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JOLY Technicolor-Werewolf SISTER SITES  
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| Merrill Price | |
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| Topic Started: Aug 9 2009, 06:37 PM (92 Views) | |
| Janey | Aug 9 2009, 06:37 PM Post #1 |
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FIRST NAME Merrill ×MIDDLE NAME August ×NICKNAME/ALIAS L'Augustine d'Hippopotame LAST NAME Price GENDER Male AGE 32 APPEARANCE Merrill is unkempt, grubby, and certainly no one a lady would want approaching her in the streets, but there's nothing sinister about him. His movements indicate a careless grace and sort of reserved, scampish charm, and he wears his good nature on his sleeve. With his trousers and waistcoat, he almost manages to dress like a gentleman, albeit one from a decade previous, rolled in street dust and fraying at the edges, and missing his jacket besides - he lost it one night, drunk, and could never justify the expense of replacing it. They're the only clothes he owns, and while he's a bit finicky and proud about them, there's only so much he can do for their upkeep. He's lucky enough to still have all of his teeth, though one in front is chipped and all are a bit crooked, and flashes them readily when he smiles. ×HEIGHT 5'10" ×BUILD Relatively slender and fit, although his age, laziness, and affection for alcohol are starting to give him a bit of softness around his belly and beneath his chin. ×SKIN A touch darker than one might expect from an Englishman, even more so when his usual stubble and coating of dust and dirt are taken into account. ×HAIR Dark brown, nearly black, wavy when there's any amount of moisture in the air, and perpetually in need of a cut. ×EYES Brown. ×FACE CLAIM ×ACCENT/PHONETICS He has an industrial, lower-class mishmash of an accent, part English and part Irish - essentially an early form of Scouse. His French is coherent and technically sound but otherwise deplorably anglicized, as if he were reading it directly from a school boy's grammar book. OCCUPATION Hack playwright/pickpocket/mummer/musician. HISTORY Merrill's parents both arrived in Liverpool as adolescents, chasing after the prosperity of its growing textile industry. They found one another, instead, and within a few years, his mother was overworked, overbred and bitter, and his father was a useless (though not abusive) drunk. Merrill was the sixth of their eight children, although two died before Merrill was born and another shortly afterward. For his early childhood he was left either to the care of his older sisters or to his own devices; he infinitely preferred the latter. He never cared much for his family, save his father, who told excellent stories on the rare evening that he was sober enough to talk coherently. By the age of ten Merrill was spending more time in the streets than at home, and his family did little to prevent it. His mother attempted to send him to work in the factories when he was twelve, but as soon as the novelty wore off, he abandoned his post at the machines and never went back. He fell in with a band of musicians in need of a child's voice, instead, and stopped going home at all; he left Liverpool entirely when he was fifteen, following an older boy named Albert, a middle-class poet living off the goodwill of his wealthy great-uncle, southeast across England. Albert taught him to read, write, and take a man to bed - not necessarily in that order - until three years later his great-uncle died and left him nothing but a chess set, and he abandoned Merrill to go beg his father and mother to take him back into their care. Truly on his own for the first time, Merrill drifted about for quite a while before he happened into theater - as an actor, first, pulled off the street for a role that required no actual talent, which was lucky, as he had none. The theater's owner liked him, though, and found him odd work to do after the play's run ended. Still enamored with his relatively new abilities to read and write, and even more enamored with the lifestyle of the playwrights and actors he observed, Merrill eventually decided he had found his calling and began working on the first of many atrocious scripts. The owner put on the first one he completed, purely out of affection, which had the unintended side-effect of bolstering Merrill's confidence so much that he decided to go seek his fortune in Paris. That did not work out particularly well. He found work, but never success; luckily, any disappointment he might have felt regarding that was mitigated by a rather intense love for the city - and for a few of the men he found there, as well, although those affairs were more temporary than the one he still has with Paris. He passed through several theaters, supplementing what little money he made from writing by working behind the scenes or performing the odd minor part, until one burned down and took most everything he had along with it. It was easy enough, after that, to slip back into his childhood habits, albeit with added doses of thievery and debauchery; he still writes, carrying a sheaf of papers rolled up on his person and scribbling whenever the mood strikes him, but the possibility of ever making a living that way seems distant at best. PERSONALITY Merrill is rather like a rock: quiet, steady, and not given to action unless someone else is there to kick him along. If he were able, he would probably spend all day in bed - preferably with a bottle of wine, a companion, and a window to people-watch, but he would never want for much else. In some sense, then, it's fortunate that he was born into a life that has never allowed for too much laziness, nor often even for a bed. Otherwise he would be dreadfully useless. Even now, he's not what anyone would call a productive person. He spends the bulk of his time tumbling along after his friends, with periodic, failed attempts at writing a play that isn't laughably horrible. He's a terrible writer, truly; a decent storyteller, especially when he's had enough to drink to loosen him up and turn him animated and lively, but a terrible, terrible writer, massacring perfectly entertaining ideas with clumsy poetic flourishes and heavy-handed symbolism. For years of effort, he hardly saw a penny in returns. Merrill is mostly aware of his own mediocrity, now, and even willing to joke about it, but he's not remotely interested in giving up and pursuing a more attainable ambition. He would rather be an awful playwright than an excellent factory worker, after all. The company is better. Despite not being particularly practical in his endeavors, Merrill is exceedingly even-tempered. He doesn't often lose his wits, whether out of anger or out of excitement; in the rare case that he does, there is almost always alcohol involved. He's capable of getting angry, but he's more likely to sulk in silence or have quietly intense quarrels with whoever is to blame than to go around shouting or getting into fights. He's typically very calm, friendly, and, if one can ignore his rough edges, nearly charming. What he lacks in manners, he makes up for with good humor and a warm, honest air. He gets on especially well with children and the elderly, neither of whom care so much about the state of his appearance as they do his collection of stories (and he does collect them, with the same care and dedication that others collect books or butterflies) and easy laugh. He's a rake for sure, but he doesn't have much in the way of natural guile. Any deviousness he possesses has been learned the hard way, and even still, he struggles to tell a convincing lie to anyone. He goes about everything with a certain cheerful pessimism - let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we shall die, and that sort of thing. Although Merrill is reasonably clever, as far as undereducated knockabouts go, and possessed with more than enough common sense to know when something is doomed to utter failure, he is stupidly loyal to and affectionate toward his friends - like a great big dog, really, and particularly so with Jeannot - so even while he voices his misgivings about the latest mad plot or fancy, he'll go along with it in the name of fealty and hope for the best. ×SEXUAL ORIENTATION Homosexual, and slightly less quiet about it than might be considered prudent. As a boy he took a few women to bed - whores, mostly, just to prove he was able - but he tired of the ruse fairly quickly. LIKES
DISLIKES
Edited by Janey, Sep 7 2009, 01:14 AM.
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| Alandree | Aug 9 2009, 06:44 PM Post #2 |
 
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:DDDDDD I love it. I love it a lot. <333 ACCEPTED! |
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