Post by kitmoreau on Jan 7, 2009 20:06:45 GMT 10
[/size]`kit moreau !!!
Funny, Thrill-seeking, Creative
Name: kit moreau
Nickname(s): moreau, if pressed.
Major: film
Age: 20
Grade: sophomore
Birthdate: october 5
Orientation: straight
Location: portland, oregon
`Appearance ,,
Kit Moreau is one of the most unintentionally grungy looking blokes currently breathing, with a constant smell of Portland smog coexisting with a lingering lavender from a childhood spent in the Oregon countryside. A city boy at heart, his garb is more constant with the trends of independent Portland musicians—often identical to designer clothing, if designer clothing were always wrinkled, faded, and said designer had taken up a recent cocaine addiction. Skinny jeans are continually hanging off Moreau's malnourished body, usually stuffed into some form of beat up shoe (Chuck Taylors or more infrequently black “dress shoes” when affordable or stolen), with some obscure band t-shirt hidden inside a pinstripe blazer or tweed coat.
An incredibly appropriate word to describe Kit's appearance would be “lovable”; always smiling sheepishly—reminiscent of a small boy recently discovering the option of a five-finger discount—Kit looks more like a happy little hellion under his messy mop of brown hair than the indie artists who frequently sported the style. Naturally optimistic, Moreau's appearance clearly mirrors this: large eyes that are always curious, genuine, and able to light up any dull or formerly depressing situation along with the kind of smile that can automatically make someone feel extremely special under the light of it.
Fortunately part of the dying populous that are able to look cute with bedhead hair and wrinkled clothing, Kit barely pays attention to fashion or chíc and is more often found focusing velvet-hued eyelashes on his favorite thing ever: cigarettes.
Kit Moreau is one of the most unintentionally grungy looking blokes currently breathing, with a constant smell of Portland smog coexisting with a lingering lavender from a childhood spent in the Oregon countryside. A city boy at heart, his garb is more constant with the trends of independent Portland musicians—often identical to designer clothing, if designer clothing were always wrinkled, faded, and said designer had taken up a recent cocaine addiction. Skinny jeans are continually hanging off Moreau's malnourished body, usually stuffed into some form of beat up shoe (Chuck Taylors or more infrequently black “dress shoes” when affordable or stolen), with some obscure band t-shirt hidden inside a pinstripe blazer or tweed coat.
An incredibly appropriate word to describe Kit's appearance would be “lovable”; always smiling sheepishly—reminiscent of a small boy recently discovering the option of a five-finger discount—Kit looks more like a happy little hellion under his messy mop of brown hair than the indie artists who frequently sported the style. Naturally optimistic, Moreau's appearance clearly mirrors this: large eyes that are always curious, genuine, and able to light up any dull or formerly depressing situation along with the kind of smile that can automatically make someone feel extremely special under the light of it.
Fortunately part of the dying populous that are able to look cute with bedhead hair and wrinkled clothing, Kit barely pays attention to fashion or chíc and is more often found focusing velvet-hued eyelashes on his favorite thing ever: cigarettes.
Best Feature: "I'd have to think on that one; I think I'm pretty fucking ugly, what with a Marlboro hanging out of my mouth all the time and sleep issues making me identical to some pre-rehab meth addict. I'd say my hair is my best feature, however, because let's face it: you can be the ugliest fuck on the planet--but if you have great hair, you're fucking gold."
Worst Feature: "Can I say everything? Although it'd probably break some unconscious code of masculinity to put yourself down so happily, so I'll just go with my lips. Constantly chapped; and my fingernails, and aforementioned meth circles under my eyes. Why the fuck do people like me again?!"[/size]
`Personality ,,
- - - funny!
Spawning from a childhood of primarily boys, being the youngest of five was incredibly tough for Kit—what with every other sibling establishing respect from the Moreau parents through various ways (academics, sports, music, and so forth.) Kit, under the impression (and, unsurprisingly, learning the hard way) that perhaps mimicking a fellow brother's established talent would hardly earn him any recognition at family reunions or even within the Moreau apartmenthold, it was incredibly apparent at a young age that perhaps Kit was destined for a life of comedy. After all, being the youngest, it's obvious that with a line of respectable brothers before you that can grind their bones to make their bread or butter their toast or other MASCULINE and KITCHENLY things, it's a good and quite honestly logical idea to be the funny one.
It's a surprisingly easy way not to get your ass kicked, anyway.
Quickly adapting into the optimistic, comedic, and stress-relieving brother that family adored, daughters of family friends found adorably silly, and siblings liked to have around to flip their chapped-lipped (family trait?!) frowns upside down, Kit easily adopted a “funny guy” attitude that he quite liked having. It suited him—being a naturally optimistic, easy-going little tike with an adorably boyish grin and a knack for cheering the suicidal. Moreau's humor ranged from jokes to, more frequently, sarcastic appeal to pop culture, creative depictions of people's personalities and character, and overly dramatic reactions to certain situations.
- - - thrill-seeking!
Like any young and reckless male, Kit shares a natural immunity to pain and a legitimate addiction to adrenaline. His body just craves excitement—and his addictive nature is most likely to blame, although pointing fingers at oneself doesn't seem too pleasurable on the frequent occasions in which Kit's head is halfway down the toilet after a night of raging alcohol. But hey! “Life is short” and all that, yadda yadda, whatever other overused and incredibly astounding realizations made by the human brain can justify drinking caseloads of alcohol.
Thrill is not only limited to booze, however, as drugs obviously and unsurprisingly fall into the “thrill,” adrenaline-rush category. Kit astounds and/or confuses people with the humorous fact that he will readily and happily admit he is addicted to drugs—something he views as a good thing, as he doesn't take life quite seriously enough and is more concerned with quick, lively accounts of love, fun, and excitement (and what better way to induce that with drugs?) But even the night-long thrill of a beautiful woman, weed/cocaine/acid (or any other substance featured negatively on 80's anti-drug commercials displayed in high school Health courses in front of pimply, half-asleep teens), or booze-and-more-booze could ever compare to the thrill of a fucking camera. Because no matter how shitty something looks, no matter how fucking ugly someone can be, no matter how shallow you can feel, everything always looks beautiful behind a camera lense.
The biggest thrill for Moreau is capturing something beautiful, something pure and entirely in-the-moment with a high quality camera. For Kit, it's like capturing something that was seemingly meaningless—like a girl spinning in a dress—but once you press 'playback,' that girl turns into something new. You can have so many angles at once; so much fire and energy in something that might have just been so halfhearted beforehand. Life is thrill. Why not capture it forever?
- - - creative!
Moreau is creative in the account that he's multi-talented (thanks to being the youngest of five and being taught each of their clever acts); Kit's affinity to music is identical to any average person, but he primarily prefers acoustic guitar, and many of his sober moments that aren't being spent behind filtered lenses are spent picking skillfully at a Yamaha acoustic or scribbling self-written lyrics inside his pocketbook. Moreau also shares an enthusiastic love for photography, viewing it as just a still form of his passionate views on filmmaking, and even dabbles in poetry and writing.
Many of his creativity and cleverness is channeled into film and video, however, being a frequent attendee at independent Portland film festivals and showcasing numerous stop motion, silent, and short films even before graduating high school. Having a natural eye for cinematography, Kit enjoys all different aspects of film (from music videos to “deep,” controversial, mind-altering, psychological movies) and constantly attempts to invent new techniques or different ways of looking at things through everyday means.
A large advocate of the arts and easy to pick up on things, Moreau is creative and clever and nearly always interested in anything new.
- - - funny!
Spawning from a childhood of primarily boys, being the youngest of five was incredibly tough for Kit—what with every other sibling establishing respect from the Moreau parents through various ways (academics, sports, music, and so forth.) Kit, under the impression (and, unsurprisingly, learning the hard way) that perhaps mimicking a fellow brother's established talent would hardly earn him any recognition at family reunions or even within the Moreau apartmenthold, it was incredibly apparent at a young age that perhaps Kit was destined for a life of comedy. After all, being the youngest, it's obvious that with a line of respectable brothers before you that can grind their bones to make their bread or butter their toast or other MASCULINE and KITCHENLY things, it's a good and quite honestly logical idea to be the funny one.
It's a surprisingly easy way not to get your ass kicked, anyway.
Quickly adapting into the optimistic, comedic, and stress-relieving brother that family adored, daughters of family friends found adorably silly, and siblings liked to have around to flip their chapped-lipped (family trait?!) frowns upside down, Kit easily adopted a “funny guy” attitude that he quite liked having. It suited him—being a naturally optimistic, easy-going little tike with an adorably boyish grin and a knack for cheering the suicidal. Moreau's humor ranged from jokes to, more frequently, sarcastic appeal to pop culture, creative depictions of people's personalities and character, and overly dramatic reactions to certain situations.
- - - thrill-seeking!
Like any young and reckless male, Kit shares a natural immunity to pain and a legitimate addiction to adrenaline. His body just craves excitement—and his addictive nature is most likely to blame, although pointing fingers at oneself doesn't seem too pleasurable on the frequent occasions in which Kit's head is halfway down the toilet after a night of raging alcohol. But hey! “Life is short” and all that, yadda yadda, whatever other overused and incredibly astounding realizations made by the human brain can justify drinking caseloads of alcohol.
Thrill is not only limited to booze, however, as drugs obviously and unsurprisingly fall into the “thrill,” adrenaline-rush category. Kit astounds and/or confuses people with the humorous fact that he will readily and happily admit he is addicted to drugs—something he views as a good thing, as he doesn't take life quite seriously enough and is more concerned with quick, lively accounts of love, fun, and excitement (and what better way to induce that with drugs?) But even the night-long thrill of a beautiful woman, weed/cocaine/acid (or any other substance featured negatively on 80's anti-drug commercials displayed in high school Health courses in front of pimply, half-asleep teens), or booze-and-more-booze could ever compare to the thrill of a fucking camera. Because no matter how shitty something looks, no matter how fucking ugly someone can be, no matter how shallow you can feel, everything always looks beautiful behind a camera lense.
The biggest thrill for Moreau is capturing something beautiful, something pure and entirely in-the-moment with a high quality camera. For Kit, it's like capturing something that was seemingly meaningless—like a girl spinning in a dress—but once you press 'playback,' that girl turns into something new. You can have so many angles at once; so much fire and energy in something that might have just been so halfhearted beforehand. Life is thrill. Why not capture it forever?
- - - creative!
Moreau is creative in the account that he's multi-talented (thanks to being the youngest of five and being taught each of their clever acts); Kit's affinity to music is identical to any average person, but he primarily prefers acoustic guitar, and many of his sober moments that aren't being spent behind filtered lenses are spent picking skillfully at a Yamaha acoustic or scribbling self-written lyrics inside his pocketbook. Moreau also shares an enthusiastic love for photography, viewing it as just a still form of his passionate views on filmmaking, and even dabbles in poetry and writing.
Many of his creativity and cleverness is channeled into film and video, however, being a frequent attendee at independent Portland film festivals and showcasing numerous stop motion, silent, and short films even before graduating high school. Having a natural eye for cinematography, Kit enjoys all different aspects of film (from music videos to “deep,” controversial, mind-altering, psychological movies) and constantly attempts to invent new techniques or different ways of looking at things through everyday means.
A large advocate of the arts and easy to pick up on things, Moreau is creative and clever and nearly always interested in anything new.
Likes:
- caseloads of booze
- optimism
- beautiful women
- old super8 cameras
- critically bashing shit films
- photography
- cigarettes/weed
- small cities
- public transportation
Dislikes:
- sue-happy bastards
- cockroaches
- gas money
- anti-smoking ads
- raspy-voiced singers
- politics
- overly negative types
- hotels
Positive Traits:
Optimism -
Viewing life as somewhat of a joke--after all, the prospect of paying shitloads of bills and living with some fucking picturesque family portrait on the fucking wall doesn't sound at all healthy--Kit can't help but treat it like one, with a carefree attitude and contagious energy that attracts people far more often than it repels.
Ability to recognize beauty -
Like most men, Moreau is in tune to what qualifies as a "beautiful woman" by societal standards--but even so, he prides himself in the ability to see past fugly exterior (most times, admittedly) and get to whatever lies beneath, both figuratively and literally. But, like all men, there is a limit--one of Kit's major turn-offs is "large" women, although he's not entirely prideful of this and more often slightly guilty.
Easy to please -
Stemming from his 'fun-loving' and 'optimistic' nature, Kit is unsurprisingly easy to please. Leading a life that feeds off energy and excitement, Moreau is naturally one to try to please others and in return is easily forgiving and easily satisfied himself.
Negative Traits:
Overly carefree -
Because of Kit's obsession with cleverness, fun, and happy rebellion, he lacks the instinctive ability to learn when to take things seriously--and, as a result, has had major trouble keeping jobs in the past, huge debts racked up from film projects, and ongoing financial problems. Unfortunately, Moreau's in-the-moment lifestyle prohibits him from realizing long term effects, and thus he is unable to treat certain things with the seriousness they deserve and, as an outcome, this could reap his downfall.
Lack of committed friendships -
Moreau concentrates on a wide variety of people and gets along well with all types of cliques--primarily being known as the type "everyone likes"--but as a result, Kit scarcely has any close relationships with friends or lovers, resulting in making thousands of acquaintances or having thousands of flings but nothing long-term or intimate. Covering up the loneliness with more parties and more ways to meet fun-loving, carefree and uncommitted people such as he, the cycle is continual and seemingly never-ending.
Addiction -
As aforementioned, Kit is an addictive person; primarily to drugs and sex, although outrages stunts usually get grouped into this category when taking mentioned substances. He views his drug addiction as a way to induce liveliness, happiness, and freedom into a normally dull city with a frequently dull lifestyle, but it results in his malnourished and incredibly skinny figure, ongoing sleep problems, headaches, and muscle pains. But, of course, Kit automatically treats these symptoms with more partying and, alas, more booze!
Greatest Ambition: To become a film editor or possibly director and survive living amidst Los Angeles road rage without being shot at by any Crips or Bloods, respectively.
Greatest Fear: Never meeting a compatible "lifelong" partner or failing out of the film program.
`History ,,
Kit initially flew out of the womb inside a clean, well-reputed hospital labor room located in Redmond, Oregon. A scenic, pseudo city/town with not much to offer but mountains, grass, and lavender, Moreau spent most of his childhood with his brothers or flirting shamelessly with neighborhood girls. Uncaring or more likely unaware of cooties or their circle dot antidote, Kit was overly interested in chicks at a young age—but fuck, who didn't like the happy hellion who smiled sweetly to your face while holding the cookies from your lunchbox behind his back? Regular fucking stud muffin from day one.
His party lifestyle was stemmed from his brothers—as with five older brothers in a small fucking town, what the hell else is going to happen?!—and also Kit's parents, Dr. Jean Moreau and Lily Moreau, who encouraged the “have fun while you can” lifestyle despite one of two proclaiming to be a “health doctor.” (Pause here for rolling of eyes or perhaps a dramatic snort.)
At age thirteen, Kit's father was relocated to Portland, where the entire family of seven hitched their goods and high-tailed to an apartment in the center of Oregon's most populated and musically renowned city. There Kit was influenced by local musicians and his party lifestyle flourished; with so many people and so much influence on energy, fun, and art, Portland seemed like Kit's fucking paradise rolled into a prospectively tiny, yet well-populated city in his little home state of Oregon. After graduating high school in Portland, Kit immediately moved out of his parents' apartment to live with his second eldest brother, Jack, and Jack's fiancé Michelle.
Because of his father's income as a financially stable doctor, Kit was highly encouraged to attend WuoA in order to get his film degree (an act in which he would not have pursued if not for his parents' continuous nagging and four brothers' successes in their universities.) While the youngest Moreau was seemingly not the school or college type, and more like the bloke in that movie Alfie (horribly pointless film, but who doesn't admire Jude Law?), he somehow ended up with registration papers to WuoA and a few weeks later suffered the shreikingly happy phone call of a mother whose youngest son just got accepted. Joy.
Kit initially flew out of the womb inside a clean, well-reputed hospital labor room located in Redmond, Oregon. A scenic, pseudo city/town with not much to offer but mountains, grass, and lavender, Moreau spent most of his childhood with his brothers or flirting shamelessly with neighborhood girls. Uncaring or more likely unaware of cooties or their circle dot antidote, Kit was overly interested in chicks at a young age—but fuck, who didn't like the happy hellion who smiled sweetly to your face while holding the cookies from your lunchbox behind his back? Regular fucking stud muffin from day one.
His party lifestyle was stemmed from his brothers—as with five older brothers in a small fucking town, what the hell else is going to happen?!—and also Kit's parents, Dr. Jean Moreau and Lily Moreau, who encouraged the “have fun while you can” lifestyle despite one of two proclaiming to be a “health doctor.” (Pause here for rolling of eyes or perhaps a dramatic snort.)
At age thirteen, Kit's father was relocated to Portland, where the entire family of seven hitched their goods and high-tailed to an apartment in the center of Oregon's most populated and musically renowned city. There Kit was influenced by local musicians and his party lifestyle flourished; with so many people and so much influence on energy, fun, and art, Portland seemed like Kit's fucking paradise rolled into a prospectively tiny, yet well-populated city in his little home state of Oregon. After graduating high school in Portland, Kit immediately moved out of his parents' apartment to live with his second eldest brother, Jack, and Jack's fiancé Michelle.
Because of his father's income as a financially stable doctor, Kit was highly encouraged to attend WuoA in order to get his film degree (an act in which he would not have pursued if not for his parents' continuous nagging and four brothers' successes in their universities.) While the youngest Moreau was seemingly not the school or college type, and more like the bloke in that movie Alfie (horribly pointless film, but who doesn't admire Jude Law?), he somehow ended up with registration papers to WuoA and a few weeks later suffered the shreikingly happy phone call of a mother whose youngest son just got accepted. Joy.
Best Memory: "I have a lot of great memories, and I know once I say this was my best one I'll think of something else real fucking great and immediately want to change it--but whatever, here it goes. I was in tenth grade and my love for drugs had really started to flourish, so I was always inventing new ways of dealing without getting caught. I'd come up with the idea of stuffing weed inside an empty glow stick of all things, so I stick a fucking O inside this inactive glow stick and I'm handing it to my friend in class when my teacher's back is turned, talking about something or other. Well, when you first start to deal you're overly sensitive to getting caught, so when my teacher turned around while my arm was outstretched with this fucking glow stick in my hand I immediately freaked. We didn't have insides to desks then, since my school was cheap and lame, and though we were required to carry backpacks, I never did. Little fucking rebellious hellion, right? Anyway, without a place to hide it--AND TO THIS DAY, I do NOT KNOW WHY--I shoved the fucking thing in my pants. Right. My pants. Ha, and my teacher looked at me, because obviously I had made a quick motion, and she looked down at my pants and got sickly pale. The thing was jutting out in this hugely bulging way, and she totally thought I had a boner. My friends were fucking dying of laughter, but of course she thought they were laughing at my boner and not the fact that she THOUGHT it was a boner, so she felt bad and gave me an A in the course. It was the easiest grade I ever got."
Worst Memory: "I've had a lot of bad memories, but I try not to dwell on them because I hate whiners and I wouldn't want to be labeled one. Ha, I guess I'd have to say the worst is when I was on acid and decided it was a good idea to walk around downtown Portland. NOT A GOOD IDEA. I was convinced there was a tidal wave about to collapse because I think I'd just seen that one Elijah Wood movie where a comet causes the earth to flood over or whatever; anyway, I pretty much ran down people on bikes flailing about like, 'GET IN YOUR HOUSE, A TIDAL WAVE IS COMING' and violently accusing people of stealing my scuba suit for when the wave comes. I don't much remember it, but I'd left some voicemails that night on people's phones and needless to say they'll never stop bringing them up, ha."
[/size]
`Writing Skill ,,
(Normally I'd write an entirely new introduction for Kit, but it's 5:30am and I'm so incredibly fucking tired and really want to post this before I hit the sack. So viola, introduction from a different roleplay in which I was playing a financially unstable ex-wife of a rich and wealthy German bloke.)
Some called aristocracy a ‘chien mangent chien’ (dog-eat-dog) world. As Sofia’s gaze shifted across three-quarters of the thriftlessly furnished room, swirling a flaking green olive throughout a crystal verre filled with pink slush, she couldn’t help but witness uncanny resemblances to her own Coton De Tulear. What with the overpopulation of the shaggy and shady and profligate hiding behind sparkling veils of cachemire and soie, replacing their heads with visions of hairy white poodles was uncommonly easy.
Heads were bobbing in and out of vision, spitting and spewing not wine but unregulated and unbalanced amounts of tremorous gossip all over the van der Kralingen’s expensive dish sets. Sofia was a loather of the palatial on account of paralyzing inferiority, her pretty white dress a skeleton outline of one of many compensatory factors as she slipped by with a less-than-profitable income. In previous months you could find Sofia linking cumbersome arms with an elite and moneyed physician, flawed enough to buy her whatever égoïste, materialistic item she ever pined for. For awhile, Paul Beaumont’s bypass paid for Sofia’s pearls. Genevieve Lefevre’s ear surgery issued her satin heels. She adopted her earrings from Simon Fournier’s heart transplant.
But as quickly as the doctor had set down his briefcase on the fraying chambre à coucher carpet, Sofia had come home to find not leather but a torn piece of paper full of scribbles.
“Not working out. I love you, but it’s time to move on.”
Silly phrases. Silly storybook phrases. Sofia looked at Oliver’s newest edition, Bette, with roses blossoming on both unblemished cheeks, doting on Bette’s beauté and art-inspiring cheekbones. Eyes. Lips… Sofia, though svelte and ‘mignon’, paled in Bette’s obviously superior physique and artistry.
Sofia reverted back to the olive, forgetting the party and their Français Tricolore faces.
[/size][/center](Normally I'd write an entirely new introduction for Kit, but it's 5:30am and I'm so incredibly fucking tired and really want to post this before I hit the sack. So viola, introduction from a different roleplay in which I was playing a financially unstable ex-wife of a rich and wealthy German bloke.)
Some called aristocracy a ‘chien mangent chien’ (dog-eat-dog) world. As Sofia’s gaze shifted across three-quarters of the thriftlessly furnished room, swirling a flaking green olive throughout a crystal verre filled with pink slush, she couldn’t help but witness uncanny resemblances to her own Coton De Tulear. What with the overpopulation of the shaggy and shady and profligate hiding behind sparkling veils of cachemire and soie, replacing their heads with visions of hairy white poodles was uncommonly easy.
Heads were bobbing in and out of vision, spitting and spewing not wine but unregulated and unbalanced amounts of tremorous gossip all over the van der Kralingen’s expensive dish sets. Sofia was a loather of the palatial on account of paralyzing inferiority, her pretty white dress a skeleton outline of one of many compensatory factors as she slipped by with a less-than-profitable income. In previous months you could find Sofia linking cumbersome arms with an elite and moneyed physician, flawed enough to buy her whatever égoïste, materialistic item she ever pined for. For awhile, Paul Beaumont’s bypass paid for Sofia’s pearls. Genevieve Lefevre’s ear surgery issued her satin heels. She adopted her earrings from Simon Fournier’s heart transplant.
But as quickly as the doctor had set down his briefcase on the fraying chambre à coucher carpet, Sofia had come home to find not leather but a torn piece of paper full of scribbles.
“Not working out. I love you, but it’s time to move on.”
Silly phrases. Silly storybook phrases. Sofia looked at Oliver’s newest edition, Bette, with roses blossoming on both unblemished cheeks, doting on Bette’s beauté and art-inspiring cheekbones. Eyes. Lips… Sofia, though svelte and ‘mignon’, paled in Bette’s obviously superior physique and artistry.
Sofia reverted back to the olive, forgetting the party and their Français Tricolore faces.
`Behind The Character ,,
[/size][/center]Name: brittany
Age: 18
Role-playing experience: since before neopets existed (I'm so fucking ancient, omg, shack me up in the pyramids with some scarab jewelry why don't you)
How you found us: neopets
[/size][/blockquote]
