Post by Mina Crow on Mar 11, 2006 10:17:45 GMT 12
[Name >> George Rattlesnake
[Age >> 14
[Gender >> Male
[Tribe >> Cigarettes
[Rank >> Hunter
[Nationality >> American (Navajo ascendance)
[Politics >> Military Right
[Romantic orientation >> Straight
[Appearance >> Rattlesnake has inherited the bold nose of his ancient forebears. He has a prominent chin and hard, deep-set eyes. His teeth are yellow due to the tobacco he used to smoke. He wears bulky pants, but prefers to walk with bare chest or a light shirt. Rattlesnake is stocky and muscular, and might make a rather impressive sight if not for the constant smirk on his lips.
[Attitude >> Rattlesnake is arrogant and proud - even he does not know of what, his life has been a misery for as long as he remembers. Maybe he is proud of surviving. Until now. He walks through stages of furious rage, due to the lack of cigarettes; there is no way to avoid it, the stores were depleted long ago and the remnants belong to the "big guys". He will take advantage of everyone who ranks below him, and might even contest the orders of Seraphim and Reason.
[Notable History >>
Four years ago
"George, come here." She sounded drunk. The eleven-year old boy let down his schoolbag on the hall and went to the living room, scowling. His mother had a whiskey glass on the right hand; in front of her his secret cache of cigarettes was laid upon the coffee table. Her eyes were unfocused and she swayed continuously, but the boy didn't move a muscle. He stood on the doorway, eyes fixed on his father's back, who stood by the window, smoking as ever. Sophie, George's mother, let out a piteous, piercing wail. George still didn't move, but Anthony Rattlesnake threw the lit cigarette off the window and turned around.
"Why, George?" His voice brought forward all the sorrow and shame in the world. Sophie whined continuously, and threw the glass to the floor, where it shattered violently. No one seemed to notice. Anthony locked eyes with his son, apparently unconcerned with the purple swell on his left eye.
Five weeks later
George opened the front door, throwing his tattered bag to a chair. He made for his room, but his father's call interrupted him.
"George." The youth stopped on his heels and looked over his shoulder into the living room, a scowl contorting his face. His father was sitting in the sofa, swollen red eyes lost in space. "Mum was interned." The boy shrugged. Then, after a tense moment, went to his bedroom and banged the door shut.
Three years ago
The sound of the rising blinds awoke George. His father stood by the window, next to a pile of full card boxes. "We have to go, son. The truck is arriving in thirty minutes." The boy was expressionless as he rose to his feet. Anthony left the room with a sigh, shaking his head. George dressed himself absently and looked at his room one last time. It looked so different without his things. The room where he had grown up, the house where he had lived for the past twelve years, and they had to leave it. The family could not afford it and still pay for his mother's treatment. Without a word, he dumped his last belongings into the school bag and followed his father to the car. The moving company truck was curving into their street.
Seven months later
"She's coming back tonight. I want you to behave properly. And I want you to talk, George. She needs you."
The boy shrugged and turned his back, snorting. "As if I gave a sh.it about it." He never saw the punch coming.
Three weeks later
George punched the wall, cursing under his breath. It was enough. He knew his mother was still drinking, there was no denying it on her breath. His father seemed oblivious to that, always telling her how well she was going. He just couldn't stand it anymore, couldn't watch her fall into that curse again. George stuffed some of his belongings on his father's backpack, then stalked into his parents bedroom, taking a few dollars from their savings. It was enough to buy a bus trip to the next town and survive a few days on his own, then he would have to fend for himself. That shouldn't be too hard, he could get a job on a grocery store or something like that. Maybe he could be a butcher's drudge for a while. He simply couldn't stay in that house anymore.
The front door opened and closed. His parents had left for work. He waited ten minutes, counting every second, then left the house. Enough was enough.
These are the eyes that can't see me
These are the hands that drop your trust
These are the boots that kick you around
This is the tongue that speaks on the inside
These are the ears that ring with hate
This is the face that I'll never change
This is the fist that grinds you down
This is the voice of silence no more
These are the legs in circles run
This is the beating you'll never know
These are the lips that taste no freedom
This is the feel that's not safe
This is the face you'll never change
This is the god that ain't so pure
This is the god that is not pure
This is the voice of silence no more
We the people
Are we the people?
Some kind of monster
The monster lives
This is the face that stones you cold
This is the moment that needs to breathe
These are the claws that scratch these wounds
This is the pain that never leaves
This is the tongue that whips you down
This is the burden of every man
These are the screams that pierce your skin
This is the voice of silence no more
This is the test of flesh and soul
This is the trap that smells so good
This is the flood that drains these eyes
These are the looks that chill to the bone
These are the fears that swing over head
These are the weights that hold you down
This is the end that will never end
This is the voice of silence no more
We the people
Are we the people?
Some kind of monster
The monster lives
This is the cloud that swallows trust
This is the black that uncolors us
This is the face that you hide from
This is the mask that comes undone
Ominous,
I'm in us ~ Metallica
[Reputation >> To be bossy and aggressive to his inferiors. However, he makes a fearsome enemy in fight, using the nastier tricks he knows to take himself and his companions out of danger.
[Age >> 14
[Gender >> Male
[Tribe >> Cigarettes
[Rank >> Hunter
[Nationality >> American (Navajo ascendance)
[Politics >> Military Right
[Romantic orientation >> Straight
[Appearance >> Rattlesnake has inherited the bold nose of his ancient forebears. He has a prominent chin and hard, deep-set eyes. His teeth are yellow due to the tobacco he used to smoke. He wears bulky pants, but prefers to walk with bare chest or a light shirt. Rattlesnake is stocky and muscular, and might make a rather impressive sight if not for the constant smirk on his lips.
[Attitude >> Rattlesnake is arrogant and proud - even he does not know of what, his life has been a misery for as long as he remembers. Maybe he is proud of surviving. Until now. He walks through stages of furious rage, due to the lack of cigarettes; there is no way to avoid it, the stores were depleted long ago and the remnants belong to the "big guys". He will take advantage of everyone who ranks below him, and might even contest the orders of Seraphim and Reason.
[Notable History >>
Four years ago
"George, come here." She sounded drunk. The eleven-year old boy let down his schoolbag on the hall and went to the living room, scowling. His mother had a whiskey glass on the right hand; in front of her his secret cache of cigarettes was laid upon the coffee table. Her eyes were unfocused and she swayed continuously, but the boy didn't move a muscle. He stood on the doorway, eyes fixed on his father's back, who stood by the window, smoking as ever. Sophie, George's mother, let out a piteous, piercing wail. George still didn't move, but Anthony Rattlesnake threw the lit cigarette off the window and turned around.
"Why, George?" His voice brought forward all the sorrow and shame in the world. Sophie whined continuously, and threw the glass to the floor, where it shattered violently. No one seemed to notice. Anthony locked eyes with his son, apparently unconcerned with the purple swell on his left eye.
Five weeks later
George opened the front door, throwing his tattered bag to a chair. He made for his room, but his father's call interrupted him.
"George." The youth stopped on his heels and looked over his shoulder into the living room, a scowl contorting his face. His father was sitting in the sofa, swollen red eyes lost in space. "Mum was interned." The boy shrugged. Then, after a tense moment, went to his bedroom and banged the door shut.
Three years ago
The sound of the rising blinds awoke George. His father stood by the window, next to a pile of full card boxes. "We have to go, son. The truck is arriving in thirty minutes." The boy was expressionless as he rose to his feet. Anthony left the room with a sigh, shaking his head. George dressed himself absently and looked at his room one last time. It looked so different without his things. The room where he had grown up, the house where he had lived for the past twelve years, and they had to leave it. The family could not afford it and still pay for his mother's treatment. Without a word, he dumped his last belongings into the school bag and followed his father to the car. The moving company truck was curving into their street.
Seven months later
"She's coming back tonight. I want you to behave properly. And I want you to talk, George. She needs you."
The boy shrugged and turned his back, snorting. "As if I gave a sh.it about it." He never saw the punch coming.
Three weeks later
George punched the wall, cursing under his breath. It was enough. He knew his mother was still drinking, there was no denying it on her breath. His father seemed oblivious to that, always telling her how well she was going. He just couldn't stand it anymore, couldn't watch her fall into that curse again. George stuffed some of his belongings on his father's backpack, then stalked into his parents bedroom, taking a few dollars from their savings. It was enough to buy a bus trip to the next town and survive a few days on his own, then he would have to fend for himself. That shouldn't be too hard, he could get a job on a grocery store or something like that. Maybe he could be a butcher's drudge for a while. He simply couldn't stay in that house anymore.
The front door opened and closed. His parents had left for work. He waited ten minutes, counting every second, then left the house. Enough was enough.
These are the eyes that can't see me
These are the hands that drop your trust
These are the boots that kick you around
This is the tongue that speaks on the inside
These are the ears that ring with hate
This is the face that I'll never change
This is the fist that grinds you down
This is the voice of silence no more
These are the legs in circles run
This is the beating you'll never know
These are the lips that taste no freedom
This is the feel that's not safe
This is the face you'll never change
This is the god that ain't so pure
This is the god that is not pure
This is the voice of silence no more
We the people
Are we the people?
Some kind of monster
The monster lives
This is the face that stones you cold
This is the moment that needs to breathe
These are the claws that scratch these wounds
This is the pain that never leaves
This is the tongue that whips you down
This is the burden of every man
These are the screams that pierce your skin
This is the voice of silence no more
This is the test of flesh and soul
This is the trap that smells so good
This is the flood that drains these eyes
These are the looks that chill to the bone
These are the fears that swing over head
These are the weights that hold you down
This is the end that will never end
This is the voice of silence no more
We the people
Are we the people?
Some kind of monster
The monster lives
This is the cloud that swallows trust
This is the black that uncolors us
This is the face that you hide from
This is the mask that comes undone
Ominous,
I'm in us ~ Metallica
[Reputation >> To be bossy and aggressive to his inferiors. However, he makes a fearsome enemy in fight, using the nastier tricks he knows to take himself and his companions out of danger.
