Post by sleepingprince on Dec 27, 2011 2:04:42 GMT -5
...Adam Taylor Holst*
*”Always looking for an axe to grind, what's the matter?
While you're wondering what the hell to do
We were wishing we were lucky like you.” *
[/size]*”Always looking for an axe to grind, what's the matter?
While you're wondering what the hell to do
We were wishing we were lucky like you.” *
...basics*
name
Adam Taylor Holst
nickname
Just Adam’s fine. Can’t really shorten it, anyway. Occasionally, his teammates call him by his last name, but seeing as his first is so short, even that doesn’t happen all too often.
age
Seventeen
gender
Male
grade
Junior
hometown
Syracuse, New York
sexuality
Heterosexual
personification
Sleeping Beauty’s prince
status
Dormant
face claim
Francisco Lachowski
...appearance*
hair color
A sort of honeyed brown that’s typically pushed to one side; it can be quite unmanageable at times.
eye color
Technically brown, although they seem to have a hint of hazel in them.
build
Slender, and often mistaken as scrawny. He’s got wiry sort of muscles, although they’re most certainly there, and a faint six pack that he works to keep.
height
5 feet, 7 inches
clothing style
Adam is nothing if not well-dressed. Generally speaking, it’s probably safe to assume he doesn’t wear sweatpants in public. Ever. The ratty, nasty things he wears to bed in the wintertime are for his dorm room and his dorm room only. When out and about, he can usually be found in some manner of skinny jean, although not the kind that are so tight they might squeeze his nuts off; fashionable would probably be the best way to put it. Really, his mom still buys most of his clothes. He’s not spoiled, he just doesn’t know what to do with himself when given the amount of choices available in an actual store; matching outfits from the closet are just fine, it’s the getting the clothes to said closet he struggles with. Anyway, he’s clean cut and simple. Skinny jeans, t-shirts (v-necks don’t bother him in the slightest), the occasional flannel or button up, sneakers. Typical teenage boy attire, but minus the sweatpants and always matching.
distinctive traits
With almond-shaped eyes and tiny dimples on both of his cheeks, Adam’s most distinctive feature is his smile. Even at such a young age, if one looks closely they can see the beginnings of crows’ feet, because he does it so much.
...personal*
personality
HYPOCRITICAL.
Adam is no asshole; he’s certainly not the type of boy to claim faithfulness to one girl only to turn around and fondle some alternate female at whatever party happens to be occurring that weekend. He is, however, somewhat incapable to saying and doing the exact same thing. It’s not something he thinks about, not following his own advice, it just happens. Most frequently exhibited in his apparent inability to take full responsibility for his own actions, Adam tends to blame others for his faults only to turn around and anger himself at others for the very same thing. It’s not that he’s self-righteous or anything of the sort, either. Rather, his hypocrisy is more a reflection of simple humanity than anything else. He doesn’t fully realize how good he has it.
CHIVALROUS.
Raised to treat women like ladies, Adam has it ingrained in his skull that one must always open the car door for the girl, whether friend or more. He’s careful to walk closest to the street and pull out the chairs of those females sitting with them, as well as to keep his eyes away from said females’ more…robust…areas. Well, the last bit probably goes more under hypocrisy than anything else. He’s a boy. There’s really no stopping himself at times, and he claims it’s always the girl’s fault for wearing her shirt down so low, never mind the fact that she just happens to be a good four inches shorter than him. Still, he’d never take advantage of anyone. The idea of it more than repulses him.
COMPETITIVE.
At the best of times, Adam is merely anticipating victory. The best of times typically occurs when babysitting his five year-old neighbor back home, playing Candyland with a deck he oh-so-slyly rigged when the kid was busy chewing on his Spiderman action figure. Yes, Adam has cheated children. No, he will not admit to it. At the worst of times, Adam craves victory. Although really, it’s not the winning he desires so much as the thrill of competition itself. It’s why he plays defense on the school soccer team; being in the back means one gets all the thrill of the chase even without the after effects of being lifted onto the team’s shoulders. He doesn’t crave attention so much as an adrenaline rush; that split second before he realizes he’s literally running as fast as he can, and he still might not catch up to his opponent on a breakaway; that moment when he falls down to slide and the other boy’s legs literally fall out from under him and they both end up basking in the dirt, although Adam far more gloriously than the other. Still, despite his competitive streak, he’s quick to stop himself from too gaudy a celebration. Never has he knocked someone down on the field whom he hasn’t extended a hand to lift back up, even if he ends up with a yellow card. “There’s no thrill in winning if it isn’t done properly,” says the boy who frequently rigs children’s board games.
STUBBORN.
As a mule. He knows he’s a hypocrite, but he won’t ever admit it. He knows wearing only shorts in the winter defeats the purpose of warm up pants, but he refuses to wear them. He hates the way his hair flops into his face during games, but refuses to get it cut because his mother’s told him far too often that he should. In short, he’s a teenager. Perhaps a bit spoiled, being an only child in a well-off family, and therefore used to getting his way more often than most. And although he doesn’t throw tantrums when he doesn’t get his way, he can pout like there’s no tomorrow. Not the stuck-out-lip, wide-eyed kind of pouting, but the moping, sulking kind. He’ll socialize normally with everyone except they who “wronged” him; that individual gets the silent treatment, or the bluntest of responses possible. It’s fairly hard to get him genuinely angry or upset, but he definitely becomes quite the pain in the ass once he gets that way.
past
When Sophia Silva and Richard Holst first met, they were twenty and twenty-eight, respectively. The daughter of Brazilian immigrants, Sophia worked as a waitress at the Portuguese restaurant her mother and father had worked hard to establish, a fluent speaker in both Portuguese and English, although without a doubt Americanized by her years growing up in the United States. Rich was as American as they came, save his love for the one internationally-famous sport that only ever seemed to be broadcast at a certain little Portuguese restaurant not three blocks from his apartment: soccer. For a year, Richard visited “Em Miniatura,” both to watch the games he so adored and to chat with the woman he soon discovered he loved.
The romance was passionate from the beginning, although also emotionally deep. There were no complaints from either side of the family when they wed two years after meeting. Within the year, the Holst family welcomed a healthy baby boy named Adam, who lacked any sort of link to his South American heritage in his name because, as Sophia said, he looked quite enough like her to manage.
Shortly after their grandson’s birth, Sophia’s parents passed away in a car accident, leaving the family business to their only daughter as way of inheritance. Unable to deal with the thought of abandoning the link, Sophia urged Rich to help her keep the slowly-sinking business afloat. What resulted was nothing short of a miracle. Rich, who’d majored in Business in college, quit his job at an office and took control of the paper work involved in owning a restaurant, and with a couple good investments and several strokes of luck, business boomed. Adam practically grew up in the little run-down place, toddling around to various tables when he wasn’t supposed to just to stand and flash his little dimples at the customers, more out of curiosity than anything. Over time, Sophia and Rich gained quite a bit of money from their business, and the little family moved to a nicer house across town in order to send Adam to a better school in time for Kindergarten.
Elementary school soon blended into junior high, and with the transition Adam found himself working in the restaurant he’d practically called home for so many years of his life. He was just a buss boy, of course, but it made him feel thoroughly grown up, all things considered. On his brakes and during the lulls in business, he found himself in the alley behind Em Miniatura, playing soccer with the cooks and the other bus boys. It wasn’t a new sport; his father had insisted on teaching him to dribble and shoot from the moment he’d been able to balance upright. Still, the time spent playing with his mainly Latino co-workers no doubt sharpened his skills and further increased his love for the game.
present
As Adam’s junior high years began to wane and his parents’ business continued to thrive, he was by his mother and father at the dinner table one night with an idea. A brilliant idea he accepted immediately, to everyone’s (including his) surprise: boarding school. Just in New York City, so really not that far away, but it seemed like they had everything he wanted not only in school, but in sports. The soccer team was good, if not great, and it was no secret that Adam wanted to continue on the play at the collegiate level. The shift from public school to Baum Academy seemed like a no-brainer, really.
Since he began freshman year at Baum, Adam hasn’t regretted a single moment of his decision. Sure, he misses home. He misses the sounds of Em Miniatura and the pick-up games in the alleyways, but he also loves the city. There’s new teammates here and new friends and new sights and smells and sounds—he may have already attended for two years, but there’s always something new to see. And besides, if ever he misses home, all he does is call up his mother and father and talk. They’re a close family, so it’s all very simple. No matter how busy business is, there’s always at least five minutes open whenever he wants them. And besides, he gets surprise cards every once in a while; they always smell like home, because not even the strongest of soaps could possibly wash off entirely the smell of Cozido à portuguesa. So maybe he could be considered spoiled. Maybe lucky. Either way, Adam has virtually nothing to complain about in the grand scheme of things. Life is, one could very well say, wonderful.
family
Richard “Rich” Holst, father, 48
Sophia Elena Silva, mother, 40
likes
-The color teal
-Soccer. He’s played practically since he first learned to walk; it’s what keeps him and his father close. He’s no prodigy, but there’s also no deny he has skill.
-Snail mail. He calls it that, too, and practically lights up whenever he receives some addressed specifically to him, even if it’s just some stupid advertisement. Adam is of the firm belief that calligraphy will make a comeback one day, if only because people will miss the smell of ink on paper.
-Poetry. This particular fondness is one not really advertised but equally unhidden. He’s not embarrassed of how much he enjoys rhyme and meter, he just knows that if any of his teammates found out, he’d most definitely receive nothing but hell for it.
-Fried eggs. Everything about them—the smell, the sound of them crackling against the pan. It’s weird, he knows, but they remind him of home and his mom’s routine making of them every Saturday for his lunch.
-Competition. As with many boys, the idea of it makes him a bit weak in the knees.
-The high that comes from a great slide tackle, end of a race, or really any other bit of winning earned with adrenaline.
dislikes
-His hair. It makes him feel like he’s five, the way it’s always sticking up all over the place. Plus, it just gets in his eyes when he gets sweaty, and that’s even more obnoxious on the field than anything else. Not that he’d ever cut it. His mom’s told him to far too many times.
-Sweatpants. They just don’t feel…right. He refuses to wear them even when warming up—a habit that’s earned him a few stern (and ignored) words from his coach.
-Sore losers and rude winners. Sportsmanship is something Adam prides himself on.
-Losing. Obvious, but worth saying anyhow.
-Science, and everything related to it. He can’t wrap his brain around the logic of it all, although he does try.
-Protein shakes, powder, bars, etc. They’re disgusting.
-Shopping. Everything about it. He's far too indecisive when it comes to personal decisions like that.
other notes TEXT HERE
...literature*
book title Sleeping Beauty
backstory So basically there's this baby princess born and all the kingdom is really happy and shit, and she gets given all these sweet gifts like virtue and patience and whatnot from these equally sweet fairies and everything is happy and wonderful for like, five minutes. Then this one fairy decides to gatecrash and give the princess a dud gift--she curses her, says she'll die on her fifteenth birthday when she pricks her finger on a spindle. Naturally, the King does the only reasonable thing and has all the sharp, deadly spindles in the kingdom burned. But she pricks herself when she's fifteen anyway, because she's stupid and that's how fairy tales work. She doesn't die, though--she, along with the rest of the castle, just falls asleep for a hundred years, until this incredibly dashing prince decides to fight through the obnoxious thorn thicket surrounding the castle to save her. He does, obviously, by kissing her, because that's how fairy tales work. Then everyone wakes up and finds themselves mysteriously transported to the future but they don't care because they prince is super hot and he saved the princess and they dance and make babies and become kind and queen and love happily ever after. Yay, the end.
...roleplayer*
name Scout
age Cats
gender Lard
rp experience Orange
how you found ouac Turnips
rp sample Panther
