Post by SERAFIN DANIEL CROCE on Dec 14, 2012 15:00:33 GMT -5
SERAFIN DANIEL CROCE
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[/center]FULL NAME: serafin daniel croce
NICKNAMES: goes by "daniel"
AGE: twenty-two, nearing twenty-three
SPECIES: human
PLAY BY: lee williams
HISTORY: there isn't a whole lot of interesting things that have happened in daniel's life. born into a family capable of tracing their roots all the way back to italy, he nevertheless cannot speak a word of italian, except perhaps the incredibly basic "ciao", though he retains faint traces of an accent, as do the other members of his family.
given the name "serafin" at birth, to honour his mother's polish side, daniel grew up fanatically denying his birth name, refusing to go by anything except the aforementioned "daniel", and his teachers quickly learned to call him by that, lest they be on the receiving end of his younger self's more explosive temper, which he has since learned to curb. at age fifteen he came out as a comfortable bisexual, enrolled himself in every single class he could imagine, and eventually went off to pursue a degree as a professional pianist and violinist in university, which he uses as an excuse to travel all around on someone else's money.
THE REAL YOU
NAME OR NICKNAME: chey
AGE: certainly old enough
ANY OTHER CHARACTERS: not currently
RP SAMPLE: from another site."I have a natural aversion to fire," Stefan said smoothly, with an incline of his head. "I'm going to take a wild leap and assume you understand." He didn't hear the inflections in her childlike voice, which floating nauseatingly on the breeze like the tinkle of bells he found so irritating in the company of the vampires, but he knew he had struck a nerve all the same. How could it not of? Common sense dictated that there would be no other response to a comment like that, and Stefan could barely contain the bubble of laughter that built up in his chest.
He always had been a little more impatient than his counterpart, and there was certainly more satisfaction to be drawn out from little quips and jibes, expertly angled to cause discomfort and anger, whether or not it was visible.
"Though I have no doubt you'd like the opportunity to test out your talents." The word talents was spoken a bit harshly. "But it would not be a very... smart waste of your time. What do you gain by killing me? Perhaps a little less sport for your Volturi laptop. The tracker. Ah, Demitri, I believe it is. What is that saying? Know thy enemy? We know you all very well." He paused, in a mock-absent way, as if considering whether to continue. "But I am afraid you cannot truly say the same for us. We are but algae under your black boot, yes? Just a little treat to send the dog after." His face scrunched into a grimace for a moment. "Not that I go so far as to compare you to the literal dogs." The Volturi had at least a little class, after all, unlike those whimpering mutts.
The laughter in his voice vanished as soon as the witch's tirade finished in his mind, where it lingered mockingly, ringing through his head as he tried to force the images from behind his eyes. In an effort to stop them, he closed his eyes for five seconds, trying to clear his mind of the raging urge to kill, his impatience swelling. It was a technique that had worked all these years; hopefully it would work now. Were he as pathetic and weak as a human, he might have let out a rush of angry breath, but he wasn't a mortal, and so he did not.
The game was starting to get dangerous, more close to home, and Stefan couldn't help the small grimace that tugged at the corners of his mouth. He did so hate proverbial dancing.
"I'd sooner lose my own head than beg a witch for mercy. My hour is almost come, when I to sulphurous and tormenting flames must render up myself." His accent wrapped around the words of the Englishman, twisting it into some dark and something defiant, deviating, perhaps, from the original meaning to add to the effect of resistance. "The rest of the world may have bowed to you, Volturi scum, but know that they would turn on your in a heartbeat if they could. You will be like the army of your Italian predecessors. How arrogant Rome did become." He smiled. "Ah, but when you do fall, feel free to look us up, if we haven't torn your heads from your bodies at that point."
