Post by tristan isaac flynn on Aug 25, 2013 20:41:34 GMT -5
| [atrb=border, 0, true][atrb=style, width: 450px; background-color: #7A7A7A; border: #000000 4px solid; opacity: .75;] tristan isaac flynn [style=width: 200px; height: 250px; background-image: url(http://i40.tinypic.com/2a0dkw1.png); margin-left: 5px; border: #000000 2px solid; border-radius: 5px;] [/style][style=width: 225px; height: 250px; margin-right: 5px;][style=width: font-family: palatino linotype; font-size: 14px; text-align: left; color: #49425D; background-color: #CCCCCC; text-transform: uppercase; border-radius: 5px; padding: 5px; margin-top: 4px;]tris, isaac, t. august 19th eighteen male & bisexual werewolf daniel sharman [/style]played by AC [style=background-color: #49425D; padding: 5px; text-align: left; color: #CCCCCC; font-family: arial-narrow; font-size: 16px; text-transform: uppercase; text-shadow: #000000 1px 1px 1px;]CHARACTER PROFILE physical description |
weight: 180 lbs
hair color: NATURALLY BROWN
eye color: BLUE
distinguishing features: a few tattoos, an assortment of scars.
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interests
- lacrosse
- drinking
- sports
- the beach
- food
- scary movies
- dogs
- good music
dislikes
- authority figures
- his father
- being left alone
- enclosed spaces
- complete darkness
- clingy girls (and boys)
- long term commitment
fears & secrets
HE'S TERRIFIED OF COMPLETE DARKNESS AND HE'S VERY CLAUSTROPHOBIC. SMALL, TIGHT, AND ENCLOSED SPACES ARE TRIGGERS THAT WILL OFTEN MAKE HIM LOSE IT.
HIS ENTIRE PAST IS HIS BEST KEPT SECRET. HE WAS PHYSICALLY AND EMOTIONALLY ABUSED BY HIS FATHER ALL THROUGHOUT HIS CHILDHOOD AND PRETEEN YEARS.
HIS ENTIRE PAST IS HIS BEST KEPT SECRET. HE WAS PHYSICALLY AND EMOTIONALLY ABUSED BY HIS FATHER ALL THROUGHOUT HIS CHILDHOOD AND PRETEEN YEARS.
personality
He was the guy that had one shitty hand after the next dealt out to him. He's the poster child for a kid from a broken home, a home plagued by abuse manifesting both in a verbal and physical form. tristan is a realist, but it's getting dangerously close to borderline cynical. but that is only skin deep, and once someone manages to get close enough to him, certainly they would find him to be as funny or as sweet as the next guy. he can be a true "sweetheart" of sorts if he warms up to the right person, and he can be uncharacteristically sensitive. he has trouble trusting anyone other than his best friend, and more often than not, Tristan can be considered uncontrollable to anyone but him. he is fiercely loyal, though, and he would do absolutely everything in his power to keep the people he's closest to safe and away from harm. the good in him predominantly outweighs the bad, though, as tristan is very social in spite of himself and he absolutely loves to party. given the right time, right place, and right situation, tristan can be extremely playful, but his jokes are often laced with realist sarcasm. he's definitely a handful, but in the long run, he means well. maybe he's just misunderstood.
CHARACTER BACKGROUND & HISTORY
family
MARCUS FLYNN • UNEMPLOYED • LIVING
JANET FLYNN • NURSE • LIVING
CAMERON FLYNN • brother • 25.
JANET FLYNN • NURSE • LIVING
CAMERON FLYNN • brother • 25.
behind the mask
Werewolf: he was bitten and turned when he was seventeen. He's what you would consider a "beta" in the sense that his abilities are average, or generic at best. He isn't exactly part of a pack, but he has taken to following parker around, and he supposes that is as close to a "pack" as he can get. The best way to describe his alignment is as chaotic neutral in the sense that he is neither light nor dark. But, if you were in a mood to get technical, and if it was mandatory to choose a side, you could easily consider tristan dark.
history
- born in spokane, washington, to marcus and janet flynn.
- he was born seven year after his older brother, cameron.
- when he was five, he witnessed his father attacking his mother, and he managed to run out the door to the next door neighbors house. the police were called and his father was arrested.
- for the next year, his mother became increasingly dependent on alcohol and started to neglect both cameron and tristan; they were removed from the home and placed with his aunt and uncle while his mother checked into rehab.
- when he was seven, they were reclaimed by his mother and she was allowed to take custody of him again.
- by the time he was eight, his father had been released from jail, but was forbidden from coming within 100 yards of him or his mother.
- his mother had an assortment of boyfriends for the next year, none lasting longer than a month of two before they packed up and moved on.
- when he was nine, the restraining order against his father had ran it's course and his mother foolishly allowed the man back into their lives. his temper reared it's complete head, but this time it was directed towards tristan.
- he was ten when his family packed up their stuff and moved to fairlawn, virginia.
- shortly after moving, he met his best friend, parker.
- when he was eleven, his older brother left home.
- he started playing lacrosse; the activity took his mind off his father.
- a few months shy of his 13th birthday, his father's anger took a turn for the worse and tristan was hospitalized with three broken ribs, and a broken wrist.
- by the time he was sixteen, he was in and out of the hospital, and in and out of trouble. his father's temper got worse and tristan was spending more and more time away from home.
- he was seventeen when he was bitten and turned, after attending a party.
- a few days after his eighteenth birthday, his parents showed up in fairlawn.
the puppetmaster
time rping
since judas iscariot betrayed jesus. long time.
how you got here
i live here.
rp sample
[style=font-family: arial narrow; font-size: 10px; color: #000000; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: left; padding: 5px;]Had he known of their relation, or had she voiced what she thought about their father out loud, he would have tried his absolute best not to laugh in her face, and probably fail at doing so. His father, he didn't protect his family, he commanded it. And nothing was ever good enough for him. Or at least Noah wasn't. But then again, he probably should have expected that. Conversations between him and his father had never been amiable, and it usually consisted of his father telling him that music wasn't the right path for him to be on, or that Noah needed to buckle the fuck down. That usually coaxed a very foul tone out of the blonde haired boy, which eventually brought them to his father threatening to drag his sorry ass home. No, saying that conversations he had with his father made Noah want to throw himself under a bus would have been the understatement of the millennium. There was absolutely no love lost between father and son, but would he ever cut his father out of his life? Of course not. He hated the man, but in all honesty, he was terrified of him. He was imposing, domineering; he lived by a mindset that demanded everything be his way or no way at all, and he had a temper to rival Kong's. So maybe Noah was more like his father than he'd care to ever admit, and that thought alone frightened him. He supposed he didn't want to be the asshole, he didn't want to be the storm cloud that followed people around, but that was what he seemed to be good at, it was what always seemed to be easiest.
He didn't need to go home. This certainly wouldn't be the first time he wasn't wanted around, and he was fairly certain he'd handle it the same way he had been handling it for the past three years. He'd listen to people talk about how wonderful it was to visit family, and how awesome their vacations were in far off and exotic places, and if, by some chance, he was asked how he spent his summer break, he'd lie and say he did something extraordinary instead of what he usually did. Which usually consisted of him holed up in his room with about a hundred and one notebooks full of words he'd probably end up trashing because nothing ever felt like it was any good. Not good enough, at least. Music was probably the only thing he'd ever take seriously, and that served both as his saving grace and his proverbial krpytonite, because as soon as he'd get a damn thing finished, he'd pick at it and pull it right the fuck apart until he found something wrong with it, and then into a god damn trash can it would go. All balled up and torn the hell apart. It was frustrating to no end. And perhaps it was in that moment, as he sat at the table with a perpetual scowl on his face, that he decided against the normal. No, this year he was going to do something. He didn't entirely know what; attempt to climb Everest, maybe, but knowing him he'd get about fifty feet up and give up and log roll down. So he definitely had a lot of shit to figure out, but staying cooped up on campus definitely was not an option. Maybe he'd start a song and actually finish it, but wouldn't that be a daring thought. Noah was a master at collecting unfinished things, of starting personal projects and shying away when they got too difficult.
The coffee shop had been his saving grace by a long shot. Even if it was crowded, he had managed to snag a pilfered table and he was currently huddled over it, one hand wrapped around his drink while the palm of his other hand was flat against the table's surface, his fingers drumming along to music only he could hear. By no means was he insane, not in that sense, at least. It had been something stuck in his head for a long while now, the music at least. The words, not so much. And maybe that was why he sought out coffee, the caffeine would hopefully keep him awake, and if he remained awake, then he'd be able to think of something that didn't immediately bomb out like everything else seemed to do. But so far, nothing. Less than nothing, probably. He was quite certain he walked into the coffee shop with more ideas than what he had at that moment. But his attention was stolen away when someone spoke to him, and when he responded in a less than amiable manner, he regretted it. But when she replied with a quip of her own, he settled. "A difference of opinion, then. I personally believe freedom was gained not when it was declared, but when it was won. 1781, when the British surrendered. 1783, if you'd rather count when fighting actually stopped. Whether or not you include the Treaty of Paris is entirely up to you. Besides, I think it had more to do with Parliament, more admittedly, the control over it that King George lost." But as soon as he said it, he regretted it, and his face wrinkled up to portray it. "Right. Feel free to forget I said that." Noah had grown quite comfortable with people believing that he did not have a brain in his head, and more often than not, when he said something even remotely logical, people acted like it was end of the living world.
There could be no disguising his embarrassment, even over something that petty, but still, it was there. "Anyways. Yeah, I'm sorry, not particularly the most pleasant person to be around." His shoulders rolled in a nonchalant shrug as he focused on her, leaning back when she moved to sit down. When she introduced herself though, he smiled, albeit a very small one, but it was a smile regardless. "I'm Noah..." And he thought for a moment, he wasn't entirely certain any of the nicknames he'd garnered would be entirely suitable here. "Yeah, just Noah." An airy laugh ebbed from his mouth as his nose wrinkled up slightly. If he was called out on it, he wouldn't lie - he was staring, but it was only because there was a familiarity that he could not seem to shake. But he quickly shrugged it off on him being awake for far too long. "So, uh. New here, then?" His head canted off to the side, he didn't know. He sucked at making idle conversation.
He didn't need to go home. This certainly wouldn't be the first time he wasn't wanted around, and he was fairly certain he'd handle it the same way he had been handling it for the past three years. He'd listen to people talk about how wonderful it was to visit family, and how awesome their vacations were in far off and exotic places, and if, by some chance, he was asked how he spent his summer break, he'd lie and say he did something extraordinary instead of what he usually did. Which usually consisted of him holed up in his room with about a hundred and one notebooks full of words he'd probably end up trashing because nothing ever felt like it was any good. Not good enough, at least. Music was probably the only thing he'd ever take seriously, and that served both as his saving grace and his proverbial krpytonite, because as soon as he'd get a damn thing finished, he'd pick at it and pull it right the fuck apart until he found something wrong with it, and then into a god damn trash can it would go. All balled up and torn the hell apart. It was frustrating to no end. And perhaps it was in that moment, as he sat at the table with a perpetual scowl on his face, that he decided against the normal. No, this year he was going to do something. He didn't entirely know what; attempt to climb Everest, maybe, but knowing him he'd get about fifty feet up and give up and log roll down. So he definitely had a lot of shit to figure out, but staying cooped up on campus definitely was not an option. Maybe he'd start a song and actually finish it, but wouldn't that be a daring thought. Noah was a master at collecting unfinished things, of starting personal projects and shying away when they got too difficult.
The coffee shop had been his saving grace by a long shot. Even if it was crowded, he had managed to snag a pilfered table and he was currently huddled over it, one hand wrapped around his drink while the palm of his other hand was flat against the table's surface, his fingers drumming along to music only he could hear. By no means was he insane, not in that sense, at least. It had been something stuck in his head for a long while now, the music at least. The words, not so much. And maybe that was why he sought out coffee, the caffeine would hopefully keep him awake, and if he remained awake, then he'd be able to think of something that didn't immediately bomb out like everything else seemed to do. But so far, nothing. Less than nothing, probably. He was quite certain he walked into the coffee shop with more ideas than what he had at that moment. But his attention was stolen away when someone spoke to him, and when he responded in a less than amiable manner, he regretted it. But when she replied with a quip of her own, he settled. "A difference of opinion, then. I personally believe freedom was gained not when it was declared, but when it was won. 1781, when the British surrendered. 1783, if you'd rather count when fighting actually stopped. Whether or not you include the Treaty of Paris is entirely up to you. Besides, I think it had more to do with Parliament, more admittedly, the control over it that King George lost." But as soon as he said it, he regretted it, and his face wrinkled up to portray it. "Right. Feel free to forget I said that." Noah had grown quite comfortable with people believing that he did not have a brain in his head, and more often than not, when he said something even remotely logical, people acted like it was end of the living world.
There could be no disguising his embarrassment, even over something that petty, but still, it was there. "Anyways. Yeah, I'm sorry, not particularly the most pleasant person to be around." His shoulders rolled in a nonchalant shrug as he focused on her, leaning back when she moved to sit down. When she introduced herself though, he smiled, albeit a very small one, but it was a smile regardless. "I'm Noah..." And he thought for a moment, he wasn't entirely certain any of the nicknames he'd garnered would be entirely suitable here. "Yeah, just Noah." An airy laugh ebbed from his mouth as his nose wrinkled up slightly. If he was called out on it, he wouldn't lie - he was staring, but it was only because there was a familiarity that he could not seem to shake. But he quickly shrugged it off on him being awake for far too long. "So, uh. New here, then?" His head canted off to the side, he didn't know. He sucked at making idle conversation.
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