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prevaricatcr · 4 years

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‹ TARON EGERTON, HE/HIM, CISMALE, BISEXUAL. › ELLIOT GALLAGHER is the TWENTY SIX year old from SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA. when a friend asked them what they thought of the manor they said, ❝ MIGHT AS FUCKIN’ WELL, RIGHT? GONNA HATE MY LIFE EITHER WAY, MIGHT AS WELL DO IT WITH SOME SCENERY. ❞ they claim FUNNY GAMES is their favorite scary movie, and if they were to die in a horror film they would TAUNT THE KILLER AND GET WHACKED FOR IT. their fears include DRIVING A CAR, WRITHING SNAKES and PUPPETS, and they don’t know we know, but… HE’S PAID OFF MULTIPLE WOMEN WHO HAVE HAD HIS CHILDREN. hope they enjoy their stay. ‹ MUSE A from HOLLYWOOD’S BLEEDING penned by, Z, 25+, CST. ›

- - - - - - - BASICS.

Name: Elliot Rian Gallagher. Pronouns: He, him. Nicknames: n/a Age: Twenty-six. Birthdate: April 18th. Zodiac: Aries sun, taurus moon, gemini rising. Ethnicity: white, his father's grandparents were second generation irish and his mother always stated that her parents came from Sandusky, and didn't know more than that. Nationality: American. Birthplace: Santa Monica, CA Gender: Cis Male. Sexual Orientation: Bisexual.

- - - - - - - BACKGROUND.

Parents: Craig Robert Gallagher; 58 years old, alive. Teresa Dawn Shwitzer-Gallagher ; 52 years old, alive Siblings: 2 older siblings, a boy and a girl, and two younger sisters. Spouse: n/a. Children: 3 by different mothers, whom he sends monthly allowances to. He makes it his business not to know any more. Current Job: out of work musician. Dream Career: to be back on top of his game, winning grammies like he used to. Schooling: Attended Crossroads in Santa Monica on and off, eventually graduated with lots of monetary assistance. Income: Receives pay from royalties from the band he was in as a teenager that kicked him out.

- - - - - - - PHYSICAL.

Height: 5'8". Weight: 160 lb. Eye Color: Blue. Hair Color: Dark brown. Hair Length: Fairly short. Hair Type: On the thinner side, with some wave. Body Type: Fairly skinny, with small hips and waist. A little thicker around the midsection with his short stint of sobriety. Clothing Size: Medium to large. Shoe Size: Size 11 Complexion: Very pale, freckles fairly easy, burns very easy. Scars: scars and calluses on his hands, a puckered scar on his temple half hidden by his hair, and a scar on his right hip from a bad car accident, his knees are assessed as much older than himself because of how poorly he treats them combined with genetics, and a long scar on the left side of his back.

- - - - - - - PERSONALITY.

Positive Traits: adventurous, charming, direct, passionate, sociable, competitive, creative, lively, versatile. Negative Traits: volatile, extravagant, defensive, envious, juvenile, wasteful, unreliable, vulgar, pessimistic. Mental Condition: Currently drinking again and using cocaine along with a few prescription pills after attempting out-patient rehab and tapering down his drinking, which he's been addicted to since age fourteen. No officially assessed disorders or conditions besides his alcoholism. Struggles with intimacy while sober. Emotional Condition: Fragile, filled with guilt and self loathing after relapse. Sees trust as more important than love and is very guarded with what he considers his innermost self. Likes: All black outfits, sunglasses, a tall glass of boulevard when he's drinking to taste it, people that make him laugh out loud, old school SNL, the fine tuning of behind the camera work, treating the people he cares about to nice things, arguing about oscars prospects for any given film, penny slot machines, jokes that make people groan loudly. Dislikes: lazy jokes about addiction, late night talk shows, people who look at him and see his misdeeds and not who he is as a person, "lizard people" conspiracy theories, elevator music, plastic covers on mattresses, the concept of an all seeing, all knowing god, TMZ, the smell of industrial cleaner. Strengths: intelligent, ambitious, sincere, passionate, generous, philosophical. Weaknesses: reckless, impatient, cowardly, detached, foolhardy, irresponsible. Fears/phobias: sobriety, letting someone see every single part of him, allowing himself to be vulnerable when sober, having hallucinations, driving a car. Hobbies: little to none as his primary hobby has always been drinking, mostly reading and watching movies. Quirks: fiddling with his glasses, biting the inside of his cheek, humming any song that comes through his mind out loud when he's distracted or concentrating hard on something.

- - - - - - - HISTORY.

!!! possible triggers in the following biography: drug use, alcohol abuse and alcoholism, driving while intoxicated, car accidents, parental neglect of children !!! You are two and a half when you land your first commercial. Your younger sisters managed their first roles before you, but it was a little easier for them as they were infant twins; far more in demand than just a tiny toddler boy. This is how your family eats and keeps themselves in an apartment in Santa Monica that's meant to house three when your family eventually grows to hold seven in total. A lot of mouths to feed. Thankfully you don't remember a lot of this, as the small time work you and your siblings do is enough to keep your family afloat. You make your way into middle school; pissed and stand offish and looking like a cherub; which insures that no one takes you seriously. The friends you make, you hold tightly to, and you kick around in your best friend Boston’s basement, just fooling around on his parents drum kit, their guitars that aren’t actually supposed to be touched. It’s all just for fun, the band and the EP you slap together; just trying to impress each other, until one of Bos’ parents finds someone who wants to sign the band. Everyone tells you over and over again, that this is the deal of a life time. That this will make sure you work in Hollywood for the rest of your life. This is both true, and untrue. The EP is an unmitigated success, and every review has something to say about you, the kid on bass with backup vocals who’s face looks barely legal but plays like he’s planning a murder. Almost everyone remarks on how much older than your few years you seem. Which at first makes you feel special, important. Makes you seek out big words to use when you're sitting on the couch as a guest. The audience really loves that. Of course, this also spawns those times when you end up at wrap parties and after parties, your mother schmoozing whatever producers and execs she can find, your father nowhere to be found, and a sea of adults getting high and wasted around you. None of the vices of Hollywood have ever been all that strange to you, though. Your parents have always had a very blase approach to the innocence of childhood, and didn't much care to shield you from anything. It’s still all fun and games, really. The five of you have too much fun, and everyone wants to treat you to everything, so. Somehow the option you end up choosing most often is the bottle in your hand. The bottles that are so readily available, everywhere, that get pressed into your hands and put into the end of the night goodie bags your mother always takes three of. You think that waking up in an unfamiliar bed every single night of a week is something the rest of your bandmates are doing. It’s all a laugh, we all drink and we all smoke and it’s kid shit, right Boston? You learn that it very much is just a ‘you’ thing when you come to rehearsal (late, as usual) one Thursday afternoon and they’re all somberly waiting for you, hands in their lap and silent. You are being released from your contract with Cthulhu Rising...but the band has elected to move on and create their debut album. Unfortunately at this point you are eighteen and very, very deeply entrenched in alcoholism. The press has been playing you as a party boy who enjoys simple teenage excess for a very long time, but it's starting to wear thin. TMZ is growing a lot less glowing in their articles. You try not to pay attention even as you get yourself thrown out of clubs and tossed into drunk tanks and bailed back out again by whichever assistant your mother has hired this week. As long as you can find a way to make music, you can keep breathing. But with your growing notoriety, offers start to dry up. Those late night shows that loved your precociousness take pot shots at you in their opening monologues. Kimmel's pre-taped Lonely Island style sketch about 'you' endorsing a brand of gin in the style of I Love Lucy gets over a million views on youtube. All of Hollywood, and by extension all the world is laughing at you. It get a little less funny when you ram your matte black Lamborghini Aventador into the median taking the exit for Interstate 10, pinball off of it and into the car in the lane next to you, back into the median hard enough to flip your car into a roll, tumbling side over side across the lanes into the ditch. Your blood test results at the hospital show your blood alcohol content was nearly triple the legal limit. The accident doesn't kill you, though it's a close thing. You're convinced the recovery is worse. The total at the end adds up to a fractured pelvis, six broken ribs, safety glass embedded in your left temple, lacerations all over your arms and face, bleeding in your lungs and swelling in the brain that leaves you in a coma for the better part of two weeks. The most pathetic part of it all? All of that, the things you don't remember from that day coupled with the bursts and flashes of what you do remember, the year and a half you spend in recovery still isn't enough to make you put the bottle down forever. And doesn't that just make you fucking hate yourself?

#manor.tasks #! ; oof that took too long #❪ ⋅ ◆ ⋆ — YOU LOOKED AT DEATH IN A TAROT CARD┊❛ headcanons ❜ ❫

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