Okay so I got really bored the other day, and started talking to Bryony, and she told me about this roleplaying site that she knew of. I went to check it out, and now there are two of them and I'm addicted! I've written two [three, but one of them is too bad to post] character profiles that I'll stick up here, although I do warn you that I wrote them quite late last night, so don't you go expecting masterpieces.
Callie-Ami Rose Ange
Name: Callie-Ami Rose Ange.
Age: 13.
Gender: Female.
Position: None really.
Race: Human.
Background: Born in Southern France and intending to stay there through her adult life, Callie lives with her young mother and her grandparents, in a tiny village on the outskirts of the country. They are not poor, but not particularly rich, and are neither frowned upon nor praised for their presence in the village.
She knows so little about him, yet misses him more than she could ever have imagined. The man who brought her into the world, and almost took her out of it, still clings to her heart and refuses to let go, pulling her deeper and deeper into despair. Callie's life without her father is one of great pain, one that is almost not worth living, but nobody seems to understand. Mother tells her to move on, to let go of the memories that she holds so dear and say a final goodbye to her father, but to her, that makes no sense. If letting go of her memories, the only thing that she has left of him anymore, is what moving on is all about, then maybe moving on isn't the right thing to do. And so the confusion builds up, piles on top of the loneliness, the desperation, the grief, and helps to form the broken life of Callie-Ami Rose Ange.
Appearance: The dark, crimson colouring of her lips, the jet black wisps of hair, tumbling over her left eye, and the deep, hazel whirlpools, filled with misty clouds that tell no truth, yet tell no lies, clash terribly against the ghostly white skin of her face. But somehow she still manages to remain a girl of great beauty, standing out because of the clashing combination, and drawing unwanted attention to herself through the huge, sad eyes that she possesses. Looking through the gateways is like staring into her soul, being pulled through into another world, a world where pain is the sky and anger the sea, raging through and burning your heart.
Personality:
On the surface, Callie seems like most thirteen year olds you might meet. Quiet, and slightly lacking in self confidence, she isn't one to describe how she's feeling, and leaves others to decide through her language and body movements. When called upon for help, she's happy to give her time and patience, although generally prefers to stay private and keep herself to herself, much like many children whom you are likely to know. But locked up inside, far from the knowledge of others, she is anything but a normal child. Anger and pain, grief and confusion, sadness and rage, all are racing around her body and burning to get out, to let the rest of the world know the terror she keeps inside. She knows that she scares people often, with a word, or a look, or a single tear, and she knows that it's enough to bring her emotions crashing into the real world, stunning people around her. But gradually, slowly and surely, she's learning to keep things locked away, somewhere inside her that nobody will ever reach…
Weapon: None.
Additional: She has a bird [probably a Raven...] that I'll write a
Charrie form for later on.
Marcus 'Shotgun' Way
Name: Marcus "Shotgun" Way
Age: Twenty Five
Society: Psyche
Powers: Marcus posses the power to shift gravity, meaning that he can pull the gravity force away from somebody, causing them to stop breathing.
Appearance: You look at Marcus, drinking him in, absorbing every possible detail. Those huge, thoughtful brown eyes, his deep hazel pupils drawing you in, tugging at your curiosity. The smooth, black hair falling across his forehead, half covering the eyes that threaten to reach you again, every strand of straight, thick hair lifting up and revealing them each time he inhales. You tear your gaze away from his face, your eyes straining with reluctance, and force yourself to focus on his body. The man before is tall, five foot seven, eight perhaps, and holds himself in a casual, almost sloppy, manner. Almost. You have no doubt that underneath his smart, yet partially informal, jacket lies a body that would take your breath away, although it's hard to tell through his carefull chosen outfit. You look away, both hurt and relieved to be looking in the opposite direction to where Marcus is standing. Despite his obvious charm and somewhat pretty, very pretty, face, there's something about him that scares you. You try and shake it from your thought, but you can't. Didd you really see that hint of evil in his eyes?
History:'For the first few years after I was born, we lived in this small, stone house, somewhere lost in the hundreds acres or so of lush countryside outside the grounds. I can still remember holding on tight to my father's hand, and being led deep into the woods, right to the centre where no sunlight could reach. Even just thinking about it, I can feel the long branches of the trees reaching out and tickling my face, and the small, sharp stones underneath my feet. I'll never forget the joy and pleasure that I felt when we ran around, laughing and joking until long after the sun left the sky. But what I can remember most vividly, is the day that my whole life changed, beyond recognition. That day was March 24th, many years ago, on a cold, frosty spring morning. I'd had an argument with my mother, about something futile and pointless, something so stupid that I can't even remember it now, and I left the house in a rush of fury. Now the next set of events are anything but clear, things jumping around in my head and pausing at certain times, then skipping to others without warning. See, now I'm in the house, standing over the bleeding bodies of my parents, too fearful to move, but too hurt to stay still. The hole inside my fathers chest leaks blood, startlingly bright and painful thick, spilling over and onto his shirt. I want to peer down, to see if the bullet is still lodged in his body, but I'm too rigid to bend down. I glance over at my mother, who is lying face down, with a hole straight through the back of her skull. Her long, golden locks are stuck together, glued by slowly congealing blood, and her body is thrown across the floor. Either she was grabbed from behind, and then pushed to the ground before being shot, or she put up a great struggle. Both were plausible.'
You watch as he closes his eyes and lays his head on the table in front of you, obviously in awful distress. You urge him to stop, to leave the room and not look back, but you're secretly glad when he chooses to continue.
'I spent ten birthdays inside that house, with those two men, the same two men who had killed my parents and left them to rot, right in front of my eyes. At first I hated them, hated them more than you could ever imagine, but slowly that died. After years of having that hatred for them locked inside, I became tired of having nobody left in the world. I grew weaker and weaker, day by day, and eventually I gave up all together. Then things grew easier, not a lot easier, but a bit, and they gradually came to accept that fact that I was loyal to them, and them only. So when I turned ten, I was allowed to go to school. And That's where I met Gee, the one man to whom I owe my life to. When I first met him, he was a drunken drug addict, a guy who thought about himself and nobody else. Just the kind of person I needed, I craved, somebody who could be as selfish as hell and yet still show me a good time. Yeah, we got stoned, yeah, we bunked school, and yeah, we spent hours of the day getting drunk , but he was the only true friend I had ever had. We had good days [when we did nothing but talk], and bad days [when we did nothing but drink and smoke], but there were never days when we didn't have absolute in each other. That's why his disappearance, at the age of eighteen, came as such a surprise. He hadn't said anything to me, not even a mention of leaving, and it pretty much cut me up. I was now totally alone again, rapidly loosing faith in my 'family' and without Gerard to help me out, life was at an all time low.'
He closes his mouth, his face torn with pain, his body crippled over the chair. You wish he hadn't continued now, you wish that he hadn't opened up his heart and poured it out to you, because now you know. You know how lonely, how desperate and how hurt he was, and you also know that he was willing to do anything to make things better. Anything...
Personality: As a child, Marcus was understandably quiet and a child lacking in any self confidence. Up until the age of nineteen he kept himself to himself as much as possible, trying his best to keep out of anybodies way. But then everything changed. He found the humans, or rather, the humans found him, and then he was forced to take on a new character, somebody far from the real Marcus. So he was 'reborn', taking on a new personality and a new life. He must be charming, witty, kind and gentle, whilst trying to portray that he isn't perfect, just happy. Although this combination is difficult, especially for a young man with the kind of past that Marcus is trying to put behind him, the new him seems to come much more easily than expected. Now all he has to do is keep it up infront of his new friends...
Special Attributes: Marcus has been given the nickname 'Shotgun', due to his incredible talents with a gun in his hand.
Current Mood: 
tired
Current Music: Accidently In Love - Counting Crows
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
cheerful
hungry
thoughtful
depressed
bored