Post by hollis on Aug 20, 2010 16:53:21 GMT -5
]( HOLLIS LEE ROMANO )
( EIGHTEEN , SENIOR , WILL DAEMON , CANNIBALISTIC)
( QUIET , MYSTERIOUS , PSYCHOTIC , ANGRY , VENGEFUL)
( EIGHTEEN , SENIOR , WILL DAEMON , CANNIBALISTIC)
( QUIET , MYSTERIOUS , PSYCHOTIC , ANGRY , VENGEFUL)
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
although hollis is a bit of a mute, he gets his feelings out through writing and dark literature. He keeps diaries where he writes what he thinks and what he knows, the words within so frightening and abusive that many wouldn’t dare to read them. Style wise, he prefers to wear whatever‘s comfortable, usually sweaters with a t-shirt and jeans. His outer appearance isn‘t that of a murderer.
This is not your usual fairytale, one where a prince and a princess court each other and everyone comes out on top. What kind of fun would that be, right? The typical ending has been done over and over, pieced together the exact same way only with different words and phrases. We are the new generation, placed here to redefine the norm. To change what is considered right. This is the story of Hollis Romano, a sweet Italian boy plucked from obscurity only to be named one of the most notorious killers of all time. Born into the Romano family, Hollis was the first of four children. His mother, Maria, worked in the great city of Milano as a bartendress, and his father was unemployed. Still, looking back on his childhood the boy could remember how his father would sit at home watching Italian soaps, expecting his mother to support the entire family. It wasn’t right, but Maria accepted it. She continued to work to support all of them, the entire Romano bunch. Queen of the fucking slaves. Not once did she ask her husband for a hand, some help around the house. Instead, she expected Hollis to do most of the cleaning and childcare for the younger children. He gladly did as he was told, wanting nothing more then to be accepted and respected by both of his parents. It wasn’t slavery, it was what a young boy of his status was supposed to do. Or those were his views then. So innocent, so very obedient to the every word of both his mother and father. It wasn’t as though he could see the future. He was blind to what was to approach.
As Hollis continued into his life as a teenager, it appeared that someone was horribly wrong within his family. His younger siblings, they no longer showed emotion. They no longer seemed to care for anything, let alone themselves. Through farther investigation, it became clear what was happening. Their old man, the person who was supposed to protect them all and keep them safe from harm, he was hurting the ones that Hollis loved and cared for most. Be it through beatings or what the americans would call extreme sexual assault, he was hurting the Romano children. For some reason however, he never went after Hollis. He never tried to touch the oldest boy, the slave of the adults in the household. Maybe it was because he was too useful. Maybe it was because the man believed Hollis to be too stupid to even scream. He wasn’t stupid, he just preferred not to speak unless spoken to. Unless given a reason to speak. Now, he had a reason. He needed to stop his father, but didn’t know how. He felt weak and powerless to the much older, wiser and stronger man. The children, who slept in the loft at the top of the house like fucking attic pieces, they were forgotten throughout most of the day. They went to sleep when it got dark and Hollis stayed up, cooking and cleaning and slaving. It was all he was good for to his parents, all they ever loved him for. Rage built up inside Hollis. He didn’t deserve this. No one did.
Nightly, the straggling boy found himself on the kitchen floor. Holding a clean, sharp knife in his pale hands he would slice a clean line over his arms. His legs. His stomach. Anywhere that was pure and untouched, he tainted it. Purplish red blood would rise from the wounds, bubbling and eventually spilling onto his skin. He liked the way it looked. He liked the way it tasted. After too long of this, too many slices in his own body, he wondered what it felt like to have the power of life and death over another. Particularly his father. What it would be like to watch him plead for his life under the shining magnificence of Hollis’s weapon of choice. So he decided he would go through with it. Perhaps it was that something in his head had snapped the moment he realized how freeing pain felt, or maybe he’d felt this way all along, but a crisp December night, on the eve of his birthday, he went to the kitchen. He got his blade, along with a strong rope for tying pigs. He’d done this before, gutting animals on a farm nearby. He’d worked for slaughter, this was just on a smaller scale. And it would feel so much better. He didn’t sneak up the stairs, only walked, the rope dragging behind him on the creaky wood. His father was asleep in their room and he smiled softly to himself. All was silent, and he looked up at the rafters above his parent’s bed. They were perfect. Of course his mother was working and would probably be working all through the night as well, so this wouldn’t be a problem. The only problem he had was with his father. In a single motion, he tied a strong knot in the rope and looped it around his father’s ankles. A noose for his feet. He then tossed the rope over the rafters, pulling as hard as his small body could. His father awoke and thrashed, but became still when he became completely suspended and therefore powerless to do anything. Hollis ran the knife over his white teeth, looking at the wriggling man. No words were spoken. Hollis only unbuttoned his fathers work shirt, the mustard stain from that evening’s dinner still plastered on the chest. He took his knife and carefully slit a very thin, shallow cut down the center of his father’s chest, all the way down to the waist of his jeans. The man wimpered. He laughed. In a single stabbing motion, he impailed his father above the jeans and dragged the sharp knife down his front to his throat. There was choking. He didn’t care. He’d finally done it.
Blood spilled from his father‘s mouth and chest, and Hollis stayed and looked into the man‘s eyes as the light escaped them. He would bleed out onto the bed like a goat or pig. He would be gone forever. The boy looked up at the deep wound he‘d created and stood on the bed, sliding his fingers inside the cut. He could feel the blood, warm and coating his hands. He lifted the liquid to his lips and tasted. It was saltier then his own, more satisfying. He took hold of either of his fathers ribs and pulled as hard as he could, breaking them as though they were toothpicks under his fingers. Inside, he found a heart, lungs. All the things he‘d studied in anatomy. The heart was all that he wanted. He removed the organ easily by pulling, and held it up. He turned it over in his hands, it had ceased to beat and was now doing nothing but dispensing blood all over his body. He sunk his teeth into it once. Twice. It wasn’t that it tasted good, but it made him feel better. The blood, the muscle tissue, it made him feel strong. He was strong. He would never stop.
That same night, three Romano children were found dead, along with the family cat. Each body had the heart ripped out, pieces of chewed muscle laying next to them. Each were gutted in the same way, their organs cleaned and laid out before them. They‘d all been bled out. Hollis Romano went on to kill several other random people as he matured, only being caught on his fifth kill three years after the massacre of his family. He never saw his mother again, but as he matured as a serial killer he began to eat more and more of his bodies. The liver, the stomach stuffed with intestines, the ring fingers of women, he made dishes of human bodies then left them for others to find, fearful that they may be next. When he was caught, discovered and all over the news, he didn’t deny that he was a killer, but proposed that he was helping people. Letting them know that life was short and it wasn’t worth wasting, because this could be them. It was a strange obsession of his, but even to this day he longs for the taste of another heart, the power of another soul taken by him. Life and death are in his hands. They always will be.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
EXPERIENCE seven or eight.
CONTACT requium@live.ca
MEMBER TITLE senior?
OTHER CHARACTERS n/a.
CODE WORDS lovelikewoe?
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE
] COLD. that seemed to be the only observation that Noah could make about that particular August evening. The streetlights glittered joyously in their casings and a boy dressed in dark clothing made his way down the dimly lit street. His hands were shoved in his pockets, and to passers-by, he probably looked like nothing special. Just another human being floating aimlessly through Manhattan, looking for a reason to be alive. That however was not the case for Noah. He didn’t need a reason or an answer, he was the answer. Or at least, in his own eyes he was. His tough exterior radiated malicious cockiness, any ounce of sensitivity engulfed by his ego. Many hated him for that very fact, the way he strutted through situations with his head held high, throwing insults without a thought or a care in the world. Fuck them, though. That was his frame of mind. They didn’t have to like it if they didn’t want to. As long as he kept people at arm’s length, he would never get hurt. He would never have to be vulnerable and scared. Those feelings were nothing but past memories, bad dreams that kept him awake at night. A slight sigh left his lips as his mind wandered, back to the past which he’d much rather keep in the past. It wasn’t that he’d had a bad childhood at all, he just found that it was full of empty promises and goodbyes. That was why he never promised anyone anything anymore, he didn’t want to let them down the way he’d been let down so many times. The people that mattered the most in his life, his parents, had never seemed to have enough time for their only son. He’d given up trying to make them proud long ago, forgetting the sports teams and trying in school. He discovered he was much better at something else; marketing himself. It wasn’t long before everyone knew his name, whatever the reason may be. The constant socializing and throwing his name into conversation gave him little time to worry about how many glasses of champagne mother had, or how long it would be before dad would get back from another business trip. His friends became much more important, and enemies seemed to rule over his family life as well. Now that he resided in New York, he had nothing but friends, enemies and his sisters. Oh, and his mother’s platinum visa, of course. It wasn’t like she’d notice his constant spending at all, his family had nothing to worry about financially. A few group therapy courses might help release some tension, but other then that they looked externally stable. Maybe his resentment with his parents would never go away, maybe he’d never have a chance to truly put them out in the open, and to be honest at this point the didn’t really care. It wasn’t like they’d made any effort to contact him or even check and make sure he was doing alright in his new life at all, so why would he waste his time on two people that stopped caring about him when he reached toddler status? As long as he didn’t have to see them until Christmas rolled around, he would be fine. His sisters were always around to stabilize him, and that was all the support he really needed. No one had to know how he stayed up at night and worried, how he wondered what he was going to do with himself. Those things were well kept secrets that he intended to keep it that way. Another sigh. The boy’s eyes raised slightly as a black car drove slowly by. It wasn’t like he looked homeless at all, treading through the upper east side like some sort of animal. Why was it that he hadn’t called at least a cab? Town seemed so far away in the night, and the temperature seemed to be dropping by the minute. At least he’d worn a coat. His blackberry vibrated in his pocket and he reached in to wrap his fingers around the expensive mechanical object. The screen told him that someone named Stefanie had been calling him, but he didn’t see any point in answering. A booty call wouldn’t be enough to cheer him up on that particular evening. He needed the smooth, deep beats of club music pulsing through his veins. He needed the burning sensation of a shot searing down his throat. He needed an escape. Alcohol was always the best way to get away from anything bothering him. He’d learned that one from his mother.
THE street started to open up as he made his way along, and soon the houses turned into darkened stores with closed signs in their windows. Noah reached up slowly and ran his fingers through his thick brown hair, glancing impatiently from side to side. People pushed back his dark figure, girls dressed in skimpy ensembles, hoping to get noticed by guys like him. They weren’t premium though. They weren’t what he was used to. Generally, Noah knew what he wanted, and he usually had to work for the best girls in Manhattan. For some reason though, that was what he liked the most. Chasing around girls who wouldn’t usually be interested in him. It made the product, the lay, much more satisfying. That was what he felt differentiated him from the rest of the man whores around, he actually had standards. A small smirk crossed his thin lips as he scrolled through his contacts on his phone, bumping into the odd person shuffling by and failing to apologize. Hundreds of female names were splayed out before him, and he wondered what each of them were doing at that very moment. Did they remember him? Of course they did. Girls seemed to remember anything, good or bad, and most of their experiences with him definitely were not bad. Love was never an aspect of any of Noah’s sexual experiences. He’d never really been in love before, and didn’t see how he could ever love a woman. They were far too disrespectful to themselves, far too dense, to ever be of any interest to him in the form of a long term relationship. To put it simply, they were easy to figure out and even easier to play. Not once had he met a girl who didn’t fall for at least one of his simplest tricks. That bothered him, because he imagined himself with someone just as tricky as he was. Just as secure, or insecure, depending on how you looked at it. Someone with a lust for life that could put the past in the past and move forward at rocket speed. The likeliness of him finding a gem such as that was incredibly low however, so he’d basically given up looking and simply got with as many girls as he could instead. It was a lot easier, as it kept him happy without tying him down in a situation he wasn’t into. Of course through high school Noah had girlfriends. Plenty, actually. He just never stayed with them long, because his eyes and mind were quick to wander. To be completely blunt, he got bored with them far too easily and the young girls hardly ever put out. He realized quickly that he was better then them, that he could do better with them. After that, for a long time he dated older, more mature women. Mistresses, you could call them. They wore sophisticated clothing and spoke in sensual tongues. He missed those days, mysterious and exciting meetings in luxurious penthouse sweets while Ms. Jones’s husband was out of town. Now, he stuck to the younger, more naïve girls. There was less danger involved, and it was just a whole lot easier for him. They almost never got upset when he didn’t call back, and if you got enough drinks in them they would hardly remember anyways. That was the beauty of the game, no strings attached. It wasn’t like Noah had become this way overnight however, he’d always been a ladies man. Even as a very young teenager, ten or eleven years old, he’d always admired women’s bodies. The way they curved and flowed was so appealing to his deep hazel eyes, and since then he’d been longing to feel them, to hold one of these strange and mysterious beasts. And that was what he’d been doing since. Raising his eyes he flashed a charming smile at a girl with dark hair and makeup, her long legs exposed due to the short nature of her dress. She blushed and smiled back but continued to walk with her less than stunning friends, her black pumps clicking on the tidy new york pavement. He wondered briefly where she would be staying that night, who’s car
she’d be going home in. Perhaps it would be his. He laughed to himself and rolled his blackberry around in the palm of his hand. It vibrated every few minutes to signal a text message being received, but he’d decided long before that moment that he wasn’t too interested in checking his texts that evening. Technology was quite possibly the best thing that had happened to the world, however it got in the way a lot of the time. He hated the way it looked when people sat around in social situations and all they did was text people at other locations on their fancy phones. The only time you would ever find him doing such a thing was when he needed somewhere to go, or was at home on his own doing absolutely nothing, and that actually didn’t happen very often anyways. He always had something to do, somewhere to be. That was his life.
THE club approached fast, a brightly-lit sign exposing it’s name to the street below. There was a considerably long line waiting outside its door, girls dressed in skimpy outfits hugging themselves against the cold. Instead of moving to the back of the line however, Noah simply rolled his eyes and shuffled past the bouncer who smiled at him and clapped him on the back. It was a surprise to the boy that the man remembered him at all, as it’d been several weeks before that when he’d talked his way past the midnight rush crowd. A little bit of cash didn’t hurt, either. Loud music and heavy base immediately began drumming in his ears, and he could feel his body walking more to a beat through the masses of people before the large marble bar in the center of the establishment. A young woman with considerable amounts of cleavage peaking out of her sweetheart neckline smiled at him, asking him what it was that he’d like. Chewing his lip just for a moment, he replied quickly. “I think I’ll have a scotch on the rocks, Tayla.” He’d done nothing but read her name off of her nametag and use it in his response, but the girl blushed as if she was flattered that he knew her name and proceeded to make his drink. In the meantime, he leaned against the cool bar, his elbows resting on the hard surface. He took this opportunity to check out this tayla creature, her shorts exposing a fair amount of her ass when she bent over to grab a glass. His eyebrows raised and she pushed a lock of curly blonde hair from her eyes, flashing him a radiant smile. Her teeth stood in perfect rows, whiter then Canadian snow. She was actually stunning, and her excessive bubbly nature amused him to no end. So he asked her when she finished work, and when she replied that she’d be done in thirty minutes he told her to find him in the club. She agreed, and he walked away with a drink feeling pretty good about himself. A few people recognised him as he made his way through the crowd to one of the overstuffed couches on the opposite end of the room in the lounge area, and he stopped to make mindless small talk with a few of them. Most of them were faces he’d only seen several time, and he didn’t remember the majority of their names. It amused him that for so many people, he was an image stuck in their head, however he couldn’t even begin to remember half the people he met in his lifetime. Lowering himself onto a couch he allowed himself to scan the gyrating cloud, strobe lights and colourful beams passing over their heads. He took a sip of his scotch and the liquid burned down his throat, a sweet feeling that made him feel better then he had earlier that evening. The air was thick and humid inside the club as well, and he slipped his leather jacket off his shoulders and placed it neatly next to him. It sat lifelessly on the couch, crumpled. He yawned and leaned back against the back cushion, sinking into the material. How was it possible that he was this bored in such a place?
THE street started to open up as he made his way along, and soon the houses turned into darkened stores with closed signs in their windows. Noah reached up slowly and ran his fingers through his thick brown hair, glancing impatiently from side to side. People pushed back his dark figure, girls dressed in skimpy ensembles, hoping to get noticed by guys like him. They weren’t premium though. They weren’t what he was used to. Generally, Noah knew what he wanted, and he usually had to work for the best girls in Manhattan. For some reason though, that was what he liked the most. Chasing around girls who wouldn’t usually be interested in him. It made the product, the lay, much more satisfying. That was what he felt differentiated him from the rest of the man whores around, he actually had standards. A small smirk crossed his thin lips as he scrolled through his contacts on his phone, bumping into the odd person shuffling by and failing to apologize. Hundreds of female names were splayed out before him, and he wondered what each of them were doing at that very moment. Did they remember him? Of course they did. Girls seemed to remember anything, good or bad, and most of their experiences with him definitely were not bad. Love was never an aspect of any of Noah’s sexual experiences. He’d never really been in love before, and didn’t see how he could ever love a woman. They were far too disrespectful to themselves, far too dense, to ever be of any interest to him in the form of a long term relationship. To put it simply, they were easy to figure out and even easier to play. Not once had he met a girl who didn’t fall for at least one of his simplest tricks. That bothered him, because he imagined himself with someone just as tricky as he was. Just as secure, or insecure, depending on how you looked at it. Someone with a lust for life that could put the past in the past and move forward at rocket speed. The likeliness of him finding a gem such as that was incredibly low however, so he’d basically given up looking and simply got with as many girls as he could instead. It was a lot easier, as it kept him happy without tying him down in a situation he wasn’t into. Of course through high school Noah had girlfriends. Plenty, actually. He just never stayed with them long, because his eyes and mind were quick to wander. To be completely blunt, he got bored with them far too easily and the young girls hardly ever put out. He realized quickly that he was better then them, that he could do better with them. After that, for a long time he dated older, more mature women. Mistresses, you could call them. They wore sophisticated clothing and spoke in sensual tongues. He missed those days, mysterious and exciting meetings in luxurious penthouse sweets while Ms. Jones’s husband was out of town. Now, he stuck to the younger, more naïve girls. There was less danger involved, and it was just a whole lot easier for him. They almost never got upset when he didn’t call back, and if you got enough drinks in them they would hardly remember anyways. That was the beauty of the game, no strings attached. It wasn’t like Noah had become this way overnight however, he’d always been a ladies man. Even as a very young teenager, ten or eleven years old, he’d always admired women’s bodies. The way they curved and flowed was so appealing to his deep hazel eyes, and since then he’d been longing to feel them, to hold one of these strange and mysterious beasts. And that was what he’d been doing since. Raising his eyes he flashed a charming smile at a girl with dark hair and makeup, her long legs exposed due to the short nature of her dress. She blushed and smiled back but continued to walk with her less than stunning friends, her black pumps clicking on the tidy new york pavement. He wondered briefly where she would be staying that night, who’s car
she’d be going home in. Perhaps it would be his. He laughed to himself and rolled his blackberry around in the palm of his hand. It vibrated every few minutes to signal a text message being received, but he’d decided long before that moment that he wasn’t too interested in checking his texts that evening. Technology was quite possibly the best thing that had happened to the world, however it got in the way a lot of the time. He hated the way it looked when people sat around in social situations and all they did was text people at other locations on their fancy phones. The only time you would ever find him doing such a thing was when he needed somewhere to go, or was at home on his own doing absolutely nothing, and that actually didn’t happen very often anyways. He always had something to do, somewhere to be. That was his life.
THE club approached fast, a brightly-lit sign exposing it’s name to the street below. There was a considerably long line waiting outside its door, girls dressed in skimpy outfits hugging themselves against the cold. Instead of moving to the back of the line however, Noah simply rolled his eyes and shuffled past the bouncer who smiled at him and clapped him on the back. It was a surprise to the boy that the man remembered him at all, as it’d been several weeks before that when he’d talked his way past the midnight rush crowd. A little bit of cash didn’t hurt, either. Loud music and heavy base immediately began drumming in his ears, and he could feel his body walking more to a beat through the masses of people before the large marble bar in the center of the establishment. A young woman with considerable amounts of cleavage peaking out of her sweetheart neckline smiled at him, asking him what it was that he’d like. Chewing his lip just for a moment, he replied quickly. “I think I’ll have a scotch on the rocks, Tayla.” He’d done nothing but read her name off of her nametag and use it in his response, but the girl blushed as if she was flattered that he knew her name and proceeded to make his drink. In the meantime, he leaned against the cool bar, his elbows resting on the hard surface. He took this opportunity to check out this tayla creature, her shorts exposing a fair amount of her ass when she bent over to grab a glass. His eyebrows raised and she pushed a lock of curly blonde hair from her eyes, flashing him a radiant smile. Her teeth stood in perfect rows, whiter then Canadian snow. She was actually stunning, and her excessive bubbly nature amused him to no end. So he asked her when she finished work, and when she replied that she’d be done in thirty minutes he told her to find him in the club. She agreed, and he walked away with a drink feeling pretty good about himself. A few people recognised him as he made his way through the crowd to one of the overstuffed couches on the opposite end of the room in the lounge area, and he stopped to make mindless small talk with a few of them. Most of them were faces he’d only seen several time, and he didn’t remember the majority of their names. It amused him that for so many people, he was an image stuck in their head, however he couldn’t even begin to remember half the people he met in his lifetime. Lowering himself onto a couch he allowed himself to scan the gyrating cloud, strobe lights and colourful beams passing over their heads. He took a sip of his scotch and the liquid burned down his throat, a sweet feeling that made him feel better then he had earlier that evening. The air was thick and humid inside the club as well, and he slipped his leather jacket off his shoulders and placed it neatly next to him. It sat lifelessly on the couch, crumpled. He yawned and leaned back against the back cushion, sinking into the material. How was it possible that he was this bored in such a place?
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