Welcome to Gaia! ::


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A dryad's home was once the tree
From which they carved this wondrous toy,
Who chanted lays of love and glee,
Till every leaflet thrilled with joy.

But when the tempest laid it low,
The exiled fay flew to and fro;
Till finding here her home once more,
She warbles wildly as before!
frances sargent osgood; On Sivori's Violin
hymn, theme song -- Siuil a Ruin's
between him and his dad; NOT INCEST
pieces, favorites to play on the violin
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xxxx━━━━━━xTristant Fauste-Alastair Eaves

xxxxxxxxxxxI've walked the rolling green hills of Alba for...
                  ochd mbliana deug eighteen years ...
xxxxxxxxxxxAs an...
                  oidhre heir ...
xxxxxxxxxxxI was born...
                  an lùnasdal dà dheug august twelfth ...
xxxxxxxxxxxIn...
                  alba scotland ...
xxxxxxxxxxxAcross the British Isles, I am known for...
                  mo saineolas veidhlín my violin expertise ...

xxxx━━━━━━xCountenance

xxxxxxxxxxxI stand tall at...
                  ceintiméadar ceud is a ceithir fhichead hundred eighty centimeters ...
xxxxxxxxxxxAnd weigh the earth down with...
                  cileagram trì fhichead is a seachd deug seventy seven kilograms ...
xxxxxxxxxxxBut the world crumbles and falls into pools...
                  of robin's egg blue nestled in a nest of sparkling sapphire ...
xxxxxxxxxxxAnd the pieces are caught in a web of...
                  gold silk; cresting, crashing in waves against sharp bluffs and sheer cliffs ...
xxxxxxxxxxxHeld firm and sturdy by...
                  Regal and elegance, two very important characteristics of Tristant's family. Learned through hours and days of lessons on etiquette. He was to act one way, and one way only – staving off his immaturity and outbursts of anger, leaving him with a perpetual expression of cold and rigidity that reaches down into his inner self. His actions are graceful and fluid, a preplanned slowness that's meant to captivate the eyes of many when seated in a throne or standing on a dais. His smallest of movements hold an air of immense power and high-station. His lack of expression is meant to deceive, not allowing anyone to premeditate his thoughts or decisions until he's certain of his own. His voice is quiet and soft, but – like his actions – is strong and powerful, mocking his conversational partner for even speaking to him. A mere whisper from him can make a man's spine crawl with chills. Tristant's shoulders are always back, posture straight and careful, yet lax enough to help his movements remain smooth and fluid.
xxxxxxxxxxxA dusting of lush green and rolling hills adorn...
                  Out of formal clothing (which he keeps neat and trim), his attire is relaxed and comfortable. Preferring partially unbuttoned dress-shirts and slacks or jeans that want to slip off his hips. However, jeans are hardly ever something he wears – choosing to only to spite his parents. His wardrobe is tailored and expensive, the harshest material chafing his skin being that of silk and satin (with the occasional cotton). His clothing style are derivatives of the Renaissance with a modern twist, consisting of fitted vests and poet's blouses in a number of shades (mainly black and burgundy, sometimes a soft white). His pants (with the same varying shades) are usually tucked into a set of buckled, leather knee-high boots – his most prized possession other than his violin.

xxxx━━━━━━xEnvisage

xxxxxxxxxxxTrips and falls and wandering paths...
                  Immature / Temper: juvenile, childish; heat of mind or passion, shown in outbursts of anger, resentment, etc ...
                    Because of an incident when he was young (and other happenings), Tristant latched onto his childish tendencies. He gets what he wants. No matter when, where, what, or how he gets it. Why should he care about other people's needs? Shouldn't he take care of himself first? Worry about his own happiness? It's what his father always told him; what he learned from the stories the older male told as Tristant sat on his father's knee. The worst juvenile trait the young man gripped onto was his temper. He never thinks twice (or cares) about his actions; he easily destroys anything, usually hefty objects that break like statues, paintings, and ceramic plates or expensive china that he sees as little more than pocket change and lint. Even with such a temper as Tristant's, it's not easy to anger him. At least, it's not as easily seen anymore.
                  Cold / Snooty: not affectionate, cordial, or friendly; condescending or overbearing to others ...
                    Due to familial circumstances, Tristant is quite cold and condescending. Sure, his smile is perfectly crafted and easily deceives the most insightful person, making them believe he's warm and kindhearted – a soul that's easy to reach out to in times of need. But he isn't. He'll help a peer pick up his or her books after a fall and he'll just as easily drop them on purpose and tell the other to pick their books up themselves: “You are beneath me; why should I serve you…?” then turn his back on them. And to Tristant everyone is beneath him; even Elizabeth II, the Queen of England. Even when he looks people dead in the eye, his own are flat and chilling – devoid of any emotion except distaste and the occasional fleeting tantrum.
                  Stubborn: unreasonably obstinate; obstinately unmoving ...
                    Tristant learned at an early age to be very, very stubborn – always having to stomp his foot down and say: “No!” It wasn't much of a hassle to his parents, but to the maids and menservants it was hell. He never backed down; always looked the other soul in the eye as he spoke. He was damn well frightening as a small child. He was a little boy, he shouldn't have been so… well, stubborn as a mule. Many of the servants would have likened him to an old oak – strong, sturdy, and set in his ways; unmovable. Dead wrong. Even a tall oak sways in the wind; Tristant doesn't. Once his mind is made up, nothing will sway his decision. No matter what is set in his lap on a gold and silver platter. He'll simply avert his gaze and knock the plate to the floor – snorting in distaste at the spilt red wine.
xxxxxxxxxxxCaress the tall and dense forests of the...
                  straight and narrow ...
xxxxxxxxxxxWhile broken roads lead to Seán and I ngach áit...
                  From birth, Tristant was forced into dresses and to grow out his blonde hair; his hair was never allowed to be trimmed, much less cut to a more manageable length. Why he was made to live the life of a young girl, he never really understood, only that it was a custom that his forefather's practiced while they held the throne of Scotland – a custom that the family stuck to through the centuries and made him do. Of course, he knew it was a practice that was withheld from the public eye (back then and now). And he hated it; it was embarrassing! His family's home, Scone Palace, was open to the public; passersby saw him! And they laughed as he ran away from the maids and menservants trying to force him into another gown and silk slippers. He dashed through the halls and the hedge-maze in the gardens in nothing but his underpants, making visitors squish themselves into the hedges as they tried to figure out what had whizzed by down the path – nearly being ran over by a handful of menservants and maids chasing after the young blonde. From then on, the visitors to the palace would get a scene they hadn't known (or even hoped) to see. A young boy girl perched atop the Stone of Destiny in her underpants – shirt- and skirt-less with bare-feet – shouting “No no no!!” over and over in a flurry of long blonde hair that nearly brushed her ankles and a flushed face from running. Always earning a reply along the lines of: “But Master Christie ordered us…” And thus the magic words made her slide down from Moot Hill and obediently allowed the servants to escort her back inside with a hung head and teary eyes. But 10 years of the same event occurring eventually wore down the servants and beat them into begging Tristant's father to end the ridiculous cross-dressing custom two years earlier than planned.

                  He was ecstatic when he was allowed to cut his hair short and began to develop his own style of clothing. He found he couldn't completely tear away from the frills of his gowns, having had fallen in love with his family's history and wanting to become the prince that every lady dreamed of when thinking of such an age. Or, at least, dress like one. So, a modern Renaissance wardrobe was born. It was around this same time when Tristant finally managed to gain some little friends his age. Of course, he always wanted friends, but the embarrassment of being forced to live as a girl was too much. It was six months after his ten year “strike” of girls' clothes and three of his closest friends were visiting. Duke, Brent, and Caley – identical triplets with short brown hair, eyes, and a smattering of freckles across their nose. The three young boys had been let into the music room where Tristant had been practicing and upon seeing his friends, the blonde grinned and set his violin on the piano's bench – freeing his hands so he could greet them as properly as a ten year old could. But Brent slipped past him without his noticing and ogled the cherry violin with big brown eyes. Before Tristant could even turn around, he heard a loud crack! and stiffened. He couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it. And if he turned around and set eyes on it, he would have to. “Get. Out,” he told his friends. Even after Duke's and Caley's ceaseless apologies for their brother (and Brent's tearful ones), Tristant hadn't let up. He wanted them out. Out of the room. Out of the hall. Out of his home. Out of his sight. He wanted them “Out out out!!”

                  Duke, Brent, and Caley scrambled out of the room and a few minutes later, Tristant watched them fall out the front door and run down the long drive. He never saw them again. Tristant, finally, turned from the window and let his gaze take in the broken neck of his violin. It was his most prized possession. His parents had a violinist visit Scone three times a week to teach him ever since he was two. Every day he'd thrown himself into his practice to get his mind off his embarrassment; allowed the feeling to fill his songs until he calmed down. His most precious friend was gone. She would never be the same. He needed his dad… and his mother. But they were gone. Again. For the umpteenth time that month. In his anger, Tristant tipped every porcelain bust in the room onto the marble floor – reveling in the sound of breakables shattering and not caring how expensive they were; the pieces had no sentimental value to him, he wasn't attached to the art work. He wanted his damn violin back!

                  Coincidentally, the sound of shattering porcelain caught the ear of his father who had just arrived from Italy with a stack of tomes to add to the library and to give Tristant some news. It was time to begin his training. The family may not have been considered royalty anymore, but they still had to act the part. And back in the day, Tristant would have been a prince – the heir to Scotland.

                  The following eight years were both hell and bliss for the young blonde. It was rough in the beginning, but as he learned self-control and -discipline it got easier. The training (coupled with his parents' constant comings and goings) would complete the process that had begun with his birth into the person he would later become. A true prince free from the make-believe bonds of Disney… He was anything but princely.
xxxxxxxxxxxFancying only that of cool waters...
                  violin ...
                  knee-high boots ...
                  tales ...
                  breakables ...
                  quiet ...
xxxxxxxxxxxAnd abhorring the lash of fire...
                  gifts ...
                  persuasion attempts ...
                  long-haired males ...
                  “friends” ...
                  Disney ...
xxxxxxxxxxxKeeping cowardice locked inside...
                  skirts ...
                  others touching his violin ...
                  never receiving parents' affection ...
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xxxxxxxxxMondayx x Friday
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

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                  xxxxDorm: 203, Annalisa Freja; Stewart Hall
                  Early morning: Breakfast at Rathskellar ...
                  Morning: [ ... ]
                  Noon: Lunch at Rathskellar ...
                  Afternoon: [ ... ]
                  Tea time: Free time ...
                  Evening: [ ... ] Club
                  Supper: Supper at Rathskellar ...
                  Late evening: Free time ...
                  Night: Sleep ...

xxxx━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━x
xxxxxxxxxSaturdayx x Sunday
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx- - - - - - - - - - - To Do List

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                  ...
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                  ...
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xxxxxxxxx» Month Day;; Time
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxAnnouncement Title Here

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                  Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here. Announcement content here.

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      = love/r
      = friend
      = enemy
      = not met/cares



xxxxxxxxx Violette Nickname Devereaux
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxFellow Student

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xxxxxxxxx Adelfonso Nickname de la Cruz
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxFellow Student

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xxxxxxxxx Emma Nickname Skyes
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxFellow Student

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xxxxxxxxx▣ / ✖ Riley Nickname Adonis
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxFellow Student

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xxxxxxxxx Elliot Nickname Takenaka
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxFellow Student

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xxxxxxxxx Alison Nickname Pryne
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxFellow Student

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xxxxxxxxx Jena Nickname Karuna
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxFellow Student

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xxxxxxxxx Mariela Nickname Bianchi
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxFellow Student

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xxxxxxxxx Ffion Nickname Morgan-Jones
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxFellow Student

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xxxxxxxxx Joseph Nickname Rounder
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxFellow Student

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xxxxxxxxx Amadeus Nickname Janosi
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxFellow Student

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xxxxxxxxx Annalisa Nickname Freja
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxFellow Student

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xxxxxxxxx Miss Kaitlin Nickname Summers
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxProfessor

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xxxxxxxxx Mister Bernard Nickname Toussaint
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxProfessor

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xDate Here;; Month Day






                xxx . . . Testing testing testing testing testing. Testing testing testing testing testing. Testing testing testing testing testing. “Testing testing testing testing testing testing testing testing testing testing. Testing testing testing testing testing. Testing testing testing testing testing. Testing testing testing testing testing. Testing testing testing testing testing. Testing testing testing testing testing.” Testing testing testing testing testing. Testing testing testing testing testing. Testing testing testing testing testing. ‘Testing testing testing testing testing. Testing testing testing testing testing. Testing testing testing testing testing. Testing testing testing testing testing testing testing testing testing testing. Testing testing testing testing testing. Testing testing testing testing testing.’ Testing testing testing testing testing. Testing testing testing testing testing. Testing testing testing testing testing. Testing testing testing testing testing. Testing testing testing testing testing. Testing testing testing testing testing.

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