𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀

ᵇᵃˢⁱᶜˢ

ᵃᵖᵖᵉᵃʳᵃⁿᶜᵉ

ᵐᵉⁿᵗᵃˡⁱᵗʸ

ʰᵉᵃˡᵗʰ

ᶜᵒᵐᵇᵃᵗ

ʷᵃʳᵈʳᵒᵇᵉ

ʳᵉˡᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ

ʳᵒᵐᵃⁿᶜᵉ

ᵇᵉˡⁱᵉᶠˢ

ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵐᵃˡˡ ˢᵗᵘᶠᶠ

ˢᵗᵒʳʸ

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❝ 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘗𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦? ❞

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𝘽𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙨

𝙽𝚊𝚖𝚎

Floyd Evan Parker

𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚜

Human

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛

Male

𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚜

He/Him

𝙰𝚐𝚎

17-21

𝙱𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚍𝚊𝚢

April 17th

𝙻𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 (𝙰𝚐𝚎)

He looks to be in his late teens

𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙰𝚐𝚎

Whatever age he is at the time. Nothing special about him.

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𝘼𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚

𝙱𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚃𝚢𝚙𝚎

he a skinny boy except for his stomach because he no like exercise.....

𝙷𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝

5'10

𝚆𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝

140 lbs

𝙴𝚢𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚛

Bright blue

𝙷𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚛

Black

𝚂𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚃𝚢𝚙𝚎

porcelain/pale

𝙱𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚜

none

𝚂𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚜

none

𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙵𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜

Freckles on his face, and tattoos on his knuckles that simply says "Fuck Off♡".

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❝ 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳.... 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧... ❞

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𝙈𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮

𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚃𝚢𝚙𝚎

𝙾𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚘𝚛 𝙿𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌?

ENTJ~ Extroverted, Intuitive, Thinking, Judging.

𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

Nicotine

𝙵𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜

Acrophobia~ The Fear of Heights

Aphenphosmphobia~ The Fear of Being Touched

𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛(𝚜)

PTSD, and Anxiety. Specifically, social anxiety, as well as mild depression. Nothing too serious, for the depression. He just gets really down sometimes. He doesn't really deal with suicidal thoughts too often, though.

𝚃𝚒𝚌𝚜

None.

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𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙩𝙝

𝙰𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚎𝚜

Pollen

𝙸𝚕𝚕𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜

None

𝙴𝚢𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝

He needs glasses, but hates to wear them.... he would have s, but he doesn't have enough money to pay for them.

𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐

Good hearing for now.

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❝ 𝘔𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘱 𝘶𝘱. ❞

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𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙗𝙖𝙩

𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑

8/10

𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚍

8/10

𝙰𝚐𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢

5/10

𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊

4/10

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚝 𝚂𝚝𝚢𝚕𝚎

Melee combat

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚆𝚎𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚗(𝚜)

His bat!! His bat is about 3 feet long. He wrapped the bottom handle (about half a foot) with grip tape so he wouldn't drop it. In black letters it reads Drop Dead; one word on opposite ends. He's constantly adding onto it as well, usually drawing on it in class.

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𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙚

𝙲𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕

He dress like eboy.... His clothing consists of a black, oversized shirt, black striped turtleneck and red jeans. Black Chucks are his go-to when it comes to shoes.

𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕

Floyd wears a deep black suit with a white dress shirt under his jacket. It's one of his favorites, but he only wears it when there's a special occasion, or fancy parties (adult).

𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎

Laaarrgggeeeee hoodie, and sweatpants. Plain white socks to keep his feet warm and- ittedly- pink, fuzzy slippers. He would never let anyone he know see this though.

𝙰𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜

For his casual outfit, he has plenty of rings and belts he wears with it. Chains and chokers; trying his hardest not to get the ones that look feminine--- along with this, he has three piercings on his right ear, two on his left and wears an upside down, dangly cross earring

For his Formal wear, he has deep black gloves, and a top hat. When he goes out partying, he will usually have a cane along with him as well. Just to impress people.... and so he can use it as a weapon if needed.

Casual wear has no accessories.

𝙼𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚞𝚙

Bruh his teenage self lOves eyeliner, blush, foundation- anything to cover up what he hates; himself.

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❝ 5,000 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘴- 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩! ❞

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𝙍𝙚𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜

:black_small_square: 𝙼𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛

Cynthia Parker [Deceased]

:black_small_square: 𝙵𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛

Leonard Parker [Alive]

𝚂𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜

None

𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜

Violet Jones; Atticus Johnson

𝙲𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜

Violet Jones

𝙿𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚁𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

He dated his best friend for a bit (Vi-), and others depending on the roleplay.

𝚂𝚙𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎

Unknown

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𝙍𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚

𝚂𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢

Bisexual

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚜

Women

𝚃𝚢𝚙𝚎

Shorter females with straight hair. Doesn't really matter what you look like, but he rarely falls for anyone.

𝙿𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚁𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚜

Dates Violet Jones. Lasted about a month before they gave up on eachother. Too bad they're both too stubborn for love.

𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚜

ooooooooooooooof I have no clue

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❝ 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘨𝘯𝘦, 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯. ❞

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𝘽𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙛𝙨

𝙿𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚢

Atheist

𝚁𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚘𝚗

None

𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚜

unsure. Depends on the situation, in all honesty.

𝙰𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝

Chaotic Neutral

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𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙎𝙩𝙪𝙛𝙛

𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚜

Animals, Anime, dark stuffs, hanging out with the few friends he has.

𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚜

Art, people, school, his father.

𝙵𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝙵𝚘𝚘𝚍

Pancakes are one of his favorite foods. His Mother used to make them every Saturday morning before she ed. He is also hooked on coffee. Absolutely loves coffee anything.

𝙻𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝙵𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝙵𝚘𝚘𝚍

He doesn't really dislike anything?? He will eat just about anything given to him.

𝙵𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝙱𝚘𝚘𝚔

None. He's too eDgY to sit and read books.

𝙵𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝙰𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚕

Cats!! He loves kittens.

𝙵𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚎

The Shining

𝙵𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝙳𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔

As stated before, he LOVES coffee!!

𝙷𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝙼𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚢

He has this one memory of the night his Mother ed. He couldn't sleep, so she sang to him. He was 8 at the time, and when he thinks back, sometimes he can still feel her fingers in his hair.

𝚂𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝙼𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚢

Seeing his dead Mother collapsed on the floor in a pool of her own blood. He was

𝙱𝚊𝚍 𝙷𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚜

Jumping. To. Conclusions. He's very guilty of constantly doing that.

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❝ 𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. ❞

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𝙎𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮

𝙿𝚊𝚜𝚝

Floyd had a semi-normal childhood. Until the age of 8, he had rather good grades in school and didn't have many problems at home. That is, of course, only because he was away, and never really saw what would happen when he was gone.

On July 14th, while he is now 8 years old, at around 3 in the morning, he heard a scream come from somewhere downstairs in his house, waking the child from his peaceful slumber. He was petrified as he felt the floor shake beneath him, and a few more screams carry throughout the house before finally, the victim goes silent, and everything stops. He couldn't think and he couldn't breathe; his little heart was pounding in his chest and sweat had begun to build up on his hands as he clutched his Toy Story blanket. It took him a minute or two to gather the courage to run to his parents room. He raced inside and jumped on the bed, only to find their duvet and pillows, but nobody else.

Now petrified, he decided he can go downstairs and face the monster. He knew he would have to be careful.

The scared, sheepish boy slinks down the steps and into the living room which was completely dark. His Mother should have been asleep in bed. He wasn't sure where his Dad was.

He goes through the dining room, lit up only by the three battery-operated candles in the center of the table. His heart was still pounding, but he had begun to believe he had imagined the whole thing.

He lowers his guard.

Drops his arms to his sides, lowering his stance and unclenching his jaw (releasing his gums, which had now begun to bleed from the pressure) and turning around.

It's nothing. I'm dreaming....

He peers in the kitchen.

A deep crimson coated the floor.

The Boy's eyes grow wide as he stares down at the blanket of blood that seeped along the white tiles. To this day, they were never able to get the stain out of the ground.

He steps closer.

The smell of death filled the air and burned the child's nose as he slowly inched closer; growing worse by the second.

He took a few steps closer.

One..

Two..

Three..

A lifeless hand stretched ouwards towards the end of the refrigerator; blood already drying on the dainty fingers.

He didn't want to continue on....

He didn't want to see what was around the corner....

He hoped it wouldn't be what he had hoped....

"Mom..?"

He now steps around the fridge and sees her dark brown hair. It covered most of her face and was stuck in some places from the blood. Her eyes wide open, and the back of her skull cracked open and revealing the insides of her head. Everything spilling out, and leaving the Boy in horror as he stared at the remains of his loving Mother.

He felt.

Sick.

His stomach churned as he spent the minute staring down at his Mom, tears forming in his eyes and rolling down his cheeks and mixing with the blood on the floor.

He tried to speak, but couldn't find his voice.

The door opens. Yet he doesn't move.

His Father stares down at the scene, a panicked look on his face. Floyd looks up at him and begins to bawl and grab onto his Dad's leg.

His Father immediately calls 9-1-1, and from there the questioning begins.

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝

8 years of Therapy, and nothing ever changed. He was still petrified of being home alone, yet he never wanted to be home with his father.

He can't shake the feeling that he had something to do with his Mother's death.

He was never able to prove it. But something about the whole thing seems off.

He hated it.

Living with the man who brought about the demise of the one person in the world who loved him.

He knew his Father hated him. The verbal abuse was enough to prove that. Probably the only thing he could prove. There were never any bruises. He never knew how. And if there were, he would never show anyone.... he was too scared of what his father would do if someone found out of the way he treated him.

At least now he had friends and places to go.

He often hung out with Violet Jones; one of the outcasts at his high school. He himself had fallen into the delinquent group. Often skipping class, causing trouble, and being one of the feared students of the high, due to the amount of trouble and rowdiness he caused.

He and Violet were similar in some aspects, yet different in others. They both are interested in the supernatural, and find anything creepy interesting. Where they differ, is that Violet is more of a peaceful person. Floyd is a hot head. He will go off on anyone at the drop of a dime. It gets him in trouble quite often, and usually ends up hurt because of it.

Deep down, he wishes he would grow up, but then again... he doesn't want to.

𝙵𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎

U/C

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𝙍𝙤𝙡𝙚𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮 𝙀𝙭𝙖𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚

Floyd sighs as he drags himself to school; late yet again. This was the fourth time this week he was late. Once more, and there would be a call to his father. He growls as he continues down the sidewalk, kicking at pebbles and adjusting the black backpack straps strung over his shoulders, a rather dismal look stuck on his face as he looks up to the trees. They had begun to change color. Hues of red, orange and yellow filled the air.

"Fuck."

He had art today, didn't he.

He hated that class. He wasn't the artsy type, nor did he even find it enjoyable. Why would anyone wish to stare at a blank page all day? Move the pencil and make random squiggles and swirls?

Nah. Not his cup of tea.

He sighs and opens the school doors as he approaches, his eyes darting around inside as the man at the front desk sips on his coffee, not even looking up just yet.

"Tardy again, Parker?" The man calls up as he continues staring at the computer in front of him.

The boy stops in his track and sighs, his head dropping in annoyance as he gives him a simple "mm-hm."

"You know what that means, right?"

"One more day, Mr. Lee." He now looks up at him with a raise of his brow.

"My point exactly, parker. Come get your , then get your ass to class." Mr. Lee replies as he begins to write up a , finally looking up at the boy and handing it over.

~

After about 15 minutes, he finally made his way to class. He goes inside and takes his seat, purposely making a scene as he tosses his backpack across the room, runs to the front and grabs his books, and then back to his seat, making a drumming motion with his hands whilst listening to the music playing in his head. He wished he had his bat. Maybe he could then be able to cause something and get out of this hell.