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| Subject: Dean | |
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Author: Dean |
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Date Posted: 00:12:02 05/19/06 Fri Name: Deangelo de Santis (Doesn't fancy strangers crudely taking the liberty of butchering his name down to 'Dean,' but it seems Americans in general do not have the attention span nor class enough to do proper justice to a proud title and the nickname seems to be popular on this side of the seas. Ah well, eh?) Age: 26 years young. Gender: stud, thankyouverymuch Looks: Alright, let's start off with the details we'd rather not acknowledge. Not as tall as he'd like to be, a few inches under 6'. Well-toned but of slender build. Medium-brown hair of short, well-groomed style, no ABSOLUTELY NO facial hair ever tolerated -ladies do not love apes, afterall! At least, not the kind of ladies he would have any interest in meeting... Vibrant green eyes, a bit on the shifty side with always a dash of laughter to lend them a mischievious spark. Don't blame him, he cannot help it. Personality: A fun-loving companion so long as one doesn't expect any sort of loyalty out of him. Definately looks out first and foremost for his own interests, a bit feline in the balance of friendship and independence. Energetic, almost spastic if the truth be told, intelligent though not in the conventional sense of logic and reason. Quick mind, forever scheming, creative with an over-active imagination, sometimes nearly self-destructive in his enthusiasm. He really ought to be on medication of some sort, no doubt, but why numb experience? It's far more fun to be a free spirit than a mellowed-out mushroom! Self-discipline is not a talent of his, nor is holding his tongue when he has something to say, whether prudent or not. Most often not. One warning: wicked temper. History: The story is all the same with rich kids, isn't it? Well, between two extremes, that is. Either disgustingly doted upon, spoiled to pure rot like mushy pears, or shoved into the raspy hands of bitter-faced nannies to be stuffed into stiff itchy suits and kept out of sight until the family public image needed a touching boost, in which case even the youngest of children are expected to behave like angels before watching eyes. Well, he was not an angel. And he cared not at all for princely manners, nor for beastly social events in which he was forbidden to squirm, nor for the rules against dirtying one's shoes in the garden. What the hell were shoes for but to catch the mud that would otherwise crust up one's toes? When the disciplinary actions failed to mould the young Deangelo into a cherub's image, the boy was booted to the background of his family, labeled the black sheep and scorned for daring to be different. Well, screw that and screw the very people who ought to have loved him most for the hellion spirit he had possessed since his first breath! Chalk it up to bad genetics anyway, right? But one turbulent childhood and adolecence later, and the young aristocrat, educated but rebellious still, claimed his due fortune, turned his back on the past, and set out for greener pastures. And travel he had, scarcely denting the assets available to him, until wild whim had prompted him to call a single place his home. At least for a while. Location? Random flip through some maps and wherever his finger landed! Whoever heard of Remington? Certainly not the young de Santis! All the more reason to see it for himself, no? [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] |