Post by teddyjudas on Apr 6, 2011 22:04:17 GMT -7
THEODORE NATHANIEL KINNLEY
[size=1“"don’t let your life pass you by;
weep not for a memory…
standing on the edge of something much too deep…”
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I AM HUMAN
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Full Name: Theodore Nathaniel Kinnley
Nickname(s): Ted or Teddy
Gender: Male
Age: Fifteen
Birthdate: March 27, 1996
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Reincarnate: Yes
I am: Judas Iscariot
Played By: Jason Dolley
Grade: freshman
Boarding: yes
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OUR SHINING FUTURE
[/font]IN REVOLT
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Height: five feet, nine inches
Weight: one hundred and fifty-three
Eye Color: blue
Hair Color: blonde
Build: average
Scars: he skinned his knee badly as a child, and still has a bit of a scar from the incident
Piercings/Tattoos: none
Personal Style: He prefers his clothes loose-fitting, but otherwise doesn’t pay particular attention to them. Usually he wears blue jeans or sometimes khakis, either tennis shoes or his favorite, worn-out pair of high-tops, and a t-shirt. In colder weather, he’ll often wear the same fleece pull-over every day like a typical boy, leaving some people to wonder how often it sees the laundry room. He keeps his hair fairly long, past his ears, because he’s had it cut that way as long as he can remember and is (secretly) unwilling to change it since it’s how his mother liked it. He has, however, discovered an affinity for hats recently and has been trying a few different styles, including fedoras and the simple baseball cap.
Appearance: Teddy usually gives the impression of an ordinary teenage boy. He’s not scarily tall, not too short, not burly, not skinny–just average. He has not-quite-dirty-blonde hair, blue eyes and pretty clear skin. Though he has a rather prominent nose which might keep one from ticking off the “classically handsome” box, he’s not bad-looking, either, for a boy of fifteen. His mother often said that he was the picture of his father, and though Teddy knew it wasn’t true, he never contradicted her. So far, he hasn’t done anything “unnatural,” parse, to his appearance, but he has considered getting a tattoo or a piercing, the latter probably just for his ear.
As for the rest of his appearance, he is, again, pretty average. He’ll never make an athlete, really, though he does enjoy the outdoors. He lived a pretty ordinary childhood and didn’t get too banged up, just a few scrapes, and nothing that would make him look distinctive. Since his mother’s death and subsequent stress over the RSOR, he’s lost some weight, making him look a bit skinny and worn, but besides that, he’s really nothing to write home about, for better or worse. Perhaps that’s all for the best, though–he wants to blend in; the more average he looks, the better.
HOPE AND HORROR
[/font]MIXED IN BLOOD[/size][/center]
Likes: music, poetry, dogs, soda, hiking, summer, swimming, traveling, bookstores, concerts, big cities, the unknown [to some extent], foreign languages, thunderstorms
Dislikes: illness, isolation, religious zealots, the cold, small enclosed spaces, silence, cliques, pop music, prejudices, judgmental people, industrial areas
Dreams: being a published poet; living as his own person
Fears: the RSOR; an early death; condemnation/rejection for who he is (or was); passivity
Habits/Hobbies: Writing poetry; reading; playing piano; singing; bites his nails sometimes
Secret(s): he has major insecurities about religion, perhaps for obvious reasons, though he always tried to make a good show of it when his mother was alive; he is not sure whether to believe in a God, and certainly torn over whether or not to believe in–or pray to–Jesus Christ, the man he helped murder. Part of him wants to believe, if only to be forgiven; but another part of him refuses to accept the gravity of his crime if he does believe.
Personality: Teddy isn’t necessarily a shy boy. He’s something of a loner, but only due to circumstance. He had friends, though perhaps not especially close ones, all through elementary school and into middle school, but once he made his discovery, he began to isolate himself out of horror and shame. He definitely didn’t want to get too close to someone else for fear that he would make the same mistake. That might be a silly thing to think, but he’s still nervous about that sort of thing even now. He wants to be independent; he’s not some backwards first-century Judean man, that’s for sure, and he’s afraid that that person who he was will influence him in ways he doesn’t want to be influenced. He just doesn’t understand what this means, and he almost doesn’t care. He’s half-convinced that by ignoring it, it will just go away, like a bad dream.
But he does have a personality beyond this issue. He’s a pretty friendly person by nature, though he’s a little wary of really letting people into his life. Ever since he was a little boy, he’s been outgoing and he’s always hungry for new things: new places, sights, sounds, faces, smells…all of it. When he thinks of his future, he sees himself as a sort of Ernest Hemingway, always traveling, always writing…and to some extent, that’s been intensified by his discovery. He doesn’t want to linger…he’s afraid to be “found out,” as it were.
He also has the tendency to be a bit of a dreamer, easily distracted. He’s constantly jotting down a few couplets, but often never finishes the poem. His dreams and distractions are, of course, sometimes “memories” that he can’t necessarily control, but most of the time he’s just wrapped up in his own thoughts. This has happened significantly more often since his mother’s death. It can annoy some of his teachers, and has not helped his grades in the past, but he always manages to get himself together and focus…when it’s important, anyway. His daydreams have never gotten to the point that they overtake his life, although he has let his memories and his apprehensions about them dictate his behavior in the past.
PRETTY BOY, PRETTY GIRL
[/font]PRETTY INSANE[/size][/center]
Mother: Eleanor Kinnley; was 38; deceased (formerly a social worker)
Father: Jacob Kinnley; would be 41; deceased (formerly a lawyer)
Siblings: None
Other: His mother’s sister who lives several hundred miles away is helping with the cost of school; otherwise, none.
Pets: None
Hometown: Charlotte, North Carolina
History: Theodore Kinney was born fifteen years ago to two very relieved parents. His mother, Eleanor, had miscarried early in her marriage and a few years prior to Teddy’s birth, the Kinneys had lost a small daughter. They were thrilled to have a healthy, beautiful little boy to take home, especially since he remained healthy and happy as he grew from infant to toddler. Tragedy struck the family again, however, when Teddy was only four years old. His father suffered a very unexpected heart attack. He was rushed to the hospital but unable to be saved. After that, however, Eleanor became almost paranoid and highly protective–if she had not been already–of her young son. She almost constantly compared him to his father, perhaps fearing that he would forget Jacob before unless she made a true effort to keep him alive in Teddy’s memory.
But Teddy’s memory became an issue not long afterwards anyway, for very different reasons. From the age of five, he described to his mother places he could not possibly have seen and people he could not have met, including a mysterious figure named “Yeshua,” about whom he spoke with increasing frequency as the years went on. Unnerved, his mother took him to numerous counselors, therapists and psychiatrists, desperate to stop her child’s delusions, but she was forced to give up after he turned seven: the doctors told her it was a phase he would grow out of, and Teddy complained that he didn’t like the therapists, that they were doing nothing to help him, and that his friends at school were poking fun of him because of the visits, even after he had wised up and stopped talking about. He also wised up, soon afterwards, about telling his mother the “dreams” and strange visions he would have, visions more and more like memories…especially once he came to realize that “Yeshua” was not just any man, but the Son (say some) of God.
So he suffered in silence, though he committed lots of these fragmented memories into poetry and short stories in an effort to understand what they mean. When he was about thirteen, he finally stumbled upon the theory that sounded the most like what he was experiencing: past lives, reincarnation…and he hated the idea that he was Christ’s betrayer from the very moment he realized that there was no other explanation. Yet he tried, somewhat half-heartedly, to adhere to the doctrines of his mother’s faith even if he knew that it was in essence his fault, what had happened. He became increasingly alienated from his friends, especially knowing what he had once been capable of doing to a supposedly-dear friend and master.
And then his mother died, also suddenly, this time in a car accident. As simple and common as this occurrence was, it almost shattered whatever faith Teddy himself had built up. He was first guilty, then angry, and finally settled on a deep sadness. He now feels truly alone. He’s afraid of joining the RSOR, even if it seems full of people who do want him, because he is not willing–not yet, anyway–to own up to who he is.
I AM WHO I AM
[/font]WHO AM I?[/size][/center]
Name/Alias: Anna
Other Characters: none yet!
Age: Nineteen
Time Zone: Eastern standard
Post Sample:
The days of the Queen’s pregnancy had stretched on and on, and Henry thought he would lose his mind from waiting. It was not (at least, not only) that he was impatient to bed her again, though perhaps that had something to do with how very lengthy these months were becoming. He was simply worried, and he wanted their child to be born at once, though he was also anxious about what its birth would mean. What threats would he be forced to protect his son (for he thought of the unborn infant that way, though he would not be unduly concerned if Eleanor bore a girl first instead) from once he had left the safety of his mother’s womb? What threats would Nell face, too? It unnerved him to think of the situation he had gotten himself in, them all in, but at the same time, he would not dream of changing anything. He loved his wife very much, and he knew he had made mistakes in the past and that he had hurt her, but what would he do--what would he be--without her? No, he did not and could not regret marrying her instead of, say, the frivolous and empty-headed Kathryn Howard. True, she was dangerous to him now, and he did regret that…but he could stand between those who mattered most to him and those who wished to harm them, could he not?
As for betraying her in her confinement, he had not even considered it, certainly not after what had happened the last time he’d bedded women without thinking. That may or may not have resulted in a bastard child, something he did not want to deal with--now, or in the future. No, his mind was more on the welfare of his wife and the precious burden she carried than on his own need for pleasure. How long could it be now, anyway? Soon enough, Eleanor would be delivered and churched and she could return to his bed. For once, Henry bothered to stop and think of what she was going through--from the few times he had been able to see her of late (for he had been ridiculously busy), she had complained about how little she was able to do now that her pregnancy was so advanced, and indeed her abdomen had swollen to a very great size. It was almost amusing, seeing his little Nell that way, but it was also remarkable.
A child--a new life--existed within her. If he reached out his hand and laid it against the bodice of her loose gown, Henry could feel its strong legs kick. He was enchanted already and he could neither see nor hold his son, so he could only imagine how he would feel once she actually gave birth to him. How attached might he become to that little face, half himself and half Nell? A miniature person, a boy who would someday rule in Henry’s stead…or a girl, perhaps, he reminded himself sternly, a beautiful Princess who would someday be a foreign Queen or Empress or Duchess…
Yes, Henry’s thoughts often strayed to his wife, now more than ever, for she was not yet delivered and they said it was past time. He worried, he rejoiced, he daydreamed, and work was left to pile up, waiting for a time when the King would either tire of it and give it to someone else to do or when he could finally relax a little and attend to it properly.
That night--or rather, that morning, he was asleep. His dreams were troubled, and they had been for some time, and so it took him a moment to realize that the shouts for him were true. A woman’s voice cried “Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” outside his bedchamber, and his manservant on the floor scrambled to his feet, reaching out to shake the King awake. Henry managed to open his eyes and even sit up, but he felt confused and groggy. What was the matter? What was going on?
“What is the delay? Admit her at once!” he snapped at last, not caring that he was sparsely clad. The lady in question would have to deal with it (though no woman in the past had complained.)
The girl was shown in, one of Eleanor’s ladies, and fear immediately clutched at Henry’s heart. He wanted to shake her as she explained that Her Majesty was now in labor and that the King’s child could come at any time. But Henry was not willing to simply wait here for news. He was suddenly quite wide awake and scrambled out of bed, ignoring the breach in propriety as he snatched up a shirt and breeches and shoved his feet into boots. Nothing else mattered at that moment except for Nell and her well-being. He knew well enough that Blair would not let anything happen to her, certainly not in the midst of her labor, but Henry worried nonetheless. Once he was dressed--though certainly informally--he brushed past his manservant and Nell’s lady both.
“Your Majesty, where--”
But he did not stop to explain. He had to go to her. He had to be with her. He flatly refused to simply wait. Your Majesty, the servants chirped, jogging to keep up with him, for he was practically running through the corridors which separated his apartments from the Queen’s, Stop, you mustn’t… He was the King. He would do as he pleased, and his grandmother’s customs be damned!
It took all his strength and determination to get through the first door and chamber, however. Many ladies were amassed there, not all of them in Eleanor’s service, whispering and gossiping, standing around and waiting to be useful; some had water in their hands, some had rosaries, some clothes or blankets to present to the infant once it was born, as if he was the Christ child; he had not known such things happened after a woman’s delivery, or rather, after a Queen’s…perhaps they usually did not. He did not know, and did not particularly care. From here, despite the cries of surprise and outrage at seeing a man other than a physician, though he was the King of England and Eleanor’s own husband, in her apartments before she had even been delivered, he could hear his wife. Her voice was pitched high and loud and it was obvious she was suffering. His heart broke. No, he did not care how many people thought it improper! He was going to her this instant.
Pushing his way rather rudely through the protesting cloud of women, Henry finally managed to get to the bedchamber itself. It too was crowded, though not as crowded as the outer chamber--and there was Nell, his Nell, looking utterly miserable. She was crying out his name, invoking him rather than God as some women might…so how could he linger in his chambers and simply wait and pray? He could do the same thing here, but support her.
The scene was rather more graphic than he’d imagined it would be, with Nell’s legs spread and bared for those present to see, but then--how else was the thing done? It did not bother him, at least not morally; he was of course worried about her, however.
“Nell--Nell, I am here,” he said, kneeling down beside her, since there was no place to sit. With one hand, he reached out and took hers, squeezing it gently. With the other he stroked her brow, beaded with sweat, and tried to smile for her sake. Poor darling! There was no doubt a reason they wanted to keep men away…for who wanted to do this to their wife? Henry certainly felt rather guilty about it, though it was necessary and most women considered it worth it to cradle a babe in their arms. “Oh sweetheart…”
He glanced away from her only for a moment, to see if Blair was still there. Of course, she was, and he smiled more confidently. Surely Eleanor would be all right. God would smile upon them; Blair would protect her. Their child would be beautiful and healthy, and she would come away no worse for wear. Yes. He had to hope…- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
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.
