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Evingston {{Elite P E R F E C T I O N
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Julian Skirrow.


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in Evingston.

Evingston was originally founded in 1902 and Evingston Academy in 1910 by the wealthy architect and fashion mogul, Nigel Evingston. Evingston Academy was originally for only the people who could buy their way in, and, trust me, it still is, but recently it's been opened to scholarship students, and started to slowly fill up with outcasts and not-so-wealthy people. Since then, it's become an all-out class war. If you're wealthy, you stay with your kind. If you're poor, you stick with your kind. If you're middle class...well, bless your soul, you've got a lot of deciding to do. On top of all that, Evingston is your average high school with cliques, drugs, and lots and lots of gossip. But it can get more violent than that. There are some who aren't afraid to shed blood. And some who aren't afraid to taint perfection. You've got plenty to hide, especially if you're ELITE PERFECTION.
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{{Elite P E R F E C T I O N :: The Elite :: Applications :: Accepted Applications :: SKIRROW, julian armando
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AuthorTopic: SKIRROW, julian armando (Read 226 times)
Julian Skirrow
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SKIRROW, julian armando
« Thread Started on Aug 9, 2007, 3:33pm »		[Quote]
[image]
YOUR name: kat.
YOUR age: fifteen.
YOUR gender: female.
YOUR years of experience:quite a few!


[image]
Name: Julian Armando Skirrow
Age: Eighteen.
Year: Twelfth.
Gender: Male.
Social Class: High class.
Clique: Indie.
Personal Title: let's keep this between me & you.

[image]
Picture:
[image]
Celebrity Representation: Julian Casablancas. (haha, does it count if only one picture accurately represents my character?)
In-Depth:

HAIR.
    Julian doesn’t do much with his hair. In fact, you could even venture insofar to say that he does NOTHING with his hair – save for washing it. Every now and then he’ll get a little experimental, only variance in his perpetual “bed head” being a poor attempt at some New Wave trend that should have been kept in 1984 where it belongs. Voluminous and naturally a bit wavy, in theory it should fall down to his chin. Well, it’d be about that length if he ever ran a brush through it.


PHYSIQUE.
    Both a casual soccer player and jogger (the terms ‘casual’ and ‘jogger’ being used loosely in correlation with one another. The only real jogging Julian does is around the track to flirt with girls during track meets.), Julian is certainly not out of shape – but he’s not in great shape either. He’ll go through phases where he becomes hell bent on having “six pack abs, as seen on TV!” but he’s never had the commitment to keep up with it. He stands at about 5’10”-5’11” – 6’0” if we’re being generous. He’s by no means intimidating in stature, but that being said, one knows not vengeance until they’ve had a run in with Julian Skirrow…or any Skirrow, for that matter.


PERSONAL STYLE.
    He doesn’t have personal style, per se. Unless ratty jeans, old tee-shirts, an oh too passé leather jacket, and a pair of boots (Western boots, to boot!) fly as “personal style”. He has his own way of tackling the school uniform, much to the dismay of Evingston authoritative figures. ‘Smart’ shoes are replaced by a pair of worn out converse (his second pair of shoes) and if not the converse, the boots. His tie his seldom done, his blazer is always “missing”, and he couldn’t tell you the last time he buttoned his shirt all the way. What can he say, he likes to be comfortable – in any environment.


THE TATTOO.

    As kitschy as it is, the moment he lost his virginity he knew he wanted a tattoo. ‘I LOVE YOU MOM’ in cursive, in the center of his pelvis – he needed to pay tribute to her somehow. He didn’t hesitate in showing her (and everyone he knew) as soon as he was able. He hasn’t regretted it, every time he does...well, anything involving the lower half of his body, he thinks of his mother. And she's sure she thinks of him too.




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Sexual Orientation:
    Ambivalent.
    As popular with the opposite as he is, he remains irresolute. As far as anyone knows though, he's as straight as an arrow, and with his attitude towards women, who would doubt it?

Religion:
    Born Roman Catholic; currently going through an exploratory phase. As per suggestion, he’s devoted some time to investigating Eastern religions/belief systems (Taoism, Hinduism, Buddhism, etcetera.) but still feels a strong connection with Catholicism. He might not uphold the virtues of the Roman Catholic Church, but he feels that a part of him will always identify with it as a faith – however bastardized a version he may believe in.

Political Affiliation:
    Libertarian – though, admittedly some of his beliefs are partially for the sake of being rebellious.

Likes:
    - philosophy.
    - eastern culture.
    - folk+alternative music.
    - guitar, despite various critiques on the instrument itself and people who are drawn to it.
    - playing pranks/doing things for the 'sake of comedy' at his peers' expense.
    - playing+watching soccer.
    - history - to an extent.
    - latin.
    - satires.
    - being subversive.
    - a select few illegal substances.
    - romantic literature. (as in nineteenth century romance.)
    - grecian art.
    - art in general.
    - oscar wilde.
    - bike-riding!


Dislikes:
    - art fags - notwithstanding his own interest.
    - neo-cons.
    - anything right wing for that matter.
    - anne coulter, like most people of his stature.
    - those who identify with the 'emotive hardcore' movement.
    - being subjugated to listening to teen angst.
    - angsty girls.
    - anyone who thinks they have problems.
    - debate team fags, because they're pretentious assholes.
    - martha's vineyard and the goings ons of those aspiring to be affluent.
    - nantucket, because islands off the coast of massachussetts can suck it.
    - over-zealous vegans/peta members.
    - anyone overzealous about anything.


Flaws:
    - stubborn.
    - inconsistent, in more ways than one.
    - does a few things for the sake of being subsersive.
    - there's a fine line between teasing and ridicule - crosses this line all too often.
    - has a tendency to stretch/move the truth in his own direct.
    - lazy, doesn't hesitate to have his friends do things for him.
    - rarely acknowledges rules/authority.
    - can be overly competitive.
    - addictive personality.
    - has a tendency to be overkeen about certain things.
    - doesn't always take important things seriously. (relationships, for one.)
    - hypocritical.


Strengths:
    - bright (although not always willing to utilize mental capacity).
    - loyal to his friends (though not necessarily romantic partners).
    - when push comes to shove, will stand up for what he truly believes in.
    - charismatic/magnetic.
    - has a knack for pointing out flaws.
    - talented satirist, as talented as an eighteen year old could be, that is.


In-Depth:

    Try as he might to diverge from discriminatory Skirrow family convention, Julian will always be a Skirrow. He might be short the invidious, prejudicial behavior, but Julian is a Skirrow through and through. Born a Skirrow, always a Skirrow. He’s convinced that he’s a revolutionary, a regular Basquait –a tortured artist (perhaps sans the actual artistry of it all), born into an environment where he’s unable to thrive.

    Julian is the poster-child of “You don’t understand me!” angst, but therein lie a question – does Julian want to be understood by his family? Family is family after all, regardless of how bigoted the ideals of that family happens to be. That shouldn’t effect how they view one another, at least not much, right? Granted, if you’re bringing home a nice Shanequa after the family BBQ/lynching, you might burn a few bridges, but a few racial slurs here and there is doesn’t denote your place at home. However for Julian’s bleeding heart, his family’s decorum is equivalent to a vegan being subjugated to a steak house. This being said though, you have to wonder how much of it is compassion and how much of it is straight-up teen angst.

    From the outside looking in, there’s not much to comprehend when it comes to Julian. He presents himself as both shallow and immodest, almost paradigmatic when it comes to the floozy male archetype. He might be loyal as they come when it comes to his closest friends, but many people would venture to say that Julian Skirrow is a jerk. He likes to think of himself as comical, but there’s a fine line between jest and ridicule.


[image]
Mother: Melanija Agata Birsa Skirrow
Father: Arnaldo Giuseppe Skirrow
Siblings:

    [image]
    Cecelia Skirrow.
    the over-achieving daughter.

    x.
    Sloan Skirrow.
    the perfect son.

    [image]
    Natalee Skirrow.
    adolfina hitler.

    [image]
    Odette Ivan-Osteau.
    the perenially there cousin.


In-Depth:

THE HOUSE.
    The Skirrows are as much an emblem of affluence as they are dysfunctionality. Their residence is as notorious as their name, there aren’t many houses quite like the Skirrow’s in Evingston. The Skirrow house – alternatively called “Skirrow Manor”, despite the fact it is not, in fact, a manor – might as well be a Germanic citadel. There are few ways to accurately illustrate the Skirrow house, standing four stories high like an imposing monolith. There’s something about it that no photograph can capture, that no words can grasp, there’s just something about it. The Skirrow house’s history makes it an Amityville horror of sorts, that or a testament to the United States pre-Civil Rights movement. There's nothing like living in a house with a history, right?


THE SKIRROWS.
    Meet the Skirrows – a family filled to the brim with politicians, PHDs, folksy racism, religious fanaticism and proclamations of manic depression. The Skirrow name was once a prolific name in the worlds of politics and medicine. After the nineteen sixties rolled around and it became convention to believe that on the whole, segregation was not-so-good, they suddenly fell in status. That being said, they weren’t too popular soon after World War II either. They’re enigmatic, the Skirrow family. There always seems to be something afoot in the Skirrow household – the trick is keeping it all in the family. As eclectic are they are ethnically (their roots being in Slovenia, Germany, Italy and England), it seems like there’s no form of discrimination they don’t embrace. Class, race, religion, sexuality, the act of partisanship knows no bounds.


THE REBELLION.
    The Skirrows are by no question, eccentric. There’s no family that quite embodies corrupt, like the Skirrows do. Religious fanaticism and mental instability runs rampant in their household, not to mention certain behaviors that would come off as disconcerting to anyone. It’s a confusing environment to grow up in, to say the least, though most Skirrows find their niche. Each one of them as their own eccentricity to bring to the table, their own distorted view to add the to conglomerate of reactionary ideals.

    Julian had always put forth his best efforts to rebel, there’s no question about that. Whether it had been with what he said, or what he did, he did everything in his power to be incongruous with his family. But Shonda was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Shonda was nineteen when Julian brought her home, long story short, he’d decided to take the car down to Detroit. Shonda was an aspiring actress, but in the mean time, she was hanging out on Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard. She stood five foot three, but in heels she was a towering five foot nine. To be honest, there was nothing Julian found particularly attractive about her, but, hey, anything to be unharmonious. It might have been the fact her attire blatantly advertised the fact she was a sex worker, it might have been the fact that she was black, hell it might have been the tattoo on her ankle "PROPERTY OF TYRONE JACKSON" – but a discourse on race theory and a few liberalism quotes later, he was officially asked to resign his residence from the Skirrow household. They’d had enough of his shenanigans.

    But that was alright. It didn't keep him out of Evingston, did it?


Other: N/A.

[image]
Sample RP:

    Quote:

    Dolores Whitaker had a fascination with perfection. For Dolores Whitaker, a house was nothing without uniformity. There was nothing that peeved her more than a lack of a consistency. Every step that Dolores took, took no more than a quarter of a second and her feet were always four inches apart. Dolores Whitaker was a fan of fours. They had four family portraits hung in four hallways; each one was twenty-four by twenty-four. This meant they had only four oak frames, because oak frames were for photographs of the family, and cherry-wood frames were for their paintings. There were seven paintings in the house; each one depicted a biblical scene. They were hung in order of when they appeared in the Bible. They served as a reminder. Dolores would have painted several more, but she felt seven was sufficient. They had four different sets of curtains in the Whitaker household, and four different sets of hardwood. Dolores, personally, would have much preferred to have the whole house in Patagonian Rosewood, but that just wouldn’t do. No, she couldn’t have that done.

    Naturally, the kitchen had granite floors, as did the bathrooms. The bedrooms (hers, Peter’s and Evangeline’s) were all maple, and the maids – of which they had four also – had cream-colored rugs. Their help was as uniform as their home; they had two Haitian women, both thirty-five, both stood at four foot nine – no less, no more. There were two Colombian girls to help around the kitchen, five foot six, nineteen years of age. Apparently, they had both given birth out of wedlock somewhere in the nadir of Medelin. This delighted Dolores. If one of her Colombians was going to Hell, she was happy to know the other one was as well. She wouldn’t know what to do if her beloved, sinful little Rosaline would have to be castigated all by herself.

    At the sound of a rapping at the door Dolores picked herself up from her seat in the study, an armchair upholstered in an iridescent, red and gold taffeta. The study was at least fifty feet from the foyer, the entrance of the foyer twenty feet from the front door itself, but Dolores Whitaker had unsullied hearing. Dolores Whitaker heard everything. Not unordinary was it did she hear Peter in his room at night. He worried her, but no one worried Dolores quite like Evangeline. Evangeline, if she had a verse for every sin Evangeline committed. There were three bibles in the house, each day Dolores would wake up at five fifteen and open them to a new page. Today it was Psalms 5, she wanted her siblings to play special attention to 93:5 “Your statutes stand firm; holiness adorns your house for endless days, O Lord.” What Dolores would do for holiness to adorn the Whitaker home, oh what she would do.

    If you were to ask Dolores why she took so much care, she would tell you it was because of Evangeline. She wouldn’t have to wake up at five fifteen, if it weren’t for Evangeline, she’d say. Evangeline would be on the boat with Lavina and Rosaline, unfortunately. Dolores opened the door, head held high, “Are you here to see Lavina? Rosaline? I told them I really don’t approve of visitors.”


« Last Edit: Aug 13, 2007, 11:22pm by Julian Skirrow »Link to Post - Back to Top  IP: Logged


[image]
little stacy q
when she doesn't have a thing to do
she comes to my house
but let's keep that between me and you.

Emma Radley
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Re: SKIRROW, julian armando
« Reply #1 on Aug 10, 2007, 9:00am »		[Quote]

Excellent app. =D
accepted obviously.
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