Lysander Courtenay (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} lysandercortnay) wrote,@ 2008-05-02 23:16:00 |
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Ashbury application
Character's name: Lord Lysander James Courtenay of Dartmoor.
Character's premade: The Band Geek
Character's journal and aim sn: lysandercortnay and Cicero Lover
PB: Jamie Bamber
Short bio:
Without perseverance talent is a barren bed. I remember when Mam, who is known as Carys Jones, would say that to me every time she took me home. She’d sit me in her lap and play the harp. When her Ioan came home, he’d sing, and he was my Tad. Ianto and Gwen made things more lively and we’d sing Danny Boy, our voices carrying far into the night.
I became mesmerized with the harp, so Mam taught me. Tad trained my voice, so that I could sing with the best of them. With a little working I learned the violin, which captured my soul. Her name is Viviane and she is made of rosewood. From there I evolved from the violin to the piano and because of my mother, I learned the flute, the instrument of gentlemen. By the time I was ten, I was leading Mam and Tad with Ianto and Gwen in Hymns and Arias while I plucked away on the harp. Boccherini and I were lovers, and I despised the flute, throwing it out the window in favor to play Moonlight Sonata on the piano. When it was late and impolite to play, I scribbled out my operas and ballets, my magna opus.
I spoke Welsh before I could speak English, and to this day, I’ll speak Welsh before I’ll say a word of English. Even though I was born to Viscount Michael James Courtenay of Devon and Viscountess Sabrina Fallow Courtenay of Devon on 23, November in Carhaix Castel, England. I have an older brother named Balin, and two older sisters who are albino twins, Lucia and Ursula. I too am albino, but I am an ocular albino, cursed with scarlet eyes and photophobia and doomed to suffer from morphine addiction.
Mum was mortified that I spoke perfect Welsh and struggled with my English. So, she dragged us kicking and screaming from Carhaix Castel to Cardiff. Why Cardiff, I’ll never know, but I have an idea that it was primarily to escape my Da. Mum was a slut anyways and Da was just a fucking alcoholic. Bloody miracle he was sober enough to breed the horses correctly. Our family has the reputation of operating one of the finest breeding stables in all of Europe for centuries. Mostly racehorses and pleasure horses these days, but back in the 1400’s we bred the best war horses anywhere up until slightly after World War One when the Calvary was no longer used. Having been born into a horse breeding family, naturally I learned to ride. Damn good at it too. My horse’s name was Beta and he was a strong Friesian stallion.
It was sudden the move from Wales. One day were lingering over breakfast on the last week of holiday before boarding school when mum simply trounced in and announced she was marrying a wealthy business man who owned a granite quarry and copper pit, his name was Josh and I absolutely loathe him. It was because that damned American Mum pulled my sisters and myself from the shores of Wales, the land that that I had grown to love and cherish, it was like mother’s milk to me. More importantly, and most unforgivable, it meant taking me away from Carys and Ioan Jones, who were my Mam and Tad, the only parents I ever had, known, and loved.
I was thirteen when I last saw her, it was a cold January morning at the airport. ‘How auspicious?’ she said. ‘That we should say goodbye in the month of Janus?’ she kissed my cheek ‘da bye anwylyd,’ goodbye beloved. she whispered in Welsh and never have I cried so much in my young life.
When I came to America my Welsh accent was so thick people could barely understand me and Mum slapped my mouth for Welsh vulgarity. I didn’t care, I was mad and angry at the world, for no one spoke Welsh as fervently as I did. So I shut myself away in my room everyday from school and played the harp for hours. Lucia and Ursula did my school work for me, they were grieving too.
American schools as I found, had music programs. From orchestra to marching band, I threw myself and anger into them all. In marching season, I played flute, taking my sets possibly a bit too seriously. In England, a marching band is serious business. Out of season I play violin in orchestra, throwing my soul and heart into it. In my free time I play the harp and the piano when I can.
I’ve calmed down somewhat in my anger, thank god for music, when mum announced I was going here. I’ve tried to understand these Americans and their ‘isms…I truly have, but they all roll their eyes at my title and my obsession with music, or my habit to speak Welsh just to piss them off. At least I’m not punching out their lights.
Examples:
Lysander glared at Lucia.
“What?” she held up her hands, fork across her plate. Lysander didn’t let up his gaze. “I’m just saying, who is that charming boy with the shy temperament?” she tilted her head, Ursula was suppressing her giggling in her napkin and Balin was grinning.
“Piss off,” Lysander scoffed.
“Well, music scholarship…composes…sounds like you’ve met your match.” Ursula antagonized bringing the china cup to her lips, sipping carefully at the tea. Balin reached over to butter a scone and Lucia was counting the seconds.
“And…he plays the entire strings section, you must be so jealous!” Lucia elaborated.
“And Mum just slept with the headmaster and Josh paid him handsomely so they could get rid of you,” Balin’s smile was virulent honey.
“Fuck you all,” Lysander flipped them off. “I’m three times as talented as he’ll ever be, and I can speak Welsh,” Lysander added as if that were a one up on a present day musical genius. Balin attempted to keep from outright laughter.
“Oh…is Mozart squaring off with Patchable?” Ursula pressured. Lysander resisted the urge to scream.
“Poor baby, he’s the misunderstood artist.” Lucia petted his hair.
“Afraid he’ll be passed up for the shy shadow of a wall flower,” Ursula cooed soothing his forearm.
“God dammit! I compose fucking operas and ballets! What’s he got that makes him so fucking special? I write music the same way writers write stories, I write music so that I might live! I’m a bohemian! He’s an academia not an artist!”
“And you’re a bohemian artist Lysander?” Balin drawled before overturning his cup. Lucia and Ursula poured Lysander another healthy measure of the Welsh brew. Lysander cooled a taste before he answered.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,”
“Too bad he’s labeled a band geek…” Ursula and Lucia exchanged smiles and words knowing the effect they have on their dear brother who was jealous of his attentions on his talents. “So hard to extinguish a reputation…so very hard, now it’s stuck, if only they knew he was Mozart not…what’s his name again? Ah, yes, Schubert.”
Lysander did not excuse himself as he left afternoon tea, amongst the giggles and laughter of his brother and sisters.
Lysander is known for his short temper and his snide remarks.
Lysander is an ocular albino with scarlet eyes.
Lysander is part of the English nobility.
Lysander was named for the befuddled lover in Shakespeare’s epic play ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’.
Lysander lives off the attention he gets from performing. He won’t admit it, but he’s more Mozart than Bach.
Lysander idolizes Vivaldi and Boccherini.
Lysander has a serious addiction to morphine that can be scarcely avoided because it’s the best way to treat his photophobia.
Lysander is extremely competitive when it comes to his music, he wants to be the best, and only the light should be shined on him. Not the stupid rockstar wannabe or the shy guy who was smart enough to get the scholarship.
Lysander is impulsive and will take unnecessary risks.
Lysander’s favorite books to read are the works of Cicero and Cyrano de Bergerac.
Lysander always wears two items no matter what, his Irish claddagh and Welsh rondon. He never takes them off.
Lysander’s favorite piece of music is Vivaldi’s Four Seasons Concertos.
While Lysander can sing with the best of them, he’s not a Broadway star, or a lead singer. He’s decent, he’s good, but it’s not what he wants to do.
Lysander is an able horseman, as befitting a gentleman of his class.
Lysander is notorious for cursing, and speaking in Welsh for the annoyance of his peers around him.
Past RP log example
Cicero Lover (10:22:11 PM): Lysander smiled. "You're eyes capture the soul and dreams of moments. For God hath created an angel that is lost and fallen from heaven," He took a bite of the calimari and shrugged almost sheepishly. "Spainards speak in metaphors. Looses it's charm in English doesn't it?" he added as an after thought. "Are you going to eat those?" he asked pointing to the raw oysters.
shutterbug emile (11:14:14 PM): "I don't know how.." Emile frowned at the offending crustation, sighing softly at his inexperiance in the bedroom and now apparently the culinary side to life. "And I have to say, even the english translation is beautiful. Especially when its said in an english accent.. You could probably be talking about the weather and it would sound like you were reciting some epic declaration of love..or lust, depending on whether your shirt was open or not." He grinned cheekily at the other man before popping calamari into his mouth.
Cicero Lover (11:29:10 PM): Lysander snickered. "Ah the English accent, it's overrated most of the time but it draws ladies like magnets, but I prefer the melody of Latin and Spanish," he smiled brightly. "So, to eat an oyster, raw, they're best eaten cold, now see I like horseradish and cocktail sauce," Lysander pulled the pretty dish close to him for reach. "But most people don't like the kick, I'm telling you, if you think wasabi is bad too much of this stuff will have you gagging just as bad," Lysander spooned a bit of the horseradish on the live animal. "Now, careful here, because this is the trick," Lysander brought the shell to his lips and tossed it back slurrping it down. He placed the empty half back on the ice and smiled. "Try not to spill it," he pushed the ice tray to Emile. "In England it's like eating chips," He rested his chin on his hand waiting for Emile to demostrate his lesson.
shutterbug emile (11:46:54 PM): Emile looked slightly frightened as he picked up a half shell. He loved wasabi, could eat chunks of it, so adding an equal amount of cocktail sauce and horseradish. Looking up at Lysander, he kept his eyes on him as a distraction from looking at the slimy creature he was about to eat. Mimicking his actions, Emile tossed it back and managed to swollow it before his gag reflex kicked in. That was not sexy feeling. Not only was his cheeks burning from the fact he gagged, but he mentally vowed never to eat an oyster again. "And.. That's supposed to make me horny?"
Cicero Lover (11:54:20 PM): Lysander tried to hide his laughing but ultimately failing by ducking to the side of the table. He sobered. "I'm sorry, no, truly I am," he gave Emile a sweet look. "Have you not ever had horseradish before? It's worse than wasabi, darling, you shouldn't feel so bad, it's a common amature mistake, should've seen me, three years old and running for the water fountain," He offered a sympathetic look. "The erogeness effect is only gained by the slurping action I think, but any food can be sexy when appiled correctly," he picked up another and demostraighted the easier slurrping method. "But it's considered rude to slurp." He pushed the tray back urging him to try it again. "Frankly I think my ego would take a downfall if it took a shellfish and not my charm to get you in bed," Lysander said in dry sarcasm. "So, another go?"
shutterbug emile (12:58:58 AM): "No.. Or the only reason you'll be in bed with me is to hold my hair back when I'm throwing up all over the place.." He laughed softly, opting for the calamari he knew so well. "And I'm pretty sure your ego will leave very full by the end of our night..." He smiled, winking at Lysander as he got more and more relaxed with him. He definitely saw this night going to what Lysander was here for. And then all relaxation fled as the thoughts went back to how he was paying for this company.
Cicero Lover (1:09:19 AM): Lysander made a mental note to send him flowers and tickets to the ballet next week. "Pity," he shrugged. "Must be an aquired taste, I suppose," His attentioned was next spent on the waitress who asked if he wanted another drink. Lysander smiled sweetly and winked at her. "I think I'll have something non alcoholic, coke?" he asked. She smiled and scampered off, Lysander turned back to his date. "Actually I'm wondering about the fish..." he shook his head to relieve the thoughts away. "So then, Carmen is in town, going to go see it? I love Bizet, my favorite opera turly,"
Character's name: Lord Lysander James Courtenay of Dartmoor.
Character's premade: The Band Geek
Character's journal and aim sn: lysandercortnay and Cicero Lover
PB: Jamie Bamber
Short bio:
Without perseverance talent is a barren bed. I remember when Mam, who is known as Carys Jones, would say that to me every time she took me home. She’d sit me in her lap and play the harp. When her Ioan came home, he’d sing, and he was my Tad. Ianto and Gwen made things more lively and we’d sing Danny Boy, our voices carrying far into the night.
I became mesmerized with the harp, so Mam taught me. Tad trained my voice, so that I could sing with the best of them. With a little working I learned the violin, which captured my soul. Her name is Viviane and she is made of rosewood. From there I evolved from the violin to the piano and because of my mother, I learned the flute, the instrument of gentlemen. By the time I was ten, I was leading Mam and Tad with Ianto and Gwen in Hymns and Arias while I plucked away on the harp. Boccherini and I were lovers, and I despised the flute, throwing it out the window in favor to play Moonlight Sonata on the piano. When it was late and impolite to play, I scribbled out my operas and ballets, my magna opus.
I spoke Welsh before I could speak English, and to this day, I’ll speak Welsh before I’ll say a word of English. Even though I was born to Viscount Michael James Courtenay of Devon and Viscountess Sabrina Fallow Courtenay of Devon on 23, November in Carhaix Castel, England. I have an older brother named Balin, and two older sisters who are albino twins, Lucia and Ursula. I too am albino, but I am an ocular albino, cursed with scarlet eyes and photophobia and doomed to suffer from morphine addiction.
Mum was mortified that I spoke perfect Welsh and struggled with my English. So, she dragged us kicking and screaming from Carhaix Castel to Cardiff. Why Cardiff, I’ll never know, but I have an idea that it was primarily to escape my Da. Mum was a slut anyways and Da was just a fucking alcoholic. Bloody miracle he was sober enough to breed the horses correctly. Our family has the reputation of operating one of the finest breeding stables in all of Europe for centuries. Mostly racehorses and pleasure horses these days, but back in the 1400’s we bred the best war horses anywhere up until slightly after World War One when the Calvary was no longer used. Having been born into a horse breeding family, naturally I learned to ride. Damn good at it too. My horse’s name was Beta and he was a strong Friesian stallion.
It was sudden the move from Wales. One day were lingering over breakfast on the last week of holiday before boarding school when mum simply trounced in and announced she was marrying a wealthy business man who owned a granite quarry and copper pit, his name was Josh and I absolutely loathe him. It was because that damned American Mum pulled my sisters and myself from the shores of Wales, the land that that I had grown to love and cherish, it was like mother’s milk to me. More importantly, and most unforgivable, it meant taking me away from Carys and Ioan Jones, who were my Mam and Tad, the only parents I ever had, known, and loved.
I was thirteen when I last saw her, it was a cold January morning at the airport. ‘How auspicious?’ she said. ‘That we should say goodbye in the month of Janus?’ she kissed my cheek ‘da bye anwylyd,’ goodbye beloved. she whispered in Welsh and never have I cried so much in my young life.
When I came to America my Welsh accent was so thick people could barely understand me and Mum slapped my mouth for Welsh vulgarity. I didn’t care, I was mad and angry at the world, for no one spoke Welsh as fervently as I did. So I shut myself away in my room everyday from school and played the harp for hours. Lucia and Ursula did my school work for me, they were grieving too.
American schools as I found, had music programs. From orchestra to marching band, I threw myself and anger into them all. In marching season, I played flute, taking my sets possibly a bit too seriously. In England, a marching band is serious business. Out of season I play violin in orchestra, throwing my soul and heart into it. In my free time I play the harp and the piano when I can.
I’ve calmed down somewhat in my anger, thank god for music, when mum announced I was going here. I’ve tried to understand these Americans and their ‘isms…I truly have, but they all roll their eyes at my title and my obsession with music, or my habit to speak Welsh just to piss them off. At least I’m not punching out their lights.
Examples:
Lysander glared at Lucia.
“What?” she held up her hands, fork across her plate. Lysander didn’t let up his gaze. “I’m just saying, who is that charming boy with the shy temperament?” she tilted her head, Ursula was suppressing her giggling in her napkin and Balin was grinning.
“Piss off,” Lysander scoffed.
“Well, music scholarship…composes…sounds like you’ve met your match.” Ursula antagonized bringing the china cup to her lips, sipping carefully at the tea. Balin reached over to butter a scone and Lucia was counting the seconds.
“And…he plays the entire strings section, you must be so jealous!” Lucia elaborated.
“And Mum just slept with the headmaster and Josh paid him handsomely so they could get rid of you,” Balin’s smile was virulent honey.
“Fuck you all,” Lysander flipped them off. “I’m three times as talented as he’ll ever be, and I can speak Welsh,” Lysander added as if that were a one up on a present day musical genius. Balin attempted to keep from outright laughter.
“Oh…is Mozart squaring off with Patchable?” Ursula pressured. Lysander resisted the urge to scream.
“Poor baby, he’s the misunderstood artist.” Lucia petted his hair.
“Afraid he’ll be passed up for the shy shadow of a wall flower,” Ursula cooed soothing his forearm.
“God dammit! I compose fucking operas and ballets! What’s he got that makes him so fucking special? I write music the same way writers write stories, I write music so that I might live! I’m a bohemian! He’s an academia not an artist!”
“And you’re a bohemian artist Lysander?” Balin drawled before overturning his cup. Lucia and Ursula poured Lysander another healthy measure of the Welsh brew. Lysander cooled a taste before he answered.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,”
“Too bad he’s labeled a band geek…” Ursula and Lucia exchanged smiles and words knowing the effect they have on their dear brother who was jealous of his attentions on his talents. “So hard to extinguish a reputation…so very hard, now it’s stuck, if only they knew he was Mozart not…what’s his name again? Ah, yes, Schubert.”
Lysander did not excuse himself as he left afternoon tea, amongst the giggles and laughter of his brother and sisters.
Lysander is known for his short temper and his snide remarks.
Lysander is an ocular albino with scarlet eyes.
Lysander is part of the English nobility.
Lysander was named for the befuddled lover in Shakespeare’s epic play ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’.
Lysander lives off the attention he gets from performing. He won’t admit it, but he’s more Mozart than Bach.
Lysander idolizes Vivaldi and Boccherini.
Lysander has a serious addiction to morphine that can be scarcely avoided because it’s the best way to treat his photophobia.
Lysander is extremely competitive when it comes to his music, he wants to be the best, and only the light should be shined on him. Not the stupid rockstar wannabe or the shy guy who was smart enough to get the scholarship.
Lysander is impulsive and will take unnecessary risks.
Lysander’s favorite books to read are the works of Cicero and Cyrano de Bergerac.
Lysander always wears two items no matter what, his Irish claddagh and Welsh rondon. He never takes them off.
Lysander’s favorite piece of music is Vivaldi’s Four Seasons Concertos.
While Lysander can sing with the best of them, he’s not a Broadway star, or a lead singer. He’s decent, he’s good, but it’s not what he wants to do.
Lysander is an able horseman, as befitting a gentleman of his class.
Lysander is notorious for cursing, and speaking in Welsh for the annoyance of his peers around him.
Past RP log example
Cicero Lover (10:22:11 PM): Lysander smiled. "You're eyes capture the soul and dreams of moments. For God hath created an angel that is lost and fallen from heaven," He took a bite of the calimari and shrugged almost sheepishly. "Spainards speak in metaphors. Looses it's charm in English doesn't it?" he added as an after thought. "Are you going to eat those?" he asked pointing to the raw oysters.
shutterbug emile (11:14:14 PM): "I don't know how.." Emile frowned at the offending crustation, sighing softly at his inexperiance in the bedroom and now apparently the culinary side to life. "And I have to say, even the english translation is beautiful. Especially when its said in an english accent.. You could probably be talking about the weather and it would sound like you were reciting some epic declaration of love..or lust, depending on whether your shirt was open or not." He grinned cheekily at the other man before popping calamari into his mouth.
Cicero Lover (11:29:10 PM): Lysander snickered. "Ah the English accent, it's overrated most of the time but it draws ladies like magnets, but I prefer the melody of Latin and Spanish," he smiled brightly. "So, to eat an oyster, raw, they're best eaten cold, now see I like horseradish and cocktail sauce," Lysander pulled the pretty dish close to him for reach. "But most people don't like the kick, I'm telling you, if you think wasabi is bad too much of this stuff will have you gagging just as bad," Lysander spooned a bit of the horseradish on the live animal. "Now, careful here, because this is the trick," Lysander brought the shell to his lips and tossed it back slurrping it down. He placed the empty half back on the ice and smiled. "Try not to spill it," he pushed the ice tray to Emile. "In England it's like eating chips," He rested his chin on his hand waiting for Emile to demostrate his lesson.
shutterbug emile (11:46:54 PM): Emile looked slightly frightened as he picked up a half shell. He loved wasabi, could eat chunks of it, so adding an equal amount of cocktail sauce and horseradish. Looking up at Lysander, he kept his eyes on him as a distraction from looking at the slimy creature he was about to eat. Mimicking his actions, Emile tossed it back and managed to swollow it before his gag reflex kicked in. That was not sexy feeling. Not only was his cheeks burning from the fact he gagged, but he mentally vowed never to eat an oyster again. "And.. That's supposed to make me horny?"
Cicero Lover (11:54:20 PM): Lysander tried to hide his laughing but ultimately failing by ducking to the side of the table. He sobered. "I'm sorry, no, truly I am," he gave Emile a sweet look. "Have you not ever had horseradish before? It's worse than wasabi, darling, you shouldn't feel so bad, it's a common amature mistake, should've seen me, three years old and running for the water fountain," He offered a sympathetic look. "The erogeness effect is only gained by the slurping action I think, but any food can be sexy when appiled correctly," he picked up another and demostraighted the easier slurrping method. "But it's considered rude to slurp." He pushed the tray back urging him to try it again. "Frankly I think my ego would take a downfall if it took a shellfish and not my charm to get you in bed," Lysander said in dry sarcasm. "So, another go?"
shutterbug emile (12:58:58 AM): "No.. Or the only reason you'll be in bed with me is to hold my hair back when I'm throwing up all over the place.." He laughed softly, opting for the calamari he knew so well. "And I'm pretty sure your ego will leave very full by the end of our night..." He smiled, winking at Lysander as he got more and more relaxed with him. He definitely saw this night going to what Lysander was here for. And then all relaxation fled as the thoughts went back to how he was paying for this company.
Cicero Lover (1:09:19 AM): Lysander made a mental note to send him flowers and tickets to the ballet next week. "Pity," he shrugged. "Must be an aquired taste, I suppose," His attentioned was next spent on the waitress who asked if he wanted another drink. Lysander smiled sweetly and winked at her. "I think I'll have something non alcoholic, coke?" he asked. She smiled and scampered off, Lysander turned back to his date. "Actually I'm wondering about the fish..." he shook his head to relieve the thoughts away. "So then, Carmen is in town, going to go see it? I love Bizet, my favorite opera turly,"