Cassidy, Judah Syd [WIP]

[judah]

Character Name: Judah Syd Cassidy
Nickname(s): Jude, Heehaw
Gender: Male
Age: Eighteen
Grade: Senior
Sexuality: Straight
Clique: Punk
Weight: 140 lbs
Height: 5'9''
Appearence:

Judah Cassidy has no leisure or room to blame his vertically challenged state on any predecessors. But the fact remains that he doesn't even try to put the sly on some relatives, and proudly dubs himself fun-sized. Deceptively packaged, if you will. Standing at a whopping five feet and nine inches, and weighing in at 140 pounds--that being, my friends, ample muscle tone--Jude indeed is the size that might invoke endearing, comical fondness. If his general insanity doesn't convince one in the first place.

Features include: an adequately (not too much, not too little) sun-kissed complexion; eyes the color of emeralds flecked with smoky-hazel; and a mop of ink-colored hair that is usually shaggy and / or charmingly unkempt. A few bumps and scars are obvious, most of them deriving from dare-devilry, skateboarding, and a general lack of control when it comes to impulses. Then there are his tattoos. He has three of them, the largest being the one on his back--a spinal skeletal chord going all the way down, with what seem to be electric wires threading through the ends of each vertebrae like those on a telephone wire. The silhouettes of Ravens also perch on said vertebrae. It symbolizes his live-wire personality, ease of communication (he isn't shy at all) and idiosyncrasy. He also has the word "Halloween" spelled out across the knuckles of both of his hands--it is his favorite holiday and, so happens, his birthday as well. Finally, he has an "inkless tattoo," or scarring of "The Divine Comedy" on the back of his neck.

Regarding his wardrobe, Judah displays a myriad of tastes--that is, when it comes to casual, semi-formal, and formal. He likes to mix and match items like black suit tops with band shirts and shredded skinny jeans. His only staple(s), really, are his VANS High-Tops or Combat Boots. Accessories include (but are not limited to): studded or spiked belts, solid ties in neon or other wacky colors, high-top shoes or boots in general, surfer / "beachy" jewelery (such as hemp, shells, and wooden beads), and much more.

Personality:

History:

Sample Rp:

The setting of the sun spilled blood-orange from the atmosphere, alighting the urban landscape aflame with jets of fiery pigmentation. It bounced from skyscrapers, reverberating even through the dullest of sectors of the old, nearly abandoned downtown area. A new business sector had been erected in it's place, around ten or so miles from here, across the bay. Shamys had chosen this spot to set up Distortion long ago because of its location. Tourists flocked here, displaced from the business sector meant only for those in permanent residence. The theatre supported an even flow for a long time after it'd first opened; now, though, Shamys and the other performers had narrowed the basis to a much more exclusive level, depending upon payment. So now, squalid on the outside and boasting little pride in amount of visitors, there was no show running tonight. Shamys had allowed his little flock of misfits on leave, vacation, whatever they would, and taken weekend to himself. It'd been nice and quiet so far, but for lack of social intercourse and other means of feeding, he was famished.

The lonely night chill, following the setting finale of the sun, blew in from the bay, forcing the already white-as-mother-of-pearl-skinned male to pop the collar on his textured grey button up coat, and extend his hands into the pockets of his black jeans. He was tall and beautiful, clinging to sinisterly dysfunctional, innocent youth, with a Cheshire smirk in one corner of his mouth, and the downward tug of eternal woe and damnation in the other. His skin was white as mentioned and smooth, marble-like, without the faintest of discoloration. Not even veins protruded value-wise. He had wispy tendrils of feathery, inky-black hair, and eyes so rich a chocolate brown, so abysmal a darkness, that at the right angle they appeared black, too. A cigarette hung from the smirk in his mouth, emitting coiling serpents of thick and poisonous smoke, which he basked in, exhaling heavily each time he took a bit of the nicotine. Easily addicted, highly vivacious, here leant Shamys, in all his disenchanted wonder, the king of excess and gluttony.

Shamys remained so callously indifferent on his stoop that the mere passerby usually not dare disturb him--to the bystander who'd been there long enough to observe, this was the young man's third cigarette in around twenty minutes. The air was thick with smoke around him, but his exterior as bright as the healthiest individual ever put on god's green earth. They couldn't understand it. And Shamys regarded them with as much interested humanity as a dull old livestock animal, or some beast with his own itinerary. It wasn't until some girl came along and wrecked his silence with her nagging that he actually paid any mind to anyone on the street. She'd come a little too close for his liking, but Shamys merely welcomed the adamant female with a wide, closed grin, his eyes squinting ever so lightly, the liner around them smudging faintly together at the creases of his lids. The male was amused more than anything, even annoyance didn't plague him when she was merely a breath away--to him, at least, for all of his senses were so magnified that he could almost taste what she'd indulged in around an hour ago. Often he loathed this aspect of his physicality, the acute sensory, because most people had god-awful taste in food and drink. But his gifts were both those, and curses, depending upon the angle in which one looked.

Shifting himself to the side, Shamys regarded the woman from her tipsy-toes all the way up to a little flyaway hair popping up on her head, his arms now crossed over his torso. "Well, nosiness killed the ninny," was his snide, entertained response to her distaste. "You don't oblige yourself to live or work here," he remarked, gesturing toward the macabre, old-fashioned theatre sign reading the name of the place in spindly letters, "and we're outside, love. Go 'way, if it bothers you that much." Shamys realized that she really hadn't been belligerent, but he was intuitive enough to pick up on how disgusting she found his habit. Good smartass-delivered logic was all it boiled down to be.

Celeb:

Billie Joe Armstrong

Out Of Character:

Yo, I'm Noelle. I'm Eighteen, and have been writing / role-playing for eight years. The best way to contact me other than PM is my MSN, [e-mail].