Dyrovaske, Yavin

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Name: Anni
Age: Seventeen
Roleplaying Experience: Five? Maybe? I think?
How you found the site: I can’t remember. This is my fifth character ^_^ .. I think owo

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Name: Yavin Mosegi Dyrovaske
Gender: Male
Age: 27
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Green
Skin Tone: Pale
Height: 5’2’’
Weight: 105 lbs
Wealth: Extremely rich
Sexual Orientation: Homosexual
Why they are in La Campana:Tired of being alone, Yavin finally put his schooling to good use and got a job as an Astrology and Astronomy teacher at La Campana. [/size]

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Likes:

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His aunt
His parents
Feeling wanted
Feeling loved
Being loved
Astronomy/Astrology
Fortune-telling
Amusement parks
Cats (particularly very fluffy kittens)
Ribbon/String
Starting fights
Getting others into trouble
Fireworks/Festivals
Luxury
Make-up
Mystery[/ul]
Dislikes:

Turn Ons:

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Promises
Blondes
Brunettes
Sweet-nothings
Romantics
Soft touches
Singing ability
Being dominated
Whipped Cream
‘Toys’[/ul]
Turn Offs:

Nervous Habits:

Fears:

Goals/Aspirations:

Appearance: Small and feminine. Yavin is often mistaken for a female with his aptitude to dress in frills and lace, but he’d quickly correct you… probably with some scathing remarks to follow along with said correction, and a sneer. Indeed, Yavin’s expressions don’t tend to be the most appealing, mostly because he’s not a very likable boy. He’ll glare before he’ll smile, sneer before he’ll laugh, and most certainly scowl before he’ll ever grin. He dresses well, a respectable cross-dresser indeed, and when he isn’t wearing a skimpy skirt or dress, he’ll wear something more like a less flashy rendition on his brother’s Victorian style, easier, perhaps, to move in, but very alike otherwise. His hair is dark and slightly wavy, not per say, curly like his brother’s, or pin-straight. His skin is pale, face round with a pointed chin, a heart-shape all-around, perhaps, with a small nose and gentle cheekbones. His lips are always smooth, a slightly paler tone than the rest, and moist from habitual wetting with a darting tongue. His palms are small, fingers long, though not particularly thin or chubby. His shoulders are bony, shoulderblades protruding, back curved, and his hips are sharp. He has a navel-ring, mostly a dangled and glimmering ring, gold or silver, with jewels of, most often, green, though occasionally blue. His legs aren’t shapely—a girlish, though not womanly, disposition instead—and his ankles are sharp, feet well-arched and small.
Personality: Yavin isn’t sweet. He can be, when he wants, but ‘when he wants’ tends to be very seldom, thus, people just tend to oversee it. Too, his ‘sweet’ gestures may not seem very sweet to others, or the normal, well-rounded, sane public, for that matter. Of course, he himself denies that he’s ever sweet because he finds it to be a weakness, something another will snatch at to make you suffer and use it against you. Sweetness is not cordiality, is not polite manners. Sweetness is an illness that needs to be ignored or taken care of, then never received again—avoided at all costs, because it hurts in the end. Yavin doesn’t like to believe the good in something, ever, for actual fear that it’ll be ripped away and he’ll be shown as the fool, as he hates being. The boy is actually quite smart. He has a wonderful memory and a love of books, of learning anything he can that he has interest in, but when it comes to others, he learns much more slowly. When he was younger, he liked to hope and to dream. He would wish on stars, and pray that those wishes would become his reality, but no such thing ever happened. What he wished never came true, and amidst his childish blame on his brother, he lost his hope and fueled himself with bitterness. Yavin no longer wishes on stars, not since his fated wedding day, and he most certainly never tries to understand, because when he tries to understand someone, something, he becomes involved in it, and when he does that, he gets hurt—no lie, no fail, no wonder. Yavin is a scathing boy and hates very easily and even more quickly. He insults someone before he even knows his or her name, much less care about said name. To those that don’t find their way into his adoration, his liking, he hates them as much as he doesn’t care. He tries to keep to scathing remarks and insults rather than physical harm, but if one earns it, then he’ll give it.

He’s extremely possessive and very jealous. When involved with someone, he feels threatened even if they hug someone, and he hates, just hates, when they prefer to be with someone else, talk to them, spend time with them, rather than him. Perhaps he’s extremely spoiled, given so much attention, constantly, by Sano, and others, but the constant fear that they’ll cheat on him, that they’ll find someone better and stay with them, ails him to no avail. Yavin worries constantly and his fears, perhaps, could indeed cause the death of him, pressing him to extremes to earn the attention and affection of another. His neediness and desperateness make him a target for those that just want to play a game, and he’s more than willing to play—not, perhaps, at first, but with each compliment, each show of affection, attention, with each claim of love, especially, he falls prey to every trap in every game. Depression, he tries to hide, because each game ends the same way, if they even start differently, and his own desperate nature fades to broken dreams and fated hopes, prayers lost in the mumbles of stars. He hides depression in lonely fits of sobs, waiting to an empty room, or, perhaps, until he can’t suppress it any longer and simply explodes (not literally, of course) and breaks down completely. He lashes out, unwillingly, maybe, though certainly harshly, when angry, which tends to be very often. He is quick to boil, making his quick hatred worsen, though his actual temper generally doesn’t last for more than a few hours. He can hold a grudge, but prefers the grudge to be cold, rather than hot, so he simply festers and ignores rather than punches in the face, perhaps.
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Father: Mosegi Khai -- Deceased
Mother: Irisi Khai -- Unknown
Sibling/s: Sano Dyrovaske – 30
Other important relatives:

Pets:

History: If he were born in any other household, into any other family, it was possible that he would have noticed something off right away -- the difference between himself and his brother. Given, the elders smiled at neither of them, never gave either a sense of belonging or welcome since the youngest’s birth. Yavin never knew the significance of the cold, because he’d never experienced warmth, but Sano had, and each longing glance confused Yavin more than the bruises on both mother and brother. The warmth that Yavin did not know from his parents, however, he knew from his brother. Sano sheltered him from his father, protected him when his childishness was misplaced and temporary, covered his ears when mother’s screams were too loud. Sano said the adults were watching scary movies--movies Yavin wasn’t allowed to see. He made him promise to never be curious and peek outside, not even when Sano wasn’t hiding with him, playing games or singing to him. His mother’s sudden departure went unnoticed, for the most part, for a good couple of days before Yavin no longer heard her screaming when he went to his room, but another’s. Sano was watching the movies now, as well as cooking for the family and cleaning the house. Yavin helped when he could, when Sano let him -- when their father was at work. The young boy did anything he could to make Sano smile, which, for Yavin, was particularly easy, though the earnesty of those simple warmths tended to be ignored as much as they were false. Yavin never knew the difference. A different air took hold of the home when Mosegi began drinking. The bruises increased and YAvin, then, was old enough to ask questions, albeit never to receive an honest answer. The boy wasn’t dull-minded, and a bitterness began with each lie Sano delivered--Yavin began to understand, to assume truths without proof, proof he knew he didn’t even need.

He didn’t mean to drop the china, but it sent Mosegi over the edge. He was struck against the wall and the thrust against his head caused him to slip into a brief unconsciousness. He faded to waking in time for the shot, the splatter of blood against surrounding surfaces. And in his confusion and childishness spurred a strange hatred for the boy with the gun. He had, after all, done something to deserve his father’s punishment, and Sano had no right to go and kill him, kill Papa, like he did. Where would they go? What would they do? Though not for the first time, Yavin was frightened, and he shied away from his brother’s touch. He felt safer when moved to his aunt’s home in Oregon, in her comforting embrace and strange religious prayers of security, than he had since mother ran away, ran with her lover to the states. He excelled in his studies, but he made a vast amount of enemies more so than friends. With his frigid and awkward disposition and well-grounded financial status, the hurtful nickname “Iced Prince”, or in other cases, “King Bitch”, fueled a hatred not only for others, but for himself. At school, whilst, Sano branded the classically aloof ‘bad-boy’ that made teachers wary and females swoon. His popularity got him invited to that party and, though he didn’t truly wish to go, Yavin did--and, with Yavin, anything he wanted from Sano, he got. No, lest little, questions asked.

He didn’t know the drinks were spiked. One moment, he was snapping at some girl that just because he was wearing a skirt, did not mean he was gay, and the next, he was being straddled by Sano, lips bruised, breath caught and cheeks flushed, while the whole party watched in a mixture of amusement, disgust, lust, and the chance few bashful at the very obvious excitements each tried to hide. Bilhah was furious, disgusted, and her screams made that very very clear. The rest of the party bolted whilst Sano and Yavin were given the lecture of a lifetime--Sano was flinching away, ready for an attack, but Yavin just tried not to cover his ears and cry. He couldn’t stand another person mad at him. Perhaps she was briefly torn between her religious and moral beliefs and family relations, but she quickly settled on one, hardly enough time to think it through, and the brothers were once again abandoned--this time on the step of an orphanage across Oregon. In the midst of his anger at the elder, Yavin couldn’t help an undeniable addiction. Heated arguments, somewhere down the road, had turned to fierce romantics--hugs to smacks, smacks to tongues. Too, somewhere down the same road, hatred fused to obsession, and obsession to lust, lust to love. This unhealthiness continued even passed their adoption by the Dyrovaskes, in the home of strangers and throughout highschool, both Yavin’s years and Sano’s. In college, Yavin gained his first lover, a secret from even Sano. He hadn’t come out to his family yet, even if they already knew. But the relationship was doomed from the start, a desperate cling to freedom from his emotions and his brother, a refusal to believe he wasn’t worth a workable sensibility. The abuse was obvious, but small, because to his lover, Yavin was a thing to be owned and to obey--a pretty face that was a nice little squeeze. The boy refused to let anyone, particularly Sano, know, but the depression when the abuser left to find one more entertaining was too deep to hide. The ex found himself in a hospital with a busted knee, swollen face, and three cracked ribs.

Others followed after him, each abusing, each worsening a depression Yavin hated to feel. Then there was Ru. For the first time in a long time, Yavin felt wanted by more than his brother, more than the pain he’d taught himself to enjoy. He even came out directly to Daniah and Aliah, that confidence so well-written. But he must have misunderstood, because Ru was never one to settle down, and if Yavin thought he could change that, then he was horribly wrong. Even so, he couldn’t blame him because no one seemed to want him and only him. Sano, though he did love him, had sex with someone different almost every night, and Yavin knew he couldn’t rely on that. Ru escaped with a forever reminder of a wound in his thigh; Yavin lost any hope he’d ever held. He lost himself to drunken crowds, ignoring his brother’s watchful gaze. And when he was locked in his room, while Sanow as asleep or otherwise preoccupied, he cried--he sobbed and screamed to, just for a moment, relieve the pressing on his heart. September, Daniah died. Yavin had never grown to love her, but he liked her enough for the deepening of a dark sadness. January, Aliah followed, and the brothers were alone again. Yavin wanted Sano to get a job, to make a name for himself, because he was worth it. The younger male already had a job, two part-time jobs actually, and he loved them dearly, whilst Sano was contented to be at home. How was Yavin supposed to know he would find another to dote upon? Yakira was a brute of a man, but very beautiful and even more so enchanting. But Sano wanted want Yavin did, and the fair-haired elder ran to avoid it. At the same time, Yavin’s latest lover proposed, and Yavin was overjoyed. He’d found love without even searching. Sano still searched. The younger kept the ring secret. When he told of working in Spain, however, Yavin woke up--and he hated it.

It was a strange thing, though. After he left, Yavin became aware of just how much he influenced those around him. His fiance demanded he move in with him, and so Yavin did, only to find himself in the same bind he had with everyone else. He was abused. Again. But this time, Sano wasn’t there to protect him, a fact Yavin’s fiance enjoyed bringing up. The wedding was planned to be in September, but the day before, Aaron broke it off, but not without a final beating. The next morning, Yavin called Sano and lied, lied, even, to comfort himself. He had no friends to speak to, no lover to flog him, and now, no brother to make him hope for anything more than what he would ever get. Loneliness settled, and, after weeks of suffering, he couldn’t stand it anymore. Wishing on stars didn’t seem to work anymore, now that his brother wasn’t there to help, and so he made his own wish come true--he went to La Campana.
Roleplaying Sample: Steady—steady! Don’t lose your grip, you stupid slut. You lose your grip and you’ll lose more than that, won’t you? Yes, you know I’m right, so steady yourself! Sometimes, Yavin really hated his conscience. Not only was it annoyingly persistent, it was also most always right, which was even more annoying than being nagged 24/7 by his own mind. Really. It was just sad. Lately, too, it had been very keen on the subject with Sano, something that he really didn’t like talking about, and even more thinking about. Yes, he got it. He’d lied and he’d hurt him, a lot—much more than he’d meant to, but it was just a lie, which was better than saying that for real, wasn’t it? Besides the marriage part, of course. He sighed softly, setting the heavy box beside the cream couch in his new home, maybe close to his brother’s own—he didn’t know yet. He still had the ring—the engagement ring—and it was still on his finger, even, as if he held a connection to it. And so he did. Maybe he didn’t have a connection to the male that had placed it on his finger, not anymore, but he held a connection to the dream that someday, maybe someone would do the same thing, and this time, actually mean it. But dreams were just hopes, and hopes were just illusions. If he’d learned anything, it was that, and that hoping, dreaming, caused more pain than fancy, more tears than smiles. He didn’t bring a lot to this new home—La Campana… tch, what was he even here for? Sano. God, he needed him, so badly. He needed to see him, to touch him… just, apologize, maybe. No one had to know, of course. Yavin hated to apologize, or so he said. He did so quite often, though—each slap earned one, each beating earned several. He shook himself and tucked hair behind his ear, licking his lips, a habitual cleansing from his thoughts. He patted down his short skirt, beautiful patterns of reds and blacks, gold too, though very little—it was, after all, plaid, and plaid had many shades and arrangements of colors. Yavin tended to prefer the darker sort, or the earthed tones—browns and greens, blues too. He liked flashes of color—he liked being remembered.

He sighed gently, picked up the gray creature nipping at his ankles, a furry ball of fluff and attitude that most found moderately annoying. They could only take so much biting on their arms and hands—but Leroy was his kitten, so Yavin didn’t mind. The small mammal mewled lightly, rubbed his small head against Yavin’s chin, purr rumbling in his thin neck. His owner gave a rare little smile then twirled around with a false sense of joviality. He wasn’t happy, not in the least. He’d just been ripped from his dream, his dream of a ring, and falling on the hope of his brother’s affection wasn’t his favorite decision, nor perhaps the wisest, taking other decisions in the past he’d made, the harsh words and bitter comments, the break of a relationship with a lie to make himself feel better, a flight in the cold winds. He didn’t want to see Sano again, but he knew he must—he knew that it would kill him, eventually, if he didn’t try to make amends, but he didn’t think that he could apologize to him. He wasn’t sorry, because the lie had made him feel like it was true, until he’d hung up the phone, with no one outside the room asking whom he’d been speaking with, or offering a glass of wine—or a beer. Hell, it really did depend on whom exactly he was missing, didn’t it? And, at the moment, he just missed the words. He missed the feeling of being wanted by someone, the feeling he felt with each utterance of that four-lettered word, the feeling of flying, because birds never knew the sensation of falling—they only knew hope. They saw the sun and they went for it, and with each passing morning, they knew only that, until the night, in which they rested for the next morning—when they would once again reach for the sun, and never get burned. Why could the birds only fly? The stars never settled on a hope, never allowed a dream to be heard. The sun was an honest thing—with each morning it rose, and though sometimes you couldn’t see it, it was always there, warming you with a silent embrace from the crisp winter—but the stars could always be hidden, hidden behind clouds or planets, and they would never warmth or utter, they would never change, because fate refuted them. How could it be that the things he wished on refused to hear him..? Was it his fate to be alone? Had he been so vile to deserve it? No. No, he wasn’t vile. People were vile to him. They screwed him over and every time he opened up, they hated him. They hated him for who he was, loved him for what he played he was. He wasn’t vile.

And so he’d find his salvation, his beautiful brother and curl onto him and he would take him back, because he always took him back. No matter what he said, no matter what he did, Siri always took him back, because he loved him, and nothing—no one—would ever change that. They’d been through too much to let something rip them apart, and Siri had always told him that no one could replace him, no one could touch like he did, speak in the same way, make him feel like he did. Maybe Yavin had taken him for granted before—no, he definitely had, but he had always wanted someone else, someone that didn’t have to love him because they were related to him, because they had never known anything else but love for him—but maybe he would only ever know that. Maybe Siri was the only one who would ever love him. It surely seamed as such right now, in the emptiness of his lonely apartment, embracing a kitten that wanted to go and play with the string hanging from the rug in his bedroom, rolled up at the moment, settled against the far corner, nearest the window. He let the creature down, pad across the wooden floor into the other room until he couldn’t see his short fluffy tail anymore, disappeared passed the corner. Yavin turned then to the large window to his left—a window-seat in front of it—and he settled in front of it, examine the outside world with a longing. It was night-fall, the sky was a fuse of purples, blues, oranges, and blacks. Stars speckled the darkest placement, far from reach of touch or wish, far from a gentle child’s hopes, or an adult’s sense of mediocrity. They mocked him, the sights of them—each twist of the light into his eyes from each symbolic constellation. Bastards, all of them. Promising things they’d never give, the moon waving and waxing in an effortless cold, a brusque interruption of a heartless pity. He’d find his haven again. He’d find his brother’s warmth, the sun, to make a day last—twenty-four hours cannot separate between. A sun needs a night, after all.

“Siri…”