Post by Darren Shaw on Jul 16, 2012 23:39:52 GMT -5
| [atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 460px; background-image: url(http://i44.tinypic.com/34fb0ns.jpg);-moz-border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px; -webkit-border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px; border: 4px ridge #7a9aa9, bTable][tr][cs=2] darren alexander shaw. seventeen. student. andrew garfield. | |
[rs=2] | [style=background: #7a9aa9; font: 11px Tahoma; padding: 10px; text-align: justify; color: 000000; border: 1px solid #ffffff; opacity: 0.7; height: 250px; overflow: auto]Name: Darren Alexander Shaw Appearance: Darren is first off short, not pathetically so, but being 5’6” doesn’t do him much good when a majority of people he meets that are the same height as him are girls. He weighs 130 pounds as he never was one to eat much and was underweight for the whole of his childhood. He has brown hair that can be described as fluffy and slightly curly, brown eyes, and elegant fingers that are usually categorized as piano fingers. His style of dressing is usually on the casual side of things. It’s not overly so, where he’s walking around in a ratty t-shirt with the biggest grease stain the world has ever seen on it, but he’s not wearing three piece suits anytime soon. He prefers to wear t-shirts with jackets, hoodies, sweatshirts, or anything with sleeves. Plaid shirts, anything you see a seventeen year old run around in. Of course he finishes with pants and shoes, as he refuses to run around with his boxers or barefooted in public. Scars are a huge topic for Darren. Scars last, even if they fade and he has multiple of them to remind him. He doesn’t really mind them but he covers them for the most part, away from the wandering and questioning eyes. Most of them are on his torso and back, but has one his arm that isn’t very pretty on his left forearm. Most of them are small, and have paled so you can only see them in the light, and not all of them are from his childhood. Personality: Darren is desensitized to the world. Blood, gore, death doesn’t faze him anymore, much less when it comes from his hands. His motives are backed with revenge and hate. He sees the word as a junkyard, dirty and filled with filth. The people in the poor abused planet were trash that weakened the Earth, and to make the world strong again he must purify the world with the help of the Goddess. He doesn’t mind dirtying his hands as long as the end justifies the means, and even takes pleasure in it. He’s like a child who likes breaking things until the things become reflections of himself. Darren prefers to blend in with the oblivious crowd and walk around and put on the facade that he‘s pleasantly nice. It’s like he’s acting as another person and he finds it easier then to keep his temper in check. He didn’t want to be the one to give away the Goddess’s whole shebang up before it was even put into action. So, he just acts like a relatively sane person and tries not to rip any doors out of their hinges along the way, Darren is not almighty, of course he isn’t. He isn’t his Goddess. He’s headstrong and doesn’t know when enough is enough. He pushes and pushes until he’s on the brink of death and then he ends up having to retreat to link his wounds. He’s not afraid to get hurt, it was something he grew accustomed to when he was with his father (word used very loosely). With his scars, he finds it hard to be social. He finds it hard to hold conversations and seems to be shy to anyone who he doesn’t hold a grudge against. Revenge shall lead to downfall, and it’s his biggest fault. Everything he does seems to be backed by revenge, every breath, every step, and every motion. He’s blinded by the faith that he has in Goddess. She was his savior, and if she asked Darren to go, he’ll go and she wanted him to stop, he’ll stop. Now, by the end of all this the only thing he fears is his Goddess. He worships, fears, and loves her like the poor warped he is. History: Darren didn’t have a storybook childhood. His mom died in childbirth and his dad was pretty much a sperm donor and that was it. He was neglected as a baby, as for the most part his father was drowning his sorrows with a bottle of beer. He probably lacked the nutrition to actually ever grow to be very tall, thanks to his drunken father. He could only thank the growth spurt he had later on that he became 5’6”, even if that was considered short compared to his dad’s 6’3” frame. While growing up, he was forgotten about when his dad was sober and beaten when he was drunk and honestly he couldn’t pick which he liked more. He learned the ability to stay quiet and pick enough food to survive, but not enough for him to notice. Then at the age of ten things changed. On the night, October 16th, the house set up in flames. He honestly didn’t remember what happened or anything for the next three months in fact. It seemed to him like a blur of motion and smoke. It was cigarette that started the fire, he learned. Darren was bombarded with questions and the only answer that seemed to slip out was, ‘I don’t know.’ He was passed around in the foster care system. He was never affectionate to any, never calling them mom or dad. He had his on and off days, where he would revert back to his old self and just lurk quietly in the house he was in. He was passed around for a few years, where honestly the social worker was more stable in his life then anything else. When he was fourteen he ripped the door of a car. They were arguing about something; grades, parties, drugs, he didn’t even know anymore, and he felt anger bubbling up in his chest and when he went to open the door, it just flung off. People shouldn’t be able to do that, much less the fourteen year old boy who had to look up to meet every person in his classes eyes. Then a week after he discovered he could control water. Darren was running through the rain, and avoiding his foster home like the plague. He was holding his hands up to shield him from the rain, and found they were deflecting them instead. He started to play with his newfound powers and he found he could control liquid in general. It wasn’t until he was around fourteen and three quarters that he found out that he was special. The Goddess began to feed him with her visions of purifying the Earth and by the time she was finished she manipulated him into fulling believing in her and worshiping the very ground she walked on. Sample Post: ((Darren’s freak-out when he finds his powers?)) This wasn’t normal, of course it wasn’t. The ability to move water? It would put him in a freak show or a mental asylum if he even mentioned it. Then again, he ripped the doors of the car from it’s hinges. That wasn’t normal either. His fingers began to experimentally move, up and down, right to left as watched the little droplets of water follow them. His breath condensed in the cold air in front of him as he found himself doing little tricks with the water. He didn’t know where his abilities came from, last he check he wasn’t bitten by a radioactive spider. Darren leaned back on the brick-wall and let loose his concentration, feeling the water splash onto his sneakers, his life just had to be odd. The weather was cold, and he didn’t know if being stuck in the middle of a snowstorm or heading back would be better. The first option would lead to hypothermia, frostbite, and death. The other would lead to tension and awkwardness. He’s been trying to lay low and spend as less time as he could from his foster parents. He already had a gut feeling that he would be sent back, that is if they don’t sell him to the circus first. He could already see the headlines, Darren the Real-Life Incredible Hulk*! The little asterisk would lead to a warning all the way on the bottom telling them that he didn’t grow bigger or turn green, but instead they wasted fifteen bucks watching a dude lift weights or something. Being a circus attraction wouldn’t be too bad, he’ll get food at least. Maybe he’ll even be promoted to a magician who could do magic tricks with water. Darren frowned at how his train of thoughts were leading to him. Fourteen year olds shouldn’t dream of being circus folk, maybe he should use his power for good and save people. The idea was instantly shot down and frowned upon by him. Heroes don’t exist. The cold was probably messing with his brain. From his little niche in the alleyway he spied the Starbucks across the street. Envy radiated within him as he pulled his coat tighter against him, the warm store in general would have been enough for him at the moment, but he didn’t have the money to buy a drink nor could he just prance in and sit there until nightfall. He watched as someone exited the store and placed their newly brought coffee on top of their car. His eyes focused on the drink left unattended. His fingers twitched on their own and suddenly the coffee nudged towards his direction. Once. Twice. And then the whole drink spilled over as it fell off the roof with a splash. The liquid spilling all over the asphalt. Darren’s eyes widen as his brain processed what happened. He quickly got up and slipped back into the streets as casually as he could. It was time to experiment and maybe do some research, but the twenty minute walk to the library would worth it. Maybe he could snatch someone’s coffee along the way. Without the spill this time. OOC Name: finn, drop the extra n if you want or whatever you want |
| [style=width: 250px; padding-top: 5px; padding-bottom: 5px; background-color: #656565; border-left: 8px solid #7a9aa9; font family: arial; font-size: 10px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center; color: #f1f1f1; font-style: italic;]finn. fourteen. four years. |
