Post by thyssen spencer preuss on Oct 30, 2012 22:28:42 GMT -5
[/justify]THYSSEN SPENCER PREUSS
Mile on mile got no direction
| B A S I C S |
Name Thyssen Spencer Preuss
Nicknames
PB Matt Lanter
Age Nineteen (19)
Sex Male
Year Freshman
Major Broadcast Journalism / Modern Languages
Occupation Student
Hometown Strafford, Pennsylvania| P E R S O N A L I T Y |
Dynamic, engaging, and energetic, Thyssen Preuss is constantly on the move, rarely slowing down, even to talk, but for him, meditation is best in motion. Born into a semi-affluent family in the Philadelphia suburb known as the Main Line, Thyssen grew up a stereotypical yuppy. He's well spoken (in French and German besides English), and outgoing, albeit 'suffering' from elitist airs and with no small amount of conceit. Despite that glaring personality flaw (and one which he vehemently denies possessing) Thyssen is also a fitness fanatic, and he is known to be prejudiced against the handicapped and the non-athletic.
Despite those points however, Thyssen is energetic and outgoing, provided that you live at his pace. He's constantly moving, walking, jogging, biking or running as the situation suits or calls for. He talks like he moves, and his speech his rapid and staccato, concise without being perfunctory though the distinction is usually fine. Despite being a polyglot, and interested in electronics and technology, he is not the best student by any regards, and had a Cheerleader girlfriend help him through the classes which did not appeal to him. This also highlights his willingness to 'outsource', and his capacity for convincing others to 'help' him more than they should. A sterling reputation (undeserved) helps immensely, and is held not so much by his peers, but by the authority figures in his life. Success, as it turns out, can be achieved through nepotism when talent fails.
Not to imply that he is lazy, unintelligent or unmotivated. Rather the opposite, he is driven to succeed, and smart enough to realized when someone is better equipped to do so. He will usually befriend that person in an attempt to gain their knowledge, if not at least, their help. In that sense he is rather.... Machiavellian in his relationships, but it is not (usually anyway) malicious or even conscious. Typically he is just trying to better himself, though it has been whispered that he is helping himself, and only himself. Therefore, his circle of acquaintances is small, and true friendships are even choicer, for it takes a rare person to coexist with him.
Talents & Skills: Soccer, Electronics, Energetic and Driven
Weaknesses: Studying, Interpersonal Relationships, Knowing where 'the line' is, sense of humor
Likes: Soccer, Electronics, Girls, Fitness, Style, Achievement
Dislikes: Handicaps, Political Correctness, Inclusion, Lazyness, Metrosexuality, Cheaters
| H I S T O R Y |
Thyssens parents, Katherine and Zachary Preuss, were an E.R. Nurse and a Janitor respectively. Katherine worked at the Shriner's Hospital in Philadelphia and Zach (as he preferred to be called) worked at WPVI, the local ABC affiliate. Katherine (usually Kathy or Kay, never Katherine) was the primary breadwinner (and frequently absent at home due to long shifts), while Zach covered the bases as 'Mr. Mom' at least until Thyssen was old enough to become self sufficient. From an early age, Thyssen was active, and benefited more than usual from day care and youth league sports (he fell in love with soccer during a World Cup and never looked back, though he did flirt with track and field in his teenage years).
Despite the seeming idyllic nature of the Preuss family lifestyle, split level ranch, three car garage, white picket fence, domestic tranquility was not the byword on McMull Dr. Both of the Preuss 'men' missed the presence of the Lady of the House. This lead Zachary into infidelity, and drove Thyssen to overachieve. Despite this, Kathy rarely had the energy to notice her son's efforts, so tied up was she in her job, extolling the virtues of the 'brave' children she worked with daily, as well as those of the Doctors who were her colleagues. Both viewed this as a slight, though for drastically different reasons. Zach continued to have affairs (even going so far as to father children by his mistress, in effect, building a second family of which Thyssen was kept ignorant until after his graduation from Conestoga, when his parents amicably divorced and Zach properly took up with his new family. This was a large part of Thyssens desire to get as far from home as possible, and lead to his enrolling at Orange Island University, even though he had better (or at least more lucerative) deals to play soccer from other schools.*~*~*~*~*
Thyssen was, like any self respecting child, active, perhaps in the vernacular of his day, hyper-active, but his Father never gave a thought to the idea of medicating the child into the complacent fog he had seen on so many other children. His Mother, as much as she mattered, barely noticed one way or the other. Still, Zachary, or Zach as he preferred, had 'company' coming by, and not the sort he wanted the boy to interrupt.
He had tried everything to get him to either A) go somewhere, or B) Pre-occupy himself. But neither video games nor friends (a relationship he only had the most tenuous grasp on) were sufficient. Finally, exasperated, Zach had turned on the womans World Cup, because the Americans were playing the Chinese in the finals, and he was the sort who felt that he should support His Country in all international endeavors, even those which were not of particular interest. Soccer was one of these things. To the elders immediate delight, the game captured his son's attention suddenly, and quite completely. Thyssen no longer seemed to notice him, and took no more of his 'company' when she arrived, despite the fact that his presence startled her quite badly. Still, just as Brandy Chastain was whipping off her jersey in celebration, and Zach was removing his 'guests' in lustful adulation, Thyssen found an rubber ball and went quietly out into the yard to play, and to practice sliding to his knees and removing his shirt. By the time it got dark, and Zach was finishing up dinner, he had gotten quite good at it.*~*~*~*~*
On the whole, Thyssen is left feeling alienated from his mother, a beloved stranger more than a fixture, and disgusted outright by his father. He is left only with the game he loves, and the idea of making it a career, one way or the other. In a sense, Orange Island is a chance to start over, an attempt to reinvent himself after a tempestuous adolescence. What good being thousands of miles from home, and/or rushing Delta Kappa Epsilon will do has/is yet to be seen....| E X T R A S |
Is there anything that doesn't fit in the other sections, but you think is important? Say it here!
| S K I L L S |
Fuck, Nathaniel Chaikin thought to himself while repeating the subject word repeatedly and loudly. is such a versatile word. Whether verb, noun, adjective, adverb or simple interjection, fuck served wonderfully in any role.
The reason why Nathan was thinking such a thing, was because he had just taken a .500 Smith and Wesson round through his left oblique, shattering two of his short ribs. It was an excruciating, albeit not fatal wound, provided that he could get the bleeding stopped. He had stuffed the remnants of his shirt into it and was currently driving at a high rate of speed through New York on his way to the one person who he thought might be able to help him. Fiona Danu, the proprietress of Rare Relics and witch extraordinaire.
The eighteen inch all-season, run-flat tires of the Cadillac ATS he had rented for this meeting chirped almost merrily as he ran a red light, cutting off a bus and a garbage truck as he crossed two lanes. There was blood all over the leather seats. He shouted his favorite word again, pounding on the steering wheel with one slick hand. As he wove through traffic, occasionally reaching his right hand into the passenger seat to protect something there, he thought about what had got him into this mess.
The Russian was, as usually, early. His armored stretch limo sitting silent and solitary vigil in a dry drainage ditch beneath a freight trusel. The better to disguise gunshots Nathan observed drolly to himself. He wondered how many goons the man had brought with him in that tank as he pulled his rented Caddy up to the limo, obligingly turning the headlights off as he opened the door and stepped out.
The two men addressed each other in Russian with the usual pleasantries exchanged. The client called him a slimy piece of shit for dragging him out after dark, and Nathan called him a tight fisted Commie bastard. Both men smiled artificially. When the Russian demanded the artifact that Nathan was offering, the dealer leaned back into the car to get it. It was probably all that saved his life. The gangster pulled a massive handgun from inside his coat and leveled it in on dramatic flourish, the roar of the monster was loud even beneath the tracks, and the bullet didn't even falter as it punched out the glass of the driver side window. The impact threw Nathan back against the door frame and he could hear the Russian ordering his goons to 'get him' and 'retrieve the artifact' even through the ringing in his ears and the rushing of his blood out of the wound in his side.
The limo, thanks largely to it's armor, was slow and by it's nature turned like a landed whale. Nathan easily outdistanced it, even with his vision graying and tunneling from blood lose. He slide onto Broadway like a drifter (which was impressive given the Caddys all wheel drive and non-standard MacPherson suspension), again to angry shouts and the blaring of horns.
“Jesus Christ He swore through clenched teeth as the car fish-tailed before he managed to get it back under control. i'll kill myself trying to save myself... Fortune was with him as there were spaces open fronting Omenwhich Square, and he slammed the sedan into one, scarcely remembering the keys while clutching the idol in his blood slicked hands as he fell onto the road. It was a struggle to get to his feet and the wound was bleeding again, blood running down his stomach and over his hand to leave a thickly visible path as he staggered and stumbled drunkenly into the alley between the Oak and Henge and Rare Relics as if he were bound for the Trinity Market behind. But he was not. Landing with a heavy thud against the corner of Fiona's building, the mercenary, archaeologist, globe trotting adventurer, wheezed and fought to maintain consciousness.
“Indiana Jones never had this problem He mused bitterly as he threw his injured side around, turning to face the disguised door to the private quarters so few realized were in the back of the store. Without knocking he worked the complex and cleverly constructed switch that opened the door. She would know he was here, but just for decencies sake he called her name once, weakly, before sagging forward onto his knees, badly tearing the expensive suite pants which were saturated with his blood. Again he tried her name, but it was even weaker than before, and now he just knelt, slumped back against his own heels as he slowly bled out, a rare, valuable and stolen antiquity clutched in his right hand.| P L A Y E R |
Name Flip
Age 28
Gender Male
How you found us Ad somewhere
Who else do you play?
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