KELLY, jack ventus

[Jack Kelly]

*Individuality~ It's all about you,
JACK VENTUS KELLY


Alias:
max, i guess.
Gender:
gender-confused.
Age:
old enough.
Where did you find SSttR?
eh. i know people here.
How come you joined?
because disney just happens to rock my socks.
How long have you been rping?
a while.
Contact information:
pm me.

*Simple and Sweet!-Your character,
Full Name:
"The name's Francis James Sullivan II Jack Ventus Kelly. You got that memorized?"
Nicknames:
"Dunno. Jack, Jacky, Jack-attack (ha!). Cowboy, sometimes. Depends."
Age:
"Nineteen. M'legal and stuff, but not like it matters."
Gender:
"Oh, come on. I'm a guy. Male.
Sexuality:
"Asexual. Or maybe the word 'selectivesexual' is a better word. Not so much people appeal to me no more. Doesn't stop me from flirtin', though."
Disney Spirit:
"Some guy aptly named Jack Kelly, too. Was also a cowboy. Newsies material. Shit like that."
Position:
"You gotta be kidding me. I'm a student. Teachin' isn't a forte of mine."
House/Member Group:
"I need a hero! I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of tonight! And he's gotta be fast and he's gotta be strong and he's gotta be larger than life!"

*i'm no supermodel,

Eyes:

"Uh. They're hazel. Hazel eyes. You know that song by Kelly Clarkson? Behind These Hazel Eyes? Yep. That's the color. Oh. And they're kinda tiny. Not chameleon big or nothin'. Uh. I'm not Chinese material, either, but they aren't the regular size...? You know, I'm just not good with this. M'hm. They're just hazel eyes that are shaped like.. like eyes. Sheesh."

Skin:

"Tan.. ish? Uh. Not so good at this. I'm not vampire pale, but I'm light-skinned enough to be considered Caucasian? And I walk around outside a lot, so my skin's dark.. ish? No, I don't even know. For the smoothness and crap, my hands are kinda rough. I work way too much. I've got some scars. Yeah. From work, again. But that's life."

Build:

"There're some muscles (but not bulging ones, which are kinda gross) under my skin. Those graceful muscle shit. I guess. I don't know. I guess that would consider me masculine? Or just slightly? I still got that teenage boy lankiness, so, yeah."

Appearance:

"I'm five feet and ten inches tall. I weigh a fair amount of pounds. I'm healthy. I guess. I have dark hair with bangs that like to.. rise and flop over my forehead. See, I don't even know if that's the right word to use. Anyway. I s'pose you could say my bangs make an 'm' shape. Or something. Which is weird, now that I think about it. Not like I care. My head is.. oval shaped? Ha. Talking about my head shape. I really hope it's proportional to the rest of my body, but sometimes, in pictures, it doesn't look that way, so I'm not really sure. I've got thin lips, and time and time again I've heard it being described as 'kissable', which only makes me go 'what the flying fuck do you mean?' Yeah, I'm rambling. Talking about the way I look isn't a forte of mine, I'm afraid.

Beneath those lips are my teeth. I'd like to say they're perfect, straight, white and sexy, but they aren't. My canines are sharp. Vampire sharp. It's an imperfection. They can bite into flesh and rip it, and I'm not kidding, because it's happened once or twice in fights I've been in. While we're on the topi of imperfections, my nails suck. They're constantly bitten by me, of course, and although I guess they aren't so bad - they're just not Adonis material, or whatever you want to call it. I've also got some 'battle scars' on my back, my arms, my legs. They only put emphasis on the little sinewy muscles underneath my skin, maybe, but I wouldn't really know. I'm not one for appearances.

For clothing styles, I guess they're kinda old fashioned. I mean, you don't see kids these days wearin' shit like mine. Ha. I wear a white shirt and underwear as a first layer, I guess. Then I wear a dress-shirt - preferably light colors - atop that. Then the pants. Jeans, o'course. The perfect working pants. Or dark slacks. It depends. I wear a vest above the shirt and a red handkerchief around my neck. Sometimes I got a cowboy hat on my head, but most of the time the string for it is just hanging loosely around my neck; hat flopping on my upper back. Get it? Got it? Good.

I wear pretty average shoes. They're old and weary and probably about to fall apart, but I love them. They're leather. A guy like me can only afford one pair of shoes.

I'm always grinning. It's a bad habit.

That's it."

*this is me,
Weaknesses:

"I don't have any weaknesses! Ha, ha! Nah, I kid. I got a few, like:

• co-dependency - even though I pretend to be all independent and ready to go on my own, I actually.. need people. Be it bad people or good people or people who just tote me around because I look good or something - I need 'em. 's why I always get associated with some bad pieces of shit a lot. Sucks, doesn't it?
  
• stubbornness - to a fault, o'course. I ain't a very good person. Followin' someone who thinks something other than what I think? Fuggetaboutit. Why don'tcha jump in a ditch an' die? But sometimes I'm pretty desperate and lie to have someone with me. Oh. Another weakness.
  
• lying - I'm a born liar. I lie about almost everythin'. I could be lying to you right now and you wouldn't even know it. 's pretty much the story of my life. Tellin' the truth's a bitch, so I keep from tellin' it. Hate me for it? Go ahead. Doesn't matter much, 'nyways.
  
• easily tempted - yeah, y' read that right. Easily tempted. There are times where people show me shiny things an' I just reach out to grab 'em without thinkin' of the consequences. Pretty stupid o' me, I know, but what can y' do?
  
• book smarts - just.. no. Math or Science or whatever gives me a headache. Don't even bother tryin' t' talk to me 'bout Shakespeare or any o' that shit, 'cause I'm not gonna listen. Take it up with Einstein or somethin'. Jack Kelly's the wrong guy."

Strengths

"Strengths! Now this is what I'm talkin' about! A'right. So I've got plenty o' strengths, but if I list 'em all, I'd fill up the page. So I won't. Here're a few:

• born leadership - now I'm not gonna lie about nothin' here. I got me a little bunch o' pals, and we'd use t' deliver newspapers all throughout Manhattan. I was their leader, o'course, and I knew how to rule. Think o' me as a King o' New York, or some'n. That's it.
  
• great acting - yeah, yeah. Comes with the lying. Lying is like acting, sorta, and I can pretty much pretend to be anyone I wanna be.
  
• charming - you'll like me after knowing me for two seconds. I assure you. Everyone does, even if I'm one o' those crazy bastards who do whatever the fuck he wants without any idea of hurting himself. Ha, ha.
  
• brave - I'm not flattering myself, but I'm one o' the bravest kids you'll find on the streets. I fight for my rights without a second thought, kick ass if I have to. I've rebelled against the government when me an' my mates were treated unfairly, all that shit. And hurting people? Not afraid of that, either. I'm not afraid of anythin'.
  
• street smart - I suck at Math and logic and shit, but when it comes to common sense and livin' on my own, you can count on me. I've made a livin', made friends, got a place to stay. All that crap. I can survive anythin' God throws at me."

Secrets

"I'm pretty fucking afraid of falling in love. I'm terrified of the cold. I secretly want someone to hold me when it's dark. My real name is Francis James Sullivan II. I'm a trainwreck just waiting to be discovered. I plan to run away to Santa Fe."

Personality:

"Every day, I tell myself the same thing.

'You're okay.'

Why?

Well, okay. So I look like this kind of golden boy who can have any and everything he wants with the snap of his fingers. I know. That's the kind of guy I look like. It's awesome, I know. I'm a brave kid, yeah. I'm charming. I'm pretty optimistic. A flawed leader, but a leader nonetheless. A guy with a cowboy complex. Or somethin'. Whatever. But under all that flawlessness? I'm a weakling. I need other humans to survive, even though I pretend I'm this independent guy. I'm probably going to hell, too, 'cause I've done so much shit in my life. Fuck, I'm a born liar. I sin everyday. I lie to people, I lie to God, I lie to myself. There's no-one I don't lie to. You don't even know if what I'm telling you right now is a lie or the truth. Don't look at me like that. I know you don't know. Pretending you don't is fucking stupid, and it pisses me off when I find people who say they know things they really don't.

Now I'm getting bitchy.

Anyway. I've got this self-defense mechanism to remind myself that I'm going to crash into a pit of failure and certain death. I pretend to be okay. I pretend I'm strong. I grin at people and tip my hat and bow and kiss their knuckles - but inside I'm trying desperately not to ask them if they've been looking for me all their life, if they're the one I've been waiting for. Of course, that's the stupidest thing you've probably ever heard. I don't blame you. I'm a stupid guy. I'm reckless. But that's what I believe in, and with all the crap I go through, I figure I deserve a little escape.

Escape.

Speakin' o' which.

I'm goin' ta Santa Fe.

Don't believe me?

It'll happen.

Then we'll see who's laughin'. Ha, ha!"

*this is what I can do,

Abilities:

"Abilities? Sheesh. Lemme see...

• quick - "If it ain't Jack be nimble, it's Jack be quick."
  
• cat-like agility - uh, yeah. Agility. I jump around, run around, spin around. All that junk.
  
• singing - yeah, shut up. I can sing.
  
• dancing - sssh!
  
• fist-fighting - uh, yeah."

*my life story,
Hometown:

"Manhattan, New York. Yeah. I led a band o' Newsies there."

Parents:

"I got a pa and a ma, but they let go of me and put me in an orphanage. It's sad, I know, but it's the truth. Actually, my dad's name is Francis James Sullivan I, and he's in jail for drug addiction. My mom's dead. Story of my life."

Siblings:

"... No."

History:

"Why the hell should I tell you my life story? Sheesh. I was born in Manhattan, and my parents kept me for as long as they could before deciding that they couldn't support me no more. Then they decided to put me in an orphanage, where I met the people who, literally, changed my life. I became a newsie, which is just linguo for a newsboy, yeah, and I was the number one seller by the end of my first week. I kept going and going and going, and eventually I found this poster which read about some place called Santa Fe. It was a place that looked like freedom, and for the longest time I wanted to be there. I ached to be there. I wanted to be there and live my life on my own. So I kept earning, keeping money in a jar hidden in a cabinet in the bathroom I shared with all the other boys. Nobody found it, of course, and I took it with me when I went to the academy.

But anyway.

While I was a newsie, the prices for buying the batches of newspapers you sell went up. I don't know what the crap made 'em newspaper men raise the price, but I wasn't gonna stand for it, and neither were m' boys. So we planned a revolution. It was, of course, based on our ancestor Newsies' strike from way, way back. I ended up going to the other side (becoming a scabber, which is just fuckin' hell, I promise) because I needed the money to get to Santa Fe, but I figured out that it's better to have people to bleed for than people who pay you money, and we newsies made the headlines instead of selling them - and, God, you shoulda seen the happiness on all our faces when the prices went back and we were declared heroes.

The mayor told me he coulda taken me to Santa Fe then, but I didn't understand myself and why I did the shit I did. 's why when a letter came telling me that I have the spirit of a 'Jack Kelly' in me, I decided to give it a shot. I said bye to my mates, left Manhattan, and came to Santa Monica. It's pretty here, I guess, but I miss 'em.

And I guess I should've straightened out all the lies I told them, but it's too late for that, now.

My dad's name was Francis, and I was named after him. He and my ma weren't the best people. Dad always got himself drunk and tried to walk it off from the bar, but it never worked. Ma would always scream but nothing would happen, and dad started takin' drugs. I caught him once, but never told on him, 'cause as drunk as my dad got himself, he was a gentleman and would never hurt anyone on purpose.

Of course, he was caught by the officials when he attempted to make an exchange, and he ended up in jail. Mom figured this was all too much for her and decided to kill herself, not thinking of me at all. She hated her boys, and we hated her back. Or at least, I did. Pa's still in jail and ma's either in Heaven or in Hell, and I was left to fend for myself for the longest time until I was found by a kid named Spot Conlon. He told me about the newsies, about the orphanage, and of course, I went, which brings us back to the beginning of this cracked up story.

I'm not lying, this time.

And I'm probably going to crack, myself. We'll never know. This school is full of crazy shits, but maybe there's one that'll make a difference.

But that's just wishful thinking."

*how we do,
rp sample:

"Wait, what the crap is an RP sample? Doesn't that Max Goof kid have one?"

anything else:

"Uh, nah."

Face claim:

"Some people say I look like Christian Bale. I mean, what the crap?"

[Basil Holmes]