LEPIDUS, SIRIUS

Sirius Aemelius Lepidus. A bit too wordy for his own liking, Sirius takes the easy way out and just gives his first name, often telling people to just refer to him as "Sir," jokingly, of course.

Eighteen.

Male

Italian

Sirius steps onto the scene at about six feet and one lonesome inch, weighing one hundred and sixty-five pounds, his somewhat slim frame takes on most of its weight through the various instances of muscle added to the tone of his otherwise stick-like build, and allowing for a fit, robust finish. His features are hardly hidden, making very little effort to hide the ink that litters the contours of his torso.

Sir's hair appears quite unkempt, though it hasn't taken to the wear and tear that one would expect from simply leaving it to grow; it becomes quite apparent that Sirius takes very good care of his long locks upon touch with his choice to avoid styling it misleading the initial glance taken. Behind his hair lies several piercings along both his ear lobe, and the arc that follows.

Used on a staggered or approaching target, this art requires that the enemy be in close proximity due to the nature of the delivery. Sirius turns to place his shoulder towards the target, widening his stance, his legs bending to lower center of gravity, and curling his arm inward very slightly; he gathers his strength, this segment noted by the excess of crimson energy beginning to brightly outline his shoulders, pooling above him to escape into the air, and quickly jabs forward, striking at the upper abdomen of his opponent to deliver a one inch punch, with the majority of the speed being used on the motion as his body remains stationary during the punch itself.

Sirius begins to release the same blood colored energy, starting at his ankles this time and sliding upward to finally fade into the air above his head. He takes a leap into the air, flipping once and adding an actual form to his attack, his right leg extended, presenting the flat of his foot. His left is bent and tucked inward during flight and is used to steady his landing after the strike. It has a rather quick recovery and carries him to his opponent's location, used to clear the gap between him and his target, and is easily punishable while he is in flight.

● organized
● extroverted
● confident.
● tolerant
● loyal
● honest

● garrulous
● socially-dependent
● sadistic
● dispassionate
● egocentric
● profligate

enjoys; dogs, sleeping, parties, the color of blood, violence, rain, music of any type, body art, his hair, and the smell of money.

dislikes; humans, the social hierarchy, social standards, solitude, heat, snow, peace, and birds.

Sirius was born to a rather lofty name. It was exalted and carried throughout history, marking high in stature, and thus, carrying him to such a place before he could even speak his first word-- or one would think. In reality, his father took the political figure's name after breaking ties with his own family. They considered giving the boy his mother's, but as she wasn't married to the man, she had no right to tell him what he'd be naming his son.

Besides the less than sane father calling shots, Sirius lived a catered life for the most part. He didn't need to ask for anything that wasn't already a day away from the impatient child, his father's pull in the political field during the time boasting a less than legal backing. The only thing missing from his life seemed to be mommy, who appeared less and less as he grew older, replaced by younger, prettier candidates.

It wasn't long before education was placed in front of Sirius, faced with the decision to follow the path of those blessed with options, his eyes rolled experimentally to a different route. Though he was scheduled to begin schooling, Sir decided that his time would be better suited learning the language that spoke volumes; the art of making money. He withdrew from the world around him emotionally and spent more time with his father; an idea that was backed by the older male's bank account. When he wasn't busying himself with his elder's teachings, he was skipping off to social events, consumed by all that glittered.

He came to the conclusion that the world around him was nothing if not a fashion show. Where everyone brought their best faces, their best clothes, and their best women, presenting themselves like pigs at a fair. Sir, resigned to this fact, and became increasingly uninterested in schooling of any type, even as he approached the ripe age of eighteen. His social standing was but a game to him, and becoming a terribly boring one. He spent more time in his room, sleeping, waking up only to mingle with those that could get him ahead. It was a high that he longed for, knowing that one wrong word could make for a terrible end.

With life slowly dimming in excitement, Sirius turned to different means to sate his appetite without having to bother with putting on his usual facade. His father was nice enough to secure a copy of the game once he had rolled out of bed long enough to complain, catching word of it from a friend and deciding it seemed interesting enough to spend a day on. Days turned to weeks as more of his time was spent logged in.

When prompted, a simple eye roll was all that Sir could muster, deciding that it was just some ridiculous stipulation, and that it wouldn't matter much in the grand scheme of things. With this decided he tapped his forehead, sighing and hoping he'd be wise enough to remind himself of the stakes.