Post by JAY JAVAAD COWAN on Nov 1, 2011 11:44:28 GMT -5
JAY JAVAAD COWAN.22.GREASER.UNEMPLOYED.JOSH BEECH.
well hello, how are you this evening?
Better than most days. You're lucky - caught me in a good damn mood. Though 'cause I'm bipo-...a little unpredictable I could snap at any time, so just watch that, yeah? And don't blame me if these dumbass questions tick me off.
don't be so nervous. well, tell me a little about who you are?
Oh fine, fine. Er...well, my name is Jay Javaad Cowan and I'm twenty-two years old, I turned twenty two a week ago, on the 24th of October. It's my anniversery. Cute, huh? I'm very straight, of course. My birth name isn't Jay, it's Jacques. But I've never liked that name. I just get Jay. I'm unemployed at the moment, recently been made redundant because staff at my old workplace was cut back. Was a crappy job, anyway. Screw it. I'll get a REAL job, one where I can make more money so I can buy more food than bread and butter everyday.
ah interesting. well i'm loving the outfit that are wearing, tell me more about it.
Well, I just threw it on, really. I got the red checked shirt from my brother and the jeans I've had for ages. Don't think that the knees are torn because that's the fashion. Probably survived a gruesome scrap I had. My hair is usually left ruffled but it has this annoying way of curling that I hate. I prefer it spiked up down the middle the way it does now, with little jags. It's like a minature mohawk, yeah? Only it ain't cheap-looking like most mohawks are. I know I'm pale, but I prefer to look like a vampire rather than look like I've permenantly been going on holidays to Rio. Like my tatts? I get one done every few weeks. I find them pretty addictive, really. No doubt there's a story behind each one. I haven't got one now, because of the sucky no-smoking law, but I usually have a fag inbetween two fingers. Another addiction. I'm just full of them, aren't I? I work out a little bit so my arms are a little muscly but I'm usually real stick-thin. It's real annoying.
well here i thought it was more expensive that that. well, let's here a little about you.
I've always been rough around the edges. I'm loud, irresponsible, and unpredictable. Just when you think you've got me all sussed out I do something that changes everything that you've ever thought about me. I'm cocky and rude, I make snide little comments that have people tearing their hair out in frustration. You'd need to have the paitence of a saint to put up with me. If I'm being pefectly honest, I only do the things I do for the attention. I like my privacy a lot but I like winding people up as well. I don't really care if it's negative attention or not, sometimes I just get bored and want some. I'll do things only if I actually want to and I never seem to be in the right mood. Most find me unapproachable, but they're wrong. As long as you're not gonna insult me, I don't mind having a chat. I'm very determined and you can trust be to get the job done. It may not be pretty, but at least I get it done and done my way. There's a softer side beneath the hard shell but I'll only show you that if I really like you. I may give up trying to do your head in if you won't show me a good enough reaction. Or I'll just get bored and wanna be nice for a change. Despite the fact my humour is cruel, it has people in stitches. I'm easy to get along with through the hard shells, and actually I'm pretty laid-back.
Don't think you can impress me. I don't wanna be impressed. If you see me upset, don't offer my any sympathy, cause I'll throw it back in your face and then some. Sometimes I just want to be left alone and people honestly need to respect that, not come bounding over all set to make a new best friend. Don't offer to do anything for me because I'll be determined and convinced that I can do it by myself. I'm actually pretty loyal, none of this shrugging you off and washing my hands free, I face up to the responsibilites that I have. I don't appreciate being told what to do. I'll polietly tell you to bugger off if you even attempt it. I'm a lone, agressive wolf, who's secretly a sweet wounded puppy dog inside. Deep inside. I wish some people would take the time to notice. Actually, I need to as well.
you sound rather interesting, can't wait to get to know you a little more.
Interesting's one way to describe it. Well, my dad's called Brendan and he's thirty-eight. I'm usually told that I'm the spit of him. I remember him well even though mum reguarly shows me updated pictures of him in the centre to jog my memory. He has a fringe of messy, tousled black hair, that brushes his eyebrows slighty. His eyes are big and puppy-like, exactly like mine 'cept dad's are a light summer blue. His skin is a honey-color. He has a lot of tattoos all over his body and he told me the story of each one day. One is of a vine with two blue butterflies and one pink one in the sky watching over them. Dad says it symbolises Jayni watching over me and Jared in heaven. Dad is like me in the sense that he's tough ----- only dad's a lot more gentle with some and doesn't lose his temper as easily as I do. He's a legend. You ask anyone about Bren, they'll have something fantastic to say.
Jared is a little eleven-year-old with pale skin and big mournful blue eyes. He's skinny with broad shoulders, which is probably one of the most adorable things you'll ever see. His hair is tousled like dad's and falls just over his forehead. Jared looks and acts like a little monkey. He's full of energy and wears out me and mum all the time. He is a little sweetheart, he actually cried when he stepped on a snail by accident one time for four hours straight, wailing about how much of a bad person he was. He's a good kid, smart, too. Me and mum are real protective over him. We don't want him to end up like either of us.
Mum is tall and pale, frail and willowy with big brown eyes and soft brown hair that bounces lightly on her shoulders whenever she walks. She's beautiful, really. She used to smile all the time and she looks so much more beautiful when she did. But now she rarely ever does. She only ever smiles half-hearted ones now. She's always worn out and tired, always stressed out but trying not to show it. She tells Jared stories and dresses and feeds him and chats away to me, but she always seems to not be concentrating, never really there. It breaks my heart.
and where you are from? what's your story? how did you get here, to tulsa.?
Well, I was born twenty two years ago to my mum and dad, I'm orignally from Manchester as are most of my family. My dad was only 16 and my mum was 16 too. Why did they decide to have me? Well, when a mommy Cowan and a daddy Cowan love each other very much, they decide to....oh, right. That's what you meant. Well, I was an accident. My mum and dad were responsible though. As soon as my mum, Daniella, got permission from her parents, my dad Brendan married her. Then I came along. I know what you're gonna ask and no, I won't go into detail. I can't vividly remember that day. Shockingly enough. From I was a baby my dad and mum were strapped for cash. They couldn't ask their parents for a loan, or for anything else. They turned their backs on us when I was born. So dad moved us to Tulsa for a better life because he heard of job oppertunities.
Since I was a kid dad worked for hours but none of those...gentlemen....at his work ever showed any appreciation to him. He was just another Greasy really. That's all the Cowans were seen as. But my dad never gave up. He was a hero to me, a determined family man who all the guys down the pub knew and respected as Bren. All the greaser guys, anyway. I'm usually told I look the spit of my dad, with dark hair, intense eyes and a stick-thin-muscly build. I hope I turn out like him personality wise too.
I showed a fascination for racing when I was about two. I remember dad bought me a red race car one year for christmas, a little hand-me-down model that had looked pretty dodgy, but dad polished it up for me and I was thrilled. I never put that car down. I made burbling noises as I made my car swirl around the patterns on the sofa and clack along the radiator. I cried whenever I had to go to bed or school and leave it behind....so instead I hid it under my t-shirt and had games under the covers at night and smuggled it into school in my lunchbox. Ever since then, I've been a racer. Not just with my motorbike but mentally too. It sounds real cheesy, but it's the damn honest truth. I always flew by things without a second glance, too afraid to turn back and face things or clean up my mess. That was how I was raised and, for a while, that was what I lived as.
My brother Jared was born when I was eleven, and my family struggled to keep up with feeding another mouth. It all got worse when Jayni, my sister, was born, a year and a half later. She was born blind and sick. She would cough and cough all night and wheeze with heavy breaths. I remember looking into her coat and touching her gently, and how her skin burned with fever and ribcage rattled with weak breaths. Family focuse turned on Jayni and me and Jared were unintentionally tossed aside. My parents never meant any harm, I know that ----- but at the time I was hurt and refused to offer any help. I was a strophy little git. Jayni died when she was three months old and my dad was sent to rehab with the depression.
That left only mum to care for me and Jared. It was tough for her, but she never gave up on us. I found out I was bipolar when I was 12, and that explained the mood swings I'd had all my life that mum always thought just meant I was "at that age". I was scared I'd end up in rehab like dad, because I'd heard whispers at school about the kind of torture that goes on there. But I didn't get any treatment at all. I refused to, anyway. School was in my life and that only triggered it off more.....fine, if you must know, I was bullied. I was a little wimp when I was younger but I toughened up a lot. Racing is the one thing that hasn't let me down. I race motorbikes against my friends and used to do it with kids in my class. It was a good way to earn money.
wow, what a story, well i guess that's all that i have time for. it was a pleasure to meet you and i hope that we meet again.
Sure, I guess it's been fun. Wouldn't do it again though.
and for the actual roleplayer
What do you go by?
Scave
How old are you?
n/a
How long have you been doing this?
2+ years
What timezone are you in?
Ireland/Uk
How can we reach you?
PM/Site. My e-mail is playing up recently
Who else have you got?
None
Canon or Original?
Original
Care to show off your skills?Nightclubs weren't usually Ciaran's scene. He was more quieter-natured than jumpy, despite being so childishly outgoing on top of that as well. He didn't really go out for club nights so much anymore. He used to, before Jack was born. He was quite the partier back then, in fact he met Seren in a bar. But now that his son was in his life he didn't really want to go out and drink, party and then stumble home with some random stranger and wake up the next morning with the king of hangovers. What kind of an example would that be putting? He was far from the best of dads, but he at least wanted to try.
The music was loud and booming so Ciaran found he had to repeat himself after he ordered a drink. Nothing too heavy, just some black velvet with coke. A happy medium. He sipped it a little sheepishly, clicking his tongue to get used to the strange-ish taste. It was weird. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a drink that was the slightest bit alcoholic. It was good, but odd. Almost unfamiliar. Damn, he really needed to get out a bit more.
Then some random girl stumbled up to him, a little drunk. She whispered a slur in his ear and he looked at her in disbelief. She wrapped two hands around his arm and cuddled up to him. Ciaran shook his head firmly and gestured a shooing motion, making the girl pout and storm off, high heels clackng on the hard club floor. He had to grin at that. He was so out of place here, it was a little comical. The bartender sidled over and seriously asked if he wanted to call security but Ciaran just laughed. The bartender looked both hurt and confused, so then he realised the guy wasn't kidding. Maybe he'd expected the girl to be on drugs or something. That didn't make Ciaran any more comfortable. Well, this was awkward.
To avoid any awkward silence Ciaran excused himself and got up, turning away from the bar to walk into the chaos of the club. Ciaran was beginning to question why he'd even bothered coming. If he really wanted to drink unfamiliar drinks and suffer through a large trial of awkward silence, he'd just stay with Seren for an hour after picking up Jack. People were arguing, splitting up fights, dancing, making out, buying drinks, laughing, talking about the most random of things. They all seemed to be having fun at least. Ciaran was enjoying this as much as a hole in the head. No doubt his cousin was off in the crowd doing whatever. He felt like a wolf that had been mistaken for a German Sheppard and was now wondering around the dog pound with all eyes staring his way. Or some kind of metaphor that was equally out of place.
He sighed and sat down on the nearest chair, realising right away someone was sitting beside him. Ciaran felt a little at ease then. Maybe this was someone to talk with. He gave them a large-and-gorgeous Ciaran grin, looking the guy up and down. He had ruffled brown hair and a very lean kind of build. The guy was intriguing, to say the least.
"Hi," He said coolly, one hand threaded in his orderly mess of silky golden hair. "You don't mind if I sit here, do you?"That was one thing he was good at, talking. Even if that was both good and bad on his account. He realised that the guy looked familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Where had he seen him before? Possibly in the school. Was he a student teacher like Ciaran? He realised he was staring a little and went a little stiff with horror. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise I was staring. It's just that you seem a little familiar. Do you work in the school?" Well, at least now his mind would be put to rest. Now all he had to worry about was the guy thinking he was a total weirdo. Ah, screw it. He was. "Sorry, sorry. Name's Ciaran."
