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Heine Freuling

0 · 617 views · located in Dystopia

a character in “LOUD”, as played by Cayleen


Heine Freuling

Think of something, anything, just be creative


Gang Affiliation:
Bullet; Leader

Heine has never fit in well; his display of surprisingly stark-white hair and seemingly inhuman, piercing-red eyes cause him to stick out in even the largest of crowds. His pale, nearly translucent skin, natural to those of albino heritage, adds to the inhuman factor. Another factor that ensures unwanted attention is his height. Even as a young boy, Heine had been taller than the majority of children his age, towering over them in what seemed a menacing manner. His height, along with his overall strange and unnatural appearance, often intimidated others to the point they would blatantly avoid him, leaving Heine, on more than one occasion, encased in solitude and his own, nearly intolerable, loneliness. Today, standing at approximately 6’3”, he can still be found at the taller end of the height spectrum and he is just as, if not more, intimidating as he was in his earlier years. His tall, sturdy frame is accompanied by robust and carefully toned muscles entwined throughout his entire structure.

Scars riddle Heine’s entire body but appear most vividly around the pallid skin of his neck. There is one scar in particular that catches the eyes of most strangers; it is a large and crude burn mark that stretches from the back vertebrates of his neck to the frontal area of his throat. It was received during one of many gang wars when an opposing gang member took a scalding crowbar and struck him across the neck, twisting and pressing until a large and painful disfigurement was left behind. Typically, long white bandages can be seen wrapped loosely around Heine’s neck, almost like a scarf, in an attempt to ward off unnecessary and undesired attention. Broad shoulders serve as the base of his strong, heavily scarred neck and branch out into two equally strong arms. These arms curve and swell in an almost elegant manor as they reach the biceps and triceps. The toned muscles of his arms gently recede as they near Heine’s narrow wrists and spread into a pair of slender hands adorned with long, spidery fingers. His body is just as muscular as his arms, his chest and stomach wrought with carefully toned and chiseled muscles.

Heine typically garbs in casual attire, avoiding excess attention wherever he can. This “casual attire” consists of a pair of lengthy, threadbare, dark wash jeans most likely found in a dank alleyway, a worn, button up shirt, and a pair of heavy, dark leather boots. His entire ensemble tells tales of wear and was obviously designed for someone other than Heine. The jeans are much too long for his muscular legs and if it weren’t for the fact he bunched the fabric up around the ankles slightly, Heine would find himself tripping over the slightly flared, shredded hems. Heine’s torso dons a thin, darkly colored button-up shirt that clings nicely to his frame. The sleeves, no longer reaching his wrists as they were once designed to, seem to have been torn mid-way down his forearm, exposing a strip of scarred, vampiric skin. During the colder months and to every gang meeting or fight, Heine can be seen garbed in a slim-fitting bomber jacket made of a soft brown leather. The sleeves of this jacket, falling just short of his wrists, are adorned by a pair of small, cracked buttons made of what appears to be bronze. Typically this jacket is worn partially zipped up, exposing either the tattered collar of his shirt or bare skin. A pair of greatly worn, brown leather gloves encase his slender hands and spidery fingers, protecting them from any excess damage.

Body art and piercings have never appealed to Heine, but even with his opposition towards them he still bares both. Just above his heart, Poison’s signature music note symbol resides in simple, yet beautiful, black ink. He does not pride himself in this mark but is not ashamed to admit he does. Along the side of his right ribcage the Bullet’s symbol of a gun resides in a vibrant crimson. Heine wears both his ears pierced in an avant-garde style, with four small, identical silver hoops spread out from his lobes to the top of his cartilage.

Heine is rather introverted, meaning that his deep emotions and anxieties tend not to be clearly expressed. He tends to react extremely slowly when confronted by antagonism or strong emotions, unwilling to accidentally leek his true emotions or thoughts. As a result of his delayed and sometimes dull response, Heine is slower to speak out, tempted to procrastinate, and reticent. He is very reclusive and prefers solitude and quiet over his social life. He rarely speaks unless spoken to but when he does, he speaks his mind truthfully and without hesitation. Though he will respond if you speak to him directly, the majority of Heine's responses are brusque and monosyllabic. The extreme introversion, along with the melancholic tendency to negativity, makes it difficult for him to give compliments and make upbeat small talk. It also causes him to instinctively say “no” when he first hears a request. Others may perceive this as “snobbishness” when, in fact, it is not.

For the most part he is conservative, extremely lax, easy-going, has a dry wit and a bit of a temper. Though it is rare and extremely difficult to ignite his temper, those unfortunate enough to witness it will tell you as soon as it is released it causes him to violently lose control of his emotions and lash out both verbally and physically. He has wounded and killed many while consumed by his blinding rage and often looks back upon the victims, pondering how he might have been able to keep his composure a little while longer.

Occasionally, if you ever do get close enough to earn his emotional trust, he may tell small bits of his inward suffering, but be aware that he is not revealing the true depth of his emotions to you. He may become offended (though he would never reveal this) or discouraged by criticism or harsh words, often kicking himself from the inside and suffering in solitude. He has a slight tendency to perfectionism and critical judgments of others and will not let mistakes go un noticed.
The faux mask of collectivism and calm he dons fools many, leading them to believe he is “emotionless” and un afraid to take risks. He appears to be unconcerned about his own wellbeing or that of others which is, for the most part, true. He could honestly care less if he or another got themselves injured due to their own stupidity.

Heine was born and spent the first few years of his life in Germany with his mother, father, and younger sister. Throughout his childhood he was deliberately disregarded and deemed an outcast due to his strange, albino appearance. Many children his age were scared or intimidated by his presence and Heine was forced into a prison of solitude and his own, nearly intolerable, loneliness. As a young boy Heine spent most his time mulling around in his own mind, searching desperately for an answer to why he was such an outcast and to how he could be accepted. He never once found a correct answer and eventually accepted he was to forever be a freak.

Heine and his small family moved around quite often after living in Germany, and it wasn’t until they arrived in Ireland that they finally settled down once more. The family of four resided in a quaint little house in Northern Ireland, isolated from the prying eye of the public and it was here Heine finally began to feel at ease with himself.

Several years passed and Heine, now the age of 12, had finally shed his barrier and depression that had been separating him from the world and others. Instead of the indifferent gaze his red eyes usually held and dull, lifeless expression that adorned his face, he was talking freely and laughing. Along with the smiles and laughter that became known after the barrier had been peeled away, Heine’s temper steadily began to appear more and more often, almost as if it refused to lose to the positive emotions. It was nothing major or necessarily “dangerous”, just the occasional snap or angry outburst if someone asked him a question he did not wish to answer or acted in a certain manor that he did not approve of.

A few more years passed in the peaceful house and Heine had become quite content with his life. His sister, Angelica, was one of his closest friends and they would do just about everything together. Like most younger siblings, Angelica had decided it was quite fun to evoke her older brother’s temper and did it quite often. Her techniques varied and it was rare for her to use the same method twice. Of course, Heine never found her jokes as enjoyable as she obviously did and would often be sent in a fiery rage, harmful words spewed from his mouth and he often took his anger out on an unexpecting tree or inanimate object. Though these outbursts were surprisingly violent, they only lasted a few seconds and he never once inflicted pain upon a living creature.

Though they often clashed, Angelica and Heine loved each other dearly and rarely did anything without the other at their side. Since they enjoyed spending so much time together, they often went outside in the large forest/meadow that surrounded their home to talk or walk in silence together, simply enjoying the presence of the other. Unfortunately for Heine, it was not uncommon for Angelica to play harmless jokes or poke innocent fun at him as they walked together.

Heine had managed to keep up with his consistent pattern of never harming a living creature while angered, and it wasn’t until the very last time the siblings were seen together that he finally did break it.

A faint breeze welcomed the two fair-haired siblings, Heine now the age of 14 and Angelica of 12, as they exited their cozy house. Pale flower petals floated gently across the clear sky and nestled gently on the worn, grass path that lead to the meadow only a few minute walk from the spot the siblings stood. Angelica inhaled deeply, giggling as one of the signature rosy-pink flower petals of the neighboring apple trees caught and stuck on her nose before fluttering off and settling on the lush green grass hiding the siblings’ feet from view. A small smile graced Heine’s pallid lips and he gently patted his sister’s head, ruffling her long, color drained hair. With a wide smile Angelica skipped away from the house and into the shade of the surrounding Sweet-Chestnut and Beech trees.

With a deep and refreshing breath of late spring air, Heine followed after his sister. He pushed his way through uncooperative underbrush and low hanging branches, stumbling into a flood of green. The grass was long, covering his shoes and tickling his ankles beneath his jeans, the bark of the huddling trees were covered in moist moss, and Beech and Sweet Chestnut grew in a thick, unruly manor as most all of the sun’s golden rays were blocked from the slightly worn path. Small diamonds of light that had forced their way through the dense canopy of green danced across the albino male’s face and shoulders as he searched for his sister.

There was no sign of his fair haired sister and figuring she left for the meadow without him, Heine began following the grassy path. Small bird chirped their song merrily in the high branches and the low hum of lively insects could be heard from all around as Heine made his way at a leisure pace to the where the narrow path ended. A lush wall of flowering Laurel bushes loomed before him, blocking all view of the other side and Heine had turned to his side to in order to squeeze past them. The pale boy wormed his way through and had to push himself from the leafy confinement.

The fair-haired male was blinded by a white brilliance and he shielded his face with a smooth, bare arm as his sensitive eyes were not yet use to the intense brightness of the sun. Slowly lowering his arm from his vampire-pale face, Heine squinted his ruby eyes in an attempt to adjust his vision. The white brilliance slowly faded as his eyes adjusted and before him was a picturesque meadow surrounded by trees and flowering bushes. The grass was long and lushes, small, colorful flowers peaking up from the ground to catch the rays of the sun.

Heine glanced around the wide, open meadow in search of the fair-haired girl he called his kin. There was no sign of another human presence within the blooming meadow and what felt like a stone dropped to the pit of Heine’s stomach. It wasn’t like Angelic to leave her brother’s side for so long and worried questions and thoughts began to buzz nosily inside Heine’s head. Where could she have gone? Was she harmed? Did something attack her? Did she trip and hurt herself somewhere within the forest? The slight worry began to bloom into something larger and the pale boy began to look around frantically for Angelica. He called her name several times, and for each the only response given was the gentle hum of forest life and the gentle breeze rustling the leaves.

A loud, rumbling, growl-like sound became audible from behind Heine and the Laurel shrubs began to shake. Heine’s entire body went rigged, the fine hairs of his neck and arms standing on end. He turned slowly; red eyes wide and heard the rustling grow louder. A slight flicker of fear flashed across the boy’s vampiric face as the flowering shrubs were practically thrown apart and a blurred figure shot out from the dark. The figure leapt onto Heine’s back, causing him to collapse into the soft grass of the brightly lit meadow. Heine’s eyes grew even wider still but the fear was replaced by a scorching anger. Was this the thing that got his sister? What right did it have shoving him to the ground? Did it think it was better than him? Every muscle of the albino’s body tensed in preparation of fight and his eyes narrowed. His spidery fingers reached back and clutched a handful of soft, silky material. Heine pulled his arm sharply back, never letting go of the fine material he was gripping, and the attacker crashed painfully onto the lush grass before Heine.

The albino male quickly straddled the fallen attacker and began pounding away at its smooth face. The flesh was soft against his knuckles and the silky material Heine had grabbed earlier splayed crazily around the pale attacker’s face like an unruly white halo. Heine maliciously drove fist after fist against the once rosy cheeks of the figure below him, a warm liquid slowly covering his boney knuckles. Feminine shrieks and cries of pain echoed throughout the meadow and the attacker inaudibly screamed Heine’s name. The furious teen was oblivious to all sounds aside from the rapid beating of his own heart against his rib cage and continued to beat down in his mad rage. Splats of red flecked across Heine’s pale face and equally pale shirt as the screams continued to echo in the open space.

The attacker struggled for freedom but Heine was much too strong, easily overpowering it. A sickening crack was heard as the ever strengthening blows shattered the nose and cheekbones. The beating went on like this for several minutes until the screaming faded and the struggling ceased. But even after the body below him went limp with death Heine continued to madly beat at the attacker with bloodied fists.

Several more minutes sped by before the blows stopped. Heine’s arms hung limply at his sides, blood dripping onto the red stained grass as he sat there still startling his attacker. His heart was pounding wildly within the confinements of his chest and his breath came hard and sharply. The angered and exhausted teen panted heavily and as his breathing slowed and his pulse regulated itself his anger began to evaporate.

Now completely composed and back to his normal self, Heine glanced down at his attacker only to have his stomach lurch and pulse quicken. Below him lay what once was a beautiful, white-haired female. To a stranger the mutilated and deformed state of what should have been a face would be unrecognizable but Heine was no stranger. Between his legs lay the lifeless and disfigured body of his beloved sister Angelica. Her long hair ever so similar to that of her brothers splayed crazily about her body and the thin fabrics of the dress she donned did the same.

What sounded like a choking sob emitted from the heartbroken boy and his shaking arms carefully scooped his still sister’s body from the bloodied grass. Her now crimson-stained hair fell limply against her barely warm corps as he lifted her body, crushing her against himself. A loud sob shook the white-haired boy’s entire frame as he clutched at his deceased sister’s mangled body. Broken sobs and the mumbling of Angelica’s name were muffled as Heine buried his face in her sticky red and white hair.

A great deal of time went by like this until the teen’s sobs subdued to a quiet sniffle. Gaining some of his composure, Heine slowly lowered his sister’s body into the crimson grass and his scarlet orbs glanced to the right. His gaze rested upon the lovely flowers and he slowly pried himself from his sister to pick the blooms. After collecting a fine handful, Heine returned to his sister. After laying the small bouquet across her chest Heine stood up and reluctantly turned away towards the Laurel shrubs. These were the very shrubs his “attacker” had surprised him from, most likely with the intention of a good laugh in mind. Heine paused for only a moment before slipping pass the wall of green and back onto the worn path that lead back to his home.

For the entire walk back Heine had his head bent down, staring spitefully at the blood on his clenched fists. The path came to an end and once again Heine was Imageblinded by the brilliant sun. The two rubies adorning his mournful face adjusted and came to rest upon the looming figure of the building he called his home. The sound of laughter sounded from the open windows and Heine’s heart sank. His parents. How would he tell them? How
could he tell them? He couldn’t and he wouldn’t. With one huge decision the 14 year old Heine fled from Ireland without a glance back at his former home.

After fleeing his home Heine wandered from country to country, never quite finding his place. His heart became cold and calloused with time and found he no longer cared about his existence in the corrupt world he now found himself submerged in. He found himself in numerous fights all resulting in many scars and wounds, both inside and out. One of these fights had gotten particularly gory: Heine had killed several of the adversaries and after finishing off one last man, an opposing enemy had snuck up from behind, striking the preoccupied Heine across the neck with a scalding crowbar. The attacker twisted and pressed the searing crowbar against the pallid skin of Heine’s neck until a large and painful disfigurement was left behind. Heine had fallen to the cold flooring with a howling cry of pain and it was here he awaited further attacks. But to his slight surprise no such attacks came. Still writhing in pain, the albino propped himself up on one elbow as the other arm was busy nursing his wound and glanced around the room. His attacker lay in a pool of blood on the floor and a man, not quite as large in stature as Heine, stood above the corps. A wry smile spread across the male’s face and he knelt before Heine. He introduced himself as the leader of Poison, a newly formed all-male gang. The man then helped Heine to his feet and led him to a large building. Once they were inside, the leader led him to a large room, colors of red and white swirled around them as Heine made his way to small couch. The albino pressed the ice the leader had given him to the new and painful wound. Not long after, the man told Heine they were in Poison’s main hangout. The man then offered Heine to stay and rest up in headquarters, which he reluctantly accepted. Heine found it rather nice in Poison’s headquarters; the members were generally tolerable and Heine had revived the most rest and care than he had in years. After making a near complete recovery, the leader summoned Heine. Heine slowly entered the leader’s room as commanded and it was here he was asked to join the Poison as their muscle. Heine had looked at the leader when he asked him with a shocked look and after long consideration he also accepted in a reluctant manor.

About a year went by and the kind man and founder of Poison was surpassed and soon so was the new leader and they cycle repeated itself quite a few times before one of the youngest members claimed the title. Ryley Solarus, more commonly known as Soul, was one of the youngest members and he had easily snagged the title of Poison’s leader. Heine and Soul often clashed as their ideals were near polar opposites. Heine viewed Ryley as a young, spoiled child who valued nothing but his own sense of pride. Ryle, in Heine’s mind, was not suit to lead the gang and after several years of quarrels and near fights, Heine left Poison.

So once again the lonely albino male was alone on the streets. He wandered for several months, earning himself countless more scars and injuries and It wasn’t until he came to know the Bullets that his life seemed to have any light.

Bullets were both a male and female gang who resided in a purple themed hangout and donned gun tattoos and dog tags. The gang was low in numbers and quickly accepted Heine as one of their own. He received the signature tattoo along his right side and ribcage along with three dog tags. Upon receiving the dog tags, Heine took his dagger and crudely engraved a name in each. On the third tag below the name theTLA symbol was also engraved.

Heine started out a low ranking but slowly ascended. He became muscle, then second in command, and then after much hard work, leader. It has now been over eight months since Heine had left Poison and he has grown to love Bullets dearly.

A black Mauser C96 Pistol: it is connected to his belt by a long chain attached to the base of the grip which he often uses the for close range combat, choking or restraining opponents with it.
Twin daggers: They reside in identical sheaths strapped to his back and hidden beneath his shirt.
Brass Knuckles: Not his favorite choice of weapon but as leader he has to represent

Paul Revere - Beastie Boys
Linkin Park - Bleed It Out
Linkin Park - Somewhere I Belong
Fort Minor - Remember The Name

[size=130]Anything Else?

He wears his three dog tags securely fastened to the belt loop on his left hip

So begins...

Heine Freuling's Story