Post by bruce delage on Jun 17, 2011 17:40:59 GMT -5
Will You Tell Me
---------------That you love me once more[/center]
]Hold Me Like You
---------------Care more than you actually do
THE BASICS [/center][/color]
Name // Bruce Delage
Age // 53, February 14, 1958
Gender // Male
Race // White
Relgion // Diest
Orientation // heterosexual
Play By // Hugh Laurie
EVERYTHING ELSE
Personality // Bruce has always been a fairly cynical person, even from a young age he was known for his rather scathing sense of humor and the mocking way in which he addressed the world. As Bruce aged, this rather twisted sense of humor deepened to become a life style. However, that’s not to say that he hates everything, rather he has a weird affinity for music; specifically classical style music and is even trained as a professional pianist.
Family // None
Physical // Bruce always has impeccable taste rather overdress for occasions preferring a three piece suit for all events. He tends to go for the more winter colors 0preferring dark blues and black to the tan and tweed that is all too common among teachers. Physically, Bruce is in slightly less than peak condition. After having spent the majority of his life running track and lifting light weights Bruce has a natural and healthy physique but it has started to go south in the recent years of his rather over the hill age. This is also represented by the gray that has started to pepper his hair and beard.
History // Bruce is the son of two, rather rich and affluent, musicians. His mother was a world renowned violinist and Bruce’s father was known across the globe as not only an expert pianist but also one of the best makers of pianos. Unfortunately, Bruce’s mother died when he was 16, a victim of breast cancer. However, his father lived well into his 80’s but died three years ago as the result of a heart attack. Having never married and having no siblings, this has left Bruce alone in the world making him more cynical than he was before.
Most people look at Bruce and see him as a solitary man who seems incapable of human emotion, but that was not always the case. Back when Bruce was in his twenties, he was quite famous for his skills on the ivory teeth, much to the enjoyment of his father and the disappointment of his mother. Bruce enjoyed several years of happiness during this point in his life, and he even had a fiancé. The turning point in the story is when Bruce sliced his left arm open in his father’s workshop. The wound was wide and deep, cutting through much muscle and even scaring the bone. While Bruce lived and the wound healed, it did so in an improper manner making it all but impossible for him to play the piano the way he had before.
After that point in his life, Bruce spiraled into a depression and a habit of substance abuse that lasted for 10 years. When Bruce finally emerged from this dark chrysalis it was a cynical man that saw everything wrong with the world and other people. From this point Bruce bounced around from job to job before finally landing a permanent teaching position at Caramel High School as an English teacher, finally allowing him to make use of the English degree he had gotten back in college. As of this summer Bruce would have held the position for one year.
Rp Sample
It had finally happened. That one thing that would push Santana over the edge and into jail. As the spray of virgin whatever misted her face, burning Santana’s eyes in a manner that she had never before experienced while look at Rachel, a wave of pure red rage swept over her. Santana stood there motionless, it seemed as if all the dancing stopped and all the sound faded into the background. It was, quite simply, the calm before the storm. Of course the source of Santana’s potent rage seemed to be oblivious to the fact that her life was now in danger. The brunette kept spouting nonsense off all the while Santana’s rage began to build up. Even her eye began to twitch in that psychotic way that seems to tell most people to get the hell away from whoever is doing that eye thing, but not Miss Rachel Berry.
With a howl of ungodly fury that was the crystallization of several months’ worth of suppressed anger, Santana Lopez launched herself at the diminutive Jewish girl. What was no doubt intended to be a brawl quickly became nothing more than an a** kicking. To start this confrontation Santana hauled back and punched Rachel right in the face. As Rachel stumbled back into the bar, Santana hurled herself at Rachel again; this time her long acrylic nails were held up as a falcon hold up its claws to gouged its prey. With a visceral pleasure, Santana felt her nails bite into the flesh of the brunette but unfortunately they missed her eyes. At the last moment, in an act of pure self-preservation, Rachel had leaned back over the bar. After dodging the harpy’s claws, Rachel kicked Santana in the shin and rolled away only to end up face first on the floor when she tripped over the ledge of the dance floor. Without a moment’s hesitation Santana was on top of Rachel, straddling Rachel’s chest as she grasps the girl’s hair. With another bellow Santana screeched into Rachel’s ear, “COMA EL PISO, PERRA!” Santana jerked Rachel’s head up before slamming her face into the ground. She did this again, and again, and again. Santana was eventually removed from on top of the girl by the big burly bouncer from before. Without blinking, the man picked up the screaming hellcat and walked over to a supply closet where he threw Santana in. Needless to say this did nothing to improve Santana’s mood.
When the door was finally opened again, the people standing around the closet were met with a scene of destruction. With her rage not being fully satiated from the paltry beating that Santana had administered to Rachel, she had decided to take it out upon the contents of the supply closet. Shelves had been ripped from the wall and thrown to the floor, plastic bottles full of cleaner had been crushed, rolls of toilet paper had been shredded onto the floor; all in all it was not a pretty picture. As the police punched through the crows and locked eyes with the teenage Latina girl, Santana had one thing to say, “Shit.”
With a howl of ungodly fury that was the crystallization of several months’ worth of suppressed anger, Santana Lopez launched herself at the diminutive Jewish girl. What was no doubt intended to be a brawl quickly became nothing more than an a** kicking. To start this confrontation Santana hauled back and punched Rachel right in the face. As Rachel stumbled back into the bar, Santana hurled herself at Rachel again; this time her long acrylic nails were held up as a falcon hold up its claws to gouged its prey. With a visceral pleasure, Santana felt her nails bite into the flesh of the brunette but unfortunately they missed her eyes. At the last moment, in an act of pure self-preservation, Rachel had leaned back over the bar. After dodging the harpy’s claws, Rachel kicked Santana in the shin and rolled away only to end up face first on the floor when she tripped over the ledge of the dance floor. Without a moment’s hesitation Santana was on top of Rachel, straddling Rachel’s chest as she grasps the girl’s hair. With another bellow Santana screeched into Rachel’s ear, “COMA EL PISO, PERRA!” Santana jerked Rachel’s head up before slamming her face into the ground. She did this again, and again, and again. Santana was eventually removed from on top of the girl by the big burly bouncer from before. Without blinking, the man picked up the screaming hellcat and walked over to a supply closet where he threw Santana in. Needless to say this did nothing to improve Santana’s mood.
When the door was finally opened again, the people standing around the closet were met with a scene of destruction. With her rage not being fully satiated from the paltry beating that Santana had administered to Rachel, she had decided to take it out upon the contents of the supply closet. Shelves had been ripped from the wall and thrown to the floor, plastic bottles full of cleaner had been crushed, rolls of toilet paper had been shredded onto the floor; all in all it was not a pretty picture. As the police punched through the crows and locked eyes with the teenage Latina girl, Santana had one thing to say, “Shit.”
WHAT ABOUT YOU
Name // Syrus
Age // 18
RP experience // 3is Years
Other// POWER TO THE DARK BUNNIES!!!!!!!!!
