TRELL, lawrence donnie-jude. [DONE, BBZ]

[L A R S]

Basics
Name: Lawrence Donnie-Jude Trell
Date of Birth: October 31, 1985
Gender: Male
Color Gene: Grey & Black
Occupation: photographer
Birthplace: New York

Turtle or Hare: Turtle (unless he's in a car... bad speeding habit this one)
Half Empty or Full: Empty
Truth or Lies: Lies
Day or Night: Night
Bright or Bland: Bland
Always or Never: Always
Love or War: Love
Black or White: Black

Personality and Traits.

Although he may seem a little rough around the edges, what with the tattoos and the piercings, Lars is quite the nice guy upon first meetings usually. He was infact raised with manners and remembers his P's and Q's. However, he won't hesitate to curse in front of you, given it's at an appropriate setting... growing up in a wealthy family gives you a good judgment of those times. He was born in New York, cut him some slack! Profanese is the second language, French his third. However, he does give a good laugh with it, so what the hell right?

With friends Lars is a tease. Not in the smutty sense (usually), but he'll toss you're nerves around over light conversation. The Profanese comes out like a wild animal with the friends, specifically. Despite his ability to lie, he'll avoid it with those he actually trusts, and remain as loyal as a fucking collie dog. He isn't exactly the 'manliest' of men, and believes that containing the emotions thing is bullshit. But that's what girl-friends are for. No, he's not a PMSing vagina and goes around having mood swings, but he isn't some idiot who keeps his feelings to himself all the time.

Lars doesn't like having enemies. Not when he's the one being preyed upon at least... He'll give any mother-fucker a piece of his mind if things go past the point of not giving the fuck ass the time of day. And if that doesn't work? Well both of them getting the shit beat tout of each other is always an option. If it's extreme hate, then sure enough.... Lars will be looking to see you dead, no if's and's or but's. Turning the other cheek is never an option, Lars won't take anyone's shit, even if he'll loose the defense against himself. Revenge is sweet. But on the other hand, once that payment is over, he rarely holds grudges. He just simply wont associate with you ever again, and the cold shoulder may be in order.

Love is something Lars takes seriously. He's chivalrous enough, in his own way, and treats his partner with equality. He relishes in having a companion and friend in a lover also. But when push comes to shove, he just, as cliché as it sounds follows his heart. There's really no need to get technical.

History.

October 31, 1985 on a brisk, fall, Halloween night Lawrence Donnie-Jude Trell met life. His mother, Rita, was a mere nine-teen years of age, his father, Andrew, a whopping twenty-two. The newborn was a product of a simple one-night stand, simple.. but however unfortunate, irresponsible. The couple had previously been reaping the benefits of being young, delighting themselves in late nights and alcohol. Andrew, infact had a little problem with the bottle. Rita, thankfully wasn't in deep with anything dangerous... cigarettes and coffee were her largest vices.

Drew was the werecat of the couple, unknown to Rita herself until some months into the pregnancy. She was benign to whatever that meant for her child, and the situation was left in the dark. Drew had promised on staying with her to raise their son, and so the young couple took on the task of being parents.

It was tough, as imagined, with Drew having left drinking behind not long before Lars was born. He was stressed, as was Rita, and aching for a drink. It didn't take but 2 months after their baby's birth for him to be sucking on a bottle more than his son himself.

With Andrew's relapse a spiral series of unfortunate events followed. Rita found Andrew in bed with another woman in their home, only feet away from their infant. She'd not have her baby boy start his life with a cheating alcoholic father, so Drew was soon out of their lives. So much for promises.

Now Rita had the task of being a young single mother, as if the previous situation wasn't hard enough. She took to the streets for income, doing ungodly and unpleasant occupations. But whom was she to leave Lars with while she was out? Her family had disowned her once she gave the news she was pregnant... she was alone. Rita had only one person to turn to, and that was Andrew. So for three years Lars was left in the care of an alcoholic gone drug addict while his mother whored herself on the streets. Surprisingly enough, he made it out of that situation alive and moderately well... a little on the skinny side, and some coughing from second hand smoke, but nothing more.

The New York school board however, kept a close eye on their new Kinder-gardener's parents.... or lack there of. PTC meetings were neglected almost all of the time, and the poor kid was picked up much later than he should have been. It only took a little investigating before five year old Lawrence Donnie-Jude Trell was in custody of the state.

Lars was merely a five year old though, and fought against anything that was to take him away from his parents. It was then his true werecat abilities came into play, and the state didn't let it go without a little note in his files....... well a big note in his files.

The four years he spent in a facility were well enough... somewhat like and orphanage, but Lars was no orphan. It wasn't a cliché home where they fed them porridge, the had simple chores to do and were fed cafeteria style food... the rest of the day was spent on the playgrounds, once a month they'd have a little trip to the zoo or aquarium, something along those lines. Some of his other friends in the home had their parents die, but from mere location many kids had been in the same situation as he.

Lars was a lucky one, though, when a counselor had requested he come in to have a meeting with two fair skinned and finely dressed individuals. Adoption wasn't an easy feat, like most cases, and the Audley's had been through all the legal work long before, now it was just time to take the nine year old across the lake to France.

And so they did. It was awkward for all parties at first. Lars remembered his biological parents vividly, and his life there, so to have two new individuals kindly insist that he call them his parents... it was just odd.

Darla, though, his new 'Maman', claimed to be a werecat like himself. At this time, Lars didn't know much about that part of himself besides the fact that the supervisors at the home always got frightened and scared for the other children when he got angry or had tantrums. The mutation rarely showed itself to the other kids, so it was left under the veil to him. The plane ride was long though, and he soon received a crash course on his species and the French language.

Upon arrival to the massive mansion.. in which the boy was simply awestruck that he'd be living here, Lars met Giselle. Things became a little less awkward with someone his own age.. or a year younger around. Within two weeks he was nicely settled in, enjoying his new school, however extremely challenging as he attempted to learn the curriculum and the language in which it was taught at the same time. It didn't take long for him to catch on quickly though, of course, kids are adaptable.

In the early years, Giselle was merely his sister. He'd tease and annoy her like any other brother would, to an extent, considering her temper. She'd do the same to him, and he'd get his revenge. And so simply, happy life went on in the large house. Lars still thought of the place and the grounds like a castle. He was never sure if Giselle saw it the way he did, but she was born into this after all, he'd never had imagined his future to be so blessed.

The simplistic child's life didn't last long as the two's growth progressed along with their hormones. High school had turned out to be Giselle's thing, School didn't fit well with Lars. Don't ask him why, exactly, because he has no idea, but the whole system just didn't fit with his needs. He didn't want to be a lawyer or a doctor or some other job everyone else had. Truth was he didn't know what he WANTED to be... only what he didn't want to be. And as an added weight, he was aware of his crush on Giselle. Lars was petrified, and didn't know how any of this news would sit with Darla and Gabriel.

By some miracle Lars graduated high school. No special awards were handed to him, and he barely had enough credits to graduate in the first place, but he did it, and that was the important thing. He didn't continue onto college, but he did work up enough gut to tell Giselle he loved her.

She went on to med school, he went on to contemplate what he was good at. Both didn't pay much regard to the fact that they were a mutation. Lars knew how Giselle felt about it, and generally kept it quiet. He didn't have any problem with who he was, and what he could do, but he'd lived with it his whole life, too long to think it was something weird or demented, it was just what he was, plain and simple.

With little more thought, Lars took up photography, at least until he found out what else he was passionate about. Photography was simple enough. A few college styled courses led the hobby into a profession. A portfolio was soon placed together and before long calls came in from first smaller independent magazines, after some years he's just begun to receive calls from more upstanding magazines and industries, movie stills, band photos, you name it. It was fine by him, though, while Giselle worked her longer hours at the hospital he booked appointments and worked his pictures through chemicals. The couple reside in their own Paris mansion now, as happy as ever.

Sample Write a sample about your character doing one of the following;
REALLY D;!? I want to copy and paste, plz?

Lars didn't hear most of what Giselle said over the mighty blasts of his gun and the ones around him. He caught a few words, enough to know that something she said was in regards to the werewolf, Adam, Lars assuming he was here, or else she wouldn't have brought him up. Her last order to stay where he was left him moaning aggravated, a pain in his throat in the process.

Staying in one place was difficult when you had men going to kill you coming in from all sides. Lars had previously just kept moving as fast as he could, gunning down or punching the lights out of anyone who approached him too closely. He took her word for it though, and grabbed a hand gun from a man on the floor, the ammo still full. Lars ducked and rolled himself under a pool table the mob men all trying to follow. Lars's main plan wit the action was to be able to slow the men down as they tried crawling in after him. It worked, to say the least, and Lars had wiped out at least 15 from that time alone. Bullet's lodged into their faces immediately after they had poked their dumb heads under to see him.

Lars tried to keep it up, figuring this was his best defense against the swarm. However, he soon forgot about his rear end, and felt a hand at the back up his blood drenched neck. Another palm came down in front his his wound, malicious fingers digging into the nasty slit, ruining it further as the hands pulled him out from under the billiards table. "FUUUCK!" Lars let out in a hideously venomous scream from the shear pain, one could barely make out the profanity.

His limbs flailed slightly from the rush of pain as he was dragged out, whatever mobsters were left running to finish him off. But of course, Lars wouldn't have that, especially since they'd successfully pissed him off past his last limit. The ever present stinging pain in his neck drugged him with adrenaline, causing his fists to fly, his body and weapon just mindlessly doing whatever harm to anything it possibly could.

Lars saw Giselle, or Giselle's disguise rather as he raised his head from his most recent kill. Possibly the most brutal kill out of the whole casino. The man who'd shamelessly dug his sausage like fingers into Lars's neck lie on one of the billiard tables. The other mob men had nicely watched stood back when Lars had twirled around and grabbed the fucker by his collar and mercifully lammed his temple against the metal of the table before Lars plunged his mouth for his neck. To Lars's dismay, though, the man had already been in a daze when Lars quickly resurfaced, spitting out flesh, a gapping mess of blood and muscle left of the now dead man's neck. Lars's mouth tasted of blood, he was satisfied and let the man fall to the ground, a big eye sore for the rest, as he lept up onto and over the pool table to join the other two.

He went back to back with the two, who were in much better shape than he could wish to be. Lars spent no time with greetings toward Adam, he left that for later, if there was to be a later. And Lars would be damned if there wasn't one. Now was no the time or place for hellos, plus, with the way his vocal chords were damaged from screaming and obvious injury, Lars wasn't so sure he'd choose to let out his masochistic side now to say anything.

He simply relished in the small ounce of downtime, between Giselle's barking of orders. Orders he knew he would never follow. If Adam went down... well, they'd definitely hold him in the highest regards, but if Giselle fell? Well then, there was no question or argument in Lars's heart that he'd just leave to save his own blood stained hide, that thought was ridiculous.

Lars panted as he leaned against what seemed like Adam's back. Giselle wasn't that tall.. or that big for that matter. He caught his breath raggedly, now realizing how painful it was to feel the cold air run through his severed throat. Taking in more self realization, Lars came to the conclusion he'd either sweat enough to fill a swimming pool, or that his clothes, all the way down to his white cotton shirt were stained crimson. Probably both instances, to be truthful.

Lars lifted his two acquired pistols at an arms length, pointing at anyone of the Unicorn Ass Fuck Mobsters. Of course... they probably weren't called that, but it wasn't like Lars really cared about upsetting them. They had infact all stopped, causing for Lars to be majorly confused.

Until of course the flame throwers.

At that point Lars abandoned all vendetta, shoving it down into his pocket for some other time.

He'd get those fuckers all back for his neck at some point in his hopefully long-ish lifetime.... maybe. They owed him some fucking cash for him to repair a few tattoos that they and their 'best man' had successfully ruined. A few slits to the neck.... some point blank shots to his torso... yeah, quite a few pieces of his precious body art were trashed; blotched with pale, healed skin.

But at the moment, Lars turned around, catching sight of Giselle's eyes... as equally as large as his own, and gripped onto the back of Adam's shirt with one hand like... well simply like his whole fucking unnatural life depended on it, his pistol pointed in the front of the trio ready to gun down any thing that got in Adam's path.

Shirt turn to fur, shirt turns to fur ... Holy FUCK! Shirt better fucking turn to mother-fucking FUR!!

"Fucking MOOOOOOVE!"

OOC
OOC Name: Ellie
Contacts: PM