Profile
Name: Lysander Rivers
Age: 23
Eye Color: Blue
Ethnicity: Irish
Relationship Status : Single
If Taken or Interested, Name the Person Here : Interested in a few people...Antimony, Reginald, Zerion ...Sadly, he's not with any of them as of right now.
Pitcher or Catcher? : Pitcher (unless you're really dominate, and I mean..like...reaaaally dominant)
Job: Owner of ‘Bound and Incapacitated’
Average Annual Income: 32,000 Annual Iron Pieces
Housing: Apartment
Description of Home: Compared to his old rundown joint he has taken the leisure of moving into his own business. There’s a small door behind the bar of Bound and Incapacitated that leads up to a small area half the size of the lower level, which in truth is still a decent size. You come up through a line of stairs into the living room. Everything is wooden and finished to shine. The kitchen is connected to the living room by a large opening and then there is a short hallway that runs through the middle of the open room one leading to two bedrooms, another leading to the bathroom and a small storage room. He has leather furniture, a full set, and a fully stocked kitchen. A large window looks out into the street from the living room, and there are smaller circular windows in most of the other rooms.
Appearance/Face Claim: Though perhaps a bit more shocking than most, Lysander possess a shocking electric blue dyed mohawk (natural hair color is red, which you can notice if you look southward my friend). It stands about five inches from the base of his head outward and starts at his forehead ending at the base of his neck. His face is rather boyish and mildly long. He has several piercings along each of his ears and one in his nose. Where most people would have a problem with this in the work space he has found a decent paying job at a night club dressing up as a waitress in bizzar dresses and outfits under heavy black lights. So much so did he like the place, he got on the owners good side and when the man passed away he was left the club as a token of their old friendship.
Lysander also has a few choice scars from a couple encounters he had with the dieu as well as from his childhood. One at his shoulder where it looks like a cat tried to rip his arm off. Three scars over his left eye where three rings had been ripped out.
Attire: He wears basic street cloths, jeans with a few rips along the knees of an off grey color that was probably once some deep dark denim blue long since faded. His shirt was an off grey as well but had some tan-ish red mixed in, probably a miss print of the dye when the shirt was made, or maybe just washed one too many times. The fabric was thin, almost see through and he usually had to wear a long sleeved shirt underneath it with finger hole’s cut out of the bottom hems of the sleeves for his thumbs.
History: He was born in Scotland of a whore no more or less and was graciously handed over by said woman by being slung by his arm with nothing but overly painted and manicured nails that were more false than her hair and had more super-glue on them than a smashed model ship expertly repaired. After being instantly rushed to the hospital, under three weeks of age he was introduced to the wonderful experience of antibiotics to a vast infection created by the toxins in the exact types of nail polish used that had been introduced to his new born blood stream. It wasn’t the best way to start out a new life and he had actually passed on twice during the rounds with fighting such poisons so soon on but was rescued by medical science. He couldn’t use his right arm however until he was seven years old, at least not completely but he was rehabilitated naturally more than anything, the program really couldn’t take claim to all of the advanced recovery he’d gained at the orphanage he’d grown up in.
He’d been doing fine in that place too except for the fact that one of the kids older than him happened to set a fire to the place while trying to make pancakes late at night because for some reason that seemed like a good idea at the time apparently. All the children of the only home he’d known had to be relocated and the only thing he really remembered of that place was that the kid he looked up to most there had a very unique sense of style. That would be where his current mohawk originated from, as a sort of way to remember the past without really having real reason of wanting to truly remember it for anything special. Just, more or less, where he came from. Where as a mohawk wouldn’t make much sense to most people it managed for him, and that was what just happened to matter.
Not everyone was transferred to the same place, in fact, few were, not many places had huge openings for a lot of new kids, they got over run enough as it was and it was really just by chance he was sent to the Island of all places. Switching from a society where kids are taught manners and to be friendly to a land of ranks and restrictions that far surpassed what he was use to. At the age of six he moved in to the orphanage and grew up from there until he was eighteen and went to get his job at the restaurant he new was trapped in working at. He was beaten regularly of course due to his lack of ‘respect’ as they called it, though it was never anything he couldn’t survive or get over. It was just a part of life, a part of growing up. Though, here at the orphanage on Arcanus he found that he could make friends of his own eye color if he so much as wished to and he had gained a group of people he liked to talk with after a while due to his bizarre recoalition of stories from his old orphanage.
There was one particular story though that happened to prove to be more amusing than what he would have hopped, though it lead to a very common phrase of his even to this day now that he’s older it wasn’t even all that relatively funny until he matured a bit to understand why his friends had been laughing so hard. He had been recalling a time when he had been about four years old and he had been playing with this girl in the stupidest of places, the sad box. There he suddenly got this really great idea that he thought she might just simply love to bits and he asked her very calmly ‘hey! Would you like to see my pet frog?’ The little girl of course was grossed out by amphibious slimy things and when he pulled out the creature she freaked out and ran off screaming to tell the teacher on him. He lost Fred the frog that day, however, despite how sad he had been telling this to the other kids they were all laughing at him. One of his buddies patted him on the back after he had questioned why they were all laughing at him and said through mad fits of giggles of his own, “Don’t worry dude, no one wants to see my frog either.”
He didn’t get it, and Lysander wouldn’t get it until around his sixteenth birthday when that memory just happened to pass over him. His buddies once more getting a good few laughs as he re told them about it these five years later, informing them that now he understood it. It was a sort of inside joke deal, but he uses it in common every day speech, even if his speech is horribly slashed with an accent that even after all these years on the island it simply has not managed to dissipate from his tone.
He never really was one for being a practical joker or one for getting upset over little things. He’d lost friends and gained them time and time again. And more and more over he really didn’t see what the big deal was. People came and people went and that was that. So long as you don’t get close to them you can’t miss them or be harmed by them emotionally, and growing up in an orphanage, you constantly had to live by that rule because you never really knew when or where your next friend was going. It was just one of those things you either dealt with or got heart broken with every single time you lost someone you took a chance to get to know more than what you ever should have. Some people call it a compulsive distancing contact disorder, he merely called it surviving.
Finally there came the day when he had to get out of the orphanage and make it on his own, a few of his friends managed to make it to that thankful day as well and they mostly kept in touch even though Lysander never particularly kept track weather or not certain people tried to call on him. Granted he called on them every now and then, but mostly he merely did that to keep the acquaintances he’d gained just in case he might ever need to actually beseech someone when he was in serious need, just as he went when they needed him. Nothing more, nothing less.
Personality: Genuinely down to earth, he has the horrible knack of telling people exactly where they can go without hesitation when flustered and has a bipolar condition of sorts that he probably needs medication. He loves being himself and is a very realistic person. Where as he has a very blunt sense of humor he tends to say things in a very bland voice it’s hard to tell if he’s joking or if he’s serious half the time. A rather unique ‘If I can’t see it wit’ me eyes, It ‘adn’t come to pass” sort of philosophy. He’s comfortable with his way of living and is happy to not be of high rank because if he were of higher rank than what he was he’d have to do more work, just as if he were lower rank he’d have to do more work. He’d just hate to be higher rather than lower because higher ranks have offices with paperwork and that just lacks the sort of “BANG” feeling he’d prefer in his every day life. At least as a waiter he gets tips.
Birthdate: June 23
Origin: Scotland
Likes: Marijuana actually. One of the finest weeds around. He loves originality, people who aren’t afraid to be who they really are which is hard in society these days, especially here, however, he still manages, why can’t others? He’s actually rather fond of the dictatorship, despite the hinder on originality.
Dislikes: People telling him what to do, having to follow what people tell him to do. Minor exaggerations, though extremely outrageous one’s amuse him.
Quirks: “I grew up in a bloomin orphanage yeh maroons! What keend of quarks might yeh be brain stormin’ I ‘ave!?” Well, he has a remarkably thick Scottish accent that has simply refused to melt away.
Memorable Quote: “Ah, ye having a bloomin ship wreak of a day eh lad? Don’t worry, no one wants to see my frog either mate.”
