Right, so. Obviously I went with Chartreuse.
Isao's not totally out of the picture, but as for now Chantell will be the new star for awhile.

Sorry if the app art is kinda weh - very tired. |D

---

"Oh, do tell?"

♢ G E N E R A L   I N F O ♢

Name: Chantell B. Colbert Jr.
Nickname: Chant
Age: 26
DOB: November 18th
Colour: Chartreuse | #99FF00
Faction: Green
Height | Weight: 6'0" / 148 LBS (Yes, he is underweight.)
Gender: Male
Corrective Time: 17 years, 1 day

♢ P E R S O N A L I T Y ♢

"Perhaps I am weaker, but I am far smarter. Don't you forget that."

    Chant is a man one should take caution around. He's a very dark and mysterious fellow that seem to be seething with devious intent on making others uncomfortable - yet dependent on him. Manipulative at best; he likes to toy with people's emotions - their sense of morals and their faith, anything they hold precious to them. The sight of people crumbling in distress by his own choice of words amuses and pleases Chant. Contradictory to this, he likes to care and cherish those said broken feelings, luring those who seek comfort come crawling to him for a state of tranquility, despite their distaste on how he works. Because of this attitude he embodies he does not hold any boundaries in conversations. As such he comes off very rude and obnoxious to many individuals and is often viewed as vile right off the bat - but after awhile he becomes impossible to hate. He makes others feel as if though he's the only one looking after them, and that they should be keeping hold of him as their only support around the facility. People's disliking towards Chant does not cease him; it's like he feeds off of people's disgusts towards him and is very adamant about keeping his relationships - whether they wanted one or not. He's considered to be rather stalker-ish because of this, a leach if you will; forever following a person's footsteps and attempting to approach them at any given moment.

    Chant is very open and talkative. He likes listening to people speak, especially if they are emotionally distressed. He enjoys keeping the topic on the other party and learning their ways in each and every detail. How they talk, what body language they give off when they talk, how often they talk or if they even talk. He reads people like a book, and it's obvious when he's taken a liking to one story than the other. Gossip is also his thing. Spreading it is like a toxic waste coming from his mouth and he loves to see drama come forth with it. Blackmailing has a special place in his communication arsenal too.

    Surprisingly Chant doesn't forget much. He could remember conversations he's had years and years ago and remembers a person's reactions prior to it - what he can't remember though is the people who he's had those conversations with. Not even a face can register through his head. Only words and the way they were said. Perhaps hearing certain speech patterns in people will jog his memory but it's quite difficult for him to remember your face if your story hadn't interested him.

Likes / Dislikes: 
♥ Talking | Messing with feelings | Laughter | People | Dependence | Biting | Animals / being an animal | Crawling | Intellect | Books | Smart-mouths (This amuses him)
✖ Coughing | Overwhelmed by brute strength | His health | Idealists | Dense-minded | Forgetting faces | Repetitive things | Having to walk normally | Boring "books" | The elderly | Sharp smells

♢ B I O G R A P H Y ♢

"It's much more special."

    A clear outlook on Chant's past is a bleak and cloudy forecast, forever engulfed in the fog of his fading memories. He does not remember the events of his life prior to being admitted into the Facility; nothing of friends or family strikes him to heart - except for one person. He does not remember his face well, but he remembered his voice. He remembered the words they spoke of, and how they were spoken. . . fierce and strong, booming and boastful but held protective and nourishing intent. This was his father, as he likes to remember. Remembering his father's voice brought him to remember the moment that got him sent to the Facility in the first place.

    Chant believes he must've came from a wealthy family; a family that was overly friendly to the public and held numerous parties with the commoners as a tasteful sign that they weren't money-hungry slobs who had not cared for others. For some reason he does not remember his mother being in this picture, or siblings if he had any, but he remembered his father's voice and laughter during these parties. He must've been the treasure chest of the family - the one who embodied the money for these overdone occasions and this expansive mansion. He, in the child's eyes, was also a target. These people at their house were not his friends, he believed, but people simply there to perhaps get a favor out of the suave man; eat away at his fortunes because he certainly didn't need it. He wasn't sure why he acquired such a feeling about these strangers. . . but surely they were up to no good. Commoners only want money anyways.

     The young boy remembers seeing his colour often at these parties, particularly in the wines that were placed on the ever-going table. It was such a obscure look to a liquid - was there something wrong with it? Was it old, was it poisoned? Why had it looked the way it does? Perhaps that's what made him take such an interest to the wine - it was special. It was his favorite. "It looks different," he would explain to his father. "This one has . . . character."
    "Character? What do you mean?"
    "You don't see it?" He rose the bottle to his father to see closely. Although he hadn't seen anything special, he leaned down and tried to see the character his son described. He was clueless. "I don't see what you mean, lad."
    Chant felt himself frown. He couldn't see the difference in the wine? How can he tell what drink was what? . . . Ah that's right, his father was a smart man. He knew how to read the labels. He brought back the bottle to himself, looking in awe at the mysterious colour that engulfed the beverage. "Nevermind I guess," he muttered. "But I like this one better."
    "What do you see in it?" The question had felt wary for some reason. The young boy didn't seem to catch that. "It just looks different. It's because it's special. It has character."

    The state of concern in his father's eyes, alas, hadn't came over the little boy's suspicions. To him it just felt as though his father didn't find the magic, and only Chant can see it. It didn't seem like such a bad thing, or at least his father hadn't made it out to be. But Chant remembers that his abilities to see an object's uniqueness stirred arguments. Vivid, daunting whispering that threaten his father - and threaten Chant. The voice spoke of "colour", they spoke of "being sent away", and they spoke of "tarnishing the family name". How could anyone dare raise their voice with an obscured choice of words to a man of such high order? How rude. Ah, but given a decade of thought the voice's plans and intents had became clear. Chantell was not meant to be in the picture to begin with. With sudden, reluctant arms, his father had sent his only child to the Facility because of his new found gift. However during the exchange, their final interaction with each other had seemed... odd. Something wasn't right, some was afoot. It ringed clear in his mind that his father did not want to do this to his son - it was a heartbreaking process for him, one that made his motions all the more slower. This was no indication of urgency, no sign of wanting to get rid of Chant. His father did not want this, but he was doing it. He was forced, the young boy concluded. Someone was making him do this. Chant hadn't spoken of it though, he stood strong for his weeping father. He recalls the embrace he gave him before he left. "You'll be back," he heard him say. "I promise. You'll be back with me." What silly promises people make, hm? But that promise lingered in his head for the next 17 years of his decaying life.

♢ E X T R A: ♢

• Voice : Jeremy Irons : [link] (Scar)
• Chant likes to file his teeth
• Chant obtained his tattoos at a young age; family tradition.
• He is of French / English descendent.
• Chant has a weird motive to crawl on all fours instead of properly walking. He insists that it's more comfortable than walking normally. (Of course though he's having to be told countless times to walk straight by officials.)
• Chant has weak lungs and is chronically ill with COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease). He is very vulnerable to bacterial infections to his lungs and often obtains multiple cases of pneumonia out of the blue. As the years progressed his state of health seemed to have worsen due to the fact he's been having fits of hemoptysis (the act of coughing blood) on and off.
• He doesn't eat often; maybe a nibble here or there but his weight has been relatively dropping as of late because of it.
• Chant likes the taste of wine / alcohol in general, preferably chartreuse.
• His tongue is split due to a freak accident from when he was young. He does not remember it fondly though.
• He has a habit of calling others "child" or "lad", even if they are older than him. (And/or a female)
• Chant is relatively weak and frail, and bruises easily.
• Chant knows how to play the flute.
• He has a charming singing voice, as he was taught how to sing as a child.
• Some people's speech patterns may remind him of a person in his past.
• You'll probably find him in the library.
• As far as his sexuality goes it's very uncertain.

♢ R O L E P L A Y  I N F O ♢

Preferences: Notes are preferred! I normally roleplay in paragraph form as well; not too keen on script roleplay. (I get too descriptive for it.) Any length is ok with me!
Timezone: Central Time Zone | (UTC -6:00)
Open to shipping: Oh but of course, by all means. However it depends on their interactions and personalities; Chant won't automatically like everyone he meets.