Post by MADAM GRIMM on Sept 3, 2011 20:58:01 GMT -5
CONNOR
[/font]
[/center]nicknames: Con.
age: Five.
breed: Australian Shepherd X Siberian Husky.
gender: Male.
pack or loner?: Loner.
if pack, which pack?: N/A.
voiced by: Colin Farrell. (only because I know everyone else saw him looking and sounding like him too. ;D)
alias: Grimm.
age: 17.
timezone: Eastern. (Kickin it in Florida, homes.)
read the rules: Doggone?
roleplay sample: Sample from THIS IS MY HELL.
[/color][/size]
[/ul]
Monday. Or was it Tuesday? Beelzebub had never really put second thoughts to things of such little importance. It served no purpose, knowing what day it was. Unless of course it was a day without work, then it meant something. Those days became useful, so he'd find something to occupy his time with. That was another thing that he had no purpose of knowing. Time. It was just something everyone seemed to wish they were in control of. To him, it was nothing. He'd stay up far past any time anyone else would and work, forgetting all about what he had had planned for that day. He killed the engine to his 1969 boss 429 and slid out of it's black doors. That car was the child he'd never had, and never wanted. It was a love hate relationship. At times it'd break down, and he'd have to push it out of harm's way, other times it'd just eat down the gas faster than he could process a passing thought. But however much that car gave him hell, it returned it's assy moves with a wonderful ride, and that 'new car' smell.
Opening the door to the bar was no refreshing act. The heavy scent of sweat, alcohol and sex loomed in the room like a dark shadow. It layered itself on the roof of your nostrils until you couldn't breathe. The place would be almost unbearable if only he hadn't grow so used to it. Days of working at the slaughterhouse, or here, had begun to dull his sense of smell. Though, when a new scent were introduced- say a woman, or an angel, it'd recollect its wonder and sniff them out on his orders. Beelzebub walked into the bar's unwelcoming atmosphere, noting several regulars he had seen many times before. He sat at the bar, far from anyone that would start up a conversation. The bartender, a female for the life of him couldn't remember her name, approached him, asking what it was he wanted. He smirked, not a very charming one at that, but a smirk that he had proposed to her nonetheless. " A beer's just fine with me, " He stated, looking her over. She named out the variety of different beers they had, and his mind shot them all through his ear. " Just give me your favorite. " Beel's tone was quite P*ssy, though it had it's intended effect.
The woman soon brought him his alcoholic beverage. It was poured quite awefully in a cheap plastic cup. The brand? He didn't care to ask, and she didn't care to tell. A beer was a beer, he never asked for any specifics. It just went to the same place anyhow. He took a sloppy drink from the cup, the foam dripping down his chin. Beel took a dirty napkin from the stack provided, wiping it clean away. Of course it didn't bother him, and he would've been just fine with the foam being there, still bubbling on his chin, though he hated the looks people would give him if it had still been there. Beelzebub looked around the room nonchalantly, observing what both mortal and immortal were doing. What activities there were playing. A quarrel broke out near the pooltable. Oh how he loved it when the humans bickered. It made him chuckle to himself. Apparently they had been arguing over who had won the game, and who lost. From the ammount of alcohol each man had consumed, neither knew who won, or what it was that they had actually been playing. The arguement soon escalated into an actual fight. Though it was inevitable, given how drunk each man was.
What the fight was actually about, was beyond him. Beelzebub only caught small parts of each man's slurred speach. It apparently had something to do with their cars, and then morphed into other competitive comparisons. He smiled devilishly, taking another drink of his beer. The music in the bar had soon quietted to a humble silence. The voices of the customers seemed to mute, their mouths still moving but their words failing to leave their throat. Beel soon snapped back, standing from his seat, which was now comfortably warm, and headed towards the only good thing in the place. The jukebox. It seemed to be the only expensive thing in the place. He searched through songs, albums, artists, but none seemed to pique his interest. Massive Attack was his last choice, having fews songs he actually enjoyed, he decided to go with the one he liked best. Dissolved Girl. Such a wonderful song for this type of setting. The sexual deviants, the abused women, and the alcoholics. All searching for some sort of comfort. Some had succeeded in their goals, though others hadn't. Beelzebub took in their pain with an exultant sigh. The suffering of others always seemed to complete him.
Opening the door to the bar was no refreshing act. The heavy scent of sweat, alcohol and sex loomed in the room like a dark shadow. It layered itself on the roof of your nostrils until you couldn't breathe. The place would be almost unbearable if only he hadn't grow so used to it. Days of working at the slaughterhouse, or here, had begun to dull his sense of smell. Though, when a new scent were introduced- say a woman, or an angel, it'd recollect its wonder and sniff them out on his orders. Beelzebub walked into the bar's unwelcoming atmosphere, noting several regulars he had seen many times before. He sat at the bar, far from anyone that would start up a conversation. The bartender, a female for the life of him couldn't remember her name, approached him, asking what it was he wanted. He smirked, not a very charming one at that, but a smirk that he had proposed to her nonetheless. " A beer's just fine with me, " He stated, looking her over. She named out the variety of different beers they had, and his mind shot them all through his ear. " Just give me your favorite. " Beel's tone was quite P*ssy, though it had it's intended effect.
The woman soon brought him his alcoholic beverage. It was poured quite awefully in a cheap plastic cup. The brand? He didn't care to ask, and she didn't care to tell. A beer was a beer, he never asked for any specifics. It just went to the same place anyhow. He took a sloppy drink from the cup, the foam dripping down his chin. Beel took a dirty napkin from the stack provided, wiping it clean away. Of course it didn't bother him, and he would've been just fine with the foam being there, still bubbling on his chin, though he hated the looks people would give him if it had still been there. Beelzebub looked around the room nonchalantly, observing what both mortal and immortal were doing. What activities there were playing. A quarrel broke out near the pooltable. Oh how he loved it when the humans bickered. It made him chuckle to himself. Apparently they had been arguing over who had won the game, and who lost. From the ammount of alcohol each man had consumed, neither knew who won, or what it was that they had actually been playing. The arguement soon escalated into an actual fight. Though it was inevitable, given how drunk each man was.
What the fight was actually about, was beyond him. Beelzebub only caught small parts of each man's slurred speach. It apparently had something to do with their cars, and then morphed into other competitive comparisons. He smiled devilishly, taking another drink of his beer. The music in the bar had soon quietted to a humble silence. The voices of the customers seemed to mute, their mouths still moving but their words failing to leave their throat. Beel soon snapped back, standing from his seat, which was now comfortably warm, and headed towards the only good thing in the place. The jukebox. It seemed to be the only expensive thing in the place. He searched through songs, albums, artists, but none seemed to pique his interest. Massive Attack was his last choice, having fews songs he actually enjoyed, he decided to go with the one he liked best. Dissolved Girl. Such a wonderful song for this type of setting. The sexual deviants, the abused women, and the alcoholics. All searching for some sort of comfort. Some had succeeded in their goals, though others hadn't. Beelzebub took in their pain with an exultant sigh. The suffering of others always seemed to complete him.
BASICS[/color]
[/color][/size]DOUCHEBAG: Not a term to be confused by with douche. Connor is your new-age breed of the douchebag species. He's certainly one that has outgrown the stages of asshole and jerk, though hasn't quite matured to the level of 'motherfucker'. He's inconsiderate, that's for sure, but he's far from being sadistic. Connor won't intentionally cause you physical harm, no no. That's not his style. No, Connor prefers hurting your feelings, nip at your coat, and just be an all around bother to you. Whether this is a way to get your attention or just a his way of taking out his 'historical' problems out on you- I'll just let you decide on that.
FLIRT: Now, this doesn't necessarily mean that he's a player. No, no, no. Connor is most definitely not a player. In fact, this is one of the things he absoultely hates to be called. Connor, is one of the very many males out there that prefer flirting with a girl rather than commiting to a relationship. Not that he's afraid of commitment, Connor is more afraid of slipping up and 'cheating' on is gal. So, instead of going ripping his heart to shreds and seeing a woman that he loves walk out of his life, Connor chooses to keep it solo and strike up random conversations with a pretty chick every once in a while.
INCOMPLETE: It's only a matter of time until he breaks down because of this. Something inside of Connor is missing, and until he finds it and accepts that he's incomplete, he'll continue his douchey way. Now, what exactly is missing from Connor's life is theorized several ways. The most popular theory is that Connor is missing that special someone. That someone that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. The 'one', as it's most commonly referred to. The runner up to that theory would be that Connor needs 'parental' figures in his life to makeup for lost time with the ones he lost. Though it's not entirely sure until he's actually accepted the fact that he isn't alltogether.
SHORT-TEMPERED: With his heartthrob-creating Irish brogue, his good looks and natural charm, Connor has one major downfall: his short-fuse. Now, this isn't to say that every little thing could set him off, no. Things such as nipping back at him or cursing at him are of very little concern- he rather enjoys that. No, things such as being challenged for no apparent reason, being criticized, or being called names. Quite ironic for the one that pokes fun at others. Connor definitley makes a wonderful example for the 'don't dish it if you can't take it' quote.
HUMOROUS: Aside from his crude remarks, selfish habits and short temper, Connor is quite the comical genius. His witty comebacks and cheesy jokes are enough to make the devil himself inwardly giggle. Whether you take him as a complete idiot or the funniest mother trucker to have lived, Connor will most definitely make you chuckle. Though he won't always make you belly laugh, a weazing breath of giggle is sure to come.
XENOPHOBIC: Technically speaking, Connor is afraid of wolves, though that doesn't stop him from expressing his cockiness around them. Connor's fear of the beasts have brought about a lingering hatred for them. It's doubtful that this intense fear/hatred of them will ever wear off. It's not entirely sure why Connor feels so strongly against them, though if you ask, he may just let you know.
[/ul]
this application was made by erin say what?! of CAUTION!. do not remove this credit.
