Post by Flip on Nov 23, 2010 2:23:24 GMT -5
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[/img][/center]Full Name: Robert "Flip" Delacroix
Age: 21
Race: Human
Powers (if Fallen angel or other): None
Appearance: Flip stands a hair under six feet tall with a lanky, toned build. His shaggy, unkempt hair is normally dyed some shade of purple or blue, accenting his bright hazel eyes. His wardrobe consists largely of old sneakers, worn blue jeans that look ready to fall apart at any time, and a t-shirt of some sort, sometimes worn under a plaid long sleeved button up. The only accessory he ever wears is a red spiked collar that belonged to his childhood pet.
Personality: Flip is a friendly and open sort of person, willing to help just about anyone with anything he is able. He is something of a rambunctious sort, brimming with energy and almost always carrying some form of sugary goodness on his person. Despite his cheery disposition, however, he does have his own personal demons that occasionally come to the surface. If pushed far enough he will snap and has done several brief stints of anger management because of it. These were each due to isolated incidents in which he attacked people who posed a threat to others could not defend themselves.
Job: Bassist for a punk rock band, bartender, part time student
RP Sample
Flip sat in the graveyard with a finished hot fudge sundae, sitting at the edge of one of the more recent graves. It had only been there for a couple of years and it was part of Flip's regular routine to come here. Every Tuesday and Thursday after class and before work or rehersal, depending on the day, he would come out here and sit.
Leaning a bit to the side, he would place his head on the stone and let out a heavy sigh. "Ya know what?" Bright hazel eyes would drift downwards toward the fresh flowers he'd placed on the grave a half hour prior. "Three years, and I still can't think of a thing to say, a way to apoligize for what happened. I mean...they tell me it wasn't my fault." Flip sat the bowl to the side and brought his knees up to his chest, staring at the ground before letting out a shaky sigh. "Forget it..." He got to his feet and grabbed the bowl, dusting off his pants before walking off.
When he was close to the gate he would turn around and give a wave to the stone, reading over the words for a few seconds. Melissa Delacroix, beloved daughter and sister From the dates on the grave it could be seen that she was only fourteen when she'd passed away.