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Arthur Kirkland

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Arthur Kirkland

Post  Arthur K on Mon Sep 13, 2010 6:57 am

A R T H U R -- K I R K L A N D



Full Name:Arthur Kirkland
Age: 23 years
Birthday: 31st of October (It's suitable D:)
Gender: Male
Is this an application for a first or second character: First

Family: English
Rank: Head

Strengths:
╬ Incredibly stubborn (this CAN be a positive in the right context)
╬ Genuinely a kind hearted person
╬ Leadership skills
╬ Usually diplomatic, though he does slip
╬ Loyal without a shadow of a doubt

Weaknesses:
╬ Delusional (Believes he can see fairies. Whether they're real or not is debatable, most say not)
╬ Incredibly stubborn
╬ Very self deprecating
╬ Will go a wee bit far to protect what he cares for
╬ Explosive temper


Personality: For the most part Arthur is cool headed, seemingly reserved. He doesn't at all care for mindless shenanigans, and indeed would rather retain a sense of order; because after all, to have order is to have security and security is good. He has a mildly paranoid streak built into him, and whilst it's nothing to serious it makes him incredibly difficult to form a relationship with. He tends to hold at least some basic level of mistrust for near everyone, it's a dog eat dog business and he damn well knows he's in a position where many people want his head. Due to all of this he can come off as cold and detached, also incredibly foul mouthed too. Under it all however is a good heart. When he lets people close to him they usually stay there, even if they reject him he still holds some basic form of compassion for the individual. This in itself makes it very easy to hurt him if you know exactly who to target.

The main glip in his personality would be the fact he has a stupidly short temper along with an almost crazed eccentric streak. If something bothers him immensely that he has no way at all to deal with (usually in mental matters) he's liable to convince himself he doesn't feel that way. For example, if lonely he may point out something that he considers to be more so, and then mock the hell out of it to make himself feel better over the fact. This can at times making him seem utterly crazy (something not helped by the fact he talks to 'himself'). Mentioning these spells though is liable to be a bad idea, something just behind insulting his cooking. Rubbing him up the wrong way inevitably leads to him snapping, his temper can be described as only one thing. Terrible. Depending on the severity of it he can easily become violently aggressive with it.


History:
╬ Born the oldest son of the Kirkland family, the leaders of the English house, he was pulled into the family business as soon as possible.
╬ Vast amounts of his childhood ended up being lost as his parents aimed to turn him into someone suitable to take over the family business.
╬ Peter was born.
╬ Due to usually being busy with studies he didn't get to interact with the younger much, thus straining their relationship.
╬ Over the years built up a serious persona, also gaining a gentleman's complex as he did.
╬ Peter was taken by the Nordic house. At the time he had little sway with things, so when his parents decided to call the boy dead he couldn't argue. This in part helped make him more paranoid in a way, vaguely cracking his mentality also. The fact his parents were willing to do such a thing troubled him greatly.
╬ Became family head.
╬ Found an idiotic blond picking a fight with someone much older than themselves. Ended up splitting them up and offering the boy a place in his house, perhaps in part out of guilt for his younger brother.
╬ The boy eventually accepted.
╬ Ran the family as any real gentleman would?


Other Important Info:
╬ In part blames himself over Peter's situation, though if he meets the boy he tends to act with an almost stoic disdain.


Roleplay Sample:

Pirate Persona (From a historical site, he's about to kick Spain's arse <3)
Spoiler:
He'd put the boy to bed as he so usually did when here, reading to him for a while to settle him. Then he'd left. In the wee hours of the morn he'd left the house silently, leaving only a note for an explanation. It was easier this way to some degree; because after all, it removed the whole heartache of leaving. It was kinder to them both... So he thought any way. Regardless though it was far to late to be changing his mind even had he wanted. Already the ships were sailing ready to do exactly what they did best, and that was of course bring everyone who came against them utter hell. Yes as an Empire his commerce lines were vast and expansive, India was proof enough of that after all, however this hadn't yet stopped the privateers of his land. Himself included. There was a simple reason for this of course. It's simplicity was almost idiotic, and yet at the same time it was utterly sound. Why after all would you choose to pay for something you could merely take? That and it was damn fun, but who was anyone to judge the young gent for such~?

With a sighing yawn he stretched back in his seat, casting only a vaguely interested look toward the young fellow before him who seemed to be wittering on about something he didn't bloody well give a damn about. Eugh, where the hell had he put the rum? Ah yes~! With that thought he turned his attention to the lower draw in the desk, flailing an arm at it somewhat as the privateer's eye twitched.

"Captain I mus--" He started off in a voice as stern as he could muster... Only to be cut off. Sometimes he had to wonder why this boy was captain of the god damn fleet. Hells teeth, he'd probably been tugging at his mother's pants when he and the other men had been serving home and hearth... It was damn well sods law is what it was.

"Shut your trap, Jenkins. I have something more important that needs my attention," he barked out, still flailing an arm at the draw he was never going to reach. With a reluctant sigh he leant forward and tugged upon the draw, and sure enough cradled in the thing like the holy grail was a good ol' bottle of slosh. Withdrawing it he flicked out the stop, not quite caring to take notice of where it went as the pungent scent of the alcohol within teased at him. Oh it was too much to bear really, all he could do was give in and take a swig of the liquid and sigh oh so softly as it burned his throat. "Now then my good man~! You were trying to tell me where we should go, I do believe? I'm sure your idea was splendid and all, however I've already set the course and informed the helmsman of such." Taking another swig he gestured lazily to a point just outside of Virginia before dragging his finger roughly down to the Caribbean, finally coming to rest over southern tip of Cuba. "We'll patrol here and catch anything passing through between us and Hispaniola. Simple enough for you, old chap?" With a grin it was clear he didn't much care, his word was law on this ship and he'd given his orders.

Arthur though couldn't help but chuckle ever so slightly as he saw the man's eyes narrow in obvious displeasure. He supposed this was what he got for being an anti-social git to the world~ "And what of the other ships?" He asked through gritted teeth a moment later.

He couldn't help but sigh. Really, was this man ever going to learn to trust him? Probably not. He was an old fart set in his ways, and England used the term 'old' in a loose sense. At no more than 35ish England had lived many of his lifetimes. "We'll take two with use, three will be in the Hispaniola cove ready to hem in whatever comes... Another one will be on the opposite side of Cuba's southern point waiting to chase down anything that slips past. Should it not go our way then we, us with two others, will flank. The other four can join us when they can." With an impatient sight he tapped a finger against the bottle in hand, this wanker was wearing on his patience. Had he not been good at what he did England would have 'accidentally' knocked him overboard long ago. As it happened though he had more to lose than gain by doing such. "However, the main idea is to flank them and push them to the others. Is this acceptable to you~?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Good, now hurry along and get some rest or something, you're as crotchety as an ass and it's pissing me off."

Watching the bloke leave he let shoulders sag before running his fingers through messy blond hair. It was going to be one of those nights, he really knew it was.

With another swig of the rum he kicked his feet up onto the desk, casting a cursory glance toward the roof as if it were at present the most interesting thing in his life. At this moment at probably was. He loved sailing of course, but at present his king was being a pain in the arse with things. He was running out of funding to fight his war with England's own no good brother. Who ended up picking up this slack? Why he of course~ Ah this would have never happened if his dear Elizabeth had still been in power, that woman had been a freaking battle axe. Her utter devotion had been nothing to turn your nose up at. With her to lead his people the Spanish armada had been crushed utterly. Take what you can get though; besides, it wasn't as if Charles was a genuinely bad leader... It was alas just that certain predecessors were made of a finer stuff than he~

Taking another swig he tapped a finger once more upon his map, this time though over Europe. Spain to be exact. Therein lay his biggest threat to he and all he had. Whilst yes the Armada had been forced away his empire was still vast (not to the point of being a huge threat now though of course~), there was a lot from it he could take. In his books the southern America's seemed like a good place to start, frankly he was sick of the damn git being so close to the 13 colonies, Alfred. It was something he supposed he'd have to resolve soon, and of course there was no doubt he would on another day once the sun was high and bright singing his name.

For now though he'd simply wait until they reached their destination and the call of coming ships was given, which of course it was~

Poor sods whoever they were, soon they really wouldn't know what had hit them.

Revolutionary Persona (From a crossover forum, he's with America at this point and being attacked by... something)
Spoiler:
It was like waiting for death, waiting for the hammer to come down and judge you to vile for life. Was this what he had been reduced to? Nothing but a criminal who was forced to his knees, arms free and yet bound so tight that it pained everything. Where he had once been the judge, the defender, the executioner... Now he was the convicted. He was worse than any on the gallows, and yet still he was alive. In retrospect he had to wonder how he'd survived so long. After all he'd done, all the wars, two thousand years give or take... How had he done that? He was old... And yet at the same time young. Gods he was so naive, he was meant to be a world superpower... No, screw that, he was the world super power. Yet this? What was this madness? How could he have been so foolish? He'd trusted someone so deeply, so infinitely... And look what they'd done to him... Look what they'd made him into, a broken mess with nothing. Oh he'd been such a fool... If only he'd seen then what he knew now... If only he fucking knew what compassion got him.

Would he change it though... Back then... Had he known this pain would he have just let the boy go to France? No... There wasn't even a thought to it, he'd have still taken that little boy in, still cared for him as he so deeply had... Did... He still did... Even after all this gods above he still cared. He wanted to stop, so badly, he wanted to pull away from this pain that was forcing him to just... Break... To snap... he hated this, he hated being so weak, the tears rolling, flowing, not stopping. If only he could cut it off. All he could do through it though was try and grasp into the last vestiges of what they had, he couldn't let go so easily. After everything it had been forced into him to hold onto the boy, to protect him from anything that was of threat. The illness, the world... But how could he protect him from himself? He didn't know how... He truly didn't. He wanted this resolved, and yet he didn't want to let go, he couldn't bare to. The thing he knew was... Even when the boy.. His brother... Even when he accepted... England would not let go. That affection could never just die, as much as America may burn it.

Yet why was he not severing it? He'd gotten the words he'd wanted so badly, he had England, that so very great nation, bowed at his feet... Yet he did nothing to claim his prize. England... Didn't want him to, yet it was inevitable. At this moment though, waiting for him to simply laugh in his face, mutilating everything they had, it felt like someone was trying to pull his teeth out. Gods, why wouldn't he take it already? Or reject it... Please, one or the other, his fragile mind... How could it take much more of this? He couldn't... Yet the tears slowed... He still hurt... So badly, his core was cracking with each passing second... Yet you could only show the pain for so long, only for so long could you physically deal with so much turmoil before you went numb, before you silenced into nothing but a blank mess that someone had long since discarded as unwanted. There was nothing else to do, though... Though the boys coughing made him flinch. So instinctively he wanted to just reach out, to comfort him, to tell him he'd be okay... Yet how could he? The boy would only scorn him for it... America... Would never allow for him to do so. Not again...

He heard the boy move though... What now? Was this just a game....? Could he not see what he was doing? No, he had to, and yet he'd said nothing, done nothing, just stand there. This... Why? He was beyond confusion, the headache impairing his judgement, the turmoil of emotions just... Just... He didn't know, all he could do was flick bloodshot eyes up, the tears that had nigh on stopped threatening to return as he saw him, yet eyes following his gaze his breath caught, something causing him to cough hard. What the fuck?! He'd seen a lot, as someone who seemed to be innately in touch with the mystical side of the world this... Wasn't right. It was hard enough to accept that he'd been pulled from war, painful to accept he was now sick, agonizing to see that America was here too, demanding his heart on a platter, yet this was... Messed up. That thing, what was that? A creature of this world? He'd seen nothing before that was like this. Unicorns and fairies were one thing, but this was in a league of it's own!

Hand blindly reaching for the musket he knew was still near his hand straddled the grass looking for it, looking for what was taking its own sweet time to find. Instead though the blue eyed man fired, the heavy scent of gunpowder once more filling his senses, he'd come to loath it. Yet at least it seemed to finish before anything even began. The shot slammed into that strange porcelain like mask with a 'thwunk' of a sound, causing a split to run down the grizzly feature of the shaggy mutt. What astounded him though... Those red eyes didn't dim as all eyes did when led was planted into their skull... It didn't die, it flinched, screeching as it reared back, yet after it calmed... As if nothing had happened. His eyes widened as it slunk forward, hand searching ever more desperately for the muske-- America...! He stumbled and the damn thing took its chance to pounce, covering the weakened soldier... Fuck... Fuck!

He couldn't... He didn't... What was he to do?! Heart or duty... Heart... Or duty? It took not even a second to decide, he couldn't kill the boy, and so he couldn't see him killed. It stung though, it stung so much when those dull eyes were cast to him, the fear showing. He was still that same boy, and for now they were still bound, still brothers in a sense that America... Couldn't deny even if he wanted to. He could lie all he wanted, yet he couldn't deceive his heart. That look was all the damned for help the nation needed... He was tired, he was hurt, he was broken and destroyed.. Yet by thunder he still had breath. If anyone expected him to roll over and let his own family die... They were fucked up in the head. Even after everything he'd done, despite all the pain they'd caused to each other, despite this England still grasped his musket, fingers locking around the cold metal. There was no god damn bastard alive in any country he'd give the right this thing seemed intent to be taking to, none had the damn right to do this to America... The boy that was for now still his brother... Any fool that tried was damn well getting the full rage of a falling empire thrust at them in the form of the one... Who hurt.. Of the one... Who seemed so weak... The one who'd not let this happen.

Pushing himself up he staggered, muffling a cough before closing the relatively short distance sooner than one could have prior expected from such a defeated man.[color:b673=556832] "Bloody wanker," his voice little more than a rasping cough. It was unclear who he was talking to, perhaps both... Neither.. perhaps himself. Who knew? Right now it hardly mattered, not to him, not to anyone, not to the green horn he positioned himself over, this... beast's face coming all to close to his own. As its jaws snapped open, a hissing noise issuing out that chilled him to the bone he pulled his musket up, promptly thrusting the thing into the things jaws until the satisfying feeling of resistance came as the bayonet struck the back of the things throat. It reared back, and he followed, pushing further as eyes narrowed slightly, chest heaving as he did. Of course it was hardly a good idea to have gun and arms inside its mouth, yet alas his biggest problem ended up being the beasts claws as it reached up, grabbing his left side apparently trying to either pry the angry humanoid country off, or hold him in place.

Whatever the reason hooked claws dug in, easily ripping the thick cotton and all under, flesh included. Dammit! shifting to the side it dug in more, causing him to give a rough growl the dragged at his raw throat. [color:b673=556832]"Move....!" He snapped out, turning slightly to see the boy from the corners of his eyes. It was... Wrong of him to protect this boy, this person who thought him a monster, who burned him, who was supposed to be his enemy... Well you know what... Fuck conformity! He didn't hate this moron, he cared, that hadn't bloody changed. He'd help, even if the idiot scorned him for it. Turning back he winced as the thing tried to pull him closer, only to hiss as the bayonet cut deeper. He was lucky in a way, deeper and the claws would damage organs, and then he really would be fucked. But no, it simply cleaved his back, pulling open gashes as blood deepening the red of his crimson jacket. Pulling the stock to his shoulder, finger brushing the trigger, eyes narrowed. There was a reason he'd conquered so many, was feared by so many... He was strong, even broken he was strong, strong enough to protect what... he cared for.

He fired.

The loud shot struck his pounding head causing him to blink rapidly in surprise, stepping back, disorientated for a brief moment. Yet not as much so as the thug of a creature that fell onto it's back, rolling slightly and screeching, being stabbed in the mouth was one thing, but being shot too? It was salt into the wound. He was thankful though that the thing freaking let go, instead of using him like some ragdoll. Stepping back he'd stop by the boy if he'd stood, if not he'd position himself before him. Either way it would work, heaving breaths and fevered mind wouldn't stop him. [color:b673=556832]"Don't... Show fear... Or back away... Move forward... Don't... Don't hesitate. Got that...?" It... wasn't an order. Ragged breaths were nothing more than advice. Advice from one soldier to another. From comrade to comrade... Brother to brother.. England was experienced and he knew the boy would not run, he'd fought for so long, he more than made up for the boy's naivety. Reloading the musket he gritted his teeth, experience he had, but right now he was exhausted, ill, hurt... And now bleeding. He wasn't in this for the long haul, this had to be finished quickly... Quicker as the beast clambered to its feet, hissing before it's jaw snapped open, only for some strange unknown energy to gather... What the hell was it doing?!

WW2 Persona (The oldest of the three, crossover again... Yelling at America for being himself <3)
Spoiler:
"Oh pffft says the one who can't cook!"

Oh no he didn't! Well apparently he did, the little bastard. After Everything England had done for him this was his thanks? Buuuurn, seriously, burn. He really was about as far from amused. It was one thing to mock him at random, being a gentleman the brit could deal with this pretty nicely, no, what bothered him was people was mocking his damn well cooking, honestly, what the fuck was wrong with it!? Frankly he saw no problem at all with it, he liked it, so you know what, sod everyone else, he at least was happy enough, regardless of if the others were. [color:b673=556832]“You're a fine one to talk hamburgers for brains!”
Pft, his food was far superior than that vile slop America called food, seriously, how the fuck could he eat that? It obviously had nothing at all to do with the dead taste buds, fuck no. It was simply that America had obviously the ability to tell what good food was anymore. Unlucky for him! Before he could open his mouth to continue his retort though the lad threw an utterly underhanded blow at him, really, that was just... eugh. Stupid boy.

"Oh please, the only party you never go to are my birthday parties~"

Eyes narrowed, a scowl pulling out on his usually stern features. Did the boy really wonder why? No, how could he, England knew that despite everything the boy was bright, whether he chose to show it or not was always another matter.. Despite this though he was indeed sharp minded, sharp witted, and yet still the invitations would always come, still he would get one. For the longest time they came without fail... All he could do was ignore it. [color:b673=556832]“Save yourself the bother then and stop sending me damn well invites,” he snapped out, suddenly cold. Cold was better than hurt though. He knew... Oh he knew he put a damper on the day... he really did... Yet all it was for him was one big mistake, every other day of the year he could hide it, push it down and just be... Himself... but on that day, on that day he couldn't hide it. His heart was broken, shattered to pieces with nothing to pull it back together, and on that day it showed. So he he refused to attend, why would he wish to celebrate his own misery? His own failures? He didn't, and nor would he. [color:b673=556832]“Besides which,” he sniffed, suddenly taking back his arrogant air. [color:b673=556832]“I've no interest in children's parties, those days are long past.” And so they were.

"You're quiiiite the pessimist there~ You know with me still alive there is noooo possible way they could win. Chill~"

What a damn well moron, I mean come on, did he really think that was so? Tsk, just because he'd cleared up the dregs of the last war he was LATE for (yes this so called mighty hero was fucking late, god damn prat) he thought he was all that. Besides that, what had the boy ever really done? Had he ever fought someone with true skill? Yes, twice. Twice he and England had clashed, both times it had been a resounding draw. The boy thought he was all that, when in fact he was no better at all than the older nation. The first time when he had still been so green England could have so easily taken the win, yet... He couldn't... The second time he burned down the boy's heart, at the time he'd just wanted him to see what it was like to have your core destroyed... Yet that had ended in a truce, neither sides wishing to continue the fight... How could such a small land do so much damage, hmm? How could such a small island have become the greatest empire that had ever stood? It was simple, he was fucking good at what he did when he actually gave it his all, unlike America. [color:b673=556832]“Stupid Greenhorn, all you provide is damn well numbers, you don't even think things through, stupid twat.” He really didn't. Eugh, whatever, he supposed it worked out in a sad way that he'd rather not venture into. America was the brawn, and England was the brains. It was a simple equation that would work fantastically if they ever learned to work together without trying to kill one another.

"Sorry to break it to you, but, his southern accent was wayyyy off~ You should really know your stuff before making stupid comments, mister~"

Uh-huh, wellll it seemed America had forgotten that in the so called land of the free there were many different accents, stupid twat~ [color:b673=556832]“And? Could be a migrant for all you know, I thought you didn't have to be born American to be American~ Isn't it simply a principle of dreams? Tsk.” Perhaps it was sad he knew so much, but he was old, America's ideal was not new to him. Perhaps it was something he too had once lusted for once, such a perfect world where you didn't have to be one of the people to actually be one of the people. The American dream... Was it not just a dream for everyone? Yes, that dream was hope, it very literally was hope. Hope for a better life, a better world. The question was though, would time beat it out of the boy? Sober him up to the reality of the world? Eugh, he doubted it, he was just to arrogant to ever really lose such a feeling. Doing so would mean bowing to another, and England knew so well that America would break before he would bow. It was just a sad fact of life, a fact he sighed to.

"WELL sorry for being hungry... Yeah raised me on scones and tea... not real food, yah know."

Waaaait, what? How the fuck did they get on the topic of England's cooking?! Eugh, wanker, he really just didn't know when to stop, did he? [color:b673=556832]“If you're that fucking hungry find a river, catch a fish, and damn well cook the thing. Not hard you nitwit.” He'd have suggested hunting a rabbit or something, heavens knew there was more on them, but the fool would have probably had a full on mental breakdown at the idea of eating one of his so very dear rabbits. Seriously... Just... what? Eugh, whilst it was so very tempting he refrained, doing so would only lead to bother, it was easier for him to just avoid that, especially when something came into view... A town? Yes, a small one, rustic looking. Already though America made a beeline for some old coot who was sat out. Poor guy, England really wouldn't wish America on anyone.

"Hello there, good citizen~ Would you mind telling us the name of this magnificent town you have here~? Me and my sidekick here were just wandering around doing some important business.
"Ehhhh...... lemme thiiiink..... Dlanfri."
"Thank you, and God bless you~"


Oh no he didn't. Well apparently he did, actually. What a damn moron. Come ooon, really, why the fuck would someone like England chose to be subservient to damn well America of all people, seriously? Someone here had a screw loose, and it most certainly was not England, suggestion such would be liable to earn a very premature death. Yes the town name was odd, somewhat Irish sounding actually, but the thing that bothered him the most was that stupid grin as America turned back. Oh he was gonna fucking take that look right off his face if it was the last thing he did. [color:b673=556832]“Bloody tosser!” He growled, thick accent adding to it as he grabbed the dolt's collar, giving him a mild tug to get him down to his level. The trick to dealing with someone stronger than you was be smarter, outwit them. It wasn't sure fire, but with America who seemed incapable of showing any such thing at was something that usually worked rather well. And so indeed he pulled a knee up quickly to catch the man's crotch, he expected him to at least block that, but that... was all a part of it~ At the same time he used his free hand, curled into a fist, to clonk the moron in the face.

The think you reaaaaaaaally needed to remember about this particular nation was that whilst yes he could act ever part the gentleman he had a very nasty tendency to just... Snap... And when he snapped he had a nasty tendency to just blow right up, turning into the little delinquent he was at heart. There were a few times it showed, certain things like annoying Frogs and alcohol helping a lot. Years of piracy had left their mark, and so fighting dirty had damn well become a part of him, besides which, there was little doubt that had he played fair all his life he'd have never accomplished half the things he had. Yes he seemed to have a stick up his ass, but that was only one side of things, oh yes it was~ [color:b673=556832]“Like hell I'd ever be anyone's sidekick, let alone to a prat like you.” True facts were truer than the erogenous curl on Italy's head. There was no way at all that England was going to act as this fool's support, especially not after the damn incident a few weeks back where he damn well dubbed everyone in the room as his support. Damn wanker.

Suddenly grunting, head jerking forward as if something had just hit him on the back of the head, he let go and turned, eyes narrowed before something twigged. Ahhh~ This was possibly the best damn news he'd had whilst he was here, it also meant that by some small mercy he was no longer alone here with America, that alone was something utterly wonderful. Grinning eyes flicked up, catching sight of small green ears falling over his face. Haha! Face going oddly placed, a smile crept to his face as arms folded, listening intently as the small thing chattered away to him, and then his face hardened, what? Growling he turned around. [color:b673=556832]“There's some damn military faction here rounding up people who have damn well been brought here by whatever the hell did this.” Spontaneous information much~ Of course it wasn't spontaneous at all, the creature upon his head being the one to tell him. Yet of course the yankee wouldn't see this, the rabbit thing was in fact invisible, the only sign it was actually there being the strange compression in England's usually messy bangs. [color:b673=556832]“It seems there are many others in our situation...” Few of them human so he was told, that he kept to himself though, damn aliens. Alas his companion didn't yet know the way to return, which was a drag, but still, at least now he had some semblance of normalcy... If you could actually count a mystical green flying rabbit as normal, of course~

Sorry for the hefty post load... I uhm... D:

O O C I N F O R M A T I O N

Name: Gearr
Timezone: GM +0 (I live in England)
MSN/AIM;etc: If I get him I'll add this :I
You read the rules, right?: Si~! However I have no fav colour, can we just say I like DOUBLE RAINBOW? D:
Anything else?: It said to post this on a character FORUM, however I couldn't find a specific forum. I presume you meant on this board, all the other apps are here.
It also got angry when I tried to use his full name orz
Posted as a Guest as requested *-*
Also, sorry I didn't wait to be added to the reserve list, buuut it was done and yeah xD

Arthur K
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Re: Arthur Kirkland

Post  Admin on Mon Sep 13, 2010 9:34 pm

Awesome app, seriously. Sorry about the mix ups. But I do have one request:

You have a wonderful grasp of the character but before I say approved, can I get a sample of you rping him the way you will in this mafia style?

Thanks. ^^
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Re: Arthur Kirkland

Post  Arthur K on Tue Sep 14, 2010 2:27 am

Yeah sure xD
You may wanna post a storyline so guests can see it though. Doing a tryout post when you don't strictly get the details of the plot is hard :c

Spoiler:
It wasn't so easy as people seemed to believe. Not so easy at all. People were free to believe what they bloody well wanted of course. However it was not a simple task to be a family head in this business. There were many things that made it an awkward ordeal. The risk of being stabbed in the back (literally and metaphorically), the fact you'd usually end up alone through it all... And of course the fact having a mildl-- no, strike that. There was also the fact of having an utterly retarded family did not help. From the frog to the yank, he really wasn't sure how the hell he dealt with them on the regularity of which he did. Any lesser of a man would have no doubt been sent running to the hills, however as a gentlemen and head of the Kirkland family that would be... far too unsightly for him. No, instead he had little choice but to plod right through this life he'd been born into. No one had said anything about him being sober whilst he did so though. There was little clear reason as to why he drank quite as heavily as he did a times, though you could take many a guess.

Perhaps it was to drown daily woes, that or past ones. It could have been to cure that core loneliness that chilled him to the bone, or it could have simply been because he merely liked the burn of whisky going down his throat. Whatever the reason it was his though, and as such it really didn't at all matter as to what others thought of it. Arthur didn't much give a fuck as to what anyone thought of him, who were some patchwork family to judge? Che, they weren't even English anyway! Hell, the heir was a damn yank which was something unheard of until now. It had always been a Kirkland. Was his family really doing this badly?! Well no, not really. The simple fact was that he had no legitimate heir and wasn't liable to freaking get one soon, added to this that the moronic gitface was actually relatively handy at what he did kind of just... Well it made sense in his mind. Anyway, it was decidedly better than having Francis in the roll.

Hearing a knock to the door he stopped the glass of hard liqueur in the air, halfway on its path to his mouth. Typical, just as he caught a break alone someone needed him. Well not him so to say, rather they needed the family's notoriously bad tempered head. "What?" He barked, voice far sharper than he'd intended for it to be.

"Uhm, do you remember last week? Where he did exactly what you said not to?" The young man inching around the door seemed skittish, though who could blame him?

Arthur sighed, downing the whisky in one shot. "Which event specifically?" He questioned with a drawl, thumping the glass down, only to drum fingers upon the warm mahogany. "Do you mean perhaps where he tried to single handedly bring down the Russian house? Perhaps you mean where he picked a fight with the Asian head who supposedly looked at him funny... Although you could also mean when he managed to burn down half my bloody well kitchen like the daft sod he is trying to make burgers for everyone!?" That had just been the weekend. One weekend.

The poor messenger shifted. Whilst the pay here was good... Well surely it wasn't worth a second longer with this man! "Uhm... The one where he was going to try and tar and feather th---" He was cut off as the man lifted a hand, apparently having heard enough.

"He's going to try that again? In the name of the queen that boy is as daft as they come!" Shaking his head he stood, rubbing his face to try and clear the light alcohol induced flush. "I know the bloody frog is a pain... A perverted pain granted, but does he have any idea how hard it is to get tar out of anything?!" The way he was off on one meant he didn't want an answer, rather he was trying to vent enough to the point he no longer wanted to darn well strangle someone. It didn't always work but hey, one could always hope that it would. In this case the messenger who'd just had an angry brit barge past him and out the door could help but think.... that this probably wasn't one of the better times.

Acceptable or no? XD
Not very mafia-ish, but certainly something I could see happening x]

Arthur K
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Re: Arthur Kirkland

Post  Matthew Williams on Tue Sep 14, 2010 12:05 pm

Umm... Hi future Arthur for the English household... I'm the Matthew Williams who is part of the family and if you ever need help in the mafia to... settle Alfred, just beep me or something and I'd be more than glad to help. Also, our Francis is working on his app so if you want to talk to him let me know so I can nag at him to get on. -hugs- I am really excited you are here too soo.... -smiles- welcome to the family.
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Re: Arthur Kirkland

Post  Admin on Tue Sep 14, 2010 12:31 pm

It was perfect, and I added a plot last night under the rules. My apologies for not doing it sooner.

Accepted!
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Re: Arthur Kirkland

Post  Former England on Tue Sep 14, 2010 12:51 pm

Settle him? I found a good clout around the head does that just fine >:I

Seriously though, thank you <3~ -pats on head-

And adminin~
May I repost this now?
It says there's someplace I'm meant to repost it, however for the life of me I cannot find it D:
-such a tard 8'D-
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Re: Arthur Kirkland

Post  Admin on Wed Sep 15, 2010 12:43 am

-laughs a bit- Nah, not a 'tard. In the meet the character and on your profile.
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Arthur Kirkland

Post  Former England on Sun Sep 19, 2010 11:25 am

A R T H U R -- K I R K L A N D



Full Name:Arthur Kirkland
Age: 23 years
Birthday: 31st of October (It's suitable D:)
Gender: Male
Is this an application for a first or second character: First

Family: English
Rank: Head

Strengths:
╬ Incredibly stubborn (this CAN be a positive in the right context)
╬ Genuinely a kind hearted person
╬ Leadership skills
╬ Usually diplomatic, though he does slip
╬ Loyal without a shadow of a doubt

Weaknesses:
╬ Delusional (Believes he can see fairies. Whether they're real or not is debatable, most say not)
╬ Incredibly stubborn
╬ Very self deprecating
╬ Will go a wee bit far to protect what he cares for
╬ Explosive temper


Personality: For the most part Arthur is cool headed, seemingly reserved. He doesn't at all care for mindless shenanigans, and indeed would rather retain a sense of order; because after all, to have order is to have security and security is good. He has a mildly paranoid streak built into him, and whilst it's nothing to serious it makes him incredibly difficult to form a relationship with. He tends to hold at least some basic level of mistrust for near everyone, it's a dog eat dog business and he damn well knows he's in a position where many people want his head. Due to all of this he can come off as cold and detached, also incredibly foul mouthed too. Under it all however is a good heart. When he lets people close to him they usually stay there, even if they reject him he still holds some basic form of compassion for the individual. This in itself makes it very easy to hurt him if you know exactly who to target.

The main glip in his personality would be the fact he has a stupidly short temper along with an almost crazed eccentric streak. If something bothers him immensely that he has no way at all to deal with (usually in mental matters) he's liable to convince himself he doesn't feel that way. For example, if lonely he may point out something that he considers to be more so, and then mock the hell out of it to make himself feel better over the fact. This can at times making him seem utterly crazy (something not helped by the fact he talks to 'himself'). Mentioning these spells though is liable to be a bad idea, something just behind insulting his cooking. Rubbing him up the wrong way inevitably leads to him snapping, his temper can be described as only one thing. Terrible. Depending on the severity of it he can easily become violently aggressive with it.


History:
╬ Born the oldest son of the Kirkland family, the leaders of the English house, he was pulled into the family business as soon as possible.
╬ Vast amounts of his childhood ended up being lost as his parents aimed to turn him into someone suitable to take over the family business.
╬ Peter was born.
╬ Due to usually being busy with studies he didn't get to interact with the younger much, thus straining their relationship.
╬ Over the years built up a serious persona, also gaining a gentleman's complex as he did.
╬ Peter was taken by the Nordic house. At the time he had little sway with things, so when his parents decided to call the boy dead he couldn't argue. This in part helped make him more paranoid in a way, vaguely cracking his mentality also. The fact his parents were willing to do such a thing troubled him greatly.
╬ Became family head.
╬ Found an idiotic blond picking a fight with someone much older than themselves. Ended up splitting them up and offering the boy a place in his house, perhaps in part out of guilt for his younger brother.
╬ The boy eventually accepted.
╬ Ran the family as any real gentleman would?


Other Important Info:
╬ In part blames himself over Peter's situation, though if he meets the boy he tends to act with an almost stoic disdain.


Roleplay Sample:

Spoiler:
It wasn't so easy as people seemed to believe. Not so easy at all. People were free to believe what they bloody well wanted of course. However it was not a simple task to be a family head in this business. There were many things that made it an awkward ordeal. The risk of being stabbed in the back (literally and metaphorically), the fact you'd usually end up alone through it all... And of course the fact having a mildl-- no, strike that. There was also the fact of having an utterly retarded family did not help. From the frog to the yank, he really wasn't sure how the hell he dealt with them on the regularity of which he did. Any lesser of a man would have no doubt been sent running to the hills, however as a gentlemen and head of the Kirkland family that would be... far too unsightly for him. No, instead he had little choice but to plod right through this life he'd been born into. No one had said anything about him being sober whilst he did so though. There was little clear reason as to why he drank quite as heavily as he did a times, though you could take many a guess.

Perhaps it was to drown daily woes, that or past ones. It could have been to cure that core loneliness that chilled him to the bone, or it could have simply been because he merely liked the burn of whisky going down his throat. Whatever the reason it was his though, and as such it really didn't at all matter as to what others thought of it. Arthur didn't much give a fuck as to what anyone thought of him, who were some patchwork family to judge? Che, they weren't even English anyway! Hell, the heir was a damn yank which was something unheard of until now. It had always been a Kirkland. Was his family really doing this badly?! Well no, not really. The simple fact was that he had no legitimate heir and wasn't liable to freaking get one soon, added to this that the moronic gitface was actually relatively handy at what he did kind of just... Well it made sense in his mind. Anyway, it was decidedly better than having Francis in the roll.

Hearing a knock to the door he stopped the glass of hard liqueur in the air, halfway on its path to his mouth. Typical, just as he caught a break alone someone needed him. Well not him so to say, rather they needed the family's notoriously bad tempered head. "What?" He barked, voice far sharper than he'd intended for it to be.

"Uhm, do you remember last week? Where he did exactly what you said not to?" The young man inching around the door seemed skittish, though who could blame him?

Arthur sighed, downing the whisky in one shot. "Which event specifically?" He questioned with a drawl, thumping the glass down, only to drum fingers upon the warm mahogany. "Do you mean perhaps where he tried to single handedly bring down the Russian house? Perhaps you mean where he picked a fight with the Asian head who supposedly looked at him funny... Although you could also mean when he managed to burn down half my bloody well kitchen like the daft sod he is trying to make burgers for everyone!?" That had just been the weekend. One weekend.

The poor messenger shifted. Whilst the pay here was good... Well surely it wasn't worth a second longer with this man! "Uhm... The one where he was going to try and tar and feather th---" He was cut off as the man lifted a hand, apparently having heard enough.

"He's going to try that again? In the name of the queen that boy is as daft as they come!" Shaking his head he stood, rubbing his face to try and clear the light alcohol induced flush. "I know the bloody frog is a pain... A perverted pain granted, but does he have any idea how hard it is to get tar out of anything?!" The way he was off on one meant he didn't want an answer, rather he was trying to vent enough to the point he no longer wanted to darn well strangle someone. It didn't always work but hey, one could always hope that it would. In this case the messenger who'd just had an angry brit barge past him and out the door could help but think.... that this probably wasn't one of the better times.

O O C I N F O R M A T I O N

Name: Gearr
Timezone: GM 0 (I live in England)
MSN/AIM;etc: If I get him I'll add this :I
You read the rules, right?: Si~! However I have no fav colour, can we just say I like DOUBLE RAINBOW? D:
Anything else?: Reposted onto my account, delete the other <3
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