`` what a bout of rebellion. Blake Kalmojenovic.

[Shay Anderson]

B lake L ucas K almojenovic

Valkyrie Academy

About The Roleplayer:
and yes, I realize this is grossly out of date.


Name: Asia <3
Age: Finally sixteen, bitches.
Gender: Female
Years Roleplaying: More than you.
Some Basic Interests: Making characters x).
And being one of the top cosplayers in Alberta.
And number seven on top ten DDR players in Alberta.
Oh, and Jezzie is pretty cool too.

About The Character

[/b][/size]
Name: Blake Lucas Kalmojenovic
Age: Seventeen
Gender: Male
School Year: Grade 11 ;; Junior
Art Interest : Film and theater
Originated From: Belgrade, Serbia
Parents: Victor Kalmojenovic ;; 39
Mother: Miikka Viktoroviæ ;; 37
Siblings: None
Portrayed By: Jake Gyllenhaal
Picture:
Appearance: Words really couldn’t describe the appearance of Blake Lucas Kalmojenovic. You just had to see him to be able to know what people talked about. There was just this air about him that attracted the stares of the people around him.

It would be rude to say that he was cursed with that unfortunate complexion so many teenagers have; the once smooth, pale skin turned into a blotchy red mess covered in pimples and scars. It would also be giving him much too much credit to say that he was naturally blessed with the skin that everyone envied. With a naturally healthy glow, not a blemish in sight and it would just stay that way. No, Blake Kalmojenovic had gotten stuck right in the middle. His genes had given him the coloring similar to sand when left out in the sun for far too long; streaked into an uneven complexion of tans and paper-white.

Everything on his face was in the right place. No mouth on his forehead or ears where the nose should be. Perhaps because everything was so straight and proportional, people often mistakened him for handsome. Something he never considered himself. It was more Blake’s eyes that startled people when they looked into his masculine face.

Being of complete Serbian descent, his eye sockets had formed that large shape of permanent surprise. But, strangely enough, his eyes never filled out his deep sockets. His genes seemed to have snatched the narrow, clever eyes of the Western Europeans and slapped them into his Easter European face. Not too wide, nor too narrow, the shape was perfect. The pasty whites of his eyes were taken up by much of the iris. One of his eyes a mixture of deep jewel tones like emerald and jade, and the other a startling assortment of translucent mints, he had always wondered from where the unique color came from, and why he had two different colored ones. And not the understated color difference, it was noticeable. Nonetheless, Blake had managed to develop his deep-set eyes into a piercing glare.

Like many other children of Hollywood’s elite, Blake had to maintain a crisp image. Including spending time bothering with the messy head of hair he had inherited right from the shaggy mop of black hair his mother had been born with. From day one, he had been forced to keep his hair from growing to “one of those unruly lengths like so many teenagers today.” Meaning it had to shape perfectly to his thin skull. Of course, like many of those unruly teenagers today, Blake had always had something inside of him that constantly rebelled. Even if that meant slightly. Squeezing the remainder of a tube of styling gel or pomade into his hand each morning and quickly running it through his dark hair, spiking it upwards in about fifty different directions was about as much rebelling as he could get away with. Well, that and being too lazy to pick up a razor each and every day, often returning home each day after school with a five o’clock shadow.

Now, it would something cruel to say that Blake had an ugly or distorted face. For, even he had to sometimes admit it, he didn’t really. Not even close to resembling those people for being painful to look at. Sure, he didn’t have the face that belonged on the cover of magazines, either. Nah, those had to be reserved for the waify models with doe-like faces strutting down the runways in New York. Or, you could just go to Valkyrie Academy…pretty much everyone there was just a little less than funny looking, but way more so than the doe-like models on the cover of CosmoGirl! And such things. They were friggin’ gorgeous…attractive…whatever. Like I said, he didn’t have a nose on his forehead or ears growing out of his eyes. He had unusual features, yes. But that’s about it.

Although naturally tall and willowy of an Eastern European, Blake always went up and down with his physique. Up until he was fifteen or sixteen, he had been all legs and hands. Standing at an average six feet even, he had grown into his height easily. However, Blake had always suffered from a fairly low self-esteem. When he was fourteen, a new lifestyle had began. No, not one of those healthy ones that everyone needed to make. It was a turn for the worst. With the combination of food deprivation, excessive caffeine intake and an unhealthy amount of exercise had caused the meat once covering his bones to drop off like nothing. Never one to stay the same for long, his weight had been going up and down ever since. At the beginning of the year, he could actually look like a human being. Four months later, he could hardly cast a shadow. With a lengthy neck falling into fairly broad shoulders, his torso also immediately tapered into a fairly narrow, shapeless waist. At times, you could see his ribcage without him breathing. Other times, you could simply see the shadow of it. His torso falling into fairly straight hips and long, thin legs, his physique was always a long and lean one. Simple as that.

Aside from his body frame, Blake Kalmojenovic was the stereotypical appearance of a wealthy teenager. Often spotted wearing designs from high-class designers such as Gucci and Ralph Lauren, there was nothing overly interesting about his style of dressing. Usually dressed in dark, looser denim or pale chinos, a t-shirt with some sort of band or iconic figure, and topped with a simple blazer or track jacket. At times, however, Blake did embrace one look. Whether that be slim-cut jeans, a fitted t-shirt and track jacket or the whole black turtleneck, trenchcoat and fedora thing. Truthfully, he had never been one to have a SET style, seeing as it changed from day to day.

One thing he never went a day without: the silver necklace embracing the Angel Productions logo on it. Either that, or a black wristband with some sort of logo on it.

Pretty much, there was nothing overly interesting about his appearance. A little obsessive about it, sure. But wasn’t that to be expected?


Personality:
Blake never really knew how to describe his own personality.

Quiet, and speaking with actions other than words, he often went days without uttering so much as a word. If, however, words must be spoken, he habitually forces people to look into his eyes and understand from his expression and glaring.

Never ever part of the popular clique in school, he often lurked in the corners with other artists. Holding the intensity of a serious actor, and the aura of a clever artist, he continued to work towards that perfect personality of calm moods, few phrases with high impact, and people looking to him for information on film. Of course, that sarcasm and those trust issues usually do get in the way…

Suffering from an unusually short temper and irritable mood swings, Mister Kalmojenovic knows when to detach himself from people when in a testy frame of mind. Known for holding long, harsh grudges and judging people from their own aura, Blake never did attract many people. Snarky comments, cruel glares and icy smirks usually told people to get away and stay away. Especially those who didn’t want to deal with their issues and just “talk” about it first.

You see, Blake always had a problem with that. Because he never talked about anything first. He relied dumbly on people to get the message from his actions towards them, or he immediately turned to the anger and the big “GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE” sign on his forehead. Often the one to begin an argument or fight, and never the one to finish it, he earned a nasty reputation for himself.

He prided himself in his tough mindset and twisted logic. People always needed the secret code to get him to lower his sarcastic defences. And, to tell you the truth, he never gave out the password. He didn’t even know it. People always either angered him, or got him to completely break down…and neither of those things are fun to deal with.

Instead, he had chosen to decline himself from any unnecessary human contact. None at all. No hugs of passion, or even slaps on the hand from friends. N-O-T-H-I-N-G. The only expression his face only ever held was the ghostly pale look of someone who was sick of life and sick of themselves. His eyes watered from behind the racoon rings from his disorder. A frown was permanently stuck on his thin lips. Giving the entire world a view of what kind of person he was: not one. He didn’t care what people did to him. He only cared what they thought and said about him.

But, then there were his eyes. Emotion hypothetically dripping out of his sockets. The pleading gleam never really disappearing behind the watery look of his eyes. The begging for someone to get him out of the dark, unstable world he had made for himself. To pop the black bubble surrounding his warped mind. Only, he never let people in. Always shied away from other’s concern. Speaking in the occasional blunt remark, and denial of his problems.

It was all a façade. His entire world was a screen from the real person he was when he was born into his mother’s loving arms.


Likes: +Magic and illusions
+Playing head games with people
+Mind games
+Messing around
+Cinematography
+Film
+Charlie Chaplin
+Psychological thrillers
+Twisted logic
+Storms
+Swimming in unruly conditions
+Being alone
+Street smarts
+Patience
+Self-mutilation
+Music
+Playing the drums

Dislikes:-People who talk about him
-Sluts
-Stereotypes
-Loud noises
-Argoance
-You
-Hypocrated
-Those weird people who write poems about death
-Being under the spotlight


Flaws:

• Much too short tempered
  
• Dives head first into situations where he knows he'll get his ass kicked
  
• Too secretive for his own good
  
• Self-mutilated his hands
  

Secrets:

• Still deals drugs
  
• Has shot himself three times in the name of a magic trick
  
• Has broken his fingers multiple times
  
• Finds comfort in fire and burning himself
  

History: Did you know that when sheets have been used over and over for a week, and left in the sun to rot, they begin to smell both musty and ancient? And a bed begins to squeak uncomfortably after only three sessions of violent, wild sex. Or, if one really tried, could mark up the most expensive hard wood floors available with only their nails. Tears also stained grey walls, as does blood and an obsessive amount of banging.

And there it was again; that annoying shifting of the old mattress grinding against the bedspring, and the uncomfortable tugging from flesh against flesh. No sounds came from behind that locked door, only the occasional grunt, but nothing to grab anyone’s attention. He had long grown not to respond during the violent sessions. To simply keep his mouth shut, stare at the wall and pretend to listen to the cruel words of the person flailing around on top of him.

Now, normally, such a sight is a delight for most people: Two young, gorgeous people passionately having sex in the middle of the afternoon on a quiet Saturday.

Only, what people see can deceive them. What if the woman is someone her partner despised? Or that tears were gleaming miserably in his eyes? And the grin on her face wasn’t from passion, but maliciousness? The list could only go on…

Yes, it was a little illegal something called sexual abuse going on. Yes, it is uncommon for a male to be getting the sexual beating he’s gotten over seventeen years. Mother? Nope. Sister? What sister? Nope. Father’s brother’s daughter or his cousin. The beautiful, seduction and local twenty two year old goody two-shoes Natasha Kalmojenovic. Or Blake Lucas’ own torment. One of them.

People could call his situation old, almost cliché. But, in reality, he found it to be so much more than that. People never knew how bad the abuse was until they got it.

The worst was the sexual abuse and harassment coming from his cousin, his frail body literally shook every time he saw the woman outside of their little sessions. How she could act so natural, like nothing was wrong. Besides having sex with a minor, unconsensually and with a family member, it was also the way she knew everything about him. The blackmail came as easily and naturally to her as…having sex with her cousin. However, Blake couldn’t deny that he hated the physical abuse too. From who, he couldn’t tell. Nor did he care.

Yes, Blake could call his life a little less than fun:

He was no accident.
No, he parents had wed young. The day they graduated from University actually. His father, a current film student and future film producer, and his mother, a Director of Photography, had planned that day for over five years. Isn’t that strange? How people are together for eight years, get engaged, married and then divorced a year later? Well, just like the rest of Hollywood, that was the exact thing that happened. March 1st, 1989 was the day they officially announced their separation.

How does a very pregnant divorced woman leave her husband and go back home to Serbia? Not easily. Somehow, the wealthy woman made it back into the capital of the small country, Belgrade. Her future had diminished. The perfect Los Angelus lifestyle was gone. No more growing old with the producer that she loved so much. Or raising her child to become the rich, spoiled one that everyone else’s was in Hollywood. She went, from one day, to the Y.U.P.P.Y: Young Urban Professional. To divorced, broke, on the edge of having a baby, and with no where else to go. So, sixteen days later, a week after being in Serbia, little Blake Lucas came into the world.

You see, a respectable man doesn’t let a single mother raise her son alone. No, Victor Komlijenovic literally snatched his child from his mother’s arms three days after being born. He was a very powerful man, Victor was. Still is. Now, no matter what country, no one argues with a wealthy man with a talented lawyer and a clever argument.

The next sixteen or so years passed…not exactly well.

From his tenth birthday, Blake turned from an athletic child to someone who became scared of shadows. And everything else. His mind worked in different ways from the other’s around him. He became obsessed with perfection. In his own way. His body wasn’t perfect unless his ribcage jutted out, and was visible from the back. His personality wasn’t perfect unless it was calm, collected and completely neutral at all times. His appearance wasn’t perfect without the long, thin gash along his jaw line. And his future wasn’t perfect without Valkyrie Academy.

Living Situation: The Valks

For The Valkyrie Academy Admin:[/b][/size]
Read the Rules?: Word.
Name One You Liked: The one concerning the stuff about that other junk. x)
What Makes Your Character Different From The Rest?: He just is.
Roleplaying Sample: Dur. No. <33[/blockquote] [/blockquote]