Kennedy, Joseph Michael

[Joseph Kennedy]

` behind blue eyes

name;; Boston
age;; Ageless, yo.
experience;; Uh...oh man. I'd guess around five years?
time zone;; Mars.
password;; lul no password.

` drop that 808

name;; Joseph Michael Kennedy
nicknames;; Joe. Nothing else.
age;; Nineteen
date of birth;; January 23rd, 1989
species;; Demon
year;; Senior
sexual orientation;; Straight as ply wood.
occupation;; Student
face claim;; Paul Simonon


general appearance;;
Joe's image conveys a message, and one message only - don't fuck with him. Maybe it's the attachment he has to his old beat up leather jacket; maybe it's the Doc Martins that give him that certain appeal; or maybe it's the way those dark circles insist on making their home under his eyes; but whatever it is, people seem to understand without him even having to say a word.
Regularly, Joe can be seen in an old t-shirt, probably boasting the name of some obscure band no one has ever heard of paired with rather snug fitting ratty jeans. Every so often, he'll throw on an over sized long sleeved thermal shirt for those extra chilly days. He likes to think that he puts forth a little bit of effort into his appearance, but really, his only attempts come out half-assed.
The young man's hair resides at a simple mousy brown - nothing extreme in any way. Never tainted by hair dye or hair spray, or any chemical products for that matter. He enjoys to keep it a little bit long, just enough to run a hand through and tousle up a bit. But nothing excessive. His eyes are just blue, and to be completely honest, he doesn't really care. In his opinion, eyes are the least important part of the physique, and anyone who takes the time to actually examine another person's eye color needs to get the hell off their lazy bums and do something more productive with their lives.
Joe's body isn't exactly skinny, but he is far from overweight. Perhaps the correct term in this instance could be 'toned'. Not that he works out any, due to his extreme laziness and apathy.


general personality;;
Joe has become a rather reserved individual - not indulging anyone in his personal struggles, or anything about his life for that matter. They say that it's the particular substance that he's started pumping into his veins on a regular basis, but as far as anyone else knows it's just silly rumors. But it's a definite possibility. Mainly based on the fact that he exudes all the 'symptoms' of one that uses mind altering drugs. In result of this introverted personality he has developed, Joe tends to make it a point not to socialize with many others. This routine of school, gas station (to buy cigarettes), and home might cause him to come across to the rest of his peers as a loner. And that very well may be true, but unlike most 'stereotypical' loners, he thrust it upon himself.
He takes friendships very serious, and it takes a lot for him to even consider someone more than just an acquaintance. And it takes even longer for him to start talking to that person about anything of substance. Even then, it's hard to pry anything about his life from him.
Joe has been known to have a quick temper, that has the ability to flare up over the most trivial of disagreements, causing a loss of friends on his part. 'Cause really, who wants to deal with getting shouted and cursed at over who gets to drive to the movie theater? No one. It's probably due to the fact that he has demon blood - thanks to his mother.
Although his temper is one of his major flaws, he tends to be a rather calm person a majority of the time who has few qualms about starting up a casual conversation with a new face.
Rightfully so, he has firm believes in human equality - as in everyone should be treated exactly the same and be allowed to have the same rights regardless of orientation, race, ethnicity, label, etc. Because of this, he's been called a communist on more than one occasion, but in all honesty, he thinks that communism isn't such a bad idea, and in an ideal world it could very possibly work.
Despite his idealistic views when it comes to communism, Joe is very much a realist and tends to dwell on the negative aspects of life rather than the positive. 'Life isn't all just rainbows and puppies, and people just don't understand that', is how he justifies his thought process. Sometimes, his negativity gets a bit extreme however, and he needs a reality check that, even if life isn't all about rainbows and puppies, it isn't all about death and destruction either.

likes;;
loitering, speeding, smoking, cursing, flipping off police officers, pissing off police officers, coffee, vodka, heroin, obscure bands that no one has ever heard of, Blues Brothers sunglasses, grapefruit, throwing globs of paint onto canvas, cold weather, leather jackets, jackets in general, sleeping, physical fights, winning.

dislikes;;
pickles, mustard, ketchup, scarves, iPods, the radio, video games, TV, large parties, ignorant people, racism, dirty cops, small towns, country, Mississippi.

fears;;
Oprah, reality television, overdosing.

quirks;;
nervous habits include: nail biting, head scratching, neck rubbing, foot tapping, finger twitching, hand wringing, eye darting, knuckle cracking, and lip chewing.

secrets;; he compulsively lies about his demon blood, obviously not wanting anyone at the school (or anyone in general) to find out. he's almost embarrassed of it, and makes it a point to tell anyone that he's one hundred percent human. as of right now, he seems to have everyone fooled.

magyck;; can implant crazy dreams, images, memories, and other trippy shit (much like an acid trip) into your mind. pretty much, if he really wanted to, he could drive you to literal insanity. it's also sort of tied in with his emotions. example: if he's angry at a certain person, then that person will more than likely be haunted with crazy shit in their sleep and see things and all that great jolly goodness.


family members;;
Jeffery Kennedy (human) - father
Amelia Kennedy (demon) - mother

history;;
January 23rd, 1989 was when the life of Joseph Michael Kennedy began. And oh, what a life that was. From the moment he popped from the womb, his parents showered him with the love and attention that every young child needs from a supervising adult. But let's back track for just a moment, and find out how exactly young Joe came to be.
It all started about five years before, when Jeffery Kennedy met his future wife, Amelia Thompson, at the Boston College of Art and Design, where she was studying as a graphic design major, and he had aspirations to become a photo journalist. Needless to say, they hit it off immediately, and once they were both graduated from college he pulled the 'down on one knee' thing and asked for her hand in marriage. Amelia had already told Jeffery about her being a demon from the pits of hell (or not), but it didn't seem to phase him in the least. But let's zip forward once again.
Joe's life was an extremely normal one - both parents happily married, living in a nice home, financially stable. The only thing that could be a variable to cause tension in the home was that Jeffery had to leave for weeks at a time due to his job calling as a photo journalist. But really, Amelia and Joe had nothing to complain about. Unfortunately, a month or so after Joe had just turned five, Jeffery got in a serious car accident. No, he did not die, but not only was he placed in the ICU for quite some time, but Amelia and Joe were informed that he quite possibly could never walk again. Thus ending his dream career. Needless to say, this hit home rather hard - especially Amelia - perhaps even more so than Jeffery. Joe, however, was still a bit young to understand the full scale of what was going on, but he did fully understand the meaning of his father being wheeled home in a wheelchair.
As the months passed and so did the years, Jeffery seemed to be getting along without his legs just fine. He was forced to quit his job, though, causing Amelia to have to work longer hours to compensate for the lost income on her husband's part. Joe was now at the age of fourteen, and was just going into his freshman year of high school after being held back in the eighth grade. He was never a 'smart' child, by the standards of the school - making grades that were less than average - but it was evident that he thought on a deeper level than most kids his age, probably inherited from his artistically inclined parents. Throughout grade school, his way of thinking and reacting to situations had been scrutinized mercilessly by his fellow classmates, being called names such as 'freak' and 'weirdo'. Although they might not seem so hurtful on the surface, to a vulnerable child, they can cut right down to the core. Even so, Joe just shoved them away and dealt with the teasing by coming home and crying to his father. The day he stepped foot onto his new high school campus, he became fast friends with the group of people that seemed equally as picked on as he, and that gave him a serious breath of relief. Now he had people he could identify with instead of always being the one singled out in a crowd.
One night, however, during the summer going into sophomore year, one of the members of that little group offered Joe a joint. Unsure of what to do, he accepted it and that was the beginning of his slow demise. Week after week his friends supplied him with pot, and he took it. It got to the point that he was now smuggling it into his house and rolling joints on his desk in his bedroom - unafraid of being caught, considering the lenient amount of personal space his parents gave him out of pure respect. But as most parents would, Jeffery and Amelia noticed a change in their son. A severe change. From a happy, confident individual, to someone who didn't want to speak with anyone and desired to just go up to his room. Even loss of appetite was noted. So one night, Jeffery decided to have a talk with his son - not to scold him, but to find out what was going on out of concern. Knocking on his door, he didn't hear a response. So he jiggled the handle, opened the door, and much to every one's horror Joe was found sitting on the floor, back pressed against the foot of the bed, a slender white joint pressed between his index finger and thumb.
From that day forward, Joe was forbidden to associate with that crowd, his door had been taken off the hinges, and his mom bought home drug tests that he was forced to take once every two weeks. They said 'privacy is not a right, it's a privilege,' and for that, Joe began to harbor unknown resentment towards his parents - something he'd never felt before.
And it wasn't until around this time that he realized his actual power. Sure, his mother had admitted to him at a young age that she wasn't exactly human - but she never mentioned anything about him, or her, having any sort of 'powers'. But it was only when the feelings of rage against his parents were buried deep within him. His mom began complaining about nightmares she was having.
And it only grew worse as time went on. Pretty soon, Joe himself began to pick up on the fact that the angrier he became, the more and more his mother's mental sanity would deplete, and eventually, he put two and two together.
So did his father, and as a hope to understand and maybe fix the situation, Joe was sent to Winterhorne Academy.




post sample;;
“…and then the duck said to the bartender…”

A crowd had surrounded me; leaning forward in their seats in anticipation, ears perked on interest of the utterly lame joke I was attempting to finish.
I had paused, making the suspense grow even thicker. It was all about timing. Screw up the timing, you screw up the mood, and the audience goes home with nothing.

I could feel a slight smirk playing on the corners of my mouth as I raised the glass of vodka on the rocks to my lips, taking a light swig.

They were getting antsy. I could tell.
Timing. All about timing.

“…’Do ya have any grapes?’”

A roar of drunken laughter erupted into the air.
People banged their glasses on the table as they guffawed and cackled.
It was truly amazing how much amusement one could get simply from listening to an over told, lame joke whose punch line was even worse than the joke itself. But then again, half these people were trashed and probably wouldn’t even be able to drag their drunken asses out the door without one of them puking or blacking out.

With a satisfied smile, I sat and watched as, I had predicted, many of them stood up and began to file in a drunken haze out the door from which they came.
And then I felt a hand place itself on my shoulder.

“Denver, you’re sick.”
“How so?”

I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. That hoarse, gruff voice could be recognized from anywhere.

A laugh.
And a pat on my shoulder.
Roger then decided to show himself as he stepped from behind me, pulling a chair from under the table and taking the liberty of seating himself in a less than polite manner – legs straddling the back.
As was normal Roger fashion.

“You’re not even funny.”
“So?”
“You take advantage of these poor old drunk men just to get a few laughs.”
“I’m not seeing your point.”

Still carrying that smirk I had held throughout the duration of the joke, I dropped my hand down to the pocket of my high-water jeans and fished around for a cigarette.

Another laugh on behalf of Roger.

“I’m just messin’ with ya, buddy.”

Finally, the tips of my fingers brushed against one of the white sticks. Pulling it out, I placed it between my lips, interrupting my smirk.

“Sure ya are, Rog.”

I lit the cigarette and placed the lighter on the table.
Taking in a deep drag, I paused for a moment, letting the sweet smoke circulate in my lungs a bit before exhaling slowly, blowing the smoke in Roger’s direction.

“Yeah, I am. In fact, you’re freakin’ hilarious. Shit, you’re even funnier than Bob Newhart.”

“Newhart was pure genius. Don’t go around saying shit like that.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

Roger smirked his own sloppy smirk at me and shook his head, chuckling a bit.
I gave him a confused as I took another drag.

“What? What’s so funny.”

“Nothin’ man. Just…look at yourself.”

“I…don’t really want to, Rog. No offense, but not in front of you.”

“You know what I mean, you ass hole!”

Apparently, asshole had now become a term of endearment. Someone had also apparently forgot to pass that memo over to me.

“Ass hole? You jokin’, right? And no, I don’t know what you mean,” I retorted, dropping my smirk and raising my eyebrows.

Roger rolled his eyes in my direction, reaching out an arm and snatching my lighter from the table.

“Yeah, I’m jokin’. And what I mean is…” he paused for a moment, flipping open the lighter and flicking the wheel unsuccessfully a few times.
“…that maybe you should take a look at yourself, ya know? Take a look at your life.”

“Look, if you want me to move out, just say the word and I’m out. There’s no reason to go all-“

He cut me off.

“No, no, no! That’s not what I’m saying. Just…look man…”

What the fuck was he getting at? If he didn’t want me to move out, then what was his point? I didn’t have all day to just sit here and listen to him ramble on and on about how he thinks I should have some kind of spiritual revelation about my life.

“What, Roger? WHAT? Just because I’m twenty two, flunked out of college, and spending my free times telling jokes to drunk old men at a bar doesn’t mean that I’m destined to go to hell for the rest of eternity!”

So I snapped.
But to be quite honest, I was getting a bit annoyed with all his babble. He either needed to get to his point, or leave me the fuck alone.

“Denver, just shut up for a second, will ya?”

Alright, so now we were even. He had retaliated.
Giving me a rather angry look, Roger visibly clenched his jaw together.
The fact that he was trying to restrain himself was amusing. Almost amusing to laugh at…but apparently this was no laughing matter.

Flicking the ash from my cigarette into the ask tray on the table, I leaned back against my chair. It was all I could do to keep quiet. I almost had to literally bite my tongue.

“I’m worried about cha…”

So THIS was what this was about.

“Oh, don’t even go there!” I spat in annoyance, leaning forward with such force that almost sent my chair tilting on its two front legs.
If he wanted to go there, I could go there too.
“Need I remind you who you are to be talking? ‘Cause you apparently forgot.”
I sneered at Roger, burning hatred in my eyes. Baring my teeth for a moment, I soon gave up on shoving my finger in his face, and leaned back against the chair again.
“Don’t even talk.”

And with that one last cutting remark, I pushed myself to a standing position.
Snatching my lighter from his fumbling hands, I flicked the ash once more and made a quick about face towards the front door.

“Denver, you can’t just keep running.”

“Watch me.”

Without stopping to give the hypocrite a second glance, I lifted my hand and flashed him a rather rude hand gesture.
As soon as I reached the door, I gripped the handle with white knuckles and flung it open, causing the little bell to ring obnoxiously loud, drawing even more attention to myself than that little scene had.

Who was HE to be telling me how to live my life? If anything, he was worse off than I was. There was no reason for him to be saying anything to me about that.
So…yeah. Maybe I DID have a little problem. But seriously, who doesn’t have their problems? You couldn’t blame it all on me. If you’re gonna blame anyone, blame that fuck-face.

It was back in high school; we were sophomores. I was at Roger’s house and apparently he had gotten a hold of a few…drugs. Cocaine mostly.
He showed me how to do it – making the lines, rolling the dollar bills, all that great stuff. I soon started coming over more and more frequently and it became a regular occurrence.
And then college hit.
Needless to say, we both went out of our minds crazy. Roger, however, went crazy within the limits of his cocaine and pot; still just hangin’ with the same group we had in high school.
But I branched out. I wanted to meet new people. Go to different places. Experience different things. I met this guy, Vince, and he showed me heroine.
I fell in love almost immediately.
It was everything I could possibly want, and more. It seemed to fill that void I had in my life at that time. It answered all my prayers, fulfilled all my dreams.
It was my comfort.
Until just recently. Ya see, I soon realized that it didn’t fill anything.
It was lying to me.

Around this time last year, I was home. Well, at Roger’s house, actually, and I was by myself. Roger was out working late, and I pretty much had the house to myself. Now, lemme tell ya, Roger isn’t that fun of a guy. No cable, no video games…nothin’.
So what’s a guy to do? Well, I pull out the needle.
The next thing I remember, I’m laying on a small white bed in a small white room listening with muffled ears as the doctors bark something about how he ‘might not make it’. Let’s just say from that moment on, it shook me up.
And ever since that moment, I’ve made a pact with myself to quit.
I don’t need to say how that’s working out for me, though. I’ll just let you kids figure that one out for yourselves.

JUST A NOTE: I don't role play in first person. This is just something I wrote up one night 'cause I was bored. I couldn't find a piece from an actually role play I could use. Sorry.

` the walls begin to shake!
>> and let's add some random shit.

favorite cereal;; rice crispies
If your member was confronted by a member of the living dead, what would they do? kick that muthafuckas ass
Deal or no deal? deal

[fletcher cross]

` accepted

Accept the silver key and charms of wisdom, courage, power, and luck.