Post by tybalt on Aug 5, 2011 5:58:13 GMT -6
Name: Tybalt Carneiro
Age: 21 years
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 157lbs
Gender: Male
Race: Human-Faun (Satyr) hybrid
Appearance: Tybalt is a touch alarming to see at first glance. Protruding from his mop of wavy, jet-black hair, just above to his temples, are a pair of curved ram horns. They reach back to about the middle of his crown, and have continued to grow as he aged. Aside from the horns, he also inherited his father's hooves, slightly pointed ears, and slightly more awkward leg-shape, which has made him a better runner. He luckily did not contract the tail or quite as much hair, though he did manage to get stuck with the lack of height. Once one gets past the horns and the like, they find a lightly muscled young man with dark hair and copper-toned skin. Surprisingly, despite his darker colouration, Tybalt has his mother's striking blue eyes, which tend to reflect his childish spirit.
Personality: Tybalt gives the impression of someone half his age. He comes off as immature, refuses to do anything he doesn't want to, and is very easily amused. He likes to have a good time, and is a little too fond of alcohol. He's not exactly an angry drunk, however he's prone to drastic mood swings. Underneath his careless outer shell, though, dwells a man with a very firm, traditional sense of morality, justice, and strong commitment to his friends. Had he not been born "different," he most likely would have entered the police force. Tybalt also has a soft spot for animals, children, and a good sob-story. He could care less about most people, but would throw himself in front of a bus to save a squirrel.
Background: Tybalt was an accident. He was conceived when his then-twenty-year-old mother got stoned with some friends and wandered off in the woods; so when he was finally born, his mother was panicked at the site of his little hooves and fuzzy legs. The doctors were just as concerned, though the baby was entirely healthy otherwise. He was named after the character in Romeo and Juliet on a whim, his mother having been studying the story in her Literature class at the community college she attended. Naming him 'Pan' would be too cliche.
His early childhood was pleasant unless he was out in public. He constantly drew stares, and when the horns began to develop when he was about four, his mother found it even more difficult to conceal what he was. Still the doctors found him to be healthy, and there wasn't much they could do, the horns were live bone and to cut or sand them down would cause Tybalt severe pain.
It was decided then that he would have limited contact with the outside world, and would be home-schooled, which he quit when he was sixteen. Tybalt wanted nothing more than to be a regular child, despite how he looked. He eventually took to sneaking out of the house, but his experiences with the outside world were far from what he expected. Television hadn't prepared him at all for the outside world.
He witnessed a world that seemed outright cold. He received stares, nobody returned his "Hello"s or seemed to be on particularly good terms with anyone. He hung around places where he saw people around his own age. Some would talk to him, others would continue the theme of gawking.
Eventually, he managed to fall in with a crowd of neighborhood delinquents who showed him a good time. The more time he spent with them, the more he changed. He'd stay out all night, he was brought home by police officers, and had begun to show less and less interest in his own future. His mother plead with him to stop acting like this, she'd raised him better, but he completely ignored her pleas. It was her fault he was acting like this, he rationalized. She was the one who kept him locked away all this time.
It all came crashing down on him one night when he came home to find the tiny ranch house in shambles.
Everything was askew. Their television, computer, his x-box, and several other valuables were missing. As he entered his mother's room to see if they managed to get her jewelery box, he found something blocking the door. After giving it a good shove, he discovered the object happened to be his own mum. There was a pool of blood on the cream-coloured carpet, she appeared to have suffered several blows to the face and head. She was still breathing when the ambulance arrived, but she'd be in a medically induced coma only an hour after getting to the hospital.
It was a slap in face. Had he been home, his mother may not have been in this state. Maybe it would have been him, she would have been okay. Or maybe he could have fought whoever it was off, maybe they both would have been fine. This was what caused him to at least attempt to get his act together. If she woke up and found that he had done something with himself, then maybe it would have been worth fighting to come back. The guilt was overpowering.
Four months after his mother was put into the coma, she was taken off life support. She had been declared legally brain-dead. Tybalt had spent every day of those four months in mourning, visiting her in the hospital, praying for her to open her eyes. Willing the doctors to have gotten it wrong. By the time his mother had passed, Tybalt was done with grieving. Within a month, he was drinking again. During the day, he was his old self, laid-back, cheery, but by night he found himself cold and alone. He was taking it one step at a time, eventually he'd sober up, or so he hoped. But for now, he was just going to go on living.
Roleplay Sample: A thunderous noise ripped through Tybalt's head. It felt like the sound was going to make his skull pop. It continued despite his feeble attempts at pushing the source away. Finally something was shaking him, and then down he fell, smacking his head on the cobblestone path below him.
“Kid, I said get up!” the voice boomed. With a groan, Tybalt picked up his head. Well, this certainly wasn't home.
“Ungh.” he replied, not moving. A shoe collided with his ribcage. “Arright!” he groaned, picking up his head. He opened his eyes for only a second and immediately shut them again, cringing. Too bright. The next thing he knew, he was being heaved upwards by the collar of his shirt. His blue eyes tore open again and stared up at the face of a police officer. The officer stared down at him, eyes moving from the young man's hooves up to the horns atop his head.
“We got a call about a body in the park,” the officer finally told him.
“Didn't kill no one.” Tybalt muttered, dazed, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Didn't see anything, either.”
“Call was about you. Jogger said you didn't move after she poked you a couple times.” they replied, jabbing a finger hard into his chest. Tybalt frowned in reply, trying to make eye contact. “You aware I can haul you in for public drunkenness?”
“I'm only publicly hung-over, sir.” Tybalt snorted, flashing his usual grin. He continued to squint at the officer. Not about to put up with him, the officer walked off, leaving the goat-boy to himself again. He had no idea what happened last night, but he was pretty sure it wasn't too great. He only ever woke (or was woken up) in the park if it'd been a rough night...unless he just got lost again. That's happened before too. With effort, Tybalt fully opened his eyes and looked down at himself. A bit of a mess. His flannel shirt was buttoned wrong, and he was pretty sure he was wearing a watch last night. Finally Tybalt mustered the will to head back home. He kept his head down, it couldn't be more than eight in the morning and the sun was already bright enough to threaten his ability to get home in once piece. ”Now if only I could remember where I left my car...” he puzzled.
Other (Abilities, etc): Being only half Faun, (or Satyr, if you prefer) Tybalt has very limited understanding of power over the Earth element, specifically in the form of plant life and influence on animals (at best he can suggest small mammals stay away from streets), with motivation and practice he has a chance at becoming at least an amateur at plant manipulation. He can also thank his mythical blood for his above-average health and speed.
Breaking Point: Bearing witness to the death of a defenseless innocent.
HP: 8
Physical Attack: 6
Physical Defense: 5
Special Attack: 4
Special Defense: 3
Speed: 7
Agility: 7
Skill: 4
Energy Reserves/Stamina: 6
Age: 21 years
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 157lbs
Gender: Male
Race: Human-Faun (Satyr) hybrid
Appearance: Tybalt is a touch alarming to see at first glance. Protruding from his mop of wavy, jet-black hair, just above to his temples, are a pair of curved ram horns. They reach back to about the middle of his crown, and have continued to grow as he aged. Aside from the horns, he also inherited his father's hooves, slightly pointed ears, and slightly more awkward leg-shape, which has made him a better runner. He luckily did not contract the tail or quite as much hair, though he did manage to get stuck with the lack of height. Once one gets past the horns and the like, they find a lightly muscled young man with dark hair and copper-toned skin. Surprisingly, despite his darker colouration, Tybalt has his mother's striking blue eyes, which tend to reflect his childish spirit.
Personality: Tybalt gives the impression of someone half his age. He comes off as immature, refuses to do anything he doesn't want to, and is very easily amused. He likes to have a good time, and is a little too fond of alcohol. He's not exactly an angry drunk, however he's prone to drastic mood swings. Underneath his careless outer shell, though, dwells a man with a very firm, traditional sense of morality, justice, and strong commitment to his friends. Had he not been born "different," he most likely would have entered the police force. Tybalt also has a soft spot for animals, children, and a good sob-story. He could care less about most people, but would throw himself in front of a bus to save a squirrel.
Background: Tybalt was an accident. He was conceived when his then-twenty-year-old mother got stoned with some friends and wandered off in the woods; so when he was finally born, his mother was panicked at the site of his little hooves and fuzzy legs. The doctors were just as concerned, though the baby was entirely healthy otherwise. He was named after the character in Romeo and Juliet on a whim, his mother having been studying the story in her Literature class at the community college she attended. Naming him 'Pan' would be too cliche.
His early childhood was pleasant unless he was out in public. He constantly drew stares, and when the horns began to develop when he was about four, his mother found it even more difficult to conceal what he was. Still the doctors found him to be healthy, and there wasn't much they could do, the horns were live bone and to cut or sand them down would cause Tybalt severe pain.
It was decided then that he would have limited contact with the outside world, and would be home-schooled, which he quit when he was sixteen. Tybalt wanted nothing more than to be a regular child, despite how he looked. He eventually took to sneaking out of the house, but his experiences with the outside world were far from what he expected. Television hadn't prepared him at all for the outside world.
He witnessed a world that seemed outright cold. He received stares, nobody returned his "Hello"s or seemed to be on particularly good terms with anyone. He hung around places where he saw people around his own age. Some would talk to him, others would continue the theme of gawking.
Eventually, he managed to fall in with a crowd of neighborhood delinquents who showed him a good time. The more time he spent with them, the more he changed. He'd stay out all night, he was brought home by police officers, and had begun to show less and less interest in his own future. His mother plead with him to stop acting like this, she'd raised him better, but he completely ignored her pleas. It was her fault he was acting like this, he rationalized. She was the one who kept him locked away all this time.
It all came crashing down on him one night when he came home to find the tiny ranch house in shambles.
Everything was askew. Their television, computer, his x-box, and several other valuables were missing. As he entered his mother's room to see if they managed to get her jewelery box, he found something blocking the door. After giving it a good shove, he discovered the object happened to be his own mum. There was a pool of blood on the cream-coloured carpet, she appeared to have suffered several blows to the face and head. She was still breathing when the ambulance arrived, but she'd be in a medically induced coma only an hour after getting to the hospital.
It was a slap in face. Had he been home, his mother may not have been in this state. Maybe it would have been him, she would have been okay. Or maybe he could have fought whoever it was off, maybe they both would have been fine. This was what caused him to at least attempt to get his act together. If she woke up and found that he had done something with himself, then maybe it would have been worth fighting to come back. The guilt was overpowering.
Four months after his mother was put into the coma, she was taken off life support. She had been declared legally brain-dead. Tybalt had spent every day of those four months in mourning, visiting her in the hospital, praying for her to open her eyes. Willing the doctors to have gotten it wrong. By the time his mother had passed, Tybalt was done with grieving. Within a month, he was drinking again. During the day, he was his old self, laid-back, cheery, but by night he found himself cold and alone. He was taking it one step at a time, eventually he'd sober up, or so he hoped. But for now, he was just going to go on living.
Roleplay Sample: A thunderous noise ripped through Tybalt's head. It felt like the sound was going to make his skull pop. It continued despite his feeble attempts at pushing the source away. Finally something was shaking him, and then down he fell, smacking his head on the cobblestone path below him.
“Kid, I said get up!” the voice boomed. With a groan, Tybalt picked up his head. Well, this certainly wasn't home.
“Ungh.” he replied, not moving. A shoe collided with his ribcage. “Arright!” he groaned, picking up his head. He opened his eyes for only a second and immediately shut them again, cringing. Too bright. The next thing he knew, he was being heaved upwards by the collar of his shirt. His blue eyes tore open again and stared up at the face of a police officer. The officer stared down at him, eyes moving from the young man's hooves up to the horns atop his head.
“We got a call about a body in the park,” the officer finally told him.
“Didn't kill no one.” Tybalt muttered, dazed, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Didn't see anything, either.”
“Call was about you. Jogger said you didn't move after she poked you a couple times.” they replied, jabbing a finger hard into his chest. Tybalt frowned in reply, trying to make eye contact. “You aware I can haul you in for public drunkenness?”
“I'm only publicly hung-over, sir.” Tybalt snorted, flashing his usual grin. He continued to squint at the officer. Not about to put up with him, the officer walked off, leaving the goat-boy to himself again. He had no idea what happened last night, but he was pretty sure it wasn't too great. He only ever woke (or was woken up) in the park if it'd been a rough night...unless he just got lost again. That's happened before too. With effort, Tybalt fully opened his eyes and looked down at himself. A bit of a mess. His flannel shirt was buttoned wrong, and he was pretty sure he was wearing a watch last night. Finally Tybalt mustered the will to head back home. He kept his head down, it couldn't be more than eight in the morning and the sun was already bright enough to threaten his ability to get home in once piece. ”Now if only I could remember where I left my car...” he puzzled.
Other (Abilities, etc): Being only half Faun, (or Satyr, if you prefer) Tybalt has very limited understanding of power over the Earth element, specifically in the form of plant life and influence on animals (at best he can suggest small mammals stay away from streets), with motivation and practice he has a chance at becoming at least an amateur at plant manipulation. He can also thank his mythical blood for his above-average health and speed.
Breaking Point: Bearing witness to the death of a defenseless innocent.
HP: 8
Physical Attack: 6
Physical Defense: 5
Special Attack: 4
Special Defense: 3
Speed: 7
Agility: 7
Skill: 4
Energy Reserves/Stamina: 6