Post by HECTOR LÉON on Jun 11, 2011 5:06:55 GMT -5
...hector maxime léon**
*When I was a lad I ate four dozen eggs
Ev'ry morning to help me get large
And now that I'm grown I eat five dozen eggs
So I'm roughly the size of a barge*
[/size]*When I was a lad I ate four dozen eggs
Ev'ry morning to help me get large
And now that I'm grown I eat five dozen eggs
So I'm roughly the size of a barge*
...basics*
name HECTOR MAXIME LÉON
nickname NONE
age 21
gender MANLY MAN
grade JUNIOR
hometown ITHACA, NY
sexuality HETEROSEXUAL
personification GASTON
status DORMANT
face claim HENRY CAVILL
...appearance*
hair Brunette. Short and straight, but still luscious and luxurious and utterly touchable, like all the rest of Hector.
eye color Blue
build Burly and brawny, with biceps to spare. Roughly the size of a barge.
height 6'5
clothing style Hector likes to keep things classy. He likes designer brands, sportcoats, blazers, and then anything to show off his 'sick pecs'. He'll always keep a button or two undone around his collar--you know, for the ladies. On the bottom: pants.
distinctive traits Aside from aforementioned bulging biceps, Hector has a finely crafted jawline and a cleft chin for even the gods to admire. If asked, he would most closely compare his body to that of Michelangelo's David, minus the... less than desirous nether-regions.
...personal*
personality Hector suffers from a bit of a superiority complex. He doesn’t think he’s better than everyone—he knows he’s better, and he expects you to know it, too. He doesn’t feel he needs to show off—it’s expected that everyone know he’s superior—but he’ll never turn down a challenge when one presents itself. People who try to defy his claims of greatness and who aren’t beaten down by his presumed skill often find themselves instead ignored, Hector refusing to acknowledge that anyone could be better than him at anything.
Of course, with such a high pedestal also comes the ease of being knocked down. While he would never openly admit to it, Hector is threatened by people who seem to be honestly capable of anything. He is so afraid of failure that he resents when others succeed and will often put himself in the way of their successes just to see them fail. Because of this apparent determination to ruin others’ lives, Hector makes very few friends (if any, that is) and only seems to ever surround himself with admiring strangers.
Finally, it should be known that Hector is pretty traditional, and by traditional I mean opinionated, and by opinionated I mean a chauvinistic pig. Aside from when they’re tutoring to help him pass his classes*, women should be around for cooking, cleaning, and reproduction. Hector may love women, but that’s not to say he loves them fixing his car, operating on his arm, or representing his government. After all, it’s a man’s world.
*doing all the work for him
past From the moment he can remember being capable of thought (though, to be fair, even now his thought process is a bit… stunted) Hector has thought himself the biggest, the best, and certainly the most beautiful man around. Though his self-view is probably a tad exaggerated, it’s also not entirely baseless; coming from a wealthier family in upstate Ithaca led Hector to a lavish lifestyle of the finest clothes and the best toys, and his naturally dashing good looks certainly didn’t hurt. In fact, if it weren’t for these redeeming qualities, Hector likely would have never even passed high school—it turns out that the more money you drop on a date with the school’s Harvard-bound prodigy, the more likely she is to write your final paper for you and get you into a decent college.
And that’s how Hector’s life continued on for the first two decades. He would spend half of his time in the gym and half of his time with girls, and the other half would be spent as a mediocre player for his high school football team (though he claimed to be the next Super Bowl MVP), and he wouldn’t care that three halves don’t make one whole. Of course, his parents thought he was working hard to maintain his B- average, and so when he was accepted to J. Barrie University, they were no more surprised to hear it than they were willing to give him a credit card with an unlimited flow of income.
Long story short, Hector was born, grew up, went to college, and that’s where we lead off. He’s had a rather uneventful life in his little bubble of wealth and has never had much to worry about that funneling a little cash couldn’t fix. Like any average guy Hector has had his flings and his break-ups (though Hector would always claim that he was the one initiating the break-up, and that he was never heartbroken over it), his successes and his mistakes (but those mistakes were always the fault of someone else—or so he’d have everyone think), his highs and his lows (but his lows were always still higher than any of your highs). Until he wakes up, Hector’s just busying himself chasing tail and being better, and nothing’s going to change that any time soon.
present Hector is just living his life with no real aspirations and no real purpose. He’s majoring in business (with the help of a few ‘friends’) but doesn’t particularly plan to go anywhere with it. He is passing his classes without any exceptional grades, which is just fine for him.
Socially, Hector hangs out with his usual posse of admiring followers. Like any twenty-one-year-old, Hector does twenty-one-year-old things: watching sports, playing sports, going to parties, and all those other things college kids do. Rebellion isn’t really his thing, and he tends to keep away from drugs, smoking, and anything that might be detrimental to his health and overall perfection.
familydislikes
- Father: Edgar Léon
- Mother: Babette Léon
likes- wimminz
- Spitting
- Exercising
- Meat
- Being better than most everyone he meets
- Not books
- Football
- Designer... anything
- Girly men
- People who don't know that he is better than most everyone he meets
- Losing
- Books (or anything requiring using his brain for longer than five minutes)
- Rejection
other notes He's especially good at expectorating.
...literature*
book title Beauty and the Beast
backstory Though not present in the original story of Beauty and the Beast, more modern retellings use the ever-lovely Gaston as a symbol of superficial beauty. His epitomized masculine looks mask an ugly interior. Although he is evidently the town hero, Gaston is portrayed as narcissistic and shallow, only wanting to marry Belle because he believes he deserves no less than the most beautiful girl in town. He is very much a ‘brawn over brains’ type, frequently showing off his muscles and colossal frame, but having little to speak for in the way of intelligence.
Gaston is seemingly harmless in the start of the story, but by the end he has become a notably darker and more malevolent character. He serves as the story’s villain by gathering a mob to hunt down The Beast, going so far as to shoot him and beat him nearly to death. When The Beast is revived by Belle’s return, Gaston must beg for his life, but wastes his second chance by stabbing the Beast and subsequently falling from the castle ledge to his death.
...roleplayer*
name lake
age seventeen
gender female
rp experience eight years?
how you found ouac neopets
rp sample
DISCLAIMER: i'm pretty sure this won't make sense considering the distinct lack of context and the fact that it's a bit stream of consciousness, and i don't plan on roleplaying in this style here anyway, but whatever. it's a sample.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
“No,” he says, and he pulls away from the creature. He looks away, steps away, but he feels no further from it because it is everywhere, all over, like shadows. It moves in closer when he tries to withdraw, and its movements are slow and fluid and thick like magma.
And suddenly Daelon realizes that he does not want it; he wants to be it—intriguing, and mysterious, and something entirely unearthly. He feels as if at any moment Tyndall could take him and control him, and he would be perfectly incapable and perfectly unwilling to stop it.
He wants the power it radiates.
But he is so frail. ”No,” he says again with that same faltering voice. ”I do want to understand you, Tyndall. I do.” And he looks back into its bright blue eyes. There is stillness and silence, and he looks at it crookedly. There is nothing more to say, he thinks; it has him so wrapped around it—or, perhaps it is wrapped around him, strangling and suffocating him in some slow sweet torture—that it must already know what he will do, what he will think. Daelon shakes his head slowly and looks down, blinking hard against his confusion.
”It’s not fair,” he groans incoherently, and his eyes shoot back to the atrocious thing. His jaw twitches as he watches it, tense and unsure. He doesn’t even know what he refers to—what’s unfair—but he is so sure that there is something is wrong, and that the creature will at least recognize it and, with some ethereal insight, explain it. Daelon closes his eyes but, like staring into the sunlight, the blue eyes are there, burnt into his vision.
He cannot escape them behind shut eyelids.
He blinks until his eyes water; they’re still there—always there—bright, and agonizing, and toxic in his mind, and hauntingly blue.
And when he looks up again the eyes are still watching.
