MORDRED ROQUELAURE



PLAYED BY: l.amoureuse.de.le.fantome@gmail.com

HAND OF POWER: Seeing the Unseen

RACE: Human

MERITS: Charmed Life (but like I said, he's just sensitive, and a little paranoid), the Sight, and Etiquette (he deserves it, don't you think?  I mean, after all, he's only completely terrified by the mere thought of something sort of scary)

FLAWS: Ghost Sight, Magic Susceptibility and Nightmares (but both of those actually count very little because they're both in his head.  They're entirely self-induced--as in, his mindset is that magic will attack him, which leads him more vulnerable.  And because he obsesses over everything he sees, he has nightmares)

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: 5'6'' and thin, with a very pretty heart-shaped face.  His features are delicate, his eyelashes a pretty fringe and his hair black and down past his ears (he wears it framing his face to make it look more narrow). His eyes are bright blue and doe-eyed, generally widened. His nose is narrow and short, but a little bigger than he'd like; his lips are prettily curved, and he looks like someone whose cheek you want to pinch.  He's 22 and attempting miserably to be a freelance writer, languishing in a coffeehouse.  Luckily he published a novel when he was 17, and another when he was 20, so he's got some back story to him.

PERSONALITY: Thoughtful, a bit of a loner, actually.  The sort of black-wearing urban Adonis artistic type that got beat up in high school and whose friends were all girls.  He was quiet during this period, when all the torment started, but his parents were supportive and didn't mind if he liked lip-gloss and mascara more than his older sister Mallory.  He's sensitive, rather intuitive, and not curious—at all.  He thinks things through and is always very polite.  It's not a personality trait, but he's bisexual (actually pansexual), and it says something about him; he generally gives everyone a chance, and while initially shy is eager to know people. He also hates sleeping alone--because of what he sees.  So he likes to have his kitty with him, though he prefers people.  He tends to put out, then anguishes about how used he is.

HISTORY: The November air was crisp, and he pulled the jacket collar up around his ears delicately, protectively.  His long-nailed hands dug into his coat pocket for a cigarette and lighter, but he found nothing, and when he pulled his hand out his fingers with covered in pink glitter from when the tiny plastic cup it had been kept in had broken the previous night, when a boy from school had shoved him up against a dumpster.  The boy had called him a fairy.  Mordred had cringed, but said nothing, and eventually the boy had left him alone.  There were two reasons why he didn't answer.  One, the boy was technically right, though only half right; and two, making jokes about fairies was never a good idea to Mordred, not ever.

He had always been able to see things other people didn't seem to notice, but when he mentioned it, it was often laughed at as imaginary friends or an overactive imagination.  (Imagine the boy going to kindergarten and thinking that overactive imagination meant seeing people who looked like they'd been mauled up behind his house in winter—disastrous!)  Eventually, the boy, being very literary as it was and an avid reader, researched things.  He learned about faeries and ghosts.  And he decided that he had the Sight. Online forums?  Not much help.  Everyone said they had it, but it was all a sort of cute joke with them.  Those that admitted they didn't have it wanted to know how he got it (provided they believed him), which confused him.  He wanted to get rid of it.

When he was 16, he started to write a novel; it became fairly good as far as fantasies got, and it did mildly well when it was published. The sequel, featuring the same strange universe people had liked to begin with, did even better.  He decided not to go to college, and just continue on writing.  Now he works at a café and writes in his apartment most of the night (often publishing short stories in magazines), clinging to his patient cat when he is terrified by the things he knows are there.

SKELETONS IN THE CLOSET: None, but there are things under the bed and in the closet, and possibly in the hallway when he'd got to get up in the middle of the night to make absolute sure that his cat Mab is all right.  Sniffle. She takes care of him.


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