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Thyme Sinclair

Stupidity is a contagion that should be treated with quarantine, but, since government officials are well aware they have already caught it, it is not.

0 · 167 views · located in California

a character in “Notting's”, as played by Cayleen

Description

~♩~ ~♩~
Thyme Sinclair
Image



Name:
Thyme Sinclair
”Aye. Thyme. As in the herb. Pronounced like time. Don’t like it? Don’t wanna hear it.”

Nickname(s):
Splendid
”Don’t. Just don’t.”

Race:
Human
”Wrong. I’m a seven foot pixi.”

Age:
19
”Legal, bitchez~"

Gender:
Male
”Does this really need clarification?”

Ethnicity:
Scottish
”Aye, I do have a ‘wee bit’ of an accent.” *insert eye roll and extreme sarcasm here* “Can’t understand me? Deal.”

Orrientation:
Homosexual
”Mmmm… Cock.”

Romantic Interest:
None
”Romance? Love? Kind, genuine human emotions? Pshhh. No such thing.”

Residence:
Picture a big city. Good, now imagine walking downtown and taking a sharp turn into a dark alley. Follow down the narrow enclosure, careful to avoid the discarded trash and bums of course, then exit and look around. The attractive, glistening front the government put up at the entrance of the city has worn away and left nothing but corroding structures that now serve as housing for many a species; the inhabitants range from various molds and vines to rodents and underpaid homosapiens.

Now, envision walking along the cracked pavement (careful not to trip on any protruding tree roots or weeds sprouting from the many cracks)and coming to a halt within the shadow of a tall, decaying building with a lean to rival that of the Tower of Pisa. Only the many windows and small sections of dusty-red brick are visible through the flowering bougainvillea vines crawling up the four storied building towards the roof. The main entrance, a door of course, is teal and copper speckled do to the rusting of its original copper components. After twisting the antique, rust-dusted doorknob and pushing through, the warmest greeting to be received would be that of a relatively quiet hallway clad in peeling wall paper of a faded green hue. Feeling lonely or upset with the lack of proper greetings? Don’t worry, just search for a small crevasse and more than likely there will be some relative to the rodent family awaiting to say hello. That doesn’t sound appealing? Well then, just follow the hall, passing the elevator (it’s been out of order for years), and make thy way up the steep, concrete steps to the third floor. After the third flight, take a right turn, stopping after approximately six steps, and then turn to the right once more. The greeting this time will be left not in the theoretical hands of a welcome may, but instead in those of a rather large spot of mold (or maybe its moss… No one’s really taken the time to closely examine it…) that’s accumulated in a rather large crack in the wall near apartment C2’s door and being maintained by a steady drip falling from a mystery dark spot from the ceiling.

Inside, apartment C2 is, though quite bare and plain, surprisingly well kept. It’s a rarity to find more than a few pieces of trash littering the flat surfaces of the small living quarters and the clothes are separated neatly into to crumpled heaps on the single bedroom’s floor; clean and dirty. Other than the small bedroom, there are only a few other rooms in Splendid’s humble abode: a dinky, make-shift kitchen, a small living room consisting of a love seat and a folding chair and a table, and the last room is an equally small bathroom.


”In other words, I live in a shitty ass apartment that’s probably in violation of more than a dozen health codes.”

Appearence:
Thyme definitely has a… unique look to him. Some may find him attractive while others may not; his own opinion on aesthetics is something relatively close to, “who gives a shit”.

His physique is that of a skeleton; tall, lanky, and stick-thin. He stands at about six foot one and his thin frame is adorned by lanky limbs and smooth, crème coloured skin. His muscle structure is thin and wiry and tells wild tales of his intense, daily workout of walking up and down the stairs of the apartment building he inhabits. His height does not help his physique as it seemingly stretches him out, and neither does the size of his hands and feet. Both his hands and feet are larger than average, and in comparison, make him seem that much thinner. His five digits on each of his hands and feet are, like the rest of him, long and bony.

”Yee know what they say about big hands and feet.”

Judging by his rather poor physique, one might conclude that Splendid is undernourished. When one thinks of undernourished, he thinks sickly complexion does he not? Well, Thyme does not have the complexion of the sick and is therefore not undernourished (or so he would argue). His skin carries the colour and hue of fresh crème and to the touch feels smooth to the point of almost silken (daily moisturizing and limited physical labour will do that). His skin tone is even through and through save fore but one spot on his heart shaped face. Racing through Splendid’s left orb is a thick, vertical scar that starts mid forehead and ends below his cheekbone.

This slight imperfection is the result of an accident that occurred many years back when the Sinclair family still lived in Scotland. It was Thyme’s eighth birthday and his father was put in charge of finding an entertainer for the afternoon party. Being the penny pincher he was, Mr. Sinclair found one of the cheapest birthday preforming clowns he could and signed him up to entertain at Thyme’s party. Thyme was ecstatic when he heard a clown was going to be entertaining for his birthday and thanked his father graciously.

On the day of the party, the hired clown showed up piss drunk. This fact went unnoticed by the guests for they all thought he was doing his job; acting like a clown. Though drunk, the clown was able to run through the classic party behaviors, e.g, balloon animals and lame ass jokes. After his mini show, the clown pulled the birthday boy aside and told him that because it was his special day he got a private show. Being the naïve and excitable boy he was, Thyme eagerly agreed and followed after the clown.

The clown stopped inside the Sinclair’s kitchen/dining room and quickly turned around to the bubbling redhead. The much larger male grabbed the petite child by his shoulders and slammed him against the wall. Thyme gasped in a mixture of shock and pain as the breath rushed out of him and would have struggled or screamed as he felt a large hand grip the hem of his pants had he not been gasping for oxygen. His body stiffened as he felt cold hands diving into his shorts and fought to regain his breath as he weakly fought against his captor. He felt areas he knew should be off limits being touched and as soon as he began to regain his breath, started yelling for him to stop and futilely trying to tear himself away from the monstrous man. The sound of a door flying open halted the large man in his unholy pursuits and Thyme seized his chance; he lurched forward and squirmed out of the grasp of the clown and darted for where his younger sister stood confused in the doorway. In his haste Thyme didn’t notice how his shorts were now pooling around his ankles and fell forward to the tile. He clambered back up as fast as he could but unfortunately misjudged the distance between himself and the dining room table. His head smacked painfully onto the corner of the table on his way up and laced a fiery string of pain through his skull. He fell back to the floor and brought a hand up to cover the burning sensation on his face, only to pull it away and find it dripping in red. The hasty retreat had resulted in a nasty gash running vertically from left cheek to the top of his forehead.

Thyme is not one to fret upon aesthetics and appearances, but does not take his fortunate looks for granted. Stationed evenly on either side of a centered, downward slopping nose are two emerald-green eyes. Circling the pupil is a mist of brown and golden specs that reach out to greet the intense blend of swirling greens in scattered flecks. The outermost ring of the iris is a significantly darker shade of green than the rest of the iris and can be best describe as a deep evergreen. Framing these eyes are thick veils of deep red lashes that leave hint to the blunet’s natural hair colour. Below his slightly pointed nose is a pair of slight lips that accompany a rather large mouth. The lips are a few shades darker than the rest of his skin and are usually parted in an expression of indifference or light distaste.

Atop his head resides a messed thatch of unruly, sky-blue locks that fall in an uneven frame around his face. It’s hopefully obvious that blue is not Thyme’s natural colour. Before the blunet was introduced to the wonderful product known as hairdye, he stayed true to his Scottish heritage and proudly donned a disarray of fiery red locks. The aspiring poet might wish to shed a ray of poetic light onto the reasoning behind Thyme’s unique choice in hair colour by suggesting that because his head has been in the clouds for so long, a piece of the sky was torn away and captured by his locks when he finally came crashing back down. Splendid would quite happily tear these whimsical thoughts asunder by informing the poet that his sky blue colouring was a result of nothing but a careless whim and, of course, before walking off would ever so kindly notify them that their poetry sucks ass.


Personality:
Lazy, blunt, a lover of sarcasm and lounging, and basically an unmotivated antisocial who get's a kick out of annoying other's.
(will elaborate at a later date.)


Family:
Mother (Shona Sinclair)- She is the source behind both Thyme’s natural fiery mop and unbearable nickname. Shona is a tall, thin woman with an affinity for nicknames and all things unique. She’s a stay at home mom and entertains herself with gardening and experimenting with obscure and foreign recipes.

Father (Duncan Sinclair)- Mr. Sinclair is a tall, burly man with thick black curls covering his head and most of his chin. He spends most his time working on large construction projects or in an array of pubs, and when he’s home he enjoys relaxing and spending time with his wife. Mr. Sinclair locks his emotions away and prefers to appear as a boulder; strong and immovable

Sister (Nessa Sinclair)- She dyes and straightens her long, curly red locks to the point not a single curl or wave is left and the red is a pitching midnight. Nessa is a year Thyme’s junior but likes to believe her mentality is over a decade his senior. She and her brother differ greatly: she’s starting college and aspiring to get a medical degree, whereas Thyme’s only motivation to go out of his room is his reluctance to be evicted if he can’t cough up rent; Nessa uses what little time to herself she has studying or making sure her appearance is proper and appealing whilst Splendid sits on his couch and sees how many pencils and toothpicks he can get to stick in his ceiling (thus far the record is six pencils and 12 toothpicks); and the greatest difference between the two is Nessa’s desire to fit in and be as normal as humanly possible and Thyme’s enjoyment of the strange and unsettling.

Tattoos:
Nope! He’s free of ink and metal~ Well, maybe not metal… He has a fetish for piercings and couldn’t resist adding some to his own body. His ears have a few studs strung randomly through and they are always decorated by Thyme’s beloved cuff earrings. Oh, he has his belly button pierced too because, in his own words, ‘it’s sexy’. He’s too lazy to actually bring himself to do it, but he’s been thinking about getting a Celtic circle or triangle done on either his left foot or right shoulder blade.
”I’m a natural beauty.”

Other:
-He has a rather unnerving obsession…Clowns. Thyme has always been drawn to the painted expressions masking the true feelings the entertainers might be harboring and the way the general public is near always fooled. One might be thinking that that is not that unnerving of an obsession, and it wouldn’t be if Thyme was into the laughing and joyous kinds. But, Thyme is not. His preference is drawn towards those of unsettling nature. He finds entertainment in the ones that, if one was to closely examine, wear their lips in a downturned scowl or grin of sadistic mirth beneath their deceiving masks of bright paints and positive emotion.

Inside his apartment random signs of his obsession can be found scattered around and if the poor state of the building or his persona doesn’t scare company away, one can almost always count on his odd collection to do it.

- Splendid dislikes food (the only exception being caffeine filled products) and the taxing effort it takes to actually search out a meal, prepare it properly, and then actually chewing and swallowing.

-Tendency to respond with ‘right, right, right…’and/or extreme and unnecessary amounts of sarcasm

-His second toe is longer than his big one. He sees this odd structure of his toes to be an advantage as it enables him to pick up an array of objects without having to waste the energy to bend down and use his hands. It also comes in handy when trying to open the door with one’s arms full.

-Seemingly the only enjoyment he finds in life is through annoying others to the point of insanity


Reason for being in Therapy:
Nessa worries far too much to be healthy and feels her older brother needs to grow up. Splendid’s clown obsession and bad eating habits (i.e his lack thereof) set up red flags in the forefront of Nessa’s concerns and wishes to help ‘cure him of his abnormalities’. (Plus clowns terrify her).

So begins...

Thyme Sinclair's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Dante Knox Pike Character Portrait: Thyme Sinclair
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#, as written by Cayleen


You know how everything always goes your way? Neither does Thyme. That’s why it didn’t come as a surprise when the insistent, loud, and overall obnoxious banging that roused him from his sleep continued on and left his practically pleading prayers of silence left unanswered. An audible groan sounded from the tangle of sheet and limbs as the blunette stiffly turned in bed to sandwich his face and blue locks between mattress and pillow; a futile attempt to ward off unwanted sound and hopefully earn himself a few extra minutes of a much needed, and very much desired, unconscious state. The irritated noise resounded off the fading walls, mingled with the ever persistent din that served to be the bane in the Scot’s existence at that given moment, and then thundered back to the disgruntled heap that was Thyme.

“Thyme! I know you’re in there!”

Thyme groaned louder as he recognized the annoying and terribly feigned American accent. “Fuck off, Nessa.” Was his intended response to his sister’s irritating antics, but, considering his face was pressed into the mattress, came out as unintelligible garble.

The insistent thundering continued undisturbed, but was now accompanied by a very unwanted addition of an American poser’s voice. “Don’t make me break this door down, Splendid!”

Thyme’s eyebrow ticked at the insufferable nickname. Did she really have to go there? Don’t get him wrong, Thyme loved his kid sister, but sometimes -most times- he just wanted to kick that stick already firmly implanted up her arse so hard it pierced through her skull. Honestly. All she ever did was nag and complain to him about how he’s wasting his life or how he’ll never get a job looking like that or how he should eat this or shampoo with this and blah, blah, blah. The list goes on. But really, it was His life. And fyi, he can to get a fucking job looking like he did. In fact, he started his first day today. Pause. One beat. Two. Shit. Thyme pulled his green gaze from the welcoming embrace of the back of his eyelids and glanced at the bedside clown-clock. Flashing across the admittedly creepy piano-key grin of the clown in digital figures the time read 7:52. Had he really slept through his alarm? Oh, wait. He hadn’t even bothered to set it. Looks like he’d be late to his first day of work... Meh.

As he was readying himself to succumb to the sweet temptations of sleep once more, the banging at his door suddenly stopped. Huh. She had given up a lot faster than he would have thought. Usually she’s so stubborn and hell-bent on getting what she wanted… Thyme blanched. There was no way she would have given up this easily. The sheets were untangled from his limbs as he quickly dragged his disgruntled frame towards the door. He flung it open and was greeted by a smug smile. Thyme frowned as his evergreen orbs searched his sister head to toe. No gun or hammer to smash the knob off… No wrench or lock pick… She was just standing there in her stark white blouse and pinstriped skirt as if she hadn’t been threatening to break down his door moments ago.

“Finally.” Nessa smiled dryly up at her elder brother as he leaned against the doorframe in nothing but an off-white T-shirt that hung loosely to his frame and a pair of navy boxers. “We need to talk.”

Thyme made no notion to reply or even show he had heard his sister, but instead reached out and snagged the thin glasses from his sister’s face. He examined them lightly before perching them on his nose. “Why do you wear these? You don’t even need glasses.”

Nessa scowled up at her brother as he disregarded her last statement and clawed at her glasses. After a brief quarrel amongst siblings, the glasses were returned to their rightful owner and Nessa stood straighter, clearing her throat and freeing invisible dust from her professional-looking attire. She allowed the glare that adorned her face to soften as she took a deep breath and looked to the corner of Thyme’s door. “You know I love you, right? That I only want what’s best for you?” Thyme scrutinized his sister with wary orbs. What was his sister getting at? “Well… I do. And I feel that you aren’t really making any progress in your life,” Thyme let out a heavy sigh. Here we go again… This is where his sister would go on and on about how he should be making something of his life, how he should be out in the world, acting like a grown adult. She would talk for hours on end listing every flaw and habit she felt inappropriate for a grown man to harbor and then continue on to tell him how to fix them; what new habits he should adopt… Like actually folding his clothes and even talking to people… Thyme involuntarily shuddered at the prospect. “So I signed you up for therapy.” …What? Thyme froze mid thought and stared at his sister. Had he heard correctly…? Therapy? There’s no way he had heard her right; she wasn’t that much of a fucking prick. Well sure she always wanted to be in control of every situation, like his life. And yes she always seemed to enjoy getting under his skin, but she wouldn’t have gone this far. Right? Of course not. It had to be her idea of some twisted joke. It was her just wanting to get her older brother all riled up and huffy. “Right, right, right. And I’m a servant to the flirtatious fish god.”

“…What?” Nessa arched a brow quizzically at her brother before shaking her head “I’m serious, Thyme. I signed you up and this is exactly why. You can’t take anything seriously.”

“…You signed me up for therapy -without my permission- because I like to joke around.” Thyme narrowed his eyes.

“Not because you joke-“ Thyme raised his hand in a futile attempt to cut his sister off. “But because you need to grow up. Your bloody nineteen, Thyme! And-“ Nessa bit her lip, effectively cutting off the flow of her worried words, and furrowed her brow. She was not about to tell him why she was so worried about him all the time. At the suspicious arch in her brother’s brow, Nessa averted her eyes to the inside of her brother’s apartment. She noticeably flinched as her gaze landed on the many unsettling clown figurines before shaking herself slightly and turning back to her brother.

“And what?” Thyme’s interest in the conversation was reengaged. It wasn’t often his sister seemed unsure of herself.

“And nothing. I signed you up for therapy and you are going. Your first session is in a few hours. At 10:15.”

“But I have work.” Not that he gave a shit; his first shift ended before ten anyways. But Nessa didn’t have to know that. At the questioning look his sister gave him, Thyme elaborated, “I landed a job at the coffee shop down the block.” He shrugged nonchalantly and began to turn. “My shift starts in… Like 5 minutes. So fuck off. I gotta get into ‘uniform’.” Thyme sneered at the word and began to close the door in his beloved sister’s face but was stopped as a slender arm darted out and knocked his aside. Before he could reach for the door again, Nessa had already wormed her way through the doorway and was standing behind him.

“Your first day and you’re just going to allow yourself to be late?” Thyme shrugged at his sister “See, this is exactly the attitude that’s gotten you fired all those times before. Do you expect to get anywhere in life hopping from job to job constantly? Honestly-“

Thyme rolled his eyes as his sister went off on her ranting tangent and turned towards his room to get changed. He scowled down at the heap of clothing piled on the floor at the end of the bed before stalking over and grabbing a loose T and a pair of well worn, dark jeans. Haphazardly throwing on his ensemble, Thyme turned a look of distaste upon the red-brown apron given to him by his new job. They insisted upon having the employees tie these ridiculous looking pieces of shit around their waists. If it hadn’t been for the conveniently placed pockets, Thyme could have said he detested the thing.

“Thyme! You just walked off while I was talking!” An irritated -well, more irritated than usual- Nessa appeared in the bedroom doorway, hand on hip.

“Hm? You were talking? I must have mistaken your horrible American accent for the bat screeching outside.”

His sister let out an exasperated sigh, “First of all, my accent is just find, and second, its morning. There is no bat screeching.” Thyme just shrugged and halfheartedly responded with his fallback ‘right, right, right…’. “Now hurry up, I have classes later today and if I’m going to drive you to work and still make it to school on time we have to leave now.”

“Drive me?” Thyme frowned at his sister, “I never agreed to that.”

“I have to make sure you actually go to work today. And I want to know where you’re working.” Thyme simply looked at his sister. Why the hell does she need to know where I work. “So that way I can check up on you and make sure you actually go to your therapy session.” Ah… Thyme’s scowl darkened. He didn’t need therapy. He was a perfectly healthy, normal male human. Ha. He almost laughed aloud at the thought. Normal… Pfff. Why the fuck would anyone want to be ‘normal’? Normal today meant wearing slutty clothes and getting drunk off your ass. After all: ‘YOLO’. Whatever the hell that meant… Your ovaries like obscenities? Hmm… Maybe.

His thoughts were once again cut short as his arm was firmly grasped and he was pulled effortlessly from his apartment. He was too busy pondering the meaning of that mysterious acronym ‘YOLO’ to put up much a fight (not that he could if he wanted to… the stick), that he didn’t realize that they had already arrived at the café/dinner he now worked at until Ness interrupted his thoughts –again- . “Thyme, get out of my car. I’m going to be late for my classes.”

“Yorsh or lewd omens?” Nessa stared blankly at her brother before motioning for him to get out. Thyme blinked a few times, gathering his surroundings, before unbuckling and, being the considerate brother he was, sticking a thoroughly licked finger into his sister’s ear and twisting.

“You’re so immature!” His sister wiped furiously at her ear while burning holes through his head with her eyes.

“Only for you.” Thyme smirked, mood exponentially lifted, and slid out of the small black car. He sauntered through the double doors and was greeted by a disgustingly cheerful mood and a flood of stomach-churning, peptobismol-pink. His nose scrunched and his signature scowl returned as the unmistakable ‘old person smell’ wafted to his nostrils. Choking back the urge to gag, Thyme made his way to the counter where one of his new co-workers resided. The painfully average looking girl glanced up from her magazine, popping a large bubble of pink bubble gum, only to look back down, completely disregarding Thyme’s presence. The blunette stared mercilessly down at the young woman, not letting up until she looked back up again. She sighed and looked up from her beloved zine “Who’re you?”

“New.” Thyme gestured down to the ugly cloth tied around his waist. The girl regarded him for a moment, smacking her gum, before instructing him to ‘just go wait tables or somthin’’ and handing him a small notebook and minuscule pencil. Thyme inspected the wooden sliver he had been handed in light distaste; how the fuck could anyone write with this? It was practically the size of his little finger! He disapprovingly shook his head as he wondered over to the only unwaited table. Thyme stood near the end of the distastefully coloured booth, still regarding the pencil and waited for the booth’s only occupant to order. When said order never came, Thyme sighed exasperatedly, “Yee gonna order? Or just sit there and waste all our oxygen.”