autumnskyproctor
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|  | QUIL -runs around like an insane-o chicken- [U//C]
« Thread Started on May 12, 2008, 9:47pm » | ![[Quote]](http://s4.images.proboards.com/buttons/quote.gif) |
[umm, yeah. I've never really played Quil before, and I'm not guaranteeing I'm good at him. Just giving y'all an app for kicks, even though, like I said, I've never roleplayed as him before. And it's like the job thing: can't get a job without experience, but you can't get experience without a job. Whatever. I'm ranting. Feel free to decline and completely flame this thread.]
STATISTICS
Full Name: Quil Nat Ateara the third
Nickname: Umm... Quil?
Your age now: Seventeen, though I can pass for older, a lot older.
Your age when you were changed: Recently, actually. I think I was sixteen
Pack: The Quileute Wolf pack, led by Sam Uley. Yup, sure you've heard of us.
BEAUTY
![[image]](http://i153.photobucket.com/albums/s204/wiKKedwierdO/quilateara.jpg)
Hair Color: black
Eye Color: brown
Overall Appearance: I am, as are all the rest of the Quileute werewolves, rather large, though the secomd smallest, standing at six feet and just over four inches. My hair is cropped short, only about an inch long, simply because it's so much easier that way. For when I'm a wolf, I mean; I wouldn't want to be running around with, like, a foot of hair hanging off me. I don't see how Jake can stand having his hair so long. I mean, Leah's a girl, but Jake's a guy for chrissake. Anywho, I'm basically always smiling. I'm not like the other guys, who think that the whole werewolf thing is a curse. I'm just glad I finally know what the hell's going on.
Likes:
Claire
being a werewolf [this is a double-whammy though]
cool autumn evenings
lazy sunday mornings
cliff diving. Who knew it'd actually be fun?
calling people "love." gosh I'm a fruitcake.
smiling. don't mock me because I'm a dork.
various kinds of music
on-tape books
Dislikes:
being a werewolf [toldja it was a double-whammy]
summer afternoons in forks. utter torture
feeling unwanted
being away from Claire for elongated periods of time. like a week.
being lectured.
people who don't practice what they preach
girls who are too concerned with their appearance [cough leah cough cough]
reading
most diseases. I don't get why they have to exist
Strengths:
Weaknesses:
Habits:
First Impressions:
Personality:First things first, lets get this straight: I am a sucker for admiration. I’m not the type that gets creeped out when someone looks up to me. I actually kind of like it. It makes me feel like I’ve done something to deserve it, and it’s pretty happy-making. And, yeah, I’m the type that likes to be happy. I’m not the type to be judgmental, in m opinion. I mean, I don’t form opinions on somebody based solely on the way they blinked at me ten years ago in kindergarten. So, really, my relations are like a blank slate. If you want to be my friend, it's really easy, as is being my enemy. It all depends on your preference. It makes very little difference for me either way, and I guess you can call me a weak person because of it. But, I'm not a weak person, just not a picky one.
I think it's safe to say that I am sometimes a bit of a pervert. It is also safe to say that a two-year-old little girl changed that, on the most part, but that is completely besides the point. I like to think of myself as being friendly, and sweet when I can help it. Giving my younger and female friends pet names like honey and sweetheart makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and it makes me feel even more special when they return the gesture. I'm the type of sucker that starts tearing up after reading a really deep book, and that actually respects his parents' opinions. I don't need an alibi to take my grandfather to the safeway mart, or to throw a baseball around with my brother. And it's true that I'm kind of shy, but once you get me to open up, I'm yours. People tell me that I'm easy to trust, and that they can read my face like a book. You can always tell the difference between happy and sad with me.
Which brings me to say that I am happy more often than I am not. The only times that I am not happy is when I have not seen Claire for prolonged periods of time, which always gives Emily a good laugh. I'm a bit loud in familiar surroundings, and pretty naive. Someone can put a gun to my head and I'll trust them, and I'll keep on trusting them until they pull the trigger. I guess that's just me.
Now I'd like to make it quite clear that I am entirely lost when it comes to this whole 'werewolf' thing. I still can't quite control my changing, though it's not much of a problem because I'm not too moody anyways. I am occasionally compelled with primitive inclination to behave rashly and do something I will later regret, and more often than not, I give in. My pack is a group of my closest friends, and though knowing what they are thinking is usually convenient, it gets annoying sometimes. And sometimes, I don't want them to know what I'm thinking. It makes surprises really hard to carry through, though truly my mother's son, I hate surprises.
HISTORY
Life: My parents always told me I was a happy little surprise. It made me feel special, and useful, and… I don’t know, important or something, until my mom’s fortieth birthday. I was actually six at the time, and my father and Billy black had the whole thing planned out. Billy, being the tribal leader, lived by the beach, so we convinced my mother to go over to his house, then saddled her along to the beach, where over a hundred folk that we were related to, or at least knew, in one way or another, were waiting for us. “David,” she told my dad. “What is this?” My father had shrugged and said “It’s a surprise, Rachel.” That was when my mom crossed her arms and said “I hate surprises.”
Well, goodbye to having something to make me different from all the rest of the kids in the tribe. No big deal. The thing was, my mom had miscarried six times in the years between my parents’ marriage and my birth. So I guess they weren’t expecting me, and I was more of an accident than a surprise. Oh well. I came with a bunch of add-on surprises, though, like dyslexia and epilepsy. Oh, yeah, I’m epileptic, so lots of little surprises. But life carried on normally, until I was thirteen and my little brother was born. He was another surprise, except this time a good one. Unlike me, Edgar was smart and organized, and not so outspoken. Oh well. That’s all in the past, and I really wouldn’t be “me” without all the fine print. It’s not all that bad anyway.
Soon after that, I was turned into a werewolf. I was actually the last boy in the pack to be, and although most of them had felt curse, I’d just been relieved to finally know what everybody was talking about! I’d basically been walking around alone for about two weeks after Jacob got turned before they finally decided to turn me into a werewolf. But that proved to be more complicated than we had all anticipated.
Every eight seconds. That’s how often they say the average male teenager thinks about sex. But I wasn’t thinking about sex the day I imprinted on Claire. I was at Sam and Emily’s plonked down on a chair chatting away with Paul and Jared and Jacob and Embry, and then there was a knock on the door. “Oh, that’s my brother with Claire. Could one of you get it?” Emily called out from the kitchen, and I called back “sure thing, Em.” Of course, I’d heard about Emily’s niece Claire a few times. The most recent had been a few weeks ago when she asked Sam what she should get the kid for her second birthday. I hopped up and answered the door, and waved at Emily’s brother, who’s name I still do not know. Then I looked down, and for a moment, I felt a bit odd, and then the world seemed to go all Technicolor on me, and I imprinted on the chubby little girl with the shiny eyes. I was realizing it on one level and actually imprinting on the poor child on another. Well, gravity moves, as they say. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I crouched down and said, “hello there, you must be Claire!” And I looked up at Emily’s brother and said, “Uhm, hi, you’re Emily’s brother?” He nodded, and I picked up Claire. “I’m Quil…” I said, voice trailing. “Sam’s friend.” As if that cleared anything up. But Emily’s brother nodded like that explained everything, handed me a pink duffel bag, and called out “I’ll pick her up tomorrow morning,” into the kitchen, to which Emily mumbled approval. Then he walked out, and I closed the door.
It’s been about six months since then, and I’ve been seeing Claire at least once every week. Any less than that, and I swear, I’d go insane. And I know I drive the rest of the werewolves crazy with Claire this, Claire that, but I hope they don’t mind it, because at least it is a distraction from Leah’s constant thoughts about Embry’s heritage. I mean, if he’s my half-brother, I’d rather not know about it. And from then on, life’s been just a whole bunch of the same thing.
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