Post by twiff on Nov 3, 2008 22:27:45 GMT -5
.out of character
Your Name: Kell
How Long Have You Been RPing?:Six years.
.in character
.basic info
Name: Blaine York.
Nickname: Russian.
Age: 17
Birthday: 17 May
Year: 3rd
Nationality: Russian with a twist of American.[/size]
.appearance
Hair Color: Strawberry Blonde.
Eye Color: Grey.
Height: 5’10”
Clothes Style: When Blaine York isn’t in his uniform, he dresses in a neat, subdue fashion. Rather then making a statement with his clothes by forcing badges, pins and buttons over every scrap of fabric, he keeps it simple. Soft colours: greys, blacks and whites meld with an occasional red or royal blue to appear in snug fitting pants and button up shirts – though the occasional leather jacket is added to the ensemble. All his clothes reek of money though, and the expensive fabrics slide smoothly against skin. No doubt if the tags were checked, a few recognisable names could be seen. Cough, Armani.
Basic Appearance:
It was obvious that the boy took pride in his body, for arms and legs were well toned, stomach showing no signs of any bump, pronounced or otherwise. Even though not many were privileged enough to see any inch of flesh below his neck. For, Blaine York was particularly conscious of the marks along his lower back and legs, small scar tissue that continued on parts of his chest. Bubbling, almost, it was an unattractive flaw to his perfectly wonderful physique. And he knew it.
.attitude
Talents: Sport, if one could call that a talent, especially shooting. Also has a mediocre talent for English (though not a genius) and fancies himself a little bit of a sculptor.
Likes:Blaine is a tricky personality, and keeps to himself mostly, but a couple of the well-known likes about him are:
-Fruit (often seen gorging himself on it.)
-Rifles
-Jogging
-Thunderstorms
-Sculpting, goes without saying.
-Music, he has a wide, musical taste.
Dislikes:Interfering, prattling people with no sense of propriety. Oh, and cats.
Fears:Fire, being burnt to death. And moths/butterflies. Its the way they fly.
Strengths:If silence is golden, then Blaine is the sun. He knows when to keep his mouth shut, and doesn’t often rise to any bait for a fight. He knows who he is, and where he stands.
Weaknesses: Can be struck with a sour mood from time to time, which brings him down both mentally and spiritually, usually causing him to skimp school work.
Dreams:This boy has so many ambitions held close to his heart it’s hard to see his path sometimes. His dream is to simply brake free of his family, rise above and prove himself worthy of standing on his own two feet.
Personality:
.ze past
Family Members: Biological Mother and Father deceased. Adopted Mother: Angelica Yale(York) Adopted Father: Henry Kingston York. Adopted Sister: Sylvia York (22).
Hometown: Seattle.
History:
.other
Anything Else:While many people doubt, Blaine York is not a virgin. His interests are not known within the school, and thats the way he likes it.
.roleplaying
It was early, far earlier then most of the boys inside were ever used to seeing. The mist swirled daintily above the ground, obscuring the path from plain sight, and the sun peeked wearily out from some clouds that were quite promising. There was at least a good hour and a half before anyone would straggle from bed for breakfast, which gave Blaine plenty of time for a jog and a shower without being seen. Sometimes it amused him that he seemed to be the only one in the building who would forgo sleep for a little fitness, and other times it made him quite confused.
He struck a nice figure with the castle as a backdrop – a small figure in shorts and a loose grey shirt, stretching before his morning run. His hands stretched above his head, revealing a small patch of flat stomach, tantalizing for a mere second before he began a slow jog. The scars were noticeable in some places, extra-sensitive to the cold mist touching his flesh as he picked up the pace, focusing purely on counting the steps he was taking. One. Two. Three. This was the time of day he could clear his head and focus. There was only silence and he didn’t have to worry about any facade, or whether he was going to pass or fail today. He didn’t have to face anyone, or think about the passionate fumble in the doorway of class last night, with someone he shouldn’t be thinking of at all.
He stopped with an unusually loud curse, bent over and holding his knees.
His mind throbbed with the memory. He couldn’t forget the promise in the touch that rolled up his leg, or the feeling of lips on his throat. The hand in his hair drove him wild. He was breathless, but felt sick at the same time. It was wrong to have this want – especially when he’d have to sit through an hour, with him at the front of the class.
It’d be hard to concentrate when you’re imagining your teacher naked. Especially when he had been so close to seeing it, regardless.
Biting his lower lip, Blaine struck out again, hard this time, feet pounding the ground in a rhythm that now sounded dirty, the pants coming from his lips now had an innuendo – it took all his willpower in him not to stop, move out of sight and get rid of his frustration quite visible in the front of his pants. Instead, he ignored it and completed his run.
There was no way he was giving in.
Your Name: Kell
How Long Have You Been RPing?:Six years.
.in character
.basic info
Name: Blaine York.
Nickname: Russian.
Age: 17
Birthday: 17 May
Year: 3rd
Nationality: Russian with a twist of American.[/size]
.appearance
Hair Color: Strawberry Blonde.
Eye Color: Grey.
Height: 5’10”
Clothes Style: When Blaine York isn’t in his uniform, he dresses in a neat, subdue fashion. Rather then making a statement with his clothes by forcing badges, pins and buttons over every scrap of fabric, he keeps it simple. Soft colours: greys, blacks and whites meld with an occasional red or royal blue to appear in snug fitting pants and button up shirts – though the occasional leather jacket is added to the ensemble. All his clothes reek of money though, and the expensive fabrics slide smoothly against skin. No doubt if the tags were checked, a few recognisable names could be seen. Cough, Armani.
Basic Appearance:
It was obvious that the boy took pride in his body, for arms and legs were well toned, stomach showing no signs of any bump, pronounced or otherwise. Even though not many were privileged enough to see any inch of flesh below his neck. For, Blaine York was particularly conscious of the marks along his lower back and legs, small scar tissue that continued on parts of his chest. Bubbling, almost, it was an unattractive flaw to his perfectly wonderful physique. And he knew it.
.attitude
Talents: Sport, if one could call that a talent, especially shooting. Also has a mediocre talent for English (though not a genius) and fancies himself a little bit of a sculptor.
Likes:Blaine is a tricky personality, and keeps to himself mostly, but a couple of the well-known likes about him are:
-Fruit (often seen gorging himself on it.)
-Rifles
-Jogging
-Thunderstorms
-Sculpting, goes without saying.
-Music, he has a wide, musical taste.
Dislikes:Interfering, prattling people with no sense of propriety. Oh, and cats.
Fears:Fire, being burnt to death. And moths/butterflies. Its the way they fly.
Strengths:If silence is golden, then Blaine is the sun. He knows when to keep his mouth shut, and doesn’t often rise to any bait for a fight. He knows who he is, and where he stands.
Weaknesses: Can be struck with a sour mood from time to time, which brings him down both mentally and spiritually, usually causing him to skimp school work.
Dreams:This boy has so many ambitions held close to his heart it’s hard to see his path sometimes. His dream is to simply brake free of his family, rise above and prove himself worthy of standing on his own two feet.
Personality:
.ze past
Family Members: Biological Mother and Father deceased. Adopted Mother: Angelica Yale(York) Adopted Father: Henry Kingston York. Adopted Sister: Sylvia York (22).
Hometown: Seattle.
History:
.other
Anything Else:While many people doubt, Blaine York is not a virgin. His interests are not known within the school, and thats the way he likes it.
.roleplaying
It was early, far earlier then most of the boys inside were ever used to seeing. The mist swirled daintily above the ground, obscuring the path from plain sight, and the sun peeked wearily out from some clouds that were quite promising. There was at least a good hour and a half before anyone would straggle from bed for breakfast, which gave Blaine plenty of time for a jog and a shower without being seen. Sometimes it amused him that he seemed to be the only one in the building who would forgo sleep for a little fitness, and other times it made him quite confused.
He struck a nice figure with the castle as a backdrop – a small figure in shorts and a loose grey shirt, stretching before his morning run. His hands stretched above his head, revealing a small patch of flat stomach, tantalizing for a mere second before he began a slow jog. The scars were noticeable in some places, extra-sensitive to the cold mist touching his flesh as he picked up the pace, focusing purely on counting the steps he was taking. One. Two. Three. This was the time of day he could clear his head and focus. There was only silence and he didn’t have to worry about any facade, or whether he was going to pass or fail today. He didn’t have to face anyone, or think about the passionate fumble in the doorway of class last night, with someone he shouldn’t be thinking of at all.
He stopped with an unusually loud curse, bent over and holding his knees.
His mind throbbed with the memory. He couldn’t forget the promise in the touch that rolled up his leg, or the feeling of lips on his throat. The hand in his hair drove him wild. He was breathless, but felt sick at the same time. It was wrong to have this want – especially when he’d have to sit through an hour, with him at the front of the class.
It’d be hard to concentrate when you’re imagining your teacher naked. Especially when he had been so close to seeing it, regardless.
Biting his lower lip, Blaine struck out again, hard this time, feet pounding the ground in a rhythm that now sounded dirty, the pants coming from his lips now had an innuendo – it took all his willpower in him not to stop, move out of sight and get rid of his frustration quite visible in the front of his pants. Instead, he ignored it and completed his run.
There was no way he was giving in.
