01. Benvenuto

Fri, 07 Sep 2007 02:57:59 GMT

Name: Alecto Crabtree (call him Toto and he will kill you)

Age: 24

Gender: Male

Birthday: April 1

Preferred PB: Milo Ventimiglia

Occupation: He works a handful of odd jobs. Most often he is found employed at the police station (Monday, Wednesday, Friday). On the weekends, he tests airplanes as a pilot (he had military training instead of completing college) along with various other jobs that have to do with the aviation field of work. He also fixes cars. And makes a real mean Panini. Part time Chef (Tuesday, Thursday).

Appearance: Dark haired (thick, slick, and sometimes outrageously wavy) and built like a traffic light pole. He’s got finely sculpted Roman-statue cheek bones and likes to wear clothing that bear the colors of something terribly bruised. Always wearing an unimpressed smirk with eyes that constantly rankle “I know something you don’t know and I’m going to use it to drive you up the wall”. He has the ability to frown (which he does so, often) appealingly.

Personality: Scrutinizing and so, so jaded. An insufferable know-it-all, but sensible. Quiet, refined, and subtle, but impossibly merciless with an eye for aesthetics and cleanliness. (Mostly self-declared) suave-king of the century; he picks his actions and words meticulously. For those very few he truly cares for, he will do anything (but love is overrated. Apparently, so is eating). An impulsive dare devil, sometimes he thinks things through much too many times and much too long. Over analytical and sometimes too wrapped up in himself to care. He’s not particularly trustworthy and probably hasn’t met anyone who isn’t suspicious of him in one way or another.

History: He’s of a deeply rooted Italian decent. With two distant, mafia savvy parents and a great many number of siblings both younger (childish) and older (even more childish and irresponsible), Alecto is very good at playing caretaker. He wasn't very popular in school; he was the kind of child that everybody else’s kid wanted to try and drench with a supersoaker, just to see what would happen. Never quite the brightest crayon in the box academically, Alecto only rumbled into the University of Kiev for two half-hearted years due to a long series of underhand bribing and the occasional donation of several buildings from his parents (who always wanted the best for their children. They had always wanted him to grow up to be a painter or realtor or something else equally respective). Instead, the summer of his sophomore year, Alecto slipped through the cracks of the college education system and shook a deal with the state military air force. With perfect eyesight and impressive bodily coordination, he glided about for a while, occasionally acting as a stand-in pilot for near by airlines (he refused to go to war. He just wanted to play around with the big life destroying machines) and with his eerie lack of fear for anything, he eagerly tested new planes for some extra weekend pay.

But then everything went to hell.

During the same time, his father struck a deal with Umbrella, an undisclosed deal but a great money making success nonetheless (Alecto and his brothers all got new, custom made Rolex). The newest drug on the market it seemed, was the T-virus as, it appeared, when taken in small amounts, the effects were slow to burn and gave a euphoric high.

And then there was an accident. And when Alecto fled, frightened to find his broken fingers cracking back into place only seconds after they had been clamped shut in the door frame, he tripped down the stairs and ended up on the bottom with his bones in a thousand tiny pieces and was dead to the world and his family from that point on.

Little did they know, after several precious minutes, his limbs and entire body skeleton promptly clitter-clacked back together again - in the wrong positions of course, but more or less functional. He has been on the run, stalking through the muddy veins of the city in secret ever since.

He gets along with everyone and no one at the same time.

Abilities/Weapons/accessories: Alecto is fantastic with utilizing his own body as a defensive and offensive weapon. He can bite, claw, and flail his way out of almost any situation; an avid user of underhand tactics (he doesn’t care particularly about the path you walk as long as you get the desired destination. Honor and pride mean little). Alecto, after several shots of tequila and too many sleepless nights, fancies himself James Bond in a past life. Rather unimpressive with firearms but very talented in the art of throw knives and razor strings and with an frighteningly vast knowledge of poisons. Anything involving his hands, Alecto is proficient. He is one mean pickpocket wrapped up all in a bundle of secrets and taciturnity. He walks with a lazy saunter and has a tendency to take everything slow and easy (he's not quick to panic or fleeting emotions; he's concise and holds his composure) and he’s not particularly fast in any which way (running too much would risk collapsing his knees, which would be time consuming) thus explaining why he always seems to get the leftovers.

Utilizing his talents in the culinary field, he carefully whips up meals for his comrades as a way to both dispose of evidence and to make the general concept of eating human flesh less non-humanitarian than usual: he presents ribs dashed in BBQ sweet sauce, internal organs mashed into smoothies and virgin strawberry daiquiris. The bones, he has found, make nice, environmentally conscious, coal burning substitutes.

Alliance: Alecto is one of the others, one of Ellis’ personal favorites. Wonderfully capable with many things but mostly with his hands in particular. He doesn't seem to feel any particular way about his condition; he's rather impartial.

Distinction: Alecto “Glassbones” Crabtree, he’s called, occasionally, due to the Neo T-virus infection destroying his body’s capacity to produce calcium and collagen. His bones are terribly weak and easily break although recovery is usually swift (albeit, agonizing). As a result he’s a bit crooked and has a tendency to lean towards the right. In battle, he is careful to always get the preemptive strike.<input ... ></input><input ... >

Mon, 03 Sep 2007 16:11:17 GMT

What the Thunder Said
T.S. Eliot
After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and palace and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience
...
Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
—But who is that on the other side of you?

Remember us not as lost violent souls

01. Benvenuto