Post by Timothy Cross on Oct 5, 2009 18:55:24 GMT -6
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idon'tcareaboutclever,idon'tcareaboutfunny
TimothyCrossbonjour, my name is Miky. i've got 17
tracks spinning on my record. i've got serious skill 'cause i've been roleplaying for one year and i live in the Australian timezone.
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iwantloadsofclothesandfuckloadsofdiamonds
name , Timothy Cross
nicknames , Tim
age & date of birth , Twenty Four & March the Fourth
gender , Male
sexual orientation , Straight
played by , Nicolas Figueras
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ihearpeoplediewhiletryingtofindthem
height , 5'11"
weight , 158
basic appearance,
Tim is someone that is easy to overlook on first glances, there is nothing that stands out and keeps people staring at him nor are there any immediate flaws that catch peoples attention. His frame would be that of a tall and lanky kind of person if it wasn't for his years dedicated to the gym. His long muscled legs are often hidden behind loose fitting jeans to see him wear anything else is a rarity. He couldn't really be bothered about his appearance and his time spent in the gym is purely for his work and im not sure he is aware of what a mirror is let alone uses one. Sticking out of his long legs are his feet, once again more often than not covered up by either heavy work boots or riding boots. But there somewhat oversized 48cm to be exact and yes he did measure them. Its not something people ever notice sure but growing up they always seemed to get in the way earning him the clumsy trait, something he worked hard to get rid of.
His upper body matches that of his legs, long and muscled so strangely enough with the big feet and long legs he is in proportion. He is often wearing a plain short sleeve or wifebeater ( tank shirt ) over somewhat hairy chest. Its for this reason alone that he wears one of the most striking tan lines. Some would say he is permanently tanned from having spent his life out in the sun. His skin is always a rich golden colour less visible in the winter but never completely gone. His hands like the rest of his skin are leathery and rough his fingers like his feet seem to be longer than average. Along with the sun tanned look the many scars that litter his body speak of the times he has spent out doors and in the rough.
His hair is always in the same two styles he has had since he was a child. When he can be bothered to get it cut its your average every day haircut; short but long enough to stick up at the back and be spiked if he wished to. The truth is however that never has any hair product other than your five dollar shampoo ever gone near his hair and probably never will. He has been known to even share his horses shampoo once or twice if he had to. More often than not however his hair grows out just so it covers his ears and falls a bit longer at the back. He will often be seen running his hands through his hair and flicking those annoying long bits out of his eye and to the side.
His facial structure is almost delicate with his cheek bones and chin clearly defined giving him the impression of a "pretty boy." His lips have been compared to that of a girl and apart from there often sun worn chapped look they are along with his long nose a throw back from his Argentinian heritage. His skin free of pimples and freckles.
Like mentioned before he is easy to over look on first glance but if anything is going to catch your immediate attention its his eyes. There deep pools of nothing really. The same ordinary dark drown colour as his hair. Yet unlike his lips and face that remain blank of any emotion his eyes are generally the key to what he is thinking. Able to smile and question with just them alone. He has never been afraid to hold ones gaze and stare back so intently that people find it hard to look away. So on an otherwise blank canvas its his eyes that give away what he is thinking and feeling.
His looks fit what he was "built" for, able to slip easily into a crowd and not be noticed or easily forgotten. He shows nothing of the intimidating dangerous man he has grown up to be on the outside and thats what has enabled him to slip so easily through tight situations. The only sign of what he has done or belongs to lies on his back, his left shoulder blade to be exact. A tiny tattoo the size of a fifty cent piece. Its an eagle with its wings outstretched and a gleaming red eye his family name and the word "Saila" imprinted along the bottom.
life'saboutfilmstarsandlessaboutmothers
likes ,
- Cold beer on a hot day
- Weapons ( Knifes, guns, sharp pointy things )
- Long winters and short summers
- Animals. Loyalty
- Smoking
- Working alone
dislikes ,
- Summer and the heat
- People who drink excessive amounts of alcohol and have something against smoking
- His family
- Violence
- Loud noises or places
overall personality , Having lived in a world were none can be trusted save yourself, were emotion is for the weak and sympathy is something to be preyed on. You can bet your bottom dollar he is not one easy to work with. Its the cliche for sure but its so close to the truth that its hardly fair. He learnt young that emotions only get in the way of what you have to do. Happiness is a distraction as is love, trust is a disaster waiting to happen and when you place feelings into anything your bound to fail or atleast do wrong in another eyes. Its not the correct attitude but it is his no sooner will you see tears fall from his face than you will see night turn into day. He trusts his animals because he understands how they will react in certain situations there instincts prevailing. Humans however are unpredictable thats how he would justify it anyways. As much trust as he laces in his animals he never treats them as humans they will always be just an animal with a heir-achy to follow with him as the boss.
His manners are top notch and he respects those above him. Always made to follow a heir-achy he knows his place in the world and wouldn't over step that. Yet he is one to work alone having never really learnt how to work in a group he struggles to follow to many directions and is much happier being his own boss. Either way he is a hard worker and throws his whole self into any job you give him. This makes him a reasonably competitive person he is happy to lose to others but will always work on himself to make sure that he only loses once. He is a gracious loser however and tries to take it all in his stride.
His social skills have never reached what they should have for his age. He has never had a steady relationship and the only romantic interactions he has ever had were with the girls that often visited the group. The ones looking for a bit of the fame, those who wished to bribe there way into drugs or just those girls who were happy to have a good time whatever the stakes. They never lasted long and they were as manipulating and seductive as possible. These girls for lack of better words were easy however and asking Tim to walk into a bar and introduce him to anyone let alone a girl would be considered a rather difficult feat. His years in America however have opened him up a bit he doesn't hesitate to raise a hand in a silent wave if you ride past, or say "mornin' " to you. He can hold a conversation now days and would accept an offer to go out riding together. Even so he has never been much of a talker and don't expect him to string together to many sentences especially at first.
As far as friends go through his travels he has made plenty he always keeps them at a distance however never willing to get to close to them. However if you invest some time and patience into him you wont find a better mate. He is fiercely loyal and isn't the kind to fall in and out of friendships. You will be hard stretched to embarrass him or piss him off once you have gained what little trust he gives out. Either way though he is his own person and having lived for so long depending on only himself to survive and get out of sticky situations he is one hard to love.
His history without doubt has made him into what he is today, more than it does for most people. He has a warped sense of right and wrong, having spent so long leading himself to believe that wrong doesn't exist and ignoring his conscience. It has made him silent when he could have been loud and overly cautious when he could have been carefree. Constantly on the watch for danger, checking over his shoulder and around every corner always on the alert for the danger that no longer exists in his world. It has altered how he looks at the world in more than one way. He watches people how they walk and talk down to what they are wearing. Every one is different and by analyzing these simple things he gets an idea of what kind of person they are and ideally how dangerous they are.
On the outside however he comes of as reserved, your typical cowboy with his akubra pulled down over his head, dark eyes scanning the area around him and rough warn look about him. I wouldn't call him dangerous he has left that life behind but is so connected to his history and his "training" that i would place my trust carefully around him.
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it'sallaboutfastcarsandcussingeachother
hometown , New South Wales Australia
family , Mother- Scarlet; 41 years old she still lives in Australia. She was only 17 when she gave birth to Tim, marrying Rock a few years later.
Father- Rock; was 12 years Scarlet's age when Tim was born, his for father was the founder of the gang "Salia" and he hopped to pass the tradition onto Tim as his father had before him. He was killed age 40 his mother was born in Argentina, his father was Australian.
Siblings- Nill
pets ,
Senkana- Arab mare, 8 years old and does a bit of everything.
history , Tim was born into the arms of a reasonably loving mother, considering who she was and were she came from she did her best to see him through his child years. His father however as mentioned before was not only part of the biggest organized crime rings this side of Australia, he was directly related by blood to the founder of it near 100 years ago. Tim and his mother lived a reasonably comfortable life for the first ten years. Unknown to him however Scarlet was as lonely as could be she was only twenty seven by the time he was ten and had been thrown into a kind of isolation away from any friends or family she may have had otherwise. Yet for reasons Tim will never understand she was as loyal and dedicated to her husband as he was unfaithful to her. They lived in a mansion of sorts the house was modern and the land it sat on was historical. It had been passed down from generation to generation each family modifying it just a little bit. Tim's father Rock had added stables to the side of the house to keep Scarlet amused as he would often leave his family for weeks sometimes months at a time.
Tim never had many friends growing up, he was home schooled and his days were spent playing outside by the river or with his mum who had passed on her love of horses to him and they spent many summer days together in there own private paddocks. He was a shy kid for this reason alone and even growing up he always related better to animals than he did his fellow human beings. It was in this that he learnt to become silent, speaking only when he had to. So by the time he was twelve he had grown into a silent and shy boy that knew little of the outside world but much of the wonders the outback held.
His thirteenth birthday came with it a surprise. Unknown to him at the time but his birth had marked a new generation of leaders. As tradition spoke it was on his thirteenth birthday that he would be introduced into his fathers and families world. It was also on this day that he was "branded" with that tiny eagle tattoo on his left shoulder blade. It was then that he learnt who his father was and in some twisted way learnt to look up to him, in only a way a innocent thirteen year old boy can. For the first year nothing much changed, his father was home more often and he met allot of his fathers friends who at first had scared him. They were unlike anything he had come across before. They were scary looking and silent and there laugh was unlike any laugh he had come across before, it was cold and harsh. Yet over time and with his fathers persistence he learnt to accept there company and once again his innocence had him believe everything his father was saying.
At fifteen he was regularly attending "work" with his father. What his mum did during his absence was something he often thought about but was never allowed to ask. Rock worked in his own building the letters out the front were bright red and covered the whole front of the building, " Jayz Shed" if you were to look it up in the directory it would tell you they were a car mechanics. If you rang up to book in your car you would be told they were booked out and the waiting list was considerably long. Its surprising really how long they got away with it. Either way this old run down shed was his fathers pride and joy it was only one of the branches many works but it was by far his favorite. The illegal car trade was almost an art Rock had once told Tim, an art that we have almost perfected. So it was hear that Tim spent a good twelve months, his school studies were near forgotten and he was taking lessons of a different kind. By the time he was 16 he could drive a car, pull apart the engine and basic body kit with his eyes closed. He was also tutored in the paper work side, fake registrations, number plates and serial numbers. It was a tricky business and his father had been right it was an art.
His social skills blossomed during his time in the car shed, he was socializing with others for the first time. He still lacked the knowledge of how to make friends but it was a sight better than what it was 3 years ago when he was imprisoned in his own house. Yet at sixteen he was once again taken from a place he had become secure and familiar with and placed somewhere new. He saw for the first time during this year were the bloodshed and pain came into this little world of his fathers. He was shown how to fire a gun, dissemble and assemble it in his sleep. How to yield a knife so it was barely visible to anyone looking but offered maximum protection. The drug trade become painfully obvious to him and even though there was one hundred years of practice down Saila's belt he became familiar with the police. He was sixteen by then and his personality had begun to chance. He was no longer socially awkward and was able to talk his way out of anything, yet he still spoke very little given the chance. His face had lost the young happy innocence it held for so long and was replaced by a hard blank look that dared you to cross him. His laugh was as mechanical as those boys his dad had introduced him to when he was just thirteen and his stare was just as cold.
At seventeen he was shown the last of his traits, the car world was long behind him yet the drug trade was still a big part of his life and he had just begun feeling comfortable in it when he was handed a name of a boy along with a photo. It was his job to find out as much as he could about that boy. The boys name was Nicholas Charm and he was Tim's first and last mistake. He had no doubt in his mind what would become of this boy once he realized it was him who had betrayed some of there men to the police then gone into hiding. It was Tim's job to track him and perhaps deal with him himself. Yet up till now he had still been shielded from this form of violence. He had seen it even egged it on, yet childishly he had sought to see it as a game. Yet now with a name and a picture things became painfully real and reality sunk in. Unsure of what to do, knowing full well he would be unable to back away from this life that now weighed down on him with such force. It was tradition all this and who was he to defy that? Either way it was tradition and in some sick way it was both tradition that killed him and saved him.
He found Nicholas Charm, it turned out he was only a few years older than Tim himself. After spending weeks tracking the kid Tim couldn't bring himself to report back with his findings; there was something about this boy or perhaps it was just Tim's human innocence that kept him silent. He let the boy go and did everything he could to make sure he wasn't found. In doing so he angered those higher than himself, if he was anyone else his fate would have been similar to those who had defied the group before him. Yet it was that six letter word that kept him safe " Sather " the family name. No one could touch him yet whilst he was still a kid, yet he had made some powerful enemies and had disappointed his father. Something that hit home harder than almost being killed. His father was still his hero as much as he had grown up and seen Tim was still just that thirteen year old boy with stars in his eyes for his dad.
After letting Nicholas escape Tim changed once more, he knew what he had to do to fit in with the people he was been forced to work with. To save his life and his families name he had to grow up, no more games and childish dreams. He was eighteen when he was chosen to work tracking people. It suited him fine. He no longer craved other peoples attention and was more comfortable working alone than in a group. He learnt to use his silence to his advantage and emotions were useless. Making sure he put his trust in things that could not betray him, a gun or himself. He lived up to his families name and soon won back his fathers respect. He trained his memory to be impeccable, his eyes to spot things normally over looked,his body to betray no sign of emotion and his mind to be closed of all conscience thoughts. Things were going as fine as they could be till something sent the whole underworld upside down. His father was killed by a rival gang. The man who took over changed the system within weeks. Everyone involved within the group had ties to someone else, leaving wasn't a possibility even now. Yet as the new leader started bringing in his own men more people started dyeing. It became a battle of wills, land and leadership. Tim knew nothing of this world and was forced to learn quickly he had the skills to save himself yet a small part of him, the part that saved a boy by the name of Nicholas Charm saw a way to escape this life of his. He never spoke to his mother again knowing full well she would have enough protection more than he could give her anyways. Using the american passport his mother had made for him using her maiden name and her American heritage Tim fled to America he was yet to turn nineteen.
The next few years of his life were reasonably uneventful, having never held a job he found finding work hard. So he fell back into the only life he knew. Joining the lower ranks of a local drug ring he worked hard to gain the respect he had been given at birth back home. Yet he was skilled at what he did and earnt it quickly. It was frustrating work however as he had never understood how to work in a group alongside others. So he left, it didn't seem as dangerous and stupid as when he had left home. The last thing he had going for him was what his mother had given him. A gift or passion for animals horses especially. He found some work as a stable hand, long hot days little pay. He didn't last to long before moving again this time out to a cattle ranch to do more of the similar work. He had a chance however to work alongside the ranch animals and he found himself sticking with this job a bit longer. The story is much the same for the next few years, he would pack up and leave for a new job doing the same kind of work. He was twenty one when he settled at a little hobby ranch who specialized in a kind of horse trail business. He was in charge of taking people out for a few hours at a time on horseback through the scrub. It was hear that he came across a little arab x around four years old, completely unbroke and as wild as they came. He invested in some clinics were he sought to learn about the different methods of training. He trailed them all out on this mare, with his boss watching over him. It wasn't long after that his boss came up to him with a business prospect. Buy the rouges from the sale yards, work with them for a bit and see if we can make anything out of them. Tim always figured it would be a waste of money for the old man but went along with it anyways. He spent over two years hear doing just that and growing a passion for it developing his own style of training.
He had the itch to move again and whilst he was sad to leave he had never begun to form relationships with people again so was able to pack up once again this time with his little grey mare in tow and find some more work elsewhere. A couple of years later he has ended up in this little town the same little grey mare in tow and the same cold hard face and dark eyes. He is looking for work again, the same kind of work i guess.
itdoesn'tmatter'cuzi'mpackingplastic
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roleplay sample ,
Opening the tattered screen door a pair of brown eyes scanned the land before him, in the far left corner he could see the dappled frame of his mare as she grazed in peace amongst a field of yellow flowers. The scrub here was vastly different to were he had grown up and he hadn't grown accustomed to it just yet, it all looked so foreign. His eyes narrowing as they found what he was looking for and with a low whistle he stood tracking the black and white fluff ball as his dog bounded across the fields, stopping only once to negotiate her way under one of the fences, reminding the black haired boy he would need to ride out and check them all over again tomorrow before his mare found out a new way to injure herself.
Pink tongue hanging out the collie found her way over to Tim's feet and sat down beside him looking up with liquid brown eyes begging for a pat, always was one for affection of any kind. Almost the opposite to Tim really, the only similarities being they were both well trained and yielded to a higher authority without question. Reaching down with long slim fingers Tim scratched behind her ears affectionately before reaching over and pulling down his akubra from the nail near the door. Pulling it over his hair he made his way bridle in hand, dog following beside him towards his mare. It was growing dark and there wouldn't be enough time to repair the only down fence he knew off, yet he could atleast ride the boundaries to double check. The land wasn't huge, nothing like back home, but considering he wasn't doing anything with it, it was plenty big enough for him.
The weather had been toying with everyone for days now and a quick look over head confirmed that what ever had been brewing high in the sky was about to break soon. It was the kind of weather that sent people and animals alike on some power trip. Yet sticking out his hands and pausing briefly to look around him Tim noted the cool change in the air alone. The calm before the storm almost, it brought an uncharacteristic smile to his otherwise blank face as he turned towards the distant sound of thunder. His mare could feel it aswell she stood stock still now, her dished face raised high above her withers ears flickering back and forth. She had been sensing the change in the weather for she had darted from place to place over the past few days acting like the wild filly she once was many years ago. Yet now like Tim she stood transfixed by the simplicity of nature.
With a slight shake of his head, his free hand running through a mop of messy hair once again Tim walked on his shoulders squared with his eyes moving around quickly as if scanning the area for dangers. He needed have bothered as the land was as flat as it was wide, with no one able to move into it without Tim knowing.
The grey mare lowered her nose to the ground below sniffing along the grass lipping it occasionally as Tim approached. He could see her watching him yet she made no effort to walk towards him then again she didn't walk away like she often does. Her slender frame and dished face made it obvious how much arab blood ran through her, yet her height and broad back showed she had atleast one other breed in her genetics. Her history was as detailed as Tim's and just like his she was the only one who knew her whole story. All he knew about her life before he came across her as a unbroken four year old. Was that she had atleast five owners prior, only two of them had started in any kind of handling or breaking in progress. She was an arrogant young mare with little to no respect for anything around her including the humans who attempted to handle her. It had taken four years, several accidents, many learning curves with several trainers and patience to bring her to were she was today.
Lighting licked the sky somewere over the ridge as he reached the mare she flinched as his long fingers gently touched her shoulder and she turned to look at him flicking her tail high over her withers as if she expected something. The first drops of rain had just fallen as he slipped the leather over her delicate ears and settled the reins over her neck a few quick seconds later and he had vaulted onto her back. He could feel her warmth through his warn jeans. There was nothing romantic about the way he rode it was laziness the majority of the time, that and he had been struck for money for a long time after he had purchased the mare and this was the cheapest answer. For the both of them it was now the most familiar and comfortable. The sky broke with a loud stroke of thunder and three days worth of suspense finally broke over head. The mare who had once gone crazy at the faintest of noises now stood still, not relaxed but focused. Tim didn't smile or bend down to reassure her with words or touch. It was a test and she was passing, there was no use in reassuring her when he was trying to prove to her that there was nothing wrong in the first place. Running his hands up the reins with slight pressure from his heels was all it took for the grey mare to move forward her ears flicking back towards her rider, head and tail still held high but there was nothing in her movements or body that suggested she was tense or unsure. This was all routine, the bridle the vault and the gentle graze of leather and fabric against her skin.
There was a faint silhouette of Tim and his horse and dog as he dismounted, the storm had almost past leaving in its turn a heavy down pour of rain and a darkening sky as night approached. He had been correct in thinking there was only one section of the fence down and it would be easy to fix tomorrow. Undoing the bridle Tim let it slip out of her mouth before taking a step back and watching as she ambled off almost oblivious to the rain she was walking into, ears pricked but no other sign of her once flighty self, the outback suited her well, as it did her owner.
Shielding his eyes out of habit mostly, for the sun had all but disappeared he looked down towards the long muddy road, looking for nothing in particular, a small whistle for his dog to heel as he started his short walk back to the small house. He needed have called however, as the dog was already beside its master, soaking wet out and more than ready for a meal.
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andthat'swhatmakesmylifesofuckingfantastic
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mmkay. so this application hurr was made by AMANDA IN WONDERLAND !? of caution. steal it or take off this credit, and i shall hunt you down and eat your insides! lyrics credit to lily allen.
