Post by rivas on Nov 16, 2008 1:49:07 GMT -5
Name: Alan Rivas
Age: 20
Ethnicity: American
Misc Body Information (Height, Weight): 6'0 ft, 195 lbs.
Occupation/Trade: Manager and Head Chef of the Angel Mort Restaurant, 2nd Lieutenant Colonel of International Paintball Leagues’ Blue Team.
Personality: Often shy around girls, he tends to try and purposely start meaningless conversations just to overcome his fear. Loves to entertain large crowds, and to make people laugh. He hates to find out people talk about him behind his back, even it is a positive thing. Doesn’t want to be near his family because his is a man and doesn’t think he needs them. Hates to lose, at almost anything. Hates knives even though he is around them all day cooking. Is very protective of his business, so he loves to carry a handgun wherever he goes. Loves anime. And constantly jokes about it. Is scared of the Hinamizawa curse, and is paranoid of becoming a victim of the curse.
Personal Interests, and Quirks: Cooking, paintball. Is a pronounced otaku.
Character History: Was born and raised in New York City, and had grown up around cooking and food, yet never ate his own creations cause he didn’t want to be disappointed if it was not good enough for his taste. He also discovered at an early age that he had the power to make people laugh, even though he didn’t mean to. When he turned 17 he moved to Hinamizawa and opened his own cafe/restaurant there. He even designed his own unique uniforms for his waitresses. They are suggestive to most people, but a turn on to him. He has had some luck with girls and yet is afraid of rejection, so he tends to stay out of the dating game. He is also afraid of being robbed because he has seen the news of robberies gone wrong. So he often carries around a small loaded hand gun his his inner jacket pocket.
He loves anime and often orders it from Japan, he is somewhat fluent in Japanese. But does not tell anyone because they will think he is a geek, but he is proud of being one. Is very paranoid of the Hinamizawa curse and even though he is no cursed yet, living in fear is not working for him, and he feels like he is going crazy because of the pressure.
Was 2nd Lieutenant Colonel of the International Paintball League. Don’t underestimate him, just because the wars he fought in were not deadly, it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know about gun combat and strategy planning.
And he can hot-wire, just wanted to add that.
What he/she looks like: Black hair, brown eyes, 6 feet tall. Average body build. Small scars on his hands form failed chopping vegetable attempts. He is a very nice looking person, with a manly voice which sounds better through a microphone. ALWAYS wears a white chef suit because he wants to cook all the time, even when preforming on stage.
His chef hat is only worn when his is actually cooking, other wise he thinks he would look stupid. Some times wears glasses but only when reading something important.
Roleplay Sample: Alan looked at his watch, it was about ten till eleven o’clock. Closing time. Everyone else had gone home for the night. He finished washing his last dishes and dried off his hands. He walked across the slick white floor to the coat rack. He slid on his brown leather Dockers jacket and stepped out the back door to the parking lot, but not before he turned out the lights and flipped the open sign to closed. The brisk air blowing past his face. He could almost see his breath it was so cold. He made his way to his black Mustang, when he heard them.
The foot steps, the foot steps that everyone said followed them, right before they died. He reached for his gun. He clutched it in his hand, spinning around with his gun drawn he shouted. “Back off man, I know how to use this.” But not to his surprise, not a soul was there. “Your not taking me.” he made a mad dash for his vehicle. Stumbling over the gravel underneath his shoes. He couldn’t find his keys, he remembered he had left them inside on the counter.
“No, you won’t spirit me away.” he yelled frantically. He fired his gun twice in the air. He smashed open is car window and hopped inside. He knew how to hot-wire, he bashed open his dash board and reached for the inside cords. “Come on, come on!!!!” he panicked. Finally he managed to start the car, and peeled out of the parking lot. With no disregard for anyone else’s safety but his own.
And that was when it happened, he had crashed straight into a tree. He clenched the steering wheel, as the air bag didn’t deploy, his forehead bleeding, from the impact. He struggled to see what was happening around him. He got out of the twisted wreckage, and made his way to a park bench, and sat down, thinking, “What am I doing, There isn’t even anyone after me.”
Disoriented and confused, he could still make out the voice from behind him. It said “Hello”
Age: 20
Ethnicity: American
Misc Body Information (Height, Weight): 6'0 ft, 195 lbs.
Occupation/Trade: Manager and Head Chef of the Angel Mort Restaurant, 2nd Lieutenant Colonel of International Paintball Leagues’ Blue Team.
Personality: Often shy around girls, he tends to try and purposely start meaningless conversations just to overcome his fear. Loves to entertain large crowds, and to make people laugh. He hates to find out people talk about him behind his back, even it is a positive thing. Doesn’t want to be near his family because his is a man and doesn’t think he needs them. Hates to lose, at almost anything. Hates knives even though he is around them all day cooking. Is very protective of his business, so he loves to carry a handgun wherever he goes. Loves anime. And constantly jokes about it. Is scared of the Hinamizawa curse, and is paranoid of becoming a victim of the curse.
Personal Interests, and Quirks: Cooking, paintball. Is a pronounced otaku.
Character History: Was born and raised in New York City, and had grown up around cooking and food, yet never ate his own creations cause he didn’t want to be disappointed if it was not good enough for his taste. He also discovered at an early age that he had the power to make people laugh, even though he didn’t mean to. When he turned 17 he moved to Hinamizawa and opened his own cafe/restaurant there. He even designed his own unique uniforms for his waitresses. They are suggestive to most people, but a turn on to him. He has had some luck with girls and yet is afraid of rejection, so he tends to stay out of the dating game. He is also afraid of being robbed because he has seen the news of robberies gone wrong. So he often carries around a small loaded hand gun his his inner jacket pocket.
He loves anime and often orders it from Japan, he is somewhat fluent in Japanese. But does not tell anyone because they will think he is a geek, but he is proud of being one. Is very paranoid of the Hinamizawa curse and even though he is no cursed yet, living in fear is not working for him, and he feels like he is going crazy because of the pressure.
Was 2nd Lieutenant Colonel of the International Paintball League. Don’t underestimate him, just because the wars he fought in were not deadly, it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know about gun combat and strategy planning.
And he can hot-wire, just wanted to add that.
What he/she looks like: Black hair, brown eyes, 6 feet tall. Average body build. Small scars on his hands form failed chopping vegetable attempts. He is a very nice looking person, with a manly voice which sounds better through a microphone. ALWAYS wears a white chef suit because he wants to cook all the time, even when preforming on stage.
His chef hat is only worn when his is actually cooking, other wise he thinks he would look stupid. Some times wears glasses but only when reading something important.
Roleplay Sample: Alan looked at his watch, it was about ten till eleven o’clock. Closing time. Everyone else had gone home for the night. He finished washing his last dishes and dried off his hands. He walked across the slick white floor to the coat rack. He slid on his brown leather Dockers jacket and stepped out the back door to the parking lot, but not before he turned out the lights and flipped the open sign to closed. The brisk air blowing past his face. He could almost see his breath it was so cold. He made his way to his black Mustang, when he heard them.
The foot steps, the foot steps that everyone said followed them, right before they died. He reached for his gun. He clutched it in his hand, spinning around with his gun drawn he shouted. “Back off man, I know how to use this.” But not to his surprise, not a soul was there. “Your not taking me.” he made a mad dash for his vehicle. Stumbling over the gravel underneath his shoes. He couldn’t find his keys, he remembered he had left them inside on the counter.
“No, you won’t spirit me away.” he yelled frantically. He fired his gun twice in the air. He smashed open is car window and hopped inside. He knew how to hot-wire, he bashed open his dash board and reached for the inside cords. “Come on, come on!!!!” he panicked. Finally he managed to start the car, and peeled out of the parking lot. With no disregard for anyone else’s safety but his own.
And that was when it happened, he had crashed straight into a tree. He clenched the steering wheel, as the air bag didn’t deploy, his forehead bleeding, from the impact. He struggled to see what was happening around him. He got out of the twisted wreckage, and made his way to a park bench, and sat down, thinking, “What am I doing, There isn’t even anyone after me.”
Disoriented and confused, he could still make out the voice from behind him. It said “Hello”