Post by JAMES STARK on May 21, 2012 1:25:26 GMT -6
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style,background:url("http://img651.imageshack.us/img651/3176/tubackground.png"); width: 400px; height: 400px; -moz-border-radius: 5px 5px 5px 5px; border: #706665 2px solid; padding: 5px;] james allen stark ,  FULL NAME: James Allen Stark NICKNAME: Stark AGE: Twenty-Two years of age CLASS: Second Class GENDER: Male HOMETOWN: New York, New York RESIDENCE: Paris, France MARTIAL LISTING: Single OCCUPATION: Artist FACE CLAIMED: Emile Hirsch UPON THE SHIP OF DREAMS, PERSONALITY: Stark is a very confident guy. Though he doesn't look tough by any means, he carries himself as well as any guy with impossible amounts of testosterone. He loves to be the center of attention and draws it just like a sponge. He's witty and charismatic and quick on his feet. He would be the perfect person to get caught committing a crime with because he's likely to get one out of that situation based on lies, coincidence, and just all-around bull. He does tend to be a bit loud, saying whatever comes to his mind without regret, not matter how crude. He's offensive and childish, and he honestly doesn't care who he makes mad as long as he stays safe - he doesn't like facing his mortality any more than anyone else does. To the few friends he has, Stark is a very sarcastic guy. He loves to tease his friends and pick on them. Sometimes, he doesn't really know when to stop and someone might have to step in to let him know he's crossed the line. To his female friends, he's very flirtatious. He likes to play the charmer act and even if he doesn't get anywhere with it, it's entertaining for him. Of course, he is successful most of the time. Some girls will fall for anything. He's the exact opposite of the afore-mentioned to his enemies. When he's with his friends, the teasing and sarcasm are fun and good natured. However, with the people he can't stand, it's often harsh and extremely rude. He's definitely not afraid to stand up and tell someone if he doesn't like them and he'll be happy to list the reasons why. He doesn't believe in being petty and hating someone from afar. He's very upfront, and will tell the truth about why he dislikes an individual, and then ignore that person until they give him a reason to be rude again. Stark doesn't look for love. He's not nearly enough about love. It does happen though, for he can be a bit of a softy when it comes to people he's close with, even if he's not likely to tell a girl how he really feels. When he's with someone he really cares about, he's often very sweet and is more likely to show his artsy side. He often wondered what it was like to be in love, but that was for all of five minutes then he'd be chasing another skirt. Underneath it all, he cherishes time he spends with those close to him. Also, he's not incapable of love - he just prefers life as the charming, womanizing, egotistical guy he grew up to be. PHYSICAL: Stark has your average build for a twenty-two-year-old. He stands at about 6'0" and weighs only about 175 pounds. He's quite lanky and not very muscular at all. This is probably because he doesn't devote a lot of time to strengthening his body, and instead chases after women and booze. He's not intimidating in the least, that's for sure. Though, if he gets in a fight, they better be ready. The guy took many fencing lessons and is very well-rounded when it comes to combat. Stark is really rather attractive. Most girls like his dimples, which can be easily seen when he smiles. His eyes are also a big part of his face. They are hazel, but an odd sort of color. More greens and browns but the texture is what's truly interesting. They are seemingly speckled, and have an almost feral look to them at times. Stark's hair is brown; his hair is that deep hue of mahogany that many people try to get though hair color but can never achieve. Naturally, he's always had brown hair. It holds a rather curly, possibly wavy texture to it. If there's one thing that Stark takes care of, it's his hair. If you look good, you feel good, right? His individual style is something that he has been perfecting over many years of trial and error. He wants to look good at all times, so most of the time one can see him in a button-up. He also likes vests and watches. When he's sparring he dresses a bit more causal. HISTORY: From the time Stark could effectively hold a pencil, he wanted to draw. His mother used to put every one of his drawings in a box and kept it to admire. So, it wasn't hard for his family to believe when he chose to make that his career. From his home in New York City, he made his living. He became well known across the united states. But once he made enough money, he left the States and headed to Paris where he could perfect his art among the intellectuals of his generation. He blossomed as an artist in Paris, and his name became well known. He even stumbled onto a bit of money in his line of work. Sure, he wasn't making as much as some of the upper class in New York, but he was getting there. It had been a long five years in France and he was ready to return home to show his parents how successful he had become. That's when the bad news struck. Both of his parents had been killed in a fire, their house had burned entirely to the ground, and left nothing for the young artist to return home to. However, his parents had left a vast amount of money for him in an account, in the event of their untimely death. Distraught and deeply saddened by this news, he began scraping up the money for a trip back to New York to bury the only family he had left. Finally he heard that the Titanic had returned from its maiden voyage and was to return to New York once more. He managed to snag some tickets after receiving his inheritance and made the trip to Queenstown, IR, to board. INTO THE HORIZON, MEMBER ALIAS: STARK =D EXPERIENCE: Very well seasoned, much like a well marinated steak. (About 8-10 years) SOURCE: Proboards Support, of course. PHRASE: Turkish bath, I believe. RP SAMPLE: Walking along the rows upon rows of books would have been an enjoyable experience if he was actually paying attention to what he was doing. He was simply putting one foot in front of the other, his eyes scanning the shelves of books, looking for one in particular. He had yet to find it, but he was almost certain it was here. He spent a lot of time in the library. It had a calming effect on him to be around books, to be consumed by the smell of the pages and the covers of the leather-bound ones, the scent of coffee brewing behind the librarian’s desk. It was all part of the atmosphere of the place, the entire building. He loved it. While he had lived in Paris, he had visited quite a few book stores and libraries. Even back in his cabin he had stacks and stacks of books just piled up around his room. Most of them he had read, and some he was in the process of reading. Wheeler was the type of guy to read at least five books at one time. He just worked like that. Reading had always been a big part of who he was. And considering the education he had gotten in France, it was no surprise. Studious but also a party guy for the most part. Though, Wheeler enjoyed the down time he got when he could just pace down the long rows of books, trailing his fingers over the spines, savoring the feel of each and every one, memorizing the contours of a page as his fingers traced the lines of words in some text that was older than he. His emerald eyes still searched, and finally landed on what he was looking for. Lord Byron, a collection of his works. Smiling, Wheeler carefully pulled the book from the shelf and flipped through the pages, growing yellow with age. Satisfied with his choice in literature, he found a seat in one of the worn leather chairs, propping his feet up on the table in front of him. Wheeler looked all the part of the rich-kid scholar. He was wearing a button up with a tie, but also had a bit of a lazy look with his jeans and converse. His hair was a bit messy, but it was intentional. Just a little styling gel and a few sweeps of his fingers through his brown hair. Yeah, it was a lazy look, but who cares? He was in the middle of a camp for Demigods. It’s not like he was going to some fancy party where the waiters wore suits and served Charente on silver serving dishes. He was in a library, having a lazy afternoon, flashing smiles to a girl thumbing through books in one of the corner chairs. Yeah, it was definitely a lazy day for Wheeler. Finally settling down and beginning to read, he could hear the clock ticking away on the wall. He wondered what the camp was up to at this time of the afternoon. Maybe something interesting, but Wheeler didn’t mind missing out on the fun if it meant he could curl up in a secluded spot of the library with a book of his favorite poetry. Nah, this was exactly how he wanted to spend his day. Maybe there would be somebody worth talking to in this place. Well….on second thought, probably not. Oh well, he had Lord Byron and a mug of black coffee. That’s really all he needed right now. This was his get-away from everything, and he was thankful for the time he did get out of the public eye, even if he did enjoy being the center of attention. But, to be perfectly honest, this was exactly where he wanted to be. He could hear the rain tapping on the window next to him, and the thunder rolling in the sky. It was the perfect day to hole up in a library and read. Wheeler had to admit though, sometimes the place could be pretty boring. Considering that he was the type to party hop and drink fine wine, it was a bit odd to see him sitting there with a book of old English poetry and sipping coffee. But, if anyone knew Wheeler, they knew there was more to him than just the player and the cocky, charismatic asshole. He was smart, well-educated, and actually rather artsy. Though, most of the time, he hardly showed the artsy qualities to someone he wasn’t close to. He felt vulnerable showing that hidden area of his soul to someone he wasn’t comfortable with. So, he puts up the other front which really isn’t a front at all. Wheeler was Wheeler; the smartass, the womanizer, the one with the thick French accent and a charming half-smile. Turning a page and letting his eyes read over the words, he found himself smiling, remembering a long-forgotten memory of reading the same text while sitting at a café. He mouthed the words as he read, the familiarity of them warming him, or maybe that was the hot coffee that he was sipping at? The romantic in him would say the former, but of course it was more likely the later. Either way, he felt completely relaxed, and at ease. He needed to be, because he was fairly certain one Elijah Stone would be hot on his trail for quite some time. Oh well, not like he really cared. If Eli wanted to come after him, Wheeler welcomed it. He had known full well what he was getting into when he spoke the first words of a greeting to Andi Harper. It was like he had said, while the cat was away the mice would play, and playing was his goal every day. Any girl at camp could fall victim to his charm, and the next day Wheeler probably wouldn’t even remember their name. This was Wheeler’s common mindset, and he sees the world differently than others. He loved to stir up trouble, which was usually why he went for the girls that had already been claimed. It was fun, all in good fun. To attain something that had already been taken, that was a feat for him, and a challenge he didn’t mind pursuing. Maybe there would be a girl to stumble across him in this dimly lit, back corner of the library. Byron was entertaining, but only for so long, and he knew the urge to court some young girl wouldn’t be held off my some simple literature. So, even as he read, the words searing themselves into some old memory, he was aware of his surroundings, waiting for the tell-tale sounds of feet on the hardwood floors. Something, anything to signal the approach of a female. He wanted some fun, and his mind wouldn’t leave that. He was sure he could persuade them to join him for a glass of wine, maybe two? They would go from there, just like any other day, any other night. No, Wheeler couldn’t lose himself in a book if he needed a distraction of a whole different variety. Not today at least. |
