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mxltiplicities · 4 years ago

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INTRODUCING; BLAISE ROSS

Age: 26

Gender: Cis male

Pronouns: He/him

Occupation: Music teacher at Wakefield Public School

Trigger Warnings: prescription drug use, chronic pain, addiction

Character Basics:

Full Name: Blaise Wesley Rossa

Gender: Cis male

Pronouns: He/him

Age: 26

Zodiac: Sagittarius sun, Scorpio moon, Libra rising

Hometown: Wakefield, South Carolina

Highest Education: Some College (1 year)

Day Job: Music teacher at Wakefield Public School

Night Job: Bassist and backup vocalist

Side Gigs: Lyft driver, church organist

Character Quote: “My arms are too short to box with God.” – Johnny Cash

Face Claim: Harry Styles

Family and Relationships:

Parents: Richard & Aimee Ross

Children: Charlotte Josephine “Charlie” Ross, 2 y/o

Pets: Winston Churchill (cat)

Most Wanted: band mates, neighbors, friends, ex or current lovers, cousins, baby mama/best friend

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual

Romantic Orientation: Heteroromantic

Marital Status: Single

Aesthetics:

classic butane lighters, leather furniture, jack and coke, top shelf vodka, la nuit de l’homme cologne, honest conversations, surprisingly good life advice, silent car rides, biting wit, quiet humility, old school metal razors, early morning westerns, casual hour-long facetiming sessions, car playlists full of 2000s pop music, habitually breaking the ice, being pool sharks with first dates, black coffee, chain smoking, intermittently praying, rooftop stargazing, being a well read drop-out, overdoing it on the liquor and crashing on friends’ couches, mani-pedis with female friends, heartfelt sincerity, half smoked joints, late nights at ihop, flirting with the waitress, leaving large tips, eating eggs and toast for breakfast every day, many intense makeout sessions but few hookups, “this song reminded me of you”, cooking in his boxers, free music lessons for underprivileged youths, shots before noon, sex-free netflix and chill sessions, faded hickeys, a large collection of artisanal candles and incense, impulse tattoos, zero regrets, spontaneous adventuring, saturday cartoons, random philosophical discussions

Biography (TW: prescription drug use, chronic pain, addiction):

It’s almost as if Blaise has God on one shoulder and the devil on the other. A country boy through and through, he grew up as a methodist Christian and absolutely believes in God. He believes in grace, yet unfortunately, he sometimes takes said grace to be a license to sin. Preacher’s kids are the worst kids, they say, and Blaise is a testament to that. His father wanted him to take on active roles in the church, go to seminary, marry a nice girl with a lot of faith and live a cookie cutter life, but Blaise wanted no part of it– though he hasn’t completely left God. He appreciates the countless opportunities he received to practice and perfect his craft right in the church choir, and as much respect as he has for his father and the elders who taught him how to play the bass and other instruments in the first place, Blaise left the church and Wakefield to build a career as a musician in Nashville, Tennessee, only to return in just a few years.

Growing up in Wakefield, Blaise always had somewhat of a double consciousness, feeling convicted about his behavior at times, but going off of the deep end anyway. One thing he wouldn’t do, though, is be a pretender. He did appreciate hearing his father’s sermons, loving the poeticism of it all, but he wasn’t going to be someone he wasn’t. If he was out all night on Saturday, he wouldn’t put up a front of holiness on Sunday morning. His mother continually called him out for smoking on church grounds right after service, but Blaise always responded with a shrug, proclaiming, “I ain’t no hypocrite.” It was a miracle he’d attend at all. Family friends and old high school buddies who ended up being church musicians themselves would request him to play every now and then, and he agreed to jam with them again, even if it was just hymns. They were busier these days, busier than him, each with wives and and a kid or two. It hurt to find that they didn’t relate like they used to. Understanding each other was a task in itself. Complex and hard to reach, it’s a miracle if you could reach him. Hell, it’s a miracle if he could fully understand himself. Very little in his life stayed stable enough for close inspection. Unfortunately, most places, opportunities and people don’t interest him enough for him to stick around for long. The only things in his life that are certain fixtures are family, God (to a degree), and music.

Wakefield, too, now. He sees it a little differently, these days. He left, and wasn’t really planning on coming back to stay, until a couple of years ago. A couple of years ago, a close childhood friend and fling gave birth to his first child, a beautiful baby girl named Charlie. Though he made a solid effort to see his child regularly, having built his career in Nashville and distance between them made it hard for him to see her. It hurt him to be so far from his daughter while she was so young. They facetimed often and he went to see her when he had a week or so in between shows, but that wasn’t enough. He had to do right by her. He’d made some great friends in Nashville, and built a solid fanbase, but being there for his daughter during her formative years was more important.

Ever since moving to Nashville, Blaise’s chronic (but usually mild) sciatic pain was flared up to levels he’d never experienced before. He supposed it was constant pavement beating he’d been doing in the city compared to grazing the grassy fields of Wakefield. It’d been half a decade since he’d been bucked off a horse and pinched a nerve the first time, but that ongoing, intermittent issue continued to present itself. Blaise reckons he should sit down somewhere and tax his body less, but he can’t. He’s got old buddies to catch up with, a daughter to run around and chase, family properties that his family is relying on him to maintain more actively, now that he’s home. In Nashville, on days where it was hard to even get out of bed, he’d gotten used to taking prescription opiates to get him going. As soon as he decided to be home to be with Charlie, he did some outpatient rehab to wean himself off of it.

Things were going well, for a bit. He was on dosage prescription, absolutely legal this time, and it was fine. Then he found it felt like a tease, actually worsening his mood and triggering a semi-depressive state, while doing almost nothing to take away the pain. Being that irritable and in pain was starting to make him crabby, totally unlike his usual cool and calm self. That won’t do, so he’s begun to self medicate, tentatively... Just vicodin, right? He knows he could get himself back into trouble, but it’s a feeling that he can’t resist right now. He finally feels like himself again, and he’s determined to ride that wave for as long as possible. Anyway, he tried stopping, only to be thrust back into a wave of debilitating pain. So he keeps taking them.

He knows it can easily turn into an addiction, again, but doesn’t see any other options– hell if he’ll lay there in a depressed fog. Life is short, Blaise figures, and he decided he’s going to live his life without regrets, which means doing what he has to do to enjoy it without being spiritually dead, too. He’ll get a handle of it before it becomes a real problem and interferes with his professional life.

Sometimes the guilt does plague him. On the other side of the carnal flesh, there’s the spirit. His daughter. He can philosophize all he wants about enjoying life to the hilt, but the real life, real deal truth is that he has to stay alive, happy or sad. In pain or not in pain. For her. He has to stop. During his quiet mornings and dramatically fewer quiet nights, he reflects on his current position and how he almost feels like a slave to his chronic condition and to the drugs, and he hates that. A caged bird is still caged, self inflicted or not. He’s thinking about seeking out other options to treat his condition, and is tossing around the idea of inpatient rehab for his own (and Charlie’s) sake.

#wakefieldtask #wakefieldtask01 #blaise - task 01 #blaise isms #—blaise;

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