Post by philosopher on Feb 8, 2010 17:00:15 GMT -5
Hi, my name is Tichy and this is my first character. I found this site through the admins. Something you should know about me is I'm sitting on a throne of turkey skulls.
Canon: The series of short stories and novels by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Custom Title: The Fantastic
PHYSICAL
Age: Thirty
Gender: Male
Appearance: Very spruced. The man has hawk-like features and darting eyes, and a clean shaven chin. Has unkempt, dusky hair that holds together with a run-through of hair wax, very cockrel-esque.
Height: 6'1" (1.85m)
Body: Skinny
Other distinguishing features:
Wardrobe: Sometimes wears glasses, that are square shaped with a black border rim. Dresses as sharp as a tac - shirts, jumpers, trench coats, wellington boots.[/ul]
Play By: David Tennant
PERSONALITY
General personality: Sherlock Holmes is an eccentric, a person of odd and unconventional behaviour. An enigmatic figure. He is, and may he blush when he hear this, ‘the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen’, but some may argue that his quirks outweigh his talents. Nothing is subtle when it comes to Sherlock, everything is either in balance or blown greatly out of proportion. When on a case, he will do absolutely anything to deduce the solution and cause, even once he became engaged to a lady on a case in New Jersey just so he might gain knowledge from her. He is, however, reserved towards women because he feels their influence a distraction to his work, he tries greatly not to allow himself (as his intimate friend Watson did) to become swayed by their romantic allure.
Holmes has an ego that at times borders on arrogant, albeit with justification; he draws pleasure from baffling police inspectors with his superior deductions. He does not seek fame, however, and is usually content to allow the police to take public credit for his work. It's often only when his stories are published that Holmes' role in the cases become apparent. He is pleased when he is recognised for having superior skills and responds to flattery, as Watson remarks, as a girl does upon her beauty. The trust of Sherlock Holmes is hard to build and easy to break. He is like a sweet, mongrel dog – kick him just once and he will never trust you again.
Quotes, frequently used expressions: Elementary, my dear Watson.
Likes:
Dislikes:
Strengths: Drawing large conclusions from small observations, violin playing, astute observation, deductive reasoning, forensic skill, iron will, convincing liar.
Weaknesses: Occasionally uses addictive drugs, especially when lacking stimulating cases. He is a habitual cocaine user, which he injects in a seven-per-cent solution using a special syringe that he keeps in a leather case. In the past was dreadfully addicted, but was gently weaned away by Watson to the point where his habit was not dead, just sleeping. Add that to him being reckless, egotistic, patronizing at the best of times and that he bruises like soft fruit.
BACKGROUND
Family: Holmes is he baby of two children to Siger Holmes, and Violet Sherrinford. His brother's name is Mycroft.
Date of Birth: 6th January 1980. He was born in Winchester in the country town of Hampshire, in South East England.
Education: Completed high school with pleasing grades and from there spent a few years at Cambridge University studying Law in the East of England. He spent quite alot of time in the Squire Law Library.
Occupation: Police Detective
Worst past experience: It was an event that helped Sherlock's past decent; just a few years ago when distributed to Turkey to look into the disappearence of a young girl, he let himself become distracted - by a woman, most unfortunately. That night with Sherlock in the embrace of a fond, Turkish lady the killer made his final blow and fled. The next day the charred body of the missing girl was discovered some miles down a near riverbank. The failure, and the sheer shame - it has been safe to say Sherlock has yet to forgive himself, or let himself become distracted by a woman, since.
Best past experience: Holmes has had a number of proud moments. One including the foiling of Sir Grimesby Roylott - a man who tried to kill both his step daughters by putting them in contact with a poisonous snake - but was thwarted by Holmes and consequently attacked by the snake himself.
History: It began with the final case in the east end that involved Sherlock Holmes, and it was becoming all too tedious. Crimes in the local area were becoming so very petty, with mere drunken fighting, pick-pocketing and what have you. The case, and he strained to call it that, had been only to apprehend the fellow that upheld a registra only to get away with what Holmes thought to be petty jingle change. The fellow, as it turned, happened to a rather smelly homeless man looking to filch his next bottle of whiskey. Holmes had breathed a sigh of aggitation before cuffing him. Simple slap-on-the-wrist crimes, such a waste of good time. He could be reclining and watching a good film, or playing some violin with those wasted hours.
There was a whole world out there, just weeping for his talents to come find them. Out there, where there was real crime, real mystery. Somewhere where he could lay his neglected mind and dust from it the cobwebs. It seems Sherlock Holmes had made England a safe place, too safe for him now. Possessed too much with spirit to remain long without adventures, he bade his home land goodbye and left for the United States - his carefully chosen first stepping-stone. He wanted a place he at least vaguely knew, so chose upon New York, a city where taxis were yellow, buildings had more then two floors and and there were many-a fiend where he had been at least once in the past on cases. On his very first night in the city, as shooting practice, the detective adorned the wall of a back alley sideward Main Street with 'VR' (Victoria Regina) in bullet pocks made by his pistol. It is still there now. Slightly strapped for cash to begin with, he rented a room in an apartment building. A room with a view that pleased him, a window looking out over busy city streets. Streets waiting for him.
THE SAMPLE
In Character Sample: At three o'clock on Thursday morning Holmes went upstairs, entering and trailing in, tall and thin and shuffling his feet into his long-serving slippers. Holme's room was rather pleasing. Everything in it had the air of being the selection of a personal and discriminating affection. There was a serene self-confidence about Holme's tastes; he always knew precisely what he liked, irrespective of what anyone else liked. If he had happened to admire a certain photograph or painting he would beyond doubt have hung a copy of it in his room. What he had, as a matter of fact, hung in his room very successfully expressed an aspect of himself. The room conveyed restfulness, and an immense love, innate rather than grafted, of the pleasures of the eye. The characteristic of restfulness was conveyed partly by the fat bed and the almost superfluous number of extremely comfortable arm chairs, and Holmes' attitude as he sank down in one of them. On days when he had been doing tiresome or boring or jarring things, or been associating with a certain type of person, he did a great deal of sitting in the evenings, because, as he said, it was such a change.
Holmes took out his violin from under the armchair, and tuned it softly, with little rustling, whispering notes, speaking of perfect accord between owner and instrument; then began to play. It was a tune that the little people always loved, and when one heard it, the feet began to dance before the head. He was sitting reclined with his head bent down over his violin, in a way he had. A light, slight figure, not short, yet with a look that spoke all of intelligence. A joyous light seemed to return to his eyes, and no sooner had he started playing did the door begin to knock, quite feverishly.
'Hmm,' He uttered from the throat as he rested his violin on the floor top and rose from the chair. He was going down. It had been so jolly - and it was over. With a lazy saunter, he let his hand on the door handle, his voice just as lazy as his stride, but so strangely whimsical. 'Just who could that be?'
There was a remark of a grin on his vague and undistinguished label as he opened the door to a rather angry looking, aged, round woman. Hair coiled in rollers and largely limbed body swamped in an overly-cottened dressing gown, Sherlock's eyes had rested contentedly on her. 'Ah, and what can I do for such the darling vision of loveliness from upstairs?'
'Cram your bullshit, Holmes.' The woman served him her uncontained anger, 'Do all British types play their musical whackadoo's at this hour of the god damn morning?'
Extraordinary how defiant some tried to make made one feel, prying and questioning and trying to make one look absurd. Sherlock raised his thin eyebrows, as if he had been asked why a raven was like a writing desk. 'I dunno, do they?'
'Now you listen to me - I got a job I need to wake up for in three hours and I'm just not getting my beauty sleep here!'
'Not that you need it, oh no no no.' Holmes smirked rather cleverly, watching her round face flush.
'If I gotta call the cops and get you tossed outta here, I will goddamn it.' How absurdly her voice rang when she spoke to Holmes. It always made his lip curl mockingly. She turned on the sole of her worn slipper shoes, flustering away from his door.
'I enjoy our little chats, really I do.' He called after her, leaning out from his doorway with a darling smile on his face. 'Sleep well darling!'
Holmes decided he would give her an agreeable surprise and not return to the violin. He was tired. He had been walking nearly the whole day, and now the sun was dead in the west. That woman was bothersome, she barged her large self down the stairs and to his door regular like and he felt if he did not quip her at her own game then he would simply go mad. To live without a woman, a pretty life that would be. Far sooner would one go at once to the good God, where the angels played their violins all day. Until tommorow, dearest.
Sherlock Holmes
| High Class |
| High Class |
Canon: The series of short stories and novels by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Custom Title: The Fantastic
PHYSICAL
Age: Thirty
Gender: Male
Appearance: Very spruced. The man has hawk-like features and darting eyes, and a clean shaven chin. Has unkempt, dusky hair that holds together with a run-through of hair wax, very cockrel-esque.
Height: 6'1" (1.85m)
Body: Skinny
Other distinguishing features:
Wardrobe: Sometimes wears glasses, that are square shaped with a black border rim. Dresses as sharp as a tac - shirts, jumpers, trench coats, wellington boots.[/ul]
Play By: David Tennant
PERSONALITY
General personality: Sherlock Holmes is an eccentric, a person of odd and unconventional behaviour. An enigmatic figure. He is, and may he blush when he hear this, ‘the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen’, but some may argue that his quirks outweigh his talents. Nothing is subtle when it comes to Sherlock, everything is either in balance or blown greatly out of proportion. When on a case, he will do absolutely anything to deduce the solution and cause, even once he became engaged to a lady on a case in New Jersey just so he might gain knowledge from her. He is, however, reserved towards women because he feels their influence a distraction to his work, he tries greatly not to allow himself (as his intimate friend Watson did) to become swayed by their romantic allure.
Holmes has an ego that at times borders on arrogant, albeit with justification; he draws pleasure from baffling police inspectors with his superior deductions. He does not seek fame, however, and is usually content to allow the police to take public credit for his work. It's often only when his stories are published that Holmes' role in the cases become apparent. He is pleased when he is recognised for having superior skills and responds to flattery, as Watson remarks, as a girl does upon her beauty. The trust of Sherlock Holmes is hard to build and easy to break. He is like a sweet, mongrel dog – kick him just once and he will never trust you again.
Quotes, frequently used expressions: Elementary, my dear Watson.
Likes:
- Having the upper-hand
- Playing the violin late at night
- His slippers
Dislikes:
- Distractions, in any form
- The other building occupants complaining about him playing the violin late at night
- Common problems - they bore him.
Strengths: Drawing large conclusions from small observations, violin playing, astute observation, deductive reasoning, forensic skill, iron will, convincing liar.
Weaknesses: Occasionally uses addictive drugs, especially when lacking stimulating cases. He is a habitual cocaine user, which he injects in a seven-per-cent solution using a special syringe that he keeps in a leather case. In the past was dreadfully addicted, but was gently weaned away by Watson to the point where his habit was not dead, just sleeping. Add that to him being reckless, egotistic, patronizing at the best of times and that he bruises like soft fruit.
BACKGROUND
Family: Holmes is he baby of two children to Siger Holmes, and Violet Sherrinford. His brother's name is Mycroft.
Date of Birth: 6th January 1980. He was born in Winchester in the country town of Hampshire, in South East England.
Education: Completed high school with pleasing grades and from there spent a few years at Cambridge University studying Law in the East of England. He spent quite alot of time in the Squire Law Library.
Occupation: Police Detective
Worst past experience: It was an event that helped Sherlock's past decent; just a few years ago when distributed to Turkey to look into the disappearence of a young girl, he let himself become distracted - by a woman, most unfortunately. That night with Sherlock in the embrace of a fond, Turkish lady the killer made his final blow and fled. The next day the charred body of the missing girl was discovered some miles down a near riverbank. The failure, and the sheer shame - it has been safe to say Sherlock has yet to forgive himself, or let himself become distracted by a woman, since.
Best past experience: Holmes has had a number of proud moments. One including the foiling of Sir Grimesby Roylott - a man who tried to kill both his step daughters by putting them in contact with a poisonous snake - but was thwarted by Holmes and consequently attacked by the snake himself.
History: It began with the final case in the east end that involved Sherlock Holmes, and it was becoming all too tedious. Crimes in the local area were becoming so very petty, with mere drunken fighting, pick-pocketing and what have you. The case, and he strained to call it that, had been only to apprehend the fellow that upheld a registra only to get away with what Holmes thought to be petty jingle change. The fellow, as it turned, happened to a rather smelly homeless man looking to filch his next bottle of whiskey. Holmes had breathed a sigh of aggitation before cuffing him. Simple slap-on-the-wrist crimes, such a waste of good time. He could be reclining and watching a good film, or playing some violin with those wasted hours.
There was a whole world out there, just weeping for his talents to come find them. Out there, where there was real crime, real mystery. Somewhere where he could lay his neglected mind and dust from it the cobwebs. It seems Sherlock Holmes had made England a safe place, too safe for him now. Possessed too much with spirit to remain long without adventures, he bade his home land goodbye and left for the United States - his carefully chosen first stepping-stone. He wanted a place he at least vaguely knew, so chose upon New York, a city where taxis were yellow, buildings had more then two floors and and there were many-a fiend where he had been at least once in the past on cases. On his very first night in the city, as shooting practice, the detective adorned the wall of a back alley sideward Main Street with 'VR' (Victoria Regina) in bullet pocks made by his pistol. It is still there now. Slightly strapped for cash to begin with, he rented a room in an apartment building. A room with a view that pleased him, a window looking out over busy city streets. Streets waiting for him.
THE SAMPLE
In Character Sample: At three o'clock on Thursday morning Holmes went upstairs, entering and trailing in, tall and thin and shuffling his feet into his long-serving slippers. Holme's room was rather pleasing. Everything in it had the air of being the selection of a personal and discriminating affection. There was a serene self-confidence about Holme's tastes; he always knew precisely what he liked, irrespective of what anyone else liked. If he had happened to admire a certain photograph or painting he would beyond doubt have hung a copy of it in his room. What he had, as a matter of fact, hung in his room very successfully expressed an aspect of himself. The room conveyed restfulness, and an immense love, innate rather than grafted, of the pleasures of the eye. The characteristic of restfulness was conveyed partly by the fat bed and the almost superfluous number of extremely comfortable arm chairs, and Holmes' attitude as he sank down in one of them. On days when he had been doing tiresome or boring or jarring things, or been associating with a certain type of person, he did a great deal of sitting in the evenings, because, as he said, it was such a change.
Holmes took out his violin from under the armchair, and tuned it softly, with little rustling, whispering notes, speaking of perfect accord between owner and instrument; then began to play. It was a tune that the little people always loved, and when one heard it, the feet began to dance before the head. He was sitting reclined with his head bent down over his violin, in a way he had. A light, slight figure, not short, yet with a look that spoke all of intelligence. A joyous light seemed to return to his eyes, and no sooner had he started playing did the door begin to knock, quite feverishly.
'Hmm,' He uttered from the throat as he rested his violin on the floor top and rose from the chair. He was going down. It had been so jolly - and it was over. With a lazy saunter, he let his hand on the door handle, his voice just as lazy as his stride, but so strangely whimsical. 'Just who could that be?'
There was a remark of a grin on his vague and undistinguished label as he opened the door to a rather angry looking, aged, round woman. Hair coiled in rollers and largely limbed body swamped in an overly-cottened dressing gown, Sherlock's eyes had rested contentedly on her. 'Ah, and what can I do for such the darling vision of loveliness from upstairs?'
'Cram your bullshit, Holmes.' The woman served him her uncontained anger, 'Do all British types play their musical whackadoo's at this hour of the god damn morning?'
Extraordinary how defiant some tried to make made one feel, prying and questioning and trying to make one look absurd. Sherlock raised his thin eyebrows, as if he had been asked why a raven was like a writing desk. 'I dunno, do they?'
'Now you listen to me - I got a job I need to wake up for in three hours and I'm just not getting my beauty sleep here!'
'Not that you need it, oh no no no.' Holmes smirked rather cleverly, watching her round face flush.
'If I gotta call the cops and get you tossed outta here, I will goddamn it.' How absurdly her voice rang when she spoke to Holmes. It always made his lip curl mockingly. She turned on the sole of her worn slipper shoes, flustering away from his door.
'I enjoy our little chats, really I do.' He called after her, leaning out from his doorway with a darling smile on his face. 'Sleep well darling!'
Holmes decided he would give her an agreeable surprise and not return to the violin. He was tired. He had been walking nearly the whole day, and now the sun was dead in the west. That woman was bothersome, she barged her large self down the stairs and to his door regular like and he felt if he did not quip her at her own game then he would simply go mad. To live without a woman, a pretty life that would be. Far sooner would one go at once to the good God, where the angels played their violins all day. Until tommorow, dearest.
