░░▒▓▓██████►αﾚεx dαωηεψε
š⊕η ⊕ƒ ηïκε
š⊕η ⊕ƒ ηïκε
†hïš ïš mε, ωhα† m⊕rε d⊕ ψ⊕u ωαη†?
【ὛὋȖ ẂᾋƝ'Ҭ ҬὋ ḰƝὋẂ ṂὛ ƝᾋṂἝ? ẂἝĿĿ, ὋḰ, ἿҒ ὛὋȖ ṂȖṨҬ, ϐȖҬ ƉὋƝ'Ҭ ĿᾋȖƓἬ】
►Alex Lunare Dawneye◄
【ҬἬᾋҬ'Ṩ ȒἝᾋĿĿὛ ṂὛ ƝᾋṂἝ. ὛὋȖ ƇᾋƝ ƇᾋĿĿ ṂἝ】
►"Moonbeam" (But only by my father)◄
【ὛὋȖ ẂᾋƝҬ ҬὋ ḰƝὋẂ ṂὛ ᾋƓἝ ҬὋὋ? ẂἬᾋҬ ἿṨ ҬἬἿṨ, ᾋƝ ҒϐἿ ἿƝҬἝȒȒὋƓᾋҬἿὋƝ? ҒἿƝἝ, ҒἿƝἝ, Ἷ'Ṃ】
►16◄
【ὛἝᾋἬ, ᾋҬ ἬὋṂἝ ἿҬ'Ṩ ЈȖṨҬ ṂἝ ᾋƝƉ ṂὛ】
►Dad◄
【ƉȒȖṂȒὋĿĿ ƤĿἝᾋṨἝ! ṂὛ ƓὋƉĿὛ ƤᾋȒἝƝҬ ἿṨ!】
►Nike◄
【ẂἬᾋҬ ƇᾋƝ Ἷ ƉὋ? ẂἝĿĿ, Ἷ ἬᾋҬἝ ҬὋ ϐȒᾋƓ ϐȖҬ】
►I'm pretty intelligent, or so I've been told. I've been reading at a college grade level since I was in fourth grade (which I skipped). Unlike most kids, I'm extremely adept with technology. Not everyone can say that they've hacked into the defence grid of a medium sized third-world country! I'm also pretty graceful, due to my years of dance and musical theatre.◄
ﾚ⊕⊕κïηg α ßï† dεεpεr. šεεïηg ωhα†'š ïηšïdε.
【ẂἝĿĿ, ὛἝᾋἬ. Ἷ ƉὋƝ'Ҭ ἬᾋҬἝ ἝVἝȒὛҬἬἿƝƓ】
►I like to read, write, sing, and dance. That's it. Go away. ◄
【ϐȖҬ ҬἬἝȒἝ ᾋȒἝ ṨὋṂἝ ҬἬἿƝƓ ҬἬᾋҬ Ἷ ƇᾋƝ'Ҭ ṨҬᾋƝƉ!】
►America. The colour yellow. Pinatas. Orphans. Rednecks. Hillbillies (yeah, apparently they're different things). People in general....yeah, it's safe to assume that everything that I haven't explicitly said I like is something I despise.◄
【ƓὋҬ ҬὋ ἬᾋVἝ ṨὋṂἝҬἬἿƝƓ ҬὋ ƤȒὋҬἝƇҬ ṂὛṨἝĿҒ, ṨὋ ὛἝᾋἬ, Ἷ ƇᾋȒȒὛ 】
►My main weapon is, in my opinion, the most elegant, stylish, and graceful ever conceived...a whip. It's made of a super-thin, golden coloured Celestial Bronze, and I haven't found something it can't slice through. Of course, I also have two charm bracelets on either hand, underneath my sleeves. If I shake them the proper way, then they turn into butterfly knives, made of the same Celestial Bronze.◄
【ẂἬἝẂ! ἿҬ'Ṩ ϐἝἝƝ ᾋ ĿὋƝƓ ҬἿṂἝ ƇὋṂἿƝƓ, ϐȖҬ, ҒἿƝᾋĿĿὛ, ṂὛ ṨҬὋȒὛ】
►I've always been very competitive. My father told me that I would race him to see who could get my nappies off the fastest. Of course, I won, because they were on me...and it's his fault for challenging a child in the first place! But, I digress. My names Alex, Alex Lunare Dawneye. I'm sort of....peculiar to say the least. It's as if fate said, "Hey, let's take everything odd, strange, and generally misviewed by society, and dump it into this one kid." Well...thanks.
Anyway, I've always been bullied...from primary school onwards. I look wierd, thanks to my freakish eyes and even more freakish weight, and my skin doesn't help. Point is, I'm prime, grade-A, cut choice material for being picked on. And of course, even bullies have the smarts to realise when someone's weak. So, nearly every day I would get beatings from the thick-necked, ruddy-skinned types that do such.
My father, Lord Nathaniel Dawneye, wasn't exactly much help. Instead of offering to help me get past my problems, he told me, "If you don't learn for yourself, you'll always rely on others." Not exactly the best advice for an eight-year old, but it instilled in me...or possibly awoke within me...a desire to be completely self-reliant.
From that point on, I made my own meals, ran my own baths, and did whatever I could to not rely on anyone but myself. Then, when I turned ten, I signed up for Krav Maga classes. I advanced through the ranks pretty rapidly, my focus sharpening on this violent outlet for my energy. Then...well, let's say those wicked bullies don't mess with anyone anymore, not unless they want their arms broken and torn from their sockets once more.
But, the point is, from that point on, anyone who was arrogant was on my bad side, instantly. Those self-assured, smug little prats really just rub the wrong way! Unfortunately, when I turned thirteen, I started seeing...strange things. It seemed like everyday occurances suddenly had a...paranormal feel to them. The strangest things, however, were the bullies who had seemed to be such normalities in my life...now, they didn't seem human. Their skin seemed tougher, their actions more oafish, and...I could never look at their faces. I can't tell you now what colour their hair or eyes were...it's rather strange. I know now that they were Cyclopes, but at the time, I was...scared.
Then, on a dark, windy Friday, when I was on my way home, they ambushed me. I was dragged into an alley, and I barely managed to hold them off. The adrenaline rushing through me was so strong, that by the time I made it home, and opened the door (when it wore off), I collapsed. Apparently, my wounds were near-fatal. My father immediately realised the danger, and checked me into the finest hospital money could buy.
After a month, I woke up from my coma. My father sat silent by my side, dry tear stains on his face. He looked as though he hadn't bathed in the entire time I had been unconscious. "Fath--" I began, but he wouldn't let me finish. He gave me a change of clothes, and left the room, still not speaking. After I changed, he rushed me from the hospital, straight into a different limousine than normal. It seemed more of an armoured tank than a car!
Instead of taking me home, however, he took me to an airport. He pulled two suitcases from the trunk, and rushed me into the terminal. Half an hour later, we were on a flight to the States, and he still refused to say a word. We landed, and were immediately escorted (by some silent weight-lifting butlers) to another armoured-tank-limo.
Before I was shoved in, I managed to get a glimpse of the skyline. We were in New York! Then, the doors closed, and I was shut into the velvety prison with my mute father. We drove for what seemed like hours, occasionally going over (what I thought at the time was) a pothole. Soon, it was dark out, and the limousine pulled to a stop.
Father turned to me, and spoke for the first time, his voice raspy and cracking, "Listen, my son. I've always told you to be self-reliant. But I was wrong." This shocked me, as my father had never admitted such a thing! "You need protection that I can't offer, and help that I can't give you. Someone...rather special paid me a visit while you were comatose, and told me that this was the only safe haven for you. My son, know that I will always love you, but I'm afraid this is the last time we'll be able to see each other. Both of our lives would be in danger if we were to continue communication."
Awkwardly, we embraced, and I could feel his chest heaving with dry sobs. "As soon as you step out, run to the tree, and down the hill. I've been told that a man named "Mr. D." will be there to meet you. I...I love you son." With that, he opened the door, gave me my luggage, and shoved me towards a large pine tree. When I reached it, a strange tingling ran through my body, as though I'd stepped through a giant static field. I looked back, and watched the gold-dusted wheels of the limo speed off.
I didn't cry. I never cry. He did what was best for me. I walked down the hill, and never looked back.◄
ωεﾚﾚ, †hα†'š ï†. ïƒ ψ⊕u ωαη† †⊕ κη⊕ω m⊕rε, ς⊕mε †αﾚκ †⊕ mε αgαïη š⊕mεï†mε.
►Alex Lunare Dawneye◄
【ҬἬᾋҬ'Ṩ ȒἝᾋĿĿὛ ṂὛ ƝᾋṂἝ. ὛὋȖ ƇᾋƝ ƇᾋĿĿ ṂἝ】
►"Moonbeam" (But only by my father)◄
【ὛὋȖ ẂᾋƝҬ ҬὋ ḰƝὋẂ ṂὛ ᾋƓἝ ҬὋὋ? ẂἬᾋҬ ἿṨ ҬἬἿṨ, ᾋƝ ҒϐἿ ἿƝҬἝȒȒὋƓᾋҬἿὋƝ? ҒἿƝἝ, ҒἿƝἝ, Ἷ'Ṃ】
►16◄
【ὛἝᾋἬ, ᾋҬ ἬὋṂἝ ἿҬ'Ṩ ЈȖṨҬ ṂἝ ᾋƝƉ ṂὛ】
►Dad◄
【ƉȒȖṂȒὋĿĿ ƤĿἝᾋṨἝ! ṂὛ ƓὋƉĿὛ ƤᾋȒἝƝҬ ἿṨ!】
►Nike◄
【ẂἬᾋҬ ƇᾋƝ Ἷ ƉὋ? ẂἝĿĿ, Ἷ ἬᾋҬἝ ҬὋ ϐȒᾋƓ ϐȖҬ】
►I'm pretty intelligent, or so I've been told. I've been reading at a college grade level since I was in fourth grade (which I skipped). Unlike most kids, I'm extremely adept with technology. Not everyone can say that they've hacked into the defence grid of a medium sized third-world country! I'm also pretty graceful, due to my years of dance and musical theatre.◄
ﾚ⊕⊕κïηg α ßï† dεεpεr. šεεïηg ωhα†'š ïηšïdε.
【ẂἝĿĿ, ὛἝᾋἬ. Ἷ ƉὋƝ'Ҭ ἬᾋҬἝ ἝVἝȒὛҬἬἿƝƓ】
►I like to read, write, sing, and dance. That's it. Go away. ◄
【ϐȖҬ ҬἬἝȒἝ ᾋȒἝ ṨὋṂἝ ҬἬἿƝƓ ҬἬᾋҬ Ἷ ƇᾋƝ'Ҭ ṨҬᾋƝƉ!】
►America. The colour yellow. Pinatas. Orphans. Rednecks. Hillbillies (yeah, apparently they're different things). People in general....yeah, it's safe to assume that everything that I haven't explicitly said I like is something I despise.◄
【ƓὋҬ ҬὋ ἬᾋVἝ ṨὋṂἝҬἬἿƝƓ ҬὋ ƤȒὋҬἝƇҬ ṂὛṨἝĿҒ, ṨὋ ὛἝᾋἬ, Ἷ ƇᾋȒȒὛ 】
►My main weapon is, in my opinion, the most elegant, stylish, and graceful ever conceived...a whip. It's made of a super-thin, golden coloured Celestial Bronze, and I haven't found something it can't slice through. Of course, I also have two charm bracelets on either hand, underneath my sleeves. If I shake them the proper way, then they turn into butterfly knives, made of the same Celestial Bronze.◄
【ẂἬἝẂ! ἿҬ'Ṩ ϐἝἝƝ ᾋ ĿὋƝƓ ҬἿṂἝ ƇὋṂἿƝƓ, ϐȖҬ, ҒἿƝᾋĿĿὛ, ṂὛ ṨҬὋȒὛ】
►I've always been very competitive. My father told me that I would race him to see who could get my nappies off the fastest. Of course, I won, because they were on me...and it's his fault for challenging a child in the first place! But, I digress. My names Alex, Alex Lunare Dawneye. I'm sort of....peculiar to say the least. It's as if fate said, "Hey, let's take everything odd, strange, and generally misviewed by society, and dump it into this one kid." Well...thanks.
Anyway, I've always been bullied...from primary school onwards. I look wierd, thanks to my freakish eyes and even more freakish weight, and my skin doesn't help. Point is, I'm prime, grade-A, cut choice material for being picked on. And of course, even bullies have the smarts to realise when someone's weak. So, nearly every day I would get beatings from the thick-necked, ruddy-skinned types that do such.
My father, Lord Nathaniel Dawneye, wasn't exactly much help. Instead of offering to help me get past my problems, he told me, "If you don't learn for yourself, you'll always rely on others." Not exactly the best advice for an eight-year old, but it instilled in me...or possibly awoke within me...a desire to be completely self-reliant.
From that point on, I made my own meals, ran my own baths, and did whatever I could to not rely on anyone but myself. Then, when I turned ten, I signed up for Krav Maga classes. I advanced through the ranks pretty rapidly, my focus sharpening on this violent outlet for my energy. Then...well, let's say those wicked bullies don't mess with anyone anymore, not unless they want their arms broken and torn from their sockets once more.
But, the point is, from that point on, anyone who was arrogant was on my bad side, instantly. Those self-assured, smug little prats really just rub the wrong way! Unfortunately, when I turned thirteen, I started seeing...strange things. It seemed like everyday occurances suddenly had a...paranormal feel to them. The strangest things, however, were the bullies who had seemed to be such normalities in my life...now, they didn't seem human. Their skin seemed tougher, their actions more oafish, and...I could never look at their faces. I can't tell you now what colour their hair or eyes were...it's rather strange. I know now that they were Cyclopes, but at the time, I was...scared.
Then, on a dark, windy Friday, when I was on my way home, they ambushed me. I was dragged into an alley, and I barely managed to hold them off. The adrenaline rushing through me was so strong, that by the time I made it home, and opened the door (when it wore off), I collapsed. Apparently, my wounds were near-fatal. My father immediately realised the danger, and checked me into the finest hospital money could buy.
After a month, I woke up from my coma. My father sat silent by my side, dry tear stains on his face. He looked as though he hadn't bathed in the entire time I had been unconscious. "Fath--" I began, but he wouldn't let me finish. He gave me a change of clothes, and left the room, still not speaking. After I changed, he rushed me from the hospital, straight into a different limousine than normal. It seemed more of an armoured tank than a car!
Instead of taking me home, however, he took me to an airport. He pulled two suitcases from the trunk, and rushed me into the terminal. Half an hour later, we were on a flight to the States, and he still refused to say a word. We landed, and were immediately escorted (by some silent weight-lifting butlers) to another armoured-tank-limo.
Before I was shoved in, I managed to get a glimpse of the skyline. We were in New York! Then, the doors closed, and I was shut into the velvety prison with my mute father. We drove for what seemed like hours, occasionally going over (what I thought at the time was) a pothole. Soon, it was dark out, and the limousine pulled to a stop.
Father turned to me, and spoke for the first time, his voice raspy and cracking, "Listen, my son. I've always told you to be self-reliant. But I was wrong." This shocked me, as my father had never admitted such a thing! "You need protection that I can't offer, and help that I can't give you. Someone...rather special paid me a visit while you were comatose, and told me that this was the only safe haven for you. My son, know that I will always love you, but I'm afraid this is the last time we'll be able to see each other. Both of our lives would be in danger if we were to continue communication."
Awkwardly, we embraced, and I could feel his chest heaving with dry sobs. "As soon as you step out, run to the tree, and down the hill. I've been told that a man named "Mr. D." will be there to meet you. I...I love you son." With that, he opened the door, gave me my luggage, and shoved me towards a large pine tree. When I reached it, a strange tingling ran through my body, as though I'd stepped through a giant static field. I looked back, and watched the gold-dusted wheels of the limo speed off.
I didn't cry. I never cry. He did what was best for me. I walked down the hill, and never looked back.◄
ωεﾚﾚ, †hα†'š ï†. ïƒ ψ⊕u ωαη† †⊕ κη⊕ω m⊕rε, ς⊕mε †αﾚκ †⊕ mε αgαïη š⊕mεï†mε.
