Post by PASCAL FISCHER on Mar 3, 2012 20:58:04 GMT -5
...pascal boone fischer*
*i check my myspace and i gotta lot of friend requests, yes*
*i check my myspace and i gotta lot of friend requests, yes*
...basics*
Yes, it's on and poppin', yes, the party's rockin'.[/b][/font]
name PASCAL FISCHER (PASS-CAL FISHER)
nickname PASCAL, [THE] SCALLION, ETC.
age SEVENTEEN (17)
gender XY
grade BAUM ACADEMY JUNIOR
hometown CHASKA, MINNESOTA
sexuality HETEROSEXUAL
personification ROBIN HOOD
status DORMANT
face claim BEAU MIRCHOFF
...appearance*
"Sometimes I look in the mirror, and I think, 'Damn, I'm looking sexy today.' "[/b][/font]
hair "Short, black, sexy– it's all natural."[/font]
Though loath to admit it, Pascal layers his sable hair with styling cream to maintain ideal form: that is, textured and jagged at its peak but kept neat and tidy otherwise for a fancy finish. No, he's not going for sex hair– he doesn't need product for that.
eyes "Sexy, of course– er, you meant color? Blue, I guess."
The Scallion has light, clear blue eyes, comparable to ice or glass. Cool and alluring, most any girl would agree in their attractiveness.
build "Sexy, muscular, and sexy. I can lift, like, quadruple my weight. No, that's not an exaggeration."
He's not 100% off on this one– Pascal doubtlessly has an athletic physique, though it pales in comparison to those who devote a significant amount of time to exercise. Unfortunately, Pascal isn't especially fond of working out purely for the sake of working out; the entirety of his muscles come mostly from school sports, rather than frequent excursions to the gym.
height "I know, it's hard to believe that so much sexy is kept in just six feet and one inch... Well, an inch and a half. No biggie."
At 6'1" (and a crucial half an inch), Pascal is relatively tall for a man of his age (or any age, for that matter), one of his particularly impressive physical qualities. Of course, whether his height is in his favor is up to the lovely ladies that await him in New York.
clothing style "Sexy, of course."
Having a fairly average taste in clothing, the Scallion is victim to each and every teenage vogue– in selection of attire, he's usually looking to fit in, and isn't one to stray off the course of conformity in that category. His wardrobe is particularly stocked with an unreasonable amount of jeans, deep v's and hoodies, the exemplary everyday outfit.
distinctive traits "If by distinctive traits you want to know that I'm distinctively sexy..."
Pascal inexplicably has remarkable accuracy, and practically never misses in a game of darts (just another of his many talents).[/blockquote]
...personal*
"Not gonna lie, I'm a real likable guy; I mean, everyone likes me, y'know? It's a gift and a curse."[/b][/font]
personality "In a word? Crazy fucking awesome."[/font][/i]
At a glance, Pascal is the quintessence of confidence, the type of egomaniac that just about everyone wants to strangle every once in a while. In his own mind, the Scallion is something of a god walking among men, and it's virtually impossible to have a conversation with him without it being doused by Pascal's overt narcissism. But while nobody's very fond of his surplus of self-esteem, he admittedly does have a certain likability about him– he's the type of person that people are drawn to for whatever reason, and in the end everyone either loves him or hates him (though he has a big middle finger for the latter).
Boisterous and voluble, Pascal is loud and proud and never afraid to make his opinions– however seemingly discourteous they may be– known to all. Stubborn as a mule, once Scallion has decided something, it takes a hell of a lot to get him to change his mind, and even then it'll almost never be completely; the perfect example of this is his unfailing ego, which in seventeen years has yet to be tarnished. Pascal is convinced that he's the best at just about anything; brazen and confrontational, he loves to outright challenge all those who disagree. You don't think he can rock the tennis court? Well get your racket out because court he shall rock. Don't believe he's a champion swimmer? The Scallion was a junior lifeguard for a summer in middle school, he'll take you on anytime.
And so it goes with Pascal, though realistically he has had his fair share of losses, which he typically attributes to something silly like not wearing proper tennis shoes or having water in his goggles. But if you do beat him at something, be prepared to have him on your ass for days to follow– in his mind, all those that defeat him have irreversibly become a rival of his, and he'll do anything in his power to improve so that he can eventually win his honor back, and with it, the title of "the best".
Despite his consistent mien of the cool and confident teenager, Pascal, like anybody, suffers the bitch called emotion, too. He isn't always as happy as he makes himself out to be, though he's an expert at concealing his pain and veiling it behind an everyday exterior. Reluctant to let anybody know of his feelings, Scallion hates to talk about what goes on inside, be it verbally or physically. Tears aren't really his thing, as strange as it may sound, and he tries to control his anger as well, though often he ends up all at once releasing the bottled emotion when finally out of sight and mind of his peers. His brother's accident fostered an irreparable gap within him, and Pascal has since been unable to grow especially close to any person for fear that they, too, will follow in Abel's suit– unable to comprehend further pain, he tries to limit his relationships with friends and lovers, the main reason as to escaping Minnesota.
It's the thrill, the exhilaration, the adrenaline of stealing that Pascal enjoys most– in his mind, there is no drug greater than it, nothing nearly as satisfying, nothing possibly as addicting. And boy is the Scallion addicted. Addicted to adrenaline, the adrenaline that overpowers all the shame, all the remorse, all the fear that he'll go to hell or some bullshit along those lines. Sure, stealing was wrong, but it feels so unbelievably right– felt so right from the very first terrific dream to the latest evil reality.
past "The hero's tale– real shitty, if you ask me."
Claudia was already a single mother when that horrible asshole of a man– a man who she had been so thoroughly convinced had loved her– knocked her up and ran away so he didn't have to deal with the pressure of having a son. And so it was for the second time; some luck she had, to have to deal with two assholes in a row. One thing was for sure, Claudia would be having nothing to do with men for the rest of her lifetime. But despite the pain, physical and emotional, that corresponded with their births, she loved her sons– how could she not, when she was their mother? It was impossible, to young and impressionable Claudia Fischer, who would thus raise her children as they so deserved to be raised.
Beyond his lack of a father– which never particularly troubled him– Pascal's childhood was overwhelmingly average, though even in elementary school was he among the most garrulous and amicable of his classmates. True to his immortal ego, Pascal excelled at seemingly everything, and his mother was never short of praise, making it no wonder that Scallion is the sort of arrogant man he is today. Throughout middle school, he was that boy that any parent would be proud of: coasting through classes on the honor roll, starring on the soccer and lacrosse teams and all the while being a seemingly good boy.
One of the few to be immediately thrown into the varsity fray in sports on his freshman year, Pascal's popularity only grew. He was an unstoppable force, charismatic and athletic and smart– he went through lovers and constantly gathered friends. He was perfect, if he did say so himself (and he did). But from his early youth, there was always the one man just barely better than him, the man who he always aimed to beat– his brother, the admirable Abel Fischer. Abel was Pascal's role model, the only person Pascal ever accepted as better than him.
His death threw Pascal's entire world off course, the car accident that stole away his beloved brother's life rendering the Scallion practically insane for days. He did not want to speak to anyone, did not want to receive their condolences. When Abel died, Pascal only wanted to be alone, and effectively abandoned the jovial and friendly man that he had always been in favor of being locked in his room, where he could pretend that Abel's death had never happened and Abel was surely just across the hallway as he always had been.
The first dream came almost two weeks after Abel's death, and Pascal could never forget it– it was so unlike a dream in that sense, because you forgot most dreams just as soon as you had them. But every excruciating detail remained fresh in Pascal's mind for months to follow, and he grew to recognize the dream– nightmare?– as more a memory than anything else. It was raining, weather that was so out-of-place for Minnesota in that season; but even if the dream did take place in Minnesota, it was certainly not Pascal's town of Chaska. No, he had never seen the woods that he stood in. They were unlike any he was accustomed to, and yet they felt so familiar, so convincingly nostalgic. Besides the setting, the dream had been a strange one, in which he could feel himself moving but had no control over his muscles, in which emotion was so vivid that in the future Scallion would think back upon the dream and for the thousandth time wonder if it truly had been real.
The content of the dream had been strangest of all. Pascal was many things, but above all else he was not a criminal, not a thief. But in that dream, he stole. He stole, and he felt his blood pumping and his adrenaline rising as he fled back through the woods with the many trinkets he had taken. Then, as soon as the dream had begun, Pascal was awake and the high of theft was gone. He was back in Minnesota, back in the real world.
After that, Pascal made the dreams into realities– he put his brother's death behind him and drowned his emotions in the newfound thrill of theft. How strange it was, to have been changed by a silly little dream– and so radically, too. What was he, a kleptomaniac now? Maybe it was that thing, the thing that doctors diagnosed people with on TV, post-traumatic something-or-other. Did you dream of yourself committing crimes, if you had that? Either way, he was a changed man. He was a thief. But hey, it was only wrong if you got caught, wasn't it?
present "Kickin' ass in the big city. More or less."
It was Pascal's idea to leave Minnesota and go to boarding school in New York City– eager to start a new life, far away from the town of his brother's death and all the people he loved who themselves could just as easily perish like Abel. Though he enrolled late in the year, his situation was unusual, to say the least, and considering his impressiveness in both grades and athletics, the Scallion earned late acceptance to Baum Academy, a school that he supposed was better than nothing.
From that point on, he entirely dropped contact with his mother and friends in Minnesota, ready to start over again. Needless to say, Pascal has yet to drop his newfound habit, unhealthy as it may be– his only means of controlling his stealing is by guaranteeing that his victims can go on as easily without whatever it is he takes from them. Of course, New York City is hugely different from a small town in Minnesota, and after only just arriving at Baum, Pascal is taking his time to adapt, though surely he'll leave his mark on it with time. Plus, he's still got the slight accent; who's not gonna make fun of that kid who pronounces bag as "beig".
family "My mom says my dad was a bastard who abandoned me because he was afraid of commitment; me, personally, I think he was a god who knew he could never be with a mortal woman like my mom. So what's that make me, a demigod or something, I guess."
- - - MOTHER Claudia Fischer, fortyfour years, alive - temporarily unemployed
- - - FATHER William Caleb Daniels, ?? years, unknown
- - - SIBLINGS Abel Hans Fischer, eighteen years, deceased
likes
o pretty girls - "And boy, do they like me."[/font]
o winning - "It happens to me so often, how can I not like it?"[/font]
o stealing - "Nobody has to know."[/font]
o sports (esp. soccer and lacrosse) - "I'm just so good at them, hey."[/font]
o competition - "Everyone likes a good rivalry, eh? Well, especially when I win in the end."[/font][/ul]
dislikes
o losing - "Kinda goes hand in hand with liking winning, no?"[/font]
o romance - "Isn't really my thing, is all."[/font]
o feet - "They're probably nastiest things ever. And they smell."[/font]
o being emotional - "Feelings are for pussies..."[/font]
o the ocean - "Don't tell anyone, but I don't trust that shit. You never know what kind of crazy-ass bitches are hiding down there."[/font][/ul][/blockquote]
...literature*
"Who am I, really? I think I'm like, a combination of Jesus, Zeus, and the elephant god Ganesh. Any more questions?"[/i][/font]
book title The Ballads of Robin Hood
backstory Robin Hood was the son of a noble and an esteemed archer in his youth. As the heir to his father's massive estate, Robin's wealth was incredulous; as result of this, the jealous sheriff deceived him by challenging his ability at archery. In an attempt to prove himself, Robin shot one of the King's deer (as set up by the sheriff) and fled to escape imprisonment.
As an outlaw, he gathered a group of followers known as the Merry Men, and began to steal from those with wealth and give their earnings to the poor, taking justice into their own hands.
...roleplayer*
Everyday I see my dream.
name Bizatin.[/justify]
age Only 15. Hopefully that's no problem, yeah?
gender I'm a guy !
rp experience Uhhh, sorta. Like, a year ago I roleplayed for the first time, and stayed on that rp for quite a while; it ended up dying and I just stopped roleplaying but decided it could be fun to do it again. so yeah this is my first bio in forever /excuse for it being shitty
how you found ouac Uh... google? "Fairy tale rp" or something along those lines? I'd been looking through a bunch of different rps of different categories and this was the first one that I really liked, so.
rp sample Slender white fingers traced blue sapphire and jade, lingering on each cool article of jewelery in fleeting fascination. He ought to make haste, as they would soon be there, forewarned by the frantic blare of the alarm; they, the neighbors, the police, the shopkeepers who had opted for such an inadequate security system. No, inadequate was a bit of an understatement. Had he so desired, Pascal– who by now was an expert in such matters– could easily have disarmed it and fled through the shattered window through which he had arrived, manned with a plethora of the treasures that lay so seductively at his fingertips.
But what would be the thrill in that? Oh, good God, the thrill– he felt it, then, the way his heart pounded and his mind danced, in tune to the sweet shriek of the alarm in the background. He felt it as he gathered his beautiful proceeds, felt it as he ran for the window, felt it as the broken glass crunched under his blue Nike running shoes, felt it as he escaped the pillaged pawn shop, and felt it as he sprinted far, far away, sheathed by a blanket of darkness as the police sirens howled in the distance. He liked to think of them as howls of blatant frustration, frustration that once again they had allowed the offender to escape into the New York night.
For a city plagued by such evil, their police force was disappointingly incompetent– they had been doubly quick in peaceful Minnesota. Even caught him once, early on, though they let him alone for the mean fate that had troubled his family. Fucking Minnesotans, always entirely caught up with the business of anyone and everyone. There was not a secret in the damn town, but here– here, nobody pitied him for the sake of his brother, nobody looked at him with sad eyes and murmured their empty condolences. Here, the police wouldn't be nearly as forgiving as those in Chaska. That was part of it, supposed Pascal: knowing that he could get caught, knowing that if he got caught his life as he knew it could potentially be over. It was exciting, being unsure of how mean fate would work her ways, being unsure of whether he would escape or not.
And occasionally, Pascal even imagined being caught, though he never had the balls to let them reach him. He always got moving before it was too late, always escaped by the hair's breadth.
