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 Quinton Avarie

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Quinton



Posts : 20
Join date : 2013-08-13

PostSubject: Quinton Avarie   Thu Aug 15, 2013 12:56 am

Gender: Male (I think)
Age: 18
Sexual Orientation: Straight
My blood is: Hades
Been at Camp For: Seven hours
Determined or Undetermined: Determined (Whether your Olympian parent has claimed you yet)
Cabin Number: 13
Personality: Quinton Avarie is a child who deeply expresses his gratitude for being alive. He can easily be read and understood by the smile on his face, and the lack of steel around those of the opposite sex. Quinton puts up a mask, but he hides nothing behind it. He is not depressed by some horrible tragedy, he is not the evil spawn of Hades bent on destruction and the incarnation of power. Quinton feels always solitary, and sometimes he cannot hide it. He is always smiling, laughing, getting into mischief, and messing with everybody he can. However, he feels a lack of meaning. What does life hold and offer? Quinton wants to find passion, and love, and excitement, sorrow, hatred, jealousy. Everything that makes life living. Sometimes, he can he seen staring  into the campfire, crying.
Quinton was born a slightly small child. He was always in trouble and always had trouble at school. School wasn't always a nightmare. He snuck into the Special Ed classes whenever he could and he was able to learn. Despite that, he wasn't always lucky enough to learn what he wanted.

Quinton was the son of an eccentric man and woman. His mother, a beautiful, mischievous woman who used her body as a tool and her mind as a blade. She married rich after her son was born and the father vanished, and they lived with this man. The mother was constantly having an affair with a mystery man, and the rich husband grew angry. He was a nice man who had grown bitter by his business, and his wife's constant affair. Quinton was never a part of the story. He watched and examined the way of life they lived, staying in the background of this show. His mother, however, treated him like a son. Loved him, cared for him, and wished him the best. One day, after the husband had lost his temper as he recovered proof of his wife's cheating. He struck the woman. Quinton stepped into the spotlight for the first time within sixteen years, and killed his father. He held no remorse, no drive, no anger. He simply knew that anyone who harmed his mother, would die. Moments after, the mother rummaged inside of the husband's dresser, found his firearm, and told Quinton she loved him. Afterwards, she stuck with barrel in her mouth, and fired. Quinton found everything normal. He cleaned his mother's mess, and gave her a prayer. He knew he had done the right thing.  Or so, the voice inside of him demanded.

Throughout his life, Quinton thought it normal. The dark, sadistic, horribly genius voice that Quinton conversed with. This mind, this separate entity stirred inside of him, waiting for the hour it could have a body of its own. To this day, Quinton speaks within himself, living his life. This malice inside was the only hold on life he could say he had. He held onto it, because it gave him feeling. Quinton wanted to feel everything life had to offer, and this being had something to offer.

After he killed his father, Quinton left home. He wandered alone for two years. He lived wherever he deemed comfortable, and stole whatever he deemed necessary. Only hours ago, Quinton stumbled upon Camp Half-Blood only hours ago. As he did passed through the magical barrier, the sign of Hades appeared before him.:
[/center]

Appearance: Quinton is simply dressed. His casual attire consists of dark blue jeans, a black cloth belt, and a rather stylish button down shirt. Un-tucked with the sleeves rolled up. His hair is generally a messy dark brown, nearing black. He's always smiling, even with the tiniest hint of amusement.

Quinton's skin is lightly tanned from the constant sun. He looks caucasian, but is a melting pot of several races. He is nearing six feet at 5'11, and is generally skinny. He isn't very muscular, but you can tell he's athletic. His eyes stay a bright, stately olive that can be easily pinned out of a group. His hands are calloused from use of a weapon, and his body beneath his shirt is heavily scarred for unknown reasons. It almost seems as though a knew wound appears overnight, and forms into a deep rip in the tissue over his chest.
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