Post by azzie on Jan 13, 2011 0:18:29 GMT -5
[/font]GRAHAMMICHAELFITZPATRICK!?
[/center]Hey! I go by Azzie. I am eighteen and I'm loving it. I have been roleplaying for seven or eight years and I don't plan on stopping any time soon. I have just Graham on this site and I think they're pretty amazing! If you want to contact me you can by PM.
Name: graham fitzpatrick
Nickname: ---
Age: twenty-six
Gender: male
Sexuality: gay
Member Group: teacher [12th grade] // demigod [son of demeter]
Appearance: Graham's attire usually consists of t-shirts, hoodies and jeans. Occasionally he wears a button-up shirt and tie for the sake of looking more like a teacher -- usually for an important lesson or around exam time -- as if his ridiculously thick glasses weren't enough. They have those black plastic hipster frames and he really can't see a thing without them. Not that he doesn't own contacts.
In his teen years, the single word description of Graham's appearance would be 'lanky'. As he aged he evened out, though he certainly hasn't gained any muscle. Graham is not quite an inch shorter than six feet. In the winter, Graham's skin tone is quite pale, but in the summer he prefers to spend much of his time outside and it becomes much darker.
He has an innocent face, with big brown eyes, so dark that at times they appear black. His eyelashes are of the long, dark variety, despite the pale color of his hair. On that topic, he keeps his hair long, several inches past his shoulders. Or perhaps keeps isn't the right word, as he usually just forgets to have it cut. From time to time he does cut his bangs himself, but for the most part they fall in his eyes or are swept off the sides of his glasses. Said hair is quite the opposite of his eyes; such light blonde it can be easily mistaken for white. All in all, he has a sort of face that tends to immediately make people trust him. Or disobey him.
Personality: Short paragraph on your character's personality.
Likes: gardening, history, comic books, action movies, winter
Dislikes:
Mother: demeter, goddess of agriculture
Father: ethan fitzpatrick, 50, conman
Siblings: none
Pets: several fish, two cats [rei and asuka] and a turtle [clark kent]
History: Born and raised in a series of hotel rooms, mostly in Nevada, Graham's childhood was filled with street drugs and pretty women. The man's earliest memories are of his father dragging him around, showing off his cute little son to pick up ladies. While he didn't exactly enjoy the experience, he certainly loved hearing about his father's adventures, listening to the way he spoke that could have anyone tied around his finger in minutes, his confident stride and ever-present grin. In short, Graham thought of his father as some sort of hero.
It never ceased to surprise his grandmother that he was such a good kid, despite being the man who raised him. Maybe he would have turned out worse, had it not been for the routine beatings that always escaped his father's notice. At school Graham was always too interested, too eager and too damn nice. Of course, the other boys didn't take too kindly to the nerdy teacher's pet, to put it mildly.
In high school he discovered that he wanted to be a teacher and that he wasn't like other kids. Of course, he told his father about it and Ethan was delighted and encouraged Graham to follow his dreams and improve his skill at "that weird plant thing" as he called it. Graham told his father everything, and vice versa, whether or not he wanted to know, and with the way they acted together, it was a common misconception that the two were brothers. But Graham never told his dad that he was gay.
In university he really started to live his own life. He had his own circle of friends -- which included significantly fewer pole dancers -- and was able to act like a real kid. Or, well, a real young adult. While he was attending university, he found out about Richmond High School and decided that was where he wanted to be. By this point his powers were very well-developed and he wanted to be able to use them for something that wasn't criminal and didn't involve turning his apartment into a tiny forest.
Code Word: -removed by admin-
Roleplay Post
When he caught sight of her, Camilo waited for her to disappear into the building before he got to his feet. He left his coffee at the table and walked towards the building. The old lady and her husband were immersed in conversation, no longer paying him any attention. Hands in his pockets, he walked casually over to the apartment building, like this was all routine for him, like he lived there. He ran his thumb absently over his brother's lighter in his pocket, which he had with him despite not having any cigarettes. Ever since it had come into his possession he'd kept it on him at all times. Not to be sentimental or anything, just because it was a nice lighter and he didn't want anyone to see it and think otherwise. That was all. Really.
The interior of the building was surprisingly nice and well kept, Camilo thought as he pressed the button for the fourth floor. He'd wanted to meet her on the street and lure her to somewhere he could have a nice advantage, but Camilo was feeling impatient. Normally he was all for meticulous planning and lying in wait; he knew he wouldn't survive long if he wasn't. But this woman, Fleuretta, she was just an ordinary person and he had no reason to act cautious around her.
Room 408. He stood outside it, his fist resting gently against the door, prepared to knock. There was a gun tucked into the waistband of his pants, hidden under his jacket, but he knew he wouldn't need it. It was just a precaution, paranoia. He'd watched his brother die and couldn't do anything about it. That would teach anyone to be prepared, expect the unexpected. Still, he kept his hand that wasn't on the door in his pocket, still toying with the lighter, flicking the lid opened and closed. The metal had grown uncomfortable warm in his hand by this point. All his life, Camilo had never had any sort of habit. Bad habits, nervous habits, none of those. Al had tons. He bits his nails and ground his teeth and paced all the damn time. Apparently bad habits were contagious.
Camilo knocked on the door.
The interior of the building was surprisingly nice and well kept, Camilo thought as he pressed the button for the fourth floor. He'd wanted to meet her on the street and lure her to somewhere he could have a nice advantage, but Camilo was feeling impatient. Normally he was all for meticulous planning and lying in wait; he knew he wouldn't survive long if he wasn't. But this woman, Fleuretta, she was just an ordinary person and he had no reason to act cautious around her.
Room 408. He stood outside it, his fist resting gently against the door, prepared to knock. There was a gun tucked into the waistband of his pants, hidden under his jacket, but he knew he wouldn't need it. It was just a precaution, paranoia. He'd watched his brother die and couldn't do anything about it. That would teach anyone to be prepared, expect the unexpected. Still, he kept his hand that wasn't on the door in his pocket, still toying with the lighter, flicking the lid opened and closed. The metal had grown uncomfortable warm in his hand by this point. All his life, Camilo had never had any sort of habit. Bad habits, nervous habits, none of those. Al had tons. He bits his nails and ground his teeth and paced all the damn time. Apparently bad habits were contagious.
Camilo knocked on the door.
