Jonathan Sheretti
Manhattan Tower Hotel Staff
Bellhop
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Joined: Aug 2007
Posts: 3
Karma: 0 |  | Jonathan Sheretti
« Thread Started on Aug 2, 2007, 10:36am » | ![[Quote]](http://s4.images.proboards.com/buttons/quote.gif) |
P l a y e r STATS:
N a m e: Maddie
G e n d e r: Female
C o n t a c t INFORMATION: maddiecake_x@yahoo.com
C h a r a c t e r STATS:
B a s i c s:
F u l l NAME: Jonathan Eric Sheretti
N i c k n a m e: Johnny
G e n d e r: Male
D a t e OF B i r t h: October 31st, 1920
A g e: Seventeen
A p p e a r a n c e:
H e i g h t: 5 feet, maybe 5'1"
H a i r: Black, sort of shaggy
B u i l d: He's short, and thin. Not exactly what you would call 'muscular'
E y e s: Dark brown
O t h e r: He looks more like a thirteen year old than a seventeen year old.
A v a t a r: Ralph Macchio
P e r s o n a l i t y:
Jonathan is quiet. He doesn't really know how to interact very well with people (that doesn't help with his job at all) and so he just chooses not to talk much. Sometimes, if you push him enough, he will yell or get angry but for the most part he's very calm.
When he does talk, he has a tendency to be sarcastic. For him, it's kind of like a cover. He has low self-esteem and that's the only way he can think of hiding that fact. When he wants to be, he can be incredibly sweet and thoughtful, but only towards people he really cares about, and those kind of people aren't plentiful.
H i s t o r y
F a m i l y DYNAMIC:
His mother and father live in tenements in Queens. They don't see Jonathan much, but he visits for Christmas. He also has a little brother named Anthony, who pretty much idolizes him.
G e n e r a l HISTORY:
Jonathan was born in Milan. When he was about three his parents immigrated to America. He grew up in Queens, going to a small school and spending most of his days out of the house.
When he was old enough to, he got a job in Manhattan as a bell-hop at the hotel. He did a good job, and gets paid well, but the trip from Manhattan to Queens took too long for him to go back and forth each day, so he was allowed to live in the hotel when he was fourteen.
[R e a d THE R u l e s?]
[From The Outsiders roleplaying site]
"YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING BASTARD!" Shrieked Maria Cade, causing a slurred bunch of curses to come from Robert's mouth.
Johnny winced involuntarily, hearing them from down the street. It was always like that at his house, yelling... hitting... he had hoped over time his parents would get over it, but so far nothing had changed (except maybe his dad's lack of a job). What little money they had was spent on beer and cigerettes. Maria would barely eat, just snack throughout the day between smokes, and the occasional bottle of beer.
"Big deal." He mumbled, trying to get some of the dried blood off his shirt. "If she wants to kill herself, big fuckin--"
A shot rang out, followed by another one.
Johnny paused for a moment, and began to run. Please god, oh please... don't let it be my house... He thought as he threw open the screen door and ran inside.
Robert Cade lay, sprawled out on the couch, with a gun in his hand. A bullet hole went right through his left eye; bits of brain scattered out behind him on the wall. Maria, meanwhile, had a hole in her chest. While she was still breathing, it was labored, and Johnny knew there was no chance for her.
"Mom?"
She looked at him, her usually hard, black eyes full of pain and grief. Whether it was the pain, or perhaps her oncoming death, she smiled at him, not a sarcastic smile, but a loving one. "Ti amo."
What little Italian/Spanish Johnny knew was put into effect right then. Ti amo... I love you...
He felt tears rolling down his cheeks, as he watched the life leave his mother's eyes. Johnny hadn't heard those words since he was a young boy, and hearing them now, while his mother was dieing...
Dead.
"BASTARD!" Johnny yelled, turning to his father's body and, snatching the gun from his hand, firing at the man's torso until there were no more bullets left. "YOU KILLED HER!" He shrieked, ignoring the pain in his jaw, and the nagging voice inside his head that yelled at him to get out.
The gun fell from his hands, as he grabbed at his hair, wanting to rip it out of his head in frustration. They were dead. Their fighting led to them shooting each other.
"THIS IS YOUR FAULT!" He screamed as he pointed at his father and mother. "BOTH OF YOU! YOU CAN GO TO HELL!"
Of course, his mother saying she loved him, while it may have made a difference in his own eyes, did not make up for the verbal and physical abuse over the years.
With a final scream of rage and sorrow, he stomped out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him. It was only then, that the grief set in, and he sat down on the door step and cried.
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