Post by sylvain on Sept 21, 2008 17:25:35 GMT -1
Character Name:
Sylvain David Boniface
Species:
Gifted Human
Age, Gender:
24, Male
Description:
Sylvain’s appearance is a mottled sort of an affair. His normal attire is that of comfortable fitting jeans, torn and having the appearance of being dirtied, though they are not. He also generally wears t-shirts that are slightly too large for him, with slogans on them such as “First Rate Fox Hunter” and “I don’t SUFFER from delusions, I ENJOY them.”. Other than that, he has an assortment of jackets and hats that he sometimes puts on when he is ‘out and about’. When one takes the time to look closer at the man, they would notice his dark eyes and hair to go along with his slightly unshaven look. Sylvain has the sort of lean muscle that track runners and football players get, though it’s appearance is marred by scars that look to be self inflicted.
Personality:
Sylvain may look normal, at first glance, but spend some time with him(or catch him on a bad day) and it’s easy to notice some interesting habits. He knows very little about his abilities, and as such he believes he suffers from a mild form of schizophrenia. This belief has turned into truth, of sorts, making Sylvain rather paranoid. He self medicates, just marijuana though, none of that hard crap. If one takes the time to get to know him, and build his trust, he can be quite a nice guy. He’s not bad tempered, it’s just that the world scares him.
History:
Sylvain led a normal life for the most part. He was born in France to French parents. He began school at the age of five. Then his father got a job in England. London, to be exact. The family moved when Sylvain was 10. England treated the Bonifaces well, another boy was born to the family, and everything truly seemed to be on the up and up. They were, until Sylvain finished high school. He had ignored the voices for as long as he could remember, and something just made him snap. A month after graduating from secondary school, Sylvain went missing. The police were notified, and the family did all they could to find him, but after a while it was decided that the young man had died on the rough streets of London. That wasn’t true, in fact Sylvain was doing quite well for himself as a petty thief and runner for a gang around town, and he owned a rather modest flat. He’s been doing such for years now, not really caring to advance his station.
Powers/Training/Experience/weaknesses:
Precognition, Telepathy, Telekinesis. The powers listed are in order from strong, to very mild, with Telepathy sitting somewhere in the middle. Sylvain fights well, no special training other than the portion of his life spent on the streets.
Family/Ties:
David M. Boniface - Father
Helen Boniface - Mother
Gilles R. Boniface - Brother
RP Sample:
It was raining, but when was it not raining in London. Sylvain was used to it, just as used to the scene that was behind him. There was a man back there, slumped in the rain. Though he was slumped in a rather awkward fashion, his face to the brick wall. There was blood on the wall. A shaky hand dropped to the pocket of wet jeans, and pulled out a well worn tube. The single cigar tube was lifted, the top was twisted and lifted and then turned upside down to allow a joint to fall into an upturned hand. Sylvain hunched slightly, to try and keep the drugs from getting wet, and dropped the tube to the ground, searching a pocket for his lighter. He knew it was there somewhere. His fingers searched his pockets. Where was that damned lighter. His fingers brushed it something smooth. THERE!
The lighter was pulled almost triumphantly from his pocket, and quickly both it, and the joint were brought to Sylvain’s lips, and after a moment the slightly damp rolling paper caught. He took a long, deep breath in, holding it as he turned around and looked at the slumped man in the alleyway behind him. He shouldn’t have said those things.
With a slow shake of his head, Sylvain turned and started to walk away. His old cross trainers let in some of the water that was pooling on the ground, but the man trudged on, getting wholly too wet.
Pictures:
Marc Andre Grondin
Sylvain David Boniface
Species:
Gifted Human
Age, Gender:
24, Male
Description:
Sylvain’s appearance is a mottled sort of an affair. His normal attire is that of comfortable fitting jeans, torn and having the appearance of being dirtied, though they are not. He also generally wears t-shirts that are slightly too large for him, with slogans on them such as “First Rate Fox Hunter” and “I don’t SUFFER from delusions, I ENJOY them.”. Other than that, he has an assortment of jackets and hats that he sometimes puts on when he is ‘out and about’. When one takes the time to look closer at the man, they would notice his dark eyes and hair to go along with his slightly unshaven look. Sylvain has the sort of lean muscle that track runners and football players get, though it’s appearance is marred by scars that look to be self inflicted.
Personality:
Sylvain may look normal, at first glance, but spend some time with him(or catch him on a bad day) and it’s easy to notice some interesting habits. He knows very little about his abilities, and as such he believes he suffers from a mild form of schizophrenia. This belief has turned into truth, of sorts, making Sylvain rather paranoid. He self medicates, just marijuana though, none of that hard crap. If one takes the time to get to know him, and build his trust, he can be quite a nice guy. He’s not bad tempered, it’s just that the world scares him.
History:
Sylvain led a normal life for the most part. He was born in France to French parents. He began school at the age of five. Then his father got a job in England. London, to be exact. The family moved when Sylvain was 10. England treated the Bonifaces well, another boy was born to the family, and everything truly seemed to be on the up and up. They were, until Sylvain finished high school. He had ignored the voices for as long as he could remember, and something just made him snap. A month after graduating from secondary school, Sylvain went missing. The police were notified, and the family did all they could to find him, but after a while it was decided that the young man had died on the rough streets of London. That wasn’t true, in fact Sylvain was doing quite well for himself as a petty thief and runner for a gang around town, and he owned a rather modest flat. He’s been doing such for years now, not really caring to advance his station.
Powers/Training/Experience/weaknesses:
Precognition, Telepathy, Telekinesis. The powers listed are in order from strong, to very mild, with Telepathy sitting somewhere in the middle. Sylvain fights well, no special training other than the portion of his life spent on the streets.
Family/Ties:
David M. Boniface - Father
Helen Boniface - Mother
Gilles R. Boniface - Brother
RP Sample:
It was raining, but when was it not raining in London. Sylvain was used to it, just as used to the scene that was behind him. There was a man back there, slumped in the rain. Though he was slumped in a rather awkward fashion, his face to the brick wall. There was blood on the wall. A shaky hand dropped to the pocket of wet jeans, and pulled out a well worn tube. The single cigar tube was lifted, the top was twisted and lifted and then turned upside down to allow a joint to fall into an upturned hand. Sylvain hunched slightly, to try and keep the drugs from getting wet, and dropped the tube to the ground, searching a pocket for his lighter. He knew it was there somewhere. His fingers searched his pockets. Where was that damned lighter. His fingers brushed it something smooth. THERE!
The lighter was pulled almost triumphantly from his pocket, and quickly both it, and the joint were brought to Sylvain’s lips, and after a moment the slightly damp rolling paper caught. He took a long, deep breath in, holding it as he turned around and looked at the slumped man in the alleyway behind him. He shouldn’t have said those things.
With a slow shake of his head, Sylvain turned and started to walk away. His old cross trainers let in some of the water that was pooling on the ground, but the man trudged on, getting wholly too wet.
Pictures:
Marc Andre Grondin
