Mortimer Blackwood

[Mortimer Blackwood]

MORTIMER HENRY BLACKWOOD


I DON'T WANNA SEE LIKE YOU.
& I DON'T WANNA BE LIKE YOU.

name mortimer henry blackwood.
nicknames depends on the person, Mort, Morty, Wood.
gender boy
playby aaron tviet
eage 468 years old, born March 27th, 1543. Turned at the age of twenty two.
wand none. he doesn't use magic very often and wands annoy him.

& I WANNA BE FREE.
SO BREAK IT DOWN.

physical description Mortimer has always been considered attractive, an observation about himself that he both abhors, and has come to rely upon. His whole life has been poised in that fact alone. His talents in accompaniment with his looks are the cause of his childhood pain and dysfunction as well as his success in life. He stands at 6'1.5, square shoulders and jawline. He's got dirty blond hair that is usually long on the top and shorter on the sides. He's preferential to the bed head look. Small cleft in his chin, paired with dimples in the sides of his cheeks. Deep laugh lines have formed over the years despite what he is. His once dark blue turned blood red eyes are overshadowed by his heavy brow bone and thick brows. Oddly, his features can blend easily into most cultures with a few simple modifications. His body is covered in a thick blonde hair, most concentrated on his forearms, chest, and legs. He's muscled to the point of being impressive, but not to the point of being obnoxious. It's not his main focus, he had been a very slender man, soft, whenever he had been turned and only had the bulk added by the transformation into the undead. His hands are his favorite feature, strong and delicate at the same time. He moves with an excitement at all times, always enthusiastic in what he did given how he was raised. All imperfections that had been forced upon him at the age where hew as born, corrected into the graceful perfection after he was changed.

appearance He dresses however he wants. tending to change his fashion every couple of years. Most recently he's been in suit and tie since he had been posing as an airline pilot on various Airlines for the past fifty years. He's been slowly transitioning into a more modern, comfortable look these last five years. He currently owns a lot of sweaters and cardigans. Favoring the color blue over the lot. He's been abusing the comfort over style options, given the starch feeling of suits for so many years. The luxury of modern fabrics are something he's very fond of, and still experimenting with.

I DON'T WANNA THINK LIKE YOU.& I DON'T WANNA STINK LIKE YOU.

likes blood, true ladies, the color purple, singing, dancing, flying, fine wines, pigs, holidays, ignorant people, attention
dislikes poor hygiene, television, rap music, the smell of cinnamon, the church, alter boys, being part of a choir, older men, lions, being ignored.
strengths story telling, loyal, singing, his trained abilities, serving, being social
weaknesses stunning women, flighty, cannot stay in one place for very long, inconsistent, vain.
personality Duplicitous. Mortimer's personality has a tendency to change depending on who he's with. he doesn't reveal a lot about himself almost all of the time. There are few that know him, including his maker and a handful of others. He figured that if somebody was meant to know something about him, they would have been there whenever whatever the event was took place. Or, he will reveal something if he thinks that it will give him and edge, upper hand. He's not secretive about his life before he was turned, and he should be more careful about hinting as to what he really is, and how old he is. He tends to double speak, saying something about his human life that might apply to his current life. His immortal life, is a little more private to himself. Then, there are things about himself that he's locked away so deeply that even he cannot remember. how many people he's slept with, how many people he has murdered, the truth about his childhood. He never learned how to drink without killing the person, not all the time. He gets it right about fifty percent of the time.

Most of the time, he comes off as excitable, overly friendly and outgoing. It suits his purpose, tends to make people like him without him having to put forth much effort. Inviting people in puts them off their guard should he choose to take a less than kind path to take. He finds people of an ignorant nature amusing. Charming, and he likes to make fun of them to their faces while they don't know what he's doing. Something he likes to do just about to everybody that he meets. He has a hard time taking things seriously, and is generally sarcastic. He's a man who knows what he wants, and had no problem putting himself out there in order to get it.

& I JUST WANNA BE ME.
SO BREAK IT DOWN.

parents Mortimer was a bastard, born to the blackwood tavern wench and Lord Sheldon. Mother named Romilda, no last name.
siblings None that he knows of, he only lived at home until he was nine and then was sent to court at the order of his father. He never returned home again, and saw his mother even more rarely.
birthplace London, England
hometown London, England
ethnicity English. Speaks German, Gaelic, Italian, English and Russian fluently.
blood muggle born.

BREAK IT DOWN, BREAK IT DOWN.
SO BREAK IT DOWN.

name Mort is just fine. for anonymity's sake.
age 21
experience ten years
password (ADMIN EDIT)
anything else?nope, excited to get started
sample

“Hey there lover,” the words rolled cheerfully from his tongue as he slid off of the bar top where he had been resting. There were a couple of girls had had been occupying the stools next to him, listening eagerly to his stories. All women loved a pilot, it was the profession that he had been claiming for awhile now. They would never know his real truth. For the beast that he was, he knew he didn't look it. His looks were inviting, not nearly the predatory dark handsome male that the stereotype wanted him to be. No, that role was far better filled by the offensively tall man across the bar. He knew Damon would have heard him, knew that his voice would have been recognized instantly. His feet his the ground without sound as he shoved past the women, already looking over to Damon with confusion overcoming them. Confusion that Mortimer was leaving them, even more so that the man he seemed to be heading in the direction of was so painfully attractive. Damon had always had that effect on women, something that he very much enjoyed watching. He had allowed the pair to take over all sorts of different roles over the course of the years, wing man, coworker, friend, lovers, confidants. It must have been years since he had looked upon the tortured eyes of the man staring at him. He could feel the emotions not displayed on the mans face. It wasn't so much that Damon was showing emotions, but they were radiating all around the room. It couldn't have been more pleasing. There wasn't much more that Damon would hate than for Mortimer to cause a scene. He hated having unwanted eyes prying into his business, even more considering that he no doubt had all sorts of things going on in his life here that the shorter, but not short, man had no knowledge of. Beaming he crossed to the brooding male, tempted to flaunt himself just a little bit further. “Buy you a drink?” he clapped the man on the back before allowing his hand to snake around Damon's lower back, fingers pulsing into the rock hard stone in place of Damon's flesh. He would have opted for something that would look a little more platonic, but he simply wasn't tall enough to reach the other mans shoulders from where he was, not in these shoes. “Then again,” he almost hummed “I do have a rather delectable port in my suite, should you rather?” he had such difficulty keeping his speech to that of the current times. He was supposed to be working on a lot more slang, to fit in with this 'hipster' trend he had become so fascinated with as of late. It was going to be his next project, he had been a pilot since the fifties, he might as well adapt himself to something more current. It was a challenge, attempting to be so very relaxed in contrast to the rigidity of the pilot profession. Aviation had been an indulgence of his long enough now. Though, his observations could wait another night. Damon's presence here couldn't be by accident, though it was certainly unexpected. He hadn't wanted to see Damon just yet, this ruined the surprise a little, but he would make do. His hand pushed a pattern against the fabric of Damon's shirt, he might seem smaller, but he was older, stronger, and he knew damned well that Damon was feeling what his hands were saying almost too obviously.

Not waiting for an answer he steered Damon in the direction of the bar, where the women who had been clinging to his every word had migrated away from. Thank goodness. He liked being adored, but only on his own schedule. His eyes rolled appreciatively over the form in his arm. He fit in to every year that he lived so very easily, it was envious. Mortimer wasn't so good at clothing himself in this new way, but he was learning. Whatever shirt Damon was in, Mortimer wanted one. Or that very one. Either would be suitable. Pushing Damon to the bar stool next to him he leaned over the counter top and signaled for two clean glasses to be brought back to the bottle he had been sharing with the women before, he wasn't sure how much was left in the bottle, but it would suit his purposes. It wasn't the liquid that either one of them really wanted, it was all for show. Much like the fact that he was making a 'show' of them being 'friends'. Accepting the glasses with flourish he poured small amounts of the brandy into the glasses. It wasn't good brandy, not my any means, this bar was too cheap for that sort of thing. He missed the old bars, the sort of thing that felt like home or a hospital as soon as it was entered. Filled constantly with loud music and chatter. Nobody asked probing questions, only speeches of drunkness was allowed. This, was all shady people and pool games staked on far too much money for what the sport was worth. Here, Mortimer stuck out like a sore thumb. It wasn't an unwelcome feeling, but one he was having to get used to it seemed. He was too loud, too happy for a place like this. And he had just singled another out by his real name, pulled him from the darkness of the sidelines into his light. Perhaps that was why after only a few sips, the younger man excused himself from the bar.

Five minutes, he would allow five minutes. Damon wasn't going to get out of here that easily. He might be attempting to avoid him, the last time they had seen one another, they hadn't left things on very good terms. They both had migrated here for the same reason her as always, the motivation behind every motivation. Morty was just less concealed about it all. Pushing away from the bar he headed back toward the bathroom where Damon had excused himself too, weaving through the people quickly, but with restraint that he required himself to use. Entering the bathroom and silently shutting the door behind him he inhaled deeply. A stall, Damon? A bright, almost human seeming smile took over his face as he pushed open the door, screws holding the metal locking mechanism together coming out easily under his push. Shutting the door behind him he wedged Damon into the small space between the toilet and the wall of the stall. Uncomfortable, but he didn't like being walked out on. He had thought that he had been very kind up until this very point. Almost chipper even, but now his nature exposed itself. He had always had a soft spot in his heart for Damon, in his way, but the softest part of stone, was still harder than most. “Making you uncomfortable, am I?” His hand moved instantly to the waist of Damon's pants, the fabric was the sort of soft denim that only lots of money could buy. It was a familiar territory to him, all external surfaces of Damon were familiar to him. Even after all of these years. “Not happy to see me?”

lyrics from breakdown by epik highthis template was made byKEEP THE FAITH. at caution 2.0.