Post by soto on May 16, 2010 20:40:28 GMT -6
[/color]VALKYRIE,
CALIFORNIA
the ocean breathes salty, won't you carry it in?
it’s a restless, hungry feeling
that don‘t mean no one no good.[/font][/center]
WHEN THE OCEAN MET THE SKY ,[/color]
CHARACTER BASICS ,
you missed when time and life shook hands and said goodbye[/color]
FULL NAME: Jasper “Ono” Onofre[/font]
NICKNAMES: Ono, Jazz.
GENDER: Male.
AGE: 17.
GRADE: Eleven/junior/purgatory.
ART INTEREST: Painting.
PLAYBY: fab moretti
YOUR BODY MAY BE GONE ,[/color]
CHARACTER APPEARANCE ,
i'm gonna carry you in my head, in my heart, in my soul[/color]
ETHNICITY: Latino.[/font]
HAIR COLOR: Black.
EYE COLOR: Dark brown.
HEIGHT: 5ft 8in.
WEIGHT: 160 lbs.
BODY TYPE: Of average height and weight. He’s never stepped inside of a gym, so his physique is less than impressive, but his metabolism and drug use is average, so his food intake is balanced.
DISTINGUISHED FEATURES: Scar running almost the entire length of his right arm, car accident five years ago.
PERSONAL STYLE: Somewhat style conscious, will put more than a little effort into physical appearance, especially when going out. His wardrobe consists mostly of button-down shirts and casual jackets for more formal occasions, fitting jeans, hooded sweatshirts, some t-shirts.
IN YOUR MOUTH, IN YOUR SOUL ,[/color]
CHARACTER PERSONALITY ,
the more we move ahead the more we're stuck in rewind[/color]
STRENGTHS: Art, art, art.[/font]
WEAKNESSES: Drugs, drugs, drugs.
LIKES: colors, sleeping, being asleep, being high & marijuana, soft skin, sex, cologne & perfume, television, ritzy restaurants, men, pianos, hallucinogens.
DISLIKES: barbecue, black coffee, school, snow & cold weather, computers, being stupid, steaming sea kettles, sparkling water, illegal immigrants, mathematics, pimps, dirty socks, hangovers.
FLAWS: low intelligence, low ambition, terrible temper, very self-conscious and succumbs easily to peer pressure.
HABITS: biting nails to the bone, smoking (anything), falling asleep easily, tapping fingers, binge drinking, muttering.
SECRETS: Homosexual.
BEST MEMORY: Blues Clues with Grandma and a bowl of Cheerio’s every morning before Kindergarten.
WORST MEMORY: Mothers death.
OVERALL PERSONALITY:
If Jasper was to identify himself as one person in history, it would be Julius Caesar. If anyone with a brain were to identify Jasper as one person in history, it would be Vincent Van Gogh. “Some creepy motherfucker with, like, mad skill,” His cousin would say. It’s a stereotype that all artists are introverted and ill-composed, but Jasper fit’s the bill perfectly. Jasper developed a limp from falling off of a horse in Juarez at nine years old, and it stuck heavily for almost three years, resulting in immediate social discarding. As if he wasn’t weird enough, Jasper walked like baby Frankenstein. It’s hard to say whether or not Jasper would be the same person if he hadn’t have been outcasted in elementary school. They say that those years are formative, that they make all the difference in adolescents, but Jasper never cared for school, or popularity, and once he discovered his knack and fervor for art, it didn‘t make sense to pay mind to much else. He was a loudmouth, but it didn’t make him popular. He was different, and therefore not cool.
Though dangerously shy, Jasper has an outrageous temper. Kicking and screaming is the only way to argue, he figures, leading to the impression that Jasper is looking for a fight, the way he escalates everything. It isn’t the drugs, and he will deny any such claim, because he’s been throwing toys against the wall since he had the strength to do so.
In junior high, Jasper landed in what many adults considered, and emphasized the word with a shake of their heads, a “bad crowd”. They, too, were the outcasts, the losers, but they were self-destructive, and instead of proving them wrong, they rebelled against the titles, and seemed to only prove them wrong by doing so. Jasper fell in love with drugs. First he just loved the high, and then, quickly, discovered the effects it had on his art. Drugs made his brain go wild, and his personality, an “addictive” personality as most people like to refer to it to be, isn’t exactly the sort to deprive himself of the pleasure. Though he quickly learned which drugs to absolutely refrain from, Jasper will try almost anything. He isn’t “self-destructive”, but he flirts with his limits like he knows no better. And that’s the way he likes it.
AND WE'LL BOTH GROW OLD ,[/color]
CHARACTER HISTORY ,
well i don't know, i don't know, i don't know, i hope so[/color]
HOMETOWN: Knoxville, TN.[/size][/font]
PARENTS: Antonio Onofre, father, 41, currently earning Phd in Hispanic Studies at Valkyrie University. Heather Carter-Onofre, 37, step-mother, Professor of Psychology at Valkyrie University. Valeria Onofre, mother, deceased for seven years.
SIBLINGS: Stephen Carter-Onofre, 16, step-brother.
LIVING SITUATION: Shaks.
HISTORY:
The rain was so heavy that, by the time his car rolled up to her driveway, the awning was drooped over the side of the house. Her father wobbled on a short ladder, trying to fix it.
“Who’s that?” Oh, she wanted to stop smiling so badly, stop glowing, but for the life of her, she couldn’t. “That better not be who I think it is. The Onofre boy.” Carlos Mendez had more than one reason for hating Antonio Onofre. First of all, he was five years older than Valeria, a college student in the city. Second of all, he was a Mexican, and Valeria knew full-well that her ancestors would be turning in their Galician graves. Third, he was just goofy-looking. His lanky body, his too-tan skin, his unruly curly hair, “like a negro”. When Valeria graduated high school with honors and was granted a full-ride to the University of Tennessee, Carlos had no more arguments against the Onofre boy, except for his “disgusting Indian Spanish“; the two even became friends, watching soccer together. At least, not for another two years, when Valeria learned she was pregnant. She must have set a world record for apologies that day, when Carlos kicked her out of the house and threatened to disown her. She moved in with Antonio, and they married in a courthouse three weeks later. After six months of anything but wedded bliss, Jasper Onofre was born. Antonio took one look, screams piercing his ears, and almost passed out. “I’m fuckin’ terrified, Val.”
It wasn’t for another six years that they realized they knew nothing about fear.
The x-ray didn’t make any sense. Antonio may have been a college graduate, but the dark shapes and white intrusions didn’t compute in his mind. “I don’t understand,” Valeria sat quietly, her lip trembling, as her husband interjected the doctor, his language riddled with words that Antonio couldn‘t comprehend, whether it was his background, or his . “What…what does this mean?” A mass in her brain, past the point of operation. It made perfect sense. Her speech had been slurring, she couldn’t concentrate. She was deteriorating so fast, but Antonio wasn’t around enough to even notice before she almost gave Jasper a glass of vodka. Valeria died of an inoperable brain tumor six months after her diagnosis. Quickly, and painlessly, they said. They said.
The period that followed Valeria’s death was strange. There was a period of what he now recognizes to have been self-pity following her death, but Antonio couldn’t accuse him of behaving childishly, because the man himself didn’t leave his bedroom for two weeks. Jasper will never forget the look on his face when he finally did. The bags under his red eyes sank into his cheeks, his once vibrant, tan skin now dull and worn. “Do you want some cereal?“ His voice cracked as he came upon the slow realization that he was now fully responsible for the boy watching Doug with watercolor on his hands.
Antonio Onofre met Heather Carter at a coffee shop in Nashville three years ago. Antonio was a high school Spanish teacher, Heather a Professor of Psychology (a.k.a. snob). Antonio hadn’t been looking for a relationship, and Jasper had been spoiled by this. All of his life, he’d been a troubled kid. A loudmouth, hyperactive, attention-seeking, and all of this before his mothers death. Antonio had several girlfriends after Valeria’s death, but was never ready to commit himself to a serious relationship, and most of his attention was devoted to Jasper. Jasper could recall the very day that Heather Carter entered his life, and he swore revenge on her that same day. She was stupid looking. Stick-thin with long, copper hair, and squinty grey eyes. Sure, he could see how men could view the woman as good-looking, but it baffled Jasper that no one else could see the Devil inside her. Or even worse: that anyone could fall in love with her. Her son, Stephen, was a different story, and the step-brothers
Jasper had an eye for art since his infancy. Colors fascinated him endlessly, a sensation to his eyes. The toys that didn’t please his eyes were thrown with all of the force in his body against the wall, the ones that did he stared at, revered, for hours. A forty-five minute art class in school, half of which consisted of shut up and clean up time, never satisfied his craving. Jasper began painting at school, home, when and with everything possible. His fingers, toes, face, clothes were always covered with vibrant paint, chalk, marker, crayon. It was really the only activity that made Jasper shut up, and he enjoyed it more than anything (even TV), so Antonio and Valeria willingly obliged and encouraged him. Jasper recognized that art was the only thing that he’d ever been passionate about in his life, but never imagined mixing it with the one thing he detested so much: school. “But you can learn! Art!” But Jasper was convinced he didn’t need to learn anything, and was so insulted by the notion that he stayed at his grandparents house for two days. Unfortunately, his absence had the adverse effect, and half of Jaspers belongings were in boxes by the time he returned.
Jasper lived in the same house his entire life. He’d never gone more than a week without seeing his grandparents. He might have been an outcast, but that didn’t negate the fact that his art hung triumphantly through the halls of his school, church. As far as Jasper was concerned, he was well-established. He didn’t want to move, and especially not to California. He’d been to Los Angeles before to visit family, but found himself out of place amongst relatives and locals. First of all, he had a devout dislike for Mexicans, despite his lineage, and found Spaniards superior, thanks to the ranting and raving of his Grandfather. Second of all, his accent made him stick out like a sore thumb. But these arguments didn’t stick against his father, no matter how fervently he delivered them. Jasper swore that he wouldn’t move, that he would never go to this god-forsaken Valkyrie, but a fourteen year old putting his foot down can only do so much, and two months later, he was on a plane to Los Angeles, sketching Heather Carter with fangs and a pitchfork. Valkyrie Academy was like a new world. Jasper, having attended public school his entire life in working-class Knoxville, had never had many encounters with the rich kids. If he thought he was an outcast before, then Jasper was sadly mistaken. He was immediately deemed a loser, and has made no effort to revoke the statement, if anything reveling in the title, in being the “freak”.
Two years, and the days only go slower. A haze. Paint on his fingers and a blunt in between, Jasper, "Ono", takes life by the minute.
COLLECTED MY BELONGINGS ,[/color]
ABOUT YOU AND FOR THE ADMINS ,
and i left the jail, well thanks for the time[/color]
YOUR NAME: iban[/size][/font][/blockquote]
GENDER: O+[
AGE: older than Miley Cyrus, younger than the a-bomb.
RP EXPERIENCE: who knows
OTHER CHARACTERS: None.credit: format by lainey, lyrics by modest mouse
