Post by JAMES STARK on Aug 4, 2010 17:40:48 GMT -5
[/i][/size][/font][/blockquote]JAMES STARKnineteen, male, fledgling (sixth)
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WHAT IS IN A NAME?
Originally, he was born with the name Nicholas Anthony MacUallis (originally follows the lore of Finn mac Cumhaill, the most notable/heroic leader of the Fianna warriors, just food for thought) -- how lame is that? After being Marked and entering the House of Night he was given the option of changing his name and decided to go with James Stark. The name is in honor of one of his favorite on-screen characters -- Jim Stark -- who was portrayed by the actor James Dean. Any film buff would likely recognize the combination of the actor and the character’s names immediately, and know that it’s from the film Rebel Without a Cause. The new name suits him, as he is similar in many ways to the character Jim. Both are rebellious young men with family issues and problematic backgrounds in general.
After an incident at the Summer Games, he was transferred from the HoN in Chicago to the one in Oklahoma and is now going by just ‘Stark’. [/size][/ul][/justify]
YOU WANNA KNOW ABOUT MY SPECIALITY?
Although he‘s currently trying to keep this a secret, the name James Stark is well known in the vampyre community for excellent archery skills. Before transferring to the HoN in Tulsa, he placed first in the Summer Games, beating out experienced, adult vampyres and was therefore given the title of best archer in the world. The reason he excels is thanks to an affinity he has for acute potency and accuracy. No matter what his target may be, he never fails to hit his mark, and does so with great precision. In short, the boy‘s skill with a bow and arrow is deadly, and hazardous to ones health.
However, Nyx's blessing is as much a curse as it is a gift. The downside to this unfailing accuracy are that many mistakes can be made, even if you're careful -- which he experienced firsthand. He may have a specific target or goal at the forefront of his mind, but can subconsciously have another, so when he releases his bow it aims for the mark targeted by his subconscious thoughts. Another problem is when he isn't completely clear about his targets and doesn't realize it. For instance, when he aimed for the 'center' of a tree and instead killed an owl, because the 'center' also meant the 'heart' of the tree. When this gift isn't fully understood it can lead to many regrets. He's still working on trying to grasp it in it's entirety.[/size][/ul][/justify]
EVER HEARD THE PHRASE IF LOOKS COULD KILL?
FACE && HAIR
Stark has a very baby-like, but still cute and mature kind of face. Beneath thick, perfect looking winged brows are large almonds, colored a pretty warm brown. Underneath they’re puffy in an adorable sort of way and they are framed by long, dark lashes -- you know, the sort girls work so hard to get and guys couldn’t care less about. He’s usually sporting a cool and intense expression that always seems to be in place regardless of the situation. His smile is probably one of the cockiest anyone has ever seen, but it has a certain boyish charm to it. It’s more of a sarcastic smirk or a grin, and isn't exactly ever a real smile; the right side of his full, pink mouth tips upward in a crooked, half-assed not-much-of-an-attempt at a smile. Over his lips sits a straight nose that dips down slightly like a curved arrowhead, to match it he has a nice, strong rounded chin.
The dark, chestnut hair on his head is in stark contrast to the paleness of his skin. It’s thick, worn short and is usually in the messy I’m-a-guy-who-just-got-outta-bed style, you know, typical guy hair. The front of his hair is almost always covering his forehead in a windswept sort of way. The style might look lazy, and isn’t exactly so much a style as it is an ‘I don’t care what my hair looks like’, but it suits him, and if anything it somehow adds to his natural charm.
BODY && CLOTHES
He reaches about 5’11”, has a long and lean physique, with wiry muscles decorating his arms and legs and a tight abdomen. The boy looks a little on the thin side, with his narrow hips and slender ribbon of a body, but he’s strong and fit, the light but toned muscles gracing his form proving that fact. Although he eats his brand of junk food when he can, he works out regularly to keep himself in top shape. He carries himself with an air of nonchalance that might be hard for anyone else to keep up. All of his movements are made with a fluid purpose, deliberate, but as though he doesn't give a damn about anyone or anything all the same. His walk and his persona scream sarcasm.
His closet isn’t the most expansive in the world, nor is it the most colorful. Even before being Marked, he stuck to dark colors, mostly blacks and grays. Now he's broadened it to sapphires, dark greens and reds, and softer, lighter grays. He sticks to slightly loose, but fitted jeans, plain belts and a variety of shirts from vintage/band tees to lumberjack shirts and button downs. Although it appears he doesn't take too much stock in his appearance, he loves dark and stylish cardigans and nice sneakers (rare Nike SBs and dunks, Creative Recs, etc).
NOTICEABLE FEATURES
Like all fledglings, his skin is considerably paler than it was prior to his being Marked -- though seeing as he was already a bit on the pale side, that isn’t saying much. In the center of his forehead, dipping down slightly between his brows, is the typical sapphire outline of a crescent moon -- the Marking of Nyx. His skin is blemish free, but across his chest, part of his shoulders and abdomen are small moles and beauty marks. There is a single long scar on his right leg and a smaller one on the left side of his back to his shoulder that are from his cliff diving incident.[/size][/ul][/justify]
AND THIS IS HOW I REALLY AM
LIKES
`old films - before all the special effects, before ninety percent of sets were made with green screens and computers. he loves the movies where it seems the audience enjoyed the plot and the acting more than all the big explosions and crappy dialogue used to cover up even crappier acting. (on the flipside he loves the batman movies, hellboy, bruce willis' live free movies, and sin city)
`fast cars - also motorcycles, but he’s particularly interested in an old model (Porsche 550 spyder), it’s the vehicle james dean crashed in. and no, he doesn’t idolize the man, he just has a taste for adrenaline.
`chocolate pocky sticks - they’re delicious, that is all.
`dogs - they really are man’s best friend; he values his own dog (duchess) more than any other in the world.
`books - the outsiders, mark twain’s essays and stories, edgar alan poe, stephen king, anne rice, etc.
`music - anything that can give him peace of mind, solitude and make him think, but also the loud sort of music that drowns out thoughts when necessary. (three days grace, the beatles, green day, lupe fiasco, etc)
DISLIKES
`caricatures - sure, its a form of “art”, if that’s what they want to call it, but in what world would his head look that disproportioned? as if, his head is perfect.
`little people with deep voices - he isn’t prejudice against little people, or any kind of people. it’s just that he hates being caught off guard by their deep, baritones after his childhood tricked him into believing they have squeaky little voices. it’s like they surprise him on purpose.
`women with baby/nasally voices - almost ditto to above, only he seriously hates this. there’s just something seriously wrong about a grown woman sounding like a child or that chick from the nanny.
`cats - unfortunately the house of night is filled with the furry, hissing, bitchy bastards. and they don't like him either, he's nursed many boo boos due to their sharp claws.
`girl’s purses - it’s honestly like a death trap inside them, if you reach in, you can never be certain that you’ll withdraw with your hand still intact. and just how in the hell do girls fit so much crap in them anyway? they’re dark and scary, magical places and ladies should just put things in their bras instead
`his birthday - having a birthday near christmas sounds fantastic, but for him it's hell. birthdays and holidays aren't worth much when you don't exactly have a family or friends to share them with.
HOBBIES
archery: Even as a human, Stark developed a fondness and strength for archery. It’s the only sport he’s ever been interested in; there’s just something about the bow whizzing so freely through the air that that gets to him. With his gift it isn't all that challenging anymore, but it's still a good way to take his mind off of other things. However, ever since the incident during the Summer Games he's rarely seen lifting an arrow anymore, at least not in front of anyone else. If he could he'd put away his bow and arrow and never touch them again. But being away from them for an extended period of time literally pains him, he feels as though part of his heart is being torn away if he isn't practicing or shooting regularly. It's currently a love/hate relationship that he has with archery.
cliff diving: As mentioned in his memories, this incidentally became a recreational hobby of his. The point where he’s falling makes his blood rush, he feels light and fluffy and, well, happy. He feels untouchable and loves every second of the drop. Don’t get me wrong, he isn’t an adrenaline junkie or anything remotely close. He just adores the sensation of freedom and solitude -- and things like this offer him that.
QUIRKS
Stark is the sort of guy who sings old school Green Day awfully in the shower when he thinks no one’s listening. When his mind is too cluttered to keep it all inside, he rants to his dog, and actually has a conversation with her as though she’s answering him back in plain English. He tells Duchess all his secrets and innermost worries when they’re too much to handle, because he knows she won’t go around blabbing to anyone. If he’s thinking seriously, or really hard about something, he’ll run his hands through his hair, making it even messier than usual, and bites down his bottom lip in an almost sexual manner.
OVERALL
.protective | independent | cocky | confident | romantic | charming | angry | tortured | insouciance | lonely | sarcastic | forgetful.
Unbeknownst to most, Stark wears a mask when in the company of his peers, strangers and even those that may think they’re getting to know the real him. The ‘real him’ has been buried for quite some time now, and is reserved for those moments when his all his guards are down. At those times he is at his most vulnerable, every layer of the mask stripped away. The mask, being a figurative, is set in place on a constant basis to hide the inner turmoil often swirling inside that head of his.
Stark walks and talks with the perfect air of nonchalance, as if nothing can ever truly phase him. And that is simply because so many things [/I]have[/I] hurt him in the past. None of his past troubles show in the always confident set of his shoulders, the lopsided cocky semi-smile, or the fierce and intense look of his eyes. He likes to keep it that way so as not to raise any questions. Everything about his mannerisms clearly state that he can and will hold his own under any given circumstance. It shows a severe level of independence that shouldn’t be messed with; but to those able to see past his mask, it shows just how lonely he really is. Ever since losing the two people closest to him, he’s had an aversion towards putting any real effort into making new acquaintances. On the one hand, he knows the feeling of loss and he hates it, and therefore never wants to feel that kind of pain again. One friend was loss by rejecting the Change whereas the other he murdered with his own hands. He’s afraid of and hates his gift just as much as he loves that dangerous part of him. He can’t stand the pain it causes to put archery out of his thoughts for too long, and therefore he does it only when he’s alone. It’s for these combined reasons that he feels he’s a coward -- hiding and running away from painful things instead of facing them head on like he should --, and a small part of him may even hate himself because of it. So he does what he can to hide that.
While on the other hand, he doesn’t purposely try to entice or interest people for similar reasons, just vice versa. He’s as much afraid of hurting other people as he is of hurting himself. He hates letting people unnecessarily in, and he hates all the questions they’re bound to ask, the accusations they’ll make. Instead of having people trying to figure him out, he prefers to keep them away (for their own good as well as his own). Ultimately, he wants to protect people that have a chance at actually meaning something to him, from himself. Killing another person with his gift is perhaps the biggest, most constant and most real fear that he faces. Although blessed by Nyx he feels tortured by his gift, yet can’t help the love he has for it at the same time. What he’s done with it angers and saddens him as much as the past issues of his life and poor excuse of a family. He’d never admit to the latter, and never seems to truly care about his dysfunctional family or the fact that he’s alone aside from Duchess. But the truth is that he does care, and it isn’t fair, but he’ll never complain about it. Instead he hides most of what he’s feeling behind the aforementioned mask, and his witty, sometimes cold sarcasm.
Aside from the front he puts on, Stark is actually a naturally charming guy, albeit an enigmatic one. Like most boys his age, he loves females. Just about everything about them, from the way they dress, the sweet way they smell, the way they blush, and how soft and curvy they are. On some occasions he can even be found kissing the hand of a girl he might like in a way gentlemanly manner, before flashing them that irresistible, cocky grin. And although he’d hate to have people worrying over him, and is usually too stubborn to accept help from others, he’d secretly love the idea of someone caring enough to pester him into making him listen. His cool and indifferent disposition might say otherwise, but he’d actually appreciate it. At times he can be a bit forgetful, unless it’s something truly important he can lose himself in archery or talking to Duchess about whatever may be on his mind. He’ll easily let the time slip away from him, leaving some to wonder if it’s actually forgetfulness or just his blatant I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude. It can be either or both, depending.[/size][/ul][/justify]
TAKE A LOOK AT MY MEMORIES
HOMETOWN
Born and raised in Chicago, IL.
FAMILY
Christian Ashton - Father - Human - Deceased
Alessandra Eden - Mother - Human - Early/Mid Thirties
Gemma Ashton - Step-Mother - Human - Late Thirties
Regina Ashton - Half-Sister - Human - Seventeen
OTHERS
William Chidsey - Best Friend/Mentor - Vampyre - Deceased
Nathaniel ("Logan") Hayes - Childhood Friend - Vampyre - Deceased
Adrianne Balmonte - Ex-Girlfriend - Human - Nineteen
PET/COMPANION
A golden Lab named Duchess; shortened to Duch at times.
OVERALL
Worst Memory One
Stark had always preferred his father to the woman who was known as his mother, the one he would always just call Gemma (or witch when he was he was feeling particularly nasty) -- and that wasn’t saying much. Gemma despised Stark ever since he was a child because for the simple reason that he wasn’t her son, he belonged to some other woman. It was December twenty-third when he was born as Nicholas in the guest room of a cozy little house, to a woman named Alessandra Eden. And that night had been the last he’d seen -- or didn’t see -- of his biological mother. His father -- Christian Ashton -- had shared a bed with Alessandra outside of his marriage to Gemma, when they were in a rough patch. For whatever reason she hadn’t been able to give him what he wanted thus far, which was a son (though a few years later she bore a daughter). So when Nicholas was born, Sean had loved him immediately, but raised him as his and Gemma’s son. She only allowed it because despite everything she loved and adored Christian and would do anything to please him. It was for this reason that Gemma never allowed Stark to call her mother growing up, she was never gentle to him and only pretended to give a damn about him for Christian’s benefit. But the bitter scorn she felt was painfully evident every time she looked into his large, hazel eyes.
On the other hand, Christian loved him, but treated him like the son that he wanted to mold into some impossible perfection, the son that wasn’t quite living up to his expectations. Stark resented what he saw as plain stupidity on his father’s part, but still tried to meet his requirements nonetheless. His was the only source of love he knew growing up, even if it wasn’t always obvious, even if he sometimes sided with Gemma simply because he knew the pain he’d caused her. It really was a love hate sort of relationship the father and son shared, even if it was mostly hate. So when his father got into a car crash and later died in a hospital bed, Stark was left alone with his evil witch of a not-so-much-a-mother and the spoiled bitch of a little sister the two had spawned, the young boy was more than just a little put out. He was truly horrified. He hated his father for leaving him alone, and he hated him for never setting this woman straight and instead letting her walk all over him as if she owned the house.
But hell if he gave a damn though, even if she locked him in some cramp little cupboard with cobwebs, he wouldn’t give in to her. At a young age he was already acting out, but it only worsened after his father’s untimely demise. It was then that he felt truly, and utterly alone in the world.
Best Memory One
When he was around fifteen years old, he found -- or rather she found him -- a golden Labrador Retriever. He was used to seeing stray animals, but rarely dogs, and if ever he did they certainly weren’t of her breed. It was strange how much he immediately loved and felt connected to the large, yellow bundle of fur. She was so big and soft, her eyes were large and expressive as if she knew and understood everything that troubled him. He kept the dog and named her Duchess, he took care of her on his own. She quickly became the one companion he needed, the one friend he trusted, and the one thing he loved.
Best Memory Two
There aren’t many places to go leaping from cliffs in Chicago and live, but Stark had managed to find just the place at Starved Rock. If it weren’t for Duchess watching him protectively from the corner of her eyes, he’d have been standing alone at the precipice. Most people jumped from lower cliffs, but well, he wasn’t a damned kid. He’d be fifteen tomorrow and to be perfectly honest, jumping from lower down you might as well have been simply stepping into the lake. From where he stood he could feel the cool air slapping at his face, the wind almost threatening to push him if he didn’t take the initiative first.
When he did jump he felt free and detached from reality, far removed from the worries of a bitchy mother and her spoiled offspring, a nagging girlfriend and the trouble he often got into at school. Falling was like flying. It reminded him of how he felt whenever he did archery, on another plane of existence, total peace and solitude -- and he was the arrow, flying gracefully, freely and carefree through the air. It was perfect.
Of course, he’d have died that night, if it weren’t Duchess alerting anyone within earshot of nervous woofing. The crisp, cold force of the water nearly dragged him to an early grave, tossing him beneath the force of the nearest waterfall. Between his fighting beneath the surface and Duchess’ barks, a couple of park rangers managed to pull him safely from the water. He was able to go home after being deemed healthy, but not before getting an earful of an after-school special from the rangers, and a good-mother act from Gemma when she came to pick him up that should have won her an oscar. Even still, none of that had managed to put a damper on his mood or made him forget how he felt the moment he stepped over the edge. It was an amazing experience, one he became addicted to.
Getting Marked
Despite the cliff diving fiasco, he’d managed to sleep through the night and make it to his fifteenth birthday the next morning. At school he didn’t have to worry about the usual bouts of “Happy birthday!!” the other kids got, simply because he was a keep-to-himself kind of guy. The one other student he’d actually called a friend had been taken from him by the House of Night some months prior, so all he was left with was a girlfriend of sorts, who he didn’t think would leap into a chorus of the typical song one got on this day. The moment she spotted him, she all but stormed up to his locker, verbally assaulting him about not answering his phone last night. What was he supposed to tell her? ‘I’m sorry, but I was too busy trying to commit suicide, and as you can see, I failed‘? At least, that was what Gemma had thought, and it was no secret that she was sourly disappointed that he’d failed.
Ugh, the girl was seriously a pain in the ass, but a hot one that he often wished he’d simply told to fuck off when she approached him the first time they’d met. He hadn’t thought that to be the necessary course of action, seeing as most people chose to stay away from him on their own, avoided him as if he were some sort of leper. It was either the curiosity of why she’d reacted differently to him, or the fact that he found it cute when she got one of her little fits that was the reason for him keeping her around. Did that make him just as crazy as she was, a masochist, perhaps?
Adrianne, his girlfriend, was still blabbing his ear off about how worried she’d been -- a fact that didn’t hearten him the way it used to, seeing as the two seemed to have very different meanings of the word ‘worry’. What she called worrying, he called being a controlling psychopath. But her words may as well have fallen upon death ears for all their worth, he’d already began to stare past her at a young, pale half-dead-but-not-exactly-dead looking boy. Now, he knew all about the House of Night, the place was common knowledge amongst humans. It was the place he’d lost his best and possibly only true friend -- aside from Duchess -- to. But he’d never seen a Marking happen first hand, so when the boy raised one pale finger at him, well, he was confused to say the least. All the sounds around him drowned out, everyone in the hallway vanished and he could only see, could only hear the ghostly voice of the slightly transparent spirit of a boy.
'Night has chosen thee; thy death will be thy birth.
Night calls to thee; harken to her sweet voice,
Your destiny awaits you at the House of Night.'
Night calls to thee; harken to her sweet voice,
Your destiny awaits you at the House of Night.'
Once the words were spoken there was a searing pain at the center of his head, his hand automatically flew up to hold the spot. God, it felt like a goddamn migraine. He felt dizzy, the sound suddenly came rushing back to his ears, everyone reappearing and the boy vanished this time. It was as though he’d suddenly turned the volume back up and un-paused a bad movie. And then he heard a gasp as his girlfriend stepped away from him, her hands flying up to her mouth as she stared at him as if he were a cockroach twirling about in a tutu. And then she screamed. The sound was even more annoying than her berating. “Ugh, would you shut up for once? You‘re giving me a major headache, as usual.”
Whatever her response, it was incoherent, but there was a particular ‘M’ word that left her lips that caught his attention. He gave her one curious glance before walking away from her without a word, making a dash down the hall, pushing past students and flying straight through the wrong door. Subsequent feminine screams and crashes followed him as he backed out of the girl’s bathroom, muttering half-heartedly what could pass for a Stark kind of apology. Once he found the correct room, he shot the few boys already occupying it one sharp look that sent them shuffling out and shutting the door behind them. He then calmly approached the mirror, already expecting what was revealed once he moved his hand from his face. Plainly and clear as day in the center of his forehead sat the sapphire outline of a crescent moon.
Was it weird how happy he was that he’d been chosen, how much it meant to him at that point in time? And was it wrong that he appreciated how being Marked had practically dumped Adrianne on her ass for him, without him having to exert excess energy to do so himself? Nah.
Worst Memory Two
Being at the House of Night with Duchess and his friend from his childhood, Logan -- formerly known as Nathaniel, but changed to ‘Logan’ due to his geeky adoration for Marvel comics, Wolverine in particular -- should have been the best time of his now inhuman life. And it was in the beginning. From the moment he'd been Marked his archery skills had improved greatly, by an insane margin really. His interest in archery grew and he began practicing more and more, and that was when he met the best vampyre archer in the world -- the man who would become his best friend and mentor -- William Chidsey.
The two were seen together with a bow and arrow more often than not. Will helped him improve his form and Stark impressed him with the skills that came so easily to him. Things really were perfect; he had more as a fledgling than he ever did as your average, rebellious teenage human. That was up until his second year at the House of Night. Logan, who was popular and excelling in all his subjects, and had always seemed to be the picture of health suddenly began rejecting the Change. It was the sort of thing no one was prepared for, the kind of thing you couldn't be ready for even if you knew about it prior. Nothing would have eased the pain that Stark felt when he noticed how sickly his friend had become, when the coughs started. Blood began pouring from his nose, ears and mouth, bloody tears leaving stains on his cheeks as he gargled up even more of the sweetly acidic scented liquid trying to talk to his friend. Stark had been there with him until the very end, holding his hand and talking to him all the way. Once he was fully gone, professors had to practically pull him away from the corpse before they were able to carry it off.
It was insane how quickly all of his friend’s belongings had been removed from their shared dorm, how the vampyres tried to make it as though he’d never existed. Everyone was expected to get over the death and move on fast, even Stark. He was amazed at how heartless the idea seemed, and only Will understood just how heavy Logan’s death had hit him. It took many discussions with Will before Stark felt fit to be seen regularly in the school again, and even then he was more prone to his nonchalance and standoffish attitude towards others. He all but threw himself into his archery, practicing even more and exploring the possibilities of skills he now knew were a blessing from his Goddess. And yet, he never fully grasped the power of his gift, a realization that was made obvious to him when he partook in the Summer Games.
Stark and Will competed in the vampyre version of the Olympics together, kicking everyone’s ass in the archery division. Nearing the finals the two were practically untouchable, they were leading and the gold and silver medals were sure to go to them. The pair practiced every chance they got, relentlessly releasing arrows into the targets to ensure their victories once it came down to it. So, the night before they’d been together in the practice area as usual. Will, with a bow and arrow in hand, was to Stark’s right, separated by a long, white linen divider. Both were completely focused, and it was a fact that both wanted to win. Although they were the closest and best of friends, Stark would have been lying if he said he didn’t want to win the gold. He was competitive, and that competitiveness had only worsened after Logan’s death.
With a single goal in mind, Stark retrieved an arrow from the quiver lying at his feet, stood straight and lined it perfectly within the bow. He’d been staring straight forward, the sounds of Will’s arrows hitting the wooden targets now a great distance away to his ears. That night, at that time he’d been the most focused he’d ever been in his life. He wanted to win, he wanted more than anything at that time to take the gold medal. When he drew back his bow the one thought on his mind had been: “No matter what, I want to hit the mark and beat Will.”. When he released the arrow, he’d been seeing the bull’s-eye, but had ultimately been thinking about beating Will. So when the arrow flew into the air, it didn’t hit the bull’s-eye as he’d intended, instead it vanished and reappeared in Will’s chest. The arrow had hit his heart, killing him instantly. The last thing Stark remembered of that night turning his head to find his friend falling to the floor, his blood spurting from his chest and staining the floor, the dividers and his face. The crimson was bright and devilish against the white linen, and it felt cold on his quickly paling skin, or maybe that’d been because his own body had gone cold.
The body of another close friend, his last friend, had been taken away before his very eyes. No one openly accused him of murdering Will, and at first, he hadn’t wanted to believe that his friend had died by his hand either. The only thing that kept him from dropping out of the Summer Games had been the thought that Will wouldn’t want him to, that he wanted to win the medal for the man that had deserved it. And so, he did. From that point on his talents were widely revered, he became well-known as the fledgling archer. But none of it really mattered to him anymore. Not too long after he’d tested out his gift on an oak tree, and non-living things. And every time, his arrow hit unintended targets; instead of hitting the trunk of a tree he killed an owl, instead of hitting a drawing of a freight train he’d hit the actual train. It had all been enough to confirm the cold realization that he had, in fact, murdered his best friend.
From that point on he stopped all forms of competing, and tried to stray away from archery all together. But he could never stay away for long. Eventually the House of Night in Tulsa made a request to have him transferred to their school, and his school -- who he knew, knew of the reason behind Will’s death but never said so in words aside from looks that professors and vampyres would give him -- hadn’t fought to keep him. They seemed all to happy to give him away actually. And Stark, no longer having a reason to stay at a school he was such an outcast at, agreed to transfer. There, he hoped, he wouldn’t hurt anyone else.[/size][/ul]
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[/size][/right][/blockquote]KYE!
