Post by dexter ezekiel xenas on Aug 2, 2013 16:31:22 GMT -8
| [atrb=style,width: 420px; background-color: efefef; background-image: url(http://24.media.tumblr.com/0478144b9f16c95a37367d1aca56b45c/tumblr_mkfax8tDxp1s97ldco1_500.png); padding: 5px, bTable] DEXTER E. XENAS twenty-one | pansexual | mechanic/drifter | visitor | andy biersack THE INTERVIEW HELLO. THANKS FOR COMING IN TODAY. SHALL WE START WITH YOUR NAME? Oh, yeah right. Name's Dexter. Dexter Ezekiel Xenas, most people call me Dex, and if you're bright enough, you'll figure out that my initials match my nickname too. That's the only nickname I'll respond to. My brother might tell you otherwise, but feel free to blatantly ignore him. THAT'S A NICE NAME. WHAT DO YOU DO FOR A LIVING? Not much of a living, if you ask me. As far as I can tell, I live in the same conditions as I did growing up, I'm just in a different place. Me and my brother have managed to secure ourselves wonderfully pleasant jobs as mechanics, you know. The pay's absolutely wonder-- yeah, no. Not even I can pull that off. Our jobs are crap, but it gives us exactly what we need, and it isn't like I have a whole lot of room to complain, considering I really couldn't be bothered with finishing high school, and I didn't even want to consider college. You know, this might come as a surprise given how well groomed I seem like, but me and Des? That's my brother, by the way. We were absolute terrors growing up, both in and out of school. The teachers, they easily hated us, and probably for good reason. We were always in trouble, and I'm pretty sure detention became a second home to us. Hell, it was better than our actual home, go figure. I put up with it while I had to, but by the time I hit my junior year I figured, what the hell, life's too short and I'm too bored, so I stopped going. Obviously I turned out well, wouldn't you agree? INTERESTING. WHAT DO YOU DO FOR FUN? What do I like? Huh, let's see. I enjoy picnics in the park, watching the sunset, oh, and let's not forget those long walks on the beach, that would be absolutely tragic. Aight, time to be real. Cars and music, I swear to whatever God there is, I would marry both if I was given half the opportunity to do so. Video games, especially the violent ones. You know, the ones were you can steal cars and shoot people up, what's it called? Right. Yeah, Grand Theft Auto or something, that's it. Those games crack me right the hell up. Being able to ditch the cops just by calling a phone number? Man, I wish it was that simple, it sure as all hell would make my life so much simpler. Scary movies too, man. I just can't get enough of it, and you know what? I support the villain every damn time, call it a negative nature, I don't care. It is what it is, and it's how it's always been. There's just something so... pleasurable about doing the wrong thing, you know? Maybe it's just me. What I don't like, now that's a list that could go on for days. Authority, that's a big red flag in my book. Cops, I hate them. They always say they're out to serve and protect, where the hell were they when my old man was using my mom as a punching bag, huh? Call me biased, I don't care, but the world would be better if you were allowed to take care of your own business. By any means necessary. I hate kidney beans, too. I don't have a damn clue why that's even relevant, but whatever. As far as hobbies go, I have a lot, but a lot of them probably shouldn't be mentioned here. I like to sing, believe it or not, and drawing's kind of cool, I guess. WOULD YOU SAY THOSE ACTIVITIES REFLECT WHO YOU ARE? I'm an asshole. I'm not going to lie or deny it, and I'm definitely not gonna sugarcoat it either. There's no point because you're bound to figure it our sooner or later, and given my piss poor reputation, I'm willing to bet it will be sooner. A lot of people think I'm aloof, brooding even. And then there's some people who want to believe that somewhere deep, deep down inside, I'm just a scared, insecure little boy, crying to be set free. They're both wrong. I'm not afraid of anything, I learned a long time ago that being scared only got you hit. And I sure as hell don't cry for anything. You learn that super quick where I grew up. If you cry, you're weak, and if you're weak, you get taken out. Not killed, I mean, just beat all sorts of up. I'm not gonna lie, it was tough, and maybe that's why I'm as messed up as I am. I suppose there's a few people I can be civil to, depending on if they're able to weasel there way close to me, and if that's a success by some miracle, you might even find me protective. Admittedly, I'm like that over Destery. He's my brother and he's a total shithead, but like the age old phrase, he's my shithead and I'm the only one allowed to treat him like that. Step to him, and you'll definitely have to answer to me, and, you know, that's no fun at all. I can be quite the kill joy, too. I dunno, man. I'm really hard to describe. I'm a supernova of a personality plethora, for real. You're best bet is to go hunt down Destery and ask him what he thinks of me, he's the person that knows me the best out of anyone, you know. Twin bond thing, it's a wonderful thing. I'm not a fan of people, so I'm pretty professional like when it comes to being antisocial. Maybe it's better that I'm that way, you know? I'm not exactly the nicest person out there. Sarcasm's pretty much become my best friend, we go way back. Diaper days, and all that. But here's an interesting question for you, now. Do you know what the difference between a psychopath and a sociopath is? A COOL CAT LIKE YOU MUST HAVE A TON OF SUITORS FLOCKING TO YOU, HUH? What the hell am I, a goose? Nah, man. I got no one. Shocking, right? You'd think someone of my stature and physical prowess would have everyone swooning, wouldn't you? No. Romance kind of requires people to like you, unless you want to go to jail for it. Anyways, romance requires people to like you, and that's just it. People don't like me. At all. I hate people, and people hate me. It's a relationship built on mutual loathing. I'm perfectly fine with it, you know. Since the beginning it's been me and Destery against the entire damn world, and that's how it's gotta stay, no matter how off the wall annoying he is. We're brothers, twins, it's a blood bond thing. As far as preference goes, I don't have any. It's an itch that occasionally needs to be scratched, that's all. COOL BEANS. THEY SAY YOUR FAMILY SHAPES WHO YOU ARE. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOURS? You wanna know about my family? Really? Well, ain't that the cliche question. My family sucks, or it did while it was around. My mother was a damn doormat who played pansy and allowed herself to get hit, and my father was the lowlife, wannabe rock star that seemed to get off on hitting her, and us, mind you. So now it's just me and Destery. He's my brother, my twin to be exact. He looks like me, obviously, but his hair is all sorts of funky. I don't know if you'd call us close or anything. We fight like professionals, and half the time we argue over everything, but he's my brother and it's a moral obligation to love him unconditionally. I'd do anything for him, you know, it's probably your best bet to remember that. If you step to him, you step to me, and that's just not smart. AND YOUR LIFE? TELL ME ABOUT YOUR PAST. I'M EAGER TO HEAR. You sure you wanna know? My story isn't exactly a pleasant one. Me and Des, we got a pretty piss poor hand of cards dealt to us, you know. Born on Halloween, go figure. We grew up in this really shit town, Culpeper, maybe you've heard of it? No? Yeah I didn't think so. It's legit in the ass crack of no where, you walk out the front door, and you pretty much say hello to a cow's ass. Our mother was unemployed, our dad was some lame ass wannabe rock star in a bad that looked like a garage band crapped it out. Our old man, he was a total asshole, you know the type. He got off on hitting his wife and making his kids feel like shit. The cops never helped, of course they didn't. My old man had an uncanny ability to cover shit up and everything was peachy whenever the cops came around. I guess my momma finally got it through her head though, 'cause as soon as me and Destery turned thirteen, she up and walked out on us, leaving us to be raised by that psychotic man. It went to hell from there. We were always the kids that got excluded. Parents warned their children not to play with us, the common trailer trash kids. It was hell. But I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the damn tree. We were in and out of trouble, getting kicked out of school, I guess I hit my breaking point when I turned sixteen 'cause I got collared for some lame ass crime I committed out of boredom. Possession, you know. All the cool kids were doing it, I guess I didn't know how to cover my tracks well enough back then, but I learned. For the next two years it was absolute hell. It felt like I was literally living in a cage, I guess I sorta was, given the circumstances. Des knows what I'm talking about. He was in and out of juvie too, but not as much as me. He always was the smarter one, the book smarts, at least. Anyways. Long story short, I was finally cut out when I turned eighteen, I out grew the system, I guess, or maybe they thought I was reformed. But me and Des left Culpeper right after that. And somehow we ended up here. Never finished school though, didn't see the point and didn't have the drive. Oh well. What about a secret? Everyone has a secret. Damn, you're really pressing this one, aren't you? Fine. I suppose I can make an exception, just for you. Me and Des? We like to picture ourselves running an underground street racing circuit, really deep you know. At first it would be petty stuff, dirt track racing, but then we figured we could make a killing off the stuff, so we would.... ahem, broadened our horizons just a bit. Lifting cars would become our specialty, and the fact that we both hold jobs as mechanics would certainly help a whole hell of a lot. We'd be able to jack supplies and auto parts without drawing much unwanted attention to us. Pretty smart, right? I got into drugs a long while back, but it's nothing heavy or serious now, not sure if you'd still consider that some secret or not, but whatever. ALRIGHT. TIME'S ALMOST UP. TELL ME ABOUT YOUR DREAMS. QUICK! My dreams? Aw, sweetheart. I don't have dreams, I have nightmares. I wanna make it big, doesn't everyone? I want to survive, I want to be able to continue racing and never get caught because living life is pretty damn difficult to do from a cell block. Part of me wants to tell you that I dream of being normal, but that small part is usually drowned right the hell out by the fact that normalcy and being normal is highly overrated and definitely not fun at all. I just wanna live, that's my dream. AND THAT'S A WRAP. IT WAS NICE GETTING TO KNOW YOU. Don't bother lying to me, okay? I know meeting me can't be anything overly pleasant. I'm not proper company, I've never claimed to be a nice person, so feel free to quit patronizing me, kay? Besides that, I really wish I could say it was a pleasure meeting you, but you know, I mustn't tell a lie. BEHIND THE MASK jaws | 20 | eastern | a friend | first character She didn't know if what she was feeling was anger, jealousy, or a toxic combination of the two. But whatever it was, it proffered a very strong urge to just.. cry. Right there, in the middle of a semi-crowded pathway. But she wandered along the pathway, forcing a smile upon her face, a smile that probably came off as something distant and foreboding, really. She came to the park every morning since arriving in Manuka, though she didn't understand wh-- no, no, she most certainly knew why. It had probably been some cruel self-inflicted punishment for falling too hard some, what was it, eight hundred and sixty four years ago? By God, she couldn't even remember his name! He was the first one who had apparently meant oh so bloody much to her so long ago, and she couldn't even recall what his blasted name was. But perhaps that was a blessing in disguise? That by being unable to remember his name, she was one step closer to forgetting? Only, as soon as she seemed to come to this conclusion, Mother Nature had a nasty habit of proving just how wrong she was. Because there was not a single day that went by, that Ophelia wasn't reminded of the life she could have had, all those many years ago - and of the life she'd never have, in the many years to come. It was disheartening, almost, for her to stop and watch as mothers played with their children, the children laughing and smiling, and giggling just like rowdy little children should. And part of her wandered if it was even remotely possible for her to just, she didn't know, swoop in and snatch away an unsuspecting child and just... pretend it was hers? No, that certainly wouldn't work, and Ophelia would rather not have angry parents forming proverbial lynch mobs to come hunt her down. No, she had enough to deal with already without others encroaching into her personal spa-- and she spoke to soon, like always. Her attention was immediately ripped away from the bustling children as they ran around the playground, and onto the face of a man she did not recognize. And at first, she tensed up - what if this were a defensive parent, wanting to know why she was so openly watching them? Ophelia didn't rightly know what she would do if that was the case, other than turn on her heel and get the hell out of there. But when he, who ended up not being a parent on patrol, spoke of them being different, oddly enough, Ophelia couldn't help but allow a smile, small, but nonetheless genuine, spread across her face. But he had, in fact, spoken to her, and she could only get away with being silent for so long! "Is it them that are unlike us, or us that are unlike them?" She had been like them once, a long, long time ago. Happy and carefree. But now, well - eight hundred plus years would put a damper on anyone's spirits, no matter how strong they might have been. But she turned to face him as he spoke, her hands curling around the collar of her jacket to pull it snug against her neck. Man, she didn't usually get so effected by the cold weather, but today seemed especially chilled. "On the outside looking in, hm?" Her head canted off to the side - it was ironic that he phrased it that way, actually. For the greater part of her whole 'life' as a vampire, 'on the outside looking in' pretty much summed up her whole, entire existence into one, mundane sentence. But when he extended his hand, she paused slightly, unsure of how to continue. But eventually, after quite the lengthy pause, she reached out to return the gesture in some feeble, lesser way. Tentatively, she placed her hand against his, slightly taken aback by how much his hand seemed to dwarf her own, but perhaps that was to be expected. It was a strange, distantly unfamiliar feeling, to be in contact with another once more. If Julian thought eight years was difficult, walk a mile in Ophelia's shoes. She had gone eight hundred years, terrified of even looking in the direction of someone else, because, to her, nothing good could ever come of it. Only, not now - for some reason she did not feel the very immediate desire to hide away. "I'm Ophelia." But no, she was not named after the Shakespearean mad-woman. |
