Name: Eion Risk
Nickname: Smokestack
Age: Says 16 on the ID.
Birthday: April 30th, 2001
Sign: Taurus
Gemstone: Diamond
Blood Type: ???
Fav. Food: Flavor adventures. New tastes, new textures, dish reimaginings.
Hated Food: Plain foods, staple american fare like mac n' cheese, meatloaf, pb&j.
Hobbies:
- Gloves and Shoes ;; Once upon a time, they were accessories. Leather gloves, fingerless driving gloves (despite his lack of driver's license), fishnet gloves, knit gloves, mittens, waterproof gloves each find a home in his closet. Best they are as gifts from others, though he finds no qualm in buying them himself. They see wear when the season dictates, and when self-consciousness burns its way into his mind.
Bathing ;; Pains leave by way of water -- the longer he stays in a bath, the less he feels the etch of sins in his skin. He prefers a book to read or papers to edit while he soaks. An hour a day washes away his cumulative ire. Scented candles, bath bombs, and commercial minutiae seldom find a thought in his mind since his smoke dominates other scents.
Gossip Gossip Gossip ;; Eion isn't immune to his socialite roots. He wants those snippets about Ms. Curnow's suspected b*****d child, or stories of how Mr. Breckenridge skipped his last week's social arrangements due to his ongoing obsession with the latest religious fad. How Melinda went seeking a guru out in the highest heights of the Himalayas because to her, Orientalism is just another word for magic. People have fantastical lives, and every day they share only the flashiest sides of themselves. Sometimes the raunchiest. Sometimes the saddest. And Eion likes to hear them all, through eavesdropping or skimming magazines or accosting the source himself.
Virtues:
- Precocious ;; Eion grew up quickly. Fast maturation and quick wit formed the root of his captain's career, where he learned to mince careful criticism with crafted compliment. He finds no draw in jocular behavior. He sees no poetry in taking all the world as a child does -- in its most literal, basic state. Nor does he find interest in painting himself a vapid teen. His skills are his own, sharp-honed and cerebral. Born of a quick mind.
Attentive ;; And that quick mind houses attentiveness. With word cast aside, Eion discerns for nonverbal stories. He focuses on context clues -- a bruised eye, a tear in the cuff of a sweater, a wedding band missing, a lack of smile. Each feature added, changed, or detracted shapes the story in a telling way. Is someone lying to him? Is he being set up? Is someone in trouble? These benign tips of the hand inform him to these ends. Sometimes his awareness stirs ashes enough to kindle a needed conversation. Other times they prevent him from burning himself.
Non ducor. Duco. ;; Yet to burn is to lead. Eion stokes an inner fire that demands action. Moving, seeking, guiding, poaching, doing. The world does not rest on idle shoulders -- it rots. He pairs thought to action with poetic care, wise and aware of those imprinted by him. By doing, he prevents stagnation. By guiding, he promotes growth. By seeking, he sharpens himself. It's with these passions that he pursues all goals -- Negaverse or otherwise. One day, that drive will place the world in his hands.
Romantic ;; In place of providing the world, that drive stokes passion. Passion comes from the Latin root word pati-. It means to suffer. To endure. Patience is not the ability to wait, but the ability to suffer. That same pain -- shared from passion to patience -- finds its followers in romantics. The familiar taste of pain in his soul brings vibrance to the world. Connection begets joy, intrigue, vivacity. Strife is a bitter drink, one best shared in strong company. The ability to touch and be touched lies in everyone, however deep, however submerged in that sea of cynicism and Eion wants to dig it out. He wants to taste that love.
Flaws:
- Hypercritical ;; Eion scathes for a better world. For a place where morals take precedent over profit lines. For people that value relationships over masturbatory instant gratification. For humans to take precedent over algorithms. But when given a shovel, man shows his penchant for burying himself -- and Eion can only watch. All those petty disappointments form a bone-deep iron that chars him, that brings his vitriol to boiling. He bites his tongue sometimes.
Hotheaded ;; And sometimes he spits that vitriol through bloodied holes. His restraint eroded with the wash of time, and now Eion risks his relationships when talking caustic. His bitterness finds light often, vented in blistering retorts or unthinking asides, and that flame cooks through most of his good intentions. Sometimes he's taken by destructive action. In the interregnum comes damage control.
Self-flagellating ;; And that interregnum is controlled by damage. When his flame cools, he stokes it with what pains he finds -- look, a boy so like himself that he can taste their sameness, now reduced to a starseed in hand. Broken memories taste euphoric, he knows. So do broken relationships, broken resolves, broken spirits. To do what pains him most promises a keen strength, a gnashing fuel for the inner fire. Drowning in hurt is its own confirmation that life holds value. Pity that people are a means to that end.
Sardonic ;; With that pity spoken in a wash of sarcasm. If it burns, it earns; if it bleeds, it reads: Eion tastes irony in tragedy fixations. A pure action's catastropic flotsam earns his black humor jetsam. Funny how the world fills itself with headline-sparking calamities, grievous incidents, and trickle-down maladies that prove smartly fitting. Accidents that are suddenly monetized. Victims becoming martyrs becoming celebrities. How strange the world becomes when it thinks it's learned how to suffer.
