I came up with a new story, which I've already posted under the title of The Detention Chronicles, and mused on my main character. I think he's my favorite OC ever.
Like you guys give a damn. x] Ah, well, on with the rant.
His name is Dante Reed. His parents are literary critics and never home, seeing they both are publishing authors as well, and from all that creative potential came out his name. Dante is a little bit of everything, but mostly an eternal cynic. He has an unhealthy obsession with human vice and dictionaries. He writes a lot. Detention is his second home. The proof is his one-way intimate relationship with his detention supervisor, The Teach, who is an English teacher to the junior classes, but not his. He sits there and stares at his paper, occasionally giving Dante a few quizzical looks, nothing more. But Dante notices a lot. Dante's attention span, when it comes to things he dislikes and finds boring, is often reduced to the one of a three-year-old. His remarks tend to get him in trouble, thus the detention. Plus, he thinks too much, not thinks, contemplates.
One might call him selfish. When he has no interest in something, he will refuse to do it. Very simple. And he loses that same interest quite quickly and gains it as well. No one can predict his moods.
Dante hates his father's turtle-necks. He is claustrophobic thus dislikes claustrophobic clothing.
In spite of his mother's efforts to "civilize" him, he worships his iPod and breathes with it. Hoodies and an occasional piece of eccentric clothing are what he likes best. He was spotted cruising the downtown on his neighbor's kid's skateboard while in a suit.
Dark brown hair and a fauxhawkwith red tips. Looks quite cute. Dante looks lovable actually, if it weren't for his personality, he might actually meet a girl some day. That fauxhawk could easily pass as a fringe since it's always down. But Dante never calls it that. Because he hates that 'emo shit.' He's in denial, according to the few people who dare calling themselves his friends. He'd rather make out with his mother than have a bite off anything meaty. Quite scrawny, he's a constant target to his mother's worry, when and if she's at home. The remainder of the time he's on his own, with his neighbor fretting over his poor diet daily.
Music?
Ah, yes. Give him Nick Cave, give him Joy Division and Massive Attack, give him Metallica and David Bowie, give him Muse and give him Deftones, give him anything dark and contemplative and he'll be thrilled. But it's more complicated than that. Guitar riffs. He's a prodigy at guitar. A selected few know about it.
He's pissed because he doesn't have a middle name. Still desperatelysearching for his pen-name.
That's about it. I've invented a new person.
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