Post by yumi8 on Jul 18, 2010 5:53:08 GMT -5
[Okay, firstly, sorry for the badass title. Secondly, sorry for the badass post. & you're my first rp-er with Rhys. thankies!]
Blonde hair, eletric blue eyes. Angular face, nice body. Words just a few to describe the way Rhys Cain Zayden looked. If Rhys's personality fitted the way his face looked, and the way he smiled when he was happy, he would've been a nice boy, in Hufflepuff, prehaps, and rather shy. If he'd had a girlfriend or a light relationship, he'd have treated her right, and loved her. Unfortunately, Rhys was another one in a long line of the world's jackasses. He had been correctly placed in Slytherin for being vain, pompous, arrogant, a bit of a hypocrite ... It never ceased to amaze people. Here was a boy who you definately shouldn't judge by his cover; a lot of girls from varied houses could tell you that. He was a player; he hurt girls feelings and didn't care of the outcome. Somewhat of a true Slytherin.
“How can this happen?” People used and still do muse to themselves. “How could a boy that started life off as a calm, independant, reliable person turn into such an arrogant bastard?” Here is the reality. When Rhys was 6 his father left him and his mother for some hussy. It turned out he'd been scoring with other girls left right and centre while his mother slaved at home, looking after the 6 year old child of his and her. Rhys rebelled, anger pouring out of him and a deep hatred for his father deepening in his soul. His mother calmed him down, explained why he couldn't go angry. He was all she had now, and if he turned into her father, it would be like hell. Rhys calmed down, but an anger fuelled by hatred of the man who'd left him still remained, deep down, in the pit of his stomach. When he was 9, three years later, his mother died by ‘natural causes’, the doctors had said. Rhys suspected otherwise, and vanished with his uncle and aunt in Mexico (the aunt and uncle of his father, nothing like him, but of which his mother despised). At eleven, he came to Hogwarts, an anger long since faded but still there. He got correctly sorted into Slytherin, as said.
Being a player had it's advantages. Being Rhys had it's advantages. It seemed he always had a girl to take out, because he was charming and had a way with words. He'd gone out with and dumped a lot of girls in his time, and some still wanted him back. It was pleasing to him, but he knew somewhere along the line he'd find a girl he really liked. Where would he be then? What if she didn't want him? He couldn't blame her, could he? He wasn't, to the untrained eye, a reliable person. To the rare people he confided in, he was the same boy he was when younger.
Saturday was no expetion. A girl called Cay was his girl this time. He had bought her a braclet, and now they were in a rather crowded three broomsticks. Cay ordered Butterbeer; Rhys, firewhiskey. He paid, and it was time to let her down gently.
“Cay?” He said quietly. She looked up. “I'm dumping you. Sorry.” He gave an offhand shrug, like he'd done with many enticing woman before. She stared at him, her eyes welling up, and fled. He gave her back a sarcastic wave as she fleed. He was smiling a little. Cay was no one special. Just like the others. He began to drink his firewhiskey, smirking.
Blonde hair, eletric blue eyes. Angular face, nice body. Words just a few to describe the way Rhys Cain Zayden looked. If Rhys's personality fitted the way his face looked, and the way he smiled when he was happy, he would've been a nice boy, in Hufflepuff, prehaps, and rather shy. If he'd had a girlfriend or a light relationship, he'd have treated her right, and loved her. Unfortunately, Rhys was another one in a long line of the world's jackasses. He had been correctly placed in Slytherin for being vain, pompous, arrogant, a bit of a hypocrite ... It never ceased to amaze people. Here was a boy who you definately shouldn't judge by his cover; a lot of girls from varied houses could tell you that. He was a player; he hurt girls feelings and didn't care of the outcome. Somewhat of a true Slytherin.
“How can this happen?” People used and still do muse to themselves. “How could a boy that started life off as a calm, independant, reliable person turn into such an arrogant bastard?” Here is the reality. When Rhys was 6 his father left him and his mother for some hussy. It turned out he'd been scoring with other girls left right and centre while his mother slaved at home, looking after the 6 year old child of his and her. Rhys rebelled, anger pouring out of him and a deep hatred for his father deepening in his soul. His mother calmed him down, explained why he couldn't go angry. He was all she had now, and if he turned into her father, it would be like hell. Rhys calmed down, but an anger fuelled by hatred of the man who'd left him still remained, deep down, in the pit of his stomach. When he was 9, three years later, his mother died by ‘natural causes’, the doctors had said. Rhys suspected otherwise, and vanished with his uncle and aunt in Mexico (the aunt and uncle of his father, nothing like him, but of which his mother despised). At eleven, he came to Hogwarts, an anger long since faded but still there. He got correctly sorted into Slytherin, as said.
Being a player had it's advantages. Being Rhys had it's advantages. It seemed he always had a girl to take out, because he was charming and had a way with words. He'd gone out with and dumped a lot of girls in his time, and some still wanted him back. It was pleasing to him, but he knew somewhere along the line he'd find a girl he really liked. Where would he be then? What if she didn't want him? He couldn't blame her, could he? He wasn't, to the untrained eye, a reliable person. To the rare people he confided in, he was the same boy he was when younger.
Saturday was no expetion. A girl called Cay was his girl this time. He had bought her a braclet, and now they were in a rather crowded three broomsticks. Cay ordered Butterbeer; Rhys, firewhiskey. He paid, and it was time to let her down gently.
“Cay?” He said quietly. She looked up. “I'm dumping you. Sorry.” He gave an offhand shrug, like he'd done with many enticing woman before. She stared at him, her eyes welling up, and fled. He gave her back a sarcastic wave as she fleed. He was smiling a little. Cay was no one special. Just like the others. He began to drink his firewhiskey, smirking.