05-20-2018, 02:17 AM
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[div style="borderwidth=0px; width:385px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12pt;"][font=arial]JACK
[size=8pt]- ̗̀ but he got a soul as sweet as blood red jam ̖́ -
 jonathan isaac hale
 his friends call him jack, or they would, if he had any
tw: mentions of abuse, sexual assault
 jack grew up in rural britain during the height of the eighteenth century, a time of war, enlightenment, and revolution. he was raised by his father richard hale, a shrewd nobleman who came into riches by exploiting the farmers and villagers who rented and worked his land. richard would stroll into town with heavy pockets in the evenings, though his fondness for drink and gambling meant his return trips had his pockets light. some mornings he would forget this, however, and turn to jack, with his big brown eyes and gap-toothed smile, and call him a lying thief. and he'd beat the boy until he would confess to uncommitted crimes
 the hales had a large, sprawling estate with a large, decadent home with many, many windows that let in that bastard of a breeze. the nights were so cold. at least, that's what richard would whisper when he slipped into jack's room at night. "move over boy," he'd say, "and close your eyes"
 jack was a darling boy, all the neighbors said so. so attentive, so well-mannered, why couldn't their children be a little more like jonathan? except the suttons, that is, their daughter was darling enough all on her own
 by the time jack turned twelve, richard had drained the hale fortune dry. and a man of his means couldn't bear to suffer the great disgrace of poverty. so he summoned himself a demon (for people with hearts as black as his, they aren't hard to find), and made the foul creature a deal that couldn't be refused: for the price of a mere kingdom's worth of wealth, a whole, pure, twelve year old soul
 jack was dragged to the depths of hell kicking and screaming
 as far as demon masters go, alastor wasn't a terrible choice. he was called the "avenging god, he who does not forget" by the ancient Greeks and considered the chief executor of hades' decrees. and jack was his new protégée, learning to twist love into spite, order into chaos
 he was christened "malacoda" upon entry to hell (jonathan didn't exactly strike fear into hearts). he is leader of the malebranche, a troop of demons hand-picked by alastor to guard the eighth circle of hell. it's rumored malacoda, if found, can grant you safe travel to the next circle. he's been known to deceive those seeking help from him, however, so it's up to you to run the risk
 he could go to texas in the swell of summer and still be cold as ice
 guilt? regret? those are words for people with hearts that beat and eyes that cry
 terrifyingly charming, with all the proper speech and cordiality of an eighteenth century gentleman
 loves the waltz and shakespeare and red flowers and crisp white button downs (and how they look dripping with crimson)
 aspiring writer since childhood (though he's had centuries by now, and is still without any publications to his name. it's as if his muse was stolen along with his youth)
 chaotic evil, always on his worst behavior
 roguish smirk that could give han solo a run for his money
 he could tear you apart with his words, but nails and teeth are so much faster
 whenever he's bored, he can waste a few hundred hours pondering where he'll go when he really kicks the can
 he hasn't been in touch with his emotions for so long, they probably jumped ship years ago
 jack thinks that painting the world red will make everyone else just as miserable as he is, and at this point that deal seems pretty sound
why
why
why
[div style="borderwidth=0px; width:385px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12pt;"][font=arial]JACK
[size=8pt]- ̗̀ but he got a soul as sweet as blood red jam ̖́ -
 jonathan isaac hale
 his friends call him jack, or they would, if he had any
tw: mentions of abuse, sexual assault
 jack grew up in rural britain during the height of the eighteenth century, a time of war, enlightenment, and revolution. he was raised by his father richard hale, a shrewd nobleman who came into riches by exploiting the farmers and villagers who rented and worked his land. richard would stroll into town with heavy pockets in the evenings, though his fondness for drink and gambling meant his return trips had his pockets light. some mornings he would forget this, however, and turn to jack, with his big brown eyes and gap-toothed smile, and call him a lying thief. and he'd beat the boy until he would confess to uncommitted crimes
 the hales had a large, sprawling estate with a large, decadent home with many, many windows that let in that bastard of a breeze. the nights were so cold. at least, that's what richard would whisper when he slipped into jack's room at night. "move over boy," he'd say, "and close your eyes"
 jack was a darling boy, all the neighbors said so. so attentive, so well-mannered, why couldn't their children be a little more like jonathan? except the suttons, that is, their daughter was darling enough all on her own
 by the time jack turned twelve, richard had drained the hale fortune dry. and a man of his means couldn't bear to suffer the great disgrace of poverty. so he summoned himself a demon (for people with hearts as black as his, they aren't hard to find), and made the foul creature a deal that couldn't be refused: for the price of a mere kingdom's worth of wealth, a whole, pure, twelve year old soul
 jack was dragged to the depths of hell kicking and screaming
 as far as demon masters go, alastor wasn't a terrible choice. he was called the "avenging god, he who does not forget" by the ancient Greeks and considered the chief executor of hades' decrees. and jack was his new protégée, learning to twist love into spite, order into chaos
 he was christened "malacoda" upon entry to hell (jonathan didn't exactly strike fear into hearts). he is leader of the malebranche, a troop of demons hand-picked by alastor to guard the eighth circle of hell. it's rumored malacoda, if found, can grant you safe travel to the next circle. he's been known to deceive those seeking help from him, however, so it's up to you to run the risk
 he could go to texas in the swell of summer and still be cold as ice
 guilt? regret? those are words for people with hearts that beat and eyes that cry
 terrifyingly charming, with all the proper speech and cordiality of an eighteenth century gentleman
 loves the waltz and shakespeare and red flowers and crisp white button downs (and how they look dripping with crimson)
 aspiring writer since childhood (though he's had centuries by now, and is still without any publications to his name. it's as if his muse was stolen along with his youth)
 chaotic evil, always on his worst behavior
 roguish smirk that could give han solo a run for his money
 he could tear you apart with his words, but nails and teeth are so much faster
 whenever he's bored, he can waste a few hundred hours pondering where he'll go when he really kicks the can
 he hasn't been in touch with his emotions for so long, they probably jumped ship years ago
 jack thinks that painting the world red will make everyone else just as miserable as he is, and at this point that deal seems pretty sound
[align=center][div style="width: 450px; border: none;"][size=8pt][color=black][size=7pt]☾ ` ░ don't be afraid cecilia, i'm the satellite and you're the sky:. ° ✧