Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-29461586-20150307233515/@comment-5543592-20150311224710

Perdix sat down across from her, still grinning, but his smile fell when she asked him to talk about himself. He gave her the monologue he told anyone. It was filled with grains of truth, but was largely ficitional. The real him was much, much darker. He didn't like talking about it. His past disgusted him, mainly because he was disgusted with himself. "The details of my life are quite inconsequential... very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving baker from Bravil with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old Breton prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. My childhood was typical. Summers in Cheydinhal, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard, really."