Post by jc on Aug 22, 2011 19:48:53 GMT -5
Your name: JC
Age:18
Availability: I'm usually on every day, check things out.
Would you be willing to take up a Moderator Position?: Haven't decided yet so mark me as a No.
Would you be willing/able to play influential characters? Sure, yeah. I'm on every day or every other day. I'll be first to tell you if I can't get on.
Character name: Jarrod Cross also known as Jack Coffin
Age:23
Ethnicity/Species: Human. Spanish-Filipino. If I'm filling giddy, maybe I'll go furry non-canon
Summary of personality and appearance:
He is a tall, trained being and one could note his past by looking at the scars that strewn about his body that are both self-inflicted and done by those who have fought him. He is not a lover but nor does he brag about the trials of his life. He is a silent one. Lean but otherwise handsome face, muscled but slim body, short and messy jet black hair, and calm collect voice has its charms... otherwise useless to him. His eyes are none of that to a normal human. They are narrowed, dazed-looking, but calm like they were looking at something that had long been gone. They shift around looking from person to person. Narrowed to the point where it was as if he was staring something with a death glare, the thousand yard.
But his appearance does not summarize the man beneath skin and clothes. He is the hate-child of the old Philippine Rebellion, most particularly the Muslim war of the Moro Rebellion. Trained as a soldier from child he was taught to hold a gun before he could hold a pencil. More reasons so, the tension between the Filipinos, the Muslims, and the Americans was more than uncomfortable. As a Teen-Militia, he was trained to fight as a Guerrilla unit against the Muslims of the Moro islands, helping the Americans along the way. To the Americans eyes, they were no different and much prejudice and hate was passed on from the Americans and the Filipino Republic Guerrillas. A spartan lifestyle was lived among the jungles, the ruined city, the Mountains, and the marshes. Seeing over as many tours as the normal US Army trooper during World War I even after the Philippine-American War was over. He is wrecked with a mixture of paranoia and mild cases of PTSD.
In summary, to say that he is cold and heartless is to sugar coat it into a prettier picture. By the age of 15, he had already killed a handful of soldiers using no more than bombs, a rifle, an American pistol, and a knife. He is shackled within his mind, a constant paranoia and leads an antisocial lifestyle because, frankly, he had no more interacted with humans other than fighting them. He isn't exactly sure how to interact with someone, not even how to approach them. And even much so, he is a cruel talker. He talks straight to the point, doing as he does without moral, and even worse... he does exactly as told the way it is said.
Skills: He is skilled in the fine art of fighting ranging from the honorable Pugilism to the simple bombs of the simplest of forms. Guns and knives are his specialty. An avid read of the Spaghetti Westerns from the Penny Dreadfuls, he is abled and trained in small arms. He is ambidextrous from training with both hands in case one of them were lost. He is a dirty fighter and prides himself on it, believing that honor in a fight does not exist, only the fight itself.
Weapons:[Note: Some weapons and amounts may need approval, depending on severity and size.] A custom Webley Mark VI Revolver with a wooden crucifix embedded in the grip and a rosary hanging from its lanyard ring. He also carries a butterfly knife.
Sample post:
Jack Coffin found himself in the sharpest attire, tailored suit in all. The crowd of the high and mighty seemed like aliens to him, some fat from their gluttonous and luxurious diet while others as old as sin, never had he seen such a crowd with a mixture of beautiful and aristocratic women. What was he doing here? The young man looked down in his white gloved hand to find the glass of soured wine of the most highest quality. He took a sip, not caring much for the sour taste. He shifted the gun in his holster to the side a bit as not to show the bulge out of his jacket as he made his way to the stairs, the ornate carvings engaging his eyes while he overlooked the dance hall. Standing from the door he finished his glass and set it down to a pedestal which also held a small vase. He opened it to find his target among others. Without much ado, he withdrew his revolver, cocked the hammer, aimed the sights and pulled the trigger. In succession of 3 times from stomach to wound, chest to kill, and face to make sure of it. He holstered it again and had started his run, making his way to the balconey which overlooked the chilly London River. Hopefully it was deep enough so that he wasn't going to hit the bottom. Standing on the stone barrier, he looked back before he took the sky.
Age:18
Availability: I'm usually on every day, check things out.
Would you be willing to take up a Moderator Position?: Haven't decided yet so mark me as a No.
Would you be willing/able to play influential characters? Sure, yeah. I'm on every day or every other day. I'll be first to tell you if I can't get on.
Character name: Jarrod Cross also known as Jack Coffin
Age:23
Ethnicity/Species: Human. Spanish-Filipino. If I'm filling giddy, maybe I'll go furry non-canon
Summary of personality and appearance:
He is a tall, trained being and one could note his past by looking at the scars that strewn about his body that are both self-inflicted and done by those who have fought him. He is not a lover but nor does he brag about the trials of his life. He is a silent one. Lean but otherwise handsome face, muscled but slim body, short and messy jet black hair, and calm collect voice has its charms... otherwise useless to him. His eyes are none of that to a normal human. They are narrowed, dazed-looking, but calm like they were looking at something that had long been gone. They shift around looking from person to person. Narrowed to the point where it was as if he was staring something with a death glare, the thousand yard.
But his appearance does not summarize the man beneath skin and clothes. He is the hate-child of the old Philippine Rebellion, most particularly the Muslim war of the Moro Rebellion. Trained as a soldier from child he was taught to hold a gun before he could hold a pencil. More reasons so, the tension between the Filipinos, the Muslims, and the Americans was more than uncomfortable. As a Teen-Militia, he was trained to fight as a Guerrilla unit against the Muslims of the Moro islands, helping the Americans along the way. To the Americans eyes, they were no different and much prejudice and hate was passed on from the Americans and the Filipino Republic Guerrillas. A spartan lifestyle was lived among the jungles, the ruined city, the Mountains, and the marshes. Seeing over as many tours as the normal US Army trooper during World War I even after the Philippine-American War was over. He is wrecked with a mixture of paranoia and mild cases of PTSD.
In summary, to say that he is cold and heartless is to sugar coat it into a prettier picture. By the age of 15, he had already killed a handful of soldiers using no more than bombs, a rifle, an American pistol, and a knife. He is shackled within his mind, a constant paranoia and leads an antisocial lifestyle because, frankly, he had no more interacted with humans other than fighting them. He isn't exactly sure how to interact with someone, not even how to approach them. And even much so, he is a cruel talker. He talks straight to the point, doing as he does without moral, and even worse... he does exactly as told the way it is said.
Skills: He is skilled in the fine art of fighting ranging from the honorable Pugilism to the simple bombs of the simplest of forms. Guns and knives are his specialty. An avid read of the Spaghetti Westerns from the Penny Dreadfuls, he is abled and trained in small arms. He is ambidextrous from training with both hands in case one of them were lost. He is a dirty fighter and prides himself on it, believing that honor in a fight does not exist, only the fight itself.
Weapons:[Note: Some weapons and amounts may need approval, depending on severity and size.] A custom Webley Mark VI Revolver with a wooden crucifix embedded in the grip and a rosary hanging from its lanyard ring. He also carries a butterfly knife.
Sample post:
Jack Coffin found himself in the sharpest attire, tailored suit in all. The crowd of the high and mighty seemed like aliens to him, some fat from their gluttonous and luxurious diet while others as old as sin, never had he seen such a crowd with a mixture of beautiful and aristocratic women. What was he doing here? The young man looked down in his white gloved hand to find the glass of soured wine of the most highest quality. He took a sip, not caring much for the sour taste. He shifted the gun in his holster to the side a bit as not to show the bulge out of his jacket as he made his way to the stairs, the ornate carvings engaging his eyes while he overlooked the dance hall. Standing from the door he finished his glass and set it down to a pedestal which also held a small vase. He opened it to find his target among others. Without much ado, he withdrew his revolver, cocked the hammer, aimed the sights and pulled the trigger. In succession of 3 times from stomach to wound, chest to kill, and face to make sure of it. He holstered it again and had started his run, making his way to the balconey which overlooked the chilly London River. Hopefully it was deep enough so that he wasn't going to hit the bottom. Standing on the stone barrier, he looked back before he took the sky.