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J O N A H
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P E R S O N A L I T Y
"Self-aggrandizing" is a word that often comes to mind here. A lover of attention and of contact, he's amiable, social, and extremely flirty. Sexually deviant, too; loves sex. Spends most of his time cracking semi-jokes at people, asking for a one-night stand. With that said, he's a joker as well. Nothing he loves more than to have a good laugh, to spin obvious lies about himself if only to see the looks on people's faces. He's a talented liar, in fact. All of his outgoing traits— his overdramatic, histrionic tendencies, his princess complex, his vanity—all ruses in order to hide the fact that he doesn't quite believe in the lies he's told himself. In truth, he's constantly afraid. Of people judging him, especially for being weak-willed and too much of a people pleaser. Of rejection, of getting hurt. Even his candidness scares him, even the way he can't do anything but wear his heart on his sleeve. The confidence in his step, snide commentary, demanding nature— it's all part of the act. A one girl show he puts on for no one but himself, when he so desperately craves an audience's attention and praise. At his worst, he's needy, a wallflower, avoidant, clingy, and ridiculously insecure. At best, a self-destructive nihilist looking to go down and enjoy the fuck out of himself while he's at it. A princess trying to conquer a future he can't fathom. A one-way freight train crash-slamming into reality as a big "fuck you" to the anxieties and fears he tries so hard to run from, because hey. If he's gonna die, he's gonna die in style.
It isn't hard to get him to like you. He falls in love with everyone he meets— just a little. Getting him to open up is a different story. Earn his trust, and he's endlessly sweet. Still a self-aggrandizing bastard, but sweet nevertheless, and he would do anything for the few who he can let his guard down with.
His biological parents were drug-hyped radicals who seemed to perpetually live in the 70’s green movement, and thus at a young age he and his brother, after spending 4-5 wonderful years with the couple, were eventually placed in the care of an uncle in Juárez, Mexico while the Greys went world-hopping to spread their radical idealism, and to “live the way humans were meant to live” out in the wilds. They later disappeared in a mountaineering accident. Their uncle had a few too many hands in the drug cartel business. Drive-by shootings were common, and one day August and Jonah were caught in crossfire while walking home from the grocery store. August did not survive. Eventually, Jonah managed to reach out and call CPS, got transferred to an adoption agency and stayed there for two years before being adopted by a busy family of four. He wasn’t mistreated, but neither did he ever feel like he was part of the family. He did poorly in school, barely passing, was extremely shy and oftentimes played hooky as he grew older, staying out far past curfew and becoming more outgoing in his mid-teens. Mingling with people became a regular thing, whether it was on the street or in a bar, club, or wherever he could sneak into with a fake ID. Gender issues started around 15, first with a creeping disgust with his body, then with an epiphany, realization, and finally his first experience with dysphoria. Felt like the angles of his body were too sharp for his soul to rest in. He started experimenting with the way he presented himself, realized that he, at times, was okay with having a dick. He’s still confused but he’s working it out now.
Jonah, at 18, moved out of his estranged home into a tiny modest apartment which allows him the time and flexibility for his variable schedules. Receives stipends from the government and his adoptive family.
"Self-aggrandizing" is a word that often comes to mind here. A lover of attention and of contact, he's amiable, social, and extremely flirty. Sexually deviant, too; loves sex. Spends most of his time cracking semi-jokes at people, asking for a one-night stand. With that said, he's a joker as well. Nothing he loves more than to have a good laugh, to spin obvious lies about himself if only to see the looks on people's faces. He's a talented liar, in fact. All of his outgoing traits— his overdramatic, histrionic tendencies, his princess complex, his vanity—all ruses in order to hide the fact that he doesn't quite believe in the lies he's told himself. In truth, he's constantly afraid. Of people judging him, especially for being weak-willed and too much of a people pleaser. Of rejection, of getting hurt. Even his candidness scares him, even the way he can't do anything but wear his heart on his sleeve. The confidence in his step, snide commentary, demanding nature— it's all part of the act. A one girl show he puts on for no one but himself, when he so desperately craves an audience's attention and praise. At his worst, he's needy, a wallflower, avoidant, clingy, and ridiculously insecure. At best, a self-destructive nihilist looking to go down and enjoy the fuck out of himself while he's at it. A princess trying to conquer a future he can't fathom. A one-way freight train crash-slamming into reality as a big "fuck you" to the anxieties and fears he tries so hard to run from, because hey. If he's gonna die, he's gonna die in style.
It isn't hard to get him to like you. He falls in love with everyone he meets— just a little. Getting him to open up is a different story. Earn his trust, and he's endlessly sweet. Still a self-aggrandizing bastard, but sweet nevertheless, and he would do anything for the few who he can let his guard down with.
His biological parents were drug-hyped radicals who seemed to perpetually live in the 70’s green movement, and thus at a young age he and his brother, after spending 4-5 wonderful years with the couple, were eventually placed in the care of an uncle in Juárez, Mexico while the Greys went world-hopping to spread their radical idealism, and to “live the way humans were meant to live” out in the wilds. They later disappeared in a mountaineering accident. Their uncle had a few too many hands in the drug cartel business. Drive-by shootings were common, and one day August and Jonah were caught in crossfire while walking home from the grocery store. August did not survive. Eventually, Jonah managed to reach out and call CPS, got transferred to an adoption agency and stayed there for two years before being adopted by a busy family of four. He wasn’t mistreated, but neither did he ever feel like he was part of the family. He did poorly in school, barely passing, was extremely shy and oftentimes played hooky as he grew older, staying out far past curfew and becoming more outgoing in his mid-teens. Mingling with people became a regular thing, whether it was on the street or in a bar, club, or wherever he could sneak into with a fake ID. Gender issues started around 15, first with a creeping disgust with his body, then with an epiphany, realization, and finally his first experience with dysphoria. Felt like the angles of his body were too sharp for his soul to rest in. He started experimenting with the way he presented himself, realized that he, at times, was okay with having a dick. He’s still confused but he’s working it out now.
Jonah, at 18, moved out of his estranged home into a tiny modest apartment which allows him the time and flexibility for his variable schedules. Receives stipends from the government and his adoptive family.
OUTFIT REFS AND IDEAS
SAMPLES
Some days it felt like Jonah's feet could barely manage to drag themselves from his room, much less to the kitchen table and beyond. The feeling was too familiar— beginning with a week of frustration, when anything and everything he did just didn't feel right, like god or whatever sentient being up there tilted the world just so slightly so that everything seemed off-kilter— then came the rest of it. His studio, left unlit and unused since he dashed big black X's on more than half of his in-progress paintings— that was a few days ago. Broken shards on the floor from when he accidentally knocked over a wine glass in an attempt to dull his thoughts with alcohol. In retrospect, it was all silly. Some part of him stood high above this, watching his body act with mild disinterest. Trying to run again? he would quip, with some masochistic amusement breaking away from his lips. That part of him would laugh, as if it was all some pathetic, futile effort to escape. And the best part was that Jonah could never explain why it happened. Such days came and went like the weather.
When he got up this morning, it was raining. He had a terrible hangover and a migraine and even so, he badly wanted to fetch another glass of something inebriating— to pick up exactly where he left off the night before. When he went to rub his eyes, he finally noticed the cut on his left palm— from the wine glass, of course, though he couldn't quite remember how he managed to injure himself in the process. And then, when he looked in the mirror, he saw someone there— someone who merely looked like the ghost of Jonah Grey rather than the real thing.
All things considered, it could be worse. Sometimes Jonah wished it was, so he might have an actual reason to drink himself to death.
He carefully bandaged his hand, took a shower, and left his apartment to wander the streets— to get lost, and to be anywhere but where he was right now.
--
"But what does art even mean," Jonah said, in the process of stuffing another macaroon into his mouth. "I've been doing it for the last five or six years of my life and I just don't know. I don't think I ever knew, for crying out loud." He was sitting in his favorite café, in a call with one of his acquaintances from art school— one he wasn't particularly close to or anything, but if someone was going to subject themselves to Jonah's blithering, he wasn't gonna stop them now or ever.
His pal's icon flickered on his holographic display, emitting from his phone which sat on the table. "Well, I mean, did you read the text—"
"—did you read the textfiles, dude? Don't fuck with me. No one reads the textfiles because it's a bunch of old, smelly men trying to dictate what art is. And you know what? I think it's bullshit."
"—Nero would have something to say about that."
"Yeah, well, Nero's kind of a dick. No offense, but they're cold. I never really liked them."
Jonah sighed. He absolutely detested art school. Actually, he hated school in general, and despite being a pretty bright student, he almost constantly played hooky as much as he could get away with. And they were still sending him scholarship money? Either he was ridiculously talented (unlikely) or they had money to spare.
His pal on the other line seemed a bit distracted— Jonah could make out another voice from the background noise, distinctly amorous in tone. There was a whisper, then a laugh, then Jonah furrowed his brows a little, looking around to see if any small children were around.
"Who's that? Your next big mistake?"
"—Aw, shut up. I gotta go, alright? Some shit just came up."
"Sure," Jonah said. There was no hiding from him, though. He always knew what was up. "Catch you later, Peter."
--
Ahaha. Gabir was funny. Not in a laugh-out-loud kind of way so much, but his depressingly sober sense of humor was kind of refreshing.
Jonah, after all, came from the age where people would send eachother ASCII dicks via holographic text messages— and that was considered a joke.
To render a dick in the most primitive form of web art, only to display it using the most current spatial-photic technology was an ironic testament to how far society's come.
Such was the life of an art student.
"To monotony," Jonah replied, taking a drink. "And to finding yourself drinking in a bar with a stranger on a Thursday night."
He supposed that, if Gabir caught him on any other day, he might've come up with something more interesting to say about the current state of his life. Because, in all reality, Jonah's livelihood shuffled him between parties and get togethers and bars, sometimes all within the same evening. It was okay, he thought. It kept boredom at bay. But something always felt... undeniably missing. And he could never quite put a finger on what it was.
Jonah laughed a little, tracing a little circle into the counter. "Yeah, you'd think so, right? I guess if I left in some details, it'd be one of those rags-to-riches movie plots that'd win, like, a hundred academy awards."
That was an exaggeration. Jonah did that a lot— exaggerate. Bad habit of his. His life wasn't really that note-worthy.
He shrugged, continuing, "I guess some rich members of the bourgeoisie thought I'd be a cute addition to their harem of protegés. Some loser kid from the lower class who couldn't get his nose out of a book."