


[fancypost bgcolor=transparent; border: 0px solid black; font-family: georgia; text-align: center; color: white; font-size: 40pt; letter-spacing: -4px; text-shadow: 0px 0px 10px black;]Gideon[/fancypost][fancypost bgcolor=transparent; border: 0px solid black; color: lightgray; text-align: center; font-size: 10pt; margin-top: -2px; text-transform: uppercase;]THEY OFFERED THEIR HEARTS
AND WE TORE THEM APART[/fancypost][fancypost borderwidth=0px; width: 450px][justify][hr][hr][/fancypost]
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(( FIRST NAME )) Gideon
(( MIDDLE NAME )) Wolfgang
(( SURNAME )) Caelum
(( NICKNAME )) Wolf
(( DATE OF BIRTH )) Oct. 28th
(( AGE )) 27 years old
(( GENDER )) Male
(( ORIENTATION )) Heterosexual
(( RANK )) Hunter
(( WRITTEN DESCRIPTION )) From apex to digits, the most recognisable attribute to Gideon's physical appearance would be his cerulean, green, turquoise, and brown optics. His left eye has the largest proportion of brown that accommodates the upper portion of his iris while the green situates at the bottom right. His right eye holds green in the upper portion of his iris, while there is only a few flecks of brown around the iris in small, insignificant dots. His cranium, with a slight squared jaw, is framed by naturally thick, curly dark tresses. Depending on the lengths in which he allows it to grow, his hair will be either curly or on the straighter side. His chin, like his jaw, is chiseled, though not as prominent in appearance. Gideon has a build which could be described as very "shoulder centric;" his shoulders are broad and he has a very tight, lean waist packed with muscle. In summary, his physique is a mixture between the generalised 'ectomorph' and 'mesomorph.' Muscular, lean, strong, fast; never weak, never slow. Gideon has a considerable amount of chest hair — actually, a considerably amount of hair in general; facial hair blankets his jawline, and if he goes without shaving long enough, it'll travel a portion of his neck. He usually doesn't let his facial hair get too unruly. His hands are large, his fingers proportionate but lithe. His four canines are abnormally sharped, and slightly curved; pay close enough attention, and one could swear they were canine meant to lacerate and serrate flesh.
(( HEIGHT )) 6'3.42" ft
(( WEIGHT )) 218.65 lbs
(( HAIR COLOR )) A dark pigment of brown.
(( EYE COLOR )) Hues of blue, brown, green, and turquoise.
(( SKIN TONE )) A pale-ish, olive skin-tone.
(( CLOTHING STYLE )) Gideon often goes bare-chested with pants made out of animal skin of some sort. Occasionally he will wear a shirt if he manages to salvage or make one.
(( BODY MODIFICATION )) None.
(( EXTRA )) None.
(( PERSONALITY )) It starts with the impulse to burn everything and everyone to the ground, and where does one go from there? Gideon is a machine of a man, who's foundations consist of black & white; there are no grey areas -- no in-betweens. Gideon has taken on the role of anti-hero and he lets it adorn him like he was meant to, and he does so like no other can. Gideon does contain a sense of empathy and understands the strife he puts people through; he just doesn't care who gets hurt in the process so long as he reaches his goal. Like a glass of water on a hot day, he can be your anchor — your relief — but like a brutal wintry storm, he can be cold and relentless.
He draws in, just as easily, those who would regularly resist temptation as he would those who were easily tempted. On his worst days, where he is wrath and rage, a worst nature is divulged. He has had a vast history of executing frivolous, vexing, and malicious actions, especially (but not extensively) against those whom have managed to do him wrong. Only after he feels he has lost control can the full depth of his destructive behaviour be fathomed and the consequences calculated with depth. Misfortunately for those associated, he tends to enact his rage on those he finds most important. To love and be favoured by him is the cruelest fate anyone could endure, for his indulgence of the flesh is as painful as it is pleasurable.
He's an open book with complex vocabulary; he's hard to understand. Hidden in plain sight, he promises you the earth and the stars with one face and whittles away at wills while he steals your emotional security with the other. The most rewarding thing at the end of the day is to watch the worlds of his enemies come crashing and burning down. He has no regard for good or for evil, no need for the usual vices and virtues of humanity. Where others see fate and patterns, morality and honour, gods and righteousness, he sees only lies stretched over mayhem, and plays with them like a child playing cat’s cradle. He has ice in his veins, hate in his heart, love on his mind, and the hearts of his enemies in his hands. He may 'hate' or he may 'love,' albeit only in unconventional ways unbound from traditional emotion. He is neither gentle nor kind, except for in the most terrible of ways. Sure, in an instant he may incinerate valuable relations or entirely break a person, but at least he feels like he is in control; like the master of his own universe.
There is a violent, foreboding grace to him that cause people to shrink away in fear but admire from afar; after all, fear is the ultimate motivator, and everyone needs a little motivation to respect someone. People follow him blindly like sheep and only those who endure and survive come as lions. Sociopathic to a degree, the matter is debatable, but he is adherent to a certain principle of love; love is none other than an illusion, and anyone who believes in it is a fool. He admits that he feels strongly of certain persons and objects, but 'love' isn't a word he often uses in his vocabulary unless he needs to use it to get what he needs. Lies are, after all, his mother tongue. He enjoys the beauty of women, but what is in them as a human being is irrelevant to him, because he has no plans to be tied down. He may be destructive or merry, precise or bacchanalian, dealing out death or candy or all at once, but he is never, ever tame.
(( LIKES ))
| ✔︎ | Heat [he prefers the warmth]
| ✔︎ | Silence [he likes peace and quiet]
| ✔︎ | Music [music speaks to his inner turmoil]
| ✔︎ | Fighting [he is a sadistic man, at heart]
| ✔︎ | Food [he can consume a lot of it]
| ✔︎ | Winning [winning in everything and anything]
| ✔︎ | Rain [it feels a lot like redemption]
| ✔︎ | Animals [he has a secret soft spot for animals]
| ✔︎ | Sleep [if he isn't working or eating, he's sleeping]
(( DISLIKES ))
| ✘ | Children [too dependent]
| ✘ | Ignorance [he has no patience for it]
| ✘ | Losing [it's unacceptable]
| ✘ | Love [its a delusional concept]
| ✘ | Kindness [he has a deep-seated mistrust of people]
| ✘ | Vegetation [he is a meat-lover]
| ✘ | Cold [he hates cold weather
| ✘ | Idle-time [he likes to be busy]
| ✘ | Sweets [he doesn't have much of a sweet tooth]
| ✘ | Foreigners [people who don't belong]
(( STRENGTHS ))
| ♕ | Melee combat (a.k.a hand-to-hand)
| ♕ | Detecting dishonesty
| ♕ | Deception
| ♕ | Hunting
| ♕ | Memorisation
(( WEAKNESSES ))
| ♕ | Sophisticated weaponry
| ♕ | Speed is compromised
| ♕ | Impatience
| ♕ | Impulsive behaviour
| ♕ | Temperment
(( HISTORY )) Gideon does not have much of a history to tell. He was born to a mother and a father, as everyone else is. His father was a hunter, just as Gideon is now, and his mother was a gatherer; she often went out searching for resources used to build shelter, utensils, weapons, et cetera. Gideon grew up under tough love; while his father was not abusive or mean for the sake of being mean, he did make sure Gideon knew how hard nature could be and the importance of keeping tradition and hunting. His parents both passed away due to natural causes; there is no boo-hoo tragic story to tell, or some deep-seated traumatic guilt hidden beneath his skin; Gideon is the way he is because that's how he knows how to survive.
(( TRIBE )) Luta
(( KIN )) None
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(( DREAMS )) He has no dreams other than to survive and protect his tribe's territory.
(( FEARS )) Gideon's biggest fear is being put into a situation where he feels he has lost control.
(( TALENTS )) Tracking, archery, stealth, and hand-to-hand combat.
(( RELATIONSHIP STATUS )) Single
(( CRUSH )) None
(( BOYFRIEND / GIRLFRIEND )) None
(( SPOUSE )) None
(( CHILDREN )) None
(( PLOT IDEAS )) Nothing as of yet.
(( ROLEPLAY SAMPLE ))
QuoteDisplay MoreObscured morality; and was his life quite full of it, and he both guilty as a participant and a witness. His family was a quite powerful one, ranging from politics to under-wordly ties, and he was right in the middle. From technologic and pharmacologic industries and corporations, to luxury brands and vehicles — he was their corporate father, and they kneeled to him like bastard sons and daughters. To some degree, he'd monopolised media; newspapers and television and radio networks. Corporate power meant political power, and it was political power which made his sources unlimited.
His father had told him that the notion of good and bad was a concept conjured in human minds via religious texts written thousands of years ago by schizophrenic men; the reality, as his father put it, was merely virtue and excess. Such that happiness and wisdom are virtues, and sadness and foolishness are vices. "Good and bad" was an ethical judgement of "decent" persons, and criticising was their vice. He'd hated the man on multiple occasions, but he adhered to his principles for all intents and purposes. Las Vegas was the city of murky morality; a city that could either bury sins or exhume tragedies.
Albeit unlike many, but alike to some, he was here on a proposition of a business venture; he expected to go home with money and opportune, whereas many that merely visited went home with sexually transmitted diseases and empty pockets. Upon entering the designated rendezvous point, he was met with two familiar faces opposed to one. "Chassagne," he vaguely remembered, recognising the sultry brunette bent over with the intent to get a drug-induced fix. Chassagne's purpose for being present in this meeting was beyond him, albeit he wrote her off as an uninterested bystander. Chassagne sure as hell couldn't have been some type of living, breathing accessory to the room, as she was a "masterpiece" that he, admittedly, took for granted.
What he had gathered from the few times he had met Chassagne was that she spoke as if her body was a temple and she could speak for everyone who supposedly worshipped inside her walls; coined as a heiress of a prominent chain of hotels, he could understand her eagerness to generalise a public she saw as her's. Still, it didn't distract him from how utterly exasperated it made him feel. His lithe albeit capable digits curled around the cold glass of the alcoholic beverage handed to him, and he eyed it with slight conviction; to drink or not to drink so early in the day, that was his question. In response to hers, though it might've been rhetorical, he set the glass down on the nearest table, wiping what condensation of the glass that had gathered unto his fingers off unto his other, un-tainted, hand.
"There are no 'subtle nuances' betwixt corporations and wealth; corporations beget wealth, and as a form of bureaucracy, there is a hierarchy; not all persons are useless as you seem to coin them." Whilst she was all too ready to disregard people, Sebastian saw people as opportunities; people were worthy so long as they had something to offer, and that was where he drew the line with her. For the first time, he actually addressed the business associate who had been meant to grab his attention when he walked in, but he had been distracted with Chassagne. Before he could even so much as part his lips to greet Mme. Roquelaure, Chassagne intervened with an unrelated topic. Sebastian would be lying if he'd said he wasn't somewhat interested in the information; Sebastian had never been arranged anything when it came to courtship, but his father was not a strong believer in keeping rich blood "pure," whatever that meant.
Sebastian, himself, did not see royalty and wealth as the same thing, and it was royalty that worried about what blood coursed through their veins; that was why incest wasn't an odd occurrence in such cases. The reasons for wealthy peoples' desire to pair their children with like class was beyond him; he was a prideful individual, but marrying money wasn't something he saw pride in — seemed redundant if anything. His eyebrows arched at the mention of "deceit and emotional dishonesty," and mainly because they had come out of Chassagne's mouth. Perhaps he'd written her off as something she's not, but he would've figured that, as a woman who thought so lowly of people, what was in them as an individual meant nothing to her.
“I just hate when people play dress up with their identities..." Sebastian gave her a wry smirk in response to her own. At such a point in time, even with Eisley as some sort of centre for his rediscovery, he still couldn't pinpoint what was real and what was a façade when it came to who he was. He acted differently around particular persons, literally took on a fake identity for CIA related assignments, and actively lied to himself to escape complex emotional situations. He didn't know who the hell he was anymore, and it could be deemed odd that it didn't bother him. "Then you'd definitely hate business." So then, why was she here?
“You know, coke talk.” Actually, he didn't know, but he'd just go along with it. "Mrs. Roquelaure," he began, immediately taking on a deeper, more assertive tone opposed to the lax tone he had been using with Chassagne. "I want to align myself with people who are successful in the luxury hospitality business; I'm making an effort to pique awareness among luxury consumers; one way to do it is through a partnership." He cast Chassagne an intuitive sideways glance before resettling his contemplation on the older, look-alike mother of her's. "Think of it as turning a corporation into a charismatic entity, much like your daughter." He didn't see her as charismatic — not for his tastes — but it worked with the general public, apparently.
(( THEME SONG )) [color=lightgray]Shattered Symphony by Cohered & Cambria
(( OTHER )) [color=lightgray]N/A[/fancypost]
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