▻ Handsome by anyone's standard. If self-awareness could be a crime, please, Errol like would have had that charged against him, among other things. Those days have long since passed, thank the lord. Now, Errol doesn't feel the need to bring any unwanted attention to his attractiveness. Mostly, it's that nagging feeling that he's likely being judged for even looking remotely similar to the senator's kid arrested for possession and reckless driving and assaulting a cop. And then even more so when they find out, 'Oh, that is him. Wow, what a loser.'

Thus, Errol often tones it down when it comes to his clothing. His attire is never too flashy, never consists of bright colors, nothing to accentuate his features or highlight his face. Most of his closet consists of suits for anything formal his mother undoubtedly invites him too, along with rows and rows of khaki pants and button up shirts for his day job. Out in public, it's usually a regular tee-shirt, a pair of sunglasses, and a cap. Occasionally, he'll layer on a beard when he's feeling particularly anxious.

Of course, Errol doesn't exactly demand attention when he walks into a room - name and renown aren't exactly an issue where he lives. Sure, he's certainly attractive and can dial that up should the need arise, but Errol doesn't exactly want that. Even then, he doesn't need to do much to get people to look the other way, as his features often come off as brooding and closed off - body cues and a resting bitch face help tremendously. The stature, the baggy close to hide his lean muscle, and the relatively average 5'9" height keep him where he wants to be, generally out of everyone's business.

▻ Errol's always favored himself a quiet kid, up until a certain point in his life. That's never changed. Errol doesn't particularly enjoy the scrutiny his family faces, particularly anyone but his own mother. Most of what he's done has been localized, mainly staying within the beautiful Californian state. Unfortunately, the state itself is a hotbed for publicity and his mother takes great advantage of it. Errol, however, never really fit into the public eye. It's always been that way. Anxiety hits Errol harder than most and he's succumbed to the woes of depression plenty in his teenage life.

It never got awful, though. It never escalated beyond that, until he hit his stride in his college years. From eighteen onward (about his twenty-second) Errol took an entire one-eighty. Influenced by a number of friends and by what he considered a lover - a much older one - Errol let himself decline. His demeanor turned from reserved and quiet, to sharp and brutish. He cared little for anyone but himself during his time, and his next fix. Parties had never been an issue during high school, yet his mother couldn't stop hearing about them. Reports and reports filing in just as she began her term as a congresswoman. Errol turned into something he has a very hard time looking back to.

Now, he's met with support from the few family members that bothered to remember his name - namely his mother and sister. Errol shies away from a lot of the public, preferring to keep to his home and to himself. Mostly to keep everything he's done to himself, or as much as he can. It's been years, but it's still easy to remember, still fresh in people's minds. And that runs most of Errol's anxiety and dictates how he interacts with people. Most of his conversations remain brusque, polite, and to the point. It's influenced a lot of how he speaks and his distance from other people tend to mark him as rather snobbish. It's not like Errol minds, much, as it's better than what they could say about him. Still, even those little opinions sway Errol into making decisions based on that thought process alone. His mother thinks he needs to see a shrink, but he insists he's quite fine.

At least he's gone back to what he used to be. At least he can look himself in the mirror and be moderately happy about who he sees. Even if that individual can sometimes come off as an asshat. Some people lack the thick skin to keep up with his harsh sarcasm and Errol doesn't deny that he's snippy, if a little bit caustic. He's not a misanthrope, per se, but he wouldn't mind if people buggered off.

▻ There's a saying that his mother, Diane Howe, repeats on a near daily basis: "Promises are bullshit. As a politician, it's bullshit that works." They live mostly with that in mind, or at least that's how Diane runs her campaigns. Her children and her home? They mostly live in a layer of 'American Dream Family,' and just work from there. The public absolutely eats it up. Errol had to live through a minimal amount as a young child, though his sister came in at a rather inopportune time. In fact, a lot of shit hit the fan in the middle of the road.

Still, Errol's life was never anything to complain about. His mother doted on him, even her words had more bite to them than necessary. She was blunt and the people around her loved it. Honest? Maybe - when it mattered. Acting transparent and being transparent were two entirely different things, however. Diane played to that to an alarming degree, yet she tread carefully enough that her tactics never really backfired. Some slip ups, certainly, a few mishaps, but no one's perfect. She never expected much of the same from her family - she played politics like a game and if she could keep her children from becoming pawns, then all the better.

Thus, Errol mainly staid out of the spot light. He attended a private school with private tutors during the summer and excelled in mainly the sciences. At an early age, he took up the piano, crooned songs when his mother had enough time to sit with him and idly sip at her wine while she watched her son play. They had an odd relationship, to the say the least. Most of her words seemed entirely cold, nearly abusive and discouraging; Errol bit back with the same acid used against him. To this day, it honed most of his wit and ability to think on his feet. She never meant it, though, unless he actually did something stupid - and he did plenty. While Diane never came off as affectionate or tactile, she showed her love all the same.

Work escalated when Errol graduated and with Errol off to Stanford for most of his studies and his mother campaigning for a spot in Congress, it left a lot of room for Errol to live life alone. Alone, in the sense that he had no parental supervision. That had been the absolute worse choice he made. He hadn't realize just how much he relied on his mother's blunt pressure bearing down on him to keep him from doing the stupidest things he could thing of. And Errol never really partied, never really ached for that spotlight, especially not concerning negative press. Harming his mother's reputation was the last thing on his mind.

That wasn't exactly how things worked out. Most of Errol's friends recognized him for what he was, included him in a group of mingling old and new money kids - people with billions in inheritance and not a care for anything but the money and fame. The lifestyle they lived wasn't exactly one that Errol fancied. Yet, an older man convinced him otherwise.

One of his professors, a coach for the rowing team in Stanford, took a great liking to Errol and once the semester passed, he pursued him with a great fervor. Their relationship had been Errol's first in everything and an enlightening discovery of his own sexuality. It proceeded harmlessly, quite nicely in fact. He doted on Errol, gave him absolutely everything, and showed him quite a bit more than Errol had expected from a first time boyfriend. Unfortunately, that made him all the easier to manipulate and eventually Errol fell into a crowd of people he desperately wanted approval from. Would do anything to get. It appalls him now how much their opinions truly mattered then and how much it drove him to do things he absolutely hated.

The first time it happened had been at his first party. They treated it as a hazing, of sorts, lined up a good dose of coke for someone's first time and convinced him to snort it fully. The next few hours had been the best high he'd felt in years. The drug sizzled in his veins and propelled him forward, made him more confident, more like everyone around him, and more susceptible to following their lead. The next subsequent times required higher doses and the fall drove him to a terrible, itchy neediness. The first time he'd experienced the after effects of the drug, Errol suffered a terrible insomnia that allowed him to sleep in unsatisfying, thirty minute bursts. The next few times, he made sure were within a reasonable time zone.

Before Errol could truly stop and look around, months had passed, his relationships strained and his world focused mainly on the drug and what it could do for him. Those few moments high, he accomplished a grand amount of things he probably couldn't. The friends he'd made only further encouraged it, brought him in and used him to their hearts' content. He grew aggressive, edgy, and ultimately something that Errol knew he wasn't and shouldn't have been in a million years. Regular frat boy comes to mind.

Another year passed and he'd dove even further, eventually pushing all kinds of relationships to the wayside. His relationship with his professor grew strained and when it became apparent that the man had made a mistake in introducing someone like Errol - who'd had a hidden, addictive mentality - to something as dangerous as cocaine, he bailed. Errol hadn't noticed, still fixated on where he could get his next fix. Eventually, he started consuming other drugs, mostly party oriented drugs that he could get on a night without a coke high to fixate on. It drove him into the ground, splattered his name on papers and magazines as his mother grew in her own renown.

It didn't stop until everything Errol did, all the terrible mistakes he made in just a night, gained enough infamy that his mother's own job had been at risk. She'd found him that summer in his dilapidated apartment, the summer funds she'd given him already run dry. Diane nearly broke down. She couldn't think of anything to say, so she yelled at him. Profanities. Anything. She just needed something to say to keep from truly breaking apart in front of her kid.

After a few behind the scenes action from his mother and her team, Errol found himself in rehab, somewhere out of the public eye. The withdrawal hit him hard for how much he'd been using over the year. They hadn't actually been too certain if he'd suffer long term, more permanent damage, especially to his brain, but they were certain he at least had the sense not to accidentally OD. Not yet, that is. It took a few months before Errol found his feet again another few months until he could attend school again.

He quickly gained a decent position at a government research firm (after a lot of heavy lifting from his mother and numerous drug tests), worked his way up, and found himself a founder in a private researching division working on pharmaceutical drugs - funny how they'd trust him with more drugs. It all eventually worked out, and it became rather easy to save up his own money. Another few years later and he found himself in Lakewood Summit looking at a 6 million dollar home - his mother didn't see the appeal, but wouldn't deny her son anything. Obviously, he needed just a tad bit of help from his mother, but he eventually came to own a nice, European-style home just a walk away from Sparkling Springs.

Not a few years into his residence, did he hear urgent word from his own mother. She'd sent his sister to live with him for an indefinite amount of time. Not two months later did she divorce from her husband of eighteen years. Bewildered at the turn of events, Errol didn't question his mother's decision, but it did pique his curiosity. Unfortunately, he hadn't seen his sister in years and her timid, almost frightful nature never really rang as odd to him. Of course, being sixteen, she was more than expected to attend classes at Lakewood Academy and he had to begrudge the inevitable PTA meetings that came with.

▻ Congresswoman's son, works for a private, pharmaceutical research company of which he founded after discovering a new type of medication with a friend and coworker of his - it provides him with most of his money. He doesn't like the stress of owning the company, so he takes a small pay cut to simply work for them as a co-founder. Obviously there's also a trust fund for him and his sister.

[Co-founder of a now large and booming pharmaceutical research company]

▻ Formerly cocaine and/or molly. - this is something, in particular, that he refuses to talk about. People likely know, but no one's bothered to say anything. His mother did a lot of work keeping things from the public, but sometimes one can't help a leak or two. Fortunately, either no one knows, no one cares to acknowledge it over their own problems (cause it's technically old news), or they all talk about it behind his back. He just hopes to god it's not the latter. It's probably the latter.

▻ Formerly partying hard. - just another thing he refuses to acknowledge, though this specifically has been leaked a lot more than the drugs part. He supposes people assume drugs were involved, even if his mother bribed the publishes to drop those parts and stick with the alcohol and the partying.

▻ Begrudgingly attends PTA meetings - his sister being only sixteen and only a sophomore, she needs someone to involve themselves in her scholastic career. Without either of his parents currently in the picture, that someone has to be him. He hates it, but it puts a shy smile on Cara's face, so he can't complain - it also allows him a better standing with her.

▻ Plays Piano and Sings - ever since he was old enough to learn, Errol's been pushed into lesson after lesson until finally something stuck. When his mother gets the chance, she likes to sit down and listen to him croon out old love songs. Either that or some god awful reprise of a terrible pop song because he knows how much it irritates her - but she won't say anything because that'd be rude. Like she has an issue with being rude.

▻ Yoga - they offered free classes (or kind of free? they paid for the entire stay, so...) at his rehabilitation center and he leaped at the opportunity. It was either this or something more dull and less entertaining than watching a bunch of entirely unflexible individuals try stupid poses. Unfortunately, it's worked wonders to curb his anxiety, depression, and stress and works well with the medication he's been taking (and is monitored on). He's waiting for some asshole to laugh at him.

▻ Meditation - along with yoga, his instructor at rehab encouraged meditation and for those that wished to stay after, allowed a few lessons intermixed with the poses and stretches. This one's less embarrassing and one he's more inclined to use more often.

▻ Anonymous Counseling - this one he takes far, far away from Lakewood just out of fear of judgement. It's a number of meetings across the week, his happened to land on a friday morning. It takes him an hour to get there, the session lasts two hours, and an hour to get back so he's usually home by the time Cara is. Errol tells absolutely no one of these.

▻ Smoking - a bad habit, but not one that people tend to condemn. It's more like publicly frown upon and Errol's more than okay with that. It gives him something to do with his hands.

▻ Keeping up Appearance - after the whole fiasco with drugs, Errol's been very mindful of what he does and how it gets around. He nearly tanked his mother's career and he's sure if he did something insanely dumb, again, she'd have his hide.

▻ Cara Howe – Half-Sister – Slightly estranged relationship, they are unfortunately ten years apart and once Cara hit eight, her brother had already left home. Errol doesn't know much about his sister, though he wants to, especially concerning her odd situation.

⦊ William Terry Hackett

⦊ 36

⦊ Chief Science Officer

⦊ Human - Earth

⦊ Quite, undoubtedly tall - 6'2" mass of lean muscle - even for a man of his origin. William provides a clean cut figure, looking pointedly less like he does research and more like he's toiled around in a bed of hay. If not for the formal attire concerning the Federation's dress code, plaid would likely feature in just about every article of clothing William has. Fortunately, he's resigned to the stark blues standard for his division. That somehow doesn't aid for how much he contrasts with everyone around him. Most would peg him a rancher from the hard callouses of his hands, the perpetual tan that colors his skin a gradient bronze.

Grins are commonplace, as is the dopey, laid back look of his face even as it is mottled with lines and light pock marks. The wiry, curly hair on his head often remains tamed in a short cut so as not to waste time better spent working. Still, it finds ways to flop and budge from its pressed pomade in loose strands that hang over his head. If it's at all possible to forget a man like William, it's quite difficult to forget his face, at the least, as it's distinct in its length and hard lines even as they smooth into a natural nonchalance.

If William ever cared for opinions, he likely would have toned down a long while ago. Even in his middle age, he has yet to quiet himself and remains a boisterous man with a voice as distinct and loud as possible. It draws off his tongue in smooth, southern grace with every bit the spitfire hidden beneath the lazy summer heat of his presence. Annoying, probably. Worse when alcohol is involved? Definitely.

⦊ William has no issues with his directness. Like most of his family, William doesn't appreciate beating around the bush and often comes off as blunt. Rude, though? Definitely not. Manners have always been a commonplace with William and even in his heightened mood, whether agitated or carefree, he often does so with respect at the forefront of his mind. It's easy, though, to befriend a man like William who often lacks any wherewithal to hide anything - maybe even insofar as wearing his heart on his sleeve. He likes people. He loves feeling the full range of emotions and refuses to hide that fact about himself. Honesty means just as much as respect.

The thrill of discovery often drives William in both his life and his work - often both at once. It's the chase William seeks: a distant feeling of enlightenment that opens his eyes just a wink more. Backing down from that chase, knowing when the depth plunges too far for any one person to traverse isn't something William does easily. It's not the credit he seeks, but the feeling of disappointment hear fears when falling upon a drastic failure. Failure itself doesn't scare Willaim. After all, trials and errors make the entirety of science. But knowing he'd stepped so close into the light, yet falling just an inch short. Like having the perfect sentence itching your fingertips and then losing it to a stray thought.

William festers with potential possibilities, outcomes, and suffers from a racing mind. White noise doesn't register to William, as he takes great care in keeping his thought process clear cut. William terrifies in his efficiency and the sheer will he pushes himself through. Suddenly the lines on his face seem a lot darker under the constant stress he pushes himself through.

⦊ Hackett Ranch likely supplied the largest plot of land in central Mississippi. Owned by Martha and John Hackett, the ranch cost a fortune, but quickly earned its deficit back steadily with its supply of cotton, as well as its teeming livestock. Technology made quick work of the fields, automated to plow and sow and harvest at specific intervals of time - leaving most of the work to engineering, of which consisted mainly of John's expertise. Most hard labor went with caring for live animals, of which their kids knew plenty.

Diligence was a near necessity in the ranch, luckily halving with the amount of people living there and the ranch hands hired to assist. Still, John believed hard work could take one far and drilled those ideals into each of his kids. William, of course, came first, a young, strapping boy that grew into his own boots quickly and without much fuss. To be fair, none of the Hackett kids caused much of a racket, especially with the last two, Judith and then Harold, fairing a bit quieter and more reserved than their eldest brother.

Early on in their lives, it was to be expected that the ranch get passed down every generation, or so. Either among the three of them, or to the eldest, that being William. None of them could refute such wishes, especially at such a young age. Even then, each children got only the finest in education, often in the form of personal tutors, though each gladly attended private schooling.

Unfortunately for both parents, each child quickly found a passion within just the first few months of their high school years. William had always been drawn to curiosity. Learning became an important aspect in William's early life. It could never be as simple as his father made it - everything William learned, he learned as far as the depths of his own resources could take him. When it came to education, those depths never truly ceased if one looked hard enough. William's drive and motivation pushed him not only to succeed, but to excel farther than anyone around him.

That uncanny knack for simply wanting to achieve and discover propelled him fast in his studies. Among many, organic chemistry, as well as quantum-physics had ranked top in William's list of priorities. It quickly became evident to both parents that William's eyes were set not on the ranch, but an area far more dangerous than was suited. His first insistence that he join Star Fleet during his sophomore year had been utterly denied, yet William continued. And continued. And eventually, upon turning eighteen and completing high school within the top 1% of his classmates, he took the leap without prior consent from his parents.

This drove a sharp rift between the family, especially as it caused a domino effect within the other two children. With their eldest brother taking the lead, both Judith and Harold applied to Starfleet Academy as soon as they were able. Though, William's own four year tenure at the academy came with enough ups and downs, he eventually allotted himself among a ship's own science division quickly after graduating. He jokes that he ran out of luck once they admitted him among the top ranking in his section on his first try ('cause the psych test went nearly catastrophic).

Most of William's time was spent in ship labs and working on discovering valuable uses of technology. Mostly, though, his work mainly consisted of researching the possibilities behind wormholes and the potential behind harnessing that kind of power. Unlikely to come up with something, though, William often went back and forth between projects, dedicating quite a bit of his time assisting head officers in their endeavors rather than attempting to complete his own research.

Unfortunately, even though his time in Starfleet was anything but fleeting, William eventually hung low after both of his parents passing due to an unknown, chronic ailment. Having just heard of their state and their recent death, William returned home out of a sense of duty and obligation. Mostly, his heart ached. None of their children left on a swell note and he had been among the ones that had dropped all forms of contact out of idiotic stubbornness. This lead to a swift decline in William's own state of mind and eventually he settled down on his home ranch in order to regain himself.

Studying in engineering, and simultaneously mostly failing in it, William did his best to keep the ranch running. He tended to the livestock, to the fields when he could, attempted to keep a few of the old hands hired and running things he couldn't. In fact, William spent an entire two years in complete shambles, running himself into the ground trying to run some kind of business he had no idea how to run. Working for his father and mother had been one thing, certainly, but owning everything? Allotting finances, paying bills, buying the required equipment, repairs - how he even managed to stay afloat was a mystery he wasn't willing to solve. Eventually, it finally came to having to sell the ranch in itself and find someplace else to settle down. It took months to get everything finalized and doled out, but eventually, and with a heavy heart, William let everything go. Or, at least, he tried to.

Yet, William had come to miss the exploration he'd grown fascinated with. Hard labor, economics, business, none of that seemed interesting to William. In fact, it only ever piled stress after stress onto his still exhausted shoulders. The decision to come out of his own, rather early retirement hadn't been a hasty one, but when news of the USS Orion requiring a crew and the ongoing war with the Dominion raging above, William figured both sufficed as worthy signs.

This was something he lived for and even if his parents could understand it now, they couldn't then. It was enough to drive William forward. With them gone, he found his drive only increased ten fold - he'd like to think they'd have been proud. Even if he didn't quite do as they wished.

⦊ William had always been a brilliant mind, that much had been evident during his time at Starfleet Academy, surpassing many of his fellow classmates and ranking among the top in his classes. Odd, when you look at him, but William's own drive and motivation never lacks, whether in the face of adversity or at risk of a good night's sleep. Most of William's expertise lay in organic chemistry, chemistry, and quantum-physics - mainly in the study of the Einstein-Rosenberg bridge, or wormholes. He's dabbled in theoretic concerning black holes, though a lot of his own experiments and data consists of things less... oblivion inducing.

Still, even though William's expertise lay along the border of theoretical and practical physics, some of his work is usually outsourced to the medical team. Though his biology and xenobiology is rather iffy, his knack for chemistry provides him ample skill in aiding with manufacturing medicinal products, cures, and antidotes. If needed, he can work rather closely with the medical division on most any ship, though his heart lies in one of the four fundamental forces of the universe. Or maybe all of them. He hasn't had the chance to study up on his thermonuclear dynamics - though, don't ask him to actually build anything 'cause he'll likely blow something up. As long as the question is, "How does it work?" and not, "Can you make it work?" then everything will remain in mostly one piece.

Peter Pevensie

Pete, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Lord of Cair Paravel, Lonely Hermit of Tortuga

Former King; Currently Fugitive/Refugee; Hermit; Drunkard

London, England, Rivenspire; then Narnia

26

[Lawful Good]

At present, Peter's wardrobe consists mostly of what he can find. It never really changes beyond a loose fitting doublet and torn, frayed pants. There's no armor, no gloves, just a ratty pair of boots and even worse for wear brown rag to keep him warm. Honestly, Peter looks like absolute crap and he feels it, too. If his clothes get too worn and messy, he'll often look for a no good, drunk pirate to pick a fight with and take what he's wearing. Doesn't really go with his morals, but Peter finds a way to survive and they mostly deserve the sense beat out of them for... well... being murderers and thieves.

Single

N / A

Nathaniel Pevensie

Helena Pevensie

Susan Pevensie (Deceased)
Edmund Pevensie
Lucy Pevensie

Eustace Scrubb (Cousin)

Young, fervent, and so full of life was Peter Pevensie - a model young boy with a bright future. His curiosity drove him to question constantly - he couldn't leave well enough alone. He had to know. Influenced by both his school friends and what society had deemed the staple man, Peter took the lead in any affairs he found himself in. His voice rang the loudest; he stood the tallest. For any kid his age, it'd be easy to turn tail when things took a turn for the worst. Not Peter. Under pressure, Peter Pevensie shown with a confidence and brilliance not inherent in other children. A lion amidst the litter of cats.

So driven by his own morality, Peter had an eye out for any sign of injustice. The moment an opportunity to intervene presented itself, Peter stuck his neck out. To say he lacked subtlety would be an understatement. Young Peter was bold and brash, talk with his chest out and chin high. It gave him a reputation as both a nosy brat and a compassionate leader. To his younger brother, Edmund, however, Peter was just bossy and always thought he knew best. His honesty couldn't deny that; Peter always did like to make sure things went his way.

That curiosity landed him in Narnia and it never sated beyond his initial stay. Not until he found himself trying to pick up the pieces of everything that crashed. Peter hadn't had it in him to set a fire burning. With his sister's death, the second eldest of them all, Peter grew quiet. His world dulled and he found himself quickly wishing his own death. They left Narnia that same day. Peter abandoned himself there, threw off everything he stood for and let himself drop into the sea. His thoughts spiraled with the water and before he knew it, Peter felt himself drowning.

Air didn't come quickly to Peter then. Rebuilding himself was a slow process. On the seas, Peter ran dull and lifeless. He was a grey cloud churning the waters. Life had seem so bright all those years before and now, with everything he tried to build with his friends, his siblings, broken and ashen it all seemed meaningless. And sets himself on a low pedestal, now, oblivious to the wrong doings around him. Peter lives stuck in his past failures and mistakes, things he sees as insurmountable. There's no rage boiling under it, just a sad boy who tried and failed and simply doesn't want to try again. Not yet, not for a long time.

☖ Swordsmanship - the only individual on par with his talents in melee combat would be his brother, Edmund. Peter has fine swordsmanship, honed through various battles and duels.
☖ Tactician - as a leader, Peter's foresight both prior to battle and under the pressure of immediate combat lands him as one of Narnian's most astute tacticians. He does his best to lead none of his men astray, though he understands the importance of improvisation. He's got a great instinct for when to pull back and when to reengage.
☖ Politics - though Edmund is a great diplomat, Peter finds his skills hide in playing the politician when it comes to dealing with other kingdoms. Knowing what secrets to hide and what people want give him a great advantage. Peter, among his siblings, is likely the most willing to sacrifice in order to gain.
☖ Leadership - Peter's always been at the forefront of current events, always been the individual to help pull and get down in the grime and muck of his people in order to succeed. What more, Peter puts all the burdens, all the blame, all the mistakes on his back - he's their leader, and solely responsible for his people's well being.
☖ Willpower - though Lucy likely has the most sound mind and mental fortitude, Peter's not far behind. Especially when motivated, it's hard to tear Peter down and thus he's less susceptible to any form of mind altering magics.

☖ Self-sacrificing - Peter knows that a good leader is hard to come by, but that any leader is just a dime a dozen. He doesn't consider himself a good leader, just a person willing to take the reigns. Thus, he has no qualms with diving head first into a problem because he knows there's always a back up somewhere. Sometimes, a martyr is what people need more than a king.
☖ Destitute - with Narnia in shambles and his sister did, Peter doesn't know what to do with his life anymore. He's fit to blame himself and stay as far away from Narnia or his siblings as possible. He'll only get them killed.
☖ Unsubtle - most of Peter's plans lack a... subtlety to them and they're often overly direct and obvious. He knows tactics, but he doesn't know quite how to be underhanded, even when it comes to battle.
☖ Oblivious - due to his lack of dirty tricks, Peter often goes into a fight thinking everything's going to come out fair. Thus, he's very susceptible to having the wool thrown over his eyes, so to speak.

N / A

A large, longsword by the name of Rhindon was given to Peter Pevensie by Father Christmas, as a gift. Alongside it, a great shield with a large imprint of a red lion, outlined in gold and cast in sturdy steel serve as his go to weapons. Right now, Peter only has the sword, of which he conceals within a large, tarnished cape, as well as a regular dagger.

The eldest Pevensie, Peter likely had the easiest time growing up. Perhaps quite a bit had been expected of him, but Peter's natural inclination towards diligence and honest work put him far ahead of most kids his age. Along with his brother, Edmund, he'd been shipped off to boarding school until the Second Great War tore London in two. Most of his time spent had been in studying, though he found great fun with the other boys, who took to Peter with great ease. His personality and his optimism attracted more people than he'd care to brag about, earning him a good reputation along with the usual teenage popularity. Oblivious to his brother's plight, he more than assumed Edmund had a carbon copy of his experiences and didn't look to question his brother's own troubles. Edmund was clever; he'd figure it out.

Once the war hit London, the Pevensies corralled on a train to the country side, away from the rubble and the bombs and the blaring noises. They hadn't quite known the impact, though Peter knew the feeling of fear the day they'd been separated from their parents. He hadn't shown in, knowing full well that the moment Peter cracked, so would his other siblings; Susan would worry, Edmund would throw a tantrum, and Lucy would panic. After all, Peter was the eldest, he'd be their caretaker. He'd make sure they were all safe, just like mum and dad wanted.

Arriving at their country estate, Peter quickly worked to distract his siblings, though Edmund always proved difficult. In doing so, Peter distracted himself and imagined he went a little too far. Lucy came quick from hide and seek, with a tale bigger than she could have possibly woven alone. Edmund was quick to tease and Peter couldn't quite console his sister and her active imagination. Not until she'd shown them herself, at least. Of course, Peter profusely apologized to his sister for not believing her tale, and reprimanded Edmund for being such a petty bully to her.

Their adventure there had turned from a small story into an epic tale within but a few moments. The Pevensies had been swept into an entire new world, rife with conflict, and prophecies. In a rising storm, they'd been tasked with returning Narnia back to what it once was. Determined to right the wrongs and injustices wrought upon the people their, soon to be his own people, Peter was quick to assist along with his other siblings. Though, saddened by Edmund's untimely betrayal, after a spat between them, the brother's quickly resolved their differences and turned toward Narnia's aid with renewed vigor.

Until all of that came crumbling down. Aslan was too late to save their sister. The witch fell her in her fury and quickly turned on each of them next. They'd been swept away from the losing battle by the lion and cast across Rivenspire soon after. Peter found himself in the sea, letting wave after wave batter him into the shore. He'd failed. He deserved the suffocating depths of the sea, though that's not exactly what Aslan had planned for him.

Unable to come to terms with his own failure, Peter wandered what he'd soon come to know as Tortuga for quite some time. Accustomed to the dull ache of his mind and the constant reminders of his past, Peter never moved on. He settled into the cove, with the pirates and the courtesans with no motivation left. No one dared touch him as it was obvious he hadn't much - not a lick of gold and not worth a rat's tail. So, Peter spent the years alone, destitute but still able to drag his feet from here to there. Still able to find some kind of measly dinner and still able to make a name for himself. He hadn't resorted to ruthless, unnecessary violence, but Peter found himself often at the point of a sword once he found some kind of sustenance. Those days he let out whatever emotions he kept bottled inside and afterwards, he'd take what he could get.

Sour, Peter kept to the drowned alleys and shabby taverns. His nights were filled with drunken fights only to wake up that morning gargling blood and aching all over. Losing everything hit Peter hard and it didn't seem quite likely that he'd get up. Not when his sibling could find him. Not when they could drag him back only for him to fail them, yet again.

Finneas Bors

Finn, Sir Bors

Sir Bors de Ganis

Knight of the Round Table

Camelot, Rivenspire

32

[Lawful Good]


[Neutral Good]

Give a boy the tools to rebel and he won't understand. Give a boy a reason to rebel, and he'll make tools of his own. Young as he was spicy, his attitude reflected his appearance. A curt young lad with a penchant for disrespect, his young features pinched in snarls and scowls almost perpetual. A smile never settled on the curve of his lips and the lines mottling his forehead didn't come from aging. Bors stood tall, his full 6'2" height, chest puffed, and posture aggressive. His surroundings had no room for weakness and the fire in him only further sparked his heavy steps. Training lined him with lean muscle, sharpening already high cheekbones and squaring his jaw. Every bit of Bors at 19 had been reared for a fight - a wolf with his muzzle raised in a snarl. Yet, despite this readiness, Bors never lashed out unduly - every bit of him only reared back in preparation. He wouldn't be the one to swing first and it was evident in the wariness of his steps, the wide berth he gave people. Or rather, the berth people gave him. A massive wall of muscle bounding its way down a corridor didn't bode well for those too stubborn to let him pass.

Years have worn this old Mastiff. The creases along his pale skin come from tribulation this time, his demeanor far too mellowed out to cast unwarranted scowls. His eyes fall heavy with bags and, though a healthy glow lights his face, Bors walks with an inevitable exhaustion. His foot falls come heavy and pounding, his body always moving to crack or pop a joint. The muscles of his chest heave great sighs, pushing the air out in one exhaustive pulse. Yet, even in his stress, this older, wizened Bors always has room for a smile - a crackling of tooth between chapped lips. Age and exhaustion can't quite stop the oddly mellow chipperness to his attitude and the rising lilt of his voice. They sink between the cracks in his own skin, the scars along each part of his body, and light Bors up even in the dull afterglow of overwork. He never shies away from an act of kindness, even if it's just a funny jokes.

Despite this, the world's constant pounding against his back has coiled Bors into a reactive hound. When provoked or otherwise in need of necessary force, Bors uncoils like a serpent and strikes at an alarming rate. Age hasn't bitten into his bones yet, even if his visible persona alludes to such. He becomes a mountain of a man, all growls and snarls and biting tongue. If it's not his sword that's swinging, it's no doubt his words. Perhaps a hound or a serpent don't do this man justice. Bors is every bit a bear both in nature and in looks.

Not a very fashion savvy individual, Bors is mostly seen toting around in leathers and a loose doublet, with a pair of boots to go with. He hasn't a knack for looking... with it, as it were, and it's quite obvious from his lack of care in his attire. The only thing Bors has going for himself is that he, at least, looks rather clean - and he is! Bors prides himself on his hygiene. Cleanliness is close to Godliness, after all. But, other than that, really, Bors has absolutely no mind for spiffing it up and would rather wear comfort clothes when outside of his armor. That thing gets incredibly musty, hot, and sticks to fabric which sticks to his skin. So, outside of it, he goes to great lengths in order to feel nice and relaxed. That often comes in the form of loose fitting shirts, comfy pantaloons, and a pair of boots that go untied more often than not. Maybe a nice cap when the sun's a little too high for his liking.

Single - Technically Celibate

N / A

King Charles Bors the Elder - Deceased, killed by Claudas. Ruled lands far from Uther's reach.

Lady Evaine - Deceased, sister to Elaine, who birthed Lancelot, making Lancelot Bors' Cousin.

Lionel - Alive, knight of the round table, exiled for killing Sir Calogrenant and his hermit in a fit of rage against his brother.

Rhiannon - a lovely horse he's had for years; she's so named after the goddess of inspiration.

A man of great virtue and honor, also a man that has more than enough spitfire to bring a manor to it's foundations. As a young lad, under his father's ruling, Bors' mind leaped in grand imaginative strokes. Riddled with stories of knightly adventures with dragons and wizards, witches and thieves, his father instilled into Bors a sense of wonderment that never ceases to this day. With his brother in tow, Bors set out for adventures of all kinds - his curiosity never sated. Yet, what his father inspired in him hadn't been the frivolity of adventures, wandering through the world slaying dragons and monsters. More so, he simply allowed Bors to ignite within himself his own sense of right and wrong. King Bors the Elder never told his son anything outright, but merely allowed him the opportunity to experience and learn himself.

In that, Bors gained compassion and a respect for the laws knights of his home upheld. And when it came time to put that attitude to the test, Bors never failed or fell to temptation once. Claudas wanted a lot from both brothers, knowing full well just what great tools and weapons they could become in his regime. Thus, they came under captivity but only in name and boundaries. Neither brother could leave the premises of the castle, yet Claudas treated them as if he sired them himself. Bors took advantage of Claudas' treatment, using whatever resources he could to exploit weaknesses and train himself as he would under his father's rule, plus a little added 'umph' for good measure.

In doing so, Bors closed in on himself, treating Claudas' people with a coldness none close to him had witnessed. What Bors discovered was a great knack for a biting wit. If he couldn't slay these men with a sword, he'd do so with his tongue alone. The longer his captivity stretched, the more Claudas' men clung to the walls as he neared. They wanted nothing to do with Bors and that would aid him should he ever truly enact his rebellion. Yet, in all his time spent under a wrongful king, Bors never lashed out until the very end and even then, his plan hadn't been so much revenge as it had escape. Claudas had no reign over him. He couldn't say much for his brother, who seethed and toiled in his chains. What Lionel wanted was Claudas' head on a pike and his people strung in a line of corpses. That rage fueled his brother's actions and led to the eventual death of Claudas son, rather brutally.

Upon escape, Bors allowed himself a chance to breathe. No longer stifled by the burning chains and closing bars, Bors was free to truly embrace the life he wanted. Under Arthur's rule and round table, Bors found a place among what he'd call family, though they had no real tie to him aside from his brother and Lancelot. Even then, Bors kept his wit and charm, nipping rather than biting at his compatriots whenever the opportunity arose. And Bors loved to take advantage his clever tongue. Even drunk and half-asleep, not many could match the speed at which Bors through half-baked insults and retorts. So maybe in his own mind, but a sober Bors did lash out in a wicked tongue whenever he could - even if some of his attempts fell flat.

As age caught up, Bors eventually mellowed out. With a heaping ton of quests and trials on his back, along with the weight of his brother's angry betrayal (of which he blames himself for), Bors often finds himself in a relaxed state. Akin to a cat, Bors takes his naps seriously and often. Also like a cat, Bors takes to nipping at those who dare to disturb him - though never heartfelt in his gripes, he often calls back in order to apologize and allow whoever interrupted to go about their business. Currently, he takes to the world as the world wishes, simply going along with the winds, so to speak. It could very well be attributed to a laziness, but Bors does as much work as any other lad and lass that don the knightly mantle, if not more, at times. He just has a subtlety about him that people often find surprising, even as they're be mildly humiliated by his tongue-in-cheek methods of joking.

☖ Unpredictable - Bors delights in seeming the unwitting opponent, when suddenly that slouched and worn figure turns into a hulking two hundred pound bear of a man about to piledrive you into a quarry. Yeah, he likes surprises and he uses subtlety to his advantage.
☖ Compassion and Reliability - In times of need, Bors is one of those individuals you can count on to take a stand and to do it for the right reasons.
☖ Vigilance - Always a spring loaded and read to fire, it's very difficult to find Bors with his guard down. A trip to retrieve the grail and bring it back alone tends to leave a man ready to bolt into action at a moment's notice.

☖ Paranoid - With vigilance comes constant surveillance. The stress piled on from always be at the ready wears Bors down a little bit at a time.
☖ Solo Figure - Bors doesn't have much in the way of tactics when he has to account for more than just himself. Don't give him an army 'cause he won't know what do with it.
☖ Magic - Having no magical background nor latent knowledge of magic leaves Bors with a stark weakness towards it.

N / A

A man like him needs a fitting weapon. Like most knights, Bors carries around a shield, though it doesn't see much use as his main weapon requires the use of both hands. A hulking warhammer roughly standing about 3/4s the size of him and quite heavy to boot. It's pretty standard in make, though sturdier than most metals and woods. Nothing quite special. He does carry a small dagger when he's unable to use the warhammer, whether due to his lack of room or need for agility and speed over brute force. The shield's mostly for arrows anyways - the idea is to not use his face to stop a sword, but rather to move away from it.

Simple and normal upbringing, though instead of a regular father, he got a king. So, mostly normal. Normal in the sense that nothing really outstanding or awful happened for a god few years within his family. Outside, he can't really say. Tragedy doesn't really have great timing. For Bors and his brother, tragedy hit pretty early, but not before their father could instill a few virtues, at the least, within them. Claudas took no mercy on the people his father had ruled over - a small piece of land quite far from Uther's reach, despite being well and good friends with his father. With Bors the Elder slain and a kingdom under his hand, Claudas did much to change how things were to be handled. Both Bors and his brother Lionel had been taken under captivity and raised in Claudas' court.

Despite their lack of actual harm - Claudas treated both boys like royalty - both brothers had known their father and mother well enough to not succumb to trickery. Even as impressionable children, Bors had already grown into his own morals and ideals. Right and wrong mattered to him. Lionel, on the other hand, didn't quite appreciate the murder of his father and didn't take to the teachings his father instilled into Bors quite as well. Things didn't stick well with Lionel ever, really. His goal had been revenge, while Bors' goal had been escape.

Years of tutelage under Claudas and self-teaching gave both brothers the tools to leave. They rebelled and took their fate into their own hands. Unfortunately for Lionel, that meant bashing as many heads in as he could on his way out. If he couldn't have Claudas head on a pike, he'd at least take something that truly mattered to him. Bors couldn't stop Dorin's murder, something he often looks back on in a guilt he can't quite shake off. However, after the sword had been felled whilst Bors prepped their escape, he got the both of them out without so much as a scratch. Or, well, a few scratches, but that was mostly Lionel's fault.

The trip to Uther's land had been arduous, mostly, lacking much peril aside from bandits who mistook them for simple travelers. Arriving, it came as quite a surprise when news of Uther's death came to them; they sought court with the king, currently Arthur. Upon admittance, both brothers proved their worth to the new king and found themselves swearing their fealty as Knights to his service. It took a great deal to earn his trust and respect, but Bors considered it worth it. No fiercer ally than Arthur Pendragon and no one as loyal, either. There, quests came aplenty and though both brothers often found each other separated, Bors came to find more than just his brother family. He couldn't quite say the same for Lionel, however. That level of camaraderie carried Bors far, through many battles and many journeys, until it eventually landed him on the quest for the Grail. With young Percival in tow and a fair, pure, and experienced Galahad leading the front, the quest seemed quite a bit less daunting.

However, it didn't get better from that. In fact, it got quite a deal worse. The trials each knight had been put through shook not only their faith, but tore at their minds and brought their ideals crumbling to the ground. Bors, though his will had always been unshakable, found himself burdened and stressed by each tribulation they'd been put through. Eventually, it culminated to the decision of saving his brother from a quest gone terribly wrong, or a maiden his brother had dragged into his own affairs. Morality eventually won over family, and he saved the innocent life over that of his brother. This infuriated him, rightfully so, and upon finding Bors after his escape, Lionel lashed out. Feeling so deserving of this rage, Bors did nothing to stop him and the act eventually drew the attention of Sir Calogrenant who fell to Lionel's sword. So blinded by anger, Lionel wouldn't stop until his vendetta would be sated and it took Bors incapacitating him to accomplish that. He reconvened with both Percival and Galahad after his detour and they both continued their journey, worse for wear, for the grail.

Eventually, they came upon it and in their time spent spelunking the cavern it had been hidden in, the world seemed to change and definitely not for the better. Percival lost his life, or was at least lost to the cavern, whilst Galahad, once the Grail had been retrieved and they made their way back, eventually gave his own life, as well. Arriving alone, with but a mystic cup in hand, Bors didn't quite fit the same anymore. With the news of further calamity and a new, cruel ruler covering Rivenspire, Bors seemed... defeated. He still stood by Arthur's side, still fought ferocious, but everything seemed to go wrong as he aged. Maybe wisdom came at the price of a good, well meaning life. Maybe he didn't quite deserve that. Not yet, at least.

Rudolph Glint

28

Male

Homosexual

It started off small, just a few lessons here and there for a budding teenager. It felt like an obvious choice joining band, or choir, or whatever he could get his hands on. A creative spark burned too bright in Rudolph's chest and he sought to sate it. In feeding it, he only fanned the flames of this spark and turned what little curiosity he had into a full blown passion.

At first, it had only started out as an intense love for the piano. Rudolph took every lesson he had to heart and flourished this newfound talent until his hands crapped after hours, upon hours of constant playing. Eventually, his parents confined him to play in the basement, where they bought him a few pads to keep the acoustics fresh and contained to only his corner of the basement. Having a kid play until three in the morning became a detriment to their sleep schedules, so they adjusted. Once Rudolph exposed himself to the glories of Ella Fitzgerald, a number of musicals, and a few more jazz legends, his sights turned instead to the smokey parlor pianos of the 40s. That crooning, hazy vocals of jazz and blues spoke to him like no other medium did. His register hit low notes like honey fermented in whiskey - a gentle baritone that rumbled deep in his chest, milky like the stars above.

This carried him from simple, high school orchestra to booking small gigs across a few small time pubs through Chicago (a town he loved and lived in since birth). The lack of any college credentials didn't matter to him - he had the chops to sing, and the talent to play. If people liked him, they'd book him. That positive thinking kept his head above water in the cold, unfeeling windy city. All throughout his early twenties, money came in tight and only ever in streaks of luck. Of course, knowing Rudolph, he turned that situation brighter and fully embraced the starving artist life. Mostly, it felt a little delusional, thinking that he'd eventually make it big. But, the will to keep fighting brought him a little closer to the fame he sought.

Throughout his years, Rudolph continued along his passion, occasionally picking up a few tricks and trades here and there. He found a knack for tap dance, but also found out he kinda sucked at freestyle - his legs required guidance to move. Trumpets and any horn instruments were a no go and he lacked a falsetto that sounded pleasing; it instead sounding like the various cats in the alley by his apartment whenever they, er, mounted each other. After watching 'Puttin' on the Ritz' a thousand times, he figured out the exact steps and perfected the performance enough to change it to fit one of his shows. He memorized all of the Little Mermaid, turned a few classics into jazz performances and eventually Rudolph did find a steady form of income. People liked what he did and, while he wouldn't be making any records soon, at least he got a steady supply of gigs around town that remained consistent.

That feeling of security came with his success and it allowed him to find time socializing. Socializing turned into dating and that turned into a whole other mess. Unfortunately, not many people staid long enough for Rudolph to find the romance he craved. A lot of his time dating consisted of one night stands in which he found himself on the receiving end of a total lack of second dates. It became trying, then, to go out when his friends insisted, "I can feel it; this is the one!" and that positive attitude quickly turned sour. No one liked him for who he was or what he did. Any time he talked about his passion, he'd get a blank stare and a series of nods that came with dull entertainment. Just the fact that he considered that an inevitable made it increasingly difficult to step into the dating game again. Eventually, he just succumbed to being alone for who knew how long. He had his music and he was still young, so fame could be right around the corner if America somehow fancied jazz and blues again. Hell, maybe he could become the next Liberace or some shit or Jazz's version of Adele. Fuck if he knew.

Driven, just so incredibly driven that it's hard to stop. For Rudolph, there's a set goal he wishes to achieve and a number of goals to get there. Most of all, there's always a chance, whether he makes it himself or luck takes him there; he's learned not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Tough times seem both common place and a distant thought to Rudolph. It's that determination and the burning love he has for what he does that keeps his eyes open and his chin up. Without that, Rudolph couldn't have possibly made it to where he's sitting right now. Things aren't the best, but damn are they still great. And Rudolph has felt that before. That crippling fear that he's simply not good at anything and he'll end up stuck hating whatever he chose to do. It's not the fear that drives him, but damn isn't it a good reason to list. "Don't want to become a potato," sounds about right.

Most of what makes Rudolph comes down to his optimism, though it's lacked that same fire in recent years. That only concerns his outlook on finding love, though. The trick is finding Rudolph without some kind of smile, an expression that dominates his face 9 times out of 10 and one that brightens the glow in his eyes and is responsible for the evident laugh lines already forming on his jowls. Any time things look bleak, Rudolph's mind likes to turn out the endless possibilities and focus only on what could go right - how a situation can turn around, again. Even in the face of adversity, Rudolph refuses to yield and he finds he owes a helluva lot to that stubborn optimism. Only caution and wariness benefit from negativity, any other time it does a person no good to let those thoughts eat at them.

As a person who fancies socializing (and who can get a little caught up in his work to the point he requires third party interference) and who thrives on crowds, Rudolph finds comfort in large groups. However, he finds himself most alive in a group of people he knows best and who know him in return. It's there that Rudolph can talk endlessly about his interests, what fuels him, what gives him life and people who want to listen to that tend to be the kind he gravitates toward. More so, Rudolph adores finding out what makes people happy because it's always nice to know he's not the only one to find something he's not only good at, but loves to do. Like his own single minded drive, though, Rudolph finds it best to focus on a single person. Multitasking, even juggling relationships, proves a difficult job for Rudolph and he finds that's a big reason as to why he can't seem to find a match in the dating scene. His own passion tends to run a wedge between himself and that other person and Rudolph always finds himself choosing his job over them.

Nonetheless, even in defeat, Rudolph still has his eyes open. He may not actively seek love, but he wouldn't be opposed if it somehow found him.

That's a very hard thing to narrow down. For Rudolph, it all centers on whether or not his partner can listen and if he can return that on an even basis. Or on a scale that's around the size of even - close enough. Because if there's something Rudolph hates more it's that dull, glazed look people tend to get when he talks, especially if it's about something he loves. He understands interests differ, but he's not looking for a guy who finds his interests boring.

More or less, he's also looking for a man who can live with sharing that 'most important thing in the world' role with his job. There's nothing wrong with a clingy dude, it's just if that clinginess interferes with what he loves to do. Not only that, but maybe a man that can even usurp that position in his life, that can draw his attention toward him without forcing it. It's gotta feel organic, it's gotta feel real. If it's love, it's going to be the most important thing in Rudy's life, no matter what. That feeling has to click, but it's subtle, so it's probably something he'll only notice along the way. But once you've got him, for sure, you've got him for life.

Not his idea. Not his idea, at all. However, his sister (a model who somehow got a following on Instagram that she can use against him; her Instagram, contrary to popular belief, is mainly her hobby in photograph - she's always loved taking pictures, and aspires to be a photographer one day. Also it's mostly of her cat 'King Arthur' who she found out was a lady, but deemed too late to change the name) pushed him toward the show in hopes that maybe it could be a last ditch effort? He reminds her endlessly that he's only 28 and has a lot of time to find someone he can fall in love with. Of course, like any sibling relationship, the rules of a dare state that one cannot chicken out, unless they would like to suffer the agony of eating the grossest sandwich ever made (as in: let dad fix you a turkey sandwhich and see if you can survive past the first bite). That's not something he's willing to risk and so he took the dare, but only because he values his life and because 77% of Lydia's followers said yes to the poll.

Nothin' much. He's got a tattoo on his shoulder of a koi fish slowly churning upstream. It looks dull, but when the light hits it just right, the koi has a wonderful shine to it. He got his belly button pierced on a dare, but the nose piercing was all his fault as an edgy teenager who wanted one rebellious act before graduating high school. He also owns a bird named 'Undertaker' because he assigned roles he had in his high school plays to a six-sided die and rolled. He almost cheated and rolled again, but couldn't find it in himself to do that, so he named his one pet after having been the undertaker in 'Porgy and Bess.'

Eckhart Remington Wolff

29

Male

NFL Running Back (Tailback - Main Runner in American Football) for the New England Patriots

Homosexual

Charles Carrington's Boyfriend; Soon to be Fiancé

Eckhart comes from a mostly humble family, all of which live in Frankfurt, Kentucky. Most of them are farmhands, his mother (Loretta) and father (Eberhard) owning a large plot of land in the outskirts of Kentucky's capital. His immediate family is the one he loves and talks to the most; the rest of his family, both on his father and mother's sides, shun him for quite a bit of things, but namely his sexuality. He has a lot of extended family in Germany who he talks to, on occasion - they don't care for most of his American family, anyway, aside from his father and mother who keep their German heritage and roots lively.

Ever since Eckhart came of age to work on his parents' farmland, he's never fell out of shape. Bulking up for labor intensive purposes had come easily and further toning the raw muscle of physical work came even easier. Puberty assisted phenomenally in shaping the lithe figure that dominates most stadium green today and staggers a boasting 6'2". His frame embodies sleek, Olympic level performance and an elegance that almost landed him in preforming on stage as a ballet dancer (his father has a hard time with today's gender terms, so he deemed it unmasculine - though later years, Eckhart never shied away from various ballet classes). There's a grace in the way he moves even to the chaotic step of each foot forward; if Eckhart's known for anything, it's his unpredictability. His natural foot work that seems to meld with the ground beneath him, letting instinct and body take him where he needs to go.

Even Eckhart's facial features have a noticeable elegance to them. Frail doesn't seem to define his bone structure quite as well; Eckhart is anything but frail. Smooth, maybe, with an edge that blends into the sleek curves of his face. Possibly defined in the right places and blended in the perfect ways, melding ruddy cheeks with the jowls that curve into laugh lines that frame his lips. They perk just under the jutting curve of his nose, high and sharp. Even with the noticeable gentleness to his gaze, there's a shrewd cavity that sinks into the blue of his eyes, defined and squeezed by the bushy brows set low above them. Nothing can quite come close to the way Eckhart's face takes form, down to the tiniest slide into a questioning gaze and the lilt of his chin as it blurs into the lines of his jaws. Maybe that's what fascinates Charlie - he's a masterpiece, a moment, or rather moments, meant to be captured on pen and paper, in the sharp edges of metal or the soft curve of clay.

Old Southern glory. Heh, actually, Eckhart's not really the kind of guy you'd find living in the south. Or, at least, he's not the kind of guy you'd think lived in the south. As a kid, Eckhart's always been a bit different. He didn't talk much, and when he did, it had to be at the right moment - he had quite the knack for timing. His mother, on the other hand, calls him ill-timed. As in people often found Eckhart popping up at the absolute wrong time - wrong time for everyone. That's all well and true, though whether that's fortunate for Eckhart or not depends on the situation. It differed and swayed with the days; he'd find himself on the tail end of angry peers; or he'd settle down with a kind family after stumbling on their solution, a nice dinner to warm his belly.

Most of these moments (and they were frequent) Eckhart took in stride. A lot of things Eckhart took were in stride. Spontaneity won over organization 90% of the time. Unfortunately, that meant most things in Eckhart's life fell down to hit or miss moments. Things would either start awful and turn around or they'd start wonderful and plummet like a raft down a waterfall. And when things ended bad, they'd often end terribly. Fortunately for Eckhart, he also took those moments in stride. Worry didn't seem to affect Eckhart like many others, in fact, that cautious feeling, the wariness as he neared a cliff drove him. It gave him a much needed dose of adrenaline and pushed him further down whatever path he'd found himself on. And he'd jump from one path to the next, reveling in the rush of the unknown - a kid just looking for a damn good time. So, even in the bad, even in the worst of the worse, Eckhart smiled. And he kept smiling. And he keeps smiling.

That's what encouraged him to take a healthier approach to the 'adrenaline junkie' kind of experience. Or, the honest truth: his mother forced him to take the healthier approach. Having to watch her kid come home with multiple broken bones each week, not a day after his previous cast came off, nearly drove her to madness. And that started an entire new fascination. Sports, the thrill of it, it set Eckhart on an undeniably better path. It drained him, let him live his life as he wanted to without the danger of serious injury (well, there's always a danger; this danger was more contained and avoidable). Ultimately, that lead to Eckhart further opening his eyes to his surroundings and an appreciation for slowing down, actually taking things in stride really furthered who he was. In essence, Eckhart found himself fairly early in life - at least, a part of himself.

A renewed vigor, Eckhart found more meaning in interaction. The things he often took for granted, he started noticing. Holding doors for people. Smiling at strangers. Making friends. Making real, real friends. And basking in the good company of his immediate family - a mother and father that worked until their bones ached deep for their child. And, while Eckhart still remained unpredictable and spontaneous, he took the edge off of himself and really thought about some of his actions. He took to developing deep bonds over the quick burn and heat of a fiery, passionate friendship.

To others, as Eckhart grew up, he became less of an ill-timed variable and more of a reassuring constant. While you never quite knew when he'd show up, you always knew he'd show up at least three times a day. That ill-timing still found itself a large part of Eckhart's personality - surely, it'd always stay - but it didn't have as much of an effect on those closest to him. A lot of the times, one can chalk it up to fate concerning when Eckhart showed up and whether that meant good news or not. For friends and family, that timing meant security and a relief to know that Eckhart would quite certainly know what to say or do at the exact right moment. Whether this seemed blind luck or just the ability to read people, many like to think the former. For Eckhart, it always came down to the latter because the longer Eckhart grew on a person, the more he understood them and the more he understood them, the better his timing became. Not a lot of people quite know that and it translates well into his performance as an athlete. Someone as spontaneous as he, who also happened to let instinct guide his footfalls and body movements, almost always found himself at the top of the varsity lists.

Of all the people Eckhart knows, however, Charlie holds the top of the list when it comes to Eckhart's knowledge of a person. It comes down to a particular science, almost, and with an unbelievable certainty that clued Eckhart in on his affections for the boy. Knowing someone's ticks down to the exact twitch of their lips or the the tiny furrow in their brow before it bloomed into something more severe couldn't quite be this level of normal for a friendship. And that readability came like a sudden wave - from fumbling around enough that he almost always spilled something on the kid in their younger years to finding the exact time to show up in order to reassure Charlie, in order to calm him before a panic hit, in order to quell the sabotaging thoughts before they even surfaced.

Eckhart's always been different, even in the way of falling in love.

❖ Heights; it's been known that this particular thrill seeker enjoys the thrill of a climb, but most of all, the thrill of standing at a summit - the apex of a building - and simply looking down in order to feel that grounding rush of adrenaline course through his body. He's crazy.
❖ Catnaps; particularly with another person (Charlie 90% of the time). Eckhart enjoys just flopping down somewhere, on top of someone, preferably, and taking a nice nap in the sun. Those bay windows with soft cushions and the nest of pillows have a special, special place in Eckhart's heart.
❖ Karaoke; okay, so maybe he's not the best, but at least he can carry a decent tune or sing a duet without sounding like nails on a chalkboard. Definitely should never go into singing as a career, but, hey, his rendition of Careless Whisper is actually kinda sweet to listen to - if he can disguise his voice in an upbeat song, it's pretty good, though. His specialty: 80s pop. However, he's a pretty good lip syncer, he likes to think.
❖ Sunbathing; a guy who likes catnapping obviously enjoys basking in the sun's glow and he'll take any chance he can get to (safely) cook out on a balcony, in a backyard, wherever he can in whatever privacy he can attain. He doesn't liking tanning beds, though; ironically enough, he's not out there to get a tan, he's just there to enjoy the exhaustion onset by the heat of the sun.

❖ Rumors; after achieving even a modicum of fame in the NFL, Eckhart's had to deal with more than his fair count of rumors. He's never liked gossip as a kid and now it's just become a mill of it wherever he goes. Tabloids don't shy away from anything, he's learned, and the first time he happened upon an article of himself, his small town country self couldn't quite get over the initial shock for hours.
❖ Dairy Products; no, he's not a vegan, but yes, he's very lactose intolerant. Eckhart discovered this the hard way, as a kid and for a child who loved milk of any form, it broke his heart to know that just a tiny sip sent him to the bathroom for hours.
❖ Late Nights; yeah, okay, call him an old man but it's actually not a surprise. Eckhart's functionality tends to hit its peak midday and the guy's kind of a morning person. Sleepy Eckhart tends to fair on the grumpy side.
❖ Standing Still; it takes everything in his body to keep still and sometimes, Eckhart just has no willpower to even fight the urge to move. Tell him to stand still for longer than a minute and you'll find yourself on the receiving end of someone who whines a lot. Charlie has to give him multiple breaks when he models for him or. However, if you're able to distract him with talk long enough, he'll find himself capable of being stationary for quite awhile - just gotta get that mouth chattering and moving to keep his body from doing just that thing.

There's that cliche that a lot of couples like to embellish when it happens. That entire thing about their lives not starting until they meet that special someone. Sometimes, Eckhart wishes he could say that and mean it entirely. While Charlie remains the most important part of his life, their meeting doesn't quite count as a checkpoint to their lives beginning. There's quite a bit that happened before any of that.

For Eckhart, though, life didn't quite come in vibrant colors until one: his family pushed him to try out sports and two: he came out to his parents. For Eckhart, the former tends to have more meaning as it lead to numerous amount of options and paths opening for Eckhart. The latter just happened and, while the moment could quite possibly hold the record for 'most anxious time of his life', the end result didn't matter as much as TV and movies liked to embellish. For his parents, it didn't mean anything either. For the entire American side of his family, however, it meant a little more than it should have. Of course, if they wanted to make a big deal about it, they had every right to. Something about assholes and everyone having one.

The adrenaline junkie in Eckhart sought out numerous ways to expend energy and to find that needed high to keep him fueled past the point of exhaustion. This lead to many, many times where Eckhart came home with more bruises and broken limbs than he'd liked to retell. The pain never came immediately; it always edged slowly until suddenly all he knew was the thousands of needles stabbing in whatever limb he abused to shit. For a mother who knew hard labor better than half the population, injuries didn't worry her. However, seeking out new ways to get injured (because, let's face it, Eckhart never came home with the same battle wounds) really didn't do well for her beauty sleep. She didn't tell him that when she shoved a brand new football into his chest and told him to ride his bike (safely) to his neighbor's house. That's exactly how he made his first friend, a girl by the name of Bailey who liked picking flowers, brushing horses, and tackling the shit out of boys who thought her wearing a dress was too girly for sports.

Oddly enough, sports worked as an outlet for Eckhart's energy. Not a minute passed he didn't rush on by full of adrenaline and the will to buckle down and win. And he learned a helluva lot more than just knocking heads; sports taught Eckhart how to appreciate a number of things. That bled into a gratitude for things outside of sports as the he came rushing down from a physical high. Sports allowed him to expend all that energy in one burst - to keep it up for hours at a time. After hours, Eckhart slowed down to a phenomenally relaxing pace, surprising his mother first and foremost.

That outcome came unexpectedly and no sooner did Eckhart learn to slow down did he learn to appreciate the beauty all around him. Camaraderie bolstered his idea of friendships having a deeper meaning. The value of catching a breath when things seemed too fast. How people seemed to prioritize good timing and patience over brash decision making. The fact that his eyes had suffered shut this whole time. Those realizations didn't happen in an instant, instead it came like wave. The sea grasped the beach while the tides rolled in, one after another, breaking land in a deep, white foam. And then, in the distance, a rolling press in the water rising and rising. It wove out, flattened the sea beneath it until it reached the land and ended its swell in a gratifying crash along the sand. And it's like having your back turned to that wave at the last second, knowing it was coming but anticipating its approach to let the adrenaline of the moment surge in thrilling anxiety. Then boom! it hits and in that moment all there is to see is bubbles and white foam and murky sand until the sea pulls you back into the clear. There's no breathing but not panic and all there is now is the sea floor and the blue of the water and the blue of the sky and there's no telling what ends where and what begins.

To say that Eckhart found his passion would be an understatement; it felt more like he found his true purpose, his calling. Sure, that felt dumb saying and he often didn't, but he couldn't help feel like what he was doing out on the field has meant more to him than most anything else in his life - parents notwithstanding. Until, of course, he met one Charlie Carrington. Once Eckhart found his stride in sports during school, various private schools with an actual, competitive sporting program did much to convince his parents to let him attend. Even so far as paying for the travel fair. They let Eckhart decide, however, as it would mean a vast change in both curriculum difficulty and society. Not many people appreciated the southern accent for what it was in the south. Luckily, time spent there kicked it out of his system rather quickly (with the help of voice coaches who the school hired immediately upon his first speaking).

The first and only private school Eckhart attended was actually home to a few big name Carringtons, though the closest one he ever got to had been Charles Carrington. At the time, he didn't think much of him aside from 'that's the kid I literally run into everyday!' Though more time spent making up for his 'accidental bullying' became a lot more time learning what made this teenager. And eventually, that turned into the school's varsity running back into a smitten fool. Ah, he wouldn't tell Charlie that for years to come, however, but that only fueled his drive to befriend him. Unfortunately, that meant going under quite a bit of scrutiny. A backwater kid from Kentucky sidling up to a kid who had billions of dollars backing him up looked ten times too shady. Luckily, that only really lasted till the end of college. (So maybe not quite so lucky, 'cause that meant a shit ton of years under the eyes of too many magazines he didn't read)

In the years they'd became fast friends, Eckhart found himself a heavy pillar by Charlie's side. That, he didn't mind, and the boy learned to appreciate knowing that someone depended on his presence alone so much. They didn't rely too heavily on each other, though, and Charlie found himself actually a lot more independent with Eckhart there to encourage him. They had many friends, or at least, Eckhart had many friends who happened to also quite like Charlie upon meeting him. Even if it boiled down to Charlie being the most important individual in his immediate vicinity, Eckhart learned that he could live without him. Until, of course, he learned that he couldn't really. While Charlie didn't need to be there all the time, Eckhart needed to know that Charlie would always remain a constant in his life. Unfortunately, he kept most of that thinking to himself and so his need for this individual in his life went wholly unnoticed by said individual.

Despite acting as a sturdy support for Charlie Carrington, Charlie didn't quite know his own importance to Eckhart. Which meant he didn't know how big of a pillar Charlie actually was in Eckhart's life. Not until it came down to confessions and cheesy romantic comedy cliches and eventually an entire night of spooning. That's when many of the tabloids and rumor mills rose from annoying pin-pricks to ruthless, savage stabs. They enjoyed their own viciousness in tearing Eckhart's intentions a part and often times, Eckhart needed moments of utter seclusion to readjust. That in itself made their relationship a lot harder than it should have, but Eckhart always assured Charlie's worries by adding Netflix binge watching to their many nights of isolation. He was quite lucky Charlie didn't fancy nightlife himself - and lucky he didn't either.

Needless to say, when Eckhart got drafted after college and Charlie began work for both galleries and clients, their lives got a helluva lot busier. The rumor mills only twisted their stories around there, yet they seemed quite milder when the juiciness seemed to wane out in the coming years. Now that Eckhart would be earning more than his fair share of the rent and the better he did in the NFL the bigger his name became, they just didn't quite find the same amount of thrill in tearing his life a part. Unfortunately, one problem only smoothed out for but a moment before moving into the next.

An entire nine years together and still neither really popped the question. Having earned their right to marry, even, didn't seem to get the wheels churning. Eckhart understood the lack of a proposal from either side, however, even if the ring he'd bought years ago burned holes into each one of his pockets. Work didn't offer much time, either, and the more Eckhart played, the more everyone seemed eager for his time. Time was precious and Eckhart knew that, but he couldn't just stop doing what he loved and he knew that Charlie couldn't either. Their jobs seemed to work great around each other, sure, but that didn't come hard when they often spent months away.

The moment to pop any sort of question or spend more than just a few fleeting moments together seemed so far into the horizon. And then suddenly it wasn't. Charlie had acquired an invitation to a family reunion and though he met Mr. and Mrs. Carrington a numerous amount of times (seemed like he was the only significant other that ever did, at the time) he hadn't gotten to meet the entire family. That also meant likely a month or more to hash out a plan of action. He just hoped it wasn't quite too late now.

❖ Due to being a part of the Patriots NFL team, Eckhart was more than happy to move to Boston. However, due to having ins in New York, Eckhart's settled on living on Brooklyn with Charlie. He's kinda happy, despite the 3 hour commute. At least during the season he doesn't actually have to make the commute every day.
❖ Eckhart loves visiting his family and when he's able to between games (should he be in Indiana or Cincinnati at the time) he'll give Charlie a call and have him fly down days prior. They spend a few days there, watch his game, and then go their separate ways.
❖ Out of the politeness of his heart, Eckhart sends Super Bowl tickets to all of his family, as well as all of Charlie's family (the ones he's able to contact, but especially Sam and her uh... on again off again wife [?] girlfriend [?] and son)
❖ Even though they aren't quite married yet, Eckhart goes over the top for his and Charlie's anniversaries. Despite being a spontaneous guy, he tends to plan them out to a T. And then watch as his plans fall a part because he has no impulse control.
❖ Eckhart's allergic to shellfish!
❖ He convinced Charlie they needed a cat and so now they have a Scottish Fold named 'Shoes' because she refused to sleep in her bed as a kitten and fancied Charlie's loafers. Still does, despite not being able to fit.

Gabriel Archibald Benedict Carrington

36

Male

Retired Air Force Veteran

Homosexual

Single; Technically in a fake relationship.

[Name TBD]; Fake Fiancée

Compare this man now to what he once was and not a soul would believe a 6'2" behemoth of a man used bar stools just to get a glass from the kitchen cabinet. Or that any of his siblings could wrap their whole hand around his bicep - twice. Only determination over his developing years earned Gabriel his stature now. A lot of that motivation stemmed from a pack of bullies and his father's 'encouragement' to "toughen up." Even the slow increase in muscle mass, height, and weight didn't quite allow Gabriel to adjust accordingly. There have been moments aplenty where Gabriel forgot he spanned half a hallway, instead of a fourth. The grace and poise subtle in his smaller frame didn't register in his larger one and it took quite a few years for Gabriel to regain that. Like telling someone to put on over sized gloves to lift a tea cup without dropping it.

Even now, Gabriel feels most comfortable filling in small, tight spaces - curling his knees to his chest, or trying his best to take up only half the cushion on a sofa. Masculinity hasn't really been a pressure for Gabriel and he took a comfort in his own body, a confidence gained from years of working toward this one goal, that it's rare to see him spread eagle, or with any swagger in his step. Even now, Gabriel takes most from his mother. Even in his clumsy phase, every movement Gabriel took came deliberately, thought out in a span of a few seconds. Decisiveness had remained a trait of his throughout the years, especially when it came to facial cues and expressions, standing in certain spots, moving a certain way. Body language became viewed as an art form, especially when remember his own mother - in so far as mimicking her movements as a child.

With impeccable complexion, healthy and bright with a glow that distracts from the distance in his eyes, Gabriel achieves what any Carrington should in beauty - genes took 90% of the credit, thank god. After his transformation from a sleek, petite thing, early 'teen magazines' doted on Gabriel as a modern Adonis - though, that may not seem as special. Those smooth, soft features found time trying and stress even more so. Time spent in the military and through various struggles roughed the gentle visage with sandpaper. His edges came out rough and course. Even with the smoothness of his complexion and the sleek attribute of his form, there's a sharpness to Gabriel's eyes and a worn set to his cheekbones.

Falling to more casual attire, Gabriel likes taking advantage of the weather through his fashion choices. Winter leaves him heavy set in thick layers: pea coats, sweaters, scarves, and winter hats. They'll often appear in washed out colors: blues that look like they've seen better days, and reds this shade of worn out maroon. However, despite this attitude toward clothing, Gabriel refuses to wears shorts or tight fitting pants (though slacks are an exception; he likes his business-y pants to feel form fitting, but not constricting - silk feels too nice on skin not to take advantage of). Anything that takes the attention away from the fact that he's missing a leg is always, always a priority. So far, Gabriel sits on a high middle ground when it comes to fashion - he likes tasteful things, but not overly expensive.

From a very early age, everyone knew who Gabriel was. Not that everyone knew his name, or even knew him personally. Just looking at him, anyone could tell what that boy stood for. What he felt. What he wanted out of life. The years haven't been kind to Gabriel's younger half. In this day and age, being an open book meant absolute vulnerability. It forced you to wear your heart on your sleeve, sew it on and leave it to dry under the scrutiny and gaze of other people.

Curiosity worked as a driving force for Gabriel. The pursuit of knowledge had always interested him; he actively sought out more information. Even under the criticisms of his mother, Gabriel held out, let her often blunt words encourage him further. If she found a flaw in what he attempted to do, Gabriel saw meaning in it and let it drive him toward improvement. Gabriel always worked tirelessly. At first, the diligence came about to impress in a need for reward and praise - a basic human function. Eventually, that diligence turned into wanting to improve himself for the sake of learning, gaining knowledge - making mistakes and fixing them.

Even years later, Gabriel could never find a reason to blame his mother for her demeanor. She may have a wit and personality sharper than a mountain's peak and colder than one too, but he couldn't deny that her inherent shade of cruelty only drove him toward improvement. Of course, looking back at it, he had many reasons to resent her. Her need for perfection elevated her standards to unbelievable heights - unreachable. And the feeling of gaining her ire over her gratitude eventually led to bouts of depression. Things that needed therapy to correct. Lack of self-worth. Lack of focus. Lack of drive. He could very well blame his mother for all of it; send her the damn bill, if he wanted to. Could blame his father for lacking shits to give unless he found a winning side to latch onto; what he always did. A kid earned a Pulitzer Prize, he'd be there with his thumbs up like he'd been motivating and inspiring that entire time.

Yet, that would defeat the purpose. While, yes, they did deserve a lot of the blame, most of Gabriel's insecurities fell unto himself. No doubt in his mind his mother and father lacked any real experience as parents, despite having ten children. They were awful parents. But people? No, they were half-way decent people. They tried. They sucked at everything they attempted with their kids and they needed to stop having more after the fourth one - even the phrase, 'it's the thought that counts' comes up short. They tried and it wasn't enough, simple as that.

At least he didn't owe them everything. Years in the air force built Gabriel up, even encouraged his brash curiosity. They gave him something his parents didn't: a support beam that wasn't flimsy. Yet, even then, everything ended up crumbling, as it should when one literally gets shot from the sky. That incident took more than just a limb, it took every piece of Gabriel's mind with it. All the stability he tried building up years after leaving his home found itself abandoned in a barren carcass of a jet plane. Lucky for him, that was the only thing he left in the desert.

Now, Gabriel remains a huddled mess of emotions. Even years after he'd earned a sense of normality with his mind. That took more money and time than he'd ever want to spend in any one sitting - or multiple ones. Even if the PTSD remained unchecked, he'd fight it soon enough. He'd find some peace of mind in it. Though, any hopes and aspirations Gabriel had as a child seemed dashed and broken. But, hey, at least he still has that bit of his mother he can't seem to lose. A want for absolute accuracy and precision - utmost efficiency. That'll be a constant reminder of what he left behind, eighteen, young, and brash.

❖ Anything sci-fi; growing up, Gabriel had an intense love for space, as well as literature. He'd hole up in his room with dozens of books: H.G. Wells, Frank Herbert, Aldous Huxley, Isaac Asimov. He had an entire case filled with only various copies of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein taken from all over the world.
❖ Space; there was always a reason to be out at night, whether to star gaze or just bask in the feel of an entire trillions of light years of space just sitting above. Gabriel always had a fascination for the stars and he's spent many nights charting the constellations, as well as researching everything he can about those distant balls of gas filling the night sky.
❖ Being Precise; something he got from his mother - anything Gabriel does needs to be with absolute precision. Whether it's charting a graph, fixing up a room, talking, or lining up a shot.
❖ Silence; nights spent aboard planes and jets have given silence a new meaning to Gabriel. Silence means peace, a near blanket of security. Alone for hours in the fading hum of a plane have given Gabriel more peace of mind than he cares to admit. Enough time in his thoughts to justify any actions he's ever taken - even if the excuses are flimsy and last for but a few seconds of respite.

❖ Loud Noises; raucous, loud, and abrupt noises send Gabriel into a panic. Anything louder than a car alarm shocks him into a catatonic state. The less noisy, the less it takes to bring him back from the edge; the louder, the worse the panic settles in.
❖ Wearing Shorts; shorts don't leave anything to the imagination and, honestly, that's where he wants to keep his leg: locked in peoples' imaginations. If it's not seen, they can't tell it's not there to begin with. Even years of therapy haven't stopped the crippling shame he feels looking down.
❖ Stairs; just, honestly, fuck stairs. Fuck long flights of stairs. Fuck stairwells. Fuck anything without an elevator or a ramp.
❖ Losing Control; that feeling of being hammered drunk? The feeling right before anesthetics put you under? That feeling when you touch a part of your body and can't, for the life you, feel any sort of sensation there? That scares the shit out of him. Freaks him out. Increases his heart rate and leaves him stammering. He refuses to touch alcohol, or any kind of pain relieving drug - or drugs in general. Those weeks spent on morphine may have been amazing during, but getting to that high was a ride in and of itself.

Out of all the Carrington kids, Gabriel likely comes off as a distant memory to most of the family. Not a failure in his own right, not a disappointment, but maybe a lost cause. Someone who grew into their own person too soon, out of necessity and maybe even survival. At a point in life, something just happened and the support Gabriel made for himself out of the little bits and pieces his parents allotted him crumbled. Further luck shaped and molded Gabriel into the man he sees in the mirror daily and though he has no qualms with his own reflection, there's something missing. Something that needs to be fixed and filled in before he can truly find satisfaction. And maybe satisfaction isn't even what he needs or wants - but, it's hard to put a word to something he doesn't quite know the contents of, just yet.

Starting out as a Carrington meant more than a few days spent away from family. Or at least, his mother and father. At a young age, Gabriel mostly kept to himself, even in the company of his siblings - leaving him perpetually introverted and solitary. Gabriel's childhood often found itself wondering at books, learning to read and write, and then finding time to spend with his nose buried deep in a novel. Until, eventually, a book of the stars landed in his lap, opening wide a new avenue of wonder and passion. A curiosity like his refuses to be sated.

Young and yearning for a glimpse of the stars, Gabriel notified both parents. The enthusiasm observed in the boy's tone was something to keep note of and, once their schedule opened up, they allowed a night of stargazing for the boy - after buying a much, much too expensive telescope for an adolescent. After that night, both parents knew that telescope would find itself in use nightly, likely for years to come. A fire like that in a boy so young could only lead to potential greatness, at least in their eyes.

From then on, Gabriel found himself piled head to toe in resources that further nurtureed his passion. While they didn't take quite an active role in building Gabriel's passion, both Carringtons invested much into allowing Gabriel to take the reigns alone. Even were it to be a flight of fancy, the amount of money they spent on Gabriel could hardly make a noticeable dent - not enough to rise to anger over disappointment. However, That neither need worry about as the older Gabriel grew, the more knowledge he soaked in. A child that young probably had no reason to delve into advanced mathematics, however, learning math and even physics came simple to Gabriel. While he didn't exactly sky rocket into Calculus at the age of three, he did grasp equations and formulas astoundingly easier than most kids his age (and if he started learning Calculus in middle school, who could blame him?).

At that age, most of the accomplishments that went under his parents' scrutiny only encouraged Gabriel to work harder. That determination allowed him to succeed beyond what was expected of him. However, even that had negative consequences. The higher he raised the bar, the more his parents expected of him. And if he couldn't reach the standard he'd set himself, they wouldn't waste their time beyond giving him small, hole punching critiques. Even tiny, they still felt like jabs to his gut. At its worse, everything seemed discouraging.

However, Gabriel could very well take it. He could handle a lot of things at his age. If he could handle graphing the sky and finding the distance from earth to a random star just by looking at it, well he could handle his mother's off-hand comment about how his 98% science report wouldn't hold up in a college course - "Something to think about, Gabriel, if you really wish to succeed. Mediocrity is a sin." In the long run, she had a point and he always worked to improve himself toward a milestone where he no longer craved to see his parents proud, but to see himself proud.

That wouldn't last long.

As a young boy, puberty didn't exactly hit hard - he would take growing pains and acne over bleeding through his genitals any day. That couldn't be said for his sexuality, though, and discovering his apathy towards the female form and a rather alarming attraction to cute boys (not riddled with acne, that is; and with muscles, ahaha) lead him down a very trying experience. Hiding that meant hiding himself, which also meant making sure that everything he did was done to conceal his secret - exhaustive work for a kid who still had time to be a kid. Even then, many of the children in his school had it out for him just because his parents had enough money to not only bribe his way into any school, but tack on a Ferrari, as well, without making even a small dent in their fortune. If people found out he was gay, especially rabid pre-frat boy acting middle school teenagers, that would turn an already gross and irritating environment into a hellscape.

Unfortunately, in a school full of kids of parents who have 'connections' and ways of finding dirt, rumors spread like fire and if one of those rumors happened to be true, well, that kinda just sucks. Kids can be nasty and kids with money, even worse. So, when a rumor spread that Gabriel Carrington was liked sucking dick, they took the bait and found it to actually be true (at least in theory; don't tell my mom, please). That meant coming home with bruises and welts and black eyes for days until his parents found out. That conversation didn't go too well; he never expected it to. His mother hadn't said a word. His father, on the other hand, made light jabs, targeting his tiny frame and lack of muscles as if to encourage him to bulk up and fight those kids himself. In a very typical, asshole-ish way. Sure, it worked, but Gabriel didn't have very many kind words to say to his father after that.

One good thing came out of the talk, however, and that had been his father's lack of care for his sexuality. Even if it came as a thinly veiled threat.

"If I think you're a disappointment, which is unlikely, it's because of who you are, not who you like."

Unlikely his ass.

That fiasco happened at age twelve, and the timing couldn't have been more perfect. Bullied, ridiculed, and then told to, "... toughen up," by his father, put Gabriel in a hole he didn't see a way to get out of. He needed comfort, needed something his parents wouldn't provide because they thought tough love was the only approach to parenting. That meant going to his siblings, in particular his older sister. Unfortunately, that had been the exact time of her own troubling outburst.

School had just finished for the lot of them (graduation for their eldest had been something his parents wanted to attend, giving them the perfect opportunity to the see the damage already done to their third eldest) meaning at least one would be on their way to, hopefully, college. Unfortunately, Sam didn't see the bright side of her parents' approach, didn't see them wanting only reason, and teen spirit won over logic. She burst into a fit of rage in what she assumed had been in private, yet young Gabriel had already sought out his oldest sister to confide in. Privy to the details and grit of the conflict raging in front of him, Gabriel only stood and waited, hoping the one person who understood his troubles would only stay.

"Where are you going?" he asked, after watching her pack in front of their parents - watching as Sam stomp past him without a glance. He turned to both his mother and father, confusion and anger twisting his bruised face. "You can't just let her go. She's family. She can't just leave. She can't just... S-Sam?" Gabriel broke into a panic, dashing down the stairs to watch the door slam before he could get a word in. From the windows, he watched the smoke of burning tires mark the driveway and the black gates of their home close with a heartbreaking finality.

From then on, Gabriel looked at his parents with a deep resentment. Young and brash, he never quite forgave them and that only exacerbated their critiques, the comments he knew were only made to better him. It turned, "This equation is off by a decimal, that's why it's a 95% and not a 100%," into, "You'll never amount to anything; you're small, weak, and hopeless. You're not a Carrington. You're a disappointment." He twisted their words for his own benefit, he thought. He made them sound like monsters in his head until he couldn't find a reason to stay.

Even then, Gabriel forced himself to improve beyond what they expected of him. Aided with a growth spurt that summer, Gabriel began bulking up. Over the years and to the end of high school, Gabriel gained more muscle mass and height than was honestly reasonable. Everything his parents did behind his back came unnoticed. The fact that, not only did he attend school no longer harassed, but the bullies who had assaulted him no longer drifted the hallways. Were sent away. Expelled. Whatever. Gabriel refused to notice, refused to catch his mother or father's eye because once he did, he knew he couldn't hold his philosophy. His little fictional world that painted them as the villains; deep down, Gabriel knew they couldn't have done anything to stop Sam. She had her mind set and they were simply trying to understand her. But that would make his own escape hard. Dramatic, yes, but he lacked the reasoning an adult might have had.

Once he graduated, Gabriel threw all the scholarships, all the college letters, all the things his parents gave him to allow him success by the wayside. Without a word, Gabriel packed everything that he needed, signed up for the Air Force, and left for boot camp that fall. He needed to see them as monsters. He didn't want to. He knew they weren't, but it was the only way for him to justify cutting ties completely.

Those years built him up. They allowed a freedom Gabriel hadn't experienced. Not a freedom from his parents' restrictions, but a freedom from himself. Everything boiled down to orders, to obedience, to following directions, and to being lead. It felt mindless to him, not in a bad way, but in a way that he could lose himself and refuse to find what he left behind. Not only that, they let him fly. They let him see the stars up close, the sun shining behind the weight of heavy clouds. It may not have been what he truly dreamed of, but it was damn well close enough.

At that point, Gabriel had experienced a fair bit of the world. He allowed the military to raise him, mold him into the man he wanted to become. Or at least, what they wanted him to become. They pushed him in a direction and he went, without ever looking back at what he left behind.

Unfortunately, it never did allow him to really grow. And, while the foundation for their support was built sturdier, it would eventually crumble. That much Gabriel knew. Mainly because he also knew there were a lot of things he was avoiding in the real world and those things would eventually catch up to him. He'd ride it out, though, for as long as he could.

That end came a lot quicker than he anticipated. A routine air sweep over sanctioned parts of the Mediterranean turned into strafing too far into Libya, which turned into a lock down of that particular air space. Artillery fire and the night made it exceptionally difficult to wrap around and fly back to their designated air base. With only two planes on a scouting mission, it shouldn't have been too hard - hard, but not impossible.

On his turn around, Gabriel spotted a stray artillery shell flanking the second jet. Knowing it'd rip through the cockpit and whoever inside, Gabriel made a split second decision. Diving beneath the other jet, he took the missile head on. The explosion ripped into the wings of his lane, and inverted a good portion of the hull into the cockpit. Parts of the metal and wiring of the plane dug into Gabriel's right calf, pinning him to jet. Unable to eject safely, he'd have likely died in the crash. The other plane fared far better, having taken the bulk of the damage with his own plane, the other merely lost function to the aftershocks of the explosion, forcing the pilot inside to eject. The force of his impact on land had knocked him unconscious, however.

Gabriel still refuses to detail exactly what he did to get himself out safely, but it left his right leg severely injured to the point of losing all function and left him nearly bleeding out on the desert sands. He had to physically crawl through the barren sands in order to make contact with the other soldier, unconscious but still breathing. He bound his wound as well as he could and took stock of his surrounding, the cold shaking their claws into his bones. Unfortunately, his woulds had been the least of their worries as the wreck gave away their location to a roving, enemy mercenary group - pick off the survivors and scavenge what they could. To Gabriel, it'd be he last stand, unknown to the medical rescue team alerted to their location prior to his partner abadoning his plane for safety. After holing up with his lone pistol behind a sturdy rock formation, he held them off until the medical team arrived to dispatch the remaining enemy soldiers and lift them both off to safety. He lost consciousness well before they shipped him out for surgery. Gabriel woke up two days later with no leg and under a high dosage of morphine - his subsequent freak out took quite a bit of the on hand staff to calm and sedate him. With no family written in his records, Gabriel suffered his time in the military hospital alone for nearly a month.

After the ordeal he'd been honorably discharged, awarded a Purple Heart and the Medal of Honor for his valor in combat and his willingness to sacrifice. Of course, that likely televised event wouldn't have gone unnoticed by his parents. Gabriel, however, refused to take any of their calls and worked on recovering what mental stability he had left through various therapy sessions before ever thinking of approaching them again. It took years before Gabriel deemed himself ready and by then, he'd already received a letter for a Carrington family reunion. Now it was just a matter of finding a way to explain himself, while acting like his life afterwards was just him rebuilding some kind of normalcy, educating himself, finding a reasonable excuse that he would have been much too busy to talk.

❖ Lost his left leg and wears a regular prosthetic. He hides this rather well and refuses to explain how he lost it when people find out.
❖ He's laid low enough that his stint on TV only remains in vague memory. People don't recognize him on the street and he doesn't ever really boast about his received reward. He still doesn't think he earned it, after everything that happened.
❖ Takes medication for his anxiety and depression - still deals with PTSD. Loud noises and flying trigger him heavily - he needs to be thoroughly sedated before boarding a plane.
❖ Still dreams of becoming an astronaut and astrophysicist and has even sent in applications to places like MIT. He refuses to name drop, but his high school records are impeccable and he hopes he can somehow find a way to pay for classes himself. Right now, he's just taking a few small classes at a community college, learning how to cook, even knit, and some creative writing course.