reuben levi strong

[korrigan1]

-- REUBEN LEVI STRONG !

-- NAME: Reuben Levi Strong
-- NICKNAMES: Ben, Rue, Rhubarb
-- AGE & BIRTHDAY: nineteen || May 9th, 1991
-- BIRTH PLACE: Bridgwater, Massachusetts
-- ORIENTATION: heterosexual
-- OCCUPATION: musician
-- SECRET: 015 -- all you've ever wanted is to be loved.
-- PLAYED BY: Nicholas Jonas

-- PERSONALITY !

-- DEPENDABLE: if you want something done and done right, Reuben's your guy. He says exactly what he means, means what he says, and does what he said he'd do. Although he learns slowly and requires a little extra time to understand things, he's a hard worker and doesn't give up easily if it doesn't work out the first few tries. He's never backed out on a promise in his life yet, and intends to keep this rock solid reputation for as long as he possibly can. Because he's a much better listener than a speaker and enjoys having something to do, a friend of Reuben Strong can always rest assured that they have a sympathetic ear and a helping hand at their disposal.
-- SENSITIVE: Reuben's skin seems deceptively thick. While he's patient and extremely slow to anger, his heart is quite soft and vulnerable. It's difficult for him to give voice to his discomfort, and so usually, the offender doesn't even realize what they've done until it's too late. More often than not, he merely tosses his sorrows up onto his shoulders and moves on without complaining. But like an ox pulling a cart, there comes a point where the load becomes too much for him to bear any longer and he becomes ornery and difficult to handle. Prone to using physical violence more than verbal, it's advisable to stay out of Reuben's way should he come under a rare but dangerous rage.
-- SHY: Reuben has a hard time expressing himself. He's afraid of who he is. As a child, his parents almost never expressed affection, pride, or even disappointment when he did something wrong, and as a result he's become convinced that he as a person is completely unlovable. He doesn't want to be this way and desires love and acceptance more than anything else in the world, but he doesn't know how to change it. So, he does the next best thing; he hides behind a wall of general silence and refuses to come out for fear of being discovered as 'unlovable.' He can be coaxed out (never pushed), but he is suspicious of people he doesn't know and it can be difficult to earn his trust.

-- LOVES: baseball, peanut butter, being outdoors, the color green, music, apple juice, cheeseburgers, football, relaxing, and hiking
-- HATES: being pushed, sleeping in hotel beds, the color yellow, change, cashews, bananas, small dogs, horror movies, his parents, and drawing attention to himself

-- HISTORY !

Reuben is, if nothing else, the product of a loveless union. His father, Matthew Strong, wasn't even in any sort of relationship with his mother, Lucile Cromwell, when he was conceived. Ironic, perhaps, that this bastard would bear the name of one of Jacob's sons, that his father would sin and then their grandfather insist on a name from the Bible for the boy. But hey, Jacob was pretty prolific himself, if you know what I mean. Anyway, the story goes a little something like this: Matthew and Lucile were young when they met. He was dirt poor and she'd been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but they'd gone to the same bar to get drunk, each with their own set of perceived woe.

Later, when Lucile's high-end parents caught wind that their precious little girl was pregnant, they immediately set out on a search for the father. The poor bastard didn't even know what was coming; he'd long since forgotten Lucile (who preferred to be called Lucy), and had little love for the new life he'd started. However, the girl's father gave him little choice and insisted he make an honest woman out of his daughter. Reluctantly and only because he knew he didn't have anywhere to run, Matthew married Lucy. Neither one cared for the other and so they agreed to let it be an 'open' relationship -- it's highly likely that Reuben has half-siblings he'll never even meet.

The young boy was not wanted, and he became aware of this at an early age. Yes, his parents fed him and made sure he had clothes, sent him to school and took him to the doctor when he was ill, but something was not right. He was not loved or even liked, and once he became conscious of that, he began caring for himself. By the age of eight he was nearly completely functional on his own, and by thirteen, his parents were out so much that he almost never saw them. Unhappy but afraid of being a bigger disappointment than he already was, he avoided drinking and stayed away from drugs in high school. Now, he clings to these convictions in hopes that someone, anyone will see some good in him.

-- SAMPLE !

"Shush, nigh, we're jist aboyt in." To anyone watching him, Cormac O'Kane looked and sounded like he was talking to a cardboard box. The boy held it under one arm as he dug around for the key in his back pocket, seeming to be unaware of the somewhat sogginess of the bottom half. At first, the box seemed to be empty; nothing live responded to him. Then, a muffled mewl came through the top of it and something shuffled weakly from inside. The curly-headed lad bit his tongue, feeling sorry for the poor little fellow, then hurried to unlock the door and let himself in. It wasn't dark outside despite it being later in the day, but there was a stillness in the air that suggested that Chance was sleeping.

Probably just taking a nap, he thought to himself, twisting the doorknob before shutting it so it wouldn't click. An awkward blush tinted his cheeks (which were already a little rosy from the cold outside), but he also gave a soft, pleased smile to himself. Haven't done much sleeping around here. He set the box at his feet for a moment (gently so as not to hurt the little things inside) so he could slip off his gloves, stuffing them in his coat pocket. Another mew came from the box as he took off his coat and left it on a hook next to Chance's, to which he murmured something soothing in hopes of quieting them. He unwrapped his scarf and draped it over the top of his jacket, then picked up the box and went straight to the kitchen.

They'll be hungry. Perhaps Cormac was only projecting his own feelings of hunger onto them, but the odds of finding anything abandoned in the street and well fed were slim. He placed the box on the table and opened it, revealing three small, thin, confused kittens. Well, the two that were awake looked confused; one of them, the little gray tabby (though they all had the stripes), was curled up and sleeping. The other two, one silvery pale and the other brown, stared up at him with wide eyes. The boy reached in and gently rubbed the darker one behind the ears. "Don't luk so worried. Oi'll git ye sum grub, al' roi'?" With that promise, he got a small plate with some leftover chicken from dinner and set it on the ground.

He was quiet; not quite tiptoeing, but certainly treading lightly in fear of disturbing Chance. One by one, he lifted the kittens out of their cage and let them find what might have been their first meal in a couple of days. He was glad Killer usually stayed with Chance; he didn't want the big dog to think these pathetic little scraps of fur were just oversized bits of kibble. That was just what they needed. He'd found them (or rather heard them, crying and carrying on the way they were) in an alleyway on the way home, undoubtedly abandoned. They were probably Christmas presents that someone couldn't keep. The thought made him curl his lip in disgust; you just didn't leave lives behind, human or not. It wasn't fair.

And besides, he had a little plan in mind for them later. After the kittens (and he himself) had eaten, Cormac put the dishes in the sink to wash later and then ambled into the den. There, he tiredly flopped onto the couch. He stretched out on his back, one hand under his head and the other rested on his belly, his eyes half closed and face serene. He was tired, too; although he didn't do much, the sleepless nights and Advil for his cracked ribs was enough to make his head feel fuzzy. He hardly moved when the gray kitten bounded easily onto the couch and curled up (he liked this one already; the two of them certainly had a common interest) right on his chest, purring faintly. He was already half asleep, anyway.

-- OOC !

-- NAME OR ALIAS: Korrigan
-- AGE: eighteen
-- THREE WORDS THAT DESCRIBE YOU: quirky, musical, and sarcastic
-- HOW YOU FOUND US: RPG Collection

[* NIKKI THE PEACOCK QUEEN]

-- ACCEPTED !

However, before I process you, you need to resize your image, as it is too large. Thank you.

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[korrigan1]

all right. it's been fixed. sorry about that.

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