Appearance: Brown-haired, hazel-eyed, and with an impeccably trim figure, Eric is always perfectly groomed. His nails are buffed, his suits are pressed, and his smile is dazzlingly white. He could be an up-and-coming politician or a news anchor: he's got that kind of plastic perfection to him. Except, of course, when he's drenched in blood. Good times, and well worth ruining a bit of Armani for.
Personality: Eric is, above all else, a civilized sadomasochist. He glories in devastation, but can't abide rudeness. He's your best friend and your worst nightmare, the one who'll be there for you as you cry your heart out on his shoulder, drinking in every sweet moment of anguish, and then, with a few insinuations, twist that pain to a blinding rage and hand you the knife to carve someone's heart out. He'll even come with you, just to offer moral support. Wouldn't do for him to partake in the violence directly (unless, of course, you've offended him, in which case he'll take you apart all by himself), but he'll enjoy every moment of it from the sidelines. After all, the potent emotional cocktail of rage/pain/fear is just too much to resist. And then, after he's milked every ounce of guilt and/or self-righteous delusion out of the aftermath, he's gone, ready to wreak havoc someplace else entirely. It's the emotions that pull him in, and once he's gotten all he can from someone, it's on to the next target, leaving a burned-out shell of a human behind. Oh, the pain may hurt him as much as the recipient, but that's fine. He likes it that way.
History: It's not an easy life, being born in the middle of the Great Depression, and growing up during the second World War. His family had been rich once, and a few things were drilled into him early on: always remember where you came from, and act accordingly -- you came from luxury, and one day you'll return to it. Be polite. Be gracious. Never let anyone treat you with less respect than you deserve.
Of course, in his father's case, those lessons were drilled home via repeated rage-fueled beatings. His mother, on the other hand, was the demon in the family, and he learned quite a few lessons from her when his nature manifested, right up until he went out into the world to make his fortune, driving his dear old dad to suicide before he left. Somehow, mommy dearest didn't complain too much; her son no longer needed a father to mold (read: twist) him, and it gave her free rein to find another victim -- er, husband.
As fortunes were rebuilt, it wasn't hard at all to convince the wealthy of either sex to fall madly in love with him and shower him with presents. A few judicious investments later, plus a great deal of saving (never trust the stock market with everything -- that's another one of those family lessons), and he was back in the lap of luxury. Fine wine, good suits, and all the pain and anguish and lust he could ever want. And, through the various ups and downs of the twentieth century, that's where he's stayed. Moving from place to place, pushing people to the brink and then stepping back to watch the fun, and amassing a small fortune that's kept him in nice suits and pretty toys for decades.
He's dabbled in psychiatry (fun while it lasted, but in the end, too much like work), but mostly, his job consists of being charming and letting people give him what he wants.
Lately, it's occurred to him that he misses his mother. He's got a bit of an Oedipal thing going on, and it's been a very long time since he was in touch. He's not actively looking yet, but it's only a matter of time.
Note from trollopfop: This is a roleplaying journal for beyondtherift. I am not Christian Bale. I do not own Christian Bale, and am recieving no profit from Christian Bale. Eric's mine, though, I'm sorry to say. Icons are credited in their respective comments. If not credited, they're mine: dun' steal. Eric Delaflote is not suitable for pregnant women, children, or the elderly. Not to be taken internally. Exercise caution around any sharp edges.