Alec Costello [D4M](WIP, sorry!)

Name: Alec Nudibranch Costello
Age: Eighteen
Gender: Male
District/Area: District 4
Appearance:

Alec was a very strange creature; he was one of the few men who roamed the earth, bearing neither the title of “night owl” or “morning person”. Alec did not love the night, nor did he appreciate the day; however, he was more than willing to participate in any activities during either period. It was possible that the reason behind this strange, yet rather comfortable assimilation to any certain hours was because the list of activities often performed by Alec contains few items: reading and pushing the boundaries of his imagination further and further. He knew no sports, no athleticisms; and, thus, over the years of meticulous study of fiction and nonfiction classics, his structure became one of the more delicate of the Costello males. Of course, it would be most unfair to claim that because of this delicateness, Alec was comparable to a more feminine shape and style, for that was not true: Alec was clearly a male, for though his body was slender and the width of his shoulders not very broad, there was still clearly a firmness within the fragility, one that proved that there could be a possibility of masculine strength, if only if its master had the will and mind to tap into it and compound it. However, despite that firmness, his shape was still slender (rather like his brother, Magnus), and his muscles were not very thick; in fact, they were rather limp, for Alec did not use them frequently as he ought, as he preferred to exert the imagination rather than the body.

At present, Alec Nudibranch Costello sat upon a slim, small alcove in the wall, guarded from the outside world by the walls of his room, which he had entrusted for so many years as the only place that would offer him an expanse of pleasurable solitary, where he and whatever knightly avatar he had contrived could explore the universe of a book, any book, or whatever strange and fantastical worlds that he had designed for himself. For this expanse, he had immersed himself into lands of some strange and distant place made by some strange and eccentric mind; and the lands could all be found in the ink of a book, which he had propped against his short legs, which were bent and pressed against the alcove’s cool wall, and were very close to his thin chest. Everything about him was stunted, you know; his appendages, his body: often, Alec had felt like the shortest member of the family (thus making him a tad more vulnerable-looking and delicate when compared to the equally thin, yet far more lanky Magnus Costello), for it was always he who called upon the assistance of a taller sibling to reach up for some high-placed object. Alec considered this more of a curse than a gift, for often his size had made him subject to jives by his peers (related or otherwise); however, in its own way, his small stature could very much be considered as a gift, as well as a hindrance: for, surely, if he was as tall as Magnus, he would not have been able to squeeze his body as comfortably in the alcove – a perch of sanctuary for phantasies that were too wonderful for this world of ours, and a perch that Alec surely would have missed if he did not have the ability (and height) to keep it.

The alcove was rather like a burrow-hole for a small, thin, rectangular window (for, originally, the alcove had been intended to be a spot for some treasured object that was meant to glisten spectacularly beneath the happy rays of the sun). Currently, a cloud that the newly born sun had been wearing was being fluidly thrust away from its round, golden keeper, and was drifting into previously unknown territories of the sky. This caused a “broken dam effect”, in which the gilded beams – previously hindered and muffled by the interloping cloud – suddenly burst forth and smothered the land in the warmth and light. These beams snuck through the window and into Alec’s alcove like a clever thief, initially unknown until what it had stolen (this snatched item being this time the coolness of the window and the alcove) was finally discovered vacant. It took Alec till a chapter to realize what had become of the temperature of his alcove; but did not mind it once it was acknowledged: indeed, the only reason he noticed at all was because he preferred warmth over coolness. And a smile that was as pleasant and soft and content as the sun’s rays lighted upon his soft countenance, and he rested the side of his cheek and shoulder against the window’s glass. This exposed his face and the top of his head fully to the sun’s light, and his light chocolate hair glinted and was dyed a lighter color; and the porcelain of his skin became highlighted, becoming sicklier and less natural in appearance by the bright sun (for in a more natural lighting, one could see a touch of pink in his mostly pallor pigment, but in this vibrant, golden lighting everything was becoming slightly discolored).

He came across a rather humorous line by one of the wittier characters of the book, drawing from him a quick, chuckle that sounded as if he happily exclaiming “hm” and causing his smiling lips to twitch into a wider grin; one that was softer around the edges, and holding a simple, meaningless, innocent air to the light pink lips that was more commonly discovered upon children. And he was rather like a child, in ways: his face was more rounded than his brothers, for the skin of his cheeks had retained fat that had stayed with him since his birth, and apparently did not plan on leaving anytime soon, even when puberty had been struck upon its bothersome head. However, the puffing cheeks were not very horrible as it could be; it was not like they were merely two balls of flesh that had been glued to either side of his face, and made him appear as if he was chipmunk who had stuffed it cheek-pouches with goodies. This had not occurred, fortunately for him, for his cheeks were long; and though they did have some fat, it was merely a thin additional layer, and which thinned into nothing but a layer of flesh that pulled around his short, square chin, which had the slightest hint of a furrow in its bottom.

His eyes flickered leftward as he flipped the page; that was how they usually moved, whenever he directed them onto a new sight: a quick, jerking flicker. They were a pair of light brown pools set into an ivory beach, and glimmered with a liberal intelligence that seemed to have the capability to absorb any proven fact. Also, mingling with that intelligent gleam, was a vague distance that seemed to suggest a state of not truly being upon the palpable planet; and, when this distance was cocktailed by the intelligence by the onlooker of these peepers, there was an air to them that made it feel as if he was some sort of fantastical science of a field that wouldn’t dare exist in the real world, and was gathering information in the strangest and most beautiful places, in the most wonderful and most logic-bending of worlds.

A voice then shattered his happy solitude, unwelcomed and unwanted and unpleasing. It made Alec flinch, and his gleaming, far-off eyes to blink and widen in surprise. Then, once it was immediately realized that the voice belonged to a brother, who apparently needed Alec’s assistance at the store, his body sagged, and his small head drooped, and his shoulders became hunched; for he did not wish to partake in any business at the store, and he found it far more agreeable to stay in his little alcove and read. However, Alec knew his responsibility to his siblings, as well as his responsibility towards himself (for if the store was not managed, it would be likely that the Costello family – including Alec – would all fall from hunger), and so he lifted up a hand and took the corner of the page he had been reading between his slim fingers, and pulled it downward. He swung his body around, so he could extend his little legs outward, and set his book against the wall of the alcove, and with his fingers spread upon the alcove’s lip he pushed himself outward, and his feet hit the floor; and he did this all in a swift, yet stiff air, almost mechanical in the way it had been performed, as if there was no soul or life within Alec, but only a purpose that he had been host to since his birth. When he had slid out from the alcove, his body had assumed an almost bent position; now, as he raised it erect, it became very tight in its rigidity and straightness of posture, as if he had just entered a very high-class cocktail party, and knew he had to look and act his best. He walked in the same way, also: his legs moving forward in that joyless, robotic way, and his feet being set down upon the floor very silently – not in an instinctive, habitual way (for example: the way a cat walks), but in an equally artificial way to the movement of his legs, as if the only purpose for his silent footfalls was for the sake of politeness. And as he moved closer and closer to his siblings in this way, the childlike smile that had graced and brightened his face soon died, becoming a small, straight, stodgy line, and with each step taken away from his bright and happy world of fantasy, and deeper into the tangible land of cruel reality, there was a new addition to the look in his eyes, that swirled incongruently with the distance and intelligence: it was born the moment his upper eyelids lowered partially; it gave him a sleepy, bored look, as if everything tangible was indifferent, as if the man behind the eyes knew nothing of earthly revelry, as if joy’s fingers had never once extended forth and caressed the dull, depressing world Alec Costello had long been chained to.

Personality:

TRAITS 1 & 2: IMAGINATIVE & POOR ATTENTION SPAN

His imagination was rather like a child’s, in some ways: it was extensive, sweeping, vast, and uncaring about logic and probability. It was cavernous, and could devour him easily. The dream that his imagination propelled him into could bind him, and he would accept his subjugation by it – permit it to seep into his blood and dye the sanguinary fluid to whatever color his imagination pleased; he would let its claw dig into his brain and control it, making it twitch here, dart there, think about this, think about that – and Alec did not mind. He was his imagination’s slave – a title that he was proud to bear, for he knew that imagination was the key to beauty.

Alec sat behind the counter of the Costello store; his body rested upon a wooden stool, and his feet were perched atop the short rod that bifurcated the stool’s legs and spread them apart. His eyes followed a scraggly old woman who drifted around the nets that spread across the walls and corners of the store; she fidgeted constantly, her weight shifting from one foot to the other, and her hand flew to her lips often, as if she was trying to scoop up the air and devour it. She continuously let out this small, meek, pitiful murmur that was not rhythmical to have words, but Alec could hear the slight crescendo in them, as if the mumbles were wordless questions. “What’s that?” he decided she was trying to say. “What’s this? Should I buy that? Should I buy this? What does this do? What does that do? Did you know that I’m actually a sea pirate princess? Oh, I am – I am, aren’t I? Oh, I can’t remember. But I was. One day. Far away. Not here. Nor there. But somewhere. I think.”

In the blink of an eye, his imagination had taken hold of him. It reached out and snatched his mind, and he could feel it being dragged away from him, becoming a creature of fantasy, not of reality. The mind bent; it morphed: in a moment’s notice, Alec was not looking at the real world – or, at least, the world that was real to us – but a strange world, a world that knew no logic, no impossibility; a world that was beautiful, that was wonderful, that was strange.

He saw no longer a store, but the galley of a pirate ship whose planking was the light yellow color often associated with lemonade, and no longer did he see a nervous older woman, but a strong, bold, if not admittedly aged, princess of pirates. She stood with her knuckles perched atop a tilted hip, and she looked at him with a haughty glint in her eyes and one of her thin, curving eyebrows arched over its eye. “Vot? Vot?” she demanded. “Vot are you doing here, vandvubber?”

“I am no landlubber!” Alec cried, and his voice held a precipitate ruggedness that made him sound as if he was thirty and of a greatly masculine build. “I am the captain of the ship Spectacularity – as well as an assassin from the deepest vats of the Rainbow-Cat-Vodka-Hell!”

Swords materialized in their hands, by the will of the air and the diminutive particles that it carried; promptly, without questioning of their rapidly performed armament, they leapt at each other, and the silvered blades collided with a great, metallic crash. They stepped backwards, and then dive in for another strike; diminutive sparks of neon orange leapt from the collision of silver against silver, and drop to the fighters’ feet, where they flickered for a moment, and then died, their bright little bodies vanishing. The swords swung outward again; flesh was nicked, creating small, thin lines of red on their arms and faces. The next swing created deeper cuts, where maroon blood oozed in fluctuating, lanky lines. The swords yanked themselves into the air again, and they hacked into the limbs of the pirates, or slammed against each other, making slight nicks in their edges.

Never in all of Pirate/Assassin/Fairy Lord/Unicorn Tamer/Terrorist from Rainbow-Cat-Hell/Spawn of the Sainted Demon Alec Costello’s life had he ever come across such a strong, capable of opponent. In some ways, it felt as if he was fighting himself; she matched him in strength, in wit; their tactics, their movements – all were remarkably similar. It was as if she had been with him whilst he had first learned to fight with a sword; was educated in the art with him, practiced with him, discussed weaknesses and strengths with him. However, from what Alec could remember, he had taught himself to fight, when he had been all alone, lost on the frozen flanks of the Skyreaching Mountain. It was not possible that anyone’s fighting style could be in any way similar to his own – so how was it possible that he could recognize his own methods of sword-battling when performed by an alleged victim of his assignation ring whom he had never met before? Then, suddenly, a shocking epiphany graced his mind and stunned him – for he then realized that…

With a sudden jerk of his mind, he had been shoved back into reality. The supposed “princess of pirates” stood before him, swaying from the right and then to the left, as she wrung her bony hands. “Um…um…excuse me, young sir? Um…um…um…um…excuse me? Excuse me?”

It took Alec a moment, to realize that this was not a lemonade-colored pirate ship, but instead a perfectly mundane store ran by him and his siblings. By instinct, he hesitated as he looked at the rocking, nervous elderly woman, his eyelids drawing together till there was only a tiny slit between them, and he braced his muscles in preparation for her to rip out a concealed dagger and attempt to sheath it in his throat. However, the arbitrary refusal that this was, indeed, the real world, but instead some strange sea where great battles happened and assassins roamed and pirate princesses ruled, soon faded within his imagination-dominated mind, and his logic promptly swooped in to soothe it. He pressed the tips of his eyelids together, until they creased; then, they slid apart, and the upper eyelids remained drooped, making Alec’s eyes appear to be mirrors of a very bored and very indifferent soul. His voice was flat and slow, as he answered: “Yeah, ma’am? You need something?”

TRAIT 3, 4, & 5: CYNICAL & OUTWARDLY BORING & TACTLESS

He had never truly appreciated his customers. It was his lacking trust in human beings that caused him such disparagement of patrons; humans were so silly, so lacking in luster and beauty and purity, as was everything else in the mundane world that Alec and all other personage were bound to. There was evil in their world, and so few heroes; in the worlds of the fay, there was always some great and valorous fellow to rise up from the ashes of his decimated and beloved home and set out to do battle with the demon that had ravaged his homeland and had slain his loved ones. None ever did that in the human world, however; the evil ones roamed free, and the good were too cowardly to stop them. Thus, as evil ruled, the good were thus forced to turn against one in another, in order to survive in this world that has so constantly been plagued by tyranny – one of these treacherous crimes that the good often performed against each other happened to be thievery, especially of places like the Costello’s business. Thus, Alec made sure to keep a very keen eye on his customers, watching their hands (if he could) and the way they held their body, his mind alert for any suspicious activity.

The elderly customer had not bought anything; she had left in a flustering fuss, murmuring to herself what she ought to buy, wondering if that thing or this thing was cheaper at another store, wondering if she ought to procure something for her little grandson’s birthday. Thus, with her exit, Alec was not able to keep a surveillance of the customers that remained; and as he did so, his mind periodically lapsed into a separate world, in which he was the guard of an austere and grey internment camp for political prisoners, and he stood in a guard tower with only a machine gun to keep him company, and right when he had been musing on how boring it was to be a guard at an internment camp, all the prisoners went into a great and bloody amok against the guards that were on the ground. Alec promptly reached for the machine gun (which was approximately twenty feet long and had an anthropomorphic unicorn pin-up girl painted onto the side of the handle), readied himself, and aimed; at one press of a trigger, a spray of evapo-bullets rocketed downward, and before long bodies clad in thin and slate-colored long-johns burst open at the bullets’ cruel touch, and beneath the projectile’s magical properties the bodies and the blood that gushed from them disintegrated, and became dust that was kicked and scattered by the scrambling boots of those who remained.

His caution yanked him out of the battle, and back to reality; his eyes darted about, surreptitiously scanning the customers for any activity that was worth being wary of from his perch behind the counter. He managed to maintain his surveillance of his customers for about five minutes, before the excitement of battle dragged him into his dystopian internment camp’s upheaval.

Alec’s ears alerted him to a rather noticeable scratching sound from below; he turned his eyes downward, his stomach pressing against the short wall that hindered all attempts at falling, and he saw that the dissenters were attempting the ascension of his guard tower. This caused him to feel a blast of panic that iced his blood, and he swung his gun downward, and yanked on the trigger to deter the wretches; however, instead of a rapid succession of metallic blasts, he heard a sharp click, and then some nasally female asking him if he was at home (which was a stupid question, because he was clearly at work). Both sounds were of a parallel annoyance that irritated his ears, and as one needs to be absolutely numb when daydreaming, he was promptly jerked back to Earth, his eyes not seeing a bloody battle, but a pair of fingers held before his eyes, rubbing against each other to make a clicking noise. Beyond the fingers was a thin, brown arm, owned by a girl with a large nose whose nostrils she persistently flared, and thus caused them to look wider than they already were without her help. As Alec was one of those people whom simply needed to look at a person’s face in order to tell if they were likable by his standards, Alec promptly knew that working for this customer would be a particular vexation, and he showed his enthusiasm for their upcoming interaction with a very long frown and his eyelids drooping indifferently over his eyes.

[/size] “Yeah, what do you want?” he grunted; and he had never been the sort for offering courtesy to fellow human beings, especially if they were customers.[/color][/blockquote]

History:

His middle name had always been the bane of his existence; for it truly was a silly, horrible word: Nudibranch. It was the one word he would not permit his quadruplets to speak; the one piece of him that he hid from his peers at all cost (for surely the prefix would make a perfect weapon for them to jive at him); the one thing that his parents could say to embarrass him. Occasionally, after he had learned what his middle name meant, but still was a very small child who had just learned to read, he would drag down an encyclopedia from the shelves of his parents’ small library, open it, and somehow, he would be peering down at it – his middle name; and it would be the only time he would be encouraged to throw a book at the wall, or let hot, despaired, angered tears dapple the pages with a wet splatter.

Nudibranch [noun] – a shell-less, marine snail of the suborder Nudibranchia, having external, often branched respiratory appendages on the back and sides. The moment he read it, there was a very shameful image in his head; one of him with squishy, slimy skin that perspired some awful green ooze, and had strange eyes that sat upon lanky stalks on what Alec assumed to be the head. He had no arms, no legs; his propellant was the current of the sea, shoving his disgusting body about, completely at its mercy. He was ugly; his parents had named him after an ugly creature. And this was his only vexation against them; at least, the only one that he would remember when he grew to be eighteen.

Somehow, though he was too small to truly know the drive, the first realization of his middle name’s origin spurred him on to read (for his parents had not told it to him; rather, they pulled down the encyclopedia themselves and showed it to him). The moment he saw the description, enlightenment fell upon him, one that made him realize how little he knew, and how much he wished to learn – at least, that would be what he would say if one asked him the origin of how he came to be a reader. Rather, this was what transpired in his immature mind, a little less than eighteen years ago: What else ‘err Mom’n’Pop hidin’ from me? In those days, when the world was brave and new – oh so terribly new! – Alec looked upon books, and remembered the encyclopedia that, in its hallowed ink and tanned leaves, bore the only thing Alec truly despised; and he remembered the sketch of that ugly nudibranch beside his middle name, and he glared upon the book that was presently before him, and pounced upon it to untangle its secrets and see what other cruel facts of his name were within it, and - if necessary - he would then proceed to plan how he ought to obstruct it from the public eye. Often, these books were things handed to him by his teacher, or his parents, for they did not know that their son looked upon such things with fear and loathing, but rather believed that Alec actually enjoyed reading – and, so, none of the materials were too far and sweeping for his developing brain to reach out and grasp. However, with each volume devoured, every sentence scanned for any reference to him or Nudibranchia in general, his ability to understand and comprehend words and sentences stretched and sprawled; he had always been a naturally smart child – but with his compounding list of books read and scrutinized, his ability to think and process quickened and became sharper, so much so that he became one of the most intelligent boys in his class as time wore on.

Codeword: <img src="http://i41.tinypic.com/16h2ibt.png">
Comments/Other:

I kinda spewed whatever came to my brain and reluctantly forced myself to put them in some sort of order so y'all can at least try to understand wtf's going on. Sorry. It's almost three in the morning here, and I really don't know why I'm still up, and blargh my life.

Many thanks goes to Kiah for starting the Costello plot and making this character possible. As well as for being a BAMF. And for simply existing in general.

EDIT: I wanted to screw around with a new way of doing applications (at least, new to me). Hope there aren't any complications!