Trenton Beck has (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} imaginaryfish) wrote,@ 2013-07-24 05:32:00 |
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Have you ever spent days and days making up flavors of ice cream that no one's ever eaten before? Like chicken and telephone ice cream? ... Green mouse ice cream was the worst. I didn't like that at all
Player Info;
Name/Handle: L2
Are you 18 or over?: Oui.
Character Info;
Alter’s source work, author and character: The Sandman, Neil Gaiman, Delirium of the Endless
Character Journal name:
imaginaryfishCharacter Name: Trenton Beck
Character Age: 29
Character Played By: Jon Kortajarena
Alter Played By: Charlotte Free
Character History and Personality: Camden's final words had been "Fuck this! Some brother you are!" That was the last time Trenton saw his twin alive and mordantly sneering some crooked James Dean disappointment over one skinny shoulder. When the doctor's mouth broke like a levee and the terrible news came pouring out, his mother screamed, and Trenton stared into his dirty hands as the hospital worked like a hive all around them.
Trenton became someone else that night, he had to with the other half of his gemini heart turning blue on a morgue slab. He'd always been the sensible one. His brother was the mad one, the one that acted out in escalating shades of destruction and Hunter S mania. Pawning their mother's Bvlgari and crashing expensive cars. It seemed fairly obvious to Trenton from that point on that there was no point in being the good son when there was no longer anything to compare too. He was going to become as invisible as a snowflake on buttercream.
So he changed, and before anyone could blink, he was on his knees in gutters. Wretching from too many drugs and too much sex, but loving it like he loved Oakenfold beats and too much bass in his dubstep. He could see what all of the hype was now, he got it. Society was grimacing all around him, but Trenton was determined to float down to hell in Vogue Homme stye. He was pretty sure that was where Camden was anyway, always going headfirst into the adventure and now the great beyond. There was a part of Trenton that was actually jealous Camden had died first. It was always first, first, fucking first place with him.
For those that knew Trenton, it was easy to track down the young dauphin with the crippled soul. He would disappear down his k-hole of self sabotage and well-disguised fear in a perfectly mapped routine. Trenton could always be found by those brave enough to venture out of Manhattan, traditionally dazed and confused in a sleazy motel or getting blown in the dirty shadows of his favorite club. He led a pied piper melody through the city's alleys and whorehouses, and his mother was wringing her hands on a Parisian balcony in memory of the sons that had been taken from her. Trenton might have still been alive, but he was lost, lost, l o s t.
His youth dwindled in Manhattan, where too much of a good thing took bites out of Trenton's body and mind until all of the bystanders were shouting for his retirement at the ripe age of twenty. We're going to lose you, they said. But the groupies cried, Come back to us! He'd never been all that comfortable with being torn in two different directions, not since his brother, so he locked himself in an apartment building for the better part of a year where shit just got worse. It seemed they could take Trenton out of the club, but they couldn't stop him from handcrafting one in his skyrise bedroom. His inevitable overdose wasn't a surprise, but somehow it was a wake up call.
Funny, guess he didn't want to die after all. So it was off to Italy, Belguim, and Spain. A European tour that really just a revolving door of detox centers and sober living facilities that he couldn't stop getting himself kicked out of. But he did clean up, for the most part. He's still partial to rolled cigarettes and vaporized weed in the dark. Ectsasy on the weekends and the occassional lonely night. When his mother started trying to marry him off to the daughters of dignataries, Trenton caught the first private jet back to the states. Los Angeles this time, then Miami and Chicago and every city but where he'd already been.
Eight years later, and his life was rerunning like a bad sitcom, set to a soundtrack of debauchery. The rotten antihero with any sense of chivalry long ago picked clean by society's vultures. Too fucked, too twisted, too far down in the snake den for a resurrection from halfway across the globe, where his heart rested without him in the pale fist of a boy. These days, the virtuoso was usually hunched over in an overpriced corner with a cold drink between his thighs, eyes barely open. Licking young necks and meathooking himself with self-doubt that masqueraded as a cocksure obsession for fashion.
Alter: Delirium is young, the youngest of her siblings, and yet still older than existence. The Greeks knew her as Mania, although she was briefly(which in the scale of eternity is not very brief at all) known as Delight. Her hair changes constantly, in snowcone shades, as do her clothes. Always mismatched just like her eyes. Her shadow never reflects her shape, and her words never quite reflect what she means. Although she makes more than enough sense, if someone is keen enough to understand her. She seems scatterbrained and easily distracted; she often forgets the thread of her conversations, and comes out with offbeat and seemingly inconsequential observations or tangents.
She is fond of Destruction and Death, who are tolerant of her and the most understanding. For a very long time, she avoided Dream, although has warmed to him over time. Delirium has brief outbursts of insight and prophecy that often surprise those around her, and more often than not are ignored.
She is said to smell of sweat, late nights, sour wine, and old leather. Which is pretty much the only thing she has in common with Trenton.
Journal/Key: Delirium's journal is a simple, black composition notebook with a colorful crayola marker swirl detailing the outside. It's gradually accumulating holographic stickers and pieces of chewed up gum between the pages.
Her key is thin as hammered tin, and seems way too flimsy to be capable of opening any door, yet is impossible of being bent. The gray metal is flecked with pink paint.
Connections:
Death:
soundofwingsDestruction: The Endless she feels closest too.
Dream: Awkward and hesitant sibling interactions ahoy.
New York New York:
playforkeeps is a former drug dealer of Trenton's.Paris Je t'aime: A well-disguised heartbreak.
London Calling: A confidant.
Viva Las Vegas: Party hard partner in crime.