Post by Evek on Dec 9, 2008 9:30:45 GMT 1
Name: Francis L'Eveque-Lemodi, but you can call me Evek
Nationality: I'm French...
Ethnicity: because my parents are French.
Attended School: (Up to tha mod!)
Age: I'm fifteen now.
Weight: I weigh a 150 lbs, anything else?
Height: 5'9", not much left for me to hide, now is there?
Appearance:
Body: There's nothing too interesting to say about my appearance, after all, we both can see that I'm a relatively normal looking Caucasian male. But if you insist on a complete oral description, I am obliged to comply. My skin is pale, pale enough to have my nose and cheekbones covered in freckles, not that I mind. As you can see my face is oval-shaped, and is still a bit in that awkward puberty phase where one's facial bones seem to have a mind of their own. Luckily for me, I've been spared from juvenile acne, which is a plus in any teenager's book. My eyebrows are relatively thin, and my eyes have a tendency to show a lack of emotion, of expression, despite the fact that I am obsessed with the expression of emotions. Ironic, isn't it? My nose is thin, and slopes down at what I think is a thirty-five degree angle. My lips are paper thin, and barely have a hue of pink, which makes out of them one the less alluring elements of my face.
As for my body, there's no secrets let for you to reveal, cherie, except that I'm left handed, since you failed to notice such a simple truth after these two wonderful weeks we've spent together. I believe I'm in a fairly good shape, but it's nothing too spectacular. I've managed to keep my body in this state by playing soccer or rugby with my friends for the past few years, so my speed, endurance and strength are all three at acceptable levels. I have muscles, but they don't bulge. My stomach is flat, but it isn't chiseled. My buttocks are firm, but they don't appear to be made out of stone.
Cosmetic: Ah, yes, my taste in clothing. I think it is due to my upbringing that I refuse to be seen in anything else than a collared shirt over my torso. Now what accessories or additional pieces of clothing I wear with this depends on the event, and there's always the exception of going to the beach or playing sports. A pair of decent jeans or tailored pants, sneakers or leather shoes, long sleeves, short sleeves or no sleeves, these are all little things that vary depending on the occasion. But I will admit that my favorite colors are black and blue, and that is quite apparent when it comes to my everyday school outfit. On those relatively ordinary days, my fellow schoolmates will see me with a pair of pitch black tailored pants, a long sleeved pale blue collared shirt, with its unbuttoned sleeves, collar and loose lower edge showing themselves beneath a thin navy blue V-collared sweater. I'll be wearing durable black leather shoes with no string to tie, since I find them cumbersome, as well. They'll also be able to see the silver cross pendant around my neck resting on my sternum. To keep things short, one might qualify my style as 'casual-chic'.
Eye color: These eyes of mine are green, yet they have a dull glimmer. Ah...
Hair: My neck-length, straight falling, blond hair has been the envy of many girls in my school, so I decided to dampen the attention I've been getting because of them by covering them with a simple yet quite efficient featureless black beanie. My forehead, as well as most of my eyebrows and ears, are covered by it. The strands still show themselves behind and below my ears, but they're effect is nowhere near what it was in the past.
Habits: I tried getting rid of it, but I have a bit of an accent when I speak English. Don't get me wrong, my pronunciation is flawless, it's just that the general tone that I use is a clear giveaway that I'm a French foreigner. Besides that little notable fact, one will see me more often than not with a pair of headphones on my ears when I'm wandering around the hallways or town, humming the classical tune that I will happen to be listening at that moment. Oh! One little fact that I noted in the last two, I seem to be listening to the more dramatic, sadder melodies of the masters, but that does not mean I've thrown the more jovial ones out the window! Comedy still has a place in my heart!
Other Information
Personality: To the everyday person, one who can only see my outer shell, I am perceived as a young man of a few words. It's not that I'm not sociable, it's just that I manage to resume my message in a phrase or two. I seem like a person who has little to no trouble making friends, which is true, since I tend to be smiling more often than not, and I manage to slip a little joke or two to share some laughter. I'm always willing to follow my mates in any social gatherings, unless some circumstances prevent me to do otherwise. I appear to have some empathy, able to feel others' emotions, especially their sorrow, and seem to be half-decent at consoling them when tragedy strikes.
Speaking of tragedies, let's get down to my psyche, I'll tell you how I truly think, what this friendly outer veil that I cover my true face with is hiding, since it won't really matter anyways. It's not as if these words are going to ever leave this hotel room, nor you, for that matter.
Ah, yes, a tragedy, it is truly amazing to see the amount of genuine human emotions it can trigger within the individuals and collective that are hit by it. The anger, the sorrow, the oh so beautiful tears, the desire for vengeance, for time to be reversed, for these emotional wounds to heal, the sharing of the pain, the bonding of a community, the mob mentality to avenge the fallen... they're all beautiful things to witness, odes to how wonderful human nature can be, only after realizing the gravity of the horrors it can also create.
By a specialist's standards, my obsession with the concept of tragedy as a whole is quite unhealthy. You see, I was at first simply satisfying myself with understanding them, but now, I can only indulge my needs by creating them. You see, I see myself as an artist. My inspiration at first were the Greek tragedies, a collection of touching and heart wrenching chef-d'oeuvre of classic literature. Back then, I would write short stories in my alone time, emulating them with the power of the pen. But it all changed once I witnessed the biggest tragedy of them all with my own eyes. Ever since that day, I understood that the tears of fictional characters paled in comparison to the tears of a mother losing her child, and knew that if I really wanted to master tragedy, if I really wanted to experience this mosaic of moving emotions, I had to bring my genre to life, to real life. And, as you can see, I'm beginning to get good at it, since you're about to become my newest masterpiece, Claire.
But don't get me wrong, cherie. I am not an amoral being. I completely understand the moral implications of my actions and know that they are vehemently frowned upon by society's standards, it's just that their weight is nothing compared to my love for art. If they had to be put on scales, it would be like a feather trying to outweigh a gold bar: it will never happen. What can I say? I live to feel, and there are no emotions stronger than those triggered by tragedies. This is what I do to confirm my existence, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Hobbies: I learned how to play the violin since I was six, and I still do as a hobby to get some inspiration. Nothing soothes the soul like a fine adagio or sonata after a day at school. Also, reading classics, from the essential Greek tragedies to the masterpieces of Victor Hugo, occupy me before I go to bed. I like to balance that alone time with some team sports, though. Soccer and rugby were my bread and butter here, maybe basketball will fill the gap once I cross the ocean.
Extracurricular: Oh yes, extracurriculars. Well, I easily fitted in my school's music club with my violin playing skills. It was quite interesting to do a duet with an electric guitar last year, I hope that my high school in the United States will offer such possibilities as well.
Important Details
History: I was born and raised in Strasbourg, France. My mom and dad were both electric engineers, and met and fell in love due to their work. In any case, the two of them invested in me all their childhood dreams of art and culture that they couldn't experience to due to the circumstances of their childhood, so I was surrounded by music and masterpieces of visual art during my early years, and inevitable picked up a taste for music.
That's why I asked, no begged, my mother to let me learn the violin when I was six, which she gladly did by enrolling me in the proper classes and buying me my first instrument. I also started my first year of school at that time, and it seemed that the enriching environment I was surrounded by in my childhood helped me develop an above par IQ, allowing me to glide through my first year with no effort. Seeing that I wasn't exactly excited by what I was learning, my first grade teacher, an old man in his seventies, told me if I wanted to read a more challenging piece of literature. Not one to say no to a new experience, I said yes. So he allowed me to pick one book from his private collection, take my time to read it, and give it back once I was done. That little event made out of me what I am today. You see, had it not been for him, I wouldn't have discovered the wonderful masterpiece of that was the Greek tragedy Oedipus Rex.
Ever since that day I was amazed by the strength of emotion linked to tragedies, and started to do my first clumsy attempts at replicating these stories by the age of seven. Those were nice, innocent days, but they all came to an end when my mom turned on the news on a fateful September evening. You see, until then, in my head, tragedies only existed in the fictional world, so when I saw the horrors of September 11th and the events that followed them, my little bubble had burst. Ever since that day, I knew that to truly experience the emotions linked to tragic story, I had to make it occur in my everyday life.
It started with small pranks that robbed my classmates of their lunches, staring blissfully at their disappointed faces as they sat in front of me at the school cafeteria, stomach rumbling, looking with envy at the full meal at my disposal. Once my emotional needs were satisfied, I would give them a piece of my own meal, advancing to the second step of every tragedy: healing. But such petty tricks weren't enough to satisfy me. I had to try bigger things. Making my neighbor's dog eat rotten, poisoned food, only to hear her cry as she held the corpse of her beloved pet. From behind the scenes, forcing a love triangle to form itself between classmates, relishing at the sight of their clumsy, inexperienced attempts to express their emotions, only to finally collapse in despair and heartbreak (as well as STI infections! That was an unexpected but unforgettable bonus.).
A couple of months ago my parents got a letter though, saying that I was invited to study at an academy in the United States, due to my promising musical and artistic talents. I don't know how I got scouted, but I was more than willing to go to the new continent, finding more diverse opportunities to indulge my needs. After all, one can satisfy himself so much in his hometown. My parents sent me to Paris for a couple of weeks before my flight abroad, so I could finish my preparations. They couldn't follow me, but trusted the fact that I was mature enough to spend time here on my own.
And that's where you come in, my dear Claire. Imagine my luck when I came across you, 19 years young, at the summit of the Eiffel Tower, on the verge of throwing yourself to your certain demise because of some teenage love crisis. The opportunity was simply too beautiful, I couldn't resist. I sweet-talked you into not losing hope and giving your existence a second chance. It was a pleasure to make you rediscover your love for life in these two wonderful weeks we've spent together. The pleasures of your body were quite something as well. You were the perfect player for my most recent tragedy though. You played your part without flaw, naively following my plans as if you were my puppet. I made you believe that my flight was in a week, making you reserve this room under your name for that long, when it's actually in four hours. Seeing your serene face as your breath is slowly weakening, thanks to the little poison I had sipped in your breakfast coffee, almost makes me want to cry. They will only discover your lifeless body in seven days, when you will fail to check out. By then, I will be long gone. You see, you were meant to die that day, two weeks ago, but I, as if a celestial envoy, ripped you away from the claws of fate. I only rekindled your love for life just to end your existence when you wanted it to continue. It's much sadder to lose your life when it is against your will, no? Still, fate has cruelly caught up with you, turning your lover into your murderer.
I'm going to write a tragedy based on our little encounter, cherie. But for now, I'm done with erasing the evidence of my presence here, and I have a flight to catch. Adieu, Claire.High school awaits!
Fighting Style: It seems that the school I'm going to has student violence problems. Combat... Oh dear, I never had to get my hands dirty. You see, I've managed to keep myself in one piece by not getting on anyone's bad side. So, should it ever come to a brawl, I guess that I'll have to follow my gut instinct and do my best to stay in one piece by evading and blocking whatever is being thrown my way. I'll probably try to find a way to disable my opponent long enough to escape in the end, though. Call me a coward, but I'm not a fan of combat, except when I am a spectator.
Strengths: It is a good thing that I'm physically fit, and that the sports that I practice put a lot of emphasis on speed and cardiovascular endurance.
Weaknesses: On the other hand, I am completely inexperienced on the battlefield, and since I never took a hit, I surely won't be good at that.
Nationality: I'm French...
Ethnicity: because my parents are French.
Attended School: (Up to tha mod!)
Age: I'm fifteen now.
Weight: I weigh a 150 lbs, anything else?
Height: 5'9", not much left for me to hide, now is there?
Appearance:
Body: There's nothing too interesting to say about my appearance, after all, we both can see that I'm a relatively normal looking Caucasian male. But if you insist on a complete oral description, I am obliged to comply. My skin is pale, pale enough to have my nose and cheekbones covered in freckles, not that I mind. As you can see my face is oval-shaped, and is still a bit in that awkward puberty phase where one's facial bones seem to have a mind of their own. Luckily for me, I've been spared from juvenile acne, which is a plus in any teenager's book. My eyebrows are relatively thin, and my eyes have a tendency to show a lack of emotion, of expression, despite the fact that I am obsessed with the expression of emotions. Ironic, isn't it? My nose is thin, and slopes down at what I think is a thirty-five degree angle. My lips are paper thin, and barely have a hue of pink, which makes out of them one the less alluring elements of my face.
As for my body, there's no secrets let for you to reveal, cherie, except that I'm left handed, since you failed to notice such a simple truth after these two wonderful weeks we've spent together. I believe I'm in a fairly good shape, but it's nothing too spectacular. I've managed to keep my body in this state by playing soccer or rugby with my friends for the past few years, so my speed, endurance and strength are all three at acceptable levels. I have muscles, but they don't bulge. My stomach is flat, but it isn't chiseled. My buttocks are firm, but they don't appear to be made out of stone.
Cosmetic: Ah, yes, my taste in clothing. I think it is due to my upbringing that I refuse to be seen in anything else than a collared shirt over my torso. Now what accessories or additional pieces of clothing I wear with this depends on the event, and there's always the exception of going to the beach or playing sports. A pair of decent jeans or tailored pants, sneakers or leather shoes, long sleeves, short sleeves or no sleeves, these are all little things that vary depending on the occasion. But I will admit that my favorite colors are black and blue, and that is quite apparent when it comes to my everyday school outfit. On those relatively ordinary days, my fellow schoolmates will see me with a pair of pitch black tailored pants, a long sleeved pale blue collared shirt, with its unbuttoned sleeves, collar and loose lower edge showing themselves beneath a thin navy blue V-collared sweater. I'll be wearing durable black leather shoes with no string to tie, since I find them cumbersome, as well. They'll also be able to see the silver cross pendant around my neck resting on my sternum. To keep things short, one might qualify my style as 'casual-chic'.
Eye color: These eyes of mine are green, yet they have a dull glimmer. Ah...
Hair: My neck-length, straight falling, blond hair has been the envy of many girls in my school, so I decided to dampen the attention I've been getting because of them by covering them with a simple yet quite efficient featureless black beanie. My forehead, as well as most of my eyebrows and ears, are covered by it. The strands still show themselves behind and below my ears, but they're effect is nowhere near what it was in the past.
Habits: I tried getting rid of it, but I have a bit of an accent when I speak English. Don't get me wrong, my pronunciation is flawless, it's just that the general tone that I use is a clear giveaway that I'm a French foreigner. Besides that little notable fact, one will see me more often than not with a pair of headphones on my ears when I'm wandering around the hallways or town, humming the classical tune that I will happen to be listening at that moment. Oh! One little fact that I noted in the last two, I seem to be listening to the more dramatic, sadder melodies of the masters, but that does not mean I've thrown the more jovial ones out the window! Comedy still has a place in my heart!
Other Information
Personality: To the everyday person, one who can only see my outer shell, I am perceived as a young man of a few words. It's not that I'm not sociable, it's just that I manage to resume my message in a phrase or two. I seem like a person who has little to no trouble making friends, which is true, since I tend to be smiling more often than not, and I manage to slip a little joke or two to share some laughter. I'm always willing to follow my mates in any social gatherings, unless some circumstances prevent me to do otherwise. I appear to have some empathy, able to feel others' emotions, especially their sorrow, and seem to be half-decent at consoling them when tragedy strikes.
Speaking of tragedies, let's get down to my psyche, I'll tell you how I truly think, what this friendly outer veil that I cover my true face with is hiding, since it won't really matter anyways. It's not as if these words are going to ever leave this hotel room, nor you, for that matter.
Ah, yes, a tragedy, it is truly amazing to see the amount of genuine human emotions it can trigger within the individuals and collective that are hit by it. The anger, the sorrow, the oh so beautiful tears, the desire for vengeance, for time to be reversed, for these emotional wounds to heal, the sharing of the pain, the bonding of a community, the mob mentality to avenge the fallen... they're all beautiful things to witness, odes to how wonderful human nature can be, only after realizing the gravity of the horrors it can also create.
By a specialist's standards, my obsession with the concept of tragedy as a whole is quite unhealthy. You see, I was at first simply satisfying myself with understanding them, but now, I can only indulge my needs by creating them. You see, I see myself as an artist. My inspiration at first were the Greek tragedies, a collection of touching and heart wrenching chef-d'oeuvre of classic literature. Back then, I would write short stories in my alone time, emulating them with the power of the pen. But it all changed once I witnessed the biggest tragedy of them all with my own eyes. Ever since that day, I understood that the tears of fictional characters paled in comparison to the tears of a mother losing her child, and knew that if I really wanted to master tragedy, if I really wanted to experience this mosaic of moving emotions, I had to bring my genre to life, to real life. And, as you can see, I'm beginning to get good at it, since you're about to become my newest masterpiece, Claire.
But don't get me wrong, cherie. I am not an amoral being. I completely understand the moral implications of my actions and know that they are vehemently frowned upon by society's standards, it's just that their weight is nothing compared to my love for art. If they had to be put on scales, it would be like a feather trying to outweigh a gold bar: it will never happen. What can I say? I live to feel, and there are no emotions stronger than those triggered by tragedies. This is what I do to confirm my existence, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Hobbies: I learned how to play the violin since I was six, and I still do as a hobby to get some inspiration. Nothing soothes the soul like a fine adagio or sonata after a day at school. Also, reading classics, from the essential Greek tragedies to the masterpieces of Victor Hugo, occupy me before I go to bed. I like to balance that alone time with some team sports, though. Soccer and rugby were my bread and butter here, maybe basketball will fill the gap once I cross the ocean.
Extracurricular: Oh yes, extracurriculars. Well, I easily fitted in my school's music club with my violin playing skills. It was quite interesting to do a duet with an electric guitar last year, I hope that my high school in the United States will offer such possibilities as well.
Important Details
History: I was born and raised in Strasbourg, France. My mom and dad were both electric engineers, and met and fell in love due to their work. In any case, the two of them invested in me all their childhood dreams of art and culture that they couldn't experience to due to the circumstances of their childhood, so I was surrounded by music and masterpieces of visual art during my early years, and inevitable picked up a taste for music.
That's why I asked, no begged, my mother to let me learn the violin when I was six, which she gladly did by enrolling me in the proper classes and buying me my first instrument. I also started my first year of school at that time, and it seemed that the enriching environment I was surrounded by in my childhood helped me develop an above par IQ, allowing me to glide through my first year with no effort. Seeing that I wasn't exactly excited by what I was learning, my first grade teacher, an old man in his seventies, told me if I wanted to read a more challenging piece of literature. Not one to say no to a new experience, I said yes. So he allowed me to pick one book from his private collection, take my time to read it, and give it back once I was done. That little event made out of me what I am today. You see, had it not been for him, I wouldn't have discovered the wonderful masterpiece of that was the Greek tragedy Oedipus Rex.
Ever since that day I was amazed by the strength of emotion linked to tragedies, and started to do my first clumsy attempts at replicating these stories by the age of seven. Those were nice, innocent days, but they all came to an end when my mom turned on the news on a fateful September evening. You see, until then, in my head, tragedies only existed in the fictional world, so when I saw the horrors of September 11th and the events that followed them, my little bubble had burst. Ever since that day, I knew that to truly experience the emotions linked to tragic story, I had to make it occur in my everyday life.
It started with small pranks that robbed my classmates of their lunches, staring blissfully at their disappointed faces as they sat in front of me at the school cafeteria, stomach rumbling, looking with envy at the full meal at my disposal. Once my emotional needs were satisfied, I would give them a piece of my own meal, advancing to the second step of every tragedy: healing. But such petty tricks weren't enough to satisfy me. I had to try bigger things. Making my neighbor's dog eat rotten, poisoned food, only to hear her cry as she held the corpse of her beloved pet. From behind the scenes, forcing a love triangle to form itself between classmates, relishing at the sight of their clumsy, inexperienced attempts to express their emotions, only to finally collapse in despair and heartbreak (as well as STI infections! That was an unexpected but unforgettable bonus.).
A couple of months ago my parents got a letter though, saying that I was invited to study at an academy in the United States, due to my promising musical and artistic talents. I don't know how I got scouted, but I was more than willing to go to the new continent, finding more diverse opportunities to indulge my needs. After all, one can satisfy himself so much in his hometown. My parents sent me to Paris for a couple of weeks before my flight abroad, so I could finish my preparations. They couldn't follow me, but trusted the fact that I was mature enough to spend time here on my own.
And that's where you come in, my dear Claire. Imagine my luck when I came across you, 19 years young, at the summit of the Eiffel Tower, on the verge of throwing yourself to your certain demise because of some teenage love crisis. The opportunity was simply too beautiful, I couldn't resist. I sweet-talked you into not losing hope and giving your existence a second chance. It was a pleasure to make you rediscover your love for life in these two wonderful weeks we've spent together. The pleasures of your body were quite something as well. You were the perfect player for my most recent tragedy though. You played your part without flaw, naively following my plans as if you were my puppet. I made you believe that my flight was in a week, making you reserve this room under your name for that long, when it's actually in four hours. Seeing your serene face as your breath is slowly weakening, thanks to the little poison I had sipped in your breakfast coffee, almost makes me want to cry. They will only discover your lifeless body in seven days, when you will fail to check out. By then, I will be long gone. You see, you were meant to die that day, two weeks ago, but I, as if a celestial envoy, ripped you away from the claws of fate. I only rekindled your love for life just to end your existence when you wanted it to continue. It's much sadder to lose your life when it is against your will, no? Still, fate has cruelly caught up with you, turning your lover into your murderer.
I'm going to write a tragedy based on our little encounter, cherie. But for now, I'm done with erasing the evidence of my presence here, and I have a flight to catch. Adieu, Claire.High school awaits!
Fighting Style: It seems that the school I'm going to has student violence problems. Combat... Oh dear, I never had to get my hands dirty. You see, I've managed to keep myself in one piece by not getting on anyone's bad side. So, should it ever come to a brawl, I guess that I'll have to follow my gut instinct and do my best to stay in one piece by evading and blocking whatever is being thrown my way. I'll probably try to find a way to disable my opponent long enough to escape in the end, though. Call me a coward, but I'm not a fan of combat, except when I am a spectator.
Strengths: It is a good thing that I'm physically fit, and that the sports that I practice put a lot of emphasis on speed and cardiovascular endurance.
Weaknesses: On the other hand, I am completely inexperienced on the battlefield, and since I never took a hit, I surely won't be good at that.
