Post by edie on Feb 22, 2010 16:07:58 GMT -5
Hi, my name is Edie and this is my first character. I found this site through an ad on “Star Crossed at Midnight”. Something you should know about me is I’m an actress, with a penchance for playing prostitutes, lunatics, and boys.
Canon: William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Custom Title: that merry wanderer of the night
PHYSICAL
Age: Nineteen.
Gender: Female.
Appearance: Puck’s a fair, delicate looking young thing. Her face is doll like, with prominent cheek bones and wide eyes that mischievously dart about. Her hair is long, blonde, and wild, since she so rarely brushes it. She is tall and thin, with a terribly twisting posture that makes her seem smaller than she really is.
Height: Five feet, eight inches.
Body: Quite slim, with some girlish curves.
Other distinguishing features: An evanescent air, primarily in thanks to her light colouring.
Wardrobe: Whatever she takes a fancy to, really, and this girl has varied tastes. Ornate party dresses, rock’n’roll uniforms, flimsy frocks, street urchin tatters—if she can fit into it, she’ll wear it.
Play By: Sasha Pivovarova.[/ul]
PERSONALITY
General personality: For all of her experience and activities, Robin is still a child. She is easily amused and easily distracted, and will tease and beg and pout to get her own way. Fascinated by glitz and glamour, her interests veer towards the fantastical, which is so easily found in this extraordinary city. Her judgment of people is abrupt and near impossible to alter. If she decides she likes you, then she’s steadfast and charming to the end. But if she decides otherwise, be prepared for a cold shoulder and thoughts on how to bring misery your way.
Contrary to popular opinion, Miss Goodfellow floats through life on a natural high. She doesn’t mess around with drugs or drink, since she’s too often seen the consequences these stimulants bring. So, yes, it is just her disposition to giggle and chatter on about nothing endlessly. Yet Puck is more intelligent than one would think, and occasionally one can catch a look in her eyes that confirms this fact. But these are fleeting moments, for as soon as she notices you’re looking, she’ll smile a ridiculous smile that assures you whatever you saw was just a trick of the light.
Likes:
Dislikes:
Strengths: At some point, Puck managed to focus long enough to learn to play guitar, and was pleasantly surprised to find she wasn’t completely rubbish. She also knows this city inside and out, making her a superb guide with impeccable directional skills. Perhaps most notably, if you tell the chatty girl a secret, it’s guaranteed to remain so.
Weaknesses: She prolly isn’t the best judge of character, which has led to raw deals in the past. When angered, Miss Goodfellow has a tendency fly into a rage; be careful, if there’re any potentially lethal objects in the vicinity. And, on occasion, she can be just the slightest bit completely clingy.
BACKGROUND
Family: Josiah “Papa” Goodfellow, Oona “Momma” Goodfellow.
Date of Birth: January 8th, 1991.
Education: Some high school, but mostly knowledge she’s picked up from books and her more cultured companions.
Occupation: Prostitution, drug dealing, theft...if her beloved fairy king asks her to do it, Puck will.
Worst past experience: That first few weeks in the city. She didn’t know what she was doing, if she’d survive, or even where he was. She’d followed “Oberon” here on a whim, her judgment clouded from curiousity, and now she didn’t even know where he was. Stupid, stupid girl. Should’ve just stayed home, where life was ordinary. Where she belonged.
Best past experience: “You’re a puckish young thing,” he told her, holding her chin in his large hand. “What’s that mean?” she asked, with a wry grin to hide her excitement. “Means mischievous. Like little fairies whisking away a babe for a lark.” “Well, then,” she laughed, “Call me Puck.” And he did.
Image: “Loony, but friendly.” “A bewildered little girl who takes orders well.” “Bat shit crazy.” “A nuisance.” “As devoted as you could ever want.” Really, you can take your pick.
History: Miss Robin Goodfellow was born in a typical small town, in a typical midwestern state, to a pair of typical bohemians. Life was dull, routine, and vegan. She spent the majority of her time outside in the midwestern woods, where, if she closed her eyes and breathed deep, things didn’t seem so typical. Where she could just run and run and run until something interesting happened, like the flowers revealing their secrets or the creatures admitted their existence after all. Magic could happen, if she could only reach it.
When not wishing and wanting, Robin struggled with school. She was bright, her teachers agreed, and she certainly read enough to manage better with her grades, so what was the problem? If they had asked the girl herself, mayhaps they would’ve learned that the books she devoured were of myths and legends, exquisite in their depictions of the supernatural she so desperately wished would take her away. Not exactly the sort of tales that help with geography and arithmetic, which weren’t a primary concern for her anyway.
Eventually, Josiah and Oona were made aware of their daughter’s scholarly shortcomings. This revelation dragged them out of their free spirited stupor, prompted them to engage with their child in the form of ‘let’s talk about our feelings’ conversations and tearful ‘where did we go wrong?’ speeches. The Goodfellow lass was left unmoved, though she agreed to focus in the classroom. Anything, to avoid making her parents remember they were her parents again.
So she put on the illusion of a midwestern poster child: adequately academic, relatively social, outwardly down to earth. She joined the track team, contributed poetry to the school literary journal. Went steady with a boy whose only dreams included inheriting his family’s business, and only let him kiss her on the mouth. Typical and dull. And that might have been where the story ended for Robin Goodfellow: happily ever after on one side of the rainbow, where magic was out of reach. But then “Oberon” came to town.
At fourteen, she had almost given up on her fairies. But this man was proof that magic comes in forms other than flowers and forests. It can be cold and calculating, synthetic and sinister, like the city he resided in. She loved this knowledge, and she loved her fairy king for gifting it to her. So when he left as suddenly as he had come, the girl he named Puck followed. Didn’t even leave a note, for fear that hip Josiah and hip Oona might notice she was gone if she did.
T’wasn’t easy finding him, without even a location or place of inhabitance to go on, but eventual she did so. Attributed it to her recently regained magic, she did. He was pleased to see her, certainly, and put her to work immediately. Lord, was her lord kind. And his lady, too. It didn’t bother Puck, the occasional carouse with a married man. Theirs wasn’t exactly a faithful union. And s’long as she served her “Oberon” and his “Titania”, there was nothing to worry about. Happily ever after, indeed.
THE SAMPLE
In Character Sample:
She hated telephones. Hated having to piece together what her partner in conversation was thinking based only on their voice, without the aid of expressions or nervous habits. Christ, she could tear a man apart based on subtle twitch that led to the truth. But only in person, not on the telephone, oh no. Hate hate hated them, she did. Would much rather tear this big metal box apart then drop in her change, one two three, and jab the buttons to hear that aggravating ring ring ring.
But he’d told her to do so, he had, so do so she would, oh yes. Though not without a pout. Not without lighting a few matches, to burn down to the nub, to the point of injury, just so she’d know she was alive. The girl hunched up, cradling the terrible telephone betwixt her ear and her shoulder, and scrabbled in her pocket. She knew there was a container of matches in this coat, she’d put them there herself when they’d visited that swank hotel a fortnight past.
“Puck?”
She straightened up and beamed at the sudden sound of his voice, very sudden indeed. “Speaking,” she replied, dropping the finally found box to the floor. “The deed is done, the bastard’s drugged. He’ll love his lady to the point of no return, I’ve made sure of that.” She tapped her chewed upon fingers against the suddenly not-all-that-bad-if-you-really-consider-it telephone box. Couldn’t be terrible, oh no no no, if it let her speak to her king. Mayhaps she’d decided too hastily, t’was possible.
But she had to focus now, Puck did, had to widen her eyes in concentration as he murmured more instructions, make sure she didn’t hear them incorrectly. Wouldn’t want that now, would we?
Robin “Puck” Goodfellow
| Low Class |
| Low Class |
Canon: William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Custom Title: that merry wanderer of the night
PHYSICAL
Age: Nineteen.
Gender: Female.
Appearance: Puck’s a fair, delicate looking young thing. Her face is doll like, with prominent cheek bones and wide eyes that mischievously dart about. Her hair is long, blonde, and wild, since she so rarely brushes it. She is tall and thin, with a terribly twisting posture that makes her seem smaller than she really is.
Height: Five feet, eight inches.
Body: Quite slim, with some girlish curves.
Other distinguishing features: An evanescent air, primarily in thanks to her light colouring.
Wardrobe: Whatever she takes a fancy to, really, and this girl has varied tastes. Ornate party dresses, rock’n’roll uniforms, flimsy frocks, street urchin tatters—if she can fit into it, she’ll wear it.
Play By: Sasha Pivovarova.[/ul]
PERSONALITY
General personality: For all of her experience and activities, Robin is still a child. She is easily amused and easily distracted, and will tease and beg and pout to get her own way. Fascinated by glitz and glamour, her interests veer towards the fantastical, which is so easily found in this extraordinary city. Her judgment of people is abrupt and near impossible to alter. If she decides she likes you, then she’s steadfast and charming to the end. But if she decides otherwise, be prepared for a cold shoulder and thoughts on how to bring misery your way.
Contrary to popular opinion, Miss Goodfellow floats through life on a natural high. She doesn’t mess around with drugs or drink, since she’s too often seen the consequences these stimulants bring. So, yes, it is just her disposition to giggle and chatter on about nothing endlessly. Yet Puck is more intelligent than one would think, and occasionally one can catch a look in her eyes that confirms this fact. But these are fleeting moments, for as soon as she notices you’re looking, she’ll smile a ridiculous smile that assures you whatever you saw was just a trick of the light.
Likes:
- laughter
- children
- rain
- tricks
- music
Dislikes:
- sleep
- manipulation
- explosions
- tears
- quiet
Strengths: At some point, Puck managed to focus long enough to learn to play guitar, and was pleasantly surprised to find she wasn’t completely rubbish. She also knows this city inside and out, making her a superb guide with impeccable directional skills. Perhaps most notably, if you tell the chatty girl a secret, it’s guaranteed to remain so.
Weaknesses: She prolly isn’t the best judge of character, which has led to raw deals in the past. When angered, Miss Goodfellow has a tendency fly into a rage; be careful, if there’re any potentially lethal objects in the vicinity. And, on occasion, she can be just the slightest bit completely clingy.
BACKGROUND
Family: Josiah “Papa” Goodfellow, Oona “Momma” Goodfellow.
Date of Birth: January 8th, 1991.
Education: Some high school, but mostly knowledge she’s picked up from books and her more cultured companions.
Occupation: Prostitution, drug dealing, theft...if her beloved fairy king asks her to do it, Puck will.
Worst past experience: That first few weeks in the city. She didn’t know what she was doing, if she’d survive, or even where he was. She’d followed “Oberon” here on a whim, her judgment clouded from curiousity, and now she didn’t even know where he was. Stupid, stupid girl. Should’ve just stayed home, where life was ordinary. Where she belonged.
Best past experience: “You’re a puckish young thing,” he told her, holding her chin in his large hand. “What’s that mean?” she asked, with a wry grin to hide her excitement. “Means mischievous. Like little fairies whisking away a babe for a lark.” “Well, then,” she laughed, “Call me Puck.” And he did.
Image: “Loony, but friendly.” “A bewildered little girl who takes orders well.” “Bat shit crazy.” “A nuisance.” “As devoted as you could ever want.” Really, you can take your pick.
History: Miss Robin Goodfellow was born in a typical small town, in a typical midwestern state, to a pair of typical bohemians. Life was dull, routine, and vegan. She spent the majority of her time outside in the midwestern woods, where, if she closed her eyes and breathed deep, things didn’t seem so typical. Where she could just run and run and run until something interesting happened, like the flowers revealing their secrets or the creatures admitted their existence after all. Magic could happen, if she could only reach it.
When not wishing and wanting, Robin struggled with school. She was bright, her teachers agreed, and she certainly read enough to manage better with her grades, so what was the problem? If they had asked the girl herself, mayhaps they would’ve learned that the books she devoured were of myths and legends, exquisite in their depictions of the supernatural she so desperately wished would take her away. Not exactly the sort of tales that help with geography and arithmetic, which weren’t a primary concern for her anyway.
Eventually, Josiah and Oona were made aware of their daughter’s scholarly shortcomings. This revelation dragged them out of their free spirited stupor, prompted them to engage with their child in the form of ‘let’s talk about our feelings’ conversations and tearful ‘where did we go wrong?’ speeches. The Goodfellow lass was left unmoved, though she agreed to focus in the classroom. Anything, to avoid making her parents remember they were her parents again.
So she put on the illusion of a midwestern poster child: adequately academic, relatively social, outwardly down to earth. She joined the track team, contributed poetry to the school literary journal. Went steady with a boy whose only dreams included inheriting his family’s business, and only let him kiss her on the mouth. Typical and dull. And that might have been where the story ended for Robin Goodfellow: happily ever after on one side of the rainbow, where magic was out of reach. But then “Oberon” came to town.
At fourteen, she had almost given up on her fairies. But this man was proof that magic comes in forms other than flowers and forests. It can be cold and calculating, synthetic and sinister, like the city he resided in. She loved this knowledge, and she loved her fairy king for gifting it to her. So when he left as suddenly as he had come, the girl he named Puck followed. Didn’t even leave a note, for fear that hip Josiah and hip Oona might notice she was gone if she did.
T’wasn’t easy finding him, without even a location or place of inhabitance to go on, but eventual she did so. Attributed it to her recently regained magic, she did. He was pleased to see her, certainly, and put her to work immediately. Lord, was her lord kind. And his lady, too. It didn’t bother Puck, the occasional carouse with a married man. Theirs wasn’t exactly a faithful union. And s’long as she served her “Oberon” and his “Titania”, there was nothing to worry about. Happily ever after, indeed.
THE SAMPLE
In Character Sample:
She hated telephones. Hated having to piece together what her partner in conversation was thinking based only on their voice, without the aid of expressions or nervous habits. Christ, she could tear a man apart based on subtle twitch that led to the truth. But only in person, not on the telephone, oh no. Hate hate hated them, she did. Would much rather tear this big metal box apart then drop in her change, one two three, and jab the buttons to hear that aggravating ring ring ring.
But he’d told her to do so, he had, so do so she would, oh yes. Though not without a pout. Not without lighting a few matches, to burn down to the nub, to the point of injury, just so she’d know she was alive. The girl hunched up, cradling the terrible telephone betwixt her ear and her shoulder, and scrabbled in her pocket. She knew there was a container of matches in this coat, she’d put them there herself when they’d visited that swank hotel a fortnight past.
“Puck?”
She straightened up and beamed at the sudden sound of his voice, very sudden indeed. “Speaking,” she replied, dropping the finally found box to the floor. “The deed is done, the bastard’s drugged. He’ll love his lady to the point of no return, I’ve made sure of that.” She tapped her chewed upon fingers against the suddenly not-all-that-bad-if-you-really-consider-it telephone box. Couldn’t be terrible, oh no no no, if it let her speak to her king. Mayhaps she’d decided too hastily, t’was possible.
But she had to focus now, Puck did, had to widen her eyes in concentration as he murmured more instructions, make sure she didn’t hear them incorrectly. Wouldn’t want that now, would we?
