Announcements: Cutting Costs (2024) » January 2024 Copyfraud Attack » Finding Universes to Join (and making yours more visible!) » Guide To Universes On RPG » Member Shoutout Thread » Starter Locations & Prompts for Newcomers » RPG Chat โ€” the official app » Frequently Asked Questions » Suggestions & Requests: THE MASTER THREAD »

Latest Discussions: Adapa Adapa's for adapa » To the Rich Men North of Richmond » Shake Senora » Good Morning RPG! » Ramblings of a Madman: American History Unkempt » Site Revitalization » Map Making Resources » Lost Poetry » Wishes » Ring of Invisibility » Seeking Roleplayer for Rumple/Mr. Gold from Once Upon a Time » Some political parody for these trying times » What dinosaur are you? » So, I have an Etsy » Train Poetry I » Joker » D&D Alignment Chart: How To Get A Theorem Named After You » Dungeon23 : Creative Challenge » Returning User - Is it dead? » Twelve Days of Christmas »

Players Wanted: Long-term fantasy roleplay partners wanted » Serious Anime Crossover Roleplay (semi-literate) » Looking for a long term partner! » JoJo or Mha roleplay » Seeking long-term rp partners for MxM » [MxF] Ruining Beauty / Beauty x Bastard » Minecraft Rp Help Wanted » CALL FOR WITNESSES: The Public v Zosimos » Social Immortal: A Vampire Only Soiree [The Multiverse] » XENOMORPH EDM TOUR Feat. Synthe Gridd: Get Your Tickets! » Aishna: Tower of Desire » Looking for fellow RPGers/Characters » looking for a RP partner (ABO/BL) » Looking for a long term roleplay partner » Explore the World of Boruto with Our Roleplaying Group on FB » More Jedi, Sith, and Imperials needed! » Role-player's Wanted » OSR Armchair Warrior looking for Kin » Friday the 13th Fun, Anyone? » Writers Wanted! »

0
followers
follow

Alexander Qing

"No one knows what capacities for doing and suffering he has in himself"

0 · 773 views · located in Earth

a character in “Our Safe Haven”, as played by smellie_catt

Description

โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘
Image
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œโ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
,
,
,
โ•ญโ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ•ฎ
ALEXANDER QING
"It is better to be unhappy and know the worst, than to be happy in a fool's paradise." - Fyodor Dostoevsky

Je Veux Vivre || Charles Gounod (Performed by Anna Netrebko)

Dialogue Colour || #571B7E
Thought Colour || #659EC7
โ•ฐโ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ•ฏ

โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘
Imageโ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œโ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œx]



N A M E
      Alexander Qing

N I C K N A M E ( S )
      Sweet Nothings, Sweet Talker, Alex, Two-Hands

R O L E
      Rebel Group Member (Specialising in infiltration and espionage)

G E N D E R
      Male

A G E
      18

S E X U A L I T Y
      Heterosexual

M A R I T A L S T A T U S
      Unmarried

P O W E R
      Vocal Hypnosis||Visual Hypnosis

โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘
Image
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œโ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
,

โ•ญโ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ•ฎ
APPEARANCE
"Every age yearns for a more beautiful world." - Johan Huizinga
โ•ฐโ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ•ฏ

โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œโ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
x]
H A I R
      Shoulder length black hair, occasionally tied up in a knot

E Y E S
      Dark Brown

H E I G H T
      182cm

W E I G H T
      72kg.

E T H N I C I T Y
      English born Chinese/Korean

O T H E R
      N/A

O D D I T I E S
      Alexander has an extra toe on his left foot


โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘
Image
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œโ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
,

โ•ญโ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ•ฎ
Personal
"ฮณฮฝแฟถฮธฮน ฯƒฮฑฯ…ฯ„ฯŒฮฝ (Know thyself)" - Inscribed at the Temple of Apollo at Delphi
โ•ฐโ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ•ฏ

โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘
Imageโ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œโ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
P E R S O N A L I T Y
โ•”โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•—
xxxโœฆ Polite โœง Haughty โœฆ Cultured โœง Contemplative โœฆ Learned โœฆ
โ•šโ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•โ•

      It's easy to confuse Alexander for a typical rich boy. He does seem to dress that way. But beneath the cable-knit jumpers and expensive trousers lies the same unsure and vulnerable child. Raised in a constantly bickering household, Alexander is often reluctant is express himself. He saw the damaging effects that could come about when two people constantly expressed their emotions. This distaste for expression was further exacerbated by years in the English public school system. His teachers at Westminster inculcated in him a wariness of great displays of emotion. Beyond that, though, public schooling also instilled in him, to some degree, some semblance of haughtiness. Though he does not often realise it, Alexander does tend to say things that could be construed as snobbish or elitist. Of course, this is never done with intent to hurt, it was simply the world in which he grew up in. The good thing about his years at Westminster, was that it encouraged in Alexander a discerning taste, and great enthusiasm for the artistic and cultural. As such, he is obsessed with oratorios and arias, with Duchamp and Degas, Horace and Euripides.

      This lack of self-expression has allowed for Alexander to become quite a contemplative young man. He prefers to think rather than act, and disdains impulsiveness. This has proved considerably beneficial for Alexander in his professional life as a mafia enforcer. But with his predilection for contemplation, Alexander often finds himself mired in questions of the morality of his actions. Leading him to long periods of deep-thought during which he can do little but think, shutting himself away from the world, or disappearing with nary a word on his whereabouts. These long periods of thought often lead to heavy melancholia and lethargy, with Alexander unable to accomplish anything in regards to work or even basic necessities. What he does do during these periods of depression, is read. He will read from morn to dusk, popping Provigil to ward off the Sandman, then read from dusk to dawn - sometimes forgetting to eat for a whole day. Two or three days later he will emerge from his despair, and all will return to normal, at least until the next time.
โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œโ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
,
โ•ญโ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ•ฎ
Details
"The Devil's in the details" - Proverb
โ•ฐโ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ•ฏ

โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘

ImageL I K E S
      โœฆOpera -The first time Alexander saw an opera, he fell in love with the lavish costumes and rich arias. The cheap under-30s tickets are also quite appealing to him.
      โœงReality Television - Not that he would admit it to many. But between the Schopenhauer and the Arendt, the Aristophanes and Gogol, Alex delves deep into the world of the Kardashians, the Breaking Amish, and the Real Housewives. After all, the life of Honey Boo Boo is just as interesting as that of Leopold Bloom.
      โœฆFootball (Soccer) - There's something about the atmosphere of a match. Maybe it taps into some deep-seated human tribalism. The flaming flares, the rhythmic chanting, it stirs up the passions. Maybe it is atavism.
      โœงItalian Coffee - Alexander can't abide by what these Americans call coffee. Starbucks in particular is anathema to him. Until they start hiring baristas who can make proper espressi with proper creme, Alexander refuses to even sip American brew. No double-pump-mocha-vanilla-soy-caramel-macchiatti for Alexander.
      โœฆWatercolour - There's nothing quite like an evening spent chain-smoking and painting the dying light en-plein-air to Alex. Only the promise of Stolichnaya and a light breeze could make the moment any better.
      โœงStargazing - 'We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking up at the stars.' - Oscar Wilde. Alexander has taken these words to heart. Besides, who knows, what if some day the stars weren't there anymore?
      โœฆIce-skating - People say it's girly, but when has Alex ever conformed to societal expectations of gender?
      โœงVodka - In vino veritas, but in vodka - a certain melancholy no other drink can match. The Russians call it ั‚ะพัะบะฐ. Alex calls it the bottom of a bottle of Stolichnaya.
      โœฆEdith Piaf - Sous le ciel de Paris, s'envole une chanson...The words, drawled in the dulcet French of Edith Piaf, draw to mind cool nights in Paris. Where young Alex would sit, his little hands clasped around un chocolat chaud, smiling, as his parents stared into each other's eyes. They loved each other then.
โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘
Image
Image
ImageD I S L I K E S
      โœฆHeavy-Metal Music - To be completely frank, it scares him. He's seen the worst of humanity all too often, but there's something about heavy metal that always sends a shiver down Alexander's spine.
      โœงLibertarianism - Being as widely read as Alexander is, he has come to form rather strong opinions on different topics. Politics is a particularly hot issue for him.
      โœฆTechnology - Alexander mistrusts even his toaster. Lifts make him uneasy. He would've fit in perfectly in the Middle Ages, were it not for his undying love for the television.
      โœงNietszche - A child of a broken family, subject to the worst of humanity, you'd think that Alexander would drift towards that great German philosopher. But either as an act of rebellion against pessimism, or as an act of self-denial, Alexander refuses to acknowledge the wisdom of Nietszche. His distaste for the German thinker knows no bounds.
      โœฆ4 Wheel Drives - Alexander holds no love for most cars. But for 4WDs he holds a special place of hate in his heart. The idea of wasting non-renewable petrol for such trivial reasons as preference for larger vehicles infuriates him.
      โœงHeat - With heat comes a certain malaise over Alex. With malaise comes a certain ennui over Alex. He cannot abide by the listlessness and restlessness. For Alexander, every summer is his summer of discontent.
      โœฆHospitals - It's a sterile place. The bland tope walls blend seamlessly into the bland tope linoleum. Everywhere sound the beeps of lives clinging onto the edge - like curled fists refusing to let go of the world. Can there be anyone who likes hospitals? Or maybe it's just the fact that Alexander can't smoke in one.
      โœงShowiness - Even the rich, in England, are subject to their own rigid class system. Up on top of the pyramid lie those old families who have amassed their lands and titles through hundreds of years of warfare and landlording, on the bottom are those who have recently come upon their wealth through commerce and finance. Instilled in Alex from a young age was a disgust for the 'showy' and ostentatious habits of the nouveau riche.
      โœฆCigarettes - The smell of burning tobacco disgusts Alex. It disgusts him as he lights his cigarette. It disgusts him as he brings it up to his lips. It disgusts him as draws in the smoke. And as it escapes from his lungs, wafting away in the air.
โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œโ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
S T R E N G T H S
      โœฆWell-Educated - Alexander began his education at Colet Court, before he went on to attend the Westminster School. It was probably during his years of public school education that instilled in him his love of learning. But once having left England, and her public schools, Alex found himself stranded in New York, without so much as an old boys association to rely on. But just because he had to spend some years in fighting for survival in the underbelly of New York doesn't mean that Alexander couldn't put his education first. Besides, as his father used to say (before the drugs and drinks, and then the Christianity) scientia potestos est - knowledge is power. While working for the gangs of New York, Alexander (with some occassional help from his powers) completed Bachelors in Philosophy and Classics at NYU despite only being eighteen - thank Christ for the English public schooling system. He continues to study, even after having left New York. He is currently pursuing his Masters in History.
      โœงPolyglot - Alexander is fluent in English, Korean, Mandarin, French, and Russian. As part of his Classical education, he is also able to read Ancient Greek and Latin. He's also well-versed in sarcasm
      โœฆCharming and Well-spoken - He's not a fighter, he's a lover. Well, actually he is a fighter. But it's not easy to survive in the seedy underbelly of New York City without some semblance of charm. It also helps that his voice is pretty damn hypnotising.
      โœงProficient with Firearms - It's also quite hard to survive in the New York underground without much physical strength. Unfortunately, that was exactly the position that Alexander found himself in. The solution to his predicament lay in the barrel of a smoking gun. And once you start shooting people for a living, you get pretty damn good at it. Alexander's distinct two gun style is what lead to his nickname 'Two-Hands'.
      โœฆHighly Literate - Alexander is a published poet. Of course, not under his real name. His preferred nom-de-plume is Jean-Paul Arouet - an homage to two of his favourite authors. He was notified of the company's decision to publish him on the same day as he was working a job in Manila. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt that day.
      โœงDisplays Great Emotional Restraint - One of the first things one learns at an English public school is to keep a stiff upper lip. The lessons of Westminster have not left Alexander, reinforced only by the kill or be killed world of the New York underground.

F L A W S
      โœฆExcessive Drinking - Really, Alex is doing a good thing. The more alcohol he consumes, the less there will be for the underage kids to. Think of it as a public service. A service to everyone but his liver.
      โœงChain-smoking - Alex hates the smell of cigarettes. The taste too. They say they're toasted for your pleasure, but it's a lie. That doesn't stop him smoking a pack a day though.
      โœฆPhysical Weakness - Alexander's powers are somewhat lacking in regards to physical strength. His smoking and drinking habits don't do much to remedy this either. Thus, Alex is not a particularly physically strong person, and the nicotine has given him some weak lungs to boot.
      โœงTendency to fall into Moods - Maybe it's the nicotine. Maybe it's the alcohol. Or maybe it's just the way he is. Alex has the tendency to fall victim to long periods of lethargy and despair, unable to even leave his room.
      โœฆTechnologically Inept - Calling Alexander a Luddite would be an understatement. Alexander doesn't have the technological aptitude to work a printer. But then again, who does?

Q U I R K S
      โœฆPossesses a Genuine Fear of Technology - He knows it for sure. If superhumans or normal humans don't destroy the world, the robot uprising will. It's only a matter of time before your SMARTTV sounds your death-knell...
      โœงHas a Weakness for Expensive Things - It's tough to stop having a taste for shiny things. Brooks Brothers, Burberry, Tom Ford, Taittinger and Caspian Beluga Caviar are vices just as hard to quit as smoking and drinking. Alexander no longer has the cash reserves he did in his youth, yet still remains hopelessly addicted to the high life.
      โœฆTends to Lapse into Other Languages - It's fun to be a polyglot, most of the time. But sometimes, the wires get crossed in your head, and sometimes you'll end up lapsing into ๅ…ถไป–็š„ ัะทั‹ะบะธ

โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘
Image
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œโ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
,

โ•ญโ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ•ฎ
History
"The history of the world is but the biography of great men" - Thomas Carlyle
โ•ฐโ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ•ฏ

โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œโ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
      In 1972, Qing Le Yuan, young son of Chinese shipping magnate Qing De Kang, met Choi Seo-yun, middle daughter of Choi Hong-ki, head of one of the largest jewellers in Korea. They sat together, and communicated with the little English they had learnt as their fathers sat together in the boardroom. 18 years later, Old Man Kang and Old Man Choi once again sat together, but this time to witness the marriage of their children. By this point, Seo-yun had learnt Chinese, and Le Yuan spoke fluent Korean. They exchanged vows in each other's native language.

      In 1992, the Kang Xi Shipping Company began trading in London. The young couple decided to move to London and help head up the ambitious new expansion. They settled into a home in the Westminster area. Four years later, they welcomed the newest addition to the family, an Alexander Jae Qing. The extended flocked over from Asia to catch a glimpse of the chubby faced darling. Everyone loved him. So too did his schoolmates and teachers. Alexander spent his earlier years at Colet Court, where he excelled. He then went on to study at the Westminster School, where once again, he was almost universally loved, and excelled, particularly in History and Classics. Alexander seemed to have a way with people, and it would usually only take a sweet smile from Alex to get whatever he wanted. Life was good.

      But this was a life founded upon an uneasy marriage, and as Alexander continued to grow, the cracks in the 'perfect' image of his family began to be apparent. His parents finally split apart when he was 11, when his father uncovered the truth of his mother's many night time outings, finding her in the embrace of a young Frenchmen. Custody was awarded to his father. When he was 13, his father took him to New York State, determined to start anew, and so they found themselves in the buzzing metropolis of New York, swept up by the grand sights and blinding lights. But adjusting to a normal life was difficult for this splintered family of blue-bloods, for although they had wealth to spare, the emotional traumas inflicted upon them still remained fresh. To help alleviate the pain, Alexander's father turned to excess of drink; the Devil's nectar, then to the syringe. In such a way, Alexander found his life now a cold one, sheltered from the passions of life. His father, in spite of his proclivity for excessive drinking and narcotics, found new love with a God-fearing woman. They would all go to church together every Sunday, and Alex would stare intensely at the stained-glass windows and wonder at this all-benevolent, all-loving being.

      Alexander first discovered his powers on his fourteenth birthday. He had been strolling home from school, eager to witness whatever festivities his father had organised (his new-stepmother disdained all but religious festivities), when he chanced himself upon a group of youths smoking in the park.They had approached him, asking him what 'his kind' was doing there. Pushing and shoving led to punches and kicks, and soon enough, Alexander found himself on the pavement. As the youths leered at him from above, Alex, in spite, spoke, 'Go kill yourselves, you sacks of shit.' And that's exactly what they did, gruesomely mutilating themselves before his unbelieving eyes. He awoke several hours later, three blocks away from the park, and spent the rest of the night wandering around the boroughs in a haze. When he did arrive back at home by the next morning, he was greeted with a lashing from his step-mother. The police never solved the case of the gruesome mutilations by the park.

      Over the next few days, the realisation of just what had happened in the park dawned on Alex. He realised that it was he who had effectively killed those kids. The guilt and horror consumed him from within. Three days later, Alex saw his father and stepmother for the last time. It was an easy decision for him, at home lay only more confusion, a drug addled and drunk father, and an abusive fundamentalists step mother. He decided to take his chances on the streets. Unluckily for him, the hunters had the same idea. It wasn't long before Alexander discovered that there were others like him, many of them living on the streets as well, either runaways like him, or exiled from their homes. Likewise, it also wasn't long before Alexander discovered those who would hunt them down, finding them to be an affront to God. On his third week on the streets, Alexander found himself held down and branded on the chest by a group of rogue hunters. They then attempted to disembowel him. In that moment of adrenaline, something clicked in Alex's mind. He ordered the hunters to disembowel each other. They did.

      Alexander woke up three hours later, covered in blood, the smell of perforated stomachs filling up the alleyway. Seeing the corpses, he actually smiled. He soon decided that his powers, in their current state, were much too weak to protect him from the hunters. Four days later, he talked his way into the home of Liborio Bellomo Genovese. Ten days later, he was working as an enforcer for the Genovese Crime Family, in return for guaranteed protection against the hunters. And so began the life of Alexander the Mob Enforcer.

      On his first job, he ended up with a slashed Achilles and a bullet to his shoulder. Alexander cried himself to sleep that night. A few weeks later, he encountered the women he was to transport to a pimp famous for his violence. That night he began to drink. A month or two later, Alexander was one of the foremost contractors in the New England region. He had also started smoking - low tar, of course.
โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘
Image
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œโ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
,

โ•ญโ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ•ฎ
Theme Song
"Live to the point of tears." - Albert Camus
โ•ฐโ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ•ฏ

โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘

โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œโ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ
โ–Œ


      Lyrics:

      Je veux vivre
      Dans le rรชve qui m'enivre
      Ce jour encore !
      Douce flamme,
      Je te garde dans mon รขme
      Comme un trรฉsor !
      Cette ivresse de jeunesse
      Ne dure hรฉlas, qu'un jour !
      Puis vient l'heure
      Oรน l'on pleure,
      Le cล“ur cรจde ร  l'amour,
      Et le bonheur fuit sans retour !
      Je veux vivre...
      Loin de l'hiver morose,
      Laisse-moi sommeiller,
      Et respirer la rose,
      Avant de l'effeuiller

      Translation:

      I want to live
      in the dream that thrills me
      more of this day!
      Sweet flame
      I'm guarding you in my soul
      like a treasure!
      This thrill of youthfulness
      doesn't last, alas, but a day
      Then comes the hour
      when we cry
      the heart yields to love
      and happiness flees without ever coming back!
      Let me stay asleep
      away from the dreary winter
      and savour the rose's scent
      before it withers

โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘

F A C E C L A I M: Song Jaerim


C O P Y R I G H T

Character Sheet By : Ameliaisghostly
Inspired By : The Toxic Cereus
Filled Out By : smellie_catt

โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘

So begins...

Alexander Qing's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Danny Griffin Character Portrait: Jane Wolfe Character Portrait: Hope Grimshaw Character Portrait: Liesbeth Reitveld Character Portrait: Alexander Qing Character Portrait: Astrid Herondale
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Airy
โ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”

Image
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
Image
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
โ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ
Jane has always hated this part -- the leaving. It is not unusual for people to leave the Safe Haven, it's a place for people to stay if they want, and to leave when they want or feel ready. It's always been a bittersweet situation. Jane considers anyone in the Safe Haven as Family, and as Family, she always wants whatโ€™s best for them. If what they think is best is for them is to leave, then sheโ€™s all for it and will support them and always welcome them back, but itโ€™s always hard to lose someone, to say goodbye. It's especially worse in those cases where some just up and leave without a word. It's harder not to be able to even say goodbye.

She remembered the last time she saw Nakoda at the house, the day previously. All seemed fine. It was maybe late into the afternoon, almost the evening. She was in the kitchen when Jane went in to grab a cup of tea before escaping for the rest of the night to the little shed on the property where all her paints were. Nakoda seemed normal. Usually, the residents who up and left seemed nervous for a day or two before they vanished. They were always a little anxious -- always had that little crease on their forehead that showed how hard they were trying not to blurt the whole truth out or say something telling. It's only happened twice before, people up and leaving in the night, but both residents had come back maybe a few months later just to let the house know they were okay. It was utterly nerve racking not to know what happened or where they are. They always left like that because they wanted to leave without having to say goodbye. Some people don't deal with those well, it was understandable to a point, But there's always the concern in the back of Jane's head that it was something else, someone else. It was no different in this instance.

It was early in the morning, around six A.M, just when the sun was just beginning to rise. Jane stood in the open doorway of Nakoda's room. It looked the same. It didn't seem as if she had taken anything with her. The bed was still mussed from where she had slept, either from last night or the night before. Something was odd. Most people would at least take some possessions with them, whether it be clothes or some little knick knacks that held emotional significance. Then again, some people wanted a completely fresh start. Someone else had left all their stuff once before as well.

Jane walked into the room, a bit tentatively and slow. She felt sort of like she was crossing some personal boundary. Without touching anything, she looked at the desk and around the room, searching for a possible trace of a note. There was nothing. An odd uncertainty and anxiety settled in her stomach, and before she had any other thought, Jane left the room and raced down the steps to the front door, throwing on her coat to protect her from the cool morning air that greeted her as she closed the door behind her. It was possible Nakoda went into town before Jane had woken up, but she never heard anything. Nakoda also wasnโ€™t the type to take an early 6 A.M stroll into town, but Jane had to look. She didnโ€™t usually do this, she didnโ€™t hover over the residents and expect them to tell her their location at every point in the day, but Jane just had a bad feeling about this, and her impulsive nature took control.

The town of Boothbay Harbour was maybe a thirty-minute walk away from the house, less time by car. Jane tended to always opt out of taking the car, considering she always had the fear in the back of her mind of crashing it. But, as much as she would prefer to walk, she knew she didn't have the luxury of the extra time it'd take her to get to town without the car. She had no idea when Nakoda had left -- if she would still be in an around the area. So, the sooner Jane could get around, the sooner she might find out what happened. Unlocking the car in which was the only one of her father's she hadn't sold when she got hold of all her parent's possessions, she quickly backed out of the lot and drove down the empty early morning road, her green eyes flickering in every direction, trying to find the girl.

A familiar row of shops greeted Jane as she drove into the town. Even though it was early morning, it was busy. People sat at small cafรฉ's, joggers went by in groups, couples walked their perky dogs. It was the summer time; it was always busier in the town during summer. Boothbay was a known tourist area, and where Jane didn't really like the excessive amount of people, she was grateful that for the rest of the seasons, everything went pretty null and quiet. As much as she liked to travel and experience new things, she still wasn't the greatest fan of crowds.

Jane spent a good two hours driving around the small town which should only take around twenty minutes to get around entirely. Jane went up and down every one of the all too familiar roads at least five times each. She even went out of the town bounds for a bit as well, but there was still no trace of the familiar looking girl. In a final attempt, Jane pulled into one of the parking spots at the long stretch of beach and sea. She wasn't able to drive around the entire perimeter, and she knew this beach had a long span of land. It was unlikely Nakoda was here, but this was the only other place Jane could think of to look. Closing the car door behind her, the familiar smell of the sea and the humid breeze that often calmed her nerves, as it reminded her of the feeling of home, did little to soothe her still anxious state. She felt distracted; she only had a single goal in mind. Jane began walking up the sandy area, but despite passing a few people during the long walk, none of them was Nakoda. It was possible Jane had missed her, or at least she hoped, but three hours had passed since the start of her search. If Nakoda had just gone for a walk, sheโ€™d most likely be at the house by now. If not? She was gone.

On the drive back home, Jane stopped in a little market just to pick up some food as the home stock was running low. She tried to shoulder all five paper bags herself, but mixed with her distracted state and bad shoulder, they began dropping. Reluctantly, she let the bag boy help her take the groceries to her car and load them up for her. Giving a friendly thanks, she got back into her car and drove back home.

The house was large, there was a lot of space in which someone could be. Before she had checked Nakodaโ€™s room early in the morning, she made note that she had not been in any other part of the house that morning. There were a lot of empty rooms some of the residents liked to escape to, but theyโ€™d all been empty when sheโ€™d checked. Popping the trunk of the car, she took out three bags, intending to go back and grab the other two later, before she went up to the house and struggled to unlock the door. As soon as she entered inside, she dumped the three bags on the kitchen counter, and still with the single focused goal in mind, went around the house, calling down every corridor, โ€œNakoda? You here?โ€, but got no reply from the girlโ€™s voice she wanted to hear.

Nakodaโ€™s room still looked the same, empty and untouched.

Going back down the stairs, she made her way into the kitchen and sat herself down on the one of the stools at the counter, unease sketched on her face. She hoped Nakoda had left without saying goodbye. As much as Jane wanted a goodbye, and as much as it would hurt not knowing why she left, it was better than the alternative. It was better than the alternative that maybe someone had taken her or someone had done something to her. Jane just needed to know.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Danny Griffin Character Portrait: Jane Wolfe Character Portrait: Hope Grimshaw Character Portrait: Liesbeth Reitveld Character Portrait: Alexander Qing Character Portrait: Astrid Herondale
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by ฮ•pฮนmetheus
Image
                        They hadn't slept in slightly over two days. A lamentable fact and a decision he had begun to truly regret, but there was little he could do about it now. Fatigue was beginning to show on the faces of his group, and he was certain it was beginning to show on his face (he could certainly feel it--cement legs, iron shoes, weighted head), but still he continued on, picking his way through the thick foliage of the forest.

                        It had been about twenty minutes since he left his group behind, telling them to wait half an hour before following. By his estimations, he had about another five minutes to go before he'd reach the building he'd once called home, giving him, probably, just over twenty minutes to figure out the situation with Jane and Owen before his own crew came bursting in through the doors. And, now, just under five minutes to figure out exactly what he was going to say.

                        He ran over the last three days in his head (all the horror of it, the running, his heart pounding in his ears, the struggling, the short screams, the sheer number of them. The loss.), trying to formulate what words he could use to describe everything that had happened, and everything it meant to him. He half wished he'd brought Alexander along--he was good with words, far better than Elias would ever be-- but he knew this was an entrance he'd have to make alone. He started at the beginning.

                        xxxx; EARLIER | THREE DAYS BEFORE

                        They were just crossing over the border into Maine. Their last big stop had been in New York, where they'd managed to shut down a small group of Hunters, only six in number. He'd avoided making a public demonstration of it then, for New York was a big city, and he'd hate to be caught in an ambush by a group much larger than just six bodies. For months, he'd avoided returning to Maine, whether out of fear or shame, he wasn't certain, but the fact remained. The problem was they'd gotten word (thanks, in large part, to both Alexander's gift and to his own fists) of another group of hunters operating in Maine. Which was troubling, to say the least. He didn't agree with the lives Jane and Owen led, but they were still family, and he still loved them both. Unfortunately, the defeated Hunters didn't know all the other group's going ons, and he wasn't able to ascertain their number or their exact location. He figured he'd follow the trail of reports strange events and then subsequent missing people adverts.

                        They were just crossing over the border into Maine, and they kept moving for another three hours before they started to lose light. He pulled the truck (stolen, thank you, Alexander) over into a small grove, told the gang to rest up for a couple hours before they started out again. He took the opportunity to get some shut eye himself. He didn't get much sleep. He was up in just a few hours-- it was still dark outside-- though he couldn't pinpoint a reason. Some vague disturbance. A quick head count revealed why.

                        He took a few minutes to search the surrounding area. Went as far as the edge of the grove before he heard noise. Muffled screaming. The visual came later. Four of them, carrying Lucy away, another four flanking, and a discussion about how they'd report into the others about the girl they caught in the woods. He was too far away from the rest of the group. He tried to tail them, but all of those stupid fucking branches and twigs. He narrowly escaped a bullet to the shoulder.

                        They booked it all the way north, and Elias insisted on driving the whole way. Which brought him to just four hours prior. It was just before dawn, the rays of the sun just touching the horizon, turning it a deceptively peaceful pastel image. He wasn't eager to go through town, even at the early hour. They ditched the car about two miles out, picked their way around the outskirts of the town and towards the house. And they ran dead into another kidnapping.

                        Hunters, clearly, and this close to the Safe House meant that the girl was certainly under the protection of Jane and Owen. He'd wanted to out and get her, to fight like all hell to take down the Hunters, of course he did. But they were all so tired, and he knew they wouldn't have a damn chance, powers or not. Their only shot, her only shot, and Lucy's too, was to continue on the path they'd been on. They walked another half hour in silence. So much silence. They stopped almost twenty minutes away, and he told them to give him some time to speak with Jane and Owen alone.

                        xxxx; PRESENT

                        Just under five minutes became just under two minutes, then just under a minute, and then there was the door and the sound of his knocking reached his ears before he could fully comprehend that he was moving his hand. There was blood rushing in his ears, and he hated the uneasy sensation settling in his stomach. How long had it been? Four months, five? Longer? He didn't know anymore.

                        He stood at the door for what couldn't have been more than half a minute, but felt like hours-- jaw tense, brow furrowed, breathing so deep his lungs ached. At some point, his mind cleared (somewhat marginally), and he realized knocking was probably not the best option. Who knew what stranger might open the door.

                        He pushed the door open, peering into the familiar surroundings. It was familiar but not, the way your car seems to be when somebody else is driving it. It hurt him, in some intangible and irrational way. "Jane," he called into the large house, waiting for the slight echo to pass. "Owen." He made his way through the rooms, in the general direction of where he heard far-off sounding voices. The kitchen looked the same as it used to. Though most of the faces there were new.

                        He hadn't worked out what he was going to say, not exactly, but he'd at least worked out some sort of vague outline. He had, but he could recall so little of it. He swallowed, but his throat felt dry. "Hi, Jane," he managed to say, and his voice sounded thin in his ears. It was not everyday he saw and spoke to ghosts. He'd never thought he would.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Liesbeth Reitveld Character Portrait: Alexander Qing
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by rubytuesday
Image
ยฏยฏยฏยฏยฏยฏยฏยฏยฏยฏยฏยฏยฏยฏยฏยฏยฏยฏยฏยฏยฏ
LIESBETH RIETVELD
ATTIREโ”‚XXHEXโ”‚#5F5E7BXSONGโ”‚RENEGADES

โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”
Imageโ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
โ”‚
It all felt hollow.

Everyone was too tired to thrive as they had before, too harrowed by the recent events to smile and joke and generally emote. Everything felt blank, but not in the way of a canvas awaiting art. Blank in the way of starkness. Cold. Lonely. Devoid of color. Lies yearned for sleep, but truth be told, even if the option was available, she doubted she would be able to. A long series of unfortunates had instilled a certain level of insomnia into her and her comrades. They were kept up by worry and fear and dread and a dwindling hope that clung stubbornly.

It was easier when they were moving. Their journey had felt almost mechanical, left foot, right foot, left, right. The air sticky with silence, everyone too exhausted to so much as hum. Lies had watched her own feet, focusing on the ache in her calves. She could have sworn she had nodded off here and there, unconscious but still moving. Moving. Moving.

But now they were still, sitting among the green as they waited with varying levels of patience.

'Half an hour', he'd said. Two thirds of the way through his allotted 'head start', and Lies was itching for movement.

She sat cross-legged on a fallen tree, ignoring the moss that cloaked it as it dampened her clothes. Her attention was on the ribbon sliding through her fingers. Her thoughts willed it to curl and dance, a violet river tracking across her knuckles. Any other day, it might have been a charming little thing to witness. The way the fabric moved with seeming sentience. But its sway was melancholy rather than mischievous, and it carried memories that, a week ago, would have been merry. Now, they left a taste of solemness on Lies' tongue.

She remembered Lucy looping the ribbon around her ponytail, knotting the silk into a tidy bow. 'You need a bit of color,' She'd mused, smile as vivid as the ribbon's purple hue.

It had been a passing moment, one quickly forgotten. But since Lucy had disappeared, what should have been a fleeting occurrence was becoming progressively more stubborn in its refusal to be abandoned.

With a sigh, Lies stood up, walking sluggishly over to Alexander before seating herself beside him. She didn't say anything for a moment, and she was too tired to complain about the cigarette caught between the boy's lips. After a beat of silence she finally spoke, head not turning to face him as she gazed out into the green mess. "How are you holding up?"

About · Code of Conduct · Source Code





© Quill, Inc.

cron