Post by fαllεη • on Aug 27, 2010 4:39:36 GMT -5
[/color] Molly Peterson | in the evening chill→Evenin', sunshineWell, well, well; look who it is! It's Fallen. Ooh girl you so fly. And at fifteen you might just be the next superstar!→: MOLLY PETERSON:
from courthouse | 24 and counting | tower to griffin mill
small signs of winter come | Fighter | creeping down the hills
i saw your shadow | PB: Jenna Malone | on jackson street[/size][/color]
[/ul][/center]
→Let that smile shine, baby![/color]
→ To observe without being observed.[/color]
we've all done the same | Dislikes | we're just carrying different crosses→ The occult/superstitions
i'm feeling no pain baby | Main Relations | it's acceptable losses→Brother, Oliver Twist/Rosendo Jackson.
→ free
→ to
→ be
→ filled!
this place got dark | Strengths | in the year's that passed
→ Muscle; he's good at both gooning and at taking out anyone he really doesn't like.
the store-fronts blown | Weaknesses | i guess nothing lasts
→ Friendly interaction.
the fighting at the bars |Fears | still draw wired vengeful crowds[/color]
→ Jail
i followed our trail | Ambitions | down to rosewood park
→ Get the cops off his tail.
→ Open?
as the shadows grow tall | Detailed Personality: | and the stars come out
→ Well, you've pretty much got the finer points of Oliver's personality, and have probably formed your own opinion about him. You reckon he's a bit of a sadist, cowardly, and matches the description of a typical goon to a 'T'. See him on the street, and you'd be spot on.
→ On the surface of it, Oliver's a perfectly normal guy. Sure, he likes to keep to himself, but there's nothing wrong with that. You can find him with a knife in his hands eight days week, and he'll be your guy for any solo attacks on the other gang's bases.
Deep down though... I guess Oliver's a little bit... odd.
→ He derives extreme pleasure from cutting things open and looking at their insides, or the gore than ensues. It's not a compulsive thing... But tell him to kill a rat and you might come back to him examining its entrails. In a way, it's keeping his knife in check, and other than that, he seems perfectly sane.
→ Like every other gang member, he's got something against the upper class and the cops, because they're both out to get him. Generally, Oliver is indifferent to the world around him, but he likes to cause a bit of a stir and, though he's afraid of going to jail, he'll occasionally blow a few tires on a cop car, smash the windows, or just paint his gang's symbol over the windscreen. It's how he gets his kicks, causing trouble. After all, if you fail at making your way up in the world the normal way, gangs are your next best bet... and generally result in more blood-shed. And Oliver is good at blood-shed.
→Since his parents were always on his case, and he was never too great with other kids, naturally, it's hard to make friends. Most of the time, he doesn't need them. But for the day when he really does make some (and that day will come), well...
Seeing as he just doesn't click with people that often, mistrust will always be his first emotion. His friends might consider him really close... But Oliver doesn't know how close he really lets them go, or how much he's holding back. So in a way, befriending him is a curious mix of sensibilities; he might suddenly clam up about the most general things, but he'll talk to his friends for hours about his relationship with his sister. It's all very hit-and-miss.
Love, for most people, would probably be ones step too far. Most girls like their guys sane... Or at least, insane in an endearing way. But in real life, the insane are probably better left well alone. Hell, if the guy has trouble knowing who his friends are, what's he going to think about a lover? Too much work for any logical girl to want. But if you can find a chick twisted enough to love him -sanity, screams and all-, well then, you'll find him a partner for life.
[/ul]
→Look at that photo, who's in the middle?
→Lilian Peterson - Mother - 55
→ William Peterson - Father - 54
i noticed your fingers | Siblings | were trembling like leaves
→ Molly 'Ice' Peterson - Sister - 27
you made me a shelter | Relatives of Importance | in your closet of skeletons
→ Tony Velaques - Uncle - 49
→ Lily Velaques - Aunt - 51
→ Hamish Peterson - Uncle - 59
→ Angela Peterson - Aunt - 46
→ Octavia Peterson - Cousin - 16
i go through your records |History | and play "let it bleed"
[/ul][/right]→I suppose the first thing you'll want to know is how 'Oliver' came by the name of a Charles Dickens character. Sorry folks, but you'll have to wait for that.
Oliver was born on the third of July, a good twenty-five years back, to a doting upper-class, well-bred couple. They had been married for about five years, a respectable about of time, and Oliver had been well planned for, also a respectable thing to do. A nanny had been employed to care for him, once Mrs. Peterson returned to work, and the little boy spent his first month being adored and fawned over by his darling mummy, daddy and sister.
→Oliver made an immediate enemy of his sister. No matter how many sweet nothings she murmured to him, he did his best to trip her when she walked, pull her hair, and generally play the part of annoying younger brother. Eventually, Molly gave up and settled for fighting back. The once happy home was now on the brink of war, as Oliver started school.
→Naturally, you don't need to hear Oliver's entire life story, so I'll skip to the interesting parts. He did well enough in school, for the first few years, then began to decline. It just didn't interest him; English had too many letters, Maths had too many numbers, and Social Studies was just plain stupid. PE was the only remotely interesting subject, but even with his good grades there, it was obvious that the kid was a delinquent in the making, and seemed to be so anti-social that there were no other kids who wanted to help him out of the rut.
→Oliver... no, he wasn't called Oliver. At the risk of incurring his wrath, I'll tell you his name...
Rosendo. Yes, yes I know. His parents were the kind of people who looked through baby name dictionaries: not to find a name with a nice meaning, but a name that simply sounded like it had one. 'Rosendo' means excellent master, and Oliver is anything other. But I digress; onward.
→The 'excellent master' was constantly reprimanded for his nefarious ways, and was constantly at war with his folks. Meanwhile, Molly was constantly the good, quiet elder sister, unintentionally (sometimes intentionally) giving Oliver more reasons to hate her.
→He barely made it through primary, was expelled multiple times at secondary, and finally, his parents had had enough. Up until then, they had made it a point to control every aspect of their son's life, while giving Molly free reign... But now, Oliver would be the one let loose, and it was time to put Molly on the choke chain. When your kid cuts things open to get his kicks, what are you going to do? Counsellors he had had a-plenty: his solution? Never show up. Oliver had enough of this life his parents gave him; cutting things open, making people look at him like he was insane... They were the only things that satisfied him. He was getting back at the world. "I'm not going to be your puppet any more. See? This is who I am, not someone to be pitied!"
→It was after one especially long row with his parents that the cutting became an obsession; a way out. A way to make them cringe, to get back at them. Where first cutting had been something for the disected animals in biology to endure, suddenly it was his own arms becoming a work in progress. He wore anything without sleeves, enjoying the expressions on his parents' faces, and the faces of everyone who saw his arms. The pain was merely an unpleasant side effect.
(I'm sure you can imagine that for someone to hurt themselves just to make a statement is a pretty big deal. If anyone is really hurting themselves, I do understand that this is serious.
Oliver is slightly unhinged... I suck at character development... Hence, Oliver the Mark-Stu. >.>)
→And then, blessedly, it ended. Oliver just finished college, through cheating and lies, and was finally, finally free to do as he wished.
→Immediately, he cut all ties with his family, and his arms, at last, began to heal. He still has the trecherous scars.
→He joined Insert Gang Name Here on his sister's birthday, the 00/00. Yipee. And ever since, he's kept to the background. He joined pretty early in the gang's history, but because he's so introverted, few people credit him with the fact, and few people actually know anything about him. Even Insert Leader's Name Here only knows the bare minimum about him; that he has a past, just like everyone else's. A reason for living, a reason to be here, and a reason to be loyal. After all, it's all s/he needs to know.
→We're gettin' it done now!
[/color][/right][/ul][/blockquote][/blockquote]Click.
Chshhh...
Click.
Oliver was playing with his army knife again.
Click.
Chush.
Click.
Out on the docks was really the perfect place for him. Fog had been rolling off the sea ever since autumn first reared its head, and the docks had immediately become Oliver's new favourite haunt. There was something soothing about the constant opening and closing of the knife...
Looking out over the water, it was easy to remember why he loved this place. Everything was clear and simple; he could be perfectly alone, and he didn't have to think. Unlike his life back home, the constant lap of the waves against the dock was soothing, and it he listened hard enough, he could almost hear the seagulls crying. Charming little birds, with their pure white feathers. Hard to catch and hold down for long enough to get a knife into them, but a rather fantastic array of organs. Sometimes you found some pretty weird stuff in the stomach...
Oliver grinned to himself, tossing the mop of brown hair out of his eyes. Maybe, if he looked, there'd be another sick seagull hopping around somewhere. Shush said the knife, as it slid safely back into his pocket. Blane, however, would probably want him off the docks quickly; night was falling, and there were usually scuffles with the Hell's Angels around this time. A light snicker escaped his lips that time. With any luck, the cops would have forgotten his last little escapade, and the streets would once again be his for the stalking...
Much pleased with his final resolution, Oliver vanished into the gloom.
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