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Aristotle Zhao

A young man who has lived in the woods his entire life. He's known as the master of the universe, and the king of breakfast.

0 · 441 views · located in The Whimsical Residence for Wayward Children

a character in “The Whimsical Residence for Wayward Children”, as played by ¢σℓ∂

Description

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x x x x x Aristotle Zhao x x x x x
."The truth is not always beautiful, nor beautiful words the truth.".
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Imagex x
xWHIMSICAL BOY ;
xxxxxxTHE FORBIDDEN MAP


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▬▬▬▬▬    18
▬▬▬▬▬    6'2"
▬▬▬▬▬    160lbs
▬▬▬▬▬    MALE
▬▬▬▬▬    HOMOSEXUAL


▋▋▋▋   ABILITY

Studying his skin is synonymous to the artistry of cartography. From the furthest recesses of his body come two-dimensional prophecies, and they bleed onto the surface of his flesh like ink, becoming stained on his marble exterior as a permanent feature. His body is The Forbidden Map, a whispered curse, depicting the future with ornate illustrations all stretched across his body; his arms are phases of the moon, his back are interstellar orbits sketched in geometric measure – there are glass birds soaring across his collar bones, peonies and ivy weaving out of his ribs, ringlets of solid black on his wrists, ankles and fingers – and blank canvas across his chest, in odd spots where there are none of the future’s echoes. They say the Map is of magic, was crafted by a magus who traveled the world in the most wonderful ship, and that it marks the world’s absolutes onto a person – as well as the personal future as the canvas and those connected to them. Written on him is the end of the world, the birth of a new universe, a symbol of his first love, and the lifespans of all that are important to him.

But reading the abstract map is difficult to say the least, and to properly understand it is to wait for the final product or to study the universe in its entirety, including the practice of magic. The mosaic stag on his hip represents a person who will provide kindness to the world (Cosmo), and the crescent moon on his arm mourns the loss of a friend’s sanity – and it’s only with knowledge that a person can read the shy poetry of destiny.

▋▋▋▋   PERSONAL INFORMATION

Aristotle’s origins are a bit of a mystery, and he personally doesn’t have any memories from before The Whimsical Residence for Wayward Children. Some say he was dropped off in a storm, others say he has amnesia, and a few claim that he was raised by wolves as an infant. Nonetheless, the truth remains: Aristotle Zhao arrived at the Residence when he was a very young child, and he’s lived there ever since.

Having been raised by Cosmo with a rising number of orphaned children Ari is a bit peculiar and certainly isn’t a type of person who can be met outside of the forest. He made the Residence and all of its eccentricities and odd tenants his home; it's an integral part of his life that he orbits around – he functions because of the Residence, because the people within it are the more important to him than all of the stars and planets in the universe. With how his heart beats for their sanctuary and the children it helps it’s almost no wonder how he manages to wake with the sun without uttering a single complaint. Every morning, without fail, he cooks banquets for breakfast and cleans every counter in the kitchen until the surfaces shine enough to blind someone. Strict and disciplined there’s hardly a moment when Ari isn’t absorbed in some sort of activity, and he tends to the gardens (nurturing vegetables and fruits and a personal garden of succulents) and keeps the bird feeders full of food – he fixes leaky faucets by nine and convinces children to sit still long enough to learn algebra and physics by twelve. By the evening he’s exhausted, yet he will still stay up late to study a mass of books or to listen to the woes of other residents, and he will do anything he can to help, even if his advice can be a bit blunt at times.

Truly, Ari isn’t the most socially graceful person. His jokes are awkward and his demeanor is stiff, he’s sooner to lecture than understand another person’s mistake and he’s a bit too comfortable with knowing everyone’s business. In fact, he feels a bit affronted when the other residents try to hide things from him. Its opening up to other people that he has a problem with, because talking in detail about his feelings is simply not something he’s talented in, or often attempts doing for that matter. His emotions are like white noise to his brain and he becomes lost whenever attempting to be introspective, so he spends little time on trying to understand how he feels and instead redirects his energy outwards, often to the point of overworking himself. Still, Artistotle loves the Residence and those that live within it...to the extent that leaving the manor and entering the outside world is a great source of fear and anxiety for him, and he dreads the day he becomes nineteen. Secretly, he wishes he’ll never have to leave.

So begins...

Aristotle Zhao's Story

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Without a grand outdoor garden to occupy his time winter was always the season for private study, when Artistotle could be found in the library during the evenings, often scribbling notes and equations and theories in magic into the early morning. Today was a return to observing star charts and the patterns in which planets spun in space, his ink pen plotting predictions for Venus and Castor, and his pencil sketching equations to predict the lives of stars. The tattoos on his back helped with that, the foretold ends of each star a permanent fixture to his shoulder blades and vertebrae. Periodically he would run his hands through his thick, unruly locks of albino hair. Each thread was completely drained of all pigment, and they settled together in neigh translucent wisps, to the extent that they would gain a pink tint during sunsets and sunrises.

His fingers were streaked with ink by the time he felt the urge to leave the library. Usually he made his presence scarce during the nights, leaving it to Cosmo to take care of the residents with fantastic stories and the other tricks he kept up his sleeves, but tonight he wandered towards the grand foyer, navigating the manor with seamless ease. To many the manor was an eternal maze of perplexing passages and dead-ends, but for him it was like taking a stroll in an open field – he knew every part of this house like it was a part of him, and it took only a few minutes for him to walk into the main room, taking in the night’s shenanigans with one curiously raised brow.

Cosmo vanished (and he silently wondered if he was trying to show off to the unfamiliar face in the foyer) only seconds after he stepped through the threshold, and figuring that the situation was being managed he kept his distance. It was stressful enough for children to find a magic house in the middle of the woods, and he could only image how overwhelming it was to be surrounded by unfamiliar and extremely unique people.

However, Ari had lived here his whole life and made a point to know every resident, so when he sees a new face he can’t help but reach out, lest they become lost in the eccentricity of the manor. So was the case when he noticed a tiny, red haired girl leaving the room – her expression seeming focused, as if she had something important to do, but seeing as how he didn’t know her name he couldn’t believe that she could get through the manor without becoming lost. “Excuse me – ” He calls out to her carefully and turns to walk beside her, and he’s like a giant in comparison to her petite stature, his legs and arms long and sturdy. From the corner of his eye he watches as a butterfly begins to fade into existence on his inner arm, right beside the phases of the moon.

He had a tattoo for everyone that lived in the manor, their futures lying against his skin, waiting to be seen. He doesn’t bother hiding them, and the sleeves of his sweater and button down are rolled to his elbows, revealing the illustrated future without shame.

“If you’re not careful you’ll become lost.” Aristotle explains, gazing down to the stranger, his expression wavering between concern and amusement (though it really wasn’t the time to be funny). “And I can tell you’re new around here – I don’t even know your name. So, to save you from getting a headache, let me help you out.” It’s less of an offer and more of a fact, and he continues to walk with easy strides, only to stop where the hallways splits into threes, with only one of the corridors leading to the bedrooms. “I’m Aristotle, though most people call me Ari. Are you going to your room?”