Post by heartsknave on Mar 26, 2010 22:59:49 GMT -5
...DAMIEN ANDREW KNIGHT*
*the thief is sorry he is to be hanged, not that he is a thief*
[/size]*the thief is sorry he is to be hanged, not that he is a thief*
...basics*
name Damien Knight
nickname N/A
age Twenty-four
gender Male
grade Graduated
hometown New York, New York
sexuality Heterosexual
personification Knave of Hearts
...appearance*
hair color Blond
eye color Blue
build Average, a bit stocky
height 5'8"
clothing style Casual, plain t-shirt and jeans. Except on "outings" then it's dark colors, greys and blacks.
distinctive traits Probably looks like he doesn't want to talk to you, average looks
...personal*
personality Upon meeting Damien, it's likely one won't like him. He doesn't often voluntarily engage in conversation. And when he does, he probably needs something. When one tries to talk to him, he can often be uncooperative, even spiteful, although he never precisely sneers or gives any indication that he's being ridiculously difficult. As it is, Damien tends to be a man of mystery, and encourages this image through his elusive wordplay, always asking questions to answer questions and sometimes contradicting himself on purpose. Frankly, he simply enjoys watching people run around and get frustrated. Aside from that, Damien is a bit of a loner and he tends to be very picky (to an appalling snobbish point) about whom he wishes to associate with.
Privately, Damien holds a very large amount of pride. He hates making mistakes, and is a perfectionist. When he happens to fail, Damien always blames himself and exacts solemn discipline. He's got a surprisingly firm moral code for a thief, and while he may not be generous as Robin Hood himself, he tends to adhere to only stealing from those who probably won't be in extreme want for money any time soon. He calls himself a bad man nonetheless, but often in a jesting manner. It's obvious that Damien isn't really that horrible of a person, especially to his friends. He's simply someone who made the choice to navigate life through... unconventional means.
To those Damien knows well, there's another side to him. He can be quite playful, and is extremely cunning. He's quick to catch onto things, and while he might be annoying at times with how he likes to play his mind games, he can often be helpful in pointing out new ways to look at a situation. He's curious as hell, and sly as a fox. He can be charming when he wants to be, but that's obviously rare, and usually only occurs when he happens to be interested in a woman. And it's often awkward, as Damien seems to be a bit wary and uncertain whenever he lets down his guard and allows someone to enter his heart. Not familiar with the affairs of close friends, most of those he talks to happen to be associates or people who simply want him for some reason or other. True friends make him uneasy, as there will always be a part of him that expects himself to be betrayed.
Final note, Damien is a kleptomaniac. Even though he steals as a profession, from a young age he's had uncontrollable compulsions to nick your stuff.
past When Damien was born, he killed someone. His mother, that is. Childbirth complications occurred, and as the couple was vacationing in the woods, help was long in arriving, such that the barely barely survived, but the mother perished. His father was a business man previously, but that's not the life Damien knows. All he knows is a dingy apartment, a distant father, and an absurd lack of supervision. When he was very young, it was mostly his grandmother who took care of him. She died when he was eight, and it was, frankly, the first time Damien ever cried. She'd been a kind old dodger, and she instilled very stern morals into her grandson. His father drifted by, only rarely rousing himself to take part in his son's life, or bothering to feed him. He went from dead end job to dead end job, and Damien was constantly disappointed in his only remaining parent.
When he was ten, he started to steal.
Sometimes it was subconsciously. At others, it was this overwhelming urge that he couldn't resist. Harmless trinkets, little toys, silverware, anything that he could stuff into a pocket and walk out with. Sometimes he was caught, and was forgiven as he was young and didn't have a very stern home life. But Damien slowly became more and more adept. He began to realize that his knack for petty theft could lead to bigger things, things children shouldn't be thinking about. But when rubbing two pennies together is a rare option in one's life, turning to a darker path can be a grim and prosperous idea. Damien started running with the wrong crowd, until he met Jack. Jack was a skilled pickpocket, and a so-so burglar. He was quite close-lipped about how he did it, but Damien managed to weasel his way into the old man's heart through large eyes and feigned ignorance. Jack saw right through the ploy, but saw a bit of himself in the eyes of desperate Damien.
Soon Damien was stealing wallets and credit cards, pilfering purses, and sneaking in windows. On three accounts, he was caught trespassing. Two of those, he was forgiven, as the families saw him as a misguided teenager who needed help. The third time, he was incarcerated and sent to juvenile detention. He, naturally, pleaded not guilty, though his defense was poor and his disinterest hurt it even more. The haughty boy wouldn't lower himself to admitting anything, though he internally berated himself for his slip up.
Eventually, he started goading his father into working, trying to pull him out of the depression that had afflicted him for a decade and a half. Damien barely knew the man, though he'd lived with him all that time. Though he wasn't blamed for the death of his mother, he knew that it was likely his father had little interest in raising him nonetheless. It was only when his father had a steady job, and seemed to be getting counciling, paid for out of Damien's dirty money, Damien backed off. When he turned eighteen, he uprooted from the dingy and disappeared from the only home he'd ever known, off to seek his own path in more prosperous grounds.
present Damien currently remains in New York City, living in the cheapest house in a middle class street. He remains low scale. When asked, he claims to be a writer, and will be quick to produce evidence, though writing is really just a passtime of his. He finds thieving a much better venture and doesn't really care to stop it.
family Tyler Knight - father, 50
Georgina Knight - mother (deceased)
likes - stealing
- writing
- intelligent company
- the city at night
- toying with people
- playing innocent
- realistic stories
- anti-heroes in movies/books
- good girls
- tarts, especially strawberry
dislikes - arrogance (unearned, anyways)
- ignorance
- wealthy ignorance
- getting caught
- losing
- resorting to violence
- heights
other notes Usually is up to no good
...literature*
book title Alice in Wonderland
backstory The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts,
All on a summer day:
The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts,
And took them quite away!
The Knave of Hearts is accused, in rhyme, of having stolen the Queen of Heart's tarts. Naturally, he denies everything. His defense is rather shoddy, although the accusations are pretty silly too. Alice, fortunately, boldly defends the Knave, and ends up growing very large, before waking up from her dream.
Don't remember the book all that well, but I'm pretty sure that's how it happened and that there was no actual verdict. Well, probably the Queen said something about "off with his head". Yep.
...roleplayer*
name Mule
age Sixteen
gender Female
rp experience Five or six years
how you found ouac Neopets, haha
rp sample
[]
Zelda swept into the room, full visible, in a handsome dress. It was not as eccentric as some of the dresses of the medieval era, with all the ruffles and huge amounts of fabric, but it certainly wasn't as sensible as that which a peasent or servent might wear. The sleeves were long and flowy, fluttering down at least a foot from her wrist. The collar was high, and the skirt had a sweeping circumfrence. The whole thing was ivory colored with red trimmings.
The woman had been tall for her era, and still kept an impressive height. She had a swanlike neck and big eyes, green in hue. Her skin was pale, and freckled quite a lot. It was the bane of Zelda's existance, those freckles. Vain creature that she was, she considered them her greatest blemish. However, contrastingly, her hair was her greatest pride. Like Samson, she would never consider cutting it. It was so long, that it had to be tyed into a massive braid, else it would trail on the ground and get quite filthy. The golden blond braid was interwoven with white and red ribbon, completing her image. Entirely, Zelda could pass for an elf, if she had pointed ears. She even carried herself with the self-importance granted to those creatures of myth.
Opening the bathroom door, she gave a sweet smile to Yvette, with her thin lips. However, her thin eyebrows distinctly twitched at the sight of the girl's hair. "Hello, hello, Lady Yvette," she gushed, her voice a pleasant soprano that had to have been practiced over and over. "Are you ready for a new day? Breakfast will no doubt be served soon. We must get you appropriately made for the master, now." She swept grandly back into the bedroom. Across the bed lay a dress with adjustable strings in the back, until Yvette had been measured. It was Marrok's favorite color, naturally, as Zelda thought that it would be best for Yvette to sweep in, already pleasing the master.
A royal blue color, with pale blue trimming, and a skirt that, while not as large as Zelda's, was impressive in it's own right. It had a scandalously low cut (in Zelda's opinion) collar. Why, one could actually see the entire neck! It was entirely provacative. Why, necks were always the most appealing feature (in Zelda's opinion). Surely, Marrok would be entranced by the sight. She raised the dress into her arms and began to undo the back, opening it up to be stepped into and fit around Yvette.
"Isn't this just a beautiful dress?" she crooned. "Why, I always loved dressing up as a child." Indeed, before she'd wound up at Marrok's castle, she'd been the personal hair stylist for a duke's wife. She'd always wished she'd had the honor to help choose dresses as well, but that had gone to another woman. Still, Zelda knew that her choice was tasteful, but always cutting edge. Yvette would (in Zelda's opinion) love the dress. Who wouldn't? She'd always wanted to wear something so handsome when she'd just came to the castle. After being given the chance to always having something amazing to peacock about in, Zelda had already been half in love with Marrok.
Perhaps it was just that she liked men of power. They'd always made her swoon. Even if Marrok was no handsome man with rippling muscles and smoldering eyes as he worked a plough in the field, he was certainly charming and quite witty. Indeed, sometimes his intelligence went right over her head! Who couldn't love Marrok? Why, he was just a big ol' puppy (in Zelda's opinion).