Post by dante jerimiah kent on Feb 27, 2010 4:30:14 GMT -8
so DANTE was the lucky one
"and now the dudes are lining up 'cause they hear we got swagger"
`taking pictures of anyone
age sixteen in seventy-five days
rp experience four years
how you found us daydreams are trippy weird
contacts on my profile[/ul][/size]
`to show us that tomorrow is eventual
nicknames danny or danny-boy
age sixteen
date of birth october twelth
grade junior
sexuality homosexual
member group wisher
stage of corruption irreversible
face claim paul griffiths[/ul][/size]
`tonight i sleep to dream
weight one hundred eighteen pounds
tattoos&piercings hip bars, navel, tongue, eyebrow (but he never wears it)
distinguishing features his pale pale skin, skeleton-like appearance, and his mouth, always in either a frown or a smirk.
physical flaws he bruises easily and has a pink scar going from is jawline to his collar bone from a bike accident.
personal style bright colors, skinny jeans, anything tight. he wears make up on occasion and loves things that glitter.[/ul][/size]
`a shock to my body
dislikes mountains,camping, nursery rhymes, slimy things, biting, scars, all those little emo kids, immature adults, worden, his parents, his bony body.
strengths attractive, clever, devious, sexy, intelligent.
weaknesses obsessive, arrogant, vain, easily annoyed, prideful, refuses to get attached.
fears that his brother's death might have something to do with him, that he'll die in worden, that he really is crazy.
wishes i wish i was an only child
personality obsessive, clever, vain, arrogant, vain, sexual, paranoid, depressed, devious, unattached, follower, irritated, hater, violent, self-conscious.[/ul][/size]
`its a pity to appear this way
why were you sent here paranoia and depression
mother josephine gray. housewife.
father sameul kent. stock marketer.
siblings gabriel kent. deceased.
pets lovelette and todd. javanese cats.
other family louise gray. aunt.
history
i'll do it.... later. >>[/ul][/size]
`i swear i saw it somewhere
rules word DUDE! admin edit!
roleplaying sample
Max winced as the boy grabbed his arm, able to feel it twist, giving him a small ‘Indian burn’ against one of his fresher cuts. He could see some of the blood seep through the fingers holding onto him and couldn’t help but feel sick again. Cutting is bad. Cutting is bad. Cutting is bad. He could tell himself that a million times over, but he’d still want to carve into himself. “Ow. Ow!” he gasped out as Corwin twisted his arm a little more, pulling him off the floor and into a half-crouch. He bit his lip, holding back tears of pain, his eyes on the knife Corwin was holding. Very nice. Fuck, I hope it’s sharp. The shorter, younger, and much smaller boy was surprisingly strong for his size, like a little demon with a cherubic face, but horns under his hair. Max had never been known for being a tough guy, though, so maybe this was normal for kids his age. He wouldn‘t know. There was no one normal in Morris, not even the nobodies. He gritted his teeth, looking up at the boy that was holding onto him so tight that he was sure bruises would bloom later on his scarred skin. If I survive that long, he thought bitterly. “Er… Ow! Fuck, that hurts…” he hissed, trying to form a sentence to get himself off whatever hit-list he’d been placed on. He couldn‘t help showing pain; it was a natural thing, even to someone who was practically numb to all but the worst of it. “Wow. Ouch. Um, are you going to… cut me with that?” His eyes went back to the knife, not daring to look away in case he suddenly struck out with it. He wasn‘t ready yet for someone besides himself to start killing his body. At least if this boy was really going to actually kill him, instead of something else, like rape him, or just torture him to the point of death. It’s a knife, though. This boy wasn’t going to get creative and gag him with plastic forks. It was safer, but it would be a hell of a lot less painful.
Maximus took a deep breath, looking up at Corwin. His knees shook as he struggled to keep his stance, half-standing so that he had to actually look up to look into his eyes. He knew that if he stood up straight, he would be several inches taller than his ‘killer’. Max watched him like hawk, keeping the fear out of his eyes and off his face. But he wasn’t the one with the knife; not this time, and it made him feel naked to be without one. Max was glad the obviously younger boy was down at him; he was submissive by nature. Acting or actually being submissive was better than towering over your attacker in this sort of situation. He didn’t want Corwin to attack him because he got spooked. If he was going to be stabbed, he wanted the knife to stick into him with deliberate care. He didn’t want to get struck in the face because his height was intimidating. Oh my god, I’m being a snob about my own death! Max thought, horrified. “I know that you’re probably not used to your victims or targets or whatever to actually talk to you, but, um, ow! I-I’m M-M-Max,” he managed to choke out, trying to remember how to breathe properly. They should teach this kind of stuff in regular school: how to avoid certain death. Or maybe: what to do with your last ten minutes of your life. It would be a lot more useful than calculus to the juvenile criminals of Morris. Max could have used that. He wasn’t ready do die. Not yet. But he didn’t seem to have a choice, did he?
Don’t show weakness. That was the first thing you should learn at Morris. If you didn’t learn this one simple thing, you died (usually). Simple as that. Max was still learning that. And certain people were kind enough to actually tell him things that set the predators off, things that showed he was a weak link (at least, in his mind). Like playing with his shoe laces, for example. Such an innocent thing. But it was a nervous habit and people knew that you’d be easy to pounce on. As he stared up at the boy, he couldn’t help thinking, I’m scared. I’m weak. I’m going to die. He was terrified of the idea of dying at the age of seventeen, even if he wasn’t acting scared. He was actually talking to the small killer, after all. And it was just talking. It wasn’t begging for his life to be spared. Never would it be that. If it was his time to go, be it by a fucking adorable teenage boy, cutting too deep into himself, or even cancer, he was just going to let it happen. But maybe he could wriggle out of this one without doing something like begging? There was no harm in trying, and he definitely had nothing to lose. It was just sad to think that he might actually die here, to bleed to death on the bathroom floor. Or maybe the young killer would take ‘mercy’ on him and kill him quickly. Max couldn’t think of a worse was to go. If he was going to die, he wanted to go down screaming and bleeding from everywhere. He wanted to suffer a painful, tragic death. One that people would gossip about and tell at the parties the whores hosted to scare the freshman. He wasn’t suicidal. In fact, he was probably one of the only member of the harms that wasn’t. But he was the kind of guy that thought death was a tragic romance. If he was going to die in the bathroom, he wanted to end with a beautiful bang. And that sort of thinking got him sent to Morris Correctional Facility by a pair of worried parents.
Maximus took a deep breath, looking up at Corwin. His knees shook as he struggled to keep his stance, half-standing so that he had to actually look up to look into his eyes. He knew that if he stood up straight, he would be several inches taller than his ‘killer’. Max watched him like hawk, keeping the fear out of his eyes and off his face. But he wasn’t the one with the knife; not this time, and it made him feel naked to be without one. Max was glad the obviously younger boy was down at him; he was submissive by nature. Acting or actually being submissive was better than towering over your attacker in this sort of situation. He didn’t want Corwin to attack him because he got spooked. If he was going to be stabbed, he wanted the knife to stick into him with deliberate care. He didn’t want to get struck in the face because his height was intimidating. Oh my god, I’m being a snob about my own death! Max thought, horrified. “I know that you’re probably not used to your victims or targets or whatever to actually talk to you, but, um, ow! I-I’m M-M-Max,” he managed to choke out, trying to remember how to breathe properly. They should teach this kind of stuff in regular school: how to avoid certain death. Or maybe: what to do with your last ten minutes of your life. It would be a lot more useful than calculus to the juvenile criminals of Morris. Max could have used that. He wasn’t ready do die. Not yet. But he didn’t seem to have a choice, did he?
Don’t show weakness. That was the first thing you should learn at Morris. If you didn’t learn this one simple thing, you died (usually). Simple as that. Max was still learning that. And certain people were kind enough to actually tell him things that set the predators off, things that showed he was a weak link (at least, in his mind). Like playing with his shoe laces, for example. Such an innocent thing. But it was a nervous habit and people knew that you’d be easy to pounce on. As he stared up at the boy, he couldn’t help thinking, I’m scared. I’m weak. I’m going to die. He was terrified of the idea of dying at the age of seventeen, even if he wasn’t acting scared. He was actually talking to the small killer, after all. And it was just talking. It wasn’t begging for his life to be spared. Never would it be that. If it was his time to go, be it by a fucking adorable teenage boy, cutting too deep into himself, or even cancer, he was just going to let it happen. But maybe he could wriggle out of this one without doing something like begging? There was no harm in trying, and he definitely had nothing to lose. It was just sad to think that he might actually die here, to bleed to death on the bathroom floor. Or maybe the young killer would take ‘mercy’ on him and kill him quickly. Max couldn’t think of a worse was to go. If he was going to die, he wanted to go down screaming and bleeding from everywhere. He wanted to suffer a painful, tragic death. One that people would gossip about and tell at the parties the whores hosted to scare the freshman. He wasn’t suicidal. In fact, he was probably one of the only member of the harms that wasn’t. But he was the kind of guy that thought death was a tragic romance. If he was going to die in the bathroom, he wanted to end with a beautiful bang. And that sort of thinking got him sent to Morris Correctional Facility by a pair of worried parents.
This application was made exclusively for I WISH... by Kitty. If you steal, she will send her ninja flying monkeys to steal your little dogs and eat your bananas. So don't steal it. Please. Lyrics from Au Revoir Simone, from their songs The Lucky One & A Violent Yet Flammable World.
