Post by kalai on Jan 18, 2009 14:07:00 GMT -5
And he says come with me I'll show you my way
To a place where all the devils go
No more pain, no more lies, and no more worries
Its a place where all the devils go
Full Name: Carlisle Corbin Evans
Gender: Male
Age: Seventeen
Orientation: Straight
Family: Parents are Mariah Leslie Dawe Evans and Carlisle James Evans, no siblings
Friends: None at the school yet
Relationship Status: Single
Face Claim: Chad Evans
Personality: Carlisle is first and foremost loyal. The worse thing to do is betray him. He can hold a grudge, and he has a good memory when it comes to some injustice. Likewise, he has a similar memory when you do something kind for him, even simple things like holding the door. Even if he holds grudges, violence and aggression tend to be his last resort in any situation. That is to say he is fairly passive despite the fact that he's been in more then his fair share of fights. Carlisle strives to keep both his calm demeanor and pride unscratched, which fuels his passionate nature in strange ways.
Carlisle has, for the most part, spent his life with interest in the world, yet a capability and disinterest in shaking it. He can be moody while at other times he can possess a confident coolness. His fears don't include spiders or milk or heights, nor does he fear the darkness or dogs. Instead Carlisle fears one thing; being alone. Despite how it may sound, he isn't really paranoid, just a bit scared of the weakness in solitude. Beyond his fears, he enjoys many things and thrives on emotion. From the most sorrow laden tears to the most enthusiastic laughter, Carlisle finds his personality taking few consistent paths. Even so, he enjoys life and explores it with an open mind.
In the generalized area of academics, he excels. The calm atmosphere, the surrounding people, and the security of it all comforts him. In the classroom it seems straightforward to him while outside of the classroom it's a puzzle. Some pieces are easy, some hard to figure out and place together.
Perfectionist. Idealist. Both words used to embody him. He was known to catch the slightest error in that essay you were about to turn in, and he'd mention the slightest tilt in the poster you were hanging up. Not that he really cared, in fact most of the time he'd correct you and walk away without enough interest to even stick by long enough to watch you fix it. It never bothered him, the errors, he just knew they were there and felt like sharing the knowledge. As for his idealistic ways, it had to do with that idea of him being a perfectionist. And it worked much the same way for that matter. Carlisle trusted that others had good ideas. It was a fact to him. He trusted that they had some reason to think what they did, some experience to back it up, and he listened to others. When others didn't back it up or when they were saying nothing more significant then "who really cares?" Carlisle grew offended. It was almost as annoying as people and their false sense of self importance. Carlisle didn't need everything to be perfect, he just didn't want lack of effort to be the cause of it's imperfection. Wasn't it as easy as taking an interest in it? When a good project relied purely on how much time you were going to take with the tedious, boring things, Carlisle often stepped in and did it himself. He felt very strongly that the world took only effort to spin it. If you put enough effort into it, if you just tried, you could keep it going. Philosophical sayings struck cords at certain moments, and ideas were revolutionary. Carlisle didn't lose the notion that things could be perfect, if only people adhered to the guidelines Carlisle saw fit for the given situation.
His perfectionism wasn't the only false accusation thrown at him. For the most part Carlisle's relationships with people were the same throughout the years. There were exceptions, but mostly it was generally known that you didn't mess with him. He had a acid tongue if provoked, and he would often retaliate within seconds of your initial action. Shocking, it may seem, to find that Carlisle knows just where to poke. From that recently deceased dog you've been upset over for the past week, to the C you devastatingly got on that spelling test, if there's one person who pays attention it's Carlisle. If you got it through your head that he'd beat you up if he had no information on you, or couldn't attain it before your next attack, he'd unleash a surprising power. Now, never did Carlisle take a vast interest in athletics. He was rarely idle, yet he never strove to be the best athlete because there was little thrill in the accomplishment. Though he'd jog in the mornings, it was routine with his father and something to keep himself busy, not something he was passionate about. For this reason, he wasn't exactly the jock of the playground, but he wasn't a kid who you could put to the ground with ease. To his credit, he never fought dirty. Many kids, and later even teens, had their qualms with Carlisle. Carlisle respected that without difficulty, focusing more on the people who did like him.
Carlisle had one girlfriend at thirteen. It had been real, it had been amazing. Unfortunately she thought he wouldn't find out about her kissing his friend, Calvin. Carlisle was stricken with grief, and he began to push people away from him, only to realize it didn't solve any problem. It only proved to fill him with a sense of hopeless solitude. Before too long, Carlisle was infuriated at his own self-pity, and he began to hang out with guys predominately while girls, though he would talk to them, seemed only to annoy him.
Even if relationsips didn't, passions came and went frequently. Not the traditional passion, but rather, passions in hobbies and subjects varied. Each one was important at a time, then left alone to move on to the next. That wasn't to say he never returned to an old passion of his. The memories of it would inevitably fill him with emotion, which was perhaps the best part of all of it.
Special Ability: Carlisle can draw an object and it'll appear in reality as he thought of it. However, he cannot draw anything that can be consumed- it would have a bitter taste. He also cannot draw anything larger than his paper. He has since tried to draw on another canvas with no luck. The power is triggered by his own energy coursing through him and the love and time spent by a loved one. The love and time are embodied inside his notebook. He can basically draw on anything that was an appreciated gift, if the gift giver was sincere and if the gift giver has strong feelings for him. When he touches the book he's left with emotions- it depends on what he drew as far as what he feels. When the object is retrieved from the book, the page goes blank. He can only use one page at a time, though he can draw more then one object on the page.
Physical Description: Carlisle is a even six feet tall, weighing a grudging one hundred-sixy pounds. His hair is naturally lemon blond, darkening as the years progress. In the summer time it lightens to an almost white because of the sun. And, like clockwork, it darkens in the winter for lack of sun. His eyes hold no color, no brilliant blue or striking green yet instead they radiate with a calm metallic silver. Much like the metal, his eyes can be warmed to great degrees, or cooled to signal his detachment or disapproval.
In general Carlisle is a calm person. He can be considered shy, so he doesn't typically walk around with a grin on his face, greeting everyone he meets. Now, he wishes he could, he envies those who aren't terrified, but he can't match their bravery.
History: When Carlisle was growing up, all he had to do was walk outside and stand in the abundant field of grass, basking in the sunlight and natural beauty around him to be happy. In the fall, the trees simple process of changing colors was miraculous, it filled him with peace and joy that he could rarely get anywhere else. Now his home was a cold, concrete city. And yet, Carlisle couldn't resist loving it in it's own ways. No, it was nothing to the mountains and waterfalls he was used to. Nothing. It was unique, thriving which the grass, rocks, and trees could never master. And best of all? It was near impossible to be alone if you were in the city, unless you were in your own place of residence. This small fact, somewhat annoying to most, was what made Carlisle conclude that he didn't want to leave.
Carlisle didn't know he wasn't like any other kid at first. He grew up much like all the other little boys and girls. Still, there was a sense of power about him, always. He didn't put up with any teasing or taunting, ever. If fighting back meant pain and tears, he'd do it to make his point and just accept the consequences. Giving up was near impossible for him.
His power began to break through his shield of self control one evening while he was with several of his friends at the base of one of the many mountains surrounding the valley he called home. His friends were up to mischief, left to their own devises while Carlisle showed no interest. They shook their heads in dismay and started to leave only to be intercepted by an older group of kids. Terror filled a few of the girls in the group, while a few of the boys shrugged it off and tried to keep walking. Carlisle watched silently from a few feet away, not exactly sure what to make of the situation. Words flowed between the groups, and the tension was comfortingly low. Carlisle smiled- his mistake. Seconds later an older boy shoved his friend Calvin to the ground. Calvin glared while Carlisle rushed to his aid.
A fight ensued and was only fought when the older kids began laughing about the whole thing as if it happened days ago, and not mere seconds. The aggressor of the group blinked, and in doing so the anger in his eyes faded. He smiled, kicked Calvin's leg, then turned to leave. Infuriated, Carlisle started to get up again only to be pulled back down by Calvin as the older kids walked away.
Life resumed after the incident, but Carlisle thought about it frequently. For his birthday the following week he received a notebook. Well, actually he considered it a sketchbook-diary. It was a fine, olive-gold hard covered book with the italicized cursive writing spelling out Carlisle on the front. Inside were blank pages, unlined. It was compact, with limited pages which left Carlisle disappointed. Before too long, however, he was drawing anyway even with the limit in mind. His imagination soared until it returned to the fight he hadn't had a chance to win. Razor blades, that was it. He began drawing his own version of a razor blade, slightly different then the others. When it was finished he was satisfied by it. It was a heart shaped blade, and all outer edges were dangerously sharp.
"Let's see them get me now,"Carlisle had mumbled. He closed the book, placing his hand over his name in the process. The next words from his mouth followed a brief period of shocked silence.
"Ow! What the. . ."Carlisle lifted his hand. His palm was embedded with a heart-shaped cut, exactly like he'd drawn. Infuriated he grabbed the book and threw it against the wall. From it's pages slid out a heart shaped razor blade. Carlisle was confused at first. As time went on, he figured out the strange power and used it frequently until his parents noticed. They weren't sure what to do. Doctor after doctor examined him and gave him a clean bill of health while offering to examine his parents- just in case they weren't right in the head. Finally, sick of being poked and prodded, Carlisle looked into the business of supernatural powers and within a month he'd found a school that appealed to him. He explained it to his parents, they worked it out, and he was sent across the country to live at the school.
To a place where all the devils go
No more pain, no more lies, and no more worries
Its a place where all the devils go
Full Name: Carlisle Corbin Evans
Gender: Male
Age: Seventeen
Orientation: Straight
Family: Parents are Mariah Leslie Dawe Evans and Carlisle James Evans, no siblings
Friends: None at the school yet
Relationship Status: Single
Face Claim: Chad Evans
Personality: Carlisle is first and foremost loyal. The worse thing to do is betray him. He can hold a grudge, and he has a good memory when it comes to some injustice. Likewise, he has a similar memory when you do something kind for him, even simple things like holding the door. Even if he holds grudges, violence and aggression tend to be his last resort in any situation. That is to say he is fairly passive despite the fact that he's been in more then his fair share of fights. Carlisle strives to keep both his calm demeanor and pride unscratched, which fuels his passionate nature in strange ways.
Carlisle has, for the most part, spent his life with interest in the world, yet a capability and disinterest in shaking it. He can be moody while at other times he can possess a confident coolness. His fears don't include spiders or milk or heights, nor does he fear the darkness or dogs. Instead Carlisle fears one thing; being alone. Despite how it may sound, he isn't really paranoid, just a bit scared of the weakness in solitude. Beyond his fears, he enjoys many things and thrives on emotion. From the most sorrow laden tears to the most enthusiastic laughter, Carlisle finds his personality taking few consistent paths. Even so, he enjoys life and explores it with an open mind.
In the generalized area of academics, he excels. The calm atmosphere, the surrounding people, and the security of it all comforts him. In the classroom it seems straightforward to him while outside of the classroom it's a puzzle. Some pieces are easy, some hard to figure out and place together.
Perfectionist. Idealist. Both words used to embody him. He was known to catch the slightest error in that essay you were about to turn in, and he'd mention the slightest tilt in the poster you were hanging up. Not that he really cared, in fact most of the time he'd correct you and walk away without enough interest to even stick by long enough to watch you fix it. It never bothered him, the errors, he just knew they were there and felt like sharing the knowledge. As for his idealistic ways, it had to do with that idea of him being a perfectionist. And it worked much the same way for that matter. Carlisle trusted that others had good ideas. It was a fact to him. He trusted that they had some reason to think what they did, some experience to back it up, and he listened to others. When others didn't back it up or when they were saying nothing more significant then "who really cares?" Carlisle grew offended. It was almost as annoying as people and their false sense of self importance. Carlisle didn't need everything to be perfect, he just didn't want lack of effort to be the cause of it's imperfection. Wasn't it as easy as taking an interest in it? When a good project relied purely on how much time you were going to take with the tedious, boring things, Carlisle often stepped in and did it himself. He felt very strongly that the world took only effort to spin it. If you put enough effort into it, if you just tried, you could keep it going. Philosophical sayings struck cords at certain moments, and ideas were revolutionary. Carlisle didn't lose the notion that things could be perfect, if only people adhered to the guidelines Carlisle saw fit for the given situation.
His perfectionism wasn't the only false accusation thrown at him. For the most part Carlisle's relationships with people were the same throughout the years. There were exceptions, but mostly it was generally known that you didn't mess with him. He had a acid tongue if provoked, and he would often retaliate within seconds of your initial action. Shocking, it may seem, to find that Carlisle knows just where to poke. From that recently deceased dog you've been upset over for the past week, to the C you devastatingly got on that spelling test, if there's one person who pays attention it's Carlisle. If you got it through your head that he'd beat you up if he had no information on you, or couldn't attain it before your next attack, he'd unleash a surprising power. Now, never did Carlisle take a vast interest in athletics. He was rarely idle, yet he never strove to be the best athlete because there was little thrill in the accomplishment. Though he'd jog in the mornings, it was routine with his father and something to keep himself busy, not something he was passionate about. For this reason, he wasn't exactly the jock of the playground, but he wasn't a kid who you could put to the ground with ease. To his credit, he never fought dirty. Many kids, and later even teens, had their qualms with Carlisle. Carlisle respected that without difficulty, focusing more on the people who did like him.
Carlisle had one girlfriend at thirteen. It had been real, it had been amazing. Unfortunately she thought he wouldn't find out about her kissing his friend, Calvin. Carlisle was stricken with grief, and he began to push people away from him, only to realize it didn't solve any problem. It only proved to fill him with a sense of hopeless solitude. Before too long, Carlisle was infuriated at his own self-pity, and he began to hang out with guys predominately while girls, though he would talk to them, seemed only to annoy him.
Even if relationsips didn't, passions came and went frequently. Not the traditional passion, but rather, passions in hobbies and subjects varied. Each one was important at a time, then left alone to move on to the next. That wasn't to say he never returned to an old passion of his. The memories of it would inevitably fill him with emotion, which was perhaps the best part of all of it.
Special Ability: Carlisle can draw an object and it'll appear in reality as he thought of it. However, he cannot draw anything that can be consumed- it would have a bitter taste. He also cannot draw anything larger than his paper. He has since tried to draw on another canvas with no luck. The power is triggered by his own energy coursing through him and the love and time spent by a loved one. The love and time are embodied inside his notebook. He can basically draw on anything that was an appreciated gift, if the gift giver was sincere and if the gift giver has strong feelings for him. When he touches the book he's left with emotions- it depends on what he drew as far as what he feels. When the object is retrieved from the book, the page goes blank. He can only use one page at a time, though he can draw more then one object on the page.
Physical Description: Carlisle is a even six feet tall, weighing a grudging one hundred-sixy pounds. His hair is naturally lemon blond, darkening as the years progress. In the summer time it lightens to an almost white because of the sun. And, like clockwork, it darkens in the winter for lack of sun. His eyes hold no color, no brilliant blue or striking green yet instead they radiate with a calm metallic silver. Much like the metal, his eyes can be warmed to great degrees, or cooled to signal his detachment or disapproval.
In general Carlisle is a calm person. He can be considered shy, so he doesn't typically walk around with a grin on his face, greeting everyone he meets. Now, he wishes he could, he envies those who aren't terrified, but he can't match their bravery.
History: When Carlisle was growing up, all he had to do was walk outside and stand in the abundant field of grass, basking in the sunlight and natural beauty around him to be happy. In the fall, the trees simple process of changing colors was miraculous, it filled him with peace and joy that he could rarely get anywhere else. Now his home was a cold, concrete city. And yet, Carlisle couldn't resist loving it in it's own ways. No, it was nothing to the mountains and waterfalls he was used to. Nothing. It was unique, thriving which the grass, rocks, and trees could never master. And best of all? It was near impossible to be alone if you were in the city, unless you were in your own place of residence. This small fact, somewhat annoying to most, was what made Carlisle conclude that he didn't want to leave.
Carlisle didn't know he wasn't like any other kid at first. He grew up much like all the other little boys and girls. Still, there was a sense of power about him, always. He didn't put up with any teasing or taunting, ever. If fighting back meant pain and tears, he'd do it to make his point and just accept the consequences. Giving up was near impossible for him.
His power began to break through his shield of self control one evening while he was with several of his friends at the base of one of the many mountains surrounding the valley he called home. His friends were up to mischief, left to their own devises while Carlisle showed no interest. They shook their heads in dismay and started to leave only to be intercepted by an older group of kids. Terror filled a few of the girls in the group, while a few of the boys shrugged it off and tried to keep walking. Carlisle watched silently from a few feet away, not exactly sure what to make of the situation. Words flowed between the groups, and the tension was comfortingly low. Carlisle smiled- his mistake. Seconds later an older boy shoved his friend Calvin to the ground. Calvin glared while Carlisle rushed to his aid.
A fight ensued and was only fought when the older kids began laughing about the whole thing as if it happened days ago, and not mere seconds. The aggressor of the group blinked, and in doing so the anger in his eyes faded. He smiled, kicked Calvin's leg, then turned to leave. Infuriated, Carlisle started to get up again only to be pulled back down by Calvin as the older kids walked away.
Life resumed after the incident, but Carlisle thought about it frequently. For his birthday the following week he received a notebook. Well, actually he considered it a sketchbook-diary. It was a fine, olive-gold hard covered book with the italicized cursive writing spelling out Carlisle on the front. Inside were blank pages, unlined. It was compact, with limited pages which left Carlisle disappointed. Before too long, however, he was drawing anyway even with the limit in mind. His imagination soared until it returned to the fight he hadn't had a chance to win. Razor blades, that was it. He began drawing his own version of a razor blade, slightly different then the others. When it was finished he was satisfied by it. It was a heart shaped blade, and all outer edges were dangerously sharp.
"Let's see them get me now,"Carlisle had mumbled. He closed the book, placing his hand over his name in the process. The next words from his mouth followed a brief period of shocked silence.
"Ow! What the. . ."Carlisle lifted his hand. His palm was embedded with a heart-shaped cut, exactly like he'd drawn. Infuriated he grabbed the book and threw it against the wall. From it's pages slid out a heart shaped razor blade. Carlisle was confused at first. As time went on, he figured out the strange power and used it frequently until his parents noticed. They weren't sure what to do. Doctor after doctor examined him and gave him a clean bill of health while offering to examine his parents- just in case they weren't right in the head. Finally, sick of being poked and prodded, Carlisle looked into the business of supernatural powers and within a month he'd found a school that appealed to him. He explained it to his parents, they worked it out, and he was sent across the country to live at the school.
She says come with me I'll show you my way
To place where all the angels go
No more pain, no more lies, no more worries
Its a place where all true lovers go
To place where all the angels go
No more pain, no more lies, no more worries
Its a place where all true lovers go