|Home||Help Search Members Calendar IC Shoutbox|
|Welcome Guest ( Log In | Register )||Resend Validation Email|
Played by Immy ➢ Offline
Spouse ➢ No Information
Play-by ➢ Filip Hrivnak
➢ Not Sharing Play-by
|AGE||JOB||HAIR COLOR||EYE COLOR|
PersonalityHe’s competitive. Aggressive in the way he attacks his target- whether that’s a particular sound in music or another goal, like making the bed. If he doesn’t know how to do something he’ll pace around it in his mind, find another way to go at it methodically down the line. option, option, option. If he can’t figure it out, he'll ask for help, and his intention is then to do it better than the person that showed him how to get it done. He’s patient, will practice something until it’s muscle memory. He’s a meticulous thinker like his father and, like his mother, he heard music in a silent house.
If he could be, he would be surrounded by the best and the smartest and the fastest and the strongest. In some of those things he’d be soundly trounced. Doesn’t matter. He likes the surge of the face off and digging into a trench to get another inch-that’s how he handles himself in many ways, straight up competition.
He wants to push harder, won’t accept anything less than his whole effort. When he’s composing, launching tracks on the computer, mixing them, tweaking the knobs, headphones on, his obsession is kind of sick. It’s like a playground for his single-minded one thing at one time focus. When he doesn’t have the energy to do something, he just doesn’t do it. And because he really does go full on so often, the energy and intensity is sometimes bled out, and he’s often quiet and kind of still.
The world is a pretty chaotic place, and he often takes control to get the the small space in it he is occupying, tries to keep things grounded. His brother’s death has changed some of his thinking, he feels guilty inside, though can’t really get that shape together in his mind. Should he have been kinder to Ryan? Been for more forceful? He’d like the world to sometimes be like his music is, right in front of him, pinned down and motionless, his to arrange and pull apart and examine. He can choose to give life to certain rhythms or choose to take the life out of the ones he doesn’t want anymore.
While he’s never been given access to things The Trust doesn’t want him to know, he’s had friends, and people talk, and because music is a language that breaks rules it can’t live without ( except for, obviously, lyrics, which he doesn’t much deal with) it’s obvious there are things- more than the things on the surface.
Like people, like himself, like everything else, the things are going on between the things that are said, sometimes between the things that are done.
His temper is very, very quiet, and he doesn't lash out, though it might seem that way on the outside but- usually, if he's doing something, he's thought it out first. Even something like slamming someone against a wall. Kind of like he has a seven delay for most things.
He’s young, He’s still figuring shit out.
AppearanceHe's 6' 3" and in great shape because he's fastidious about his work-out routine, his diet. Basically he wears the simplest things, t-shirts and jeans at home and slacks and a collared shirt for work when meeting with clients, et. His expression is usually pretty quiet.
HistoryRyan was nine when Luke was six. Their sister, Diana, was five. Their house was usually very quiet, ordered and organized the way Alfred, his father liked it. Vinyl on the couch. Vinyl on the chairs. Mama was always cleaning something because three kids make a mess, she said, but he was very careful, exceedingly careful- if he was making his own mess there would have to be more hours in the day for Mama to clean because Ryan was a pig.
That was what their father said, sometimes, when he’d come into their room and it was just the three of us. You’re a pig, Ryan. You’re a pussy.
Alfred was a respected University Professor in advanced level classes in Mathematics, and he didn’t like the way Ryan wasn’t doing well in school. He didn’t like the way Ryan wilted or the way he didn’t clean up after himself or the fact that he was lazy and just wanted to lay around and play video games. Sometimes their father took Ryan by the shoulder and they ‘out’ for a drive. Luke knew he didn’t want to be like his big brother, he wasn’t like Ryan. He liked his brother, sometimes, they played cars sometimes, and he told Ryan, You shouldn’t be like yourself, but Ryan could not change, or wouldn’t, and Luke made distance between them, and their father, and others, just in the natural way, made comparisons between them. Ryan was always lacking.
Luke did excellent in school, always at the top of the percentile when they did testing, and that pleased his father. It pleased his mother because it pleased his father, and for awhile it even pleased Ryan because, as Ryan said, their dad didn’t care so much about what he was doing since Luke was doing so well. He kept his back straight and he kept his composure and his focus and that pleased his father too.
You’re brilliant like your father is, Mama said. That was why he was always in his at home office when he was home, on the computer. Mama was very diminutive, very soft spoken, a little unwell, he knew she needed things to be alright, to be quiet and gentle. Sometimes, when she thought no one was watching, she danced in the kitchen, even though there was no music. As Ryan got older and his grades kept slipping and Alfred got more frustrated and raised his voice it made Mama’s heartbeat flutter in the arch of her neck like butterfly wings going very fast, too fast. Luke saw it.
Sometimes his father would let him see what he was working on, out of the whole family, only him. He paid attention, then looked at the notations, the numbers were like time to him, he read them like weight and width and sound in space, saw them add into sound, heard them differently than his father did, but he didn’t know that, and his father didn’t know that until aptitude tests started coming back suggesting music as the area of focus. Early on his father said, Ridiculous.
He’d be a doctor, a surgeon, he had a strong, deft fingers. A teacher, his father said.
He would have to be something good because Diana was smart, but a girl, and Ryan was getting worse and worse- had been written up, twice, then sent for re-education, a thing that was always under his fathers skin, always under his mothers fluttery heartbeat, but not much talked about. With Ryan away for re-education and Diana away in boarding school, and the silent, silent stretch of the house sounding like twisted metal and breaking glass went on and on around him, he started writing and writing and his routine got more more focused and he got very quiet too. It was routine that made a kind of structure he could focus on.
At twenty-one Ryan died.
Ryan was dead, had never truly gotten out of school or in the draft pool, had not become a productive member of society. The news was not completely unexpected, but it wasn’t expected either. His father said it from the couch, his father was sitting on the couch in the afternoon when Luke came home from school, then his father said, I have class, and his father left.
His father was disgraced. His father went through the motions while people talked behind his back.
His mother’s door stayed closed.
He wrote Diana in school, because a suicide wasn’t something people came home for, had funerals for. He didn’t know, surely Mama had called her? He didn’t know what to say to her, he’d made distance between her and him too, though not as intentionally. She was never home. He knew the passwords to his father’s computers, found the official documents, sent her an email.
He wrote Diana, Ryan is dead. I dug around on our father’s computer. I think Ryan hung himself. Mama’s not coming out of their room, and he’s sleeping in the guest room.
You should stay in school over vacation. Don’t come home.
Or, Come home. Mama needs you. I can’t do what she needs me to do for her.
Diana wrote back, I’ll come for Mama. I don’t really want to talk to you. You have no idea how badly you hurt Ryan, do you? I do. He talked to me, Luke. I talked to him. I loved him. We never talk. Did you notice that?
How badly he hurt Ryan? He knew a little. He knew it hurt Ryan when their father praised him, said things like, Luke is younger but he understands this-
He felt like hitting something, he almost did, made a fist, hit the hall. He didn’t.
His targets became clearer- he went after them even more aggressively, music and school, the routine of getting up and running, working out- his routine became tighter- he ate food that was healthy, distanced himself from himself and could see himself as a machine, and this is what the machine needs.
When he got the notice to call for a sponsor, he set up the appointment, and he treated her like the teacher, until she let the reins loose, told him to use her and the things she’d shown him to discover what he liked so he could teach his wife how to please him. He held her down, pinned down like music, explored her body, the way vibrations and energy and rhythm could be. He liked the exertion he could expend, the self control and control over her body.
When the final aptitude tests came back and it made clear Music was what The Trust had chose for him, the last of his fathers’ energy seemed to drain from him. His father is getting round around the middle, his eyes are sunken. Diana comes and goes like a ghost from boarding school, she doesn’t talk to him either. Mama talks a little, sometimes, or maybe it’s the memory of talking.
He is ready to get out of this house.
FAMILYAlfred Keeper-father, University Professor in Mathematics
Mona- Mother, housekeeper
Ryan- older brother, deceased, would be 23
Diana, younger sister, 19
Birthdate: Feb 1
Bad Habits: Obsessive personality, hyper organized, controlling
Turn-Ons: Taking what he wants from not nondoormats, delicate features, big eyes, sincerity
Turn-Offs: Messiness, laziness, no - direction on their own
hair color preference: longish is better
eye color preference: any
draft position: Neutral
premarriage y/n: No
skinned exclusively for the draft by saramonster
Affiliates and Directories