Post by Deleted on Jun 18, 2011 22:28:42 GMT -5
Westley ‘The Dread Pirate’ Roberts
SETtheSCENE
Name: Westley “The Dread Pirate” Roberts
Nickname: Wes (if you absolutely must assign him a nickname in the first place); otherwise Captain Roberts or The Man In Black, by a few
Gender: Male
Age: 21
Sexuality: Pin-straight, thank you
Fairytale: The Princess Bride
Year: Uni 2
Face Claim: Chord Overstreet
SHAREyourSTORY
Personality:
A word to describe Westley would definitely be ‘optimistic.’ He's a glass-half-full sort of guy, especially when faced with the threat of death - and, let's face it, that‘s just your average Tuesday. He's the type to point out the bright side, or the irony, in any given situation. Westley is also extremely loyal, outgoing, has a catching wit about him, and will always surprise you. Expect the unexpected.
Appearance:
Westley is a dapper sort, fitting the bill of 'tall dark and handsome' minus the 'dark' part. (Aside from his wardrobe, naturally. He isn‘t called “The Man In Black” for nothing, you know.) Normally clean-shaven, he’ll indulge a hint of a moustache now and then. He keeps his hair short, his eyes sharp, and a boyish grin on his face (unless of course he has to duel someone. A poker face is awfully handy in those situations, and death would be unfortunate, wouldn’t it?).
Traditional to a fault, Westley dresses more in simple clothes than anything else. Not much of a trend-hopper. Most days you can find him in slacks or jeans and some sort of semi-unbuttoned shirt, all usually in black, his palette of choice. (That’s where the nickname comes in, you understand.)
History:
Well, that’s a difficult question, isn’t it then? Best to start from the beginning.
Westley was born a poor servant boy to serf parents in a country called Florin, with nothing to his name except more dirt than he really cared for. He grew up without a clue as to his last name, or if he even had one. His parents died when he was very young, and he was sent to live and work on a farm for a landowner of fair import.
The daughter of this man, Buttercup, soon caught Westley's eye, and he became infatuated with her. When the feeling was revealed to be mutual, the two vowed never to part. But not long after, Westley left to find his fortune, and was presumed dead at sea.
Two years passed, during which the boy had assumed the role of the legendary Dread Pirate Roberts. He returned to Florin and to Buttercup, reclaiming his identity, and the two would live happily ever after. Sort of.
Shortly thereafter, Westley - having kept the last name of Roberts - found himself missing his sense of adventure, and together he and Buttercup enrolled at Avalon Academy. He'd heard it was quite an adventure all its own. It proved to be the truth, and Westley managed to get himself into every shenanigan known to modern man, from losing his (…*ahem*…well, that’s not important…) to befriending a certain skeptical gold-spinning girl. He was even killed by Gaston Avenant at the New Year’s Masquerade, cause of death a sword through the heart, before being revived by Alyss Heart (ironically enough). That bit was really more ‘adventure’ than he’d bargained for, by the way. But not long after, he asked for Buttercup’s hand in marriage, so he really can’t complain, now can he?
Well, now, let’s not jump to conclusions. You see, being the current titleholder of Dread Pirate Roberts’ legacy has its downsides in addition to perks. Work still calls, and twice now, Westley has had to leave his love and friends behind to bail out a certain First Mate Ryan who can never seem to avoid getting the ship captured when it truly counts. The second time, Westley stayed on as Roberts for an extended period to make sure it wouldn’t happen again. In fact, he stayed on so long, that by the time he returned (I.E. now), the Academy isn’t quite how he remembered it. In fact, it’s in a different place with a different name altogether. As if that weren’t enough, he’s returned to find his beloved Buttercup betrothed to another man - that pompous Prince Humperdinck.
Oh, wonderful. Splendid even. Good thing Westley was never one to give up, eh? Cheating death was the easy part.
Other:
*ahem* Dreams do come true. ;D
I’m back, guys! ^^ Yeah, remember how sucky my activity got right before I left? Well, I promise to TRY very hard never to do that again. I’m easing one toe in the water first, here: just Westley, and I MIGHT take my Audreygirl back someday. But this will have to be good enough for now. (Hey, even muse death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.
) TELLtheTALE
Sample Post:
He was at Bellevue. Javier knew that much. The bright whiteness directly above him, those were the fluorescent light panels in the ceiling of his hospital room. The muted, vaguely mechanical sound somewhere to his left was something computer-ish and medical, monitoring his vital signs. The unfamiliar feeling would be...well, that could've been a lot of things. The papery excuse for clothing they'd put him in. Or the papery excuse for blankets they'd put on top of that. The fact that he'd been scrubbed of his own blood, and wasn't feeling the murk of the basement anymore, or maybe that he'd finally been allowed to rest. Aided by the meds they'd doped him up on, which didn't hurt. (Re-breaking his arm in surgery: that had hurt. Even unconscious, he'd dreamt that he was James Franco in 127 Hours.)
Right now, as he was waking, it took several moments for all of this to come back to him. Or that it was late Saturday night, six days since he'd been ambushed and taken in. Hell, he almost didn't know what day it was anymore. He remembered being nearly unconscious when Ryan and Beckett had found him, some of the others in tow... Probably spent most of that time blacked out, which he wasn't proud of, but with his injuries, it didn't surprise him in the least. Kind of surprised him he'd lasted so long. The EMTs who'd responded had been throwing around words like 'untreated concussion' (and he was pretty sure he heard a 'lucky sonofabitch' in there too, but once they had him strapped down, he was out of it).
Never managed to have this happen in the S.F. Why doesn't that surprise me, he thought dryly, somewhere in the back of his mind. One unpredictable serial killer was apparently enough to upend what everybody thought about everything. And odds. Those had been tossed all around too. For now, Javier decided not to focus on his resigned sense of failure, and more on opening his eyes, and sitting up on this damn thing a little. Baby steps worked.
Almost immediately, he hit a snag. Namely, there was still a dulled ache up and down his spine from the crash (and, y'know, subsequent handcuff-ordeal-thing), the same dull ache as in his head, and he couldn't really use either arm to push himself up too much. Stitches pulled at the left one, and he looked over, noticing a bright new row of stitches along almost the length of his forearm. (They had to've shot him up with antibiotics for that one, he figured.) Each of his wrists was still wearing a purple mark from spending six days hanging by his own handcuffs, a little sore to turn too far in any direction. And his left arm - the one that had been broken; first in multiple places by the car crash, then again in the O.R. after it'd set wrong, thanks Elinor - was at a right angle below his chest (and he had to look down to find it, by the way: they had it too numb with painkillers for him to really know it was still attached without checking). The sight of the cast was definitely different. Four-thousand yards of blue and white gauze on top of plaster, and the whole thing on a strap looped across his other shoulder. It had been fifteen seconds awake, and he already disliked wearing the thing. He was sure it would raise to 'absolute hatred' in an hour or so.
Well. At least he was out of there. Credit for miracles, he'd suppose. And at least he felt awake, and coherent; that was something. They'd probably given him an elephant's dose of morphine to keep him knocked out for the surgery, and he wasn't seeing any hallucinations of dancing catfish or clowns with five heads or bleeding spiders coming down the walls, so, he felt it safe to assume the worst had worn off. He just felt worn, worn but awake now, and word had apparently spread fast, because someone was opening his door.
