profile - male character.

i've been making this character for a roleplaying forum (specifically, a harry potter-esque one; i'm a nerd, i know) for a few days now, and i like how he turned out. here's the profile and such:




certainly, there was something a tad wrong here ..? he felt as though someone was watching him, following his every movement. to be frank, it ticked him off. to be even more blunt, why the fuck would someone want to watch him in the alley as he smoked a cigarette? it was not the most interesting thing in the world. it was not watching some exciting quidditch match or a game of muggle football. it was just him, smoking a cigarette outside to be polite to the patrons inside the pub. so why did he feel that someone's eyes were on his back, staring as he dropped the cigarette butt onto the cobblestones and stamped it out with the toe of his black leather shoes? this was unsettling.

---

maybe it was a money issue. 

for the longest time, milo had money. being the oldest catchlove child, responsibility was what  he was told. from age seven until he was seventeen, his mother asked for things to be done around the house. help pick up the toys, she would ask. trim the lawn the muggle way, she requested when he was older. do the dishes. fetch the muggle post. so on, and so on, and so on. it was something he grew used to. just do what you're told, and everything will be okay. eventually, he got paid for the little odd-jobs his mother asked him to do. he enjoyed it. when his siblings were old enough and got paid as well, he still got paid the most. when his siblings got their money, they would try to spend it as quickly as they could usually. candy, small toys, and so on. milo, meanwhile, tended to hoard it up in a shoebox he kept under his bed. his mother never looked there for it. his father didn't know it existed. his brother and sisters, however, had a very good idea that there was a large sum of money underneath their brother milo's bed. they would ask him for some when they didn't have enough to pay for whatever their little heart desired. of course, he lent them the money. what big and kind-hearted brother would he be if he didn't ..? at least they paid him back. 

meanwhile, at hogwarts, the friends he made tended to ask for sums of money from time to time themselves. it took them a lot longer to remember that they owed him something. he kept mental tabs of who still owed him something. that one girl from fifth year still owed him a couple of galleons, but she was probably dead at this point. muggle-born and the like, and at this point, he knew something weird was going on in his world. anyways, this isn't the point. the fact that he was able to keep mental tabs on the people who owed him money was startling. the most he ever lent out to someone was his best friend, and that motherfucker owed him at least fifty galleons. fifty. he lost contact with him last year, and he was sure that he only disappeared so that milo wouldn't have to kick his arse. he needed to stop being a little bitch about it and just own up that he didn't have the means of getting him the money right away. that's fine, it's all great and dandy. but if he didn't do it soon, he was going to start charging that fucker some interest ..

---

a vicious ex, maybe?

he never claimed to be a casanova. at twenty-six years old, milo was probably the exact opposite. he was usually bitter and grumpy and honestly, what woman would want him? advice from his sister greta was less than helpful. the girl loved fucking cheese, for god's sake. that couldn't help him. his youngest sister, myf, was a little too young. ten years definitely made a difference. where she was just getting into guys, he had been with at least as many woman as she had number to her age. which, if that last sentence didn't make a lick of sense - he's been with at least sixteen women.

only a few of them have been intense and serious relationships. the girl he lost his virginity to still held a special little place in his heart. he was fourteen; she was about to turn fifteen. no, there was nothing wrong with an older woman. they had an on-and-off sort of relationship. he had no idea what love was. she probably did and wanted to spend that loving time with him. he just couldn't. he wasn't there yet in his life, and his maturity levels were certainly lacking. (then again, was there ever a guy who was mature at age fourteen? if so, he'd like to meet that guy and just punch his sorry ass in the face or something) that first relationship only lasted him about two, three months at the most. any longer and he was sure his attention span would be dying to break free. the next serious relationship was a girl he dated during his sixth and seventh year. oh yeah, much longer. after figuring out what he was going to be doing for most of his life (fucking budgets, fuck fuck fuck them why did he even agree to go into THAT department of the ministry?!), he could take school a little easier. he met this girl in his advanced arithmancy class. she was a smart girl, a fellow ravenclaw. he never really paid much attention to the girls of his house because most of them seemed too eccentric for his taste or were just mousy little girls who didn't have big breasts. she was a fuller-figure sort of girl, but she had that hot librarian look about her. my. god. yes, he was thinking with his two heads at that point. yes, they dated. he enjoyed her presence a lot. she was funny and sweet and everything the "bad boy" shouldn't have found before he was out of his said "bad boy" stage. he thought they would consider dating after hogwarts was done, but she ended up getting a job in the united states for something. apparently, their ministry was not as amazing as the british one, so she ended up getting a deputy department position. she ended it. he was sad for a little while. they wrote to each other. he liked that. then they lost contact about two years after hogwarts. sigh. the last and final woman he would've considered himself serious with was definitely his last girlfriend. they dated for a year and a half. he met her through his job; she was a secretary at another department in the ministry. she was pretty much what you'd assume the typical secretary to be. hot. no brain. good looking. delivers a mean blow-job. good for a quick fuck. and so on. but she captivated him because he thought she could cut a bitch if she had to. oh well. it ended not so well, so maybe it was her who was attempting to hunt him down.

possibly to kill him or cut off his dick. shit. 

---

no, no, no. it had to be because he was a half-blood.

his mum and his dad certainly loved each other. and they were both magical folk and the like! it was just that little fact that his father ended up being a muggle-born wizard and his mother was a pureblooded witch. he really hated this fact, deep deep down in his stomach. he wasn't ashamed of his upbringing. he didn't mind the fact that yes, in order to do most of the housework, he had to put a little muscle into it until he was of age to use magic to do it. he didn't mind that at all. he didn't mind that he knew what muggle football was, as well as how to properly use the public transportation in london and not look like an utter fool. he knew things that most pureblooded witches and wizards turned their noses up to. they obviously liked standing out in the real world and had no idea how so fucking awesome it was to just blend in with the rest of the world. he could totally sneak around and just do some crazy shit and no one wouldn't even think he was a freak wizard creature blob. but the fact that there was this strange movement going on about having to keep your papers with you if you're a muggle-born witch or wizard was .. well, he didn't find it to be any good. but what could he do?

being a budget man in the ministry was ridiculous. no one took him seriously. he wasn't a pureblood or a muggle-born. he just kind of existed. other purebloods in the ministry thought he was still scum under their shoes and deserved to be stepped on. at times, he just wanted to lash out and punch them hard in the nose so that they bled over those stupid and ridiculously expensive clothes. and stained them. and he would just laugh and laugh. they deserved it. they were dumb and high and mighty and fuck, they were still running the show after all these years (like, since the beginning of time apparently). and as a half-blood, apparently he was supposed to scowl and demean the muggle-borns. what sort of shit is that? he didn't think they deserved that. they had enough of a hard time accepting that they were magical and that their family was always in danger because they were muggles and stuff. i mean, that's difficult. he only had to deal with his father's side not really knowing about the catchlove kids. it was for their own good, and he understood that from the beginning. but still, just because someone was one blood type versus another, did it really matter that much? all people will die one day. you become dust. scraps. and then you're insignificant. sure, people will cry about you. sob. grieve when you're gone. but one day, they get over it. they just fucking get over it - and then you're nothing. people always start out as nothing and end up as nothing. it all just depends on what you decide to do in the meantime. will you be something or will you just exist and coincide along with the rest of your life? for milo, he was desperate to make a name for himself.

except how the fuck is a budget official going to do something?

---

okay, maybe it was someone he had beaten up.

yeah, so what if milo had a bit of a violent streak? can't an intelligent man just beat people up if they deserved it? sure, at first it was just his brother and him, bashing it out and trying to prove to one another that they had a lot of testosterone building up in their small and prepubescent bodies or something. that sounded right. by the time he got to school and was sorted into ravenclaw, his parents warned him that they wouldn't tolerate him fighting other boys just because he felt like it. he promised at that point to do his best to not wallop on the other kids at hogwarts. and he was able to keep that promise until he was fifteen.

in his fifth year, with nearly impeccable grades, he was sure to get prefect. he knew that he would. but instead, they gave it to this weird kid who looked like he didn't even hit puberty yet (granted, fifteen year old boys are still kind of awkward and scrawny, but seriously, he looked akin to what people in modern times (as in, post this forum) would call the justin bieber of his day). he had glasses. he was pale as the underwear he probably wore. white briefs. what an unmanly thing to wear. though, he probably didn't have much of a dick at that point, so milo felt a little pity for the kid. a little. so one day, very early in his fifth year, he asked the kid if he'd like to study with him for something. kid was stupid and said sure, just name the time and place. milo decided it'd be best to meet the kid up on the astronomy tower. very few people would even be around. and if they were? well, they'd be too busy snogging to care about this kid getting beat up. the night arrived, and milo met his victim. as soon as they were out on top of the tower, he threw his right arm back and then forward, fist clenched tight. he punched the kid right in the jaw. the kid only had a split second to react before another punch landed in his abdomen. the kid fell, and milo continued the beating. he kicked him, he slapped him, he kneed him, he did everything he could possibly think of in that moment. after only a couple of minutes, he stood back. the kid's face was swollen, bruised, and his lip was bleeding. he was in a fetal position. milo eyed him, a heavy frown on his lips. nudging the kid with his toe, he pushed him onto his back. the kid gave him a look, and all milo could say was, "fuck you for taking my prefect badge." he spat and walked away, back down the tower, without guilt clouding his mind. it felt so good to just kick the shit out of that kid.

the fighting was an addiction to him. he loved to just punch people if they pissed him off, even if it was only for a little thing. it didn't matter to him. he loved to just watch people bleed. in school, he did his best to make a pureblood hit him before he launched an attack back. he got a few of them to go for it, but many of them tried to summon a professor to stop him. yes, he got a few detentions in his day for what he did. yes, he sent a lot of people to the hospital wing in the school. and yes, his parents finally sent him a howler after hearing what he did. his sister was extremely embarrassed of him, but milo shrugged greta off. he was male, he liked to beat people up, and it wasn't going to stop. and it didn't stop until he was twenty-three. after hogwarts, he would go to pubs, pick fights, then just beat the shit out of the first guy he could find that would get into it with him. it was great. but eventually he realized this would not look good at work if they ever found out about it. yes, the head of the budgeting department in fights all the time ..? so eventually, he stopped.

and he was sure he pissed off a whole bunch of people.

---

"sir?" someone asked, distracting him from his thoughts. milo glanced up at a younger man. he didn't look a day over eighteen, and it was strange to see someone this young around a place like this. he was holding something out to milo, and it just so happened to be milo's little black book.

"where'd you get that, kid?" he asked gruffly, eyeing him. the little black book of milo's usually never left his person. in it contained many notes about his everyday life. things he thought about when it came to people, places, things. budget calculations. the names and addresses of the women who had attempted to hook up with him. him counting the number of times he sent someone to a hospital via a fight. the names of women he'd like to be with. grocery lists. what was in that book was his life, no matter how mundane it was on a daily basis. the kid looked at the ground nervously.

"i .. uh, i think you left it in the cafe you were at before coming here? i saw you eating there, i was the waiter, and you were looking at this and making notes so i figured it'd be important, so i asked my boss to let me go and return it to you as we didn't have any other way of contacting you, so i had to follow you here and this isn't a very safe part of town, people get killed here so i'm not sure why you're even here --"

"shut up, kid. gimme that." milo snatched the black book from the kid and shoved it into his trouser pocket. ".. thank you for returning it. now get back to your job before your boss fires you or something." without another moment to spare, the kid ran off out of the alley and back out onto the crowded street. milo watched him for a moment, observing him and letting him go off. he pulled the book back out with a pen, and he made a note in the book to go back to that cafe and leave that kid a nice tip. after sticking it back into his pocket, milo shuffled out of the alley and placed another lit cigarette between his lips.

he inhaled and walked off. back to the old grind.

smoke

left, right, left, right.
inhale, exhale. inhale, exhale.

the time escaped him. all he knew was that it was late in the evening, entering that time of night where one blurred into the other. he couldn't tell what was going on anymore; a slight alcoholic buzz clouded his thoughts and made him more incoherent than his sober self would've wanted. hours ago, he swore it would only be one drink, and then he would leave the bar. it seemed as though it was six drinks later, all strong and potent. the bar closed down. he searched his mind for some logical sign, some reasonably thought that could tell him the fucking time and help him feel not so lost. two in the morning was when the bars closed, right? that sounded correct. so he estimated the time at two in the morning, and here he was, attempting to find his way back home.

of course he could attempt hailing a cab. driving was out of the question; then again, he didn't have a vehicle of his own. public transportation was shut down for the night, as far as he could remember. usually the buses stopped running around midnight in this part of town. so his only options were hailing a cab or walking his drunk ass home for the night. cab .. well, a chance that the cab didn't take credit existed. this side of town, more of those sort of cabs existed than uptown, where he lived. his cash had all been spent on those expensive and delicious alcoholic beverages. shit. seemed like the only thing he could now was walk his ass home and pray that he lived to see the sun in the morn.

his fingers wrestled in his pocket, and he dug out a pack of cigarettes. two were still sitting inside. he'd have to buy a new pack tomorrow. long fingers tugged out his second-to-last cig, and they stuck it between his lips. the pack was fisted back into his pocket with one hand while the other went searching for his lighter. fuck, where did it go? he couldn't seem to find it. each pocket of his trousers ended up being empty. shit shit shit. but wait - he was wearing a jacket. so his hands immediately went there, searching inside as the nicotine craving suddenly began to rise. he had to have his lighter somewhere, anywhere. he couldn't live without a fag, he just couldn't. at last, the sleek blue lighter was grasped gently between his fingers and palm. he pulled it out from the left jacket pocket and clicked it. a flame. it was beautiful, gorgeous, and so bright. he lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply. oh, how that feeling of relief filled his being. he felt more at ease. the lighter was still lit, and his fingers had yet to place it back in his pocket. if there was a way to keep the flame going, he'd do anything.

he stopped walking. his eyes, dull and dark, glanced to the building at his right. it was an old rundown building, probably been sitting there since the 1950s. the stoop was cracked. shutters on the windows were hanging by weak hinges. it was different than many of the buildings in the area. most were newer, made of brick or stone, and had an industrial feel to them. as if they were government projects, all about uniformity. this one was unique. he liked it. he liked it a lot. he had no idea how long he stood there, gazing upon the beautiful building. it really was beautiful. he wanted to be the only one to see it now. the last one to see it. no one else appreciated this building. no one. it had been left standing there for decades, poorly being taken care of by the city. didn't they realize that this was one of the last buildings like this in the area?! no. no, all they cared about were the industrial buildings surrounding the area. that's all they ever poured their money into, but they couldn't even keep something as beautiful as this alive.

he clicked his lighter down, jamming it far into the plastic. he threw it at the building, letting it land on the wooden porch. he stood there, watching. slowly, the porch burned, flames climbing higher and higher onto the wooden columns.

he took a long drag from his cigarette, appreciating the last beautiful thing around.

he walked away.

teeth

"show me your teeth."

he looked up and came face to face with a young woman, hair fair and skin pale. her eyes were hidden behind a pair of aviators. he thought he could smell the alcohol on her breath, a mixture of whiskey and .. vodka? he winced. that didn't seem like such a wonderful mix. then again, he was certain that most people stuck their noses up at the thought of scotch - his drink of choice - so maybe he shouldn't be so quick to judge her. but this young woman was most definitely intoxicated. intoxicated by what though? was it the alcohol that she had consumed, or was it the fact that she was hovering over him in that bar? there were plenty other men for her to latch to, yet here she was, waiting for his response.

"pardon?" he asked as politely as he could. "i'm not quite sure what you mean."

"now show me your fangs!" she cried, placing her hand upon his jaw and squeezing to pucker his mouth. his eyes widened as he gently shoved her away. a strangled yell escaped her throat as she stumbled backwards. he grabbed her wrist to keep her head from crashing against the bar counter. his eyes darted around, seeing if anyone was paying attention to what was going on.

of course not. that was the deal in this world. no one ever paid attention to anything unless it directly affected them. then, and only then, would they give a shit.

"listen, dear," he softly said, steadying her and rising from his bar stool. "i'm not sure what you're talking about, this whole .. show me your teeth, show me your fangs business. if you're talking about that silly twilight series and believe me to be a vampire, i hope you know you're sorely mistaken."

her eyes - god, they were a bright blue, shiny and glossy - gave him a strange look. he wasn't quite sure what to make of it, what to think. maybe she was secretly sober and was just trying to get a rise out of him. maybe this was a dare of some sort. immediately, his eyes searched the young crowd of twenty-somethings, drunk and grinding on the dance floor. their music pounded the walls, shuddered the building, and caused him a headache. he hated that he was here, but he was. it made him feel better about his silent life, a life where he only seemed to go on and just float. he had no control, no power - and he did not feel like a man. a man was supposed to be the epitome of power, control - dominance. but he could hardly fucking pay for a meal, and he was barely scraping by. how the hell would he be able to make it with a woman, a family .. he wouldn't, that's how. the girl tugged on his arm, pulling him out the door. all he could do was just follow aimlessly.

"you're a vampire!" she squealed as they entered the moonlight. now he knew she was drunk - or maybe she was just crazy? it was difficult to tell what she really was. she pulled away and spun around, giggling incessantly. his head throbbed painfully. she was barely clothed: a fitted tank top that rode up her stomach, a skirt that barely covered her ass, heels that probably could kill him if she took them off and stabbed him in the eye. she was also much younger than him - this would not end well. he was fearful of what this girl was doing. someone would see them, cry rape or assault or something on a minor, and he'd be in jail faster than someone could say "i'm innocent, i swear!"

"i'm not a vampire," he responded, brow creasing in frustration with this girl. he was sure that this was some sort of prank, a dare her friends put her up to after she had a few shots in her system. she seemed like a ballsy girl, and he supposed this was the way she had to prove it. he grabbed her to make her stop spinning. "quit that," he added. "you're going to make yourself sick."

she giggled again; he groaned in agony. "stop that!" he cried, anger slowly seeping into his voice.

her brow delicately arched and a smirk graced her lips. "i'm gonna love you with my hands tied - show me your teeth."

he gritted his teeth and bared them to her before he pulled her face close and kissed her.

he felt like a man.

written on april 22, 2010