Post by Hyro on Feb 14, 2017 6:50:34 GMT
Drake Ward Coleman
Age:
17
Gender:
Male
Birthday:
December 17th
Birthplace:
Hudson, NY
Occupation:
Street Performer
Description:
He has black, thick-straight hair that hangs just past his ears and a pair of stark, nearly-silver eyes. At around 6ft, Drake usually wears fairly fitting jeans with a boot cut flare at the bottom, plain tennis shoes, a tank top, and a hoodie or leather jacket. From his neck hangs a necklace passed down from his parents. It's rather simple, honing a white prism tooth at the end. He never takes it off.
Personality:
Drake is a bit rough around the edges. Having had an abusive elder brother with no parents around, he has a very skewed idea of authority and a hard time socializing properly. He'll typically stick to a smartass response to most things and really hates talking about his home life or any bad memories associated with it. Drake wants to make friends, but finds it difficult due to his cold personality and poor social skills. He loves to read - it helps distract him from his thoughts, from the world, and gives him a place to escape for a bit. He finds he is most peaceful while playing guitar, getting swept away by the music.
Skills:
He's a great cook, a real Gordon Ramsey. His stealth is excellent in that he is silent and agile - God knows he's had enough practice sneaking around his own house. He also has a great silver tongue. Hardly ever does a lie of his not slip through detection. Singing and playing guitar seem to come naturally to him.
Weaknesses:
Drake has a fear of drowning caused by an early childhood trauma. Swimming terrifies him senseless. He also has a horrid temper that can go off when even he least expects it, causing him to say horrible, regrettable things he doesn’t mean and, in some cases, can end in violence.
Backstory:
The boy had a rather depressing life. His parents died in a supposed car wreck when he was 6, leaving his elder brother, Jhock, to take care of him and his younger brother, Kyle. As the three grew up, Kyle and Drake grew closer than any two people ever could. Meanwhile, the elder became distant and bitter fast. His inability to cope with his parents’ death plus the weight of raising his two younger brothers quickly bloomed into hatred, bad habits, fits of anger, and unhealthy addiction. Drake and Kyle were cursed at, beaten, abused, and ultimately scared into submission over the years. Jhock would drink himself silly until the putrid smell filled a room, all while pushing the two around and never letting them leave the house without his saying so. He would say things like, "No one wants to see you two lowlifes anyway," or, "You'll right up walk into trouble. You think it's bad here? You’ve no idea what it's like out there. You’ll end up just like mom and dad, dead in a ditch somewhere."
It was a lot to handle, but the two younger brothers always had each other. Until one day, when someone broke into their house.
That day had been a blur. Drake remembered hearing a crash and some commotion downstairs. He thought it was just Jhock being an asshole again and opted to hide out in his room with the door locked until things calmed down. There was some muffled arguing followed by a gut-wrenching scream that had the boy shaken by the time he gathered the guts to open his door and tread downstairs. A window had been smashed in, along with a few things that were knocked over leading to the kitchen. Tentatively he moved to the doorway, only to stop, his breath catching. On the tiled floor, he found his little brother, a pool of blood surrounding him and a knife protruding from his chest.
Drake’s legs felt weak as he stumbled over to the boy, checking desperately for a pulse... But there was nothing. He hugged his limp brother’s body to his chest, sobbing heavily, the sudden burden of being all alone now crashing down around him. It took him a long moment before he finally forced himself to lay his brother back down and carefully dislodged the knife from Kyle’s unmoving chest. It was at that moment that Jhock stormed in, half drunk with a group of friends.
He was cursing about the mess in the living room when he entered the doorway, only to stop and stare in shock, the bottle of alcohol he held in his hand dropping with a staggering crash. His friends halted behind him, equally surprised, staring in silence.
And then there Drake was, holding a knife, blood on his shirt, and no sign of anyone else around.
Jhock could only assume the worst - that his brother had finally snapped and the eldest immediately ran out to get a hold of the police, his friends following close behind. The now-16-year-old boy didn’t have much time to think with the current haze of events, opting to pocket the knife and do the one thing he could think to do… Run away.
Packing up his acoustic guitar - a hobby he’d inherited from his father after he’d passed - and grabbing his jacket, he ran outside and hopped on Jhock’s motorcycle, revving the engine to life.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d driven that thing to get away(It had to be days though), nor did he remember dropping it off in a ditch somewhere and high-tailing his way to the nearest town. All he knew was he was on his own now, avoiding employment due to background checks and hoping no one tried to stick him in an orphanage. He had his guitar and a will to survive - and that was enough for him, even if he was wanted for murder.
Playby || Rasmus Ledin
Art of Drake from another roleplay:
