" Starry, starry night
Portraits hung in empty halls
Frameless heads on nameless walls
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget
Like the strangers that you've met
The ragged men in ragged clothes
The silver thorn of bloody rose
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow "
🎨🎨🎨
role
— giving houdini a run for his money
name
— nicolas kae-knott
nicknames
nico— his parents used to call him nico. his father said it as a sigh or in a warning tone. his mother said it in a huff or in a sweet tone of affection while she detangled his curls as a child. his siblings used to call him nico at times too, especially when they were too little to pronounce all of "nicolas." no one has called him nico in a while.
nick— a brief, shortcut name. teachers will often ask if they can call him nick. he doesn't prefer it, but oftentimes, they will do so anyway. it's instinctual, he guesses.
nickie— only his old best friend used to do that. dickie called him nickie when they were children— see? they matched! it was funny. no one else could call him nickie besides dick. or, he supposed, no one else did. he'd never officially banned anyone from it.
age
— eighteen
birthday
— september tenth
gender
— male
sexual orientation
— he tells people that he is asexual, at times, and yet they often do not believe him because his girlfriend, one of the prettiest girls at this art institute, begs to differ. seriously, they don't understand how that happened. when nickie is 5'4" and spends all his time in that art room, cramped up against that huge canvas, can barely focus on one thing for five seconds, is constantly bouncing his knee, and has burn scars across his forearms, chest, and neck plain as day, and gets asked daily if he's a freshman or not, and doesn't respond to ninety-percent of what people tell him. and in reality, he's bisexual, although he hasn't necessarily told anyone. not even his girlfriend, gemma, who people are continuously shocked by. in reality, she likes him for his personality, she says. sometimes he thinks she just thinks she can fix him. he wishes she would stop trying.
middle school
— nickie was a hurricane in middle school. possessing the sweetest baby face in the town, he had the personality that one would never expect to accompany it. he loved to watch rated r movies, picking up profanity-laden phrases and mature concepts from a young age that he loved to shove into others' faces and laugh. he was a tough guy. he could withstand anything. he was an older brother of two. he had to be tough, as an example for them. as a kid, he had a fear of dogs. so when he was twelve, he ran up to the neighbor's chained dog (adorned with a 'beware of dog' sign right in front of it) and tried to feed it out of his hand. he always had to face his fears. or even his hesitations, once he got more advanced. nickie was an active kid. he couldn't focus in a classroom. like genuinely, he couldn't. he had such bad adhd that he was diagnosed very early on and medicated. it didn't seem to help much, though. it made him struggle in school, but it was outside the classroom where he truly shone. art was used to help him focus and to help him express himself in a healthy way, by his parents and eventually by his teachers. he was very good. he drew portraits of those he knew and himself, and even drew animals, such as his pets. his parents were very proud and showed it off to the other parents, as these were highly realistic drawings for such a young child to produce. he hated showing them off. they were a secret. art was lame. he jumped off a roof once as a child. he also rode his bike off a roof once. it was a really nice bike. it broke. he broke his arm so badly in 3 places that he had to get pins in it. oops. when he got decent grades one year, he got rewarded with his own pet snake and lizard, named freddy and jason respectively. he always had scrapes everywhere. he was pretty short, but not the shortest, and had wild curly hair he never cut unless his bangs grew past his eyes. then it was trimmed. dickie was his best friend, and he showed him how to do everything he knew how. like swing upside down on a tree. climb up to a roof. drink a bottle of hot sauce. everything.
parents' personalities
it was difficult not to enjoy nicolas' parents. gwenyth and clive were your classic hipster parents. clive had long dreads his kids loved to play with, and played in a band once he got back from his day job (a boring office job, he'd always say, that he loved only because it let him pay for what his kids wanted). he had excellent taste in beer, and often took the other parents (the ones who did like this) out to microbreweries, should they enjoy beer as well. he had tattoos and went to a liberal arts college, and danced with their mother in the living room. gwenyth was a child development expert, actually. she did her best for nickie, even when she realized he wasn't quite like every other child. especially once he received his adhd diagnosis. whenever she grew too serious, clive would liven her up. she was a loving mother, just as loving to her children's friends as to her children. she often hosted, as she was a delightful hostess. she had an eye for interior design, and a great ability to cook (healthily, of course). they both believed in exploration, but perhaps nickie explored too much.... they worried, but they didn't want to compromise their philosophy. his mother taught yoga classes on the side, and his father also grilled the best fish you've ever had in your life. they were well-loved.
siblings
molly kae-knott, 3 years younger, deceased at 10. she was another firecracker of a child, with long curls and a bossy streak. she was always wanting to take command of any situation, and ironically, she also wanted to copy her older brother all the time. she played basketball at school and begged for her own pet lizard, who she named kirby. yeah, she was the resident mario kart expert. she loved to photograph the moon.
harvey kae-knott, 6 years younger, deceased at 7. harvey was a quiet child. his parents used to say that the other two stole all the fire out of the gene pool. he liked for nicolas to fix all of his problems by coming over and helping him with his schoolwork, or helping him put his stuffed animals away, or finding the good channels on the tv. he was good at school, and often was made to cry by his older sister. he carried a stuffed rabbit everywhere by the ears. he liked to go with his mother to work, when he didn't have school, and he'd walk the rounds of the office and take candies from every secretary.
backstory
— when he was thirteen, his home caught on fire. it was an electrical malfunction, some said. others said it was one of those candles his mother insisted on using. it went up in flame quickly. he was locked in his room, one of the ones furthest away from the fire, and that was the only reason why he lived. the fire entered the room eventually, with nicolas desperately trying to open that one window that always got stuck like this, and he suffered burns across his arms, back, chest, and neck, and smoke inhalation. his family died that night. he was the only one who was able to be rescued.
— at the funeral, nickie didn't cry. he even gave a speech, the suit hiding the tender wounds across his body that would soon heal into scars. he didn't shed a single tear. he was still frozen. he couldn't believe it. he found himself oddly calm. they were just at the grocery store without him. they'd be back soon. he was numb, watching himself from afar.
— he had to go live with his grandparents rather far away since, but since they were aging, they sent him off to a rather fancy boarding school for the arts, called bannerman. he left in the early morning one day. he's never returned to his hometown since the day of the funeral. until now, he supposes.
— he was forced to attend grief therapy. but he wouldn't talk to the therapist. he clammed up and kept clamming up until the day he moved away. he still has to go once a month. he still hasn't said a word. he doesn't want to talk about the nightmares or about the insomnia and the sleepwalking or the dreams he's had where his siblings are all grown up, or the guilt, or why he hasn't even visited home once. and his obsession with fire. his art is his therapy, he says. this is just foolishness. expensive foolishness.
— his art has gotten strange since then. he used to draw such nice, realistic portraits, his grandparents said, which was why they sent them there. since then, he makes huge abstract murals in a rather disturbing style. he struggles to sleep. he just paints instead. he struggles to think straight. he just paints instead. eventually, he painted himself into a few museum showings, several awards, and the status as one of the more talented students at the school, which only made people wonder even more about him. nicolas just asks them to move if they're standing too close to his art. maybe he never fully escaped the numbness. maybe he just added the anger that sometimes overcomes him when he tears up his canvas. maybe he just added the sadness and jealousy that floods him when others talk about their families. maybe he just added a sick, twisted guilt that keeps him up at night. he doesn't talk much. some people think he's mysterious. a tortured artist, who sometimes wears a beret because his girlfriend got him one as a joke and likes to see him wear it.
appearance
— nicolas is still short. he clocks in at about 5'4" tall, with a bronze tan (natural, he doesn't go outside) and dyed platinum blonde hair with his brown roots growing in. he dyed it late one night when he couldn't sleep (the damn insomnia) and he still lets his curls grow long. he hasn't grown much since middle school, and he hasn't grown too much muscle either. he's still rather thin, about an average weight for his height. nicolas has hazel eyes (his girlfriend says these and his curls are his most lovely features). he has dark circles. he still possesses a baby face, soft, rounded eyes a little far apart with smooth skin, and round lips. he has perfectly straight teeth and a cheeky smile that pinches his eyes shut when it's genuine (and when it's not, like it hasn't been as of late, it doesn't reach his eyes or show his teeth). he has a very prominent collarbone, two pierced ears and a pierced nose (his girlfriend did that). he is often mistaken for a freshman, or for someone's younger brother. he's often covered in paint. he does dress well, as his grandparents are rather wealthy and they give him a large shopping budget. he dresses fashionably and trendy, with overalls, oversized jean jackets, colorful silk shirts, fanny packs strapped across his chest, big platformed heels, studded belts, and more. also obvious are his burn scars. a brown-ish pink darker than his skin tone, these scars are raised and bumpy, running along much of his upper body and down one of his legs. often, he conceals them as best as he can, but he isn't the sort to avoid wearing short sleeves for it. after all, everyone can see his neck anyway. he hates turtlenecks too much to prevent that. this skin is particularly sensitive, and he can't go out into the sun too much with it. not that he would anyway. his left arm is still slightly shorter than his right arm from when he broke it too. you can notice it if you look. nicolas doesn't cut his hair enough, or shave enough (although he couldn't grow a beard if he tried, being honest). he only wears the cologne his girlfriend gets him, and even then, only on the days she sees him.
personality
nicolas is a stoic ever since the day of the funeral. he's numb, he guesses. going through the motions to no end. he only lets himself show emotion through his art, and then, he lets it go wild and unleash itself to whatever ends it desires. he has flashes of emotions that he struggles to control. he prefers to process them alone. anger is best handled alone with his canvas. sadness is best handled alone with his canvas. even joy, when it does show up from memories, is best handled alone with his canvas. outside of it, he keeps himself even. he's responsible. he's honest. he'll admit that he can't just act happy for people. he'll admit that he's changed. he'll admit that he can't recognize you and that you shouldn't recognize him either. he even told his girlfriend that. he didn't think he'd be good at dating. he didn't think he could give her what she needed. he didn't think he could be emotional enough for her. he still struggles to find joy, although it's happened, from time to time, although never in times people expect. he gets no pride from winning medals. he feels no connection with his art instructors. he feels no sweet memories from calling his grandparents (who in fact, are rich and traditional and never liked his parents much anyways). he feels happy when he catches a glimpse of a show on tv he used to like. when gemma catches him off guard with one of her ridiculous faces to get him to smile for the camera. when he comes home and puts his lizard on his hand, and the lizard poops right into it (although that's more amusement). he feels alive in the small moments. nicolas isn't much how he used to be. he's still possessing endless energy. he can't sit still in class even now, and he'll often bounce his knee or ask to go for a bathroom break he doesn't need to get a break. he has test accommodations and can take longer to answer exams, but struggles to focus that long. he stopped taking his medication. he once told gemma it helps with his art. she shrugged. she forever wants him to paint her. he hasn't yet. he paints fire, most days. fire, fire, fire. it consumes him rather than repelling him. he lights candles and watches them burn to the quick. he doesn't know why. it's an obsession. he can't control it. he wants to be there for people, but he doesn't know how. he wants to help people, but he doesn't know how. sometimes he tries to interact with others. they have a preconceived notion of him (often from jealousy) and tend to reject this. he's gotten used to it. sometimes he tries to scare them away. he paints more fire. and he makes it more grotesque. he paints what his burns looked like under the bandages and makes it abstract and makes it worse. when people say it's ugly, he says good. when people say it's beautiful, he says he knows.
friends
gemma gallagher— girlfriend, a photography student who is tremendously talented, yet who most people usually only notice her beauty, who thinks she can fix him, and perhaps that's her only reason for dating him. she enjoys the angst, perhaps, after reading one too many books. she attends his school. she is genuinely the only one he ever talks to on a regular basis at all. she photographs him often and likes to lay on his dorm room floor, looking up at him and laughing when he looks down, trying to cheer him up. she holds his lizard. she tried to get him into incense sticks over candles. he thinks he would love her, if she loved him. if he could love. they'd be better friends, he knows. but they also wouldn't be, which he also knows. he thinks she will break up with him before college, as he will be attending one of the top art schools in the world. she will be attending one of the top photography programs, far away from him. he knows she's been trying to have the conversation. he wants to tell her he won't fall apart when she does. but all he can do is think about it and paint more fire.
reputation
many students are jealous of his artistic prowess. entering the high school and already having one museum entry by the end of the semester... and by now, he's had several, whereas many students struggle to get even one. they like to watch him paint sometimes. it's a violent affair. he doesn't just dip the paintbrush and drag it around. he throws the paint, slashes it, smears it, splatters it. they resent him. they reject his attempts to show attention to them. to help them. to show interest in their own work. they see him as competitive. they were the ones who made him competitive. they're jealous of his girlfriend, too. they don't see a reason why he should have such a beautiful girlfriend. that's all they see of her. and his hideous, beautiful art is all they see of him.
the teachers love him. they praise him, encourage him, draw meaning from his work he never intended.
back at home, he's known as the saddest story to hit town. well, he isn't, but his family is. those poor children, killed so young. those poor parents, killed in their marital bed. and there was one survivor, wasn't there? that strange child with the bike? i wonder what became of him. did you know he didn't even cry at the funeral? not a single tear...
it's become a way to suggest he didn't truly care. perhaps to suggest his apathy. perhaps to suggest he lit the fire. it varies.
knowing this, some adults coo over his story and express over the top sympathy. they treat him like a baby. he wishes they didn't.
school
boarding school— nicolas attends a boarding school from the arts that's rather far away. this school is rather prestigious, located in the northeast, and with famous alumni you'd definitely recognize. his grandparents are rich and trying to make it up to him, he guesses. you may keep touch with him through your instagram, perhaps, as he has one, decorated with his art and some photos of himself that were taken "artistically" by and with his girlfriend, gemma, a photographer. his instagram is rather popular, actually. he probably doesn't follow you back. at this school, he is a teaching assistant for three different sections of freshman and sophomore introduction to art. he is known as one of the harshest grades and critics. yet he's fair. he likes a few students' work especially, and when he does, he gives good feedback. students have figured out by now that even if the technique is awful, nicolas prefers pieces that draw emotion from him. he wants to feel something. if your piece makes him feel something... perhaps you have a shot at an A.