Post by Sverige on May 14, 2011 16:25:35 GMT -5
Name: Berwald Oxenstierna
Age: 21
Occupation: Secondary leader/second-in-command of Scandinavian Gang/Mafia/Drug addict; big-time rival of Arthur Kirkland and his gents (Going by what Mini said.)
Background:
The Swedish man known as Berwald has never been in a very favorable position. Growing up in the Red-Light district was bad enough as is, but he was in particular always around the disgusting habits and jobs that the citizens of the district had to lower themselves to get by. His mother, in particular, wasn’t a good one. She was never around the house when he needed her, and she often brought her work back home with her. As a prostitute, she had no choice but to do what was needed, often in front of Berwald. His father was an alcoholic like most men are nowadays and was never around the house, period. His father and mother did not speak to each other when they were actually home alone and together, and they had a hatred for one another that had been growing since Berwald’s birth. The Swede, therefore, was often quiet around the house, sometimes he hid inside his room until they stopped fighting; sometimes he escaped through his window and left the house to loiter around the streets. That being said, he had to live off of the streets for a few days without being killed. His childhood was not a happy one; he had to steal food and other things along the way and caused yet even more trouble for himself. At the age of fourteen he got arrested for having possession of and shooting up heroin. He learned how to use a gun at the age of ten. Berwald participated in gang fights, mainly rivaling against Britannia. He broke into cars and looted shut-down buildings. You name it, he probably did it. He never finished high school and as a result, he lives with a friend of his and steals money when he’s out with his ‘associates’. Throughout all of these feats he has earned himself the nickname “Papa Bear” due to his aggressiveness and his soft spot for children. (He calls himself “Mister Bear”.)
Personality:
Berwald isn’t very accepting to things being changed---he will mess a person up if they’re not following orders---so he tends to try to make everything stay in order, the way he wants it. The Swede has strong national pride and is not afraid to show it. He has an odd way of speaking, often making himself hard for other people to understand him and often getting the wrong message across. Berwald doesn’t like listening to his leader, often getting himself into more trouble. As a gang member, he’s had to teach himself how to become isolated, working off the streets, terrorizing people and shooting them if necessary. Berwald often handles things mafia style, ganging up on citizens and putting his Husqvarna (black Swedish pistol, 1907—given to him by a friend) to use. The reason for this is unknown, though he has spoken of how he admired Italian spirit. Being so quiet has had its effect on the Swede; people don’t always take him seriously as they should, to his dismay. Berwald’s tough and vicious on the outside, but he is generally warm-blooded inside. He has a heart even if he doesn’t act like it, and he has a tendency to blend in with the rest of Scandinavia.
RP sample:
((Setting generator: big city))
Huff… Huff… The young boy’s sneakers crashed against the asphalt road as he ran through the middle of the Red-Light district. The blonde kid’s chest was heaving, his heart pounding against his ears. People paid no attention to him; all they saw was some dumb kid running straight for an alleyway. They thought to themselves; “What an idiot,” but said not a word to the boy. Why not just let him figure out what’s at the end of that alleyway by himself. Maybe then the stupid lad would know not to go running around without his mommy and daddy there to protect him.
The Swedish kid continued to run, straight through the alleyway where the strip club and the drug dealers were, never once bothering to look back or stop running. Still no one paid attention to the young male; nobody cared enough about him to really see that a dumb kid was there. They had their jobs to do. No one offered him a drink and no one suggested that he buy a gram of cocaine. No one cared, truly, though in Berwald’s mind, that was just the same.
The blonde was familiar with these alleyways and streets ever since he had ran away just as he usually did on Friday nights. He had—as usual—snuck out of his window and was heading out to meet a good friend of his, carrying a gun with him in his pocket but still going unnoticed. Berwald was intent on getting his buddies to teaching him how to actually use the damn thing, since his father refused to even let him touch it in the first place and his mother definitely was not to be disturbed. However, this was all the same for the Swede.
Almost every week he did learn something new, such as how to open a lock with a pin or how to act particularly innocent to fool people. He was striving to become part of a gang so he could kick that cocky Brit Arthur’s butt and show him that he was better than him. Or, at least, he thought personally that he was. He wasn’t a very strong fighter, in all actual sense, nor was he very coordinated. He was built to be fast and sturdy and haul things around without collapsing on the ground. Upon that thought, the Swede’s lips quirked up into a discreet smile, barely noticeable to anyone but himself. He came to a halt as he found his friend, his mentor, really, sitting on the curbside, and waiting for him.
“Yo, kiddo!” The older boy said, waving him over. Berwald obliged and stood in front of him before the other kid pulled him down to sit next to him. The Swede laughed dryly.
“Ja? It’s not like ya have to use force er somethin’, man,” he commented, obviously annoyed about being pulled down by the older, who smirked in turn.
“It’s not like ya to show up ten minutes late, Bear.” The other blond stated, mimicking Berwald’s first comment. The Swede shrugged.
“Dunno. I had to run from my house again, same as always. But Papa was refusing to let me take the gun. Like he’s actually concerned about me for once.”
“Yeah, right. One day, you’re gonna be Papa Bear, not that bastard. And when that happens, you can just shoot yourself the prize of sweet success, dude. I know ya wanna,” the kid said, elbowing Berwald on his right arm.
“Me? I don’t think I ever wanna be called something stupid like that. Seriously, I mean… That would be almost girly, don’tchya think? I’m sure ev’ryones gonna be afraid of Papa Bear.”
“Well, either way, you act like a grizzly bear. You’re never in a good mood, you know. I think you need to chill, man. You need to smile, Bear, honestly, you do. I think I’ll slap ya sometime if ya don’t, cause yer mood always gets me down off my high…” The other kid said. Berwald actually laughed somewhat at this—a low sound for a boy at the age of ten. It almost sounded evil. But his friend knew better.
“Whadd’ya mean, ‘your high’? You’ve been smokin’ again?”
“Yup.”
“That was a terrific response.”
“Why thank ya, Bear.”
“Keep on calling me that and I think I’m gonna throw up. On. You.” Berwald murmured darkly. His friend slapped him on the back playfully, laughing at how unreasonable the Swede was.
“You really need to learn how to take a joke, man. I was just messin’ with ya. But you really should try to take a chill pill every now and then. Or a chill smoke. Whichever works better for you.”
“You are very immature.”
“Yer just a kid, so who’s immature now, huh? It’s you, bitch!” The other kid laughed. Berwald smiled and grabbed the other blond with both hands around his neck and slammed the kid to the curb. He was completely serious now.
“Don’t ever call me that. Again. Ever. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, yeah, Bear. I get ya…” The kid wheezed. Berwald let him go and looked back up to the quickly darkening sky as he reached for the pistol in his pocket. He took it out, fiddling with it absentmindedly before turning back to his friend.
“Ya still have to teach me how to shoot it, ya know.”
“Great. Can I practice on you?”
“No.”
“But… please~?” The other begged.
“No way in hell, if my name ain’t Shirley Temple.”
((Now, I would like to explain a few things.
1.) His accent is the way it is because a.) he's been out on the street a lot and b.) the heroin had affected his mind and had left him unable to speak properly. Plus he's Swedish... Well, foreign, and never went to an English school.
2.) The RP sample above was him before the drugs, as a ten year old. Same person, but a little more confident. Relying on drugs had messed. Him. UP.
3.) Norway leads the gang. Period. Not Sweden. He's just part of it and assumes leadership position when Norway's not around. He likes things done his way, so that is why he does what he does.
4.) The RP sample included someone whose name I did not reveal. I do not know who that was supposed to be, only that I had Denmark in mind while writing it. It isn't Denmark, however.
5.) I didn't include anything about a wife in there because there is no Finland RP'er on this forum as of yet.
6.) He wears glasses because he is farsighted. So he has to quint to see things in front of him, of course.
7.) Berwald's only aggressive when he's forced to be. He doesn't go looking for trouble; it just happens to come his way.
All of this being said, I hope that it brings a little bit of reasoning for why I did why I did when I decided to make him have an addiction problem.
8.) He needs to escape from his terrible life.))
Age: 21
Occupation: Secondary leader/second-in-command of Scandinavian Gang/Mafia/Drug addict; big-time rival of Arthur Kirkland and his gents (Going by what Mini said.)
Background:
The Swedish man known as Berwald has never been in a very favorable position. Growing up in the Red-Light district was bad enough as is, but he was in particular always around the disgusting habits and jobs that the citizens of the district had to lower themselves to get by. His mother, in particular, wasn’t a good one. She was never around the house when he needed her, and she often brought her work back home with her. As a prostitute, she had no choice but to do what was needed, often in front of Berwald. His father was an alcoholic like most men are nowadays and was never around the house, period. His father and mother did not speak to each other when they were actually home alone and together, and they had a hatred for one another that had been growing since Berwald’s birth. The Swede, therefore, was often quiet around the house, sometimes he hid inside his room until they stopped fighting; sometimes he escaped through his window and left the house to loiter around the streets. That being said, he had to live off of the streets for a few days without being killed. His childhood was not a happy one; he had to steal food and other things along the way and caused yet even more trouble for himself. At the age of fourteen he got arrested for having possession of and shooting up heroin. He learned how to use a gun at the age of ten. Berwald participated in gang fights, mainly rivaling against Britannia. He broke into cars and looted shut-down buildings. You name it, he probably did it. He never finished high school and as a result, he lives with a friend of his and steals money when he’s out with his ‘associates’. Throughout all of these feats he has earned himself the nickname “Papa Bear” due to his aggressiveness and his soft spot for children. (He calls himself “Mister Bear”.)
Personality:
Berwald isn’t very accepting to things being changed---he will mess a person up if they’re not following orders---so he tends to try to make everything stay in order, the way he wants it. The Swede has strong national pride and is not afraid to show it. He has an odd way of speaking, often making himself hard for other people to understand him and often getting the wrong message across. Berwald doesn’t like listening to his leader, often getting himself into more trouble. As a gang member, he’s had to teach himself how to become isolated, working off the streets, terrorizing people and shooting them if necessary. Berwald often handles things mafia style, ganging up on citizens and putting his Husqvarna (black Swedish pistol, 1907—given to him by a friend) to use. The reason for this is unknown, though he has spoken of how he admired Italian spirit. Being so quiet has had its effect on the Swede; people don’t always take him seriously as they should, to his dismay. Berwald’s tough and vicious on the outside, but he is generally warm-blooded inside. He has a heart even if he doesn’t act like it, and he has a tendency to blend in with the rest of Scandinavia.
RP sample:
((Setting generator: big city))
Huff… Huff… The young boy’s sneakers crashed against the asphalt road as he ran through the middle of the Red-Light district. The blonde kid’s chest was heaving, his heart pounding against his ears. People paid no attention to him; all they saw was some dumb kid running straight for an alleyway. They thought to themselves; “What an idiot,” but said not a word to the boy. Why not just let him figure out what’s at the end of that alleyway by himself. Maybe then the stupid lad would know not to go running around without his mommy and daddy there to protect him.
The Swedish kid continued to run, straight through the alleyway where the strip club and the drug dealers were, never once bothering to look back or stop running. Still no one paid attention to the young male; nobody cared enough about him to really see that a dumb kid was there. They had their jobs to do. No one offered him a drink and no one suggested that he buy a gram of cocaine. No one cared, truly, though in Berwald’s mind, that was just the same.
The blonde was familiar with these alleyways and streets ever since he had ran away just as he usually did on Friday nights. He had—as usual—snuck out of his window and was heading out to meet a good friend of his, carrying a gun with him in his pocket but still going unnoticed. Berwald was intent on getting his buddies to teaching him how to actually use the damn thing, since his father refused to even let him touch it in the first place and his mother definitely was not to be disturbed. However, this was all the same for the Swede.
Almost every week he did learn something new, such as how to open a lock with a pin or how to act particularly innocent to fool people. He was striving to become part of a gang so he could kick that cocky Brit Arthur’s butt and show him that he was better than him. Or, at least, he thought personally that he was. He wasn’t a very strong fighter, in all actual sense, nor was he very coordinated. He was built to be fast and sturdy and haul things around without collapsing on the ground. Upon that thought, the Swede’s lips quirked up into a discreet smile, barely noticeable to anyone but himself. He came to a halt as he found his friend, his mentor, really, sitting on the curbside, and waiting for him.
“Yo, kiddo!” The older boy said, waving him over. Berwald obliged and stood in front of him before the other kid pulled him down to sit next to him. The Swede laughed dryly.
“Ja? It’s not like ya have to use force er somethin’, man,” he commented, obviously annoyed about being pulled down by the older, who smirked in turn.
“It’s not like ya to show up ten minutes late, Bear.” The other blond stated, mimicking Berwald’s first comment. The Swede shrugged.
“Dunno. I had to run from my house again, same as always. But Papa was refusing to let me take the gun. Like he’s actually concerned about me for once.”
“Yeah, right. One day, you’re gonna be Papa Bear, not that bastard. And when that happens, you can just shoot yourself the prize of sweet success, dude. I know ya wanna,” the kid said, elbowing Berwald on his right arm.
“Me? I don’t think I ever wanna be called something stupid like that. Seriously, I mean… That would be almost girly, don’tchya think? I’m sure ev’ryones gonna be afraid of Papa Bear.”
“Well, either way, you act like a grizzly bear. You’re never in a good mood, you know. I think you need to chill, man. You need to smile, Bear, honestly, you do. I think I’ll slap ya sometime if ya don’t, cause yer mood always gets me down off my high…” The other kid said. Berwald actually laughed somewhat at this—a low sound for a boy at the age of ten. It almost sounded evil. But his friend knew better.
“Whadd’ya mean, ‘your high’? You’ve been smokin’ again?”
“Yup.”
“That was a terrific response.”
“Why thank ya, Bear.”
“Keep on calling me that and I think I’m gonna throw up. On. You.” Berwald murmured darkly. His friend slapped him on the back playfully, laughing at how unreasonable the Swede was.
“You really need to learn how to take a joke, man. I was just messin’ with ya. But you really should try to take a chill pill every now and then. Or a chill smoke. Whichever works better for you.”
“You are very immature.”
“Yer just a kid, so who’s immature now, huh? It’s you, bitch!” The other kid laughed. Berwald smiled and grabbed the other blond with both hands around his neck and slammed the kid to the curb. He was completely serious now.
“Don’t ever call me that. Again. Ever. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, yeah, Bear. I get ya…” The kid wheezed. Berwald let him go and looked back up to the quickly darkening sky as he reached for the pistol in his pocket. He took it out, fiddling with it absentmindedly before turning back to his friend.
“Ya still have to teach me how to shoot it, ya know.”
“Great. Can I practice on you?”
“No.”
“But… please~?” The other begged.
“No way in hell, if my name ain’t Shirley Temple.”
((Now, I would like to explain a few things.
1.) His accent is the way it is because a.) he's been out on the street a lot and b.) the heroin had affected his mind and had left him unable to speak properly. Plus he's Swedish... Well, foreign, and never went to an English school.
2.) The RP sample above was him before the drugs, as a ten year old. Same person, but a little more confident. Relying on drugs had messed. Him. UP.
3.) Norway leads the gang. Period. Not Sweden. He's just part of it and assumes leadership position when Norway's not around. He likes things done his way, so that is why he does what he does.
4.) The RP sample included someone whose name I did not reveal. I do not know who that was supposed to be, only that I had Denmark in mind while writing it. It isn't Denmark, however.
5.) I didn't include anything about a wife in there because there is no Finland RP'er on this forum as of yet.
6.) He wears glasses because he is farsighted. So he has to quint to see things in front of him, of course.
7.) Berwald's only aggressive when he's forced to be. He doesn't go looking for trouble; it just happens to come his way.
All of this being said, I hope that it brings a little bit of reasoning for why I did why I did when I decided to make him have an addiction problem.
8.) He needs to escape from his terrible life.))