Post by Marco Reizvoll on Aug 28, 2006 17:05:01 GMT -5
First and Last names; Marco Reizvoll
Nicknames; Marc, Mar, Polo
Gender; Male
Age; 17
Height; Five foot, eleven inches
Hair color; His hair is naturally a deep brown, but with his addiction to sports, the sun bleaches some of it blonde. There's a little bit of red in there too, from a dye that never washed out completely.
Eye color; His eyes are a bright green, that seems like it could lighten up a dark room. Of course they can't, but they're just so piercing that you can't help but think so. There are small streaks of blue etched throughout the green ring, creating a flourescent teal color where the two mix.
Personality; Marco is extremely athletic, making him competitive also. He doesn't always show it, but of course it's there. He enjoys doing anything outside, be it running, swimming, hiking, or croquet. He's good at almost all sports, except soccer. He'd never gotten the hang of soccer, and he never understood why. Generally, he's a nice guy. He's got manners, opening doors for ladies and pulling out chairs, but he's got a wild side.
In high school, he was always with that crowd of people that had painted almost their entire bodies their school colors screaming for their team; when he wasn't out on the field playing himself. He has an intense love for football, so when the game's on I wouldn't bother him. When he's absorbed in something, like a game, then he really hates it when he's interrupted. He concentrates hard to become the way he is, and when he loses concentration it causes him to lose track of where things are. And he hates to lose, so he rarely does it. But when he does, he accepts it and moves on.. after a while.
When he's mad, he's a complete hothead. He's easy to get fired up, and prone to explode at any time. He for sure doesn't hide his emotions, or run away from his problems. He open with them all the time. When he's angry, he'll do anything to relieve his fire. He'll throw things, punch things, sometimes even people, or hurt himself somehow. Though, he's only thought of suicide once, and realized how stupid it was. But usually when he's mad, his friends just stay clear of him, letting him work it out himself.
But when he's with his lady, he's a gentleman. He would never hurt her, physically or mentally. He loves to please her, and does whatever is takes. He's extremely loyal, as long as you're loyal back. He would stick up for you, even though he's not technically your man. He's a hopless romantic, and will do anything to make you smile. When he's in a good mood, he's a complete nut. He'll do anything to get anyone to laugh. He loves making people happy, so you're generally happy when you're around him, because he can't stand emo kids.
Past; Marco has a bad past, but no one could tell. He grew up on the east coast of Germany, born into a family with nine other kids. His mother, working with little income, had a terrible time trying to keep food on the table, seeing as his father was killed in a mining accident when he was still in his mother's womb. When Marco turned nine, he couldn't take it anymore. All the lonely nights without food, sleeping on the cold floor, almost freezing to death in winter and baking in the heat of the summer.
All that changed when one of his richer friends offered him a trip to America in exchange for everything Marco owned. Which, wasn't a lot at the time, his only possessions being his basketball, a deck of cards, and a pair of sneakers that he'd outgrown that none of his siblings could fit into. So with that in place, he took on the open sea, winding up in america. Once he got here, he had no clue what to do. So he lived on the streets of Harlem, New York for a while, finding what all there was to find. Including drugs, alcohol, sex, scandal, and much more. Finding a few odd jobs here and there, he pulled together enough money to buy a little bit of the drugs they had for sale. He smoked a little, selling the rest for money.
He repeated that process, until he realized he was addicted to the stuff. That day, he found himself struggling to walk down an alley, when he finally collapsed, being taken in by an older lady, with a lot of money. She provided for him, nursing him back to health and teaching him the luxuries of America and a lot of money. After a while, the rambuncious Marco was too much for his 'Nana' to handle, so she sent him here after letting him know that she was there for all his needs and other wants he might have.
Pets; Marco has a four month old great dane puppy named Rocket.
Picture;
i65.photobucket.com/albums/h226/brokenxxpromiises/917652977_l.jpg x. Marco
static.flickr.com/28/59901447_6d9b350770.jpg x. Rocket
Sample post;
Footprints were left in the sand by the shoes of the boy, imprints that he left behind, each step seeming to contain sorrow, sorrow beyond what a normal human soul could bear. This resulted in something far more than suicide, but the intense pain of living through this life, that seemed to be more hellish than hell. It was only filled with pain, anger, anxiety, sadness... and nothing left to wash it all away. Like a lonely seashell stuck in the sand. It sits on the topsoil, to be stepped on and buried into the sand, then the current comes in trying to take away it's pain, but the sand just won't let it go. And soon, it's just covered with more sand, stepped on, crushed, and forgotten; though the memory of what once was still rings on. That deep, pitless vad of useless memories stuck in his mind, the one that haunted him everytime he found silence creeping up to him, the one that seemed to close in on him and consume him when he found that there was no one to lean on, the one that hardened his very soul, toughening it to where there was no love anymore, nothing but that rotting pain that redeemed so many lives before his. He wanted nothing but to follow them, allow his soul to be free in the fiery depths of hell.. let his corpse just decay into the ground, finally releasing all the years of built up pain an anger, letting them escape into the world finding some other soul to rot. But no, if only this boy could be just that lucky.
The voices inside his head seemed to become louder with each miserable step taken by this boy. All this baggage interfering with his judgement, making everything into pain and not what it was meant to be. There was no bringing him back from this state, and he knew it. He was destined to be in this lonely sub-reality where only he and pain existed, each fighting the other until one won, then they'd fight another one. Constant war until either his strength or the everlasting pain one over, each scarring the other until there was nowhere left to scar. Yet, the boy never seemed to win, the pain always came out on top, getting the best of him, taking advantage of his weakness in this time of helplessness, when it was just impossible to find the strength to move on, yet something ripped you away from it, causing you to be pushed along. In his mind he kept praying that she would come back to him, give him his life back, yet at the same time, he was unsure of these thoughts, about wether she would come back or not, if he could bear to see her again, more than likely with that guy of her dreams; not him. He just wished he knew why, why had she just packed her bags and left him? Why had she done that to him when she knew he was just going to be completely torn apart and lost without her?
For the first time in almost a decade, a lit cigarette rested between the boy's index and middle finger. After a moment, he'd lift it to his mouth, allowing the smoke to settle into his lungs, before he blew it back out into the world around him, repeating this countless times, until he couldn't tell you which way was up. The boy was trying to get sick, maybe just testing his mental and physical ability, though he knew the test would be too hard on him eventually. He wanted to go, he really did, but some part of him just wouldn't let go. He'd tried many times, but it never worked out for him. Something still rang on in those preciously blue optics that pain had settled into, possibly permanently. He was fading, and fast. Perhaps, a bit too fast for his own good. He obviously hadn't eaten anything for the past while, causing anorexia to settle in and become an unbreakable habit. The bottle of pills on his dresser at home becoming his only refuge, the only escape from the pain throbbing away in his core... Though they took away the pain it was only for a while, it would always come back. No matter how hard he tried he just couldn't seem to escape it for good, and when it did come back it was always a fraction worse, because it was always growing, each minute without her caused him more and more pain, and he wasn't sure how much he could take, but He knew it wasn't much more..
The boy was Marco, heartbroken Marco. He knew the way he was was considered pathetic to some, but he didn't know any other way to act. He was smoking away the pain, something he hadn't done for a long, long time. But he was doing it now, and it was creating internal problems for him. He used to care about people, and now he couldn't care less. Hell he used to care about himself, and now he didn't give a f**k. He was just abusing and abusing until there was nothing left to cut, or make bleed, or hit, or bruise. Grey clouds soon moved in over the sea of blue, all reflections that had once been cast out upon it disappearing completely. The crystalline waters mirrored nothing, as did the boy's eyes. They were completely emotionless now, his face pale. The smoke rotted away at his lungs as he allowed it to stay inside his body for longer and longer periods of time, letting it slowly take him over. The blonde hair was tucked inside a black jacket, concealing his identity from all. Heavy sigh was emitted into the world around him, knowing not a soul cared. That was the worst feeling in the world, knowing you'd hit rock bottom and no one cared enough to do a d**n thing about it.
[setting; marco was just dumped by his girlfriend of two years. she didn't tell him why, just disappeared.]
[me;; not every single one of my posts are this long.. just because i had a little extra muse today. =]]
[/size]Nicknames; Marc, Mar, Polo
Gender; Male
Age; 17
Height; Five foot, eleven inches
Hair color; His hair is naturally a deep brown, but with his addiction to sports, the sun bleaches some of it blonde. There's a little bit of red in there too, from a dye that never washed out completely.
Eye color; His eyes are a bright green, that seems like it could lighten up a dark room. Of course they can't, but they're just so piercing that you can't help but think so. There are small streaks of blue etched throughout the green ring, creating a flourescent teal color where the two mix.
Personality; Marco is extremely athletic, making him competitive also. He doesn't always show it, but of course it's there. He enjoys doing anything outside, be it running, swimming, hiking, or croquet. He's good at almost all sports, except soccer. He'd never gotten the hang of soccer, and he never understood why. Generally, he's a nice guy. He's got manners, opening doors for ladies and pulling out chairs, but he's got a wild side.
In high school, he was always with that crowd of people that had painted almost their entire bodies their school colors screaming for their team; when he wasn't out on the field playing himself. He has an intense love for football, so when the game's on I wouldn't bother him. When he's absorbed in something, like a game, then he really hates it when he's interrupted. He concentrates hard to become the way he is, and when he loses concentration it causes him to lose track of where things are. And he hates to lose, so he rarely does it. But when he does, he accepts it and moves on.. after a while.
When he's mad, he's a complete hothead. He's easy to get fired up, and prone to explode at any time. He for sure doesn't hide his emotions, or run away from his problems. He open with them all the time. When he's angry, he'll do anything to relieve his fire. He'll throw things, punch things, sometimes even people, or hurt himself somehow. Though, he's only thought of suicide once, and realized how stupid it was. But usually when he's mad, his friends just stay clear of him, letting him work it out himself.
But when he's with his lady, he's a gentleman. He would never hurt her, physically or mentally. He loves to please her, and does whatever is takes. He's extremely loyal, as long as you're loyal back. He would stick up for you, even though he's not technically your man. He's a hopless romantic, and will do anything to make you smile. When he's in a good mood, he's a complete nut. He'll do anything to get anyone to laugh. He loves making people happy, so you're generally happy when you're around him, because he can't stand emo kids.
Past; Marco has a bad past, but no one could tell. He grew up on the east coast of Germany, born into a family with nine other kids. His mother, working with little income, had a terrible time trying to keep food on the table, seeing as his father was killed in a mining accident when he was still in his mother's womb. When Marco turned nine, he couldn't take it anymore. All the lonely nights without food, sleeping on the cold floor, almost freezing to death in winter and baking in the heat of the summer.
All that changed when one of his richer friends offered him a trip to America in exchange for everything Marco owned. Which, wasn't a lot at the time, his only possessions being his basketball, a deck of cards, and a pair of sneakers that he'd outgrown that none of his siblings could fit into. So with that in place, he took on the open sea, winding up in america. Once he got here, he had no clue what to do. So he lived on the streets of Harlem, New York for a while, finding what all there was to find. Including drugs, alcohol, sex, scandal, and much more. Finding a few odd jobs here and there, he pulled together enough money to buy a little bit of the drugs they had for sale. He smoked a little, selling the rest for money.
He repeated that process, until he realized he was addicted to the stuff. That day, he found himself struggling to walk down an alley, when he finally collapsed, being taken in by an older lady, with a lot of money. She provided for him, nursing him back to health and teaching him the luxuries of America and a lot of money. After a while, the rambuncious Marco was too much for his 'Nana' to handle, so she sent him here after letting him know that she was there for all his needs and other wants he might have.
Pets; Marco has a four month old great dane puppy named Rocket.
Picture;
i65.photobucket.com/albums/h226/brokenxxpromiises/917652977_l.jpg x. Marco
static.flickr.com/28/59901447_6d9b350770.jpg x. Rocket
Sample post;
Footprints were left in the sand by the shoes of the boy, imprints that he left behind, each step seeming to contain sorrow, sorrow beyond what a normal human soul could bear. This resulted in something far more than suicide, but the intense pain of living through this life, that seemed to be more hellish than hell. It was only filled with pain, anger, anxiety, sadness... and nothing left to wash it all away. Like a lonely seashell stuck in the sand. It sits on the topsoil, to be stepped on and buried into the sand, then the current comes in trying to take away it's pain, but the sand just won't let it go. And soon, it's just covered with more sand, stepped on, crushed, and forgotten; though the memory of what once was still rings on. That deep, pitless vad of useless memories stuck in his mind, the one that haunted him everytime he found silence creeping up to him, the one that seemed to close in on him and consume him when he found that there was no one to lean on, the one that hardened his very soul, toughening it to where there was no love anymore, nothing but that rotting pain that redeemed so many lives before his. He wanted nothing but to follow them, allow his soul to be free in the fiery depths of hell.. let his corpse just decay into the ground, finally releasing all the years of built up pain an anger, letting them escape into the world finding some other soul to rot. But no, if only this boy could be just that lucky.
The voices inside his head seemed to become louder with each miserable step taken by this boy. All this baggage interfering with his judgement, making everything into pain and not what it was meant to be. There was no bringing him back from this state, and he knew it. He was destined to be in this lonely sub-reality where only he and pain existed, each fighting the other until one won, then they'd fight another one. Constant war until either his strength or the everlasting pain one over, each scarring the other until there was nowhere left to scar. Yet, the boy never seemed to win, the pain always came out on top, getting the best of him, taking advantage of his weakness in this time of helplessness, when it was just impossible to find the strength to move on, yet something ripped you away from it, causing you to be pushed along. In his mind he kept praying that she would come back to him, give him his life back, yet at the same time, he was unsure of these thoughts, about wether she would come back or not, if he could bear to see her again, more than likely with that guy of her dreams; not him. He just wished he knew why, why had she just packed her bags and left him? Why had she done that to him when she knew he was just going to be completely torn apart and lost without her?
For the first time in almost a decade, a lit cigarette rested between the boy's index and middle finger. After a moment, he'd lift it to his mouth, allowing the smoke to settle into his lungs, before he blew it back out into the world around him, repeating this countless times, until he couldn't tell you which way was up. The boy was trying to get sick, maybe just testing his mental and physical ability, though he knew the test would be too hard on him eventually. He wanted to go, he really did, but some part of him just wouldn't let go. He'd tried many times, but it never worked out for him. Something still rang on in those preciously blue optics that pain had settled into, possibly permanently. He was fading, and fast. Perhaps, a bit too fast for his own good. He obviously hadn't eaten anything for the past while, causing anorexia to settle in and become an unbreakable habit. The bottle of pills on his dresser at home becoming his only refuge, the only escape from the pain throbbing away in his core... Though they took away the pain it was only for a while, it would always come back. No matter how hard he tried he just couldn't seem to escape it for good, and when it did come back it was always a fraction worse, because it was always growing, each minute without her caused him more and more pain, and he wasn't sure how much he could take, but He knew it wasn't much more..
The boy was Marco, heartbroken Marco. He knew the way he was was considered pathetic to some, but he didn't know any other way to act. He was smoking away the pain, something he hadn't done for a long, long time. But he was doing it now, and it was creating internal problems for him. He used to care about people, and now he couldn't care less. Hell he used to care about himself, and now he didn't give a f**k. He was just abusing and abusing until there was nothing left to cut, or make bleed, or hit, or bruise. Grey clouds soon moved in over the sea of blue, all reflections that had once been cast out upon it disappearing completely. The crystalline waters mirrored nothing, as did the boy's eyes. They were completely emotionless now, his face pale. The smoke rotted away at his lungs as he allowed it to stay inside his body for longer and longer periods of time, letting it slowly take him over. The blonde hair was tucked inside a black jacket, concealing his identity from all. Heavy sigh was emitted into the world around him, knowing not a soul cared. That was the worst feeling in the world, knowing you'd hit rock bottom and no one cared enough to do a d**n thing about it.
[setting; marco was just dumped by his girlfriend of two years. she didn't tell him why, just disappeared.]
[me;; not every single one of my posts are this long.. just because i had a little extra muse today. =]]
