CARLISLE, federic aston

[lexa]

frederic aston carlisle.

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/ i want to voice this out loud

full name. Frederic Aston Carlisle
stage name. Aston Carlisle
nicknames. Aston, Freddie (by very few.)
age dob. 22 years, born on the 19th July 1988
gender. male
sexual orientation. hetero
career. film actor
hometown. St. Albans (outside of London)


/ it's therapeutic somehow

height. 6’1”
eyes. green
hair. dirty blond, usually semi long, curly
build. medium, toned, still kind of lanky
distinguishing features. hair, and strong jawline
play-by. alex pettyfer


/ so i'm moving to new york

loves. art, music, acting, working out, rain, old movies, girls, passion, aggression, extremes, ice, summer, winter, storms, sweets, crisps, working with big names, socialising, parties.
hates. those who don’t understand the arts, tea, milk, cereal, swimming, cats, fire, interviews, paparazzi, waiting for anything, not getting his way.
quirks. he’s intense. Really intense about everything he wants. He’s loves france. He paints/draws when he’s stressed, but he’s not very good at it, and it tends to stress him out more. Aston also likes to play the bad guy, despite his pretty boy looks, he relishes the chance to be the villain and be hated and loathed by people. He loves the reactions of the audience.
aspirations. to be a-lister – obviously. To maybe go into script writing and directing at some point, to work with his father in a big production.
secrets. he’s kind of scared of fire and pyrotechnics and stuff, but he’d never admit that for a second.
and that
personality evaluated. He’s active. Constantly doing something when he needs to be. But when he crashes? He crashes hard. He’s always been that way from being young. He’s incredibly ambitious, he has little loyalty, its jut not in his nature to be too trusting. Acting’s been his life since he was a child. He has passion and enthusiasm, and that reaches most every corner of his life. What he likes, he adores. What he wants he lusts for. But, as with a lot of people, things that are wanted and needed so much, become tiresome very quick. So, most things in his life are fast, intense, until they become too much, over bearing. And things with Aston tend to end jut as frantically as they started. He’s an intense person. Which can make him a brilliant actor, but … not always the easiest person to work with. He can border on obsessive with certain things. Most of the time, they say its healthy, but Aston’s borders on being not.

He’s a good friend. A little selfish, a fair bit self centred, but he comes across as a magnificent, grand and pretty aloof. The latter is usually because he’s obsessing over something that’s nothing to do with the current situation. He’s deadly competitive at times, and hates being bested at anything, really doesn’t take losing well, and will bear grudges for a very long time. Even if he holds them, and do anything about them for a long time, his obsessive nature demands that the scale be settled. And he won’t let go of it until he settles it. He’s not incredibly forgiving, unless he thinks the price paid in penance is about right. Though, of course, sometimes it serves his means to say he forgives. For he is, at heart a liar, he’s quite happy to deceive those around him.

/ i've got issues with my sleep

father. frederick marc carlisle, 50, actor
mother. theresa maria carlisle, 46 , artist
siblings. none
pets. none
other family. not of importance
history evaluated. he was born 22 years ago now. between an actor and an artist. The pair were a quick affair, hastily met, hastily married. He, as a big british actor, in a few big productions and british films, he even made a few in Hollywood. Though he never really went stateside, his career started to kick off when Aston was born, so naturally he didn’t want to spend too much time away from his first new born son.

As Aston grew, it was clear he had his father’s talent and his mother’s flair. He was pushed into acting and similar from a very young age. Being an adorable child, he gained several commercials and a few random small parts in British soap operas or similar. He continued through school, always being the popular, one who knew how things worked. He was smart too, but he was better with people. He could charm his teachers out of detentions and turn the tears on and off at will from a very young age. He attended one of the finest drama schools in the UK in place of a secondary school. It all made him a very ambitious, driven and conniving person. He learned the acting game pretty fast, and got used to how leverage worked quickly too. Fortunately he had talent too, so, he managed to procure himself the top seat in the class. Which, then gave him the easiest ride through to university, where, naturally, he studied acting, taking small jobs on the side, and little acting projects, having been warned by his father to keep contacts in the business, and get his face around, but to complete his education.

He did that, and now, having qualified, and worked in the UK for two years after graduation, he decided that things in the UK were too small, and that he wanted to go to America. To make it there as they said. Chance his arm, and see how things would go. So, here he is, in the big city, over in America, and trying to work for his living once more. He’s been here for a couple of months already, but without the contacts, or many contacts? He’s struggling so far. Even if he knows he just needs his break. One shot. One chance. But he knows that those chances are hard to come by.


/ christmas came early for me

alias. lexa asta
years of rp experience. 7-ish?
other characters. none
how did you find us. I really don’t know I stumbled across you on google I think
roleplay sample.

Most of Az’s actions were lost on him. Zar’s socially inept nature rarely stretched far, but usually it managed to envelop Az, because they’d known each other, for their entire lives. Zar knew little other than Az, and it was equally easy to say for Az, or, so Zar had thought. But apparently not. Apparently Az could cope a lot better than Zar could… Maybe he was wrong, maybe after all this time honestly believing it was Az that needed Zar, it wasn’t true, perhaps he needed Az. Maybe that was what this was, some great, prolific way of the world showing him that it was not as he seen it, that it was the complete, total and utter opposite. Zar hung his head, really not sure what to say as Az shot him down, again. Every time was like another knife, another stab. Another wound. Zar didn’t hurt over anything in particular, it had to be something close to him, and those things themselves were so few and far between it made the whole aching process a thousand times more accentuated than those who got hurt minor-ly, so frequently. He wasn’t accustomed to this pain, and certainly not the emotion and thoughts that came with it. Zar was a certain person, he rarely dithered, he would make his mind, it would be set, and he would follow it, usually with the intensity and single-mindedness equal to a charge blinded rhinoceros. This whole dealing with emotions was not right. He and Az never fought. Ever. Now he knew why. They weren’t good at it. They knew each other too well, knew how to hurt one another, because they were too similar in so, so many respects.

The fact that Az was trying to persist in saying that he would manage, he would cope, when Zar was quite certain he really wouldn’t… Everything that had gone by since they’d gotten home was this same, sullen degree of speech, formality that was such an alien thing to come from his brothers mouth who was far more used to making off hand comments in the most basic, guttural of was trying to be eloquent. Like he was trying to show Zar that he could do it, he could be his own person, and it was scary.

Then Azazel Devereaux, his twin and the honest to god thing that he cared for above himself, was sitting there saying about how they could survive alone. That was untrue. Maybe Az could. He hung his head, taking a deep breath, his head shaking in such small shallow movements that it was barely recognizable to himself, lids shutting heavily over the eyes who’s colour was so mildly different from his brothers. He swallowed, thinking, thinking hard, hands idly petting the kneazle, who’s tail was beginning to lash uncomfortably, as though it could sense Zar’s unease. Silently he recognised that and prayed for a little slice of respite, that Az wouldn’t notice, or if he did that he wouldn’t realise what that was about. Damn kneazles and their perceptive nature. But then came the question, and Zar looked up at him. Thankful that he could collar the bulk of his emotions, and manage to stop the sadness that came with that question. “my… my decision? It was never my decision Az… not for a moment, the choice wasn’t mine to start with, it was yours! You said for me to lose … to have sex, took it back as soon as I tried, but I stuck with it, because you, and others said it might make me more normal, so I tried, I got myself into a situation where the choice wasn’t mine. Certainly I didn’t not want it, but the choice was not in my hands from the very beginning, you set a ball into motion, you began it, the choice was never mine, yes, I could have pulled away, but I did it. I carried through. The only choice that was not mine, was the fact that I didn’t tell you. And with that? Surely you can see I’m not happy with my choice. Because I apologised when had I ever apologised for actually doing something wrong, something legitimate, and not stupidly idiotic and of no relevance? Hmm?” He was doing an absurd amount of talking, considering Zar wasn’t the talkative one of the pair, but into consideration that Az usually filled the silence in their conversations, and the silence that lingered was only breeding more thoughts that seemed to breed faster the rabbits. But saying what he thought… finally. Seemed to be giving him some sort of solace, freeing him up, like the words were a heavy, dense air that lingered around him, so close, so humid that he found it hard to breath, and speaking, released this, the words gave him liberation.

So, he looked up, looked Az back in the eye. And… told the truth. The truth that somewhere, Az should have known. “I hate it Az. She was not important, and sure, things happened, but she’d never, ever be more important to me than what you are. You… I can’t do this Az. I can’t do the talking, the explaining, the words, the socialising. That’s your side. You do that. You’ve always done it. Everything’s just gone weird… I can’t do it.” He frowned, brows knitting together gently, in creases of concern, of hurt and honesty. He looked down again, he didn’t want to ask the next bit, because he was afraid of the answer. Tentative, and poor attempts at secretive glances were given, but Zar couldn’t sustain them for very long, he was too distracted, his thoughts were immediately going to pessimism, knowing that he’d just lined himself up for a fall. His self preservation had failed and he’d literally just stood himself before an armed killer and pissed him off, asking, no begging to be destroyed, and in the purist way, he would be destroyed by his brother, as Romulus and Remus, Cain and Able, and so many other figures throughout history, his destruction would be delivered at the hands of his own brother. He would not avoid it. So, he might as well load the gun for him. ”I know its not the same for you, you don’t need me, you never have, ‘you’re quite fine where you are’” He turned the words Az had used earlier back on him, he picked up Braxie, set him down on the floor, squaring his shoulders, lifting his chin that degree that showed and flaunted a level of pride that would distance him. ”I’ll let you be now, I’m sure Braxie’ll show you back if you pet him enough, I’m not even sure he can tell the difference between us.” Nazar nodded softly, turning around and began walking back in the way he had come from.

[itsdayna]