Post by jsyk on Dec 11, 2010 4:06:46 GMT -5
"I've got some plans... to make people see me a little different."
- Jim Hawkins[/size][/center]
NAME: His name's James Pleiades Hawkins. It's a mouthful, isn't it?
NICKNAMES: Most people call him 'Jim', but there's the occasional 'Jimbo'. Some people also call him 'Punk', sometimes, but that isn't counted.
AGE: He's twenty-two years old, thank you.
BIRTHDAY: Jim was born on the fifteenth of February, in the year 1988. Be very jealous.
ORIENTATION: He's not the type to put labels on things - but perhaps pansexual could fit the bill. He's not really into guys, and no girl's caught his eye. He'd claim asexual, but he's admittedly called Julie Andrews beautiful.
NATIONALITY:
OCCUPATION: He's a college student, majoring in aerospace engineering, a part-time barista at Starbucks, and a delivery boy for his mother's dry-cleaning service. He's busy, yes.
PLAYED BY: Some people say he looks like Joseph Gordon-Levitt, but who knows, really?
DISNEY: Supposedly, Jim has a lot of similarities to Jim Hawkins of the Disney movie Treasure Planet, but he likes to dismiss that as all kinds of baloney.
USER GROUP: Although it wasn't really his choice, Jim became a hero. Does that make him a reluctant hero, then?
PERSONALITY !
INTELLIGENT!
Jim is an intelligent person, this much having been gathered when he created his first model rocket at the age of eight and wrote the standard equations to come with it in order for the model rocket to work - even if it didn't have the right engines and turbines. Throughout his childhood he drew complicated designs for machines designed to give humans the ability of flight, various weapons, ideas for androids, and other things that lean towards the advancement of science. Now in his older years, he's even more brilliant, even better at creating flawless plans - and Jim knows this. In essence, Jim is a creative mind with potential bursting at the seams. Majoring in aerospace engineering is the first step he's taking to rocket science, and if he were more focused with it, perhaps he'd be graduating already.
CHARMING!
One thing you have to be in order to get people not to notice your inner conflicts is charming. Jim has a way with words, having developed this skill after always being caught by the police when he got into various scrapes in high school. There was always something that had to be done in order to ease his mother's worries that Jim would be getting into trouble, and even if it meant half-lying, Jim always did know how to make her feel better. Nonetheless, the boy is gifted in using his tongue for means to get something in his favor - and not in the dirty way, either. Jim is probably capable of making you smile in even the worst scenarios, and that's probably because he gives off the impression that he's full of heart. Maybe that's because he's so good at lying, too.
COURAGEOUS!
The thing about Jim is that he's daring. He isn't afraid to do things that could permanently damage him, be it extreme surfing or Russian Roulette. For the longest time, Jim's been doing things regardless of the possible consequences, this being something obvious if you take into account his criminal record (he is, admittedly, guilty of spray-painting invitations to free beer all over the walls of a court of justice). Probation is painful, of course, and something that Jim would only like to go through if he only had two options in life and the other one was to suffer hemorrhoids. Still, to Jim, any kind of adventure is something of a temptation. Anything that involves risk probably has him involved with it, too.
INSECURE!
Jim has his strengths, of course, but like every boy who's just gone through puberty, he has his insecurities. Sometimes Jim isn't even sure if he's ready to grow up, to be a man and begin to take responsibility for the things he's done. He believes that he's been young and a child long enough to want to be that forever - and coming out of his cocoon, sometimes, doesn't sound as attractive as it should; even if that meant Jim would be a beautiful butterfly. Truth be told, Jim has, for the most part, been afraid of taking over the role as 'man of the house', even if only his mother lived with him. Jim isn't sure about whether or not he's ready to take up the responsibility of manhood and everything in relation to that, even if, in the past, he'd been in such a hurry to grow up. Jim knows better, now, and he knows that although when he wanted to be something when he was younger, now all he wants to be is young.
STRUGGLING!
Jim is a genius, sure, but that doesn't mean he has life easy. Working three jobs is a nightmare, even if he doesn't complain over it much and you can hardly see it, and the fact that his mother isn't being subtle about the 'great things' Jim is supposed to be getting ready for doesn't help his stress level at all. Hell, maybe Jim's going to end up having a stroke. Although he puts up a cool front on the outside, on the inside he's in a bit of a panic. There're so many things he has to do, with so little time, but he can't bring himself to find enough motivation to do these things without procrastination. Jim's always so tempted by having fun instead of taking things seriously, so, ultimately, all this stress is his fault. He accepts that, yes, but that doesn't mean he's working to change anything over it. Jim is, admittedly, struggling, but it's something that's become all too resemblant to a bad habit.
QUIRKS: puffing up his cheeks, biting on the inside of his cheek, biting on his lower lip, averting his gaze & rubbing the back of his neck.
LIKES: dreams, the idea of flying, experiments, freedom, liberty, sketching, animals, chai tea with whipped cream, music & leaving notes in library books.
DISLIKES: restraints, boundaries, nagging, straight lines, chores, cleaning, promiscuity, chihuahuas, quick judgments & prejudices.
HISTORY !
Once upon a time, in a land called Fantasia, there lived a woman named Sarah. She was of an unspeakable, unbelievable beauty, with blue eyes of wonder and the lips of an angel, and had every man in the world she could pick from. Like every clichéd pure-hearted girl, there were predators who prowled for virgin flesh and the smile that melted hearts. And, like every pure-hearted girl, Sarah found the man who wanted her because she loved her - the man whose name was Kyle. Kyle Hawkins was a man of quiet dignity, and gentlemanly charm, and it was Kyle who swept Sarah off her feet and fell in love with her - Kyle who married her and showered her with love. It was Kyle who kissed her worries away and made her laugh with the smallest things, and it was Kyle whose hands wrapped around Sarah's swollen middle as she was pregnant with their first child.
"We'll name him James," Kyle whispered in her ear. "Because he'll overthrow the world."
She believed him.
It was with this that James Pleiades Hawkins was born, on a lovely Spring morning. Sarah held him in her arms, hair disheveled and blue eyes tired, and Kyle watched as he fell in love for the second time with their beautiful baby boy. They were a happy family, and James - fondly dubbed 'Jim' - grew into toddlerhood with books of fantasy and the things of heroes. Kyle was an architect, a good one, and Jim would happily help him hold down his ruler as he attempted to work, Sarah watching as her boys made pictures of homes and supplied them with lemonade. Sarah was always ready to shake Kyle awake, too, when the boys' faces would be smashed against the papers, both of them snoring; always ready to tell Kyle that there was graphite on their faces. It's moments like these that spoke of a real fairy tale, of real happy endings, of lives that people normally only dream of.
Does this mean that they all live happily ever after?
Let's shift back to reality.
Reality said that these happy endings are unacceptable. Reality raised his fist and slammed it onto the desk of the lives of the Hawkins. Reality drove the family to fall into debt. Reality forced Kyle and Sarah into overwork. Reality made Kyle drink. Reality made Kyle spend late nights in pubs, with Sarah crying over her husband, with Sarah screaming at him to stay home, with Jim watching, seven years old, as his parents shouted. It was Reality who made Kyle drink into depression. It was Reality who took everything.
It was Reality who made Kyle's liver give out. Who made Sarah sob. Who made Jim confused. Who forced the two last members of the Hawkins family to attend a funeral, and changed Jim's perspective on things forever.
But Reality can never be blamed.
Jim learned this the hard way.
He spent his teenhood in different phases, different stages. Jim remained in the rebel stage for a long time, skating into prohibited areas, stealing pocket watches for money, and spending that money on paints he used on the walls of public areas. He was smart, yes, smart enough to create elaborate plans with a group of people who he thought were his friends to do things no teenager should do. He was never smart enough to take his studies seriously until his mother cried about it, and that forever made him believe that he should finish high school, at least. Sarah had enough to worry about with a laundry business and a second job.
When Jim graduated, scholarship for aerospace engineering under his belt (it hadn't taken much, really; all he needed was a whack on the head from his mother and a lot of Red Bull), he got the first job he could - as a Starbucks barista. Delivering clothes for his mother wasn't counted: he wasn't being paid for that. Now, he admittedly isn't the same as he was in high school, but Jim is still the person who manages the most elaborate thefts on earth. Do you think the Hawkins' survival could be depended on with a laundry business and a simple Starbucks job? No; Jim is guilty of doing a lot of things that he's never been caught for. He's guilty of using his eyes to deceive people, of using his charm to trap them, and of using that cunning and brilliance to finish the deed. He's done so many bad things that he isn't even sure if he'll be capable to stop.
His father said he would overthrow the world. The man didn't say it would be in a good way, though. Not at all.
SAMPLE !
he's not here to play.
leaning against the entrance of a bowling alley, eli's eyes flutter closed; a cigarette hanging in-between his lips. it's a quiet night, which is saying something, but it might have something to do with the fact that it's bloody cold. he removes the cigarette, holding it with his index and middle finger, and sighs out some smoke. there's something about tobacco that calms him, but eli can't say he's particularly obsessed with it. he's not addicted to smoking at all, not in the way some people are, but he does enjoy it. there's something calming about the taste of it, about welcoming death into your lungs and then banishing it out later with a careful puff. there's something dangerous, something different, and the rush from that is enough to get eli to come back for more when he finds nothing else to do. he's half-way done with the cancer stick, orange light glowing in the dim hours of night, when he finds his gaze drifting off to he side. there's a person there, standing, watching him; or, if specifics are required, watching his earring. eli supposes it might be something that sticks out, the little cross hanging off of his left ear, but a quick quirk of his eyebrow and the person starts moving - eli shifting fast to put the cigarette out on the wall behind him and toss it to the side; sneakers guiding him along the pavement.
in his head, he hears police sirens, the thrill of a chase singing in his blood. brown eyes shimmer underneath the dull moonlight, eli's body swerving as he twists and turns. laughter crawls out of his throat like a serpent when he hears the person behind him stumble and fall, eli stopping for a moment to look back. it's not over yet, not at all, and eli smirks when the figure gets back up. then he runs again.
this time, eli doesn't keep track of where he's going, and how far he'll be in so-and-so minutes. he only listens to the drastic pounding of his feet against the pavement, and the beating of his heart; and the cold wind that slices at his skin and rushes through him at the same time. brown eyes move backward, then, and if the man's still following him, eli's got a ballpoint pen in his pocket that could be used for so many other things than writing. a purse of his lips, and eli realizes that the man is gone; his footsteps slowing before halting entirely; gentle breaths of carbon dioxide slipping past his lips. it's only now that he brings himself to lift his head, and he finds himself in front of a restaurant - an italian one. he quirks an eyebrow upward, and eli looks down at himself, and, sure, he could afford some dinner. especially after that run. especially after the adrenaline.
especially since pasta reminds him of guts.
it's with this that he pushes through the door, gaze questioning, wondering. he tells the maitre d' table for one, please, like a good little boy, and sits on a bench; waiting for his turn to be called.
he has no idea what he's in for.
leaning against the entrance of a bowling alley, eli's eyes flutter closed; a cigarette hanging in-between his lips. it's a quiet night, which is saying something, but it might have something to do with the fact that it's bloody cold. he removes the cigarette, holding it with his index and middle finger, and sighs out some smoke. there's something about tobacco that calms him, but eli can't say he's particularly obsessed with it. he's not addicted to smoking at all, not in the way some people are, but he does enjoy it. there's something calming about the taste of it, about welcoming death into your lungs and then banishing it out later with a careful puff. there's something dangerous, something different, and the rush from that is enough to get eli to come back for more when he finds nothing else to do. he's half-way done with the cancer stick, orange light glowing in the dim hours of night, when he finds his gaze drifting off to he side. there's a person there, standing, watching him; or, if specifics are required, watching his earring. eli supposes it might be something that sticks out, the little cross hanging off of his left ear, but a quick quirk of his eyebrow and the person starts moving - eli shifting fast to put the cigarette out on the wall behind him and toss it to the side; sneakers guiding him along the pavement.
in his head, he hears police sirens, the thrill of a chase singing in his blood. brown eyes shimmer underneath the dull moonlight, eli's body swerving as he twists and turns. laughter crawls out of his throat like a serpent when he hears the person behind him stumble and fall, eli stopping for a moment to look back. it's not over yet, not at all, and eli smirks when the figure gets back up. then he runs again.
this time, eli doesn't keep track of where he's going, and how far he'll be in so-and-so minutes. he only listens to the drastic pounding of his feet against the pavement, and the beating of his heart; and the cold wind that slices at his skin and rushes through him at the same time. brown eyes move backward, then, and if the man's still following him, eli's got a ballpoint pen in his pocket that could be used for so many other things than writing. a purse of his lips, and eli realizes that the man is gone; his footsteps slowing before halting entirely; gentle breaths of carbon dioxide slipping past his lips. it's only now that he brings himself to lift his head, and he finds himself in front of a restaurant - an italian one. he quirks an eyebrow upward, and eli looks down at himself, and, sure, he could afford some dinner. especially after that run. especially after the adrenaline.
it's with this that he pushes through the door, gaze questioning, wondering. he tells the maitre d' table for one, please, like a good little boy, and sits on a bench; waiting for his turn to be called.
he has no idea what he's in for.
ABOUT YOU!
OHHAITHUR, I'M PERCY AND I'M A PRETTY LEOSTRUTTIN' PERSON. I'M FOURMUTHAFRAAKINGTEEN, BUT DON'T FRET YO, I THINK THIS PLACE IS AMAZING. I'M SO GLAD I FOUND IT THROUGH CAUTION 2.0 <3. OH, AND JUST SO YOU KNOW, MY FAVORITE DISNEY MOVIE IS EITHER A GOOFY MOVIE OR TREASURE PLANET, JSYK.
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