〉〉ISAIAH
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𝕿𝖆𝖇𝖑𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘
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ʟᴇɢᴀʟ ɪɴғᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ | ᴠɪsᴀɢᴇ | ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ | ʙɪᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜʏ | ᴇxᴛʀᴀs
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‧₊˚✧. 𝕷𝖊𝖌𝖆𝖑 𝕴𝖓𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 .✧˚₊‧
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𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄: Isaiah Charles Poneyboy
𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄: Nope.𝐀𝐆𝐄: Nineteen
𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄: Wayne, Hartland
𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇: June 14th
𝐙𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐂: Gemini𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑: Masc
𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘: Bisexual𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 & 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘: African American… or would vampire be more appropriate?
𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐋: Luka Sabbat
𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐒:
#94B9CC
#D9AC82
#D4C49A
#002D6F -
‧₊˚✧. 𝖁𝖎𝖘𝖆𝖌𝖊 .✧˚₊‧
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𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑: Shoulder-length dreads, with a dark, almost black, color.
𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒: Deep brown eyes, sparking up at something beautiful.
𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓: 6’2’’
𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓: 175 lbs
𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃: Semi-broad shoulders with a slimmer figure. Muscles are quite prominent from years of warming as a rancher and cowboy.
𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍: Honey-dew, though he tends to tan to a darker tone than his face claim appears to be.
𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒: Ears are decorated with a host of silver rings, often dragging his ears down slightly. His only tattoo is here
𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄: coming soon!
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‧₊˚✧. 𝕻𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞 .✧˚₊‧
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𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖:
𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒: Caramel drops, lilacs, the smell of wood on one’s clothing, humming a diddy that turns into a full song, reading paperbacks, tending to his horse Mellon, Christmas in Hartland, helping small animals, seeing said small animals when he’s just running around, learning new things, drawing something that actually looks good, and papercuts.
𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒: His jobs, his species, the fact that he has to either eat humans or his little buddies, Hartland’s climate (especially with all the sun, which is not very fun with his susceptibility to sun burns), Gacy, cults, being talked down to, the squeal of rats before he chows down, watching anyone or anything being taken advantage of.𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒: Horse-riding, cow-wrangling, and sheep-shearing. When he isn’t on the clock, he tends to enjoy cooking, even though his favorite meal is a bloodied steak. Still, he tries to live by a vegetarian lifestyle, and he prides himself on his ability to tend a small, in-door garden. Beyond his survival skills, he enjoys reading, singing, and simply spending time with his friends, furry or fleshy.
𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒: Talking with and calming down animals, sketching, humming, growing foliage, cooking, horse-riding, and resisting the urge to maim and drink up!𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐊𝐒: Picks up his hat, only to plop it back down when nervous, perpetual gum-chewer, smoker, and enjoys rope tying while thinking.
𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒: He’s living it.𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃: In a barn, in a bar, or next to a sheep, going baaaaaaaaa. Just kidding, though all of that is true. He also enjoys his little cottage he inherited from his grandmother. Now that he is in the city, however, he is often found in Cal’s Flower Shop with Early, probably tending to a pesky orchid or dying some chrysanthemums. If he isn’t at the flower shop, he’s sleeping on his newfound cot above the building or peaking around at the tattoo stand on the same street.
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‧₊˚✧. 𝕭𝖎𝖔𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖕𝖍𝖞 .✧˚₊‧
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𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖:
Before leaving Wayne, Isaiah Ponyboy is a name that incited a spark in the eyes of the town’s people. He’s The Cowboy, the one who gets things from point A to B. Still, it wasn’t until he was roped into the races that anyone outside of the small native population of Wayne took notice. He filled in for one rider, one time, and suddenly, he was a hit. While he is no stranger to the middle of the pack or even second place, it is a widely known fact by the gamblers of Hartland that he wins more than he loses. Still, Isaiah never wanted to be a racer. Isn’t that how it always goes? Now, he has the innate ability to compel Mellon to do what he wants, even as he smells the blood just below the surface of her mane. John Gacy made him The Experiment, not The Cowboy. Isaiah never wanted trouble. All he wants to do is go back, undo the curse of the Nephilim, even if it takes begging the Devil himself.
Now that he’s left his home, the one place he ever recognized as ‘home,’ Isaiah is lost to a sea of cityscapes that drowns out the tawny desert he finds most familiar. It isn’t all bad, of course. At least, Gacy cannot find him amongst the thousands, hundreds of thousands, of people that walk past Cal’s everyday. Early, his best friend, and his Uncle Calloway welcomed him with open arms, though some stipulations. For Early, it was the agreement to do his laundry, and for Calloway, it was to work in his shop for free and to deal for the next year. For 365 days, Calloway owned him. Somehow, this was a better contract than the one Gacy had offered, which isn’t a stretch considering part of that agreement was to forgive him for feeding Isaiah to a pack of cannibals. With his newfound life and semi-freedom, Isaiah often spends his time drawing, tending to his plants (that are really Calloway’s, but shh!), and probably staring at the odd kid who sits, not far from where he often lingers when he checks out the tattoo stand, tinkering away with objects the likes of which he has never seen before.
𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒:
⠀⠀ It’s hard to recall much of Isaiah’s parents, as both of them faded into the abyss of the child’s memory quicker than his first words or even the first time he went to school. His mother had disappeared, taken from her warm, quilted bed without a peep. That was the first time The Nephilim took from him. Grandma’am always wrote off the lore and folktoles of the group as hearsay, but the loss of her daughter taught her a lesson that made her grandson’s life all the more poignant to protect.⠀⠀ When his father died, it had been due to a head injury. No one knew who had bludgeoned Parley, his blood somehow remaining the only evidence. Many suspected it might be Grandma’am, but even Isaiah, as young as he was, couldn’t fall for that. His grandmother was simply a tough woman, thickened by life’s cruelty. She had no reason to kill her father, other than for the sake of his safety.
(Ahem… she did kill him)
⠀⠀ So, Isaiah Ponyboy’s only recollection is of his grandmother, who was really his parent. His only guiding light in the matters of adolescence, so therefore, any faults and any graces within him can be duly dedicated to Grandma’am. She treated Isaiah with a tenderness unfounded by many, even his peers’ parents. Leaving him to make his own mistakes, to his own decisions, and to his own questions, she provided him with a stability that a boy who had lost so much deserved, at least in her opinion.
⠀⠀ Wayne was a stormy, desert town common to thieves, gamblers, and rich folk. It’s main square was really a line of fancy resorts and hotels, almost all of which were owned by John Isenhower Gacy, an infamous millionaire and entrepreneur of the equally famous Pony Express. Grandma’am and the other Wayneans looked upon him with suspect, guile, and even a bit of reverence. In a way, he’d saved the town. The location had remained largely unknown, and much of its necessities were beginning to run out. Life in Wayne was hard, remedial compared to the rest of the world. It was common to all towns and villages of their country. Everyone struggled, but the reclusivity of Wayne, the abandonment it often suffered, and its inability to get resources from the city that drained much of its resources, made it hard to exist. The Pony Express was a godsend, truly, as much as it was a source of entertainment. Then came the races, which brought the ugly underbelly of Wayne to the surface, worsening the infection.
⠀⠀ Wayne natives looked to Grandma’am for guidance, oftentimes more than not, and she was happy to provide. She taught Isaiah about plants, tending to them, and how to get them to adhere to one’s will. She showed him how to do the same with animals, particularly the ones who could give you milk or honey or even their hides. She taught him of the many beauties a life, however filled with struggles it was, could yield if only with a bit of work. Buying him his first guitar, she taught him to sing. Creating his first sketchbook out of pulp and leather string, she taught him to capture the essence of all that made life worth its toils. Finally, gifting him his first horse, who she broke herself, Mellon was her parting gift.
⠀⠀ It was either through her own stubbornness or her love for Isaiah and his love for her that she remained alive until Isaiah turned fifteen. She passed, without any pain and with a smile on her face. With her final years, she had given Isaiah the will and the knowledge to survive of his own creed, not anyone else’s. The town smiled upon Isaiah, oftentimes seeing so much of Grandma’am in him, that they came to him for guidance, the same way he had gone to her.
⠀⠀ It was Isaiah’s folly that had led him to his downfall. He was charmed, of sorts, by the opportunities being a cowboy offered him. Gacy, despite his turnoffs, had one very large turn on that included money, something Isaiah had never really found useful until his grandmother passed. Property taxes were still a thorn, one he inherited from Grandma’am. Furthermore, the Express was bringing so many new, shiny toys into the town, and even Isaiah couldn’t avoid the beauty within them. Hadn’t this been what Grandma’am wanted him to do? To appreciate what pleasantries life had to offer him? So, when Gacy, personally, offered him a position as a cowboy, coming up to him in Pinky’s after watching him ride in on Mellon, Isaiah said yes. Absolutely, yes.
⠀⠀ From then on, he was often found on Mellon, riding off into the distance a small carriage of packages, each more priceless than the last, and carrying back another, one filled with expensive fruits and wheats and other necessities the town desperately wanted and needed. If he wasn’t doing his job, he worked in the barns next to Gacy’s line of hotels, shearing sheep or tending to the horses. Many of the guests and tourists, which seemed to grow double every year, enjoyed riding for pleasure and buying custom woolen clothes made by the locals. He didn’t enjoy being another cog in Gacy’s burgeoning machine, contributing to the knowing and all-too-obvious degradation and exploitation of his people, but soon he couldn’t see a way out. His contract stipulated that he needed to spend five years working for Gacy Hotels and Casinos. He’d do just that, and then he’d consider if this was the life for him. Even if it seemed like there was no way out. Slowly but surely, Gacy bought all the available properties, leaving only a few small joints to others. The monopolization of Wayne wasn’t lost on him, and he begun to see Gacy as more of a king or a president than a boss. Though was there really ever a difference?
⠀⠀ The day he joined his first race was the last day of the life Grandma’am had toiled to him give him. The world he lived in so selfishly, needlessly, and greedily disappeared with another yes, another agreement that he shouldn’t have made. He lacked caution, the one thing that Grandma’am could never teach him. Odette, a friend, fellow cowboy, and racer, had asked him, even begged in certain, more forgiving recollections of the day, to take her place for the day’s races. She had hurt her foot, broken a few bones from her horse’s stepping on it. He would later learn that Gacy was the one who’d stomped on it, though he would never learn if it was so he would become trapped or because of the casualness he often laid out punishment.
⠀⠀ It doesn’t matter. In the end, Isaiah fell for Gacy’s spell, a sleeping beauty for him to trick. He mounted Mellon, poised for the 1000 yard race, and set off, unknowingly beginning his career as a racer. He had smiled the first time he rode Mellon for an event, feeling his pet run beneath him and binding Isaiah with his own speed. A marvel of physics. It was a beautiful, wondrous moment, but it would be the last for a long time. When he got off his horse, placing second in an event where people worked for a career’s lifetime to achieve such a spot, Gacy shook his hand. He told him, “Welcome to the team.” His smile scared Isaiah’s own, and it disappeared quickly in the face of such petrifying joy. His time, his services, and who he was going to be were fictions bought and paid for, effectively made true. He was no longer his own.
⠀⠀ Two years multiplied and mutilated before Gacy truly finished Isaiah’s hope, a final slash to finish the flick. When Wayne was at its lowest, The Nephilim was at its highest. As Gacy took over the town, they became a pester, constantly threatening the demise of his empire. He couldn’t afford losing his municipality over one dead resident (and there, actually, were many), but he was dangerously close to. It spurred him to strike a deal with the blood-sucking devil-worshippers, whose Divine Ruler gave them the ability to steal life and infect others with an unnatural amount of it, too. They were faint-onto-the-chaise-lounge scary, and it’s fabled Gacy pissed his pants in the presence of their Jezebeele. But, he got what he needed: salvation for his land. If he gave away the prettiest piece of his kingdom, let the Ruler’s kin do what they fancied with it, and continued to keep it in his land, he could keep his silly little hotels and fat people sunbathing and taking sun-baths and sand scrubs and buying his petty, little “native” wares, the ones he stole from the people who salted the land and gave back to their Divine Ruler. He could remain evil, unforsaken for this fact, provided he spent his greatest covet- innocence- instead. John Gacy made this choice, signing his soul and Isaiah’s and countless others, away at the drop of a hat. Isaiah was not the first, but he lives with the endless knowledge that he won’t be the last.
⠀⠀ When Gacy dropped him off to The Nephilim, he had been tied like a pig, all but with an apple stuffed into his mouth instead of a rag. He looked Jezebeele dead in the eye, watching the death swirl behind his eyes, convinced he was swimming in the endless blackhole that awaited after one’s last breath. He peed his pants, too. It was Jezebeele that bestowed upon him the curse of his existence, telling him quietly, “Consider this a treat.” First, he was drained, and then filled back up. His eyes were brought through a curtain of colors not unlike the Northern Lights he’d heard about, before thrusting him into an icy abyss. There was nothing, and he couldn’t recall his existence, only that there was the memory of it. A dream he couldn’t remember, but woke up knowing happened. He waited, patiently, for something to happen in the void. Nothing did. It was a game of his patience, as though if he waited long enough the computer would reboot and he’d be back, dancing across some five-year-old's screen and making him giggle with glee. Isaiah became painfully aware of himself, and it was then that he was lifted back through the technicolor drapes. This time, it was like a child stuffing him back into his mouth, a sweet lollipop the spoiled brat wasn’t ready to let go. Gone was the peace and terror of the black, back was the horror of life.
⠀⠀ When he returned, Jezebeele’s mouth was wrapped around his wrist. He was a dog’s bone, but like it, he would have to wait for the animal to break him down to the marrow. Jezebeele had extended his life with his own, or rather the stock-piled soul matter The Nephilim collected to play gods, like one plays house, in the human world. The humanoids giggled at him before running away, leaving him untied, with the sheep in their grazing field. Now, he had to feast on the blood, a stipulation to stolen time on Earth, and he was still Gacy’s dog.
⠀⠀ It took him two weeks to control himself around others. The humans. Four weeks to stop crying everyday. Then, it took him 6 months to work up the courage to leave Gacy. Meetings with Calloway happened in the secrecy of the day, where they could casually run into each other. He sold another year of his life, reasoned it was just like returning to that dark abyss, that he wouldn’t really miss it, and ran off. Mellon’s hooves were silent as they pattered away, leaving Gacy without his winning pet. And down a horse.
⠀⠀ Needless to say, Isaiah didn't expect to enjoy the city. Despite the frequency with which it feels like he’s selling his soul to the devil, which is cleverly disguised as his best friend’s uncle, he finds its -isms endearing. The opportunities charmed him once more, except this time he hopes it might be better. Perhaps, hopefully, Gacy was a nightmare. It was all an outlier, and it shouldn’t be counted. Futilely, Isaiah wants to believe the math will work out, and the probability of injury isn’t nearly as high as his brain believes.
⠀⠀ It’s uncertain how well this experiment will work, given the nature of his jobs or the fact that Gacy still remains slighted. Isaiah can only bet, so he puts his chips on the best outcome, prepared to have nothing or exactly what he wants: a life with beauty.
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