Age: Unknown (Appears to be 25)
Hair: Deep chocolate ivy league cut
Physical description: He stands just short of six-foot-three and weighs no more than one-hundred and seventy pounds. Despite having sharp features, Cardon often bores a soft expression on his face that is both welcoming and warm. He makes a habit of dressing in a manner that reflects the time, often wearing solid collared shirts and jeans.
History: Not much is known about Cardon’s past as he doesn’t see the purpose in dwelling in the yesteryear of his own personal journey; however, a few fortunate people have heard minimal information concerning his days amongst men. He was an honorable man with an understanding nature and a keen interest in understanding the distinct nature of the individual. This has translated into his divine duties, as in his dealing with humans he often enters interactions with an absence of preconceived notions seeking to evaluate the situation from an unbiased stance. He has a softer personality in comparison to some other angels; though, he takes his duties fairly seriously.
Weapon (Angels only): Silver bow and a matching quiver of arrows.
Cardon ran his hand over the front of his slim-fitted gray suit jacket, as he stepped into the funeral home. Death should have been something that he should be used to, as it was something that he accepted as a natural occurrence in life; yet, he always had his quells in death of minors who barely had the chance to mess up before their lives were taken. He moved through the crowd unseen, taking note of all the faces he passed. The tears, the heartache, the desire for answers – all things that Cardon wished he could alleviate from the mourning process, as he viewed death as a means of transitioning into the afterlife for which you were meant to recede in.
Cardon wore a placid look on his face, as he approached the mother of the deceased. She was an emotional wreck, her mascara smeared and running, her complexion giving wind to her bout of sleepness nights. The scene would be a difficult one to witness, though had the practice with comforting that Cardon and others like him had. He reached out a hand and placed it on the woman’s shoulder. The crying continued for several more seconds, and then the tears slowly stopped pouring as the woman wiped her face and looked to the others around her. Cardon allowed his hand to slip from the woman’s shoulder, as his touch was replaced by those that had circled around her offering her comfort.
Name: Everett Baldwin
Hair: Lighter brown
Physical description: Everett has a slimmer, athletic fit and stands around 5’11. He has appealing features and is often seen as attractive by his peers; though, he does much to earn this term. His hair is often well-kept, as well as his attire as he often wears a mix of sweaters and collared shirts. He values first impressions as a key element in networking, therefore rarely dresses down for comfort.
History: Everett should have been a screw-up. He was born to a father who wanted nothing to do with him and a mother that valued her next hit over her child’s well being. But, luck would have it that fate intervened in the form of child services and Everett was removed from that lifestyle before he ever had the misfortune of remembering it.
Now having been raised by a wealthier couple that adopted him at a young age, Everett is every parent’s wet-dream. He lives his life with purpose, attempting to appear as well-rounded as they come. His name has become synonymous with ambition; however, to Everett that’s not enough. As in truth, he’s involved in several venues, but is never the best in any of them. He’s on track for Salatadiran, rather than Valedictorian; he lost the bid for SGA President as he had to cut back on his campaigning due to a commitment to the track team, which he’s only managed to receive a co-captain position in. He fears that his legacy will be marked by a sense of mediocrity – a fate, which in his eyes is just as bad as being born to an absentee father and a drug addict mother.
Weapon (Angels only): N/a
Everett hated funerals. He’d never been able to grasp the concept of rejoicing in someone passing, as he viewed death more as an abrupt end to a journey. Especially considering the nature of Mark’s death – stuck in a coma for months, then he was pulled from this world as if he truly had no bearings here. And despite his attendance at a peer’s funeral, all Everett could think about was himself.
What would people say at his funeral? How many people would attend? Would his legacy be one that people aspire to follow or would it be a lukewarm pool of meaningless second-places. Funerals reminded Everett that he hadn’t yet achieved the level of success that he desired. They reminded him that he wasn’t yet good enough.