Post by Maxim Reagan on Jul 26, 2009 1:08:03 GMT
the roleplayer
NAME: Super McAwesome Sexypants the III...Or Jace.
GENDER: Stud ;]]
AGE: A trillion
ROLEPLAY EXPERIENCE: 5 years?
OTHER CHARACTERS: No one, just me.
HOW YOU FOUND US: Bee
Maxim Alexander Reagan
We're only gonna die for our own arrogance,
that's why we might as well take our time.
NAME: Super McAwesome Sexypants the III...Or Jace.
GENDER: Stud ;]]
AGE: A trillion
ROLEPLAY EXPERIENCE: 5 years?
OTHER CHARACTERS: No one, just me.
HOW YOU FOUND US: Bee
Maxim Alexander Reagan
We're only gonna die for our own arrogance,
that's why we might as well take our time.
character basics
NICKNAMES: Max. Just Max.
AGE: 18
GROUP: Student
YEAR: Year 13
BIRTHDAY: June 7
GENDER: Male
PLAY-BY: Gaspard Ullielappearance
It was a shame, really. A down right shame that such a large, vile mouth had fallen on such a striking young man. Under different circumstances, one could identify the eighteen year old as remarkable or handsome. It was only the words that flew from his lips that tainted his appearance, no matter how lush and soft those lips were. The same set that had delivered many of foes with paralyzing remarks were centered, ever so precisely, upon his chiseled face. With a stern glare and prominent jaw line, many mistook him for an older age--regardless of his unkempt hair. It took a rare morning for Max to wake up and take on the feet of taming the dark brown locks and after many failed attempts his hair style was reduced to nothing more than an occasional brushing and fingertips worth of palmade.
In contrast the shambles of his hair, his eyes were, what people said, a masterpiece (although there was no work necessary). Born like the darkest region of the seas, his azure eyes were a deep, sinister color; a combination of the greyest green and the darkest blue. On occasion the young mans eyes were tinted with a mischievious glint or the anger of a titan, but as a majority, the thing that filled them the most was arrogance. And it showed. Reaching the approximate height of 5'11, it paid off to be a bigot, seeing as one could quite literally look down on people.
Upon closer inspection, there were a few things that defined Max's individuality...Like his habit of never fully smiling in photos, or the dimple that would appear on his left cheek if smiling was ever induced. A number of beauty marks flecked his pale complexion which, unlike most people, had only two shades. White and burnt. His teeth, although barely noticable, were tainted an off white due to a heavy addiction to cigarettes for over 5 years.personality
A filter. A heart. Maybe a care for the general public?
In short, listed above are the three things that the young, rich man would never waste his spending money on. They were the key lacking ingrediants to making a civil human being, and with out them...well, entrance Maxim.
He was human, he was sure of it. Or atleast that's what the doctor's have said...But if you ask one of the many of (and many being used to the fullest extent) unforunate people who have crossed pathes with the sneering eighteen year old, you can see why there has always been some contraversy on the subject.
The filter that fell between a persons mind and mouth was perhaps what got him in the most trouble. Unlike the millions in the nation who would ever so politely address an overtly obese woman in a shopping mart as "Hello Madame, would you mind simply moving to one side so I can get through, your cart is blocking my way", Max's address would go something along the lines of "Hey, you. Yes you, you fat fuck. Seeing as I'm a hundred and fifty pounds and you're toppin' six tons, and I'm in need of food, could you be ever so nice as to move out of my fuckin' way so that those of us who can't live off of our body lard for seven monthes can get some sustinance."
When ever the young man opened up his mouth, it was a well stocked arsenal of ammunition and ICBMs; a verbal assault that no man or women could escape. Although, there was one exception.
The ladies. With a set of charming lips and seductive lines, Max was quite the smooth talker. He appreciated the game and every aspect of it, including the flirting, the chase, but more particularly, the romance. It would be a lie to say that he didn't enjoy buying her flowers or taking her out for nights on the town. But it would also be alot bigger of a lie to say that it wasnt all to get into her jeans. She, who ever she was, was always gorgeous, Max being shallow of coarse. Who could blame him, with those curves and those eyes? Sure. It was a weakness of his, what with his incredible lust for the female species. But his sexual deviance was easily satisfied.
It was a simple exchange, or so Reagan saw it. He supplied her with the boyfriend of her dreams, filling her little naive and dreamy mind of her with little thought bubbles of love and such. In exchange, she fed his sexual appetite and his lust for a goodlooking companion to spend Friday nights with. Very simplistic, very productive. It was exactly how the young man based all of his relationships.
What is a friend, infact? He would ask, if some one questioned the matter. Some one you can confide in? No, not quite. You can confide in your parents and they're not friends are they? No. Friends are people who's presense enduces the feeling of happiness or a good time. Happiness and good times release endorphins in the mind, making one feel better, /better/ing their outlook and feelings towards their current state in life. A friends presense supplies a person with a positive outlook.
It was this concept, this simple exchange concept, that mapped Max Reagan as both a selfish man and a complete asshole.
Max saw every person as either a beneficial oppurtunity or a complete waste--and trust me, it took less than a second to see which one you fell under. In majority, he found people useful. Friends were a good time, and if you weren't with him, than he was more than likely down your throat and trying to rip you apart from the inside out. There were only four ways that the young man interacted with people--friendly (phew, what a bullet dodged), aggressively (making people upset is what makes him happy), deceitfully (Hello, Ladies), or in no way at all (worthless).
The truth was this:
Nothing felt better than tearing another person down to shreds. Nothing.family & history
FATHER: William Octavious Reagan - 47 - Big Business Man
MOTHER: Zoe Laurel Reagan - Deceased at age 35
SIBLINGS: None - he's a spoiled brat.
OTHER FAMILY: Jack Callahan - Cousin
HISTORY:
TO BE SHORT: Mr. and Mrs. Reagan was a stereotypical sort of love story. Boy with fat wallet meets girl, girl who loves cash likes guy, guy and girl get married and make oodles of dough. Establishing himself a job as the CEO of the family business, Reagan Inc, William Reagan was, as many could say eloquently, filthy-stinkin-rich. Zoe Reagan, or Zozo as others would effectionately identify her as, didn't do half bad herself from funds and a job in the real estate agency. Many of sparks flew on the night that they met--which was more than likely at one of those banquets in honor of a newly restored building. It was only a matter of time before the rich-couple settled down and started a family within the small town.
On June 7, 1990, Maxim Alexander Reagan was born. The Reagan trio would continue the status quo normalcy until Max had reached the tender age of 14, when William found himself in an affair with one of his workers at the office. It caused major friction between the family and tore apart the happily married until Zoe died, one year later.
- {pos} His first fight: In lamens terms, he got his ass kicked. Completely and entirely did the Reagan boy take a beating. Regardless of the number of stitches that were needed to fix his cheek though, it taught him an infinite number of lessons. Firstly, to never talk shit that can't be backed up. And secondly, that revenge and violence were something very, very sweet. So sweet that it became quite the hobby.
- {neg} His first cigarette. "Shit, I look fuckin' cool..." His voice was barely a mumble as he took another drag, the tobacco product sitting low in the gap between his for and middle fingers, "...AND it calms me down too." There was a moments pause as he inhaled the smoke once again, this time holding his breath, letting the tainted air billow in his lungs. As he exhaled it poured from his nostrils and lips, tracing his face before disapating before him. "They should sell these things by the pound to those dumb twats in the hospital with postpardum depression..." It was the first destructive vice he'd accumulate.
- {pos} Loosing his virginity. Any guy that wouldn't say the same is a fag. Sure it was a brash decision, seeing as there was a bit of liquor involved at the tender age of 13, but well worth it. Not like he could recall the girls name, but it did give him another one of his favorite "hobbies".
- {x} His father's affair with Linda. Dad wasn't a super hero any more--he was a two timing user. Specially when young Maxim, in his early teenage years, walked in on his fathers hands upon another woman. Not his mother. He didn't believe in what was right or that other people came first (two concepts that Max had always failed to see the truth it, but looked up to his Dad to teach him). All his father wanted was a little ass and a good time--not thinking about his mothers feelings, nor his (Max's) own. It was in this instant that it triggered what Max viewed as the true nature in people, how life's interactions were nothing more than a simple transaction of give and take. The event also stimulated the stereotypical hate that a teenage boy develops for ones Dad, and god damn...did Max have a vendetta.
- {neg} His mother's death, obviously. He was as prepared as he'd ever be for it--or so he'd tell himself. Allready an emotionally withdrawn kid since birth, the tragedy of loosing his one true iconic guardian created an implosion on his psyche. They went a bit as follows:
She was the right in his life, his beacon. And now what? Many of nights were wasted alone in the confines of his own mind, drinking lethal amounts of liquor and popping pills as if they were M&Ms.
In life, evil perishes and the good prevail...right? So why is it that the good is gone. Why. Why the valiant, why the right? The answer is easy. There is no right. The is no evil. There is no valiant, good, bad, or anything else of the sort. There is only yourself.
You are the static character in your own life. Emotions are the dynamics. Emotions are what get in your way. They are what hinder or support you, they can confuse you and destroy you. With no emotions, you are a human being, just plain and simple.
It was his emotional investment in his mother that made her seem like a hero--not her choices, or her views. He didn't admire her for her spiffy choices in curtains seeing as they matched the carpet ever so nicely, nor did he look up to her for how she viewed Friends as one of the greatest TV shows on cable.
The more he though about it, the more he realized that there perhaps wasn't a damn thing he did idolize about her. She was materialistic, she didn't enjoy life. She complained about the state of things, spoke on many subjects that she knew nothing of, and never took the time to help him with his homework. He didn't like her at all, come to think of it.
His dad on the other hand...well, Max was starting to realize just how smart about life his Dad actually was. He didn't dictate his choices because of other people (whether they be his wife or son). He didn't complain about the state of things, instead he created a state that made him happy. He was absorbed in his work--a work that he enjoyed, and regardless of the toll it took on others, he kept on truckin to do things that he knew made him feel right.
Max began to idolize him.dream form
In dream form, Maxim's handsome features are marred in form - his human form turned groteque and disproportionate. Standing tall at about 6'8, a dark, ominous, armored figure manifests itself from Reagan's mind. His arms and legs are covered in ebony and blood red metal, much like a knights greeves, hands following in fashion with a pair of iron chain links covering his skin. Deformed metal rods coil around a hollow center to create the creatures chest, blood tainting the beams like rust, as their ebony and scarlett theme match the rest of his attire. Blood red cloth snakes through the folds of metal, stemming from the joint grooves between his coiled center and greeved arms, over the creatures shoulder, and to rap around his elongated neck. Beneath the folds lies a dirty silver pendent of a Flur Elise ( a token of a appreciation for his mother), hidden from plain site and trapped within the metal folds of his chest. His face is mostly hidden by his collar, the cloth coming up past his lips only to meet the edges of his frayed, dark and messy black hair.
(For reference, imagine a weird mix between Nightmare, from Soul Calibur IV & Auron, from Final Fantasy X)
