Post by HOLDEN JAY WEATHERFIELD on Apr 12, 2012 20:14:05 GMT -5
[classy=apptite]HOLDEN JAY WEATHERFIELD
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[classy=appdesc]Oh, hey Castles! Look who's it is! It's Holden Jay Weatherfield! Oh, uh... perhaps you know them by their nickname, Holden? Anyway, this certain blessing in disguise came to us on June Twenty Sixth, and grew up to be a hefty 6'2. You can always tell it's Holden because of their brown hair, brown eyes and shadowed eyes and biebs hair. Not to mention they've gotten themselves zero tattoos! You know, everyone says they look like Matthew Hitt? I personally don't see it though ....
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[classy=app1]The fat lard of a principal looked over his papers with a rather disinterested attitude. He noticed you sitting down, but doesn't really have the courtesy to look up from his desk. To you, he says out loud. "Let's begin sha'll we? Tell me the basic details about yourself." With a cough, he shuffled through is papers and glanced at you once through his small eye glasses.
Distractedly, Holden places himself down in the rather lonely looking chair in the center of the room. It's uncomfortable - but what was he expecting from a wooden chair? - and he shifts himself about in it, as if the movement of his weight while rapidly produce a much more comfortable chair. His dark eyes are dancing from one corner of the room to the next, trying to find something of value and comfort than can dampen his nervous mood. Truth was, Holden absolutely hated being nervous. And why was he even nervous? This was just another goddamn school, with it's stupid rules and it's fake students and it's annoying teachers. In that moment, he decided he wouldn't learn much here. He shifted around a little more, making noticeable noises as he did so. Not that he cared. So when the big, fat man started talking, it was like a thunderstorm crashing all over the place. Holden's eyes whip up in the matter of a moment, his body rendered motionless for a moment, before he's shifting around again - clearly uncomfortable. "My name's Holden Weatherfield. But people just call me Holden cause Weatherfield's a mouthful," He starts easily, as if sliding into the conversation was simply second nature. "I'm seventeen years old - eighteen in June. People always give me shit about that. Oops! Am I not supposed to cuss in here? Is that like, against your rules or summin'?" He rambled, leaning forward a little in his chair before settling down. "My mom says I got this thing called ADHD, you 'eard of it? It's really dumb though. If I was stupid you'd think I'da know before her! Well's she's real goddamn christian anyway. Like, go to church every sunday don't do this don't do that kinda christian, so she doesn't believe in that whole meds thing going on." He mumbls, making animated hand gestures. "I had this therapist that did some psychoanaylasis mumbo jumbo on my brain once - not like brain washing. That's what I thought at first. But it's just like, them seeing your brain patterns and crap. But he said I got this thing called depression. And I mean, I guess I agree." Holden shrugs, almost as if he doesn't really care. "He was a real smart man, that psychoanalaysis man."
With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, threw his glasses on the desk and ran his chubby fingers through thinning, greasy hair. He pinched the nose of his bridge and closed his eyes tightly as he said, "You know about the truth of this place. Now, I didn't invite you personally, my staff did. So please, give me a run down of your power." With his eyes still shut, the principal gestured with one arm toward you to begin.
Holden's sunken eyes traveled around the room again, trying to find something that will interest him. He notices, with great difficulty, that there is a picture on a wooden shelf in the corner of the fat, disgusting man and what seems to be his family. With nothing else to further his interests, he shifts around in the seat and leans a little forward, so that his shoulders are hunched and his light collar bones are protruding from his skin. "Is that your daughter?" Holden asks curiously, his dark eyes levelling with those of the principal. "She's pretty goddamn attractive. I bet she has a boyfriend, huh?" Holden doesn't seem to notice or care that he's intruding and asking too much - maybe he doesn't have the ability to care. When the fat man speaks, Holden groans unhappily. He's not usually one to be impolite and all, but he can't stand this man who can't even be bothered to be interested in a brand new student. But when he starts talking about powers, Holden gets a little awkward, shifting around again and looking at anything but the mans face. "My power?" Holden's biting his lip - a nervous habit he has when you know he doesn't want to talk. "It's uh.. Electricity Manipulation. It started showing only a year ago, came outta nowhere! Like one day I'm just mackin' on this girl and all of a sudden I'm shockin' her! She was so pissed at me! Let's just say I didn't get much further than first!" Holden seems to lighten up a little bit, a small grin dancing onto his lips. But suddenly his mood darkens a little, and he's receding back into his chair. "I can't control it. I've fried people. I get upset and it just happens."
Finally, his eyes opened groggily. However, he wasn't much warmer. He yawned loudly and largely as he looked over your paper. With eyes watery and face red he continued, "I see why we would have invited you. Let's see..ah yes. Mind telling a bit about your family and where you're from?"
Holden's dark eyes jump to the face of the old man, finally, letting them drift over the contours of his face. It wasn't a face that Holden would usually remember. Boring and drab, just like everything else he'd seen so far. His last principal, Mr. Collins, was one of the most boring people Holden had ever met. He had these crazy goddamn eyes that seemed to pop out of his face, going in every direction, and these really thick eyebrows that didn't really get him any woman - or that's what Holden figured. He didn't talk about a wife, and he definitely did not have an attractive daughter, like this guy. Speaking of the fat lard in front of him, his mouth propped open, and of all things - he yawns. Frustrated, Holden sits a little straighter, his eyebrows furrowing in front of his face. "Could you not yawn while we're talkin'? My mom told me when I was little that yawnin' when you're talkin' ta someone is really impolite," Holden's voice manages to taper off a little in the end, and he relaxed himself. He can't get mad in here - it's not worth it when it comes to all these goddamn fakes. "I come from a pretty big family I guess. I'm the second child out of three. I have an older brother, Will, and a younger sister, Jamie. I used to have another sister, Lola, but she was sick ever since she was born. She lived way longer than they thought she would, but she still died when I was twelve. She was the nicest kid anyone ever saw. She was really nice. And she was really smart, too. Not like me or Will. We're not that smart. But she had like, those extra senses, you know? Her and Jamie were twins so they were always together, so it hit her pretty hard too." Holden pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath, as if to steady himself. "I've been kicked out of three different schools. I'm not very good at paying attention and actually learnin' and stuff. I leave that up to my siblings." He nods his head, as if knowingly, before talking again. "My mom and dad are pretty rich. You know? Well off and crap? But they're pretty Christian, which is annoying. They sorta shove it down your throats when you least expectin' it."
While you were talking, the principal had made himself comfortable by leaning back in his chair and intertwining his fingers. "Hmpf. You should fit right in. May I ask, what are your plans in the future? Outside of AMG?"
Hearing about the future doesn't excite Holden. In fact, he wants nothing to do with his future right now. Wasn't life all about living in the present? Holden refused to think about his future for years, and he wasn't just going to change that so he could talk to some old fat lard who won't remember him later. He groans, audibly, so that the old fat lard can hear him, and reluctantly starts to talk about some bullshit he's given to fifty other people. "I don't know," he starts, a little exasperated, his voice heavily decorated with his annoyance. "My mom wants me to be somethin' like my dad. He's some sort of lawyer and bullshit, but I absolutely hate that crap. It's just some man defending a bunch of people he hates that pay him a shit load of money. I mean, I just don't think the money is worth all of that." He rolls his eyes, crossing his ankles and uncrossing them in a moment. "I'd like to be one of them psychoanalysis men, you know? That sounds interestin'. Or maybe a pro skateboarder! I'll be like Rob Dyrdrek! He gets a shit load of money - did you know that? And he's not fake at all!"
He looks much more interested now, rather awake and in a slightly better mood. "Tell me, do you have any hobbies?" he inquired, creating soft jazz hands at the word 'hobbies' as if to mock it. "You're aware that it may be difficult to continue these on the island, as you may not leave outside of break?" It was more of a statement than a question.
Suddenly, Holden gets more excited. He's bored of sitting in this uncomfortable seat, talking about things that bore him to death - school, the future, his power - to a man who won't remember his name or face until he's saying goodbye to it. So talking about stuff like his hobbies - stuff that is interesting and fun to do - is enough to spur Holden out of his catatonic state. "My hobbies?" He starts with a question, a large grin stapled to his thin lips. "When I was little I used to collect stamps. Lame, I know. I used to go around and like, buy them from wherever I saw them. Even if I already had that stamp. And then I'd go home, and I had this whole goddamn book full of stamps. I swear to God, it was like eighty pages long of these tiny-ass stamps. I gave that up when I was eleven though, cause the kids at school made fun of me for it." He rambles, his sunken eyes darting around again. "I skateboard now. Like, live and breath skatin', you know? I roll around on it everywhere! Hopefully I'll be good enough to be one of those pro' skaters, you know? Like Tony Hawk, or Rob Dyrdrek! They're both so good. They're like. My idols." There's a brief pause in the conversation and the man asks a question that Holden has been expecting; despite that, he still doesn't want to hear it. The smile slips away, and suddenly he's rusty again. "Yeah. I get. Government and shit, right?"
The principal crossed his fat arms and leaned on his desk. In a much more serious tone, he asked, "Be honest, child. How do you feel about all of this...supernatural stuff?" his shoulders shrugged as he said it.
Holden shrugs, as if trying to bypass a serious situation. He doesn't really want to talk about powers - in all honesty. Because talking about super powers makes him think of his own power, which makes him literally hate his life. One time, he considered jumping off of the balcony of his hotel room. Sometimes, Holden figures the only permanent escape is suicide. But that in turn leads him to think of his family, and no matter how much they annoy him, he can't do that to them. "I don't really know, to be honest." He starts lightly, his dark eyes drifting to his hands, where they were locked together in his lap. "I mean, I guess it'd be awesome if I had a power like time traveling. I could go back and say sup to my younger self, you know? Or maybe like, telekinetics? Moving stuff with my mind? Or like mind control! But no. I get this lame, goddamn power that causes me to fry anyone who comes near me when I'm unstable. And do you know how much I'm unstable? All the goddamn time! So maybe if I had a cooler power I'd be a little more psyched."
He leaned back on the chair that squeaked under his weight. "I see. Personally, I have mixed feelings. Anyway, we're finished now." The Principal grunted loudly as he got up to shake your hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you, do you have any questions for AMG?" he added, as he let go of your hand and buzzed the receptionist to lead you out.
Holden's dark eyes watch as the old, fat lard gets up - with some great effort - from behind the confines of his desk. To be polite, like his old Christian mother taught him, he lifts himself from the uncomfortable chair. He can tell from the ache in his legs and his butt that it'd take a little more walking to get rid off the soreness that extended through his body. He figured he'd take a walk around campus, smoke a little, and then sleep. Sleep sounded good. The fat lard extended his hand, which Holden gingerly took. He didn't want to touch some goddamn fat man's hand. How gross! He lets go as soon as he can, shoving down his disgust, before wiping his hand on his pants - not even bothering to be discreet. "Nah. I think you covered everything, man." And soon enough, this pretty little lady enters the office. Holden's only got eyes for her, for a moment, and he follows her willingly out, forgetting all about the past fifteen minutes.
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[classy=app2]em. pacific. female.[/classy]
[classy=apptite]FACE CLAIM [/classy]
[url=http://eoas2.proboards.com/index.cgi?action=viewprofile&user=holden]MATTHEW HITT[/url]
