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Kent Silva

"They say artists use lies to create the truth, you know."

0 · 480 views · located in The New World

a character in “The Lovely Ones”, as played by confidence



❝ Sometimes, we don't matter; sometimes, the hope for a future nation matters more than who we are... whoever that is. ❞

Image Image


| Full name |
"Oh, but what is in a name... That's how the line goes, right?" Kent Silva

| Nickname |
"Well, you can call me whatever you want." There are very few nicknames Kent has ever been called. Besides, anyone who's ever called him by one (a nickname, that is) is dead. His parents once called him Kentah, similar to how he had pronounced his name as a babe, trying to emphasize the 't' and ending with 'Kentah.' His brothers and a few of his closest friends called him Ken, comparing him with Barbie's penis-less penis. And once upon a time, a beautiful girl deemed him Kenny.

| Age |
"Oof, I'm getting old." Twenty-six years old

| Gender |
"Um, obviously... Do you need evidence?" Male

| Role |
"Oh, so now you want to know my social class? What is this social pyramid crap?" A Rebel, proud and careful and extremely passionate.

[font=century gothic]❝ MORE THAN JUST A CHARACTER ❞

| Class |

| Occupation |
"Well, luuucky me..." The King's Personal Assistant.

Likes Dislikes
✔ Silence Being called out on a lie✘
✔ People Feeling helpless✘
✔ Being understood Being looked down on✘
✔ Being looked up to Insults✘
✔ Cookies The aristocracy✘

| Personality |
"Oh, trust me; you'll be glad you know me, once you do." As strange as this may sound, Kent has been compared to a tree very often. Sturdy, reliable, and capable of carrying many lives in his arms... it's easy to see why, really. He was the guy everyone liked in high school, voted 'Best All Around' and 'Best Smile.' People look to him as the perfect man. After all, what's not to like? Strong, attractive, loyal, sweet, understanding, good with his words, intelligent, athletic... It's hard to find something immediately wrong with Kent. His intuition adds onto his charisma, his smoothness with people. It's difficult to find anyone Kent can't strike up a conversation with, actually. He seems to be very open, with a heart willing to accept people into his life, and arms prepared for an embrace. He's reliable. He's the good guy in the story, always. Or at least, that's how he seems. In actuality, Kent has a rather large bag of secrets, and one of the biggest secrets of his life are crushed all the way at the bottom so no one would find it: he's a chronic liar. It's not exactly the bigger, dramatic lies that he tells; it's more of the small lies, the little lies, the white lies that wouldn't even wrap around your finger if you tried to connect all of them. But their effect is a mass of people thinking, 'God, Kent is just SO perfect, so ideal, so amazing.' But let's be honest... who's perfect here? Not Kent, that's for sure.

For one, he's awfully smart. As in, he catches on a little too quickly for anyone's liking. Useful for Chrys? Of course. But for a girl interested in him? The boy who envies him but pretends to be a chum? Don't expect to be hidden in the shadows for long; Kent has an exceptional nose for that sort of thing. He's quick with people, understanding anyone and everyone's motives. For this, he's often forgiving, merciful and accepting. He tries to keep a reasonable head, a mind that doesn't get overwhelmed with emotions. But of course, that happens to everyone; Kent just hides his better. He covers up what he doesn't want people to see, something easy for him. As easy-going and carefree Kent may seem, he lets few into his circle of trusted ones. Few are the people who know him truly, deeply, and openly. He trusts people easily, with everything but his own self. He is content with letting people see him as they already do: perfect. This actually helps him to become what people expect of him; it's something he lives with and likes. After all, in his mind, expectations are only pushing you to become better. The best, hopefully.


| Background |
"Eh. Nothing interesting about me, really... Just a little bit of tragedy. But I don't want your pity." Nobody would have expected Kent to have been born wealthy. Surprising, right? Not exactly the son of CEO's, as some of the aristocrats are now, but the son of two extremely successful doctors. The two were constantly arguing about who had the better career, about who was the better doctor, about who had the higher paycheck or the most amount of patients. As a result, they were always leaving to go one step ahead in their professions, leaving Kent at home with an overpaid nanny who liked to watch soap operas and sleep with her mouth open. For some, this was a blessing; no adults around to care, more freedom to be reckless, to do your own thing? It would sound like heaven to most. But Kent was only five years old when he was first neglected, tossed aside for the sake of his parents' own betterment, and he was lonely. What's there for a five year old to do with no one to play with? He stayed home and mourned his parents as if they were already dead, which they could have been, for all that he ever saw of them.

He took his childhood as a sign of what was to come, and he decided he didn't want any of it. He wasn't going to be the one left alone forever. So he went out and made a name for himself. Soon enough, Kent was the golden boy, the popular one, the King of middle school, high school, and even college. He became the most likable boy ever, deemed 'Best All Around' and 'Best Smile' his senior year. Well, that, and 'Cutest Couple,' with the beautiful Catherine Moore. She was a rose to be admired, and everyone knew it. With long black curls, stunning blue eyes, and porcelain skin, everyone wanted to be her. She was the perfect Barbie doll, and when she and Kent got together, everyone sighed in envy, and understanding. After all, Kent was perfect, so perfect he had to have the most gorgeous girl ever. And Catherine? Not only was she beautiful, she was ambitious and headstrong and honorable. The two were bound to get together; they were, after all, the Golden Couple. The two looked fabulous together, at the very least.

But for both of them, it wasn't about their status, their popularity, or their good looks; it was about the fact that the two had been friends since they were three. Kent, as guarded as he was, found it easy to relate to Catherine, the girl he called 'Kitty' since he was six. She was the only one who truly knew him, dirty secrets and lying and all. The fact that she didn't mind added to the blessing she became; she learned to call him out gently when she found a lie uncalled for, and pass over a lie whenever she thought it was harmless. She knew him that well, to catch on to a lie as soon as it was spoken. Not necessarily a power... but more of a connection. A knowledge that comes from more than long talks; this sort of wisdom came from a true connection of the heart, true experience, understanding, and incredible love. The two were bound to get together. They went to University of Chicago together for undergrad, and then Duke for grad. At their Duke graduation, he proposed. Of cours, she said yes. The two were going to get married, and live happily ever after.

That is, until a nuclear war came and killed her. His beautiful Kitty, dead... he didn't understand. But Kent tried to. He tried not to become bitter and hate this war, hate this death, hate this useless social system that had somehow risen out of the ashes. But then he realized what kind of people the aristocracy consisted of: cruel, heartless, completely cold bastards who didn't deserve a single thing. And then he became angry. Kent wanted more than this. If Catherine, along with the entire world, had died, then they should be feeling something. But these people didn't, and that fermented his long-smothered bitterness and anger, and he was suddenly set on rebellion. And he decided to team up with a very dear friend of his, Chrys. If you can't join 'em... and if you don't even want to join 'em... beat 'em.

*code for CS: ALL the credit goes to desire99600!

So begins...

Kent Silva's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kent Silva
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    If there is anything that Kent refuses to do, it's walk. No, Kent Silva does not walk, my friend; he strides. With his long legs and chiseled features, it's hard not to notice his confidence. Even as a commoner, even as the High King's mere personal assistant, he stood out. In fact, some whispered, he acted like a better version of the aristocrats. If Kent had heard this, he would have laughed it off, hiding a thin layer of nervousness. Nobody knew of his background. Nobody knew of his previous wealth, of his parents, of how he had once lived; only Chrys knew that. Only the lovely Chrysanthemum knew his whole being. Or perhaps the not-so-lovely Chrysanthemum. She was more of a flame, that one, as opposed to a rose. But regardless, she was his best friend. A big part of his life. Not to say that she was the only female in his life... As gentlemanly as Kent was, he did enjoy a little bit of fun here and there. He stood even taller than before when a particular maid walked by, a beauty with a name he hadn't learned yet. Which had to be fixed.

    Now would be a good time, actually.

    She was headed towards the kitchen, of course. With a playful smile, Kent began to follow her, slinking in the shadows as if he was the new Tom Cruise, post-nuclear war version. Finally, she turned, and jumped when she saw him. Before she could scream, Kent covered her mouth with his hand gently and smiled impishly at her, using his 'just got caught with the hand in the cookie jar' expression. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to know your name. I was chasing you just now... I'm sorry if I seem a little strange. It's not every day you meet someone so sincere-looking as yourself."

    It sounded fake, he knew. On paper, it sounded so sickeningly sweet, so false. But the trick to winning a girl's friendship with that kind of conversation was this: you need to mean it. And Kent did, actually; when talking about others, he meant every word he said. It was only when he spoke of himself he tended to play with the exact details. And she did look sweet. She did look sincere. She did look like the girl he might have fallen in love with, if he had met her before he had fallen in love with Catherine. She looked pure, and he had been drawn to it for a long time. No opportunity had shown up since he had noticed her, but the preparations for the big ball coming up had sent the servants in a scurry. Except for him; he was actually supposed to be following the High King, but it was lunch time! A growing man like himself had to eat, after all.

    The maid still looked stunned, but after Kent lowered his hand slowly, he saw that she was smiling. He smiled back and winked. "I am Jolene," she said simply, enunciating each word. "And you are Kent Silva."

    He blinked in surprise. So, she knew him already? "Well... yes. How did you know?" he said, beginning to head towards the kitchen. She fell in line with him easily, and the two were talking so easily, anyone would have thought they had been friends for a very long time.

    Jolene's eyes darted back and forth in search of any servants in hearing range, and Kent decided to like her even more right then and there. She was a rebel, of course. It was obvious. Her weariness told him everything; she understood caution. She understood the life of a rebel, the philosophy, the mind and the heart and the soul. Or at least, the careful aspect of it. "I'm a rebel myself," she confessed in a whisper. "I've been trying to track down my brother, actually."

    "Your brother? Why would he be here?"

    "Well, he's the one who 'converted' me, in a sense. Actually, he convinced everyone. He was even in the papers," she said proudly, as Kent's heart begin to sink at an alarming rate. "I was already working here by the time I recognized the injustice of this High King bullshit, and he hated it, but now he appreciates it. He said he can count on me to get him out of trouble, if the situation arises. And like I said, he was in the papers..." Her voice quivered then, and trailed off, as if finally daring to think a thought too sinister to consider. Kent almost begged her to stop, but the strength in her dark eyes seemed to comfort him in his dread, and reassure him of her capability. I can handle it, those deep irises whispered. So Kent listened.

    "I'm just worried," she finally admitted after a moment or two. Their walking had slowed by now, but they only had a few steps before reaching the kitchen. How could he tell her now? "Have you seen him?" she finally asked, stopping before the entrance. He stared at her, speechless. How... She had asked... But... Oh, how could this happen? A new bitterness and hatred for the High King and his drones stung his lips. How dare they steal the light of this Jolene girl, this maid he had just met and connected with. And now she was going to hate him. Or hate the High King. And probably do something reckless in the middle of the ball.

    But how could he lie to her about the death of his brother?

    "Jolene, I'm so sorry, but..." Kent hesitated, wanting to avoid her eyes, but he couldn't. He stared deep into them, his hands firmly, stiffly, even awkwardly, at his sides. He hated being the bearer of bad news. "I'm so sorry, but... the High King has already gotten a hold of him."

    The two were silent. Jolene said nothing. She didn't collapse, she didn't weep... she didn't show any emotion, actually. They merely stared. And didn't speak. Two servants, standing before the kitchen entrance... waiting to be interrupted. Kent understood this; Kent acknowledged this. But he couldn't tear himself away from this moment. Let whoever find them, find them. But he did hope it would be Chrys.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Marcus Augustine "Mark" Bennett Character Portrait: Finley James Whitaker Character Portrait: Kent Silva Character Portrait: Chrysanthemum Keller Character Portrait: Lillian Knightingale Character Portrait: Magdalena Arden Prior
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By now standing in the line of a strangely decorated diner, Chrys is waiting for her order of hash browns to go, so that she can make her way to the Bennet Estate. It was requested that she help out by acting as a serving girl at the display of disgusting amounts of wealth and narcissism tonight, and she had accepted primarily to be around several of the other key rebels. Now, she is conflicted on whether she should go- there is that burning anger which makes her want to be there during the dance when the night's planned activities begin, courtesy of the rebellion, but also a part which fears that her anger may make her mind a sitting duck to be probed by the head bastard, one Marcus Bennet. Of course, the fear is likely unfounded, for she has a gift for lying within her own thoughts, probably fed by years as a call girl even before the nuclear war's ending and her gaining employment under the Bennet family, though not the most pure position, with ulterior motives. One might find that odd in a girl who is otherwise so honest, but she believes that honesty is a luxury- she strives to afford it, but some situations simply do not allow for the virtue to prosper. Given her position, there are many times in which she must keep herself from giving into the temptation of sharing her genuine opinion. That is the way this new world order works, though- especially when one is standing against the Bennets and yet directly beneath them as well. The wait ends eventually, and the dark-haired young woman is on the sidewalk again, at the estate gates within a few minutes. Tossing the hashbrown container into a waste bin, Chrys merely glances at the gatekeeper and is allowed in, being a rather regular face here, despite not actually being a resident of the ridiculous place.

Wisely choosing to enter through the servants' entrance, Chrys is able to avoid seeing Magdalena, Finley, Cyrus, and all of the other people who find themselves being her enemies simply due to their association (or relation in the case of two) to the bastards upstairs. Instead, she sneaks through side hallways, an expert of getting through houses unseen, as most of her clients back in the day were married men who fancied a change from the norm- sleazy bastards, every one, of course. The young woman is about to turn a corner but pauses at seeing two figures staring at eachother, completely motionless, in front of the door to the kitchen, where she had been headed in order to receive some sort of instructions. This hesitation allows her to recognize them as her right-hand man, Kent, and a pretty woman whose face is familiar in a may-be-a-rebel way. However, there is also something strangely familiar about her itching at the back of Chrys's brain. She doesn't realize that it is because the girl holds a striking resemblance to her brother, the one whom is no doubt dead by now. Whatever their conversation is about, based on the way that they are staring at each other it seems rather important. Not sure whether or not to intrude, she turns around and walks back down the hallway, deciding to circle around and form a decision based on whether they are still speaking.