Post by Marcus Gabriel Durand on Jun 24, 2011 9:29:49 GMT -7
MARCUS GABRIEL DURAND
"Woah, Mona Lisa,
You're guaranteed to run this town
Woah, Mona Lisa,
I'd pay to see you frown "
*note: this app is to be done in third person
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I AM BEYOND GOD
[/font]I AM HUMAN
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Full Name: Marcus Gabriel Durand
Nickname(s): just Marcus
Gender: male
Age: eighteen
Birthdate: January 15th, 1993
Sexuality: bisexual
Reincarnate: Yes
I am: leonardo da vinci
Played By: gaspard ulliel
Grade: senior
Boarding: nope
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OUR SHINING FUTURE
[/font]IN REVOLT
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Height: 6'2"
Weight: 150-ish
Eye Color: blue
Hair Color: brown
Build: he has a bit of muscle, but he's by no means buff, so...average?
Scars: one on his left cheek shaped like a crescent. it kind of looks like a dimple so, no worries.
Piercings/Tattoos: nope
Personal Style: Not a whole lot of colors populate Marcus's closet. He wears mostly blacks, whites and a few dark blues and ALWAYS accessorizes with his fancy-as-hell, expensive, silver watch. He wears mostly collared or button-down shirts and usually puts a jacket of some kind over that. He keeps his hair neat and styles it either slicked back, combed or purposely, artisticly and beautifully disheveled. Marcus is always dressed to impress. He's good looking, he knows it, and he carries himself with confidence.
Appearance:
Marcus is tough to miss in a crowd. Not just because he dresses very different from his teenage peers, but because he's taller than most of them. Marcus stands at six foot two and he always carries himself to his full height. He never slouches when he stands or walks. His back is always perfectly straight, shoulders pushed back, his chest out and proud, his head held high, his arms gently swinging at his sides. He carries himself with confidence and grace that only a man from times of old has...or a Frenchman has. Marcus is both.
Marcus is what many would consider, a beautiful man. His skin is fair and smooth. He has a straight nose and a strong jaw. His blue eyes can show any emotion he wants them to. His brown hair is shaggy, yet neat. And the ever-present smirk on his pink lips shows that he is aware of his good looks. He has blue eyes that can add a lovely effect to his charm. On his cheek, however, is a crescent shaped scar he got from a run-in with a dog when he was little. Unlike most scars, it isn't unsightly. It looks more like a dimple. He considers it an artistic touch to his face.
Over all, Marcus likes to keep himself very clean and neat. He's always dressed nicely in dark colors. His hair his brushed, his clothes are not wrinkles, his breath is fresh and he smells good. He keeps himself in pretty good shape.
HOPE AND HORROR
[/font]MIXED IN BLOOD[/size][/center]
Likes: painting, writing, sculpting, the arts, girls, boys, colors, new paintbrushes, pop music, rap (he really likes that "G6" tune...), rock, dancing, video games that involve some thought (like Assassin's Creed, or some form of strategy game...mindless shooting or beat 'em ups are a waste of time), italian food, winning, his mother, Lady Gaga, Panic! At The Disco, Katy Perry, speaking French, Speaking Italian, good books, looking sharp, cigarettes, fine wine, mashed potatoes, his watch
Dislikes: Michelangelo...bastard, looking sloppy, country music, blatant stupidity, peas, being sick, cancer, vomit, bald people, bad etiquette, a lot of screamo music, eating unhealthy for too long, when he loses his watch
Dreams: to make it as a big artist once again and perhaps own an art museum
Fears: to be replaced by someone better than him again, failure, going bald, getting fat
Habits/Hobbies: sketching, drawing on things with sharpies, humming and dancing a little when he paints, reading, crossing his arms and getting very quiet when he's deep in thought
Secret(s): As much as he despises Michelangelo, Marcus does admire his art work. He's still a bastard, though.
Personality:
To adults, Marcus is probably one of the most polite people there is. His momma taught him manners and he always uses them. He addresses the authority as "sir" or "m'am". He respects his elders. He always uses his 'please' and 'thank yous'. He opens doors for people. He picks up dropped items for people. Isn't he just the sweetest boy?
In this life, he was raised as an only child to a well-off family. His parents bent over backwards for him (perhaps even to the point of spoiling him) and constantly praised his work. He knows his work is good. He knows he's good looking. He's never one to boast (that wouldn't be very gentleman-like would it?), but he doesn't have to. His smirk does all the boasting for him. He takes a lot of pride in who he is and what he does. His confidence carries into everything he does. Marcus can be a rather sarcastic individual. He can also make himself appear quite charming if he chooses to (the French accent helps with the charm). He tends to be rather flirtatious with both men and women. He sees the beauty in all creatures and finds no wrong in it. If a man is in love with a woman, then let him love a woman. If a man finds he is in love with another man, then let him love a man.
Marcus is also a very intelligent and creative individual. He is an A-average student; Marcus is particularly strong in science. But his true passion is art. He loves to draw, paint, sculpt — you name it. He's very dedicated to his work, sometimes to the point of obsession depending on the piece. He's a perfectionist. Everything must be perfect. He must do everything he tries well and better than everyone else. He cannot lose. This mentality contributes to his fierce competitive side.
But aside from his crossed arms with a smirk exterior, Marcus can actually be pretty nice. He's moderately friendly and he cares very deeply for those close to him — though he rarely says it. He can be the perfect gentlemen to those he loves.
PRETTY BOY, PRETTY GIRL
[/font]PRETTY INSANE[/size][/center]
Mother: Maria Christine Loveless-Durand, 42 (when she died), deceased
Father: Michael Anthony Durand, 48, doctor
Siblings: none
Other: nope
Pets: his dog, Ezio and his cat, Mona
Hometown: Paris, France
History:
On a cold January morning in a Paris hospital, Maria Loveless-Durand outstretched her arms to take her newborn baby from the nurse holding him. She carefully took him in her arms and pushed back the soft blankets to get a good look at her child's face. He had soft, porcelain skin and a tiny tuft of brown hair. He looked just like a cherub from a Renaissance painting. As he nuzzled close to his mother's breast, his father looked on proudly. "What shall we call him, Mon Chéri?" Michael asked his wife as he looked at his son.
Maria smiled at her baby before looking up at Michael. "Marcus, after my father and Gabriel because..." She looked back down at the newborn, her blue eyes shining, "He looks just like a little angel, doesn't he?"
Michael chuckled. "So he does," He agreed, running one finger over his baby boy's cheek affectionately.
Maria beamed and looked back down at her baby, holding him closer. "Marcus Gabriel Durand," She whispered, kissing the child's forehead, "My baby."
But what Maria and Michael didn't know — or ever could have guessed — was that their new son was so much more than "Marcus Gabriel Durand". So much more. They would never find out, though. However, he would know. It would be quite some time before he even discovered what made him so different, but he would understand one day. Until that day, Marcus was distracted by the nagging feeling of oddness by his huge home and comfortable life.
Marcus's father was a doctor. His mother was a successful painter. As a result, Marcus could be considered a "rich kid". If he wanted something, he would generally get it. His parents would buy it for him, and he would be kept content. His mother worked from home, so he spent a lot of time with her. Actually, he was usually with her when she was working. Little Marcus would sit and watch as she turned a blank, white canvas into something beautiful. He admired how the brush stroked over, leaving a tail of color behind. He loved the smell of the paint and how Maria would hum when she painted. He loved the look of his mother when she painted. The way her golden hair was swept back and the way she looked when she was concentrating; she was beautiful. Marcus wanted to tell her how beautiful he thought his mummy was, but he didn't know exactly how to put it. Then one night, when he was about five, he figured out how he would tell her.
Marcus snuck out of his bedroom and quietly crept down to his mother's studio. He turned on the lights, set up a new canvas, dragged a chair over so he could reach the canvas, took his mother's paints and her brushes and had at it. He worked through the night, his blue eyes narrowed as he struggled to get each detail right. The next morning, Maria came downstairs, yawning as she went towards the kitchen to make some coffee and breakfast when she noticed the lights on in her studio. Figuring she must have left the lights on, she reached in to flick the switch, but once she had, she heard her son's voice speaking in rapid French. "Mummy! Mummy, c'mere!"
She looked in the room to find her little Marcus, standing on a chair with paint all over him and his pajamas. "Marcus, what on earth-" She started but he hopped off of the chair and ran over to her. He took her hand and led her over to look at his canvas. She was rendered speechless when she saw the painting. On the canvas was "The Lady with an Ermine", but her image took the place of the lady Leonardo da Vinci had painted years go and rather than an Ermine, she was holding the family kitten, Mona. she looked from her son to the painting. How had he done this? Had he seen the painting somewhere?
...What did it honestly matter? He had done this. Her child was a prodigy. And from that moment on, Marcus painted beside his mother. They would give each other tips and opinions on their work. There probably wasn't a stronger bond in all of Paris than the bond between this mother and her son.
The next nine years passed without anything remarkable happening. Marcus remained an only child in a wealthy home. His cat, Mona, got fat. He got perfect grades in school. He and his mother kept painting and remained close, even as Marcus went into his teens. Puberty hit him and his voice began to drop and he shot up in height. Perhaps the most remarkable thing that happened to him was when his neighbor's dog attacked him when he was 8. He had been playing soccer with his friends in the back yard when the ball went flying over the fence. Marcus climbed over the fence to retrieve the ball and was met with the neighbor's mean German Shepherd. The attack earned Marcus the dimple-like scar on his right cheek.
But at 14, his normal life was changed drastically. His ever faithful companion and the person he probably loved most in the world, his mother, admitted to her son that she had cancer. She told him she'd been sick for a while, but didn't want to worry him and had so she'd been working in secret with his father to try and get her healed. Her cancer got worse instead of better. She wasn't going to make it.
She died just before Christmas in 2007.
Her death left an emptiness in the home and lives of Michael and Marcus. The father and his son spoke very little when she was gone, both men mourning privately in their own way for her. For a while, Marcus abandoned painting and the studio all together. He left the paints and the brushes his mother had left them. He left her half finished canvas sitting there until one night, he just couldn't take it anymore. He got up and he went into the studio, took up the brushes and he finished his mother's last portrait — a painting of the family. He painted it exactly as his mother had wanted it, with the exception of one part. Marcus painted his mother in white and put a Renaissance-style halo on her golden hair. He stepped back when he was done and admired his work. Finishing her painting took some grief away from him. Art was a part of him. Art kept the memory of his mother alive. He would never deny the urge to create again.
His father, however, could not move on and get over her death as easily as Marcus had. To Michael, Paris was no longer a home, but a prison. His wife's memories haunted every room of his house, especially her studio that his damn son refused to just keep locked up. Michael had to get out. He couldn't take it anymore. So, he took up another job at a hospital in Riverdale, North Carolina. Marcus finished his freshman year of high school in Paris and then he was forced to say goodbye as his father stuffed him into their car and drove for the airport, the house Marcus grew up in and the memories he held there fading into the horizon.
For years, now, Marcus had always had that nagging feeling that he was more than just Marcus Gabriel Durand. However, when he lived in Paris and when he had his mother, he had been distracted from this feeling. But now, at 15 in a new country with no mother or friends, he had no more distractions and he began to search for the answers to his questions. Who was he? Who was he, really?
Marcus read books. Trillions of books. Books on warriors. Books on inventors. Books on presidents. Books on criminals. He read many books on the Renaissance and artists and great thinkers of the time. He found himself, though, reading mostly Renaissance books and books on artists and he found the information there not as something new he could learn from, but as if someone had reminded him of a long lost memory. He would look at a painting of 1500s Italy and he would remember the chatter of people on the streets, or the smell of it or how the wind would feel on a day. Though Marcus was able to narrow down that time period he should be looking in, he was unable to find his answer. He had a few suspects of who he might be. He figured he could be Dante Alighieri, Leonardo Da Vinci, Michelangelo (God, he hoped not. Michelangelo seemed like such a tool), Raphael, Donatello (so, basically, a Ninja Turtle) or maybe even a Borgia. He searched for two years before he gave up. Perhaps there were no answers to his questions. Perhaps he was just making things up. So, Marcus went back to the normal things of a teenager — painting, hitting on girls, school work and playing video games.
His favorite game was Assassin's Creed. When he didn't feel like painting, he'd be playing Assassin's Creed. He played through and beat the first one (with 100% completion, thank you very much) and his father bought him the second for Christmas (along with a puppy he ended up naming after the lead character in the second game). In the second, there was a scene where Ezio goes with his mother to meet a young man — a painter, Leonardo da Vinci. Marcus recalled the name coming up several times in his studies, and was intrigued with a real person being in his game. But as he played through, he began to dislike the character of Leonardo in the game. In the game, Leonardo was portrayed as a happy, imaginative jokester and thinker. And while a few jokes amused Marcus, he eventually began to feel something was off with Leonardo's character until one day, Marcus muttered to the screen, "There's no way in hell I would EVER say something like that."
I would say? Marcus paused. I would say...
He looked back at the pixels of Leonardo before he went onto his laptop, studying everything about Leonardo da Vinci. Again, that feeling of as if he was his memory was being jogged rather than him learning something new came back, but stronger than ever before. This was...such an odd and illogical feeling. Marcus closed his laptop, more confused. He felt such a strong connection with Leonardo. This may sound crazy, but he felt like he was Leonardo. But, no. This was...this was madness. Sheer madness. This really couldn't possibly be. Leonardo was long dead. He had died in France (something Marcus rather bitterly remembered). And now...he was back? In a younger, new (and rather good looking) body?
Marcus put his laptop and looked back at the pixelized Leonardo on his television screen. This was...probably something he should keep to himself.
So he did. Marcus never told anyone and still has told no one his musing and theory. No one would believe him.
He barely believed himself.
I AM WHO I AM
[/font]WHO AM I?[/size][/center]
Name/Alias: tina
Other Characters: jennah, talia, hayden, lena, freddie, wes
Age: 17
Time Zone: central
Post Sample:
There was a man called Dave
Who kept a dead whore in a cave
He said "I admit
I am a bit of a shit
But think of the money I save".
There was a young fellow named perkin
Who was always jerkin his gherkin
His father said perkin
Stop jerkin your gherkin
Your gherkins fer ferkin not jerkin
There once was a pirate (the story relates)
who liked to go dancing on roller skates.
He fell on his cutlass
which rendered him nutless
and virtually useless on dates.
There once was a girl named Madonna
To all the boys she'd ask "Do yo wanna?"
Warren Beatty said no,
called her a "HO"
Now she cries and smokes marijuana.
There once was a lad called Lancelot
At whom people looked askance a lot
For whenever he passed
A delectable lass
The front of his pant would advance a lot
okay i'm done.- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
application format by dante/dante in ze pot. lyrics from 'wreak havoc' by angelspit. nothing will chase you down if you remove the credits, but i'd rather you not. that is all.
