A petit, pale, brown booklet sits there in the branches of a tree, high but just subtly, awkardly noticeable. Snugged between the long crevices of two branches, with a small gray bow waving in the wind. Inside many secrets, many stories, voices and labels are stored, stacked upon ink and soft imprints of paw prints there where mysteries sit, a cluttered bunch of words sets its place. On pages that waver in the wind, this little pale book sits with its little gray bow... nowhere to seek an eye or a mind except for its owners.
username;; Aysan1name;; Chemisegender;; Malepersonality;;JubyPhonic- Perfectionist complexElegance is a virtue of the honest. The perfect are strong, the perfect can't premis emotions, but they stand before the battle and the winds and smile anyways. Chemise can't seam to understand that there's no understanding it, life. He believes that everything should be in the right and that perfection is what he should strive for. Because anything else is weakness, showing hesitation and fear is weakness and emotions are what you are better without... and weakness does not create perfection. Perfection, perfection, perfection.. So that he can become important enough to be remembered.
Chemise constantly chooses to sit alone and just stare up at the sky, only with his thoughts and his notebook thinking of things. Lovely, beautiful things because those are perfect. Light music taps, the stringing voice of a violin, the tapping hyme of a song sung on piano, soft flower wavering in the wind, clear wight papers floating away into the sky, quickly grabbed by the wind, the things that are beautiful enough for his mind to conjure, perfect things. Unsociable is the one word that anyone can use to describe Chemise. And unsociable he is, writing deep words within that notebook about
how he can not understand, what he can not understand and just words about the world, all alone. His words are all philosophical in each sense, each one bringing him closer to being good enough and able to control himself.
He must be the best...
story;; "I can play dead. Just when I go to sleep, it seams I've flouted away like a rock. Lantern lights fill up the sky of my mind and sometimes I feel like I am a grain of sand within the whole desert, a tiny sprinkle of sugar taken from the pot, thrown onto a sweet something like no other sweet something.
I am not enough and yet I strive to be better than the boundaries I have not yet hit. I am, though, better than most of the ones around me. They are too engrossed in emotions, in superstitions, in niceties and imperfections. They say imperfections make perfection but I do not beleive that, such words do not exist."
Pale hair dripped down and away from an even paler face, usually he was a smug looking thing but when engrossed within his notebook concentration poured from him like that of a gunman within the war. Holding one hand up and over his eyes, pushing up that fluff of hair he somehow called manageable, he read his own words out loud in a whisper.
Sometimes he barely understood his own words.
1 extra;; Habits:
1. He loves to stroke his hands over things, to get the feeling. It makes him feel relaxed and as if he was actually natural, more alive and less detached than how he is. You can usually see him, stroking his hand over the cool metal rails that lead him down the stairways of his home, or pushing his fingers through the grass up on a hill, and breathing out a sigh.
2. Chemise has the habit of showing no emotion, or rather the only emotions he shows are negative and a trifle bit scary. A deep seriousness, vanity... no like, no love, no taste, no lust, for anything... Except for perfection.
He is setting himself up for failure in some ways, with this pursuit of "Everything good" as in-- everything made desirable and understandable. Considering others not good enough to help, it will get him falling off the ship but his vanity keeps him from seeing that. He just has the ability to speak in a mannerism that wards everybody away.
His distaste of the normal and the trivial make him a very lonely soul. A person who spends so much time alone that they are unaccustomed to acting as a part of society.
3. This is not specifically a habit as much of a reoccurring, though scarce but prominent, occasion within his life. Chemise is prone to, on the off chance, emotional and mental break downs. At this time it is good to stay away from him, his disgust for the mere mortals make his volatile in this state, yet pathetic to watch from afar or close by. These break downs hit randomly and can surprise the most stoic of people, so randomly, when his brain makes one connection within its ever veering system and it all just goes to hell and dies.
His emotions, his senses, his mind, everything that doesn't function completely correct within him is biting at his heart and he feels so confused and horrified and sad and petrified that he becomes one big wreck.
This is when he the most vulnerable, and, miraculously, sometimes this is the easiest time to interact with him. After all, when someone breaks down to just raw ability are they not easy to hold onto if touched in the right place within their mind? Though no one has done it, getting a hold of his hert and his trust, which would inevitably makes them see the deeper end... The depressing, hard to handle and annoying to deal with, yet somehow trusting of them, little pup he can be within the dark corners of his mind.