Paris Musuko May 22, 2011 22:34:44 GMT -5
Post by Paris Musuko on May 22, 2011 22:34:44 GMT -5
ROLEPLAY EXPERIENCE: Forever.
OTHER CHARACTERS: Isaac Tymms.
HOW YOU FOUND US: I am your creator
“I can't control myself... so many times.. I've lied...
But I still hate inside...
Somebody get me through this... nightmare.
I can't control myself!”
NICKNAMES: Mr. Musuko
BIRTHDAY: June 25
OCCUPATION: Science, biology/chemistry teacher
PLAY-BY: GacktDefining Features: Half asian/Half European, Stark blue eyes, 5'11" and 180 lbs
Paris' soft features lend him to looking young, but one seems to be able to read his age in his eyes. His hair flies about everywhere, black to dusty brown, highlighted by exposure and chemicals. Its length grows quickly, sometimes pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, sometimes cut above his ears. His brow is often stitched in a concerned look, and when he smiles, it's a bit sad, as if he has to force the awkward upturn of his lips. Even when he laughs, it seems strained. Often Paris is caught staring into the sky as if he's searching for something with those bright, sky blue eyes.
His body is thin and well-kept, but hidden beneath the layers of clothes he wears. A shirt, a tie, a jacket at times--he seems to not want to expose any of himself. Half asian, his very smooth, baby-like traits have gotten him mistaken for a student on more than one occasion, usually involving a very embarrassed parent afterward. The set of his shoulders is sloped often, as if he's moving through life with a grand burden, but his stature is straight as his teeth.
Likes: Strawberries, Sunlight and clouds, Science, Kids
The list of Paris' likes would be a long one if continued. His strained smiles are the product of his unending love for the world around him, despite its flaws. Always professional and kind, he's well liked by his students, but he has been known to draw a thin line about violence, and the few times a voice has been raised, Paris' very presence was so frightening that the students at odds with him virtually shrunk away. A hint of sadness seems to surround him, as some sort of raincloud that follows his very aura. He enjoys the presence of children, and has started a program for reading to them at the libraries in town, which he heads with some volunteer students at various libraries. Truly, Paris is a father at heart, and when he speaks, his voice is perfect for reading poetry and music, though he proclaims he does not sing.
Dislikes: Violence, Morbid humor, Crying
While Paris rarely becomes passionately opposed to anything, violence is one thing that he is. Escalating fights have found themselves victim to his overwhelmingly frightening glares, and often incur his hour-long sit-and-talk scenarios, which usually instill even more trepidation than the aforementioned glower. His dislike for humor about the dead is less passionate, though well known in his requests to respectfully leave it from his classroom. He has been known to be easily manipulated by crying eyes, seeming to need immediately to quell whatever well of emotion had sprung. While since it has been pointed out to him many times, he has guarded against it, he is still a bit of a sucker despite.
Fears: The Reverie, Failure, Blood
Paris' past has drawn him in and out of the cloud of violence that hangs precariously like a blanket over the world, shifting with each heated debate. This experience has made him fearful, and he literally gets ill at the sight of too much blood. His experience in Reverie was vulnerable at first, frightening at the end and still through until now. While, vaguely, Paris wants to run away from this place; even if he could, he feels some necessary--and probably guilt driven--obligation to stay.
Aside from the taunting for his half-breed heritage, Paris' young life was not very eventful. His family was average, and they moved around a lot since his mother was in the American military, but there was nothing terribly wrong with their lifestyle. Paris was well-kept and cared for, and he was sent to college where he chose--a small college in the midst of nowhere with a beautiful garden and a program for Chemists and a very in-depth class line-up for Alchemy; superstitious, but a very apt curiosity for Paris ever since he was young.
His life had very little worth mentioning, or so he would tell you, until Merrin stepped into his dorm room his second year of college. Confused, she had somehow mistaken his room for her own in the coed dormitories, and had walked in on the young Paris as he was pulling on his boxers. A shy Paris and an equally shy Merrin had stood without a word for a few minutes, both blazing red but not really sure what to say or what to do. After that, the world for Paris begun to spin.
He started talking to her--she was majoring in Literature--they both liked the same strawberry ice cream and her blue eyes and red hair were the first things he had ever been inspired to paint... though he did it poorly, she was forgiving and kept the piece. There was an awkward time in the his third year where they both had the most odd first time, they agreed, that anyone ever could have had, what with the roommate's pets deciding they could lay on top of them during and his roommate coming home with his own girlfriend about three quarters of the way through.
He wanted to wait until they were out of college to propose, and so he did. He hid the ring on her graduating cap, which, of course, got mixed up with someone else's, which again resulted in another awkward situation for poor Paris as he explained to the boy that it wasn't really a joke meant to accuse him of being homosexual, it was just a mix-up, but after getting a little harassed by the guy, Paris finally retrieved the letter and ring only to have to search her out and propose to her in front of her parents... whom he didn't know, and they didn't know him. Yet another one of those days that Paris had a lot of talking to do, because Merrin accepted immediately in her excitement, and both were a little awkward in front of her mother and father, who had just flown in from... he couldn't pronounce the name, and god help him if you want him to spell it.
They were married two months after graduation--he was 22, she was 22, and they were both ready for the great, wide world. Blissfully, they existed one week, before, on their honeymoon, she died.
In short, that is.
The most horrifying night of Paris's life, the night they first fought. Not just argued, but fought. Merrin was drunk, not for good reasons either. Paris had withheld a greatly hurtful piece of information: he was sterile. Merrin wanted children--and not just any children, children with him, and at first, she yelled at him for not telling her.. and then she told him she still loved him, she was just upset... and then, she started drinking the courtesy alcohol.. Paris was ashamed of himself for lying, and he was wishing he had waited until they weren't somewhere strange to tell her--not somewhere like this 30 story up suite with constant bus boys and supposedly, liquid happiness.
Drunk, Merrin started to cry incessantly, but she was inconsolable. Paris locked himself in the bathroom after yelling at her, feeling guilty and unfairly struck down. He heard the door slam a little while later, and came to inspect where she had gone, only to locate her on the balcony. He stepped outside and asked her to come in, but she was still hysterical, he stepped forward to grab her hand and take her inside, worried about the drop and her being drunk, and she swung the bottle.
It cracked on his face, confusing and dazing him. She was startled, staring at the bottle in her hand like she hadn't known it was there, and well she probably didn't, but ... pain made him angry... and anger brought violence.. and he shoved her.
He didn't mean to push her hard, he just yelled and shoved her away from him. He grabbed her dress, but she slipped and it tore. Her head struck the balcony edge and she dangled unconscious from where he held her. Paris thought he must have cried for help for ten minutes as he held her legs and tearing dress, as the blood slipped from her head from the crack against the bottom. But the wind was heavy, carrying his voice outward. The door was closed, and he couldn't adjust his hands to pull her up without risking losing his grip and dropping her.
Finally, the neighbors below came to their balcony, and soon after someone came to help him pull her up. An ambulance took her away, the cracked skull and resulting blood loss along with the jolt to her brain were too much. For a while, debate was made over whether it was manslaughter... but Paris left their honeymoon country without a trial, and without much conviction.
His desire to be a teacher, an alchemist, a great scientist, they all were washed from his mind for a time. He was homeless a little while, then he lived with his parents again, and it was at the end of their rope that, at age 24, he became aware of the cataclysm as it spread itself over the news in fast.
Paris volunteered quickly when he heard of Haven. Partially because it meant free room and board and a chance to make up for what he hated about himself, and partly because a life of helping kids sounded like just the thing he could stand to die doing. . . he didn't realize then what it meant, exactly.
FANTASY : THE BLOODIED FOX : FALLEN GOD
So you just sit there, stuck, afraid to risk reality...?
Weak, when Paris first entered the Reverie a year and a half into his stay, he was nothing but a faceless ghost, barely transient and with nothing but the tattered remains of his skin to hang beneath him. His face was featureless and senseless. He could barely move himself through the world, much less raise a hand against anything.
Afraid to cause yourself more pain, to face insanity..?
When he met Fedafyr, it was as this entity. The creature persuaded him with kind words, but Paris, even tired and shallow, could see the evil residing within him. Acting friendly, the fox-creature would take Paris to places where people resided. As if it were fun and games, it would destroy them, sending them abruptly from this world into the other. He promised power, fearlessness, and through all this horror--his voice was like cocaine.
But nothing ventured, nothing gain. You see...? Your fear's your cage!
When Paris' very self began to disappear, he doesn't know. To say he chose the position he now holds in order to protect something would be a hero's fairytale. The drug merely seduced him, with its golden eyes and his soft smile and bloodied lips.
Do as you are told.. and maybe then, I'll let you out.
You might be dead and cold, you might be full of doubt..
Don't try to escape, 'cause you don't have anywhere to go....
... If nothing is your fate, there's no scenario.
Paris' Chimera no longer exists, except as the unwilling conscience in the back of a malevolent dream being's mind, consistently attempting to dissuade the creature from its hate and violence.