Post by DAVIEL PATCH on Apr 1, 2013 5:15:59 GMT -5
BLAKE -- DAVIEL --PATCH
FULL NAME Blake Daviel Patch
NICKNAMES Daviel
AGE 28
GENDER Male
DORM/APARTMENT Attached to shop Or Apartment [<--- Admin choice]
HAIR COLOR Light brown
EYE COLOR Dark brown
HEIGHT 6’ 2”
DISTINGUISHING MARKS N/A
CELEB Ryan Reynolds
OCCUPATION Runs the on campus saddlery, also functions as a de facto handyman.
LIKES
- Coffee
- Paid accounts
- Reading
- Hurley
- Overpowered engines
DISLIKES
- No Coffee
- People who want ‘tabs’
- Cell phones
- vandalism
- Smoking.
FEARS
- Breaking fragile things
- Losing his business
- Cancer
- Flying
- Blood
STRENGTHS
- Physical strength
- Ability to fix almost anything
- Sense of humour
- High tolerance for caffeine
- stamina
WEAKNESSES
- Accounts
- Women
- High tolerance for caffeine
- Cannot deal with the sight of blood.
- Hurley
HABITS
- Tends to fall silent when he gets nervous. I.e. the worse his nerves, the less he’ll talk.
- Chugging coffee at any possible time.
- Yelling at people who use a cell phone in his shop.
- rubbing Hurley’s belly with his foot
- speeding
GOALS
- Have a profitable business
- Find someone who shares his coffee addiction
PERSONALITY
Charming, sophisticated and suave; three words generally not associated with Daviel. Whilst he is generally a fairly smart guy his intelligence turns to mush when he is faced with a situation he does not find comfortable. This, unfortunately, usually involves woman. So long as the relationship remains platonic he can have good solid friendships with woman. The moment he gets even a whiff of possible romantic involvement and he turns into a clumsy oaf, thanks in large part to his nerves. Otherwise he is fun to be around; with a mischievous smirk and boyish twinkle to his chocolate gaze he can usually coax a smile out of even the most intractable. Too much caffeine over the years means he has developed a high tolerance, and the sludge he consumes in order to compensate can usually nock the uninitiated down like strong liquor. He finds this amusing, and will often try to trick any new friends into trying it. His best friend is definitely his dog Hurley, a purebred of only the ugliest mutts around. So it is with him that if you can’t like his dog, get out.
He is proud of his ability to fix almost anything, but pride will only get so far before it encounters his implacable good sense. This means he’ll call in the professionals when they are needed, rather than risk his life or others. He’s finally got the business he’s been working towards, and though it is small he likes it that way and intends to make it a name synonymous with the famous name of Flying High Academy.
PARENTS
- Lillian Jane Patch [Deceased, childbirth]
- Blake William Patch [Deceased, Cancer]
SIBLINGS
N/A
OTHER
Hurley, Canine, 7 yrs old.
Mutt. Heavy bulldog body, short little legs, box shaped head like a staffy with a slight overbite. Small ears, one almost always folded inside out. Predominantly white, with a large brown splodge on his back stopping approx. midway up his tail. Another large brown splat covers half his head. Bicoloured eyes, one brown and the other blue. Whip thin tail of lethal strength.
Definitely of the ‘bark is worse than his bite’ type. Will make all the necessary posturing; barking, growling, raised hackles. Then once an invisible line is crossed he’ll go hide under the bed. Incurably happy to see you, practically giddy for affection.
BIOGRAPHY/HISTORY
Daviel was born prematurely; his mother did not survive the labour. He was therefore raised primarily by his father and Grandmother. He grew up on a small family farm owned by a close friend. His father worked as their mechanic for room and board. He could keep their equipment running on the smell of an oily rag. He learned how to ride and handle horses there, and eventually would help with general field work on one of the farm horses; riding out to fix fences and check stock.
Unfortunately his Grandmother died shortly after his 12th birthday, From then on it was just him and his father, and it was during this time that they hatched a joint plan to start a store together. His father taught him how to fix virtually anything and eventually he would give him Hurley as a puppy, rescuing the ugly pup from the side of the road. Their plan was starting to look doable, and then Blake senior developed lung cancer; from the habitual hand rolled he kept virtually super glued to his lower lip.
After a long winded battle filled with hospital bills and steadily decreasing health Blake senior passed away. He made sure that even after death his son would be taken care of, procuring a sizeable life insurance policy many years earlier. Daviel used the money to pay off their bills and get a start on their joint dream.
AGE 24
YEARS RPING 10ish
RL HORSE EXPERIENCE Horse riding since I was approx. 12 years old. I’ve never owned a horse, but I leased for a good chunk of my life.
EXAMPLE POST This is an excerpt from a fanfiction I am currently writing, which can be found on fanfiction.net under the author name SnickersPods
[{POTO}] Run and hide but a face will still pursue you!
WTF!! Danielle thought as she nearly lost her footing up in the flies. She looked down to where the offending noise had nearly cost Danielle her life, or at least serious bodily harm. With a wrist wrapped with rope, she leaned precariously over, reaching a 45-degree angle to the ground as she watched.
Apparently, the Prima Dona, Carlotta Giudicelli, had been unable to find work anywhere else and had come back to the Opera Populaire, the only place that would take her. The stage had been pretty much cleared of the work that had been going on the day before. After all, the repairs were almost finished. The main body of the work had been moved into one of the dance halls so that rehearsals could begin and auditions could take place.
Carlotta was now doing her best impersonation of a strangled duck as she practiced for her next leading role. Danielle wasn’t much interested in opera. The music could sometimes be beautiful and with the right singer, often fantastic, but her preference of music was a bit more futuristic; the tunes she’d whistle while she worked were often alien to anything people of this era listened to. But then again, she admitted to herself, I’ve never heard any worthwhile singing. And she flinched as Carlotta strangled another note.
Danielle had an overwhelming urge to drop a sandbag on the woman as she attempted to hit an ever-elusive high note. She cringed as her ears protested and she drew back from the angle she had been hanging at.
So far, Danielle had snooped all over the main floor. Her next stop was box five. Whispers she had overheard proclaimed this as his personal box so she figured it was a sure bet for another passage. She had already discovered a subtly hidden trap door in the flies, as well as a cleverly devised rope ladder hidden amongst some seemingly random hanging lines. Danielle had followed the rope ladder- it had led to up amongst the breezy rafters and nothing else. She hadn’t gone through the trap door since it had been completely dark and a tentative investigation had proved the ladder decayed and rotten. It was put on the to-do list, once she’d acquired a length of rope and a lamp.
Wishing she had a set of earplugs, Danielle swung deftly from one rope to another, swung up into a rope bridge, made a flying leap to her left, and caught a waiting rope. She let the rope slip through her hand as she swung her feet caught a ledge. Her right hand shot out and grasped a handhold. She let the rope go and sidled along the ledge.
She came to a newly repaired carving, the face of the carving set in a permanent expression of torturous pleasure beneath the carved shroud. She made a face at the thing as she climbed over it. No one seemed to notice Danielle’s spider like journey across the multiple carvings and they made marvellous handholds for her. Though admittedly, she found herself blushing when she found it necessary to grasp things she would otherwise avoid grasping. Finally, she had only to swing her slight figure into the shadowed interior of box five.
Once her feet were firmly on level ground she began looking around. Always look for the obvious first, then the subtle, then the gregarious. Everything looked just like the other box seats. Danielle was rapidly getting sick of plush red and gold.
She’d checked in on the boys as she’d moved through the building. They’d all been given tasks, though they’d stuck to their pairs. Blake, when she’d spotted him, had been having a nice chat with Meg. Danielle smirked. If the girl knew anything Blake would have charmed it out of her by lunch.
Okay so obvious wasn’t a go, subtle next. Danielle told herself as she moved to the single chair placed in the box. She nudged it gently and it moved. It wasn’t bolted down or anything. She immediately crossed it off the list. She turned to the banister and her eyes saw nothing so she closed her whiskey eyes and beginning at one side close to the wall, she ran her hands over it. Working slowly across, her hands mapped it out. She reached the other end and still nothing. Danielle snapped her eyes open with a frustrated ‘humph!’
She looked to the walls; there were some gilt wall sconces. There were four. She began on the first one. By the fourth she was just further annoyed, still nothing. She tried everything, the paintings, the carvings, even the door itself. Only one way left; gregarious.
So, something so obvious it was ludicrous; something that conspicuously shouted it was a secret passageway. She looked around speculatively, then mentally shifted down into the romanticist mind of an over dramatic queen; basically a diva. There! She brought her mind back from that chillingly simple version and reaching out a hand seized the rope tassel that was supposed to close the box curtains with a simple tug.
Bracing herself, Danielle gave a sharp pull to the rope, immediately the world went black as the floor opened under her and she plummeted down. She was smart enough to realise this was due to lack of light rather than lack of consciousness in the split second it took before she registered a rope passing close by. She caught it and her fall came to a jerky halt, almost prying her arm off. She bit back a pained cry and tried easing her weight onto the other arm, letting the sore one dangle. She looked down and would have cursed but refrained. Darkness. Again.
WTF!! Danielle thought as she nearly lost her footing up in the flies. She looked down to where the offending noise had nearly cost Danielle her life, or at least serious bodily harm. With a wrist wrapped with rope, she leaned precariously over, reaching a 45-degree angle to the ground as she watched.
Apparently, the Prima Dona, Carlotta Giudicelli, had been unable to find work anywhere else and had come back to the Opera Populaire, the only place that would take her. The stage had been pretty much cleared of the work that had been going on the day before. After all, the repairs were almost finished. The main body of the work had been moved into one of the dance halls so that rehearsals could begin and auditions could take place.
Carlotta was now doing her best impersonation of a strangled duck as she practiced for her next leading role. Danielle wasn’t much interested in opera. The music could sometimes be beautiful and with the right singer, often fantastic, but her preference of music was a bit more futuristic; the tunes she’d whistle while she worked were often alien to anything people of this era listened to. But then again, she admitted to herself, I’ve never heard any worthwhile singing. And she flinched as Carlotta strangled another note.
Danielle had an overwhelming urge to drop a sandbag on the woman as she attempted to hit an ever-elusive high note. She cringed as her ears protested and she drew back from the angle she had been hanging at.
So far, Danielle had snooped all over the main floor. Her next stop was box five. Whispers she had overheard proclaimed this as his personal box so she figured it was a sure bet for another passage. She had already discovered a subtly hidden trap door in the flies, as well as a cleverly devised rope ladder hidden amongst some seemingly random hanging lines. Danielle had followed the rope ladder- it had led to up amongst the breezy rafters and nothing else. She hadn’t gone through the trap door since it had been completely dark and a tentative investigation had proved the ladder decayed and rotten. It was put on the to-do list, once she’d acquired a length of rope and a lamp.
Wishing she had a set of earplugs, Danielle swung deftly from one rope to another, swung up into a rope bridge, made a flying leap to her left, and caught a waiting rope. She let the rope slip through her hand as she swung her feet caught a ledge. Her right hand shot out and grasped a handhold. She let the rope go and sidled along the ledge.
She came to a newly repaired carving, the face of the carving set in a permanent expression of torturous pleasure beneath the carved shroud. She made a face at the thing as she climbed over it. No one seemed to notice Danielle’s spider like journey across the multiple carvings and they made marvellous handholds for her. Though admittedly, she found herself blushing when she found it necessary to grasp things she would otherwise avoid grasping. Finally, she had only to swing her slight figure into the shadowed interior of box five.
Once her feet were firmly on level ground she began looking around. Always look for the obvious first, then the subtle, then the gregarious. Everything looked just like the other box seats. Danielle was rapidly getting sick of plush red and gold.
She’d checked in on the boys as she’d moved through the building. They’d all been given tasks, though they’d stuck to their pairs. Blake, when she’d spotted him, had been having a nice chat with Meg. Danielle smirked. If the girl knew anything Blake would have charmed it out of her by lunch.
Okay so obvious wasn’t a go, subtle next. Danielle told herself as she moved to the single chair placed in the box. She nudged it gently and it moved. It wasn’t bolted down or anything. She immediately crossed it off the list. She turned to the banister and her eyes saw nothing so she closed her whiskey eyes and beginning at one side close to the wall, she ran her hands over it. Working slowly across, her hands mapped it out. She reached the other end and still nothing. Danielle snapped her eyes open with a frustrated ‘humph!’
She looked to the walls; there were some gilt wall sconces. There were four. She began on the first one. By the fourth she was just further annoyed, still nothing. She tried everything, the paintings, the carvings, even the door itself. Only one way left; gregarious.
So, something so obvious it was ludicrous; something that conspicuously shouted it was a secret passageway. She looked around speculatively, then mentally shifted down into the romanticist mind of an over dramatic queen; basically a diva. There! She brought her mind back from that chillingly simple version and reaching out a hand seized the rope tassel that was supposed to close the box curtains with a simple tug.
Bracing herself, Danielle gave a sharp pull to the rope, immediately the world went black as the floor opened under her and she plummeted down. She was smart enough to realise this was due to lack of light rather than lack of consciousness in the split second it took before she registered a rope passing close by. She caught it and her fall came to a jerky halt, almost prying her arm off. She bit back a pained cry and tried easing her weight onto the other arm, letting the sore one dangle. She looked down and would have cursed but refrained. Darkness. Again.