Post by valter on Jul 14, 2012 4:44:28 GMT -5
VALTER NYSTRÖM
full name Valter Emil Olaf Nystrom V
nicknames None
type Original
gender Male
age Eighteen
birthday February 13th
group Popular
clique Cheerleader
grade Senior
sexuality Gay
occupation n/a
face claim Chris Colfer
alias Robyn
persona
refined, reserved, aloof, shallow, cultured, particular, blunt, honest, analytical, energetic, health-conscious, graceful, sheltered, realist, frugal, prude, tease, difficult, temperamental, judgmental, attention-seeker, internal, daring, candid, romantic.
life
Valter Emil Olaf Nystrom the V [fifth] is from Sweden, and the cousin of Blythe Louise Nystrom [his father is her father's younger brother]. Unlike his cousin, he is of full Swedish descent and because he is the first born male between the brothers, he was named for their great-great grandfather. Like Blythe, he is an only child and because of this, the two spent much of their childhood together. Valter often remarks that she is like his sister anyway. At the age of six, his family uprooted to America because his father wanted to follow in his brother's footsteps. Though settled in Ocean City, Maryland, Valter's family has carefully preserved their history and traditions. Swedish was his first language, English was his second - it's not uncommon to find him muttering in Swedish whenever perturbed, and he often uses 'ja' [yes] and 'nej' [no] in everyday language, regardless of who he's speaking with.
From a very young age, Valter has been involved with gymnastics and cheerleading. For Manchester Preparatory Academy, he is a tumbler and base on the team. His flexibility and daredevil stunts make him an asset, but also risky as he may not observe safety precautions while performing. Life has treated Valter fairly well, considering family investments keeps him on cushions and he enjoys a certain notoriety around the school because of his clique. He is certainly shallow and particular about those he will associate with - reputation has always meant a great deal and unfortunately, he will not risk it for just anybody. Valter's upbringing can be off-putting; those who are not accustomed to his rather "polished" demeanor might consider him a stick in the mud. He can become quite the hot-headed individual when the right buttons are pushed and difficult to handle; though generally reserved, once the trigger goes off, it's almost impossible to get a word in edge-wise around Valter.
But, Valter does try and maintain a cool, respectable image so it would take a lot to cause one of his tantrums. Mostly, he seems that aloof person that apparently nobody can get through to. It's simply that he internalizes a lot of thoughts and feelings, and constructs a brick wall around it because to show vulnerability is considered a weakness. He cannot be weak. Around the rare few who he has either known his entire life or he considers friend, Valter can be an energetic, flirty person and far less concerned about formality in private. Yet, he'll go back to putting on airs in public and the like. So, Valter can be something of a contradiction and obviously fake.
roleplaying sample
"AGAIN?!"
This could not be happening. Lanie flattened himself against the tiled wall, the cool water assaulting his bare shoulder-blades. Laughter could be heard just outside the bathroom, several stalls off. Frustration settled heavily in his chest and his head leaned back, glaring up at the ceiling without actually seeing it. He had just about enough of their antics-- this had to stop! Lanie had lost count just how many times they had done this to him now. Palms flattened over his face briefly to cover the shuddering catch of breath; his fingers smoothed along the damp contours of his own face, attempting to soothe his upset. This was what they wanted: to see him break down. To give them something else that they could point and laugh about. And these were just the boys in his own house.
"Ha, ha. You got me, guys. Now just give me back my clothes," his soft voice called out as his hands fell away. Lanie felt like hitting something, so he punched the tiles in front of him. "Ouch!" His knuckles protested, pain shooting up his hand and he waved it in the air rapidly, as if this sheer movement could knock the pain off. Lanie danced there for a moment, nearly slipping in the pool of water at his feet. Must he go through this every week? These guys never did it on the same days, either, just to keep the boy on his toes and looking over his shoulder. Unfortunately, he had let his guard down this morning and now look what happened.
The sound of cloth hitting the floor brought Lanie's attention; he inched shyly towards the edge of the stall, using one of those stunning blue-green eyes to peer out at what was going on. A towel had mercifully been tossed into the room. Only it was about two stalls short of the shower he was in. His eyes closed, forehead pressing into the wall. What a wonderful start to the day. Well, if these boys wanted to see his naked butt running around, then fine. There is nothing to be ashamed of, Lanie. You're not the one spying on them. "At least leave my robes neatly on my bed, please?" He called out to them, pleading. Usually that is what they did anyway. None of them were nearly as heartless as the Slytherins; these guys just figured this as a funny little prank. It had gotten old for Lanie a long time ago, however. As innocent as they thought it, he still felt wary and harassed.
Doing his best to cover himself up with his hands, Lanie finally tiptoed quickly out of the shower and towards the crumpled towel. Ew, can't believe I have to use a dirty towel now to clean off with. He shot a dirty look at the door, which was cracked open a bit. Raucous laughter started up again and he rolled his eyes, snatching the towel from the floor and wrapping it around his skinny waist in seconds. "Yes. Ha, ha, ha." Lanie mocked himself, brushing a hand through his wet locks, which looked almost black in color now. "You guys are just so original. Never gets old." Feeling somewhat better at being covered up, he marched to the door. His feet slapped the ground loudly, because they were still wet. Just as he got to the door, shadows moved off in all different directions.
Cautiously, he nudged the door open further and peered out. Last time he thought the coast was clear, someone had towel-snapped him on the shoulder. The pink mark was still on his left arm. But nobody was around now, he could tell. Muttering furiously to himself about the injustices in the world, he got back to his four-poster. His curtains had been pulled back and some silvery fabric laid across it. At least they had gave him his clothes back. Facing the room at large, his hands shot out on either side of him, grabbing the curtains, and pulled them closed for privacy.
other characters
None
