Post by Chris Church on Sept 13, 2010 18:42:32 GMT -5
Full name: Christopher Graveline Church
Age: 17
Birthday: March 9th
Original or Canon?:Original
Face Claim: River Phoenix
Why You are here: Assault.
Riding Experience: Intermediat-ish ( it's been a few years)
Riding Interest: Cross Country,
Favourite Breed: never thought about it.
Appearance: standing at six foot, his body isn’t exactly thine or lanky, but he isn’t overly chubby either, he falls pretty well in the middle. He has an ok build but noting special. His hair is long and light brown, he died it red a long while ago, but it has mostly faded out by now, and his roots have taken over most of his hair. He really like his hats, he likes to wear cowboy hats, fedoras, pretty much any hat he thinks looks good on him. He absolutely hats shorts, so it is usually jeans with him. He is also a big fan of button down shirts. He will wear one if the weather permits, other wise he will put on a tee shirt or sweater. His hands are cut and scared from slips of the knife and other sharp objects in the kitchen, work shop, auto shop etc.
Likes:(at least three)
- Good Music
- the arts
- good food
Dislikes:(at least three)
- Math
- People who mope about there problems thinking they are worse than anybody elses.
- MOST new music
Personality Traits: Creative. He usually can come up with a unique, yet effective methods for solving a problem.
Sarcastic; he has absolutely no problem with laying down sarcasm if the situation calls for it.
Quiet; he often keeps to himself if he can. Sometimes even if he cant.
Nostalgic; being around these horses bring back plenty of memories for him, some good, some bad. If you are lucky enough to have him open himself up to you, you will probably hear the phrase “Man I remember this one time on the farm...”
Observant; he usually notices basically everything going on around him, he likes to call it his “photographers eye.”
Violent: he denies this fully, but if you anger him to much, he will start throwing fists and attacking you.
Calm: he doesn’t Like being violent, and dose his best to keep himself calm, and for the most part he dose a good job at it.
Loyal: if you are a friend to him and true to him, he will stand next to you no matter what.
Adventurous: Chris likes to go off and explore.
Family Tree:
- Father: Peter Church• Dead
- Mother: Carol Church Dead
- Siblings: none
- Other: Aunt Lucille • 50 • None, living off of her (dead)husbands pension
Hometown: Lanark, Ontario, Canada
History [must be at least 2 paragraphs, at 7 sentences each]:
Chris had a ok life. He grew up on a small farm his father owned. They had a corn field, some minor stock, and a horse for each member of the family. He worked various odd jobs for his father, but never really got to fully involved in it. He did ok in school, he had plenty of friends who genuinely cared for him. He was a well adjusted young lad. His grades weren’t great, but he was passable, except for in the arts, (drama, visual arts, photography, music) in which he excelled. He gradually started planning his life around the arts. This being a rural community there wasn’t many others like him who were so heavily in to the arts, there were a lot of jocks at his school, and he was constantly made fun of for his lack of sports. But his parents didn’t mind and they were proud of him regardless.
His life could easily be called idyllic. Then, like most good things, it ended.
His mother was caught in the middle of a unfortunate bank robbery on one of her trips to town. She was shot twice in the head. Chris was luckily not present for this, but his father was. The event had scarred him, and he sunk deep in to depression. Over the course of two months the farm started to fall to shambles as his father stopped doing his regular duties and started to drink. He met his unfortunate end when, whit the aid of a bottle of jack, his pick up truck swerved in to oncoming traffic.
Shortly after Chris watched his farm get sold off and all he knew be ripped from beneath him. In his fathers will, Chris’s Aunt Lucile was named his god parent. He moved out to Baker City, Washington in the states. Everything he had know had changed. He was 15 when this happened. Aunt Lucile was not a good Person. She believed that Men and woman had specific roles, and that men should be very sports and trades oriented. She was highly religious and viewed his tendency towards arts as a sign of homosexuality this scared her and annoyed the hell out of Chris, she always would say “no boy raised under my roof will turn out to be a fag.”. The first summer he was with her she made it as hard as she could to get in to contact with his friends, “those redneck losers” as she called them, and basically forced him to fall out with everybody he knew. From that point on, the fun loving, outgoing bright eyed artist was dead, replaced by a quiet cynical bastard. He stopped speaking to people as much as he could. He would constantly engage in yelling matches with his ant, usually ending up with him grounded. The school he was sent to had next to no arts programs, it was basically a sports school. She would constantly sign him up for sports programs and usually punish him when he quit the team. He became more and more anti-social and quite with every day he spent with him.
It wasn’t until his second year with her that he finally threatened that if she tried to get him to play one more sport, he would kill her. Next week she had him signed up for foot ball.
When she told him he finally snapped smashed her across the face with his guitar and then proceeded to hit her with it until she had passed out, only then realizing what he had done, did he decide to leave. He quickly packed up her car with his important things and got out of there. He would have called 911 once he was out of there, but He wasn’t allowed a cell phone. Oh well.
Lucky for her, the neighbour heard the ruckus and called the cops when she saw the blood stained teen leaving the house. Although it wasn’t the police that stopped him. It was never clearly found out for sure weather or not Christopher was trying to kill himself when he wrapped the car around a lamp post or whether he was simply distracted, but Chris tells everybody that he swerved to avoid a cat, despite the fact there were no skid marks at the scene. Chris woke up handcuffed to a hospital bed. He was in better shape than his Aunt, but he wasn’t unhurt. He had done something to the muscles in his leg, and walking was hard and on some days extremely painful, but with the help of a cane he was able to get by.
In the weeks following he was put on trial for assault and plead guilty. After reading his file, the judge took pity on him and tried him as a minor.
When sentencing time came, the judge gave him a choice. Juvi, or Willow brook.
Well, Chris Immediately jumped at the opportunity to avoid jail.
Nickname: [what you want to be called]
Age: no
Years of RP Experience: I haven’t been keeping track...sorry...a few years...at least five.
Other Characters: N/A
RP Sample [must be 3 good paragraphs]:
Chris Stepped down from the van, the sun beating down on him. He put his sunglasses on.
It had been a long ride, and it was nice to be stretching his legs again. The circumstances of his needing to stretch his legs, the long van ride and his being here were by no means good. But with the nature of the location in question it isn’t that hard to figure it out. He had done a crime, and it wasn’t any minor vandalism shit either, full on assault. But this place was better than the alternative.
He picked up his bags and was immediately herded to the towards the main Admin building.
There he under went a sires of papers shoved in front of him, some he was told to sign, others to initial, others to read, others to do all to. He sat and was lectured about how what he had done was wrong, and Christopher nodded in agreement mechanically. He learned that his crime was one of the worst cases here and he would be kept under a close eye for any behavioural patterns that might be hint he was a danger to the other students. He sighed inwardly at this, none of the other students would be able to get under his skin in the way that his aunt had. He was given a text book and then assigned a cabin. He was told he wasn’t allowed any weapons and like knives, and he came very close to saying fuck, he would always carry a pocket knife that his father had given him, and he never considered it a weapon, he had always thought of it as a tool. He sighed and put the knife on the desk. It was immediately put in sealed a bag and then put in a box with his name on, and was told he would be getting it back when he left.
The he was told he wasn’t allowed tobacco or lighters and he had to do his best not to look at his guitar bag. Inside it was a mostly full pack of cigarettes and a zippo that was given to by one of his friends back in Canada. The lighter held great sentimental value to him, and he felt he was going to need the rest of his smokes if he had to quit cold turkey for his stay. His bags HAD been searched, but the guitar bag had a lot of small pockets that were very easily over looked and he guessed he had struck it lucky. He figured if he kept the lighter in that pocket and didn’t tell anybody they would never find out and no one would be the wiser. What harm could it do any way?
After he was processes he was given a quick tour of the establishment and then escorted to the cabins where he was shown his spot. Every other student was out doing something else, and so there Christopher was left not knowing what to do. So, he decided to go outside and think. He put his main bag down and slung his guitar bag over his shoulder and walked out. He walked along for a bit observing the activity’s of those around him. There were people spread out randomly doing various things. He didn't know how he felt about this place, so he kept walking.
He walked until he saw the padlock, then the memory started to flood. He remembered his farm, his family his town, his life.
He looked away and closed his eyes.
“Just forget it.” he muttered to himself just like so many times before. And just like before, the faded away. He sighed and walked over to the padlock. He opened bag and pulled out his guitar. It was nothing special, a generic Academy electric guitar. Its smooth polished black wood shone in the sun light as he put the shoulder strap on and cracked a grin at the (now very faded and pink) blood stain on the vinyl face board. That was the day he had freed himself. And you know what? He wasnt sorry, she had it coming. He pulled a pocket amp out of the bag and plugged it in to the guitar. He pulled himself up on to the padlock fence and sat on it, tuning his guitar, the ride up wreaked havoc on his strings. Once that was done, Chris sighed and started to play softly.
