Post by MYLES ADAM HAMPTON on Jan 3, 2010 22:16:52 GMT -5
full name • myles adam hampton
nick names • mylie
age • twenty-one
grade • junior in college, major in photography, minor in business
job • photographer
hometown • new york city, new york
sexuality • straight
member group • college
height • 5 feet eleven inches
hair • dirty blonde, shaggy
eyes • bright blue
play by • william moseley
likes • photography, black and white pictures, scotch, traveling, charlie, scotland
dislikes • his aunt, rules, being stuck, twitter, long days, work, school
habits/quirks • tends to take off his clothes when drunk, the more drunk, the more clothes come off. also likes to fiddle with things in his hands when he's nervous.
fears • charlie getting hurt or ending up alone, never becoming a successful photographer
dreams • shoot for vogue and national geographic, and eventually have a family
secrets • both of his parents were killed in the attacks on 9/11 and he pretty much raised his younger sister. used to be addicted to drugs and alcohol.
overall • outgoing, goofy, loving, funny, excitable, childish, talented, smart, amusing, easy-going, protective, cute, sweet and endearing.
mother • alexandra hampton, deceased
father • richard hampton, deceased
siblings • charlie hampton, little sister, twelve.
pets • ringo, pet dog
other family • lauren hampton - forty five, aunt. she's not really close to myles since they never got along, but i guess you could call her the next closest thing he has to family since he lived with her for seven years.
overall • Myles Hampton was born on August 9th in the year 1988. His birth was planned, a rarity in New York City, let me assure you. Myles' parents both work for the government, but had met in college, at Princeton. They were instantly attracted to each other and began to date when Richard was a Junior and Alexandra was a Freshman. They share a lot of the same tastes and were always together. On the day Alexandra graduated, Richard proposed. She accepted and they were married. They both came from prominent families and the marriage was well encouraged from both sides. They set to work making a living and finding an apartment, moving to New York City after three years of marriage, when they were both offered jobs there. They went eagerly and after a year there, Myles was born.
Myles was sort of spoiled; his parents doted on their first born. As he got older though, Richard was more and more absent in his son's life and that caused a little bit of strife between the couple, but they were a happy family for the most part. For all the sin that surrounded him in NYC, Myles was a good little boy. He did what mommy told him, followed daddy's rules and always listened to the adult in charge. He was a smart child and never had any troubles in school. When he was ten and a half, his baby sister was conceived. Myles had to deal with his parent's attention leaving him and focusing on the coming baby, but he still behaved. His baby sister was born on July fifteenth, 2001 and he was allowed to name her. Not really understanding that the baby was a she, Myles named her Charlie. His parents agreed, they liked the modernity of it. And thus the happy family of three became four. But happiness only lasts so long.
On September 11th, 2001, Myles lost everything. His parents were massacred in the Nine-Eleven attacks on the world trade center. Just like that, the people Myles loved most were gone. And his poor baby sister survived out of pure luck, his mother had gone into the office that day only because she had to give some files to the secretary, and the baby Charlie was left to a family friend. Myles took the deaths very hard, and has never really recovered from it. He was the beneficiary of his parents will, but legally could not use or truly own any of it until he turned eighteen. So it was off to Aunt Lauren's in California, and that's how he ended up here. Lauren Hampton works as a lawyer and is known for being a hard ass with high standards and impossible to please. She was the same to the children. Well, to Myles. She tried to control him, but that only backfired. Then she left him to himself and that was even worse.
Myles acquired a drug and alcohol addiction, and was drinking and partying more than ever imaginable. Fed up, his aunt shipped him off to Scotland to attend boarding school. Myles didn't want to leave Charlie, but wanted to get away from his aunt and left mostly willingly. He spent his remaining three years of high school there and loved it. He fit in and made friends easily and started to heal from his parent's death. His addictions went away and he started doing better in school. He graduated and was not quite ready to leave so he started college there. Partway through his junior year though he decided that he had to face facts and come back to New York City, he couldn't keep running forever. So Myles transfered to NYU and is moving back. It hurts being back to the place where his parents died, but he can't avoid it any more. Plus, he needed to be closer to Charlie. His only hope is that it all doesn't come crashing down around him.
your name • JILL
your age • seventeen
roleplaying experience • lots. five or so years
how you found us • tisse
roleplay sample •
Marcus glanced at his watch for the twelfth time in 5 minutes. With a disgruntled sigh he realized that checking his watch repeatedly would not reset the time, no matter how much he wanted it to. He was late, and there would be no changing that. It was twenty till eight, and he had to pick up a friend to go out at eight. It took him nearly twenty minutes to get to her house in the first place, not to mention he had to run over to the apartment he shared with Angelo and change. Well, they not so much shared it as Angelo let Marcus use it because Angelo rarely did. That was not the point. The point was that Marcus neither wanted to show up to his friend's house covered in flour nor did he want to show up late. He glanced down at himself to see if perhaps he wasn't caked in the white powder as he usually was, and maybe he could just go straight there. There was no such luck. His smaller, more compact body was momentarily white as he had become covered in flour throughout his seven hour shift at his dad's pizzeria. He wished that his father would stop making him work so much, but he was not bold enough to confront his father about it directly. For now he tried to deal with the over loading schedule as best he could. Marcus worked so much now because his father, Antonio, was short staffed and Marcus was one of the few who knew how to make the light, thin crispy crust that the place was famous for. With this, Marcus was needed to work every single day, for hours on end, sometimes three shifts in a row. It was beginning to get ridiculous, but Marcus wasn't the type for head on confrontation. For right now he turned his mind off that problem and focused on the current one. One more pizza made, and he would be out of there. Thank the lord.
The second that pizza was out of the oven, Marcus had ripped off his batter caked apron and thrown it in the pile of those to be washed by the back door. He whipped around the outside corner, walking at the brisk pace he had become accustomed to. He could faintly hear his father calling him, but the boy nipped behind the final turn and began to jog a bit, pretending he had not heard his dad. Marcus felt a pang of guilt for not stopping to speak with his father, but he had places to go and people to see. Plus, he was twenty-three after all, and his father had to learn that he could not constantly control him. Marcus settled back into his brisk walk as he navigated the close streets and back roads that would lead him to the apartment. As he did, Marcus watched the people around him with interest and a mild amusement. It was tourist season; it always seemed to be at least. Today was no different with tourists paving the streets with their Mickey Mouse tee shirts, awkward hats and large stomachs. Some found the tourists annoying and a hazard, and Marcus had to agree on occasion. But for the most part, the boy was amused with their eccentric actions. He wore a tiny grin at the couple of overweight tourists sporting seven cameras in total around their flabby arms, and those hats which dispensed a drink from the top. He had to laugh a little to himself before ducking into the back road that would avoid the main intersections and direct him home. Marcus had been a home bred and born Roman and knew all the roads and streets like the back of his hand, and his route home was long established.
An anxious look to his watch once more told him to pick up. He jogged the last little bit home, bounding up the stairs to the apartment two at a time, breathes coming out quickly as he did so. He made it to the door in seconds flat and wrenched open the door, dashing inside. First to where he slept to grab fresh clothes. Once that was accomplished, he turned on the shower and washed off all the pizza smell and grime that clung to him. The shower was done in record time, as well as drying off. He glanced over to see what he had chosen from his clothes, gave a shrug, and donned them. He wore a white tee shirt with an Italian logo on it, dark wash jeans that were neither too loose nor too tight, and a favorite pair of sneakers. He went back to his room for a second, running a hand through his damp dark mane of hair, searching fruitlessly for his jacket. Ah ha! His light, almost hazel, brown eyes had settled upon a black blazer that had been a gift a few years back and he had grown to love, seeing as with little fashion sense, this jacket went with everything.
Clothing and outfit complete, hair towel dried with a comb raked through it briefly, Marcus grabbed his keys from the credenza he had chucked them onto before, made sure he had his wallet, and then moved quickly for the door. He set out on the streets again, a man who rarely used his car. His friend only lived a few blocks away, and the restaurants and stores even closer. No one in his family used their car often. In fact, few true Italians did, they all just walked. It was those who had to travel far, or the tourists and taxis who used cars. Marcus watched for any cars approaching before taking off across the street and making his way to her house. He was not sure exactly why he was going shopping with her as he'd be no help. But they were friends, and she had asked, and Marcus was too shy and agreeing to say no to such a request. So there he was, giving up an evening with his family, or perhaps even Angelo, to go shopping with this girl. Sometimes he hated how much of a door mat he had become, but was too reticent to do anything about it really, much like his work situation. The handsome Italian uttered another sigh before crossing another street, getting closer and closer. It was unlikely that he would ever be an authoritative figure, but perhaps there was some hope for the boy. For now, he remained effortlessly charming and endearing, and walked all over.
The second that pizza was out of the oven, Marcus had ripped off his batter caked apron and thrown it in the pile of those to be washed by the back door. He whipped around the outside corner, walking at the brisk pace he had become accustomed to. He could faintly hear his father calling him, but the boy nipped behind the final turn and began to jog a bit, pretending he had not heard his dad. Marcus felt a pang of guilt for not stopping to speak with his father, but he had places to go and people to see. Plus, he was twenty-three after all, and his father had to learn that he could not constantly control him. Marcus settled back into his brisk walk as he navigated the close streets and back roads that would lead him to the apartment. As he did, Marcus watched the people around him with interest and a mild amusement. It was tourist season; it always seemed to be at least. Today was no different with tourists paving the streets with their Mickey Mouse tee shirts, awkward hats and large stomachs. Some found the tourists annoying and a hazard, and Marcus had to agree on occasion. But for the most part, the boy was amused with their eccentric actions. He wore a tiny grin at the couple of overweight tourists sporting seven cameras in total around their flabby arms, and those hats which dispensed a drink from the top. He had to laugh a little to himself before ducking into the back road that would avoid the main intersections and direct him home. Marcus had been a home bred and born Roman and knew all the roads and streets like the back of his hand, and his route home was long established.
An anxious look to his watch once more told him to pick up. He jogged the last little bit home, bounding up the stairs to the apartment two at a time, breathes coming out quickly as he did so. He made it to the door in seconds flat and wrenched open the door, dashing inside. First to where he slept to grab fresh clothes. Once that was accomplished, he turned on the shower and washed off all the pizza smell and grime that clung to him. The shower was done in record time, as well as drying off. He glanced over to see what he had chosen from his clothes, gave a shrug, and donned them. He wore a white tee shirt with an Italian logo on it, dark wash jeans that were neither too loose nor too tight, and a favorite pair of sneakers. He went back to his room for a second, running a hand through his damp dark mane of hair, searching fruitlessly for his jacket. Ah ha! His light, almost hazel, brown eyes had settled upon a black blazer that had been a gift a few years back and he had grown to love, seeing as with little fashion sense, this jacket went with everything.
Clothing and outfit complete, hair towel dried with a comb raked through it briefly, Marcus grabbed his keys from the credenza he had chucked them onto before, made sure he had his wallet, and then moved quickly for the door. He set out on the streets again, a man who rarely used his car. His friend only lived a few blocks away, and the restaurants and stores even closer. No one in his family used their car often. In fact, few true Italians did, they all just walked. It was those who had to travel far, or the tourists and taxis who used cars. Marcus watched for any cars approaching before taking off across the street and making his way to her house. He was not sure exactly why he was going shopping with her as he'd be no help. But they were friends, and she had asked, and Marcus was too shy and agreeing to say no to such a request. So there he was, giving up an evening with his family, or perhaps even Angelo, to go shopping with this girl. Sometimes he hated how much of a door mat he had become, but was too reticent to do anything about it really, much like his work situation. The handsome Italian uttered another sigh before crossing another street, getting closer and closer. It was unlikely that he would ever be an authoritative figure, but perhaps there was some hope for the boy. For now, he remained effortlessly charming and endearing, and walked all over.
