Post by jaden on Mar 13, 2013 7:28:16 GMT
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; height: 380px; background-image:URL(http://i800.photobucket.com/albums/yy284/brooklynlolli/x0r3w0.png); border-left: 10px solid #1e1e1e; border-right: 10px solid #1e1e1e;] VALLON BASIL RYL  ------------------------------------------------- HEY THERE! SO, TELL US ABOUT YOU ... LET'S START OFF WITH THE BASICS. WHAT DO WE NEED TO KNOW? "Well, my name is Vallon Basil Ryl, but you can just call me Bays. I'm, uh, technically fourteen years old. That's the age I was when I died. I should be thirty-two, now. I'm a ghost and I never got to kiss a boy, which I suppose is a little embarrassing for someone after thirty years of existence. I guess I never will, though I must admit, I'd really like to. Oh well...there's not anyone around, everyone's either ignorant of me or busy with this "war". I hear about it sometimes, when I haunt my old home. I don't know much about it, but it sounds like a big waste of time." SO, A LITTLE BIRDY TOLD ME THAT YOU ARE GORGEOUS. DESCRIBE YOURSELF. "I don't know who would have said that...but thank you. There's this actress, I can't remember where I saw her, but he name was Chloe...Moretz? Yeah, that was it. I always think how much she looks like me when I see her on the television. But, you wanted an actual description. Well, I have blue eyes, with some hazel in it. I got that from my dad, according to my mom. I have blonde hair that reaches my chin. I guess I'm skinny? I never grew out of the pudgy child look completely. Honestly, I never even got my first period... Sorry. That was a little too much information, wasn't it? Anyway... I'm about 5'3 and since my mom was so short, I imagine I'd still be 5'3 right now if I were flesh and blood. I used to have a scar on my abdomen, from when I got appendicitis. I haven't thought to check if it still shows. I used to wear dresses a lot. Fancy ones, I loved dressing like a porcelain doll. The one's I owned were so pretty, and I wanted to be just like them. Now I just wear this one outfit; a simple light blue summer dress. No reason to change clothes, when you're dead." I'M SURE YOUR PERSONALITY IS SOMETHING ELSE COMPLETELY. TELL US ABOUT YOURSELF, WE WANT TO GET TO KNOW YOU BETTER! "I suppose. I'd say I'm pretty average. I'm nice and I try to help when I see someone living in my house my have an accident. Like, if there's a cord they didn't notice my trip them, or something like. I try to help out. I'm really talkative. Someone told me that once. Guess I don't know when to shut up. I get a little judgmental and controlling, too. I try to be aware of it, but I don't get much practice, since I don't get much social interaction. Which is another thing, I'm very social and friendly. If I knew how to find some in this state, I'd have tons of friends." "When I was alive, if you ever wanted to be my most bestest friend, you could buy me a pint of ice cream. Or even just some on a cone. I love ice cream, especially vanilla with chunks of anything delicious in it. When I'm not working on being obscenely obese, I liked reading old books. Things like Jane Austin, or my favorite, Huckleberry Finn. I like classic books a lot. Curling up with my dog outside, under the big oak tree is something I miss dearly. I did not like, however, riding in cars. I walked to school every day. I like walking, it always made me feel good, unlike sitting in a car. That always made me nauseous. School was probably one of the only places I went to when I wasn't home, and I absolutely despised it. I never liked being surrounded by other children, especially one's that were so intent on not learning anything. I also hate cats. I had a schoolmate come over, and she brought her old, raggedy cat everywhere (which was very weird, in my opinion), and it was stand-offish and boring and honestly, quite ugly. I also don't like chocolate. I don't understand how people eat it, it's disgusting. Lollipops, too. I always feel like I need to chew them, and then they get stuck in my teeth. I like toffy, though." "I have this really bad habit of rambling, as you can probably tell. I'm also terrible with cracking my knuckles and chewing on my thumb's nail. Yeah, just the thumb. I know it's weird, but what can I say. It's especially weird now that there's really nothing to be chewing. Old habits die harder than teenage girls, it seems. There's another habit, actually. I picked it up after I died. I've gained this rather...morbid, bitter sense of humor. So I apologize if I make you uncomfortable." "I'm very afraid of moving on, but even more afraid of being trapped here forever. I'd never admit it, but I'm convinced I killed my mother. It's not logical, I know, but the timing and the events that led to her death have me stuck on the thought. I want nothing more than to find true happiness with someone, though I know I can never have that now. I miss life and I cling to the idea of a forgiving, loving God waiting for me beyond this mortal realm. I guess that's all I have to say." I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR HISTORY ... I'M SURE IT WILL BE INTRIGUING! "I was born, then raised by my mother. My father was overseas - he was in the Marines - and he was killed while away. I never had any siblings, though I always wanted little sister to dress up and play with. My mother never remarried though, my dad's death broke her, I think. She was always so distant and I never once saw her smile. I loved my mom though, she always looked out for me. She was always there right when I needed her and in any way she could help me, she did. I was spoiled, too. I like to think it didn't go to my head though, but I guess I don't really know, she never said either way. She was a small business owner, with a small fortune that she had inherited from my grandparents when they died. My dad's family always sent gifts and checks, and I think that's what kept us living in the two story, Victorian era house I was born in. I also think the military sent her money, but I never really understood the finances. Just that there was always food on the table, and I always had just about everything I ever wanted. The most important thing I got was a Pug named Dominic. I loved that dog, and I had him long after I died." "The night I died, my mother had cooked ham and mashed potatoes and green beans. I always loved mashed potatoes, and my mother made the most wonderful gravy. I can remember the smell of that night, and the warmth of the fireplace. I had hugged my mother after dinner, and while her expression remained as emotionless as ever, he embrace had been tight and warm, and sometimes I wish I could have died in it, instead. I went upstairs to bed, and I had gotten cozy, with Dominic under the covers, his little face nuzzled into my neck. I don't think I'd been asleep more than an hour before I woke to crashing and clanking and shrieking. My mother was screaming for me to get out of the house, and then I heard a gun shot. I remember my heart skipping a beat and I thought I was already dead. I wasn't, though, and I grabbed Dominic and got out of bed and into my slippers. I remember opening my window and starting to climb out, but I was pulled back in. Dominic fell to the floor inside, barking, and I caught a glimpse of distorted face with black eyes, before I saw nothing and felt nothing. The noises were gone, and I think that so was I." "It was maybe hours, or days later when I woke up, standing in my room. My mother was sitting on my bed. I could see again. There was a noise under from under the bed; Dominic was crying and hiding his face. Something was wrong, and I knew it, but when I opened my mouth, I didn't have a voice. My mother had a gun, and I remember wanting to feel horrified, but I hadn't regained that part of my consciousness yet. When she put it in her mouth, I found both - I called out to her, and it felt like a wave of dread and horror had just crashed down upon me; I would've fallen but I don't fall anymore. The last thing I remember of my mother was her looking in my direction, with a look in her eyes that makes me believe she could see me there, and the corners of her mouth curving into that smile I waited so long for, before she pulled the trigger. I tried to touch her, to do anything, but that's when I realized I no longer was corporeal. My limbs moved through objects, and the memory of dying hit me; of pain and of the blackness in the eyes of the woman clinging to my throat with her strong hands. I sat with my mother until my uncle found her a week later. He had flown in for my funeral. I didn't attempt to speak to him, I just watched him remove her body. Dominic could see me, and stayed by my side, growling when anyone tried to touch him. He stayed in the house long after everyone had left and took care of himself while I tried to find a way to touch anything, so I could continue to take care of him." "Dominic died of old age. A family moved in shortly after I figured out how to appear solid for just a couple minutes. I knocked on the door and asked them to care for my dog while I was away. I never reappeared to them, and while confused, they were kind enough to continue taking care of him instead of sending him away. Since then I've watched two other families live here. It seems like the owners always find it difficult to remain in the house once they learn the story of my mother and I, or when they notice me moving things. It seems that despite the intentions of the ghost in question, paranormal activity will scare a person enough to move. I try not to take it personally, but sometimes it's sad to see the children that come through leave. I remain in this house now, lonely, and confused. I have no idea why I haven't moved on with my mother. She never appeared to me, like I had hoped for a while. I sometimes think about the stories, about ghosts that stay because they have something they need to finish. I've wracked my brain, though, and I can't think of a single thing. Maybe I'm doomed to haunt this house, thanks to whatever horrible creature it was that killed me." AH, AND WHO IS THIS AMAZING MASTERMIND BEHIND THE LIKES OF YOU? Their name is Jaden and you can call them Jaden. They're twenty-two and found you guys on CAUTION. Pacific time is where they're at and they currently have no other characters on this site. A random fact about them is that they're Mormon, and here's an rp sample: RP SAMPLE It had been years since Ian had begun silently haunting Slaughters, Kentucky, and even longer since he had started it's first and only interesting historical talking point. Now dwelling underground, Ian had become filthy and insane, losing his once tactical, manipulatively charming mind, and his relatively handsome features. His face was ghostly and gaunt, and his eyes were yellowing almost as badly as his rotting teeth. The fact that he remains living is a testament to the human strength. Tonight Ian was coming out of his slimy abode for food. He'd long since given up on entertaining himself in this godawful town, and never once considered trying integrate himself into the new generation, the one that wouldn't know he should be in the electric chair twenty-nine years ago. The only reason to leave was for the essentials, and he only did so when the sun went down, and the population of the tiny town of Slaughters was sitting around their dining tables, ignoring the streets he would be roaming. Ian pushed up the crate covering the sewage drain under the bridge. It was when he got hungry to the point of being ill that he made his way out to the small market. He pushed his matter, graying black hair from his face. It was past his shoulders but it did not quite reach the end of his equally unpleasant beard; which he scratched curiously when he took notice of a small figure laying on the ground not so far from where he stood. When it pulled itself up and was obviously a young girl, Ian stepped into the shadows behind a pillar and watched her go by, not particularly keen on making contact with another life tonight. She did not, however, seem to want to make that goal easy. When she leaned against the pillar across from his, he scowled and watched her, waiting for her to continue on her way home. When she didn't budge, Ian slid down to his knees and crawled around the pillar so that she could see him. "May I see inside your bag?" Ian crawled forward and snatched up the bag. He sat where it had been and held it in his lap. The girl in front of him was quite obviously in pain and his interest in why and how much was overshadowing is hope for something useful and at least a little bit nutritious coming out of her bag. A half eaten sandwich would even suffice... but no, that could wait while he figured out why she was cringing. He had more than just one hunger. "You look hurt," he stated, glancing over her for a second time, now more aware of the bruising and her disheveled appearance. Underneath what was the general mess of this girl, Ian found she was actually quite pretty. In fact, the mess added a certain flair. He already rather liked her and she hadn't said a word (if anything, that was part of the charm). "Is there still a hospital around here?" he asked, simply inquiring because he did not know. If she needed one, he would sooner say a sincere prayer before he assisted her in getting to one. She didn't look too badly injured, unfortunately, but who knew, internal bleeding was just that, internal. |
made by brooklyn at caution[/center]
