IP: 67.165.83.99
Posted on September 17, 2010 at 01:02:03 PM by Gobardon
Would you mind if I hurt you? Name: Gobardon Gender: Male Appearance (include eye/skin/hair colour): See image Age: 26 Personality: You will see. History: Too long to state. He is the fifth generation of my first character. Sample post: [From Hoof Prince Twysted ] It was an onslaught. The bodies moved toward him with steady paces, like pawns on a chessboard that were controlled by an able-minded being. It was fascinating to see such elegantly dressed people come in together to close in on a kill. They were beautiful, moving so gracefully in their dresses and suits and appearing to be mere swans landing peacefully onto a still lake, but then again, leopards were also beautiful. There was no denying the flashing of ivory-painted teeth as their serpent-like tongues attempted to beat him at the only game that they could contend; he was not gifted in the arena of social conversation. His hand moved quickly from the silken texture of her dress, as if the touch itself was too much for him to bear. Even after she had turned and began to speak, his thumb ran over his fingers as if attempting to ground the sensation of the touch into his senses forever. Her words, though distasteful to any listener, caused little arousal in him. For too long had he lived in the upper ends of society and he knew that a quick tongue could mean that the speaker was foolishly clever or admirably intelligent. Instead of rebutting her spitfire response, he quietly took the list from her delicate hands and read over the names written her in curly script. “Guests” struck him as a vague sort of addition to add to the planning of such an event. Had he realized this sooner, he most likely would have asked for “guests” to consist of more specific names. His foolish endeavor cost him the opinion of Ophelia and the feeling of being wronged. No, there was no reason for his brother to be unwelcomed. He could have been anyone’s “guest”. Before he could state the conclusion of his observation, the woman from his most recent encounter came into a conversation with daggers at arms. It must have been a treat for her to speak to him in such a manner, especially since she had been forced to respect his family in her youth. How freeing! Why, our little miss must have grown up over the years! How grand! She speaks so boldly and so…arrogantly. Despite her need to prove herself to be just as average of those born in the lower ranks, she still held herself in such a way that only members of old families could recognize. No, she was not undermining his authority. She was not eloquently defending someone being insulted. She was an utter fool, one that should have thought more before speaking. This anger of his could not even remotely considered a drunken rage. There were things more powerful than alcohol and that was blood. Only blood could make him feel this way and the blood shared between him and that pierced vagabond stirred the strongest of storms. A smile crossed his face as he handed the list back to Ophelia, his eyes watching Nox. “What a wonderful display of words and prose! Why, I doubt that even Byron could compete. You do realize that both of you share such similar history. It was a wonderfully convenient marriage, an agreement of family-ties, that eventually led to him becoming a lord. Like you, he was born to the same type of dirty blood found in the alleys of his city. The peerage accepted him, despite his birth, but his tongue led to his banishment. It was a disease that killed that man, my lady. You best deal with your own disease before it consumes you as well.” He nodded, a traditional gesture of respected parting shared amongst the peerage. Perhaps the fiery-tongued lady was correct in her judgment; he should leave the party rather than make fools of them. He did not expect to have been drawn to these people when he entered. He did not respect to let his guard drop so that he acted so abrasively toward them. He did NOT expect his hand to touch him. The conversation had distracted him. With the shuffling feet of so many dancers, he had ignored the warnings given to him from the Earth, that warnings that would have prepared him for the sight of a brother gone wrong. If the life of nobility offended Synyster, then it would have been best to quietly retire in one of the northern estates, but Synyster was never a man to be quieted. It was his voice that led to his disowning. It was his drunken speech, amongst the most respected of the peerage, that caused their father to physically remove him from the estate with a declaration that Synyster would never see the inside again. It was his desire, his wish, his obsession spoken on his deathbed. For all that Gobardon did to please their parents, and he did enough to please most of the nobility, their main focus was on their failure of a son. Synyster was freed of the torments of being the son of a nobleman. Synyster was freed of the invisible bars that kept one in this mansion. Synyster was given his parents outmost attention even after he had left. Slowly, carefully, Gobardon reached up and clasped his brother’s hand, removing it in a fashion that made it seem like it weighed a great deal more than first observed. The rings on his fingers glowed faintly, calling to him, attempting to seduce him into using their power to take care of a pest, but he ignored him. It was difficult. He felt their fingers running along his ears and their words whispering. When he dropped Synyster’s hand, they hissed angrily in his refusal to obey them. “Yet?” he said softly, his voice deeper than its normal range. “What a life you must lead. Not everyone can escape punishment for the murder of their mother and the destruction of their father, but yes, brother, this entire estate does belong to me. It is something that you have lost and our father swore that you would never see again. Doesn’t the dead speak to you now since they know of your betrayal? Can you not hear him screaming at your return? Anyone in my house must expect my presence. However, yours comes at a surprise. To honor my agreement with Ms. Lombardi, I will not have you removed, but your mouth must say closed. If you cannot respect my words, at least respect the parents that you have lost.” The tension was thick enough to slice and it only thinned when an old friend appeared with a voice that chased away the sorrow. He usually smiled in the presence of his friend, but only his eyes betrayed his relief at seeing him. Despite his drinking, his anger, and his emotional strife, Étienne had a way of making him feel a fool without insulting him. Their friendship dated back to before the fight that ended his relationship with his brother. Yes, blood was thick, but loyalty tended to create bonds that even blood could not rival. “I wondered when you would allow yourself a chance to see sunlight,” Gobardon said as he straightened to face him. He refused to meet his brother’s eye, so he instead focused on Nox. “Guests, I would like to introduce you to a friend of the Rawlins family. Sir Étienne D’Artagnon is a welcomed guest at my home and has showed my family considerable loyalty for many years. This is his first visit in a great while to our city and I hope that you treat him better than you would treat me.” “Sir D’Artagnon, allow me to introduce my guests. This is Ms. Ophelia Lombardi, formally Lady Ophelia. She was once a member of this household and it is by her design that this event came to be. Watch her. She has a way of forcing happiness onto you, despite any protests. This is Ambre Evans, a former heir of the Evans fortunes. She carries no gun, but she is still heavily armed. Though she is not a member of the peerage these days, she tends to spend her time with the Natives doing some remarkable charity work. She believes that it is good to make someone feel needed and respected, even if it is a lie. You know Brian and there should not be too much said about him. The attention is addicting to him, you see. Well, that’s about everyone. Feel free to mingle. It is a lovely experience. So exotic. The wonderful part is that it all washes off at the end of the day, but your clothes will never smell the same.” He nodded at all of them and smiled. “And with that, I have done my part to be civil. If you would excuse me, there is an empty glass that is desperately thirsty for gin.” The clicking of his heels matched the furious beating of his heart as he turned his back on them. His fingers flexed and his mouth was pressed so firmly that it created a straight line. For now, he felt justified and powerful. The regret always came later. Your player name: Shenan How you found out about us (only required if joining for first time): Gia told me about it while we were in bed one night. japanese | 4 ft. 1 Coin | 20 Points |
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- accepted - By Alora September 18, 2010 at 04:14:59 AM
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