Post by Nathan Oliver Weston on Mar 24, 2013 21:05:27 GMT -5
[/font][/size](NATHAN OLIVER WESTON)
- - - - - -the b a s i c s
Name: Nathan oliver Weston
Nicknames: nate, wanker, dick head, prick
Age: 20
Gender: male
Membergroup: local
Occupation: professional wanker
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- - - - - -the a p p e a r a n c e
[/size]hair & eye color: brown and green
height: 6’0
weight: 180 lbs
tattoos & piercings: none
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- - - - - -the p e r s o n a l i t y
[/size]Likes: trolling, cigarettes, sex, working other people up, wandering, making fun of people, soda, ramen noodles, microwaves, dogs, assholes, american accents.
Dislikes: church and religion, when people get overly offended, police, wankers, other people's parents, being alone all the time, easy targets, being ignored.
Traits: see personality
Overview: TROLL - basically, nathan enjoys getting in people's heads. he gets a kick out of watching people get increasingly more mad at him, and doesn't care when his snide remarks are returned. he quite literally doesn't give a sh*t about what people say about him. he's been so beaten down in the past that it's as if he's numb to the cruel words of his peers. his trolling isn't confined to people he knows, either. nathan will literally come out to complete strangers and say inappropriate, crude, rude or outlandish things if they so happen to come to his mind in that moment. their feelings are of no concern to him. they could say whatever they want, and he'd just smile and keep going with his day. the fact that he's so alright with being slagged off tends to make things worse, and results in a lot of people finding him all sorts of annoying. this is something he shakes off without a second thought. it's simply how he is.
LONELY - as much as he comes across like he doesn't care, nathan is extremely lonely all the time. friendship has never really been something that's possible for him, due to his outlandish behavior. his lashing out pushes the people who could very well likely be his friends away, and leaves him alone with the reputation of the pr*ck with the big mouth. usually his abusive words are directed towards someone he envies, someone who he wishes he could be more like. a nice guy or girl with a lot of people who love and support them. he wishes that was his life deep down, and is somewhat bitter to the fact that it isn't.
LOYAL - it doesn't seem like he would be, but in the event that nathan managed to acquire himself a friend that could stand him for extended periods of time, he would take a bullet for them. he's never had a proper friendship as a direct consequence of his upbringing, but he has the compassion deep inside him to really care for someone. if he had a friend, he'd treat them the same as everyone else, however if they were ever to find themselves in any kind of trouble, he'd be right there for them to fix what needed fixing and save what needed saving. he tends to care in his own special way, but he cares nonetheless.
OBSCENE - i could have put flirtatious down, but this word describes nathan's method of chasing people down sexually much more acurately. growing up the way he did, the boy never really learned how to avoid crossing the line between risky and absolutely inappropriate. he'll come right out and say completely nasty and sexual things to people he hardly knows. half the time it's to have a bit of a laugh, and the other half he's actually being serious. nathan can make a joke about anything really, but a lot of the times when he comes out with "would you like to suck my dick?" in the middle of a supermarket, the target of his words doesn't find it too funny.
HUMEROUS - most people wouldnt agree, but to the few people who do understand nathan's quirky, outlandish humour, he can be quite funny. the things that make him laugh are often hurtful and rude, however anybody as socially retarded as him would have a laugh just the same. also, when he really makes an effort to be kind, he can come up with some pretty funny one-liners. he's quite the jokester.
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- - - - - -the h i s t o r y
[/size]Overview: right then, i guess i'll start at the beginning. me mum and dad had me young and didn't care much to have a kid, i reckon. they didn't feed me much and liked to keep me inside, never let me go to school or anything. nobody really knew that i was even there when i was young, though i never really fussed about it. they kept me in a room below the den and never gave me much to eat. i ended up looking sick like one of those skinny bastards from the commercials for africa, you know the ones. they didn't talk to me much at all except for to tell me how much they wished i would just disappear. lucky pr*cks, someone found out about me and called the Barney. i reckon they got some jail time or something, i was only eleven so i never paid much attention to the court case. they wanted me to speak on what was done to me but i didn't really give much of a sh*t about it at that point, just wanted to get on with it, d'you know what i mean? they didn't drop it for a really long time which was a bit of a piss off, but again, i was eleven and didn't clue in too much.
after that big scene died down, the social services people sent me to live with a few families. none of them liked me much. my first foster mum thought i was stupid because i couldn't read or write. still can't very well. she was a pr*ck because she expected me to be just like her birth kids, all proper and sh*t. i was a bit of a wanker and liked to slag them off a lot, sometimes we'd get in little fights. i broke her little angel's nose and she kicked me right out, the bitch. it was like that for a long time, really. nobody wanted much of anything to do with me, and even the social worker thought i was a right berk, though she never said it to my face. i sort of wish she did. it got to the point where people didn't even accept me because they figured if i hadnt been placed by then i must have been some psycho rapist maniac or something. right, at fourteen. people can be such dicks.
when i was fifteen i was arrested for arson. i tried to set my social worker's house on fire. she came home just as i was leaving and called the bobby on me to grab me and put me 'where i belonged'. to be honest i was right chuffed to have somewhere to sleep, albeit in jail. i spent a few months there and wound up hooking up with a bunch of the guys in my section. they were right fit, the lot of them. i had a good time trying to get them interested. chasing them was often more fun than actually shagging them if i'm honest. it's still like that i think. half the time i don't even give a sh*t about the sex. after i have them, i'm usually done with it. boring, on to the next. love is bullsh*t, really.
after i left the slamhouse, i was sent by the government to live with my gran in california. i was a bit dodgy about the idea but i went with it anyway. i ended up in this f*cking place surrounded by a cockload of douchebags. my gran sent me to this private school full of lads, which i was completely fine with, but they weren't the good kind of bloke you find day to day in liverpool. these american just make me want to f*cking blow my brains out. the girls, too. they're such easy targets to slag off that i can't help myself half the time. i mean really. anyway, completely off topic. i wound up leaving the private school and spent some time homeless for a while. my gran wouldnt let me live with her unless i was in school, so i found a place that would take me in as long as i cleaned the toilets for them. now i have a bit of a loft there, and get away with washing about a third of the time that i'm actually expected to. whatever, their problem.
anyway, that's how it is. my life, for the most part. i don't even know why i'm telling you this, it's like i've told you my whole life story over a piss in the boy's room. whatever, take it how you want. it's your life
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- - - - - -the p l a y e r
[/size]Name: Mads
Roleplay Sample:
MIRRORS. it was as if they followed keltey everywhere she went, haunting her around each corner she turned. They stalked her petite frame, horridly deforming her figure before her eyes when she allowed herself to peer inside. Today was one of those days. The girl, wearing only a sports bra and her underwear, stood before the full-length mirror in the bedroom of the quaint country cottage her father had purchased for her to stay in, tears streaming down her porcelain cheeks. To the average eye, her ribs protruded from her skin quite obviously, and her stomach lay completely flat, almost concave. Her thighs did not touch when she placed her feet side by side, and her calves were nothing but knotted muscle, developed from years of telling her horses to go. She crossed her thin arms across her chest and sighed, wiping a tear from her cheek and turning away from the mirror. This would have to wait. She owed it to her horses to get out for their rides today, and didn’t have time for her petty problems. Keltey had always been good at dismissing something from her mind as quickly as it had arrived. It was a trait she had learned early in life to avoid being disappointed when her father missed her shows or forgot about something important they had planned. He’d told her before that he’d care when she was riding in the Olympics. That was her biggest drive. A sigh expelled itself from her lips and she strode across the plush carpeted floor to her closet, riding clothes hanging neatly and orderly from each matching wooden hanger. Everything, of course, was categorized based on importance, frequency of wear, and colour. It was like a second nature for Keltey to put all her things into groups. Everything had it’s own place, and that was where it was so stay. Her OCD limited itself mostly to organization, cleanliness and her equitation and overall perfection, which was good in social situations as she didn’t do anything outlandishly strange due to the disorder. She was just organised. Wetting her lips, keltey shivered a bit, hugging herself tighter and reaching for a pair of her tan tailored sportsman breeks. They slipped easily onto her legs and she struggled briefly with the zipper as it was sticky. She then grabbed a white riding blouse, rolling the sleeves halfway up her arms and tucking the tails into her breeches. The buttons did up easily across her front, and a black leather belt was fastened around her waist to complete her look. Her coaches had always taught her that the better she presented herself, the better she would ride, and this was a rule she’d gone by for quite some time. Her long blonde hair hung loosely down her back and she pulled it up into a high pony tail. A baseball cap was then placed over her locks, her ponytail pulled through the back. She smiled as she recalled the day she revieved the cap from her coach, “Team Windsor” sprawled across the front in a script-like writing. What a fun day that had been, after camping out at Spruce Meadows for an evening, her coach had surprised her with the hat and a jacket in preparation for her first ever Grande Prix. She jumped it on Roo, her beautiful chestnut Thoroughbred mare. Keltey’s infectious smile didn’t fade as she reached for the red and blue windbreaker that matched the hat, running her fingers over the waterproof material. Perhaps she would wear it the next time she rode, and maybe someone would ask her about it. She hadn’t really had the opportunity to talk to anyone since she’d arrived. The most she got from the other borders at Crossfire were awkward glances and green-eyed stares. It made her sad to think that the people in Dallas weren’t even willing to give her a chance. The time of day. She was a threat to them. Why couldn’t they be a team? She found herself shrugging nonchalantly and hugging herself once more, looking around quickly to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. Reaching for her sunglasses, she shaded her eyes and headed for the door, pulling on her Ariat Monaco schooling field boots before she pushed open the oak barrier that stood between her and the outside. A small fire ignited in her chest and she grinned a bit, slightly excited to get on her horse and do something productive with her life. It felt like it’d been too long.
AS keltey departed her cottage, she caught sight of her blue and black Mini Cooper glistening in her gravel driveway. It was a final gift from her father, another attempt to make her feel better about the move. She had just received her full licence, and could therefore drive it to and from the barn as she pleased. Of course Henry lived closeby to drive the truck and trailer to any shows and events that came her way, but this was her little mode of transportation. The barn wasn’t so far that she couldn’t walk, but driving her car made her feel somehow more grown up. Like she was on her own, finally able to live free of the sheltered environment in which she’d lived her entire life. In all actuality, she was pretty surprised her dad had allowed her to even come to Dallas. He was always checking on her, always wondering where she was when she was at home. Now, he really had no power over what she did outside of Henry. This fact caused her to smile as she strode over to the driver’s side door and lowered herself into the soft leather seats of her Coop. a turn of the keys, and she pulled out of the driveway and was off. The drive to Crossfire was short however, and it wasn’t long before she found herself pulling into the large gravel driveway just beyond the farm’s gates. She parked the car near the main door and got out, throwing her keys in the front pocket of her breeches and trotting into the barn. Her Monacos made a distinctive noise on the barn’s floor, and she could hear the soft stirring of horses as she paced up the aisle. The barn was bustling as per usual, girls and boys of all sorts leading horses, poulticing horses, bathing horses, and tacking up. Most were dressed in much more casual attire than keltey was, and it was strange for her to watch these beings go about their work without being completely put together. At her Grande Prix barn back home, it was unheard of to show up dressed in a ‘sloppy’ manner. Each and every student was to be prim and proper at every moment. She realized fully that at this facility, her outfits and the way she carried herself intimidated people. It made them think that she thought she was better than they were. This of course was not true in the slightest, however that was clearly the majority’s outlook. As she passed them by, she tried to flash a smile in the direction of a group of girls who were standing and talking near one of the locker rooms, however her kindness was returned with glares and the backs of heads. They walked away swiftly after. Shrugging to herself and trying to get over the obvious seclusion, she made her way over to Saxon’s stall. Since the move, Keltey had only flatted Saxon around the grounds in hopes he’d become more comfortable before she got back to the jumping. He was by far her youngest horse at the age of seven, and was still a bit green and extremely hot headed. She passed Kit’s door on the way and gave him an affectionate pat on the nose before opening Saxon’s door, slipping his flashy leather halter over his regal bay head, and leading him out to the crossties. She clipped each tie to the sides of his halter and then retired to the tack room, where she unlocked her locker and retrieved her grooming box. It weighed her down significantly on her one side as she lugged it out to where Saxon stood, and the silly gelding wiggled around in the ties as she brushed away. Although he was being a bit childish, it was obvious that he’s calmed down significantly since the first time she’d taken him out. It was her plan to take him to the big jumper ring that day and school over something substantial, as it’d been a long time since she’d last ridden his jump. Saxon was an interesting horse as no matter what he did, she learned something each time she rode him. Back home her friends called him a mare, as he wasn’t typically gelding-like the way he changed his moods at any given moment. It was like he was constantly on his rag. She laughed to herself and continued with the brushing, picking his hooves and combing through his tail. It was also stressed greatly at her old barn that the horses were to look show-ready at all times. This was why Henry came out each morning and did any clipping and trimming maintenance that needed to be done on the horses. They also received weekly chiropractic work and massages, and were regularly checked on by the on-site vets. Saxon, Roo and Kit were valuable horses, and their health was of the utmost importance to Keltey. No horse, no dream.
ONCE saxon was bridled and ready to go, Keltey removed her baseball cap and hung it on one of his stall hooks. She then put her hair in a hairnet, flipped the pony up under her helmet and fastened the throatlatch. Saxon snorted impatiently beside her as if he knew what was to come of him. Shaking her head in an amused fashion, Keltey led him from the barn and vaulted herself onto his back easily. She could see a couple girls watching, amazed that she could vault onto a 17hh horse without a second thought. It had always been stressed as important by her coach, as when on a hack or at a show juggling horses, it was important she could pop on an off as needed. Saxon jostled himself about a bit beneath her and then went forward as she closed her leg, jigging his way down to the jumper ring. He was ready for this. She laughed as he took a flying leap into the arena, as if to say “come on mom, let’s do this!” and walked him around twice while standing in her stirrups both ways before picking up a trot. Saxon went in a hackamore, as he had quite the sensitive mouth however he was a powerhouse to the fences. The bit, or lack there of, helped him get over his crazy ways. He got round quickly for her and trotted in a pretty forward fashion, his big stride bouncing her out of the tack a bit before she gained her composure and allowed herself to relax to it. This was fun. This was what she loved to do. The fences were set up substantially, the majority of them about 4’3. It would have to do. Sitting deeply in the saddle, Keltey felt eyes on her as she urged Saxon on into a canter, his stride covering large amounts of ground and kicking up sand and dust behind them. Her smile shone in the sunlight, and the harsh words from around her faded to gray. It was just her and her lovely horse, coming around the first bend to an in-and-out. He felt good. She felt good. Heels, down, toes up, don’t drop your chest. Those words floated through her mind as she felt Saxon brace for the takeoff, his upper body magically lifting from the ground, springing from his hind end into the air. He’d cleared it by a foot. Her form was perfect, and as a direct consequence of her good riding, he jumped the out portion of the combination beautifully. The wind whipped keltey’s face as she looked around her next turn, a rollback to a triple bar. The fence was daunting, the highest portion about 4’6 with just as wide a spread, but she had nothing to worry about. As long as she kept her composure and helped Saxon keep his brain, he would jump the moon for her. And so he did, his body flying through the air as if gravity and time had stood still for just a moment, before landing incredibly light-footed on the ground. Keltey loved this. It was her game, and she was winning on the most valiant and beautiful horses in all of Texas, in her eyes. She felt like the luckiest girl in the world.
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