Post by Percival Perryman on Mar 10, 2009 20:03:26 GMT -5
-citizen-
”If the brain was simple enough to understand we would be to simple to understand it.”[/b][/font]
[/right]
with the occasional spot and some veins[/b][/color][/font][/center]
NICKNAME(S):Perry
AGE:Twenty Two
BIRTHDATE: The Tenth of November
GENDER:Male
OCCUPATION:Paramedic
SEXUALITY:Uncomfirmed - He's never had much luck with either
[/ul]
and not all of it you can see[/color][/font][/b][/center]
WEIGHT:140 pounds
BUILD:Percival weighs much more than one would expect him to. Despite being small and slightly airy fairy looking Perry is surprisingly strong and because of that surprisingly heavy. Small lean but neatly put together, his frame is light and had he a bit more height he would probably be described as lanky.
TATTOOS & PIERCINGS: A small leek, yes you heard right a leek, is emblazoned on his left upper arm a humorous tribute to his home country if you will.
FACE CLAIM:Gaspard Ullie
GENERAL:
over and over the same old lines[/b][/SIZE][/color][/font][/center]
LIKES:
DISLIKES:
[/ul]
thoughts make me go insane[/b][/SIZE][/color][/font][/center]
SIBLINGS: Elliot Perryman
OTHER:
HISTORY:
i’ve got a family and i drink cups of tea[/b][/color][/font][/center]
NAME:Taboo
BREED:Thoroughbred
DISCIPLINE: English
[/ul]
i’ve got familiar faces[/b][/color][/font][/center]
Age:17
Contacts: (PM is fine)
Other characters:Tabbitha Jones
Fun fact:Its exactly 1am at this moment
[/size][/ul]
and I’ve got favourite places[/b][/color][/font][/center]
“Sorry boy its just” He ran his hand along the well muscled neck momentarily loosening his firm hold on the horses mouth and Gun as per usual took this as the command for go.
Left hind thruster strongly forward starting the first step of a right lead canter then he gave a big but sittable buck and went disunited. Dylan guilt vanished under his general frustration he pulled Gun up again before they squashed any of the other competitors sharing the practice arena. He maintained a tight grip on his black plait leather reins keeping Gun momentarily still as he checked his silver Rolex watch it read 15:12.
He had ten minutes left to finish warming up before they showjumped and didn’t Gun just know it. He heard a shout and Gun throw up his head and whizzed back into a bay horse standing quietly while its rider chatted to a couple of friends, the bay spun and showed Gun a clean air of heels missing him by inches. The rider swore at the pair of them and urging Gun forward (not that it took much urging) Dylan gave her the finger, it wasn’t a productive thing to do but it made his feel better
He put Gun to work before they caused more trouble, concentrating on making the gelding really use himself and not allowing his to charge around on his forehand. Steadying the canter he counted beats both to focus himself and to check that Gun really was rhythmical. With a tweak of the left rein he changed the horse’s direction and focus to aim at one of two practice jumps in the 40x60 arena he asked for a half halt and surprisingly Gun answered his request politely not pulling or chucking his head. The approached in a steady canter five good strides away Guns hocks were well under him and the way to the red and blue parallel was clear realizing he had a death grip on the reins, he relaxed slightly and Gun true to his name fired. The rhythm went to pot and Gun took off like a kangaroo, which at least showed he was using his quarters, Dylan thought dryly. Considering the size of the jump Gun had put in the landed neatly enough and Gun didn’t seem at all put out - the gelding was fighting his riders attempts to steady him, he was ready to go.
A commanding voice caught Dylan attention, shit, had he seen the last ten minutes performance? The voice in question belonged to his father, with effort he brought gun back to him and slowed him to a walk to approach his father half wishing Gun would charge off and make the little chat have to be delayed. No such luck as although the gelding chucked his head and snorted he seemed keener to see Dylans father than Dylan himself. It wasn’t that Dylan didn’t like his father, no it was the opposite problem he adored him but his father was competitive (so was Dylan) and today Dylan was failing him. “Dylan are you alright?” The words themselves could have been a kindly enquiry but the tone was stern, no not even just stern, distaining? Perhaps disgusted… Dylan was seized by two equally strong desires the first to hang his head, role on his back and grovel until his father was pleased was again the second was to give his dad the same finger he had given the girl earlier. He was of course too proud to do the former and to cowardly to do the latter. “Dylan you do know how much ‘Big gun from the frontier’ cost don’t you? You do know how much money he’s won BHJA?” His dads word were quiet, cold and almost unbearable for Dylan how could he reply ‘yes’ didn’t really sound like the right answer. Suddenly he was saved the commentator who he had barely heard till now announced the last call for number 108 Dylan Bently, “Sorry Dad got to fly wish us luck, not that we need it.”
Phew, with a touch of his heels he wheeled Gun and allowed him into a smart trot bringing him back to walk to exit the sand surfaced out door arena over the cream coloured gravel to the indoor one. He waited for the girl on the door to open it and with a appreciative smile that he didn’t feel but he knew turned her heart he rode though
“Come on then Gun there’s money on the line here “
Not that Dylan needed money he was rolling in it but the money was a token, Gun ignored his words simply pulling to get going and get the job done, well that was the aim wasn’t it get the job done, win the class that was how this game was played. It was game Gun played expertly and Dylan played well enough himself, not that pure showjumping was particularly there thing. Still that was no excuse not to win.
[/ul]
, PercivalVerityPerryman !
[/size]”If the brain was simple enough to understand we would be to simple to understand it.”[/b][/font]
[/right]
, this is my face covered in freckles !
[/color][/font]with the occasional spot and some veins[/b][/color][/font][/center]
NICKNAME(S):Perry
AGE:Twenty Two
BIRTHDATE: The Tenth of November
GENDER:Male
OCCUPATION:Paramedic
SEXUALITY:Uncomfirmed - He's never had much luck with either
[/ul]
, this is my body covered in skin !
[/color]and not all of it you can see[/color][/font][/b][/center]
WEIGHT:140 pounds
BUILD:Percival weighs much more than one would expect him to. Despite being small and slightly airy fairy looking Perry is surprisingly strong and because of that surprisingly heavy. Small lean but neatly put together, his frame is light and had he a bit more height he would probably be described as lanky.
TATTOOS & PIERCINGS: A small leek, yes you heard right a leek, is emblazoned on his left upper arm a humorous tribute to his home country if you will.
FACE CLAIM:Gaspard Ullie
GENERAL:
There an almost birdie or perhaps Pixie look to Perry’s delicate features, something about the angles of his face and the tense overly alert way his eyes flit round the room. His eyes are a close match to his younger brothers in there ocean spray colouring and except a little darker perhaps and are as equally as readable. In truth everything about Perry is readable. His every thought spreads itself across his face, betraying his emotions to all who spare a glance but to compensate for this Perry had master the knack of being not worth glancing at. The art of slumping slightly not meeting your fellows eye, funny how the moment you declare yourself not worth noticing most people unconsciously agree, it’s a useful ability.[/ul]
Petite almost girly in form Perrys muscle are those of a tumbler or gymnast perhaps, strength that’s hard to detect. He looks younger than his 21 years and when out with his brother is often presumed to be the younger of the two, he never managed to get served before the day for his 21st birthday and even now his ID always gets checked and even occasionally gets turned down. His hair is the dark brown of expensive chocolates, cut in the typical short back and side style yet never quite tidy, perpetually tousled if you like. His eyebrows are the same dark brown arching and full and in truth form into a monobrow if not in check by the tweezers. His hand and feet are large for his small form giving him the clumsy look of a foal but you know what they say about big feet, big socks.
Percival’s socks are usually black with some bright colour on the heel and toe, over them he either wears riding boots trainers or some very sexy of course green wellys. Above his choice of foot ware – or lack of – he usually wears plain blue black or grey jeans, plain cut neither flared or skinny occasionally you can catch him in a pair of breachers but only in wear them or don’t ride situation. On top he favours Tshirts usually with some band logo or possible moral reminder one of his favourites bares Amnesty logo, if its not a Tshirt day he usually picks a shirt plain, or dull check. In the colder weather he goes for the posh knob coat, unless of course its round the horses in which case he return to the good old fleece and mackintosh look.
, and this is my mind it goes !
[/color]over and over the same old lines[/b][/SIZE][/color][/font][/center]
From a strangers perspective Perry looks like the kind of guy who never takes a hit, the sort of person insults bounce of and rebound and troubles skirt. The sort of person who looks after his friends and to an extent this is true. Perry tries to stand up for himself, his family, his opinions, human rights and fights hard to protect all these things. Stubborn as a mule arguing with him is an inevitability yet if you know him you can get him to do anything using the simple power of guilt. He can be guilt tripped into anything perhaps some part of himself suspects that all the worlds problems are his fault anyway and even if his conscious doesn’t believe that. Also what ever he pretends Perry really does take hits and he takes them hard, the problem with his eyesight terrify him, so much so that he’d rather pretend they simple don’t exist than make any attempt to face them, he knows it wussy but he just can’t do it.
Cheerful and perky its true Perry always been popular even if he’s never been one of the cool ones, more of a class clown, he takes the attitude that he doesn’t have problems. He hates hurting peoples feelings but on the other hand finds it hard to restrain his quick tongue and being a bit of a tactless clod often does so by accident.
His attempts at having a relationship have usually failed because of the sad fact any girl he fancies seem to prefer his taller, darker, handsomer and most tragically younger brother. Some how the tragic mystery effortlessly alluded by his brother over powers Perry’s attempts at romance. Still he grungingly accepts the “I’m sorry but I can only see you as a friends” usually received the moment he makes a move.
Don’t wake Perry in the morning, no actually don’t wake Perry period. Perry finds morning as challenge particulary after a night out and is prone to using some particulary foul word when woken. Then sulking the rest of day, yes Perry is an incredible sulk, its one of those things which just seem to come with not getting angry and he could for England. Its not big its not clever but he just can’t help himself.
Ever since making his career choice as a Paramedic he’s hated both Christmas and New year nothing that ruins the atmosphere quite as much as cleaning up people who’ve topped or attempted to top themselves. Naturally relaxed Perry is pretty good at his job and for similar reason good with horses, although being fairly inept at asserting himself in anymore than a jokey way he tents to get walked over by all but the most gentile or nervous of equines. With people this is also a problem for him although initially giving the impression of being fairly tough if a bit girly it doesn’t take people that long to work out he isn’t very tough and for all his high morals he’d rather not be hated. Despite being a paramedic and there for pretty health aware Perry still likes a drink and smoking the odd pot based role up with friends but he doesn’t consider himself in anyway ‘druggy’.
Girly is probably a word that describes Perry well even though most girls would be offended. Yes he plucks his eyebrows, yes he’s thoroughly un macho, yes the idea of playing American football terrifies him, he also cried when he got his very small tattoo. On the other hand he’s pretty athletic loves good old English football Parkour and other sports that don’t involve being mutilated but isn’t good enough to be proud of any sporting abilities. He loves being out of the city even though he enjoys a certain amount of hustle and bustle and rarely keeps his mouth shut for more than 10 seconds he takes a surprising amount of joy in peace and quiet.
LIKES:
( At least 5 )
• A Laugh
• Pratting about
• Festivals
• Cool showers on hot days
• A spliff or two and a drink or four
• Bad jokes the more cringe worthy the better
DISLIKES:
( At least 5 )[/blockquote]
• Spiders! Perry is absolutely terrified of spiders, he wouldn’t kill 'em but he does demonstrate a beautifully feminine scream if one lands on him.
• New year day.
•Opinion less drones.
• Being ignored
• Paper work
[/ul]
, and this is my brain it’s tortures analytcal !
[/color]thoughts make me go insane[/b][/SIZE][/color][/font][/center]
SIBLINGS: Elliot Perryman
OTHER:
HISTORY:
[/ul]
His family originated in Wales where Perry spent most of his early years in a smallish town near Monmouth and the hard to determine English border doing as boys do; making friends, enemies and doing as boys do. Perry was one of those unlucky sorts who instead of pissing about in school and still passing every test with flying colours worked hard in school struggling to understand and still only scraped though with nothing higher than a C minus. However hard he tried the academic subjects just wouldn’t click, he tried, he failed, his teachers explained it, re explained it, then gave up and let him struggle along at the back of the class.
Still he had friends and that was what was important to him. as he grew up friend’s and a brother who was gradually starting to talk to him again. The fact that his brother was getting so distant with everyone worried Perry immensely, when ever he went out with out his brother he felt guilty for leaving him and yet when he stayed his presence was barely acknowledged. He felt lost with out his brother, despite the fact he was four years senior their bond was close enough that when he closed himself off for Perry to feel he’d lost half his self. Still perhaps this wasn’t wholly a bad thing for it gave Perry the space to form his own opinion and strong ones on that, he became a campaigner for change. Its easer not to think about your own problems when your trying to solve bigger ones, your own family squabbles seem trivial when compared by million starved or oppressed
Perry was in his early teens when he first made a real connexion with the bazaar yet infinitely compelling world of horses, it made a big impression on him. It was mostly the beasts themselves but also his eccentric mentor a batty woman who was quite convinced she knew everything there was to know about boys and probably did know everything there was to know about Cobs. Perry fell in love, discovering how the wuffle of a horses soft muzzle could blow away your troubles and an afternoon of mucking out and being shouted at could be paradise itself.
Perry left school at 16 and started training as paramedic but they remained close to the yard his family and his mentor. Perry ended up spending the majority of his time in the company of horses pouring his heart and savings into something that was so much more than a hobby. Batty as his mentor was known by all gradually started allowing him to compete her cobs (with dire threats if he dared shame them) and Perry despite his late start eventually proved competent in the ring and over fences. Perry life ticked over pretty happily, he became fully qualified moved away from home and brought his first horse that was completely his a scatty but kind Expacer standard bred and successfully evented her and he worked hard to provide for his mare.
When he twenty he was successful in his application for a visa to allow him to work in America and after selling his mare to a close friend made the move to New York. With sting playing in the background he gradually settled in the busy city a world away from what he was use to. He found his work as a paramedic in America both more stressful and depressing, he found he was actually missing the equality of the NHS. He rode less often and never seemed to have the time or energy for a horse of his own and that was before he started to have vision blips, these consisted of temporary loosing his site sometimes only for seconds occasionally for hours. The quiet enquires he made yielded no results, brain scans revealed nothing the only suggestion was ‘he was either slightly nuts’ or perhaps it was stress related.
He dithered about moving back home to England, until he was offered a paid role working as a Paramedic to a charity medical clinic in Lexington a post he accepted. He hoped the job would weigh less on his conscious and going back into the countryside might lesson his vision difficulties as well of course allowing him to get back into the horsey world.
, and i use mouthwash and sometimes i floss !
[/color][/font]i’ve got a family and i drink cups of tea[/b][/color][/font][/center]
NAME:Taboo
BREED:Thoroughbred
DISCIPLINE: English
[/ul]
, i’ve got nastalgic pavements !
[/color][/font]i’ve got familiar faces[/b][/color][/font][/center]
Age:17
Contacts: (PM is fine)
Other characters:Tabbitha Jones
Fun fact:Its exactly 1am at this moment
[/size][/ul]
, i’ve got mixed-up memories !
[/color][/font]and I’ve got favourite places[/b][/color][/font][/center]
“Sorry boy its just” He ran his hand along the well muscled neck momentarily loosening his firm hold on the horses mouth and Gun as per usual took this as the command for go.
Left hind thruster strongly forward starting the first step of a right lead canter then he gave a big but sittable buck and went disunited. Dylan guilt vanished under his general frustration he pulled Gun up again before they squashed any of the other competitors sharing the practice arena. He maintained a tight grip on his black plait leather reins keeping Gun momentarily still as he checked his silver Rolex watch it read 15:12.
He had ten minutes left to finish warming up before they showjumped and didn’t Gun just know it. He heard a shout and Gun throw up his head and whizzed back into a bay horse standing quietly while its rider chatted to a couple of friends, the bay spun and showed Gun a clean air of heels missing him by inches. The rider swore at the pair of them and urging Gun forward (not that it took much urging) Dylan gave her the finger, it wasn’t a productive thing to do but it made his feel better
He put Gun to work before they caused more trouble, concentrating on making the gelding really use himself and not allowing his to charge around on his forehand. Steadying the canter he counted beats both to focus himself and to check that Gun really was rhythmical. With a tweak of the left rein he changed the horse’s direction and focus to aim at one of two practice jumps in the 40x60 arena he asked for a half halt and surprisingly Gun answered his request politely not pulling or chucking his head. The approached in a steady canter five good strides away Guns hocks were well under him and the way to the red and blue parallel was clear realizing he had a death grip on the reins, he relaxed slightly and Gun true to his name fired. The rhythm went to pot and Gun took off like a kangaroo, which at least showed he was using his quarters, Dylan thought dryly. Considering the size of the jump Gun had put in the landed neatly enough and Gun didn’t seem at all put out - the gelding was fighting his riders attempts to steady him, he was ready to go.
A commanding voice caught Dylan attention, shit, had he seen the last ten minutes performance? The voice in question belonged to his father, with effort he brought gun back to him and slowed him to a walk to approach his father half wishing Gun would charge off and make the little chat have to be delayed. No such luck as although the gelding chucked his head and snorted he seemed keener to see Dylans father than Dylan himself. It wasn’t that Dylan didn’t like his father, no it was the opposite problem he adored him but his father was competitive (so was Dylan) and today Dylan was failing him. “Dylan are you alright?” The words themselves could have been a kindly enquiry but the tone was stern, no not even just stern, distaining? Perhaps disgusted… Dylan was seized by two equally strong desires the first to hang his head, role on his back and grovel until his father was pleased was again the second was to give his dad the same finger he had given the girl earlier. He was of course too proud to do the former and to cowardly to do the latter. “Dylan you do know how much ‘Big gun from the frontier’ cost don’t you? You do know how much money he’s won BHJA?” His dads word were quiet, cold and almost unbearable for Dylan how could he reply ‘yes’ didn’t really sound like the right answer. Suddenly he was saved the commentator who he had barely heard till now announced the last call for number 108 Dylan Bently, “Sorry Dad got to fly wish us luck, not that we need it.”
Phew, with a touch of his heels he wheeled Gun and allowed him into a smart trot bringing him back to walk to exit the sand surfaced out door arena over the cream coloured gravel to the indoor one. He waited for the girl on the door to open it and with a appreciative smile that he didn’t feel but he knew turned her heart he rode though
“Come on then Gun there’s money on the line here “
Not that Dylan needed money he was rolling in it but the money was a token, Gun ignored his words simply pulling to get going and get the job done, well that was the aim wasn’t it get the job done, win the class that was how this game was played. It was game Gun played expertly and Dylan played well enough himself, not that pure showjumping was particularly there thing. Still that was no excuse not to win.
