Post by andy on Aug 23, 2006 21:43:50 GMT -5
ABOUT YOU:
Name: .Andy.
Age: .Sixteen. .I think.
How long have you been roleplaying: .A long time.
How you heard about us: .A friend.
How active you plan to be: .Pretty active.
ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER:
Full Name: .Andrew.William.Howardton.
Age: .Eighteen.
Gender: .Male.
Race: .Caucasian.
Appearance: .Andy's average height for a man of his age, maybe around 5 foot 10 or 11. He usually wears a baseball cap over his brown-blond hair, and sunglasses. Oh, the sunglasses. When he's not wearing them, they're on the hat, straight. And his hat? Crooked. It's a funky kind of look, but then again.. Andy is a funky kind of guy. And I say funky in a good way, I swear.
.Now. Andy kinda has this thing goin' on. He plays the Drumset, and so he's kind of got this permanent "groove" thing all the time. Like.. the whole, bobbing his head, tapping his foot, sexy kind of look. You know? No, probably not. Because Andy is probably the only guy in the whole fucking world who has that kind of thing goin' on. Most other guys have the "rugged yet sexy" look, or the "surfer dude with sandals" look. No.. Andy's got the "move to the groove" look stylin' for him. With the hat, and the really tattered shirts, and the shorts, and the sandals, and the drumsticks. Damn, that boy is too sexy for his own good.
.Andy's body is a mystery. He's skinny, everybody can tell that, but wether his chest is muscled or flat is a complete mystery to anyone who hasn't bee in bed with him. He doesn't usually take of his shirt in the summer, like most guys, but instead prefers to wear a tank-top of some sort. However, for those that have been in bed with him, they know what his body looks like. Curvacious, baby. His chest is nicely muscled, not too much, but enough. He's not a complete twig, you know.
.Despite the "tough guy" look... Andy has a kind of high-pitched voice. Not, like, a freakin' girl or nothin', but his voice it higher than most guy's. In musical terms, he's about at an alto range. Not tenor, or baritona. That's too low. And definately not soprano. That's too high. He's not a bass, either. Right around the alto range.
Celebrity That They Look Like: .Josh Holloway (short hair, please).
Personality: .Ever heard of the game Truth Or Dare? Andy loves that game. Sure, some say he may be a bit old for it, but he loves it. He always picks "Dare" and he never backs down. You dare him to run around outside in broad daylight naked, he'll do it. You dare him to jump off the roof, he'll do it. And half the time, you don't even have to dare him- he just does it anyways.
.If you can manage to get Andy in a big crowd (not that hard), get him drunk (not that hard), and find him a pretty girl, he'll go wild. Well. Wilder than usual. Now.. Andy... is a Sex God, to put it simply. He knows he's sexy, and he'll use that to his advantage. He knows he's sexy, and he knows he's good in bed. Period. With that oh-so-beautiful blond hair, the blue eyes, and the almost funny "tough guy" look he throws out there, he's just plain funny to watch. He's a very funny drunk.
.In addition to the "tough guy" look he puts on to the world.. Andy has a very sensitive side. When he's at home, alone, he writes. And I will tell you, he wrtes beautifully. Unfortunately for him, his grammar isn't perfect, and his spelling sucks. But, oh! the words he uses! He flows them together in such a perfect, symmetrical pattern it's cr-azy, man! Insane, even! The way it flows, like fog over water, is just plain amazing. Yeah, on the inside, he's a very poetic man. He certain'y isn't the "lost poet" type, but he's poetic alright. When he's alone, anyways.
Flaws: .Heh. He uses improper grammer all the time, he smokes, he can't spell wirth shit, and his left side canine tooth is chipped.
History: .Andy grew up with a ton of kids. Nine, in fact. His mother and father were married happily, and yadayadayada. Most of Andy's brothers and sisters grew up and moved away, leaving him, the youngest, at home with the bazillion and one family pets. He loves his family dearly, but.. what's left in lift for the youngest of nine? His oldest brother is an engeneer, his sister a banker. One's a model, one's a teacher. What could a young man like him do in life? And then he found his talent in writing, and boom. He was instantly hooked.
.He found that out around the age of 15, when he entered a stort story contest and won second place. And since then? It's just gone uphil from there. When his parents announced they were moving to California, Andy was thrilled. They moved back when Katrina hit Lousiana, where they had lived previously. The only thing Andy managed to save out of the wreckage was his journal, and a few other miniscule items, and the family pets. Other than that, they moved to California with nothing but the car and the dogs.
Living Situation: .Um. A fucking hurricane destroyed their house. California seemed like a nice place to live.
Roleplaying Sample: (This was from a roleplay I was doing before..)
Andy continued humming to himself, slipping inside the dimly lit room. He glanced around, his hazel eyes taking in everything from the walls, to the ceiling, to the lights, to the floor, and to the color of people's shoes. Smiling to himself, he skirted around a group of people, pauseing at the table he was at. No one was sitting there yet, so he quickly took a seat.
As it was, Andy felt kind of old around here. Most of the people he could see clearly were in the 15-17 year old catergory. And here he was, a man of eighteen. Ooh, big difference. He almost laughed at the thought. Crossing his legs at the ankles, he leaned forward on the table, resting his weight on his elbows. Entwining his fingers together, he rested his chin on them, his eyes still roaming around the shop.
Was it a shop? He didn't know. He knew it was a place for, like, poetry or something. He had seen it somewhere, and decided to come on a whim, considering he wasn't doing anything at the time. So he pulled on his tattered shirt, and a pair of jeans, tugged on his shoes, grabbed his bus pass, and headed out. He couldn't deny that it felt good to be out of the house. No, the fresh air was good for him.
Humming a pointless tune, he pulled out his journal again. Hell, this place was a poetry place, right? So why not write some poetry? Then again... Andy had nevr been that great at poetry, despite the fact that most of his stories had a poetic feel. So maybe not. But this was a poetry place... Andy was torn in two. Finally he turned to the very last page in his journal, dated it, and began to write, humming the whole time, his hands moving gracefully over the page as he wrote in his chicken-scratch handwriting.
Shadows on the beach,
shadows in the air.
Shadows shadows everywhere!
It was a silly poem, really, but he didn't care. It was fun to write. Andy blinked as someone tapped him to read, his head jerking off his hands. Him? Read poetry? In front of the whole damn place? He frowned. Standing, he moved to the stage, careful to get there slowly, so he could prolong people looking at him... yeah, he knew he was sexy alright. Moving onto the stage, he smiled. "Um. Hi. I'm Andy..." he trailed off. "And I don't really write poetry that much, but here." He flipped his journal a few pages, until he came to a poem he had written in the past.
"Give me your heart,
Give me your soul.
My heart is black,
Yours white.
If I am shadow,
You are light.
Please, do not try to fight.
I will win,
You will die,
Shadows will overcome,
All fear.
And I will howl,
As I disappear.
My ears will fade,
My eyes will dim,
My fangs will sharpen,
My claws will die.
I am a wolf,
Of shadow,
A black wolf,
Am I.
You are,
A white wolf
The white wolf of light.
I am a messenger of death.
You,
Of bright.
We will meet,
And clash in battle.
But we will both die,
I will go to hell,
You to heaven,
But we will still be,
Friends
In the after life.
In other words,
Shadow and
Light."
Andy finished, his eyes dark. The poem was one of his better ones, but it brought pain to his heart when he even thought about it. It had been written after his brother and him had had a fight, and it still hurt to thing about it. Andy had been so angry he had thrown a punch at his brother, and had then broken down at his arms. And... you know guys. They hate to cry in front of anyone, let alone their lovers. And that was exactly what Andy had done. Cried. Shutting the journal with a snap, he slipped silently off the stage. Seeing a boy in the back who looked scared and lonely, Andy frowned. "Your turn, kid." He said, tapping the kid lightly. Andy noticed he carried a bunny-rabbit, and half-way smiled. How cute.
((That Poem is © of me, bizitches. Better not see it anywhere but here. If I do, it'll be a fuckin' lawsuit, 'cos that poem's been published before by me.))
[/size]Name: .Andy.
Age: .Sixteen. .I think.
How long have you been roleplaying: .A long time.
How you heard about us: .A friend.
How active you plan to be: .Pretty active.
ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER:
Full Name: .Andrew.William.Howardton.
Age: .Eighteen.
Gender: .Male.
Race: .Caucasian.
Appearance: .Andy's average height for a man of his age, maybe around 5 foot 10 or 11. He usually wears a baseball cap over his brown-blond hair, and sunglasses. Oh, the sunglasses. When he's not wearing them, they're on the hat, straight. And his hat? Crooked. It's a funky kind of look, but then again.. Andy is a funky kind of guy. And I say funky in a good way, I swear.
.Now. Andy kinda has this thing goin' on. He plays the Drumset, and so he's kind of got this permanent "groove" thing all the time. Like.. the whole, bobbing his head, tapping his foot, sexy kind of look. You know? No, probably not. Because Andy is probably the only guy in the whole fucking world who has that kind of thing goin' on. Most other guys have the "rugged yet sexy" look, or the "surfer dude with sandals" look. No.. Andy's got the "move to the groove" look stylin' for him. With the hat, and the really tattered shirts, and the shorts, and the sandals, and the drumsticks. Damn, that boy is too sexy for his own good.
.Andy's body is a mystery. He's skinny, everybody can tell that, but wether his chest is muscled or flat is a complete mystery to anyone who hasn't bee in bed with him. He doesn't usually take of his shirt in the summer, like most guys, but instead prefers to wear a tank-top of some sort. However, for those that have been in bed with him, they know what his body looks like. Curvacious, baby. His chest is nicely muscled, not too much, but enough. He's not a complete twig, you know.
.Despite the "tough guy" look... Andy has a kind of high-pitched voice. Not, like, a freakin' girl or nothin', but his voice it higher than most guy's. In musical terms, he's about at an alto range. Not tenor, or baritona. That's too low. And definately not soprano. That's too high. He's not a bass, either. Right around the alto range.
Celebrity That They Look Like: .Josh Holloway (short hair, please).
Personality: .Ever heard of the game Truth Or Dare? Andy loves that game. Sure, some say he may be a bit old for it, but he loves it. He always picks "Dare" and he never backs down. You dare him to run around outside in broad daylight naked, he'll do it. You dare him to jump off the roof, he'll do it. And half the time, you don't even have to dare him- he just does it anyways.
.If you can manage to get Andy in a big crowd (not that hard), get him drunk (not that hard), and find him a pretty girl, he'll go wild. Well. Wilder than usual. Now.. Andy... is a Sex God, to put it simply. He knows he's sexy, and he'll use that to his advantage. He knows he's sexy, and he knows he's good in bed. Period. With that oh-so-beautiful blond hair, the blue eyes, and the almost funny "tough guy" look he throws out there, he's just plain funny to watch. He's a very funny drunk.
.In addition to the "tough guy" look he puts on to the world.. Andy has a very sensitive side. When he's at home, alone, he writes. And I will tell you, he wrtes beautifully. Unfortunately for him, his grammar isn't perfect, and his spelling sucks. But, oh! the words he uses! He flows them together in such a perfect, symmetrical pattern it's cr-azy, man! Insane, even! The way it flows, like fog over water, is just plain amazing. Yeah, on the inside, he's a very poetic man. He certain'y isn't the "lost poet" type, but he's poetic alright. When he's alone, anyways.
Flaws: .Heh. He uses improper grammer all the time, he smokes, he can't spell wirth shit, and his left side canine tooth is chipped.
History: .Andy grew up with a ton of kids. Nine, in fact. His mother and father were married happily, and yadayadayada. Most of Andy's brothers and sisters grew up and moved away, leaving him, the youngest, at home with the bazillion and one family pets. He loves his family dearly, but.. what's left in lift for the youngest of nine? His oldest brother is an engeneer, his sister a banker. One's a model, one's a teacher. What could a young man like him do in life? And then he found his talent in writing, and boom. He was instantly hooked.
.He found that out around the age of 15, when he entered a stort story contest and won second place. And since then? It's just gone uphil from there. When his parents announced they were moving to California, Andy was thrilled. They moved back when Katrina hit Lousiana, where they had lived previously. The only thing Andy managed to save out of the wreckage was his journal, and a few other miniscule items, and the family pets. Other than that, they moved to California with nothing but the car and the dogs.
Living Situation: .Um. A fucking hurricane destroyed their house. California seemed like a nice place to live.
Roleplaying Sample: (This was from a roleplay I was doing before..)
Andy continued humming to himself, slipping inside the dimly lit room. He glanced around, his hazel eyes taking in everything from the walls, to the ceiling, to the lights, to the floor, and to the color of people's shoes. Smiling to himself, he skirted around a group of people, pauseing at the table he was at. No one was sitting there yet, so he quickly took a seat.
As it was, Andy felt kind of old around here. Most of the people he could see clearly were in the 15-17 year old catergory. And here he was, a man of eighteen. Ooh, big difference. He almost laughed at the thought. Crossing his legs at the ankles, he leaned forward on the table, resting his weight on his elbows. Entwining his fingers together, he rested his chin on them, his eyes still roaming around the shop.
Was it a shop? He didn't know. He knew it was a place for, like, poetry or something. He had seen it somewhere, and decided to come on a whim, considering he wasn't doing anything at the time. So he pulled on his tattered shirt, and a pair of jeans, tugged on his shoes, grabbed his bus pass, and headed out. He couldn't deny that it felt good to be out of the house. No, the fresh air was good for him.
Humming a pointless tune, he pulled out his journal again. Hell, this place was a poetry place, right? So why not write some poetry? Then again... Andy had nevr been that great at poetry, despite the fact that most of his stories had a poetic feel. So maybe not. But this was a poetry place... Andy was torn in two. Finally he turned to the very last page in his journal, dated it, and began to write, humming the whole time, his hands moving gracefully over the page as he wrote in his chicken-scratch handwriting.
Shadows on the beach,
shadows in the air.
Shadows shadows everywhere!
It was a silly poem, really, but he didn't care. It was fun to write. Andy blinked as someone tapped him to read, his head jerking off his hands. Him? Read poetry? In front of the whole damn place? He frowned. Standing, he moved to the stage, careful to get there slowly, so he could prolong people looking at him... yeah, he knew he was sexy alright. Moving onto the stage, he smiled. "Um. Hi. I'm Andy..." he trailed off. "And I don't really write poetry that much, but here." He flipped his journal a few pages, until he came to a poem he had written in the past.
"Give me your heart,
Give me your soul.
My heart is black,
Yours white.
If I am shadow,
You are light.
Please, do not try to fight.
I will win,
You will die,
Shadows will overcome,
All fear.
And I will howl,
As I disappear.
My ears will fade,
My eyes will dim,
My fangs will sharpen,
My claws will die.
I am a wolf,
Of shadow,
A black wolf,
Am I.
You are,
A white wolf
The white wolf of light.
I am a messenger of death.
You,
Of bright.
We will meet,
And clash in battle.
But we will both die,
I will go to hell,
You to heaven,
But we will still be,
Friends
In the after life.
In other words,
Shadow and
Light."
Andy finished, his eyes dark. The poem was one of his better ones, but it brought pain to his heart when he even thought about it. It had been written after his brother and him had had a fight, and it still hurt to thing about it. Andy had been so angry he had thrown a punch at his brother, and had then broken down at his arms. And... you know guys. They hate to cry in front of anyone, let alone their lovers. And that was exactly what Andy had done. Cried. Shutting the journal with a snap, he slipped silently off the stage. Seeing a boy in the back who looked scared and lonely, Andy frowned. "Your turn, kid." He said, tapping the kid lightly. Andy noticed he carried a bunny-rabbit, and half-way smiled. How cute.
((That Poem is © of me, bizitches. Better not see it anywhere but here. If I do, it'll be a fuckin' lawsuit, 'cos that poem's been published before by me.))
