Post by redwerecat on Oct 22, 2010 9:23:54 GMT -5
((WARNING: This guy is messed up. In a bad way. He's lost mentally and suicidally depressed, but still hoping someone, somewhere, will pull him away from the edge. So...um. Yeah- hopefully, he could still impress? Please check it over and see if my reasoning could work at all... He just needs someone to care for him. Even if he doesn't impress, he's at least hopefully going to find a place at the Weyr... He's mentally sound, just lost and afraid and depressed. And seventeen.
Also, there's reference to bad stuff in this profile, so if drug abuse, the mention of suicide, or self-abuse bothers you, please don't read ahead.))
Name: Gideon Cole
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Mostly Heterosexual, bisexual if the dragon/wher color during mating flights/runs would result in such. (Dragon's decision.)
Appearance: Gideon would normally be a relatively attractive young man were it not for the near-permanent scowl on his face, or the bags under his eyes, or the ever-present scratches, scrapes, scuffs and the like that mar him. He's got slightly olive-colored skin, with large, dark brown eyes that sometimes even manage to come off as a strange shade of maroon. Sharp eyebrows arc downwards into a fierce angled scowl, covering slightly tilted, hard eyes that always look distant and cold. He has a sharp nose, crooked from being broken more than once, and a scar runs in a vertical line just above his upper lip and slightly to the left of his nose.
His hair is a matte shade of black, nothing special, with a slight wave to it that belies an Italian heritage. It's currently growing out, as he's been too lazy to cut it, and it falls in a frame around his face. His expression is almost always one of contempt or disgust, and usually mixed with smug superiority and teenage pride. Or, he manages to look utterly stoned. Which he probably is.
He's a middling height between tall and short, just on the high side of average at five foot nine, with a skinny build that truthfully shows his youth. He still looks young, with a narrow chest and prominent collarbone that says he probably won't ever be a bodybuilder. He's lanky and gaunt, and not in a healthy way. he seems to have spent too much time eating too little, almost as if he's sort of wasting away.
His clothing is attractive but threadbare, as if it's all he's had for a while. He wears an old pair of faded black jeans, the legs torn and full of holes, with a threadbare but soft t-shirt and a worn hooded jacket with holes at the elbows. His sneakers are mismatched, the same type but two different colors, and one is lacking shoelaces. He doesn't bother with socks.
A number of scars mark him, from the most obvious ones on his forearms from two failed attempts at suicide to smaller straight lines along his upper inner arms and stomach and sides from years of bored self-injury, to the last, smaller, pinprick markings on the insides of his arms that are quite obviously noting less than needle tracks.
He always seems to be a little hurt, too, bearing numerous old and new injures. He's frequently got a bruises on his jaw or a fading black eye, and his knees are scraped and his hands scratched and scabbed and bruised from fistfights.
Picture: N/A At the moment.
History: Gideon's life could be listed as terrible, could be told as average, or he could be played off as a selfish prick. In truth, it's a little of all.
Gideon's always been the type to cause trouble or to make a scene. However, at first, he was a quiet, rather cooperative young man. He's lived in a town nearby Kalispell, a ways east and north, his entire life, raised by parents who were, while not exactly abusive, hardly warm and caring, much like their surroundings. They were very calm people, never raising their voices or yelling, even once, at Gideon throughout his childhood. If Gideon ever considered throwing a fit, he was left facing the impassive and stony cold shoulder of his parents until he calmed. They never once showed him any sort of affection OR anger, instead leaving him to his own devices. Eventually, his father even divorced his mother- and Gideon never even found out until six months later, after everything was finalized. His dad said 'goodbye' and left without anything else. there hadn't even been any signs. By that point, Gideon gave up.
His attitude towards life now is "F*** it.". He doesn't care what happens to him, or anyone else anymore. All he wants to do now is find something to make life worth it again, or die trying. If no one cares what he does, he'll bring the damn world crashing around him just to see if maybe that will make someone care. He's taken up a number of terrible habits just to try to get someone to tell him to stop, to help him, but they either brush him off as attention seeking or ignore him as worthless.
He picked up his habit of self-cutting to see if anyone would notice- when they didn't it quickly became a release, a way of remembering he was still real. Somehow, the marks etched into his skin and the sight of blood along his skin calmed him down, made him secretly happy- even if no one else knew, even if he lost all control, he could count the lines on his body and know he could at least effect that much.
He tried about every drug imaginable over the years, and he rarely even bothered to show up for school past about ninth grade. When he did, they often mistook him for a transfer student. He didn't study, and was failing out. He preferred to go out and party at night, getting horridly and dangerously drunk and high to see if it possibly made things any better. It didn't really, but it did knock out a big chunk of time, which almost made it worth it. He's been arrested seven separate times, in Juvenile Hall for three months, and eventually, after the third time he was released, when his mother asked him where he'd been after a MONTH, he just turned around, walked out the door and never went back.
He began to crash wherever he could, on peoples couches, on benches in the park, in shelters. Mostly he spent his time drinking, partying, and getting high. It's no secret he's got some terrible addictions. He had people who were close enough to get him to whatever the next big party was, and he knew the right people to score whatever the trip of the week would be. As for money, well, who cared where it came from, and the partiers passed out in the bathrooms never missed the money he took. He occasionally dabbled in dealing some of the drugs he took to earn a quick buck, but it was always gone quickly, to get the next fix, the fire of the needle in his veins and the blissful numbness that came with it.
He's tried to kill himself twice, once failing when someone at school found him in the bathroom and dragged him to the hospital. His mother never even reacted, just signed the paperwork, put him in the psych ward for the next month, and took him home when they released him. He ran away shortly thereafter.
The second time was at a rave outside Kalispell. An abandoned warehouse in the woods made for the perfect party place, but an overdose pushed Gideon a bit too far and he lost it. He got sick and tired of it all, and tried to work it out the usual way- picking a fight and just going until he was beat down to the point he couldn't move anymore, but he found himself still conscious when the other guy's friends dragged him away. So his hand went to the razorblade in his pocket, secreted away for when he needed to remind himself he was still alive, but this time, he slit his wrists. He'd hoped to die in the forest that night, but apparently, some cops raided the party, found him, and took him to the hospital.
Gideon managed to get released a few days later. He'd gotten away with his lie that some hyped-up party-goer had attacked him for drugs, and they never really paid attention to him, too busy dealing with the other burnt-out overdosers from the rave. So, with the bandages still tight around his arms and his hands still weak from the damage he'd done, he snuck back to the site of the rave, and found some of the stuff he'd left nearby, his only possessions in the world- a bunch of pills. No labels, no names, just a double fistful of whatever the hell he had found. So with that and a bottle of vodka, he trekked into the forest, and climbed up to the top of the highest cliff he could find.
By this point he was deep in the woods, no idea where he was or how to get back to civilization. He swallowed the pills and washed them down with as much of the alcohol as he could handle, and stood at the edge of the cliff. Dried blood crusted the front of his shirt from the night before, and he knew he still looked like crap from the fight. Somehow, right now, it bugged him.
"It could all be over in seconds." He murmured. His vision was blurring, whether from the fact he was losing consciousness or tears he didn't know. Hell, it had to be the drugs, because he could have sworn he saw a tiny little dragon hover in front of him for a few seconds, then vanish...
He heard a sound behind him shortly thereafter. He turned to find a tall man, looking supremely annoyed with him.
"You've GOT to be kidding me." The man growled. Gideon saw the tiny little coffee-colored dragon again, wrapped tightly around the man's shoulders and crying out worriedly. The man, dressed in dark leather, just hushed the dragon and spread his hands. "This, Spock? This is what had you so freaked out?"
A sound ripped through Gideon's skull then, a sound like someone's voice amplified and channeled into his soul.
Mine, he smells wrong. I am worried as well. He...he does not look well. Gideon tried to locate the voice, stumbling backwards as the world suddenly spun around him. Oh, damn, he was losing focus.
"Think he'll jump?" The man said, stepping forward and looking bored. He frowned as he saw the pillbottles and alcohol littering the cliff's edge. "Beloved, I think it would be good of you to be ready to catch him veerrrry soon."
I do not understand-!!!
Gideon smiled bleakly and wearily saluted the man with his middle finger before letting himself fall backwards off the ledge. After that, he didn't remember much at all except pain as he collided with something hard.
*****
Liam folded his arms over his chest, expression blank. By this point, Skirth already knew that meant he was seriously upset about something. The dragon's heart was beating fast- he hadn't thought he'd catch the boy in time, but, despite his worry, the sickly-smelling young man was held securely in the black brown's forearms.
Liam? He is not awake. The dragon was worried. The boy smelled of sickness and something wrong and blood. Liam just sighed and kicked at the empty bottles.
"Yeah. Spock smelled it too. Not sure why he was out this far, but I'm almost glad he was. We'll have to get him to a hospital somehow...hopefully he'll just think he was hallucinating... I can't believe he'd try to throw himself off a cliff..."
I do not understand. Did he not know he was so close to the edge of the cliff?
"He did...He was trying to kill himself. It's like...when a rider wants to go between to follow his dragon...only, this kid just seems like he was messed up. To weak to try to tough it out..."
Skirth looked at the boy he now crouched over protectively. No. He was afraid, and lonely. The dragon said suddenly, sure as anything of his evaluation. He was not weak, he was lost.
Liam regarded his dragon for a long moment, silent. "You're far more insightful than I ever give you credit for, Skirth" He said, though his voice was softer and more thoughtful than usual. "Well. We should call an ambulance and drop him off somewhere close to the hospital...they'll find him soon..."
I think we should take him to the Weyr.
"What? Why?"
He needs somewhere to heal. Skirth said bluntly.
"And he can't do that in a hospital...?"
He is also not breathing.
"Shit."
****
And so, Gideon arrived at Rocky Weyr, much to the chagrin of the brownrider who'd brought him there. He awoke in the infirmary, feeling sick as hell and terrified of the angry dragonrider who was waiting for him to wake up.
After a long discussion, it was agreed that Gideon could be allowed to stay at Rocky for a time- there was always need for help, and he'd have a safe place to stay and enough doctors present that perhaps he could get some help.
And, after he finally figured out what Rocky really was, he knew he wanted to stay for a dragon hatching. Unfortunately, he was told that the dragons wouldn't take someone who was too broken to be fixed...Gideon had to agree to a lot of rehab and promise to earn his place on the sands. Make no mistake- he's being watched by a very strict and grumpy brownrider who has threatened to turn him back to Social services if Gideon screws up again.
He's got a very long way to go.
((GAH> I hope this works...I for some reason really want to play my angry, f-ed up little angstmuffin. I swear, he is Impress-able, just kind of your average teenager. Messed up, really bad, but hopefully Rocky is a second chance?))
Also, there's reference to bad stuff in this profile, so if drug abuse, the mention of suicide, or self-abuse bothers you, please don't read ahead.))
Name: Gideon Cole
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Mostly Heterosexual, bisexual if the dragon/wher color during mating flights/runs would result in such. (Dragon's decision.)
Appearance: Gideon would normally be a relatively attractive young man were it not for the near-permanent scowl on his face, or the bags under his eyes, or the ever-present scratches, scrapes, scuffs and the like that mar him. He's got slightly olive-colored skin, with large, dark brown eyes that sometimes even manage to come off as a strange shade of maroon. Sharp eyebrows arc downwards into a fierce angled scowl, covering slightly tilted, hard eyes that always look distant and cold. He has a sharp nose, crooked from being broken more than once, and a scar runs in a vertical line just above his upper lip and slightly to the left of his nose.
His hair is a matte shade of black, nothing special, with a slight wave to it that belies an Italian heritage. It's currently growing out, as he's been too lazy to cut it, and it falls in a frame around his face. His expression is almost always one of contempt or disgust, and usually mixed with smug superiority and teenage pride. Or, he manages to look utterly stoned. Which he probably is.
He's a middling height between tall and short, just on the high side of average at five foot nine, with a skinny build that truthfully shows his youth. He still looks young, with a narrow chest and prominent collarbone that says he probably won't ever be a bodybuilder. He's lanky and gaunt, and not in a healthy way. he seems to have spent too much time eating too little, almost as if he's sort of wasting away.
His clothing is attractive but threadbare, as if it's all he's had for a while. He wears an old pair of faded black jeans, the legs torn and full of holes, with a threadbare but soft t-shirt and a worn hooded jacket with holes at the elbows. His sneakers are mismatched, the same type but two different colors, and one is lacking shoelaces. He doesn't bother with socks.
A number of scars mark him, from the most obvious ones on his forearms from two failed attempts at suicide to smaller straight lines along his upper inner arms and stomach and sides from years of bored self-injury, to the last, smaller, pinprick markings on the insides of his arms that are quite obviously noting less than needle tracks.
He always seems to be a little hurt, too, bearing numerous old and new injures. He's frequently got a bruises on his jaw or a fading black eye, and his knees are scraped and his hands scratched and scabbed and bruised from fistfights.
Picture: N/A At the moment.
History: Gideon's life could be listed as terrible, could be told as average, or he could be played off as a selfish prick. In truth, it's a little of all.
Gideon's always been the type to cause trouble or to make a scene. However, at first, he was a quiet, rather cooperative young man. He's lived in a town nearby Kalispell, a ways east and north, his entire life, raised by parents who were, while not exactly abusive, hardly warm and caring, much like their surroundings. They were very calm people, never raising their voices or yelling, even once, at Gideon throughout his childhood. If Gideon ever considered throwing a fit, he was left facing the impassive and stony cold shoulder of his parents until he calmed. They never once showed him any sort of affection OR anger, instead leaving him to his own devices. Eventually, his father even divorced his mother- and Gideon never even found out until six months later, after everything was finalized. His dad said 'goodbye' and left without anything else. there hadn't even been any signs. By that point, Gideon gave up.
His attitude towards life now is "F*** it.". He doesn't care what happens to him, or anyone else anymore. All he wants to do now is find something to make life worth it again, or die trying. If no one cares what he does, he'll bring the damn world crashing around him just to see if maybe that will make someone care. He's taken up a number of terrible habits just to try to get someone to tell him to stop, to help him, but they either brush him off as attention seeking or ignore him as worthless.
He picked up his habit of self-cutting to see if anyone would notice- when they didn't it quickly became a release, a way of remembering he was still real. Somehow, the marks etched into his skin and the sight of blood along his skin calmed him down, made him secretly happy- even if no one else knew, even if he lost all control, he could count the lines on his body and know he could at least effect that much.
He tried about every drug imaginable over the years, and he rarely even bothered to show up for school past about ninth grade. When he did, they often mistook him for a transfer student. He didn't study, and was failing out. He preferred to go out and party at night, getting horridly and dangerously drunk and high to see if it possibly made things any better. It didn't really, but it did knock out a big chunk of time, which almost made it worth it. He's been arrested seven separate times, in Juvenile Hall for three months, and eventually, after the third time he was released, when his mother asked him where he'd been after a MONTH, he just turned around, walked out the door and never went back.
He began to crash wherever he could, on peoples couches, on benches in the park, in shelters. Mostly he spent his time drinking, partying, and getting high. It's no secret he's got some terrible addictions. He had people who were close enough to get him to whatever the next big party was, and he knew the right people to score whatever the trip of the week would be. As for money, well, who cared where it came from, and the partiers passed out in the bathrooms never missed the money he took. He occasionally dabbled in dealing some of the drugs he took to earn a quick buck, but it was always gone quickly, to get the next fix, the fire of the needle in his veins and the blissful numbness that came with it.
He's tried to kill himself twice, once failing when someone at school found him in the bathroom and dragged him to the hospital. His mother never even reacted, just signed the paperwork, put him in the psych ward for the next month, and took him home when they released him. He ran away shortly thereafter.
The second time was at a rave outside Kalispell. An abandoned warehouse in the woods made for the perfect party place, but an overdose pushed Gideon a bit too far and he lost it. He got sick and tired of it all, and tried to work it out the usual way- picking a fight and just going until he was beat down to the point he couldn't move anymore, but he found himself still conscious when the other guy's friends dragged him away. So his hand went to the razorblade in his pocket, secreted away for when he needed to remind himself he was still alive, but this time, he slit his wrists. He'd hoped to die in the forest that night, but apparently, some cops raided the party, found him, and took him to the hospital.
Gideon managed to get released a few days later. He'd gotten away with his lie that some hyped-up party-goer had attacked him for drugs, and they never really paid attention to him, too busy dealing with the other burnt-out overdosers from the rave. So, with the bandages still tight around his arms and his hands still weak from the damage he'd done, he snuck back to the site of the rave, and found some of the stuff he'd left nearby, his only possessions in the world- a bunch of pills. No labels, no names, just a double fistful of whatever the hell he had found. So with that and a bottle of vodka, he trekked into the forest, and climbed up to the top of the highest cliff he could find.
By this point he was deep in the woods, no idea where he was or how to get back to civilization. He swallowed the pills and washed them down with as much of the alcohol as he could handle, and stood at the edge of the cliff. Dried blood crusted the front of his shirt from the night before, and he knew he still looked like crap from the fight. Somehow, right now, it bugged him.
"It could all be over in seconds." He murmured. His vision was blurring, whether from the fact he was losing consciousness or tears he didn't know. Hell, it had to be the drugs, because he could have sworn he saw a tiny little dragon hover in front of him for a few seconds, then vanish...
He heard a sound behind him shortly thereafter. He turned to find a tall man, looking supremely annoyed with him.
"You've GOT to be kidding me." The man growled. Gideon saw the tiny little coffee-colored dragon again, wrapped tightly around the man's shoulders and crying out worriedly. The man, dressed in dark leather, just hushed the dragon and spread his hands. "This, Spock? This is what had you so freaked out?"
A sound ripped through Gideon's skull then, a sound like someone's voice amplified and channeled into his soul.
Mine, he smells wrong. I am worried as well. He...he does not look well. Gideon tried to locate the voice, stumbling backwards as the world suddenly spun around him. Oh, damn, he was losing focus.
"Think he'll jump?" The man said, stepping forward and looking bored. He frowned as he saw the pillbottles and alcohol littering the cliff's edge. "Beloved, I think it would be good of you to be ready to catch him veerrrry soon."
I do not understand-!!!
Gideon smiled bleakly and wearily saluted the man with his middle finger before letting himself fall backwards off the ledge. After that, he didn't remember much at all except pain as he collided with something hard.
*****
Liam folded his arms over his chest, expression blank. By this point, Skirth already knew that meant he was seriously upset about something. The dragon's heart was beating fast- he hadn't thought he'd catch the boy in time, but, despite his worry, the sickly-smelling young man was held securely in the black brown's forearms.
Liam? He is not awake. The dragon was worried. The boy smelled of sickness and something wrong and blood. Liam just sighed and kicked at the empty bottles.
"Yeah. Spock smelled it too. Not sure why he was out this far, but I'm almost glad he was. We'll have to get him to a hospital somehow...hopefully he'll just think he was hallucinating... I can't believe he'd try to throw himself off a cliff..."
I do not understand. Did he not know he was so close to the edge of the cliff?
"He did...He was trying to kill himself. It's like...when a rider wants to go between to follow his dragon...only, this kid just seems like he was messed up. To weak to try to tough it out..."
Skirth looked at the boy he now crouched over protectively. No. He was afraid, and lonely. The dragon said suddenly, sure as anything of his evaluation. He was not weak, he was lost.
Liam regarded his dragon for a long moment, silent. "You're far more insightful than I ever give you credit for, Skirth" He said, though his voice was softer and more thoughtful than usual. "Well. We should call an ambulance and drop him off somewhere close to the hospital...they'll find him soon..."
I think we should take him to the Weyr.
"What? Why?"
He needs somewhere to heal. Skirth said bluntly.
"And he can't do that in a hospital...?"
He is also not breathing.
"Shit."
****
And so, Gideon arrived at Rocky Weyr, much to the chagrin of the brownrider who'd brought him there. He awoke in the infirmary, feeling sick as hell and terrified of the angry dragonrider who was waiting for him to wake up.
After a long discussion, it was agreed that Gideon could be allowed to stay at Rocky for a time- there was always need for help, and he'd have a safe place to stay and enough doctors present that perhaps he could get some help.
And, after he finally figured out what Rocky really was, he knew he wanted to stay for a dragon hatching. Unfortunately, he was told that the dragons wouldn't take someone who was too broken to be fixed...Gideon had to agree to a lot of rehab and promise to earn his place on the sands. Make no mistake- he's being watched by a very strict and grumpy brownrider who has threatened to turn him back to Social services if Gideon screws up again.
He's got a very long way to go.
((GAH> I hope this works...I for some reason really want to play my angry, f-ed up little angstmuffin. I swear, he is Impress-able, just kind of your average teenager. Messed up, really bad, but hopefully Rocky is a second chance?))
Moving to Approved.