Which OC of yours would you say has changed the most over time??
Hm...thats a hard one but I think I’m gonna go with Skylar and Shane
Skylar’s changed a lot at different stages of his life. He went from being happy go lucky, to super insecure and wanting to hide from the world. To then morphing into someone he thought his gf atm would love. To then trying to love himself more but then dipping back into depression. And then he morphed into this sort of asshole to push people away and to keep up his image so people don’t question him or try to find out who he /actually/ is since they’re content with just seeing him for face value.
Shane on the other hand kind of would obvious since he’s had soooooooooooooo much time on this earth. I mean the dude was born in like 1688. But the Shane he is now was created due to all the shit he’s endured throughout his life. Especially since whenever he thought he found some sort of happiness, it got ripped away from him until pretty recently.
A scream pierced through the wind, slowly fading into a hushed whisper the further away it got. Tracing back, that scream twisted through twigs and tree trunks, swept past the few bodies around and slowly flowed from a young woman’s mouth. The scream was drenched in pain, but a pain that felt exhausted. Exhausted from the repetition of the sight at hand, but pained by who it was her eyes were viewing.
Not far from her--maybe just a mere few paces from her, was where I kneeled. Tears glistened as they ran down my face and mixed in with the sweat caused from the summer sun. Although tears fell, I refused to show my pain. My wrists slowly ached from the pressure of the rope which was tied around them. But I couldn’t feel it. That pressure felt like almost nothing as each slash of a whip dug deeper and deeper into my back. The warm trickle of blood cascaded and oozed down my back with each. Loud. Crack.
My hearing felt trapped in a bubble due to my pain pushing my senses into overdrive. The crack. My aunt’s scream. A whimper. A crack. A scream.Twigs breaking. Leaves rustling. Wind whistling. Another crack. A foot step. And another?
“What is the meaning of this?!” A voice interrupted the display as another crack of the whip fell upon my raw back. The voice was one I had never heard before. It was eloquent. Foreign. I had only heard voices of the south. Sometimes the voices of people I’d later know as Dutch. But this accent was much different. It belonged to a man. Obviously a white man, for no negro I knew would ever dare speak to an Overseer in that tone. Or question him at all for that matter. Though even with this curiosity, my neck did not dare try to turn so my eyes could see him. My eyes stayed trained on the same pebble on the ground I had been starting at through the whole display.
Another set of footsteps could be heard hurrying over. Most likely rushing after the foreigner. His footsteps were much heavier as wheezing erupted from his throat. My master always found himself short with his breath when hurrying too quickly. Probably from all the extra meals he commands throughout the day. A soft gasp escaped his lips as he stood beside the guest. It was far from a gasp of genuine shock or disgust. It was much more a gasp full of fraudulent astonishment. For he also found his own hand holding a whip many times as well. But with this guest, he couldn’t show that, which was much different than the other guests we’ve had. “O’Brien, please explain what is going on here.” Master said right before coughing and fumbling to grab a handkerchief out of his pocket.
I could feel the overseer’s disgust as his eyes bore into my back. “This one didn’t wake up at the horn. He was late again.” His eyes slowly moved from my back as I assume he looked at the two men standing before him. “You know how I feel about them being late.”
The foreigner let out a disgusted huff as he spoke. “So because he happens to oversleep, you do this to him? This is completely unacceptable.”
Curiosity took over me as I turned to look back at this man. But before I could get a good look, I could feel O’Brien’s eyes back on me. “Did I tell you you could get up now, boy?” His voice was full of malice as he still held the whip firmly.
“That is enough!” Our visitor exclaimed before he quickly turned to look at my master. “I have decided. I will take this one back to London with me.”
My master stared at him in shock as he looked at me and back to him. “B-But,” he began to stutter “Him? For your son? Are you sure you would not prefer one from the house? This boy is far from a companion for a bright son like yours.”
The foreigner simply shook his head as he rose one hand to stop my master from saying more. “You informed me upon my arrival I would be allowed to choose amongst all your slaves. I was not just limited to the ones residing in the house. He will do just fine for my son.” The words being exchanged began to jumble together as I slowly began to be more aware of my own pain. Before I could process anything, O'Brien was untying my hands as this foreigner helped me up.
His hands were cold as marble stone like the pillars that kept up our master’s house. Though in the summer, those pillars became hot. But this man..His touch stayed cold as he stood in the shade of the trees. His skin was extremely pale. Whiter than the sheets the women inside hung to dry. And his hair was black as a night sky with curls that fell softly against his shoulders. There was something greatly odd about him, almost frightening. But somehow I felt comforted by looking at him. Like I was being comforted against my will. It felt silly of me to think. Surely there was no way for someone to control your thoughts and emotions. Oh, what a fool I was…
This foreigner had me taken into the house. I had never stepped foot in there for the years I lived on the plantation. He had the blood washed off my back and had me dressed in undergarments that looked so new I stared at them before dressing. When I walked out to him, he was waiting for me in one of the sitting rooms with a new set of clothes sitting out for me. “Your old clothes were mere rags. I believe these will fit you just fine.” My head nodded out of habit as I quickly slipped them on. But these clothes were not for slaves, that is something I knew the second I laid eyes on them. But if he told me to wear them, I knew better than to argue.
He smirked at the sight of me. “I am sure those feel much better than your old rags. We will be supplying you with whatever you need as soon as we leave this hole.“
“Yes, sir.” I nodded. “Thank you.”
“You are very welcome, my boy.” His smirk stayed on his face as he began to walk around the room. His fingers gracefully sliding around the different woods of the furniture. His demeanor was extremely relaxed, more so than the other white men I have seen around here. “By now I am sure you would very much like to know what I am doing here. Correct? ”
I nodded again as he glanced back at me.
He nodded and rubbed his fingers together at the touch of dust on the mantle of the empty fireplace. ”You, my boy, will be sailing with me to the far land of London. And considering the treatment you've been receiving, I am sure you think that is another world.” He chuckled softly at his own joke and continued. “You see, in London awaits my son, Nicholas. He is a very…bright and gifted young boy. Same age as you I believe.” He quickly turned towards me with a brow raised. “How old are you exactly?”
I paused as I tried to think. I could remember seeing about six, maybe seven summer harvests. But my aunt told me this was my eighth. I was unsure to say the least.
Without waiting for an answer, he smirked and turned back to the mantle. “Eight summers. Then, yes, I was correct. You and Nicholas are of the same age.”
I stared at him, confusion written all over my face. I hadn’t spoken a word that entered my mind, yet he knew what I was thinking. And as if like clockwork he began walking around the room again.
“I am sorry to confuse you. You are young. But you will become accustomed to our ways, I am sure. Our family--my wife, Nicholas, and I-- are all gifted. Gifted in a way most people do not speak of. And it is because of this gift that we need you.” He glided his way over to a nearby chair and turned it to face me. He sat down before patting an identical one that stood beside him. I cautiously walked over and took a seat. His body leaned back against his chair as he crossed his legs with his ankle atop his knee. He seemed to be figuring out the proper words to say, like he had too much to say but not enough time to speak it. “Our son,” he began, “is very vulnerable to his gifts. He is in need of a guidance that his mother nor I can give him. They are qualities only you possess. Without a companion, we are afraid he may do something--deeds that are most unholy. But with you there, you can show him compassion, sympathy, what it means to be human. I am sure you have no clue what I am speaking right now but in time you will understand.”
His voice continued to go on but with a few scattered thoughts from talking with too much to say. But the longer I sat there, the hazier my hearing became as my only focus was on trying not to tear up from the pain of my shirt rubbing against the wounds on my back.
“Ah, yes.” His voice broke through my thoughts as I looked over. “How could I forget your back? There is just one thing you must know before we make our leave.” He said as he stood up. “We will be arriving for Nicholas’ birthday. You are somewhat of a present to him. Your name will be Othello, just as the character from his favorite book.” His eyes rolled slightly at the sound of the words as he fixed his handkerchief. “You can blame his mother for that name. She is the one who decided upon it. But enough of that, let us go. We must hurry to the boat so someone can treat your back properly. The conditions here are in no way fit to treat anyone.”
Without a pause in his step, he fixed his unnecessary layers of clothing as he began to walk towards the door. I stood after him and followed him out of the house. He strategically walked in a path of shade from the trees before two well dressed slave girls waited for him with parasols raised where the shade and sun met. He walked under the parasols elegantly as I followed. Part of me felt excited. Surely anything must be better than where I’ve been. But as I looked to the fields, I could see my aunt peeking up as the overseer yelled at another worker. Her eyes full of sadness as she watched yet another family member be taken away.
Shane, how do you feel about Angela favoring you over Cora?
“It makes me upset. Angela treats Cora like shit most of the time and I don’t understand why. We teach her to respect her family but she refuses to respect Cora even though Cora does so much for her. ”
16. Would they buy merchandise of a TV show/movie/ect they like?
He definitely probably has some old school posters from blaxploitation films and some of his favorite Black films and black actors, actresses, singers, etc.
17. How do they act on social media sites?
He doesn’t really use them.
18. What would they suggest to help someone rid themselves of the hiccups?
Drink some water to drown themselves.
19. How long would they be able to listen to a 24 hour loop of their favorite song?
Maybe an hour.
20. How would they react to discovering someone has stolen their lunch while they were in class/working/ect?
He’d walk around on edge looking for them to kill them since he lives and works alone. So if his stuff is missing that means someone trespassed.
