Post by ELLIOT CLAUDE THORNE on Nov 2, 2014 16:42:07 GMT -5
Elliot Claude Thorne,
twenty seven | heterosexual | manwhore | owner of mint | local | colin o'donoghue
lyrics TO DESCRIBE CHARACTER (1-2 LINES ONLY)
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you started off as a good seed, a promising young thing that was destined for greatness. a psychic told your mother, a fickle woman who believed in the supernatural more than reality. she named you elliot for no reason but the feeling. you don’t know if your name suits you but the paperwork to change it seems to vast, besides, the name you have made for yourself with elliot is strong, it’s reputable, it’s feared and loved. THE PLANTING: a young love was not between your mother and the sperm donor. they were a fling in a bar, she was underage and he was a business man who was just getting his foot in the door. he was creating a foundation while the woman just wanted to create a memorable night. she was just a visitor in the town, a nobody and never even gave her name to your father so he could never know of your existence. you were connected for only a second as a small component to the fertilization process. it was the only time that you could have felt anything connected with your father and then you were one with your mother. it was in the back of her van, something she lived out of with three other males and another female. they sat in a circle and sang folk songs, they tried to make something of themselves but failed with each attempt. they created rallies with one another, formed a bond that you broke away from when you were six. you were a hippy child. you were taught that the world was a good place full of evil people, that the evil people just needed to be done away with. your mother’s group turned from passive to radical and she never covered your eyes as lit bottles were thrown at buildings. no one covered your eyes when she was put into handcuffs during a protest. you don’t even know what she was protesting. you were to young to understand what was happening and how wrong it was to society. you did not even have the ability to tell right from wrong, the woman who was supposed to teach you had spent more time teaching you about granola and how to play a guitar, and then she was gone. THE SPROUT: you were supposed to have three leaves by now to be considered ‘developed’ but the lack of nutrition makes you smaller than the other kids in the foster home. you are skinny, you are malnourished with bug bites and burn marks from the removal of the ticks. you have been living in the woods for most of your life, it was expected. the other kids taunt you for your height and your weight. the older ones push you around a lot and you are often the center for the pranks that they pull. you think they are just bitter as they are not as cute as you. your mother always called you cute after all. you don’t know anything else about yourself really. you have a hint of an irish accent, and you are often called a leprechaun because you are short. they remind you all the time about your height and you try to stretch your arms above your head, straining your weak muscles to make yourself grow. only time will do that. you are only eight, you think. that’s the age that they assume you are at least given all the prodding and poking that they did to you in the examination room, you hope that they are right. you don’t want to go through that again. you grow a little each day, you get a bit stronger with each meal that you consume. the other kids are growing faster though and you just can’t keep up with them. you hit someone at age ten. you have been in the foster center for two years now, you are just tired of it. you get treated well but not well enough, it’s nothing like your mother’s love. she has not come to get you either and that makes you sad and angry. a little girl, maybe your age, came into the center. she told you the truth, something you have been avoiding because it hurts. you hit her, in the shoulder. you leave a small bruise that is evidence against you. now you are put into your own room, by yourself to reflect on what you did. what you did was powerful, but wrong or that is what the teachers are trying to tell you. you are not entirely sure if it’s true. two more years pass and you are given a home, an actual place to live. they live in a state, whatever that is. you don’t really pay too much attention to the lessons that they try and give you. they try and shove math and science down your throat but you don’t have any of it. you don’t want to learn, you want to be free. a young couple take you in, they are taken by your height and your smile. you are their only child, you are always going to be their only child. they were incapable of having any but wanted a family. they came to the center in texas, where you were being held for years of imprisonment. you are not from there, that much is certain. you don’t have the tanned skin from the sun, your accent still clings to your words in desperation of being forgotten. but now at twelve, you are given something you never thought that you wanted—a family. THE SEEDLING: you are entering your teenage years at the same time that you are entering high school. you were granted the right to go due to your intelligence which you have kept rather hidden. you are smart, you always have been. your mother might have munched on granola but you did see the world, you did listen to the classes despite the headphones in your ears. you just never had an interest in that stuff. now, you have to. your parents are telling you that you have to. meridith and harry thorne. that’s their name, they ask permission to change your name as well. you don’t know. you have always been elliot. it was what your mother called you but you don’t know your last name, was it hers or your father’s? so you take the identity given to you. you are now a thorne. you don’t even understand the irony at this point. you are still smaller than your other classmates, you are not ridiculed as much. you have the occasional bully but no one seems to bother you. are they afraid or are they just uninterested? you want them to be afraid. this is where you start to turn into a bad seedling. your parents are often called into the office for your behavior, for your mouth, for your actions, lack of attention span, and lack of interest in your work. in grade ten, you repeat the grade and the disappointment from your parents does not really faze you. it has no effect but you feel a bit disappointed in yourself. you strive harder the next year but you slack off again. parties are introduced to you and alcohol. you try and get a girl but fail, you’re not that smooth yet. you have more than one fight at this point in your life too, just another reason for the thornes to be sitting in the office. the person you are becoming has started to worry them. you wonder if they will take you back to the center. no, they have faith in you. you want to show what you have become, knock the teeth in of those that ridiculed you. at sixteen, you are in love but not with a girl, though you do appreciate their existence. your hippy theories start to come out to play. you believe that they should be in the kitchen or there for you. you seem them as objects and maybe that is your adopted mother’s influence. she doted on you and it’s expected now. amazingly, you graduate. you can’t believe it when you shake hands with the principal at eighteen years old. you swear your father is tearing up. he’s wearing a suit, your mother is in a white dress as though she is completely pure. you love them but you have never said, and really, you haven’t showed it either. maybe next year you will. college is around the corner, a whole new for you. A TREE: fully an adult in age and thought, you have grown into yourself, you sport a bit of scruff with your intense blue eyes. you sit in your lectures thinking about your life and how you got to hear. you rarely write a note down, just keeping everything in your head and hoping for the best. you think you got that from your birth mother—gambling with fate. she did and it got her in a jail cell. you hate her though. you really do. this realization came during a moment of silence in your dorm on the other side of the country from your parents. they are far from you but they call you too. they call you a lot, you call them, sometimes. you don’t feel dependent on them, you never really did. they were dependent on you, the only piece that was needed to complete the family dream that they had in their heads. now, you are on your own. you hit her a lot. you don’t mean to, it’s just anger and disobedience. you tell her that you love her because you think it will make everything right. it does, sometimes. it takes days for her to forgive and weeks for another incident. your friends don’t notice the bruises on her, she covers them up. her shirt sleeves are becoming longer, she shows less skin. you are controlling her and the power is exhilarating. then you are punched in the face by a man much bigger than yourself. he makes your nose and your lip bleed with one simple hit. you know you did wrong, you apologize and vow to never go near her again. and you don’t. you find another girl half a year later and you treat her better, but she does not treat you as kindly. you don’t hit her, but she hits you. you get your own marks and it does not give you a taste of your medicine. it makes you angry. the first black eye was it for you. you wanted power, not to be powerless. you end it, she hits you but leaves. another girl comes along. this time you are going to be in control and you were, all the way until the engagement. why she agreed to marry you is something you would never understand. she sports bruises too from both aggressive love and anger. she doesn’t cover them up, she wears them like a badge. she is too proud sometimes. you fling her across the room more than once a day, you push her to the ground and into objects. it’s almost like she loves the pain, feeds off it. she tests you and you push her. you are both sick in thought but perfect for each other. you graduate from college, a man with a degree. you worked hard for it, you worked through ups and downs of life. you did it though. she didn’t come to see you graduate like your parents did. you call her but no answer. you text her but it bounces back. you have a gut feeling about what happened but you don’t want to admit it. it’s confirmed when you return home that night to the empty apartment. she wiped you out, took everything but left you the diamond ring that took six months of wages as a waiter to purchase. your cards are missing, your couch, but everything you gave her was sitting in a pile in the middle of the floor. THE BLOSSOMS: you leave the apartment in georgia. it’s not painful, it’s just empty. you don’t know what to say to your parents who adored the girl. you just tell them that it didn’t work. you couldn’t make it work. it wasn’t a full lie. another job opening is presented to you by a fellow student, someone that you studied with and half respected. he wanted to open a club, he wanted to make every night a party. you agree. you need fun in your life after all the shit that you went through. you travel with him to nyc at twenty two and you begin small odd jobs to save up. the bitch took everything but your pride. you refused to give that up to her. you pawned off all the stuff that you gave her, enough money to purchase a place and the upkeep of it. that diamond ring was the most expensive component. it got you the funds to purchase your place. but you have other jobs, you were valet, you were a waiter, you were a construction worker and even a bartender. your friend did the same thing, saving up and spending as little as possible. slowly, the address is confirmed, and the building process begin. you start hiring instantly. you dub the place mint and you fill it with green, white and black furnishings. the dance floor is put in, the stage is built by your hand. auditions for dancers make your mouth water and a few of the girls fall into your bed. the next five years is spent trying to break even, trying to make a perfect place for a good time. you develop things with some of the girls though. you fall back into your routine but you are more possessive, maybe more aggressive. they are your dancers. you handle that aspect, the hiring and the firing, you deal with the bartenders and the income and your partner markets. his face is pretty enough to do so, you have gotten older, colder, more distant from everyone. you don’t want an attachment to you but you feel attached to others. the brunette, first dancer to be welcomed is teagan. she is a fireball, french accent and makes you hot in places. you want to take her to bed. you have uncovered the art of blackmail and you know how to sneak it into conversations. you don’t need to twist your words and you don’t hide who you are, you are too proud for that. you can create bruises on their porcelain skin just to make the point. your family, your two parents are dead, long gone by a car accident. you have virtually no one and you are okay with that. it’s just like before. you can be who you wanted to be before the good influence of your parents. they tried but it’s obvious that you were always born to be a bad seed. |
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