Stefan Kayden Taylor's Vitals
Name: Stefan Kayden Taylor
Race: Human
Shortdesc: Longish raven hair, deep blue eyes, old worn clothes
Position: Survivor
Fame: Hitchhiking across America
Temperament: {$Temperament}
Themesong: None
Ben Jelen as Stefan Kayden Taylor


WARNING: This information should be considered OOC Knowledge unless one has the IC means to access it.


As a young boy, Stefan’s life was filled with love and joy. Being something of a musical prodigy, which wasn’t surprising considering his mother, Suzanne, was a concert pianist, he picked up musical instruments with ease. The piano was the first, sitting on the bench beside his mom, watching and listening before starting to copy what she was doing. With both his parents encouragement he quickly picked up how to read music at the same time he was learning to read children’s books. At the age of 7 he started to learn to play the violin. Seeming to have a gift for string instruments, he loved playing, especially alongside his mom. At the age of 8 years old, Stefan was admitted to Julliard and excelled both academically and musically.

As much as he adored his mother, Stefan loved his father as well. Michael was one of the top surgeons in New York City, specializing in trauma. Michael always seemed to find time to spend with his son, though their activities were more educational than athletic, which suited Stefan fine (he was afraid of things flying at his face). Fun filled vacations were frequent, traveling all over the country for some of his moms concerts, dad’s medical conferences. Always finding time to stop at museums, places of historical importance, and even amusement parks. Everywhere Stefan went his violin would be at his side, almost the way some children find comfort in a teddy bear or blanket, Stefan found his with his instrument.

It was when he was 10 that his life would change forever, tragedy striking the boy to tear his life apart. August 2005 found Stefan and his parents in New Orleans, his father having a medical conference to attend, he and his mom had flown down with him to join him at the end of the week, with the plans to stay an extra week to enjoy the sights of the city together. He doesn’t remember the events that happened, just a few images here and there, the cold, fear, and loss he suffered in the days following Hurricane Katrina. Rescue workers had found him clinging weakly to the top of a building that was mostly covered in water, his violin case slung over his arm. Neither of his parents were found that day, their bodies likely among those that were washed out to the ocean. Stefan was taken to the Superdome and lost in the jumble of people in the days following the tragedy of the hurricane and loss of his parents. The fear of water ingrained deeply into him so much so that even a rain storm sends him skittering for cover, his body trembling in terror.

In the following years, Stefan spent his time in foster homes, the young boy not speaking, his only emotions shown when playing his precious violin. None of the families he was put with could get close to the boy, some tried, the women trying to take the place of his mother most often, but he wouldn’t let it happen, wouldn’t let any of them close. Other families had too many problems and other foster children to pay him much mind, some abusive, verbally, physically, emotionally. Not even that could draw him out. It wasn’t until he was 14 and living with a particularly cruel ‘father’ and ‘mother’ that ignored what was going on, that Stefan decided he’d had enough. He’d been living with the family for nearly 6 months, suffering through various forms of abuse, when the ‘father’ took his violin from him, threatening to sell it if Stefan didn’t perform certain tasks that he wanted of him. Suffering a black eye, broken nose and all around beaten body, Stefan snuck into the bedroom of his fosters, both of whom were passed out drunk, to take back his violin, along with their stash of cash and other items he felt he could sell, he left their home and the life of a foster child.

Living on the streets was not an easy thing, which he soon discovered. But over the years he learned enough to get by, how to get food and money, the dexterity he had learned with his violin lending itself to picking pockets. From time to time he’d be caught, but most took pity on him and let him be, others tried to call the cops but he managed to slip away before they could show up. He traveled from city to city and state to state, usually by hitchhiking, often doing ‘favors’ for whoever he rode with. He became somewhat known to truck drivers who would give him rides, letting him sleep in their cubby space, learning how to please others at a young age.

Over the years his ability with the violin has grown, managing to sneak into music shops to play the piano, steal sheets of music, and replace the strings and bow of his violin when needed. He had always been able to show the emotions of the music he played, but in the years following his loss, he developed an ability to actually project his emotions on those who heard him play. Not understanding what he’s able to do, he does however seem to enjoy the response of those who listen.

Now he’s traveled into the city of Chicago, his few belongings kept in a worn backpack, violin always kept with him. If asked why Chicago, his only reply would be, “I ran out of money.”


Upon first looking, he appears to be in his middle teens, his body not fully filled out as it one day should be. He stands to a height of 5’6” and has the appearance of being slim. His skin has been darkened by spending much of his time outdoors in the sun. Thick, raven hair is on the longish side, brushing his jawline but not quite reaching his shoulders. Hair worn in a messy style, it’s hard to decide if it’s intentional or that he just hasn’t bothered to do anything with it. Eyes of such a deep blue shade that unless one was close up they appear to be almost black except for a thin ring of paler blue surrounding his iris. It’s upon examination of his eyes that one realizes he isn’t quite what he appears to be at first glance. They hold a sense of knowledge of the dark side of life, pain and sorrow that disappears quickly when noticed.

His clothes are baggy on his frame, old and worn, mismatched and faded. Over one shoulder he wears a backpack, equally old and worn, stuffed full with his possessions. Always at his side is a violin case, likely the only thing that is well cared for. If one were to notice his hands, they appear slim and almost delicate with long fingers, the tips of which are calloused.


Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License