Si - A shortened form of his name, pronounced ‘Sai’; it’s pretty self-explanatory.

18

Male

Homosexual

Single

For the majority of his childhood and adolescence, Silas had been a short, pudgy kid with an incurable sweet tooth. If you take a look at him now, however, you’d be hard pressed to believe that they were the same person. Still, Silas isn’t the tallest guy you’ll meet, standing just shy of 5’7”, though he does have a thin, waifish build that gives him the illusion of being taller than he actually. His hair is a darker shade of brown, and often left in its natural state – that is, a curly, tangled mess. His eyes are the same color, framed by dark circles that have seemingly become permanent. Much like a vampire, he shuns sunlight, and it’s possible that he’s just a touch too pale. His originally tawny complexion has a slight pallor to it that could be construed as unhealthy.

Most of the time, Silas can be found with a cigarette between his lips, features set in what can only be called a Resting Bitch Face™. He’s not trying to look like he hates everyone – not intentionally, anyway – but it’s something he’s gotten a lot of flack for from his teachers. Coupled with his penchant for speaking in a tuneless, crackly monotone, Silas has earned a rather unfortunate reputation amongst acquaintances for being unapproachable. When he does smile, however, it’s almost as if he’s a different person. His voice rises a full octave; straight, white teeth bared in a lopsided grin, the corners of dark brown eyes crinkling with ill-hidden mirth.

A lot of the clothing he owns comes from thrift stores, so there’s a lot of old sweaters, flannels, band tees, and worn-out jeans that have faded well over a decade ago. The same goes for his shoes; they’re mainly high-top sneakers, and a single pair of Docs for when he needs something sturdier. Some have pointed out that Silas always smells vaguely of smoke, coffee, and citrus-infused cologne. He also wears a lot of jewelry for a guy; string and leather bracelets, the Star of David on a pendant around his neck, and an assortment of rings on his fingers. His earlobes are pierced too, usually adorned with tiny steel hoops.

• Silas always seems to be doing something with his hands. Most of the time, you’ll find him playing with his hair, tugging at a loose thread at the hem of his shirt, or even just twiddling his thumbs. These small, repetitive movements are a way for him to expend some of that energy he’s always so full of.
• Smoking. This one’s a no brainer. It keeps him from getting too jittery, and while he’s been making an effort to cut down, it isn’t going very well.
• In conversations, Silas uses “like” and “um” a lot. He’s never been a big talker, and English isn’t his first language, so it can sometimes take a while for him to come up with the right words.

• Painting. His father was an artist, and his work had a big influence on him.
• Music. He’s able to play both piano and guitar, though he prefers the former.
• Watching movies. Sure, it might be a little pretentious, but he’s really quite the cinephile.

• Cigarettes
• Weed
• Joy Division
• Piercings
• Galleries
• Dark chocolate
• Romance novels

• Crowds
• Drama
• Thunder
• Getting up early
• Cheesecake (“Who thought it was a good idea to put cheese in a dessert?”)
• Vodka
• Being talked down to

• Silas blames himself for his parents’ separation. Sometimes, he thinks that his mother blames him, too.
• His problem with self-harm first began when he was thirteen, after the stress of having to adapt to a new environment became too much to bear. Most of it culminates in cuts on his forearms that he hides with long sleeves, though he has recently started burning himself with cigarette stubs as well.

• Large dogs, courtesy of an incident during his childhood.
• Never amounting to anything.
• Losing his mother.

♦ Independent ♦ Perceptive ♦ Capricious ♦ Insensitive ♦

Silas has the temperament of a genius — apathetic at best, and utterly intolerable when he wants to be. He’s never uncomfortable; in fact, his boldness often borders on brash and crosses into downright crude, thanks to his lack of a filter. If it’s on his mind, it’s out of his mouth. As far as he’s concerned, if you’re going to be a dick, at least be funny about it. Still, he’s an expert at charm whenever he needs to be. It’s easy enough for him to cover up these occasional lapses - nothing a smirk and a few pretty words can’t clear up, right?

While he isn’t exactly quick to anger, he does have a temper when he’s pushed to his limits. If there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s being talked down to. That said, you’ll find that he’s impulsive as the day is long and doesn’t often think twice about consequences. Silas thrives off adventure and change, and people who like things to stay in a certain order and live by routine bore him. He’s not one to turn down a few drinks, a good party, or say no to a date with an attractive stranger either. You see, he firmly believes that you only have one life and you’ve got to live it, otherwise what’s the point? There’s no such thing as mistakes in his mind, only learning curves and stories you can one day share with your grandkids. Silas often states that no one should take life too seriously because in the end, everyone ends up in the same place

In many ways, Silas can be unpredictable, adamant, and of course, he absolutely hates making commitments, especially those he isn’t sure he can keep. But when he truly takes interest in something or someone, he puts all of himself into it, and momentarily forgets about everything else. But for all his tactlessness, he really does mean well. When he asks a question, he really does want to know the answer; and when he loves, he loves pretty ferociously. For those Silas would truly call ‘friend’, he’s never met a boundary he wouldn’t cross, and he’ll go to the ends of the Earth for you if he thinks you’re worth it.

Marseille, France

Born in Marseille, a port city on the coast of Bouches-du-Rhône, Silas Pelletier’s early childhood was reminiscent of a fairytale. His father was a painter, one of many plying their trade on the streets of Paris. His mother, on the other hand, was a historian specialising in 18th century literature. Originally from Cairo, she first came to France as an advisor to a local university. It was there, in the city of love, where she first met her future husband. After a whirlwind romance that neither of them really expected, they moved in together; first in an apartment near Montmartre, then a little two-storey house in Marseille that overlooked the sea.

One of Silas’ earliest memory was of watching his father paint. He found himself enthralled by the way his brush moved across the canvas, how red and yellow would melt into the golden tableau of the sky at dusk, or how a sprinkle of white could turn the darkest night into a galaxy of twinkling stars. Soon, he started learning, too. Finger painting, at first – as most children do – then they moved on to pencil drawings and watercolor. Silas’ mother was a more distant figure, though she loved him all the same. She would often sit him on her lap and tell him stories about people from the past once she was finished with her work.

Up until that point, Silas’ existence was an idyllic one, but soon, cracks began to appear in his parents’ relationship. Growing up, he always thought of his father as the best artist in the world, a sentiment the man would chuckle at whenever he pointed it out to him. The people who actually mattered, however, held a different opinion. His father started having trouble finding buyers for his work. No one seemed to like what he had to offer. It wasn’t original. It wasn’t spectacular. It wasn’t good. After awhile, the countless rejections and critiques seemed to break something within him, and Silas only watch as his father became a shell of his former self.

Slowly but surely, his parents grew apart. At first, this was because his mother worked too much; she had to, of course, as the sole breadwinner of her family. And then, his father started to come home drunk, usually with mysterious bruises peppering his neck. Silas would often be woken up in the middle of the night by their arguments – arguments he would try to block out by burrowing under his bed covers. At school, he grew rebellious. There were too many things about him that could be picked on for his liking, and he remedied that by growing louder, more boisterous. Soon, a suggestion to send him to boarding school came up, though it would never have the chance to come to fruition.

It all came to a head about a year later, on the eve of his ninth birthday. Tired of having to deal with a deadbeat husband, Silas’ mother filed for a divorce, and after a tedious legal process, the separation was finalized, with full custody going to her. The mother-son pair moved back to Paris for another year or so, though they eventually made their way to America after she was offered a teaching position at New York’s very own Columbia University.

To say that Silas found his new life difficult to adjust to would be a gross understatement. What English he did speak was stilted at best, and he often found himself the target of bullying when all he did was keep his head down and draw in his notebook. One particularly mean-spirited boy had even slammed him against a locker, leaving a scar beneath his hairline that’s still visible today. The school music room ended up being one of the only places where he could hide from his tormentors, and the teacher even let him sit in during band practice. Silas soon picked up a few instruments of his own — namely the guitar and piano.

Thankfully, the novelty of picking on the new kid wore off sooner rather than later, likely due to the numerous complaints his mother lodged with the school board. For Silas, the beginning of high school was a milestone, an opportunity to finally build a reputation. By that point, it was an easy enough matter for him to find a circle of like-minded people he could surround himself with. Neither too high nor low in the school hierarchy, he flew comfortably under the radar for the next few years.

After graduation, Silas finds himself faced with another dilemma. His mother wants him to go to college, earn a degree, and make something useful out of himself. The thing is, what he really wants to do is paint, just like his father did. It’s something that he has kept from his mother, because he knows she would be opposed to it. If she ever found out, Silas has no doubt that she would remind him of an age-old saying about how artists are only ever appreciated after they die.