Post by scottie on Aug 18, 2011 23:49:32 GMT -5
Weyr: Skrull
Name: Radath
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual.
Rank: Candidate
Age: nineteen
Appearence: The smallest of the sons of Torran by far, and the one that never was considered to be a wetboy purely based on his appearance. Since childhood, Radath's always been scrawny. He's shorter than average. On top of that, he's thin, very much so. There is muscle there, but it's not well formed nor large, but the long lean muscles, same as his taller siblings. It's almost enough to make him look like a bit of a stick-boy. It doesn't help that he tends to be such a pale white that he could be glow in the dark. Thankfully, that's toned down by his mass amount of freckles. Some people tan in sunlight. He turns a wonderful shade of pink until the freckles appear in mass enough that they just connect into one big browny splotch. His facial features are sharp, though seem almost flattened due to the drained color of them. He has the strong, square jaw of his father, though it's almost so narrow looking that it doesn't matter. His eyes are narrow, sharp, the whites almost fade into his skin making it look like there's nothing but the brown irises and black pupils at time, making them almost beady. Then there's his smile. When his mouth shut, it's fine. But once it opens... The grin is almost too big for his face (think Cheshire cat or a jack-o-lantern), teeth on the large side and kept almost blinding. Then there's his hair. The primary reason he could never be a wetboy. He keeps it long, it's to just past his shoulders now, and curly. It's always in messy ringlets. That's not the worst of it. The worst of it is the color. He's never seen anyone in his life with the same color hair. He's not sure where things went right for him to have it either. It would almost be considered auburn... if it weren't more red then brown. It's a deep, dusky red. It lacks the vibrant orange tint or highlights. It's a very flat red, but it's still red, odd and unique.
Personality: Never has Radath been what one would call 'normal'. Torran never bred a stupid child though. No matter what maybe said, he is a fully competent and very intelligent young man. Most people think in lines, never Radath. Like a canine chasing it's tail, he tends to think in circles. Everything links together. He's nosy, curious and highly observant. He loves to watch people, getting to know them. He is a more than adept tracker, very capable of sneaking, but not entirely capable of secrecy. He's let more than a few important secrets slip, simply because he tends to forget that they're secrets. For instance, he may listen into a private conversation he shouldn't be hearing and bring up that exact thing to someone who was in that conversation. "You know, I heard someone say something about throwing you a surprise party! Oh wait... now it's not a surprise..." That kind of thing. He's been called a gossip too, though he doesn't do it intentionally. He hates awkward silences, so he fills them and makes things more awkward until not even he can take the awkward at which point he just slinks away whistling innocently.
He enjoys hard work and challenges. He can dedicate himself to the point of obsession on challenges he gets caught up in. If he's got a question, he'll dedicate all his time and energy to getting an answer to it. Originality and imagination seem to be more important to him than anything else. The physical he treats as a hinderance - he understands it, thus he doesn't care. However, the imagined - there, possibilities are boundless, there's always more to question and more to create. He can spend an hour or more at a time just wrapped up in his own mind, looking like a dazed out slug on the outside. It's hard to keep his short attention span focused. Just as soon as you get him started on one thing, he's bound to jump to the next. He's a multitasker. He is unboundingly pessimistic, no matter how bright and active he may be. He easily sees the worst scenarios and predicts them. Not that it stops him from living. Anything for the persuit!
That same pessimism leads to a lot of insecurities. He tends to second guess everyone, trust few and need constant reassurance. He finds himself accusing others of thinking he isn't good enough and forcing himself to find ways of gaining some praise or at least shock value. He would never hurt someone without due cause. He's sweetnatured, that guy who would go out of his way to make someone happy, to help gladly. He is committed, loyal and fair. Conflicts bother him. He can be moody and indecisive. His thoughts are all over the place and deciding on one thing is often a great difficulty. He's far from responsible. He's got some problems with just taking care of himself. Don't put him near anything you don't want broken. He's also very impatient. He can't wait for anything. His temper? Well, that matches his hair.
History: Radath was born on Skrull Island, his mother, Quenyae, a weyrfolk. He was considered odd from the very begining, but with hair the color of a flame with no one the same. He was left out. A part of him didn't mind, it meant he could spend more time alone in his little world. There was concern for him as he wandered aimlessly on his own while the other children played. He was noticed early on to have a habit of telling stories, more active in his imaginary world than the real one.
"Eat your food, Radath."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Thedes is eatting it. He's hungry."
While he seemed content to be by himself, something deep in him wasn't. He'd never admit it, never complain, but he felt lonely, isolated, abandoned. Hope came one day. It was brief, it was false, but it came. The child thought he'd be taken away, that the man who was his father would take him to something better, where there would be people who would be his friends. He went to bed that night, excited and ready to pack to leave in the morning. When morning light came, Torran was nowhere to be found, not anywhere that the child looked. Never had he been more hurt. He had been left with no answers. Nothing.
He decided he hated not having answers, not knowing. He started to sneak and creep, watch people closely, try to figure out everything that was going on. It led to attempts at being social. He'd try to talk, he really would. In theory, he knew all the games, everything he could do to interact, but it never worked in practice. He learned about his peers tried to be like them, but it never worked. There was some secret to things, he knew it, he just had to find it, had to get someone to slip. The longer he failed to succeed at what he set his mind on, the more obsessed with it he got, the more pessimistic and insecure he got. Maybe he'd never get it. He never would, but he couldn't stop trying. What would everyone think if he stopped trying?
"You can't do it, Radath." The discouraging words came from behind him as he again tried to scale upwards, a challenge from the other kids. They all tried and failed, it was a game. He had to try. He couldn't fail. He was so frustrated he felt like crying, but he couldn't stop."Just stop."
"I can't! I can't stop! I have to do it! I can! I'm good enough too... I'm... I'm good enough!" His voice quivered with effort. Days passed and every day he went back, trying for as long as he could... until he got it. It had taken lots of thought, getting creative, looking at the problem from every way he could think of and more, but he had got it. He was perched up, out of the reach of the others. Still he wasn't proud. He could do better. He could go higher. He tried. Tried again... until he fell.
It had been nothing serious, but it shook the child up. He tried not to dedicate himself to anything like that again. But it ate at him. He couldn't focus on anything else. He worked hard until he got that one step up. Any other task though, he wandered away from unfished. Any chores, most meals, anything. He just simply couldn't be forced to focus on anything.
He made it through twelve turns, hair getting steadily darker, not as vibrant as it had been, and he was grateful. He was still slightly on the small side, scrawny really, but thin hints of possible muscle showed too. He wasn't as impressive as other boys, but once he was selected and set his mind to it, he made it through the trials. There was no stopping him. He would stand on the sands. If any obstacle arose, he put his mind and life to taking care of it. Every hatching got his hopes up. He anticipated, lost the ability to sleep the closer he perceived it to get. Though, there was that part of him that anticipated he'd walk off the sands alone.
"Think you'll get one this time?"
"No. But I'll see them all hatch. I'll get to touch one." That was all he was confident of. "Closer than some people get. Besides, no dragon'd one me. I'm just skin and bones!"
When talking to others, he made it into jokes. His short comings were all jokes that stung him to the core but he didn't let anyone see that. When his freckles were teased, or his long red hair, he went along with it, usually in a bit of a snarky fashion. As turns passed, he still spent his time snooping, building stories on what he found out, watching, on top of everything. Things slipped. He'd say things he shouldn't have without thinking, it made people mad. Then for a while he'd spend even more time alone. It was a vicious cycle, but he kept going through it. He has grown taller, still shorter than most though. His hair has grown longer, seeming to settle at a dark if pronounced red. Torran never came back and the boy has never shaken the disappointment or found quite that same level of hope again. Yet, time after time, he still returns to the sands.
Father: Torran
Mother: Quenyae
Siblings: Ronon, Rilom, Ruen, Rhenik, and Rycage (half brothers by father).
Pets: None.
Color Preference & Why: Whatever fits the best for him.
What Colors/Color don't you want and why: N/A.
Name: Radath
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual.
Rank: Candidate
Age: nineteen
Appearence: The smallest of the sons of Torran by far, and the one that never was considered to be a wetboy purely based on his appearance. Since childhood, Radath's always been scrawny. He's shorter than average. On top of that, he's thin, very much so. There is muscle there, but it's not well formed nor large, but the long lean muscles, same as his taller siblings. It's almost enough to make him look like a bit of a stick-boy. It doesn't help that he tends to be such a pale white that he could be glow in the dark. Thankfully, that's toned down by his mass amount of freckles. Some people tan in sunlight. He turns a wonderful shade of pink until the freckles appear in mass enough that they just connect into one big browny splotch. His facial features are sharp, though seem almost flattened due to the drained color of them. He has the strong, square jaw of his father, though it's almost so narrow looking that it doesn't matter. His eyes are narrow, sharp, the whites almost fade into his skin making it look like there's nothing but the brown irises and black pupils at time, making them almost beady. Then there's his smile. When his mouth shut, it's fine. But once it opens... The grin is almost too big for his face (think Cheshire cat or a jack-o-lantern), teeth on the large side and kept almost blinding. Then there's his hair. The primary reason he could never be a wetboy. He keeps it long, it's to just past his shoulders now, and curly. It's always in messy ringlets. That's not the worst of it. The worst of it is the color. He's never seen anyone in his life with the same color hair. He's not sure where things went right for him to have it either. It would almost be considered auburn... if it weren't more red then brown. It's a deep, dusky red. It lacks the vibrant orange tint or highlights. It's a very flat red, but it's still red, odd and unique.
Personality: Never has Radath been what one would call 'normal'. Torran never bred a stupid child though. No matter what maybe said, he is a fully competent and very intelligent young man. Most people think in lines, never Radath. Like a canine chasing it's tail, he tends to think in circles. Everything links together. He's nosy, curious and highly observant. He loves to watch people, getting to know them. He is a more than adept tracker, very capable of sneaking, but not entirely capable of secrecy. He's let more than a few important secrets slip, simply because he tends to forget that they're secrets. For instance, he may listen into a private conversation he shouldn't be hearing and bring up that exact thing to someone who was in that conversation. "You know, I heard someone say something about throwing you a surprise party! Oh wait... now it's not a surprise..." That kind of thing. He's been called a gossip too, though he doesn't do it intentionally. He hates awkward silences, so he fills them and makes things more awkward until not even he can take the awkward at which point he just slinks away whistling innocently.
He enjoys hard work and challenges. He can dedicate himself to the point of obsession on challenges he gets caught up in. If he's got a question, he'll dedicate all his time and energy to getting an answer to it. Originality and imagination seem to be more important to him than anything else. The physical he treats as a hinderance - he understands it, thus he doesn't care. However, the imagined - there, possibilities are boundless, there's always more to question and more to create. He can spend an hour or more at a time just wrapped up in his own mind, looking like a dazed out slug on the outside. It's hard to keep his short attention span focused. Just as soon as you get him started on one thing, he's bound to jump to the next. He's a multitasker. He is unboundingly pessimistic, no matter how bright and active he may be. He easily sees the worst scenarios and predicts them. Not that it stops him from living. Anything for the persuit!
That same pessimism leads to a lot of insecurities. He tends to second guess everyone, trust few and need constant reassurance. He finds himself accusing others of thinking he isn't good enough and forcing himself to find ways of gaining some praise or at least shock value. He would never hurt someone without due cause. He's sweetnatured, that guy who would go out of his way to make someone happy, to help gladly. He is committed, loyal and fair. Conflicts bother him. He can be moody and indecisive. His thoughts are all over the place and deciding on one thing is often a great difficulty. He's far from responsible. He's got some problems with just taking care of himself. Don't put him near anything you don't want broken. He's also very impatient. He can't wait for anything. His temper? Well, that matches his hair.
History: Radath was born on Skrull Island, his mother, Quenyae, a weyrfolk. He was considered odd from the very begining, but with hair the color of a flame with no one the same. He was left out. A part of him didn't mind, it meant he could spend more time alone in his little world. There was concern for him as he wandered aimlessly on his own while the other children played. He was noticed early on to have a habit of telling stories, more active in his imaginary world than the real one.
"Eat your food, Radath."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Thedes is eatting it. He's hungry."
While he seemed content to be by himself, something deep in him wasn't. He'd never admit it, never complain, but he felt lonely, isolated, abandoned. Hope came one day. It was brief, it was false, but it came. The child thought he'd be taken away, that the man who was his father would take him to something better, where there would be people who would be his friends. He went to bed that night, excited and ready to pack to leave in the morning. When morning light came, Torran was nowhere to be found, not anywhere that the child looked. Never had he been more hurt. He had been left with no answers. Nothing.
He decided he hated not having answers, not knowing. He started to sneak and creep, watch people closely, try to figure out everything that was going on. It led to attempts at being social. He'd try to talk, he really would. In theory, he knew all the games, everything he could do to interact, but it never worked in practice. He learned about his peers tried to be like them, but it never worked. There was some secret to things, he knew it, he just had to find it, had to get someone to slip. The longer he failed to succeed at what he set his mind on, the more obsessed with it he got, the more pessimistic and insecure he got. Maybe he'd never get it. He never would, but he couldn't stop trying. What would everyone think if he stopped trying?
"You can't do it, Radath." The discouraging words came from behind him as he again tried to scale upwards, a challenge from the other kids. They all tried and failed, it was a game. He had to try. He couldn't fail. He was so frustrated he felt like crying, but he couldn't stop."Just stop."
"I can't! I can't stop! I have to do it! I can! I'm good enough too... I'm... I'm good enough!" His voice quivered with effort. Days passed and every day he went back, trying for as long as he could... until he got it. It had taken lots of thought, getting creative, looking at the problem from every way he could think of and more, but he had got it. He was perched up, out of the reach of the others. Still he wasn't proud. He could do better. He could go higher. He tried. Tried again... until he fell.
It had been nothing serious, but it shook the child up. He tried not to dedicate himself to anything like that again. But it ate at him. He couldn't focus on anything else. He worked hard until he got that one step up. Any other task though, he wandered away from unfished. Any chores, most meals, anything. He just simply couldn't be forced to focus on anything.
He made it through twelve turns, hair getting steadily darker, not as vibrant as it had been, and he was grateful. He was still slightly on the small side, scrawny really, but thin hints of possible muscle showed too. He wasn't as impressive as other boys, but once he was selected and set his mind to it, he made it through the trials. There was no stopping him. He would stand on the sands. If any obstacle arose, he put his mind and life to taking care of it. Every hatching got his hopes up. He anticipated, lost the ability to sleep the closer he perceived it to get. Though, there was that part of him that anticipated he'd walk off the sands alone.
"Think you'll get one this time?"
"No. But I'll see them all hatch. I'll get to touch one." That was all he was confident of. "Closer than some people get. Besides, no dragon'd one me. I'm just skin and bones!"
When talking to others, he made it into jokes. His short comings were all jokes that stung him to the core but he didn't let anyone see that. When his freckles were teased, or his long red hair, he went along with it, usually in a bit of a snarky fashion. As turns passed, he still spent his time snooping, building stories on what he found out, watching, on top of everything. Things slipped. He'd say things he shouldn't have without thinking, it made people mad. Then for a while he'd spend even more time alone. It was a vicious cycle, but he kept going through it. He has grown taller, still shorter than most though. His hair has grown longer, seeming to settle at a dark if pronounced red. Torran never came back and the boy has never shaken the disappointment or found quite that same level of hope again. Yet, time after time, he still returns to the sands.
Father: Torran
Mother: Quenyae
Siblings: Ronon, Rilom, Ruen, Rhenik, and Rycage (half brothers by father).
Pets: None.
Color Preference & Why: Whatever fits the best for him.
What Colors/Color don't you want and why: N/A.
