Post by Parker Christiansen on Mar 21, 2010 16:24:55 GMT -5
Parker Christiansen
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"Nothing is so strong as gentleness and nothing is so gentle as true strength" Ralph W. Sockman[/center]
God help me, I don't see how I can live this way And I don't know why he's touching me;;
[/b][/FONT](Behind The Character)
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Alias: Vagabond
Age: 27
How Long You've Been RPing?: 12 years, give or take
Where You Found Us: Painted Faces
Won't you shine in my direction and help me? Won't you lend me your protection and help me?;;
[/b][/FONT](Main Information)
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Original Or Cannon?: Canon
Full Name: Parker Christiansen
Nicknames (If Any): Park
Gender: Male
Age: 21
Birthday: 05 November
Occupation: Officer in the Kittredge PD.
Sexual Orientation: Straighter than a board
God help me, Believe me, this wasn't what I wanted But no, I can't leave, he's got me;;
[/b][/FONT](Appearance Is The Key)
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Playby: Taylor Kitsch
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 175, all muscle
Appearance: Parker basically looks like your typical all-American young man. Standing at a very moderate 5'10" and definitely not built like a linebacker, he is hardly an imposing physical presence. However, there is no mistaking the fact that he is indeed quite well-built in an athletic sort of way.
From years of living in the country, his skin has taken a golden sort of tone from the exposure to the sun. His eyes, a rather remarkable hazel green, go well with his brown hair which is equally as handsome, save for the fact he almost always looks like he could use a haircut.
In terms of clothing, he is not one to actually enjoy dressing up, although he will do it as required. One of the reasons he positively loves the KPD is because of it's relaxed dress, allowing him to show up for work in jeans and comfortable hiking shoes instead of police boots and a pressed uniform. However, practically at all times he does carry his badge. If it's not tucked into his belt, it is on his chest or hanging from a washer chain around his neck, often underneath his clothes. And just as ubiquitous is the department's ball cap he wears any time he does not require a warmer hat. But overall, his preference lay with casual, neutral or warm/earth-tones. But he has been known to wear a full three-piece suit when his brother and older sister got married.
Also, he is always carrying a pistol (openly on duty, concealed when off), and at all times a folding knife in his back pocket and a small, powerful flashlight in his left front pocket.
Won't you shine in my direction and help me? Won't you lend me your protection and help me?;;
[/b][/FONT](Personality, Down To The Dot)
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Personality: If there was only one expression to use to describe Parker, it would have to be "all around nice guy". He's friendly, easy to get along with, polite, helpful, good-natured and has a great sense of humour.
Having come from a close-knit and very extensive family, he was steeped in good values from the very beginning and those things stuck with him over the years, shaping him into the man he is now. And during those formative years, that was when he fell in love with the idea of police work.
Having joined the KPD out of a desire to serve his community, he practically became the very embodiment of the police ideal overnight. His patience is practically legendary, same with his cool, even temper. In fact, he himself can't remember the last time he actually got angry.
He is a committed man, and as such he is one who seeks out commitment. Most people around his age, in his eyes they are doing nothing worth it with their lives or are just immature punks. Most girls who are interested in him couldn't hold a decent conversation without falling into Valley-Girl-speak or talking about some celebrity or other instead of being grounded in the reality of their lives. And two things he particularly can't stand is one-night-stands and drunks. One is insulting and can be very hurtful (a girl who'd strung him along, told him what he wanted to hear and then dumped him right after she got what she wanted out of him) and the other is just embarrassing and a shameful loss of self-control.
Also, he's a bit awkward around women in general.
Likes: Music, classic cars and motorcycles (is currently working on rebuilding a 69 Charger and keeps on tweaking and riding his 1939 Indian Scout in the summer months), Nora Bryants, his job, having been able to convince the KPD chief to purchase a motorcycle for patrol in the summer months, actually walking his beat, good food, the occasional drink, dogs, his family, actually living in a rural area, the small-town atmosphere (less the maniac prowling around, that is), working out, classic rock, simple pleasures, long walks, camping, the outdoors in general, fishing, the odd bit of hunting.
Dislikes: Paperwork, court appearances, actually having to wear a "real" police uniform at times (as opposed to the more relaxed jeans, duty belt, official ball cap, badge and jacket as required that are part of the day-to-day wear of the KPD), jackasses, most people around his age (immature little punks), people with no real life goals, people doing nothing with their lives, drunks, druggies, nosy and obnoxious tourists, visitors who come to Kittredge just because of the serial killer, the Feds, PETA, rude people, ditzy cheerleader airheads, one-night stands, manipulative people, shallow people, olives.
Hopes/Dreams/Goals:
Be the one to catch that sick bastard who's terrorizing his town;
Eventually become the KPD chief;
Find Miss Right and turn her into Mrs. Christiansen.
Fears:
Not being up to the job;
Never meeting Miss Right.
Strengths:
Crack-shot: Between being a good old country boy and the particular skills he learned as a cop, if it can shoot, Parker can use it to put a hole wherever he so desires with it.
Very fit: comes with the territory, right?
Silver-tongued: one of Parker's greatest strengths is his ability to speak either to de-escalate, negotiate, charm or persuade.
Weaknesses:
Impulsive
Couldn't carry a tune in a bucket
Beats himself up when he can't help someone
Am I guilty or am I just waiting around, For the tide to come in so the truth can come out;;
[/b][/FONT](History Of Your Life)
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Parents: Cooper and Suzanne Christiansen, both alive and well, living on a large farm just outside the town limits, also dog breeders.
Siblings: Samantha (27, veterinarian, in town), Patrick (26, works on the family farm), Michelle (19, about to head to college in Maryland)
Pets: Long-haired Belgian Malinois (very popular when accompanying Parker when he chooses to walk the town instead of driving around) named Bonnie.
History (At Least 250 Words): Parker is the third of four children in his branch of the Christiansen family. His father was, and still is, one of the most profitable farmers around Kittredge and is proud to be able to say that the livestock he raises is all organic (although that term didn't even exist when he inherited the family farm from his father) and that no chemical fertilizers or pesticides are used on his all-natural crops. Parker's mother, Suzanne, is a dog breeder and still raises Belgian Malinois. Interestingly enough, both farming and dog breeding are highly complementary activities and it led to a strong family unit.
From his earliest childhood, Parker was steeped in good old country values. Respect, dependability, manners, self-reliance, family. All good things he was taught to hold as sacrosanct. And when he was first taught about rights by his father (following telling him what his teacher had said in school), he started to develop a great sense of responsibility very early in his life. For Cooper Christiansen's lecture had made it clear that with rights came obligations. This combination, and a healthy dose of TV and movies, have led young Parker to want to be a cop from the age of nine.
So, from that day on, he geared his studies and his performance in school towards that goal. And that included extra-curricular activities and volunteering within his community. Always a hard worker, Parker was practically a straight-A's student for most of his academic career.
It was during his early teens that he'd truly started to bond with his father. Indeed, having been raised on a farm, shooting was a regular activity, and it was when he turned 13 that Parker first bested his father with a rifle. And then, things kept on growing. Cooper, knowing his son's interest in mechanics, taught him everything he knew and together they rebuilt a 1920's tractor, a few cars, and for his 17th birthday, a few crates full of spare parts were given to Parker and his and his father rebuilt a 1939 Indian Scout motorcycle, a vehicle that Parker still owns and rides as often as he can.
It was also during those crucial years that the true meaning of consequences was learned by Parker. His parents were very permissive and woud only set some boundaries. And one of them was regarding alcohol. Until they would leave the house, they would only drink under supervision. And it was at the age of 15 that Parker got drunk for the first and only time, with his father, under control. The resulting sickness and hangover, as well as reports of his antics during the evening, were enough to ensure that Parker would never get himself drunk again. Happily warmed up was the furthest he would ever go again, and only socially.
When he graduated high school, Parker immediately applied to the Kettredge Police Department and he was instantly accepted. Not only because there were vacancies, but because the Chief personally knew this new applicant to be reliable and worthy of his time and his badge. So, following his training, Parker returned to his hometown as a police constable, and from there, he started living his dream. Until that maniac first showed up...
Other Notes:
If I had a dollar for every time I repented the sin and commit the same crime ;;
[/b][/FONT](Sample Roleplay/Rules Words)
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Rules Word: Peck A Chicken
Sample RP: The world had moved on.
Cabral Nithed knew so. Everyone knew so. But to a very rare few, that knowledge was more than ancient history or distorted legends: it was memory. Four hundred and sixty-seven years it had been since the Cataclysm. Four hundred and sixty seven years since a long war with its causes long-forgotten boiled to its culmination and one side deployed the ultimate weapon. No one had ever seen such a construct before, never had anything like that had ever even been theorized, let alone assembled by Mages.
The weapon had claimed the lives of seventeen of its creators, their lives sucked into creating the amalgam of consciousness that would be required to harness the energy of the Weave, condense it, and make it available for release on command. Alchemists had created a powder that when contained in a sealed jar and ignited would burst with terrifying power, but Mages had created its sorcerous equivalent. They had created a magic bomb.
And it was deployed.
And since that day, everything changed.
Cities were blown apart, not a single stone standing on another. Fertile meadows were turned into deserts, forests into gathering of branch-less twisted pillars. Lakes and seas boiled while others sprang from leaks in great aquifers; mountains crumbled into chasms and the the very bones of the world heaved into new mountains and valleys. So far as the world of Siral was concerned, everything was new and different.
And it was not for the best.
And Cabral Nithed remembered all of this, because he was there. He could remember the feeling of the Weave's power being tugged away form him like seawater sucked away from shore by a tidal wave, and then how everything came crashing down. Had he been in one of the above-ground levels of Castle Terren, he would have been blown into the wind as ashes and bone dust, but deep within the bowels, four hundred yards beneath the ground, he did not suffer the direct effects from the Cataclysm.
But it still did take him eight days, even using sorcery, to free himself from the loam and up to the world above.
And for the last four hundred and sixty seven years, he wandered the brave new world that had so been created.
Most of it, he'd seen, was a rocky wasteland, all life and topsoil stripped from it by the conflagration. But still, new life was being born every day. Fields were re-sown, the few forests that survived still thrived... and new creatures started to appear. First, they were mangled things, a result from the uncontrolled magic energy that had struck them, but soon after they normalized themselves, yielding new forms of life for this blasted new world...
Ah, the wonders of unchecked magic... there was a reason as to why the Conclave had remained out of that war in the first place, but not all Mages answered to this ruling council...
It had been weeks since Cabral had met anyone on the caravan road. Granted, the six dust storms in the last month had not helped, but still, there should still be people out there. Beneath him, his horse sighed. Strange how some breeds survived and others did not. The great warhorses of the nobility, their fine coursers and their well-bred hunters? They did not make it through the Cataclysm. They required too much grain and could not survive on meagre forage. However, the small, shaggy steppe horses? They did just fine, even with the very limited food that was available to them at first.
With a cloth-gloved hand, the Mage tapped his mount's neck. "I know, we're both getting a bit antsy for company, aren't we?" At least, talking to a horse meant talking to something that might or might not understand, and could to some limited extent respond. It was not much, but it did beat talking to himself...
Later that day, finally, a plume of dust the Mage saw in the distance, and he closed in with it. It was a small group, settlers, they claimed to be, heading to the next Enclave to settle down. A worthy goal if any, even if difficult and expensive... Some well-established Enclaves refused newcomers who did not have essential skills or some form of wealth, so being allowed to join one was always a gamble.
However. they had welcomed him to share their food and fire for the night, and he was not one to refuse. There was talk, there was joking and even some singing. And then, the drink came out. Fermented pulp from one of the spiny trees that had started to grow after the Cataclysm. It was good enough as a wine, something fearsome when distilled into a liqueur. And Cabral, he knew that taste, and he enjoyed it. Until he realized his mind was clouding up.
Strange, he hadn't drank that much to incapacitate him at all, and then, the thought dawned on him: only the wealthy could join some Enclaves. When he stood, the world spun around me as his eyes darted wildly. The welcoming faces, they had become hard and rapacious. He'd been drugged, and he could tell why, if only he could arrange his thoughts.
When he opened his mouth, it was when things went blank, shortly after he felt a jarring impact at the back of his head.
Next thing Cabral Nithed knew, he was lying on harsh, dusty stone, and his head was pounding. Right. He had been drugged, and then struck... When his eyes opened, it took him quite some time to adjust to the light. Light? Yes, daylight. He must have been out for some time.
But what he noticed the most was that there was nothing shielding his skin from the ground: he was naked. Marooned? had they abandoned him to die of exposure? That could not be, it made no sense... And then, he realized he was surrounded by others, all of them similarly undressed, and all of them bearing a brand burnt into their chests. Him? He did not have one yet... but he knew what that meant instantly.
He had been sold to slavers...
“I'd be sitting on top of the world today;
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[/b][/FONT][/center]I'd be sitting on top of the world today;”
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