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Old 04-30-2008, 05:26 AM   #7
Disillusionist
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Join Date: Dec 2007
Posts: 83
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Re: WORKSHOP: Character Building #1

When The Kid was traded by his father to the natives for half his weight in ****-poor whiskey, he was too young to remember, but somehow, the stink of alcohol always made him vaguely nostalgic. The word "Buck" had been burned into his belly with a cigar-butt sometime before then, but he didn't learn to read English until he was almost thirty, so he fancied that the pinkish scars were tribal markings. He didn't remember how he got the scars, but he awoke some nights with the phantom aroma of whiskey in his nose, tears on his cheeks, and the echo of searing pain.

"Traded for Whiskey" he was called by the tribe that abused him mercilessly into his teen years, and that was long after he had developed a cringe reflex whenever a hand nearby moved or flinched too quickly, a sure sign that a random blow was en route. The habit of moving fast away from punches and kicks, and just as fast toward scraps thrown on the ground before the dogs outraced him, developed quickly. He became conditioned to see the threats before they materialized, in the same manner that he noticed how vultures flew in an elongated ellipse that pointed toward a carcass before they began to circle directly above it. Handy, if you wanted a reasonably fresh extra meal before the coyotes got the scent.

His eyes flitted like dragonflies, constantly alert for arbitrary threats, or meager opportunities, and they did so from beneath a downcast brow that drew no undue attention, nor missed many details. Never allowed his own bow, he watched carefully as others used them, always gleaning what he could with his peripheral vision, his gaze ever belying the target of his attention. It didn't matter to his captors that he could estimate the number of huckleberries on a bush in a glance, or predict exactly where the current would deposit him when they threw him into the creek for amusement, or any number of mental gymnastics. Only concerned with how loudly he could be made to yelp when tormented, he was nearing seven summers when he learned to feign a satisfying wail that would abate the latest torture. Even the ponies seemed to wait until he was near to pass gas on him.

His most obvious relief to his existence didn't occur to him until he was twelve. Sometimes, the brightest are the blindest. He needed to leave the tribe, or kill them all, or he would die unremembered at their hands. It took two months of planning, but he managed to do both, and to seek the towns and settlements of white men.

SIDE NOTE: I know the parameters were a couple of paragraphs, but sometimes, the writing just takes off on its own. (And no, I don't think it's possible to effectively play a character that's smarter than you are.)
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