Post by ezra on Aug 29, 2012 13:54:51 GMT -5
» EZRA PIKE.
[atrb=border,0,true] | [style=width: 175px; height: 300px; overflow: auto; padding-right: 10px; padding-left: 10px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9px; line-height: 100%; color:a3a3a3;]→ full name . ezra ivan pike. → nicknames . he hates nicknames. a lot. (that doesn’t mean one should refrain from using them.) → age & birthday . twenty-nine. second of february, 1982. → sexual orientation . ‘heterosexual.’ (actually bi, but so much denial over his attraction to the mens.) → hometown . calumet city, illinois. → occupation . defence attorney. → membergroup . tourist. → play-by . cillian murphy. |
» THE FREESTYLE APP.
SHORT.
& uptight as fuck
& smug and sneering
& always in a suit
& obsessive compulsive
& polite but sarcastic
& tries to stay calm
& often rather cold
& twitches when obsessing
& stammers when flustered
& egotistical
& control freak
& ludicrously paranoid
& has a brilliant mind
& loves the number four
& not very self-aware
& very logical
& morally bankrupt
& enjoys battles of wit
& never relaxes
& will occasionally randomly freak out
& caffeine addict
& very overconfident
& ...does he ever sleep?
LONG.
An arrogant, gawky little shit. Ezra is by no means easy to get along with, though he’s perfectly polite. It’s just that it’s a rather frosty sort of politeness, with a biting sarcasm permanently lurking just beneath. And the smugness. Oh, the smugness. He’s always got to be in control, always got to be one step ahead of the game. Though he’s a shade on the short side at 5’8 and a slim little weakling, his incisive eyes make one thing clear: he’s brilliantly intelligent.
He’s ever so good at keeping his calm and collected mask on—for a time. But eventually people might notice that he gets a little bit nervous and twitchy. He moves with jerky, graceless movements enough as it is, but from time to time he’ll start dropping things and breaking things and acting increasingly like a paranoid, jumpy crackhead. But it’s not delicious, delicious crack. (Ezra is fairly straight-laced about that kind of thing: it comes from being so uptight.) No, his OCD just sometimes likes to play havoc with him.
Most of the time he’s good with it. It isn’t a particularly severe or bizarre case anyway. He just happens to love the number four, and likes things to be Just So, and is quite determinedly neat and tidy and clean at all times. And has a few rituals. With his carefully centre-parted hair and creaseless suits, he’s obviously a neat freak, but people usually don’t realize at first that this neat freakiness is something under his skin. It tends to get worse when he’s feeling particularly stressed out or emotional (which, fortunately, is rare). He’s fairly open about the ‘disorder’ and will raise a haughty eyebrow at anyone that suggests he’s not sane. He thinks his problem is that he’s a little too sane, personally.
Still, manifestations of his obsessive compulsions are generally not all that noticeable on a good day, except for the neatness, and that’s habit by now. He tends to unconsciously spend a lot of time touching the pad of his thumb to the tips of each of the four fingers on the same hand, though.
Condescending, smug and a little bit controlling (he just knows exactly what’s best for everyone else, okay, is that so wrong?), he acts like a grown-up but there’s something childish about how jealously possessive he can get over the people he’s claimed as his and his insistence on his own infallibility. His big head probably comes from being so good at his job.
What’s he doing in Carmel in the first place, you might ask? He’s actually trying to keep his head down. He’s an Illinois native, born and raised in Calumet City, and went to college and law school in Chicago where he outshone most of his peers. He had his pick of jobs—ended up being snapped up as the in-house defence attorney for an organized crime unit. Ezra didn’t have any moral qualms about it, as such, getting known criminals off on technicalities and fancy talk. He certainly didn’t have any qualms about the money. But when personal safety started getting involved, he decided that it was best to cut and run. The job was starting to stress him out and, frankly, he found it a little bad for his health when people were threatening to kneecap him. Besides, he was far too good for those assholes.
‘Good’ as in, you know, good at his job. Now he does his lawyer bit locally, though usually in defence as that's what he knows.
He arrived in Carmel perhaps two years ago, choosing the place to move closer to his little sister, who is his favourite person in the universe and moved here years ago. He’s ga-ga over her and she has him wrapped around her little finger. Bless.
& uptight as fuck
& smug and sneering
& always in a suit
& obsessive compulsive
& polite but sarcastic
& tries to stay calm
& often rather cold
& twitches when obsessing
& stammers when flustered
& egotistical
& control freak
& ludicrously paranoid
& has a brilliant mind
& loves the number four
& not very self-aware
& very logical
& morally bankrupt
& enjoys battles of wit
& never relaxes
& will occasionally randomly freak out
& caffeine addict
& very overconfident
& ...does he ever sleep?
LONG.
An arrogant, gawky little shit. Ezra is by no means easy to get along with, though he’s perfectly polite. It’s just that it’s a rather frosty sort of politeness, with a biting sarcasm permanently lurking just beneath. And the smugness. Oh, the smugness. He’s always got to be in control, always got to be one step ahead of the game. Though he’s a shade on the short side at 5’8 and a slim little weakling, his incisive eyes make one thing clear: he’s brilliantly intelligent.
He’s ever so good at keeping his calm and collected mask on—for a time. But eventually people might notice that he gets a little bit nervous and twitchy. He moves with jerky, graceless movements enough as it is, but from time to time he’ll start dropping things and breaking things and acting increasingly like a paranoid, jumpy crackhead. But it’s not delicious, delicious crack. (Ezra is fairly straight-laced about that kind of thing: it comes from being so uptight.) No, his OCD just sometimes likes to play havoc with him.
Most of the time he’s good with it. It isn’t a particularly severe or bizarre case anyway. He just happens to love the number four, and likes things to be Just So, and is quite determinedly neat and tidy and clean at all times. And has a few rituals. With his carefully centre-parted hair and creaseless suits, he’s obviously a neat freak, but people usually don’t realize at first that this neat freakiness is something under his skin. It tends to get worse when he’s feeling particularly stressed out or emotional (which, fortunately, is rare). He’s fairly open about the ‘disorder’ and will raise a haughty eyebrow at anyone that suggests he’s not sane. He thinks his problem is that he’s a little too sane, personally.
Still, manifestations of his obsessive compulsions are generally not all that noticeable on a good day, except for the neatness, and that’s habit by now. He tends to unconsciously spend a lot of time touching the pad of his thumb to the tips of each of the four fingers on the same hand, though.
Condescending, smug and a little bit controlling (he just knows exactly what’s best for everyone else, okay, is that so wrong?), he acts like a grown-up but there’s something childish about how jealously possessive he can get over the people he’s claimed as his and his insistence on his own infallibility. His big head probably comes from being so good at his job.
What’s he doing in Carmel in the first place, you might ask? He’s actually trying to keep his head down. He’s an Illinois native, born and raised in Calumet City, and went to college and law school in Chicago where he outshone most of his peers. He had his pick of jobs—ended up being snapped up as the in-house defence attorney for an organized crime unit. Ezra didn’t have any moral qualms about it, as such, getting known criminals off on technicalities and fancy talk. He certainly didn’t have any qualms about the money. But when personal safety started getting involved, he decided that it was best to cut and run. The job was starting to stress him out and, frankly, he found it a little bad for his health when people were threatening to kneecap him. Besides, he was far too good for those assholes.
‘Good’ as in, you know, good at his job. Now he does his lawyer bit locally, though usually in defence as that's what he knows.
He arrived in Carmel perhaps two years ago, choosing the place to move closer to his little sister, who is his favourite person in the universe and moved here years ago. He’s ga-ga over her and she has him wrapped around her little finger. Bless.
» OUT OF CHARACTER.
→ name or alias .
finch.
→ age and gender .
nineteen, femme.
→ time zone .
gmt: england.
→ other characters .
mr. pike’s the lonely only.
→ sample post .
The 10pm to 4am shift. Absolute killer, and that wasn’t gallows humour talking. Well, maybe a little bit. Todd’s sleep cycle was well and truly shafted the moment he got his job, and it hadn’t stopped being shafted ever since. It was half-four in the morning when he arrived at the glass windows at the front of the quaint little bookshop, and Todd still wasn’t tired. Half an hour ago he’d been helping firemen cut someone from a pile of smoking wreckage and getting them back to hospital; he was buzzing with adrenaline and absolutely restless. He got like this a lot… it sort of came with the job.
Jay was one of the very few people in the city that he called a friend—unlike said friend, Todd didn’t get out much—but there were really only a few things that he knew about him. Fortunately, those things pretty much added up to this: that Jay always seemed to be awake and around when he wanted him to be (and sometimes when he didn’t, or pretended he didn’t), and that Jay was willing to put up with his whining and showing up at ungodly hours of the morning in exchange for him putting up with Jay’s firecracker act and constant arsing around. And there was a bit of Jay providing pizza, Todd providing banter. It was very give and take. Quite sweet, really.
Still, Todd wasn’t one for getting sentimental, so after fancying that he spotted a light on in the shop’s backroom, he made his way to the locked front door and hammered a fist against the glass. Fortunately the place was old-fashioned enough that it had a letterbox in the storefront door, which Todd pushed open so that he could call through to his seemingly ever-present friend. He put it down to the magic of fate. “Oi, half-pint. Let me in, will you? I know you’re back there. I can feel my IQ dropping.”
That’s gratitude for you. Todd folded his arms, the hoodie he’d shoved on over his EMT greens seeming way too thin now that he was standing still instead of half-jogging to a bookshop at four in the morning. That was the first stage of the adrenaline comedown: the recurring high. Stupid energy. Stupid biology. Stupid evolution, giving his body a reaction that was rendered useless in modern society. As for the crash that would come later—at what point did mother nature decide that suddenly passing out was a useful response to anything? Whatever. He’d be happy enough just getting out of the rising wind and the weird, creepy feeling that the streets of this city sometimes picked up when the sun was down.
[/center]finch.
→ age and gender .
nineteen, femme.
→ time zone .
gmt: england.
→ other characters .
mr. pike’s the lonely only.
→ sample post .
The 10pm to 4am shift. Absolute killer, and that wasn’t gallows humour talking. Well, maybe a little bit. Todd’s sleep cycle was well and truly shafted the moment he got his job, and it hadn’t stopped being shafted ever since. It was half-four in the morning when he arrived at the glass windows at the front of the quaint little bookshop, and Todd still wasn’t tired. Half an hour ago he’d been helping firemen cut someone from a pile of smoking wreckage and getting them back to hospital; he was buzzing with adrenaline and absolutely restless. He got like this a lot… it sort of came with the job.
Jay was one of the very few people in the city that he called a friend—unlike said friend, Todd didn’t get out much—but there were really only a few things that he knew about him. Fortunately, those things pretty much added up to this: that Jay always seemed to be awake and around when he wanted him to be (and sometimes when he didn’t, or pretended he didn’t), and that Jay was willing to put up with his whining and showing up at ungodly hours of the morning in exchange for him putting up with Jay’s firecracker act and constant arsing around. And there was a bit of Jay providing pizza, Todd providing banter. It was very give and take. Quite sweet, really.
Still, Todd wasn’t one for getting sentimental, so after fancying that he spotted a light on in the shop’s backroom, he made his way to the locked front door and hammered a fist against the glass. Fortunately the place was old-fashioned enough that it had a letterbox in the storefront door, which Todd pushed open so that he could call through to his seemingly ever-present friend. He put it down to the magic of fate. “Oi, half-pint. Let me in, will you? I know you’re back there. I can feel my IQ dropping.”
That’s gratitude for you. Todd folded his arms, the hoodie he’d shoved on over his EMT greens seeming way too thin now that he was standing still instead of half-jogging to a bookshop at four in the morning. That was the first stage of the adrenaline comedown: the recurring high. Stupid energy. Stupid biology. Stupid evolution, giving his body a reaction that was rendered useless in modern society. As for the crash that would come later—at what point did mother nature decide that suddenly passing out was a useful response to anything? Whatever. He’d be happy enough just getting out of the rising wind and the weird, creepy feeling that the streets of this city sometimes picked up when the sun was down.