Post by Brayden Cordivari on Jan 30, 2011 9:15:40 GMT -5
The full name's brayden james cordivari, but most people call me bray. In case you couldn't tell, I'm a guy. I came into this world kicking and screaming on november fourteenth, and fifteen years later, I still haven't stopped. Back then, I lived in chicago. I'm a caucasian dealing with the stress of ninth grade.
eyes :: At the risk of being beaten over the head with a potato, Brayden has blue eyes that vary in hue depending on the lighting and what else he's wearing. Most of the time, they are a steel, icy blue. If he's wearing a brilliant blue article of clothing, his eyes will adopt a more sapphire shade. Likewise, if he's near something green, his eyes turn aquamarine.
nose :: ... It's large. Very, very large. Not only is the bridge thick coming down, but at the end, Brayden's nose opens up into a large bulb. It bears two indentations -- one level with his eyes, and the other just above the bulb. Apart from these, the bridge is straight.
hair :: Bray's hair is an odd cross between skater hair and a bowl cut. It's cut to match the shape of his head, with the back being longer than the front, which makes it a bowl. But then it's layered and brushed across his face like skater hair. Bray straightens it, but there are some waves in the layers near the front from where he brushes them to the left.
face :: Bray has a broad face. It's also rather ovular in shape. He has a large bulb in his chin, much like that at the end of his nose (except wider). He has no cheekbones of which to speak. However, his cheeks are naturally rosy.
body :: Standing at 5'7'', Brayden isn't the tallest of the bunch. However, he could be an intimidating figure (if he tried) because he's bulky. Not in the borderline obese sense, but in the fact that he has broad shoulders and a healthy amount of muscle. He weighs in around 140, and the majority of that is abdominal muscle. At the same time, he's slim enough to fit comfortably into a pair of skinny jeans.
likes :: quiet, sculpting, sketching, classical music, show tunes, Broadway musicals (he has an entire playlist dedicated to Wicked), singing in the shower, taking showers (he takes at least two a day -- one in the morning, one at night), taking care of his hair, keeping a journal, writing letters (emails just aren't as meaningful), evading the spotlight
dislikes :: computers (mostly because he can't figure them out), cellphones (he still hasn't taught himself to text on his), mathematics, science, questions with one set answer, standardized tests, anything lacking in color (except grayscale photographs or classic movies -- then, there's something romantic about it), being the center of attention, people invading his personal bubble (i.e., coming within a six-inch radius), public speaking, oral reports / exams
habits :: tosses his bangs into his eyes to hide behind them, stutters when forced into meeting someone knew or speaking in front of crowds, blushes profusely when he makes mistakes (or thinks he's made one)
flaws :: socially inept, OCD, paranoid, reticent, obscenely self-conscious
positive attributes :: empathetic, artistic, humble, respectful, well-mannered
secret(s) :: he's the reason his father left. Ever since "The Incident", Brayden hasn't told anyone about his sexual preferences
pet peeve(s) :: people texting each other from across the room (or worse -- right next to each other)
personality :: Brayden absolutely loathes being in open spaces, or being the center of attention. It's why he grows his hair long. He can hide behind it. He doesn't like other people knowing what he's feeling, or what's running through his mind. If someone's watching him too intently, his palms start to sweat, his throat constricts, and his body temperature sky-rockets. He likes his personal space.
He worries over everything. It's common knowledge. The reason he doesn't take any serious risks, or bother saying "hi" to any of the populars, is because he worries about what the outcome would be. What is that called, insecurity? Low self-esteem? Whatever it is, it makes his insides run around like a decapitated chicken every time something doesn't work out the way it should. Mom doesn't call at eight o'clock? He start pacing his room, imaging her getting jumped in a dark alley. Gets anything less than an A on an assignment? He start yelling at himself because it is not acceptable college work.
Bray's a perfectionist. Really, it's true. All the photos in his room and hung levelly on the walls, never skew. He has to iron his shirts after wearing them to make sure they stay wrinkle free. His shoe laces are tied symmetrically. Maybe another word for that is OCD. He doesn't like working on group projects because nobody does anything the right way. If he doesn't have everything set in order, he goes completely mental.
Surprisingly enough, he has a very sarcastic sense of humor. Most of the retorts and/or jokes he comes up with, he keeps to himself. However, if he were to let them loose, he guarantees someone's feelings would get hurt. That's what he's most afraid of: becoming one of the people he despises. So he just keeps things like that confined in his own mind.
Brayden can't flirt. Or talk to people in general. It just doesn't work. He's what you would call socially awkward. He doesn't know what happens, he just freezes up. Then he ends up blurting some random fun fact that no one cares about and scaring the person away. That's why he keeps to myself most of the time, or lets other people instigate the conversations and tries to stick to the topics they introduce.
mother :: Sylvia Cordivari, forty-three, art curator at the local museum
father :: Stephan Cordivari, forty-three,
brother(s) :: none
sister(s) :: none
step-relations :: Janine Ryth-Cordivari, forty-two, step mother, freelance journalist
Kathryn (Katie) Ryth-Cordivari, step sister, student, thirteen
other relatives :: none
pets :: female black lab named Licorice
background check :: At first, life was perfect. Brayden's parents were happily married, they were raising their perfect little son in a perfect little suburb a few miles east of Chicago, they bought him anything he asked for (but, being a paranoid worry-wart, he thought if he incessantly begged for anything, his parents would get pissed and smack him upside the head, and never asked for anything) or thought he needed, and he made tons of friends in Kindergarten (or rather, since he was too shy to talk to everyone else, the friends found him). All the guys were outgoing socialites at that point, so they were always asking Brayden to join in their games of soccer or pee-wee football at recess. For some reason (which he would later discover), the girls felt quite comfortable talking to Brayden. They would approach him sometimes and drag him into their gossiping.
Then everyone got older and started crushing on other people. The guys morphed into pervs (seemingly over night), and the girls morphed into hopeless romantics. Having friends on either side of the spectrum, Brayden was subject to both perverted jokes and fairy tale romances about knights in shining army, blond hair, and white horses. Brayden would never admit this to any of the guys, but he was having fantasies about that himself. At the time, his major crush was the same major crush as every other guy in school -- Miranda. Honey blond, large (almost manga-sized) blue eyes, Miranda was as sweet and demure as they came. What did Brayden dream about? He dreamed he was locked up in a tower somewhere, and Miranda was an elf (like the ones in Lord of the Rings). She'd come riding up on her trusty mare (white) and shoot an arrow into the wall next to Brayden's window. He should shimmy down the rope next to it, then Miranda would offer her his hand and help him onto her horse. That dream, right there, should have been a flashing neon sign.
Blissfully unaware, Brayden had no idea until seventh grade. At that point, Miranda had dated just about every other guy in their grade, and had moved on to upperclassmen, skipping over Brayden entirely. He was getting by, alternating between two best friends. One of them was a really butch, standoffish girl named Niley. The other was an All-American Golden Boy who had a bright future as an Abercrombie & Fitch model. His name was Jason. Brayden and Jason were in Brayden's room one afternoon, studying for an algebra test. Jason couldn't understand the material at all, and he was getting all flustered. Without even thinking, Brayden smiled at him and blurted, "You're so cute when you're upset." Only after the words had jumped out of his mouth did Brayden realize how that sounded. But now that he thought on it, it was true. Jason had this cute little nose that reminded Brayden of a pug dog when it crinkled, and his frustration added smolder to his eyes. The weirdest part was it didn't seem to bother Jason that Brayden had said it. All-American Boy just laughed and said, "I'll look a lot less cute when my brain explodes." That night, Brayden had a dream that he was captured by pirates. Then Jason jumped aboard the ship (in a sexy v-neck pirate shirt, no less) and started slashing people up with his broadsword. Once he'd disposed of the pirates, he took Brayden's hand and asked if he was all right. Then Brayden's morning alarm woke him up.
Jason and Brayden started hanging out more, and this time, they would actually hang out. Occasionally, they would play video games, but mostly they lounged around Brayden's room eating the entire contents of Brayden's fridge. Over the course of those study sessions, Jason both started and finished dating Miranda. She asked him out, told him he was the most gorgeous human being she'd ever laid eyes on, told him she loved him, and then, the next day, dumped him hard. This all happened over the span of two weeks. After the breakup, Jason and Brayden were hanging out again. Seemingly out of the blue, Jason said, "It's kind of bitchy, the way Miranda strings guys along." As a gesture of sympathy, Brayden stood up from his beanbag chair and sat next to Jason on the side of his bed. He was electrically aware that their hands were so close, their pinkies were almost touching, but quickly shook the thought. "I...If it's a-an-ny consolation -" somehow, he managed not to stutter through the longest word in that half-sentence, "- I don't get why she would break up with you." Jason fixed Brayden with those smoldering eyes of his. "To be honest, I'm kind of glad she did." He shifted his hand, and suddenly, their pinkies were touching. Brayden nearly swooned. He took a deep breath in hopes of clearing his head. "W-why's that?" A smile tugged at the corner of Jason's mouth. "'Cause now I know girls aren't worth my time." He stroked the back of Brayden's hand with his pinkie. "You're cute when you stutter." An image of sexy pirate Jason flashed through Brayden's mind. His heart skipped a beat. He quipped, "I'll look a lot less cute when my nerves explode." Jason chuckled. "It'd take a hell of a lot to keep you from being cute."
Then there was a whole lot of leaning. Next thing Brayden knew, he'd had his first kiss. Oh wait. It was still going on. And on. And on. And deepening. He and Jason had turned in to each other. Somehow, Brayden's hand ended up on Jason's chest, and Jason's fingers ended up knotted in Jason's hair.
The door flew open.
"Brayden, you left your shorts in the bathroo--"
Having never participated in track, the long jump Brayden executed at the moment was pretty impressive. It had to be four feet at least. His father was staring at him, his eyes wide, face red. "Dad, I can explain -" "GET OUT!" his father roared. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW. BOTH OF YOU." Storming into the room, he got behind Brayden and shoved him out the door. Jason shot and followed. He tried to explain. "Mr. Cordivari, it's my fault!" "YOU'RE DARN RIGHT IT IS!" They made it to the front entrance. Mr. Cordivari shoved both Brayden and Jason into the street. "DON'T EITHER OF YOU COME BACK HERE AGAIN!"
Hearing the commotion, Sylvia came running. She had a shouting match with her husband, which ended with her saying if Stephen forced Brayden to leave, she was leaving too. Stephen's response? "GO AHEAD! LEAVE!"
... So that's what they did. Sylvia used her emergency fund she'd saved to rent an apartment in Chicago. Brayden and Jason dated long-distance (and behind his mother's back) for a while, but then Jason fell in love with another guy. Brayden threw himself into art to take his mind off that failure of a relationship. He got kicked out of his house because of that guy, and Jason broke up with him. Neh. Since then, Brayden has decided to ignore all boy crushes. Girls are much less trouble.
role play sample ::Ray grinned and nodded after Brayden told her that anyone who didn't like her was off their rocker. She looked like she was about to say something, but at that moment, the librarian came into view, heading their way. "Oh my God, it's the thing!" Brayden whispered to Ray. As soon as the words left his lips, the librarian trained her vulture eyes on him. Brayden's eyes widened instinctively, but he held her gaze until she turned away, distracted by hooligans being disruptive elsewhere. Brayden breathed a sigh of relief just before Ray said, "She scares me." Brayden chuckled, following her gaze as she turned to watch the librarian make sport of the boys in the back. "You're not alone, believe me. Every time I see her, I start to worry she'll keel over in front of me. Oh, and she's pretty mean too." He returned Ray's grin. It faded when she said she'd argue with him, but she wasn't in the mood. Brayden shrugged, as he had nothing to say to that. He couldn't force Ray to be happy with herself, it was something she had to learn.
He went on to admit that he would probably run screaming if any scene kids crossed his path in the future. He'd said it sarcastically, but part of him meant it. Ray knew it, too. Being an intent listener for most of his life, Brayden had learned to read people. He saw Ray's eyes widen and knew she felt a little bad about saying that. "Wait, that's not how I meant it," Ray insisted, waving her hands as though that would make him forget her words. Brayden chuckled again. "I hate to break it to 'ya, Ray," he began, "but you're not a jedi." To make sure that she knew all was forgiven, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. "Relax, I get it. I still love you." By that, he meant in the skillet and homedawg type way. Those were the types of things he said to his friends to give them a boost. In a world of such negativity, most people needed one.
They then moved on to the topic of next year's Halloween costumes. The previous Halloween had taken place mere weeks ago, it would be another year yet 'till the next one... but it was never too early to start planning. Especially when you'd be up to your eyeballs in homework and summer projects. Ray looked genuinely scared by the fact that he'd be trick-or-treating (or maybe party-crashing, since no one would be able to see his face behind the surgical mask and come chasing after him later) as a guy in a white suite. For all she knew, he could just rent a white tux and a rose pink tie and go in that. "Then I'm going to dress up as a druggie scene kid and chase you around with a baseball bat," Ray threatened. She went on to say that she already had half the costume down. All she needed was the baseball bat, and that could be easily supplied by her brother. A moment of inspiration struck. "Dude, that's perfect!" Brayden exclaimed. "I could get one of my artist friends to paint cuts on your arms, and I could chase you around campus with this big needle, trying to put you in the asylum. We stash the bat before hand, and I chase you over to it, then you pick it up and start chasing me." By the end, he was bouncing up and down in his seat. "Wouldn't that be awesome?"
Brayden's enthusiasm died when Ray started threatening to make him draw things. When he asked if she was really going to make him draw all the things she was mentioning, she giggled. "Of course, silly!" Brayden heaved a sigh. "Fine," he said finally. "But only for you." Then he thought for a moment. "What was it, a rainbow unicorn and a baby dinosaur? And the unicorn eating the dinosaur?" He scratched his chin. "That would make unicorns look evil, though. And everyone knows they're not. You can't be evil and poop butterflies. Why don't we make it a baby unicorn and an adult dinosaur? That'll be funnier." He snatched up her pencil and sketchbook, flipping to a new page. He then put his feet up on Ray's chair to hide the paper as he set to work.
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hey. my alias is emmy, I'm fifteen years old, and I've been slashing for almost five years. I heard about you guys through the rabbit hole I fell down, and let me say, NEENJA ADMIN IS RUNNING OUT OF WITTY REMARKS TO THROW AT CHEATERS.
