Character name: Herz Victor Hessian Background: Born to Bette and Richard Hessian in October of 1988, Herz came into life with his Grandmother’s name and a ten year old brother vowing up and down to protect him like a brother should. His house was built in the tiny town Haven, Kansas, but his home would always be in literature. Thanks to his father’s influence, Herz grew to love books. Thanks to his mother’s, his favorite book would be the bible.
His passion for words--and more particularly the word of God-thwarted most attempts at connecting with boys his age, but he told himself he didn’t mind. He knew family members were all the friends he’d need. They always understood him, always appreciated his voice, always agreed with his opinions. Unless they were wrong. If they were wrong, his mother would tell him so, and he’d change his opinion accordingly.
To save money, Herz was homeschooled. His mother kept Christ in the classroom, his father taught science straight while departing the understanding God had a hand in it all. Herz would devour every new piece of information presented to him across their dining room table. He rarely left his house for anything but church, and never without a parent.
His older brother, Cole, hadn’t been homeschooled. Herz envied him, especially the part where he got to ride the huge, yellow bus for miles and miles with all his friends. Sometimes at night, Herz would pester him about what school was like. The stories Cole told of hot-lunch and gym class would be the foundation of Herz’s decision to start public schooling at sixth grade.
This would turn out to be a disaster. Sheltered and coddled, Herz had no way to prepare himself for the reality that people would disagree with him. Openly. Rudely. Even the littlest disagreements found ways to upset him. No matter their size, he’d take each argument to the nearest adult. It wasn’t long at all before he earned a reputation as a whiner, a cry-baby, a drama queen, a kill-joy. No one wanted to be friends with him for fear they’d set him off and be tattled on. About the only social interaction he enjoyed was with the bullies he attracted.
His mother saw nothing wrong with Herz’s behavior. She insisted the other children were in the wrong. Herz believed her for a while, but something had to give. He couldn’t stand the thought of people hating him, and that’s exactly what they seemed to be doing. By the time he graduated from middle school, Herz felt he knew the problem; him.
Herz App 2/HE LOVES YOUlisten_toyourDecember 31 2010, 01:09:51 UTC
He tried for a complete 180. He tried quiet. He tried submissive. He hated it-he knew it made him look weak and he felt that made it true-but he desperately wanted to be accepted. And yet, nothing seemed to work. His school was small and close-knit and he’d formed a reputation he couldn’t be rubbed clean of. The bullying got worse when he refused to argue. High school became a hell, but Herz saw it as a test from God. He told himself if he could brave the fires of his peer’s tongues and survive without compromising his morals, God would reward him.
Apparently God’s reward came in the form of a kidnapping and torture session at the hand of his classmates.
Herz had adopted walking home from school after a particularly terrible day on the bus involving glue, his backpack and the entire contents there-of. Seventeen and still growing, he found himself being dragged by three other teenagers through a corn field along his route to a tree wound with rope. He struggled, but they overpowered him. He was stripped, tied and beaten. He was forced to say humiliating things and, for the finale, the ring-leader pulled out a knife. He cut Herz wherever he fancied, but he took special care carving the four, long scars across the teen’s face, starting at the edge of his right cheek and right across his nose and mouth. He was found and recovered by the police later that night.
Legal action was taken, but it didn’t matter. Herz was done. He was done trying to co-exist with the outside world. He was scarred for life-mentally, physically--and there was nothing he could do about it. After a brief hospital stay, he retreated to his house and buried himself in his home. The plan would be finish his schooling how it started-taught to him by his parents across the dinning room table. He’d get his GED. He’d apply and attend Hutchington Community College, where his father works. He’d rarely leave his house for anything but church, and never without a parent. Personality: Herz is an extrovert who was man-handled into being an introvert. If given the right attention, the right social cues and enough care, he can be very personable, talkative and outgoing. This, however, can be lost at any moment's time. The other shoe falls, and he shuts down again. It's a defense mechanism. Above all things, he’s frightened, self-fulfilling prophesy, who’s afraid to act because, oh god, what if he fails? He’s afraid of other people because he expects them to hate him on principle. Everyone else found a reason to, so.
Herz has the mood-swings you'd typically expect from a teenage boy who's just about done growing. One day he can be in the best spirits imaginable, the next the sky is falling. Generally, though, he tries to be cheerful, in a quiet sort of sad way. Wouldn't want to be too excited and make himself a bother, you see, or too sad and get you worrying about him. He's a nice fellow about 90% of the time. The other 10% is for when his life goes to shit, as it has a want to do, which he takes very personally and very hard. This is usually when he finds himself lashing out or losing his temper. Mostly, though, he just gets whiny. Appearance: Herz has just about finished growing, topping out at a healthy 6’3”. However, he’s got a hell of a slouch, so that brings him back down a few inches. He’s skinny, almost bony, with long limbs and broad shoulders. As he doesn’t get out much, his complexion is fair. His eyes are large and brown, with long, feminine eyelashes. Typically, though, they’re lost somewhere behind his mop of shaggy, equally brown hair. It falls a few inches past his shoulders, with bangs long enough to obscure a good chunk of his face. He usually keeps it parted in such a way to do just that, in hopes to cover his scars.
The scars are four thin lines roughly parallel from one another that run horizontally across his face. Two travel over his nose, one across the gap between his nose and his mouth, and the last splitting his bottom lip at the corners. All four begin at the far right of his face and end just a centimeter past the end of his mouth.
Herz App 3/4 HOW DO YOU KNOWlisten_toyourDecember 31 2010, 01:12:23 UTC
Skills/Abilities: Holy crap, Herz loves to cook. He knows how to cook very well. He’s also got a knack for home-repair. Because of his interest in baseball, he’s got a good arm and has the potential of being a decent shot. He enjoys writing (usually flowery poetry), but would be far too terrified to share a lick of it. He’s an intelligent boy about some things, and crippling naïve about others, usually when it comes things to street smarts and social cues. Spoken/Written languages: English all the way, baby. He knows a few phrases in German, but he’s not one to ramble them off at random. Items: His clothing (a base-ball T, a pair of jeans, his socks, a silver cross necklace), a pocket notebook and two pens.
Herz App 4/4 HE'S YOURSlisten_toyourJanuary 1 2011, 15:53:28 UTC
Third person sample: He wakes with a start to a sweat and a heat and the vague impression of a dream he…really wishes he could forget.
He doesn’t want to move because it means pulling the covers away and facing the reality of his erection. He can’t stay here and ignore it, because it won’t be ignored. He has to face it-he hates it-and get up, and navigate his way to the shower now, before his parents wake up…
Can’t linger.
Can’t…close his eyes and try to hold onto the last fleeting images of his dream before they fade. That dream, the one he doesn’t want to remember.
But that’s what Herz does, as he often does. He lingers for another minute. Just one. Closes his eyes. Doesn’t realize, as he shifts to get back to comfortable that he makes a noise, under his breath. A pleased, breathy noise.
He can’t…feel it anymore, but he can still almost see it. The wispy, half images his brain’s trying to organize-the fingers and the face and the body connected to that face and he remembers seeing himself and his reactions-and piece them back together into a whole.
A…completely sinful, terrible whole-why is he still lying here? The minute passes; Herz rips the blankets off like a band-aid and stumbles his way out of the room. The bathroom door shuts behind him, and he strips off his pajamas and wishes he could pull off his skin under that. It’s on too tight, possibly an entire size too small.
The bathroom is small, with faded floral wallpaper that hasn’t changed since as far back as he can remember. It used to be the printed bouquets were closer to gold than golden brown, but there is a patch-a square patch directly over the sink-that's still crisp and close-to-new. The mirror used to protect it from the elements and the florescent bulb on the ceiling, but the mirror’s gone now. Been gone for a year and a half. The dreams, though, they have been around for much longer.
The water’s cold. A cliché, but it works. His hand is firm as he fixes his stare down at the drain. It’s quick and quiet and painless. It’s over in less than a minute. Herz stays in the shower for the next twenty-nine, eyes to the drain, reciting verses in his head until he's stamped them down. The lingering images. He mechanically washes while his mind sets to suppressing. The dream doesn't get forgotten, but at least how he feels like he can continue on with his day. The faucet's turned off. He steps out, pats himself dry, and the routine continues until it's brought around, full circle.
Eventually, he does have to crawl back into that bed. The possibility hangs over him--what if he gets it again tonight?--and really, no amount of scripture before hand can save him. Sometimes that just puts it on the forefront, insuring he'll see it, giving his imagination fodder. Believe me, the irony doesn't escape him.
Maybe he can hide from the world, but he can't hide from God, and he can’t hide from himself. First person sample: [While it was entirely by accident, he’s so glad he found you, other person apparently trapped in the exact same situation as him. Not sure if you’re aware, but you’ve made his life by being just as confused, distressed and kidnapped as he is. He’s listened to a few conversations by now and has decided to give one of his own a go. He thinks he has it. He thinks he knows how it works.]
Uhm.
H-hello? Can, uh. I-I don’t know if-i-if-
You can-can-
[His voice is wavering and he swallows, trying to clear it.]
Can…hear me. But. I-I heard…You. I’m-
I’m not…’sposed to-to be here either. I wasn’t. This…wasn’t where I fell asleep, I’m-
Can. Can we maybe…I-I dunno. Help each-other? I dunno how just-
I-I-I-I dunno we could…think. Think of-of something…?
You can find information about your character's appearance to Vertiline here and specific information on their housing here.
Vertiline is not yet open, so please refrain from any IC posting. The mods are planning a special opening event for our first batch of accepted characters and will let everyone know the moment everything is ready to begin!
If you have any additional questions, please feel free to check over our Rules and FAQ once more, or contact a mod with your inquiry.
Age: 20
Username: ”luna-kitsu-blu”
Email: Blufox848@aol.com
IM: cmdrpinstripes
Character name: Herz Victor Hessian
Background: Born to Bette and Richard Hessian in October of 1988, Herz came into life with his Grandmother’s name and a ten year old brother vowing up and down to protect him like a brother should. His house was built in the tiny town Haven, Kansas, but his home would always be in literature. Thanks to his father’s influence, Herz grew to love books. Thanks to his mother’s, his favorite book would be the bible.
His passion for words--and more particularly the word of God-thwarted most attempts at connecting with boys his age, but he told himself he didn’t mind. He knew family members were all the friends he’d need. They always understood him, always appreciated his voice, always agreed with his opinions. Unless they were wrong. If they were wrong, his mother would tell him so, and he’d change his opinion accordingly.
To save money, Herz was homeschooled. His mother kept Christ in the classroom, his father taught science straight while departing the understanding God had a hand in it all. Herz would devour every new piece of information presented to him across their dining room table. He rarely left his house for anything but church, and never without a parent.
His older brother, Cole, hadn’t been homeschooled. Herz envied him, especially the part where he got to ride the huge, yellow bus for miles and miles with all his friends. Sometimes at night, Herz would pester him about what school was like. The stories Cole told of hot-lunch and gym class would be the foundation of Herz’s decision to start public schooling at sixth grade.
This would turn out to be a disaster. Sheltered and coddled, Herz had no way to prepare himself for the reality that people would disagree with him. Openly. Rudely. Even the littlest disagreements found ways to upset him. No matter their size, he’d take each argument to the nearest adult. It wasn’t long at all before he earned a reputation as a whiner, a cry-baby, a drama queen, a kill-joy. No one wanted to be friends with him for fear they’d set him off and be tattled on. About the only social interaction he enjoyed was with the bullies he attracted.
His mother saw nothing wrong with Herz’s behavior. She insisted the other children were in the wrong. Herz believed her for a while, but something had to give. He couldn’t stand the thought of people hating him, and that’s exactly what they seemed to be doing. By the time he graduated from middle school, Herz felt he knew the problem; him.
Reply
Apparently God’s reward came in the form of a kidnapping and torture session at the hand of his classmates.
Herz had adopted walking home from school after a particularly terrible day on the bus involving glue, his backpack and the entire contents there-of. Seventeen and still growing, he found himself being dragged by three other teenagers through a corn field along his route to a tree wound with rope. He struggled, but they overpowered him. He was stripped, tied and beaten. He was forced to say humiliating things and, for the finale, the ring-leader pulled out a knife. He cut Herz wherever he fancied, but he took special care carving the four, long scars across the teen’s face, starting at the edge of his right cheek and right across his nose and mouth. He was found and recovered by the police later that night.
Legal action was taken, but it didn’t matter. Herz was done. He was done trying to co-exist with the outside world. He was scarred for life-mentally, physically--and there was nothing he could do about it. After a brief hospital stay, he retreated to his house and buried himself in his home. The plan would be finish his schooling how it started-taught to him by his parents across the dinning room table. He’d get his GED. He’d apply and attend Hutchington Community College, where his father works. He’d rarely leave his house for anything but church, and never without a parent.
Personality: Herz is an extrovert who was man-handled into being an introvert. If given the right attention, the right social cues and enough care, he can be very personable, talkative and outgoing. This, however, can be lost at any moment's time. The other shoe falls, and he shuts down again. It's a defense mechanism. Above all things, he’s frightened, self-fulfilling prophesy, who’s afraid to act because, oh god, what if he fails? He’s afraid of other people because he expects them to hate him on principle. Everyone else found a reason to, so.
Herz has the mood-swings you'd typically expect from a teenage boy who's just about done growing. One day he can be in the best spirits imaginable, the next the sky is falling. Generally, though, he tries to be cheerful, in a quiet sort of sad way. Wouldn't want to be too excited and make himself a bother, you see, or too sad and get you worrying about him. He's a nice fellow about 90% of the time. The other 10% is for when his life goes to shit, as it has a want to do, which he takes very personally and very hard. This is usually when he finds himself lashing out or losing his temper. Mostly, though, he just gets whiny.
Appearance: Herz has just about finished growing, topping out at a healthy 6’3”. However, he’s got a hell of a slouch, so that brings him back down a few inches. He’s skinny, almost bony, with long limbs and broad shoulders. As he doesn’t get out much, his complexion is fair. His eyes are large and brown, with long, feminine eyelashes. Typically, though, they’re lost somewhere behind his mop of shaggy, equally brown hair. It falls a few inches past his shoulders, with bangs long enough to obscure a good chunk of his face. He usually keeps it parted in such a way to do just that, in hopes to cover his scars.
The scars are four thin lines roughly parallel from one another that run horizontally across his face. Two travel over his nose, one across the gap between his nose and his mouth, and the last splitting his bottom lip at the corners. All four begin at the far right of his face and end just a centimeter past the end of his mouth.
Reply
Spoken/Written languages: English all the way, baby. He knows a few phrases in German, but he’s not one to ramble them off at random.
Items: His clothing (a base-ball T, a pair of jeans, his socks, a silver cross necklace), a pocket notebook and two pens.
Reply
He doesn’t want to move because it means pulling the covers away and facing the reality of his erection. He can’t stay here and ignore it, because it won’t be ignored. He has to face it-he hates it-and get up, and navigate his way to the shower now, before his parents wake up…
Can’t linger.
Can’t…close his eyes and try to hold onto the last fleeting images of his dream before they fade. That dream, the one he doesn’t want to remember.
But that’s what Herz does, as he often does. He lingers for another minute. Just one. Closes his eyes. Doesn’t realize, as he shifts to get back to comfortable that he makes a noise, under his breath. A pleased, breathy noise.
He can’t…feel it anymore, but he can still almost see it. The wispy, half images his brain’s trying to organize-the fingers and the face and the body connected to that face and he remembers seeing himself and his reactions-and piece them back together into a whole.
A…completely sinful, terrible whole-why is he still lying here? The minute passes; Herz rips the blankets off like a band-aid and stumbles his way out of the room. The bathroom door shuts behind him, and he strips off his pajamas and wishes he could pull off his skin under that. It’s on too tight, possibly an entire size too small.
The bathroom is small, with faded floral wallpaper that hasn’t changed since as far back as he can remember. It used to be the printed bouquets were closer to gold than golden brown, but there is a patch-a square patch directly over the sink-that's still crisp and close-to-new. The mirror used to protect it from the elements and the florescent bulb on the ceiling, but the mirror’s gone now. Been gone for a year and a half. The dreams, though, they have been around for much longer.
The water’s cold. A cliché, but it works. His hand is firm as he fixes his stare down at the drain. It’s quick and quiet and painless. It’s over in less than a minute. Herz stays in the shower for the next twenty-nine, eyes to the drain, reciting verses in his head until he's stamped them down. The lingering images. He mechanically washes while his mind sets to suppressing. The dream doesn't get forgotten, but at least how he feels like he can continue on with his day. The faucet's turned off. He steps out, pats himself dry, and the routine continues until it's brought around, full circle.
Eventually, he does have to crawl back into that bed. The possibility hangs over him--what if he gets it again tonight?--and really, no amount of scripture before hand can save him. Sometimes that just puts it on the forefront, insuring he'll see it, giving his imagination fodder. Believe me, the irony doesn't escape him.
Maybe he can hide from the world, but he can't hide from God, and he can’t hide from himself.
First person sample: [While it was entirely by accident, he’s so glad he found you, other person apparently trapped in the exact same situation as him. Not sure if you’re aware, but you’ve made his life by being just as confused, distressed and kidnapped as he is. He’s listened to a few conversations by now and has decided to give one of his own a go. He thinks he has it. He thinks he knows how it works.]
Uhm.
H-hello? Can, uh. I-I don’t know if-i-if-
You can-can-
[His voice is wavering and he swallows, trying to clear it.]
Can…hear me. But. I-I heard…You. I’m-
I’m not…’sposed to-to be here either. I wasn’t. This…wasn’t where I fell asleep, I’m-
Can. Can we maybe…I-I dunno. Help each-other? I dunno how just-
I-I-I-I dunno we could…think. Think of-of something…?
Reply
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Vertiline is not yet open, so please refrain from any IC posting. The mods are planning a special opening event for our first batch of accepted characters and will let everyone know the moment everything is ready to begin!
If you have any additional questions, please feel free to check over our Rules and FAQ once more, or contact a mod with your inquiry.
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