This is my entry for:
The anxiety is so painful
♥ N a m e : Soren L. Fauxton
♥ A g e : 22 (171)
♥ B i r t h d a y : December 17th
♥ S p e c i e s : Half-human, Half-demon
♥ F a c t i o n : White
♥ J o b : Fortune teller
♥ P e r s o n a l i t y :
Soren is one to keep memories and the past close to him. Blasphemy and non-filial talk irks him and is sure to rile him up quite the bit. He carries a pack of tarot cards given to him by his adopted father, generally in his breast pocket beneath all his coats.
When in conversation heíll heartily defend anything he believes in. Most likely to reiterate himself bluntly if the conversation were to head back to a state he thinks will agitate him.
He mostly likely will be the one to start the conversation and continue by asking a string of questions.
Soren can be considerate at times. Mostly shown through his change of tones of speech corresponding to a person's demeanor.
His childhood was lonely and cloistered so he enjoys company and very rarely takes time to himself since itís too hazardous to dwell long on thoughts. His conscience is almost non-existent since he rarely regrets anything.
♥ H i s t o r y :
Soren lived the early part of his life as a pampered child of scorn. His sickly mother, Eliza Lipton had consorted with a frivolous demon. She shielded his as best as she could with the scarce authority she still held and raised him with the best despite her qualms. The Lipton clan refrained themselves from excommunicating her from fear public ridicule and dirtied reputation in the ever so prejudiced upper crust community, so they too closed the blinds on their demonic progeny. Slowly when the last of his motherís life drifted away into the netherworld he was thrown out into the cold alleys of England.
It took no time for his heart to grow calloused. Young Soren grew brazen with a deceitful demeanor and a slick tongue. Pick-pocketing wasnít hard to with demonic powers either. Whether they had been an amateur level of trickery, it had certainly sufficed to keep him living. The world had grown so plain, a black and white of rich or poor but for the time there was nothing more than a monochromatic world. It wasnít until a chilly winterís night in December that he finally found himself genuinely curious by the lilting chime of a merry tune through the dreary streets of the neighbourhood. He followed it to a small wooden stage the size of a table mounted atop by a mysteriously dressed man, Ďveneratedí as Valerie Fauxton. As the stationary spectators breathed their awe filled sighs Soren worked away with their pockets, scavenging all he could for the night.
Hours of fanciful displays passed and with an invisible medal strung on his chest, he was satisfied with the hoard heíd collected. Little to his knowledge that the magician had been fully aware of his cunning acts. As Soren made his way to his scant home beneath a bridge, the magician appeared before him in a cloud of smoke, abruptly sweeping up his scrawny body and galvanizing him into public scrutiny. Young Soren, distraught and mentally fretting stood as stiff as a chalkboard with his knees buckling as the peasantry clapped for him to perform. The magician made no effort to aid him in the ever so demanding crowd.
Through his stammer, he announced he too would perform an act which quirked the sorcererís interest. Slowly Soren began to unsheathe the goods from his pockets one by one, claiming it to be an act of divinity. There was an unsettling feeling stirring within him as he watched the sullen faces of poverty-stricken light up in amusement. A thin line he couldnít seem to deem it to be contempt or joy. But as the magician tousled his hair and grinned his dimples away, it dawned on him that it was the latter.
As the crowd dissipated in waning joyous laughter Valerie pulled Soren back. With a rather stern yet fraternal expression plastered on his face he conversed with the half-demon. It didnít take more than a couple of hours into the night for Soren to conclude that Valerie was the visage he dreamed his anonymous father to be. Though he kept his thoughts locked away within his mind.
Valerie took in many orphaned children and built a family from the tattered lives of the despaired and sowed them together to construct a show. The man adopted him into his wandering troop of street entertainers. Although at first Soren only retaliated through incompetent threats and foul language he learnt on the street, Soren could feel his narrow doors opening up to the older man. Through a timely process Valerie ebbed away at Sorenís fraudulent antics refining him into a decent image. And despite being a tainted line of species he was fully accepted by his new caretaker. Fauxton trained Soren with a dormant pride that his progress was fruitful.
On one of their travels to neighboring towns Valerie coaxed Soren on a private trip around sightseeing, deeming it father-son bonding. With reluctance he complied, sauntering the town beside his new father. They stopped before a mystical store lined with artifacts covered in dust, Valerie scooped up a deck of cards skillfully making it to the counter after swindling. He handed the tarot cards over with a smile on his lips and rustled his hair like the first time they had met. ďThey suit you,Ē he laughed jovially.
Although he never had admitted it word for word, Soren treasured the tarots cards dearly. He abstained himself strictly for handling them too much and preferred to keep them away somewhere safe instead.
It was difficult for him to watch everyone change. Decades passed like wind and within a blink of his eye Valerie was a white haired man slugging his way around with a hunched back. Soren was more over the silent child in the family despite having quite the gabbling mouth at times. His siblings and him had never genuinely gotten along well. Valerie was their axis that connected them all. Without him, words between them would never transpire.
Doubtful of Valerie's health they purchased a small cottage on the outskirts of Valerie's hometown. Together they dwelled for a year, leaving their show on hiatus. In the comfort of a burning hearth and the presence of his adopted children Valerie passed away in his deathbed. It was a teary descent but nonetheless a gracious one that he had not left another way.
Haphazardly the middle-aged siblings resumed their travels leaving behind the house unattended. With Valerie gone Soren became more isolated though it didn't bother him much. The members began to build their own lives and soon the teen-appearanced Soren was witness to his nieces and nephews. Though the zest had left from their parents, their young had definitely given back double.
The children adored Soren. They never judged him and in fact liked his little spurts of telekinesis and demonic side. And as much as they admired him, he treasured them. He told them stories of travels and entailment of folklore. His resilience growing subliminally through this period of time thanks to that. It did not bother them how harsh he pushed them in training or how he never seemed to differ in image decade after decade. He'd seen them through everything, through their jubilant times and moments of grief from losing their parents. Their relationship was closer than he could ever imagined, and it pained him to know he too would have to say farewell to them.
Business grew tougher by the years. His nephews and nieces were morphing more and more into the likeness of average civilians. Their skills grew rusty and to make it harder to awe the crowd. In addition, the world began to industrialize too. It became difficult to keep the small line running. With morose pride and still young face, he pardoned his nephews and nieces away into the safe keeping of warm homes. Soren was content that his last images of them would be middle-aged healthy and alive; evergreen. (how many times have I mention this? ; A ; )
Retiring away to the house his siblings had saved up for he reminisced for a while. He could remember everything lucidly although it had happened the day before. The way his coquettishly dressed sisters would cook the vegetables and his brothers slapping game on the table like it were a game of who caught bigger meat. Then the image of Valerie. Old and grey, smiling at the family he had forged. It was heartwarming and yet nostalgic.
Around this time, news had gotten big about a circus known famously for its acceptance of all natures. Hearing this, something within him, incessant yearned to rejoin something that brought joy and laughter. With little prying from the townsfolk Soren had all the information needed to find 'Cirque des Reves' .
With little reluctance and momentous farewell, he left the cottage for a new place to call home.
♥ L i k e s :
♥ D i s l i k e s :
Personal space invaded (unless he initiates it)
Others being under-dressed (particularly girls)
Being un-able to speak his mind
♥ F a m i l y :
Adoptive Father, Valerie (deceased)
♥ R e l a t i o n s h i p s : None.
♥ M I S C/O t h e r I n f o r m a t i o n:
- When telling fortunes he speaks with innuendoes in order to not reveal more than whatís needed. Although at times himself he would not understand his readings, he would never show it albeit.
- He talks with a lot of people, but won't notice their friends until he begins to feel the urge to rely on them.
- His motherís family name was turned into his middle name when he was adopted by Valerie Fauxton. The only reason itís his middle name at all is in memory of his mother, otherwise he would have rid of it completely. His hate for the Liptons had faded quite a bit with all the time.
♥ R P m e t h o d s : Notes, DA chats and comments.
- I can't begin to explain how long this journey has been. To get him here, even though it may not be far. I don't understand how everyone could seriously do this and make such beautiful precious babies I mean. I spent pretty much a VERY long period of time just doubting myself over him. but he's done. MAH BABY IS DONE!
- I've been so rushed, so all of this probably seems rather sketchy. I'll make sure to edit it afterwards but for now I'm working against the clock.
-I think I just barely got passed the deadline too
- I realise now that it's bad quality but for now it's all I have. I'm sorry, deeply truly sorry. I earnestly honestly tried my best for the time I was given ///sobs
famiglia is sah beautiful