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[OOC] and that's all there was
- Thread starter surskitty
- Start date
Keta
indubitably ineffectual
- Pronoun
- they
Cheryl Linden is a high school student in the city, lives with her parents in an apartment downtown. She likes wearing skirts, blouses, just "nice clothing" mostly- pretty enough to fly below the geek radar and uncommon enough to fly below the prep radar.
She tries hard enough at school so that she gets high Bs in most of her classes; otherwise, she doesn't care. Her interests meander a lot, but her main interests are current global issues, language (especially Latin), fencing, chess, video games, and, to some extent, the occult. She plans to be rich enough to live happily and comfortably.
Her eyes are a dark brown, dark enough to be called black under most light. Her hair is light brown, but, despite her age, is already streaked with strands of white hair. She claims it is genetic and due to stress. She dislikes being called small, at exactly five foot or so.
She is perceived to be harsh, blunt, and honest in how she talks to people. She also likes to provoke "interesting" reactions from people- whether it be broaching impolite subjects, poking them, shoving them, or, on rare occasions, using her magic. Cheryl knows people think she's a little off-kilter, but she doesn't particularly mind it. She's usually not serious about much in particular, except she hates "looking stupid".
Cheryl has good hand-eye coordination and reflexes, partially from fencing saber and partially from playing too many shooting games. But her real power lies in her ability to play what she calls rock, paper, scissors.
She has psychic powers, but she can only use them in a limited extent- to bash things with a giant "fist" of psychic energy (rock), to contain things with a thin layer of energy (paper), or to snip things cleanly (scissors). She can only use these within exactly a three-meter radius; any farther, these skills fail to take effect.
She tries hard enough at school so that she gets high Bs in most of her classes; otherwise, she doesn't care. Her interests meander a lot, but her main interests are current global issues, language (especially Latin), fencing, chess, video games, and, to some extent, the occult. She plans to be rich enough to live happily and comfortably.
Her eyes are a dark brown, dark enough to be called black under most light. Her hair is light brown, but, despite her age, is already streaked with strands of white hair. She claims it is genetic and due to stress. She dislikes being called small, at exactly five foot or so.
She is perceived to be harsh, blunt, and honest in how she talks to people. She also likes to provoke "interesting" reactions from people- whether it be broaching impolite subjects, poking them, shoving them, or, on rare occasions, using her magic. Cheryl knows people think she's a little off-kilter, but she doesn't particularly mind it. She's usually not serious about much in particular, except she hates "looking stupid".
Cheryl has good hand-eye coordination and reflexes, partially from fencing saber and partially from playing too many shooting games. But her real power lies in her ability to play what she calls rock, paper, scissors.
She has psychic powers, but she can only use them in a limited extent- to bash things with a giant "fist" of psychic energy (rock), to contain things with a thin layer of energy (paper), or to snip things cleanly (scissors). She can only use these within exactly a three-meter radius; any farther, these skills fail to take effect.
octobr
silence is scarier
- Pronoun
- it
9 year old boys mostly just do a lot of getting dirty. I mean, when you're small enough to fit in gaps in fences and splash the top of your head with a jump in a muddy puddle, it's fairly easy to do. And also because you're 9 you don't really care about having to look nice for school the next day or your piano lesson or whatever -- so you do a lot of playing in the mud. Why not.
So Rocket -- I mean that's not his real name, he just has a few close friends and his name is pretty common so they all call him Rocket because it's cool, man, cool -- so Rocket is pretty typical of a 9-year-old that way. But otherwise, he's more of that kid who's always reading so you don't wanna talk to him cause you know you'd interrupt. But thing is, he's not smart as a result of reading -- he's actually sort of slow, he doesn't understand certain everyday things and forgets the boundary between real and imaginary.
In general he's sort of a dreamy little kid with dirt on his knees and always a spot on his face somewhere that doesn't make sense.
But what Rocket loses in brainpower he makes up for imagining. You could say he imagines so well that sometimes it bleeds into real life. Since he's just a little kid, though, mostly it's just like he can accidentally make a duck turn bright aqua or pull mud & dirt a little to his will. Or be able to scratch his head with his back leg like he's a dog. Basic 9-year-old priorities...
So Rocket -- I mean that's not his real name, he just has a few close friends and his name is pretty common so they all call him Rocket because it's cool, man, cool -- so Rocket is pretty typical of a 9-year-old that way. But otherwise, he's more of that kid who's always reading so you don't wanna talk to him cause you know you'd interrupt. But thing is, he's not smart as a result of reading -- he's actually sort of slow, he doesn't understand certain everyday things and forgets the boundary between real and imaginary.
In general he's sort of a dreamy little kid with dirt on his knees and always a spot on his face somewhere that doesn't make sense.
But what Rocket loses in brainpower he makes up for imagining. You could say he imagines so well that sometimes it bleeds into real life. Since he's just a little kid, though, mostly it's just like he can accidentally make a duck turn bright aqua or pull mud & dirt a little to his will. Or be able to scratch his head with his back leg like he's a dog. Basic 9-year-old priorities...
surskitty
「にがいのは いやだ」って…
- Pronoun
- they
OKAY
THIS IS BOTHERING ME LIKE A LOT
Please pay attention to my posts. I mean, really. Pay attention to other people's posts, too, but I am trying for something actually DM-run and that doesn't really work if I feel like I'm being ignored.
Currently there's mostly just a communication issue for minor things, but er. COME ON GUYS D:
THIS IS BOTHERING ME LIKE A LOT
Please pay attention to my posts. I mean, really. Pay attention to other people's posts, too, but I am trying for something actually DM-run and that doesn't really work if I feel like I'm being ignored.
Currently there's mostly just a communication issue for minor things, but er. COME ON GUYS D:
Clover
neither simple, nor coherent.
Darryl Levinson: while portrayed as a mild-mannered calculus professor at Big City College by day, by night, he is in actuality!... a mild-mannered college professor. With papers to grade.
At first glance, Darryl's rather tall form, salt-and-pepper hair, and coal-black eyes and tanned skin that betray his Spanish heritage might feel gruff, or imposing. Once one actually speaks to the man for a minute, however, his self-effacing nature reveals itself, and one senses that his particular level of dangerousness ranks somewhere between a kitten and a block of styrofoam. Darryl is subserviance incarnate, calling to mind images of doormats; his loving, somewhat impatient wife of thirteen years forms the second half of what might objectively be labeled a harmful, enabling dynamic - but it works for them. They live in a small, quiet suburban neighborhood in a small, but not so quiet, suburban home. Together, they run a foster home for animals headquartered in their house. Any number of dogs, cats, birds, reptiles, and other creatures roam their halls at any given time, and it's mostly his job to take care of them. (His wife, after all, has so much to do, thinking up story ideas for those romance harlequins she writes, and can you believe she's really published? he's so proud, and for sure he'll do anything for her, she says walk the dog he'll ask how far, anything for the love of his life)
His nails are always in need of a trim, and his hair, though he's stopped going into barbershops after it became evident that they both would grow right back out within the week, and he blames his graying coif at the age of 37 on stress from all those kids, but it was kinda weird the other day in the park when the parched grass started leaving a verdant trail where he walked and okay maybe something weird's happening, like things... growing quicker when he touches them, but that's just silly, and anyway it's not something he really wants to think about, so he doesn't. That's easier.
(go, midnight! scoop water off the deck of the titanic!)
At first glance, Darryl's rather tall form, salt-and-pepper hair, and coal-black eyes and tanned skin that betray his Spanish heritage might feel gruff, or imposing. Once one actually speaks to the man for a minute, however, his self-effacing nature reveals itself, and one senses that his particular level of dangerousness ranks somewhere between a kitten and a block of styrofoam. Darryl is subserviance incarnate, calling to mind images of doormats; his loving, somewhat impatient wife of thirteen years forms the second half of what might objectively be labeled a harmful, enabling dynamic - but it works for them. They live in a small, quiet suburban neighborhood in a small, but not so quiet, suburban home. Together, they run a foster home for animals headquartered in their house. Any number of dogs, cats, birds, reptiles, and other creatures roam their halls at any given time, and it's mostly his job to take care of them. (His wife, after all, has so much to do, thinking up story ideas for those romance harlequins she writes, and can you believe she's really published? he's so proud, and for sure he'll do anything for her, she says walk the dog he'll ask how far, anything for the love of his life)
His nails are always in need of a trim, and his hair, though he's stopped going into barbershops after it became evident that they both would grow right back out within the week, and he blames his graying coif at the age of 37 on stress from all those kids, but it was kinda weird the other day in the park when the parched grass started leaving a verdant trail where he walked and okay maybe something weird's happening, like things... growing quicker when he touches them, but that's just silly, and anyway it's not something he really wants to think about, so he doesn't. That's easier.
(go, midnight! scoop water off the deck of the titanic!)