Post by Deleted on Aug 11, 2013 1:16:14 GMT
JASON WENDELL LEMOYNE
Hair Color: Light brown naturally but usually dyed bright red. Something called Electric Tiger Lily
Eye Color: Slate Grey
Height/Weight: 6’2” ; 165 lbs
Shape: Lanky with an average build
Style: Baggy, dark wash jeans or cargo pants. Usually paired with a thin, loose fitting t-shirt in a variety of bright colors. Casual Attire
Play By: Shane Harper
Age: 15 (March 27, 1998)
Sexual Orientation: Pansexual
Occupation:Camper ; Entering 10th grade in the fall
Unusual Behaviour: No recognizable disorders
Habits or Quirks: When impatient or nervous, Jason will often tap his fingers or feet respectively, which is apparently very annoying even though he doesn’t notice it. He also accidentally blinks when he makes attempts to wink, which no one has decided to tell him about yet. He is a dreadful liar when he isn’t covering it up with some sort of a joke and anyone who pays attention will notice that kicking the ground is his usual tell. Anyone who pays attention will also notice the multitude of sticky notes and the pen he keeps on hand. Jason likes to jot down information, but usually loses it before remembering he wanted to remember what it was.
Likes: Writing letters, swimming, people, keeping busy, sweets
Dislikes: Shoes, spoiled brats, confinement, being ordered around, insects (mostly spiders, but any creepy crawly will do)
Other Info/Overall Personality: Generally, Jason is regarded as immature, but this is mostly because he spends a great deal of time joking around. He plays and pokes and teases more than anything else. Rarely is he serious. Or angry. Occasionally he gets all sad and grumpy. When he is, he converses very little. There isn’t really an in between for Jason. He’s either one or the other. And it is extremely easy to tell the difference.
He makes friends very easily and there are quite a few people who he would consider friends. Jason tends to be very open and friendly, especially when he first meets someone. Never will he allow someone to be left out of anything. Overall, he’s a nice guy, though he absolutely hates that label.
Parents: Marilynn Bea Lemoyne/40/Artist ; Barton Isaiah Lemoyne/40/Entrepreneur (Jason was never really sure of what his father did.)
Siblings: Older Sister – Sonia Vivienne Lemoyne/21/Female
Other Family: None that he is aware of. He’s heard of his grandparents but assumes that they’re dead.
Pets:None
History:
Marilynn and Barton were high school sweethearts. Before that, they were best friends. They grew up together, making mud pies and sneaking into the neighbor’s tree house together. Everyone who knew them could see what they were bound to become when they were older. So by the time high school came around, it was really no surprise that they started dating. It began their sophomore year and continued without a glitch through the reminder of their allotted four years. They went off to college together, rented a small apartment, and lived their happy little life together. At least, it was a happy little life for about a year.
Then, Marilynn found out she was pregnant. They were not prepared and knew not what to do. But, they did their best to figure it out. Barton continued going to school while Marilynn dropped out to take care of their child, a pretty little girl they named Sonia. Though she considered herself stuck, Marilynn did what she could and took up art. She sculpted, painted, and crafted to her heart’s content. In between taking care of her baby, of course.
It was another six years before the Lemoynes had another child. Up until then, Marilynn’s art carreer was going surprisingly well. Barton graduated from college and spent most of his time bouncing from job to job, experimenting to find his niche. Their life was rather chaotic when Jason was born, and it only got worse after that.
They moved out of their apartment and into a small house that was cluttered with unfinished paintings and boxes that somehow remained unopened for another ten years.
Jason grew up extremely close to his sister. Though his parents spent a great deal of time with him and cared for him very well, it was Sonia who was always there for him. Really, Jason didn’t like his parents. He couldn’t talk to them. He didn’t like the way they acted around him. He couldn’t stand it. And he wanted to leave for years, but there was just no way to get out.
At least, there was no way until Sonia left. She knew what he thought of their parents and, though she didn’t share the sentiment, she understood what he wanted. So, when she left for school, she took her little brother with her, no questions asked. Jason was twelve at the time.
Then, Marilynn found out she was pregnant. They were not prepared and knew not what to do. But, they did their best to figure it out. Barton continued going to school while Marilynn dropped out to take care of their child, a pretty little girl they named Sonia. Though she considered herself stuck, Marilynn did what she could and took up art. She sculpted, painted, and crafted to her heart’s content. In between taking care of her baby, of course.
It was another six years before the Lemoynes had another child. Up until then, Marilynn’s art carreer was going surprisingly well. Barton graduated from college and spent most of his time bouncing from job to job, experimenting to find his niche. Their life was rather chaotic when Jason was born, and it only got worse after that.
They moved out of their apartment and into a small house that was cluttered with unfinished paintings and boxes that somehow remained unopened for another ten years.
Jason grew up extremely close to his sister. Though his parents spent a great deal of time with him and cared for him very well, it was Sonia who was always there for him. Really, Jason didn’t like his parents. He couldn’t talk to them. He didn’t like the way they acted around him. He couldn’t stand it. And he wanted to leave for years, but there was just no way to get out.
At least, there was no way until Sonia left. She knew what he thought of their parents and, though she didn’t share the sentiment, she understood what he wanted. So, when she left for school, she took her little brother with her, no questions asked. Jason was twelve at the time.
Name/Alias: Mostly just Shelby. Occasionally Muffin. Take your pick.
Age: 17
Contact: PM me or email me at vibrant_insanity [at]hotmail[dot]com
Experience: Almost six years
Additional Bits'n'Bobs: Eh, nothing of any importance
Sample RP:
September 29th, 1984
The chime of the bell hung from the door was eerily loud in the stark, empty place. It echoed through the silence that had settled like fallen ash upon the room. Seldom was that silence broken. The bell itself was a singular glass orb that, upon first glance, would not appear to make a sound. It was molten silver and gold woven together that when moved produced the most appealing sounds of high, melodic, tinkling laughter. The sounds was mesmerizing and for a moment, the young man who set it in motion stood stagnant in to doorway to listen to its reverberations. But he was the only one in the room to even acknowledge its existence. Of course, for it to be acknowledged, there first must be people there to do so, and save the statuesque receptionist and the silent man at the back door, there was not a soul in the room. And the unobservant boy, for he was far more boy than man, didn’t notice a things awry.
As he sauntered from the door to the lone stiff chair, his feel shuffled and scraped along the clean linoleum floor, further fracturing the ever-present silence. He reached the seat and planted himself upon it when an oomph. There he sat for a while, so absorbed in himself that he was oblivious to the world.
And the stony receptionist watched him. She watched his every move for several minutes until finally, she nodded. It was a single nor of her head, just one motion directed at nothing in particular. Though the motion was small, it was firm and concise and one of the two stationary guards began to move. He was a huge, burly man, but his footsteps were utterly soundless. It was no more than twelve strides until he stood before the young man in the seat. Hr said absolutely nothing. He just stood there until the man looked up from his vanity.
When finally he turned his eyes up from the ground, he looked at the man and rose when the gesture to follow met his eye. As soon as his feet touched the ground, the muscle man before him began to briskly walk to the door his counterpart guarded. All was silent until the two men passed through and an unnaturally loud snick told them the door had met the frame. And suddenly, the sound erupted forth. IT was startlingly loud. The young man jumped, receiving nothing in response save a wicked smirk. The buzz of what sounded like gargantuan insects echoed though hall that, in contrast with the previous room, was exponentially louder.
The walls were cluttered with leather bound book upon leather bound book, none of which had any sort of identification along the covers or spines. Every few feet a door interrupted the shelved of books. They were cold and unnatural looking next to the earthy tones of the leather. The floor was concrete. Everything except the books reflected the same stark, medical feel the lobby had. It would have been extremely unnerving had the boy put his narcissistic thoughts on pause for even a short moment to observe his surroundings.
When the exceptionally long hallway came to an end, all that stood before him was a single door that was not unlike all the others. The only difference was the handle; this door had an ornate knob where the others had only a blank sheet of metal. The burly man reached around his temporary companion to open the door without a sound. Before the boy could even think, there was a thick strip of opaque fabric tied around his eyes and he was physically shoved through the open doorway. He stumbled to what appeared to be a chair and fell to the seat. Confused and disoriented, his hands fluttered over what he assumed to be a table before him.
The guard grumbled audibly at the guy’s stupidity and gruffly instructed, “Do not touch anything. Do not look at anything. Sit there and do not move. Disobey and you will regret it.” And he was gone.
When left to his own devices, the man continued with his chaotic shuffling until his hands brushed against the soft, supple leather of what he assumed was one of the same books that lined the hallway. He brought his hands up to his eyes and removed the cloth, not taking into consideration the warnings of his strange escort. It fell to the floor as he opened the book before him and let his eyes wander over blank pages. He began flipping through the book. With each turn of the page, thick ink outlines began to grow darker and darker until all of the paper was painted with intricate designs.
Unbeknownst to the young man, the silent woman from the front room had opened the silent door behind him. Upon seeing him so longer blind and interacting with the book in the desk, she calmly reached over to press the near hidden white button on the wall. Almost instantly, the huge man appeared over her shoulder. He lumbered over to the one in the chair and jerked him from his seat.
It was as though this was a practiced routine as he was dragged down the hall and out through a side door. The bouncer did not care what his human dumbbell hit on the way out. He was thrown into the dingy alley. As the young man lay bruised and a little battered on the nasty cobblestone, the woman handed her friend a small bottle of clear liquid.
The next think the boy knew, the bouncer had him pinned to the ground and held an eye-dropper no more than an inch or two from his face, the tube filled to capacity with the unknown liquid. Without and signal of some sort of remorse, he squeezed the rubber stopper.
Instantly, the young man could not see. His eyes burned as though someone stuck a red hot poker in them. He heard screaming, but didn’t recognize the voice. Before long, the screams transformed into the high-pitched sirens of emergency vehicles. It was then that he realized the man was no longer on top of him. He was cold and burning to charcoal. He couldn’t speak but his own voice rang in his ears.
The last thing he remembered before drifting into the nitrous-oxide induced slumber was a gurney beneath him and big white doors closing at his feet.
February 19th, 1993
The firelight flickered on the walls of the darkened room, providing the only source of light. It was a warm, cozy room, even when the fire was not lit. What normally would have felt cluttered merely provided a sense of hominess to the place. In it sat a small desk, pushed close to the wall and a single large loveseat close to the stone fireplace.
A deep voice rumbled quietly from the chair, the slight southern twang lightly echoing in the small room. The voice originated from the man sitting in the chair. His salt and pepper speckled hair was close cropped and he wore what appeared to be a well-loved pair of flannel pajamas. On his lap sat a small child, no more than five years old. The drowsily leaned against his chest and looked down at the large story book that rested on his knees.
The smooth voice faded away after a few moments when the story came to an end. The man sat there with his young daughter a little while before she roused and looked up at him. Slowly and tentatively, she extended a chubby little hand to touch the scars that framed her father’s eyes. The skin was raw and ragged as though burned away just yesterday. Yet somehow, his eyes retained the color that they always had.
“Daddy,” she almost whispered. “What happened?” She had always wondered what caused the strange marks on his face, but he never answered her questions or told her the story.
He sighed, refusing to look down at her when he answered. “Caydance Emmaline, honey, I’ll tell you that story another day.” He couldn’t look his sweet little girl in the eye as he kept that from her. The truth was that he was too ashamed of his own pride and idiocy to expose that part of his past to her.
Perhaps he would tell her when he was older. That had a certain sort of humorless humor to it, didn’t it? That was always what parents said to their children. Oh, I’ll tell you later sweetie. I’ll tell you when you’re old enough. Just wait a couple years and ask me again. Years ago, he promised himself that he wasn’t going to be one of those parents. Looks like that plan went down the drain.
The chime of the bell hung from the door was eerily loud in the stark, empty place. It echoed through the silence that had settled like fallen ash upon the room. Seldom was that silence broken. The bell itself was a singular glass orb that, upon first glance, would not appear to make a sound. It was molten silver and gold woven together that when moved produced the most appealing sounds of high, melodic, tinkling laughter. The sounds was mesmerizing and for a moment, the young man who set it in motion stood stagnant in to doorway to listen to its reverberations. But he was the only one in the room to even acknowledge its existence. Of course, for it to be acknowledged, there first must be people there to do so, and save the statuesque receptionist and the silent man at the back door, there was not a soul in the room. And the unobservant boy, for he was far more boy than man, didn’t notice a things awry.
As he sauntered from the door to the lone stiff chair, his feel shuffled and scraped along the clean linoleum floor, further fracturing the ever-present silence. He reached the seat and planted himself upon it when an oomph. There he sat for a while, so absorbed in himself that he was oblivious to the world.
And the stony receptionist watched him. She watched his every move for several minutes until finally, she nodded. It was a single nor of her head, just one motion directed at nothing in particular. Though the motion was small, it was firm and concise and one of the two stationary guards began to move. He was a huge, burly man, but his footsteps were utterly soundless. It was no more than twelve strides until he stood before the young man in the seat. Hr said absolutely nothing. He just stood there until the man looked up from his vanity.
When finally he turned his eyes up from the ground, he looked at the man and rose when the gesture to follow met his eye. As soon as his feet touched the ground, the muscle man before him began to briskly walk to the door his counterpart guarded. All was silent until the two men passed through and an unnaturally loud snick told them the door had met the frame. And suddenly, the sound erupted forth. IT was startlingly loud. The young man jumped, receiving nothing in response save a wicked smirk. The buzz of what sounded like gargantuan insects echoed though hall that, in contrast with the previous room, was exponentially louder.
The walls were cluttered with leather bound book upon leather bound book, none of which had any sort of identification along the covers or spines. Every few feet a door interrupted the shelved of books. They were cold and unnatural looking next to the earthy tones of the leather. The floor was concrete. Everything except the books reflected the same stark, medical feel the lobby had. It would have been extremely unnerving had the boy put his narcissistic thoughts on pause for even a short moment to observe his surroundings.
When the exceptionally long hallway came to an end, all that stood before him was a single door that was not unlike all the others. The only difference was the handle; this door had an ornate knob where the others had only a blank sheet of metal. The burly man reached around his temporary companion to open the door without a sound. Before the boy could even think, there was a thick strip of opaque fabric tied around his eyes and he was physically shoved through the open doorway. He stumbled to what appeared to be a chair and fell to the seat. Confused and disoriented, his hands fluttered over what he assumed to be a table before him.
The guard grumbled audibly at the guy’s stupidity and gruffly instructed, “Do not touch anything. Do not look at anything. Sit there and do not move. Disobey and you will regret it.” And he was gone.
When left to his own devices, the man continued with his chaotic shuffling until his hands brushed against the soft, supple leather of what he assumed was one of the same books that lined the hallway. He brought his hands up to his eyes and removed the cloth, not taking into consideration the warnings of his strange escort. It fell to the floor as he opened the book before him and let his eyes wander over blank pages. He began flipping through the book. With each turn of the page, thick ink outlines began to grow darker and darker until all of the paper was painted with intricate designs.
Unbeknownst to the young man, the silent woman from the front room had opened the silent door behind him. Upon seeing him so longer blind and interacting with the book in the desk, she calmly reached over to press the near hidden white button on the wall. Almost instantly, the huge man appeared over her shoulder. He lumbered over to the one in the chair and jerked him from his seat.
It was as though this was a practiced routine as he was dragged down the hall and out through a side door. The bouncer did not care what his human dumbbell hit on the way out. He was thrown into the dingy alley. As the young man lay bruised and a little battered on the nasty cobblestone, the woman handed her friend a small bottle of clear liquid.
The next think the boy knew, the bouncer had him pinned to the ground and held an eye-dropper no more than an inch or two from his face, the tube filled to capacity with the unknown liquid. Without and signal of some sort of remorse, he squeezed the rubber stopper.
Instantly, the young man could not see. His eyes burned as though someone stuck a red hot poker in them. He heard screaming, but didn’t recognize the voice. Before long, the screams transformed into the high-pitched sirens of emergency vehicles. It was then that he realized the man was no longer on top of him. He was cold and burning to charcoal. He couldn’t speak but his own voice rang in his ears.
The last thing he remembered before drifting into the nitrous-oxide induced slumber was a gurney beneath him and big white doors closing at his feet.
February 19th, 1993
The firelight flickered on the walls of the darkened room, providing the only source of light. It was a warm, cozy room, even when the fire was not lit. What normally would have felt cluttered merely provided a sense of hominess to the place. In it sat a small desk, pushed close to the wall and a single large loveseat close to the stone fireplace.
A deep voice rumbled quietly from the chair, the slight southern twang lightly echoing in the small room. The voice originated from the man sitting in the chair. His salt and pepper speckled hair was close cropped and he wore what appeared to be a well-loved pair of flannel pajamas. On his lap sat a small child, no more than five years old. The drowsily leaned against his chest and looked down at the large story book that rested on his knees.
The smooth voice faded away after a few moments when the story came to an end. The man sat there with his young daughter a little while before she roused and looked up at him. Slowly and tentatively, she extended a chubby little hand to touch the scars that framed her father’s eyes. The skin was raw and ragged as though burned away just yesterday. Yet somehow, his eyes retained the color that they always had.
“Daddy,” she almost whispered. “What happened?” She had always wondered what caused the strange marks on his face, but he never answered her questions or told her the story.
He sighed, refusing to look down at her when he answered. “Caydance Emmaline, honey, I’ll tell you that story another day.” He couldn’t look his sweet little girl in the eye as he kept that from her. The truth was that he was too ashamed of his own pride and idiocy to expose that part of his past to her.
Perhaps he would tell her when he was older. That had a certain sort of humorless humor to it, didn’t it? That was always what parents said to their children. Oh, I’ll tell you later sweetie. I’ll tell you when you’re old enough. Just wait a couple years and ask me again. Years ago, he promised himself that he wasn’t going to be one of those parents. Looks like that plan went down the drain.
Coding and Images are (c) to AMBE3251/AMBER!? of Caution 2.0. Remove this credit and die. Simple as that: Kapeesh? Alright! Enjoy this lovely app.
