Feb 6, 2018 18:23:17 GMT -6
Maxi Bellclaire | |||||||||
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Appearance | |||||||||
➤ basics | |||||||||
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➤ overall | |||||||||
For a boy, Maxi has developed differently from most men; likely because of his mothers' genes far dominating his father's, and because of his lifestyle. With a fair, unisex face, long eyelashes and big bright eyes that contradict his personality, he grew to be a beautiful male. As a result of his lifestyle-- eating junkfood and staying indoors in his room all the time-- his skin has tinted itself pale, as well as vulnerable to bruising. His body is rather slim; scrawny, as some would bluntly put. There is not much that Maxi is capable of physically because of his poor physique, truly identifying him as a brains than brawn. | |||||||||
Personality | |||||||||
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➤ dislikes | |||||||||
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➤ fears | |||||||||
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➤ positive traits | |||||||||
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➤ negative traits | |||||||||
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➤ overall | |||||||||
Maxi is the prime definition of an introvert. Over the course of his lifetime, even as a child, his best friend as always been the safe and secure space of his room. The idea of social interaction was alien to him. He'd even refuse to do projects entirely during school merely because they were group projects and he couldn't hand the association with others-- especially ones who didn't do their work or were annoying to him. Maxi can easily get annoyed by people who are too unreasonable or obnoxious. It's mainly due to his inability to handle loud people or irrational, ridiculous behavior. It's the reason for his general dislike for children: not knowing how to deal with them and not being able to tolerate them. But Maxi's ability to confront the things that displease him is nonexistent because of the sheer immense amount of anxiety that plagues him in his daily life. There's not a day that goes by where he can go without getting a sudden surge of anxiety over something. The things he becomes anxious over vary and his generalized anxiety disorder is not discriminate either. It could even happen when he says something wrong to someone who didn't even quite catch the possible context of his words. It's a nasty foe that he battles with constantly and it makes him prone to panic attacks; which are usually triggered excessive excitement, conflict, or verbal and physical aggression towards him. Thus, confrontation is something that Maxi detests and cannot handle by himself. Helplessness is a feeling that he very easily adopts in such situations and so he ends up freezing up, and building up more and more tenseness. For that reason he walks on eggshells around other people and when talking or interacting with other people. Maxi's mind is full of contemplation, resulting in him frequently being seen preoccupied with spacing out. This thinking often leads to overthinking as well, also working against him as a stressor. Maxi is a bundle of emotion, and yet he tends to build up this brick wall guise to hide it from others. There is hardly a way that he can properly express himself to others nor can he do so effectively without freezing up, getting uneasy and choking completely. Expressing his feelings, as he would describe, is "forbidden" by his own mind and body as if he had no control over it. It makes getting to know him very difficult unless you can pierce his shell with your eyes and insist he speak. Of course, he likely wouldn't speak, but if anything he'd write it out for someone as writing has become not only his emotional vent but also his communication entirely. Of course, as with most writers like this, he doesn't like showing his works. When one gets to know Maxi, he can be a true sweetheart. He'll genuinely show consideration for someone and be completely open to listening to what that person has to say or vent about, while also giving what advice he possibly can even though he doesn't have much experience to relate to anyone's issues... besides certain sensitive themes. Maxi can also be rather affectionate with those he is truly close to, and if he is affectionate with you, you have broken him down completely to the soft innards beneath his shell. For example, with his mother, he tends to hug her at random when he's around her, having no other way to show his love and appreciation for her. Afterwards, because of his awkwardly distant personality, he'll retreat back to the safe place that is his room. In other words, beneath a tough shell is a sensitive, lovable person. It just takes time and reassurance that you're not going to be another ache for him. | |||||||||
Abilities | |||||||||
➤ overall | |||||||||
Gifted: Storyteller: Storyteller is Maxi's most powerful ability, and it can only be described as the power to tell a story of life, in which allows Maxi to narrate a time, situation and an entire battle in order to produce desired effects based on how he is writing it. This magic is known to take a great toll on the user's mental state, requiring them to put their imagination and their literary abilities to the ultimate test. A magical field will appear in front of Maxi, giving him space to write out with his finger anything he wishes to tell in the story of life so long as it is within reason and makes sense even in a creative sense, thus allowing the use of metaphors, similes and allegories. If it does not make sense and a word is miswritten as well as punctuation is off, it will nullify the effectiveness and there will be no effect. As he writes, the field will extend and begin spiraling around him as a transparent magical aura, extending to create more space for him to write out words and sentences. These excerpts he writes will directly cast an effect related to the environment around him; meaning, his potential is dependent on his setting so long as the script includes an element or something made of matter rather than pure magic. Storyteller is a magic of offense, defense and support, but at the same time can be classified as illusion; for the effects of his spells are always temporary. Most last for a quantity of time, while other more minor or weaker casts may be able to last for the entire battle as they do not require much of him. Offensives are, of course, temporary. They are able to cause destruction in the environment and can harm the enemy, however their environmental effects are temporary and will usually be reverted after he stops tapping into his magic. For example: splitting a fissure into the earth with his magic. The fissure will be mended after a battle is over, but if there's a being stuck in the fissure, they will be crushed and destroyed; making offensive spells a matter of great responsibility to be utilized. Defensives usually consist of reinforcement and shields, and are temporary as well. However, shields that are formed on their own from the air have a durability; thus making them effective until their durability is torn down. These shields can be placed on or around allies as well, making defensives somewhat leaning towards supportive. However, there are some manners of defensive excerpts that can possibly lean towards offense. Supportives are generally made up of illusions, buffs and debuffs. Supportive spells have an allotted time of activity, but they can be recast afterwards. Illusions are able to affect most beings including himself, and come in an environmental form. For example, they can change the appearance of the environment for *all* beings in the range. A maple tree, for example, can be given the appearance of a sakura tree. All senses can be affected besides sense of taste and touch because of their physical relationship to the environment. But of course, the creativity of Storyteller goes a long way... and because of this, it has many drawbacks. For one, while the enter field is active, Maxi is completely vulnerable unless he were to create some type of defense for himself. Meaning, someone could easily interrupt his utilizing of his magic and zone him out; even strike him down. Additionally, in order to cast, he is required to both magically write out the script into the provided magical field with his finger as well as narrate it fluidly out loud. Finally, the most formidable of drawbacks, Maxi cannot suffer from a sudden oncoming of writers block. Writers block not only slows him down considerably or even halt his creative juices, but also it can be caused by a overwhelming occurrence of anxiety. His anxiety discourages his will to be literally productive. Word of Power: Word of power is a individualized magic in which Maxi is capable of writing out a single word: be it a noun, adjective or a verb, and a specified object, attack or effect will be summoned based on the single word given. For example, writing out flames will unleash either a gout of flames or a burst of flames. Writing out barrier will erect a magical protective ward around himself, big enough to just fit other people that are within a bubble proximity of him. Writing out slash will dispel the words, launching them forward in a slashing arc. Of course, the drawback to this is that he has to write out the word in front of him and recite it himself. Sleight of Hand: Maxi is incredibly advanced at using his hands in the fastest and most efficient way possible; allowing him to utilize his hands for any activity, mainly writing using a keyboard, pencil or even a finger, in the most deft and dexterous ways possible. It allows him to write at amazingly fast speeds. | |||||||||
History | |||||||||
➤ family | |||||||||
Father: unnamed father - imprisoned on count of domestic abuse Mother: Ms. Bellclaire - owner of a floral shop Sibings: N/A | |||||||||
➤ overall | |||||||||
TO BE REVISED AT A LATER DATE AFTER ACCEPTANCE! PLEASE TAKE AS MERELY AN EXAMPLE OF HIS BACKGROUND! Revised Version Pending Maxi Bellclaire ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Therapy Personal Biography Word Count: #### Dusting the Tallied Walls My name is Maxi Bellclaire. I am twenty-one years old, and I'm a college graduate with a degree in creative writing. I know, it's pretty lame- but I pursued writing because it was all I had while I was growing up. It saved me from reaching a point of no return and I am forever indebted to this art. Everything I write has a purpose: to teach, to inform and to invoke an emotion necessary for human comprehension. This is my story. My mother and my father were a young couple when I was born; youthful, immature and stupid. They had a relationship for three years prior to my birth; full of love, life and it's own flavor of drama of course. My mom was a free, rebellious woman in her younger days with a mouth to prove it and this often conflicted with the stubborn, critical and egotistical personality of my father. They were different in many ways and yet still somehow managed to maintain a relationship. At a adolescent age, I was exposed to the strife of domestic abuse. Contrary to what others may believe, an environment of screaming, yelling and violence between your own parents- the ones you depend on and look up to the most- is a poison to the young mind. My nerves were torn by the profanities I heard every other night. No cheery children's book could sweeten such illness that took place in the next room over. I grew accustomed to it, but never so that I would be emotionally numb to it. The sight of bruises upon my mother's rough, pale skin was common to me; nonetheless did I pity her, and while I wanted to, it was impossible to bear a grudge against my drug and alcohol dependent father. The comforts of my room were more favorable to me than other parts of the household, where I can be alone and allow my imagination to create joy and fulfillment. Books, toys or even paper cut-outs I'd use to role play happy or action-packed scenarios. Other than here, my playground was the elementary school library. Eventually, the fighting got bad enough where my mother had finally reached her wits' end. In a single night, she disappeared from my life; along with all her valuables. She attempted to take me with her, only for my father to step in and claim that "sons are better raised by their fathers." It sparked a custody battle; one which my father had, shockingly, won despite the odds from sexism in modern society. I believe the reason he won was because he had a stronger income than my mother did alone. I was in my father's care from then on though he was barely a fatherly figure in the first place. Nonetheless, I treated him as any child one. My father was strict. He was raised traditionally: to be a "man", ironically without the addition of chivalry added into his teachings. The teachings he received would be passed down onto me, only that he'd assert them far more aggressively than grandfather did. At first, he attempted to approach me with sports. The poor man didn't even know what his own son was into at this young age, and I had not found sports appealing in the slightest. I enjoyed reading, and when I told him that, that was the end of further attempts to bond for a while. Apparently, he believed waiting for my age to mature would lead to be growing more into the stereotypical "masculine" interests. This had not been the case, and instead I had taken a liking to the arts and history. It evidently displeased him, as he had dismissed it from then on and never brought it up again- and whenever I'd ask if I could have more utensils for art, he refused to supply me with those materials. As a result, art early in my life had been impossible for me to pursue. Over the next few years, my father became far more sour towards me; and his alcohol and drug addiction become more clear to me. Oftentimes, he'd barge into my room late at night and startle me terribly, ranting and raving either about how pathetic and soft I was or about my mother. It was scary for me, and made me start locking my door at night. This decision was bad, since he'd start slamming his fists against my door violently and demand I'd open up. The next morning, he wouldn't even recall doing anything close to that. It seemed as though his inability to bond with me like any other father and son had discouraged him from even attempting to play the father role anymore. I was a reminder of my mother to him, with my frail effeminate looks. There was more of her in me than him. I could tell there was a grudge towards me for it. This marked a beginning where I felt guilt, since I wasn't the son he would have loved custody over. After I started middle school, I found myself weighed down with stress from my peers. My stature and personality made me an easy target for bullies. It was often I had my lunch money taken from me or I was harmed and pushed around for simply being myself. Father didn't take kindly to being called during school hours over my weakness, and seeing me come home penniless as well as bruised. His eyes harbored disgust for my innocence. Boys weren't supposed to let themselves be walked over like that, and he had the idea that bullying me worse than they ever could would toughen me up. I experienced a side of him that my mother had. It was a violent one. Beatings became frequent. I'd come home, and if this was a day he saw marks on me or my money didn't make it to my lunch account, he'd use a thick leather belt to welt me brutally. Next was the palm of his muscular hands, and then he used his blunt knuckles to in an attempt to imprint strength into me. These old tactics of fatherly teaching weren't working for me. I was being beaten further and further into submission. There were visible marks on me, and I always covered them up for the sake of feeling better no one would remind me of them. During gym class, it was inevitable they were seen as I changed. It felt like a spotlight of sympathy was shining on me every time I changed. I found myself mute during late middle school and early high school. It was hard for me to speak my mind or offer opinions, information or anything verbally. Word of mouth was banned by my fear. This muteness lead to me discovering the most beautiful form of communication and art to me. Writing; preferably referred to as literature. Maxi was a child who only desired peace, solace and security. His birth had trapped a young, immature couple together in a volatile relationship of which was destined to end sooner or later. His father: a brawny, egotistical alcoholic who only thought of himself while his mother was a stubborn damsel that was ill-prepared to have a child, just as his father was to be a father. At a time, Maxi was accustomed to the ambiance of conflict. The hard rock of arguing, yelling, screaming; the confessions of hate and and betrayal ricocheting the walls of his childhood home and peeling the wallpaper until it leaked straight through into his room. It was impossible for him to escape it. Blank-faced, he settled with sitting in his room and reading books despite how hard it was to hear the words on the page in his own head without it being placed with "fuck you" and "crazy bitch". Whenever the sounds of flesh crashing against flesh and glass breaking started to tear their household apart further, he crawled beneath his covers and prayed that the sandman would take him away for as long as possible until dawn broke and introduced him a better morning. Cowering in your room and being a bookworm gets your far in your earlier years of education. You sit comfortable being ahead of your peers and possessing more awareness and a better vocabulary to utilize. Maxi had this advantage, but everyone knows how this goes. Maxi was known as a nerd in elementary school, enjoying the time being in school just so he wasn't depending on four walls to protect him from hell itself. Teachers would ask him why he likes being at school so much. Young Maxi, being awkward and private even at this age, simply dismissed it with the excuse that he liked learning new things. Before Maxi had started middle school, he had came across his mother being beaten brutally by his father. He never witnessed the events unfolding before his eyes before because he always hid from the domestic violence, but seeing it now scared him. The black and blue colonies that settled on his mother's once delicate flesh had become a symbol of abuse to him. This event had been the point in which Maxi could never again look at his father as a person again, and it had also marked the date that he'd never see his mother for years to come. The divorce of his parents hadn't had much of an effect on Maxi due to his incredible distance that he kept from them during his elementary days. The feuds that were waged in their living room and dining room had wrenched him away from even acknowledging them as parents or guardians. It's not so much that he detested them. It was that he *feared* them. This fear would only be amplified after their divorced, being in the full custody of his father. The great stalky many was brawny in his own right; a jock in his day and now a divorced alcoholic with no interests other than cold ones, sports, and bringing scanty women home from the bar every other night. His ego was his best friend, and his pride was the second most important thing to him. Masculinity was the first, and seeing his middle-school-age son the way he looked as he entered it infuriated him. The way he resembled her in so many ways. He wanted a boy who actually resembled him, a man. He wanted a son that would grow up to be like him, and the way his son looked... things weren't working out naturally. So, he took matters into his own hands. The way Maxi's father had grown up, it was through sheer endurance of only the most difficult situations. He'd raise his boy just as his own father raised him. Maxi went through the most difficult period of any child's time: middle school. It's where the cliques and the bullying began, and the first time that Maxi had a experience with bullies he could do nothing but take what he was given. They ripped his clothes, stole his belongings and proceeded to beat him when he had protested against them and threatened to snitch. Once he had gotten home, his father, already drunk off of countless broken bottles, examined his son and immediately knew what happened. "The fuck happened to you?" he can clearly remember his words to present day. He denied that anything happened, yet had no excuse. Maxi's head had hit the wall so hard that for a moment his father thought he had sent him into a coma. His father grabbed his head and squeezed so tightly he was near about to break him. "Don't you ever fucking lie to me, for one," he began, staring into his son's eyes that were squeezed shut. He yelled into his face, "LOOK AT ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU!" Shaking with the most potent fear he's ever felt, he opened his eyes and started tearing up. "You are going to man the fuck up, and you're not gonna let those bullies fuck with you anymore. Don't be a bitch like your mom. It's time you start learning the way I did!" That night, Maxi hadn't slept at all. Terror filled every fiber of his being, sending tremors throughout his body and despite all of the quivering his body did he couldn't let out so much as a sob or else his father would come through the door and yell at him to "shut the fuck up". His eyes found comfort in the dark shadows of the room to embrace him and show him the care he couldn't receive from anyone else, and to tend to the throbbing bruise on his cheek. The boy foresaw that nights like these would only become more and more frequent, and his terrifying fears came to fruition. The school had called his father the next day, staff and administration having taken notice of the black and blue mark on the boy's face, and with stifled rage the man had received the fortunate "news" that his son was being bullied by a group of boys who had assaulted his boy.It was a relief, but it was far too close for him. It wasn't just that though. It revitalized his frustration with the cowardice of his son- especially that he had even snitched on his offenders instead growing the gull to stand up for himself. Once Maxi had returned home, his father was waiting for him. A thick belt was in his hand. Quietly, he grumbled, "Look and listen closely..." The air of the home had been shattered like a glass pane as the mighty belt saw that the wooden fold-out table would be destroyed by a single welt, collapsing to the floor in pieces and sending Maxi back against the wall in terror from the ear-ringing crash. The father stepped closer, shoving the loop of the belt into his face and speaking impatiently. "Snitches, get fucking stitches. Understand? Snitching gets you nowhere. Snitching won't save you, protect you or solve any of your problems. You talk to anyone about me, or if I get one more fucking call, you will not feel your legs. You wimpy little shit." The abuse lasted the near entirety of Maxi's childhood. His father's obsession with pride and masculinity fueled his desire to strengthen his son and make him a man... only to fail every time. Time and time again, he subjected his own child, from adolescent to teenager, to brutal beatings and lashes from his belt that left welts on him that'd bleed and scar his skin. At a point, it wasn't even about his hopes for his son anymore. It was a way to vent all the anger he had towards his ex-wife, the people around him and his life- especially the sheer disappointment in his son. Maxi was mute. He was unable to speak or express his emotions in front of others or even talk to them about anything that plagued him in his life, merely because he feared being harmed as a consequence for it. He believed that if he expressed himself, there was some kind of consequence for it. This idea had piqued his interest in literature; pouring out the emotions he had onto a piece of paper. Language arts introduced this freedom to him. One day, when he was sixteen and taking a creative writing class, his father had stumbled across his works of writing. These writing contained very sensitive information, personal themes and much emotion. It was like staring at a crab without it's shell; and still, the man had found every single reason to be angry over it. The idea that his son was a pansy-writer, a emotional person that couldn't take brutal reality, was such a weakling inside. That wasn't biggest problem. It was the themes of homosexuality in his writing. Maxi was hospitalized that night, ironically taken by his father who had thought he had murdered his own son through sheer brutality. This was when the secrets of the boy's life had came out into the open, shining a light on the abuse he had to endure. Immediately, Maxi was removed from the home and his father was arrested for domestic abuse and child abuse, receiving several counts. As a result, his mother was reached and asked to take the child in, who was horrified to hear the news of the abuse. Eagerly, she took her son in and she crumbled at the site of her clearly broken, nervous wreck of a child. Days and nights would go by, and countless apologies were showered on Maxi begging him for forgiveness for abandoning him with his monster of a father, and while he did forgive he and couldn't blame her for his life, he could never bring himself to clearly and directly express this forgiveness. As a result, his mother never feels the sense of closure on the past and constantly considers herself to blame. Years have gone by since then, and still does Maxi's childhood haunt him. But as a result he's become a great writer. AGAIN THIS BIOGRAPHY WILL BE COMPLETELY REVISED/REWRITTEN PLEASE DON'T JUDGE | |||||||||
Miscellaneous | |||||||||
➤ overall | |||||||||
• Maxi is diagnosed with chronic or generalized anxiety disorder • A Siberian husky puppy serves as a "support" dog for him, named "Beau" • suffers from frequent insomnia and night terrors • has a published book titled *Beneath the Thread*, a an suspenseful drama about abuse that became popular from it's hauntingly clear imagery through the mere use of words; though has been banned sometimes because of this and it's themes of homosexuality • mostly works freelance writing and editing for a publishing company, but is in search of a job to make a stable income | |||||||||
OOC Area | |||||||||
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