Post by jubjub on Oct 30, 2011 22:55:48 GMT -5
...Sebastian Thomas Hawkin*
* All men are intrinsical rascals, and I am only sorry that not being a dog I can’t bite them. *
[/size]* All men are intrinsical rascals, and I am only sorry that not being a dog I can’t bite them. *
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...basics*
name
Sebastian Thomas Hawkin
nickname
He despises nicknames, so just Sebastian will suffice, thank you. Or Mr. Hawkin, if you happen to have him for class.
age
Twenty-seven
gender
Decidedly male
grade
N/A
hometown
Edinburgh, Scotland
sexuality
For the most part, asexual. It’s not that he won’t have sex, or even that he hasn’t; he just quite simply isn’t attracted to anyone like that, and he typically makes it painfully clear that he’s not.
personification
The Jubjub Bird
status
Dormant
face claim
Benedict Cumberbatch
...appearance*
hair color
Some horribly odd-looking shade between dirty blonde and rusty brown
eye color
A pale, sometimes eerie sort of grey-blue
build
Painstakingly average in almost every way a body shape can be.
height
Six feet even
clothing style
He’s a teacher. He dresses like one pretty much all the time. Button down shirts and a tie for school, always matching. Never will he participate in a “casual day” at work, simply because he believes ever-so-firmly that work and pleasure should not be mixed, and even if they were to be, sweatshirts aren’t the sort of acceptable clothing to be wearing around sixteen year old sluts and seventeen year old deadbeats. Why the hell would he ever drop to his students’ level?
distinctive traits
Although not a specific trait, Sebastian has a very distinctive look about him; it’s somewhere between pretentious and just plain apathetic, and almost never leaves his face.
...personal*
personality
Sebastian is a jackass. A dick, a prick, a two-faced son of a jackal—take your pick, he’s all of them, sometimes simultaneously. Perhaps the worst bit is that it’s not even an act. He’s just a genuinely, completely, outrageously rude person; and unfortunately, most of the time he’s an honest ass. Sebastian, you see, doesn’t just speak rudely for the sake of doing so; he speaks rudely because he believes in honesty as not only a policy but a necessary, unquestionable way of life. It doesn’t faze him. Not when he dishes it out, and certainly not when he receives it. There’s never any more than a blink, or perhaps a small, cruel sort of chuckle accompanied by a cold, blank stare. He’s apathetic, to say the least, and couldn’t care less about what his words do to others.
It’s fairly safe to say, however, that as twisted as this reasoning may be, it’s his utter lack of anything resembling a filter that makes him approachable. Well, maybe not approachable, but desirable. He has an air about him that’s almost infectious in that people seem drawn to him, probably because of his brutal honesty. It’s an air he’s well aware of, and uses to his advantage often. People want to impress him; it’s inevitable, he feels, that at one point in time almost every “friend” he meets will attempt to do at least one thing, however small, to gain his genuine trust, acceptance, adoration, or what have you. Sebastian is virtually incapable of faking his way through anything, so people seek him out for approval, knowing that if he gives it, it will be absolutely genuine. They think they’ll be the first person he can actually stand.
But that’s just it. Sebastian can’t really stand anyone. His utter detest for all things emotional is so deeply rooted at this point that there’s really no escaping it. It’s a bit sad, really, as he can’t even feel upset enough about it all to be depressed. He’s just an ass. Could have been nice once, maybe if someone had come along that he’d really liked when he was younger, but no one did, and he was left to stew in sorrow, which eventually transferred to sheep prickishness and utter apathy out of both necessity and laziness. Now he’s stuck that way. And even if he gave the idea of actually letting himself go the time of day, chances are he’d shut that down too, because honestly, nobody ever got anywhere without stepping on a few heads first.
past
Born and raised in Edinburgh, Scotland, Sebastian’s life up until age four was exceptionally ordinary. He was born on an early February morning to two beaming, ecstatic parents with absolutely no complications and a trip home within the week. As aforementioned, he was ordinary. Sebastian walked when the doctors estimated he’d walk, talked at the average age, ate solid food at precisely when he was supposed to. He was far too young to notice the arguments between his parents, or the way his father came home with a slight jerk to his walk and significantly less money than was written on his paycheck every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday like clockwork. He was too young to notice that when his mother came into his room one night with tears in her eyes and a large bag in her hand and a few whispered words, that she was leaving for real and for good. It wasn’t until he turned five and a half, a whole year after she left the house, that he really came to terms with the fact that his mother was gone for good. She didn’t even leave a note.
Needless to say, that was where it all began. The shutting down, the utter hatred of people as a whole; he was only five, yes, but he felt it. Tiny at first, it only showed in flashes of anger and the occasional display of maliciousness. Being so young, the worst he did up until age seven was cut off a lock of Maggie D’Angilo’s hair because she decided to speak to him while he was coloring.
Sebastian’s mother left him. He hadn’t a clue why at the time, and even as he grew older and came to understand more and more, he couldn’t forgive her for not taking him with. By sixteen years of age, Sebastian was nothing short of hardened. His daily routine was set in stone: wake up, go to school, come home for an hour, work until eight at night, come home again, sit up and wait for his father to stumble in, somewhere between nine and one, depending on the day, but always reeking of gin and beer. There wasn’t much flexibility—he couldn’t afford it. Not even for school. And although Sebastian’s father never hit him, wasn’t even that mean of a drunk, he grew to loathe him. Sebastian loathed his father like he’d never loathed anything before, even his mother (he thought her extremely weak, and a pathetic excuse for a parent, but nothing more. She wasn’t worth the effort), but it wasn’t for the fact that he drank so much as the fact that he’d driven everyone else away. He hated the drinking, too, there was no doubt about that, but he hated the consequences of his actions more. Grant was, in his mind, the lowest of the low. Relying on alcohol to get him through a life that, all things considered, hadn’t been half bad before he went and fucked it all up was by far the worst possible thing Sebastian could imagine a man doing.
Because he had little else to do with himself (and this is not merely a melodramatic way of putting things—the guy was an ass, even at that age. He didn’t have many friends. Not ones he wanted to actually spend time with, anyway), Sebastian turned to reading. Or, more specifically, eating up history books. The fascination with facts—concrete, solid, rock-hard details—began when he was about ten and first learned that Isaac Newton did not, in fact, discover gravity via apple, but testing various formulas—again, cold, hard, and unrelenting. The rest was, as they say, well…history. Perhaps they helped to further push him away from the world of emotions and into the realm of unyielding, apathetic, cruel details. Then again, perhaps they were just a comfort. Something to pass the time. Either way, he still ended up an ass.
present
Sebastian double majored in History and Education at the University of Edinburg, passing most of his classes with flying colors and a carefully controlled bored expression. Needless to say, however, he wanted out the minute he graduated. Out of his father’s house, out of Edinburgh, out of Scotland, out of his whole goddamn life. So he did the first thing that came to mind: he moved to America. It was, as he’d read and told himself thousands of times over, full of fat, lazy people equally full of idiotic ideas, but it was something different. Sebastian moved to New York the day he turned twenty-three, and hasn’t looked back since. Not even to call his father. Why the hell would he want to?
New York, to Sebastian, is hell. Then again, so is everywhere. He’s just as insufferable as he was growing up, perhaps even more so now that there’s no moderately higher authority to attempt to reign him in. During the past few years living in New York he’s met countless people and only bothered to speak consistently to a few, although never once has he actually called them his friends. They’re people he needs at the moment, not like toys but…books. He flips them open every once in a while for a quick glance, almost to see if his favorite quite is still there, and then he puts them back on the shelf again because he remembers seconds after reading said quote just how awful the rest of the story was, and how utterly pathetic the main character acted.
Really, it’s a wonder he got the job at Baum, as he didn’t even tone himself down for the interview (in case it wasn’t obvious enough already, Sebastian isn’t one for putting on masks). It’s his second year teaching now, and he somewhat suspects the reason they re-signed his contract was a mixture between the fact that his History students scored higher on almost every test than the average of the rest of the teachers’ classes combined and the fact that deep down, they want to see just how far he’ll actually go. Sebastian doesn’t mind, of course. He fucking hates his job, but he doesn’t mind one bit.
family
Abigail Hawkin, age 64, estranged, lousy bitch of a woman
Grant Hawkin, 68, exceedingly pathetic excuse for a human being
likes
-History. Real history, not those pathetic excuses for facts they teach in school nowadays
-That look of shock on someone’s face when they realize the insult they thought was too ridiculously harsh to be anything but a joke, wasn’t.
-Surprising people. Usually not in a good way.
-Lemon heads and dark chocolate, although never together
-People willing and able to take criticism, because it doesn’t matter how it’s given, but how much one is willing to improve because of it.
-Spearmint gum. Or spearmints, as he eats almost habitually at school—the man, beneath his somewhat woodsy smelling aftershave, reeks of spearmint.
dislikes
-Humanity as a whole. They’re insufferable, the lot of them
-Wallpaper, from the smell of it to the look to the general idea of it all; if you want your walls a new color, you should paint the damn things yourself.
-His students. Or, more specifically, the utter idiocy of the people he’s forced to surround himself with daily; not only are they insufferable, but they’re rude and more often than not, daft, which he’s not afraid to tell them.
-Relationships. The idea of being so utterly close to someone for an extended period of time—and this is only genuine relationships were talking about—honest to God scares him to death. Which, of course, would be why he avoids them at all costs. The scathing personality tends to come in handy.
-Gum drops, Twizzlers, Starburst, Skittles, and any other sort of fruity candy one could possibly think of.
other notes TEXT HERE
...literature*
book title
Alice in Wonderland (well, technically speaking, The Jabberocky)
backstory
Basically, the Jubjub Bird is just a really bigass bird that likes to fuck shit up all the time because it’s huge and it can. Especially when the only places its written about are sissy poems, because everything looks infinitely more intimidating in poem form. The Jubjub knows this better than anyone. Umm…that’s about it. Basically, Lewis Carrol tells whoever the hell he’s writing that effing poem to to “beware the JubJub Bird.” And he should, because that is one badass mofo of a feathered fiend.
...roleplayer*
name
Scout the Beautiful Butterfly
age lol
gender jk
rp experience lawlz
how you found ouac ilu
rp sample 5C0UT’5 A N00B.
