Post by hound on Oct 12, 2013 14:33:28 GMT -5
| [atrb=border, 0, true][atrb=style, width: 485px; background-color: #EDEDED; border: #A39480 5px solid; padding: 10px;] [style=font-family: arial narrow; font-size: 20px; color: #EDEDED; text-align: center; text-transform: uppercase; text-shadow: #000000 1px 1px 1px; letter-spacing: 2px;]MAKISM VANDIK TARASOV JUNIOR • ELITE • ALEX MCKEE [/style] [style=width: 190px; background-color: #A5435C; padding: 5px; text-align: left; color: #EDEDED; font-family: arial-narrow; font-size: 16px; text-transform: uppercase; text-shadow: #000000 1px 1px 1px;]student profile nickname(s) Maks, sometimes birthday & age April 17. Age seventeen. gender Male physical description |
weight: 130 lbs
hair color: dyed pitch black, usually a medium chestnut brown. He dyes a lot though, so it’s fairly variable.
eye color: hazy green
distinguishing features: tongue piercing, silhouette of a borzoi running tattooed on the inside of his left foot, 3/4" gauges, belly button piercing that he's considering letting close up.
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sexual orientation
Gay
personality profile
interests
Theater, giving direction, being in charge, the arts, dogs, running, walking around without pants on, creating a spectacle, older boys.
dislikes
assholes (hypocrite), hypocrites (hypocrite), rabbits, small children, people talking over him, being disrespected, baseball, early morning wakeups, people who have to be drunk to have a good time.
the future
directing on Broadway, in Hollywood, showing dogs in his spare time.
hobbies
directing (active member of the drama club, if that counts as ‘outside of school’), showing dogs, drag racing, generally socializing.
fears & secrets
He’s terrified of losing control and winding up alone. He keeps his anxiety highly under wraps, wouldn’t want anyone to find out he’s unstable now would he?
personality
Makism is what you’d call… something else. He’s a social pariah in socialite’s clothing. This is a boy that’s a bit different, and by a bit I mean a lot. He has an imagination that takes over his entire personality, and that happens quite a bit. He’s one to adore the spotlight, and he’s not above making a spectacle of himself to do it. You’ll find him at the heart of the party, the eye of the storm, and hovering around anyone with ecstasy in their pocket. Anything that will liven up the creative spirit in his body is something that he’ll reach for. He’s not above drugs, he’s not holier than thou, he just is.
Sexually, he’s very open. He likes to be around someone attractive, someone flashy, someone that will pay him attention. Anyone that looks twice at Maks, anyone with a pretty face, anyone that shows an interest… so long as they’re on his level. If you’re on his level, you’re greenlighted. Sleep with you once, good for you. Sleep with you twice, good for him. Sleep with Makism more than that? Well, then you’re pretty damn special. He’s only ever been with two for more than a few nights so don’t count on it.
Noise, parties, sexuality, giving orders—they make his world go around. He’s loud and he’s not scared to put himself out there. There’s a biting sarcasm to Makism that you can’t miss, and in order to spend any degree of time around him you need to have a thick skin. He’s more than willing to rip you up one side and down the other. At the same time, Maks is the clingy type. If you’re really considered his friend… watch out. You’ll probably never get rid of this kid. He wants someone that can take his orders, someone that will play with him, someone that will challenge him—friends are important. He relies heavily on his friends.
And the thing is, he doesn’t lock out the other cliques. He locks out most of the other cliques. The artists, the ones Makism originally fell in with when he came, also have his heart in a little cage. He’s more than willing to associate with them, so long as they’re cool enough. Maybe, in some universe, he’d still consider himself an artist. Well, he is an artist, just with more drive than they ever had. With more opportunities. He doesn’t tend to bring that up to their faces, though.
The little things that no one knows? Maks is on meds for anxiety. They interact poorly with shrooms and X, so he doesn’t take them when he knows he’ll be partying, usually on Fridays—that’s when you have to keep a close eye on him. He’s prone to breaking down, to anxiety attacks, to shutting himself out. He’ll do it for hours or days, as long as it takes to get his head back in order. Don’t expect a fluffy side from Makism, because no one has really found one yet.
Sexually, he’s very open. He likes to be around someone attractive, someone flashy, someone that will pay him attention. Anyone that looks twice at Maks, anyone with a pretty face, anyone that shows an interest… so long as they’re on his level. If you’re on his level, you’re greenlighted. Sleep with you once, good for you. Sleep with you twice, good for him. Sleep with Makism more than that? Well, then you’re pretty damn special. He’s only ever been with two for more than a few nights so don’t count on it.
Noise, parties, sexuality, giving orders—they make his world go around. He’s loud and he’s not scared to put himself out there. There’s a biting sarcasm to Makism that you can’t miss, and in order to spend any degree of time around him you need to have a thick skin. He’s more than willing to rip you up one side and down the other. At the same time, Maks is the clingy type. If you’re really considered his friend… watch out. You’ll probably never get rid of this kid. He wants someone that can take his orders, someone that will play with him, someone that will challenge him—friends are important. He relies heavily on his friends.
And the thing is, he doesn’t lock out the other cliques. He locks out most of the other cliques. The artists, the ones Makism originally fell in with when he came, also have his heart in a little cage. He’s more than willing to associate with them, so long as they’re cool enough. Maybe, in some universe, he’d still consider himself an artist. Well, he is an artist, just with more drive than they ever had. With more opportunities. He doesn’t tend to bring that up to their faces, though.
The little things that no one knows? Maks is on meds for anxiety. They interact poorly with shrooms and X, so he doesn’t take them when he knows he’ll be partying, usually on Fridays—that’s when you have to keep a close eye on him. He’s prone to breaking down, to anxiety attacks, to shutting himself out. He’ll do it for hours or days, as long as it takes to get his head back in order. Don’t expect a fluffy side from Makism, because no one has really found one yet.
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hometown
Moscow, Russia.
parents
Aleksander Tarasov Sr. • Doctor • Living
Kristia Matsuk • unknown • living but out of the picture
Kristia Matsuk • unknown • living but out of the picture
siblings
Aleksandr Tarsov II • 16
Dimitri Tarasov • 16 (Aleks and Dimitri are ten months apart)
Dimitri Tarasov • 16 (Aleks and Dimitri are ten months apart)
status
wealthy
history
born in Moscow • mother left when he was seven • father never really speaks of her, no one ever really takes much notice • Makism becomes attached to the spotlight a eight • falls in love with directing at ten • is exposed to the world of canine sports at eleven by a family friend, falls in love almost as much • comes out of the closet at 12, father fears for his safety in Russia as a boy who likes boys • keeps himself under wraps until getting involved with an Irish boy on a summer holiday at 14 • basically becomes a youth in revolt at fifteen, dating a much older young man (18) • shows his pet project, a borzoi from Russian lines, at his first international dog show... also his first trip to the US • gets shipped off to boarding school in California (duh), where he loses a year in translation between the education systems • rises to the top, becomes a shining star, and falls in love with his new life • spends a life changing summer in Ibiza, partying and stealing hearts and breaking hearts • gets his first tattoo-- don't tell dad • has a massive case of senioritis as a junior
the puppeteer
your alias
hound
time rping
Eightish years now?
how did you find us
Caution.
rp sample
Self destruction. Wouldn’t that be nice. Dimitri would quite like to simply well up and burst one day. Everything that raged on inside his head would simply get to be too much, and he’d pop. Didn’t sound that hard, now did it? Not to him. Not to the shadow’s son. It was perfectly natural, something that he was allowed to want. His father had nearly done it several times. Quinn was dead now. He could only assume the same of Makism, though you could never be sure with the shadow himself. He was so like his son. He was so like the idea to well up and burst, a blister that’s been rubbed on for far too long.
He feels like that, no more and no less. A blister, just waiting for a sharp, sterile needle to break through the outer skin and pop the inside. Yes, he felt as if his own insides would pop. That was the point of gnawing through the flesh on his leg, to feel himself torn and bleeding. He was meant to bleed. To bleed was to be alive, and how else could he have been sure? He’d been lied to for so long. Everything, everything he wanted and everything he knew, was a lie.
Jaidah wasn’t the one he mourned. Even after all this time, Dimitri was aching over the losses of the family he’d never really had. Pompeii had been killed. Delta had been murdered. There was something there that sent his self-worth down the drain. Delta had been killed because of him. There was a guilt that he would never be able to escape. There was nothing that he could escape, not now. He couldn’t handle that it was his duty to wear the heavy collar of it around his neck, dragging him around forever. The only thing that felt better was to bleed. He needed to bleed, so he bled.
And then there is Chael. From the moment the man crops up, Dimitri’s lips lift over pearly white teeth. They shine still, like snow, save for the pink tint that still stain them. He’d bitten into his own tongue as well, teeth sinking into the tender muscle hard enough to leave marks. Yes, Dimitri wanted to feel pain. He was the one who wanted to hurt now, and the appearance of the omega sent his hackles up. It was a rough ridge of fur along the back of the shadow’s son. He didn’t want this.
Yet here he was, presenting what could only be construed as comfort. Blood still oozed from the wound on his foreleg, the sting of the sticky air against the skin not enough. It was never enough. He never felt alive enough to truly feel alive. Hell, he didn’t even make sense anymore. There’s still a growl in his chest as his eyes fix on the omega. “Then it will be you bleeding, not me.” A short pause. Dramatic effect. “Then there will be no point.” The words drip the slightest venom, a silvery strand of acid green dripping from his jaws. Yes, the malice is there, but it’s simmering only slowly.
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