Full Name: Sable Rose Finnley
Gender: Male
Age: Sixteen
Personality: Sable is not loose promises tied to tumbleweeds. His weighted words are bound to anchors, thrown where it’s left and bearing its rust until someone takes his hand and guides him away. Plucking his heartstrings will make him dance in the palm of your hands and there isn’t much that’ll stop him besides a harsh wake-up call, which can quickly transform him into a weeping puddle bent on resolving the situation. Once his boo-boo’s are mended, it’s likely that he’ll make the same mistakes again. He’s a caretaker, foremost, and a storyteller and a kind shelter from whirlwinds and storms with a flair for expressing himself in shameless ways. He’s a bleeding heart with a set of wobbling legs. There’s always room for one more: one more beggar, one more criminal begging for repentance, one more mistake. There’s always room for forgiveness. He does not believe that Humanity is unkind—only lost. Shouldering the responsibility to steer Humanity in the right direction has never been an unwanted duty. It gives him hope. The possibility of a peaceful future drives him forward, relentlessly, and recklessly. Although quiet at first, if you are able to open his rib cage and see how he actually is, he jump on you faster than you can believe.
Appearance: Shaggy auburn hair tousled into lazy curls, a limp-noodle smile and sunken eyes - it’s not exactly what you’d imagine when picturing him, but that’s Sable for you. It’s the way he carries himself. He’s always marched to the beat of his own optimistic drum, and his grooming is no exception, despite the fact that it’s lead to more than a few speculations on his living arrangements. He’s not what you’d call immaculately groomed. Yeah, yeah, Giggles showers everyday but he tends to smell more like a blossoming flower than a musky boy who’s dipped his toes in the cologne department. Beyond tangling his fingers through his hair and shaking the remnants of water from it like a sopping wet puppy, Sable doesn’t own a cupboard full of hair gel and can’t be bothered to do anything besides slicking it back across his skull lightly. Sable's all warmth and soft curves and barely-contained energy; ungainly and unmanly and probably a little too touchy. His ever-changing hazel eyes and bowed lips are quick to map out the expressions on his rounded face; sometimes, the boy will practice in front of a mirror so that he knows what people see whenever he offers any shy smiles, encouraging winks or silly faces. There’s a smattering of freckles en masse, speckled across the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, his shoulders, his hips, in dull brown constellations. He has very fine features, always bordering on feminine. His jaw is cut at a sharp angle, and his thin brows slant slightly. His lips are thin, but not outrageously so. His cheekbones are high, bordering on catlike. Really, did you expect him to grow any? He's been that short for ages, so don't come back expecting that he's decided to wear some sissy high-heel shoes or platforms just to make himself look bigger – he's not a peacock and he's not gonna' cater to your needs. So, Sable's still approximately five feet and five inches tall, give or take a few inches depending on how straight he's standing or if he's lounging on the stairs. This little bitty weasel-boy isn't the poster boy for beautifully elegant human's strutting around the modelling world, big deal.
Weapon(s): Doesn't exactly have one, if you consider running and hiding as one, sure.
Sexual Orientation: Homosexual
Blurbs: He was born in London, England but since has moved to America. The accent is faded slightly, faint, but still there.
Other: -