Post by TheLivingDead on Jul 14, 2012 19:36:01 GMT -5
Gryphon Edward Cole
credit to alice-radke-swpb-tommy of tumblr
Name;; Gryphon Edward Cole
Nicknames;; Gee, Gryphon
Species;; Dreamcatcher
Age;; ''Twenty-six''
Birthdate;; 20th December
Orientation;; Pansexual
Occupation;; Dreamcatcher, male-escort.
Playby;; Andy Biersack
Personality;; Despite all the troubles Gryphon has been dragged through, he still remains sweet and kindly as ever, probably reminsicent of his days as a warm, welcoming male escort. However, there is still that part of Gryphon that is incredibly reserved. Well, you would be too, if you had that many skeletons in your closet... Gryphon is rather sensitive too, taking a majority of things to heart. Unlike how he used to be, he's more emotional now, with the full ability to vocalize his false happiness now. But, he never shows the sadness. Sadness is bad. Sadness makes people worry. Sadness drives you mad. Sadness.....Sadness.....
Description;; With his ridiculous height, long skinny legs, pale skin and thick black teased hair, fully clad in leather and studs, you would have thought he'd stepped out of some huge rock concert. With sharp blue eyes - dulled by lack of sleep, the hauntings of the nightmares that he devours, excessive cannibis consumption and bad memories - a deep, husky voice and seemingly constant perfect jet hair, he's every emo kid's wet dream. He's quite a strange one alright. He walks out of the house everyday in full makeup, his hair completely immaculate. A typical outfit would consist of a pair of second skin black jeans, a black studded leather jacket, several long black necklaces, a black v-neck and several studded belts. His apperance greatly constrasts his personality, which is quite strange. A multitude of scars and hundreds of track marks dot his arms, a permanent reminder of multiple suicide attempts and the hours spent sprawled out on his bedroom floor so dosed up full of herion he can barely remember who he is.
History;; Gryphon's birth was somewhat of a tragic event. It was several hundred years ago, in a time long forgotten. At this point, he seemed quite insignificant. Another child born into the orphanage. However, as he aged, it became fairly obvious that he wasn't quite the same as the rest of the gaunt, agonisngly sad children that scrounged a life in the orphanage. It were almost as if he were 'stronger' than the other kids. He never so much as showed the flicker of a single emotion. That would be his immense strength, the ability to cast a cold, indestructable mask across the finely boned structure of his womanly features.
As he grew older, his... 'problems' began to emerge. One rather significant morning had broken, and Gryphon Cole hadn't attended breakfast, or turned up for work. And neither had another young lad in the same block as Gryphon. Once they had been reported as missing, a half-hearted search was put into ''full-swing''. It was only when blood had begun to drip through the rotting floorboards that it became an issue. As soon as Gryphon heard the familiar sound of crashing boots thudding up the stairs, he barely even reacted. He simply continued to swipe the remainder of the crimson across the walls. He had managed to write out a full poem about the virtues of death, and the agony of life. The other little boy was sprawled across the floor, dismembered and bleeding, his bodily fluids acting as a horrific ink. Needless to say, Gryphon was quickly shipped off to an asylum.
For many years of his life, Gryphon was tortured there. Beating after beating, lobotomy after lobotomy.... It was a wonder how he survived it really. But he was special. Was he not? The entirety of the young man was completely shattered, his sanity exhausted. Gryphon was due to never be released. That killed him.
It was only when the asylum was shut down by the authorities eight years later that he was finally released. By this time, Gryphon had come to the conclusion. He was a monster. Nothing more, nothing less. The cruel, taunting, mocking whispers of the locusts that had managed to crawl into the pit of his brain told him that every day, uttering their poisons at every chance they got. Gryphon managed to live his days scuttling through the shadows, selling his body to every willing soul out there. He had been lured easily into prostitution, regularly visiting the brothels and advertising himself openly there. He managed to earn a fair amount of money from it. However, in his line of work, he was often beaten, even more so than in the asylum. Men enjoyed abusing him.
Plummeting further into depression, Gryphon thought things would never change. On the night of his twenty-first birthday, he was again, curled against the curve of another man's form. Vision faded by the alcohol and tears of agony, he had gazed pitifully up into the face of his customer. It was only then that he managed to notice, that his client was twitching and shuddering. Gryphon pressed his lips against his, as to calm him. As he did so, the man's lips parted, and a warm, glowing sphere forced its way into the client's mouth. At first, he was somewhat suprised, almost pulling back. But like gravity, he was sucked toward the source of the sphere. As the kiss drew on, he managed to dislodge it, and devoured the sphere. Instantly, a warm feeling of satisfaction poured into his gut, allowing for a small smile to crack across the expanse of his lips.
Gryphon quickly discovered that what he had done was eaten a nightmare. He began making a habit of it. Like a vampire, he thirsted desprately to release people from their worries and troubles. He just wanted to help. He wanted to do good. Gryphon wanted to make up for that innocent child's death all those years ago. But little did he know, that with every feasting, that it would plunge him further into depression and in turn, worsen the delusions and the horrendous schizophrenic hallucinations. The nightmares melted into his subconcion, merging with his thoughts, feeding the voices, riling them up, rattling the cage... soon, they would strike back with such a vengance, that he would barely know who he was anymore.
By the time the consuming of the nightmares had finally begun to have somewhat adverse affects upon him, it had reached 2010AD, and he had barely aged a day. He felt, that with each time he exorcised a persons demons, that maybe God would finally accept that he had turned everything around, made a new person of himself. And though he could never take back what he did to that little boy, he could make the lives of others better, just by allowing them to sleep, whilst he travelled the streets, seeking out the demons of the night and slaying them.
It was first day of 2011 and Gryphon was punishing himself every night now. He had come to the conclusion that God's forgiveness was never to be within his reach, and that to just tear himself to shreds was far better than to seek the amnesty of God's acceptance. He continued to dreamcatch, though. It was what he was born and bred to do.
Roleplay Sample;; The room, plunged in darkness, concealed the withering foundations of his pallid features as he sat there. He awaited her return, an expression of eradicatingly intense terror plastered across his bloodless face. His breathing came in short, sharp, shallow pants that vibrated through the expanse of his chest, curdled and dampened by chain-smoking. His gaunt structure seemed frozen on the bed, appendages clutching at the duvet that was thrown haphazardly across him. Grinding his molars against one another, his face changed, and on the surface, he seemed cool, calm and collected. Never-the-less, a tremble still managed to trickle through him, coiling around his muscles and forcing them to clench around the brittle bones that lay beneath. Gryphon found himself encaged in yet another battle within himself. Inside, he fought valiantly in an attempt to release himself from the catatonia he was embalmed quite firmly in. There seemed to be no evading the articulation of his broken mind as the cockroaches began to scuttle out from beneath the bed to form the figure that began to clamber down from the walls. He sheathed his panic behind the veil of the comatose state of which he resided in...
Suddenly, the door was wrenched open and the woman that hung off of the ceiling shrieked, causing Gryphon to leap out of his skin, finally evading the asphyxiating hold of the delirium. He convulsed violently all over, his skull raising to glance at the masculine silhouette that had entered the room. Instantaneously, his cerulean chasms transformed to slits. He cared not for the man whom had decided that he would just come waltzing into his room, uninvited, however, he did make an attempt at making himself slightly more presentable. He dragged his parched tongue along the plushness of his blanched lips, and in doing so, allowed for the stench, and most repulsive of all, the bitter, anguish tainted taste of untimely death to roll around his tastebuds, probing and exploring his mouth with such dilligence, that not a single corner was left virginal.
Gryphon lowered his cranium, almost in shame, as the man came alongside him. His entire body tensed suddenly. He hated this closeness. He shifted uneasily, turning so that even out of the corner of his visionaries, Gryphon wouldn't have to so much as even glance for a mere moment at this unwelcomed interrogator. Over the hushed whispers of the twisted tongues that licked against his eardrums, he listened to the gentle shuffling of the papers that this said man held in his arms. Choking the words from his gullet, Gryphon eventually managed to speak. " E-e-excuse me? pausing, he came to realize that this man was probably here because of the police, and what did it matter who asked him what happened anymore anyway? Wasn't it likely to be that he was forsaken to lethal injection. It wouldn't matter what was said now. He would plead guilty to all charges. Wasn't that how it worked..?
Your Alias;; Tala / TalaDelRey
Your Age;; Fourteen
Your Years Experience;; Donkeys years.