Post by Quinn Miles on Apr 12, 2010 10:42:15 GMT -7
*The Basics
Full Name: Quinn Alexandre Miles
NickNames: Quinn generally, though he's occasionlly called Alex...
Age: 16
Alliance: Zallia
*How It Works
Personality Quinn can be described as, first and foremost, guarded. He doesn't like talking to many people, and those he does deem worthy enough to take the time to speak to, he's insulting or telling them to go away. And generally you'd think that as a sign of great pomposness. But it's quite the opposite. All his life he's been told not to waste his breath talking to others, so he just follows orders.
Inside and by himself, he's actually sunny and happy in demeanor. He's smart, especially when it comes to people and horses, but mostly the ladder. This side of his persona rarely shows unless something has given him a reason. He's got a thick outer shell, but crack it open, and you've got a friend for life...
10 likes
- horses
- tending after the horses
- sunny days
- watching people
- running
- imagining himself actually riding a horse (which he's never done)
- breakfast, lunch, and dinner (he generally only gets one to two meals a day...)
- watching jousts and noble's gatherings from afar
- his dog
- sleeping
10 dislikes
- his master
- cabbage (it's his general meal)
- people bothering him
- people messing with "his" horses to scare them
- getting in trouble
- talking with just about everyone
- people yelling or pounding something (it's actually his fear...)
- when people ask him questions because he knows he has to answer
- loudness
- his life...
Apperance Quinn is more lean then the rest of the boys his age. Where all the other sixteen year old men are now muscular and giving off those hearty laughs that all young men do, Quinn is stuck back in the build of someone younger than him. He doesn't have nearly as much muscle, wears colthes that are ratty and not befitting to him, and his hair is longer than usual, hanging a little bit over his eyes to almost block the world around him out.
His eyes are a stormy blue, and are guarded so you can't see his true feelings. He most always has a frown on his face, and his smile, warm and contagious, is never caught on his face. Only when he's alone, among his horses or walking by himself.
The Back Story
Parents: Unknown...
History Quinn has no idea, to be completely honest, who or what he came from. He knows he's a poor citizen of Zallia, he knows his name, and he knows that he belongs to the man whom he calls sire.
He was dumped on a poor old woman's door step when he was one year old. The old woman, as everyone called her, looked after him as best she could through her failing health. She named him Quinn, and that's what he stayed with as he grew two more years, not really learning how to speak at the normal age because the woman was half deaf and therefore needed not much need to speak. But she died when he was three, leaving him confused and without someone to look after him. It was then that he was passed onto a young married couple who had just lost their newborn son. And because they were so heartbroken that their own child had died, they kept forgetting the new boy's name, often calling him the name of their late son, Alexandre. They hated how he couldn't speak as well as the other boys, so many hours were devoted to drilling onto Alexandre's head new words, and the art of the Zallian language, until he was exhausted every night going to bed. But he learned, in some way or another.
It was one morning that he woke up, age six, that the house was empty, simple as that. The husband and wife had been rumoured to have gone completely insane and chosen to run off in search of their dead son. Of course, that's just what the gossipers spread about. No matter what had truly happened to his foster parets, Alex had to be placed somewhere! So, after much debate, he was placed in the Zallian castle to serve. One year passed with Quinn being ignored, not spoken to but yelled at and finally catching the attention of a noble man, who introduced himself to the little boy as Sire, and Quinn doesn't know the man's true name even today. At first the man was kind to him, adopted him as his servant and gave him suitable shelter. But it was one day, when Quinn was just turned eight, and the sire was in a bad mood. Quinn made the hideous mistake of calling the sire a title he never truly got to use in his life. Papa.
After the sire yelled out "boy, you belong to no one, least of all me!" Quinn was given a sound beating to set him for life and then some, and this is how it has been for the last eight years or more. Alex Quinn Miles was given his last name for being the orphan, traveling miles to find a home that all the Zallian citizens who know him even vaguely know he'll never find...
Pets one dog, a terrier by the name of Anton. He's a bit of a mut, having many colors mixed in, but the two are never parted ever since Alex rescued him as a puppy from a well. ( www.city-data.com/forum/members/dashdog-289308-albums-dog-friends-pic48416-angel-cutie.jpg )
The Master Mind
ooc name Gemma
Anything We need To Know, Or You Would Like To Say erm... Supercalifragalisticexpialadilosious... That's not spelled right... Oh yeah. I was going to have his main name always be Alex, but I was afraid that it might be mixed up with the grand duke, sooo, yeah.
Sample RP
[well, I could have just put one of my other charrie's posts here, but I didn't know if that was allowed...]
Quinn was sleeping. Dreaming of a place far far away, where his parents were no doubt. They were staring onto an ocean side from the veranda of their rich home, wishing for their son to somehow find a way back to them. They were waiting for him, and someday he'd make it back to them. And live another life. A better life. His life, as it should've been.
Sunlight danced on his eye lids then, and he winced quietly, wrinkling his face against the unwanted light. He hadn't slept the night before, and he was tired. He could hear the quiet neighing of the horses in the stables in which he had found a comfortable hay bale to collapse on. The wonderful smell of horses, hay, and early spring filled his nostrils as he took a deep breath, stretching his arms, his eyes closed. He was exhausted, to put it more accurately.
A sudden shadow blocked out the sunlight on his closed eyes. Furrowing his brows in confusion, he guessed that one of the mares had somehow gotten out of her pen. He heaved a sigh, preparing himself for the work ahead of him. And then--
"Are you comfortable?" it was a familiar voice. A deep voice, one that slithered into his throat and cut off his breathing, was pulled down into his stomach and sent it lurching and churning in fear. His eyes shot open.
"Sire!"
The sire's eyes flashed deep within, as if making a list of things he needed to do to cook Quinn alive.
"I'm sorry, I--" he was cut short when the sire's hand raised in warning to strike.
"Did I ask you a question, boy?"
"Um, no?" he guessed, though not remembering anymore if the man had.
"I'm sorry, why are you talking still? Did I ask you another question?" the sire gave a dark laugh of disbelief.
Quinn finally realized what he wanted. The sire wanted him to shut up, to stay shutted up. So he stood up, waiting there until he was excused or something. But the sire just stood there, brows raised, eyes wide, expression that of waiting.
"And you're not anwering me because...?"
Oh no, the almost daily game. The game where there was no winning. And it's not like Quinn deserved to win anyway. After all, he had fallen asleep on the job, complaining that he hadn't had enough rest the night before because he had to finish the chores that he was obilviously behind on! And now he was going to pay for his foolish selfishness.
"I-I'm sorry, sire, I--" a blow to his cheek sent him reeling, biting his tongue to keep from yelping.
"You speak when I ask you a question, boy! You're lucky I tolerate your laziness, your malcontent! Don't tempt me to throw you out on your head, because it would make my life much easier! Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
Quinn blinked several times, staring at a patch of sun light on the hay by the stable doors. His throat had closed off, and he couldn't speak whether he was expected to or not.
The sire shook his head, shoving him hard.
"Idiot boy. You'll pay later dearly for your display."
And then the man was gone, slamming the stable doors, calling muffledly for "the whip" to be brought to him. Quinn let out a sigh, but it was cut short as a cloud of all too familiar tears blurred his vision of the sunny stables around him. He could feel the first drop sliding down his cheek.
A horse's nose nuzzled his neck, and his hand glided across the chestnut mane. For a moment, he felt free again...