Mar 25, 2012 10:17:05 GMT -5 |
Post by landofthesea on Mar 25, 2012 10:17:05 GMT -5
PETER (SEALAND) KIRKLAND
{When he tried to walk again, he wasn't a child
And all the people hurried fast, real fast... And no one ever smiled}
{When he tried to walk again, he wasn't a child
And all the people hurried fast, real fast... And no one ever smiled}
I Feel Like We're Summoning The Devil
Nickname/Alias: Peter, Sea, Tiny Arthur, etc.
Gender: Male
Character Type: Country
Country or Country of Origin: The Principality of Sealand
Canon or Original: Canon
[/size][/ul]
When I look into all of your stupid faces
I think how fun it will be to pound them into dust
Hair: Golden-blonde
Height and Weight: 4'6", 97 lbs.
Other Distinguishing Features: He has burn scars all over his back from the fire of 2006, as well as his usual collection of scratches and scuffs from playing around.
Overall Appearance: Standing at a short four feet, nine inches, Peter looks just like a normal child. He appears a little scrawny, his cheeks sallow and his skin a little paler than what you'd expect. His eyes, which are always bright with his constant smiles, are the blue color of the sky. His face is round and childlike, not having reached any measure of adulthood. His face is framed by pale blonde hair falling just past his ears. Peter's skin is usually covered with dirt smudges and scratches, though he never bothers to clean his face since it looks "more mature". His blue hat is ever-present on his head, though a little tattered and sporting a few holes. He feels inexplicably attached to it, and he treasures it as much as his life. The other thing he has on him at all times is a gold locket, probably the only thing of real value that he owns. It doesn't have a picture in it, but he treasures it all the same.
Peter wears a wide variety of outfits, mostly second-hand and none in very good condition. Mostly, he wears a white sailor's shirt, accompanied by some sort of blue shorts or capris, and a fairly decent pair of work boots. The other thing that is always with him is a dark green backpack, usually containing anything he might need. This normally consists of a bottle of water, a few day's worth of rations, a compass, a pair of black leather gloves, and a flag of his country. Normally, the flag would have little value, but it's a reminder of what he still has. He keeps the backpack on at all times, awake or in sleep, just in the event of having to leave his relative comfort. Most other nations consider him weird for doing so, but he no longer cares.
[/size][/ul]
Man up or I'll beat you with my peace prize!
The Ocean - It's his best friend. Literally. Despite the sea not being anywhere in sight, he spends every shred of his free time just talking to it. It's almost as though it's his home away from home, and he has some strange attachment to it that no one can explain.
His Hat - Another thing he has a strange attachment to. It's been on his head ever since he was created, whether or not he's supposed to. The colour reminds him of the ocean, and it's tattered and beaten up, something like him.
Winter - It's the season when no one is really outside. A wonderful time to stay solitary, and the cold doesn't bother him like it should. Though he isn't a huge fan of ice and snow, he still likes being able to be alone.
Sketching - It's the one form of a creative outlet he's found. When he's bored, he can just start doodling, and eventually a beautiful piece of artwork will spring out at him from the lines. He's actually fairly good at it, and he has a decent sketchbook, but he never really shows anyone.
Dislikes:
Thinking about his past - It depresses him, sometimes to the point that he'll have a lapse and thinks he's back on the tower.
Storms - After his close call in 1960, he really just doesn't like storms. Any sort of thunder, lightning, or combination of the two makes him unnerved. It's not that he's scared of them so much as he just hates them.
Social situations - He just is really awkward. He can't keep a conversation going for very long, and he tends to resort back to being withdrawn and quiet if someone gets to be too "up in his face".
Blood - It's one of his fears, and he generally can't stand it. The copper-laden scent it gives off, its terrible shade of maroon... He avoids it when he can, and when he can't, he'll just close his eyes and plug his nose and pretend that nothing's wrong.
Strengths: Peter has pretty decent aim - to the point that he can at least put up a good, long range fight. He has a habit of memorizing the map of any place he visits: He knows how to escape quickly if he needs to. He's also quite a convincing liar.
Weaknesses: Despite what his appearance and constant affirmations make people think, he still feels like a child at heart. As such, he despises actually killing anyone. He often winds up going easy on anyone weaker than him, to avoid really hurting them. The other side of this, of course, is that he sometimes goes too easy, which results in getting his ass kicked. He also always tries to cheer people up, which gets people more than a bit annoyed at times.
Fears: Blood, Being Forgotten
Secrets: Most of his past from 1956 to 1966 is a mystery. He's never told anyone about his suicide attempt.
Any Quirks/Habits: None, really. He says things like "y'know" or "don'tcha think" to add a flair to the ends of his sentences, but other than that, none.
Overall Personality: ((You're gonna hate me, I can tell.))
At first glance, Peter seems to be just like any other twelve-year-old kid. He's hyperactive and has a bit of a reckless streak to him. He loves to pull pranks on people he doesn't like, and he loves just playing around. It does show, though, that he hasn't always been this way. He still doesn't completely open up to others. He's a bit of a wallflower, not really throwing himself into the middle of anything. Though he doesn't put himself into conversations, he can keep one going. Generally, he has an almost contagious smile on his face, and has the valuable attribute of wanting to cheer his friends up no matter what. This can often get on people's nerves, though he doesn't seem to notice. Peter also has a bit of difficulty recognizing the atmosphere. Though he can almost tell when someone is moody, he can't really recognize when he should just stop trying to cheer them up.
As people tend to not realize, Peter never really did have friends when he was younger. As such, he's a bit awkward in social situations, though it doesn't show until a conversation has gone on for too long. When he gets really comfortable with someone (most particularly, his family), it takes a bit of pressing to get him to pause, as his hyperactive tendencies take over at that point. He almost has the patience of a saint, but while he won't lash out at many things, when he does it takes quite some time to get him calmed down again. He tends to take his anger out on his best friend, the ocean. He'll stomp on the sand, kick the waves, and break shells once he gets the chance. Thankfully, this doesn't happen often, and he holds it in until he can let it out all the way.
When it comes to his own opinion of himself, Peter thinks one of two ways depending on how good of a mood he's in. Usually, he thinks he's fairly cheery. He's not really brooding, and he's a normal, average person with an average past. But when he thinks too much about his past, about his brother that abandoned him... He starts sulking. And not just a regular sulk. Not just a few moments of sob-story thinking. He goes at it for quite some time. He has a new little rowboat within his belongings, and when he starts sulking he goes to sit in it. He stares at the wood grain and at the ocean and wonders who'd miss him. This doesn't happen often, not in the slightest. But it does happen. He knows he'd regret it, though. He hasn't actually attempted to kill himself since the first time.
In this world of war, Peter has a sole friend that he can confide in. It's not a person. He can't trust people nearly enough. His best friend is the sea. He just feels connected to it. When he isn't busy, he's spending the time just sitting on the shore, staring at the blue-green waves. After the many incidents when he was younger, he feels indebted to it. Not in any way that can be paid back, though. He just satisfies this feeling by speaking to the ocean. Telling it of his dreams, his fears, his experiences... It's his best way of keeping calm and cheerful.
His ultimate fear is being forgotten. Peter Kirkland isn't exactly the most popular kid in the world, and he knows that people don't always pay attention to him, but he knows that they do sometimes. People would notice if he was gone. And his only legitimate fear is that shred of recognition disappearing. (He's also petrified of blood, but he won't admit it.) Eventually, Peter dreams of having a true family. Someone to care for him and love him forever, who would never leave him. He knows that's impossible, though, so he has a more realistic goal in mind: To go exploring, and to discover a new land that nobody's ever heard of, that was never mentioned in any books. He sometimes wonders what would happen. Would he be hailed as a hero? The first inhabitant of a brand new land? It's wishful thinking and childish, he knows, but it can't hurt to dream.
((His verbal tic, "desu yo", is changed to various versions of "y'know" and "don'tcha think", for the sake of not sounding silly.))
[/size][/ul]
I'm the hero!
HM Fort Roughs: Born in a time of war, Peter was known as Fort Roughs. A small boy, and an oddity. Why was there a representative for a naval fort?
The first thing he remembered was warmth. He was on his back on a large metal platform, heated by sunlight. A soldier was waking him up.
"Hey, kid! You alright?" The voice had a heavy British accent, but he didn't know what to call it then. He blinked his eyes open, wincing when all he saw was light. And the darkness had been so peaceful, too... The man hovering above him grinned, turning away for a moment. "He seems like he's okay." The boy reached a hand up to rub at his eyes. Why was he so tired? Almost ready to fall back asleep, he was lifted up by the man, letting out a sound of protest.
"Welcome to HM Fort Roughs. You got a name?"
There was a pause before the boy responded. "I think... not..." The man looked at him quizzically.
"Well, I can't just call you 'kid', can I?" He sighed, leading the boy across the platform. Someone shouted out from above them. "How about Peter?" The boy's eyes glinted in recognition.
"Peter sounds good." After a few moments, the man chuckled. "Peter it is, then."
Meeting England: After only two days on board HM Fort Roughs, England comes to investigate this strange boy, recognizing him as being like himself, a possible nation.
"Mister Clarke, sir! Welcome back!" The boy known as Peter saluted the older man, who grinned and saluted back. "At ease, Peter." The boy immediately dropped his hand to his side. "I've brought someone to meet you. This is Arthur Kirkland." A blonde man stepped out onto the platform, looking down at the boy.
"What's your name?" Peter smiled, something that was becoming fairly common. His hat slipped ever so slightly on his head. "I'm Peter, sir! I don't have a surname, though!"
A half-smile slipped onto England's face for a split second. "Follow me, Peter. I need to talk to you."
Two minutes later, they were both seated in the young boy's quarters, the elder studying him quizzically. Finally, Peter got his answers.
"You, Peter, are a representative of a nation. What nation, I have no idea. But for some reason, you appeared first to HM Fort Roughs. Which is impossible. Since this is a naval fort, not a nation. You are, however, under my jurisdiction..." Peter stared at the man, confusion crossing his face. "Hence, I would like to make you my younger brother."
A delighted grin took over Peter's features. "You mean it, sir? You'll be my brother?" England nodded. "I am the representative of England, or the United Kingdom, if you want to be technical." Peter's smile only grew.
"Then my name is Peter Kirkland, right, big brother?" Some emotion that Peter didn't recognize flitted across England's face. When he spoke again, his voice was a bit off. "Y-Yes... That's correct."
Peter still cannot remember a time that he felt so happy.
Abandoned at Sea: 1956, a terrible day for the new country. Hardly fifteen years after his creation, he is left alone.
The Great HM Fort Roughs stood, a silent watcher of the seas. He stared out into the blue expanse, either ignoring or unaware of the bustle behind him. Soldiers carried with them boxes of materials and bags of their things, laughing with each other, ready to leave this stinking metal island in the middle of the ocean. Peter, looking seven years old at the time, suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned his eyes just a fraction to see his brother.
"It isn't true. Right?" His elder brother averted his eyes.
"Tell me it isn't true! ... Please." England finally spoke, his voice quiet and monotone.
"I can't lie to you." The boy's eyes, normally bright and blue like the sea, hardened as he realized what Arthur was saying. He would be... Alone? A tiny child, alone on an abandoned sea fort? What was their boss thinking?
"I won't... I won't be alone, will I?"
His eyes became like storms, oceans ready to burst at any moment. Tears prickled the corners of his eyes.
"I don't have a choice, Peter."
He... He has a choice. After all this time, after a metal little fort had created the boy. After the fifteen years that Peter had been alive? England had a choice. He could take the boy back with him. He could care for him. Treat him as the little brother he was. But it didn't work like that. It never did.
"You have a choice and you know it. Just go. Leave like everyone else." England attempted to console his brother, brushing the tears away. The golden-haired child spun around, smacking the hand away.
"Leave!" He shoved past his brother, sprinting across the platform and down into the tower. After too long, he reached the room that belonged to him. He started sobbing again when he realized how many of his things were gone. Peter slammed the door behind him, sliding down against the cold metal.
Since his creation, he had felt needed. Wanted. Fort Roughs was important; He kept the Germans at bay during the war. But now... Now it was over. Just ten years later, and everyone was leaving him again.
He let the tears fall to the floor, letting the steady tapping calm him down. There was a banging on the metal door. Yells of "Peter". But the boy ignored them, overcome with sadness and frustration.
Soon, the banging ceased, and he was lulled into sleep by the sounds of movement above him. His dreams were filled with the terror of betrayal and loneliness.
When he woke again, Fort Roughs was silent.
Ready to Die: Terrified that he would be alone forever, in 1960 the nameless country decided he would end it.
The sea was a dark onslaught upon the towers of Fort Roughs. A young boy floats as though in a dream onto the platform. He has been alone for four years, and it has been killing him inside all the while.
His golden hair is soaked through instantly, his hat forgotten several yards away. The wind and rain slams against him as he steps out onto the platform. He stumbles for a moment, then continues towards the edge. Peter Kirkland stares down at his feet, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, rather than focusing on what he is about to do.
He takes another step and finds himself looking at the railing. He swallows thickly, his heart already seeming to stop. His eyes close. They snap back open as he imagines a voice yelling for him across the wind, and he looks around wildly before realizing his mistake. A single tear rushes down his cheek, lost among the rain.
Peter feels as though he is operating an automaton, no longer feeling his body. His hands find their way onto the railing, but he doesn't feel the wetness of the rain or the freezing temperature. He feels numb, but continues forward. One foot reaches the railing. Then another. His movements are almost mechanical.
He finds his balance, buffered by the wind. It's almost as though the wind is holding him up. He holds his arms out to either side of him, ready to fall.
The wind stops.
Peter understands everything.
Why he was left, how he is still alive... Everything comes crashing back on him in a single second. He realizes why his brother left. He realizes who still cares for him. He regrets coming out into the storm.
Peter falls.
Several hours later, a fisherman arrives at the beach to obtain his boat and go fishing. He discovers a small boy on the shore, barely shifted by the waves. The man rushes forward, helping the poor boy up. There is no breathing from Peter Kirkland. The man brings him to the local hospital, his fishing trip abandoned.
Peter lived. He returned to HM Fort Roughs.
But he kept his loneliness.
Found at Last: 1966. A retired infantry major, Roy Bates, decides to move to the naval fort, discovering a most interesting thing when he got there.
There was a quiet grunt of effort as Roy Bates* pulled his boat into the dock of HM Fort Roughs. He stepped out onto the platform, smiling slightly to himself. "So this is the great Fort Roughs..."
A flash of movement caught his attention, and after a moment of looking around, he found what had done it. "Hello, there!" He said to the small golden-haired child. The boy half-glared and half-smiled at the older man from the corner of the center platform. "What's your name?" Roy asked, trying to seem cheerful. "And what're you doing out here by yourself?"
At the last word, the boy stiffened, running back out and down a flight of stairs. Roy had to follow after him, down through a maze of hallways that comprised the two towers. Each time he caught a glimpse of the boy staring back at him, he took off again, as though he was trying to have the man follow. Only a few moments after the retiree started getting winded, the boy finally let Roy catch up.
"I'm Peter Kirkland. I represent the Great Fort Roughs!" He paused to strike a heroic pose. "And I'm by myself because... because..." He paused again, this time looking a bit sad. "Because big brother Jerkland left me here." The last words were almost too quiet to make out.
"Your brother left you? That doesn't sound like much of a brother to me," The older man began. "So how about I keep you company? Me and my family are going to live here, is that alright?" Peter's eyes lit up, a smile covering his face for the first time in years.
"You really mean that? And you won't leave?"
Roy Bates smiled. "I mean it. I won't abandon you."
Renamed a Nation: On September 2, 1967, Sealand was finally renamed, and became an official country.
"Everyone's gonna do it together. You too, Peter." An obnoxiously large smile is across Peter's face. This is the day he finally becomes a nation. He watches as the small group assembles around the flag.
"But first..." Mr. Bates draws a saber off of his waist, holding it aloft. "Peter, Joan, Michael, and Penelope, please come forward and kneel." Peter immediately stepped forward, along with the rest of his new "family".
"By the power vested in me, I pronounce you, Penelope Bates, Princess of Sealand." He tapped the sword on each of the girl's shoulders, and repeated the process with the now Prince Michael and Princess Joan. "Please rise." He said softly, and the three stood and backed away. Bates smiled widely in front of Peter.
"And you, Peter Kirkland. I pronounce you the new representative of the Principality of Sealand." The sword was tapped on his shoulders three times. "Rise." Sealand finally stood, still grinning like a madman. Bates sheathed the saber, clapping his hands together. "Now, let's get this flag up!"
Each person present took hold of part of the rope, including Peter. The young boy hesitantly brushed his hands against the fabric of his new flag. It was red and black, with a line of white diagonally down the center, and he couldn't have asked for a better one.
A moment of silence and up they go.
Smoke on the Water: 2006; Sealand catches fire. The boy is left with permanent burns.
All he can see is smoke. All he can breathe in is the scalding tongues of flame. He’s dying, he realizes. A quickly paced set of footsteps grasps his attention. He turns, squinting through his eyelids and the smoke to see whoever it is. He coughs, falling to the ground. His back feels like it’s on fire, though he knows the actual fire has been out for some time. Pain. Footsteps. A pair of arms around him. Coughing. Yelling. Scattered senses. A sound here. A flash of light there. He twists violently, coughing and shouting in pain as his back rubs against his shirt. He screams for someone.
Anyone.
But no one else can help him.
Recognition: In later 2006, still recovering from the fire, Sealand is "adopted" by Sweden and Finland, finally feeling wanted.
Sealand brushed his fingers along his shoulder blades, wincing when the jagged skin of his burns is rubbed against his shirt. He pulled his usual shirt up a bit, looking into the mirror at the maze of angry red and darkened brown. His stomach twisted as he saw it, and he pressed his shirt back down, closing his eyes. His thoughts were interrupted by a shout from above.
"Peter! Come up! You have to meet someone!" Excitement lighting his face, he raced up the now-rickety stairs of the gutted towers. As he reached the platform, he felt a familiar presence. Nations have come to visit? Is it that Jerk England? I'll kill him if it is... When he set his eyes on the mismatched pair, however, it turned out to be something he never expected.
The two standing there were Sweden and Finland. He recognized them from the meetings, both blonde, one tall and imposing and the other smaller and cheerful. He stared at them confusedly for a moment, before Sweden spoke. "W've c'me t' 'd'pt ya."
Sealand threw a glance at Finland, who clarified. "You were trying to sell yourself on eBay, remember? But we had a better idea." Peter raised an eyebrow, still silent.
"We want to adopt you, Peter."
His expression of confusion turned into one of excitement, then shifted back to unease. "But I don't need a family. I have Prince Michael and his family, and I don't need anyone else." Finland's smile wavered slightly. "This would be best for you, I promise. We can protect you."
Peter wiped something invisible from the corner of his eye. "O-Only if Prince Michael agrees." The pair glanced at the man, who was standing off to the side. "If you want to buy the platform, go ahead."
And so, Peter had a family. And he began to love them with all of his heart.
[/size][/ul]
You've got it backwards! Backwards!
Hurry up and throw it! If you don't hurry up and throw it, you'll go "boom"!
The Great HM Fort Roughs stood, a silent watcher of the seas. He stared out into the blue expanse, either ignoring or unaware of the bustle behind him. Soldiers carried with them boxes of materials and bags of their things, laughing with each other, ready to leave this stinking metal island in the middle of the ocean. Peter, looking seven years old at the time, suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned his eyes just a fraction to see his brother.
"It isn't true. Right?" His elder brother averted his eyes.
"Tell me it isn't true! ... Please." England finally spoke, his voice quiet and monotone.
"I can't lie to you." The boy's eyes, normally bright and blue like the sea, hardened as he realized what Arthur was saying. He would be... Alone? A tiny child, alone on an abandoned sea fort? What was their boss thinking?
"I won't... I won't be alone, will I?"
His eyes became like storms, oceans ready to burst at any moment. Tears prickled the corners of his eyes.
"I don't have a choice, Peter."
He... He has a choice. After all this time, after a metal little fort had created the boy. After the fifteen years that Peter had been alive? England had a choice. He could take the boy back with him. He could care for him. Treat him as the little brother he was. But it didn't work like that. It never did.
"You have a choice and you know it. Just go. Leave like everyone else." England attempted to console his brother, brushing the tears away. The golden-haired child spun around, smacking the hand away.
"Leave!" He shoved past his brother, sprinting across the platform and down into the tower. After too long, he reached the room that belonged to him. He started sobbing again when he realized how many of his things were gone. Peter slammed the door behind him, sliding down against the cold metal.
Since his creation, he had felt needed. Wanted. Fort Roughs was important; He kept the Germans at bay during the war. But now... Now it was over. Just ten years later, and everyone was leaving him again.
He let the tears fall to the floor, letting the steady tapping calm him down. There was a banging on the metal door. Yells of "Peter". But the boy ignored them, overcome with sadness and frustration.
Soon, the banging ceased, and he was lulled into sleep by the sounds of movement above him. His dreams were filled with the terror of betrayal and loneliness.
When he woke again, Fort Roughs was silent.
[/ul]
I Summon thee from far away lands, come forth!
You called?
Timezone: EST (-5)
((*I'm not using any research or anything to figure out what Roy Bates actually acted like, nor how he arrived at HM Fort Roughs. Nor trying to get exact historical accuracy. Just go with it.
Also, to anyone who noticed the Gutters bits in there, you get a cookie.))
[/size][/ul]