Post by Jarrod Hale on Nov 7, 2010 12:30:50 GMT -5
The full name's jarrod benjamin hale, but most people call me jay-rod. In case you couldn't tell, I'm a male. I came into this world kicking and screaming on october twenty-first, and eighteen years later, I still haven't stopped. Back then, I lived in LaCrosse, Wisconsin (the cheese state). I'm a Caucasian dealing with the stress of twelfth grade.
eyes :: Are they grey? Are they blue? Are they green? Good question! Like many others attending Lumini, Jarrod has those blue eyes that differ in hue depending on the lighting. Way to be original, Jarrod. -_-
nose :: God forgot his ruler whilst shaping Jarrod's face. According to proportions, the length of the human face is supposed to be equal to the forehead, and the length of the nose changes in accordance with this. Only... not in Jarrod's case. His nose falls short. The repercussions of this, I will detail more extensively in the "face" section. To add to the abnormality of the appendage, there's no hook in it... there's no curve... it's just... straight. All the way down.
hair :: What was Jarrod's original hair color? Much like the number of licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie pop, the world will never know. As far as anyone can remember, he's been dying it pitch black. He used to crop it short around his chin, but now it hangs inches past his shoulders. It is layered to add volume and brushed forward to shield his face. He often parts it to the side so his bangs don't blind him (and then the wind comes along and blows everything to hell).
face :: Remember two sections ago, when I mentioned that Jarrod's nose is a little on the short side? Well, it's left him with plenty of space between his nose and his mouth. An obscenely large amount, I might add. If he ever considered growing a mustache, it'd be pretty thick. Growing up, his face was short and stout. His cheeks were chubby, whenever he straightened his hair, his face would protrude from it... the works. Now, he's grown into his face. His jaw and cheek bones are more angular and defined. He's not quite to the point of look gaunt, but he's on his way. Finally, Jarrod is a huge fanboy of shock tactics. He'll often paint scars from his ear to the corner of his mouth in black ink, or outline his eyes in dark, decorative patterns like so. And he has lip piercings. Sometimes, he wears snakebites, other times, it's just one lonely lip ring. Depends on what he's in the mood for.
body :: The boy stands at six feet, two inches. Originality Jarrod strikes again! (Generic Wilmer Man size = 6'2'') The phrase "tall and lanky" doesn't even begin to cover it. Jarrod is quite possibly the skinniest piece of ass ever to walk the planet, weighing in around 145 pounds. He has some wiry muscle, but other than that, he's a skeleton. To accompany the metal in his mouth, Jarrod has some ink on his arms. His right arm is dedicated entirely to the comic book character Batman, with a large pair of scissors thrown in for good measure. On his left arm, he's got a couple skulls, one of them bleeding. On casual Fridays, Jarrod masquerades as a normal human being. Every other day of the week, he paints his arms and torso black -- quite a contrast to his alabaster skin. And for those of you who care, he's an in-ie.
likes :: cigarettes, writing poetry, theatrics, the color black, leather, excessive accessorizing, belts, wearing make up (guyliner for the win!), lurking in chat rooms, heavy rock (and the occasional metal song), sketching
dislikes :: warm colors (red, orange, yellow, etc.), classes, those who don't bend to his will, wet weather, wind (if you're confused as to why, reread the appearance section), the ignorant, bible-hugging jesus freaks, standing up for lengthy periods of time, wearing shirts, sneakers, strawberries
habits :: flicking his lip ring with his tongue, wringing his fingers, spacing out just as something interesting happens, tapping his heel multiple times in rapid succession, obsessing over people/bands/material possessions
flaws :: obsessive, deranged, stalker, selfish, abusive
positive attributes :: passionate, self-confident, intelligent (or at least, he knows his way around the internet), loyal, cultured
secret(s) :: When he tunes out of a conversation, he's usually dreaming up some elaborate plot to kill someone. He's never had the means or the motive to go through with these plans -- he just likes making them. .... in case.
pet peeve(s) :: being called insane or mentally unstable
personality :: Glitter and masks cannot fool Jarrod. He has the uncanny ability to see the truth as it is. He can tell those that content with themselves from those who create alter egos to please the crowd. The latter, he avoids like the plague. The former, he simply avoids because most of them fail to interest him.
To their credit, it is hard to capture Jarrod's interest. His imagination runs away with him so easily, concocting monsters and adventures so grandiose that he counts anything less extreme as boring. Ordinary. It is for this reason that, when he does take an interest in a subject or a person, he obsesses over said subject or person. Becomes enthralled by it and dedicates all his time to it. Or him or her, depending.
To the inexperienced eye, Jarrod would appear standoffish. He might rudely brush someone off if he or she attempts to reach out to him. He also prefers silence over conversation, so he won't make small talk, or engage in witty banter. Caring only for intelligent conversation, he simply won't talk to those who cannot engage in some.
Ready for the biggest cliché in the book? Scary emo loner boy is sweet and charming.
... Bet you didn't see that one coming.
The catch? He's too sweet and charming. Those he deems worthy of his esteem and affection, he worships. Incessantly. He also might stalk those people, growing possessive of them.
mother :: Catarina Prewitt Hale, waitress at the local diner until her death in 2007
father :: Matthew Hale, fifty-two, army grunt currently stationed at a base in Zurich
brother(s) :: Blake Hale, twenty-six, frontman (lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist) of the garage band Backseat Serenade
sister(s) :: Tootie Hale, twelve, student, moved in with Aunt Meredith
step-relations: :: none
other relatives :: Meredith Williams, wife of Carter Williams, Matthew's sister, photographer for the LaCrosse Tribune, fifty-four
pets :: None. Once you read his history, you'll know why.
background check :: October 21st, 1992 was a dark day in Earth's history. Nobody in the Hale family knew it at the time -- they were all gathered around Catarina's hospital bed, gushing and squealing over the birth of "such a beautiful baby boy!" Then Jarrod and Catarina were cleaned up, rested, and taken home to a lovely three-story townhouse in LaCrosse.
As he matured, his parents took notice of slight differences between Jarrod and his older brother Blake. Seeing as Blake was the only other child they'd had, he was Catarina's and Matthew's basis for how a normal baby behaved. Blake had screamed a lot and accidentally failed to swallow half of his food (because he was screaming so damn much). His hobbies had included crawling over every surface he could and banging together anything he got his hands on (e.g. pots and pans).
Jarrod, on the other hand, didn't scream once.
... Until Catarina tried to feed him.
Occasionally, he would crawl, but only if whatever toy he was brutally destroying slipped from his grasp and landed out of his reach before he was done brutally destroying it. He also bypassed pots and pans, or anything that made a strident sound when banged together.
One time, when Meredith was washing the dishes, a dinner knife fell to the floor. Jarrod shot forward from the corner he'd spent most of his day in and picked up the knife. There was a dangerous glint in his eye as he turned it over in his hands, his expression one of awe and worship. Then Meredith snatched the knife from his grasp, and he threw a tantrum.
Blake was a heavy rock fan. He was always blasting his music, holed up in his room. Jarrod would often huddle outside his brother's door and just sit there, swaying back and forth with his eyes closed. If Blake ever used the bathroom, Jarrod seized the opportunity and crawled into the bedroom, sitting just under the stereo. When Blake returned, he would kick his brother into the hall.
Kindergarten pretty much drew the line between Jarrod and his peers. His parents dropped him off at the Hamilton Early Learning Center. While the other children experienced difficulties letting go of their parents' legs, Jarrod hopped right out of the car and sprinted into the building. Naturally, he got lost. An administrator with sharp white teeth, manicured nails, and curly hair crouched beside him, put an arm around him, and asked him where he was headed. She smelt of strawberries.
That was when Catarina caught up with them, and Jarrod was directed to the right classroom.
An invisible forcefield protected Jarrod from the other children in his class. They couldn't tell what it was about him, but there were some dark vibes coming off the kid. Not a single one came within three feet of him the entire day... not even the teacher. She kept her distance, eyeing him warily. It might have had something to do with the amount of black he used in his finger-painting.
News of this morbid black fanboy spread to the Neighborhood Mom Alliance (it wasn't formally called this, but you know how cliquey neighborhood moms can be). They, of course, approached Catarina with some complaints. Catarina hypothesized that Jarrod's behavior was rooted in his lack of a father figure. His father was, after all, stationed overseas, never appearing until Christmas or an occasional week during the summer. She thought Jarrod needed structure, which she and the public school system couldn't offer. So what did she do?
... She shipped him off to Catholic school.
Blessed Sacrament Elementary, to be exact.
It was kindergarten all over again.
Nobody talked to Jarrod -- they were afraid of him. He was taller than your average first-grader... even taller than some of the third-graders. By this time, Blake had started a band and adopted his own metal rocker look. Jarrod caught one glimpse of it and knew exactly how he wanted to dress. He stole some lunch money from his classmates to dye his hair and redo his wardrobe. Now, he couldn't wear said wardrobe to school (uniforms and all that), but the dye, combined with his height and inexplicable thinness, was enough to scare the living hell out of those little catholic wimps.
None of his teachers complained, though. Jarrod was one of those natural-born geniuses who just got everything. He never studied for tests, but he passed with flying colors. He pretty much blew away the curve for everyone else. That, combined with the fact that he never started any drama in class, made him a favorite among the staff.
Unfortunately, with his peers feeling differently, Jarrod was left with copious amounts of free time. He took to writing poems and sketching pictures. It was a lonely existence, but he didn't mind. After all, he chose the isolation. If he wanted, he could entertain himself by tormenting his younger sister, but he preferred solitude.
Catarina, failing to understand this, bought him a parrot. Jarrod named it Blackbeard, after the famous pirate. For a week, Blackbeard was kept in good health. Jarrod fed him, filled his water bottle, and taught him a few words (the simple stuff, like "hi" and "antidisestablishmentarianism"). Then he saw a film about caterpillars and metamorphosis in school.
As it turns out, if you cocoon a parrot in duct tape, it doesn't morph into an entirely different creature.
It just dies.
The day Jarrod graduated to Aguina's Catholic Middle School, everything changed. Moving on to middle school gave his peers the ego boost they needed to no longer be scared of Jarrod, but to hate him for his differences. They called him a slew of inappropriate names, including "fag" and "cutter" (even though Jarrod had never cut himself).
Throughout middle school, Jarrod could ignore it. The words didn't bother him. They were ignorant fools -- he had nothing to prove to them. Then he started high school, and the conflict escalated. Kids started swinging fists. Jarrod took one to the face and spent the rest of the day in the infirmary with a black eye.
The next day, Jarrod approached the kid who'd punched him and held a knife to his throat.
That marked the end of his days at catholic school.
He was carted to a juvenile detention center, sentences to a year of counseling. While he was locked up, he received word that his mother had died.
It'd be sweet of me to mention that he cried.
He didn't.
Tootie moved in with Aunt Meredith, Blake moved to Chicago with his band mates, and Jarrod was alone in jail.
On the day of his release, Aunt Meredith met him in the prison parking lot. She looked down her nose at him (dunno how she managed that one, since Jarrod had almost two whole feet on her) and grudgingly invited him to stay with her. So he did, and that's where he remained until the fall of 2010.
To keep himself occupied up to that point, he taught himself how to use the computer. His original intent was to start a blog on which he could publish his artwork and poetry. Construction took much longer than he'd anticipated. In the meantime, he checked out some chat rooms.
That was where he met her.
She was spirited and witty and exciting... something special, to be sure. The two of them would talk for hours on end about the most trivial of things. Jarrod never tired of her. It got to the point where she was all Jarrod thought about. He knew he had to meet her, if he could. So he asked for her name. Looked her up on every social networking site known to man. Found out she lived in Chicago.
As an eighteenth birthday present to himself, Jarrod transfered schools and moved in with his brother. On the condition that Blake could use some of Jarrod's poetry as song lyrics without having to credit him.
Alexia, his rose.....
He will find you.
role play sample ::You might want some lengthy, detailed backstory as to why Asher had come to the mall on this particular day. Sucks for you -- there isn't one. Sometimes, teen boys just wake up and feel like going to the mall. So there you have it. Asher was there. At the mall. Wandering around, wishing there was some lengthy backstory that lead to his presence there, 'cause at least it would mean he had some purpose for it other than the fact that he was bored and had nowhere else to go.
Ginger curls caught his eyes. The smile that followed was inevitable.
Zahirah Kallen, looking crushed, as though she'd been expecting someone and they weren't there? Oh, life was too good to him.
If you were waiting for a backstory, this one's for you. As a new student, Asher knew a grand total of five people at Lumini: Skyler Kanes, his female partner in crime (who wasn't nearly as obsessed with sex as he was -- or at least, wasn't as obvious about it), Jenna Aiken (Skye's partner in crime, who was actually very straight-edge and up-tight, so Asher never missed an opportunity to pester her), Mr. Thorne (his history teacher who'd left quite the impression after implying that Asher read at a first grade level), Marissa Kent (the sophomore bombshell i t was impossible not to know)... and Zahirah Kallen.
They'd met maybe... once? Twice? Not even?
Okay. So I lied. This is where the backstory comes in. The reason Asher was so freaking ecstatic, seeing Zahirah at the mall, was the last time they'd met, he'd had such a good time tearing her apart. And their audience had gotten quite a kick out of it, as well. It hadn't earned Asher any friends, but it'd earned him quite a few high fives, "way to go"s, and laughs. That's all high school was about, really -- the props.
Cutting through the crowd, Asher hovered over Zahirah's shoulder. "Hey ginger," he greeted, all ready teasing. "If you're looking for your soul, there's a reason you can't find it." He didn't finish the joke -- he was confident in Zahirah's extrapolation skills. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looked down his nose as the petite girl. Before, he'd failed to notice how thin she was. God. She needed to like... eat a pizza or something. Never mind, he wasn't finished insulting her yet. "Or did someone stand you up?"
Gee. Asher could be a real d-bag sometimes....
Oh well.
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hey. my alias is lolihavetoomanynames, I'm SIXTEEN years old, and I've been slashing for like... four years. I heard about you guys through SICK LULLABIES! (but it died T^T), and let me say, ADMIN EDIT YO.
