Post by Corey Wright on Dec 16, 2008 5:54:57 GMT -5
` coreyanselmwright ,,
[/font][/center]“ Let’s get out of here, past the atmosphere, squint your eyes and no one dies or goes to jail. ”
here we have the new superstar in town, cloudy.[/blockquote][/font][/color]
she's rocked for fifteen summers of love
and she's/he’s gonna be around for plenty more. she's/he’s
from GMT -10:00 but she's/he's calling
Newport her/his home now. so get used to
it, because she's/he’s not going anywhere.
one love and one life ,,
[/font][/blockquote][/blockquote]full name • Corey Anselm Wright
nicknames • Corey (he’s rubbish at nicknames)
species • Vampire
age • 21
grade & school • Graduated
status • Supports himself; has enough to get by, but no steady job to speak of yet.
it gives me thrills to wind you up ,,
[/font][/blockquote][/blockquote]hair • On the medium side of short, dark brown, and soft.
eyes • Normal width and size, and a muddy coffee color that isn’t very clear. Vague, just like him.
height • 5’ 10”
weight • 132 lbs.
tattoos • None.
piercings • Nope.
playby • Milo Ventimiglia
come on, come on let's play ,,
[/font][/blockquote][/blockquote]personality • Corey is a strange fellow. He mostly keeps to himself, but once you get to know him, he’s a friendlier guy than he lets on. Even if he does seem constantly unsure about becoming close to anybody, he genuinely cares for most people and does good deeds when the mood strikes him. He has a sort of comically serious sense of humor that borders on the deadpan, and honestly, people usually can’t tell if he’s joking or not. His humor isn’t the only thing affected by this; his version of angry is basically not saying a word at all, and if he’s ever been sad, he hasn’t cared enough to show it. That said, there does seem to be an air of loneliness around him, like he wants to connect to the rest of the world but doesn’t quite know how.
That doesn’t mean he’s a bore, though. He’s not the most animated person out there, but he always has something to say and is a loyal friend once he accepts someone. Part of being a perpetual outsider is his tendency to be very observant and extremely attached once he decides to make an honest effort towards maintaining a bond with someone. The problem, of course, is forming that bond in the first place. He’s never been able to understand what it means to be a true friend, although he knows it has something to do with always being there and being very nice. There’s only so much he can learn from Disney movies, though, and he honestly doesn’t seem to understand that. He gets frustrated when he’s confused, and when something annoys him, he walks away from it. That’s the one thing he’s altogether best at; leaving.
He isn’t completely socially inept, though. He’s well spoken and has good manners, he just prefers to interact on his own terms and winds up baffled when he realizes that people would rather he didn’t suddenly start reading in the middle of a conversation. Not only that, but he’s absolutely terrible at reading body language; he thinks that the signs for anxiousness mean they need the restroom, that embarrassed people might have a fever, and flirting just flies straight over his head. Other people, in his opinion, can be wonderful creatures who are worth knowing or total bastards, and everybody falls in the gray area between the two. That, more than anything, keeps him from being the bitter, judgmental bastard that many non-social people can end up being.
likes • Rain, bicycle rides, Newport, reading, museums, sweet things, black and white movies, hotels, vanishing, meeting new people, wide open spaces and mystery books.
dislikes • Monotony, photographs, spicy stuff, physical contact, when others leave him (hypocrite), doctors, loud music, cramped rooms and cell phones.
habits • Still eats human food in addition to blood, usually for the hell of it.
• Never leaves the house before 11:00 AM unless it’s for work.
• Sings along to the half-busted stereo in his car.
• Always over-sugars his coffee, and sometimes adds honey to blood.
secrets • Steals from blood banks to get by.
• Has a pathological fear of horses.
• Still has the marks on the base of his shoulder where he was turned.
overall goals • Wants to find out if he can stay somewhere long enough to make friends and a ‘real’ life, and if so, whether he even wants such a thing.
sexual orientation • Hesitantly heterosexual. He doesn’t understand romance.
invade me to the point of tears ,,
[/font][/blockquote][/blockquote]father • Edgar Wright, 57, presumably still a therapist. Most likely alive, but it’s been years.
mother • Miranda Nigels, 52, unknown. Never knew Corey.
siblings • None.
extended family • None. Lonely fellow, isn’t he?
history • Corey’s childhood was not unlike a really terrible film. One of the main characters who should have been there, his mother, was not; she walked out the door two weeks after he was born, leaving nothing but a note and some money. His father, the only remaining figure in the center stage of his life, was a lame duck. He was always too busy, or too tired, or not in the mood to deal with his child beyond the necessities. At school, he was always very quiet and withdrawn. Kids being kids, he was labeled the odd one, and therefore became a pariah. It’s strange how well-adjusted he managed to grow up for being completely alone as a child.
It’s no shocker that by the time he had ID, a driver’s license, and a decent education, he left his hometown with no warning whatsoever. It was just him, a pack of luggage, and the open road. Every now and then, in order to afford gas and food and enough money for hotels, he had to get a temporary job. Like anybody, he started out small and worked his way up to a decent resume, albeit with very little time at each job. Fortunately, some places were just so desperate for a helping hand that he was able to get by somewhat comfortably. He never stayed too long, though. Six months in one town was the most he had ever spent.
Those six months were the worst of his entire life. It’s not like he asked to be a vampire, he just stumbled upon it. Literally. He slipped and fell on a rainy hill during one of his impromptu morning jogs, and he just so happened to land unconscious in the path of a very lucky and rather puckish, you guessed it, vampire. Needless to say, by the time he figured out what happened, he decided not to go on morning walks anymore. Or go anywhere else. He shut himself up in an abandoned basement and occasionally drank the blood of any animals he happened upon. Eventually, his car was stolen and he was kicked out of the hotel room he wasn’t in for not paying; all he had left was his wallet and the clothes on his back.
It took him half a year to get up the courage to move on. Half a year until he realized, hey, why not keep everybody safe and add to the shortage of blood donations? Which is exactly what he did, and does. Corey started stealing from blood banks in whatever town he happened to be passing through. Without a car, he even started using a battered old bicycle for travel until he was able to get a new job, and thus enough money for a crappy, battered old station wagon. He bravely puttered across the nation in his worthless car, stealing from the bloodless and giving nothing to anyone. He actually kind of liked being a vampire, because it gave him an excuse not to stay. That is, until he happened upon a funny little coastal town that never saw the sun…
our work is never over ,,
[/font][/blockquote][/blockquote]Group • Loner
rp sample •Clifford was having what many people like to call a Good Day. He had dreamed up a couple of fancy new tricks, he’d just bought a fresh supply of cleaning products and nice new pair of shoes, and the doves he had ordered for his next show were due to arrive tomorrow for ‘training.’ It was a shame that he had been in such a good mood, because he chose to take the scenic route back to his car from the shop. That route just so happened to pass by the bank, inside which he thought he heard—no, he was sure he had just heard a scream. That was bad. He quickly ducked down behind a bench and peeked over it.
There were three people outside of the bank who could have done it. One, an old lady who was looking very cross and punching numbers into a cell phone. Not her. Two, a well-dressed older man running in the other direction. Probably just late for a meeting. And then there was the young man twirling a bulging sack. No, it couldn’t have been him, he couldn’t rob a bank on his own. Then again, the world was a strange place, and he could levitate chickens. Someone else might be altogether more… rotten, with their respective special gifts. That thought sickened him a little bit. This man might be the culprit, and if Clifford was any sort of good human being, he needed to stop him. But he also needed to be sure. He needed proof. So, he thought for a moment and came up with a solution. That bag could be filled with anything, so he needed to see the contents.
He took out a flimsy bottle of soap, set down his shoes, looked at a few trajectories, and smiled. This would work; he just had to aim it perfectly right. First, he concentrated, and set out two portals; one coming out of the sign directly above the suspect, so that it was a top-down view, and the other portal right beside himself. He popped open the soap and started pouring it straight down, trying to distract the man for the time being so that he could think of something else that might get that bag into his hands. Sure, it was going to be difficult, and even incredibly dangerous if this person was violent enough to single-handedly rob a bank. Still, somebody had to do it, and it didn’t look like anybody else had the means to. He didn’t even care about being seen by anybody at the moment, to the inattentive eye, he would just look like he was pouring soap on the ground instead of, by proxy, onto the head of a possible criminal.