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Astor

'What a beautiful day, no?'

0 · 424 views · located in The forested country of Cartulo

a character in “The Introverts”, 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–‘
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ALEXANDER QING
"The Shape of Your Lips Rewrite History." - Oscar Wilde

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–‘
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N A M E
      Alexander Qing

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

P E R S O N A L I T Y
      The Romantic

G E N D E R
      Male

A G E
      24

S P E C I E S
      Kitsune/Kumiho/HuliJing

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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
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โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘
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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
      175cm

W E I G H T
      67kg.

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

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


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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
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โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘
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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.
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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.
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      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.
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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

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History
"The history of the world is but the biography of great men" - Thomas Carlyle
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      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.
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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

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      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...

Astor's Story

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Character Portrait: Astor
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#, as written by smellie_catt
Astor held the knife up to the man's neck, its silver blade glistening in the fleeting light, and with a smile, spoke.
'So Mister, you've been following me for quite a while now. Care to tell me what the fuck you're doing?'
The man shook, his eyes quaking with fear, beads of perspiration clinging precariously to his forehead. Finally mustering up the courage to speak, the quivering man responded, 'I..I'm not following you! I swear on my life! Please don't kill me, I have a family, my kids! Please!'
Astor continued to stare into the man's eyes, a polite smile still plastered across his face, 'No, don't worry sir, I won't hurt you. Just tell me why you're following me and I'll let you go, I promise.'
'You..you'll let me go? Really?' A glimmer of hope appeared in the man's eyes, I might just get out of this unscathed he thought, ' Okay, I'll tell everything! Mr Big back in Litra ordered me to follow you and report back to him, that's all, I swear!'
'So you really were spying me, huh?' The smile disappeared from Astor's face, an angry scowl taking its place, 'How many children do you have?'
'Two..chil...children.' The man stuttered, clearly uneasy.
Nodding, Astor continued, 'It'd be a shame if they never got to see their father, wouldn't it?'
The spark of hope in the man's eyes snuffed out, replaced by the flame of frenzied fear, ' But you promised that you'd let me go! You made a motherfucking promise! You lied you -'
He dropped to the ground, dead.

Astor wiped his bloodied blade on the ground and continued on. He was close to finding the Set, so very close...

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#, as written by Sinkai
Leon rolled her eyes at the boy and stood, leaving him in the care of Spirit. She had enough of being friendly for the day, and she decided to leave the Set for a little while. Leon grabbed her pack and swung the bulk of it on her back, sliding her arms through the straps almost mechanically-it was an action she found herself constantly performing. She was an excellent tracker, so she figured she would follow some trails for sport. Patting her side to check for her AK 47 6 inch knife, she nodded to herself and started in the woods. The sun's rays scattered the forest, and specks of light through the trees shone on her face. As she continued, she flicked open her blade and spun it around in her hand, going over kill shots in her head, just in case she were to be attacked. Spontaneously, she decided to head East of her current direction.

Leon found a nice tree with a lower branch, so she dropped her pack on the ground, stabbing the lethal metal into the tree in front of her. Without another thought, her head snapped up to the branch, and she jumped, arms stretching up to catch it. Her fingerless gloves provided extra grip, and she soon found herself hanging a few feet off the ground. Her palms were planted on the opposite side of the branch that she was facing, and Leon began performing a few pull-ups, determination evident on her face. Closing her eyes, Leon focused on the sounds of the forest and her breathing. A rabbit was digging through the foliage a few yards away, searching for its next nutritious meal of berries. A black-capped chickadee was flying overhead, singing songs of seduction to potential mates. The next thing Leon heard was unnerving, however. She heard... A man? Her eyes flew open as she started towards the base of the branch, placing her feet on the trunk and horizontally walking up it until she was safely sitting on a branch. Holding her breath, she listened closer.

"Please don't kill me, I have a family, my kids! Please!" What in hell... Who is that? Leon was distracted by her own thoughts for a few moments, before straining again to hear how things progressed.

"But you promised that you'd let me go! You made a motherfucking promise! You lied you -". The thud and the splitting silence final pushed Leon into action. Whoever fell couldn't have been one of her own, none of them were old enough for children. Regardless of the age, she demanded an explanation of the man's attack. Leon jumped softly to the ground, grabbing her pack and knife swiftly. Very quietly she headed towards the area of distress, holding her breath. The next thing she saw was a tall boy around her age with dark longish hair. She narrowed her eyes.

Friend or foe?

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Character Portrait: Astor Character Portrait: Leon
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#, as written by smellie_catt
'He was lying, you know,' Astor said as he turned to face the cautious girl standing behind him, 'he's a petty hit man from town. He was probably gonna try and mug me to pay for one of his many addictions.'
The black haired youth then ignored the boyish girl staring at him and returned to ransacking the body of the deceased.
Having completed the macabre frisking, he arose, the fruits of his search in his a hands; a small blade and a few coins. Astor pocketed his findings and turned back to the girl with the piercings, 'You don't look like a mugger, you're way too clean. You a hit man? Who do you work for?'
Astor produced an apple from within the deep recesses of his pocket and took a bite, eyes never leaving the figure in front of him for one second. He didn't trust her, not one bit.

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#, as written by Sinkai
Perking an eyebrow, Leon stood slowly, stepping towards him with the utmost air of calmness surrounding her. He doesn't have the balls. He killed that guy, sure. But he won't touch me. She continued studying him, the silence echoing the spot of their confrontation. A breeze whistled by, the leaves rustling above her causing different spots of light to scatter over his face, giving her a better view. After a few more painful moments with no sounds other than the forest, Leon.

"Quite the judgement to make at a first glance." She replied calmly, spinning her knife in her hand. "Any experienced mugger or assassin knows how to play the role of innocent. Lead the target into a false sense of security before pouncing." Suddenly she stopped the blade's rotation, her eyes flashing back up to him in the same instant.

"So tell me again.." Leon cooed, stepping towards him until her face was just inches from his-holding his gaze with equal animosity. "What makes you believe I'm not like him?" Her head tilted slightly to the right, an antic that she often performed when she was challenging someone or being challenged herself.

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