Post by Dorian Gray on Dec 3, 2012 21:06:08 GMT -5
DORIAN GRAY
[/color][/font] "Because to influence a person is to give him one's own soul."
you say you're curious[/color]
CAN'T LEAVE A THING TO YOUR IMAGINATION[/font][/center]
AGE: 32
GENDER: male
SEXUALITY pansexual
BIRTHDAY: March 15
CLASS: arisocrat/rich
TITLE/RANK: Lord Dorian Gray
OCCUPATION: writer
ALIGNMENT: evil, though mainly to himself
SPECIES: human
MAGICAL POWERS: Portrait that ages in his stead; he is forever young
CANON/OC: Original
TV SERIES: (movie) Dorian Gray
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but oh, you seem so serious
[/color] I SHOULD ENJOY THE SWEET INTERROGATION[/font][/center]
HAIR: dark brown
WEIGHT: 142
HEIGHT: 5'11"
PLAY-BY: Ben Barnes
GENERAL: Dorian's physical appearance, in stark contrast to his personality and less than pure nature, is exquisite. He was once highly praised for his handsomeness, and it is the spring from which his narcissistic nature delves--as well as his eternal youth. He has a well-molded face, with the features of a Greek statue and lips that entice. This face pairs with dark eyes and dark hair to frame gentle white skin; his body is strong and well-kept.
ATTIRE: Dorian does not care for medieval dress, as he was raised in a moral-strict Victorian society. Thus, he keeps to himself and wears what he always has. More than anything, he strives to look the nobleman he's always been to hide his inner atrocity. He keeps always in his pocket his fob watch, even when he stoops so as to wear the proper clothing of the time.[/SIZE]
[/ul]
i should not be telling you
[/color] I'M FLATTERED BY YOUR INTEREST[/font][/center]
DISLIKES: love, outside influence, work, displeasure, law, vanity in others, those who dislike him
STRENGTHS: He is a refined writer and a steady friend to all who indulge in pleasure as much as he does. As well, he is a conaisseur of art and theatre.
WEAKNESSES: Vanity, greed, and more than anything the belief that hiding his painting will bring him the world.
QUIRKS/HABITS: Excessive foot tapping, smoking, drinking.
FEARS: That his painting will be found out and thus he will be unable to hide all the sins that have been written across it.
GOALS: To continue his life carefree, and perhaps make it back to Victorian England so that he may live more comfortably in familiar society.
PERSONALITY Dorian is, above all, a narcissist. He was turned from upstanding morals by a certain Lord Henry Wotton, who created of him the epitome of all Victorian follies. Dorian knows how handsome he is, and is confident in his appearance, knowing that he cannot age so long as his painting does it for him. His vanity, reinforced by anyone he can fish a compliment from, also shows in his incessent greed for any sort of pleasure he can find. He indulges in anything that sets his heart a-beating, and constantly searches for more things that will satisfy his ever-growing craving for personal pleasure.
Dorian was once a good young man, but his influences caused him to believe in the new Hedonism. Although he is shallow and ignores the irony, Dorian believes that it is ill-advised to be the influenced of another. He chooses to believe that all of his borrowed thoughts are his own, and instead of reasoning his immorality out, he lusts over women and takes up new passions and books. He is extremely materialistic and always expects others to do as he sees fit. His morals are low and his standards high. For Dorian, the only redeeming quality is his ignorance and physical beauty.[/SIZE]
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you start to hypnotize me
[/color] WHY SHOULD I TRUST YOU[/font][/center]
FATHER: William Gray
SIBLINGS: none
OTHER: his grandfather, Lord Kelso, who despised him
FAMILIAR/PET: none
PLACE OF BIRTH: London, England, 19th century
CURRENT RESIDENCE: a small rural castle, named Vane Castle
WEAPONRY:a pistol and several swords; Dorian is well-versed in swordfighting.
HISTORY: Dorian Gray was born to an English noblewoman who had eloped with a man of a lower class. This outraged Dorian's grandfather, who subsequently killed Mr. Gray. His daughter died soon afterwards, and custody of Dorian was passed to the bitter Lord Kelso, who was notoriously mean-spirited and quarrelsome, always making scenes by viciously haggling with cabmen and the like. Dorian grew up in his household, learning the trade of the Victorian nobles and beginning to adopt the policies as his own. To begin with, he was a conformist.
But around the time he was eighteen, Dorian met Basil Hallworth, a painter who believed he was the most beautiful subject to be found. Basil created art aplenty with Dorian as the subject and one day introduced the boy-with reluctance-to Lord Henry Wotton, whose ideas of society were as rebellious as Victorians dared to get, and who prompted Dorian to indulge in more pleasureful activities and his own beauty. In an uncharacteristic outrage at realizing his morality and short-lived beauty, Dorian cursed the painting Basil had painted and wished it could age in his stead. Little did he realize that his wish was granted, and he'd made a deal with Satan himself. Dorian takes the picture into his own home and displays it. It is not until after he falls in love with an actress and then selfishly breaks her heart-resulting in her suicide-that he realizes the deal was made.
He notices blemishes on the picture that were not preivously there and begins to worry. The painting is hidden away in his attic and covered so that no one may see the sins so clearly written across his face. He indulges in women and men, and in all the underground society of London. In another spell of anger, partially under the influence of alcohol and opium, Dorian kills the artist who created such a terrible work of art and has Basil's body disposed of in acid. These sins build up all the more hideously on the painting.
Dorian is disgusted with himself but unable to admit it because he is infatuated with everything he encompasses. There comes a point when even Lord Henry cannot accept that he is a good human being. But so long as the painting stays hidden an Dorian stays young, he's got nothing to worry about.
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who am i talking to
[/color] COULD BE A DEMON IN A MASK[/font][/center]
AGE: nineteen
EXPERIENCE: seven or eight years.
CONTACT: PM is best, but shoot me an email too.
MEMBER TITLE:
[i][color=black]A [b]secretive[/b] soul[/color][/i]
ANSWER: -Admin Edit- [/ul]
EXAMPLE:
It was with the utmost fear that Malice held up her head. She wasn't afraid of Darsidian; she had long overcome that fear, despite having seen him at what she assumed was his worst. She knew what he could do, but she also hoped that he wouldn't hurt her. The way he was looking at her made her a bit skittish, though. She lifted her lips a bit as he spoke and the action allowed her nerves to flee. "Sometimes it's better to be," she said quietly.
She questioned the sarcasm in his voice, but failed to say anything. Somehow Darsidian put her at a loss for words and she felt a bit belittled; but she did not pay heed to this. Instead, she anticipated his next comment. She laughed very lightly, saying easily, "You've been naught but kind to me, Darcy." Her face had shifted back into her 'natural' seductive one, and her smile could melt the heart of any criminal. But as she was only here with Darcy, her heart was acting for her--clearly, she wanted something. But as her heart was desirous of something, it would not tell her mind what it was. She could not have whatever it was yet.
She looked at him through long lashes. "Don't be unkind to yourself, Darcy. I won't lie to you anymore." But her heart felt weighted down at his next words, and she tried to hear another layer of shrouded meaning in them. Despite his warning, she wanted to know more. She wanted to know more than anything, Malice realized, that she was not the only terrible person that had walked this soil. She wanted to understand that others could sin too. And maybe even that she could be, somehow, redeemed for that. She blinked away a salty mass in the corner of her eye as she said dismissively, "You need only tell me what you perceive to matter." She loved puzzles though. And maybe one day she could get Darcy to--Hell, what was she thinking? One day? Would she stick around that long?
She had her spirits again lifted at his comment, and replied sweetly, with every bit of intended cunning, "Then tell me more words. I like your words." Something felt strange around her. She was not, as she ought to be, in fear for her virtue or her pride any longer, because first of all, Darsidian had just about stripped her of the latter and second, she felt comfortable where she was for once.
She choked on her own thoughts and couldn't find any words to answer what he said. No, she was not worth them, she kept saying. She took their lives and that made her somehow much less of a person. But no, Darcy was telling her otherwise. "It's so easy to," she whispered. She could lie to herself forever, she thought. "I don't have the strength to believe you yet, Darsidian, I'm sorry. I'm too weak." She spoke honestly now, every word from somewhere deep in her heart. And that blatant honesty was what was taking from her every ounce of strength she'd ever had.
His last words killed her. She was done for. There was not really a good excuse to leave Darsidian now, and she would make up whatever she had to so that she could stay at his side. Not even her kinship seemed to matter. Neither did her stolen innocence. She held onto him for what felt like dear life and knew that she could not be the same person for what he'd done. She moved her hands from where they were to his face, and she brought it in front of her own. "Promise? I can stay?" she asked. And something overtook her for which she had absolutely no explanation, and she met his lips gently, quickly, in submission to whatever he had done to her.
Who was she becoming? And who ever had she been before?
She questioned the sarcasm in his voice, but failed to say anything. Somehow Darsidian put her at a loss for words and she felt a bit belittled; but she did not pay heed to this. Instead, she anticipated his next comment. She laughed very lightly, saying easily, "You've been naught but kind to me, Darcy." Her face had shifted back into her 'natural' seductive one, and her smile could melt the heart of any criminal. But as she was only here with Darcy, her heart was acting for her--clearly, she wanted something. But as her heart was desirous of something, it would not tell her mind what it was. She could not have whatever it was yet.
She looked at him through long lashes. "Don't be unkind to yourself, Darcy. I won't lie to you anymore." But her heart felt weighted down at his next words, and she tried to hear another layer of shrouded meaning in them. Despite his warning, she wanted to know more. She wanted to know more than anything, Malice realized, that she was not the only terrible person that had walked this soil. She wanted to understand that others could sin too. And maybe even that she could be, somehow, redeemed for that. She blinked away a salty mass in the corner of her eye as she said dismissively, "You need only tell me what you perceive to matter." She loved puzzles though. And maybe one day she could get Darcy to--Hell, what was she thinking? One day? Would she stick around that long?
She had her spirits again lifted at his comment, and replied sweetly, with every bit of intended cunning, "Then tell me more words. I like your words." Something felt strange around her. She was not, as she ought to be, in fear for her virtue or her pride any longer, because first of all, Darsidian had just about stripped her of the latter and second, she felt comfortable where she was for once.
She choked on her own thoughts and couldn't find any words to answer what he said. No, she was not worth them, she kept saying. She took their lives and that made her somehow much less of a person. But no, Darcy was telling her otherwise. "It's so easy to," she whispered. She could lie to herself forever, she thought. "I don't have the strength to believe you yet, Darsidian, I'm sorry. I'm too weak." She spoke honestly now, every word from somewhere deep in her heart. And that blatant honesty was what was taking from her every ounce of strength she'd ever had.
His last words killed her. She was done for. There was not really a good excuse to leave Darsidian now, and she would make up whatever she had to so that she could stay at his side. Not even her kinship seemed to matter. Neither did her stolen innocence. She held onto him for what felt like dear life and knew that she could not be the same person for what he'd done. She moved her hands from where they were to his face, and she brought it in front of her own. "Promise? I can stay?" she asked. And something overtook her for which she had absolutely no explanation, and she met his lips gently, quickly, in submission to whatever he had done to her.
Who was she becoming? And who ever had she been before?