absinthe | The Sounds of Silence | One of the Drunks
"Life is for the living. Death is for the dead. Let life be like music. And death a note unsaid."
Life is for the living. Death is for the dead. Let life be like music. And death a note-Langston Hughes
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i d e n t i t y
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xxxxx|| Nicknames || Alex; Preferred, this is what he introduces himself as - various Spanish terms of endearment from his grandmother
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xxxxx|| Gender || cismale
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xxxxx|| Age || 23
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xxxxx|| Birthday || March 19
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xxxxx|| Sexuality || bisexual
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xxxxx|| Hometown || born in Flagstaff, Arizona; raised in Greythorne.
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xxxxx|| Ethnicity || Mexican, Puerto Rican, Spanish
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a p p e a r a n c e
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xxxxx|| Height || 5'9"
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xxxxx|| Weight || 159 lbs
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xxxxx|| Hair Color || Dark brown
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xxxxx|| Eye Color || brown
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xxxxx|| Identifying Features || Alex's arms are littered with the kinds of scars you might expect from someone practicing necromancy, along with a number of scars from childhood stupidity. His newest, ugliest scar, is on his lower abdomen; a horrible, gnarled scar given to him by a silver blade. It doesn't bother him as was supernaturally healed, which is likely the only reason he survived it, but the reminder of what happened will never leave him. His newest scar takes up a good bit of real estate on his left forearm; a sigil carved into his arm as way of marking, him for the pact he's made.
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xxxxx|| Description || Alex is not an intimidating figure; though he stays fit, he really lacks the height and muscle mass necessary for his physique to be considered anything other than average. His hair holds big, loose curls which, at the length he keeps it, tends to fall in loose waves. He keeps it as tamed as he can, but anyone with textured hair will tell you that it's sometimes a loosing battle. Alex's eyebrows tend to give his resting face a sad, thoughtful quality. This, perhaps, makes him look much wiser than he could ever hope to be. While he doesn't dress in the highest fashions, Alex still likes to dress well. He's drawn to dark colors, tight jeans, and crisp, clean shoes; along with a menagerie of accessories. He tends to wear long-sleeves, as he doesn't like showing his scars. In all, he tends to try to fade away a little with his attire, even if his personality makes him stand out.
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p e r s o n a l i t y
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Alex tries to project an aura of being calm, cool, and collected. Sometimes he succeeds, but often times people can sense a deep and profound sense of uncertainty to him. When youâve lived your life steeped in predictions of a future that may- or may not- come to be, you begin to worry, looking over your shoulder at every turn. His friends have grown weary of hearing his constant warnings. âBe careful,â may as well be a catchphrase. Even he has trouble taking himself seriously, though. When nothing you predict ever comes to be, you start feeling a little insecure. However, after recent events, he's begun to take his dreams and gut feelings more seriously, if only for himself.
Alex often thinks of his friends, and occasionally likes to do things for them. A text on their birthday, a small gift when theyâve achieved something important. He doesnât normally go for large, grand gestures (though, he has been known to pull them off occasionally), but he does like to make sure the people in his life know he cares about them. Though he can be sarcastic, and will often decry all of a personâs faults, heâs still a fairly good friend. To that end, he loves to crack jokes, especially to ease a troubled mind, and most especially of all when his friends are worried about him.
Heâs a big flirt, though his style of flirting can occasionally be a little on the⊠aggressive side. Alex knows what he wants, and heâs not really one to beat around the bush to get it. He often flirts with his friends in what he considers a platonic way, and itâs something that most of them just get used to over time. Heâs never held down a real relationship, so he doesnât have much experience in love, and may have some trouble separating lust from romance if he ever decides to settle down.
Alex is very dysfunctional, and some consider it a wonder that heâs even still alive, though he gives credit to his best friend for getting him through his adolescence. His living space is cluttered withuseless junk findings from his many traipses through the woods. He is, at best, chaotic and, at worst, a complete disaster. He often speaks without thinking, and the words that tumble out of his mouth often embarrass everyone but him. He seems to have no sense of shame whatsoever, which honestly serves him well.
Lately he's been a little... Fidgety. This is not uncommon, and anyone who's known him for more than the past few years has very likely seen this side of him many times before. Something is very wrong in Greythorne, and something is very wrong inside of him, as well, though he would never admit it. He let all the pain and fear out once, the night of the attack, and he is loathe to express it again. It's only natural for a near-death experience to give way to some trauma, but Alex prefers to pretend nothing happened to him, that night. That he's okay. The town has enough to worry about, they don't need to put him back on the list. He's fine. He's fine. He'll be fine. He just needs some rest, that's all. Just needs a drink. Just needs... He doesn't know what he needs, but he feels like he's missing a part of himself, and like he will never be safe again.
Alex often thinks of his friends, and occasionally likes to do things for them. A text on their birthday, a small gift when theyâve achieved something important. He doesnât normally go for large, grand gestures (though, he has been known to pull them off occasionally), but he does like to make sure the people in his life know he cares about them. Though he can be sarcastic, and will often decry all of a personâs faults, heâs still a fairly good friend. To that end, he loves to crack jokes, especially to ease a troubled mind, and most especially of all when his friends are worried about him.
Heâs a big flirt, though his style of flirting can occasionally be a little on the⊠aggressive side. Alex knows what he wants, and heâs not really one to beat around the bush to get it. He often flirts with his friends in what he considers a platonic way, and itâs something that most of them just get used to over time. Heâs never held down a real relationship, so he doesnât have much experience in love, and may have some trouble separating lust from romance if he ever decides to settle down.
Alex is very dysfunctional, and some consider it a wonder that heâs even still alive, though he gives credit to his best friend for getting him through his adolescence. His living space is cluttered with
Lately he's been a little... Fidgety. This is not uncommon, and anyone who's known him for more than the past few years has very likely seen this side of him many times before. Something is very wrong in Greythorne, and something is very wrong inside of him, as well, though he would never admit it. He let all the pain and fear out once, the night of the attack, and he is loathe to express it again. It's only natural for a near-death experience to give way to some trauma, but Alex prefers to pretend nothing happened to him, that night. That he's okay. The town has enough to worry about, they don't need to put him back on the list. He's fine. He's fine. He'll be fine. He just needs some rest, that's all. Just needs a drink. Just needs... He doesn't know what he needs, but he feels like he's missing a part of himself, and like he will never be safe again.
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f l a v o r
xxxxx|| Likes || Alex seems to love food more than anything in the world, and giving him something delicious to eat is an almost surefire way to get in his good graces. He also loves running, and before the attack ran almost every morning, though heâs been scarcely seen outside his house since. Heâs never minded dreamless sleep, and has occasionally drugged himself to ensure a restful night with no dreams. He likes to go on walks in the woods, both alone or with others, where he will often pick up rocks and other âtreasuresâ he may find. He wonât say no to most alcoholic beverages, no matter how bad an idea drinking may be. He adores kissing, cuddling, and a few other less than pg activities. Heâs been known to partake in... various substances- some more legal than others. He is, unsurprisingly, very fascinated with death, the idea, process, and aftermath of it. He just adores dogs, actually he loves most animals, really. He loves to listen to music, he loves to dance, and he absolutely adores a good party.
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xxxxx|| Dislikes || Alex has a lot of vivid dreams, and over time they all start to meld together, and it becomes hard to tell the difference between visions sent from the dead, and regular dreams. He used to love chocolate, but since the attack on the town, itâs made his stomach churn. He canât handle criticism, and loathes being talked down to. He neither needs or wants your pity, he had enough people pity him to last him a lifetime. He isnât a fan of death, or at least, the finality of it. Heâs accepted it for what it is, and can appreciate it, but he doesnât like thinking that he, too, will die one day. He hates being the third wheel, though heâs had plenty of practice. And it isnât that he dislikes Disney movies, but it seems the only time he ever watches them are with Phoenix crying on his shoulder while they eat ice cream. Heâs not a fan of his father, and heâs even less fond of his mother. He doesnât like the concept of accepting his feelings and emotions like a functional human being, and instead chooses to ignore them all and replace them with humor. Alex is pretty superstitious, and always keeps an eye out for bad omens.
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xxxxx|| Fears || Alex is afraid of commitment and being alone; but most of all, he is afraid of his powers, and how badly they could go wrong.
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xxxxx|| Secrets || Despite what he's always said, Alex is pretty open to the idea of falling in love. | He's only actually tried to raise the dead once, and it didn't go so well. | He has an on-and-off relationship with various drugs, which is a pretty poorly kept secret to anyone who has gotten to know him much at all | He feels himself spiraling out of control again, and feels powerless to stop it | He is terrified of being alone, especially at night, but he's trying to pretend that the attack didn't effect him muchxx
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w i t c h
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xxxxx|| Necromancy || Sensing the dead is no difficult feat; most everyone feels the chill of their spirits in old houses, abandoned woods, on the full moon. Many hear their cries and intelligible moans, but a necromancer makes sense of them. They see them, hear them, call on them in times of need. It is a magic full of ritual and superstition, and for good reason. Nearly every part of necromancy requires sacrifice, from leaving gifts for the dead, to a sacrifice of blood. Some, like Alex, receive visions in the form of dreams. Sleep can thin the veil between the living and the dead, making it an ideal time to impart ideas and knowledge. Knowledge of the present, of the past, and of the future. Ghosts exist on a less than linear path, and while their predictions are often less than reliable, more often than not they carry a warning. The dead, it seems, are not the most optimistic.
Raising the dead is a difficult task, and is best left to groups of experienced necromancers. Still, Alex has been known to raise the odd bird or small forest-dwelling creature out of a mixture of curiosity, and a desire to practice. But small animals are easier to raise than humans, easier to control, and require a less substantial sacrifice.
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xxxxx|| Talents || Language: Alex speaks English and Spanish fluently, and he speaks passable French. Juggling: his friends tell him it's a useless skill, but you never know. Costuming: he's been making his own costumes for the town's fall festival every year since he was young, and they have only gotten more ridiculously elaborate with time.
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xxxxx|| Strengths || Alex is good at drinking, he's not the fastest runner, but he has decent endurance, he's actually a fast learner, especially when it comes to physical tasks.
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xxxxx|| Weaknesses || Silver, being a witch, he has a natural- and literal- weakness to silver, which can cause painful burns on contact. He's not so good at being serious, especially in tense or emotional situations. He doesn't have much of a filter, and has said some... Awkward things to people without thinking.
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h i s t o r y
Alex's grandparents moved to Greythorne when they were a young couple, Abuela was younger than Alex is now, and already pregnant with their only child. They were a quiet family, until Marisol became a teenager; she was a trouble-maker, always up to no good. People have compared Alex to his mother since he was a child, but if they were being honest, he's much tamer. Alexâs mother ran away from Greythorne when she was no more than eighteen years old- Marisol Garcia had met a handsome young witch named Alejandro Peña, and Marisol ultimately decided to follow him and leave her home. The relationship was short-lived, but produced Marisolâs only child, who she named after his father.
From a young age, Alex showed his powers. His parents, being air and fire elemental witches, had no clue what to do with a child who wouldnât stop talking to ghosts and resurrecting butterflies. Alexâs mother wanted to send him to Greythorne to live with his grandparents, as his grandmother was also a necromancer. His father didnât agree, and the arguments this caused is what ultimately broke their on-and-off relationship for good. They had their final split the day before Alex's third birthday. He went to Greythorne to live with his grandparents the next year, barely speaking English, but a healthy, though nervous child.
Maria and Luis did their best with the boy, who they raised with as much love and support they could muster, but he was so like his mother. Headstrong and careless, Alex caused his fair share of trouble, though he was rarely alone. Phoenix was almost always nearby; though Phoenix was a little older, having another young witch in such a small town made for a nearly instant friendship- their personalities just sealed the deal. With Phoenix by his side, Alex came out of his shell, though some of the adults in town may have preferred he stay quiet and reserved. His grandparents (Abuela very vocally, Abuelo more passively) adored Phoenix, and welcomed him into their home any time he wanted to visit. The boy's were always the best of friends, and Alex's grandparents could tell from pretty early on that neither of them were straight. His Abuela evenhas had this idea in her head and Alex and Phoenix were going to grow up, be high school sweethearts, and be happy together forever- preferably right down the street. So, him sitting them down and saying he was bisexual was met with a tentative chorus of, "are you sure?" And "you know we would never think any less of you, no matter what." Which honestly confused Alex, but he just ignored it and went on with his life. He still has no idea why they reacted that way.
He visited his mother at Christmas and over the summers, but he never felt quite at home with her; never felt quite right so far from home. He saw his father more sporadically, and most of his contact with him was- and still is- limited to phone calls. The amount of time he's spent visiting and talking to both of his parents has trickled to practical radio silence over the years, culminating, most recently, with his mother sending him a birthday text a day late.
Alex had his first real taste of personal tragedy at fourteen, when his grandfather passed away. A lifetime of smoking and not caring for his health resulted in a heart attack, and he didnât last long after that. It was sudden, unexpected, and wholly tragic. It ultimately led to the ruin of Alexâs relationship with his mother, when she didnât even try to attend the funeral. The two havenât been able to repair the damage, though they also havenât tried.
His grandmother took a long time to recover from her grief, and Alex was often left alone to work through his own sadness. He spent a lot of time with his closer friends, but did wind up isolating himself more often than not. That, combined with him growing into his powers, and the stresses of high school became too much for him. One night, he went to bed, and had a vision of death, destruction, chaos, and darkness. He woke to a bedroom full of the dead, come to see him in his hour of darkness. Most people in town remember that cold February night, where Alex Garcia ran out of his home into the snow, wearing only a tee-shirt and his underwear. He was running from something most of them couldnât see, couldnât feel, and would never know.
Itâs been a few years since then, and Alex has desperately tried to stay in control. He went deeply into himself for a long time, and completely ignored most aspects of his powers, only even using them to participate in rights and rituals with his grandmother. In the past few years, however, he decided to embrace himself and his powers, and to try to create a viable future for himself. Heâs now nearly done apprenticing to be a funeral director, and has started to really try to understand his powers, and how to interpret his dreams. Or, he was.
The fall festival is normally a night filled with fun; there are endless things to do, and it's normally the town's collective favorite day of the year. Alex knew something was wrong, but he ignored every rational part of himself and pushed on through anyway. He was normally wrong about those things, anyway, so he had nothing to worry about. That was what he told himself, anyway. That everything would be fine. But he got separated from his friends, cornered by hunters, and he almost died in more ways than one. Now he can hardly close his eyes without being there again, cold and scared and alone. He would be lying if he said he wasn't angry, if he said he wasn't scared. He blames himself for some of it; he knew something wasn't right, and his ignored that. He feels like he should have tried to warn more people, but there is a part of him that knows no one would have listened. Nobody takes Alex seriously. Why would they? He had been the boy that cried wolf one too many times.
From a young age, Alex showed his powers. His parents, being air and fire elemental witches, had no clue what to do with a child who wouldnât stop talking to ghosts and resurrecting butterflies. Alexâs mother wanted to send him to Greythorne to live with his grandparents, as his grandmother was also a necromancer. His father didnât agree, and the arguments this caused is what ultimately broke their on-and-off relationship for good. They had their final split the day before Alex's third birthday. He went to Greythorne to live with his grandparents the next year, barely speaking English, but a healthy, though nervous child.
Maria and Luis did their best with the boy, who they raised with as much love and support they could muster, but he was so like his mother. Headstrong and careless, Alex caused his fair share of trouble, though he was rarely alone. Phoenix was almost always nearby; though Phoenix was a little older, having another young witch in such a small town made for a nearly instant friendship- their personalities just sealed the deal. With Phoenix by his side, Alex came out of his shell, though some of the adults in town may have preferred he stay quiet and reserved. His grandparents (Abuela very vocally, Abuelo more passively) adored Phoenix, and welcomed him into their home any time he wanted to visit. The boy's were always the best of friends, and Alex's grandparents could tell from pretty early on that neither of them were straight. His Abuela even
He visited his mother at Christmas and over the summers, but he never felt quite at home with her; never felt quite right so far from home. He saw his father more sporadically, and most of his contact with him was- and still is- limited to phone calls. The amount of time he's spent visiting and talking to both of his parents has trickled to practical radio silence over the years, culminating, most recently, with his mother sending him a birthday text a day late.
Alex had his first real taste of personal tragedy at fourteen, when his grandfather passed away. A lifetime of smoking and not caring for his health resulted in a heart attack, and he didnât last long after that. It was sudden, unexpected, and wholly tragic. It ultimately led to the ruin of Alexâs relationship with his mother, when she didnât even try to attend the funeral. The two havenât been able to repair the damage, though they also havenât tried.
His grandmother took a long time to recover from her grief, and Alex was often left alone to work through his own sadness. He spent a lot of time with his closer friends, but did wind up isolating himself more often than not. That, combined with him growing into his powers, and the stresses of high school became too much for him. One night, he went to bed, and had a vision of death, destruction, chaos, and darkness. He woke to a bedroom full of the dead, come to see him in his hour of darkness. Most people in town remember that cold February night, where Alex Garcia ran out of his home into the snow, wearing only a tee-shirt and his underwear. He was running from something most of them couldnât see, couldnât feel, and would never know.
Itâs been a few years since then, and Alex has desperately tried to stay in control. He went deeply into himself for a long time, and completely ignored most aspects of his powers, only even using them to participate in rights and rituals with his grandmother. In the past few years, however, he decided to embrace himself and his powers, and to try to create a viable future for himself. Heâs now nearly done apprenticing to be a funeral director, and has started to really try to understand his powers, and how to interpret his dreams. Or, he was.
The fall festival is normally a night filled with fun; there are endless things to do, and it's normally the town's collective favorite day of the year. Alex knew something was wrong, but he ignored every rational part of himself and pushed on through anyway. He was normally wrong about those things, anyway, so he had nothing to worry about. That was what he told himself, anyway. That everything would be fine. But he got separated from his friends, cornered by hunters, and he almost died in more ways than one. Now he can hardly close his eyes without being there again, cold and scared and alone. He would be lying if he said he wasn't angry, if he said he wasn't scared. He blames himself for some of it; he knew something wasn't right, and his ignored that. He feels like he should have tried to warn more people, but there is a part of him that knows no one would have listened. Nobody takes Alex seriously. Why would they? He had been the boy that cried wolf one too many times.
writer: nonconformingrole - fc: Diego Boneta - hex code: #3a0a4d
