Post by aiden jacobs. on Dec 20, 2007 21:55:59 GMT -5
copyright to me.. don't freaking steal or i'll come after you with a dull spork. kthnx. :]
Hello! My name’s Chelseaa!
I am fifteeeeeeeeeen.
I have been roleplaying for five years, and here is a sample post of mine.
Sample:Riley wiped his hands on his jeans again, now over the small fear of choking on the pill—whenever he had to take his prescribed meds, he always too a drink before even thinking of taking them, scared that he’d choke and end up dying or something. He closed his eyes momentarily, remembering the last time he’d actually taken a huge amount of pills—his overdose was what came to mind at first, since that was the most recent, but it wasn’t the one he was trying to remember; it was the whole six months of taking endless amounts of the white pills, and mixing them with bottle after bottle of vodka. Even thinking of it now made him want to both puke and go back to it. He opened his eyes and shook his head, looking at the ground and finding that he’d been gnawing relentlessly at his lower lip. Right at this moment, he didn’t care—so many people he’d promised were going to, somehow, find out, and Riley would end up being sent back to rehab, and worse, kicked out of Easton. His parents were already pissed—not so much as his drinking that fateful night but more so of his being with Drew—and he couldn’t even think of what his father would do to him if he found him doing pills again. The thought made him want to tear the pills from his pocket and throw them away, and he even made a motion to—but he was stopped by a familiar voice; Hannah. ‘Ohh shit, what all did she see?’ Riley thought to himself, biting his lip again before giving a small, nervous smile and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He pulled his hands out of his pockets after a moment, the pills seeming to burn his fingertips, and crossed his arms over his chest instead, his fingers gripping the black fabric of the hoodie that covered his slender frame.
“Hey..” Riley responded to her greeting in a small voice, knowing that he was hanging from a very thin thread. He knew that Hannah knew all about his past with drugs, he knew that she didn’t like them at all—pretty much the only thing they had in common when it came to teenage rebellion was probably drinking, and ever since his rehab time that was all Riley had done. Not twenty four / seven of course, but moderately, whenever he could get it. And now he was here, the evidence in his pocket, his best friend who was pretty much like his sister in front of him; and Riley felt even more horrible than he had walking into this place. He cast his gaze down to the ground, his stomach twisting into even more knots that didn’t want to undo themselves and making him wince a bit; it didn’t matter about his internal pain right about now, though, what he was worried about was what all had Hannah witnessed, and if she had seen him take the pills—if she had, Riley was going to be pretty fucking screwed, wasn’t he? Right about now he wanted to do what he’d planned before he’d heard her voice, but that would be giving himself away if she hadn’t seen—and that wouldn’t be good. He didn’t want her to know if she hadn’t saw him buying them; he’d just get rid of them later, and he’d probably end up puking up the Xanax before he even got back to his dorm. He’d already decided that he wasn’t going to take them—all of them, at least. It wasn’t like he wanted to get high out of his mind in the first place; all he’d wanted was the chance. He hadn’t even wanted to buy them, but it was too late now. It felt like the pills were burning his thigh and he wanted to get them out of his pocket so badly, but he didn’t even dare—he still didn’t know if Hannah had seen anything.
Riley took a breath, working his jaw as if he was going to say something although no words came. He didn’t know what to say, because, either way he was screwed; he couldn’t lie to Hannah, it just didn’t work that way. Lying to her would be almost the equivalent of shoving his hand in a blender and turning it on—extremely and totally stupid. He knew better, and if she asked he had no choice but to tell the truth: he had no idea what she’d do if he did lie but he was sure that he wasn’t going to find out. Riley bit his lip again, forcing himself to try to stop shaking even though it wasn’t really working all that much. His nerves were calming a bit because of the Xanax but he felt like throwing up, getting it out of his system before crawling back into his bed and hiding out for a few days—that sounded like a good idea at this point but he couldn’t just walk right past Hannah; that would’ve been just as impossible as lying to her, since, basically, she was like God—only alive and really quite a lot more vengeful. Riley didn’t quite think she’d kill him but she’d rip him up one side and down the other, and possibly back again—damn he knew he should’ve just stayed in his dorm and taken a few more Seroquel than he was supposed too; that wouldn’t have helped what he was feeling but he would’ve been asleep, and if he was asleep he couldn’t think—except for the nightmares that sometimes came, but Riley had never told anyone about those for fear of being treated like a psychopath. Sure, he was probably being treated that way already, but that didn’t matter—he didn’t want people to think that was what he was; he wasn’t, he was just.. a little fucked up, that’s all.
“I’m—so what are you doing here?” Riley finally spit out a full sentence, knowing very well that his question was going to come around and bite him in the ass. But it was better than standing there and getting himself deeper and deeper into the hole he’d dug. Which had been growing since he’d started the drugs and went into rehab. Thinking of that once more made him just want to break down, and he gripped the black fabric tighter between his slender fingers as he forced himself to try to stop shaking again. Oh yeah, he was so going to be both in trouble as well as a wreck for a while. Riley didn’t want to think of what was going to happen; yes he brought it upon himself but, god, he really didn’t feel like thinking of the breakdown that was edging closer and closer, which had started with his entering the park. Suddenly the silence became to much, and his eyes darted around the park, seeing the dealer he’d bought from as well as a lot of other people, Hannah included, and he just wanted this to be over. He was fucked either way, and if Hannah already knew he’d bought drugs then he was already over the edge. “Hannah, I’m an idiot.” Riley said lightly, taking an absent step backward. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore. He was lost; it was his own fault, but he was lost in a maze and he didn’t have a chainsaw to cut a shortcut; to say the least he felt like going back to his dorm and just dying. Right there. Just dying and not even thinking about the consequences. His mind filtered back to Drew, Jeffrey and Cammie, what his father had said that night—something about consequences, about how everything was his fault and that that was why he was being sent to boarding school. Easton. Riley resisted reaching into his pocket and pulling out another pill, though after the rush of thoughts that had entered his brain he sincerely wanted too—but he remembered how pissed Hannah would be. He’d already broken one or two promises, he’d lost count, but that was way too many.
{ aiden mikhail.
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.place visual here & remove stars.
[/img][/center]Name;[/font]
Aiden Mikhail Jacobs.
Age;
Twentytwo.
Gender;
Male.
Sexual Orientation;
Gay.
Social Standing;
Adult.
Physical Appearance;
The first thing you’d notice about Aiden would probably be his hair. It’s thick and actually quite luxurious despite it’s often thin look—he loves his hair, and takes exceptional care of it. He cuts and styles it himself, but then, who doesn’t these days? It’s black and, surprisingly, hot pink, with broad hot pink stripes mingling with the black and blending quite well. Though he doesn’t really favour hot pink, he keeps re-dying it so that it stays vibrant—why, he isn’t exactly sure, but he does, and it’s a thing of habit. If he didn’t add the hot pink stripes whenever the colour started to fade, his hair would be pitch black—his natural hair colour. Most people think he’s ‘emo’ or ‘scene’ because of how his hair is styled and dyed, but he doesn’t label himself and doesn’t really care what anyone thinks. It’s cut so that the bi-coloured fringe falls over his right eye—he’s left handed—and is relatively short in the back, short enough to spike but long enough to not look stupid if he doesn’t have the time to gel it. The fringe is long, and sort of layered—the longest layer goes to about the middle of his cheek, and the shortest to his cheekbone. Aiden just really loves his hair, which isn’t so surprising, to him at least.
Aiden’s eyes are probably his best feature. They’re certainly the only thing that Aiden likes about himself. Hazel in colour, they’re quite vibrant, often being mistaken for green when he’s in a placid or excited mood. Whenever Aiden’s lying or scared, slight hints of grey blue will show up around the edges of his pupils, and when he’s nervous they appear more brown than their normal green-ish hazel. The saying that they eyes are windows to the soul are true—halfway, in Aiden’s case—for the simple fact that you can, most of the time, tell what kind of mood Aiden is in. The lower and outer rims of his eyes are always, always decorated with eyeliner, whether the lines be thin or thick—it’s sort of his trademark, and when the kohl isn’t there, that either means that he’s out of eyeliner or he’s not having a good day. The black, not surprisingly, brings out the green colours in his eyes, and sometimes Aiden just can’t help but be a little attention whore—though he denies it to the bitter end, since he really isn’t very fond of attention. His irises are outlined in black, only intensifying the effect on the greens and browns, and it’s not really a wonder why Aiden loves his eyes. He isn’t completely sure why.
Small boned. Haha, yeah, it had to be said. Aiden’s small-boned, though that doesn’t make up for the fact that he’s almost severely underweight—for standing at five foot six (he grew! =D) he weighs almost 115 pounds. Needless to say, his rib-cage can be seen, minimally—it’s not like he lifts up his shirt and flashes everyone, but even if he did, it wouldn’t look too horribly disgusting, since his bones don’t really stick out; underweight or not, they just.. don’t. Lucky for him, aye? Half the time, Aiden has to wear a belt, since he was never really.. uhh, bestowed? with hips. Haha. Sounds weird, but he wasn’t. He’s got slender hips, though he’s kind of touchy on the subject, since he’s got an ass—but no hips. He finds it quite depressing. To put it simply, Aiden’s almost on the.. petite? side of things. Well, not petite, but small. You can tell he’s over twenty, but he can be confused for a younger teenager—and once was even confused for a girl. Well, that dude got fucked up, but that’s a little off subject. Anyways.
To put it simply, Aiden has a shitload of scars. Multiple white lines—ranging in sizes, depth, and width—cover his arms, chest and abdominal area, legs, and even his throat. Most of these are from failed suicide attempts from a quite odd ‘disorder’—as Aiden calls it, anyway—that causes him to go into a state of severe paranoid depression that often leads to unconscious suicide attempts. Some of the more noticeable ones include several thin, slanted slashes across his collar bone, close to his throat, that were caused from a knife’s blade when he was probably seventeen; a small, circular scar just above a major vein in his left wrist from a needle puncturing the blue vessel when he was eighteen. Various bruises and remains of welts—the welts being scratched into his skin, not beaten—also over his paled flesh, but are slightly faded, none all that new. A bunch of the scars encircling the whole of his right wrist are from when he was ten years old and was attacked by a Newfoundland, and some around the rest of his body are from random experiences, although most are from those failed attempts that he almost died from.
Tattoos and piercings? Aiden adores them. He’s got around five piercings, all of which he did himself except for one—his left ear is pierced, as well as his bottom lip. His bottom lip holds three piercings, one in the centre, and then one on either side of the one in the centre—basically, snakebites with an extra stud in the middle. His tongue is pierced, as well, which is the only one he’s gotten done professionally. Normally he wears a small gaged earring for the piercing in his ear, and two hoops for the snakebites and a stud for the centre piercing—his tongue piercing, however, is normally kept open by a biohazard barbell. As for tattoos, Aiden has two—there’s a cute little cartoon vampire skull design with ‘13//27’ etched into its skull that can be found about an inch or two under his belly button, making it just a few centimetres away from his groin—needless to say, not many people get to see it. (; That tattoo was done professionally. Another tattoo, that of a misshapen heart, can be found on his left hip—he did that one, himself, when he was about seventeen. He has since added a sort of jagged line down the middle of it, making it look like a broken heart. He loves tattoos and piercings, on himself and on other people, and will, probably, end up with more sooner or later.
Personality;
Aiden is normally a very neutral person, and, that being said, he’s actually hyperactive. Not on an overly annoying level, but enough to make him a tad more interesting than he actually is—because if you randomly screamed in public “I know what you did last summer you cactus molester!”, you’d probably be considered interesting. Or weird. He has that sort of ‘I’m weird but oh-so-fun’ quality, and, he’s normally a riot to be around—if he’s talked to you previously or is at least semi-close to you. Not to say that he isn’t hyperactive when he’s around someone he doesn’t know—since it normally depends on how he feels and such, and, as with most people, how much caffeine he’s consumed already—but it’s sort of odd for him to walk up to someone and strike up a conversation. To put it simply, Aiden just doesn’t work that way—it just depends on his mood, really, though he’ll normally be hyper and quite happy-go-lucky most of the time. He isn’t really the type of person to bring someone else down just because he’s having a bad day—he’d much rather make someone else’s day brighter, rather than complain and make himself seem like an inconsiderate jerk; which, I can assure you, he is not.
Being a person of hyperactivity and high levels of energy, Aiden can most likely be labeled as crazy—which isn’t exactly true, nor is it untrue. He’s normally a dare-devil type, and he doesn’t usually back out of a challenge unless it’s something he’s very much so against, but he isn’t exactly a rebel—sure, he can seem like one if he acts pouty or something, but he just.. isn’t. It’s not that he’s a goody-two-shoes—he’s had his fair share of run ins with the wrong people, and the cops—but he just doesn’t feel the need to break many rules. That being said, Aiden is a very generous person. Often, he puts others needs before his own, whether they be important or not—but he isn’t a pushover. Putting others’ needs before his own only justifies that he is, indeed, a good person—despite what he’s done—but no one can actually run his generosity until he gets fed up. If it does happen, though, he’ll do a broad range of things—flip out, hyperventilate, etc., which is pretty reasonable if he gets pushed around.. Isn’t it?
Aiden is a pretty modest person—he usually brushes off compliments and tries to change the subject. Truthfully, he feels uncomfortable when complimented, only because he isn’t used to such things; he’s much more used to snide, rude comments and such rather than even remotely nice ones. This is somewhat from his mother’s snappy, down right bitchy attitude, although that only lasted for eight years—and from boyfriends who wanted him to change and tried to force him when he wouldn’t, as well as friends who only wanted to take advantage of his overall generousness. While being modest, Aiden can be pretty shy around new people, or the people he comes to like in a ‘more than a friend’ way, though his hyperactivity usually deceives this. He often masks his shyness with a facade of calmness—or, in reality, toned-down hyperness—so that it isn’t really discernable; if someone happens to see through him, he will, most likely, try to back out of the situation. He doesn’t like being put on the spot for something as simple as having a shy spaz, and he doesn’t like a lot of attention—he is one of the only people who can actually say that he isn’t an attention whore. Unless he wants to prove a point.. But, even then, he isn’t. So there.
Hand in hand with generosity, Aiden is a sweet kid. Sometimes he’ll go out of his way just to help someone he doesn’t even know if it looks as if they need it. He has a noticeable air of innocence around him, but he seems to be the only one who doesn’t notice it—he actually thinks he’s pretty hellish, but many think he’s naive because of this innocent appearance. He’s witnessed a lot more, done and been through a lot more than this lets on, and yet it remains, which is odd, but not uncanny—in his case, anyway. He’s actually genuinely confused when people ask him if he’s even ever been through anything that was ultimately terrifying; he usually wants to point at some of his scars and ask if they were terrifying enough, but he doesn’t, and shrugs it off—which gets harder and harder every time. Whenever he gets a little too stressed, he turns to a favourite pastime—drawing. He’s actually quite good, but he usually hides his sketches and finished drawings—even the one he got tattooed onto himself, though that’s more-so because he’d get arrested for public indecency if he pulled his pants down in public. ;] Though he doesn’t embarrass easily, Aiden does get rather flustered if someone peers over his shoulder and he doesn’t know that they’re there until he looks up—he hates that. Want to annoy him? Do that. You’ll succeed. =)
Aiden is a pretty reliable guy. If he says he’ll do something, he’ll do it, unless it’s physically hurt someone (or something) that hasn’t provoked or threatened him first. He’s not one of those people who try and fake an excuse if he didn’t do as he said, and he’ll feel pretty bad—he always holds to his word, unless he’s joking or genuinely doesn’t remember. While being hyper, crazy and pretty much a little kid stuck in a twentytwo year old’s body, Aiden is really fun to be around. He’s kind of OCD, and ADD, but that—sometimes—makes him all the more fun (if not a tad odd). He’s usually a pretty bubbly, energetically hyper boy, much to the point of annoyance—but he usually tones down a lot, especially if he’s in one of his.. ‘moods’. Which aren’t even moods at all, I wouldn’t think—rather, they’re ‘states of minds’ where he blacks out and, either runs away or tries to kill himself. He doesn’t do this intentionally—he isn’t a suicidal person, and he isn’t one to run from his problems—and he doesn’t know exactly what causes it; but he always has the constant fear of it coming up. Overall, he’s fun, sweet, reliable—but he has his flaws, just like everyone else; the lack of confidence most of the time, shyness, as well as the fact he can’t stand animal abusers. Eww.
History;
In the early morning hours of 31 October, 1985, a young woman rushed into the hospital, looking scraggly and unkempt, just barely biting back screams of pain—labour pain, as it was. Only being twentyone, she was ill-prepared; she’d neither been to those baby classes, nor had she been keeping up her health, and so as she was rushed into the delivery room, it was evident that the baby would probably be sick upon arrival—or worse, would die within the first few hours. Nurses coached Belle Claire Jacobs through the contractions, the doctor helping as well—her boyfriend, Dirk Matthew Jamison, stood in the shadows in the corner of the room, his face dark and moody, as was usual. He wasn’t ready to be a father—at twentythree, with no job other than petty stealing from stores to help he and Belle get by, he was least expecting a baby. Just before 5:05 AM—when Aiden was born, as was documented—Dirk slipped out of the hospital, walking right past a nurse who asked him where he’d be going, and if he would be back. All he did was give a curt nod before walking out of the hospital in Charlotte, North Carolina and never returning. Belle cursed his name—he left her like this! Alone, with a baby, and nothing to do to support herself! She, too, merely stole for a living—she couldn’t possibly support a baby, as well as herself; plus, she didn’t want the boy anyway.
A pretty young nurse walked in after Belle had been moved into a recovery room, inquiring about the newborn’s birth certificate. She glared at her as she snatched the paper from her hands and shakily wrote the things down herself—his name, Aiden Mikhail, and her signature. As the nurse, named Alexis, asked about the father, Belle went nuts—she was restrained moments later, only because she didn’t really want to hurt the nurse; she would’ve much rather strangled Dirk. Only moments later, she was lightly sedated with a tranquilizer, while doctors were in another room, running various tests on Aiden; surprisingly enough, he was healthy, but slightly underweight—just barely weighing in at six pounds. It was a surprise that this was the only thing medically wrong with him—the doctor wanted to run x-rays but decided against it; she just gave him his inoculations, drew blood from his slender veins, and sent him to the nursery where he was swaddled in a blanket next to other children who’d been born days before. Out of most of the children in the hospital, Aiden was the only one who had been born on Halloween—except for a set of twins, but they had been transported to a hospital with more advanced machines once they were diagnosed with a serious problem.
Four days later, when Belle was released to go home, she hurried away from the hospital and to her ramshackle apartment that she had shared with Dirk, having left Aiden at the hospital. When she entered the apartment, she found her things littered around the floor—Dirk’s were gone, as was he. She had thrown her things on the floor before walking right back out into the hallway, being stopped moments later on the stairwell by a police officer holding something in her arms. It was Aiden, of course, and, despite her efforts, the police officer made her take the baby. Her heart softened a bit after being with him for nearly an hour, and, even though she didn’t want him, she figured that she had to—he was her son after all, and, with or without Dirk, she had to at least try to raise him. As Aiden grew, she began to teach him what Dirk had taught her; a bunch of babble about how stealing was right, and the only way to survive. Belle had been reluctant to start the process, but the sheer adrenaline thrill of it was too great to pass up—sure, she felt bad for the first six months, but, from her point of view, she needed it, and so it was okay. Wow, what a psycho. Anyway.
After they’d been kicked out of the ramshackle apartment Belle had been living in with Dirk, they began to sleep pretty much anywhere—cemeteries, parks, playgrounds; anywhere where they wouldn’t have to pay, and wouldn’t be caught. When Aiden was five, Belle began to make him steal. Even with being so young, Aiden knew it wasn’t right—but he kept his mouth shut, because he was afraid of Belle; he’d never admit it, not even today, but he was. At six, he was forced to steal without her aid, and he was good at it—Belle always talked about a ‘rush’ when she stole, but he never felt one; as he got older, he began to believe that his mother was slightly naive, if not completely, and tended to avoid her at all costs, despite his separation anxiety. They ‘moved’ from New York to Rhode Island when he was seven—Belle had taken him out of North Carolina a week after he’d been born—and stayed there for awhile. They were still sleeping in parks, until Belle, somehow, got another claustrophobically small apartment when he was seven and a half. At eight, Belle got fed up and left, leaving him in the apartment alone and not even thinking twice; sure, she felt a little like Dirk when he abandoned her, but she didn’t care—she needed to make a better life. Apparently, without Aiden in it.
[ ooc. continuedd.. o.O <3 ]