Post by Isadora Vivax on Sept 11, 2006 22:07:24 GMT -5
The Roleplayer
Name: Sophia
Age: 15
How you found Anomaly: Created it.
How long you have been roleplaying: Almost five years now.
Other: =)
The Character
Name: Isadora Vivax
Gender: Female
Age: 36
Race: White
Position: Leader of Anomaly Special Forces Unit.
Training: She has a PH.D in literature, and also minored in psychology, and biology. She knews a lot about almost everything but has yet to specialize.
Appearence: Isadora is a pretty enough women with decent cheekbones and long elagent hands, however her whole face has a very sharp hawkish feel to it, and her nails are long and sharp. She stands tall at about 5'9, and imposing as she likes to wear black suits and pinstripe professional outfits. She wears dark red lipstick and and moody eyes, and although professional it certainly is a commanding fare. She does not look like the sort of women one would approach on the street to ask the time for.
Personality: Although mildly attractive Isadora has a horribly sharp tongue. She never really learned how to play nice when she was younger and is literally the boss from hell. She is a mean cruel person and her insults even strike when someone is down. This causes only the hardiest people to be around her. However she is incredibly good at what she does and although caustic is a good teacher. She has an incredible sex-drive though had never had anything more serious than a one-night stand as in a deeper relationship she is impossible to get along with.
History: Isadora was born to two professors one in neuro-science (her mother) and the other in 18th century literature, both who taught her well, better than the public schools she was sent to when she was younger. She grew up in NYC, and was a city girl through and through, however in her majority poor school (her parents weren't millionairs themselves) she felt entirely out of place as an intellectual. Thus she learned how to defend her self verbally and psychically, and slowly became completly with-drawn from everyone, including her parents.
She threw herself into her work, and although socially she had no friends (she did not even go to prom) she was quickly learning a vast amount of information about everything and had a shot at the best colleges. She graduated a year early and went to Yale, and spent a couple years in college deciding what she wanted to major in as everything appealed to her.
She just finished with her PHD when she heard about St. Mary's needless to say it interested her, and she quickly founded program. However she is quickly realizing she can't do it on her own so is hiring some new team members to help her out.
She stopped contact with her paretns after college and they have been busy raising her new sister, who had Down's Syndrome beacause they tried to have her too late. Isadora doesn't even know her new sister exsists as she ignores all phone calls and letters
Your character loves:
-good food
-classical music
-rock music
-puzzles
-a good book
-a great insult
Hates:
-having to tell people things about her private life
-not knowing something
-people
-hip-hop
-anyone under the age of 21
-
Home Town: New York city
Sample: The crowd flowed to the rhythm of the heartbeat of complacency. They swirled around him, eddying in shop doorways, forming rapids over alleyways and slowing to a dim fluttering trickle when they reached their destination, but never truly stopping. The poor begged, and the merchants yelled their voices a gravley and uneven soundtrack to the sunset filtering through the buildings casting everything in a flamboyant red light. Though they were not all peasants, some wore the deep maroon of the novue rich, and others wore the dulled gold and slitted eyes of those rich so long that couldn’t remember the throng of hunger. But even those who thought they had everything were still poor, they still moved, they couldn’t battle the current of necessity. In time they bowed to hunger, to religions, to ideas, to nature, to love and most importantly they bowed to him.
But not now, they didn’t bow now and he was struck by a sense of juxtaposition with the world as if he was layered on top of it, just barely visible. Is this what it felt like to be normal, to walk a pathway not create it? He hadn’t been king forever, there was a time before His Majesty King of the Underground, and all the valleys, mountains, hills, plains, tundra’s, taiga’s, deserts, forests, oceans, seas, and time itself had not preceded his name. There was a time when his name was only Jareth. He couldn’t say he missed being ostracized by the village boys for his powers which seemed strange and dangerous, the silence from his father, or the constant loneliness he felt knowing that he was so different from everyone else.
Which is why he was here, standing amongst the river of people doing one thing that seemed to him so unusual: not noticing him. He hadn’t had to change his appearance much, mostly dulled his features and tamed his fashion sense. It disturbed him how easily he fit into the mold of what he had once been.
He knew of course that it had been done thousands of times before. That thousands of kings before him, mortal, immortal, some beautiful as the stars and others as harlequinly grotesque as their concept of justice, had done what he was doing that moment. It was almost a rite of passage, to walk amongst your people as one of them. Some had done it to learn more, some to safeguard their life from assassins, other’s to learn people’s true opinions of their leadership, Jareth was not so quite cliché.
He was standing here dressed in dull brown fabric the color of a burlap sack for one reason and one reason only, rebellion. How odd that a ruler, someone who sets the rules should seek to rebel against them, but Jareth wasn’t rebelling against conscience rules. No, he was rebelling against something far greater, something so vast and strong that it seemed impossible to give it a name, and yet people had, life.
He refused to bow to the necessity of complacency, he refused to flow with the river, but neither did he foolishly swim against the tide. In some things even he knew his limits. No, Jareth simply stood, a rock in the middle of the stream. His whole being vibrated with the wrongness, the hunger to return to normalcy and his responsibilities, he felt himself shifting father and farther away from the world the people around him blurring.
He took one step foreword, and then another. Dinner would begin soon and then the masque. He was needed at the castle. There were things he had to take care of.
The river of life trickled on.
Name: Sophia
Age: 15
How you found Anomaly: Created it.
How long you have been roleplaying: Almost five years now.
Other: =)
The Character
Name: Isadora Vivax
Gender: Female
Age: 36
Race: White
Position: Leader of Anomaly Special Forces Unit.
Training: She has a PH.D in literature, and also minored in psychology, and biology. She knews a lot about almost everything but has yet to specialize.
Appearence: Isadora is a pretty enough women with decent cheekbones and long elagent hands, however her whole face has a very sharp hawkish feel to it, and her nails are long and sharp. She stands tall at about 5'9, and imposing as she likes to wear black suits and pinstripe professional outfits. She wears dark red lipstick and and moody eyes, and although professional it certainly is a commanding fare. She does not look like the sort of women one would approach on the street to ask the time for.
Personality: Although mildly attractive Isadora has a horribly sharp tongue. She never really learned how to play nice when she was younger and is literally the boss from hell. She is a mean cruel person and her insults even strike when someone is down. This causes only the hardiest people to be around her. However she is incredibly good at what she does and although caustic is a good teacher. She has an incredible sex-drive though had never had anything more serious than a one-night stand as in a deeper relationship she is impossible to get along with.
History: Isadora was born to two professors one in neuro-science (her mother) and the other in 18th century literature, both who taught her well, better than the public schools she was sent to when she was younger. She grew up in NYC, and was a city girl through and through, however in her majority poor school (her parents weren't millionairs themselves) she felt entirely out of place as an intellectual. Thus she learned how to defend her self verbally and psychically, and slowly became completly with-drawn from everyone, including her parents.
She threw herself into her work, and although socially she had no friends (she did not even go to prom) she was quickly learning a vast amount of information about everything and had a shot at the best colleges. She graduated a year early and went to Yale, and spent a couple years in college deciding what she wanted to major in as everything appealed to her.
She just finished with her PHD when she heard about St. Mary's needless to say it interested her, and she quickly founded program. However she is quickly realizing she can't do it on her own so is hiring some new team members to help her out.
She stopped contact with her paretns after college and they have been busy raising her new sister, who had Down's Syndrome beacause they tried to have her too late. Isadora doesn't even know her new sister exsists as she ignores all phone calls and letters
Your character loves:
-good food
-classical music
-rock music
-puzzles
-a good book
-a great insult
Hates:
-having to tell people things about her private life
-not knowing something
-people
-hip-hop
-anyone under the age of 21
-
Home Town: New York city
Sample: The crowd flowed to the rhythm of the heartbeat of complacency. They swirled around him, eddying in shop doorways, forming rapids over alleyways and slowing to a dim fluttering trickle when they reached their destination, but never truly stopping. The poor begged, and the merchants yelled their voices a gravley and uneven soundtrack to the sunset filtering through the buildings casting everything in a flamboyant red light. Though they were not all peasants, some wore the deep maroon of the novue rich, and others wore the dulled gold and slitted eyes of those rich so long that couldn’t remember the throng of hunger. But even those who thought they had everything were still poor, they still moved, they couldn’t battle the current of necessity. In time they bowed to hunger, to religions, to ideas, to nature, to love and most importantly they bowed to him.
But not now, they didn’t bow now and he was struck by a sense of juxtaposition with the world as if he was layered on top of it, just barely visible. Is this what it felt like to be normal, to walk a pathway not create it? He hadn’t been king forever, there was a time before His Majesty King of the Underground, and all the valleys, mountains, hills, plains, tundra’s, taiga’s, deserts, forests, oceans, seas, and time itself had not preceded his name. There was a time when his name was only Jareth. He couldn’t say he missed being ostracized by the village boys for his powers which seemed strange and dangerous, the silence from his father, or the constant loneliness he felt knowing that he was so different from everyone else.
Which is why he was here, standing amongst the river of people doing one thing that seemed to him so unusual: not noticing him. He hadn’t had to change his appearance much, mostly dulled his features and tamed his fashion sense. It disturbed him how easily he fit into the mold of what he had once been.
He knew of course that it had been done thousands of times before. That thousands of kings before him, mortal, immortal, some beautiful as the stars and others as harlequinly grotesque as their concept of justice, had done what he was doing that moment. It was almost a rite of passage, to walk amongst your people as one of them. Some had done it to learn more, some to safeguard their life from assassins, other’s to learn people’s true opinions of their leadership, Jareth was not so quite cliché.
He was standing here dressed in dull brown fabric the color of a burlap sack for one reason and one reason only, rebellion. How odd that a ruler, someone who sets the rules should seek to rebel against them, but Jareth wasn’t rebelling against conscience rules. No, he was rebelling against something far greater, something so vast and strong that it seemed impossible to give it a name, and yet people had, life.
He refused to bow to the necessity of complacency, he refused to flow with the river, but neither did he foolishly swim against the tide. In some things even he knew his limits. No, Jareth simply stood, a rock in the middle of the stream. His whole being vibrated with the wrongness, the hunger to return to normalcy and his responsibilities, he felt himself shifting father and farther away from the world the people around him blurring.
He took one step foreword, and then another. Dinner would begin soon and then the masque. He was needed at the castle. There were things he had to take care of.
The river of life trickled on.
