Post by harrison james lyons on Jun 6, 2012 17:57:30 GMT -6
[atrb=style,width: 500px; background-color: B9B9B9; border: 10px dashed #754A4A; border-right: 15px solid #754A4A; border-left: 15px solid #754A4A; padding: 5px, bTable][th] harrison james lyons CEO of Lyons enterprises, visitor, tom hiddleston | |
 the basics FULL NAME harrison james lyons AGE & DOB twenty-nine, august 23rd 1983 HOMETOWN London England ETHNICITY European LANGUAGES SPOKEN English, French, Italian and some Russian SEXUAL ORIENTATION straight HAIR COLOR brown EYE COLOR green HEIGHT & WEIGHT 6'1" | 170lbs DISTINGUISHING MARKS a small scar on his chin and one near his elbow from a compound fracture during childhood. LIKES/DISLIKES LIKES; art, coffee, cats - animals in general really, deep fried ice cream, comic books, writing, drawing, painting etc. classic cars, philanthropy, learning new things, the color green, puzzles, old people and reading. dislikes; feeling tricked, being compared to his father, arrogance, cell phones, crying - him or anyone else it just freaks him out, liars/lying, eating fish, people who yell across rooms, public rest rooms, lukewarm coffee, breakfast foods for dinner (it confuses him), ear infections, sunburns, the sun, etc. STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES strengths; mental agility ie. highly intelligent, quick thinker. Very strategic and logical mind. quick adapter. weaknesses; old people and cats stick on in front of him he'll pretty much do anything for them. his own stubbornness and resentment. SECRETS he and his father were never close as he was abusive. his mother has schizophrenia and he's terrified he'll get it too he's still in love with the girl that broke his heart four years ago even though he knows she's not real. | in depth |
PERSONALITY
"I hate talking about myself. I’m not going to lie I’m a crafty son of a bitch, but at the end of the day, I’d say… I’m generally pretty kind, though I believe thoroughly in the grey areas of life, expeariance has taught me that much I can be quite manipulative if I see a reason for it. I’m intelligent, in fact it’s something I take pride in, I’ve always found school pretty easy, I gifted with the ability to pick things up quickly… Mostly I’m highly logical and I tend to think strategically about almost everything. I never make a play in my business without thinking it through first, I can get somewhat reckless in my personal life though. Generally I’d say I live in my head a lot, to a fault – I tend not to be very spontaneous. As much as I hate to admit it I could probably win the golden grudge award in particular cases, I’ve learned I’m quite bitter too, so that’s quite the personality flaw. I’m wickedly stubborn too, sometimes that can be a good thing and other times it can be a bit lethal. I’ve got my fair share of problems. I’ve changed a lot with the years, I’m not a naïve as I used to be and I definitely don’t give people the benefit of the doubt most of the time anymore. I guard myself pretty heavily these days to be honest. I’ve always been cautious and I let my guard down once and... well lets just say it turned out badly for me, so I won’t be doing that again."
FAMILY LIFE
Not a very good one I’d say, but then people would likely just tell me I’m ungrateful. To be honest though I’d give up everything I’ve gotten from my life if I could have a better childhood – unbelievable? Maybe, but true. My father was the CEO of a company his father built and he was great at it if you only look at the earnings, however if you look at the amount of people he stepped on, dragged through the mud and screwed over in the process it’s less sterling, yet he donated fifty million dollars to the red cross and that’s all people remember and that’s just why he did it. We never had a good relationship it was volatile at best. My mother on the other had was gentle as a teddy bear, except when she was in one of her “fits” as everyone called them, I just call it Schizophrenic delusions. She’d talk about people who weren’t there, sometimes she’d be arguing, other times pleading. The funny thing is I wouldn’t want to give up my mother, she’s in a very strange way my rock. I never had any siblings and I’m actually glad, I’m not sure how much worse it would be if there were other people involved, I know it couldn’t have been better though. .
PARENTS/SIBLINGS
Edward Lyons - deceased would be 58, ex-CEO of Lyons Enterprises, volatile, father.
Georgia Jones-Lyons - 50, inpatient at mental ward, close, mother
Della Jones-Faraday - 45, high school English teacher, very close, aunt.
Jarvis Faraday - 48, vice president of Lyons Enterprises, very close, uncle
HISTORY
I grew up for eight years in London, England. I was never an athletic child and my father scarcely missed the opportunity to point it out. I was scrawny and smart so naturally I got picked on, granted I will admit I didn’t miss an opportunity to best someone intellectually, that was the only way I could beat anyone, I’m sure that has some deep physiological meaning and was probably a motivating factor to continue to learn everything I could and be good academically. For a lot of years I thought if I blew my grades out of the water that would cause my father to forgive me for my lack of physical force. For an even stranger reason I wanted his approval and pride, it’s silly now looking back. Why I wanted a man who did nothing but tear me down and hurt me to be proud of me is ridiculous and a fair bit pathetic. Even more pathetic is I still want it even now after he’s dead buried and terrible excuse for a father – I guess it’s just biological. I digress, When I was a real little kid about three or four I thought my mother was perfect, this was when I just thought she told me really fantastical stories, it wasn’t until later that I realized she actually believed them.
Mum was always funny to me growing up, she’d have conversations seemingly with herself. She’d occasionally throw things across the room at something that wasn’t there. She’d tell things to get away from me. I always thought she was being funny, she’d been an actress before she married my father and she’d joke that some characters just stayed with her. She’d talk to them as if they were right next to her I didn’t think it was strange I just figured they were her imaginary friends and that she needed them because she was lonely. She’d tell me things they were saying about me, how well I was turning out as if they’d been with her since I was born. Sometimes she scold them for something they said about me and she’s give me a hug as if I heard them too. Those were the good days, sometimes she’d lay in bed all day and not want to get up, she’d ask me to read to her. My mother was an artist and that is probably where I got my artistic abilities. We’d sit and look at big art books for hours. Things were always much easier with her than anyone else she never asked about the bruises or why I was so clumsy and always breaking bones, either she knew or she just didn’t want me to feel back about being a klutz – she never made me lie.
My father was always a rough man, he never left a mark that wasn’t intentional and couldn’t be covered by clothing, but my mother had always treated me rather delicately almost as if I lived in a bubble. My father hit me without intent, not once – until I was twelve, I was always in the way it seemed, I got shoved aside constantly by my father, but in this particular case I happened to be standing in front of a stairway, I lost my balance and fell down the stairs. I got a compound fracture of my radius when my left arm looped through the bars on the railing, which left a scar near my elbow, dislocated that shoulder, a broken clavicle and three cracked ribs then landed flat on my face breaking my nose. It almost seems comical now like I would like to see how all of that transpired falling down a flight of stairs. I was taken to the hospital with some falsified story about how I fell down the stairs which my father coached me on, on the way there. I could see he was scared, I’d freaked him out when I didn’t move for a couple minutes and the whole time I didn’t cry, he was sure he’d made me mentally deficient. Course once he found out I was fine, that scare didn’t curb his tendency to take his own failings out on me.
Junior Year of high school my father was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. He was gone within the six months they gave him. Then the question came; who would run the business? Technically it was mind, but I was only just turning eighteen when he died, which legally allowed be to take over the business. I decided I needed to finish college, I got accepted to Yale where I studied business and minored in Art History. I asked my uncle if he would oversee Lyons Enterprises until I finished. I’ve been running the family business since I finished University. I’ve always been an extremely private person and careful with my money though I do spend quite a bit on art work and used to have quite the Van Gogh collection which I kept in my house, I decision I now realize was quite stupid.
Four years ago I met a woman named Emma I never believed in love, I never wanted love the whole idea of it always struck me as undesirable and she shattered all that to bits. Suddenly I was one of those love sick fools doping around buying her everything in sight. I’m not even sure you can call it love, see Emma wasn’t who I thought she was, she didn’t care about me at all I’m highly ashamed that I was a mark, conned out of millions, of course she had to take my art instead of my money. I hate her a lot less if she just took my money. Worse yet I was stupid enough to buy an engagement ring – oh no I’m serious. Looking back I should have known, she was too perfect, she was everything I needed her to be spontaneous, kind, she didn’t have a deceitful bone in her body. If something is too good to be true it probably is. She brought me out of my shell just long enough to make me drop my guard and rob me. My shell works, I’m back in my shell.
Anyway dear old Emma is why I’m here, I had I private investigator look for her, it’s strange I’m not even sure why I want to find her. I’m not sure if I want to ask why? Or just kill her I’m not sure I guess I figure it out along the way. I don’t really plan on killing anyone.
[/td][/tr]Mum was always funny to me growing up, she’d have conversations seemingly with herself. She’d occasionally throw things across the room at something that wasn’t there. She’d tell things to get away from me. I always thought she was being funny, she’d been an actress before she married my father and she’d joke that some characters just stayed with her. She’d talk to them as if they were right next to her I didn’t think it was strange I just figured they were her imaginary friends and that she needed them because she was lonely. She’d tell me things they were saying about me, how well I was turning out as if they’d been with her since I was born. Sometimes she scold them for something they said about me and she’s give me a hug as if I heard them too. Those were the good days, sometimes she’d lay in bed all day and not want to get up, she’d ask me to read to her. My mother was an artist and that is probably where I got my artistic abilities. We’d sit and look at big art books for hours. Things were always much easier with her than anyone else she never asked about the bruises or why I was so clumsy and always breaking bones, either she knew or she just didn’t want me to feel back about being a klutz – she never made me lie.
My father was always a rough man, he never left a mark that wasn’t intentional and couldn’t be covered by clothing, but my mother had always treated me rather delicately almost as if I lived in a bubble. My father hit me without intent, not once – until I was twelve, I was always in the way it seemed, I got shoved aside constantly by my father, but in this particular case I happened to be standing in front of a stairway, I lost my balance and fell down the stairs. I got a compound fracture of my radius when my left arm looped through the bars on the railing, which left a scar near my elbow, dislocated that shoulder, a broken clavicle and three cracked ribs then landed flat on my face breaking my nose. It almost seems comical now like I would like to see how all of that transpired falling down a flight of stairs. I was taken to the hospital with some falsified story about how I fell down the stairs which my father coached me on, on the way there. I could see he was scared, I’d freaked him out when I didn’t move for a couple minutes and the whole time I didn’t cry, he was sure he’d made me mentally deficient. Course once he found out I was fine, that scare didn’t curb his tendency to take his own failings out on me.
Junior Year of high school my father was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. He was gone within the six months they gave him. Then the question came; who would run the business? Technically it was mind, but I was only just turning eighteen when he died, which legally allowed be to take over the business. I decided I needed to finish college, I got accepted to Yale where I studied business and minored in Art History. I asked my uncle if he would oversee Lyons Enterprises until I finished. I’ve been running the family business since I finished University. I’ve always been an extremely private person and careful with my money though I do spend quite a bit on art work and used to have quite the Van Gogh collection which I kept in my house, I decision I now realize was quite stupid.
Four years ago I met a woman named Emma I never believed in love, I never wanted love the whole idea of it always struck me as undesirable and she shattered all that to bits. Suddenly I was one of those love sick fools doping around buying her everything in sight. I’m not even sure you can call it love, see Emma wasn’t who I thought she was, she didn’t care about me at all I’m highly ashamed that I was a mark, conned out of millions, of course she had to take my art instead of my money. I hate her a lot less if she just took my money. Worse yet I was stupid enough to buy an engagement ring – oh no I’m serious. Looking back I should have known, she was too perfect, she was everything I needed her to be spontaneous, kind, she didn’t have a deceitful bone in her body. If something is too good to be true it probably is. She brought me out of my shell just long enough to make me drop my guard and rob me. My shell works, I’m back in my shell.
Anyway dear old Emma is why I’m here, I had I private investigator look for her, it’s strange I’m not even sure why I want to find her. I’m not sure if I want to ask why? Or just kill her I’m not sure I guess I figure it out along the way. I don’t really plan on killing anyone.
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the player
ALIAS caroline/liney whatever you prefer really
YEARS OF EXPERIENCE gosh... about seven or eight I'd say.
OTHER CHARACTERS n/a.
HOW'D YOU FIND US? through an ad.
RP SAMPLE
YEARS OF EXPERIENCE gosh... about seven or eight I'd say.
OTHER CHARACTERS n/a.
HOW'D YOU FIND US? through an ad.
RP SAMPLE
The boy wasn’t your average sex obsessed teenage boy and his parents knew that. In fact his parents teased him about being asexual almost every chance they got, though, at the same time they relished in the fact that Jackson wouldn’t likely be getting anyone knocked up anytime soon. The idea was absurd to them and that was why they left him alone with a girl that his mother described as the brunette Helen of Troy. He had to disagree – he wouldn’t launch a thousand ships for her. Course he always found it difficult to find someone attractive if they were a horridious bitch and until she proved otherwise he’d continue to believe she still was. Standing in the doorway he kept stealing glances at her trying to find some semblance of a cue to do something, or warmth about her; even iciness would help him decide how to conduct himself.
His head lifted, his eyes falling on the brunette as she spoke. It shocked his attention to her that she was actually going to speak to him. His brows knitted in confusion, was she trying to be nice? It seemed that she’d made some sort of joke, but he couldn’t decide whether it was intended as a nice thing since her voice still held a sharpness. Jackson could cook, very well actually, but he figured it was best not to tell her that little piece of info at the moment. Instead he shook his head “not really, pizza’s good” he couldn’t help but smirk slightly at the awkwardness of this whole situation, he shook his head suddenly becoming very interesting with the wall décor.
Jackson was not a boy of many words, but as his mother always said when he did start talking he usually had something good to say – and then he wouldn’t stop. What she didn’t realize was he only did that around her, well the not stopping part. Noticing her sudden lack of movement drew his attention to her, he whipped his head in her direction in curiosity. Then she began to speak, proving that any possibility of her being different was null and void. His eyebrows shot up and he blinked rapidly a couple times as if she’d thrown something in his face. She still had the glare down pat, if anything she was better at it, he could swear he felt a chill climb up his spine. He put his thumbs up as he clicked his tongue in a ‘gotcha’ sort of way.
She was still a horridious bitch and he thanked her in his mind for clarifying that for him. She began talking again and he nodded in agreement with her. As she ended her tirade with a dig at him “actually I prefer coke” he said in a serious sort of way and then raised his eyebrows and shrugged “or doctor pepper if you have it” then he allowed a smirked to appear on his lips as he looked away and shook his head. This girl hadn’t lost a bit of wickedness, she had it tenfold he wouldn’t be surprised if the night ended with her kicking him in the shins and stomping on his glasses, that was how they often ended before. Course he used to hit her back and now he wouldn’t, so she’d probably hurt him a lot more now than she could before. He hoped she would stick to biting with words and not her mouth. Course she probably wouldn’t dream of biting him in fear of nerd cooties. A small smile spread across his face and a small scoff excaped his fortress of a jaw as that thought crossed his mind..
His head lifted, his eyes falling on the brunette as she spoke. It shocked his attention to her that she was actually going to speak to him. His brows knitted in confusion, was she trying to be nice? It seemed that she’d made some sort of joke, but he couldn’t decide whether it was intended as a nice thing since her voice still held a sharpness. Jackson could cook, very well actually, but he figured it was best not to tell her that little piece of info at the moment. Instead he shook his head “not really, pizza’s good” he couldn’t help but smirk slightly at the awkwardness of this whole situation, he shook his head suddenly becoming very interesting with the wall décor.
Jackson was not a boy of many words, but as his mother always said when he did start talking he usually had something good to say – and then he wouldn’t stop. What she didn’t realize was he only did that around her, well the not stopping part. Noticing her sudden lack of movement drew his attention to her, he whipped his head in her direction in curiosity. Then she began to speak, proving that any possibility of her being different was null and void. His eyebrows shot up and he blinked rapidly a couple times as if she’d thrown something in his face. She still had the glare down pat, if anything she was better at it, he could swear he felt a chill climb up his spine. He put his thumbs up as he clicked his tongue in a ‘gotcha’ sort of way.
She was still a horridious bitch and he thanked her in his mind for clarifying that for him. She began talking again and he nodded in agreement with her. As she ended her tirade with a dig at him “actually I prefer coke” he said in a serious sort of way and then raised his eyebrows and shrugged “or doctor pepper if you have it” then he allowed a smirked to appear on his lips as he looked away and shook his head. This girl hadn’t lost a bit of wickedness, she had it tenfold he wouldn’t be surprised if the night ended with her kicking him in the shins and stomping on his glasses, that was how they often ended before. Course he used to hit her back and now he wouldn’t, so she’d probably hurt him a lot more now than she could before. He hoped she would stick to biting with words and not her mouth. Course she probably wouldn’t dream of biting him in fear of nerd cooties. A small smile spread across his face and a small scoff excaped his fortress of a jaw as that thought crossed his mind..
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