Post by Dustin Roberts on Jun 7, 2011 21:30:46 GMT -5
[/font]DUSTINLEONARDOROBERTS!?
[/center]Hey! I go by B or Bailee. I am Sixteen and I'm loving it. I have been roleplaying for two years and I don't plan on stopping any time soon. I have no other characters on this site and I think they're pretty amazing! If you want to contact me you can by Pee Emm.
Name: Dustin Leonardo Roberts
Nickname: Dusty
Age: Fourteen
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Male
Member Group: Demigod freshaman; son of Apollo
Appearance:
Dustin has golden blonde hair. Its not as bright as beach blonde hair but its bright. It is kind of long and curls at bottom. He has a kind of high voice. He likes to wear regular tees. Just one plain color and he likes to wear jeans. He likes black concverse that are alittle big. Like if he wore a 6 they would be 8's. He has a scar across his face that embrasses him alittle.
Personality:
Dustin is a expressive boy. He loves to express himself through words, music and love. He likes to have a girlfriend but not like play-ish. He does like to kiss bt hes not that good at it. Last girl he kissed screamed. He threw up and ran away. He loves to play music, and I mean LOVES. He is a guitar and piano player. He sings and plays chello. That it. Although he can play the bag pipes but definitly doesnt do that in public. Dustin is a sweet boy. He is a smooth talker and loves to make people feel good. He hangs out with girls more than guys which causes some people to think hes gay. Dustin is a voleenter. He voleenters at the hospital. He loves to work with medicine and wants to be a docter and singer when he is older.
Likes:
*Singing
*Guitar
*Working with medicine
*Piano
*Girls
*The sun
*Voleentering
*Writing
Dislikes:
*Emos
*Goths
*Jocks
*People that think he is gay
*Sex
*Kissing usually
Mother: Sally Roberts, 40, cullinary artist
Father: Apollo, Ageless, Greek god of many things
Siblings: Xaiver Roberts, 17, waitor in training
Pets: Golden Lab named Casey
History: Dustin was born right when the sun came out. A song began right when he was born also. His mom knew exactly why. Apollo was his father and Apollo caused this. Then he went to pre-school thats when one day he brought his guitar(mini) to school for show and tell and played a song. People fell in love him at the start. They let him play every day during showandtell time. Then he went to elemntry and science was his major (well his like majoring subjext as in hes good). He then entered the talent show and was acepted a day later. After two yeats of elemantry we was chosen to be the student judge at the middle school. He played there and took advanced science and music classes. Now he was sent here by his mom. Who knows why?
Code Word: -edited out by mod-
Roleplay Post
The kid had balls, Royce would give him that.
It must have been a strain to stand straight after that blow to the face, but Dean had managed to get back to his feet without so much as wincing; for that, he gained a measure of respect. He accrued even more points in the old soldier’s eyes when he discarded his gun, ammo and all, and rolled up his sleeves. Royce couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at him, as he, too, discarded his weapon. Of course he was more gentle with his baby, and placed her on the ground and kicked her lightly across the hallway with his foot. So, the younger soldier wished to play fisticuffs with a Ranger, huh?
He certainly had a pair of brass ones, but no brain to be heard of it seemed.
“If I had wanted you dead kid, you know you wouldn’t have gotten up at all. Besides, if I had killed you, I would have never gotten the chance to kick the shit out of your bombastic ass.” What idiot thought he could fight a specially trained soldier in hand to hand? Either Royce had hit him a little too hard on the head, or Dean was really just that stupid. Or he had a plan, came the nagging thought in the back of his mind, but he ignored it. Dean was a fairly competent fighter, but he wasn’t a Ranger, Hell, he wasn’t even military. Kid could fire his little peashooter with a respectable amount of skill, but he was severely lacking in all other categories of combat training.
Royce couldn’t say he wouldn’t enjoy beating the little shit into the ground, might even teach him not to try and fuck with his superior. He’d like to see the cocky kid last a few nights out on silent ops missions in some foreign country. Can’t say a word to anyone in your team nearby, and you are totally isolated from everything but your own thoughts. If some poor bastard snored in his sleep, you had to make a split second decision to slit his throat and continue with the mission, or die right there on enemy territory due to your comrade’s poor ability to regulate his breathing. Dean had never had to make such decisions, nor have to kill those around him without mercy.
Royce had done it without so much as blinking.
You had to be a cold hearted killer to be any good in the military, and that was why Royce was the best at what he did. That is why he was one of the view soldiers still around who could do shit correctly. Those bastards the Green Berets didn’t have shit on him, and neither did the Marines or the Seals. Royce was one of the last efficient soldiers of his generation, and it was punks like Dean that threw dirt on their graves and caused some to look on their ranks with shame. For every comment the kid made, the Ranger was going to take it out of his fucking hide. There was a smug satisfaction that came with those images to Royce, and it made him want to continue with their little pissing contest even more.
“Kid, I’m going to rip you a whole cornucopia of orifices.”
With that, Royce moved forwards and lashed out with his hands in swift, precise movements. His right hand jabbed for the man’s head while his left feigned for his kidney as his right knee came up for the groin shot. If the kid managed to block, his head was going to snap forwards and smash his nose to a pulp. Royce wouldn’t give the young soldier any horrid injuries of course, but a broken finger or two, some nice new scars and bruised eyes were definitely in order. For some reason, the kid insisted on calling him old. You would think he would be wise enough to know two of the oldest proverbs. The first being that a young man may know the rules, but the old man knows the exceptions. The second being to never fuck with and old guy; ‘cause we’ll cheat.
A bullet worked just as well as a bludgeoning in the end, after all.
It must have been a strain to stand straight after that blow to the face, but Dean had managed to get back to his feet without so much as wincing; for that, he gained a measure of respect. He accrued even more points in the old soldier’s eyes when he discarded his gun, ammo and all, and rolled up his sleeves. Royce couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at him, as he, too, discarded his weapon. Of course he was more gentle with his baby, and placed her on the ground and kicked her lightly across the hallway with his foot. So, the younger soldier wished to play fisticuffs with a Ranger, huh?
He certainly had a pair of brass ones, but no brain to be heard of it seemed.
“If I had wanted you dead kid, you know you wouldn’t have gotten up at all. Besides, if I had killed you, I would have never gotten the chance to kick the shit out of your bombastic ass.” What idiot thought he could fight a specially trained soldier in hand to hand? Either Royce had hit him a little too hard on the head, or Dean was really just that stupid. Or he had a plan, came the nagging thought in the back of his mind, but he ignored it. Dean was a fairly competent fighter, but he wasn’t a Ranger, Hell, he wasn’t even military. Kid could fire his little peashooter with a respectable amount of skill, but he was severely lacking in all other categories of combat training.
Royce couldn’t say he wouldn’t enjoy beating the little shit into the ground, might even teach him not to try and fuck with his superior. He’d like to see the cocky kid last a few nights out on silent ops missions in some foreign country. Can’t say a word to anyone in your team nearby, and you are totally isolated from everything but your own thoughts. If some poor bastard snored in his sleep, you had to make a split second decision to slit his throat and continue with the mission, or die right there on enemy territory due to your comrade’s poor ability to regulate his breathing. Dean had never had to make such decisions, nor have to kill those around him without mercy.
Royce had done it without so much as blinking.
You had to be a cold hearted killer to be any good in the military, and that was why Royce was the best at what he did. That is why he was one of the view soldiers still around who could do shit correctly. Those bastards the Green Berets didn’t have shit on him, and neither did the Marines or the Seals. Royce was one of the last efficient soldiers of his generation, and it was punks like Dean that threw dirt on their graves and caused some to look on their ranks with shame. For every comment the kid made, the Ranger was going to take it out of his fucking hide. There was a smug satisfaction that came with those images to Royce, and it made him want to continue with their little pissing contest even more.
“Kid, I’m going to rip you a whole cornucopia of orifices.”
With that, Royce moved forwards and lashed out with his hands in swift, precise movements. His right hand jabbed for the man’s head while his left feigned for his kidney as his right knee came up for the groin shot. If the kid managed to block, his head was going to snap forwards and smash his nose to a pulp. Royce wouldn’t give the young soldier any horrid injuries of course, but a broken finger or two, some nice new scars and bruised eyes were definitely in order. For some reason, the kid insisted on calling him old. You would think he would be wise enough to know two of the oldest proverbs. The first being that a young man may know the rules, but the old man knows the exceptions. The second being to never fuck with and old guy; ‘cause we’ll cheat.
A bullet worked just as well as a bludgeoning in the end, after all.
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