CONGRATS TO EVERYONE
TWO WEEKS OF AWESOME
|Welcome to TIME TO PRETEND. We hope you enjoy your visit.|
You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free.
Join our community!
If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features:
DOYLE, LAMONT OSBORN, BASIL
|LAMONT OSBORN DOYLE
BASIL OF BAKER STREET
Member No.: 28
Joined: 11-June 10
Lamont Osborn Doyle,
debuting as Basil of Baker Street.60 revelations per minute, this is my regular need. So how do you want me to live with it? How do you want me to live with it?
FULL NAME:Lamont Osborn Doyle
NICKNAME(S): Lammie, Mont.
"Hm. Nicknames have endearing qualities, don't they? A person uses a nickname in lieu of their given name because... because... Well it's obvious isn't it? A given name is one everyone is entitled to address them by, ergo, a nickname makes the giver and reciever feel... special. Yes, well, nonetheless I don't much care. I know I'm special, you see? I needn't be made to feel it. Call me what you will, but don't call me Shirley. That... that was a joke."
AGE/DOB: 17, December 30th
GENDER AND SEXUALITY: Male, undecided upon orientation.
"The first requires no actual explanation I should hope. Though I suppose the question of 'what's your gender' is becoming increasingly more complicated what with sex change operations and that, eh? But I'm getting further and further away from my point, aren't I? I'm male, and I don't know what my orientation is, I've not dedicated any considerable amount of thought to the matter, and haven't the experience to dwell on to make a decision."
FAIRYTALE CHARACTER: Basil, The Great Mouse Detective.
FACE CLAIM: Matvey Lykov
ANY DISTINGUISHING FEATURES:Apart from my sizeable proboscus? I've got peculiar eyes, I'm told, sharp. The greater portion of the time I have ink stains, pencil lead smudges, ash or soot, that sort of thing, on my hands and fingers. My hair is in some sort of chaotic order, messily in place, if that's clear... Which I imagine it isn't. I brush it into place with my hands as I seem to continuously lose brushes, so it's messy but in it's place. Better? I wear sort of whatever I first grab going through my clothes, more or less matched, because I keep similar garments together. Otherwise I don't dedicate much thought to what I put on in the morning, or, rather, when I wake. The time sometimes varies. Some of my clothing sports singe marks from my pipe and from various chemical experiments I've conducted. I'm lucky enough not to have very many scars on me at all to date, though, I do take... some protective precautions. I protect my eyes, etc. etc., but tend to neglect my forearms. There's one up near my right elbow on the inside, a result of a beaker boiling over and splashing, and another on the back of my left hand near my thumb because of a steam burn. I do have bruises on my ribs rather frequently due to my Bartitsu training but considering how I don't make a habit of walking around shirtless, it isn't all that distinguishing, is it? Still I suppose it influences how I move so in that respect it's distinguishable. I have noticed that while I do have bags under my eyes I look alert and tired simultaneously. Generally I look haphazardly neat or tidily dishelved. I know that's contradictory but it follows in line with my hair.
- My violin.
- Cigarette/cigar/pipe smoke.
Playing dress-up Interesting clothing.
- Intelligent conversation.
- Animated conversation, even if the content is dull, if the person talking to him about it is excited and animated, he likes it.
- Social experiments.
- Logic puzzles.
- His pipe. He tried cigars and cigarettes but he bit on them, and the results were... unpleasant. Alot of sputtering and spitting to get the tobacco off his teeth and tongue.
- Strongly brewed tea, Earl Grey, damned be your lemon, he likes it with milk and a single scoop of sugar.
- Entirely, utterly, unabashedly, loathes failure.
- Solitude and company. Its a like-dislike depending on mood.
- Having failure thrown in his face.
- His posessions touched.
- Orange juice.
- Held to any standards apart from his own.
- Being fussed over.
- Having himself on the recieving end of a scolding.
- That entirely insufferable "You're an idiot so I'm speaking slowly" tone.
- Uptalking. When they say every sentence as if it's a question.
- Verbal placeholders; uhm's, ah's, like's.
- Monopoly, boardgames like that.
- Citrus fruits.
- Incredibly aware of his surroundings, alarmingly so.
- Considerably above average intelligence.
- Persistent, doesn't easily give up.
- Skilled violinist.
- Highly trained in Bartitsu.
- Committed, loyal friend once he's been won over. He'd contrive a way to move heaven and earth for a friend in need.
- Quick to think on his feet.
- Incredibly aware of his surroundings. It counts as both.
- A touch on the arrogant side given his sizeable brain.
- Stubborn. Like, standing nose-to-nose for ages and never seeing eye to eye, stubborn.
- Has moderate abandonment issues, but would be utterly loathe to admit it.
- Because of the abandonment issues, he's very aloof and distant until proven otherwise about it being worth his while to invest.
- Doesn't handle failure well... Like at all.
- Hints of a self-destructive personality. He will go so far arguing that the mind is at it's sharpest when in extreme situations.
- Uses drugs when stagnant times threaten.
- Becoming a detective upon graduating with honours.
- He wants to win. Solve every puzzle infront of him, answer all questions posed to him, solve all cases. To him it's a very specific goal whereas it may sound vague to others.
ANY HABITS OR QUIRKS:
- Forging friendships only to lose the person.
- Somehow losing his intellect, either to accident or natural occurence, like illness.
- Failing as a detective. It would utterly crush him.
- Partakes in drug use, liquid cocaine and morphine, when stagnant boredom threatens or he feels a different state of mind would help solve a puzzle. Otherwise it eases stress built up gradually with being overly aware.
- Plays his violin whenever the damn-hell he wants.
- Has no filing system whatsoever in his space, it looks like a mass of papers, but he knows exactly where everything is and is loathe to tolerate someone touching it.
- Looks up without really moving his head when you're boring him. Or said something particularly stupid.
- Has a small notebook, about the size of his hand, stuffed into a pocket to scribble down notes to himself or observations for later, with a grubby pencil in it to hold his place, held together with a rubber band.
- While he doesn't much argue generally, but whenever he's managed to make a friend, he's prone to picking arguments over small things. Might be testing their resolve to be his friend, might just be comfortable saying things he'd otherwise not care enough to bring up.
- Lamont's a verbose one once he gets going.
- Despite otherwise thriving on logical conclusions and thought patterns, Lamont believes in spirits and similar.
- He's never been on a date, never been in a meaningful relationship with anyone, and has never managed proper uninhibited acts of intimacy. He isn't a virgin but it was awfully calculated and inorganic ontop of being kind of spontaneous. It seems to be the sort of thing you don't talk about, so he doesn't talk about it.
- Mastered the ability to completely contain his emotions when the situation best calls for it.
Lamont is many things but, frankly, predictable isn't one of them. He's excentric and brash, liking it better when people are on their toes, ergo more animated and alert. Alot of what he'll do in the course of an average day stems back to an almost violent aversion to boredom. Lamont's mind is off to the races the moment he's awake, even before that, during dreams and if it isn't fed, if his mind isn't fed, he suffers. Not physically, but just rather... boredom makes him experience physical rage. He can't stand it, he craves constantly some food for thought, something to ponder or figure out. But Lamont isn't a loud guy; he doesn't shout unless particularly worked up, he prefers to speak in calm tones loud enough to get his point out and heard when he wants to be heard. Generally speaking he's in a good disposition and doesn't take well to doom-and-gloomers muddling up his air with horrible foul attitudes. He'd really rather people keep their fiddly little personal issues to themselves rather than give them voice and risk infecting everyone around them with similar bad moods.
Lamont seems to exist somewhat within his own little world beyond that of regular people, at the very least he behaves like he does. He's arrogant and brilliant and all too aware of it. There's a particular disconnect he feels between himself and everyone else, like they exist on the periphery and only enter into his direct line of sight when they manage to be interesting enough to warrant serious attention. He doesn't ignore anyone, however. At times he feels as though he's incapable of ignoring people because they're there and merely being there means that he's got details to look at and take in. Lamont's an adventurous young man though and happy, very happy, in fact. He can normally be seen in a good mood with at least a hint of a smile. He tends to dodge back and forth though between his general chipper, albeit arrogant, attitude and something resembling mopey self pitying fits when things don't go as planned or as he'd hoped. Lamont is hardly ever on time exactly. Rather he chooses purposefully to be either early of late. He's got a penchant for creating social experiments, little miniature things he throws peoples' ways to see just how they'll react. People are more interesting to him when they're caught off guard. Lamont is by no means a cruel young man but he tends to say things without thinking, thing that would unavoidably be taken the wrong way because of his tone of voice, or word choices. But he tends to say things exactly as he means them, or exactly as the thought formed in his mind, so censoring himself is something of a problem.
He's very arrogant, admittedly, because of how aware of his formidable intellect he is. He's special, he knows he's special, and takes considerable pride in it. He won't shy away from displays of intellect, he won't dumb himself down for anyone. Lamont doesn't care what time it is when he feels like playing his violin. What matters is that he's had an impulse to do it, and therefore he will, in fact, do it, contrary to any and all complaints he may be met with. He's furiously stubborn. Stubborn to the point where he will give up logical fair argument and simply reply with a flat unrelenting "no." That is to say, after giving his position and his reasoning, if still there's argument, he'll put his foot down and refuse to entertain any more bickering. But he's got considerable trust issues and thinks about being abandoned if he gets too close to others. Lamont isn't one to worry though, things are either going to happen or not going to happen, and if something seems inevitable, then there's no point wasting his time and energy worrying about it. Lamont doesn't worry, he just reacts. He reacts when it happens rather than being apprehensive beforehand because that time is clearly better spent doing other things. He does tend to get his hopes up though, on the other hand. There's a fine line between success and failure and to him it's the line between happiness and depression. The depression on average doesn't last long and is solidily situational and not clinical, but he'll mope and sulk and sit in silence and brood over his failure until something new and with the offer of success catches his attention. Then the failure is forgotten, put right out of his mind, and he throws himself entirely into the new challenge with all possible gusto.
He's unashamed of his drug use and while he won't go announcing it from the rooftops he won't hide it either. Lamont doesn't believe entirely in concealing facets of who he is. To him, it doesn't make sense to deny any single part of his personality; deny a part is to alter the whole. With company he enjoys Lamont is animated and chipper, in fact, he likes having conversations with people. But he's unfortunately fast to dismiss other people's ideas as foolish, pass judgement, and is hardpressed to have it pointed out that his judgement was wrong and tolerate it. Let alone believe it. If he ever actively picks an argument with a person, it means he considers them a friend, whereas everyone else isn't worthy of the effort. He often describes himself as being on the other side of lucid; things feel clearer than he thinks they should, small details stand out as much as large ones, everything warrants and garners his attention insofar as it's interesting. When it ceases to be interesting, he feels he's learned as much about it as it has to offer. Then it becomes boring.</span>
PARENTS: Archibald Doyle (47) and June Doyle (45,) nee Walterson.
SIBLING(S): Brother, Braxton Doyle, five years older.
OTHER IMPORTANT FIGURES: N/A
HOMETOWN/HOME AWAY FROM GRIMM'S: Sussex, England.
OVERALL: Lamont was born to Archibald and June Doyle on the 30th of December in London, England, but didn't grow up there. His parents originally lived in London, yes, but shortly after his birth they moved out to Sussex, where he was raised. Being an hour and 45 minutes away from London didn't stop him from visiting and taking in the sights, nor would it under any circumstances because his parent's siblings and his grandparents still resided in the area. They just thought it would be best to get their children out of the big city and raise them away from that particular London influence. There was a considerable gap of time between his being born and the family realising that the boy had been born with the spirit of Basil, Disney's Holmes, in him. Really, at first, they thought he was just a slightly peculiar boy and didn't dwell on it long. He was their son despite any strange behaviour, so what was the issue? They loved him. His father worked as a curator in a nearby museum, while his mother worked with a nearby bed and breakfast, so Lamont came from modest means in a wholesome family environment. His relationship with his older brother was a good one, and he leaned towards sort of idolizing his big brother for being taller and stronger than him.
By ten his intellect had proven to have potential. Lamont was very much interested in literature, science, specifically chemistry and fiddly little experiments. It started with something so small as what happens when he put baking powder and vinegar in the same dish, and grew from there. To feed his intellectual hunger, his parents bought him numerous volumous books, chemistry sets, a violin and paid for modest lessons locally, and even put him in fencing lessons. His father took him with him to work on numerous occasions while he was young to further feed his want ot knowledge. Lamont was about eight years old or so when he was first introduced to literature by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and immediately he was drawn into the world the man created and felt a peculiar kinship with Holmes. He dove headlong into the literature, reading everything written down of the Holmesian variety with gusto, repeat-reading several times. It was around twelve that they realised that he'd been born with the spirit of Basil in him. They'd heard things about that happening and knew that there were things that could be done, not to get rid of it or anything, but rather things to do to best cultivate it and get Lamont the education he then needed.
However, in the midst of the discussion as to what should be done with Lamont, his parents were struggling to maintain their marriage. It was a conglomerate of problems they'd kept hidden from their two sons so well that by the time they threw in the towel and sat them down to tell them they were getting a divorce, both of them were utterly blindsided. It just seemed to come out of almost literally nowhere, there'd been no signs of discord. Lamont was unhappy, primarily with himself for not spotting any signs, this prompted him to take his observation of other people to a far higher level. Truth came to light and they were informed, not directly but rather because of an impromptu argument infront of Lamont and Braxton, that his mother had cheated on his father with the coordinator of the bed and breakfast she worked in. She wasn't to blame, though, because it seemed that she was positive beyond a shadow of a doubt that he too had cheated on her with some woman who worked in the museum with him. It was unclear, though, who had cheated first and who had subsequently cheated as an act of revenge. And so while they argued and attempted to get their affairs in order for the divorce, while they finally let the floodgates open and engaged in shouting matches, their warm family atmosphere all but disappeared and left Lamont neglected and alone with his brother.
Lamont dedicated some considerable time observing his parents argue in an effort to try to determine what had gone wrong to ruin the marriage. it seemed like some very personal, very important puzzle that made no sense, but desperately needed to make sense. He came to the conclusion while his parents fought for custody of him and his brother, that it had originally been his mother to start cheating, due likely to his father being absorbed in his work and neglecting to engage in romantic activities. After that, Lamont assumed, his father noticed a distance growing between the two and sought out comfort in the arms of another woman. It made sense, and ontop of those already planted by the sudden divorce and inadvertent neglect, it planted more seeds for abandonment issues. It didn't make sense to him that a marriage that seemingly solid and strong should suddenly and without warning, implode.
Things were finally settled but not to Lamont's liking. He went and lived with his father, who moved back to London in a flat, transferring and obtaining a job in the museum there. His brother lived with his mother, and stayed in Sussex. After a few weeks his mother actively started seeing the man she'd been having an affair with, and his father returned to the dating scene, more or less, and started trying to see people. Eventually his father came back to the issue of where to send his son for education, being in the position of having that particular spirit in him. Eventually he sat Lamont down and talked to him about Grimm's. Lamont had begun to crave some semblance of order, the divorce and uprooting of his life tipping everything over into the realms of chaotic and unpleasantly disordered, so he agrreed that Grimm's was a good destination. Once accepted, Lamont moved as soon as he was able, eager to get away from the family and dive into a new environment.
AGE: I'mma be 21 in May
ANYTHING ELSE YOU WANT TO ADD: I KNOW THE SARZ, dundunduuunnnnn.
|Vali was a closet writer. He was a successfully published one at that and had been at it for a while before he'd been hauled back into his father's life. No one knew, he hadn't even told Juda, and of everyone he knew Juda heard the most from him by way of personal information. Vali trusted Juda a great deal and that was saying something, really, coming from the angry young man who'd happily say not a word in a day and would rather be left alone than even tolerate someone in the same room saying nothing to him. Vali just thoroughly preferred solidute, silence, and simplicity to company or conversation. Which wasn't to say he couldn't uphold conversations. It was that he didn't like to in most cases. Vali came across alot as being slower upstairs, just because he spoke slower and with considerable care, but that was because he wasn't used to speaking. Still wasn't used to speaking. Whereas he was used to conveying an entire argument with body language and some snarls or growls thrown in intermittently, now he was supposed to articulate things, say words, and try his best to find the proper words that meant what he was trying to convey. it was hard to relearn.|
Generally, because of living with his father, he didn't write while he was in there. He didn't want his father to know, there was a great deal he preferred his father not know, actually. That he hadn't had sex in a while was one, writing another, being an amateur actor in a local theatre yet another one. It was just going to be inconvenient for him, he thought, if he were to have his father find out or something. Besides which there was a particular degree of autonomy in maintaining those secrets from him. It meant that there were aspects of his life his father didn't control and couldn't even attempt to unless he let the figurative cat out of the bag. But he supposed some day maybe not too far off, or maybe far off, he would allow his father to know that he was a writer of considerable calibre. Vali didn't deal in prose, but rather poetry, particularly epic poetry. He'd writen a number of books to date and had gotten considerable attention for the quality and style. But he wrote under a pseudonym, clearly. He didn't really want the attention, as such, he just wanted to write and do something with his mind. Though, it it meant that Loki stopped insisting that he was retarded, then he would expose himself as the author and take credit, and hand his father his books. If only to right the record. He really hated being beaten for something he wasn't actually responsible for. Vali figured, if he was going to be beaten until he was unconscious, then he'd better fucking deserve it. So he made a point as often as possible to deserve it.
Earlier that day Vali had taken to a small bookstore he frequented to get some writing done. More or less he was on good friendly terms with the owner and he allowed Vali to use the back room and the old typewriter in there to get some writing done when he felt like doing so. His manner of working meant that he needed a room with no windows, or one that could be closed and covered, ample cigarettes, and a stack of paper next to a typewriter. That, and some music, Vali was partial to Tom Waits and Chester French to listen to while he worked. Particularly Tom Waits, he couldn't describe why, but he just really thoroughly enjoyed his music. So in a nutshell what Vali did was hotbox himself with cigarettes and just write nonstop until he produced something lengthy and worthwhile. Vali wrapped up the bundle of paper and tucked it into his back, a messenger bag affair made of canvas, and nodded his thanks to the store owner and left to go for a walk. As per usual, he wound up being carried by his feet to the train station.He didn't sit and watch people, because he didn't much like the noise, rather he went around and wandered near the old decomissioned trains. Vali wandered until he got himself turned around, and then he climbed into one and wrenched the door open, went in, and sat. He had time to do nothing so he thought he would.
Skin My Grave Stone Has Shattered
designed by Zeus00
of the IF Skin Zone