Description

{"Such wind as scatters young men through the world
To seek their fortunes farther than at home.”}
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|{Full Name}|
Paris Victor

|{Age}|
23

|{Sexuality}|
Bisexual

|{Occupation}|
Photographer/Artist

|{Role}|
Petruchio||The Taming of the Shrew

|{Appearance}|

Much like his personality, Paris's looks are attention-grabbing to say the least.Pulling mostly from his father's side of the family, he has a strong, angular jaw; a long nose; thick, dark eyebrows; deep-set eyes; and full, uneven lips. From his mother he got his dark brown eyes and curly brown hair, which he usually keeps just short enough to hide the curl. His features are very expressive, and his lack of inhibitions allows most of his emotions to show quite clearly on his face. He is about six feet tall with an athletic build and golden skin. His facial hair changes as often as his location: one day he'll be sporting a neatly trimmed beard, and the next he'll be clean-shaven.

|{Hobbies || Talents}|
Traveling || Photography
People-watching || Painting/drawing

|{Fears || Weaknesses}|
Getting cut off || Financial dependence
Needles || Tactlessness
Getting trapped || Tight Spaces

|{Family Tree}
Edward Victor || Father
Lucille Victor || Mother
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|{Personality}|
Boisterous || Eccentric || Quick-witted || Honest || Intelligent || Artistic
Paris is the type of man that people either love or hate. He is as straightforward as he is loud, and he nearly always has something to say. He doesn't bother with the flowery words and formalities that others use, and his bluntness and lack of filter often gets him in trouble. He likes to travel off the beaten path, rarely following social convention and paying manners no mind. Despite his rough-around-the-edges nature, Paris has dedicated his life to art, and he seeks to help the less fortunate through his creations. He's much more sentimental than he lets on, and he often takes small souvenirs from places he visits.

|{History}|
Paris Victor was born in Stratford, England, on July 10th, 23 years ago. His parents, multimillionaires Edward and Lucille Victor, were thrilled with the arrival of their first child and excited to have more children. Mere months after Paris's birth, however, a devastating illness struck mother and child. Paris made a full recovery, but Lucille was left irreversibly barren. Thus, the boy began his life with a silver spoon and doting, obscenely wealthy parents. While being an only child had many benefits, such as his whims being indulged and his interests being fully supported, it also came with many expectations from his parents. Early on, they let him know in no uncertain terms that he would be spending his adult life as a surgeon. He was fine with this, even excited himself, until he got his first camera at the age of fifteen on a trip to Paris, his namesake city and the place his parents fell in love.

It was love at first snap for him, and he knew he would never be a doctor like his parents wanted. From that moment on, he could rarely be seen without his camera, and he was obsessed with photography as an art form. Often, he used the painting and drawing skills he had cultivated when he was younger to create even more beautiful works of art, painting directly on the glossy photos or getting them printed on canvases. While his parents supported his hobby, they expressly forbid him from pursuing it as a career. He went on to major in Pre-Med at Oxford University, but he dropped out at the age of 20 without telling his parents.

For three years, he has traveled the world on his parents' dime making the art that he dreamed of making and telling his parents that he's volunteering as a first aid administrator. He has had plain photographs published in such works as National Geographic and many other famous and world-renowned publications under a pseudonym, but he keeps his art hidden away for fear that his recognizable style would catch his parents' attention. He knows that if they ever find out he's lying to them, they'll cut him off or force him to go home, so he is searching for a rich spouse to fund his luxurious lifestyle before his parents dig too deep. His search continues when a photograph competition in Verona, Pennsylvania, caught his attention, along with the history and many beautiful sights of the city.

|{Theme Song}
"Where Did The Party Go"
by Fall Out Boy

Na na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na na na

I'm here to collect your hearts
It's the only reason that I sing
I don't believe a word you say but I can't stop listening
This is the story of how they met
Her picture was on the back of a pack of cigarettes
When she touched him he turned ruby red
A story that they'll never forget
Never forget

And all the boys are smoking menthols
Girls are getting back rubs
I will drift to you if you make yourself shake fast enough
My old aches become new again
My old friends become exes again

Whoa, where did the party go?
We're ending it on the phone
I'm not gonna go home alone
Whoa, where did the party go?

Na na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na na na

I know I expect too much
And not enough all at once
You know I only wanted fun then you got me all fucked up on love
Oh I hoped for your name on the Ouija Board
And your naked magic, oh dear Lord
You and me are the difference between real love and the love on TV, love on TV

And all the boys are smoking menthols
Girls are getting back rubs
I will drift to you if you make yourself shake fast enough
My old aches become new again
My old friends become exes again, yeah

Whoa, where did the party go?
We're ending it on the phone
I'm not gonna go home alone
Whoa, where did the party go?

Na na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na na na

We were the kids who screamed
"We weren't the same, " in sweaty rooms
Now we're doomed to organizing walk-in closets like tombs
Silent film stars stuck in talking cinema life
So let's fade away together one dream at a time

Na na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na na na

Whoa, where did the party go?
We're ending it on the phone
I'm not gonna go home alone
Whoa, where did the party go?

Na na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na na na

Na na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na na na
Na na na na na na na na na na

|{Face Claim}
Theo James

Character Dialogue || #193a24

So begins...

Paris Victor's Story

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Setting

Verona, Pennsylvania

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#2015-05-05 05:45:13, as written by katyisaladybug

◤◥

(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...

~ A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S FESTIVAL ~
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 into...like 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.

Setting

Verona, Pennsylvania

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#2015-05-08 05:17:49, as written by PsychedOut

Paris held a steady gaze on the girl handing out flowers through the finder of his Canon. He had a perfect shot from the bench across the street. His finger pushed the button halfway down, blurring and bringing into focus the vivid sunset colors of the roses. The shutter clicked just as a man bustled past her. Checking the image playback, he knew exactly what he would do with the image when he got the chance: paint the man and the background, outline flower girl in gold. When he looked up from the display screen, flower girl was gone, a colorful pile left in her place.

He didn't look either way as he crossed the street to the roses, trusting that even if a car showed up it would stop for him. He had noticed that the street didn't seem to get a lot of automobile traffic. Instead, the people of Verona tended to walk as far as Paris had observed. Written on the paper tag of an orange rose he picked out of the pile was an announcement for one of those pretentious small town festivals that popped up in every little village that had any semblance of a history and buildings with ivy on them.

Still, he thought, food.

He resolved himself to go, even if only to scope out the scene and the people before the photograph competition.

Setting

Verona, Pennsylvania

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#2015-05-12 05:49:34, as written by katyisaladybug

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.

Setting

Verona, Pennsylvania

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#2015-05-22 00:56:56, as written by PsychedOut

Momentarily distracted by the conversation just out of earshot, Paris turned only to discover the most perfect human he'd ever set eyes on had sneaked up behind him. She was clutching one of the roses from the pile, and though she wasn't exactly frowning at the moment, he could tell she did so more often than not. Her clothes, while casual, were clearly those of someone with expensive taste, and her entire demeanor was lukewarm at best.

Paris had seen beautiful people from around the world, even more beautiful than the woman holding the rose--though to give an example would be impossible at the moment--but none he'd ever met had ever seemed so exactly his type.

Holy shit, he thought. He couldn't believe he hadn't met her yet. He'd been in Verona for over a week, and he thought he'd met everyone and their mother. Regardless, he knew immediately that she was exactly what he was looking for: rich, gorgeous, and bitter as hell.

"Hello," he greeted, sticking his hand out and giving his cockiest grin. "I'm Paris, and you are?"

Setting

Verona, Pennsylvania

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#2015-05-23 03:05:39, as written by JacksColdSweat

________________ＴｈｅＳｈｒｅｗ_________________
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_________________☁ ☁ ☁__________________

__"ι нα∂ α нσℓє ιη му нєαят αη∂ ι ωαѕ ℓσσкιηg ƒσя α ριєcє тнαт ƒιт."
_____________________∂ιαℓσgυє cσℓσя✧#6b856f
_____________________тнσυgнт cσℓσя✦ #854442
______________________________

It was always interesting to walk through the town. She could see in people's body language what they were feeling, what they were thinking, and it was all just so fascinating. She was half tempted to abandon her walk and just take a seat on the park bench for some people watching. It was a quality past-time, and though it certainly wasn't as interesting as "reality" TV, the fabrication of the shows made them boring for her to sit through. She preferred the truth in all matters of the world.

Not so far away from her location, she saw the ever-engaging Benedict Cavillor approach the resident fairy child and bartender. She had been friends with Benedict in her childhood, the smallness of Verona allowing their age difference to be negligible. She supposed they were still friendly on some level, but things now were much, much different than they were when they were children.

Ophelia, on the other hand, was someone she had never really been all too close to. She was something of a dream, too unattainable, too pure for this world, and even as a much more agreeable child, it had intimidated her. Now, as an adult, it just made her uncomfortable. Ophelia's kindness made her feel almost guilty, and she much preferred to not have to deal with those feelings. Beatrice looks annoyed at Ben's presence, and Ben's wicked grin told Kat she had every right to be. She was far from Beatrice's friend, hadn't spoken to her much really, but she did admire the girl's quick mind and blunt honesty. If Kat had anything more than acquaintances, she's sure she'd like Beatrice to be one of those friends. Absentmindedly, she rubbed the soft waxy petals of the rose in her hand.

Then, suddenly, there was a body at her side tearing her away from her thoughts. The face she found herself staring at was attractive, certainly, but there was a smugness in his smile that put her off immediately. The facade of "charming" he had placed on seemed fake, forced. Instantly, she was suspicious of his motives for approaching her. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched his mouth move, hearing his name as her eyes darted down to his now outstretched hand. There was a beat as she merely looked at his hand, an eyebrow raised. Then slowly, making sure to convey the reluctance, she reached out and grasped his hand, shaking firmly and strongly, the way her father used to tell her businessmen would respect.

"Katherine," she answered, as coldly as possible without being outright rude, "to those that have any business using my name." It was far from subtle, and she hoped her chilling introduction was enough to dissuade him from attempting any further conversation as she turned on her heel and continued on in the direction she had been going in.

Setting

Verona, Pennsylvania

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#2015-05-23 04:19:15, as written by PsychedOut

The moment she shook his hand so reluctantly, so business-like, Paris knew he was going to like her. He knew he was getting ahead of himself, but he could picture her already in the places he'd frequented and the ones he'd never been. By his side wherever they wanted to go, a scowl adorning her features in every mental picture that crossed his mind. It was sudden, seeing as they had just met, but it was his nature to throw himself wholeheartedly into everything he did.

And now he had a name.

"Katherine," she said firmly, "to those that have any business using my name." That wiped the smile off Paris's face, only for it to grow back stronger as she walked away. A shiver ran down his back, and he pursued her, jogging a couple steps to catch up with her brisk pace.

"Well, Katherine, will you be going to this 'Midsummer Night's Festival?'" He asked while walking. If he played up his accent a tiny bit in hopes of making himself more attractive to her, well, then no one needed to be the wiser. "If you're going, I might just have a proper reason to make an appearance, instead of just the food. Will there be booze, do you think?"

Setting

Verona, Pennsylvania

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#2015-05-23 05:58:43, as written by JacksColdSweat

________________ＴｈｅＳｈｒｅｗ_________________
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_________________☁ ☁ ☁__________________

She had to admit, watching that smug smirk bleed off his face had been just the smallest bit satisfying. If nothing else, at least he caught on to her meaning. She didn't have the time to be dealing with getting some random guy off her back, not after she had just been cooped up in her room with a textbook for hours. She certainly didn't have the patience.

But then there was the subtle sound of feet hitting pavement, and she looked up from the rose whose petals she had continued caressing to find him at her side once more. Christ, he was persistent. Typically, she admired dogged people, she herself being one, but this was quickly becoming annoying. Hadn't he realized already that she was far from interested?

He spouted some crap about her being a good reason to go to the festival (did this guy get his pick-up lines from a book? As if she hadn't heard that a hundred times before) and the accent that she had missed earlier in his short sentence made itself much more prominent. English of some sort, and Kat had to wonder if all English men were this insistent.

"I had planned on going, but now I'm rethinking it," came her biting reply. She had made the effort to not be outright discourteous, and it had gotten her nowhere. Her patience was running thin, and so she let her tongue run its own course. "From England, are you?" she asked, abruptly changing the subject. "I've always found the concept of family crests so fascinating. What's yours? A coxcomb?" There was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips as she enjoyed the humor of her own insult. When other people rarely appreciated those comments, you learn to do it for them.

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Verona, Pennsylvania

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#2015-05-23 07:21:20, as written by PsychedOut

"I had planned on going," she said, "but now I'm rethinking it." Paris clutched at his heart dramatically.

"You wound me, Katherine," he proclaimed loudly, scrunching his brows and sticking out his lower lip in mock distress. "And to think, you seemed so kind!" The switch in the conversation caught him off guard to say the least. "Yes, actually," he answered honestly, and he straightened himself out. "Stratford. It's right on the Avon River."

He would've been lying to say that her insult and the resulting ghost of a smile playing at her lips weren't the most satisfying parts of the conversation thus far.

"Ah, I see," he deadpanned. "You're very clever. But I'd give up my comb if you would be my hen. So, I'd give you my number, but I haven't got a phone. At least, not one that works here. Let me take you out." He had all the subtlety of a hand grenade, but it had worked for him on more than one occasion.

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Verona, Pennsylvania

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#2015-06-06 17:43:29, as written by JacksColdSweat

________________ＴｈｅＳｈｒｅｗ_________________
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_________________☁ ☁ ☁__________________
_____________________∂ιαℓσgυє cσℓσя✧#6b856f
The over the top portrayal of his "pain" amused her, something that was very nearly a laugh almost escaping her lips. She stopped any noise from leaving her throat, however, lest she betray any hint of emotion other than disgust. Instead, a short huff of air left her mouth, nothing more.

His genuine answer to her question caught her by surprise. Not his willingness to respond, but the response itself. Stratford-upon-Avon. She'd be lying if she said that didn't pique her interest. In fact, she had always wanted to visit the English town, one she was sure must be chock-full of rich history. And she was very keen to see the Royal Shakespeare Theatre.

He responded to her insult quickly, with a hint of wit himself. She was only slightly impressed by his ability to keep up with her. "Stratford-upon-Avon, huh? Yes, I can certainly see the blood of poets runs through the land." She continued her trek towards the trees, tilting her head slightly to catch his eyes, the glint of mischief not going unnoticed. "Cocks without combs have no fighting spirit and, therefore, are not for me. And even if that weren't so, I couldn't go out with you, as I already am out. Thank you for the offer and have a lovely day." She smiled a saccharine smile, mock sincerity seeping out of her every pore. Perhaps the casual dismissal would send him on his way.

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Verona, Pennsylvania

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#2015-06-08 02:23:44, as written by PsychedOut

Paris's grin widened at the half-amused huff she gave him. Even that much of a reaction was encouraging enough for him to keep going, and he was determined to get at least an agreement to see him again, if not her hand in marriage. He could tell his hometown had interested her, and he knew exactly why.

"Shakespeare fan, are you?" he asked. "I'll admit, alas, the blood of poets dwell not in mine body, but the blood of artists runs through these humble veins, I assure you." He bowed exaggeratedly but misjudged the camera that was swinging from the neck strap and promptly hit him in the nose. "How's that for 'fighting spirit,' Katherine?" he prompted, holding his nose between two fingers. "I'll fight my own possessions for you. Don't be so sour. If you're already out, well, then I can just go with you. I have been meaning to find a tour guide of sorts, and you look like you know your way around."

"I've got just one question," he said, ignoring her send-off and realizing he hadn't been to this part of town before. "Where are we going?"

Setting

Verona, Pennsylvania

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#2015-06-08 04:17:35, as written by JacksColdSweat

________________ＴｈｅＳｈｒｅｗ_________________
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_________________☁ ☁ ☁__________________
_____________________∂ιαℓσgυє cσℓσя✧#6b856f
She was a Shakespeare fan indeed, though she wasn't pleased that he had noticed. It didn't matter if he had read every Shakespearean play or sonnet that ever existed; she still wouldn't find the time to deal with any of these antics. She merely shrugged in response to his question, raising an eyebrow at his poor attempt at sounding poetic in order to explain that he wasn't poetic. Which she could see clear as day, especially after that. She supposed the artistry he was speaking of had something to do with the camera hanging around his neck, but she didn't want to ask. That would lead to more conversation.

Making a pointed effort to keep her eyes straight ahead and not let them stray towards him, she nearly missed the best part of their encounter so far. This time, a huff of laughter really did escape her, her lips even quirking up into something of a smile. It was short-lived, however, as she quickly pulled her fist up to her mouth and masked the laughter as a cough. She'd be damned if she'd encourage him to continue speaking to her.

She took a moment to regain her composure, painting her face into a perfect image of disinterest once more. "I can see I was right about you the first time," came her quick retort. "You have all the fighting spirit of a clown." She opened her mouth to respond to his self-invitation on her walk, but was caught off-guard by his last comment. Well, she couldn't say he wasn't straightforward. "We aren't going anywhere," she eventually answered after gathering her wits. "I am going for a walk on the trail that you seem intent on being an unwelcome tag-along on."

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Verona, Pennsylvania

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#2015-06-08 06:41:26, as written by PsychedOut

His fingers itched to capture the tiny, genuine smile that crossed her face in response to his injury, but it was gone before he could even think about turning on his camera. Her face lit up like lightning cracking across the sky and darkened just as quickly. He swallowed a bitter gulp of dissatisfaction at missing the shot.

"A clown?" he asked. "Would a clown be able, or willing, to keep up with you? I think not."

He was glad to have rendered her speechless, if only for mere seconds. Looking around, he found all his surroundings completely foreign, and he knew he wouldn't be making it back to his hotel on his own. He sped up his steps to get in front of her and turned and stopped directly in her path.

"I would take the whole "leaving you alone" bit into more consideration if I hadn't gotten lost in you and, consequently, lost in Verona," he said. "But, since I am lost in one form or another, I might as well follow you where you're going. I'm sure it's much more interesting than sitting alone in a suite waiting for my prints to be ready, and I can't imagine I'm that unwanted if I made you laugh."

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Paris Victor

0 · 843 views · located in Verona, Pennsylvania

a character in “All The World's A Stage”, as played by PsychedOut

Description

So begins...

Paris Victor's Story

Setting

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