Lieu:Complexe Seattle; étage supérieur; 833b
Interactions:Certaines plantes et sa mère; donnant à son chat l'épaule froide

"Oh Tila Tequila, avec la soif que tu as, je ne peux pas imaginer le genre d'alcool que tu brassais," Un petit hum rayonnait des lèvres d'Abel, sa main arrosant des poignées d'eau sur le sol d'un agave bleu, "Mais cela nécessiterait un sacrifice rituel. Ne fais pas ce que je ferais sans toi." Abel sourit, sachant bien que la plante serait parfaite pour un peu plus d'une semaine. Il serait parti plus longtemps, malheureusement, mais c'est exactement pour ça que les voisins étaient là. Chaque plante dans sa maison serait soignée par la petite vieille dame juste en face de la salle, Mme Cavendish avec ses animaux en peluche littérale. Ce qui restait dans son balcon tourna la serre pouvait surpasser la totalité de son plancher, tant que la facture d'eau restait entièrement payée.
Une fois que chaque plante a semblé satisfaite et bien trempée, Abel a fait pour le canapé poussé à l'extrémité de son salon. Téléphone déjà en main, il a appelé le nom de sa mère et un simple ordre. Elle a pris sur la troisième bague, un sourire déjà évident dans sa voix. "Pourquoi si ce n'est pas mon fils éloigné," sa voix est devenue claire comme une cloche, une fausse belle twang du sud infligeant une netteté à ses mots, "Que ferai-je jamais sans ses appels quotidiens ou son doux sourire Cheshire pour éclairer ma journée? Oh, que puis-je faire pour ce chèque annuel aujourd'hui?"
"C'est moins un check-in et plus je me demande comment vous n'avez pas été pris avec les maux de l'entreprise comme un iPhone Apple, Dieu interdit," Abel s'est enroulé dans ses coussins usés, jouant avec un brin de tissu qui sort du siège à côté de lui, "Comment se passe la fête de l'amour?"
"Mieux que jamais! J'ai hâte de vous dire à quel point ces gens sont créatifs. C'est glorieux et leur façon de gérer... »
"Je vais t'arrêter là. Je n'ai encore rien mangé, et je n'ai pas l'intention de gâcher ma matinée sèche au-dessus de mon bol de toilette," Abel a coupé Elizabeth. Il se redressa dans son siège, les pieds poussant contre la jambe de bois de sa table basse; il serre le poing fort. "Je voulais juste savoir comment tu étais et si tu avais besoin de moi pour venir te sauver."
Le rouleau des yeux était pratiquement audible à son extrémité. "Je n'ai jamais eu besoin de sauver et je ne pense pas que j'ai l'intention de vous faire venir en Caroline juste pour résoudre les problèmes de votre mère," dit-elle, son ton adoucissant.
"Je n'en ai jamais parlé de cette façon, vous n'avez pas de problème. Tu es normale, maman. Vous êtes humain," a-t-il froncé en parlant, "Ecoute, je vais au domaine de Henderson ce soir. Si vous voulez, je peux avoir Raquel quitter une chambre pour vous?"
"C'est trop. Vraiment, Abel, je vais bien ici. Ne t'inquiète pas pour moi. Il n'y a absolument pas besoin, de toute façon. Ta mère n'a jamais été plus heureuse."
-- Honnêtement?
-- Honnêtement, s'arrêta Elizabeth, le crépitement de son souffle retentissant à travers le haut-parleur, maintenant, je devrais probablement revenir avant qu'ils ne remarquent. Assurez-vous d'apporter assez de chaussettes et de sous-vêtements en laine. Et n'oubliez pas d'emballer votre brosse à dents. Ces enfants n'ont pas besoin de sentir ton souffle du matin; je le jure, c'est pire que ton humeur."
Si ça avait été quelqu'un d'autre, Abel n'hésiterait pas à revenir en arrière. Hélas, être une mère avait ses avantages, bien qu'il n'avoue pas qu'il n'a pas hésité à donner un laissez-passer à Elizabeth. Il sourit, néanmoins, et répondit aussi vite : « Je vais en faire deux, juste au cas où. Je vous laisse partir. Je te verrai au moins une fois les quelques semaines que je suis là?"
"Bien sûr, ma chérie."
-- Bien, au revoir, a-t-il commencé, tous les deux mettant fin à l'appel en même temps, je t'aime. Son rideau bleu frémit avec le ramassage d'un tirant d'eau.
-- A l'époque, murmura Abel, les yeux capturant la fourrure noire qui traversait les appareils de cuisine.

A B E L

Lieu: À l'extérieur du domaine Henderson
Interactions : Souffler à la neige

L'ensemble des coutumes s'est séparé comme s'il avait porté le bâton de Moïse – bien, il avait au moins quelque chose d'aussi puissant. Le fait d'avoir la seule partie de son visage montrant des dagues bleues de glace a eu un effet sur même les personnes les plus têtues. Malgré les chauffages de l'aéroport fonctionnant à pleine explosion, juste un coup d'œil à l'extérieur des fenêtres a envoyé un refroidissement de la forme très habillée d'Abel. Une paire de muffs d'oreilles s'est assise fermement sur sa tête, bloquant l'agitation du passant, et une écharpe de laine, damitée, bleue et noire enveloppée autour de la plupart de son cou et du bas du visage. A peine visible pour ceux qui se contentent de regarder, une fronce s'assit juste au-dessus de l'écharpe pour correspondre à la glace dans ses yeux. Sous le lourd manteau de pois embrassant son cadre, un pull à tricoter à la main le gardait au chaud et plus en couches sur la longue manche en dessous de celle-ci. De plus, il s'assurait parfaitement de porter son jean flanelle (le flanelle bien évidemment à l'intérieur) et une paire de sous-vêtements thermiques verts de chaux. Je ne peux pas les oublier.
Maintenant, cependant, c'était presque comme s'il les avait oubliés. Non seulement son chauffeur avait-il commencé la conversation, mais apparemment il ne pouvait pas attendre la porte pour laisser passer la voiture, ce qui signifiait qu'Abel devait parcourir la vaste cour couverte de neige. Ça n'a pas aidé qu'il ait un sac à bandoulière sur sa valise et un porte-chats avec un chat plus qu'agité faisant des bruits de chat agités. La plupart de son voyage à la porte d'entrée a consisté à siffler d'Abaddon et à murmurer les malédictions sur les vaches de la famille qu'il a jetées à la neige croquant sous ses bottes.
Le fait que quelques autres s'étaient déjà rassemblés près de l'entrée signifiait assez peu pour Abel. Il est passé à travers, encore murmurant et parfois grogner sur les propres grognements du chat, sans s'inquiéter pour les autres. "J'entends Tuscon, l'Arizona est un froid de 78 degrés," a-t-il appelé sur son épaule avant de remonter le regard avec un lourd bruit de roues de valise contre l'escalier immaculé.
Abel revint quelques instants plus tard, les yeux rétrécis et entraînés vers la porte. "Quelle chambre est la plus facile à nettoyer?" Il a appelé, il n'a rien fait pour clarifier.
Abel Ross

“Purpose is human. For god I claim. For love I die. For country I serve. For family I cry.”
-Abel Ross

T H E B A S I C S 
|{Name}|
Abel Evans Ross
|{Nickname}|
Abaddon the Destroyer. It's actually the name of his cat, a pure black longhair with a penchant for evil. It caught on as a nickname for Abel during some drunken tirade as to his knowledge of the fallen angel and its correlation to the evil entity of his cat. So, people tend to roar it in his presence, especially when he, they, or everyone is drunk. "Abaddon the DESTROYEEER!!!!!!" followed by a rather squinty eyed glare.
Abel's short enough, though, so it's usually the go to. That or Abe, just for the sake of shortening it further.
|{Birth Date}|
February 7th, 1989
|{Age}|
26
|{Gender}|
Male
|{Sexuality}|
Gray-A Homoromantic
|{Sexually Active}|
Not really
|{Relationship Status}|
Single
|{Occupation}|
Botanist. Researches in a greenhouse/lab at the Seattle University, mainly for national parks and preservation, especially concerning that of bees.

A P P E A R A N C E
|{In Depth Appearance}|
6'0" even with an athletic build that boasts active running, Abel tends to have a closed off appearance with rigid shoulders and a stiff posture. His lithe form tends to alleviate him of an imposing stature, though his presence doesn't do much to disquiet the cold he tends to afflict. A tired expression finds itself overcoming most emotions on Abel's features, outlining his large, blue eyes with dark circles and normally white teeth stained with copious cups of coffee and other caffeinated beverages (Seattle's cafe scene is such a godsend). Of course, not many people have come close to witnessing Abel's teeth in anything but a grimace, snarl, due to his need for intense frowning. Not to say he doesn't smile, it's just a rare kind of blessing. Like a black cat named Abaddon the Destroyer.
|{Clothing Style}|
Scarves. Lots of scarves. Second only to Abel's intense tie collection, the winter is heavy with various scarves, woolen and thick and hiding everything from his neck to his lower face. Not only that but a numerous amount of coats, ranging from the heavy pea coat to warm, downy puffer jackets, to an assortment of various jacket and vest combinations. There's absolutely no one who values the warmth of clothing that Abel does and his closet tends to be filled with a collection of sweaters, heavy t-shirts, sweatpants, and layers of jackets, not to mention a lot of thermal underwear. Living in Washington, one often finds themselves with an entire closet dedicated to winter wear.
|{Scars, Tattoos, Piercings}|
A tattoo on his collar, to his shoulder, and back that hangs right over his biceps to circle his wrists. Pitch black with long, straight lines and various religious symbols of protection from Norse to Chinese to Hindi following the lines in parallel form. The area near his neck is filled with sharp lines and corners as they encircle his neck and travel down the length of his spine.

G E T T I N G T O K N O W M E
|{Likes & Dislikes}|
✔ Bugs
✔ Ladybugs
✔ Maple Syrup
✔ Pine Trees (particularly the smell)
✔ Cats
✔ Knick-knacks
✔ Coffee
✔ Fireplaces
✔ Rain
✘ Being Accosted
✘ Solicitors
✘ Taxes
✘ Stupid Questions
✘ Anything too Sweet (aside from maple syrup)
✘ Rosemary Grenadine
✘ Salmon
✘ Snow

|{Hobbies}|
Cataloging
Binge Watching
Jogging
Reading
|{Habits}|
Repeatedly clenching his fists when nervous.
Looking furious when he's deep in thought.
Scrunching his nose.
Keeps a journal where he takes notes on practically everything.
|{Fears}|
☠ Complacency with his work and life ☠
☠ Horse riding ☠
☠ Thunderstorms ☠

D E L V I N G D E E P E R
|{Personality}|
♦ Caustic ♦ Guarded ♦ Perceptive ♦ Flippant ♦
Weird puts things kindly. If someone wants to come off as polite, they usually describe Abel with, "Dry humor kind of guy," or, "He doesn't really mean it." An introvert, as introverted as they come, Abel exhausts easily in social environments; interacting with strangers is taxing and something he avoids, if at all possible. Possibly why he chose science as a career. Plants don't sap the energy out of people, they're calm, stationary, if a little bit quiet. The same can be said for cats, of which Abel had to have picked the rudest, unbelievably sassiest, and destructive one out of a litter of ten.
A guy like Abel doesn't have many friends outside of his tight knit circle. People he usually meets are often friend of friends. Though, it can be said that achieving that status with Abel is a task in and of itself. That can often be accounted for his lake of tact and caustic manner of interacting with people he doesn't quite know. It's both a defense mechanism and his default mood. Prickly tends to describe the surface of Abel rather effectively. Or any other assortment of synonyms: grumpy, rude, a dick. Catch him in the mornings before his ten cups of coffee and you'll likely find that he'd been nicknamed appropriately. Of course, lonely doesn't seem to adequately portray him. Just because he dislikes people's company doesn't mean he's often without joy in the company of others. It just takes a certain kind of determination to get through to him.
In other words, Abel may have a tongue on him, may bite and spit acid at any turn of conversation, but beneath the lack of filter for crass language and general rudeness sits a deeply faceted man. Passion sets him alight, drives him with focus and perseverance. Stubbornness keeps him going past the point of adrenaline and exhaustion. And a keen eye for practically anything. Abel works in subtleties, a warm mug of hot cocoa on the counter, letting people sleep in whilst he works twice for himself and them, the fact that he doesn't use all the damn hot water. He shows he cares not in words, but in actions, ways that don't leave him vulnerable. Ways in which he can keep his heart on his sleeve without revealing where on it it lays. Abel isn't a man of grand gestures, but a man of little acts, things that tend to be overlooked in the grand scheme, but are almost as important—possibly more so in a way.
Not many people realize they're happy.
Not until they have a reason to look back, away from the pain and the absence they feel at that very moment.

|{Place Of Origin}|
Auburn, Alabama.
|{History}|
For all intents and purposes, Abel Ross was an only child to a single mother, Elizabeth Marie Ross.
In reality, Abel had various siblings.
And various fathers. Of who, the sole biological father remained absent for the entirety of his life.
Perhaps his mother had a complex. Abandonment issues only revealed when the light of her past shone down upon it. His mother left every single marriage of her own accord. Divorces initiated from her and her alone. She blindsided various men, and a few women, in her moments of duress. She'd even admitted to a marriage counselor that she had self destructive habits.
Before she slept with the marriage counselor in question.
A beginning such as this would expect Abel to come out with resentment, possibly a mother who revealed a terminal illness and pleaded forgiveness. Fortunately, Abel did none such thing; he didn't resent his mother and had nothing to forgive her for. In fact, Abel's relative aversion to strangers reinforced their relationship. Though he met most of her excursions, as he called them, with exasperation, he knew his mother's plight and supported whatever decision she made. After all, people found love in various ways. For Elizabeth her love burned bright, hot, and frequently. For Abel, it simmered and either fizzled out or grew in scope and measure. She had no other child aside from him, for reasons she refused to indulge in, and Abel preferred it that way.
Being a solitary child who moved often from spot to spot across the country—continent, really, since Elizabeth frequented Canada—Abel hadn't a reason to make friends, as they didn't often last. Nor did many people find Abel amicable enough to befriend. It took awhile for Abel to grow out of loneliness, or to even identify and understand it, until he'd hit a spot in his teenage life where Elizabeth staid for longer than she intended. They'd settled down for a few years and thus allowed Abel to flourish in his academics, as well as his social life. To his rather dismal regret, quite a bit of people took to his solemn bitterness like fly to honey. They often quoted his utter misanthropic hatred of the world around him as edgy and goth, of which was a total and utter lie. Abel didn't hate the world, didn't hate people, just preferred privacy and solitude over interaction, yet he refused to correct them. Pride perhaps stopped that and maybe a bit of stubbornness. Mostly it was inevitability.
What Abel lacked was perhaps tragedy. He had an odd family situation, with a mother who avoided commitment as if it burned her, and a father still absent (his mother often described him as an inbred louse. "Of course, he's not a product of incest, honey. It's just a colloquialism."). Abel's life couldn't be described as easy, yet it wasn't fret with hardships. Being intelligent, studious, and solitude awarded him an easy education and an even easier idea for a career. Plants and bugs perhaps spoke to him quite a bit more than people did, especially since constant upheaval of home and hearth made it easier to study and tell the difference between species of trees and flowers and insects. The move to Seattle where the rain made things lush and vibrant despite the overhang of grey seemed a simple choice. Keeping in contact with life long friends a little harder, though the only thing expected of him was a simple trip to North Carolina come winter. Luckily, his mother seemed to have hold up near the ski resort with a group of non-committal, vegan nudists (maybe polyamory would do his mother some good? Hopefully). He'd questioned it, but she waved him off with her brazen lack of any attire.
Of course, a niggling in the back of his mind had urged him to further research his biological father. Maybe hope seems too optimistic for a word to describe Abel's feelings. Dreadful? Inevitable? As long as he doesn't find out he's a cannibal holed up in the boondocks of Alabama. What could be worse?
|{Extra}|
Abel knows how to tango and foxtrot, as well as tap dance. He refuses to show anyone, however.
Can name various species of insect and flowers off the top of his head.
Loves the language of flowers and their subtleties.
(My favorite thing about Christmas, and subsequently Abel's favorite thing, because I can, is the Christmas music. But things like Frank Sinatra singing I'll be Home For Christmas, or I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm by Billie Holiday.)
|{Theme Song}|
New Romantics - Taylor Swift
”Please take my hand and
Please take me dancing and
Please leave me stranded,
It's so romantic.”