Post by loki on Jul 12, 2009 12:12:26 GMT 10
[/size]Leonardo Zane Kistler!
logical, manipulative, egotistical
Name: Leonardo Zane Kistler
Nickname(s): Loki
Degree: Art
Major: Music
Minor: Forensics
Age: 24
Grade: Freshman
Birthdate: January 18, 1985
Orientation: Homosexual
Location: Brooklyn, New York
`Appearance !
The first thing most people notice about Loki are his eyes. Not because they’re very pretty or even particularly expressive. In fact, they’re just the opposite. There seems to be no feeling behind them. As if it were possible for him to really feel nothing about what he sees. Often times this even takes one aback, utterly missing the fact that his eyes are normally either a shade of violet or deep purple. But when it is noticed, it’s accompanied by a glance upwards, the person verifying that his eyes and hair really are the same color. Though the natural color of his hair is blonde, almost platinum, he’s very meticulous about keeping it either all purple or tar black with purple bangs. It’s almost a shock to see such dark colors against such light skin.
A simple stud goes through his left eyebrow. And he also has a labret piercing. Both ears are gauged, recently taken to a size two, decorated with a pair of red tapers or bright pink tunnels.
His face may be the first to be noticed, but the most worrying is the fact that he can’t weigh more than 115lbs. Even for someone that only stands 5’4”, he’s still very thin. Anyone would be able to tell that he wasn’t very healthy.
It wouldn’t be hard for Loki to find clothes that really fit him. But he seems to enjoy buying things that are too big. Pants long enough to cause him to trip over them and long sleeve shirts that reach the tips of his thumbs. Even in the middle of summer he wears long sleeves. Typically his clothes are even dark in color, though he really does like bright colors. His favorite shoes are a pair of Osiris; blue, red, grey, yellow, and white in color with bright green laces. It’s very rare he’ll not wear them. But if he’s not, it’s certain that he’ll be in a pair of combat boots that have seen better days.
A dulled razorblade is threaded onto a pair of dog-tags, the reason for which he would gladly tell anyone. The story behind it is never the same twice though.
For people lucky or unlucky enough to have seen him without a shirt, they’re treated to an eyeful of scars. Track marks on the insides of his wrists and up to the insides of his elbows, all almost hidden by the sheer amount of cuts up his arms. It was as if one day he thought it might be a good idea to stick his arms into a blender and turn it on. The thin cuts are well up his arms, stopping just short of his shoulders, making the reason he wears long sleeves clear.
On his left shoulder, in the crook of the right wing of a raven whose wing travels up his neck to stop below his ear, are two old bullet wounds. Diagonally across his chest are four long, thick scars, almost appearing to be the claw marks of a large cat. They run through the words ‘Corruptisima republica plurimae leges’, almost making them illegible. His left shoulder holds a complex knot of vines and roses, encircling a double I logo and flanked on the top and bottom with doves. It is the logo of the band he struggled to hold together since high school, Irksome Inspiration.
The knife scars, both self inflicted and not, also travel across his back, mostly hidden by the large tattoo of Fenrir escaping his confinement at Ragnarök. Just above it, on the back of his neck is Heaven’s Fence, a spur of the moment decision caused by too much to drink and listening to the music of one of his favorite bands; Coheed and Cambria. Almost directly below the design, a set of claw marks runs down each side of his back, still adequately hidden by the tattoo. Below the paw of the wolf, almost on his right side, are another three gunshot wounds, slightly newer than the ones on his shoulder.
If someone were to catch him without pants on, which honestly isn’t difficult, they’d see the same claw marks down the inside of his thighs, stopping just above his knees. Along the scars are more needle marks. And just as his arms, his legs are severely cut up, with another bullet scar just below his right knee.
The first thing most people notice about Loki are his eyes. Not because they’re very pretty or even particularly expressive. In fact, they’re just the opposite. There seems to be no feeling behind them. As if it were possible for him to really feel nothing about what he sees. Often times this even takes one aback, utterly missing the fact that his eyes are normally either a shade of violet or deep purple. But when it is noticed, it’s accompanied by a glance upwards, the person verifying that his eyes and hair really are the same color. Though the natural color of his hair is blonde, almost platinum, he’s very meticulous about keeping it either all purple or tar black with purple bangs. It’s almost a shock to see such dark colors against such light skin.
A simple stud goes through his left eyebrow. And he also has a labret piercing. Both ears are gauged, recently taken to a size two, decorated with a pair of red tapers or bright pink tunnels.
His face may be the first to be noticed, but the most worrying is the fact that he can’t weigh more than 115lbs. Even for someone that only stands 5’4”, he’s still very thin. Anyone would be able to tell that he wasn’t very healthy.
It wouldn’t be hard for Loki to find clothes that really fit him. But he seems to enjoy buying things that are too big. Pants long enough to cause him to trip over them and long sleeve shirts that reach the tips of his thumbs. Even in the middle of summer he wears long sleeves. Typically his clothes are even dark in color, though he really does like bright colors. His favorite shoes are a pair of Osiris; blue, red, grey, yellow, and white in color with bright green laces. It’s very rare he’ll not wear them. But if he’s not, it’s certain that he’ll be in a pair of combat boots that have seen better days.
A dulled razorblade is threaded onto a pair of dog-tags, the reason for which he would gladly tell anyone. The story behind it is never the same twice though.
For people lucky or unlucky enough to have seen him without a shirt, they’re treated to an eyeful of scars. Track marks on the insides of his wrists and up to the insides of his elbows, all almost hidden by the sheer amount of cuts up his arms. It was as if one day he thought it might be a good idea to stick his arms into a blender and turn it on. The thin cuts are well up his arms, stopping just short of his shoulders, making the reason he wears long sleeves clear.
On his left shoulder, in the crook of the right wing of a raven whose wing travels up his neck to stop below his ear, are two old bullet wounds. Diagonally across his chest are four long, thick scars, almost appearing to be the claw marks of a large cat. They run through the words ‘Corruptisima republica plurimae leges’, almost making them illegible. His left shoulder holds a complex knot of vines and roses, encircling a double I logo and flanked on the top and bottom with doves. It is the logo of the band he struggled to hold together since high school, Irksome Inspiration.
The knife scars, both self inflicted and not, also travel across his back, mostly hidden by the large tattoo of Fenrir escaping his confinement at Ragnarök. Just above it, on the back of his neck is Heaven’s Fence, a spur of the moment decision caused by too much to drink and listening to the music of one of his favorite bands; Coheed and Cambria. Almost directly below the design, a set of claw marks runs down each side of his back, still adequately hidden by the tattoo. Below the paw of the wolf, almost on his right side, are another three gunshot wounds, slightly newer than the ones on his shoulder.
If someone were to catch him without pants on, which honestly isn’t difficult, they’d see the same claw marks down the inside of his thighs, stopping just above his knees. Along the scars are more needle marks. And just as his arms, his legs are severely cut up, with another bullet scar just below his right knee.
Best Feature: "I like m'eyes, righ'? People don' fuck wit' me cuz dey know dey get dealt wit' quick like, ya know?"
Worst Feature: "Could take er leave da nose. Was okay b'fore da scar, yeah? 'Ey, least I ain't fucked up like some poor ugly bastard."[/size]
`Personality !
His entire life Loki has been soft spoken. He prefers to get his point across with logic rather than emotion. Emotion is difficult for him to fake while logic only requires a brain. He will only accept things if they make complete logical sense to him, never just accepting things on faith. While he does make stupid decisions, it’s only after weighing the consequences. If they outweigh the fun, he doesn’t do what he was thinking of. This is one of the things that has kept him from going to prison. The other being his incredible ability to lie.
Loki is not blatant about his lies. He knows what people want to hear and he tells them. This skill was developed and honed over a few years because he’s a coward. Living mostly on the streets gave him a good sense of self preservation and learning to lie well is always preferable to death.
But because of his connections with major players in the gang world, his mother’s constant assertion that they were better than others, and his natural talents, he developed a bit of an ego. He’s always been certain that no one would really kill him. They needed him too much. Eventually he learned the error of his thinking. Still, he can’t shake the feeling of superiority. Too many times he’s been told that he’s smarter and better than other people. It leaves many thinking he’s cold or impersonal.
His entire life Loki has been soft spoken. He prefers to get his point across with logic rather than emotion. Emotion is difficult for him to fake while logic only requires a brain. He will only accept things if they make complete logical sense to him, never just accepting things on faith. While he does make stupid decisions, it’s only after weighing the consequences. If they outweigh the fun, he doesn’t do what he was thinking of. This is one of the things that has kept him from going to prison. The other being his incredible ability to lie.
Loki is not blatant about his lies. He knows what people want to hear and he tells them. This skill was developed and honed over a few years because he’s a coward. Living mostly on the streets gave him a good sense of self preservation and learning to lie well is always preferable to death.
But because of his connections with major players in the gang world, his mother’s constant assertion that they were better than others, and his natural talents, he developed a bit of an ego. He’s always been certain that no one would really kill him. They needed him too much. Eventually he learned the error of his thinking. Still, he can’t shake the feeling of superiority. Too many times he’s been told that he’s smarter and better than other people. It leaves many thinking he’s cold or impersonal.
Likes: Heroin, blood, pain, heroin, boys, pot, guns, knives, heroin, sex, money, his bass, music, and nicotine. But mostly heroin and other drugs.
Dislikes: Withdrawals, rain, snow, intense heat, bitches, his boss, teenagers, mornings, and people that don't know when to shut up.
Positive Traits: He's very soft spoken, meaning that most people find it hard to be offended by him. He can typically calm most anyone down, simply pointing out the irrational or illogical ways they were thinking. And he is able to get almost anything for almost anyone at all.
Negative Traits: Loki is sarcastic, as in doesn't know when to stop mocking his company and/or friends. He's also not against lying to close friends and using them in ways they wouldn't imagine. And last but not least, he's schizophrenic. This makes it exceedingly difficult to hold conversations with him unless they're on his terms.
Greatest Ambition: Inheriting his mother's money.
Greatest Fear:[/size] He'll die before his mother.
`History !
Loki is not and has never been your typical rich kid. Up until he was ten, he had a fairly normal middle class life. One kid, one dog, and a white picket fence kind of deal. Only a few days after his tenth birthday, his father died from fatal complications of Huntington’s disease.
His father left them quite a bit of money when he died. And along with the inheritance from a few other rather untimely deaths of other family members, his mother was left very well off. But, she was never a particularly kind woman, only made bitter by the loss of her husband. So Loki, when he was little more than twelve, decided that spending time on the streets was preferable to spending it with his mother.
The streets of New York were not a forgiving place for a small, rich, and very mouthy white kid.
Though his mother was a socialite, Loki for the most part fended for himself. He worked odd jobs, went to school and surprisingly, mostly earned the highest grades in his class. He taught himself to play guitar, bass, piano, and drums. Most importantly to his survival, he made it good with quite a few gang members, always known to have the highest quality of whatever drug anyone could want. With a guarantee to stay quiet, no matter what. Something he proved over and over again.
Even still, over the next eight years and because of his habit of running his mouth, Loki regularly got his attitude violently adjusted by people bigger or meaner than him. Not that it was difficult to be bigger than him. By the age of fifteen he had become a hardcore heroin addict, on top of already being small. And getting more was much more important to him than things like eating. Fights became much more common and he started carrying both a gun and a knife for his own protection, learning to use both well.
Though he continued to get top scores on everything, in just three years he had worked his way through almost every school in Brooklyn (for various reasons), finally ending up at Pulse High School. It was there he met his former bandmates; Nikolas, Vincent, Samuel, and Michael, and ex-boyfriend Sebastian. Eventually the relationships decayed, Loki constantly hurting his friends by stealing or lying to them, purely to fuel his addiction.
Only two years ago, he was kidnapped, kept in a locked apartment, the only connection to the outside world with his kidnapper. Small and definitely not quick, some not so nice things happened to him. Two weeks he spent there, finally escaping when the man left a knife in the flat, which he used to repetitively stab the man before taking his keys and leaving the body, without even a second thought about his actions.
His mother didn’t suspect a thing. He had been disappearing for weeks on end since twelve and she was much too busy to worry about it. Though she was secretly relieved that he hadn't come home covered in blood. Because it left stains on her carpets and furniture when he did.
When he finally expressed his interest in music to her, she decided it would be good for him to go to a college out of the state. Or out of the country if at all possible. But after a bit of searching, he found a place that suits him just fine.
Loki is not and has never been your typical rich kid. Up until he was ten, he had a fairly normal middle class life. One kid, one dog, and a white picket fence kind of deal. Only a few days after his tenth birthday, his father died from fatal complications of Huntington’s disease.
His father left them quite a bit of money when he died. And along with the inheritance from a few other rather untimely deaths of other family members, his mother was left very well off. But, she was never a particularly kind woman, only made bitter by the loss of her husband. So Loki, when he was little more than twelve, decided that spending time on the streets was preferable to spending it with his mother.
The streets of New York were not a forgiving place for a small, rich, and very mouthy white kid.
Though his mother was a socialite, Loki for the most part fended for himself. He worked odd jobs, went to school and surprisingly, mostly earned the highest grades in his class. He taught himself to play guitar, bass, piano, and drums. Most importantly to his survival, he made it good with quite a few gang members, always known to have the highest quality of whatever drug anyone could want. With a guarantee to stay quiet, no matter what. Something he proved over and over again.
Even still, over the next eight years and because of his habit of running his mouth, Loki regularly got his attitude violently adjusted by people bigger or meaner than him. Not that it was difficult to be bigger than him. By the age of fifteen he had become a hardcore heroin addict, on top of already being small. And getting more was much more important to him than things like eating. Fights became much more common and he started carrying both a gun and a knife for his own protection, learning to use both well.
Though he continued to get top scores on everything, in just three years he had worked his way through almost every school in Brooklyn (for various reasons), finally ending up at Pulse High School. It was there he met his former bandmates; Nikolas, Vincent, Samuel, and Michael, and ex-boyfriend Sebastian. Eventually the relationships decayed, Loki constantly hurting his friends by stealing or lying to them, purely to fuel his addiction.
Only two years ago, he was kidnapped, kept in a locked apartment, the only connection to the outside world with his kidnapper. Small and definitely not quick, some not so nice things happened to him. Two weeks he spent there, finally escaping when the man left a knife in the flat, which he used to repetitively stab the man before taking his keys and leaving the body, without even a second thought about his actions.
His mother didn’t suspect a thing. He had been disappearing for weeks on end since twelve and she was much too busy to worry about it. Though she was secretly relieved that he hadn't come home covered in blood. Because it left stains on her carpets and furniture when he did.
When he finally expressed his interest in music to her, she decided it would be good for him to go to a college out of the state. Or out of the country if at all possible. But after a bit of searching, he found a place that suits him just fine.
Best Memory: "Standin' on stage fer da firs' time. We was on'y seventeen an' da owner a da joint was payin' us ta en'ertain 'is customers, right? Pretty damn big deal fer jus' a buncha high school kids. All dose flashin' lights, da sound set up jus' fer us fer once. Was a rush ya'd nevah ferget, yeah? Dunno if dey lied us'r not, but we played an' we did fuckin' amazin' fer kids."
Worst Memory: "Dat man locked me in 'is house fer two god forsaken weeks. Dat's as detailed as yer gonna get..."
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`Writing Skill !
Loki was alone again. Left sitting in a dingy, much too small and out of the way bar. Finally blessed silence, even if he was a bit sore that his friend had left him. The bar itself wasn’t a place he’d typically be found either. It was way too expensive and he thought the clientele left much to be desired. Bunch of spoiled rich kids, spending daddy's money just to run their cars into a ditch. Not one person that he thought would be worth his time. For a moment he pursued the idea of leaving. Just leaving and not telling anyone at all. It might take days for them to find him. Dropping from the face of the Earth entirely was an acquired skill. One he hadn’t yet acquired. Would he even want to do that? Probably not. He knew he was the kind of person that thrived on attention. Positive, negative. Whatever. Just as long as someone somewhere was paying attention.
That was probably why he was more than a bit upset that Gabriel had left him alone. Sure it was to go get something for him. But that wasn’t really the point. At the very least, he could have been invited. He didn’t trust that girl he had left with. However, he didn’t hate her either. Then again, he didn’t trust many people at all, so it wasn’t uncommon that he wouldn’t trust someone he didn’t know.
Chin resting in one hand, he tapped a pen against a pad of paper. Unless he forgot, which happened frequently, Loki always carried paper. It was easier than a laptop and he was less likely to fuck something up. Eventually everything he wrote went onto a computer. But the paper meant he couldn’t lose it to some error. The sound of the pen against the paper was one of a complex drum line. No one had ever asked him, but he thought he played pretty well.
Soon enough he had stopped tapping, scribbling haphazardly across the page. He could read his writing just fine. No one else seemed to be able to though. Every few lines he’d stop, tilt his head and squint at the page, then make seemingly random musical notations. Had anyone tried to play what he was noting, it would only be an irritating, unrelated string of notes, resembling something a child could hammer out on a piano. Not surprising, since no one could really read his musical shorthand either. He had the proper sound in his head and could demonstrate it, but it would never match up to what he wrote.
Since he was alone and had nothing better to do, Loki figured he may as well get farther into work on some of the new lyrics he had in his head. In the middle of a line, he frowned, sniffed hard, tapped the paper again, and wrote the only thing legible on the entire page. The words “Inroads 367” at the very top. Leaving it where he had stopped, he closed the notebook, folding it as well as he could and stuffing it into a pocket. Not much work had gotten done, not compared to what he could do when he was thinking about it. But it was good enough.
Maybe instead he’d go to some club and pick up a kid. Just for a bit of fun.
[/size][/center]Loki was alone again. Left sitting in a dingy, much too small and out of the way bar. Finally blessed silence, even if he was a bit sore that his friend had left him. The bar itself wasn’t a place he’d typically be found either. It was way too expensive and he thought the clientele left much to be desired. Bunch of spoiled rich kids, spending daddy's money just to run their cars into a ditch. Not one person that he thought would be worth his time. For a moment he pursued the idea of leaving. Just leaving and not telling anyone at all. It might take days for them to find him. Dropping from the face of the Earth entirely was an acquired skill. One he hadn’t yet acquired. Would he even want to do that? Probably not. He knew he was the kind of person that thrived on attention. Positive, negative. Whatever. Just as long as someone somewhere was paying attention.
That was probably why he was more than a bit upset that Gabriel had left him alone. Sure it was to go get something for him. But that wasn’t really the point. At the very least, he could have been invited. He didn’t trust that girl he had left with. However, he didn’t hate her either. Then again, he didn’t trust many people at all, so it wasn’t uncommon that he wouldn’t trust someone he didn’t know.
Chin resting in one hand, he tapped a pen against a pad of paper. Unless he forgot, which happened frequently, Loki always carried paper. It was easier than a laptop and he was less likely to fuck something up. Eventually everything he wrote went onto a computer. But the paper meant he couldn’t lose it to some error. The sound of the pen against the paper was one of a complex drum line. No one had ever asked him, but he thought he played pretty well.
Soon enough he had stopped tapping, scribbling haphazardly across the page. He could read his writing just fine. No one else seemed to be able to though. Every few lines he’d stop, tilt his head and squint at the page, then make seemingly random musical notations. Had anyone tried to play what he was noting, it would only be an irritating, unrelated string of notes, resembling something a child could hammer out on a piano. Not surprising, since no one could really read his musical shorthand either. He had the proper sound in his head and could demonstrate it, but it would never match up to what he wrote.
Since he was alone and had nothing better to do, Loki figured he may as well get farther into work on some of the new lyrics he had in his head. In the middle of a line, he frowned, sniffed hard, tapped the paper again, and wrote the only thing legible on the entire page. The words “Inroads 367” at the very top. Leaving it where he had stopped, he closed the notebook, folding it as well as he could and stuffing it into a pocket. Not much work had gotten done, not compared to what he could do when he was thinking about it. But it was good enough.
Maybe instead he’d go to some club and pick up a kid. Just for a bit of fun.
`Behind The Character !
Name: Shannon
Age: 20
Role-playing experience: Six or seven years.
How you found us: Random internet searches
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