Post by Travis Wilson on Dec 19, 2009 2:11:18 GMT -5
TRAVIS BIRTHDAY WILSON
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&&--You, who shall pull the strings
[/size][/center]Name: ALIEN RACCOONS!
Age: THEY TOOK MY BRAIN AND ATE IT!!!
Roleplaying Experience: NOW I SPEAK HAIKUS
How you found the site: Yummy. Brains.
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&&--The character cheat sheet
[/size][/center]Name: Travis Birthday Wilson
Gender: Male
Age: Sixteen
Hair Color: Dark brown, dyed bright blue
Eye Color: blue
Skin Tone: Tan-ish?
Height: 5'6"
Weight: 128lbs
Wealth: poor
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
Why they are in La CamAfter his
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&&--What makes the clock tick
[/size][/center]Likes:
Fantasy
Blue
Squirrels
Star Wars
Dwarfs
Eyes
Purple
Sugar
Food
Dirty talk
Boats
Oceans
Surprises
Wagers
Dislikes:
Smoking
Parents
Family
Mud
Smoking
Lakes
Dentists
Doctors
Hospitals
Turn Ons:
Dirty Talk
Weird Hair
Tech
Lots of Touches
Giving and Receiving Gifts
Tech
Tech
Tech
Turn Offs:
Boys
Slutty Clothing
Too Forceful
Red Hair
No Romance
Nervous Habits:
...he stops breathing
Laughs awkwardly
Bites his tongue
Talks louder
Fears:
families
birthdays
hospitals
underground
Goals/Aspirations:
Making it to marriage
Losing it on his wedding night
Dying with a smile on his face
Appearance:
The first thing you would notice about Travis is his hair. Bright, periwinkle blue, though he's usually slow enough between dye jobs for his brown roots to peek out from under the blue. Tied up with a bandanna to keep the long, choppy strands out of his face is his usual style. If you ask him, he'll tell you his hair is his best feature. His face ain't half bad, either. Bright blue eyes (they math his hair!) over a (little on the small side) nose, and a mouth usually stretched into a large, silly grin.
He has a slim build. A body that grew up and is just starting to think about growing up. His idea of style is casual and comfortable, the more blue the better. They tend to be the kind if clothes that bulk him up and make him look stockier than he really is. This is to avoid the helpless looks he used to get, when people heard. Underneath those clothes, his body is quite plain. Some muscle, and a nipple peircing he doesn't quite remember getting. But what's much more noticable is the deep scars across his chest, both old and white and red with newness. He's sensitive about them, when sober, and so rarely goes shirtless. (unless, of course, there is swimming)
Personality: Travis strives to be happy, as much as possible. He's good at it, too. It comes to him naturally, this easy-going optimism. On a good day, it's hard to catch him doing anything but smiling. He's always looking for the good in places, people. That does mean, though, that if you do somehing too cruel for him to forgive, he will hold a grudge for as long as he knows you. An if you hurt one of his friends? Immediate anger.
Now, no one can be optimistic and happy all the time. Where Travis gets in trouble is when someone questions the way he is living his life. He doesn't have enough time for doubt, or hesitation, or regret. This makes such things like remorse and reflection a danger to him as well, things he fears more than he should. He is brash and outgoing to the point past recklessness, a little too lod, obnoxious more than not. His tact is nonexistant, and he can flirt outragiously when single. Or drunk. Though as soon as he is in a serious relationship, he is completely dedicated, trying to be perfect for the person, and becomes surpisingly sweet. He just wants to have a good time and his own little piece of fairy tale before he exits the scene. (yes, he is a secret romantic) [/font]
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&&--A glimpse of the past
[/size][/center]Father: Benjamin Dover (76)
Mother: Ilene Simmons (34)
Sibling/s: None that he knows of
Other important relatives:Foster Parents: Greg Richards (52) & Christene Richards (54)
Pets: Kokoro, his
History:
Travis' birth was a strange one. He was born on a cruise ship to a young mother and a moneybag father, who whispered into his mistress' ear that if they just left the baby lying in the bed, no one would know it was theirs. By the time one of the maids had found him, the two had disappeared. He was taken in by the cleaning staff, if feeding and putting to sleep and keeping alive counted as beening taken in. No one bothered with naming him, though he did become something of a mascot for the ship. People called him ship boy, or even just boy, and he pretty much had the run of the ship, as long as he didn't bother any guests. Suprisingly enough, the loud, giggling boy rarely did. It was only when the captain looked at him, counted the years, and realized the boy was already four years old, that he decided it was time for the boy to go. After living on a cruise ship for his whole life the first time he stepped foot on land -Sydney Harbour, beautiful- he fell over, unable to walk.
He was turned over to an adoption agency, and as he waited for a foster family, he attended kindergarten, grade one, grade two, grade three, grade four. Finally, he was sent to America with a recently married couple, one that wanted a kid done with the whole 'crying' thing, or whatever. The boy had entered foster care with a handful of belongings, all hand me downs. When he exited, he had something that was completely his. It is a bit dangerous, letting a child choose their own name, but Travis Birthday Wilson thought he didn't do too bad.
Ah, America. Seattle, to be exact. Travis went to public school for that first time. Kids stared at hum because of his accent, but he didn't mind. In fact, by his second day there, the boys were already inviting him to race with them. Wanting to impress them, he ran fast. Faster than he ever had before. After that, things get a little fuzzy. He remembers lungs straining, flashing lights and loud noises. He was in grade five when he found out he was dying. A hospital visit every two months. Check up after check up. All he could take in was the fact that he was almost ten years old. Dying before he was thirty? Ha! Thirty was old anyways! He spent a week in the hospital, while people gave him tissues and toys, and he saw what death looked like, in the beds around him. He decided that if he were going to die in the future, then he would just always live in the present. Ta-da! It made sense to him, at nine.
When he got back to school, everyone stayed away from him. They were worried he was going to start gasping and crying again. But one boy didn't pull away. He walked up to Travis, face very serious, and informed him that he thought Travis was dead, but because he wasn't afraid of ghosts, that was okay. His name was Cody Burune, and they would become best friends. The two months changed to once a month, once every two weeks, once a week. Cody nodded and smiled and never talked about death, and this may have been why Travis started to smile just thinking about the boy, why he constantly ended up with a bloody nose and straining lungs when trying to defend the boy. Always with a smile on his face. 'You're the best, Cody! Don't forget it!' Cody balanced Travis out, quiet and shy, a reader and a writer and a dreamer, hiding behind his brash friend whenever attention fell to him.
When Travis was twelve, he got a girlfriend. They kissed cheeks and held hands and tried very hard not to be too awkward. Travis didn't like it much. Luckily, the first time they kissed on the lips, his lungs stopped, and by the time he got out of the hospital, she decided she didn't like having a dying boyfriend. Lucky why? Because that meant that Cody was waiting for him, shy and blushing, shaking his heads when Travis tried to laugh it off and asked if he wanted to see his scars. A few weeks later, he said yes, and there was something strange to this, something that had both of them bright red as Cody trailed soft fingers down the first of many scars. When they were thirteen, Travis' life expectancy was lowered to twenty-five years. He was having mandatory operations every two months now. Cody cried. Cody was the first person to ever cry for Travis, and Travis kissed him, stealing the boy's first kiss, and making both of them speechless for a week.
Neither of them were gay, of course. They were just close, all each other had, closer than brothers. The touching was part of that, the holding and the crying and the kissing in the dark, where no one else could see. Both had girlfriends (coming and going, always) and they stole Cody's siblings' drinks and Travis got them invited to parties and Cody brought them to empty meadows so they could watch the clouds. Cody saw Travis' real scars, while still red and bloody from an operation, and fainted. It was the worst day of both of their lives, but they got over it. Fourteen brought tumbling gropes and real girlfriends, ones who didn't like Cody or didn't like Travis or didn't like each other. They didn't hang out as much, at least not sober or alone. After all, fourteen year old boys should not kiss their best friends. Hell no. No, when his girlfriend first went down on him, Travis was convinced that there was no way he could be anything but straight.
Fifteen. Cody almost died of alcohol poisoning. Travis ended up with a pierced nipple. They stopped drinking. Cody's oldest sister got pregnant a year before she graduated. They stopped dating. It was just the two of them again, and their skinned burned whenever they touched. Travis decided he would wait to marriage before going all the way. Cody got drunk for the last time and lost it to a stranger. Travis had operations every month, and they said he would be lucky to make it til twenty five. They fumbled around and touched and whispered each other's names in the dark, as Travis' foster parents started to forget to leave the door unlocked for him, or forgot to buy food. Not that he noticed much, almost living at Cody's house now.
They were sixteen when Travis realized he was in love with Cody. Not gay (no, never gay) but he was in love. He threw up, but knew it was true. He waited a few months (operation every three weeks now) and found out that his magical number was six years. Six years. He told Cody that night, wrapped together in a sleeping bag, somewhere in the forest. By the way the boy blushed, and looked away... Travis knew. A week later, Cody had disappeared. He went walking one night, and never came back. 'Runaway,' people whispered. 'Kidnapped' was the word on Travis' lips, though. And he knew- he could just tell- Cody was never coming back. Staying here wasn't much of an option, either.
"Hey, Mom? Dad? Ever tell you how much I enjoy cock in my mouth?"
Roleplaying Sample: Travis had never seen the point of funerals. People sit around and cry and lament what could have been, hardly ever mentioning what was. What a waste of time, a downer ending to every story, a story that usually wasn't supposed to end so early, yeah, but a story nonetheless. One that deserves another telling, not a box in the ground and a bucket full of tears.
He ticked the 'cremate' box with a smile and a nod. If anyone wore fucking black, he would come and punch them in the face. Honestly. No wonder everyone is afraid of death. And people called him morbid, because he had accepted a long time ago that he was gonna die early? Whatever. Gave him more of a chance to live.
He put the finished letter in it's envelope, and slipped it in his backpack along with his passport and plane ticket. To Spain. Hell yeah! Boarding school was just a start. Please, it would be easy to get out. He totally hid his possibly warped sexuality well. They would let him out and he would backpack around until someone came looking for him (unlikely) or he dropped dead.
Airport time. First tome in a plane since he flew to Seattle, however long ago that was. Damn, but he was ready to leave. First he'd get out of this place, La Campana, right? Easy as pie. Not like he'd find anything to keep him there! Nope, there goes Travis Wilson, ready to take on the world and win for the next six years!
