WEATHERBY HUGHES

max bailey
application: finished

ALIAS Lace.
AGE Sixteen.
EXPERIENCE Five yrs.
OTHER CHARACTERS Not yet.
HOW ACTIVE ARE YOU six / seven.

NAME Weatherby Eli Hughes.
NICKNAME Eli, Hugh, Hughie, Hugo, Hughes.
AGE Sixteen.
SEX Male.
BIRTHDAY 5th October.
ORIENTATION Hetro.
GRADE Sophomore.
MAJOR Marine biology.

HEIGHT 6'1''
WEIGHT 150lbs.
HAIR Nice and thick, that's Weatherby's hair in short - it's the colour of dark chestnuts and wavy to boot. Sometimes, if it's humid enough, the waves will turn into a tight curls, leaving the poor boy with a semi-fro.
EYES Deliciously dark blue, the jet black pupils hide most of the colour; it is bit a thin trimming around the iris'.
BODY TYPE Quite simply Weatherby is a scrawny runt, he dislikes exercise and thus has little muscle to speak of. He's weak and tires easily, embarrassing for a sixteen year old youth.
NATIONALITY British/American.
OTHER Weatherby, like his name may suggest, has quite a preppy taste in clothing; he likes muted shades like greens and browns and has a guilty soft spot for cord trousers. He like wearing shirts more than t-shirts, and owns just one pair of trainers. He's not very up-to-date on fashion, so much so you'd think he was an old man reincarnate.

STRENGTHS
» rational.
» sharp tongue.
» fearless.
» quick learner.
» social.
» can adapt easily.
WEAKNESSES
» weak immune system.
» smug.
» very competitive.
» self-aware.
» very self-focused.
» easily manipulated.
» a puppet.
» bad judge of character.
HOBBIES swimming, writing, taking pictures.
LIKES the adventures of huckleberry finn , catch-22 , the call of the wild , the sight , a gathering light , ethan frome , the great gastby , nineteen eighty four , native son , down and out in paris and london , the animal farm , caesar's column , bram stoker's dracula , anne frank's diary . george orwell , keith moon , kate moss , charles dickens , those who fight for what they believe in , bram stoker , anne frank , women like anne frank , heath freaks , the few teenagers nowadays who don't succumb to peer pressure and feel like they need to smoke or drink to be cool , everyone in ac/dc , whoever thought of guitar hero , whomever founded rockstar games , coco rocho , jane austin (not for her work, just because she did what she did when she did it) , prostitutes , fifties women , sixties women , those who stick up for themselves . london , leeds , manchester , belfast , glasgow , golspie , devon , cornwall , iceland , norway , japan , milan , new york , graveyards . winter , skiing , snow , snowball fights , sitting in front of the fire on a rainy day , rainy days , quoting the books she's read , learning , languages , travelling , amazon , school , photography , the internet , bebo , aim , e-mail , spectrum's , retro , black and white movies , flying , extreme sports , marital arts .
DISLIKES the da vinci code , his dark matierels , jane austin , tales of weak women , true stories of abuse (etc.) , children's books . high school slags , george w bush , tony blair , most members of parliament , people she doesn't understand , women who let men abuse them , narrow-minded folk , hypocrites , people who prove her wrong , timekeepers , prudes . paris , istanbul , hong kong , seattle , hollywood , hospitals . politics , newspapers , tabloids , rumours , not understanding , sports , water , being embarrassed by his parents , having to do whatever amazon wants to do , bruce lee movies , action movies , fake blood , celebs' perfumes , endorsement , chocolate , dairy , bread , meat , everything that isn't on his 'likes' list.
OTHER
» says it like it is, all of the time.
» bad brain-to-mouth link, usually talks total crap.
» can cry at will, most likely to do so when embarrassed.
» a mine of useless facts.
» brittle bones; he's broken his right arm seven times in sixteen years.
» collects guitar picks despite the fact he doesn't play.
» carries at least one guitar pick with him constantly.
» forever touching his hair.
» cracks his knuckles.

BIRTHPLACE Keswick, England.
FAMILY tera hughes, mother. danny hughes, father.
WHY THEY LIVE IN WHITEFALL Technically Weatherby was born in England, which is where Tera first met Danny. However when Weatherby was just two the family up and left Keswick for Tera's home town all the way in America; otherwise known as Whitefall.
WHY THEY ATTEND CARSTAIRS Most convinent, plus his older cousin attends.
STEREOTYPE The loner, or the nerd.
POV OF CARSTAIRS "It's alright, it's all I know, so I don't really have anything to compare it to."

RP SAMPLE
Ipswich Lancaster could not be considered depressed. The boy in question was fucked up, yes, but depressed? No, no not at all. He'd just had a tough life and though many would disagree on that front it was true. Not once had be gone a week without beating himself up over something, last week it was that he'd shut up the shop early one day because his older cousin Gilbert had phoned, claiming that his, Ipswich’s mother, was quite ill. It later turned out that Gilbert was just being the shit-stirring little bastard he always had been, naturally Ipswich had beaten himself up for even believing the conniving bitch, but in hindsight it was probably better that he had listened - what if he'd ignored his older cousin and hung up, and his mother really had been ill? The scratches on his arms would be a hell of a lot deeper in that case, even so the ones that trailed their way up from his wrists to his inner elbow, like long blood red laces, stung like a bitch. He hadn't drawn blood this time and it was something he was thankful for, however the loose bits of skin his long nails had scraped away kept catching on the material of his neon yellow jumper making the young basketcase flinch every time it happened. The boy, however, battled on with the task his muddled little mind was currently set on - and that was avid sketching. The stroke of the pencil against the paper made his lips quirk into an uneven smile and slowly, teeth were bared as the paper dress slowly came to life.

Ipswich Lancaster could be considered an artist. He had a talent for drawing, that much was clear; the shading and shape of his creations were highly realistic but the prince never took notice of this, drawing was just a stepping stone for him. A way for him to get to his true creative nature and it lay not in drawing, but creating, that is after all where the word creative stems from. Ipswich created a number of things, but clothes were his passion and the place where his real inspiration and admiration lay, and with such things he was able to flaunt his personality through his clothes. When he showcased a new set one could see how much he truly loved his job, he made his clothes into his own kind of art and that message came screaming out, loud and clear. But it took work, lots of it, and it was a cutthroat business to get into, perhaps not the best of businesses when the designer in question already suffered from bulimia and self-mutilation. After all both 'illnesses' were the poster kids of the fashion industry; it really seemed quite fitting that this former model should continue to suffer away. He was in the world of fashion, he must fit the stereotype. Ironically said task was harder than it sounded for the kid, he had been dismally unable to fit into his royal stereotype so he figured it wasn't long before he screwed this whole gig up too. There we go, an insight into how tough Ipswich is on himself, constantly getting himself down because he honestly loathes being up. Unless of course he was very high up, so high up he was convinced he was flying. He was thinking, of course, about a drug high - something his weak body craved almost constantly, but he never succumbed. Not these days anyway.

Ipswich Lancaster had been a drug addict. Once. In happier times, he would say. Back when he had someone to be happy and high with - these days he had no one, no one but his two dogs and one of them was in the vets with some fatal illness. The story of his life, somehow all those he loved and adored around him found a way out of his life, either towards an early grave or just an early exit out his dorm door. Ipswich winced slightly, and for the first time since he’s started over an hour ago, his hand was still against the paper. Flash floods of memories came back to him, and as is the when a messy, dirty break-up is involved – they were never the good ones. Ipswich set the pencil down and heaved a long sigh, black lashes lowered to veil blue iris’ from the sunlight streaming through the front windows of his shop. Ipswich was sat behind the counter of the white store, now he stood, ignoring the unfinished sketch he picked up his green man bag and swung it over his shoulder, there was a light jingle from within the leather, the sound of his apartment keys chinking against one another. He had two sets see, in case he lost one. Not that Ipswich was the type of boy to be so ridiculously stupid that he should lose his keys, but in his life a lot of shit happened and maybe someone upstairs would decide to be just be plain cruel towards the kid.

Ipswich Lancaster moved with a certain grace, a sophisticated air about him that made him seem much more arrogant that he really was. Sure he had a few tickets on himself, but who didn't these days? It was nothing new to come across as a egotistical jerkoff but inside be this shy little lost boy, terrified of admitting who he really was and hating himself all the more for it. Who isn't a self-harmer, self-hater these days? It's a fad, a fashion that Ipswich had bowed before. It suited him, called to him and he's willingly answered but now...now he was stuck in this painful, self-destructive catch twenty-two and he was scared one day he'd take things too far and end up making a very dreadful mistake. In fact he anticipated it, he could sense it all on the horizon, drawing ever closer - if he thought hard enough he could even see the hazy images of what was to come, he could taste it all and then, when it all wore off, this insight was gone and he was left feeling as pathetically alone as he always had done. Ipswich moved now, with that aforementioned grace headed towards the small single door to his shop - unlike the interior the outside of his humble store was painted a vibrant red. It was nestled, quite snugly, between to pure white stores and Ipswich had chosen the colour with outstanding pride. His store was the only colourful one on the entire street, and colour attracts attention - no? Even so his quirky creations weren't the best sellers, but he had a few customers who seemed to pride themselves on being 'out there' and they came back again and again, so perhaps he was doing something right after all.

The wooden door gave a small squeak of protest as Ipswich gripped the handle, pulling it inwards and stepping out into the sunshine. Black lashes lowered once more as the sun near-blinded him, teeth bared in annoyance as he stalked along the street, away from his quaint little shop. His destination lay just a street away, it was a small, quiet yellow cafe and it was his local haunt - other than his own shop of course. He disliked coffee, but this little cafe sold almost every kind of tea one could think of. Tea was most definitely Ipswich's best friend, the only thing that had stuck by him - a cup of tea made everything alright. Ipswich smiled gently at the thought, his posture relaxed carefully as he walked and before long his long, spindly legs were leading him into the cafe. He took a seat in the very middle of the cafe, his subconscious attention whore showing itself for a small second in the form of Ipswich's blue eyes scanning the cafe for another set of eyes - he found a pair and a pleased smirk graced his lips before he tore his eyes away. People watched him, that was all he really wanted. Bile rose in his throat but he controlled himself and took his bag off his shoulder, leaning back in his chair casually, letting himself loosen up and then, all of sudden he was back to ridged, serious Ipswich as the waitress walked over. On any other day Ipswich might dare to converse with the girl, but today he was being especially introverted and so he simply asked for a lemon and ginseng tea and let her leave his side. With her movement Ipswich sighed, silently wondering when he became such a loner.

ANYTHING ELSE mm, cookies.