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| User: | southern_beau (239207) A Southern Beau
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| Name: | southern_beau | |||||||||
| E-mail: | badluckgoodluck@hotmail.com | |||||||||
| AOL IM: |  badluckgoodluck (Add Buddy, Send Message) | |||||||||
| Bio: | OOC Name: Derek Age: 17 Email: badluckgoodluck@hotmail.com AIM/MSN/YIM/Other: badluckgoodluck Previous RP experience(if you have none, give me an example of your writing): Been roleplaying since I was 13. What kind of daiquiris do the mods like?: I'm sure they like the banana kind. IC Name: Wesley (Wes) Hurst Age/DOB: 17 in August. Born on August 11, 1991 Gender: Male Sexuality: Semi-closeted gay. Physical Description: Wes is a 6' southern male with a pretty nice bod, the slightest six pack can be seen when flexing. Wes has dark blue eyes with dark dirty blond hair thats usually medium length. Got a lip ring by accident. Personality: Wes, around adults, is the perfect southern teenager. He gets pretty decent grades all around, he is very polite and says his 'sir's and 'ma'am's, he is active in the school and the community, and is cool, calm, and collected. Wes, around anyone else, is a partyer, he enjoys going out and doing stuff, usually when it involves hot, sensual, erotic, and crowded places. He can set some people off, but he's highly enjoyable by mostly anyone, due to his charisma. This southern beau has a problem with thinking adults don't like him, due to being abandoned by his father at the age of ten with his grandparents, and having no mother, who passed away during childbirth. Wes puts up a facade in front of adults, afraid to show them the real him, making sure that they don't shun him like he felt his father did. History (Please write at least four/five paragraphs here. You're starting this character from scratch this is the place to flesh him/her out): Wesley Hurst was born on August 11th, 1991 in the middle of Mississippi. His birth is the reason of his mother’s death. She had passed away quickly after childbirth, all the while hoping that her baby boy would grow up to be healthy. Because of his causing his mother’s death, his father had always resented him, and it could be seen. This was through the slight beatings that he would inflict upon Wes, starting at the age of 7. After three years of occasional beatings, being ignored, and called horrible names, Wes was abandoned. Wes continued his life as normal, walked to school, learned some stuff, came home, made grilled cheese, did simple mathematics, and went to bed. This was going on for weeks on end until the electricity was turned off. Then the water was turned off. Then it was winter, and getting cold, more than usual in Mississippi. He called his grandparents, who were appalled and took him in. His grandparents lived on, owned, and operated a farming facility that put juvenile delinquents to work off a debt, instead of put into juvenile jail. During the time the old couple took in Wes, they were already caring for five other children, aged 16 and younger. The car ride from one side of Mississippi to the other was quick, or it felt quick, and the ten year old was thrust into a new living environment. The blond was popular with the other children, even with those older than him and always had friends on the farm. Wes was a good kid, always got good grades, never acted out of line (except for the occasional fistfight that none of the adults ever found out about), and was generally enjoyed by everyone. His freshman year came and went, and it was then that he started to hang out with jocks, and started to party hard. He had tried drugs, which didn’t take with him. He tried alcohol, which was okay, but too much made his head hurt, although he did have too much a few times. Despite the partying, slight drugs, and some alcohol, Wes finished the year in the top 10 of his class, as hoped for by his grandparents. He liked to please them, they were the only adults in his life that he truly trusted, so whatever they wanted, he gave them. As each year came, his age—and size of muscles—increased. But these weren’t the only things to develop, his voice, his emotions, his “boy parts” as his grandmother called them, and his feelings towards people changed. He realized at a party, half drunk and shirtless, in a large group of guys who were drunk and shirtless as well, that he was pretty excited by this, and decided that he had to be gay. It didn’t freak him out too much, but he knew he wasn’t about to tell anyone who was sober. Weeks after his sixteenth birthday, Wes knew he had to tell his grandparents, both of which were surprisingly okay with it. He figured it was because of the program they had been running, not because of their daughter’s wish that her son would grow up to be healthy. Student/Faculty (please list position eg. Math Teacher, English Teacher, Cafeteria worker etc): Student List of Classes (must have seven if student/four if teacher): Creative Writing, Chemistry, Pre-Calculus, AP US History, Latin II, Heath II, Gym II. List of Clubs (optional): Weightlifting List of Sports (optional): Track and Field, JV Football, Boys' Rugby Have you asked us to hold your PB?: Yes IC AIM: badluckgoodluck Sample Writings: IC Journal Example (at least 150 words, 1st person, can be linked in from your journal): Hey Chad, I don’t have a lot of time to type this email, I’m bein’ eyeballed by grandpa from his recliner. Let’s recap what happened in the past three days. “So you went out partying with the lacrosse team, when none of them are friends with you, got drunk, passed out, and woke up with that?” Which was said by Kyle, you remember him right? Tall, kinda loud and obnoxious. “Well when you mash it all together like that, you make me sound like a whore, a chick who got knocked up, and have an STD. It’s only a lip ring.” And you’ll never guess who said that. It was me. Yeah, I have a lip ring. I hate it. And the old ‘rents won’t let me take it out. They say “It’ll teach you a less’n” (you know how grandpa pronounces stuff, haha I almost broke out laughin’ typin’ that!). I think it’s the less’n about doing something to your body that’s permanent, i.e. the tattoo chat we’ve been having every week. Oh, and I get to go to a new school for queers. I guess I should get in the habit of calling it “gay” or “homosexual” or something else that’s politically correct. Whoopie for me. It’s a prep school so school uniforms, no alcohol, no more barn parties. That’s gunna suck the most about it I think. Oh crap, he’s getting’ up to see what I’m sayin’ and to who. I’ll tell you more about it when he’s asleep. Wes IC Log Example (at 150 words, 3rd person): Woken by the cock, the farmer's grandson sat up in his bed with a plain and tired look on his face. He brought fists to his eyes and rubbed them, making his vision blurry as well as making his very dark blue eyes feel better. He looked out his bedroom window, yawning, and looked at the sky, which was a nice cream color due to clouds and the sun and whatnot as well as the damn rooster who woke him every single day. Wes Hurst pushed back the blanket, which was almost bursting from how many down feathers of geese were stuffed in. He put his hand through his dirty blond hair and let his whole body relax for a moment before getting up on his feet. When he stood firmly, he was about six feet, but when he was stumbling because his feet were still asleep, that's when he was floored. “Wes! Go to the bathroom and wash up before you set foot in my kitchen!” His grandmother's strong accent rang through the elongated ranch-styled house. “That goes for ALL of you young'ins.” The sixteen-year-old boy found his footing and yawned, walking to the bathroom down the hall, while letting his feet slide across the floor. He made his way to the bathroom and sighed when he saw that it was taken. He stood out in the hall for a few moments before knocking on the door. No answer. He tried the handle and opened the door; no one was in the damn bathroom. God, I hate it when they do that! He thought to himself as he entered and closed the door. When he got down to the kitchen his grandfather was already at the head of the long rectangle table with platters upon platters of food. He sat down on the other end of the table and looked at his grandpa. “Wes, we've got a lot of work to do today, we’re expecting piglets soon y’know.” His grandfather, the head of the ranch and farm, stated with one of the strongest southern accents ever. Wes nodded and thought about the very exhausting day ahead of him. “Oh, and you got somethin’ in the mail yesterday but you went to your friend’s house and came in after I wen’ to bed.” The old man pointed at Wes’ elbow on the table, and right next to it was a letter. The teen picked it up and gulped at the return address. Goldfinch Academy. It was a Pride Academy. | |||||||||
| Schools: | None listed | |||||||||
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| Account type: | Free Patient | |||||||||
