Sexual Orientation Heterosexual
Blood Status Pureblood
Year / Occupation Seventh
Hair Color Espresso Brown
Build Athletic, Slender
- Feelings rarely leak into Enzo's careful expression. Though there is a slight, seemingly permanent furrow to his brow, he perpetually maintains the same neutral countenance that a surgeon wears while he works -- one of complete awareness and intense concentration.
- Much like the rest of his life, every inch of Enzo's appearance is taken into account and attended to. From the waves of his short, swept back hair to the cuffs of his perfectly-tailored sleeves, Lorenzo's grooming and attire is nothing short of impeccable.
- Lorenzo is a loner. Whether it is the coldness of his gaze or the long periods of silence that guard the dark thoughts of his mind from breaching his lips, he finds himself alone at the edges of a room. Here, he allows the burnt brown of his eyes to linger over every face, like a smoke trying to choke out strangers under the intensity of his stare.
- Enzo's posture differs from other boys of his background. Despite his upper-class roots and contrary to his manicured appearance, Enzo treads the Earth with an uncanny casualness to his posture -- eyes forward, back slightly slouched, hands in his pockets. While others hold their head high with the intention of giving off a certain impression, Enzo couldn't care less about what the rest of the world thinks of him so long as they aren't a nuisance.
- Lorenzo's wardrobe consists mainly of darker, neutral colors (grays, browns, blacks) as they help keep attention away from him. The outfits themselves, however, are complicated, often consisting of multiple layers and a handful of rich accessories.
- Rudely Blunt
- Can't stand the sound of ice cubes being chewed
- Can hold his breath for 3 minutes
- Surprisingly flexible
- Losing his sanity
- To recover everything stolen from his family
- To ruin the people who had driven his parents mad
From what he's been told, Lorenzo Brzenzinski is at the bottom. From there, he watches the universe unfold, and it scoffs at him. Out of venom-coated lips, made from purple, poisoned breath, it scoffs at him. Look there! There goes the boy whose parents leaped over the edge and into the abyss of insanity. Care to take bets on if he'll follow after them? Shoulders hunched, gaze focused on nothing in particular each and every passing day, everyone reasons that it'll be any moment now. Soon, he was going to just snap.
In the meanwhile, though, they had all agreed to stare at him or laugh at him or pity him.
Do whatever it you like, but don't expect to elicit a reaction. (Do you ever poke and prod the face of a cliff and expect it to pay you any mind? To bend over from its titanic height and give a damn about your microscopic words?)
Enzo won't care at all, because he knows the truth: the world is upside down.
He doesn't hang below the Earth, clutching to its curve with desperation. Enzo sits at the top; he's always been at the top. Calculating and cold, always thinking and planning and wondering, he knows exactly how to get what he wants, trivial or priceless, through pure persuasion or brute force. Never mind his lack of resources, or the fact that he'd only come into possession of his family's manor a few weeks ago when he'd turned seventeen. At seventeen, Lorenzo carries the burden of all the Brzenzinsks on his shoulders.
It's enough to quirk the thin, pale lines of his lips into a smile. Almost. But almost never was and never is he thinks to himself. There is almost, and then there is.
The world had almost won. When he was a boy, watching home invaders cast the Cruciatus curse on his parents through the crack of an old armoire, it had almost been enough to keep him down forever. It had almost been enough for him to stop caring entirely. His first few weeks in foster care he had vehemently refused to eat. Deep down, he hoped that whatever darkness had created taken the light from his parents eyes and stolen the screams in their throat would take him, too. When a child is scared, they're willing to throw away what's important for a moment of satisfaction and victory. Anything to get what they want right then.
But Enzo didn't want a moment. He wanted the privilege of saying that he had won for the rest of his sorry, fucked up life. That required a plan — and most likely a pretty girl. Thankfully, he had managed to procure himself of one of those, but as of late, had been considering how much further his horizons might stretch with just a few more extra hands. A sigh parts Enzo's lips. He sinks deeper into the wall, pressing his back against the bitter, biting stone. It obliges him, grounding him by pressing a thousand tiny needles through the fabric of his peacoat, the fabric of his sweater, and deep into his skin. He hates the sensation, but it keeps him awake and aware and ready. Any day now, he'll snap, they said. (The joke was on them. Enzo Brzenzinski had snapped a long, long time ago.)
Pronouns She + Her
How did you find us? i sneezed and looked at the tissue
First Character? N/A
Preferred House / Group? Probably Slytherin.
Justification i mean that or ravenclaw if you really want. also please ignore typos. i am so freaking sleepy.