Post by flynn davis on Jan 22, 2011 17:23:38 GMT -8
flynn sven johann friedrich
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name: april
age: sixteen
gender: female
writing experience: I’ve been writing since about 2002. Mostly poetry, short stories and school publications. I’ve been roleplaying since 2005, so about five years give or take a month. I started a newspaper at my former school during my freshman year in 2008 and currently am a part of both the art creations magazine and school newspaper in my new school.
how’d you find us?: I found one of your nifty affiliates buttons on another site, though I‘m sorry I can‘t tell you which one >.<.
a favorite book: Mrs. Dalloway - Virginia Woolf or The Killer Angels - Michael Shaara
other character(s): N/A
name: flynn sven johann friedrich. Formal title, HRH (His Royal Highness) flynn sven johann friedrich hertig(Duke) av(of) Hälsingland and Gästrikland. He adopted the last name davis as a cover for his studies in America.
age: twenty
citizen? upper or lower schooling?: upper schooling
previous residence: stockholm, sweden
eye color: blue
hair color: blonde
height: 6’0”
distinguishing features: Flynn is known best for his angular features. His strong jaw line often gives the impression that he is tense or focused.
He has several tattoos. One on the inside of his right wrist in small script which reads, “Die Welt des Glücklichen ist eine andere als die des Unglücklichen. Ich bin Odysseus auf den Meeren. Roughly translating into The world of the happy is much different in the eyes of the unhappy. I am Ulysses on the sea.” (Further explained in history) On the outside edge of his left arm written along where his distal radius is the word love is written three times, once in german, once in Swedish and once in English. (Further explained in history) As of recently, Flynn got another tattoo near the crease of his right elbow in scots-gaelic which reads “B' i sin reul 's an oidhche dhoilleir” it translates into. “That were a star on a dark night.” (Further Explained in history)
four good personality traits
four bad personality traits
three quirks
important people
- His Majesty the King of Sweden, Magnus IX, father, Age 64
Her Majesty the Queen of Sweden, Gräfin Reuß (Augusta nee Reuss), mother, Age 60
Her Royal Highness the Crown Princess of Sweden, Sophia hertiginna av(duchess of) Västergötland, sister, Age 33
His Royal Highness Prince of Sweden, Lars Hertig av(Duke of) Västergötland, brother in-law, Age 37
Her Royal Highness Princess Lilian, Duchess of Halland, godmother, Age 60
Heike Ilse Brandt, former fiancé, Age 19, deceased.
His Royal Highness Prince Maximilien, Duke of Halland, godfather, age 65
His Royal Highness Prince Henri of Bavaria, godfather, age 67
Her Majesty the Queen of Denmark, Isabella II, godmother age 70
Her Royal Highness Princess Benedikte of Sweden, godmother age 74
historyMy story doesn‘t begin with a once upon a time nor does it end with a happily ever after. It actually began the day I met the fair maiden of Hohenzollern and it ended as the heartbeat I loved so much came to a brutal end.
If I trace back the lines, far enough to see where they had converged to create my existence, they would be as neat and orderly as most royal obligations feign to be. My life is a very simple story and I‘m often told that I lived a blessed one. You see, my father a military man as most men in my family are, is the King of Sweden. His bloodlines have wrapped themselves around the Swedish throne since the Tudor Era in England. The house of Bernadotte has a wonderful knack for tidy marriages and producing heirs shortly after. It was my father that seemed to trouble those well rehearsed lines. His apparent disinterest in proper marriages and trained royal women troubled my grandfather. I owe my entire existence to that “trouble” as it prompted my grandfather to send my father to a military academy in Germany where he met my mother.
I remember the description my father would tell me as he tucked me into bed. His eyes glowing with the memories he held so fondly. Her name was Gräfin Reuß. He would say in a gruff German pronunciation. He hadn’t known a lick of German until he met my mother. She was tall and I was afraid she was taller than I was. It was silly then, but she would smile and say in terrible Swedish, you are silly my darling. I would laugh, smile and admire my father for his absolute honesty. He had fallen for a woman who wasn’t at all part of the royal family. I suppose it seemed unorthodox then and it wasn’t quite acceptable, but whatever the case he fought for it. Augusta, as the Americans anglicized my mother’s name, was a bombshell at the University of Heidelberg. She was the only daughter of Friedrich, a german fisherman and Alois Reuss an average, german-born housewife. It didn’t matter that my father was the crowned Prince of Sweden, she still gave him a pretty hard time as she knew the relationship was near impossible, but in the end my father fought and won. They were married as soon as they gained the approval from the royal court in Sweden and shortly after my grandfather passed on leaving the throne to my father.
Things were always perfect with my parents. They tried to cover up their problems with posh parties and artificial friends. They were never truly happy until the conception of my sister Sophia. It was then that the planning for my life had begun. My mother was a very superstitious woman. She loved wives tales and it was in her opinion that she could sway the gender of my sister’s birth to her favor. It wasn’t until her birth that her superstitions tossed the egg whites and incense back into her face. You see before the equal primogeniture became popular in Sweden, the throne still belonged to the first healthy male. My mother, not of royal birth, was fighting alongside several other princesses of Sweden in hopes to produce a healthy heir. The birth of my sister was of great disappointment, but it didn’t stop my mother or father from loving her. They simply had to put aside their plans for the next child and as they hoped, I was born.
My name is Flynn Sven Johann Friedrich of the Bernadotte House of Sweden. My name, amongst other discrepancies, breaks the tradition amongst the royal families of Sweden. I was the Crowned Prince of Sweden for two years before Equal Primogeniture stripped me of my titles. I am still recognized as the Crowned Prince of Sweden in commonwealths of Sweden, but my sister is first in line for the throne. Most people ask me if I feel cheated, but the funny thing is, I’m glad my sister took the titles. She was the one that was cheated. She was cheated by my parents, by the country and by the very design of our fates. So, in all honesty, she deserves to be Queen. I, on the other hand, enjoy the simple life. Although being a Prince has its perks, it also gets you in trouble with your parents more often.
My life until the point I turned eighteen is irrelevant. It was then I drew the last straw with my parents. My constant disappearances from the palace and appearances in the tabloids was drawing great attention to the throne of Sweden. People were beginning to question the stability of our family and in order to rectify the situation, my father did as his father did and sent me to the University of Heidelberg to enjoy a good dose of military discipline. Which I managed to avoid by fleeing to America where I studied at Columbia University. With my sister’s aid I was accepted into the school under the name Flynn Davis and it was to her, that I dedicated my first tattoo to. The day after I happily moved into dorms, barely larger than my mother’s closet, I had the words “Die Welt des Glücklichen ist eine andere als die des Unglücklichen. Ich bin Odysseus auf den Meeren.” tattooed on the inside of my wrist. Every time I looked at the blank neat block of text on my wrist, I was reminded that I had a home. I was Odysseus on the seas and even if I had been blinded by my emotions, I was still fighting for home, wherever that home may be.
My studies in America were pretty short-lived. It wasn’t long until my father found out that I was not enlisted in the Swedish Navy nor was I enlisted in any type of military related group. He dragged my ass back to Sweden only to send me off to Germany three days later under imperial guard. That was fun…
I’m not a fighter. I might rebel every now and then, but I’m not one of those spoiled brats who takes their life for granted. When my father kicked me back to Germany, I made the best of it. I partied and I still didn’t join the military like he had asked me to. I even had the gall to bring back trouble. It was my nineteenth birthday. A year after I had gotten the tattoo on the inside of my wrist and I had added three more on outer edge of my arm. It was the year that I was taught the German three and though I appreciated superstitions, I also thought three was a pretty lucky number. As my professor once said, everything comes in threes. So it was three times I had the words love tattooed onto my arm, three times in hopes that I would be lucky enough to find it. And as luck would have it, I did. The minute the brute of a tattoo artist finished the trio of loves on my arm, she walked in.
As that door opened and her bright blue eyes flashed in the afternoon sun, I couldn’t help, but think back to what my father had said. She was tall, slender and graceful. The air around her seemed to sweeten at her touch and as her flaxen blonde hair fell in a veil around her face, my hands suddenly ached to brush it back. She looked me straight in the eyes and smiled shyly, letting her eyes quickly fall as she scurried to the back of the parlor. I was stunned, unable to think as the brute spoke to me. I paid him and not an hour later, I came back just to see if she was there. Luck would have it, she was. I got another tattoo that day. A tattoo done by Heike, the blonde German University student who worked at the little tattoo parlor to help pay for University. “That were a star on a dark night.” I said and she smiled unable to grasp what I was gesturing at.
I went back to the parlor almost every day of that week just to see if she was there. It took me two more weeks after that to ask her on a date. It was a bittersweet memory, seeing as she rejected me, but there was a good reason for it. You see my Heike knew exactly who I was and where I had come from. My darling Heike, who came from a single-parent family, knew that our relationship simply was impossible. My beautiful Heike also suffered from a hereditary illness, one that would kill her before her time and in self-sacrificing love for others, she vowed that she would never allow someone to feel the pain of her absence. I pushed harder after that rejection and she let me in. The two of us sold ours souls to one another. I learned German amongst several other languages to keep her on her toes. She wrote me poems when I went home to visit Sweden and ten months after the very first day we met we were engaged.
I hadn't said a word of it to my family. I knew that even my beloved sister would have turned her back on me. In this single act I was threatening my bloodlines chances at any of the thrones of Europe. By marrying without the royal seal, bloodlines were doomed for removal, but I was willing to risk my life and my families to love Heike.
And I loved Heike more than anything in the world and no matter what Huntington’s disease did to her, I would have stayed by her side. She was nineteen when the “accident” happened. Her genetic illness was the most aggressive in all her family history. She was the first, after her mother's passing, of her families carriers to have the disorder before her thirties. Her symptoms began to rapidly appear during the latter extent of our relationship. She began to shake, quiver and she began to doubt her strength. I helped her through it, coming with her to expert after expert to see if there was anything at all that would help her, but as the months drew on and her symptoms failed to cease she began to lose hope. I suppose I was the one who caused her pain. My constant dependency on her existence made her realize she had made a mistake. She had broken her vow and allowed someone to hurt. She knew that if this disease persisted to tear her apart, it would take me down with it and she couldn’t live with that knowledge.
So it was two months after I turned twenty, she drove her car off a bridge on the outskirts of town. She was rescued, but it was obvious to everyone that she wouldn’t make it through the night. So there I sat, beside her bed with my hand inside hers begging her to fight, but there was no fight left in her. So I looked her the very way I looked at her when I first saw her face. I smiled that smile even though the tears were breaking the barriers of my solid eyes and I brushed away the hair that threatened to cover her radiant face. With the little strength she had left. She took the silver chain from around her neck which bore our initials as pendants and placed her engagement ring upon it. With careful and loving hands she placed it on my neck bringing me down to kiss her one last time. My story ends there, with my lips locked with Heike’s as the final bells tolled into her flatline. All my love, all my life belongs to Heike.
By then the entire world knew where I was. Cameras have no shame nor do the people who are paid to hold them. So I became the "secretive prince", the "Bernadotte Black Sheep" and the pictures hit the headlines faster than my parents could clean them up. After the funeral, I returned home to pack and leave again. My parents too ashamed, but too sympathetic had no words for me.
I followed my sister’s advice and went far away from everything. I fled without a single word, letting my mother hug me and my father clench his jaw as I refused to apologize for my actions. I was warned not to watch the news or read the papers. He would announce the engagement void and I, may have been moved further down the line of succession. Though in sympathy for my love for Heike, my mother would try and change his mind.
I still fled to the coasts of Normandy where there is a school with just as tragic of a story as mine. I fled, because at least there no one knows my name. I fled, because no one would come and pay their condolences. I fled, because Heike loved the coastline. She loved the ocean and the ocean was where we had never gone together. So I come to Normandy, to finish my schooling and sit at the coastline for the first and last time with my Heike. From there, I don’t know, but I suppose I’ll find out.
if you could be anywhere, where would you be? If I had to pick somewhere, somewhere where I felt happy and safe I’d most likely pick the place where my Heike was born. We both shared a love for my mother’s birth country of Germany and anywhere where I could be close to Heike again, is the place where I’d like to be.
character’s play-by: James Preston
brideau
arcséne
eliot greaves, delia madain kate muller