Post by Bryn Llewellyn on Aug 21, 2012 11:36:17 GMT -5
Bryn Llewellyn
FULL NAME HERE Bryn Llewellyn (Brin Loo-elen)
NICKNAMES Welshy, Welsh, Welshman, Brit, Brine, Brian, Brianne, Ladyboy, Sheep Shagger
GENDER Male
AGE 17
GRADE Junior
ETHNICITY Welsh
SPECIALTY
Throwing Weapons. Bryn is exceptionally talented with mid-ranged throwing implements, such as javelins and throwing knives.
Acting . A brilliant performer, whether he's pretending to be someone he's not or simply trying to sweet talk someone into doing what he wants.
Torture . For those times when sweet talk or even sex appeal will not get him what he requires, Bryn has at his disposal a wide arsenal of torture methods.
YOUR CHARACTER'S LIKES
Dairy. The Welshman's favorite food group. He never goes a meal without cheese or a glass of milk.
Rugby. His favorite sport, beyond a shadow of a doubt. He gets fiercely competitive over it.
Stuffed Animals. Yes, he still adores stuffed animals.
Music. Just about any kind, really, except for that horrid screaming the Americans like.
British comedy. He'll stay up for hours on end watching reruns of Who's Line is it Anyway and A Bit of Fry and Laury.
Womens clothing. At least half of his wardrobe consists of skirts, blouses, and dresses.
Strawberries! Oh, he loves those little red fruits!
YOUR CHARACTER'S DISLIKES
His dad. He never missed a chance to express his disappointment in his sons appearance and taste in clothing, and to this day, they aren't on speaking terms.
Englishmen. They tend to be snobs.
Hot, sunny days. Wales is a very cool country with two types of weather: Cloudy and storming. He can't quite handle the heat.
Sunburns. He gets them rather easily, being so fair skinned.
Agression. Without a disguise to wear and a role to play, Bryn himself is very passive, and tends to buckle under enough pressure.
Every single time some idiot hears he's from Wales and goes "Oh, that's a city in England, right?" Bloody hell...
FEARS
Abuse. Due to his rather passive nature, Bryn is afraid of people who bully him.
Homophobes. He was tormented quite frequently by a group of them back home.
Claustrophobia. His father used to lock him in the broom closet for hours on end as a form of punishment. To this day, he can't stand being in such cramped spaces.
QUIRKS/ODDITIES
Bryn is incredibly androgynous in both appearance and tone, and can easily pass for either a man or a woman because of it.
He's a transvestite. He actually tends to walk around in womens clothes more often than mens.
He speaks and reads Welsh fluently. All of his personal notes are written in it.
He has some very odd figures of speech that most people don't understand.
He sleeps in pajamas with a big, red stuffed dragon.
OVERALL PERSONALITY
Bryn is a very cheerful young fellow. He smiles and laughs often throughout the day, and walks with a bounce in his step everywhere he goes, a friendly "Hullo!" on his lips at all times.
He's a very affectionate and loving boy. He fawns over every girl he crushes on, and would cling to any boy who woo'd him. One might even say he tries too hard to ensure that he will remained loved.
He's also a shameless transvestite. He prefers womens clothes to mens on most days, and loves to show off his many outfits. He enjoys talking to girls as much as, if not more than, he does men, discussing everything from cute boys to the latest fashion magazines, and often asks them for advice on makeup and new clothes.
Bryn is a large lover of music. He listens to music all day on his little devices, and sings to himself in the shower. He cannot stand absolute silence for very long, and if he has nothing else, will begin to hum to himself. For this alone, he fears detention. He would go mad without any music.
Though bright and peppy, Bryn can actually be rather shy, and is easy to embarrass once you know how. When put in these awkard situations, his first reaction is to stutter and blush immensely, and his second is to run and hide untill he can get a hold of himself and hope that everyone's forgotten by then.
Like everyone, Bryn has his insecurities. He becomes deeply upset when people start to ridicule his choice in clothes and his bisexuality. He's very passive, never fighting back when bullied verbally or physically, and tends to 'wave it off' afterwards with a smile that won't quite reach his eyes, before going off to forget it with something that makes him happy, like music, rather than face the problem head on.
However, like everyone, Bryn also has a dark side. His dark side is simply... Darker. Should one find themselves in a room, tied to a chair, with the Welshman standing over them, it would be a good time to be very afraid. When he tortures, Bryn's face remains totally blank, his voice very calm. One almost wonders, is this another facade, or frustration and a hidden sadism coming to the forefront.
(( From Dogs of War))
Berlin, Germany. Ewan had to admit, it wasn't a bad place to go on Holiday. The food was pretty good, the music was interesting, the weather was nice - Ewan was grateful to find that Germany had a similar climate to the UK, he always sunburned whenever he went to Spain -, the lasses were nice to look at, and the ale wasn't half bad. It was hard to believe that only a few decades ago, this place had been a mess. Even harder to believe that only a few decades before that, the only reason he'd ever had to go to Berlin would've been to bomb the hell out of it. It had been a long sought desire during the second World War.
But now wasn't the time to dwell on the past. He was on Holiday! After a long day of touring the sites, sampling the local cuisine, and ogling the lasses, Scotland had finally settled down in a tavern for a night of celebration with his good friend Alcohol. Admittedly, at first he had been afraid that they didn't serve ale, or at least not good ale. He didn't exactly know Germany on a personal level, but from what he did know, he figured the man preferred lager. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the ale here was actually pretty good, though he would never say anything was better than his own ale.
That had been an hour or two ago. Scotland was on his third now, and by this point, he'd even started tapping his foot to the rhythm of the german music. The Scotsman had to admit, he stuck out like a sore thumb. His flaming red hair and tweed suit, complete with the flat cap that most people outside of the UK only wore for golfing, were a bit of a dead give away. Though for once, he wasn't the single hulking figure in the room. He'd spied quite a few young lads with some thick arms. It was certainly different than being in France or Spain. Really, if he spoke a bloody word of German, he might even feel at home.
Berlin, Germany. Ewan had to admit, it wasn't a bad place to go on Holiday. The food was pretty good, the music was interesting, the weather was nice - Ewan was grateful to find that Germany had a similar climate to the UK, he always sunburned whenever he went to Spain -, the lasses were nice to look at, and the ale wasn't half bad. It was hard to believe that only a few decades ago, this place had been a mess. Even harder to believe that only a few decades before that, the only reason he'd ever had to go to Berlin would've been to bomb the hell out of it. It had been a long sought desire during the second World War.
But now wasn't the time to dwell on the past. He was on Holiday! After a long day of touring the sites, sampling the local cuisine, and ogling the lasses, Scotland had finally settled down in a tavern for a night of celebration with his good friend Alcohol. Admittedly, at first he had been afraid that they didn't serve ale, or at least not good ale. He didn't exactly know Germany on a personal level, but from what he did know, he figured the man preferred lager. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the ale here was actually pretty good, though he would never say anything was better than his own ale.
That had been an hour or two ago. Scotland was on his third now, and by this point, he'd even started tapping his foot to the rhythm of the german music. The Scotsman had to admit, he stuck out like a sore thumb. His flaming red hair and tweed suit, complete with the flat cap that most people outside of the UK only wore for golfing, were a bit of a dead give away. Though for once, he wasn't the single hulking figure in the room. He'd spied quite a few young lads with some thick arms. It was certainly different than being in France or Spain. Really, if he spoke a bloody word of German, he might even feel at home.
YOUR NAME OR ALIAS Scotty. I didn't choose it, it was given to me.
WHERE CAN WE CONTACT YOU?The c-box, my PM box, my e-mail.
WHERE DID YOU FIND US? You're an affliate on Dogs of War.
