling of the tiles against his feet, sent chills up his spine.
Taking a blanket from the bed, he moved across the room, toward the delicate woman.
Once he had set the fabric overtop of her, he peered down. Max studied his mother's tired face, and sleeping expression.
Cautiously, he peered around the room once more, to make sure they were alone. After assuring himself, that none of his friends, or his brother would walk in - he leaned down.
His thin lips brushed a tiny kiss to her foreward, before he pulled back. It was his mother.
She deserved all the respect in the world, and Max would be one to give it to her. Moving his fingers through his hair, he leaned against the foot of the bed. The same, fimiliar feeling of the thin strands, brushing against his fingertips.
Although, deep in his mind, he didn't know how long he had been here.
But in his heart, he knew, he wanted to take his mum, and his brother - and go home.
