Post by Albrecht Kilian on Jun 26, 2016 23:23:24 GMT -5
__Q U I N C Y__
The Monk of Destruction
Name: Albrecht Kilian
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Height & Weight: 6’2” (188 cm) / 190 lbs. (86.2 kg)
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Dominant Hand: Right-handed
Hair & Eyes: A messy, unkempt flop of wild hair crowns this tall, muscular man. A veritable ‘nest’ as some might refer to it as. It was immediately clear that he gave that medium-short hair only the most brief of goings-over with a brush before heading out for his day. Straw blonde, bleached from the sun, with darker medium blonde (nearing brown) roots, the hair didn’t look unappealing. No, it simply looked... like the hair of a bachelor. If it wasn't for the messy state it seemed perpetually trapped within, those straight strands might find themselves able to be tamed back nicely. Too-long bangs seemed to constantly drift into the man’s eyes, a heterochromatic stern, silent stare that seemed always a step too serious for any situation he might be in. His right eye, a forest green, was juxtaposed by it’s opposite color - a crimson red that betrayed his mild albinism. Despite that steely gaze (which honestly bordered on a harsh, unforgiving glare) the man seemed not to watch people for very long: always looking away from them as if he weren’t paying attention. Perhaps simply avoiding undue attention due to the curious colors of his eyes...
Physical Description:
Where from does this wild thing wander?
With a muscular, lean frame and a pair of rough-palmed hands, it’s immediately clear that this man spends much of his time either keeping his body up to strict standards or works in an physically demanding job. Despite possessing the appearance of someone who might be described as a rugged outdoorsman, his skin (rather than the rich golden hue someone who spends most of their time outdoors might attain) is instead a distant memory of a tan in hue. Many who spot his curious skin tone, accompanied with the harsh red stare of his left eye, might correctly assume that this man is an albino. That pale skin seemed to be drawn taut over his defined musculature, almost as if the man had worked for years perfecting his diet and workout routine to maintain an absolutely minimal amount of body fat. He was too tall, skinny, and muscular: traits that never changed no matter how much he ate. His arms were slender, much more so than his legs which had put on additional muscle from all the wandering and walking he had done in the past couple years. He wasn't -scrawny- by any means, simply thin and toned; by no means any kind of body builder.
His outdoors-driven personality was made clear by the various nicks, cuts, and bruises he often had on him in various places - small, non-threatening wounds that were the only marring of that pale ‘hide’ of his, save for several black tribal styled tattoos that decorated his neck, shoulder, and chest.
On his left shoulder was a stylized tattoo of a wolf’s head, growling with its muzzle drawn back, fangs bared, and forehead wrinkled deep with a scowl of rage. On his neck - a symbolic tattoo. Tribal still in design, it was clearly a five starred cross, a symbol any quincy would recognize instantly. Lastly, on his left breast, a single kanji - Ookami. Wolf.
The man’s face bore a strong angular jaw and downturned eyebrows, which along with his narrow, straight-lipped mouth, gave the man a very serious expression at rest. It’s easy to notice the differently-colored eyes that stare out from under that mess of untamed blonde hair. The left, bright red, whilst the right was a deep emerald green. Between the lackadaisical care given to his tousled hair, and the loose casual manner in which he dressed, it was easy to guess that he was younger in age; only a few years past teenager himself, clearly still growing up to maturity. Those that would catch that firm gaze might be surprised that for all the intensity it held, he never utilized it, glancing away. It was almost as if he hoped that by not paying strangers any mind that he might be overlooked, or ignored.
He would often find himself leaning against things as he relaxed from his wanderings through the days, hands in his pockets and his shoulders slumped, by no means one to hold a formal posture. Everything about his gait reflected this, with his loose-swinging arms and his casual walk, never in much of a hurry to get anywhere in the world. He simply took life as it came to him, searching, but never too eagerly. It was almost as if he was afraid to get to his destination too fast for some reason. This almost lackadaisical, lazy approach to moving carried over in his voice, a smooth tone that carried in it no amount of rough edge or 'gravelly' tone despite it's deep baritone. He was not one to speak quietly - when he did speak, which was not often, he spoke clear and concise, firmly believing that if one had words to share they must be important, and get their meaning across.
He was often seen sporting a heavy, forest-green tall-necked coat with loose fitting khaki cargo pants and boots, a simple tan cotton t-shirt beneath. This rough-and-tumble appearance made it hard to see this young man as trying to impress anyone; in fact he seemed to fit in more with the riff-raff wanderers that'd drift into town and be gone the next day, than any proper citizen looking for an office job. His clothing was worn, patched in several locations with crude simple repair jobs done on the fly as needed to extend the life of the clothes he wore - apparently not the type of person who could simply buy new clothes once they wore thin. The boots on his feet and the messenger bag that hung at his side both seemed to share the same traits - sturdy, worn, and more useful than aesthetically pleasing. The ruffian’s street-urchin chic would be topped off by the pair of thick, fingerless leather gloves he wore which climbed up to the middle of his lower arm, a few inches below the elbow. What few would ever know was these thick gloves - which likely would look more at home on a suit of leather armor than common street clothes - were this man’s focus for his personal fighting style and spiritual weapon. Anyone who paid much attention to those gloves wouldn't have a hard time noticing the thick callouses from hard work on the young man's hands, the dirt that stained his fingernails, nor the way his nails seemed to be chewed off, rather than clipped neatly.
His apparent wandering lifestyle was only further reinforced by his state of cleanliness. Never quite 'filthy' to the point where one might shun him like a vagrant, it was clear that the young man did not always have easy access to a shower, or a place to wash his clothes; it was clear he spent a good amount of his time camping. Not only was his clothing, as stated, in poor repair, but the things he carried with him seemed just as worn; perhaps second-hand, hand-me-downs, or simply over-used. Often times slung next to his messenger back in a nylon bag with a simple strap handle was a sleeping bag, the man no stranger to sleeping outdoors in between towns when he couldn't afford a train. It seemed as though he stored a few additional goods in with that simple bed-sack: a canteen, a map, a compass, a box of matches, and a simple mess kit in a tin box distorted what would otherwise be the smooth outer edge of that bag. It was clear from how haphazardly he threw all of these things in the bag that perhaps, he was not the most organized of individuals...
Demeanor:
What face do you show the world?
Rogue/Deviant: It’s clear from first glance that Albrecht doesn’t fit in very well, nor does he care to. A man with several irregular traits that seems to wish to hide from the world with his bulky clothing and quiet tendencies: he’d rather not be noticed in an effort to avoid being gawked at. Because of this tendency to avoid being the center of attention he’s developed some rather roguish traits. He’s out for what’s best for him, and tends to need convincing to aid someone else unless he truly likes them. What others need simply doesn’t concern him unless they’re able to make it one of his concerns either through manipulating the young man or by bribing him with cash or pleasures (not necessarily limited to carnal pleasures). What? Everyone has their vices. Wandering poor and living off scraps, certain luxuries others take for granted might be quite valuable to the young man.
Spiritual Description:
Beneath the skin...
Albrecht's reiatsu bore the appearance of an electrically-charged, white mist that spread from him with an intense crackle and graceful flow about it when used. Lingering about his reiatsu was the scent of forest petrichor and, faintly, of dog. When visible his reiatsu clung to him like a garment; a mist that floated up and around him while obscuring many of his physical traits. Starting with the left side of his face, his energy clings to him in the shape of a feral wolf’s guise: muzzle, fangs, fur, and all. As he releases more reiatsu the man takes on an appearance not unlike a bipedal werewolf (or as many would refer to it - a ‘hybrid form’ werewolf) to those that are spiritually aware. (Without the ability to view reiatsu, he of course, still looks human). His gauntlets are clad in spiritual energy, extending down past his hands in long clawed fingers. Whether this curious manifestation is simply a reflection of his spirit, or something far more significant (such as a werewolf ancestor from the beast-realm), Albrecht doesn’t know, nor, will he likely ever.
Behind The Eyes___
Personality: What drives a man to smother his own dreams? What drives someone to kill the kindled ember in their spirit and simply wander through life, hoping that something finds them? It's certainly not a unique tragedy, as millions of people often give up on finding that one thing that they truly desire, and instead listlessly drift through life, like a leaf upon a river, hoping that it one day finds them.
Albrecht is no different. Deep down inside the young man desires most to find a place in the world where he belongs - his own little corner where he no longer feels like a cog in the machine, like a expendable asset that someone can just cast aside once they're done with him. He wants to feel important, and useful. He wants to feel loved. But all of that is smothered by his crushing self guilt and his lingering immaturity.
The young man has a bright future if only he'd grab it, but instead he lets the burdens of his developmental years weigh him down. His parents, blaiming him for the first hollow attack he survived. His adopted family, making him feel like extra weight that they shouldn't have to carry. His pillars of support fell out from under him at a critical time in his life, as he came into adulthood, and now he bears the scars from the fall. His self-esteem is low, he hides from others in public and generally simply wishes to be left alone - let be to wander the world and attempt to find his place. But what is his place?
That poor young man never did develop a realistic view of life, or where he fit into it. He doesn't know the shape of the puzzle piece he'll become, only that he wants to be one - to fit, and be necessary. His view of the world is buried in a fantasy that not even he has wanted to shatter, a world of mystery, 'magic', monsters, where he is the hero. The knight, in shining armor. His mind will soar if he lets it, running wild through the wilderness of his mind: He wants to be a leader, he wants to be a general and lead an army, he wants to fight hollows and be a hero, he wants people to look up at him in praise for his good deeds ...
... but he does not realize the crushing truth of these dreams. That with leadership, comes hardship; difficult choices that one must make to attain such a place in the world and the heavy weight that comes with them. Heavy is the head that wears the crown. That with being a general, one must accept that the sacrifices of your troops are on you. Every death is yours to bear. That to be a hero, one must face danger, and hardship; every battle is a chance for you to fail, and failure often costs your life.
But he doesn't reflect on these things, he doesn't dig deep enough to uproot this childish desire to be 'important' and instead wanders the world looking for distractions, things to do. Perhaps this is why he's chosen not to plant firm roots. Why he wanders the wilds, doing odd jobs in strange towns - why he lives like a vagabond.
If he was forced to be honest with himself, the truth wasn't that he -couldn't- face reality, but...that he was scared to. He was young, life dropped weight on him without him being ready for it and he never had people there to help him step up to the challenge. He was never taught how to face these scary truths, and so he simply tries to avoid them. But he can't. Forever. Nobody can. If he does not learn to mature and face these truths head on they'll one day likely lead to his death. He's young, scared, and inexperienced. He's stubborn, and against authority after the struggles of his youth, and so he does not seek out more knowledgable indidivudlas for their help. Somewhere, deep inside...he kind of hopes they'll find him. He hopes they'll pull him out of his shell, dust him off, and set him on the right path like a fatherly figure he never had.
However saying he's simply scared and hiding would only be half the truth. The young man truly enjoys what he does, wandering the lands. Few people ever get to truly expiernece the wonderous vistas, the beautiful woods, the wild paths of the wilderness. They never venture out of the safety of their cities, and choose instead to expierience the wilds through the safety of their televisions and their warm living rooms. He lives it. He feels accomplished in surviving as he has. He knows how to find shelter, and how to get food. He's picked up various tradeskills, albeit at a unskilled labor level, and enjoys doing odd work when he finds it. These are visceral things that he can put his foot down and claim "I have this. This is me. I own this." - and that gives him security in the face of all of his fears and insecurities.
At the end of the day what truly keeps him going is that simmering anger beneath the surface. This very anger is what causes him to lash out when others are treated unfairly, the one thing he cannot keep contained within. Seeing others battered and beaten, bullied ... he can't handle it. It's the one thing that always gets him to break out of that silent shell of avoidance. Deep down he knows what his family did was wrong and he refuses to let it go, almost to the point of being vengeful. He never plots -revenge- per se, but often times finds strength to push on through hard times simply because he wants to prove them wrong. He's -not- a burden. He -can- do this. He'll show them by becoming something great ... one day ... maybe. But not today. Today he keeps hidden. Today he tries not to stick out in the crowd.
Positive Qualities: Brave/Loyal: Whether he admits it or not, Albrecht is brave. He might not ever attribute this trait to himself, seeing it not as bravery but ‘acting out of necessity’, but bravery it is. In the face of adversity and fear, he does not shirk. He can think clearly and act quickly in the face of tragedy. When trials and tribulations come bearing down upon him, Albrecht is able to -act-, to push through and do what needs to be done, even if that means running away to fight another day. He's brave after all - not fearless ... or stupid. Especially when it comes to standing up for the few souls that manage to get past his loner attitude, Albrecht is a reliable friend, and staunch ally, cherishing those few people who give him the chance he deserves, and craves. He may be afraid to face his own fears, but deep down inside this does not make him brave - it makes him inexperienced. Even brave people have doubts and worries, and one day when Albrecht faces those fears down, he'll shine through like the true brave individual he truly is. For now...his bravery is just a bit tarnished. Perhaps that is why he would not admit he is brave? He does not realize the bravery he shows - wandering alone, with little to his name, unskilled and vulnerable?
Observant/Keen-Eyed: Retreating into oneself and shirking interacting with a lot of people is a double edged sword. On one hand, it limits one’s social movements; it’s hard to find what you want in life without other people, and humans being the creatures they are, crave social interaction to a degree. But because of his quiet, reserved nature, Albrecht is quick to pick up on and notice the small things that others might overlook in their eager, gregarious personalities. A few years of wandering through the woods alone, surviving by oneself helps sharpen the senses - needing to spot rivers that might be clean to drink from, animals that might provide food, or plants that might ... well also probably provide food; or even danger to avoid.
Self-Sufficient/Sensible: When one chooses to be alone in the world, they either thrive in self-sufficiency, or perish. Because of his years alone, Albrecht has picked up a knack for spotting and taking opportunities where they crop up. Realizing that unless he acts on chances he’s given to take, that he might not have money to eat - or buy something he needs - the young man quickly learned to calculate risk and reward, and make do for himself rather well. The young man thrives in self-sufficiency. He never shirks from learning new things, always eager to pick up a new skill or talent, or simply a new way of doing something he already knows how to do. When asked if he should find someone to do something for him, or learn the skill himself, Albrecht will always choose to learn it himself - after all that other person might not always be there for him to rely on.
Negative Qualities: Aggressive/Angry: Though he does well to suppress it at times, certain things are quick to get under Albrecht’s skin, and when they do - oh boy does he have a short fuse. The young man is quick to fly off the handle when something truly gets to him, and when he does - violence is often times the response...for better or worse. This is not to say that he attacks foes willy-nilly that would clearly kill him: no, he’s smarter than that and knows when a fight is hopeless. However, when angered with no outlet he does as angry people often do...and deflects it to another. His mood might be irritable at people for no reason, looking for someone, or something to vent at, regardless of whether they’re friend or foe...sometimes catching those he cares about in his tantrums.
Uncompromising/Difficult: Albrecht has his ideal view of the world, and that’s it. When it comes to how he wants reality to be things either fit into his fantasy, or they get cast aside...or perhaps dealt with or molded if they can be. He’s no high manipulator, but he’s conscious of the weight of a favor owed, or a deed unpaid, and often times will try to guide people towards his own wants and desires. In a way this stems from a certain immaturity - unable to cope with reality sometimes simply not being ‘fantastical’ enough for him, he refuses to grow up and simply realize not everything will always be how he wants.
Frightening/Unnerving: Not a trait he exhumes on purpose, but one that simply comes from -how he is-. Albrecht by his nature, and his spirit, is a person with an intimidating presence. Animals are uncomfortable around him for the most part, except for canines. People might be put off by his unnaturally intense stare, or his somewhat self-serving and abrasive personality from years of feeling unwanted. Those who are particularly spiritually aware, or simply emphatic, might feel nervous around him. If one were to put the trait into a visceral image, it’d be like light catching the eyes of a predator in a bush - a deep nervousness in the gut. This certainly does not help with his loner attitude, as a lot of people simply want to be rid of him as fast as possible to make that feeling go away...even if they aren’t directly conscious of their actions.
Nature:
But what are you, really?
Competitor: If one was able to know the nature that lied within Albrecht, they might be surprised to find how different it is from the face he shows the world. Harsh reality has tamed the man’s spirit and subdued it for the time being, but beneath the surface of that loner, who challenges authority, is a fire waiting to be stoked. Deep inside Albrecht is a competitor, someone who truly thrives in the face of challenge. His disassociation with his expectations of reality, and the harsh life lessons he’s learned so far have dwindled his urge to compete however. If someone could spark that desire in him however, they might be surprised at how fast he begins to break out of his shell...
Strength Of The World___
Spirit Weapon: Fenrir’s Rage: With his reiatsu released and covering his hands his spiritual weapon is visible - long sharp monstrous claws. One might assume that this means the young man fights in melee combat - and while certainly he is not one to step down from getting up close and personal, his quincy nature is quick to show through. Each slash is accompanied by similar arcing slashes of energy gliding through the air not unlike a normal quincy’s arrows.
Quincy Cross: Fenrir’s Heart: His cross on the other hand is - well, to put it simply, it’s seen better days. It’s old, worn iron that hangs around his neck. A norse cross with it’s arms equal in length, flaring out wider at each end - it bears a crest in the middle, stylized with rounded borders and fine filigree that was probably once ornate, but has since worn down with time, it’s crisp edges no more. In the middle of that sigil sits a five sided star - a cross within a cross. On the branching arms of the main, outer cross, sit two wolves, perched on the arms, facing right and left respectively, their tails far longer than is natural - curling under the arms of the cross to spiral together down the main shaft until they reach the bottom, before moving in opposite directions to circle around the arms of the cross - forming a circle around the entire piece.
Quincy Power: Ragnarok (Fenrir’s Wrath): Taking his reiatsu’s unsettling appearance a step further, Albrecht’s full quincy power is one that catches many off guard. A complete physical manifestation of his curious lupine side, unleashing the strength of his quincy weapon and power shifts him nearly fully into the wolf that his spirit represents. Standing easily a similar size of a quarter horse, this dire wolf looks similar in nature to the Fenrir of Norse Legend, earning it’s nickname - Ragnarok. In this form his natural attacks are increased - dangerous long fangs and sharp claws threaten to rend, just as sharp as any sword, and his spiritual energy that leaps forth from each slash is no joking matter either. Such a change however does not come without drawbacks. His body is not the only thing to change - but his mind as well. In this form Albrecht's mental state is far more instinctual - knee jerk automatic reactions that the mind often suppresses are instead let free to run wild in a truly animalistic nature. Emotional states are increased far more as his sense of restraint is dwindled - anger becomes rage, making him reckless in combat in this form, and apt to even turn on allies if something goes wrong. (Say, perhaps he was upset with them before the change, or they accidentally strike him in combat ... )The main trait this form has however is a natural regeneration - healing wounds faster than naturally possible. This effect is somewhat draining however, and very dependent on the strength of the user and his skill and maintaining this power. Even limbs could potentially be reattached with this ability - so long as the limb is in good shape, and can be held to the stump for a good amount of time to re-attach. Limbs so regained in this way are frail and weak for quite some time (perhaps weeks) after being returned to the host body. Regretfully, the head is the only limb that, logically, cannot be reattached, as the user is dead.
Why and how this power causes such a drastic change isn't something Albrecht has had a lot of time to reflect on. He's not fully aware of the curiosity this power represents nor just how different from other quincy's he's become. His adoptive family no doubt has spread word of his strange nature - something that may come to haunt him sooner than he thinks, but for now he remains blissfully unaware and unquestioning. Perhaps one day, when he has matured more, he will settle down and seek out the reasoning for this mysterious change. Perhaps he will find it, or perhaps he will only be left with more questions?
Legacy Created___
Current Allegiance: Lone, wandering quincy.
Snapshots:
May 8th, 1996 - Albrecht is born in Germany to his quincy parents, destined to live a normal life.
August 20th, 2008 - A 12 year old curious boy discovers his family’s hidden secret in the attic. Hungry to learn more, he sneaks up there for weeks, pouring over it all…
December 10th, 2010 - Albrecht is 14 and sees his first Hollow. Unfortunately for him that Hollow is there to eat him. In a desperate scramble out of his home he somehow survives - but does not know how. He never sees the hollow again. Despite no fatalities, it still manages to turn his life upside down.
July 1st, 2011 - Albrecht is shipped off to Norway, to live with his adoptive family - distant relatives of his parents who follow the quincy ways.
May 10th, 2014 - Two days after Albrecht turns 18, he leaves his adoptive family to wander Europe for two years.
Current Day: Now twenty years old, with two years of hard living under his belt, Albrecht continues to look for his fantastical life, and a place where he belongs.
History: It’s fairly clear to any that get to know Albrecht that the young man has a troubled past and perhaps is heading towards a troubled future - but such things aren’t always as clear as they seem, are they?
Coming from a family that had attempted to pull away from their quincy roots, he was a normal child until he approached his teenage years. Finding old, stashed away books in the attic the growing young man read and read until he could consume no more, almost fanatic in his digestion of lore, stories, and records. Until that day his life had been normal - a repeat rhetoric of school, study, bed, repeat. Get good grades, be normal. Don’t act out. Do your chores. But this...this was a life he never knew existed. This was a life far more exciting than his own, and it consumed him. He was obsessed. The real world, that normal world where spirits and monsters didn’t exist no longer held his overeager imagination. Despite his parent’s protests it was clear he would not back down. Punishments did not dissuade him. Taking away his favorite things only reinforced his desire to leave. Several times he was caught in attempts to run away from home, to find some quincy, someone, anywhere who would teach him to embrace his heritage.
It wouldn’t be until he was fourteen, only a couple months shy of fifteen that the young man would get his wish, but never in the way that he desired. His growing spiritual presence caught the attention nearby hollow, driving the beast to attack his family’s home. There was no warning, no hint of what was to come - and no way for them to possibly fight the beast off. Albrecht caught only glimpses of the massive monstrosity that crashed through his childhood home like it was made of paper - support beams splintering as if they were toothpicks. He scrambled, running out the back door, his father catching up with him...his mother nowhere to be found.
The few minutes they fled felt like hours, his heart pounding in his chest - adrenaline running through his veins until he felt sick, collapsed, and threw up. The hollow was no longer there. Saved by a shinigami? Another quincy? Something else? He never knew what became of that monster, only that once paramedics arrived his mother’s life was changed forever; she would never walk again.
Months would pass, his family growing distant from the young boy that they blamed for bringing this upon them. “Your mother will never work again. We have to find a smaller house.”, “You need to show some responsibility!”, “It’s your fault this monster came to us!” - the words would echo in his head for the rest of his life. Unbeknownst to the young man, his father worked in secret, making phone call after phone call, tracing back through the family tree until he found a distant relative. Norway. It was close enough. They would take him in and deal with the monsters that would continue to chase the teen down as his spiritual power continued to awaken. He would never hear from his parents again - a terse good bye, a packed bag, and a train ticket from Germany to Norway.
One would think that this would be where the young man’s story improves, where he finds his place in the world and moves forward, but sadly life is not always so kind. Growing up in his new, adoptive family’s home was...tough to say the least. Resentment towards his parents was only somewhat tempered by the fact that he now received proper quincy training. Frustrations caused the young man’s temper to flare bright - he was often in fights, sometimes with his new ‘siblings’. Despite these tensions Albrecht managed to keep the hostility towards him as a newcomer to a low simmer, earning only slight ire from his new adoptive parents. His daily routine was strict, rigid, and unforgiving. This wasn’t the life he had hoped for - this wasn’t the fantasy he had adopted in his head in those days of reading in the attic, imagining amazing battles with giant monsters. Far away lands that he never thought he’d see, like a fantasy movie where he could be the hero...no, this...this was far too real for him.
Quincy training was rigorous, and far less glamorized than he had pictured it in his head. Discipline was at the core of all of his teaching - self control and focus that he lacked. The teachings would, slowly, take root though the young man struggled with them greatly, never quite mastering them to the level with which his new family's teachers would have liked. It was clear that growing as a quincy would be hard for the young man - he had talent, but he lacked the patience necessary to truly grow and flourish.
In an attempt to quell the anger within him the young man soon picked up an extracurricular activity at his high school - boxing club. Even here he showed promise - a natural agility and surprising strength despite his slender frame all lent to him picking up on technique fast, but what truly held him back was once more his emotional state. He used his anger too much like a fuel, he let it push him forward when a cool collected head would help him far more in a fight. He made for a savage sparring partner, able to go all out and overwhelm some others in the class but he could never manage to beat those who predicted his onslaughts. Those who could keep a level head and be steps ahead of him. He had the capacity, but not the maturity to let go of that anger and move forward.
It was these constant successes and mixed failures that only served to feed into the growing man's frustrations. Every where he turned, he failed because of the anger he refused to let go, that bitter root he had buried deep in the garden of his soul, that now sprouted weeds. Like a self fulfilling cycle the memory of how he had been wronged drove him to fail, and his failure fueled his anger at what had been done to him - a constant reminder of the past.
Between the stress of moving towards adulthood, having been dislocated from his home, and having his fantasy shattered by harsh reality, the young teen found himself growing distant from things. It was his defense, his shell against the world. He didn’t need to fight back against others if he didn’t pay attention to what they said in the first place. He didn’t need to struggle with the day-to-day if he simply retreated within. Conflicts ceased as the now sixteen year old boy simply stopped fighting, and pulled his resolve and dedication deep within.
If he couldn’t have his ideal life here, he would wait, and as an adult find it elsewhere. Certainly away from all of these reminders he could find his place, his peace, and move forward.
Eighteen couldn’t come soon enough, the young man immediately leaving his adoptive family behind almost as fast as his real parents had shunted him off like so much bad trash. Though he would never believe it, his new family was sad to see him go, and concerned for his safety out in the world. Young. Headstrong. Inexperienced. He was certainly in a bad spot in the world.
His life became a constant shift from trying to deal with his issues, to feeding them because he was alone, and with too much time on his hands. Between jobs and towns he'd often regress, undoing whatever progress he made as he sat alone in the wilderness, with just him and his thoughts to mull over. He knew what he had to do, but some part of him was preventing it from happening, and he'd often times give up in frustration - choosing instead to find something to work on, something to do, something ... to distract him. For two years he wandered, with a scrap of bills in his wallet and a growing knack for surviving on his own - hostel to hostel - couch to couch - campsite to campsite; he never stayed in one place for very long. It was almost as if the moment he realized he had stayed long enough for people to grow fond of him, for people to start looking at him as a friend, that he chose to move forward.
Yet deep down inside, all he really wanted was a place to fit in. He simply could not look past his own immature insecurity however. To these people, he was labor. Unskilled hands. He helped, they paid - that was the extent of their relationship, and he moved on seemingly not wanting to tarnish that reality in his head. He couldn't accept that he would ever be more than that to these strangers - these mundane humans who didn't know the truth of the world around them. To them he was a part in the machine. Replaceable. If he left, so what? They'd just find someone else to put in his place, so he felt no guilt in leaving.
But after two years of wandering, following late night roads, and never speaking with anyone beyond simple curt hellos, or discussing the weather ... it began to take a toll. He found himself frustrated with this rag-tag life of wanderlust. He realized that he needed to stop running. From his past. From himself.
He needed a place to settle. A place to belong.
OOC___
Player Alias: Floppy, Dingo, FloppyDingo
Do you want a grade?: Yes. To be honest I'm hoping to at least break 1,000.
Were you referred by anyone?: Verbrennung
Other Characters: None, yet.
