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Hamlet, Jr.

"Good-night, sweet prince; And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."

0 · 587 views · located in Verona, Pennsylvania

a character in “All The World's A Stage”, as played by baker.tx.94



{"But I have that within which passeth show; these but the trappings and the suits of woe.”}


|Hamlet Valdemar King, Jr.|

β€œJunior.” Never call him Hamlet.


Bisexual || Heteromantic || Submissive Top

Assistant Dean of Men, Director of Student Activities, Philosophy Teacher
Verona Preparatory Academy

Hamlet || Hamlet


Hamlet is a tall, lithe young man. His face is youthful, bright and clear of any blemish. His dark hair and brown eyes, however, also radiate a dark complexion. Hamlet has always been handsome and well groomed, being a child of a wealthy and refined man. Though he lacks his father's and uncle's broad manliness, his boyish charm and timeless fashion gravitate others to his sphere.
If he were naked, most would think he was sixteen, no older than eighteen. But instead, he is always in a suit, tuxedo or evening attire. It simply is his style; nerdy, professional and formal. At least during work.
Off duty, he can be seen in long-sleeve shirts and tight, denim jeans. The clothes he wore in high school, no doubt. The clothes that accentuated his tight, lean build. The clothes that showed off his butt and his courage.

|{Hobbies || Talents}|
  • Critical Thought:His training in classics and the wide range of education necessary to lead in combat has afforded him a complex and rich thought process. He is suspicious of all things, observant of all things, and conscientious.
  • English Composition: His nature as a humanities teacher means that his English is refined and exact. He doesn't dilly-dally or pussyfoot. He doesn't waste ink or breath.
  • Coordination: His military background means that his ability to coordinate, organize and chair various events. His natural affinity for coordination and leadership has earned the respect of his colleagues at the academy - from young to old, he is by far one of the most trusted administrators the school has seen in years.
  • Discipline: Having been trained in one of the most rigorous programs in the world, his love for discipline is his motivation for his students. He simply has to walk into a room, and it is dead silent. His stern but unequivocal tone inspires subordination and submissiveness in the students. In a way, however, because his discipline is objective, the students appreciate it as it is. He is strict, but just.

|{Fears || Weaknesses}|
  • Loss of Father: The loss of his father has weighed on him more than anything else, lately. Causing lack of sleep, loneliness and raw depression. He aches for a best friend and confidante, and moreso, a father.
  • Family loyalty:His love for his family has caused his self-distrust. The appearance of his father's ghost and the ghost's claims only pull him deeper into depression. He cannot believe his uncle would do such a thing, and his love for his mother would never allow him to act on it.
  • PTSD: Hamlet is a melancholic and cynical young chap. Having served in the Marine Corps and experienced some of the most brutal combat, his mind is the most crippled. His memories fade in and out during both night and day; in mere moments during class, he can be giving an eloquent lecture on philosophical details, and then abruptly blank out and stare off into space. It does not happen often, but it has earned a reputation of it.
  • Limp: The most obvious disadvantage he has is his limp. On good days, he can hide it somewhat. But on most days, he requires a cane to get around the school, only adding to his disciplinarian qualities.

|{Family Tree}
Hamlet King, Sr. Father Deceased
Gertrude King Mother Alive
Claude King Uncle/Stepfather Alive


Hamlet is a sad man. He is strong-willed and independent, empathetic and endearing. But he never knows quite what he wants. He has dabbled with all sorts of partners, never quite deciding which gender he liked. He loved men for their masculinity and he loved women for their femininity. He has always been brave and commanding, but at the same time he has been footloose and aloof.
As an educator, he is stern and collected. As a lover, he is warm and passionate. As a boyfriend - well, he has been cold and noncommittal. Accidentally on purpose, it seems. His love for his late father has dragged him into a deep depression. For days at a time, he will simply have a whiskey for dinner and a short nap before going back to work in the morning.

Hamlet V. King, Jr. was the bright, passionate son of the late Mayor of Verona. For most of his life, King's father was the mayor of the town - before that, his father's father was mayor. King, Sr. successfully held off referendums which would incorporate Verona with a city nearby. Instead, King rallied town spirit and kept the city's independence. Junior's father always encouraged his brilliance and bravery. In high school, we was an oddball wide receiver for Verona Preparatory Academy, the local private school, and the valedictorian for his graduating class.
At 17, Junior entered the Naval Academy in Annapolis, graduating and entering the war as an officer in the Marine Corps. Junior's athletic body proved to be versatile in war, but it was his intelligence would proved his most powerful asset in the corps. Sadly, his rising star as an officer was abruptly shot out - during a major firestorm, his efforts to secure his unit's safety were successful, but he was severely wounded. For his efforts, he was awarded the Silver Star Medal and the Purple Heart, but was honorably discharged due to the level of permanent damage done to his right leg.
Coming home, he tried to carve out some sort of normalcy by becoming a teacher - a position he excelled at. Originally hired as a Sophomore English teacher, the needs of Verona Prep meant ever-more hats for the young man to wear. Drama club director, assistant ROTC director, and philosophy club director. By the end of his first year as a teacher, he had become quite a popular staff member. Proud of his accomplishments, his father pulled a few strings and convinced the Board of Directors to hire him as an Assistant Dean of Men - a disciplinary position for the male student body. His skills with organizing the students' clubs also earned him the appointment of Director of Student Activities, in charge of all extracurricular sports, presentations, clubs and student associations.
His busy life, however, seemed to crash when his father died recently. He had to take a whole week off to organize his thoughts and emotions. When he returned, his demeanor had seriously changed. No longer the bright and cheery Mr. King, but instead a cold and calculated Mr. King. Even his brilliant lectures in his philosophy classes became overly nihilistic and cynical.
One Friday, he was asked to chaperone one of the student dances at the school. His cold and stern look as he limped across the gym seemed to petrify the students and even some of the other teachers. He found himself staying late after the dance, cleaning up and locking up the school, when at 1 AM the scare of his life took place. His father, Hamlet, Sr., appeared to him as an apparition and told him of his demise by Junior's uncle. Hamlet, at first, believed it was because of his PTSD from the war, but his uncle's demeanor almost seemed to be suspicious. Image
Every night he has the same dream - of his father telling him of his brother's evil sin. Hamlet has nowhere to turn to. He cannot admit it in confession, because he is afraid its a demon or a figment of his imagination, and he might be shunned from his church. He has yet to tell his girlfriend, out of fear of her father and a distrust for her. He likes his girlfriend a lot, but he's just not sure if he's healthy-minded enough for her. His PTSD has already caused tension in the past between the two, and the recent death of his father has only magnified his distancing.

|{Theme Song}
The Man Who Would Speak True by Blitzen Trapper
I had lover her name was Grace
She found me down in a lonely place
She dug me out with an old jar bow
She dressed me up for to take me home
She fed me words that I could not taste
For I had no tongue it had been replaced
By a green and growing flower which grew
And I knew if I ever spoke I would speak true
We lived together in an old hotel
A broke down palace with a wishing well
The neighbor girl taught me how to spell
And how to steal what I could not sell
But I fed my tongue on the Devil's rum
In a roadhouse run by godless bum
On a drunken night with a stolen gun
I shot my lover as she made to run
The judge said "son, what've ya done?"
But I didn't speak a word, no I didn't speak one
And the judge sent me away
And they buried my Grace, yeah the very next day

They sent me out on a midnight train
In the rain rolling down through the dusty plain
Four men sitting with an old shotgun
Silver stars pinned on every one
They busted my mouth for to get at my tongue
To see just how this had all begun
So I opened my mouth like a dragon's breath
I only spoke truth but it only brought death
And I laid those boys to rest
For the truth, in truth, is a terrible jest

For there ain't no road but the road to home
There ain't no crops but the ones you've sewn
And if you learn one thing from me
You better guide your tongue like your enemy

I came to ground in a one horse town
On the western rim where the sun go down
Where a branded man might start again
For to right his wrong for to lose his sin
But my tongue kept growing it would not cease
I grew quite weary couldn't get no release
So I went to the magistrate to turn myself in
Picked up a shovel and he made the grin
And they planted me by the sea
Now the birds of the air make nests on me

|{Face Claim}|
Andrew Garfield
Character Dialogue || #B22234

So begins...

Hamlet, Jr.'s Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ophelia Sprout Character Portrait: Romeo Montague Character Portrait: Juliet Capulet Character Portrait: Katherine Minola Character Portrait: Benedict Cavillor Character Portrait: Claude King
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(presenting a modernization of Shakespeare's classics.)



A perfect midsummer's day. Perhaps the most perfect midsummer's day the town of Verona had seen in ages.

Claude King sucked the thick, warm air into his nostrils and breathed it out through his mouth. The elements of the park were saccharine, but perfect for an excessively beautiful day such as this one. It stood right in the center of the bustling town, and it was almost shameful not to plan something in such a wonderful, flawless area.

So with a snap of his fingers, Claude commanded his many attendants to step forward. "Fellas," he crowed, "I think we've found our spot. It's time to start decorating."

With that, the group of men nodded, and busted into action. While most of the craftsmen got to work hanging streamers, balloons, and lanterns throughout the trees, a corpulent man named Nicholas Bottom spent his time carefully hammering a colorful sign into the park's grassy sod. It read...

Come join the festivity from 6-10 pm!
Food, dancing, music, a performance by our acting trope, and a fun time for all!

With a cool glass of lemonade in his right hand, Claude readjusted his aviator sunglasses and gazed upon the soon-to-be masterpiece of the Midsummer Night's Festival - his own idea, and an event he presumed the entire town had been waiting for for months. Why such little notice for such an anticipated festival? The answer was quite simple...

Verona, quite frankly, was in chaos. Not in economic chaos, nor in chaos with another town or the state of Pennsylvania itself, but in emotional chaos. The residents these days seemed...uneasy. The morale of the people was low and terribly depressing. Why, even his own stepson, Hamlet Jr., was sulking in the shadows. What the small town needed was a gigantic pick-me-up. A simple smile in the midst of darkness. This festival would lift the mood, create new bonds, and make bold, valuable memories. It was extravagant, yes, but that was would Verona was supposed to be. After all, a little party never hurt nobody. What could go wrong?

After taking a long swig of lemonade from his glass, Claude grabbed some cards advertising the event, and began to hand them out to passersby, saying, "Come one and come all! Hope to see you there!"



"Hello miss! Would you like-"

Before Ophelia Sprout could finish her sentence, the lady shot past her, not even grabbing the beautiful rose that the girl was holding out to her for free. Handing out flowers with tags on them to random strangers in order to promote the Midsummer Night's Festival was more work than it actually seemed. Still, Ophelia had to do it, or else her father would never let her back inside the house.

"Oh! Sir! Are you interested in-"

Just like the woman, the man scooted right past Ophelia, not even bothering to hear what her mousy voice had to utter.

She gazed down at the ground , then at the red, orange, and purple roses in her hands. This task was hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. If only she had a louder voice...then maybe people would hear her.

Birds sweetly chirping in the breeze, Ophelia calculatingly glanced to her left, then to her right. Slowly and gingerly, she placed the flowers down onto the sidewalk. She looked left and right once more, and then out of nowhere, broke out into a sprint.

Immediately she felt guilty for disobeying her father's orders, but once she saw the swarm of children crowd around the puddle of flowers, her doubts disappeared. He'd never know about what she really did if she just lied, but of course, Ophelia was a terrible liar, so that would never work.

If only her father wasn't so...commanding. Perhaps if he didn't have such a big job in the town and were just like everyone else, then maybe he wouldn't be so strict and mean all the time. After all, he was always getting into things that he didn't need to be getting his daughter's relationship with her boyfriend.

It was all so confusing, and she didn't want to think about it right now. She just wanted to go to the park and chill underneath her favorite willow tree. So with speedy steps, that's exactly what she did. A beautiful river nearby, Ophelia plucked a stone from the ground below, and tossed it into the murky pool. The stone skipped across the water's surface, and she closed her eyes. She wished for happiness, health, and a wonderful summer.

And then like a child, she dropped to the ground, staring up at the clouds and humming the first tune that came to mind. Today would be a good day, and she knew it.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ophelia Sprout Character Portrait: Romeo Montague Character Portrait: Juliet Capulet Character Portrait: Katherine Minola Character Portrait: Paris Victor Character Portrait: Hamlet, Jr.
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There was a familiar figure heading down the winding path in front of her. Waist-length hair, small stature, and confident walk...none other than the town's sharpest wit.

"Trixy!" Ophelia shouted, jogging over to the twenty-year-old and wrapping her long arms around her. Even if she had never talked to Beatrice, Ophelia would have greeted her the same. To the innocent girl, everyone was a friend.

She giggled and grinned, pushing tendrils of wispy brown hair behind her ears. "How are you? I'm assuming you are coming to the festival tonight, right? It's such a wonderful day out!" Perhaps Beatrice was brash and blunter than a rubber mallet when asked about her opinion on a particular subject or whenever she was forced to hear the heartbreaking backstories of he drunkards that resided at the pub. Still, she could be warm and generous, and if you really got on her good side, she was known to be a very protective friend.

Still, the town knew her for other reasons. Ophelia gazed down at the grass. There was something else that she had to ask Beatrice. Quite a touchy subject, but an important one...

"So...are you still fighting with him?" she quietly muttered, trying not to use any negative inflections. Perhaps Beatrice was quite plain-spoken, but there was only one person in the town who she truly hated. That person was the prideful Benedict Cavillor. Ever since he had come back to Verona, the two would not stop shooting harmful taunts at each other. It was like a war, only their weapons consisted of words.

While she awaited Beatrice's response and kept an attentive ear on whatever she had to say, Ophelia pulled out her purple iphone and scrolled through her list of contacts. There were a couple messages she needed to send.

The first one was for her boyfriend...

[ To: Hamlet <3 ]
[ From: Ophelia ]
{ Do you want to go to the festival tonight? Your stepdad decided that its going to be held in the park. }

The second was for her two friends...

[To: Romeo, Juliet]
[From: Ophelia]
{ Will the secret star-crossed lovers be attending the festival tonight? :) }

Finished, Ophelia looked up from her phone screen, noticing Katherine Minola, as well as the traveler man, Paris Victor, in the distance. She pointed her index finger at them, showing them to Beatrice, and smiled.

"Should we go say hello?" she asked. Of course Ophelia wouldn't be able to muster up the courage to go up to the two young adults herself. One part of her didn't want to be rude and leave Beatrice behind, while another part of her lacked the independence to do so.