close About Me
- "No...the plan's fine. Questioning my sanity while I'm in ear-shot--that's crazy..."
- Me, Myself, and I
- But light from out the lurid sea
Streams up the turrets silently-
Gleams up the pinnacles far and free-
Up domes- up spires- up kingly halls-
Up fanes- up Babylon-like walls-
Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers
Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers-
Up many and many a marvelous shrine
Whose wreathed friezes intertwine
The viol, the violet, and the vine.
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
So blend the turrets and shadows there
That all seem pendulous in air,
While from a proud tower in the town
Death looks gigantically down.
There open fanes and gaping graves
Yawn level with the luminous waves;
But not the riches there that lie
In each idol's diamond eye-
Not the gaily-jewelled dead
Tempt the waters from their bed;
For no ripples curl, alas!
Along that wilderness of glass...
Zanitose was not the sunniest of people. Nothing of his inherited estate shined on him like it did to many wealthy commuters. This, by all means, didn’t mean that the man was anything close to a ‘green lad,’ fool, mooncalf. More than likely, it was the expanse of his life, and the legacy set before it, that fed him into emotionlessness. He was used to this, and Donaven wanted something better for the future. For himself. Something unpredictable. He’d seen it all, from this side and that, and nothing mattered like his work did. Opulence, supremacy, authorization, elite and yet aloof status in the societal world, he inhaled it all little by little like a man dying of thirst, and there were those who couldn’t possibly mistake his pride for anything but ignorance. There were those who…took it for all but human. Veneration, especially among the young but flourishing families, had him lingering in a repute between celebrity and male protagonist. Supposed that these city idiots, with the need for guilty redemption oiling at the tips of their fingers like a shadow, thought he was Batman, excluding the cape. Others thought he was the anti-Christ, but –those- didn’t know much about his character. On the side, for those who truly understood him and weren’t dead, he was known as many things: heroic veteran, bonnified helicopter pilot, accomplished soldier. The boss of the planet’s largest weapon, artificial intelligence and technology corporation. Avid martial-artist, a bilingual/trilingual protégé, an asshole, a madman, a daredevil. Manipulative, a con-artist, selfish entrepreneur. A suave and poised mind who was anything but “down to Earth”… His father’s son. Yet Zanitose was anything but anyone could see, and remaining in the darkness of the mansion, clawing at his visage as if to rid the memories tattooed through the caverns of his mind—salvaging the preposterous remnants of a project in progress like a pack-rat, and keeping up the Zanitose Legend, was all that the grown man had ever needed, whether he’d known it or not the day his parents left, and never came home.
| PHYSICAL | It was hard to see anything accept for the quiet cockiness in him. Donaven was not a handsome man, but few men or women realized it when subjected to the nuisance of his regality. Certainly, he was not endowed with the simpler pleasures of life. The sculpture of his persona and wave of his elaboration—all stress, came not from hardship but from bordering-school after bordering-school. Country after country, and the knowledge of earth’s cruelties led the man to use the rough side of his tongue more than the soft. Fourteen different languages, and the culture of each presented itself first in the summoning deliberation of his tone, even as it was ‘rude’ to raise above a courteous pitch. Tall and broad, Zanitose always seemed to step more lightly than a man of his girth should be permitted. Deep, chocolate-brown hair cut short or kept longer, never a string out of place and the turn or jerk of a snobily masculine jaw-line accented by the shadow of gruff, or goatee. Piercing blue eyes, as unfathomed and devoid—as drawn and thoughtful as deep oceans—were traced from suspicion, and mischief. The weighty width of his eyebrows making him seem all the more self-possessed. Thin lips, often snickering but never smiling, calmed by the straight, Heaven-pointed noble nose. No flamboyance, just the stiffness of distaste. Few could miss the sturdiness about him. As if a dam could break and rush around him without his feet being uprooted. Causality was unacceptable, so none other than the most unyielding vests and white collars—preened overcoats and Armoni suits. No trinket, or expression were the sparkle of his trademark, except for the unruly aura of his dynasty and presence: Donaven needed no telltales.
0 Comments 198 weeks
So everybody bitches about rules when they’re not even IC, but OOC. Meanwhile, if no weirdoes existed on this planet the phrase ‘I warned you,’ would not be needed. I have these because they are necessary, and I’ve been here long enough to know that not everything is as it seems. I will be short and sweet, and that is to say that I am 25 + yrs old. I am MALE. I am straight, as ever—but am prejudice in no way. I love interaction, creativity, fun people, and interesting settings. Certainly this is one of my favorite hobbies. My therapy, if you please will. I have no IC rules except for that I do not play with Anthros, at least not sexually at all. If you’re character is a shifter, that is another story. Sexuality is fine with me, but if you’re one of those people who likes to play until you’re about to get laid, that is also fine. This game, to me, is not based around cyber at all. So whatever works for you, works for me. Don’t tell me how to write—or don’t attempt to play with me. I love IM, but room is acceptable if I can get in and stay in. As for the rest…just remember that this is a game. I don’t give out my MySpace. Why? Because…well, I adore my IRL friends, (online, I mean, when we get to talking.) This life is often better than the real one, but MySpace is for people in my area, and for people that I know or associate with in some way, flesh and blood. I won’t call you, or vise-versa, because that is part of the reason why I role-play, to escape calls, texts and getting smushed by my girl-friend about cheating. Pics are okay, sometimes. Forwardly, I simply don’t have much interested in combining this life with the one I have here. When it comes to the character: want to know more about him—and what a single discrete description cannot explain? Play with me! : - ) I love hearing from the old and new, anytime.
0 Comments 198 weeks