Post by Sydney Michael Cross on Jan 13, 2010 21:49:08 GMT -5
NOT DONE
SYDNEY MICHAEL CROSS
And you'll be one of God's children that fell from the top
There's no diversity because we're burning in the melting pot
So when the devil asks to dance with you, you better say never
'Cause a dance with the devil could last you forever
SYDNEY MICHAEL CROSS
And you'll be one of God's children that fell from the top
There's no diversity because we're burning in the melting pot
So when the devil asks to dance with you, you better say never
'Cause a dance with the devil could last you forever
And I'm thinking of the worst things that I could say to you
Name|| Sydney Michael Cross
Nick Name|| Trouble
Gender|| Male
Birthday|| December 21
Sexual Orientation|| Straight
Ethnicity || English
Face Claim || Jason Behr
and this never will be right with me
Hair|| It depends. It's naturally black and sometimes messy, but sometimes cut nicely
Eyes|| Brown with a green tinge
Height|| 5'10"
Weight|| 145 lbs.
Body Type|| Medium build, slightly on the muscular side
Skin Type|| Fair, but not in an extremely pale way
Distinguishing Features|| Lots of scars, but he doesn't remember where he got every single one of them
Tattoos|| He's got loads of tattoos
Piercings|| None
Style|| He'll wear whatever he can get his hands on, mostly hoodies and t-shirts and jeans. Since he has tattoos reaching all the way up his neck, he normally does try and find the highest clothes that he can, as not many people in today's society are so accepting of tattoos, though he can always be tempted to take his shirt off and show off the meaning of each piece of artwork on his skin.
I'm tongue tied and terrified of what I'll say.
Likes||
Drinking
Motorcycles
Tattoos
Reading
Writing
Smoking
Sex
Girls
Freedom
Cows
Dislikes||
Being oppressed
Snakes
Cars
Twizzlers
Chick flicks
Five gum
Being out of money
Losing things
Vitamin Water
Sausage/Onion pizza
Secrets||
He left his mom in Canada and didn't even tell her
He has no place to settle down
He's never stayed with a girl longer than a few mere weeks, though he'll tell each one otherwise
Fears||
Getting left behind in the chaos of the world
Living to old age
Having to face his mom
Getting arrested and being shipped back to Canada (A residual fear from his youth)
Snakes
Strengths||
Strong
Independent
Bright
Experienced in the real world
Determined
Sincere
Weaknesses||
Distant
Stubborn
Lost
Not very trusting
Indecisive
Dreams|| Sydney's dreams died out long ago, but getting off the alcohol and pot might be a good goal if he were to have one.
Over All Personality|| By this point in his life, the rebellious Sydney Michael Cross has burnt out. He's lost all will and sometimes, he's considered suicide, though, no. He does not consider himself depressed. Just a little bit lost sometimes. Sydney's also like a nomad. He works odd jobs; enough to pay for a motel room every night, or even to rent a small apartment in the town he was staying at. At this moment, he's got an apartment, which is simply furnished and barely worth living in. But Sydney's past caring, resigned to feeling like it's just not worth it.
then we both go down together
Father|| Step-dad, Douglas DiCarlo
Mother|| Margaret Louise Cross/39/Waitress
Siblings| A much younger sister named Claudia Ann DiCarlo, who is three
Pets|| His trusty golden retriever, Lobo
Other Important Family Members|| Ocean Cross/43/uncle/doctor
Penn Lee Murray/41/uncle's boyfriend/doctor
History|| Sydney was named after the gallant Sydney Carton from A Tale of Two Cities, by his eighteen year old mother, Maggie Cross. Maggie had always wished that Sydney's father would be gallant and brave and sweet. Not the alcoholic boy who fled at the first sight of a baby. Little did Maggie consider the life that Sydney Carton had held in between promises and bravery: He was a drunk, insolent and rarely ambitious about anything. But Maggie neglected to take that into consideration, instead focusing on how terribly romantic it would be to have a man die for you, die for everything you stood for. Sydney Cross was a troublesome little boy, earning the quick nickname of 'Trouble' that has stuck with him throughout his life.
When Sydney was six and Maggie was twenty-four, she left her parents house and moved in with her older brother Ocean and his partner, Penn, who embraced them with open arms. It was Maggie's endeavor at a father figure. If she couldn't give him a real one, she would give him two attempts and that could suffice, of course. Sydney went to school, made friends, introduced himself as Trouble. Trouble Cross, spy and professional swimmer and/or bodyguard. It depended on the day, and whether he'd had a swimming class the day before or not.
Sydney passed through his middle school years, fighting every step of the way. It didn't matter if he was disrupting class, arguing with the principal, or graffiting the walls outside the school. He was causing some kind of disturbance, chaos or trouble, likewise to his name. And at age fourteen, on the brink of high school, he'd breathed his first fire, he'd sipped his first deliverance and felt himself break free into the world of sex, drugs and rock and roll. Of course, the sex came later, and the rock and roll was merely a hope that he didn't have the money to pursue, but the drugs were real enough to Sydney.
Age seventeen, we find Sydney drag racing down the highway, three AM, completely illegally and with the same whiskey-flavored freedom on his tongue that he felt incomplete without. Cut to the crash. Cut to Jeremy, Sydney's best friend since preschool lying in a ditch, bleeding from everywhere, a broken neck, broken ribs. The human body is not meant to collide with something at speeds as fast as his car had been going. Sydney stayed for the questioning all the way through the funeral, and then he took off with the family dog, heading south from Toronto, getting to Michigan and hoping that life was better on the other side. He was headed east to make things right, to New England where the spark of a new revolution (if such a thing as a new revolution existed) was set. It set fire, traveled the open waters of the Atlantic and Europe was an inferno. There was the French Revolution, without which, Sydney Cross wouldn't have a name. And therefore, this seemed like a great place to start. He stayed in Connecticut for one year, fearful of social services dragging him back to Canada. And when he turned eighteen, he left Connecticut, spent a year in Massachusetts, a year Maine and Vermont, and now, at twenty-one, he's finally entered New Hampshire, unsure of anything besides the color of the sky and the freedom of fire and independence at his tongue.
and you could see the melody
Your Name|| Angel or Reven
Your Age|| 18
Experience|| Years
Role Play Sample|| The world was washed over in blue. Blue skies, blue ocean, blue feelings. And Sydney was wallowing in the midst of it, floating through life like he was trapped at sea, surrounded by even more blue. People said that blue was the most calming color, that blue was the most widely accepted. Sydney hated blue. It was cold and unfeeling, the color of rain in the winter, or puppy born dead. Blue was cold. Blue was lifeless. Blue was the color that Jeremy was as the air left his lungs, his muscles unable to move his ribcage, his neck snapped. Blue was the color of the deepest ocean, and the night sky as you gazed up, lost and alone in this world and there was nothing but an expanse of blue filling your heart and soul. If you let it, blue could overcome you, slipping in through the cracks that were breaking you wide open and filling the gaps where something with feelings had once been. Sydney had once read that patients with OI -- a bone deficiency -- were born with eyes with no whites, but instead a bright, electric blue. This faded, but when their bones broke in extra painful places, their whites flashed blue: A warning that pain was to come. Blue was the color of police sirens as you were getting pulled over, or the cold villain's eyes. You rarely saw a supervillain with warm and inviting brown eyes, like spilled chocolate. No. They had eyes the color of chipped ice.
As Sydney watched the coffin lower into the grave, he wondered why in the world -- if blue was such an awful color that represented pain and death -- the day was bright and sunny as Jeremy was getting buried and not raining blue. Why was nature against him? It was mid-May, barely warm enough to get by without a jacket, which was why Sydney did not have one. He had on a long sleeved, dark shirt with an old band shirt over it and a pair of jeans. Sydney wasn't really one to dress up for funerals, or anything for that matter. No, he had always complained when his mother had tried to dress him in a tie and nice shoes and somehow by the end of the evening, would have managed to be standing there in a T-shirt and jeans, no matter what the occasion. He'd worn a tie over a long sleeved red shirt to his senior prom, feeling extremely devious until they'd threatened to kick him out if he didn't manage to find a button down shirt in the next fifteen minutes. So Sydney had fled. He'd always been a runner, not a fighter, and the idea of fighting with his teachers about a shirt seemed a ridiculous time to start.
When the funeral was over, Maggie walked about to Sydney, giving him a tight hug around his shoulders. She was barely thirty-six, and you couldn't even tell she was that old. "I'm sorry, Trouble. There's nothing you could have done," she told him, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. Sydney knew this wasn't true. There was everything he could have done. He could have not been drunk. He could have not been drag racing. But it made sense, what his mom had said. It wasn't the things he hadn't done. It was the stupid things that he had. Sydney was tempted to kick something, live up to his name and break something, a celebration of death that clung to the air on a hot summer day. People died all the time. That was common knowledge, but not anyone Sydney knew. Not anyone that Sydney could have stopped. "I'm driving home," Sydney told his mom, walking towards his own car instead of his. "But I'll be out for a bit, okay?" She nodded, looking particularly worried, watching him intently as he pulled out of the parking lot, like he'd crash himself into anything he saw.
Not yet. Not while Maggie was watching.
Once he got to the highway, Sydney felt his reflexes tense. This was it. This was the end. Once flick of his wrist and he'd be head over heels, tumbling into the ditch that had claimed Jeremy. And who wouldn't want that, after their best friend's funeral? Just as his hand almost twitched, a twitch to take a life, he stopped himself. Was that productive? Um, no. He was heading home. Sydney sped up and got to the house before his mom, shoving all his clothes into a few bags, grabbing everything he could, the PIN to his savings account. Sydney's maternal grandparents had promised him a double on whatever had been in there upon his graduation, and Sydney had no reason to doubt them. What had seemed like hundreds of summer jobs, and well over a few thousand dollars since his fourteenth birthday might well well pay off.
It was easy slipping past his step-dad and seizing the dog by the collar and leading him to the car and Sydney was gone before his mom even got home.
i'm losing hope and fading dreams
This Code was made by JOEY! You steal it, you will be hunted down and eaten with a spork! They lyrics are by Mayday Parade, ''I'd had to be you'
Name|| Sydney Michael Cross
Nick Name|| Trouble
Gender|| Male
Birthday|| December 21
Sexual Orientation|| Straight
Ethnicity || English
Face Claim || Jason Behr
and this never will be right with me
Hair|| It depends. It's naturally black and sometimes messy, but sometimes cut nicely
Eyes|| Brown with a green tinge
Height|| 5'10"
Weight|| 145 lbs.
Body Type|| Medium build, slightly on the muscular side
Skin Type|| Fair, but not in an extremely pale way
Distinguishing Features|| Lots of scars, but he doesn't remember where he got every single one of them
Tattoos|| He's got loads of tattoos
Piercings|| None
Style|| He'll wear whatever he can get his hands on, mostly hoodies and t-shirts and jeans. Since he has tattoos reaching all the way up his neck, he normally does try and find the highest clothes that he can, as not many people in today's society are so accepting of tattoos, though he can always be tempted to take his shirt off and show off the meaning of each piece of artwork on his skin.
I'm tongue tied and terrified of what I'll say.
Likes||
Drinking
Motorcycles
Tattoos
Reading
Writing
Smoking
Sex
Girls
Freedom
Cows
Dislikes||
Being oppressed
Snakes
Cars
Twizzlers
Chick flicks
Five gum
Being out of money
Losing things
Vitamin Water
Sausage/Onion pizza
Secrets||
He left his mom in Canada and didn't even tell her
He has no place to settle down
He's never stayed with a girl longer than a few mere weeks, though he'll tell each one otherwise
Fears||
Getting left behind in the chaos of the world
Living to old age
Having to face his mom
Getting arrested and being shipped back to Canada (A residual fear from his youth)
Snakes
Strengths||
Strong
Independent
Bright
Experienced in the real world
Determined
Sincere
Weaknesses||
Distant
Stubborn
Lost
Not very trusting
Indecisive
Dreams|| Sydney's dreams died out long ago, but getting off the alcohol and pot might be a good goal if he were to have one.
Over All Personality|| By this point in his life, the rebellious Sydney Michael Cross has burnt out. He's lost all will and sometimes, he's considered suicide, though, no. He does not consider himself depressed. Just a little bit lost sometimes. Sydney's also like a nomad. He works odd jobs; enough to pay for a motel room every night, or even to rent a small apartment in the town he was staying at. At this moment, he's got an apartment, which is simply furnished and barely worth living in. But Sydney's past caring, resigned to feeling like it's just not worth it.
then we both go down together
Father|| Step-dad, Douglas DiCarlo
Mother|| Margaret Louise Cross/39/Waitress
Siblings| A much younger sister named Claudia Ann DiCarlo, who is three
Pets|| His trusty golden retriever, Lobo
Other Important Family Members|| Ocean Cross/43/uncle/doctor
Penn Lee Murray/41/uncle's boyfriend/doctor
History|| Sydney was named after the gallant Sydney Carton from A Tale of Two Cities, by his eighteen year old mother, Maggie Cross. Maggie had always wished that Sydney's father would be gallant and brave and sweet. Not the alcoholic boy who fled at the first sight of a baby. Little did Maggie consider the life that Sydney Carton had held in between promises and bravery: He was a drunk, insolent and rarely ambitious about anything. But Maggie neglected to take that into consideration, instead focusing on how terribly romantic it would be to have a man die for you, die for everything you stood for. Sydney Cross was a troublesome little boy, earning the quick nickname of 'Trouble' that has stuck with him throughout his life.
When Sydney was six and Maggie was twenty-four, she left her parents house and moved in with her older brother Ocean and his partner, Penn, who embraced them with open arms. It was Maggie's endeavor at a father figure. If she couldn't give him a real one, she would give him two attempts and that could suffice, of course. Sydney went to school, made friends, introduced himself as Trouble. Trouble Cross, spy and professional swimmer and/or bodyguard. It depended on the day, and whether he'd had a swimming class the day before or not.
Sydney passed through his middle school years, fighting every step of the way. It didn't matter if he was disrupting class, arguing with the principal, or graffiting the walls outside the school. He was causing some kind of disturbance, chaos or trouble, likewise to his name. And at age fourteen, on the brink of high school, he'd breathed his first fire, he'd sipped his first deliverance and felt himself break free into the world of sex, drugs and rock and roll. Of course, the sex came later, and the rock and roll was merely a hope that he didn't have the money to pursue, but the drugs were real enough to Sydney.
Age seventeen, we find Sydney drag racing down the highway, three AM, completely illegally and with the same whiskey-flavored freedom on his tongue that he felt incomplete without. Cut to the crash. Cut to Jeremy, Sydney's best friend since preschool lying in a ditch, bleeding from everywhere, a broken neck, broken ribs. The human body is not meant to collide with something at speeds as fast as his car had been going. Sydney stayed for the questioning all the way through the funeral, and then he took off with the family dog, heading south from Toronto, getting to Michigan and hoping that life was better on the other side. He was headed east to make things right, to New England where the spark of a new revolution (if such a thing as a new revolution existed) was set. It set fire, traveled the open waters of the Atlantic and Europe was an inferno. There was the French Revolution, without which, Sydney Cross wouldn't have a name. And therefore, this seemed like a great place to start. He stayed in Connecticut for one year, fearful of social services dragging him back to Canada. And when he turned eighteen, he left Connecticut, spent a year in Massachusetts, a year Maine and Vermont, and now, at twenty-one, he's finally entered New Hampshire, unsure of anything besides the color of the sky and the freedom of fire and independence at his tongue.
and you could see the melody
Your Name|| Angel or Reven
Your Age|| 18
Experience|| Years
Role Play Sample|| The world was washed over in blue. Blue skies, blue ocean, blue feelings. And Sydney was wallowing in the midst of it, floating through life like he was trapped at sea, surrounded by even more blue. People said that blue was the most calming color, that blue was the most widely accepted. Sydney hated blue. It was cold and unfeeling, the color of rain in the winter, or puppy born dead. Blue was cold. Blue was lifeless. Blue was the color that Jeremy was as the air left his lungs, his muscles unable to move his ribcage, his neck snapped. Blue was the color of the deepest ocean, and the night sky as you gazed up, lost and alone in this world and there was nothing but an expanse of blue filling your heart and soul. If you let it, blue could overcome you, slipping in through the cracks that were breaking you wide open and filling the gaps where something with feelings had once been. Sydney had once read that patients with OI -- a bone deficiency -- were born with eyes with no whites, but instead a bright, electric blue. This faded, but when their bones broke in extra painful places, their whites flashed blue: A warning that pain was to come. Blue was the color of police sirens as you were getting pulled over, or the cold villain's eyes. You rarely saw a supervillain with warm and inviting brown eyes, like spilled chocolate. No. They had eyes the color of chipped ice.
As Sydney watched the coffin lower into the grave, he wondered why in the world -- if blue was such an awful color that represented pain and death -- the day was bright and sunny as Jeremy was getting buried and not raining blue. Why was nature against him? It was mid-May, barely warm enough to get by without a jacket, which was why Sydney did not have one. He had on a long sleeved, dark shirt with an old band shirt over it and a pair of jeans. Sydney wasn't really one to dress up for funerals, or anything for that matter. No, he had always complained when his mother had tried to dress him in a tie and nice shoes and somehow by the end of the evening, would have managed to be standing there in a T-shirt and jeans, no matter what the occasion. He'd worn a tie over a long sleeved red shirt to his senior prom, feeling extremely devious until they'd threatened to kick him out if he didn't manage to find a button down shirt in the next fifteen minutes. So Sydney had fled. He'd always been a runner, not a fighter, and the idea of fighting with his teachers about a shirt seemed a ridiculous time to start.
When the funeral was over, Maggie walked about to Sydney, giving him a tight hug around his shoulders. She was barely thirty-six, and you couldn't even tell she was that old. "I'm sorry, Trouble. There's nothing you could have done," she told him, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. Sydney knew this wasn't true. There was everything he could have done. He could have not been drunk. He could have not been drag racing. But it made sense, what his mom had said. It wasn't the things he hadn't done. It was the stupid things that he had. Sydney was tempted to kick something, live up to his name and break something, a celebration of death that clung to the air on a hot summer day. People died all the time. That was common knowledge, but not anyone Sydney knew. Not anyone that Sydney could have stopped. "I'm driving home," Sydney told his mom, walking towards his own car instead of his. "But I'll be out for a bit, okay?" She nodded, looking particularly worried, watching him intently as he pulled out of the parking lot, like he'd crash himself into anything he saw.
Not yet. Not while Maggie was watching.
Once he got to the highway, Sydney felt his reflexes tense. This was it. This was the end. Once flick of his wrist and he'd be head over heels, tumbling into the ditch that had claimed Jeremy. And who wouldn't want that, after their best friend's funeral? Just as his hand almost twitched, a twitch to take a life, he stopped himself. Was that productive? Um, no. He was heading home. Sydney sped up and got to the house before his mom, shoving all his clothes into a few bags, grabbing everything he could, the PIN to his savings account. Sydney's maternal grandparents had promised him a double on whatever had been in there upon his graduation, and Sydney had no reason to doubt them. What had seemed like hundreds of summer jobs, and well over a few thousand dollars since his fourteenth birthday might well well pay off.
It was easy slipping past his step-dad and seizing the dog by the collar and leading him to the car and Sydney was gone before his mom even got home.
i'm losing hope and fading dreams
This Code was made by JOEY! You steal it, you will be hunted down and eaten with a spork! They lyrics are by Mayday Parade, ''I'd had to be you'
