Post by Alasdair MacLaren on Nov 21, 2011 20:46:05 GMT -5
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HUMAN
HUMAN
[Basics]
Name:Alasdair MacLaren
Nicknames:None
Age:25
Birthday:July 11th
Gender:Male
Sexuality:Heterosexual
Status: Slave
Played by:Christian Bale
[Appearance]
Height:6' 3”
Body type:Not a runner, but not a body builder. Somewhere between.
Weight: 215 lbs
Eye color:Green
Hair color:Black
Piercings and/or tattoos: One SAHR tattoo on his right arm, and a striking eagle tattoo on his left arm.
Ethnicity:Scottish-American
Overall Appearance: Alasdair is every inch the soldier. Broad shouldered enough to be noticed, but not bulky, handsomely featured, and with a determined glare that says “Don't get in my way”, Alasdair has turned many a female head and struck many a heart. Finely muscled and tanned, as one would expect from a career soldier, Alasdair isn't a runner, but he isn't a slab of meat, either. He can run, yes, but he can also go toe to toe with a prize fighter in the ring and come out still standing.
While not wearing the usual Army digital or multi-cam top, and an Army issue kilt, Alasdair wears jeans and t-shirts or kilts and t-shirts, along with a pair of combat boots. His capture has left him withered and wasted, though. He has refused to eat, and as he remains chained to a wall, he has grown pale and weak. His capture has also left him weaponless, but when Alasdair was in the Army, he possessed a basket-hilted broadsword, Scottish dirk, and sgian dubh, all Army issue, but all beautiful none the less.
[Personality]
Likes:Dislikes:
- Running
- Boxing
- Bagpipe music
- Whiskey
Strengths:
- Being a slave
- Using his skills for his owner
- All formerly mythical creatures
- Still not having been bought
Weaknesses:
- Shooting any ballistic weapon
- Moving through any sort of terrain quietly
- His faith in his skills, luck, and applied firepower
Fears:
- Doesn't trust anyone most of the time
- Good whiskey
- Haggis
Habits/Quirks:
- Being maimed
- Dieing for something unnecessary
- Being a father
Overall Personality: Alasdair's mother demanded he act like a gentleman, or she would beat it into him, at a young age. Alasdair acted like a gentleman. He still does, even though as an enlisted man, or former enlisted man, he had to conform to the expectations of his unit mates. A fiercely independent man, Alasdair is a Scottish- American, and so believes that no person has the right to own another, not even a little bit.
- Speaks Gaelic when surprised
- Resorts to violence when confronted with a problem that can't be solved quickly
- Loves his old job
Alasdair holds the words Duty, Honor, and Country close to heart. While his country has abandoned him, and his duty has ceased to exist, Alasdair keeps his honor alive. While deeply embittered about his abandonment, Alasdair refuses to give in to his captors, thus keeping his keeping his fierce and unique Scottish-American spirit alive.
While Alasdair is bitter towards the United States of America, he will probably forgive it. What he cannot forgive, however, is the restriction of his freedoms and rights as a person. For that reason, he will forever hate Corpus Cristi and what those that reside in it. He will forever hate what the people of Corpus Cristi stand for and allow, and he will forever hate Corpus Cristi for what it is and stands for. The right of a person to be free is guaranteed by every law on Earth, and by those of Heaven. Alasdair is a victim of people's refusal to bend to those laws, and instead of surrendering like a victim, he will not give in.
[History]
Father:Padraic MacLaren, deceased
Mother: Susan MacLaren, deceased
Sibling:Mairi and Jennifer MacLaren, deceased
Pet:None
Other:Other what? XD
Detailed History: Alasdair MacLaren was born twenty-five years ago, the son of Padraic and Susan MacLaren. Padraic was born in the Highlands of Scotland fifty years ago; after going through the British school system, he enlisted in the Royal Army and was eventually selected for the Special Air Service.
Susan MacLaren was born Susan Fraser, forty-five years ago, in Richmond, Virginia. After finishing high school, she went to college and attained a degree in Civil Engineering. It was while working contract for the US Army she met Padraic MacLaren on an Army base, while his unit within the SAS was cross training with the US Army Delta Force. They fell in love, and she moved to the United Kingdom to be with him. When she became pregnant with Alasdair, they flew to the USA to let him be born, and then flew back to Scotland. However, once a war came, Padraic was killed in the fighting, and Susan and the young Alasdair moved back to the USA, where he grew to manhood among the mighty trees of the Smoky Mountains in North Carolina, learning to hunt from an old Native American.
At eighteen, Alasdair enlisted in the US Army, and due to his Scottish-American heritage, was drawn to be one of the founding Sergeants, once he reached Sergeant, at age twenty-one, in the 45th Scottish-American Highland Regiment. Their uniform consisted of kilts for bottoms, the usual Army camo blouses for the top, the usual combat boots, and Tam O' Shanters, in digital, with the badge of the SAHR, a sword running through Scottish heather, on the flash. However, the war cut his rising career short, as all units in the Army rapidly expanded in order to accommodate the total war footing the non-humans were on. In the end, however, all human efforts were for naught. The United States, now a broken nation, retained few units the now de-clawed eagle that was her Army. Alasdair was transferred to the 75th Ranger Regiment, and he was on his way to an airport, to fly to the unit's home base, when he was set upon and beaten senseless. When he awoke, he was in the Trading Rings of Corpus Cristi, formerly of Texas.
Alasdair was not bought right off, and now he waits, languishing in a dank cell, chained to a wall, refusing to eat. He will drink water, but his body has waited for two months for food, and it is now slowly doing its best to finish the muscle and fat on his body before finally turning in upon itself and slowly devouring organs vital for living. Alasdair's hair and beard have grown out, and as such, he doesn't look at all like the soldier he was just two months ago. Instead, he looks a sad remnant of the man he still is, at least on the inside.
RP Example: He had been locked in the darkness for two months. How did he know that it was two months? He kept mental track on his dog tags. He could feel every tiny steel ball bearing that made up the chain on his bare chest, and he shifted the one directly on the back of his neck every twenty four hours, also kept track of with the dog tag chain. He had refused to eat since the very first day, and he was now nearly skin, organs, and bones. Almost devoid of fat and muscle, with a wild black beard and tangle of dark hair obscuring his face, only white teeth and wild green eyes showed through the darkness. Grinning, he listened as footsteps echoed down the corridor, and the smell of stew, some sort of animal, wafted through the door. Snarling through his grin, now resembling a demented snarl of fury, the man shook his arm chains, rattling them and doing his best to ignore the food now placed in front of him. There were not many things that made Alasdair MacLaren ignore food, but the denial of his basic human rights was one. The bowl was placed in front of him, as it had been for the past two months. Alasdair was faithful to the ritual, too. He kicked it over, yelled something incomprehensible, and pissed himself, further staining the ragged kilt he was wearing. Cursing once more at his captors, they grabbed the now empty bowl of stew, then stuck a fire hose in the cell door. Aiming it at Alasdair, one of them laughed as Alasdair yelled in anger, and then they turned it on. The full blast of the spray hit him, and began choking him. Shutting his mouth and turning his head away from the spray, he felt it pounding on the bruises on his ribs, still not healed from two months ago. There wasn't much Alasdair thought about, not any more. The most he thought right now was simple. If they will continue to treat me like an animal, I will continue to be an animal for them. Bastards, he mentally snarled, as the water continued to spray and hit him.