Alfred F. Jones

- character.

Full Name: Alfred F------ Jones
Age: 19
Birthday: July 4th
Gender: Male
Hometown: Virginia, United States.

Appearance:

There is a boy with a golden heart standing right at the corner of the room and even if he's, at the corner of the room, he's still really really bright and - by bright, it doesn't (necessarily.) mean he's nice to look at; maybe he's just very noticeable.

Hey, he's got, wheat-golden-blond hair. It's cropped short, 'round his ears, with this sort of really annoying curl that sticks up come hell or high water.

Hey, he's got, blue-starry-sky eyes like the kind of eyes you see on somebody who wouldn't back down no matter the circumstances, unless if it's on his own terms.

Hey, he's maybe, five foot nine. Or five foot ten. (For accuracy's sake, he's actually five foot nine point six. He'll always say ten, though, because he likes to be taller.) His nose is - hardly noticeable - a bit crooked from this one accident back in the day, with a light dusting of freckles over the bridge. People hardly notice these things, because it's under his glasses of four years old, thin-rimmed and out of style and totally cherished.

There's a certain swagger or, what do you call it? strut of his that comes up when he's walking, and Alfred likes to slouch so it makes him look really, like a kid and - like he won't listen to you, because his face is so the definition of teenager/youth/young. All smooth angles and pretty cheekbones and movie star smile, sharp eyes so bright. It doesn't help when his clothes are messy. Clean, but messy, like a crooked tie, or that awkward (loud) shirt tucked in pants real carelessly, maybe even a belt completely missing a loop or untied shoelaces on the left foot. He loves jeans and sneakers and bright t-shirts, and if it's not too hot he'll go around in his beloved grandfather's bomber jacket from back in World War II with its fraying edges and odd, charming look.

Personality:

Hey!

"Alfred's here!"

And that is just what he is. Noticeable. Loud voice, loud colours, loud, loud; him, him, him. The kid with the tendency to break down boundaries with a smash of his crazy optimism, friendliness extending beyond what's considered normal and maybe even leaning on the side of meddling with his habit of prying into other people's lives - that's him alright.

It's not too far off the mark when people think of Alfred being predictable. He kinda is, with eyes going wide and outright jumping-out-of-the-seat at the mention of ghosts; face lighting up when you pass by a fast-food joint; grinning an unbreakable grin all the time and forever - a million other things so familiar with this nineteen-year-old ball of energy it's hard to forget about him when he's out of sight. He's quick to take up new ideas and abandon them on a whim. He's heroic, maybe; passionate when he finds something he loves; downright obnoxious all other times.

Alfred isn't afraid to speak up to say what he doesn't like. Most of his friends consider his confidence as arrogance, and the need to be heard a little bit annoying, but they're used to it. After all, he's been in their faces for so long they don't really notice anymore, and by this point you can wonder a little bit - who's got the patience to deal with this guy?

Nobody, really. That's why he's generally likable, but not too likable. That's why he doesn't have many close friends. (They say he can't read the atmosphere. He just doesn't want to, because if he does, then he'll feel unwelcome.) But that's okay, because people still listen to him (right?), and they still hear him out (right?) and as long as they say so, then he's perfectly fine with that.

Not really.

The times when he is really upset, leave him alone. He likes to be alone because then, he's really uncharacteristically quiet when he's wiping his tears away, and hates answering questions like, "You alright, Al?", because he's obviously not, and he'll lash out and he won't say sorry and he'll force out a laugh replying, "I'm okay, perfectly fucking fine, I'm okay, I'll be okay," and the next day he'll act as if nothing ever happened.

It's this sort of denial that keeps him going, and not stopping even for a minute - the sort that lets him focus on what's today and to get himself back on his feet again. It's all he really needs. And because of this, he hates letting other people take care of him, and it takes a while for him to get accustomed to getting stuck in a hospital and being taken care of. But he's getting better by taking what he needs and not making much of a fuss anymore. (A good thing too; he was driving the staff insane.)

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Diagnosis: Bodily injury.
Symptoms: A broken leg, a fractured leg, few bruised ribs, scratches and cuts here and there, dislocated wrist (right hand!) and generally, pain.

Incident:

When asked about the Incident, Alfred gets this funny, shifty look in his eyes and then he starts laughing sheepishly - and then he quiets down - and weirdly enough, starts laughing again, but a bit sadly. If he's feeling nice, he'll apologize for that strange moment; otherwise he'll launch straight into the tale.

He'll say it's funny. Like, it was this bright, sunny day, he'll say, because stories mostly start bright and sunny, and he was hiking with his friends (read: college mates) in one of those dangerous looking landscapes with the sharp, jagged cliff faces and you really have to watch your step in those places - he was being careless and slipped, and tipped over the cliff and plunged into - and landed on the - crack - it wasn't pretty.

That's all.

Other Notes: He doesn't listen very well to people telling him how to heal. Is that important?

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History: Alfred's pretty normal. His mom and dad are still alive, he's got a younger sibling he doesn't see very often, he's an okay student who really likes physics and calculations and playing basketball while pissing everybody off with his oblivious devil-may-care attitude which, after graduating from high school, has toned down a bit.

He still doesn't really get why people dislike him so much. There's him getting himself involved in other people's businesses, yeah, but otherwise it doesn't make any sense. Maybe it's 'cause at his final year in school, he decided, well shit, I'm going to do what I like instead of doing what other people think I'd do, which was playing sports until he grew old and wrinkly.

He was going to chase his childhood dream; he wanted to build a rocket.

So Alfred took up his pen and paper and the physics textbook to get himself involved in gravitational pulls and particle accelerators and hypersonic speeds, the mass-energy equivalence, velocities of re-entries and trajectories, the essence of Newtonian Physics;

It wasn't as if he didn't want to hang out with his friends anymore, he really did have a lot of work to catch up on and, they'd understand, right? It wasn't as if he left, or anything. His grades soared, he trained hard and played good games, running the 50 yards and scoring a goal. Right after the games he would grab his bag and go straight back home, not sticking around for the party because he just had so many things to do. All in all, he was healthy, happy and - lonely.

And -

It was graduation, and the life he left behind looked at his stellar results with envy, as he grinned and ran to his parents and hugged his brother who all told him that he did a great job, son, so proud of you; he turned around to congratulate his friends

- who didn't like him anymore because he had a future. They looked at him, then looked away, and started talking to each other about how they were going to attend the same college in the same city, miles different than the one Alfred was going to which was all the way out of state, "And hey, Jones isn't around to one up us anymore-"

Oh.

Well.

There's - there's always college. A new, fresh start, away from this place and - different people, right? And they were. They were all mostly nice people, who liked to give him strange looks when he said he was going to be a rocket scientist! because, well, maybe he didn't look the type. Before he even stepped into the place he already built up a rep of being 'that one guy who could score a touchdown then talk about quantum mechanics the next second'. He liked hanging out in the labs with his professors asking about the latest findings, or play a good game of basketball, or work on how to install the parachute for a dual-deployment on his self-built rocket so that he could pass the Level 2 TRA Certification Test.

Because of this, there wasn't anywhere in particular that he really belonged. His classmates thought he was too loud, his teammates thought he was just too… Smart. It didn't help much that his roommates weren't very friendly either, and before long he was already filled with a sense of being lost. Maybe it's because it's - just half a year into his studies! Yeah.

Yeah...

There's - there's always next year.

Other Important Info: He likes watching movies.

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Roleplay Sample:

Sure, sure, he keeps on telling people he's perfectly fine, and the whole incident was just a freak accident. Bit of a funny story really, for another time and another place.

What he wouldn't say though is that -

It wasn't actually a bright sunny day; it was dawn. His friends (read: college mates) thought it would be a funny story to scare him out of his wits by telling ghost stories when it was still dark.

"- and she'll shriek in your ear, no question. That's when you gotta run away!"

"No kidding," Alfred mumbled, hair already sticking up at the back of his neck.

The five of them were hiking up the mountain ever since four in the morning. Now they just needed to pass the time because it's getting old making fun of Alfred's weight. "Very funny, guys. Ha." He doesn't get angry really, because they say they're all joking and he's just can't be bothered as he was, eyes skittering side to side in case any strange white things made themselves known.

So he grinned weakly at all of them, and they all have these wicked grins he doesn't take notice and suddenly there was this loud shriek right beside his ear like a - a - GHOST!

He jumped two feet in the air, crying out in terror, and he lost his grip and was tipping back and in that split second, he wasn't the only one crying out in terror anymore.

"Alfred!"

Alright, so maybe it wasn't so funny. Alfred's eyes looked brighter than ever when he's finished with telling how it really went, throat tightening up in a strange way, making it hard to swallow. He smiled crookedly at his visitor, hand tightening in the sheets.

"And hey, they haven't sent me any flowers yet or 'get-well-soon's. I'm - I'm sure they're just busy," he murmured vaguely, motioning around his empty room with nothing more than flowers his parents sent him the other night. He was quiet for a bit longer, before he looked up suddenly. "Not their fault though! Just a joke that's - well, gone wrong, really. No big deal, and I'm sure they didn't mean it."

- out of ch. information.

Name: Max
Timezone: GMT +8
MSN/AIM; etc: h.erzeleid@live.com for my MSN.
You read the rules, right? Bright blue-green-blue.
Anything else? Uh... I wanted to make Al like... Not so much of a dick or even a ditz, more like being a run-of-the-mill misunderstood guy. Hope it's not too jarring of a characterisation? OTL I'm not very conventional, I'm sorry. And if I left anything out, I'm even more sorry lol ;n;

I am really in love with your Alfred. I think your way of writing is just perfect for him, and everything you wrote is so lovely! I don't think of Alfred as a "dick or ditz" like you were worried about, so I think your application is great. I think you got the parts of him I loved most! Poor thing. His injuries sound horrible. You are accepted! Please make an account with the name Alfred F. Jones, and introduce yourself to us. Also start posting! We have the chatbox that we would love to see you in, and an MSN group if you want to add that. We are happy to have an America again!