Emplacement: 46 Park Point Drive, Appartement 2D
Interagir avec: Jasper 

La lumière du soleil de midi n'était pas ce que King voulait se réveiller aussi. En fait, il ne voulait pas se réveiller du tout après la nuit qu'il a eue. Et pourtant, il était là, lentement assis dans son lit désordonné, en train de déplacer des bouteilles de bière vides qui claquaient et s'écrasaient contre le sol alors qu'ils sautaient de ses genoux, oubliant ce qui l'empêchait de rester... King regarda à l'époque sur son téléphone, et là, il vit le débordement des textos de la maison.
Maman, papa et sœur, alignés en blues et en greens, lettres écrivant des mots qu'il n'avait aucun intérêt à lire. Les menaces de son père n'étaient rien d'autre que du bruit blanc maintenant, du bruit blanc qu'il avait essayé d'oublier la nuit dernière, et les autres étaient des notes aimantes et des informations monétaires et des choses que King avait entendues de nombreuses fois auparavant. Rien de nouveau. Il atteignit l'une des bouteilles à moitié pleines à côté de son lit, sirotant et serrant simultanément comme un goût d'amertume et de désespoir enveloppant sa langue.
"Ouais, mauvaise idée." Il sifflait, larguant la bouteille en se levant et trébuchant à travers sa chambre vers la porte, à peine vêtu et la plupart de la gueule de bois. Une douche lui ferait du bien, surtout s'il avait prévu de faire quelque chose avec le reste de sa belle journée. King a glissé dans les couloirs de l'appartement aussi tranquillement que son mal de tête d'achoppement pouvait le faire, seulement gelé quand il a vu le dos familier d'un de ses colocataires. Devant le frigo. Des murmures? Des murmures. King avait un faible sentiment qu'il avait fait quelque chose de mal, mais une autre agonie de son front a complètement balayé de telles choses, et il a plutôt salué qui il a supposé être Jasper avec un faible gémissement et une vague de la main.
King s'est finalement retrouvé entouré de lumières presque stériles et le froid de l'utilisation en dépit des circonstances de l'appartement. La salle de bains était aussi propre que possible quand elle abritait trois animaux de fête, et c'était assez bon pour King. S'il s'est déjà ennuyé du désordre, alors il pourrait passer un certain temps à essayer et à ne pas le nettoyer, mais en ce moment, il se contentait de passer à travers des dentifrices inachevés et du papier toilette rapidement déravé.
Il a tourné sur l'eau chaude avant toute autre chose, se baissant dans la chaleur et la vapeur soudaines qui ont rempli la pièce et enduit toutes les surfaces disponibles comme de l'eau qui s'éclaboussait contre le sol de la douche. Mist s'est rassemblé autour de sa tête, pourchassant le mal de tête et le remplaçant par une chaleur de sommeil groggy qui l'avait éludé quelques instants auparavant alors qu'il était encore au lit. La douche elle-même était sans incident et ennuyeux, King simplement lavé et rincé et répété jusqu'à ce qu'il se sente brillant et nouveau, ou, bien, aussi nouveau que quelqu'un comme il pouvait sentir.
On commence à se sentir un peu mauvais après tant de nuits de rien que le sexe, l'alcool, et la musique de club de merde, étonnamment. Et ce sentiment ne disparaît jamais vraiment.
King est revenu dans l'appartement principal avec une serviette autour de sa taille et toujours aucun mot pour passer sur Jasper. Une autre vague gémissante et frénétique de la main suffirait pour l'instant. L'aventure de la salle de bain de retour à sa chambre n'a pris qu'un moment, et bien qu'il ait vu son lit le accuser de nouveau, il s'est ébranlé du grogginess en faveur de fixer par sa fenêtre. New York City a glissé brillamment dans la lumière de l'après-midi, bâtiment en verre reflétant ciel bleu et soleils jaunes et voitures brillantes. L'Upper East Side a toujours été un peu rayonnant de richesse, mais bien sûr qu'il le ferait. Parce que c'était New York, et parce que c'était Upper East Side, où tous les riches allaient, King étant l'un d'entre eux tristement. Le monde a juste fonctionné comme ça, King a décidé, les gens riches vont dans des endroits riches et apportent des choses riches pour rendre dit lieu riche et c'est comme ça que les choses vont et n'essayent pas de déchiffrer ces choses si vastes pendant la gueule de bois, moi...
Le roi gémit et se tourna pour arracher son téléphone. Twitter et Instagram ont pris quelques instants de son matin et de son après-midi banals, brouillant rapidement des images et des mots qui dépeignaient la vie d'autres et il a senti quelques brèves sonders alors qu'il passait à l'étranger pour trouver des amis d'enfance et des membres de la famille réellement décents. Le visage familier d'Astrid King lui sourit d'un billet d'Insta en particulier, et avec un sourire que la plupart ne s'attendaient pas de King est venu et est allé comme il l'aimait rapidement, puis a continué à descendre son tiret. Une fois que cela s'est ennuyé, cependant, il s'est tourné vers son placard et a changé en quelque chose de propre et probablement flanqué, et finalement s'est aventuré dans l'appartement avec un sourire qui n'a été coupé que par ses yeux blessants.
"Yo Jaaaay?" Il a appelé dans l'espace de vie, clignotant des points de blanc alors que la lumière lumineuse s'estompait dans sa vision. Un désir habituel de errer à travers les rues de New York se tapait à ses pieds, le conduisant un peu vers la porte d'entrée, mais il s'est figé près de la cuisine pour appeler à nouveau, "Jassassesse? Hey, mec, j'ai des analgésiques?" La douleur ennuyeuse dans sa tête serait un problème, surtout depuis que septembre a fait ressortir le côté ensoleillé de la côte est. Il serait préférable de traquer son colocataire ordinaire pour des médicaments de la gueule de bois avant de partir, probablement.
Mais en même temps, il avait l'impression de sauter et de courir avant que quelque chose de mal ne se produise. Qu'est-ce qu'il a fait hier soir, son esprit s'est demandé, et un sourire ovin, sans prétention, a revendiqué son snark initial alors qu'il essayait de retracer ses pas.
Of course I’m the best! I’m the K I N G, baby!

║ N A M E ║
Richard Shannon King
║ N I C K N A M E S ║
King - "The name's Richard King, but most just call me King."
Shannon - The rare few who find out King's middle name often turn to it when they wish to inflict some kind of meager social wounds. He doesn't hate the name per say, it's just a bit embarrassing to respond to such a girly title.
Dick - Only his family calls him Dick. He doesn't take kindly to hearing the nickname from anyone else. 
║ B I R T H D A Y ║
July 23, 1996 (20)
Dunsmuir, California
║ G E N D E R / S E X U A L I T Y ║
Male || Bisexual
║ O C C U P A T I O N ║
Student by day, jazz-playing, guitar-toting, open-mic hopping hooligan by night. King's parents (well, mother) send him a small allowance at the end of every month, but that doesn't stop him from going out nightly to play on street corners or in venues offering him a bit of loose change for a three song set. It's enough to keep his pockets and stomach full, plus, he gets to meet so many hot interesting people after he preforms.
║ A P P E A R A N C E ║
Pretty boys are always trouble. Always. Never trust their sly smirks and bright eyes and freckled skin. Ignore their tousled hair and slack stance and oh-so-stupid fashion sense. Pretty boys are always trouble. King is no exception to this rule. He holds an endearment for his own face because it is quite pretty. European influences blessed him with bright eyes, bright hair, and bright (thought easily burned, blemished, and bruised) skin. In reality, King has quite the baby face, with wide eyes and thin lips and just the cutest nose around, but he hides this fact with crucially grown stubble and a jaw gained from his father's side of the family. Days spent working out and a strictly vegetarian diet keeps him trim and healthy, especially in the face area.
King is tall, standing about 6'1" when straight backed and confident. He likes to think he's just the right height, being able to both tower over people as well as meet the eyes of those higher than him with a mere crook of the neck. There is a confidence that comes with loving the way you stand or sit, with loving what you can see while walking through crowds. King experiences that feel more often than not, though there are times where his back can bend in worry and his eyes can only meet the ground. Anxious times, when the world is so small that he can't bare to look above and passed it. And when he experiences these bouts of depression and self-hate, King's normally loud and musical voice is nothing more than a dull whimper.
Graphic tees, flannel, and ripped jeans are the norm for Richard King. He dresses comfortably, but often takes time to plan outfits and see which fit him the best. Narcissism runs through his veins like blood, and as such he takes care in his appearance, even for the most minimalist of occasions. Out on the town with friends? Ripped jeans, work boots, and his favorite flannels are strewn about until a decision is made (usually, three minutes before he is supposed to meet said friends). Formal party? Dude, King has suits for days. Rich kids wear rich things, after all. Fashion is a mere minuscule dot in the things King really focuses on, but when he over thinks and realizes just how hot he could be that day it's the whole world to him. Don't be alarmed if he takes more than half an hour in the bathroom, then. Because that's just how Richard King rolls.
Below all those layers, however, lies King's first secret. Bruises and scars, now old and almost forgotten, run up and down his back like a galaxy. Dead colors, muted purples and greens and blues, stand out against the pale skin. The remnants of abuse. King is said to only fuck around with people at least half-clothed, and all those old scars are the reason why. He hates them, despises them more than anything else in the world, and when he catches a glimpse of his bare back in the mirror he can't help but shiver with rage and distaste and fear. The only past influence he really shows off would be the hideous scar of his left bicep. It has since faded to a white line over the years, but he still gets a bit anxious when people notice and ask about it.


"Time and again boys are raised to be men. Impatient they start, fearful they end."
║ P E R S O N A L I T Y ║
The Positive:

 Romantic - To say Richard King is a hopeless romantic is like saying the sky is blue. It's true as the day, though he isn't as frivolous as those dreamy protagonists. King's romantic efforts are similar to all those drunk frat boys in colleges beyond; vague flirting leading to number getting leading to one night stands. In terms of true romance, however, King considers himself well-versed and enjoys spoiling his dates with flowers, candy, and sweet, sweet words.
 Charitable - He's a douche bag with a heart of gold, what else is there to say? He often wanders the streets of NYC with an eye out for the homeless or needy, ready to offer a dime or a slightly-kind word to them if needed. Even to friends he is very caring and generous, offering housing or a bit of cash if they're in a tight jam. He can't really help this side of him, despite his best wishes to keep such 'weakness' hidden away.
 Cunning - King is not smart in the way other people are smart. In fact, he's kind of an idiot when dealing with his Gen Ed classes, having almost failed his senior year for poor grades in math and science. He is, however, a sly fox in social situations. He thinks on his feet, moving and wondering what his next move should be in perhaps a soccer game, or an improv session, or while chatting to a flirty bartender. He's reckless in a sense that he puts others before himself, but if given the chance to think a plan out he will gladly take the offer and then some. 

The Negative:
 Blunt - "What? People just can't handle the truth!" King considers his loud mouth 'honesty' and his harsh words 'the truth', despite them sometimes being just plain cruel. He's quick to point out someone's bad attitude, hair, face, ect. if they start off on the wrong foot with him. Even his friends aren't safe from his venomous observations, though they are surely toned down to save hurt feelings.
 Truculent - King is quick to anger and even quicker to fight. All that stress from home and his new found college workload comes out in the heat of an argument. In the flinging fists and shouts of agony King sees his life, spread out, leading to failure or an early death, and that just increases his aggression to an impossible amount. Try and stay on his good side, for the sake of everyone, because when King gets mad he stays mad for a good long while.
 Apathetic - That teenage cynicism has yet to leave the college-bound Richard King. When not joking around with friends or jamming out in his room King can be found emotionless, lonesome, and utterly apathetic. He has trouble discerning the emotions of himself and others, and doesn't seem to realize his many unhealthy habits and woes.

What You See:
King is boisterous and asshole-ish. A true blue douche bag to those who don't really, really know him.He brushes new people off with a bat of the eyelash and isn't afraid to talk shit to their face if he doesn't like said person from the start. His flirtatious nature is far from infectious, bordering more on annoying and endless especially when he is drunk. And, oh boy, is he often drunk. He loves a good, awful beer and despite being underage he isn't afraid to let everyone know his enjoyment of drinking. The carnivorous-looking Richard King seems to hold all the confidence an asshole frat boy should, and the only good thing people may see about him at first glance would be his unadulterated love for all things musical.
What I Know:
King is broken. He isn't... right, really. There's something off about him that many of his closer pals seem to notice. He keeps secrets hidden deep within his heart and hides the pain of them all with tiny smiles and glittering, cruel eyes. When around his closest friends he is truly cheery and honest, a generous soul with a harsh tongue and a hideously pessimistic look on the world. He tries to hide the emotions he considers weak, like kindness or sorrow, but really if you catch him in a quiet moment of vulnerability he is soft spoken and emotional.
The rage King feels doesn't seem to come on during stressful situations, instead it's like he's always prepared to scream or fight. His fists clench randomly, full of hidden vigor and venom, and his eyes often sport a dark look of disgust when he thinks no one is looking closely. This stowed rage is just a symptom of his home life, along with slight anxiety and on-off depression. He takes Prozac for all these issues and doesn't let a single soul know, because he is ashamed. 

"Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting." - J.M. Barrie
║ D R E A M S ║
King dreams of making it big as a Jazz musician and songwriter. To hear his songs played to an adoring crowd, to live a happy life with someone else, and to ignore his past, these are all the things he wishes from the rest of his life and then some. King wants to play music forever and ever, no matter the money or fame. He just wants to do something he loves until he dies.
║ F E A R S ║

Storms, thunder and lightning just send him into a fright for some reason. It's probably his dad's fault.
Superstitions and urban legends, mostly due to all those chain mails he got as a kid.
His father, the pig-headed, abusive, disastrous asshole haunts King to this day.
Blood. More of a stressor really, but it still gets his heart pumping and lungs heaving. Again, it's probably his dad's fault.

║ L I K E S ║

People, pretty or not. The fact that he isn't alone in the world is a calming thought to King.
Nature. King has a secret journal where he stamps flowers and shit. It's pretty queer, but also very relaxing.
Music. Any kind of music! All music! Jazz, blues, rock, hip hop, rap... King will listen to anything and love it unironically.
Dogs, the bigger, stronger, friendlier, completely different version of the cat!
Alcohol, especially bitter beers and rums. He loves the feeling of being drunk too.
Rom-coms, secretly. Only a select few know of how he cries every time he watches The Notebook.

║ D I S L I K E S ║

Storms, storm clouds, ect. He can't stand the east coast's rainy season especially.
Being emotional in public, especially around people he likes/hates. There is no need to show off such weakness!
Wishy-washy people. If they can't speak their minds then King has no time for them.
Superstitions, black cats, walking under ladders, face-down pennies, ect.
Talking about his home life, for good reason.
Cold weather. It's both a pain to get through and also has the ability to damage instruments! How awful!

║ H I S T O R Y ║
Richard Shannon King was born in a quaint California town on a sunny, sunny day. His mother, Victoria King, though annoyed she had to give up precious work time to give birth, fell in love with her child the moment he opened his tiny mouth to cry, and stayed as close to him as possible throughout their time in the hospital. His father, Henry King, however, was well aware the child was not and would never be his. Because he wasn't the real father.
Because his wife cheated on him.
Tensions were high in the house as Richard grew into a spoiled young boy. His mother worked often, as mayors usually did, but whenever given a moment to breath she offered him toys and food and thoughts beyond his wildest dreams. Henry didn't take much time to admire the child. Though he was often the man in charge of the house he merely left Richard by himself, opting to instead work on his next novel that may or may not be scraped half way through development. Stress from the book led Henry to booze, and being alone with his bastard son let him shout profanities half way across the large, empty house to infect the poor child.
The first time Henry hit Richard was when he was in seventh grade, and he was caught sneaking alcohol to a friend's house on his bike. His father gave him a massive welt across his left thigh and left him sobbing in his room with only a meager feeling of guilt. Mother remained out of the loop of this abuse, that had suddenly began to continue on, because Henry threatened Richard every time he had a chance to. And Richard, fearful of his own life, and his sister Astrid's life, and his mother's life, stayed dead quiet. Focused on his music (played quietly, so his father had no reason to rush up and smack him about again), focused on his friends, ignored the pain. Ignored it, ignored it, ignored it for five whole years.
When his acceptance letter to The Mortimer School of the Arts came in, Richard was offered a way out and up. The music that so saved him from quiet nights locked away in is room could now lead him to a better, more fulfilling life. A life without his small town teen angst and his stubborn father. So, King ran far, far away from the the west coast. Because music was calling him into an unexplored world and King was ready to leave behind that small town in favor of freedom, smoggy air, and a life without Henry King.


║ S T U D I E S║
Jazz (Major) / Songwriting (Minor)
║ A U D I T I O N ║
King walked into the room feeling quite dreamy from his pills and quite smiley despite the anxiety that plagued his heart. He settled down on the offered chair with his trusty ol' guitar, offered a wild smile, and then went into a trance as he picked through a set consisting of the songs Autumn Leaves, Cocaine Princess, and an original song he wrote called Small Town Rhythm. He left quickly and spent a good hour calming himself down in a bathroom stall.
║ Y E A R ║
First
║ H O M E ║
Upper East Side -- Apartment 2D
║ E X T R A I N F O ║
IM TRASHY AND HAVE A VOICE HEADCANON