murdoc

Oᴜʀ Lᴀsᴛ Sᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ Tᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ

Gonna get a post up tonight after I get home from work. ;D

Oᴜʀ Lᴀsᴛ Sᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ Tᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ

Silas Pelletier

^{“Je est un autre.”}

N I C K N A M E

Si - A shortened version of his first name, pronounced ‘Sai’. It’s pretty self-explanatory.

A G E

18

G E N D E R

Male

S E X U A L I T Y

Homosexual

R E L A T I O N S H I P S T A T U S

Single

A P P E A R A N C E

For the majority of his childhood and adolescence, Silas had been a short, pudgy kid with an incurable sweet tooth. But you take a look at him now, you’d be hard pressed to believe that they were the same person. Still, Silas isn’t the tallest guy you’ll meet, standing about 5’7” at full height. He does, however, 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 very much the same color, rimmed with 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, 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.

H A B I T S

• 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. English isn’t his first language, so it can sometimes take a while for him to come up with the right words.

H O B B I E S

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

L I K E S

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

D I S L I K E S

✘ 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

S E C R E T S

• 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 school became too much to bear. Most of it culminates in cuts on his upper arms and torso, though he has recently started burning himself with cigarette stubs as well.

F E A R S

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

P E R S O N A L I T Y

♦ Independent ♦ Perceptive ♦ Capricious ♦ Insensitive ♦

Silas has the temperament of a genius — apathetic at best, and utterly insufferable 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. 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. 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.

H O M E T O W N

Marseille, France

B A C K G R O U N D

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. 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, seemed to hold a different opinion. His father started having trouble finding buyers for his work. No one truly liked what he had to offer. It wasn’t original. It wasn’t spectacular. It wasn’t good. After a while, 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. Then, his father started to come home drunk, usually with mysterious bruises and lipstick stains 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 hiding under his bed covers. As their relationship worsened, Silas’ frustration grew. There were too many things about him that could be picked on for his liking, and so he grew louder, more boisterous, always the first to make a snide comment. Soon, a suggestion to send him to boarding school came up, though it would never have the chance to come to fruition.

On the eve of his ninth birthday, Silas’ mother filed for a divorce. After a tedious legal process, the separation was eventually finalized, with full custody going to her. The mother-son pair moved back to Paris for another year or so, though they eventually found their way to New York after she was offered a teaching position at Columbia University.

To say that Silas found his new life difficult to adjust to would be an understatement. What English he did speak was stilted at best, and he often found himself the target of bullying. One particularly vicious boy had even cracked his head against the sink, 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 viola and piano.

Luckily for Silas, it seemed that the novelty of picking on the new kid would soon wear off, likely due to the numerous complaints his mother lodged with the school board. For Silas, the beginning of high school was a something of a milestone, an opportunity to finally rid himself of his status as an outsider. By that point, it was easy enough 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. Creative and free-spirited, he never did fare well in structured school settings. It’s something that he has kept from his mother, because he knows she would be opposed to it. Silas has no doubt in his mind that if she ever found out, she would recite an age-old saying about how artists are only ever truly appreciated after they die.

M I S C E L L A N E O U S

FC: Xavier Dolan
Color: #F4C2C2

Silas’ Relationships

^{“Écoute, il faut appeler un chat un chat, oui?”}

⚜ Acquaintances || ☯ Neutral || ☮ Friends || ♫ Best Friends || ♥ Love Interest || ⚤ Boyfriend/Girlfriend || ☠ Enemies

---

{☮} K ɪ ᴍ ʙ ᴇ ʀ ʟ ʏ . C ʜ ᴏ {☮}
‘Okay, be honest. Would you hang this on your wall?’
Being forthright tends to put you in Silas’ good books, and Kimberly is exactly that. She’s the one Silas goes to when he finds himself in need of some solid, no-frills advice, even if it gets his ego crushed in the process. After all, it’s hard to lie and manipulate when you’re as candid as she is. While they aren’t exactly best friends, they do still get along rather well, largely owing to what they have in common. Both of them had spent a good part of their childhood years outside America, only moving to New York after each of their parents got divorced. In many ways, Silas thinks of Kim as a kindred spirit, someone he can relate to.

{☮♥} B ʀ ᴀ ᴅ ʟ ᴇ ʏ . C ᴏ ᴘ ᴘ ᴇ ʀ ʙ ᴜ ʀ ɴ {♥☮}
‘Get your head out of the clouds, Copperburn.’
Silas might talk a lot of shit about Bradley, but it’s all in the name of good fun, he really does consider Bradley a good friend. His boldness and straightforward way of dealing with things is something Silas can appreciate. On a regular day, their interactions range from playful jabs to harmless flirting. Well, at least he thinks it’s harmless. It’s almost like a game to them, seeing who will be the first to get embarrassed and chicken out. Lately, however, there has been a something strange in the air, though Silas has managed to convince himself otherwise. After all, there’s absolutely no way in hell that he has an actual, honest-to-goodness crush on Bradley, right?

{☮} S ᴜ ɴ s ʜ ɪ ɴ ᴇ . H ᴏ ʟ ʟ ɪ ɴ ɢ s ᴡ ᴏ ʀ ᴛ ʜ {☮}
'Character thoughts about relation.'
Brief description on relation here.

{Symbol} S ᴀ ᴍ ᴜ ᴇ ʟ . C ᴏ s ᴛ ɪ ɢ ᴀ ɴ {Symbol}
'Character thoughts about relation.'
Brief description on relation here.

{☯} M ᴏ ʟ ʟ ʏ . H ᴀ ʀ ᴛ ᴇ ʟ ʟ {☯}
'Character thoughts about relation.'
Brief description on relation here.

{☠} K ᴀ ᴛ ɪ ᴇ . P ʀ ᴜ ᴇ ᴛ ᴛ {☠}
'Character thoughts about relation.'
Brief description on relation here.

{☯} M ᴀ ᴄ ᴋ ᴇ ɴ ᴢ ɪ ᴇ . P ʀ ᴜ ᴇ ᴛ ᴛ {☯}
'Character thoughts about relation.'
Brief description on relation here.

{♫} S ᴛ ᴇ ᴘ ʜ ᴀ ɴ ɪ ᴇ . C ʀ ᴏ s s {♫}
‘Smoke break?’
It’s no secret that Spice can kind of be a firecracker sometimes. That’s the nice way of putting it, anyway. Others less concerned with what she thought of them would call her loud, arrogant — a bitch, in short. One would be forgiven for assuming that the two could never get along, much less become friends, but somehow, they’ve actually grown quite close. It all started when they met each at a house party. After taking one too many edibles – hey, it was his first time, don’t judge – Silas had started pouring his heart out to Spice. Really, it was only because she’d been there at the right time and place, but Spice turned out to be a surprisingly great listener. Since then, Silas has thought of Spice as someone to look up to, and maybe even bum a cigarette off of every now and then.

{Symbol} V ɪ ᴏ ʟ ᴇ ᴛ . K ᴀ ɴ ɢ {Symbol}
'Character thoughts about relation.'
Brief description on relation here.

{☮} B ʟ ᴀ ᴋ ᴇ . M ɪ ɴ {☮}
'Character thoughts about relation.'
Brief description on relation here.

{⚜} A ᴅ ᴅ ɪ s ᴏ ɴ . M ɪ ɴ {⚜}
'Character thoughts about relation.'
Brief description on relation here.

{☯} J ᴇ ᴍ ɪ ᴍ ᴀ . F ᴀ ʀ ᴀ ᴅ ᴀ ʏ {☯}
‘She’s nice, I guess.’
There really isn’t a lot Silas can say about Jemima, apart from how she seems like a pleasant enough person to be around. Most of their interactions have been limited to the classroom, though he does remember sharing a table at a café with her one time, after it got a little too crowded on a rainy day. With his coffee in one hand, and a slice of cake in the other, Silas had desperately needed someplace to sit. That was when he saw Jem waving him over, inviting him to join her. They made some small talk over their coffee, but never really made it past that point.

{☮} R ɪ ᴄ ʜ ɪ ᴇ . M ᴄ M ɪ ʟ ʟ ᴀ ɴ {☮}
‘Not until I’ve had my coffee, please.’
Even for Silas, someone like Richie can get to be a little exhausting. Most days, the guy seems to be a endless ball of energy, leaping from task to task with all the exuberance of a puppy. It’s easy to assume that due to their personalities, they don’t get along, but in a strange kind of way, Silas actually finds him quite endearing. He likes the fact that Richie is able to look at everything in life through a lens of humour. It’s also worth mentioning that Silas can never quite bring himself to say no to Richie; whether it be a trip to the top of the Empire State in search of the perfect photo, or just a chill hang at the comic store, he somehow always finds himself tagging along.

{☯} G ᴜ ᴀ ᴅ ᴇ ʟ ᴜ ᴘ ᴇ . I ɢ ʟ ᴇ s ɪ ᴀ s {☯}
'Character thoughts about relation.'
Brief description on relation here.

{⚜} D ᴇ s ʜ ᴀ ᴡ ɴ . M ᴀ ʀ ᴄ ᴜ s {⚜}
'Character thoughts about relation.'
Brief description on relation here.

{Symbol} S ᴏ ɴ ɴ ʏ . E s ᴘ ᴏ s ɪ ᴛ ᴏ {Symbol}
'Character thoughts about relation.'
Brief description on relation here.

{Symbol} M ɪ s s ʏ . D ᴇ s ᴄ ʜ ᴀ ɪ ɴ {Symbol}
'Character thoughts about relation.'
Brief description on relation here.

{♫} T ᴀ ᴇ . H ᴏ ʟ ʟ ɪ ɴ ɢ s ᴡ ᴏ ʀ ᴛ ʜ {♫}
‘Du coup, qu’est-ce qui s’est passé?’
No one expects much from Silas, which may be why he and Tae get on so well. Tae is one of the few people he can truly relax around and even confide in. While he doesn’t quite spill every last secret he has to Tae, it’s nice to have someone who’s there with a listening ear. Their friendship is a simple one, built on a solid foundation of trust and respect for each other’s boundaries. Silas does his best to be there for Tae as much as he is for him — without being too pushy about it, anyway. Whatever Tae is willing to give, Silas is willing to listen. It’s no surprise that with the qualities they share, the two would grow to become thick as thieves. Of course, Tae being able to speak French just makes him like the guy even more.

{⚜} B ᴇ ʟ ɪ ɴ ᴅ ᴀ . S ᴄ ᴏ ᴛ ᴛ {⚜}
‘She’s that rocker chick, right?’
The two are, at best, on speaking terms. Don’t get him wrong – Silas knows that she’s a talented musician, and he digs her style – they just haven’t had many chances to interact. Still, he can’t deny that there’s something irresistibly charming about Bill and her devil-may-care attitude. Given the chance, Silas would definitely like to get to know her better, maybe even make a friend. It’s not everyday you see someone who looks like they just stepped out of a rock’n’roll poster from the eighties, after all.

Oᴜʀ Lᴀsᴛ Sᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ Tᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ

@HaleyTheRandom he's a pretentious art kid and we all know it smh

Oᴜʀ Lᴀsᴛ Sᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ Tᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ

@murdoc Same as I told Brutal. :)

@Silence Sounds

You got it, boss. B)

Oᴜʀ Lᴀsᴛ Sᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ Tᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ

Not proofread at all, so this may or may not be awful. 👀

Silas Pelletier

^{“Je est un autre.”}

N I C K N A M E

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

A G E

18

G E N D E R

Male

S E X U A L I T Y

Homosexual

R E L A T I O N S H I P S T A T U S

Single

A P P E A R A N C E

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.

H A B I T S

• 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.

H O B B I E S

• 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.

L I K E S

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

D I S L I K E S

• 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

S E C R E T S

• 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.

F E A R S

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

P E R S O N A L I T Y

♦ 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.

H O M E T O W N

Marseille, France

B A C K G R O U N D

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.

M I S C E L L A N E O U S

FC: Xavier Dolan
Color: #F4C2C2

Shuffle your music player and post the first 10 songs

Strangelove - Depeche Mode
QYURRYUS - The Voidz
Odd Look - Kavinsky ft. The Weeknd
Hallucinating - Elohim
The Resurrectionist, or an Existential Crisis in C# - Frank Iero and the Patience
Tongues - Joywave ft. KOPPS
Sunflower - Rex Orange County
Gardenhead / Leave Me Alone - Neutral Milk Hotel
Sorcererz - Gorillaz
To Be Alone With You - Sufjan Stevens

Shuffle your music player and post the first 10 songs

Idaho - Gorillaz
Out Like A Light - The Honeysticks
Godspeed - Frank Ocean
Chamber Of Reflection - Mac DeMarco
Love Me Again - CRX
Arms Tonite - Mother Mother
Take Me Out - Franz Ferdinand
Quixotic - M|O|O|N
Gunman - Them Crooked Vultures
Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea - Fall Out Boy

No Business

👀

✢ Affairs of the Court ✢

Gui Que

|| Qᴜᴇ || Mᴀʀǫᴜɪs Qᴜᴇ ᴏꜰ Lᴇɪxᴜ || Eᴜʜɪᴊᴀɴ ||
|| 25 || Mᴀʟᴇ || Bɪsᴇxᴜᴀʟ ||

A P P E A R A N C E

Que stands at a middling height for his people, perhaps a hair off 5’8”, with a lean physique built for dexterity rather than strength, so it’s safe to say that he doesn’t cut the most intimidating of figures. However, a lifetime of lessons on royal etiquette and swordplay has taught him how to best carry oneself – back straight, shoulders back, chin up. Some think he’s compensating for something with all this posturing, which would, in fact, be a rather astute observation. After an unfortunate accident a few years back, Que has started walking with a limp. Oftentimes, he can be seen carrying a walking stick made of polished lychee wood, the handle sculpted into the likeness of a falcon.

Even at 25, he’s got something of a baby-face. Unlike the harsh, rugged features of his father, Que’s countenance is based on soft, sweeping curves; though unless he’s completely comfortable in his surroundings, he usually remains unsmiling. As of late, his usual tan complexion has gained a somewhat anaemic tinge to it, courtesy of all that time spent cooped up in his chambers. His black hair is trimmed short – in a style contrary to the Euhijan courts – simply because it requires less effort to take care of. Wherever he goes, the smoky perfume of tobacco, orchids and agarwood follows.

Que favours clothing that’s easy to move around in. He eschews the tight, embroidered doublets considered fashionable in Vertiron, though that doesn’t mean he dresses like a slob. Like his sister, he has a fondness for bright colours. Many of his tunics are inlaid with blue and gold, tucked into fencing breeches more suited to a knight than marquis. In more private settings, he returns to the long, layered robes of his homeland, though they’re often less elaborate than his sister’s. Over his left leg, he wears a brace made of leather and brass, the joints fortified with steel. The brace stretches from mid-thigh all the way down to the ankle, with clasps on each side to attach to his shoes. On his right hand, he always wears a golden ring, a square of malachite set in the center.

I N T E R E S T S

Que is a son of Euhijan as much as his father’s. While he may not look it, he used to be an excellent swordsman, capable of defeating some of the most distinguished warriors in the kingdom. Though he can still wield a sword after the accident – one never really forgets how – he’s no longer as proficient as he used to be. Most days, however, he practices alone, well away from prying eyes.

Not only that, Que is also quite fond of games like xiangqi and chess. They’re one of the few interests he and his sister have in common — apart from smoking and swordplay, that is. As children, the two would play round after round against each other in an effort to pass the time, something their father encouraged. After all, the mind is merely a different kind of blade, one to be kept sharp through various means.

An avid falconer, Que keeps a menagerie of predatory birds that he uses for hunting. In fact, he finds tending to the creatures quite calming as well, so he often relieves his servants of their duties in favour of handling it himself.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

Que has always been a wallflower, ever since he was a child. While his peers ran around hitting each other with wooden swords, he’d always just sit aside and watch. That was something he did a lot – watch. People, animals, even the clouds drifting across the sky. As long as it moved, his gaze was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. He would follow every movement, every sound, until he eventually lost interest. This penchant for observing would prove useful in the art of swordplay. What he lacked in raw strength, he made up for in speed and finesse. For many years, Que’s endeavour to become the best swordsman in Euhijan consumed a huge part of his life, leaving time for little else. This intense fixation with being the best extends to any of his endeavours. He’s very often obsessive about the things he does, and the people he cares about.

Nonetheless, he’s always been friendly in a polite, detached sort of way. When he speaks, he does so softly, with a cadence that can best be described as monotonous. There is rarely an occasion where he sees the need to raise his voice, and even then, he finds that tranquility is a more effective deterrent than rage. His sense of humour tends to lean towards dry and sardonic, and he often takes the role of “sidekick” in interpersonal relationships, especially when he’s in the presence of his sister, Qiu. It must also be noted that he does not subconsciously yearn to be in the spotlight, but is instead comfortable in a supporting role. Likewise, his observant nature comes in handy whenever he meets someone new. He is an excellent judge of character, and is often able to accurately surmise a person’s motivations.

In the aftermath of the accident, Que has lately become prone to fits of depression, some of them lasting for days at a time. Used to getting his way for most of his younger years, he finds it hard to let go of anything once he has a grasp on it, and his martial pursuits are at the very top of that list. It’s more than a little frustrating when he finds himself unable to perform the same feats he used to. There’s no mistaking that Que is a proud man, a trait he’d inherited from his father. He cares a lot about his reputation, and hates appearing weak in front of anyone.

H I S T O R Y

In Euhijan culture, twins are seen as an auspicious omen, especially when one is a girl, and the other a boy. The former symbolises the phoenix, while the latter symbolises the dragon. Many believe that children born under these conditions were destined for greatness, though Que has lived long enough to doubt the veracity of that claim.

On a cold Autumn night, Que was brought into the world a mere eight minutes after his sister, and whisked away in the arms of a nursemaid before the mother even had the chance to set her eyes on them. Their father served a general under the King of Euhijan, awarded with vast tracts of land and the title of Marquis after leading his battalion to numerous victories over its foes. Their mother, on the other hand, was a distant scion of the royal family, renowned for both her beauty and intelligence.

Their marriage was one of convenience, designed to further their standing in social strata. Neither of them really wanted children, though it was necessary to ensure that their lineage endured. And so, the twins were often left in the care of servants, with only each other for company once their most rudimentary needs had been taken care of.

In a somewhat misguided attempt at pleasing his parents, he began his military training at an early age. His father always thought he was too soft, too much of a pushover to make anything out of himself, but alas, he was his only son. Perhaps seeing his potential, his father’s second-in-command, a man known only to Que as Yi, took him under his wing. In fact, it was he who first taught Que the proper way to wield a sword, and how to best come up with a plan to counter the enemy’s. Under Yi’s careful tutelage, he grew to become one of the finest swordsmen in Euhijan. He’d always had a predilection for observing, of seeking out patterns in things, and this habit of his served him well when it came to battle. Sometimes, Qiu would even join him as he trained. She always did seem more interested in fighting than the lessons in etiquette they were both required to take.

Aged sixteen, and straddling the cusp of adulthood, Que rode into battle alongside his father for the first time. What started as a small border dispute devolved into an all-out brawl when neither party wanted to concede to the other’s demands. That day, Que was taught a valuable lesson on what it meant to be a soldier, to put one’s life on the line for the good of the nation.

Amidst the chaos, he found himself facing down a boy around his age, if not younger, the wild look in his eyes reminiscent of a cornered animal. It felt like a lifetime, but in reality, the whole thing was over all too quickly. With one swift movement, Que was able to disarm his opponent, and a second later, he had his own weapon buried within the boy’s chest. He didn’t even flinch when a scream pierced his eardrums, just gritted his teeth and drove the blade deeper and deeper through the boy’s ribs until finally, his shaking hands grew slick with blood.

This wouldn’t be the last time Que followed his father into battle. In time, he became used to the stink of death. About two years ago, however, a terrible accident befell him. As he attempted to charge the enemy down, his mount was startled by the sound of cannon fire. Tossed from his horse’s back, Que’s left foot caught in the stirrup as he fell, pulling the beast on top of him, and crushing his leg in the process.

Que made it out alive, spirited away by one of his father’s men while the enemy was distracted, though sometimes he wishes they’d left him there. It took him months to recover from the ordeal, and longer still until he was able to stand up on his own feet again. The King of Euhijan, hearing about the incident, sent a small team of engineers down to the Gui estate. In the end, all they could come up with was a brace that lessened the strain on his leg, though he still required a cane to walk around. That was when Que began to distance himself from his sister, not wishing to appear before her in such a state.

The Gui patriarch retired from his position a year later, left weakened by a persistent dampness in the lungs. He never quite accepted the ascension of the young King Liu to the throne – a sentiment he passed down to his children – though he knew better than to say otherwise in polite company. And so, Que was left to take up the mantle of Marquis. Along with the title came a bevy of responsibilities, and much to his chagrin, he soon found himself compelled to attend the courts of Vertiron alongside Qiu in hopes of forging new alliances with Euhijan’s long-standing enemies. But while Que has problems of his own to deal with, he still feels as if he has to take it upon himself to ensure his sister’s future.

✢ Affairs of the Court ✢

HI OKAY so i'm writing my characters' bios and i have a ton of ideas on euhijan history but since there's more people than just me playing chars from the kingdom, do we want to set up a group PM or something just so we're all on the same page ???

@ayzrules

I'd be up for that.

@Congee Also, I'm finally done with this guy. Hopefully it isn't riddled with typos since I wrote this on 4 hours of sleep. :^)

-snip-