
âOne moment was all it took.
One moment and the world turned upside down.â
â Nicknames | J.C and Jay are commonly used and accepted.
â Age | 21 years old
â Gender | Male
â Date of Birth | Apirl 9th 1996 - Aries - Year of the Rat.
â Birthplace | Broussard, Louisiana / New Orleans, Louisiana
â Orientation | Heteroflexible / Panromantic
â Occupation | Artist - Bartender
â Dominant Hand | Left Handed
â Blood Type | Type O
â Languages | English mixed with some french words here and there.
"In order for you to insult me, I would first need to value your opinion"

â Weight | 172lbs
â Body Build | Athletic, Toned.
â Skin Tone | Fair complexion, with a bit of a natural all year round tan.
â Hair | Thick, dense, dark blonde with fairer almost white blonde highlights.
â Eyes | Bright ocean blue.
â Markings | He has a angel tattoo on his right shoulder,that goes down his arm toward his elbow. he has a small crossed roses tattoo on the side of his wrist. A light sprinkling of freckles on his nose and cheeks. Not a marking but something notable. He has a southern accent.
â Normal Attire | Comfortable. His style is very relaxed,
casual. Definately more functional than fashionable. He tends to gravitate toward darker colors, and is very much a t-shirt,
hoodie, and jeans kinda guy.
â Accessories | He has his right ear pierced once. Wears a simple diamond stud. Is always, without fail, wearing a older plain gold cross necklace. He also tends to enjoy rings.
ISTP

Passionate ⊠Creative ⧠Passionate ⊠Private ⧠Protective ⊠Determined
He is not deaf, or hard of hearing, he promises. But, he knows there are times when people often wonder. This is likely due to his tremendous talent for zoning out entirely. Prone to lapsing into long, contemplative silences, even when he's fully visible, in a public setting, and the confused waitress is trying to get his order. He will, unquestionably miss bits and pieces of conversations that are aimed at him, often resulting in him getting only the barest impression of what was being said, and occasionally this leads to rather inappropriate responses or vague responses that hint heavily that he wasn't entirely present for whatever was happening in that moment. He simply can seem infuriatingly blase.
That being said, he isn't antisocial, or unsocial. He mostly enjoys the company of people, finding them fascinating, if occasionally frustrating. In general, why he is on the quiet side of the spectrum, he is also relaxed, quick thinking, and highly opinionated. Do not mistake his silence for cowardice or a meek personality. He can be playful with the right people, or if you catch him in that kind of mood - no, it is not a default setting for him - and he's unfailingly loyal to those he considers friends, sometimes to a fault.
Conor has a thing about control and likes being in control of himself. He is stubborn and can be unyielding when he believes he is correct or that he knows best. He likes stories, and he likes engaging conversations. Small talk is a surefire way to get his eyes to glaze over, and for him to grow restless and bored. Yes, Conor can be a real grump some of the time, and this boy is not a morning person, so morning people beware. A few chosen souls can pester him regardless of his grump level, and be spared any overly snarky comments.
While not easy to rile up - he doesn't have much of a 'temper' - once that fuse has been lit, his anger when unleashed is raw, passionate, fierce. He loses the ability to censor or filter himself, and it often makes him behave rashly and harshly. He is a sociable creature, but he is also very introverted. He needs his space, his alone time, and his independence. If denied these things - which he dramatically views as essential to life - he will become sullen, withdrawn, snappish and lose what precious little patience he's managed to develop over the years. It is only after he has managed to get his 'me time' that he'll calm down, and the more fun-loving man inside will once again come out to play.
"Adventure may hurt you, but monotony will kill you."

Water. He loves swimming and the Oceans. Singing at the top of his lungs in the car. Dogs. Flirting. Not being forced to engage in small talk. Alone time. Rainy days. Sleeping in. Coffee - about the only thing he's addicted to these days. Road trips and Traveling.
â Dislikes | Being restricted. Being rudely criticized.
Being coddled.When someone he doesn't know discovering he's an artist and asking him to 'draw them something'. Small talk. Being caught not listening. Spaghetti. People with major sticks up their arses. Senseless Cruelty. Shit don't stink types.
â Stengths | Unflappable, Determined, Strong willed
â Weaknesses | Unyielding, Reserved, Moody
â Fears | Relapsing: He is afraid of falling back into old habits, and finding himself on that road again.
Death:The idea that in an instant, everything someone was or could be would simply be gone. Is absolutely terrifying.
After his father flew the coop, he and his mom stayed in their small home in Broussard for a year of living paycheck to paycheck. It wasn't easy, and James sometimes thinks he's fortunate to not remember hardly anything from that period of his life beyond the occasional hazy flash or feeling. After the year was up, his mother finally put her pride aside and sought help from her mother and sister. This act was how James would come to be raised in a household full to bursting with women. He lived from roughly the age of five until he graduated high school with his grandmother Adella, his auntie Sophia, and his mother Julianna. Oh, can't forget his twin cousins (his aunt's daughters) May and Stephanie. Being the only boy in a house of women taught him a good many things, one of which was how to make some of the best damn gumbo you'd ever taste (family recipe shhh)
His mom never remarried but dated off and on throughout the years. James responded in a typical boy fashion, he was protective of his mother, and sometimes would do his best to sabotage her relationships. Something he isn't very proud of now that he is a grown man, but as an eight-year-old boy, he saw no issues with putting dog poop into the shoes of the poor fella staying over for supper, or spray painting the side of some fancy ass guys sparkling car. His attitude was poor as shit, he's cross his arms over his little chest, and bit his lower lip in an effort to avoid conversation. It was about this time that he started tuning out conversations and retreating inside himself, coming up with stories, pranks, or contemplating just how he could get away with taking apart his grandmother's VCR in an effort to get her to invest in something newer.
Beyond his home life, which was fairly good, if occasionally chaotic. James did well in school - when he actually tried- and made a fast friend in a boy named Steven. They were thick as thieves from the beginning and managed to create a bond that would be solidified over the years into something unbreakable. This was very apparent late middle-school and throughout their high school years. James had discovered a love and talent for the arts. He stayed up late watching horror flicks and then dreaming up short horror stories that he submitted to various forums for casual reading. He enjoyed taking real-life situations, something believable and twisting them into something that could give a person chills or hopefully nightmares. Sketching became a way to deal with the occasional bout of insomnia or depression, as did music. Music speaks to the soul, and he is never without his iPod and at least two pairs of headphones. Hey, he doesn't have a bad voice either. Meanwhile, his pal went on to become a popular jock, football of all damn things. Which meant parties, and a whole different kind of social group.
But they remained close.
An injury would steal Steven's dream of going pro, and James for all his skills at observing and reading people failed to see the signs that should have been as bright as a flashing neon sign. Two months after graduation, his friend lost the battle with depression and took his life. It rocked James to his core, devastated their families and friends and left him feeling hollow with shock and disbelief. Up until this point, there had been very little in the way of truly earth-shattering events in his life. James didn't remember his father well enough to feel this counted, though it did impact him more than he realizes, even now. The biggest thing, he can't remember the pain of his father leaving. But the pain that was left after his best friend passed away sits like a weight on his chest. It's lessened over the years, but it's never really gone, just comes and goes.
The plain gold cross he wears on his neck belonged to Steven, given to him by Steven's father some months after. James spiraled after his friend's death. His depression deepened, and he lost the urge to write, to draw. He isn't proud of it, but when he wasn't holed up in his room, doing his absolute best to stare a hole into the wall, he was drinking and experimenting with a questionable group of 'friends'. He wanted to numb the pain. Before he even realized it, it had evolved into something else, something that had dug its claws into him deeply, he just couldn't see it. He might have continued on this dark path if it hadn't been for an intervention by family and friends. The initial 'talk' failed. Who were they to tell him what to do? He scoffed at their pleas, rolled his eyes when they talked about junkies who'd died with nothing, and outright laughed when they tried to bring up rehab. He wasn't addicted to anything. He just used stuff to take the edge off sometimes.
James didn't believe they could understand.
Honestly, if it weren't for his grandmother...well, he believes he might ever have bothered changing his ways. It's so much easier to continue down the chosen path, then to try to take an entirely new one. It was a few months after that first attempt, and while he was on bad terms with pretty much everyone in his home at that point and his mother and aunt wanted to toss him onto the streets as a 'tough love' kind of thing. His grandmother had refused. But that night, she'd walked slowly into his room, leaning heavily on her cane, her long silvery hair pinned back into a bun. James will never forget her image, the look of absolute heartache in those pale blue eyes.
She'd taken a seat on his bed, where he'd been laying, exhausted, coming down from one of his 'highs' and taken his hand. How it'd felt. Soft, her skin paper thin and yet like silk. She'd just talked to him for a long time, told him stories, reminded him of things he'd long since forgotten. At the end, she'd laid her hand on his cheek, looked him in the eyes, and told him in essence - that while she loved him, and while she understood the pain of loss - she would not watch him kill himself. Up until this point, his grandmother had been curiously quiet about the entire thing, and when she asked him to leave home...it impacted him in a way that not even his own mother could manage.
Not that he doesn't love his mom to bits. He does. But there was something about the way she said it that night that finally struck a cord. Change is hard, and it didn't happen overnight. James didn't wake up the next morning and suddenly have the will and absolute desire to change. His grandmother didn't just magically change her mind. He was still forced to leave his home, forced to deal with the ugly reality of the situation he had willingly embraced with open arms. He was barely nineteen years old. It took months. It wasn't pretty or easy, and he fell off a few times. But by the time he was celebrating his twenty-first birthday, he'd been clean for over a year and was determined to remain that way. James never did return to his grandmother's home, but he managed to make some peace with her a few months before her death, and afterward, he began the task of trying to repair the damage done to his other relationships.
It hasn't been an easy road, but James has started living again, and working on his art, listening to his music. He prefers to keep looking forward while acknowledging what happened in the past. Honestly, he figures, if he could get through that, he can meet just about anything that might come his way in the future. With that in mind, six months ago, James decided to make a big change for himself. He needed something fresh. While he loves New Orleans, it's his home. He packed up his car, kissed his mama goodbye and headed to New York. The city that never sleeps is fresh, new, different from what he's experienced in his short twenty-one years on this earth, and he plans to enjoy it. When he's ready, he'll move on. Well...thats the plan anyway.