Post by thatcheracejones on Mar 6, 2010 8:15:36 GMT -5
THATCHER ACE JONES
Name: Thatcher Ace Jones
Nicknames: Thatch, TJ, Ace
Age: 20
Date of Birth: February 12, 1990
Grade: Sophomore
Orientation: Bisexual
Nationality: American
Home Town: San Clemente, California
Degree: Music
- Minor: Sound Recording[/ul]
Play by: Hunter Parrish[/blockquote][/blockquote]
--- PASSIONATE
In order to chase after dreams that his high school counselors were in twists over, a guy has to be passionate about what he's doing. Music is, quite simply, his life. Listening to it, making it, he lives for the tunes. When he does something, he does it whole-heartedly, as if it's the most important thing he could possibly be doing. When he sets his mind to something he makes it a point to achieve his goal, no matter the obstacles. Passion for him is energy and he's energetic, so much so that sometimes his body can't quite keep up with his over active brain. He lives life with an amazing amount of zeal, he takes great pleasure in the simpler things in life. He's convinced every idea can be a good one if he works hard enough at it and working hard is what he does best.
--- AWKWARD
Thatcher is, sadly, a bit awkward and amazingly clumsy at times. He trips over things, bumps into things, gets lost even when he has a map, and is completely hopeless at remembering where he puts his things. In addition to being physically inept, he tends to get a bit nervous or shy when around people he's not extremely close with. Either he rambles, unable to really get to the point he wants to make, or he butchers the English language entirely and reverts to incoherent vowel sounds. While physically and verbally clumsy, Thatcher expresses himself best through music, words, and action. Given the time and concentration needed to say what he needs to say, he can be clear and eloquent. Though he's technically an adult now, Thatcher has yet to really grow up. He still calls his mother, he still watches cartoons and eats Lucky Charms cereal, and sleeps in pajama bottoms with funny pictures on them. He's awkwardly hovering between boy and man with moments of immaturity and maturity.
--- THOUGHTFUL
Thatcher is an extremely thoughtful boy, perhaps too thoughtful. He truly cares about the feelings of others and is therefore easily strung along or taken advantage of. If someone asks him to do something for them, he finds it hard to say no. He's not a walking cavity, but he is the type of boy who tries to comfort people if he sees them upset. He would not hesitate to lend his shoulder or ear to someone who needs it, but often he neglects himself while trying to help others. Other people find it easy to forget about him as well because he never seems to ask people to help him or listen to him in return for what he does for them.
LIKES: music, writing, sleeping, eating (x400), the beach, full moon nights, old videogames, movies, mystery novels, dogs, pillows and big blankets, singing, sunny weather, antique stores
DISLIKES: bugs, driving on crowded streets, reality television, the smell of cigarette smoke, seafood (allergic), tight pants, mean girls, early mornings, scary movies, math, most networking websites
Music was always in Thatcher Jones' blood because his father was a musician, his grandfather was a musician, even his great grandmother was a singer. Catherine Bray had the misfortune of falling hard for the wannabe rockstar Paul Daniels, a man who was so driven by his music that he did not have time for anything else in his life. When Catherine told him she was pregnant, he had the decency to stick around for a year before he took off and left her and her baby on their own. Unable to really support herself and her infant son, Thatcher, Catherine had to move into a cheap, run-down apartment and take two part time jobs just to keep some food on the table. It was only by chance that her son, clumsy even at the age of five, spilled milk on a man in a nice suit while she was waitressing at a cheap diner in Los Angeles that night.
Ugly pink uniform aside, Danny Jones had never seen a more amazing woman in his life. He would thank God every day for the next seven months that her little boy spilled milk on his finest pair of pants. Despite having only stopped there to eat out of neccessity, Danny found himself showing up every week...then every other day, always to see her and her son. After realizing that he'd dragged a three week business trip into seven months just to be with Catherine and Thatcher, he realized that he was in love with the both of them. At first Catherine refused the engagement ring, not wanting Thatcher to lose another man in his life...but when her son called him 'Daddy' instead of 'Danny', she gave in.
Danny took both of them away from the dank little place they were living in and brought them to his home in San Clemente, California...a gorgeous beach-side town. Settling in was harder for Catherine than it was for Thatcher, who took to the beach as naturally as a fish to water. Eventually Thatcher's mother got pregnant again and that seemed to cement their life there. Everything in their lives was going smoothly until Thatcher began expressing his interest in music. His poor mother tried to discourage him from it, not wanting him to turn into the same kind of man that his biological father was. Even after all those years she was furious with him and refused to even tell her son anything about him. As Thatcher got older, his interest in music only grew to his mother's dismay. His step-father, however, was amazingly supportive of his musical talents and tried to nurture it in any way possible.
Both junior high and high school were pleasant, if not awkward, for Thatcher. While there was a certain amount of humiliation due to his clumsy nature and his atrocious math skills, he was able to find friends and a certain niche in the high school's band. He began writing his own songs in high school, but only started to seriously consider going to school for music when a teacher suggested it to him.
Why Emerson?
Why not Emerson? From his teacher's suggestion, he could only find a couple of schools that really suited his interests. He wasn't going to apply until a visiting representative convinced him to. He could have applied to higher level schools, but he felt that the pressure at a school like Juliard would make him lose sight of what he wanted to do in life. Though he never wanted to go to a school so far away from home (and so COLD, too), he's found that the experience of being far away and on his own is a good one.
((from a Harry Potter rp))
Waking up in the morning wasn't ever going to get better, Harry realized. After either a dreamless sleep or a restless sleep he usually woke up being half smothered by his pillow and comforters or he just didn't want to wake up period. Sometimes it was just nice to lie in a cocoon of blankets, staring at a crease in his white sheets, almost suffocating in the warmth covering his entire form. This was one of those mornings; a crisp and chilly October morning with bright sunlight streaming over the damp streets of London. He enjoyed that type of morning, but he liked it to be quiet.
Tap tap tap tap.
He scrunched up his closed eyes and butted his head against his pillows, trying to wriggle his way underneath to block out the sound.
Tap...tap...taptaptaptapTAPTAPTAP--CRACK
Bright green eyes shot open suddenly at the sound of his window fighting, in vain, the advances of a very aggressive owl. Fumbling around on his bedside, his fingers brushed blindly over two framed pictures before finally grabbing his glasses. One picture was of his parents, dancing and smiling under a gentle fall of snow around a fountain and the second was of him, Ron, and Hermione smiling and waving while at Hogwarts. He had other pictures in his photo album...but usually he was really not in the mood to look at them. He saw enough of those faces in his dreams anyways. Mumbling and yawning, Harry slipped out of bed, passing by the mirror while shivering at the sudden chill. Under his loose t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms the gangly teenager had matured into a man. Tall, with sturdy shoulders, still very slender with long legs and tough, wiry muscle packed onto his frame. The familiar untamed mess of black hair, bright green eyes with round glasses, and the world-famous lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead remained unchanged.
The Boy Who Lived.
Mildly irritated, he opened the window for the persistent owl with a wince, grimly eyeing the envelope with the Ministry's seal on the back. The Boy Who Lived to Be Very Cross, he corrected impatiently in his mind, reaching for the letter. The owl nipped at him with a sharp beak, making him hiss and grab for the letter with a mutter. As soon as he opened it, a prim and proper woman's voice greeted him, the letter's flap opening and closing to follow the pattern of the words.
"Dear Mr. Potter,
The highly respected and noble Wizengamot has requested your presence to be at the trial of Draco Malfoy as a witness. It is believed that testimony from a highly experienced wizard such as yourself would be most useful. Thank you in advance for your cooperation!
Sincerely,
Bethany Billybumbler
Wizengamot Council"
Hah! His testimony would be helpful? They just wanted his name to be there, not his opinion on anything. Scowling, he glared at the letter before letting the owl back out his window, watching the creature fly off into the cold morning. Draco Malfoy was it...? He hadn’t seen that snarky, pale-faced git in....two years. His fingers tensed on the window ledge before he frowned and looked at the letter again. He wondered what they were charging him with. Arrogance? Obscene use of hair gel? Death Eater-ness? …Inbreeding?
Harry didn't really know, but he did know that when he thought of Draco Malfoy he remembered two things the most above all the bastard things Draco had done and the stupid things he'd said. First: the image of Draco scrubbing tear tracks off his pale face in the bathroom, looking positively terrified in sixth year (quickly followed by the Slytherin laying stunned in a spreading pool of blood). The second being the eleven year old Draco he met in Madam Malkins, the almost friendly attitude he had, and the small pale hand that had been offered to him in friendship so long ago. The young man looked down at his tense fingers and then simply let the ledge go, backing away with a subdued look. Well, he thought to himself dully, we were young then.
He might as well get dressed and go to court, the curiosity was overwhelming. Still, he could not help but to feel weary. It had been two years since the war and these trials were still going on. Some part of him glumly doubted that the trials would ever really end.
[/size][/center][/justify]Hi, I'm ANG and I'm TWENTY YEARS old. I'm NOCTURNAL. This is my FIRST application. I found Failure's Not Flattering from RPG DIRECTORY.
