Author Games: Murder & Margaritas

Slot Eleven: Miles Weaver (@shades0fgrey)

Name: Miles Weaver

Age: 25

Sex: Male

Appearance: Born with curly locks and good bone structure to boot, Miles tended to get second glances. It wasn't the standout ears, nor the generous smattering of freckles, which were spattered across his nose like tiny constellations. It wasn't his lips, for their complimentary asymmetricality, or the expression of deep thought that he painted onto his face. His innocent look did wonders when he went over the speed limit, though it wasn't so useful when he was trying to party at the club. People tended not to notice the crooked tip of his nose, the heavyset brows, or the slightly mismatched nostrils. His fashion choices were bold, sure, but it's the twenty-first century, and Miles promised himself that he'd live a little, even if that meant buying way too many accessories (and jackets). His eyes were what truly got people, and what truly lost people. They were deep onyx- dark pools of colourless emotion, painted in varying shades. Thick lashes and the "nerdy hoe" glasses that he held so dear framed them quite nicely. It's usually all fine and dandy, until the resting- ahem- sex on the beach face kicks in. There's no concealing irritation when his eyes are aflame with frustration. Starbucks baristas pause, janitors cease their whistling, and children don't do anything really, because children tend not to notice these kinds of things. As a general rule, if you catch him without a hint of mascara on, he's either dead or dying.

Personality: Like the streets of a busy city, Miles' energy and charisma faded away as the night went on. He came into the world as a lively child, always giggling about some stupid joke. He was the class clown, he had friends, and he was happy. Though nobody ever pressed him on it (they all just quietly assumed that puberty had stolen his humour) he began drifting further and further from himself with every passing year. What once was a fearless child- enough so to attend his first day of school without so much as looking back- now lies Miles Weaver. Shifty, awkward, nervous and flaky. Fart jokes turned to defensive sarcasm, emotional intelligence gave way to a overly perceptive look at his surroundings. He is fragile, choosing to file away the tough stuff in some deep corner of his mind, and has a paralyzing fear of being caught in the past. As a result, Miles stays firmly in the immediate present, sometimes overwhelmed by the sheer complexity of it all. His memory, which he sometimes compares to an old camera, has a film that never stops rolling, and he can never, ever forget. He could tell you what he ate for breakfast exactly five days ago, but ask him what someone's feeling and the poor boy's stumped. For a reasonably intelligent individual, he lacks some skills in human interaction, and has the tendency to... separate people.

Background: Miles was born November 24th, in a small town off the coast of British Columbia. He was one of two children, born to his mother, Tania, and his father, Harold. Aside from terrorizing his kindergarten classes and drinking way too much at his 17th birthday party, Miles seemed to live a fairly vanilla life. His family reunions were quite dull, in fact he was pretty relieved once he'd moved. His aunts smelled bad, and they always wound up starting a bunch of vicious fights with his mother. Starting a new school was hard for him, sure, but the lingering charisma and whatever social ability he had left managed to make him a few friends. It could be said that every family tree has a stain, though it seems like the Weavers.... wove a great tapestry. We call it... stainless silk.

Invitation: Miles did not intend to accept the invitation, in fact, he was pretty sure the whole thing was some kind of elaborate prank. He certainly wasn't the kind of guy you'd invite to spice up a party, unless they had alcohol they'd like to get rid of. As a whole, Miles did not want to accept the invitation- that was until he drank too much and accidentally ate four edibles. Oops. Despite his immediate regret and throbbing hangover, Miles decided not to cancel. After all, who's he to turn down some killer drinks?

Other: Shaken or stirred? Sorry, Miles prefers his puns intended.