Personality:

Iridium Devulce – ISFP: The Artist.

Positive traits:  honest, quiet, loyal, patient, compassionate, flexible, dependable, optimistic, humble, energetic, artistic, amiable, conflict-adverse, original, creative, perceptive, serious, independent

Negative traits:  quiet, coward (?), follower, serious, blunt, dark humour, unorganised, rarely sleeps, lonely

Goal(s):  photography on a larger scale.

Talent(s): photography, computers

Skill(s): first aid, reflexes and coordination, cooking

Fear(s):  disappointing others, conflict, himself, missing social cues, expects others to leave him


Backstory:

Raised in New York as an only child by parents that valued independence in a kid more than anything else, Iridium quickly learned from a young age to be dependent on himself for day to day necessities, his parents both leaving him unoccupied at home from the moment they thought he was old enough to be able to. Though not necessarily bad parents, each was focused relentlessly on their chosen career path – film and television respectively – and were willing to make particular sacrifices in order to progress.

As such, he often found himself alone with little but his thoughts and the considerably empty house to occupy him, an old camera of his Father’s initial filmmaking days being among his few ‘toys’ and being a considerable impact on his love for capturing things in film. After all, images captured couldn’t leave you.

His high school years were little more of the same, albeit a different setting. A particularly energetic photography teacher convinced him of his talent, ‘borrowing’ a camera from the well-stocked arts department as a present for him and further encouraging him to develop his talent, and sending him off with hopes and the idea that if he’d one day return with a decent portfolio, he’d be able to find him a job.

Progressing into small, independent college for photography did little for Iri as he realised quickly not everyone saw the same artistic gift in him that his high-school teacher had – leading to serious doubt on whether it had been there in the first place, or just a kind teacher wanting to see his student with a passion for his class. Regardless, Iri would drop out after completing his first year with sub-par grades, though still taking photos as a freelance photographer.

Living solo in an apartment was hard enough with the pay of a freelance photograph, with its sporadic pay-outs and downtime between jobs, but he pushed through it. Slowly accumulating a mixture of shots he finally returned to his high-school teacher, optimistic in his chances. His teacher has sent him a disappointed look before sending him away, insisting there was something missing, or rather, someone.

Unsure on what he was lacking, Iri went back over his collection to realise that a large portion of his work was environmental, lacking a subject, a focus. A few weeks searching found him working as a part-time photography/assistant for an up and coming model – one Alexis Rin.

With that, he’d found his forte, his muse, and his photography flourished for it. A tight and unlikely friendship grew between the model and her photographer as they travelled the world taking photos – Alexis’ fame rising in exponentially within the months following.


Roleplay example:

“We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.”

Fear, nervousness, doubt. It only took an instant for such powerful emotions to flitter through him – and though supressed as quickly as they’d come – their effects were lingering. His hands shook ever so slightly where he gripped the oversized pants of a borrowed suit; a friend having lending it to him on short notice meaning that it didn’t fit quite right, a little short here, a tad loose there. He could feel a bead of sweat tracking a path across his forehead, hurriedly wiped away with an even sweatier palm as Mr Irvin’s gaze drifted up to him. He’d never really stopped referring to him as such, even at the mans repeated assurances that calling him Paul was fine now – after all this wasn’t school anymore.

So why did he feel a constant nagging, an aching that he was still being judged, evaluated, like he had something to prove?

To be fair – he was. As Mr Irvin’s gaze drifted back down to the plethora of photos – his photos -- that lay stretched across the mahogany desk before them both, he realised this was far more intensive, far more private than any exam, test or timetables-recital. He’d laid his soul bear in those images for the world to see, and having that judged on a scale, as though by the god of the afterlife Osiris himself to see if he was worthy of progressing on to better things was a truly daunting prospect.

An absentminded finger began to tap against the desk against his will, a perverse contradictory to his desire to stay still and quiet as though it were possible to sink into the chair and disappear altogether. His worst fears were realised as that rebellious finger drew the attention of Mr Irvin’s, his blue eyes once again sliding up to meet his own brown-eyed gaze. Staring into them, he saw … Sadness? His mentor – his friend – paused, stroking his untamed beard as they both stared into each other’s eyes in silence, each seeing the same thing in the other’s eyes.

Disappointment.