Name:
Olivier De LaBeniett (Also known as just Oliver by those not very good at French)
For the last time, espèce de petit merdeux, it is pronounced 'Ol-iv-ee-yay de La-Ben-ee-eh'!
Age:
18
Shocked? Neither am I.
Parent:
Khione
B*tch of the Snow, and that's all you need to know.
Appearance:
Olivier stands roughly 5'11, with broad shoulders and muscular body. Short, unruly black hair sits on his head, which bring out the paleness of his skin. His eyes are unlike his mom's, and are a piercing icy blue. His tattoos are varied and numerous, which will take much too long to go into detail. For clothing, a standard dress is a white, tight shirt with black jeans and a belt. Combat boots keep his feet off the ground, and his head sometimes has a beanie on it with sunglasses. During combat, however, the shirt comes off so he can fully embrace the cold.
Je suis sacrément beau, if I do say so myself.
Personality:
Olivier didn't really inherit his French ancestor's "Lovin Spirit'. Instead, he inherited the hatred and resentment of the Quebecois. Instead of being a charmer, a flirter, and all that lovely stuff that everybody assumes the french to be, Olivier took upon his Mother's personality: Being conceited, cold hearted, and essentially a bitch. He has a way of always wanting to do the exact opposite of what he is told, and really quite sucks at being a team player. Just like his mother - she really wasn't a good role model - he plays for himself, and holds grudges very easily and seriously. Olivier however, unlike Khione, dislikes both the Titans and the Gods, thinking both of them useless and insufferable. The Gods, to Olivier, are just stuck up and arrogant losers, while the Titans are just a bunch of wannabe power trippers.
While this may be a massive turn off for the war, Olivier easily strode to the top because of two major factors in his personality: He hates losing to anyone, and always has a back up plan. Growing up mostly in the Northern Regions of Quebec, Olivier had to become extremely crafty and durable to survive. Olivier won't hesitate to pull a dirty trick to ensure his survivability, regardless of how low he may have stooped - 'pride is something of the old ways and those of easy lives', he would always tell the person he beat unfairly. Olivier's hatred of pride also comes from his hatred of his mother Khione. He cannot stand her, and any talks between them cease to be talks after the greetings - just silence. Olivier strives to be everything his mother isn't, just to spite her and her damned plans.
Regardless, on most days Olivier tries to keep to himself, not really going out of his way to talk to somebody unless it is to piss them off. He prefers to listen, almost like a personification of the wind and snow itself. He doesn't try to be something he isn't, for he believes that to be his mother and father's job. And those that wallow in self pity.. Olivier would rather spit at them than talk to them.
Yeah, I know what I am.
Weapon(s):
Olivier doesn't really 'do' weaponry like the rest. His weapons are the very air and water itself - after all, those are what you need for ice to work. However, just because the people of Camp Half-blood insisted - Américains fous - he carries a light package of thirteen throwing knives. For fun.
Seriously, if I wanted you dead, I would just freeze your neck.
Skills:
If durability is a skill, then Olivier has that one covered. After living in the north for 14 years, Olivier knows how to fend for himself.
His hand-to-hand combat is impressive, but his craftiness is better - as a kid of ice, there are limitless possibilities.
Accuracy with a bow and arrow? Pathetic. Accuracy with a throwing knife? Pretty damn good.
Ice sculpting? Olivier is renowned for winning the Ice Sculpting contest in the Quebec Winter Carnival 7 years in a row.
Pretty neat huh? Though I can't sculpt any ice in this stupid hot weather - 50 is a terrible number.
Ability:
Cyrokinesis - the control and manipulation over Ice and, to a little extent, the Northern Wind. (His grandpapa is, after all, Boreas)
~Winter Storms: Olivier can screw up the cold fronts and such to create mini blizzards/hail. Can only be focused around his own body, and the radius can grow or shrink depending on emotional intensity (as it is with all demi-gods)
~Cold Touch: See that body of water? Olivier only needs to touch it to freeze the entire thing. (Note, bodies of water that are larger than standard ponds are too big, and the freezing only takes place on the surface - instant hockey rink!!)
~Cold Touch - Frozen Stiff: Similar to the original technique, Olivier can freeze a body part if bare hand touches skin. At point of impact, it will slowly creep its way to the end of the joint (for example, touching the forearm will freeze to the elbow).
~Cold Weaponry: Regardless of where the liquids have come from, Olivier can freeze and mold them into any shape, creating weapons that he can use. His most famous are either ice picks, stakes, or hand-drills. While it is just standard ice, Olivier's ice is a little more dense, and therefore, harder and thicker than normal.
~Bloody Snow: If a Snowstorm is raging, Olivier can literally dissipate into the snow. This technique requires immense about of focus and energy, but if worked correctly, is the best assassination technique alive - its also great if he needs to get somewhere, for it is a mini form of 'teleportation' since he cannot fly like the rest of his family.
~Banshee Call: His most famous technique, he literally screams a high pitch, high wind storm. Great way to vent anger. Not so great if aimed at a person. If the storm don't nearly kill ya, the pitch of the scream will.
Yeah, I'll kill ya. Just saying.
Interrogation scene:
Olivier was wearing too much clothing as they walked in. The room was meant to be hot - ice cannot form in heat - and they even threw him in a coat for extra measure. When the door closed, Olivier spat out an icicle in their direction, to which the man easily dodged - at least, Olivier thought he dodged. Too damn dark.
Alrighty dumbshit, I told Camp Leader that questioning you was a waste of time, but he insists. So, when did you start working for Kronos?
Olivier gave him a stupid look, but didn't answer. He knew that they had already formed an answer, and it made him seethe with anger.
Oh, hold on there buddy, looks like your heating up. Olivier could hear the other man chuckle at the stupid joke, which pissed him off more. A sharp jab to the stomach. I said, When did you start working for Kronos?
Once again, Olivier didn't answer, and kept his mouth shut. Silence insued, until Olivier gave a simple answer. I haven't.
Bullsh*t. Left hook to face. Your sweating under the pressure kid. Oliver bit back his tongue from a witty remark about the number of jackets he was wearing.
Since things are heating up, who else was working for him?
Oliver couldn't help it. When in hell would I work with another? Knee to the stomach, air escaped him.
You think you're clever, huh kid? All frozen, but a piece of shit when in the heat. I bet your whore mother probably slept with a frost giant, and you were the result.
Well, they couldn't be farther from the truth - his dad was quite the head turner.
And now you betray us. Should have kicked you out when you showed up, all high and mighty. Your little bitch ass probably lead the rebellion, since your mother wants a bunch of power, and used you like a little -
The interrogator got stopped there by a spit of ice projected out of Olivier's mouth. The dude had kept on talking, and helped Oliver figure out where he was. Besides, he didn't need that kind of slandering on himself - he was nothing like his mother. Olivier then concentrated as hard as he could, and froze his sweat on his arms, freezing the restraints and freeing him to throw all of those jackets away. Now in only his extremely thin white shirt, it was time to get to work.
Biography:
Olivier's dad was an exquisite painter in France who had come to Quebec, Canada to teach art for a few years. Now, his father isn't a very moral person - he didn't really care who he slept with or when. So, naturally, he got himself into quite a bit of trouble with almost every local town for sleeping with the wrong ladies. Not to be bothered, since he is French, he decided to get some inspiration from the frigid countryside itself and ventured north into uncharted territory, and that was how he met Khione. To her, he was similar to herself in the fact that he had few morals, loved to put on charm, and was highly prideful of himself. To him, she was a sex goddess of the snow that was just waiting for him. Naturally, the two got together, and fueled each other's prides and lusts until *poof* enter Olivier.
Khione hadn't expected a child, certainly not from a lover. Olivier's father nearly left outright when he found out that she was 'carrying' his child (in reality, it was more like he was being carried for a month, and then assembled by ice and snow. Weird, huh). However, not really caring now, she told him who she was, and Olivier's father instantly changed his mind. He had been sleeping with a goddess, and in his eyes, the perfect muse. After Olivier was 'born' things went back to normal for the most part: Khione would be the muse, her pride only increasing as his father made more portraits of her, and made quite a bit off of them. Olivier had to fend for himself in the North, doing whatever he could to stay alive while his mother and father fed their own egos. If that meant fighting with Hyperboreans, than so be it. However, after about 2 years, Khione got bored of his father and disappeared completely, feeling nothing for her son or the man she left behind. Devastated in losing his muse, he took the little Olivier back to France with him.
That lasted one entire year. That was it. After one year of sleeping with numerous women - seriously, in retrospect Olivier wasn't sure how many faces he had seen enter his house and leave, but to hell with that, he was only three. (In reality, over 100 o.O) Finally, unable to take it, he set off back to Quebec to find his lost love. However, this time, he left Olivier at an orphanage while he searched. Needless to say, Olivier was better off without him: The only thing he left him was the clothes on his back and a portrait of his mother, with her last known location. After that, the next few years went by in a blur - Olivier gained some friends, but he was soon adopted when a letter came to the orphanage saying that his father had died of AIDS while up in the no man's land. While Olivier thought adoption would be great - having family and all - he was later put back into the orphanage when he nearly froze his adopted parents to death. He then got into drinking, tried smoking - failed - and got tattoos all before he was an official teenager. Overall, a bad influence.
Olivier only tried to reach out to his mother once, at the age of 12. While living the 'thug' life wasn't all that bad, he knew that he could be doing a hell of a lot better. Hoping he could find some support or a figurehead of at least some decency (although his mother's image was still tattered), he found Boreas' castle with a cold blooded bitch inside. The conversation lasted only about 10 minutes, and Olivier's imagery of his mother Khione stayed as bitter as ever. Throughout their conversation, she complained that he wasn't meant to be there, that she should kill him now, and that the gods were losers. All he heard out of her mouth was self centered selfishness, and left the building pissed. The only thing he got out of her was that she was the Nymph of snow, and that he was a demi-god. Hurrah. Boreas, on the other hand, not wanting to let his grandson leave totally empty handed, gave him 3 items. For starters, a snow-globe that did absolutely nothing. Next was a cheque for a couple grand, which Olivier hadn't a clue what to do with. Finally, a toque which Olivier thought to be useless, until he found out that it kept him cold instead of hot.
Two years later, after the Hyperboreans decided that he was a threat and other crap showed up, a satyr somehow found Olivier and guided him down to Camp Half-Blood. Being the son of Khione was barely easy, since most didn't even think of her as a god - she was a nymph, so that means that he wasn't a demi-god, but instead a rando mortal with some powers over snow. It didn't take long to convince the campers, however, when he started screaming people into comas for pissing him off.