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cathal. ([personal profile] injected) wrote2012-11-07 05:36 am
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[ ooc; backtogreen information ]

character.
❝ does he look like a scag head to you? ❞

name: Cathal O'Regan
birthdate: 24th August, 1989 ( aged 21 at death in 2010 17 for the sake of this AU! )
birthplace: Dublin, Ireland
gender: male
sexuality: fluid
religion: atheist
health: mild asthmatic, heightened by years of smoking; drug abuse/dependency (cannabis, opiates)
meter: ████████████████████
background.
❝ it's a break from this shite reality. ❞

Cathal George O'Regan was once an older brother and a son. He lived in a cosy house in Dublin with a modest yard that was good for fighting off pirates and camping in the darkest corners of Sherwood Forest. He was a good lad, earnest and eager to see everything the world had to offer him, but his head was too high in the clouds to touch the ground. Cathal did poorly in school, not for a lack of caring but because he was more interested in why things worked than the how. Asking too many questions, getting distracted by daydreams and colours and fantasies of an existence far greater than his own. His da didn't care for it all, waiting every day for him to settle down and start focusing his attention on actual productive things, but his asthma kept him from sports and his natural clumsiness kept him from learning any craftsmanship. He wanted to splash the landscape in colours and shapes, not narrow it down to gears and buttons.

His mam nurtured his creative nature, her little artist, and she would sit him in her lap while she played the piano, read him new fantastical tales before bed up until the day he started reading them to her instead by seven, help him paint nonsensical murals on canvases taped up to spare the walls. She fed his imagination enough to keep him sated and contained, manageable if nothing else, and for a time, that was good enough. His father taught him to roll his tobacco for him when he didn't want to get up, and his brother would pay mind to Cathal's fragile state when wrestling turned to fighting. Their mother held them all together, and it was good enough. For a time.

Cathal started smoking when his mam started getting too weak to keep up with all of his energy, always sneaking fags at school when his da wasn't around to scold him for it ( hypocritical bastard ). It was an easy way to take off the edge when George wouldn't let him sing his lungs off at the piano or when his teachers got on him for his slipping grades. It was just to help him breathe easy for a time while his mam was on the mend; the marijuana that followed was to help him remember he had lungs to call his own when his mother's called it quits. Cancer is an ugly thing and Cathal still wanted to be stuck in beauty that can't really exist, which lead to more and more falling out of line with what society expected of a boy his age.

They moved to America to seek better treatment for his steadily declining mother, and Cathal immediately hated the change. The school system was different and he didn't want to play catch up, so he found a group of kids to skive off and get high with as often as possible. He stopped going to classes and came home drunk, fought with his father and was too scared to even look at his mother. He didn't want to watch her wither and couldn't stand to see him fight a losing battle, so he closed his eyes and reached blindly in the dark for anything to hold onto. His mates stole liquor from their 'rents and the older kids would sometimes bring them "something good" for a decent price, but his parents didn't have much to spare in the way of money so Cathal took to whatever he could.

He learned to break into cars that sat too long in a dark enough car park and to run a bit of trade wherever his dealer needed it. When he started getting hooked on the harder stuff, Cathal didn't see the problem in selling a bit of his body for a hit when it's just a shell, just a vessel for the bright stars and planets that make up the soul trapped inside of it. He could breathe it all out into the atmosphere and find himself at peace for the time it took him to come back down.

The police got involved on more than one occasion, but they made it to the papers once and only once when they were cross-faded on some bad shite and thought it might be funny to vandalise a doughnut shop after closing. Cathal's mam's disappointment was harder to take that his da's missed blows, and his little brother just stood and watched everything he knew he couldn't become fall to pieces. She died not long after that, her battle of four miraculous years finally come to an end, but George shouted blame at Cathal when he stumbled his way to the funeral, eyes already a violent red from crying too much and not smoking enough. It was the last straw for his family, and his da saw him carted off to a boarding school not hardly shy of two weeks later. Cathal didn't even have the presence of mind to care; he just floated off as the smoke cleared.

bullworth.
❝ you've done too much to me. there's nothing more to give. ❞

Bullworth is, to Cathal, a playground of bullshit. The amount of fucks he could give about schooling are in the low tens ( there are a fair few around the school he could give fucks to ) and the fact that he can find an easy fight by so much as tripping in the hallway makes it all too easy for him to dick around and take his simple frustrations out. He likes to make kind with his face and other people's fists or their cocks if they'll have it, and still paints on the walls around his bed when he can snag the supplies from the art room. He's still looking for his fixes and will take them wherever he can get them; he's managed to find a steady supply of weed, at the very least, but offer him something harder and he'll kiss his toes for you.

He's coming in as a junior, and he pays extra attention in class in the capacity that he's the loud, obnoxious twat that likes to ask inane questions to try and get a rise out of the teachers. He actually does understand the material if he tries; he just doesn't care enough to bother. He has no future getting out of this place and doesn't really care if he lives to see graduation. Mostly, he just wants to laugh, smoke, fuck and fight until something better manages to come his way.
personality.
❝ the cathal you knew and the one i did were obviously
two very different people. ❞

miscellaneous.
appearance: Cathal is 6'1 and all angles, skinny from lack of physical activity and poor health habits with just the barest amount of wiry muscle to claim. His teeth are only at the beginnings of decay following his heavy smoking, though his asthma's got much worse and he's often found hitting an inhaler right after a joint. His hair is an impossible mess at all times and he quite likes it that way. He wears his uniform as sloppily as the prefects will allow, often keeping his tie wrapped around his right arm until one of them tells him to put it back on.
skills: Not many, in all honesty. He's clever in that reckless sort of way, with a silver tongue that could charm his way out of sticky situations if he didn't intentionally go looking for them. He can break into a car but he can't pick a lock, which makes him virtually useless in a boarding school with a lot of nowhere to go. Honestly, his greatest strength might just be that he can take a lot of hits before going down. He plays the role of punching bag very well; enough to wonder if he doesn't enjoy it ( he doesn't ).
belongings: Just one old watch that doesn't work anymore. He doesn't wear it, though; he keeps it hidden amidst his other useless junk that to anyone that isn't Cathal might think is disorganised. It's a practiced chaos, okay, don't judge.
disclaimer: For those of you that haven't seen Parked ( 2010 ), not only do I highly recommend it but I do also want to warn for Cathal's self-destructiveness, if that might serve as a trigger. He effectively commits suicide at the end of the film by injecting when he's already coming down from a previous high, bleeding out, and isolated from anyone that might've been able to help him. Canon shows him giving quite literally no regard for his own well-being, meaning this game will likely not see a happy ending for him. He doesn't think one exists.
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code;

[personal profile] injected 2013-06-04 11:03 am (UTC)(link)
Want to give us some delicious, delicious tl;dr about your character? Don't want to have to code a table yourself? Look no further! Have a handy, dandy c/p template that will give you the same character sheet as above.



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If you fudge the coding or need help in any way, feel free to comment here and I'll see what I can do for you!
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