“ Wʜᴀᴛ’s ɪᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ, ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ ɪɴsɪᴅᴇ ᴀ ʟɪɢʜᴛɴɪɴɢ sᴛʀɪᴋᴇ? ”
x “Jᴜʟᴇs” x Pᴀɴsᴇxᴜᴀʟ x Wᴀʀʟᴏᴄᴋ x Bɪsʜᴏᴘ x 21 x
ᴛʀᴀɪᴛs
⚬ Lᴀᴢʏ ⚬ Cʜᴀʀᴍɪɴɢ ⚬ Nɪʜɪʟɪsᴛɪᴄ ⚬ Iɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴛ ⚬
ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ
▔▔▔▔▔▔ x
Standing at exactly 6’1”, Julian cuts a tall, willowy figure, and moves with a graceful languor not often found in those of his stature. His posture, on the other hand, leaves much to be desired. He often stands with his knees bent, shoulders rolled forward, his hands inside his pockets or crossed over his chest, so he often looks a little shorter than he actually is.
Julian’s thick, dark hair falls in tousled waves around his face, reaching just below his chin. It often smells like incense and the lavender shampoo he likes to use. His jaw is rather angular, cheekbones accentuated by his reluctance to even eat. Downturned, heavy-lidded eyes give him the perpetual appearance of boredom, or perhaps lethargy. There is a faint pallor to his already pale skin, though it is mostly smooth and free from any markings. His knuckles, however, are marked with a maze of tiny battle scars, a souvenir from his childhood. There is also a raised, silvery mark across the palm of his right hand, where he harvests the blood he needs for his rituals.
He often dresses in neutral and earth tones, in clothes that are built for comfort rather than style. Julian’s closet consists mostly of sweaters, jeans, and a hooded jacket that he’s almost never seen without. While he isn’t one to accessorize, he does wear a ring made of cold iron around on his right hand. His talisman, a gemstone of black tourmaline, hangs from a braided string around his neck, though it’s usually hidden under his clothes. On his person, Julian always carries with him a small pocketknife, and a piece of chalk. His grimoire can be found in the bag slung over his shoulder, sandwiched between sheaves of notes and the MacBook he uses for school.
Julian’s thick, dark hair falls in tousled waves around his face, reaching just below his chin. It often smells like incense and the lavender shampoo he likes to use. His jaw is rather angular, cheekbones accentuated by his reluctance to even eat. Downturned, heavy-lidded eyes give him the perpetual appearance of boredom, or perhaps lethargy. There is a faint pallor to his already pale skin, though it is mostly smooth and free from any markings. His knuckles, however, are marked with a maze of tiny battle scars, a souvenir from his childhood. There is also a raised, silvery mark across the palm of his right hand, where he harvests the blood he needs for his rituals.
He often dresses in neutral and earth tones, in clothes that are built for comfort rather than style. Julian’s closet consists mostly of sweaters, jeans, and a hooded jacket that he’s almost never seen without. While he isn’t one to accessorize, he does wear a ring made of cold iron around on his right hand. His talisman, a gemstone of black tourmaline, hangs from a braided string around his neck, though it’s usually hidden under his clothes. On his person, Julian always carries with him a small pocketknife, and a piece of chalk. His grimoire can be found in the bag slung over his shoulder, sandwiched between sheaves of notes and the MacBook he uses for school.
ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇsᴛs
▔▔▔▔▔▔ x
There aren’t many things that interest Julian, and he finds himself very easily bored with mundanity. Unless he’s made to follow something through to the end, the majority of his pursuits terminate rather unceremoniously. Still, he can’t deny the merits of keeping in touch with his heritage. Julian’s fascination with the occult is one of the few things he hasn’t yet grown out of, as is his smoking habit.
ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ
▔▔▔▔▔▔ x
When prompted to describe Julian Driscoll, it’s hard for most people to find the right response. It’s strange how one can be such a mystery, yet such an open book. But Julian knows that you choose the flaws you wear, whilst disguising the rest of them.
At first glance, Julian might seem like someone you could easily befriend. He’s usually affable and polite – sometimes to the point of overdoing it – but that’s only if you have something he wants. For those he has no need of, however, they can often find themselves put off by his hostility. Going from Prince Charming to little shit in about two seconds flat is a specialty of his. Manipulative and self-serving; his true loyalties lie with himself, and himself alone, though he’s great at pretending otherwise.
That, however, doesn’t mean he has no soft spot to speak of, merely that it’s particularly well-hidden and difficult to find. Naturally venomous, phlegmatic, and even distant, Julian is used to guarding himself emotionally, something he does by being lacing his words with acid sarcasm. He doesn’t like feeling vulnerable; in fact, he hates it. Not one to open up right away, he prefers to keep everyone at arm’s length until he has no other choice but to let them get close. To those he considers friend, or simply someone with an offering that tickles his fancy, he’s the person you want at your side when times get rough. (He’s rather fond of flowers, cigarettes, and ugly puppies, just as an FYI.)
In his own personal life, Julian is almost impossibly phlegmatic, like there isn’t a single thing in the world that remotely interests him. Rather than do something productive with his day, he’d much rather lounge about on a recliner, sprawling across the surface like a cat basking in the sun. He must be one of the few people on Earth who’s perfectly happy to just sit around doing nothing at all. That said, Julian is very possessive over his belongings, even with trinkets of little value. The years he spent in foster care have taught him to never let something go once he has a grasp on it.
Interestingly, while Julian has a rather obnoxious habit of grandstanding, he has very little tolerance of the habit in others. He frequently admonishes others to get to the point. But with a penchant for absurdism, topped off by a horrifyingly macabre streak, you get the sense that he always has a snicker hidden at the corner of his mouth, even if everyone else around him is a little afraid to join in.
At first glance, Julian might seem like someone you could easily befriend. He’s usually affable and polite – sometimes to the point of overdoing it – but that’s only if you have something he wants. For those he has no need of, however, they can often find themselves put off by his hostility. Going from Prince Charming to little shit in about two seconds flat is a specialty of his. Manipulative and self-serving; his true loyalties lie with himself, and himself alone, though he’s great at pretending otherwise.
That, however, doesn’t mean he has no soft spot to speak of, merely that it’s particularly well-hidden and difficult to find. Naturally venomous, phlegmatic, and even distant, Julian is used to guarding himself emotionally, something he does by being lacing his words with acid sarcasm. He doesn’t like feeling vulnerable; in fact, he hates it. Not one to open up right away, he prefers to keep everyone at arm’s length until he has no other choice but to let them get close. To those he considers friend, or simply someone with an offering that tickles his fancy, he’s the person you want at your side when times get rough. (He’s rather fond of flowers, cigarettes, and ugly puppies, just as an FYI.)
In his own personal life, Julian is almost impossibly phlegmatic, like there isn’t a single thing in the world that remotely interests him. Rather than do something productive with his day, he’d much rather lounge about on a recliner, sprawling across the surface like a cat basking in the sun. He must be one of the few people on Earth who’s perfectly happy to just sit around doing nothing at all. That said, Julian is very possessive over his belongings, even with trinkets of little value. The years he spent in foster care have taught him to never let something go once he has a grasp on it.
Interestingly, while Julian has a rather obnoxious habit of grandstanding, he has very little tolerance of the habit in others. He frequently admonishes others to get to the point. But with a penchant for absurdism, topped off by a horrifyingly macabre streak, you get the sense that he always has a snicker hidden at the corner of his mouth, even if everyone else around him is a little afraid to join in.
ʜɪsᴛᴏʀʏ
▔▔▔▔▔▔ x
Julian was born on a sweltering summer day in South Bay, Florida. His biological parents were woefully unprepared for a child, far too busy with the matter of making ends meet. For the first three years of his life, he was nothing but an afterthought, and the only time his parents would pay any attention to him was when they grew tired of his squalling.
Eventually, it seemed the neighbours grew tired of it, too. After an anonymous tip was made, the young Julian was quickly handed over to child services when they found him collapsed on the kitchen floor, starving and blotchy with the beginnings of a fever. It was clear to everyone that his parents were both unable and unwilling to care for him, and he was quickly put into the foster system as a ward of the state. For an additional year, he remained in state care until a foster family finally decided to take him in.
They only made it two months before deciding to return him to state care.
Unresponsive, difficult, angry. Those were the words they used when asked to describe Julian; strange for a child so young. The next two foster families to take him in lasted longer – nine and sixteen months, respectively – though they all said the same thing when they eventually gave him up, and he quickly earned a black mark on his file for ‘unmanageable behavior’. By the time he turned eight, any hope of permanent adoption seemed lost.
Then, he was ten, and on his forth (or maybe fifth) group home. It was so easy to lose track, sometimes. Like the rest of his peers, Julian often had his belongings stuffed inside a black garbage bag — for convenience, their caretakers had explained, but it made him feel like he was less than nothing. And so, Julian always made sure to make a name for himself at each new house. They called him a troublemaker, but he was so small that he had no other choice. First impressions were everything; if you looked like a pushover, you’d be fighting tooth and nail for every scrap of anything.
It wasn’t until a year later that things finally came to a head. Julian had gotten into a disagreement with one of his roommates, and both boys found themselves bloodied and bruised in the ensuing altercation. With his face pressed to the rug, and the taste of copper on his tongue, Julian felt a strange surge of heat grow within his chest. The next thing he knew, the weight against his back vanished, and what followed was a shriek so loud and spine-chilling that it seemed to linger for hours afterward.
As far as anyone could tell, the boy had clawed himself open without any help. It itched, and he’d given in, perhaps with the misguided conviction that with sufficient force, he’d be able to remove the creatures skittering about just below the surface. He didn’t stop screaming about the “bugs under his skin” until Julian was corralled into a different room, his nose running crimson. A series of similar incidents occurred within the course of the next few months, and every other kid in the house soon grew convinced that Julian was cursed.
That Christmas, a woman named Miriam Driscoll showed up on their doorstep. Julian had never seen the woman before in his life, but she acted like she’d known him for years. Miriam played her part perfectly, holding him and crying and saying things to him they both knew didn’t actually mean anything. Perhaps sensing that she was his ticket out of there, Julian answered in the affirmative when asked if she knew her — of course, she’s my aunt. Plump, motherly, and ever-smiling, no one expected Miriam Driscoll to be the kind of woman she was.
In his first year with Miriam, he wasn’t even allowed out of the house, and no matter how much he screamed, how many things he smashed, Miriam remained tranquil. Whatever he did to that boy didn’t seem to affect her in the slightest. It frustrated him to no end, made him want to tear his hair out in handfuls, but Julian soon learnt that the only way to get what he wanted was to play nice. It took some time, but eventually, he got the hang of it. Smile, nod, always remember to say please and thank you. That’s what all the kids on TV did, after all, and everyone loved them.
Julian finally learned about his ancestry when Miriam sat him down one day, a thick, leather-bound tome open in her lap. She told him that he was descended from Bridget Bishop, the very first person executed during the Salem Witch Trials. Miriam was too, just that she didn’t have any inherent abilities herself. After years of searching, she finally caught wind about Julian from his caretakers, and wanted to help nurture his own burgeoning powers. Her guidance, however, did not come without a price. For years, Julian was made to study conjuration, learning how to bind spirits and demons to his will with offerings of blood and wine. Most of the boons provided by these patrons went on to benefit Miriam and her business — an apothecary named Hekate’s Crystals & Curios.
As Julian grew older, the white-hot rage he felt as a child changed and shifted, coagulating instead into steady, unabating resentment for his guardian. The talisman Miriam wore around her neck was made of consecrated iron and hematite, protecting her from the infernal, and much to Julian’s chagrin, his own abilities as well. The friendly facade he wore in public became a part of him, something that came as easily to him as breathing. These days, Julian enjoys squandering his intelligence by sleeping through college. Occasionally, he helps out at the apothecary as well, biding his time until he’s able to break free from Miriam’s clutches and exact his revenge.
Eventually, it seemed the neighbours grew tired of it, too. After an anonymous tip was made, the young Julian was quickly handed over to child services when they found him collapsed on the kitchen floor, starving and blotchy with the beginnings of a fever. It was clear to everyone that his parents were both unable and unwilling to care for him, and he was quickly put into the foster system as a ward of the state. For an additional year, he remained in state care until a foster family finally decided to take him in.
They only made it two months before deciding to return him to state care.
Unresponsive, difficult, angry. Those were the words they used when asked to describe Julian; strange for a child so young. The next two foster families to take him in lasted longer – nine and sixteen months, respectively – though they all said the same thing when they eventually gave him up, and he quickly earned a black mark on his file for ‘unmanageable behavior’. By the time he turned eight, any hope of permanent adoption seemed lost.
Then, he was ten, and on his forth (or maybe fifth) group home. It was so easy to lose track, sometimes. Like the rest of his peers, Julian often had his belongings stuffed inside a black garbage bag — for convenience, their caretakers had explained, but it made him feel like he was less than nothing. And so, Julian always made sure to make a name for himself at each new house. They called him a troublemaker, but he was so small that he had no other choice. First impressions were everything; if you looked like a pushover, you’d be fighting tooth and nail for every scrap of anything.
It wasn’t until a year later that things finally came to a head. Julian had gotten into a disagreement with one of his roommates, and both boys found themselves bloodied and bruised in the ensuing altercation. With his face pressed to the rug, and the taste of copper on his tongue, Julian felt a strange surge of heat grow within his chest. The next thing he knew, the weight against his back vanished, and what followed was a shriek so loud and spine-chilling that it seemed to linger for hours afterward.
As far as anyone could tell, the boy had clawed himself open without any help. It itched, and he’d given in, perhaps with the misguided conviction that with sufficient force, he’d be able to remove the creatures skittering about just below the surface. He didn’t stop screaming about the “bugs under his skin” until Julian was corralled into a different room, his nose running crimson. A series of similar incidents occurred within the course of the next few months, and every other kid in the house soon grew convinced that Julian was cursed.
That Christmas, a woman named Miriam Driscoll showed up on their doorstep. Julian had never seen the woman before in his life, but she acted like she’d known him for years. Miriam played her part perfectly, holding him and crying and saying things to him they both knew didn’t actually mean anything. Perhaps sensing that she was his ticket out of there, Julian answered in the affirmative when asked if she knew her — of course, she’s my aunt. Plump, motherly, and ever-smiling, no one expected Miriam Driscoll to be the kind of woman she was.
In his first year with Miriam, he wasn’t even allowed out of the house, and no matter how much he screamed, how many things he smashed, Miriam remained tranquil. Whatever he did to that boy didn’t seem to affect her in the slightest. It frustrated him to no end, made him want to tear his hair out in handfuls, but Julian soon learnt that the only way to get what he wanted was to play nice. It took some time, but eventually, he got the hang of it. Smile, nod, always remember to say please and thank you. That’s what all the kids on TV did, after all, and everyone loved them.
Julian finally learned about his ancestry when Miriam sat him down one day, a thick, leather-bound tome open in her lap. She told him that he was descended from Bridget Bishop, the very first person executed during the Salem Witch Trials. Miriam was too, just that she didn’t have any inherent abilities herself. After years of searching, she finally caught wind about Julian from his caretakers, and wanted to help nurture his own burgeoning powers. Her guidance, however, did not come without a price. For years, Julian was made to study conjuration, learning how to bind spirits and demons to his will with offerings of blood and wine. Most of the boons provided by these patrons went on to benefit Miriam and her business — an apothecary named Hekate’s Crystals & Curios.
As Julian grew older, the white-hot rage he felt as a child changed and shifted, coagulating instead into steady, unabating resentment for his guardian. The talisman Miriam wore around her neck was made of consecrated iron and hematite, protecting her from the infernal, and much to Julian’s chagrin, his own abilities as well. The friendly facade he wore in public became a part of him, something that came as easily to him as breathing. These days, Julian enjoys squandering his intelligence by sleeping through college. Occasionally, he helps out at the apothecary as well, biding his time until he’s able to break free from Miriam’s clutches and exact his revenge.
sᴋɪʟʟs
▔▔▔▔▔▔ x
Julian is able to cast illusions, causing people to see, hear, feel, smell, or taste things that aren’t actually there. He can also make people sense things in ways that they would not naturally; for example, he can make himself look and sound like a different person. His illusions, however, aren’t always perfect. Occasionally, he makes mistakes such as misplacing a feature on a person, or creating shadows that face the wrong direction. Those who possess telepathy have a much easier time resisting this ability.
Under the watchful tutelage of his guardian, Julian has become quite an accomplished conjurer. He knows exactly what one should do in order to bind these Goetic entities. The Lesser Key of Solomon is something he always keeps close at hand, as is the pocketknife he uses to perform his rituals with.
☀ – Best Friend
☼ – Friend
� – Neutral
ϟ – Rival
☂ – Nemesis
♡ – Love Interest
♥ – Significant Other
⛧ – Worship/Admire
☼ – Friend
� – Neutral
ϟ – Rival
☂ – Nemesis
♡ – Love Interest
♥ – Significant Other
⛧ – Worship/Admire
Lyra Proctor
☀ | ☼ | � | ϟ | ☂ | ♡ | ♥ | ⛧
Elizabeth Hatwell
☀ | ☼ | � | ϟ | ☂ | ♡ | ♥ | ⛧
Cynthia Nox
☀ | ☼ | � | ϟ | ☂ | ♡ | ♥ | ⛧
Natalia Stone
☀ | ☼ | � | ϟ | ☂ | ♡ | ♥ | ⛧
Mary Corwin
☀ | ☼ | � | ϟ | ☂ | ♡ | ♥ | ⛧
Blake Burroughs
☀ | ☼ | � | ϟ | ☂ | ♡ | ♥ | ⛧
Lucifer
☀ | ☼ | � | ϟ | ☂ | ♡ | ♥ | ⛧
Lilith
☀ | ☼ | � | ϟ | ☂ | ♡ | ♥ | ⛧
☀ | ☼ | � | ϟ | ☂ | ♡ | ♥ | ⛧
PLACEHOLDER
Elizabeth Hatwell
☀ | ☼ | � | ϟ | ☂ | ♡ | ♥ | ⛧
PLACEHOLDER
Cynthia Nox
☀ | ☼ | � | ϟ | ☂ | ♡ | ♥ | ⛧
PLACEHOLDER
Natalia Stone
☀ | ☼ | � | ϟ | ☂ | ♡ | ♥ | ⛧
PLACEHOLDER
Mary Corwin
☀ | ☼ | � | ϟ | ☂ | ♡ | ♥ | ⛧
PLACEHOLDER
Blake Burroughs
☀ | ☼ | � | ϟ | ☂ | ♡ | ♥ | ⛧
PLACEHOLDER
Lucifer
☀ | ☼ | � | ϟ | ☂ | ♡ | ♥ | ⛧
PLACEHOLDER
Lilith
☀ | ☼ | � | ϟ | ☂ | ♡ | ♥ | ⛧
PLACEHOLDER
