Post by Fraser MacDonald on Mar 9, 2011 15:58:41 GMT -5
FRASER MACDONALD
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“No one in Scotland can escape from the past.
It is everywhere, haunting like a ghost.”
Geddes MacGregor [/center]
NAME:[/font] Fraser MacDonald
AGE: 18
GRADE: Senior
NATIONALITY: Scottish
POSITIVE TRAITS:
- Quick-thinker
- Fiercely loyal
- Patriotic
- Humorous
- Caring, at times
NEGATIVE TRAITS:
- An awful drunk
- Narcissistic
- Lingers on the past
- Short-tempered
- Selfish
- Stubborn
- Vulgar
LIKES:
- Alcohol; any alcohol. Especially beer.
- Smoking
- Magical creatures; fairies, Loch Ness Monster, etc…
- Hanging with friends
- Boasting
- Football
DISLIKES:
- England, to a certain extent
- Not getting his own way
- Being deprived of alcohol/cigarettes
- Curfews
- Talking about the darker parts of his history.
FEARS:
- Some of his history repeating itself. (such as the Massacre of Glencoe)
- Losing those he holds close.
out of character
NAME: Kirsten/Kiki C:
OTHER CHARACTERS: Here, I also play Norway~
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE:
“By yon bonnie banks, an’ by yon bonnie braes, where the sun shine’s brigh’, on Loch Lomond!”
In a giddy, drunken haze, the young Scotsman belted out the familiar, much loved folksong-turned-pop song; horribly out of tune and slurring his words, but burning with a passion fuelled by a hell of a lot of alcohol. Ironically, Fraser had claimed he would only have a couple of drinks when his brothers turned up at his doorstep in Edinburgh, demanding a “family get together”, but the three younger siblings all knew that was a straight out lie from the Scot. He always ended up getting pissed out of his mind on nights like these, though not before the other three. (Minus Ireland, of course. But that boy could go up against Russia in a drinking contest and win by a land slid).
“Ye’ll tak’ the highroad, an’ Ah’ll tak’ the lowroad, an’ Ah’ll be in Scotland, afore ye!”
“Will you, for the love of God, shut up?” England hissed from his brother’s side, swirling the beer at the bottom of his glass, before downing the liquid in one fluid motion. Scotland stopped his (God awful) singing, and turned his attention to his younger brother.
“Git tae fuck, yer just jealous that Ah c’n sing bett’r than ye.” The Scot droned at the Brit, taking another swing from his umpteenth beer of the evening. On his other side, the second youngest brother, Wales, was mumbling something into his glass. Scotland turned to him, a broad grin on his face.
“Wales?” he began, his voice strangely cheerful.
Wales slowly turned his attention up to his brother. “… Hn?”
“Shut it.”
Wales narrowed his jade green eyes at his eldest brother, and muttered a quick and quiet “arsehole”, before turning back to his drink. Scotland just continued to grin obnoxiously, the Welshman’s insult going right over the top of his head. That, or he just didn’t give a damn.
“Wanker.” England hissed at him, and Scotland took his gaze away from Wales, instead deciding to look at nothing in particular, but still spared England a small glance. “Scone fucker.” He sneered, his emerald green eyes glinting mischievously.
They had no idea where Ireland had fucked off to; probably off gambling with some random hobo. Not that they really cared, anyway.
“Where me an’ mah true love’ll ne’er meet again, on the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomond!”
“Fraser, shut the fuck up!”
Yes, it was just a regular night out for the United Kingdom brothers.
In a giddy, drunken haze, the young Scotsman belted out the familiar, much loved folksong-turned-pop song; horribly out of tune and slurring his words, but burning with a passion fuelled by a hell of a lot of alcohol. Ironically, Fraser had claimed he would only have a couple of drinks when his brothers turned up at his doorstep in Edinburgh, demanding a “family get together”, but the three younger siblings all knew that was a straight out lie from the Scot. He always ended up getting pissed out of his mind on nights like these, though not before the other three. (Minus Ireland, of course. But that boy could go up against Russia in a drinking contest and win by a land slid).
“Ye’ll tak’ the highroad, an’ Ah’ll tak’ the lowroad, an’ Ah’ll be in Scotland, afore ye!”
“Will you, for the love of God, shut up?” England hissed from his brother’s side, swirling the beer at the bottom of his glass, before downing the liquid in one fluid motion. Scotland stopped his (God awful) singing, and turned his attention to his younger brother.
“Git tae fuck, yer just jealous that Ah c’n sing bett’r than ye.” The Scot droned at the Brit, taking another swing from his umpteenth beer of the evening. On his other side, the second youngest brother, Wales, was mumbling something into his glass. Scotland turned to him, a broad grin on his face.
“Wales?” he began, his voice strangely cheerful.
Wales slowly turned his attention up to his brother. “… Hn?”
“Shut it.”
Wales narrowed his jade green eyes at his eldest brother, and muttered a quick and quiet “arsehole”, before turning back to his drink. Scotland just continued to grin obnoxiously, the Welshman’s insult going right over the top of his head. That, or he just didn’t give a damn.
“Wanker.” England hissed at him, and Scotland took his gaze away from Wales, instead deciding to look at nothing in particular, but still spared England a small glance. “Scone fucker.” He sneered, his emerald green eyes glinting mischievously.
They had no idea where Ireland had fucked off to; probably off gambling with some random hobo. Not that they really cared, anyway.
“Where me an’ mah true love’ll ne’er meet again, on the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomond!”
“Fraser, shut the fuck up!”
Yes, it was just a regular night out for the United Kingdom brothers.
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