Post by Arthur Kirkland on Oct 16, 2010 12:01:25 GMT -8
Name: Afonso Joao De Gabriel Silva
Country of Origin: Portugal
Gender Male
Age: 25
Height: 5”10
Weight: 175
Appearance: Afonso is fairly tall, with a lean build, though that’s not to say he doesn’t at least have some muscles. His hair is relatively long, a dark shade of brown with a bit of a wave. Generally speaking, it's always tied back into a ponytail with a red ribbon. Mostly because he can't stand having it hang free and in his face (that and he's been mistake for a girl once or twice from behind). There's a bit of scruff on his chin, generally from never having time or remembering to properly shave. His eyes a simple shade of green, a bit darker then Antonio's. He's managed to acquire a rich tan from all the time he's spent outdoors.
Afonso isn't really one to worry about appearances. So generally one can find him wearing a simple pair of worn dark brown pants tucked into scuffed boots and a white button down shirt. If he feels like it, some days he'll pull on a vest, but most often he'll forget too. He can also be found fiddling with a chain that hangs around his neck. Though he'll immediately change the subject if you ask him about it.
Crew member of: La Madre Maria
Status: Navigator
Personality: Afonso is, to say the least, rather laid back at first glance. He tends to take things as they come, generally with a smile on his face. It’s a bit difficult to get him really angry, irritated yes, but legitimately angry not so much. When he does lose his temper though, he loses it. Generally speaking though he keeps his temper in check, not really wanting to lose it, making the instances few and far between. Afonso does however have a problem with his pride, despite how he tries to hide it, he has a strong sense of it. Often he tries to do what’s best, and tends to feel rather guilty when he messes up (even if things are out of his control).
He is a very loyal man though, especially to those he is close too. Those he is close too he is also very protective off, and those rare times when he loses his temper tend to be when one of them are hurt or in trouble. When it comes down to it, as long as those he cares about are safe, Afonso could care less what happens to himself. He would risk his own life to protect them. At the same time though, he’ll chastise any of them if they do the same for him.
Afonso also just loves to tease his friends. Poking fun from time to time at them, only to be flustered when he is on the other end. He cannot stand being teased over certain things, particularly is habit of getting lost and navigational skills. The moment anyone says he is a bad navigator, he will become extremely defensive, and other times irritated by the topic.
As a navigator, Afonso has always had a tendency to want to explore and new area he comes across. Often getting lost in the process, or getting him into trouble. It could be argued as well he has a bit of a problem with day dreaming, spacing out from time to time, only to come back to ‘consciousness’ and ask you to repeat what was said. He also suffers from extreme cases of déjà vu, as well has horrible headaches.
History: Afonso grew up with a fairly normal life. He was born to a loving mother and father, and doted on by his maternal grandparents often. As he grew up, he made good friends, he studied hard in school. Really, it was a normal life. At least on the outside it was normal. But Afonso never deemed himself as being “normal” like those around him. Because in his mind, he was far from “normal”, if anything, he was strange. It was something he could never explain, just a feeling deep down that he wasn’t the same as his peers, or even his family. After all, he knew even from a young age that no normal person had as déjà vu as he did. He also knew it was not normal to get déjà vu while studying about his country’s history. As if he had actually been present during it all.
And then there were his dreams. Dreams of wars, ones he was a participant in. Of a young man with large eyebrows. Of an even younger man with dark brown hair and a habit of eating a tomato, or carrying a turtle on his head. Of others, ones whose names he would forget the moment he awoke along with their faces. But there was always one thing remained in his mind.
They would all call him Portugal. They would refer to him as his nation. Afonso knew for a fact that those were not normal at all. So he never told a soul about them.
The dreams however continued to grow as he did. Soon he began to experience headaches every day. No one could explain why, and Afonso began to wonder if maybe he was just going crazy. That’s what seemed to be happening. As a result, for most of his years as a teenager he withdrew himself from others. Hardly speaking to even his own family, choosing to hide away in libraries with books of poetry. It was during this time that he discovered his fondness of looking at navigational charts. It was interesting, at least to himself. And as he continued to grow, the need to explore the areas he saw on the maps he studied in the library became stronger and stronger.
At age 20 he made the decision to leave his home. His parents had not been particularly happy, and it was only thanks to his grandparents that he’d managed to convince his parents to let him go (and escape being disowned as a result). Gaining passage on a passing ship he began his own adventure. Learning to ignore the persistent head aches and déjà vu. Afonso thrived out at sea, drinking it all in. Hoping maybe if he continued exploring he would be able to explain why he was so different.
When he was 25, an answer of sorts came to him in the form of Captain Antonio Fernández Carriedo, the captain of the airship La Madre Maria. Without any hesitation, Afonso joined the crew, becoming the ships navigator and taking to the sky for an adventure he’d never really anticipated.
How they died: They had been running. Running to the safe area, if there was a safe area. All around them had been chaos. Gunfire echoing, ringing in his ears. So much that Portugal was sure they’d never stop ringing. And then, then England’s voice had broken through that noise. He had found himself suddenly thrown to one side, and then an explosion had sounded. An explosion.
The explosion…
England. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t. Suddenly, Portugal couldn’t breathe. Panic over taking him as he ran, kneeling besides the fallen Brit. Automatically the Portuguese Nation went to cradle the prone form, but he hesitated, not wanting to aggravate his injuries. “Inglaterra? In-Inglaterra!?”
But there was no response. He wasn’t even breathing. A shaky hand reached out, touching England’s cheek, his skin was already going cold.
No. No! NO!
Portugal’s eyes snapped open, taking a sharp breath. For a moment he didn’t know where he was, dead eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. After a few slow blinks though he remembered. He was home, he was in Lisbon, in his bed.
He was home, and England was gone… A month now. A month today, he realized as he stared at the ceiling. A month of no colors. A month of wondering why he was even alive. In all retrospect, Portugal had died the second England had. Right now, he felt like nothing more than a shell, walking about his life. He rarely slept without reliving that day, remembering how they had to pull him away from England’s lifeless body. Or of the funeral.
Why couldn’t they have let him die that day? Instead of forcing him to return home where he received a lecture from his boss for getting involved in the whole war that they had been trying to stay out of. Though, he had hardly listened to it at all. It was all white noise to him really. He hardly paid attention to anything anyone said these days.
He turned his head to the side quietly, a weary smile crossing his lips. Macau was sound asleep in the chair he had pulled up besides Portugal’s bed. Reaching out his hand hovered above Macau’s head, pausing before ruffling his hair like he normally would do. But he didn’t have the heart to risk waking him up. He was grateful to see the boy, he had come to Portugal’s house shortly after England’s death, and had done nothing but keep him company. Even when all Portugal wanted to do was cry.
Quietly as he could he got out of bed, pulling a blanket over Macau, before walking to his desk. It was early, not many people would be awake. This was good though, he would be able to avoid the watchful eyes, those who kept him from doing anything “foolish”. Foolish, an amused, bitter smile crossed his face now. Yes, they would definitely think what he was going to do was foolish. What he’d been planning to do for the past weeks. Really though, they shouldn’t be surprised.
Carefully he opened one of the desk drawers, taking out one of the sealed envelopes with ‘Macau’ written on the front. He set it on the desk for him to find, leaving the other envelopes addressed to his brother and other colonies in the drawer. Macau would know what to do with them. Glancing back towards the still sleeping colony he felt the bitter smile fade. “… Desculpe, Macau…”
He whispered, and then turned, leaving his room and slipping through the halls of his home. A home he had almost been imprisoned in. No one was around, good. Without any worries he managed to slip out of the front door, striding down the streets. Only a few people were awake, Portugal murmuring soft hellos and fake smiles to them in greeting. He never stopped though, continuing his hurried pace until he reached the waterfront. For a long while he walked along the shallows, shivering when the cold waves rolled across his bare feet (he’d forgotten to grab shoes on the way out, not that it mattered). Portugal came to a halt as time passed. If he put it off any longer someone was going to find him and stop him.
With that thought in mind, Portugal began to walk into the cool water, swimming forward when he could no longer stand. Salt water hit his face, mixing with the tears he refused to acknowledge was falling. He wondered what would happen when Macau woke up, when Spain found out he had practically the whole Iberian Peninsula to himself again. What would England say if he found out Portugal was doing this?
His arms were getting tired; it was getting harder to stay above water.
Good. That was his plan. And it only seemed fitting he would die in the sea he had grown to love so much. Regardless though, instincts took over, trying to keep him above water when he first went under. But he was too tired to keep struggling. Soon he felt himself sinking deeper and deeper. Everything was darkening and he couldn’t help but smile weakly, letting his heavy eyelids droop.
Would he see England when he opened his eyes next? Or maybe his Mother?
A laugh almost escaped him, Portugal’s lungs burning, before slowly everything began to go numb.
Either one, he was in for some sort of lecture.
Did you read the rules? Who is a Beastie?: Jack Sparrow!
Country of Origin: Portugal
Gender Male
Age: 25
Height: 5”10
Weight: 175
Appearance: Afonso is fairly tall, with a lean build, though that’s not to say he doesn’t at least have some muscles. His hair is relatively long, a dark shade of brown with a bit of a wave. Generally speaking, it's always tied back into a ponytail with a red ribbon. Mostly because he can't stand having it hang free and in his face (that and he's been mistake for a girl once or twice from behind). There's a bit of scruff on his chin, generally from never having time or remembering to properly shave. His eyes a simple shade of green, a bit darker then Antonio's. He's managed to acquire a rich tan from all the time he's spent outdoors.
Afonso isn't really one to worry about appearances. So generally one can find him wearing a simple pair of worn dark brown pants tucked into scuffed boots and a white button down shirt. If he feels like it, some days he'll pull on a vest, but most often he'll forget too. He can also be found fiddling with a chain that hangs around his neck. Though he'll immediately change the subject if you ask him about it.
Crew member of: La Madre Maria
Status: Navigator
Personality: Afonso is, to say the least, rather laid back at first glance. He tends to take things as they come, generally with a smile on his face. It’s a bit difficult to get him really angry, irritated yes, but legitimately angry not so much. When he does lose his temper though, he loses it. Generally speaking though he keeps his temper in check, not really wanting to lose it, making the instances few and far between. Afonso does however have a problem with his pride, despite how he tries to hide it, he has a strong sense of it. Often he tries to do what’s best, and tends to feel rather guilty when he messes up (even if things are out of his control).
He is a very loyal man though, especially to those he is close too. Those he is close too he is also very protective off, and those rare times when he loses his temper tend to be when one of them are hurt or in trouble. When it comes down to it, as long as those he cares about are safe, Afonso could care less what happens to himself. He would risk his own life to protect them. At the same time though, he’ll chastise any of them if they do the same for him.
Afonso also just loves to tease his friends. Poking fun from time to time at them, only to be flustered when he is on the other end. He cannot stand being teased over certain things, particularly is habit of getting lost and navigational skills. The moment anyone says he is a bad navigator, he will become extremely defensive, and other times irritated by the topic.
As a navigator, Afonso has always had a tendency to want to explore and new area he comes across. Often getting lost in the process, or getting him into trouble. It could be argued as well he has a bit of a problem with day dreaming, spacing out from time to time, only to come back to ‘consciousness’ and ask you to repeat what was said. He also suffers from extreme cases of déjà vu, as well has horrible headaches.
History: Afonso grew up with a fairly normal life. He was born to a loving mother and father, and doted on by his maternal grandparents often. As he grew up, he made good friends, he studied hard in school. Really, it was a normal life. At least on the outside it was normal. But Afonso never deemed himself as being “normal” like those around him. Because in his mind, he was far from “normal”, if anything, he was strange. It was something he could never explain, just a feeling deep down that he wasn’t the same as his peers, or even his family. After all, he knew even from a young age that no normal person had as déjà vu as he did. He also knew it was not normal to get déjà vu while studying about his country’s history. As if he had actually been present during it all.
And then there were his dreams. Dreams of wars, ones he was a participant in. Of a young man with large eyebrows. Of an even younger man with dark brown hair and a habit of eating a tomato, or carrying a turtle on his head. Of others, ones whose names he would forget the moment he awoke along with their faces. But there was always one thing remained in his mind.
They would all call him Portugal. They would refer to him as his nation. Afonso knew for a fact that those were not normal at all. So he never told a soul about them.
The dreams however continued to grow as he did. Soon he began to experience headaches every day. No one could explain why, and Afonso began to wonder if maybe he was just going crazy. That’s what seemed to be happening. As a result, for most of his years as a teenager he withdrew himself from others. Hardly speaking to even his own family, choosing to hide away in libraries with books of poetry. It was during this time that he discovered his fondness of looking at navigational charts. It was interesting, at least to himself. And as he continued to grow, the need to explore the areas he saw on the maps he studied in the library became stronger and stronger.
At age 20 he made the decision to leave his home. His parents had not been particularly happy, and it was only thanks to his grandparents that he’d managed to convince his parents to let him go (and escape being disowned as a result). Gaining passage on a passing ship he began his own adventure. Learning to ignore the persistent head aches and déjà vu. Afonso thrived out at sea, drinking it all in. Hoping maybe if he continued exploring he would be able to explain why he was so different.
When he was 25, an answer of sorts came to him in the form of Captain Antonio Fernández Carriedo, the captain of the airship La Madre Maria. Without any hesitation, Afonso joined the crew, becoming the ships navigator and taking to the sky for an adventure he’d never really anticipated.
How they died: They had been running. Running to the safe area, if there was a safe area. All around them had been chaos. Gunfire echoing, ringing in his ears. So much that Portugal was sure they’d never stop ringing. And then, then England’s voice had broken through that noise. He had found himself suddenly thrown to one side, and then an explosion had sounded. An explosion.
The explosion…
England. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t. Suddenly, Portugal couldn’t breathe. Panic over taking him as he ran, kneeling besides the fallen Brit. Automatically the Portuguese Nation went to cradle the prone form, but he hesitated, not wanting to aggravate his injuries. “Inglaterra? In-Inglaterra!?”
But there was no response. He wasn’t even breathing. A shaky hand reached out, touching England’s cheek, his skin was already going cold.
No. No! NO!
Portugal’s eyes snapped open, taking a sharp breath. For a moment he didn’t know where he was, dead eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. After a few slow blinks though he remembered. He was home, he was in Lisbon, in his bed.
He was home, and England was gone… A month now. A month today, he realized as he stared at the ceiling. A month of no colors. A month of wondering why he was even alive. In all retrospect, Portugal had died the second England had. Right now, he felt like nothing more than a shell, walking about his life. He rarely slept without reliving that day, remembering how they had to pull him away from England’s lifeless body. Or of the funeral.
Why couldn’t they have let him die that day? Instead of forcing him to return home where he received a lecture from his boss for getting involved in the whole war that they had been trying to stay out of. Though, he had hardly listened to it at all. It was all white noise to him really. He hardly paid attention to anything anyone said these days.
He turned his head to the side quietly, a weary smile crossing his lips. Macau was sound asleep in the chair he had pulled up besides Portugal’s bed. Reaching out his hand hovered above Macau’s head, pausing before ruffling his hair like he normally would do. But he didn’t have the heart to risk waking him up. He was grateful to see the boy, he had come to Portugal’s house shortly after England’s death, and had done nothing but keep him company. Even when all Portugal wanted to do was cry.
Quietly as he could he got out of bed, pulling a blanket over Macau, before walking to his desk. It was early, not many people would be awake. This was good though, he would be able to avoid the watchful eyes, those who kept him from doing anything “foolish”. Foolish, an amused, bitter smile crossed his face now. Yes, they would definitely think what he was going to do was foolish. What he’d been planning to do for the past weeks. Really though, they shouldn’t be surprised.
Carefully he opened one of the desk drawers, taking out one of the sealed envelopes with ‘Macau’ written on the front. He set it on the desk for him to find, leaving the other envelopes addressed to his brother and other colonies in the drawer. Macau would know what to do with them. Glancing back towards the still sleeping colony he felt the bitter smile fade. “… Desculpe, Macau…”
He whispered, and then turned, leaving his room and slipping through the halls of his home. A home he had almost been imprisoned in. No one was around, good. Without any worries he managed to slip out of the front door, striding down the streets. Only a few people were awake, Portugal murmuring soft hellos and fake smiles to them in greeting. He never stopped though, continuing his hurried pace until he reached the waterfront. For a long while he walked along the shallows, shivering when the cold waves rolled across his bare feet (he’d forgotten to grab shoes on the way out, not that it mattered). Portugal came to a halt as time passed. If he put it off any longer someone was going to find him and stop him.
With that thought in mind, Portugal began to walk into the cool water, swimming forward when he could no longer stand. Salt water hit his face, mixing with the tears he refused to acknowledge was falling. He wondered what would happen when Macau woke up, when Spain found out he had practically the whole Iberian Peninsula to himself again. What would England say if he found out Portugal was doing this?
His arms were getting tired; it was getting harder to stay above water.
Good. That was his plan. And it only seemed fitting he would die in the sea he had grown to love so much. Regardless though, instincts took over, trying to keep him above water when he first went under. But he was too tired to keep struggling. Soon he felt himself sinking deeper and deeper. Everything was darkening and he couldn’t help but smile weakly, letting his heavy eyelids droop.
Would he see England when he opened his eyes next? Or maybe his Mother?
A laugh almost escaped him, Portugal’s lungs burning, before slowly everything began to go numb.
Either one, he was in for some sort of lecture.
Did you read the rules? Who is a Beastie?: Jack Sparrow!
