Post by Peppo Valentine on Jan 21, 2008 15:59:28 GMT -5
Username: I've registered as Abu, but call me Sophia.
Name: Peppo James Valentine
Represents: Abu
Character's history: Peppo was born in a slummy neighborhood in the flatlands of town, to parents James Valentine and Courtney Poille. Her parents were constantly at each other's throats, and Peppo learned early on to stay out of the way or get out fast. From her mother she learned great subtlety and "smoothness," and picked up her mother's dexterity and deft physical ability. Her father, on the other hand, taught her to throw a mean punch at the tender age of six and taught her to dodge an attack rather than stand and cry. Peppo grew up running, whether running up and down stairs or up and down streets, even up and down rooftops when she was playing with her childhood friend, (Aladdin) [insert name here.]
The two were close friends at an early age, and Peppo grew more and more devoted to him as time went on. The two were thick as thieves--and often made more than a few decent capers per outing. They quickly developed a team strategy: Peppo would distract someone somehow, and while their victim's back was turned, [insert name here] would take what was really of value. Then, while the unfortunate target of their kleptomania would howl after their whereabouts, Peppo would reappear just long enough to take something else, and run off with Aladdin.
Things didn't change all through middle school. However, when high school started, Aladdin went on to a more prestigious high school, while Peppo dropped out entirely. When she's not made to work at the house she visits Aladdin, but she has to be careful, because she could expose his lies, which she would never want to do. He trusts her--she could never ruin that for him. Never the less, Peppo stays in his life. They are, after all, still best friends, even if Peppo doesn't go to the same school anymore.
Picture:
Likes:
- Aladdin
- Stealing
- Fire
- Rock n roll
- Heavy metal
- Creepy techno
- Climbing things
- Rooftops
- Pranks
- Cars
- Guns
- Knives
Character's Dislikes:
- Jasmine (but Aladdin just won't listen...)
- Jafar (stupid jackass.)
- Pop music
- Preppies
- The color pink
- The color orange
- Kettle corn
- Bad movies
- Stupid people
- Shallow people
- Rich kids
Roleplay Sample:
CLUNK.
Normally the sound following such a fall would have been a very loud, very profane exclamation of some kind, but years of housemates at school and roommates outside griping over their own loss of sleep due to such exclamations had taught a certain pair of lips to, instead, press shut and allow a muffled grunt to substitute the words "f**king nuts." Pain contorted the face of a certain Slytherin graduate as one black-nailed hand released its death grip on a pale velvet bed curtain and raised to the corresponding temple. The female couldn't see the exact color of the dark substance that came away on her pale fingers, but it was wet and the pain didn't recede immediately.
The girl's other hand flashed out like a pale spider in the darkness and buried itself in a black backpack a few feet away, clasping around a bottle that she could identify without reading the label. Like the newly-formed instinct not to shout, experience had wrought the sensibility of not rushing to stand up after the fall, but doing so slowly, then using walls and railings where they appeared to reach the bathroom. This took longer than usual, seeing as it wasn't her place of residence. After closing the door behind her, the nineteen-year-old waited until she could see her dark silhouette in the mirror before reaching up to the string and tugging, flooding the room with bright light that made Alice Mulciber squint at her reflection.
Blood was seeping out of a cut on the left side of her forehead, running down her temple in small scarlet rivulets. Blood lingered on the string Alice had just pulled. Without hesitating, Alice whipped out her wand and closed the cut quickly, cleaning it in the same motion. It still stung, but hurt less now. Great, she was probably going to have a scar from that, and it was from falling out of bed. Not even her own bed! Scars from not-cool exploits were not cool. Alice was not an idiot; in her own home she had a futon that rendered hurting one's self when falling the four inches from the bed to the floor practically impossible. When the lightheadedness caught up with her, she opened the bottle she'd brought with her and slammed the blood-replenishing potion down her throat, trying to ignore the foul taste. Other places in her body hurt, so Alice lifted her black sleeveless top over her head, and examined herself in her black bra and muggle jeans. Now that she looked, there were small cuts already forming scabs on her arms, and the knuckles of her right hand, which she'd thought had just been bloody from her head, stung from bleeding that was just starting to coagulate. Alice had probably punched the wall in her sleep.
There were other things too. Bruises were blooming on her stomach and side too, and Alice didn't doubt that there were a few on her legs. Sighing and washing anything else that was bleeding in the sink, Alice resigned herself to a good while in which she had to restrict herself to slapping people with her right hand. Shame. It always felt so much better to just clock someone than to let them get away with a prissy slap. Her left hand was hardly preferable; she had a good left as well as right, but it wasn't really worth it to damage the other hand until her dominant one healed. This debate was mostly irrelevant, though, because the concept of the wand, known about and developed in Mulciber's pureblood upbringing since birth, solved all these problems.
Anyway. That had actually been a pretty magnificent fall, Alice thought. Whatever violent dream she had been acting out (whatever they were, she never remembered them) had caused her to roll too far to the outside of her bed, grab onto the drapes in a subconscious effort not to fall, and in the process catch her head on the sharp corner of the bedside table, then fall to the ground rather hard.
C'est la vie, non? Rapid eye movement disorder was a pregnant dog. Alice pulled her shirt back on.
The young werewolf walked back into the bedroom to collect her things. Her wand was shoved firmly in her back pocket, ready to pull out and curse anyone who decided to walk in through the door. Whatever the reason for this house's lack of inhabitants, it had been quite convenient to Mulciber, and it was apparently a muggle house, because breaking in had been easy as pie and there were all kinds of odd devices Alice couldn't fathom a use for. One was labeled "coffee maker" but that seemed absurd when she had seen muggles use a French press with her own eyes. Ah well. Alice would have liked to return to her own apartment last night to sleep, but unfortunately some rather vengeful people were looking for her to seek some kind of compensation for the galleons that Alice had liberated from them in a vastly unacceptable combination of stealing, outdrinking, and rolling loaded dice over the night before. So, unknown person's house. And look how that turned out.
She had pulled down the blinds as far as they would go all over, but there was light at the edges, which meant that it was at least dawn. Walking out of the front door, backpack slung casually over one shoulder, proved that it was actually just rather early in the morning. Had Alice not cut her head and damaged her hand, she'd still be asleep right now. Sighing and walking quickly and casually down the steps of the house she'd never return to, Alice considered how to go about the rest of her day. The werewolf's impulsive mind was made up for her as Big Ben loomed, reminding her of the landmark that was oh-so-close to her temporary abode. Alice made quick work of buying herself a slab of bread of the English muffin variety and smearing it with lemon curd bought at the same venue. After purchasing a cardboard cup of Earl Grey tea to go with it and adding no sugar or milk at all, Alice perched herself at the feet of a large statue on a stone plinth (the plinth was only slightly above the height of most benches) near the enormous clock tower.
Muffins and tea. If she waited around long enough (and she would probably get to finish her muffin and tea, it was still early) something eventful would happen, she was sure of it. If it didn't, well, then, she'd just hit a pub later or something. Maybe get some more sleep at home or somesuch.
Experience: Four years.
Why do you think you deserve this character?: Trust me, I deserve this character.
Anything else you may need:
Name: Peppo James Valentine
Represents: Abu
Character's history: Peppo was born in a slummy neighborhood in the flatlands of town, to parents James Valentine and Courtney Poille. Her parents were constantly at each other's throats, and Peppo learned early on to stay out of the way or get out fast. From her mother she learned great subtlety and "smoothness," and picked up her mother's dexterity and deft physical ability. Her father, on the other hand, taught her to throw a mean punch at the tender age of six and taught her to dodge an attack rather than stand and cry. Peppo grew up running, whether running up and down stairs or up and down streets, even up and down rooftops when she was playing with her childhood friend, (Aladdin) [insert name here.]
The two were close friends at an early age, and Peppo grew more and more devoted to him as time went on. The two were thick as thieves--and often made more than a few decent capers per outing. They quickly developed a team strategy: Peppo would distract someone somehow, and while their victim's back was turned, [insert name here] would take what was really of value. Then, while the unfortunate target of their kleptomania would howl after their whereabouts, Peppo would reappear just long enough to take something else, and run off with Aladdin.
Things didn't change all through middle school. However, when high school started, Aladdin went on to a more prestigious high school, while Peppo dropped out entirely. When she's not made to work at the house she visits Aladdin, but she has to be careful, because she could expose his lies, which she would never want to do. He trusts her--she could never ruin that for him. Never the less, Peppo stays in his life. They are, after all, still best friends, even if Peppo doesn't go to the same school anymore.
Picture:
Likes:
- Aladdin
- Stealing
- Fire
- Rock n roll
- Heavy metal
- Creepy techno
- Climbing things
- Rooftops
- Pranks
- Cars
- Guns
- Knives
Character's Dislikes:
- Jasmine (but Aladdin just won't listen...)
- Jafar (stupid jackass.)
- Pop music
- Preppies
- The color pink
- The color orange
- Kettle corn
- Bad movies
- Stupid people
- Shallow people
- Rich kids
Roleplay Sample:
CLUNK.
Normally the sound following such a fall would have been a very loud, very profane exclamation of some kind, but years of housemates at school and roommates outside griping over their own loss of sleep due to such exclamations had taught a certain pair of lips to, instead, press shut and allow a muffled grunt to substitute the words "f**king nuts." Pain contorted the face of a certain Slytherin graduate as one black-nailed hand released its death grip on a pale velvet bed curtain and raised to the corresponding temple. The female couldn't see the exact color of the dark substance that came away on her pale fingers, but it was wet and the pain didn't recede immediately.
The girl's other hand flashed out like a pale spider in the darkness and buried itself in a black backpack a few feet away, clasping around a bottle that she could identify without reading the label. Like the newly-formed instinct not to shout, experience had wrought the sensibility of not rushing to stand up after the fall, but doing so slowly, then using walls and railings where they appeared to reach the bathroom. This took longer than usual, seeing as it wasn't her place of residence. After closing the door behind her, the nineteen-year-old waited until she could see her dark silhouette in the mirror before reaching up to the string and tugging, flooding the room with bright light that made Alice Mulciber squint at her reflection.
Blood was seeping out of a cut on the left side of her forehead, running down her temple in small scarlet rivulets. Blood lingered on the string Alice had just pulled. Without hesitating, Alice whipped out her wand and closed the cut quickly, cleaning it in the same motion. It still stung, but hurt less now. Great, she was probably going to have a scar from that, and it was from falling out of bed. Not even her own bed! Scars from not-cool exploits were not cool. Alice was not an idiot; in her own home she had a futon that rendered hurting one's self when falling the four inches from the bed to the floor practically impossible. When the lightheadedness caught up with her, she opened the bottle she'd brought with her and slammed the blood-replenishing potion down her throat, trying to ignore the foul taste. Other places in her body hurt, so Alice lifted her black sleeveless top over her head, and examined herself in her black bra and muggle jeans. Now that she looked, there were small cuts already forming scabs on her arms, and the knuckles of her right hand, which she'd thought had just been bloody from her head, stung from bleeding that was just starting to coagulate. Alice had probably punched the wall in her sleep.
There were other things too. Bruises were blooming on her stomach and side too, and Alice didn't doubt that there were a few on her legs. Sighing and washing anything else that was bleeding in the sink, Alice resigned herself to a good while in which she had to restrict herself to slapping people with her right hand. Shame. It always felt so much better to just clock someone than to let them get away with a prissy slap. Her left hand was hardly preferable; she had a good left as well as right, but it wasn't really worth it to damage the other hand until her dominant one healed. This debate was mostly irrelevant, though, because the concept of the wand, known about and developed in Mulciber's pureblood upbringing since birth, solved all these problems.
Anyway. That had actually been a pretty magnificent fall, Alice thought. Whatever violent dream she had been acting out (whatever they were, she never remembered them) had caused her to roll too far to the outside of her bed, grab onto the drapes in a subconscious effort not to fall, and in the process catch her head on the sharp corner of the bedside table, then fall to the ground rather hard.
C'est la vie, non? Rapid eye movement disorder was a pregnant dog. Alice pulled her shirt back on.
The young werewolf walked back into the bedroom to collect her things. Her wand was shoved firmly in her back pocket, ready to pull out and curse anyone who decided to walk in through the door. Whatever the reason for this house's lack of inhabitants, it had been quite convenient to Mulciber, and it was apparently a muggle house, because breaking in had been easy as pie and there were all kinds of odd devices Alice couldn't fathom a use for. One was labeled "coffee maker" but that seemed absurd when she had seen muggles use a French press with her own eyes. Ah well. Alice would have liked to return to her own apartment last night to sleep, but unfortunately some rather vengeful people were looking for her to seek some kind of compensation for the galleons that Alice had liberated from them in a vastly unacceptable combination of stealing, outdrinking, and rolling loaded dice over the night before. So, unknown person's house. And look how that turned out.
She had pulled down the blinds as far as they would go all over, but there was light at the edges, which meant that it was at least dawn. Walking out of the front door, backpack slung casually over one shoulder, proved that it was actually just rather early in the morning. Had Alice not cut her head and damaged her hand, she'd still be asleep right now. Sighing and walking quickly and casually down the steps of the house she'd never return to, Alice considered how to go about the rest of her day. The werewolf's impulsive mind was made up for her as Big Ben loomed, reminding her of the landmark that was oh-so-close to her temporary abode. Alice made quick work of buying herself a slab of bread of the English muffin variety and smearing it with lemon curd bought at the same venue. After purchasing a cardboard cup of Earl Grey tea to go with it and adding no sugar or milk at all, Alice perched herself at the feet of a large statue on a stone plinth (the plinth was only slightly above the height of most benches) near the enormous clock tower.
Muffins and tea. If she waited around long enough (and she would probably get to finish her muffin and tea, it was still early) something eventful would happen, she was sure of it. If it didn't, well, then, she'd just hit a pub later or something. Maybe get some more sleep at home or somesuch.
Experience: Four years.
Why do you think you deserve this character?: Trust me, I deserve this character.
Anything else you may need:
