Post by snalf on Sept 28, 2011 19:51:54 GMT -5
Alexander Thomas
His pulse never got above 85, even when he ate her tongue.
Name:Alexander Thomas
Age: Thirty five turns
Gender: Male
Prisoner: Yes
Crime: Serial Murder...and he ate some people.
It was... screaming. Some kind of screaming, like a child's voice.
Appearance: Alexander was never a particularly attractive man, light skin lacking the desirable warm, glowing pigments. Fine, pointed features were often identified by a vaguely crooked nose. Dark brown eyes were a chocolate color, intense and cold. His build was neither frail or muscular, but an even balance of the two. He lacked hair. He'd lost that long ago, and even before it was all gone he would keep it as short as the roots.
The estranged man holds himself rather profoundly, keeping a sense of being professional and conducting himself politely and formally. He appears as the opposite of the man you would expect when hearing of his crimes.
A census taker once tried to test me. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti.
Personality: Alexander is the showcase example of someone who is unusual. He is governed by manners and hardened, planned movements. Rarely is something with this man spontaneous or out of the blue. He plays his cards carefully, and unfortunately, he lost a hand somewhere down the line.
And he LOVES a challenge, especially those of the mind. Alex is a man of words, a tongue as sharp as the blades he uses to dice up his dinner. Conversation is always welcome, and mind games are even more so. He doesn't bite much, anymore.
Chivalry is his code of honor, and even to those he destroyed and devoured he had shown even the most basic of courtesy to. He knows his place, and will show respect when it is needed. He is not a barbarian. The tastes of human blood was just too much for him to resist. Think of it as a cat's need to chase the insignificant little mouse.
Alex is sly, and he finds amusement in heated debates. Stimulating the mind is what he strives in, and intelligent individuals are always friend's in his eyes, if not nemesis'. Though, the dim witted whom are at least clean will always be best served stir-fried with some vegetables.
Have the lambs stopped screaming?
History: His childhood was never really that spectacular, or even traumatic in the least bit. Around the age of ten, he got his first taste of human blood that wasn't his own. It overwhelmed him, and gave him a lust to eat to his little heart's content.
He lived normally, snacking on the poor and the homeless up until around the age of twenty five. Picking off the people who's death would go unnoticed, and that no one would care about. People under the influence of dust didn't exactly taste so well, so he avoided them unless he was really desperate. At around thirty, his munch off ended.
He couldn't get away with eating people anymore. He was accused of the murder of many and hauled away to jail. From there, he suppressed his tastes. Conducting himself calmly and as if it were any other beautiful day. But oh man. The jump suits. He could hardly stand the color. So terrible.
You still wake up sometimes, don't you? You wake up in the dark and hear the screaming of the lambs.
Sweet dreams.
