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Post by Souleh on Jun 12, 2006 23:56:26 GMT -5
Wellllll...I figure that anything from Adrian's past is his history and back story, right? Even if it isn't, y'know, from his point of view or anything.
Oh, gods, she had gotten him into so much trouble…no. He had. But she had caused it all, and he had done exactly what he was supposed to. Protect his female. That’s what his brain was designed to do. And she had a feeling that without the wacko mockingbird instincts they both had, he would have done the same thing all over again.
Skye sat back a little, her tongue running over the spot where she had newly lost a tooth, gaze fixed steadily on the door of their enclosure. There was no guarantee she would see him again, ever. There was never that guarantee. They could kill him, just because they wanted to, just because he had attacked the merchandise because of her. Or they could kill her. Or just separate them on a whim. But she refused to think that it had happened—she knew, just as Adrian did, why they spent so much time together. They were supposed to know each other, love each other, be willing to take a bullet for each other. They were supposed to be a perfect team. Adrian was a freaking genius compared to her, subtle as hell and with an even subtler ability to control shadow, for the Four’s sakes. And where he was, admittedly, a bit weak, she was a much stronger version, less ruled by fear, capable of making hard decisions quickly without dwelling on them. He barely kept her in line, she taught him how to be bold. She was loathe to admit it, but Skye knew they had hit the nail on the head—really, who would expect two mockingbird splices that their future 'owner' would refer to as pets to function as body guards?
Flexing her somewhat underdeveloped wings, she tried not to let the anxiety clawing at her stomach overpower her, focusing only on willing the door to open. Please, just let him be okay… It hadn’t been either of their faults, really. But another experiment had gotten too close to her when she was down, another experiment had hurt her.
The other experiment would be lucky if he survived. If she hadn’t shaken herself from the terrified silence that had overcome her at the sight of her Adrian and stopped him, the bastard would have been dead. She hoped to the gods he would live. The white coats couldn’t be too angry if they could fix the damage, right?
For what she thought was an hour, she sat there, nearly still, her wings every once in a while opening, trying to balance. As if staying in that one spot would bring him back faster. Of course, Skye would never know if that was actually how it worked, but he did come back, his little body limp as the guards dropped him where they always dropped them. Not too far in, not close enough to the door to make a quick escape. Not that Adrian could have, even if he had tried, and Skye sure as hell wasn’t going anywhere without him.
Jumping down from the low branch, she landed silently, her body tense, spring loaded as she waited for the guards to leave. They lingered mockingly, daring her to come near, but she couldn’t…take one step out of line, and they could take it out on Adrian. She could wait, and certainly he could, either unconscious or barely there. “’Rian?” Nearly landing on him after overestimating the distance when she jumped, she barely managed not to use him to catch herself, messy brown hair falling into her face as she surveyed him, calculating before she burst with emotion. “You gonna be okay, baby?” Not her most eloquent inquiry, but who needed poetry at a time like this? Poetry was for people who didn’t live as a number, easily sacrificed for the bottom line. No bruises, no visible new cuts, gods, there was nothing. Injection. They took a needle to him. “Remember anything, sweetie? What’s the last thing that you have in your head?”
“Gonna take it away, take my li’l pro’lem.” His voice was thick, drugged, nothing like the clear sound she was so used to. His little problem? What was he on about?
“Your words or theirs?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“That’s not an answer. C’mon, Adrian, you’ve gotta stay focused so Skye knows what to do, okay? It might hurt in a little bit, and she needs to know what to expect so she doesn’t panic and hurt you any more.” It might hurt. Who was she kidding? For all she knew, his little problem could be his life, his mind, his capability to think for himself. They could do anything to them. They were the gods, here. Oh, gods, she knew that face… “Does it already hurt, baby? What’s it like?”
His expression contorted, twisting in discomfort as his previously limp form tried to move, his hands searching for…she had no idea what. “Sh’knows wha’ ta do…Skye thinks good on ‘er feets…” He was being so brave—insane, delirious, but brave. Something was hurting him, and he was changing the subject, giving her compliments. Her little, brave boyfriend…
But he had to stop being so d**n proud and tell her what was wrong so she could help. “But she can’t think well if she doesn’t know what she’s dealing with, Adrian. You can’t leave her in the dark about this…you’ve gotta give her a light to see with.” Was that too metaphorical for him? He couldn’t even turn ‘foot’ into a plural right…
“Light!” He barked, and Skye jumped back for a moment, taken off guard by the sudden, violent reaction. She had been carefully keeping an eye on every part of him, calculating how quickly his twitching was accelerating, how he was using his hands. But she hadn’t expected him to thrash so suddenly, just because of a word. “No light! No light! Put in Adrian, he don’t want none! Dark, dark, please? Light hurrrrrrts…hurts like bad fire…big bad fire, like sun. Sun is light. Sun inside, Skye, get it out! Get it out! Make it dark in Adrian again, please…it hurts so bad to be light…” His voice was getting louder, at the same time falling apart, unraveling as his concentration went. And Skye was sure that this time, this time they were taking his concentration for good. He’d lost it; he’d completely lost it. You couldn’t have light inside of you, and it wouldn’t hurt. He couldn’t have the sun in him. The only thing that made sense was that he was burning. Something was in him and it was burning him and he wanted it out.
And—blood? Pay attention, idiot! Less thinking, more doing. Somewhere in her thoughts she had lost track of what he was doing, just for a split second, enough time for Adrian to take it upon himself to get ‘it’ out. He was ripping desperately at his frame, scratching and tearing at the feathers on his chest, crying out weakly. “No, no, love. No. Scratching’s bad, sweetie. It’s not going to get anything but blood out.”
She caught his hands as he began shrieking, kicking out, anywhere he could, mostly at her. “In my blood! In me! Hot light, hot light, in my blood!” He was losing his mind over this and there was nothing she could do. At least when they were getting wings or feathers or birdy things they knew that the other was going through the same thing. This was his private pain and if it didn’t kill him, it was going to kill her. “No more light, make it stop!” Adrian had started sobbing at some point, she didn’t know when, being more concerned with his hands and his legs. The parts of him that could fight her, hurt him. “Dark, dark again! Make it dark again! Light bad, light burn, light kill!” This last conclusion became his mantra, as they rolled on the floor, Skye trying to somehow pin him without hurting him. But everywhere she touched him hurt him. She could feel it; she could feel him burn under her hands, his skin like fire. If he had melted, she wouldn’t have been surprised.
Finally, she somehow managed to get him on his stomach, his arms held tight at his sides as she sat on his legs, merely ducking her head to dodge the wings they’d been growing, which were now making up for all of the movement she’d deprived him of in the rest of his body. Her leg was spread out ahead of her, between his wings, holding his head still as best she could. This was hurting both of them, but it was better that he convulsed without attacking himself. Skye had resigned herself to his ramblings of dark and light, but they were dying, now, as the spasms increased in severity. He was losing his voice—no. He never let her say that, no one truly lost their voice. Except for him. Sometime before they had met, he had truly, truly lost it. This was just his false voice leaving for a while, his mind too preoccupied with the hurt to bother with trying to mimic something. She knew that. And, while every time she remembered that he would never be able to speak as himself it killed her, these moments when his voice died gave her the tiniest bit of reassurance. He wasn’t silent—there were odd-sounding sobs and moans that made her shiver in their utter…strangeness—and that wasn’t it. She wasn’t some sick freak who delighted in sitting on the only person she could remember caring for, the only person whose face stood out in a memory full of murky nothingness, listening to him lose what she knew he loved most. No, she just knew it was a signpost, a marker on the road. He was in incredible pain, but he would sleep soon, exhaustion would overtake him and she could hold him, rather than crush him. Kiss away the heat and pain and fear while he slept.
Just like now. She felt him relax only slightly, but it was enough to show that he was…something like unconscious, or at least too weak to fight. Rolling off of him gingerly, Skye paused only a moment to stare at him, biting back tears as even in sleep his little, stunted body shook, occasionally a very large jerk threatening to wake him. We have to get out of here…there’s no time to do it without getting noticed. We have to have a plan. I have to be able to get him out of here before this kills him. He fights, but he fights the wrong things and they’re going to kill him for it. Lips tight, she slipped back next to him, pulling his frame to hers and trying to steady it, teach it how to be still with her statuesque form, her only movement to kiss his shoulder.
Skye would take care of him, now, no matter how long this ‘light’ was in him. He was hers, not theirs, and she would make sure everyone knew that. Just as soon as he was a little better.
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Post by Souleh on Oct 28, 2006 12:58:36 GMT -5
ZOMFG. 100 Questions. Adrian.
Part 1: The Basics
1. What is your full name?
Adrian Phillip Caldik.
2. Where and when were you born?
January 23, 19 years ago, in a hospital.
3. Who are/were your parents? (Know their names, occupations, personalities, etc.)
Ayden Caldik was my father. An insufferable pompous bastard. He was a higher up in the business world and apparently that gave him a right to do whatever the hell he wants.
Claudia was my mother. I…she…loved my father and he didn’t return her affections. By the time I could develop memory, she had…issues. Runs in the family, hm?
4. Do you have any siblings? What are/were they like?
I have four brothers. Frederick, Kristopher, Marcus, and Lucian. They all emulate my father in some respect, Lucian in nearly all of them. I used to think you couldn’t get much worse than their combined efforts.
5. Where do you live now, and with whom? Describe the place and the person/people.
I live at the House, a sort of shelter for escaped experiments. There are too many people to list, really—it’s to the point that I don’t even know half of the residents. I have recently had to open up my room to Crispin, a rabbit experiment that I still haven’t made my mind up about. I really only accepted because Dahlia was there, too, and I didn’t want an audience when I turned him down. I’m obligated, now.
6. What is your occupation?
I don’t have an occupation. If I need or want something, I ask someone normal looking or just steal it.
7. Write a full physical description of yourself. You might want to consider factors such as: height, weight, race, hair and eye color, style of dress, and any tattoos, scars, or distinguishing marks.
I’m approximately three-and-a-half feet tall and I weigh about 51 pounds. I am very, very pale, or, if I’ve been in the sun too long without the right precautions I’m a very ugly shade of red. My hair is black and I like it to always be somewhere between my chin and my shoulders in length. My eyes match—and no, it isn’t just a very dark brown; they are very literally black. My feather pattern is typical of a mockingbird, which is what I was combined with, although the colors appear to be a shade or two darker than those of a normal bird. My wings, whose span I can’t for the life of me remember, are feathered, of course, along with my chest and upper back, with patches exploring the skin a bit further all around. I wear a shirt just as often as I don’t, simply because it’s irritating to always have to have something over them and pressing my wings through gets tiring very quickly.
My ‘style of dress’ is very effeminate. I like to wear tight things—they make me feel…hugged, safer. Still, it’s incredibly hard to find clothes I like that fit me, so unless I get around to altering them, they usually don’t fit in some form—too long, too loose, etc. And yes, I alter my own clothes, I’ve even made my own from time to time. I prefer dark colors, although I switch that up occasionally with light blue, pink, or a lighter purple.
As for distinguishing marks and scars, if I listed all of them we’d be here all day. The easily identifiable ones are the brand on my arm (0125) and the square scratched into my hip. Should you need any other proof it’s me, look very closely for the burn marks on my neck. You won’t find needle scarring anywhere, though, unless you bother to rip out my feathers until you can find where it’s hidden. The only ones you can see are the very small scars on my face, which are also the most recent.
Also, I have a thing for eyeliner and just...make-up in general. Mostly eyeliner, but there was a long period where I liked to mess with my lips as well. I still gloss them. It's...very unlikely that I'd ever willingly let too many people see me just...plain.
8. To which social class do you belong?
I’m not even supposed to exist.
9. Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses?
I am…very sensitive to light. Also, I have a wide variety of mental defects, which I just really don’t want to go into. Suffice it to say that I’m insane.
10. Are you right- or left-handed?
I am ambidextrous.
11. What does your voice sound like?
(Deadpan.) I don’t remember.
12. What words and/or phrases do you use very frequently?
Anything negative, really. “Mockingbird”, of course, because everyone seems obsessed with what everyone is. “Get away”, usually combined with “Kat.” I don’t know, I don’t keep track of what I say and there are times when it’s not even me saying it.
13. What do you have in your pockets?
Sunflower seeds. 14. Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics?
I’m completely paranoid. I’m aware of it, but that doesn’t stop me from seeing threats everywhere. I also have quite a bit of trouble with not giving into my more birdlike instincts, which have a tendency to show themselves along with a…very unfortunate side of my personality in what usually winds up being a terribly humiliating disaster. That’s how I got the scars on my face. I suppose I should add that, on the positive side, I’m a complete bibliophile.
Part 2: Growing Up
15. How would you describe your childhood in general?
Hellish.
16. What is your earliest memory?
I vaguely remember my mother having a panic attack when I showed her what I could do—bending a shadow into a…duck or something. The next thing I remember is being thrown into the attic.
17. How much schooling have you had?
Absolutely none.
18. Did you enjoy school?
I didn’t go to school. I sort of wish I had.
19. Where did you learn most of your skills and other abilities?
Myself. There was no one else who bothered to teach me. The lab wanted to see if I could learn to use everything that came from my birdiness on my own. If it was instinctually there. Most of it was, or I figured it out through trial and error.
The…shadow thing…I’ve just always been improving, since I was very small.
20. While growing up, did you have any role models? If so, describe them.
None before I got to the lab. I couldn’t look up to my family, it was too ingrained that I was nothing like them at all. When I met Skye, there was honestly a bit of looking up to her. She was…very brave. She did the sort of things that those of us who couldn’t bring ourselves to rebel were envious of.
I just wish…she hadn’t been like that, or…I had been worse and they had…never mind, irrelevant.
21. While growing up, how did you get along with the other members of your family?
Abysmally. I was their slave, that was it. Mother was somewhat better, but…she was so busy trying to hold herself together that she didn’t have time to do anything but use me as her teddy bear.
22. As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?
Normal. Missed that goal entirely.
23. As a child, what were your favorite activities?
…Once I’d taught myself how, I was completely obsessed with reading whatever I could. The attic was full of books that the rest of the family wanted to keep but didn’t really want. I read every single one that I could. I don’t know if I understood half of them, considering that I wasn’t even ten yet. In the lab, there wasn’t so much you could do. It was all structured. I suppose in that time I was just happy to have Skye. Seeing her was my favorite activity. Especially flying with her.
24. As a child, what kinds of personality traits did you display?
I was very quiet, obedient. I always kept to myself, even before I had been labeled as inhuman and shoved away. I can’t remember it, but I heard them use that as a confirmation…I mean, I heard my parents talk about how I had never wanted to play with the other boys. Skye broke me out of that for a brief period of time, and after she died I was very…reckless, sort of bent on my own destruction. I sort of label that time period as the very end of my childhood. The fact that I was still young has nothing to do with it—I ‘grew up’ immediately afterward.
25. As a child, were you popular? Who were your friends, and what were they like?
No. When I lived with my family, I had no friends but a teddy bear I named Stefan, and my brother Lucian crucified and burned it. The sick fvck. Skye was my first friend, and the only one during my childhood. She was my female counterpart, minus the freaky shadow thing. Her specialty was much more physical…she was very good at kicking anyone’s ass. She was a leader, too, the good sort that listens as much as they command. She was just…so easy to fall in love with.
26. When and with whom was your first kiss?
Skye. It was just a very small kiss, nothing incredibly…hot. Just short and sweet and I remember she tasted like honey, for whatever reason.
27. Are you a virgin? If not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity?
…No. First night in the general population of GGW. …M-Malik was…first.
28. If you are a supernatural being (i.e. mage, werewolf, vampire), tell the story of how you became what you are or first learned of your own abilities. If you are just a normal human, describe any influences in your past that led you to do the things you do today.
I always knew what I was. It was just sort of…a secret whispered in my ear at night. The…bird thing came later, and I basically figured that out when feathers started showing up.
Part 3: Past Influences
29. What do you consider the most important event of your life so far?
My tenth birthday, when Father sold me to Ymir. I would have most likely lived very quietly otherwise, grown up a slave and probably passed down to one of my brothers. I doubt I would have run away, it was all I knew. That, or one of my brothers would’ve killed me eventually.
Instead, I wound up more fvcked up than they could have ever hoped to make me. 30. Who has had the most influence on you?
…Gods, that’s actually a hard question. I want to say Skye, but quite a few of her lessons disappeared. But the other options…I’d hate to think that…certain people were the most influential. We’ll say Skye, then.
31. What do you consider your greatest achievement?
I’m still alive today.
32. What is your greatest regret?
I couldn’t get Skye and me out of Ymir.
33. What is the most evil thing you have ever done?
…There was a child at GGW, during the escape. He was very small, but he couldn’t walk. Everyone had passed him by, and he was just…trapped. He was begging for help by the time I passed by, as I was one of the last. I stopped, stared at him and he just…completely lost it and started begging hysterically. So I ran away.
34. Do you have a criminal record of any kind?
There are a number of offenses on my lab record, including attempted murder. Bastard deserved it.
35. When was the time you were the most frightened?
My…entire stay at GGW. Shame has an odd way of exponentially increasing mortal fear. Or maybe that’s just me.
36. What is the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you?
I’m supposed to tell some hilarious story here, aren’t I? I’m not saying anything.
37. If you could change one thing from your past, what would it be, and why?
I would have gotten Skye and me out of there. Or at least taken her place as the one that had to die.
38. What is your best memory?
The first time Skye and I were permitted to fly outside. The only thing that kept it from being truly blissful was the fence limiting our sky.
39. What is your worst memory?
…I…don’t know. There was a time when I would say that it was Skye’s death. It was…so, so horrible. It wasn’t even her anymore, just…a body fading out. She’d already left it, or curled up somewhere deep inside herself where she wouldn’t have to be aware of her final moments. It was so horrible to watch and…I was helpless and my heart was being ripped out.
Now, I don’t even know if that’s the worst thing I can remember. So much sh!t has happened since then.
Part 4: Beliefs And Opinions
40. Are you basically optimistic or pessimistic?
Pessimistic. I can’t bring myself to see the silver lining of anything.
41. What is your greatest fear?
That through some cruel twist of fate, I’ll meet…certain people from GGW again.
42. What are your religious views?
I picked them up at the lab. Miakoda, Delano, Sashenka, Alger. Paradise is where you go when you die, probably after a brief stay at the Gates as penance for your sins.
43. What are your political views?
I don’t really give a d**n. They don’t matter anyway.
44. What are your views on sex?
I’m…sure that…for a lot of people it’s…a very pleasant part of their lives. I just…don’t know…if I could ever…let it be part of mine. I feel like it should be and that I shouldn’t let…a small group of people destroy something that is apparently so enjoyable but…how am I supposed to separate it from the memories I have? It’s just…such a…frightening…possibility. 45. Are you able to kill? Under what circumstances do you find killing to be acceptable or unacceptable?
Yes, I am able to kill. When protecting one’s loved ones or territory, it’s completely acceptable. As is killing for food. Nor do I have qualms about killing for revenge. But killing for sport is just…wrong.
46. In your opinion, what is the most evil thing any human being could do?
Destroy another human being for the hell of it. 47. Do you believe in the existence of soul mates and/or true love?
I don’t believe in soul mates. Nothing is ever going to be perfect. However, I do believe in true love, if only because I need some sort of ideal to hold onto when the rest are gone.
48. What do you believe makes a successful life?
Happiness, people to love you, freedom. Just…those little, sentimental things.
49. How honest are you about your thoughts and feelings (i.e. do you hide your true self from others, and in what way)?
I hide quite a bit of myself from the others at the House. I just…don’t want their sympathy and pitiful looks. Nor do I want them to know just…how fvcking weak and disgusting I am. I want them to think that I’m…as normal as my condition permits them to think.
50. Do you have any biases or prejudices?
I’m prejudiced against cats, of all things. But…that matters in the House, because there are quite a few of us who are part animal. Kat especially fits into this because…she’s a certain breed that I hold particularly strong feelings for.
Naturally, I’m also fairly biased against anyone who ever did anything to aid a lab. They contributed to the murder, even if they were just taking out the trash.
51. Is there anything you absolutely refuse to do under any circumstances? Why do you refuse to do it?
I…don’t know. There are so many things that I don’t ever want to do, but then…there’s this other, just completely twisted, evil part of me that shows up occasionally and tries to…do those things. I saw what…I was thinking when I had Iris in the kitchen…and…gods…
52. Who or what, if anything, would you die for (or otherwise go to extremes for)?
I would have died for Skye. I believe that I would go to extremes for the House as well. Not only is it…a good place, I’ve lived here so long that it’s so deeply ingrained in my mind as My Territory that the mockingbird in me would refuse to give it up without a fight.
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Post by Souleh on Oct 28, 2006 17:29:32 GMT -5
Part 5: Relationships With Others
53. In general, how do you treat others (politely, rudely, by keeping them at a distance, etc.)? Does your treatment of them change depending on how well you know them, and if so, how?
I…try to be polite. But, like I said, there’s a part of me that really just wants to…fvck everyone up as badly as I am. And the paranoia tends to make me accuse people of things in a very…rude manner. I guess I just basically wind up being a bastard the majority of the time, no matter how hard I try. It probably doesn’t help that I don’t really let anyone in close, so…I probably seem…distant. Which I am.
Of course it depends on how well I know them. Maybe if I actually know them, I’d be able to trust them.
54. Who is the most important person in your life, and why?
…Uhm, I don’t know. Currently? I really don’t know.
55. Who is the person you respect the most, and why?
Fvck. Uhm, Skye, I guess. I don’t really know anyone else enough to really respect them, and I do respect her. I guess the closest runner up would be Zepher, just because she puts up with everyone and doesn’t just scream that she’s had enough and kicked us all out. 56. Who are your friends? Do you have a best friend? Describe these people.
I…don’t really know if I have any real friends, just…friendly acquaintances and one accidental…something.
Crispin is my roommate. Like I said before, I haven’t quite made up my mind about him, but…he seems tolerable. Quiet. I like quiet. Dahlia, also. I sort of…freaked out on her, but…I think we’re okay, now. She was the one who took Crispin and me out to lunch. That was interesting, to say the least. Zepher is…nice to me. I don’t know if it’s just out of some kind of sense of responsibility or if…she really gives a d**n. Probably the first, because other times…I don’t know. Maybe I’m just imagining things. And…Echo. We’re not really friends, I don’t even know if she’s trustworthy. She…knows things…and…offered to be there if I need to talk. I just really don’t know about her.
57. Do you have a spouse or significant other? If so, describe this person.
No.
58. Have you ever been in love? If so, describe what happened.
…Yes…it…ended poorly. Skye…they decided she had to be…terminated. I just really don’t want to go into detail, it’s…personal.
59. What do you look for in a potential lover?
…I naturally have to be attracted to…him or her. They would have to be…okay with…my strange qualities. The small size and the aversion to…an extremely physical relationship…things like that. I don’t know.
60. How close are you to your family?
I don’t even know if they’re alive or dead. I hope it’s the latter.
61. Have you started your own family? If so, describe them. If not, do you want to? Why or why not?
No. I don’t know if I even can. I think so, because I think that was part of why Skye and I were paired up. To see if we could…create children just like us. But I…really don’t want to. I…things like my power and depression are hereditary. I don’t want to…pass that on.
62. Who would you turn to if you were in desperate need of help?
…I don’t know. Zepher, I guess? She is the…head of the House. Or whatever. I just…don’t know if I could ask.
63. Do you trust anyone to protect you? Who, and why?
Not really. I mean, I trust the others to protect the House as whole, but I don’t know…if anyone would really go to any great lengths to protect just me.
64. If you died or went missing, who would miss you?
I don’t think anyone would really notice, unless I would up dead on the front lawn or something. People just come and go from the House, they would probably just figure it was my turn to wander off.
65. Who is the person you despise the most, and why?
…Uhm, Mal…ik. I…don’t want to talk about why, please.
66. Do you tend to argue with people, or avoid conflict?
I usually wind up arguing with people. It’d probably be better for my health if I avoided conflict, but I just can’t.
67. Do you tend to take on leadership roles in social situations?
No. I’m not a leader. At all.
68. Do you like interacting with large groups of people? Why or why not?
No. It’s…stressful. I usually wind up humiliating myself somehow.
69. Do you care what others think of you?
…Yes. I just…really want people to like me, for once in my goddxmned life.
Part 6: Likes And Dislikes
70. What is/are your favorite hobbies and pastimes?
I read. A lot. Anything I can get my hands on. I also have an equal obsession with music, although I at least keep it to…decent bands. I watch the occasional movie, usually older, also, but…it’s just not as good as reading a book. Flying, of course, is a hobby. And…sometimes I just…sing. And…not in a human voice.
71. What is your most treasured possession?
I don’t have much. My diary, I suppose. It…helps me relax, just writing in it. As long as I don’t read it over again.
72. What is your favorite color?
Black. 73. What is your favorite food?
I…like grasshoppers. A lot.
74. What, if anything, do you like to read?
I read anything I can get my hands on, but mostly fiction. I just…like it more. An escape, you know? 75. What is your idea of good entertainment (consider music, movies, art, etc.)?
I like old movies, with the occasional newer one like The Nightmare Before Christmas. I also like…lots of music. Things like…Seether, Kings of Leon, Brand New, My Chemical Romance, The Used, Heavens, Evanescence, Good Charlotte when I’m feeling poppy, Senses Fail, Tool, Rise Against, I Am Ghost, etc. There’s not much else to do for entertainment around here.
76. Do you smoke, drink, or use drugs? If so, why? Do you want to quit?
I…smoked a little. For nerves. But I quit, a bit before I arrived at the House. I always thought it was disgusting, so…I gave it up for a better first impression. I do drink, although…it’s not exactly like I can anymore, there isn’t anything around here. It doesn’t exactly help anything except to drive me crazy. And no, I don’t use drugs.
77. How do you spend a typical Saturday night?
The same as every other night, considering that I don’t have any sort of job or anything. Sometimes I go out at night, fly; just watch all the people under me, living their completely normal lives.
78. What makes you laugh?
Not much of anything, really. Usually just…quips, a play on words or a joke you have to think about to get.
79. What, if anything, shocks or offends you?
We’d be here all day if I thought to list them all. Basically, anything that…reminds me of something that happened a long time ago, someone acting like people from my past.
80. What would you do if you had insomnia and had to find something to do to amuse yourself?
I practically do—nightmares and all. I usually just put on my headphones, listen to a more calming CD, and read. 81. How do you deal with stress?
I read. Write in my diary. Listen to something loud and hard. Keep it to myself until it winds up blowing up in my face.
82. Are you spontaneous, or do you always need to have a plan?
…Spontaneous, I guess. I never really plan anything, but I sort of dislike rash decisions. I don’t know.
83. What are your pet peeves?
People who think movies are better than books, or think reading is stupid. People who try to pry into things they shouldn’t. Sunny days. My birthday. When people try to organize something and wind up messing it up so something of mine is lost.
Part 7: Self Images And Etc.
84. Describe the routine of a normal day for you. How do you feel when this routine is disrupted?
I don’t have much of a routine. I wake up in the late morning, early afternoon, unless I’ve had a nightmare around the early morning, at which point I just give up on sleep and stay up. I shower, which is an adventure in itself, and get dressed. I have breakfast, usually toast with butter and honey on it. Then I usually go up to my room or some other quiet place to read for a while. When I get hungry, I grab lunch, either from the kitchen or I just go out and catch it. Afterward, just…whatever. Maybe TV, probably not. Depending on the weather, I might go out, exercise my wings a little. Then it’s dinner, something with a little more substance. I might watch TV in the evening, when things are…decent, or just go out. I have to keep myself occupied or tire myself out, because it’s out of my nature to sleep at night. I usually get to sleep around eleven, sometimes later, and if I’m lucky I’ll sleep through the night. I usually wind up waking up at least once, though.
85. What is your greatest strength as a person?
Uhm, I’m…very smart. A fast learner, and all of that.
86. What is your greatest weakness?
I’m…unstable. It’s a serious problem.
87. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
I don’t know…it’s hard to choose just one… If I could change any thing, I suppose it would be to…give me back…my purity. If it’s just physical things, I would…I would want my voice back. I want to know how I sounded.
88. Are you generally introverted or extroverted?
Introverted. I just…don’t easily trust people. Too many people have been completely…they just hurt me somehow.
89. Are you generally organized or messy?
I tend to be messy. I don’t like to clean. It’s…I’ve already done enough. The mess is comforting—I know where everything is, but it’s just…it looks lived in, instead of everything in its neat and tidy box. I don’t know. The chaos suits me.
90. Name three things you consider yourself to be very good at, and three things you consider yourself to be very bad at.
I’m…good at singing. I know I was sort of created to be good at it, but there also has to be some kind of…well, I taught myself how to blend voices so that they sound pretty instead of freakish. So it’s a talent. I’m also good at reading, of course. And not just…getting through the words. Absorbing it all. I don’t forget it like some people do—I always know at least a rough outline of what happens. I’m good at…I don’t know a third. I’m good at not falling out of the sky. Flying.
I’m horrible at controlling myself. Just…horrible. I’ll think I have finally figured out how, but then I’ll lose control again and…it just seems to get worse. I have problems with…rationality. I see threats almost everywhere. In members of the house, on the news, I once freaked out on a goose because it came too close to me. I’m also very bad at…making people like me. I usually wind up…I don’t know, but I never seem to be able to make or keep friends.
91. Do you like yourself?
No. I really don’t. 92. What are your reasons for being an adventurer (or doing the strange and heroic things that RPG characters do)? Are your real reasons for doing this different than the ones you tell people in public? (If so, detail both sets of reasons...)
I’ve never been an adventurer, or even done anything heroic. The most I’ve done is head to the House. I suppose I hid the reasons for that, actually. I doubt anyone around here knows that I never planned on coming here or staying as long as I have. But when I got out, I…couldn’t do what Skye and I had planned without her. It hurt too much. So I just…wandered, until I heard about it. That’s my only adventure, really.
93. What goal do you most want to accomplish in your lifetime?
I…I just want to be…happy. Maybe…something like sane?
94. Where do you see yourself in 5 years?
Here, if I haven’t died or been recaptured.
95. If you could choose, how would you want to die?
I…peacefully. Everything has just been so chaotic, or violent, or…just wrong. I at least want my death to be average, quiet.
96. If you knew you were going to die in 24 hours, name three things you would do in the time you had left.
Castrate and kill M-Malik. Same for Obscuran. And…Xio.
97. What is the one thing for which you would most like to be remembered after your death?
I would…just want to be remembered. It doesn’t have to be for anything spectacular, just…I don’t want to be forgotten. I would like it if I was remembered positively, but…I really wouldn’t mind terribly if I was just remembered as some psychotic resident, if it meant I didn’t just disappear after I died.
98. What three words best describe your personality?
Tempestuous, paranoid, bibliophilic.
99. What three words would others probably use to describe you?
Paranoid, psychotic, freaky.
100. If you could, what advice would you, the player, give to your character? (You might even want to speak as if he or she were sitting right here in front of you, and use proper tone so he or she might heed your advice...)
Sweetheart, there are things you’re just going to have to let go. And you've got to let people in.
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Post by Souleh on Nov 2, 2006 23:01:16 GMT -5
Setting: Current
How They Live Now
It was so easy to spot their target. Even without the glimpse of the face they had been closing in on for days, they could smell the perpetual fear of a runaway. It was in the way almost every inch of its body was covered, the way it attempted to pass off its alert state as casually taking in the sights, the way it moved, as if every muscle was tensed for bolting. They were always so easy to spot, once you knew what to look for.
They watched. Waited. They knew its routine; it would pass soon, hurrying past the dark of the open lot.
He snuck a glance to the side, checking on his partner, smirking slightly at the poorly contained excitement. He was panting slightly, fidgeting in any way that wouldn’t make noise, especially that of a suspicious sort. The other’s brown eyes slid over and met his blue, shining with excitement and begging for the signal to rip the target from the streets, savage it into submission. Giving him a barely perceptible shake of the head, he communicated clearly: No.
His gaze moved to the other side, to the relaxed form of his other partner, apathetic aside from the intensity of his amber eyes. He picked his teeth quietly, waiting patiently for the moment when they could finally free the tension in all three of their bodies. A nod came from the other, the hint of a predator’s smile crossing both of their lips.
The next moment, their victim passed into the zone they had designated. He gave the signal, a particularly rude hand gesture, and the male to his left jumped first, bursting from the shadows and junk, overpowering the more compactly built victim. The farthest right male was quickly aiding him, efficiently immobilizing their prey.
In a matter of seconds it had disappeared from the street with only a single cry—a civilian or three looked up curiously, saw nothing, and returned to their simple lives. The struggle was silent and one-sided, hidden in the darkness of an abandoned lot, a few technicalities short of an alley. The innocent was eventually tied up, arms and legs immobilized, and gagged, a dirty tennis ball shut away in its—his—mouth by silvery duct tape. They dragged him behind a dumpster, leaning against the wall of the building next to them. The boy, their target, cried quietly, staring at the feet of his captors as a lighter flicked and three cigarettes were lit.
The leader knelt slightly, prodded their prisoner with his pointer and middle finger, both tipped with a vicious claw. “They want you dead or alive, we get paid the same either way. Maybe if you behave they won’t be picking up a corpse, how does that sound?”
And Malik grinned as the scent of mortal fear permeated the air.
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Post by Souleh on Nov 17, 2006 1:19:56 GMT -5
Mother Dearest
Her boys are gone, husband and sons fleeing the large white house on the hill, none of them wanting the responsibility of dealing with her. She pretends it doesn’t matter to her, that she likes the alone time, spoils herself with creature comforts and dulls her mind with wine and some drivel on the television. It is best not to think too quickly—it has always been her downfall, thought flitting to thought until she has worked herself into a fit.
The weak acting and the weaker plot do nothing for her, invite her mind to wander, and she wonders why she even bothers anymore. She sighs and a manicured hand shuts it off, creating a silence so sharp her ears ring, painful only in that it is a reminder of her isolation in this world. She is drawn naturally to the bookshelf, fingertip tracing along the worn spines of her meager collection, books she claims are meant only for decoration so as to avoid threatening her husband, pulling out an old favorite and holding it close to her chest. Her other hand searches blindly for her glass, finds it and lifts it delicately, and she is on her way out of her God forsaken house.
When she reaches the patio, she smiles just barely, stepping barefoot onto the hot pavement and letting her soles burn. The sun is good to her—warm on her face, setting her blonde (dyed against the grays) hair alight, giving her a glow lost so long ago. She does not like a woman with four grown sons and it pleases her, enough that the whisper of a memory of her fifth son is nothing but a nip on the ankle. Her sunglasses are already on the table next to her favorite chair and she slips them on before sliding into her seat, stretching luxuriously, a cat in the sun. She flips open the cover and lets herself pass the morning hours with perhaps a bit of dignity and intelligence, running over every word and savoring it, better than the finest chocolate her husband could buy her.
In the afternoon, her stomach growls in an entirely unladylike way and she sighs unhappily, standing and leaving the book in her place. She doesn’t find lunch, is in fact sidetracked by a pit stop to the letterbox in the front of the house, which is filled as usual. The catching this is the one piece that isn’t for her husband alone or simply junk mail, a crisp, official envelope addressed simple to Caldik. There is no return address and she feels a shiver run up and down her spine—she can’t possibly fathom why, but this letter fills her with dread.
And a painful, masochistic curiosity. She forgets her growling stomach and her reading, returning to the patio and remembering her book only long enough to move it before she sits. Biting her lip, she meticulously peels the flap from its glue, gentle and not at all rushing. She doesn’t leave a single tear. The paper is white, reflecting the sunlight, and the letterheads, both of them, are strange to her. Generic Genetics Warehousing? Ymir Genetics Laboratory? Her teeth dig harder into the skin of her lip, the recurring word her only hint, pointing her in a direction she doesn’t want to go.
She continues anyway, still compelled to find out what it is, reading quickly. Her stomach plummets, and she begins to speak the words in a hurried, hushed whisper, “Escaped the premises…chance it would return to familiar territory…deeply disturbed specimen…potentially dangerous…enclosed is a—“
Immediately she stops reading—a relief, really—and fumbles for the envelope, searching for the promised item. Her fingers close around it, shaking as the pull it out. She doesn’t know what to expect, the letter gives no indication of what he is, but she needs this, to see the son her husband took from her. The one that had actually loved her.
She wishes she hadn’t once she sees it. It isn’t her boy—it’s an abomination, something she will have nightmares about for the rest of her life. She doesn’t recognize the sharp features, a mix of fear and hatred written plainly across them, the tiny body standing in what appears to be a pained way against a board measuring his height. She doesn’t even notice what it reads, focusing on the wings that have been pulled out by two people out of the picture, only their hands visible. It’s very obvious the pose is involuntary, probably for records or some ridiculousness, and she hates it—hates every feather on that body, those wings, the fresh wounds she can clearly make out as red marks, the black eyes murky with something unidentifiable.
Most of all, she hates herself, her failure as a mother. Her thoughts pick up speed; begin to whirl, constant memories of the boy she sold, one after the other until she has worked herself into a fit. The only thing left to do is go to her room, curl up on the same chair she always has, and hug the teddy that replaced the little boy in the picture as she cries. HEARTS FOR ADRIAN'S MOM.
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Post by Souleh on Jan 19, 2007 22:21:08 GMT -5
Subject to heavy editing and possible complete changes. In other words, this is iffy. It didn't make me cry, therefore it is not good enough yet. But I'll post it anyway.
I bring you, Adrian's first violent contact with a kitty. And it's not what you think it is.
Everything was still—finally, everything was still. The storm of the last—century was over, everything was still.
His held breath broke from him in a scream, nails digging into the still-warm flesh of the only someone that really mattered. Choke, cough, a ragged, gasping sob. Trembling and raw lips pressed against their unresponsive counterpart, a gulping sob pressed into the now still mouth, his eyes falling closed.
He opened them to see the looming shadows of two men behind him, the feet of a woman in his peripheral vision. Putting to use all they had taught him, he spun, jumping the pitiful distance to his feet in the same motion. Tears were falling uncontrollably, shaking his entire upper body, his nose running profusely—nearly the entirety of his face shone under the fluorescent lighting, twisted into a red-hot expression of the utter rage and agony ravaging his innards.
“Stay the fvck back,” came the guttural snarl, hoarse but vicious, nothing at all human about it. His wings were spread wide, shielding the crumpled body he had been clutching.
They appeared unaffected, one of the men moved forward, made a move to grab him. Nails that had been bitten to a point swiped at the offending hands, he shrieked, with his other hand sending a very straight punch to where he knew it would hurt. “I said stay the fvck back! You don’t touch her!” His voice was surprisingly loud, filling the entire room, nearly echoing, high and hysterical.
The other male appeared apathetic, watching his little body analytically, with all the detachment to be expected from a white coat. The other had bent over for a moment, but appeared to be all right, at best slightly wary of his tiny adversary.
Another attempt. His arm caught, Adrian twisted, biting into the hand wrapped around his wrist, slamming his slight weight into the guard. The guard snapped him out and away, hard enough that the jerk in his shoulder elicited a cry of pain, and, when his wrist was released, a stumble, fall. He was already panting, coughing hard enough to keep him on the floor. The guard collected him, large arms wrapped around the boy’s mid-section, careful to pin his arms against his sides, lifting him from the floor.
The apparently superior man glanced to the woman, nodding at the disease-ravaged body on the floor. “Prep it for dissection.”
Adrian bucked, kicking in the grasp of the larger man. “No! You fvcking bastards, you can’t do that! She’s mine and I won’t let you!” He searched in his gut, in his head, in his entire body, which had gone entirely still.
“You can’t do anything 0125, you’re neutralized. Say bye-bye, birdie.”
His brow wrinkled, eyes closed, his expression suggesting that he was in a great deal of pain. The shadow of Skye’s body flickered, changing position toward the woman nearing the general vicinity, almost began to rise from the floor.
He gasped, head dropping, fighting for breath as he coughed up blood. A rattling breath, coughed sob. “Please no. Don’t” –gasp—“ruin her. Perfection.”
There was a quiet chuckling between the two men, both of them retreating from the room, taking Adrian with them. His pleading faded, quieting with exhaustion and a deepening sense of hopelessness. He went limp in the arms of his captor, curling up somewhere inside himself to brood, kill any part of him clinging to blind faith.
They placed him in the small cage he had come to know as home, and then left. He rolled himself into a tight ball, pressed against the farthest corner, trying to block out the inevitable noises of a holding room. Adrian drifted silently through some cheap semblance of sleep, eliciting more than one whimper as he drifted through memories that had mutated from saccharine to excruciating.
An unknown amount of time later, he twitched out from his dazed state, focused on only a single thought. They’ll be cutting her apart now. The thought repeated itself infinitely, mournful and mocking all at once.
She shouldn’t suffer alone. Weakly, he pushed himself up, staring blankly out through the bars. She hates being alone. He judged the area carefully, a crooked, grim smile twitching at his lips for a moment upon the observation of his neighbor.
“Here, kitty kitty kitty…” He purred, an arm reached through the bars. “What a nice kitty. Do a boy a favor? Get the birdie, kitty, make the birdie bleed. Cut the birdie up with those sharp claws of yours.”
The cat experiment looked up, lion eyes focusing on the mess reaching toward him. “The hell? You want to get me killed, ya little freak?”
“Too scared, kitty kitty? Can’t hurt a little, defenseless birdie?”
The other creature snarled at his mocking tone, inched closer. “I can and I will if you don’t leave me the hell alone.”
Perfect. “Silly kitty. It’s what I want. Give me what I want, won’t you? You want the blood as much as I do, kitty. They’re so mean to you, never letting you use that magnificent predator’s instinct. Come on, kitty. Hurt the prey.” His voice was smooth, soothing, if a little shaky.
He looked confused, frowned, and then glanced around them. “You provoked me,” he murmured, and Adrian nodded. A hand slipped through the bars, claws sliding out.
“Slowly, kitty.”
The hand paused, golden eyes flicking to Adrian’s black, looking apprehensive. “Freak.” He dropped his hand, resting it on the ghostly white skin of the bird experiment. Pressing, he broke the skin, dragging it slowly down from his elbow, both of their eyes fixed on the blood springing from the wounds. His breathing hitched, accelerated, hand shaking under the pain.
Not alone anymore, not alone. We’re together again, darling, can you feel it?
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Post by Souleh on Jan 24, 2007 22:23:14 GMT -5
Bad Dreams. Uhm. OhmigodI'mabadperson. That said, this does take place in the present day, but I didn't want to make it a thread. It's just a, uhm, /example/ of what goes on when this kid sleeps. Not the greatest, but...I sort of like the first half a whole d**n lot.
It was utter bliss. She pressed against him, her mouth a warm and safe have for his own. Soft touching, holding, loving. He was safe, she was safety, lying on a bed in a dark room.
She broke away briefly, he whimpered, but quieted when her angel’s lips met his jaw line, traveling toward his ear. Then down, along the contours of his neck, lingering there in soft baby kisses. “Oh, this beautiful, beautiful pulse.”
“You can have it,” he murmured, as forcefully as though he head screamed it. She laughed quietly, clearly did not seem to think he was serious, kissing that beautiful, beautiful pulse again. He felt a surprising graze of what could have been mistaken for fang, hissed slightly. “Take it. Anything.” He shifted under her weight, could have sworn it was increasing. “Gods, I love you. So much. I’d do anything.”
A black and white head rose from his neck. “Anything?” He purred, a crooked smile exposing a glistening row of teeth.
All voluntary movement froze, left only a wide-eyed, trembling boy. He couldn’t even gather together the guts to shake his head, mutter a ‘no’, anything. Anything to convey that the offer had not been to him, would never be to him.
A tongue flicked across the point Skye had been kissing, now visibly home to a pounding pulse. “Oh, this beautiful, beautiful pulse,” he mocked, a cruel, terrifying attempt at imitation. The weak stirrings of anger couldn’t warm the chill it spread over him, couldn’t even rouse the frightened bird to movement.
He realized a moment too late that he had not been keeping his eyes on the tiger’s hands, painfully reminded when claws cut into both his sides, running down his ribs, marking the very bone. Adrian gave a cry, gasping for breath against the pain. Something possessed him to look down, examine the wounds on either side, his stomach tossing at the sight of the blood.
Black. The color oozed unnaturally from the marks, more like sludge than actual blood.
It wasn’t particularly alarming until the first speedily dried bit rose from the bed, elongating into some twisted form of rope. He was having trouble breathing, hardly even aware of anything Malik was doing, his focus completely devoted to his ‘blood.’ More and more strings were lifting from the bed, appeared to be searching out his hands. As soon as the thought occurred to him, the first few found his wrists, wrapped too tightly around them and began pulling them together.
“So cooperative,” the tiger purred, as his own ‘blood’ fastened his wrists to the headboard. More had begun work on his ankles, could settle only for stretching and pulling themselves taught enough to hold his legs still.
The great cat dragged a single claw slowly along the skin of his chest, appearing thoughtful. He traced the ‘blood’ on his claw onto Adrian’s tearstained face, looking quite serene.
And then he set to business.
Adrian woke covered in sweat, a scream still falling from his lips, breaking halfway into a more than pitiful sob. He took a shuddering breath, groped through a tear-blurred view for the small bucket he kept for just such nightmares, and emptied his dinner into it. Shaking, he cried as quietly as he could manage, trembling hands running along his sides, his chest. Only feathers, unbroken skin.
It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.
He rose weakly, simply fell to the floor from his top bunk, landing with a hardly subtle thump. Walking was difficult, his legs felt like jelly, he supposed his knees would be knocking together if he weren’t putting so much effort into just crossing the room, opening the door, walking down the hall, to the nearest bathroom.
None of his usual precautions were taken. He barely remembered to shut the door, stumbling into the bathroom, fumbling with the shower until it was on. Adrian stepped in, not even bothering to slip out of the boxers he slept in, not even bothering to adjust the water temperature when it fell scalding hot on him, not even bothering to worry about the trouble of wet wings. He curled up on the shower floor, let the burning water pelt him, wash away the filth and shame.
It wasn’t working; he was still as positively disgusting as before. He remained as long as he could, burning under hot water and then shivering under cold, unsure what was shower water and what fell from his closed eyes.
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Post by Souleh on Feb 10, 2007 17:18:50 GMT -5
Repete's 100 omg.
Part 1: The Basics
1. What is your full name?
Just Repete, but I like Re more.
2. Where and when were you born?
I’m not sure when, about fifteen or sixteen years ago. I was born at the lab.
3. Who are/were your parents? (Know their names, occupations, personalities, etc.)
I don’t really have parents. I guess Peter’s parents could sort of count, because it’s their genes I’ve inherited. Or Peter himself. The lab did use an experiment as my surrogate, though, maybe that counts? I know nothing about her, except for that she tried to kill me a million different ways in the beginning and then didn’t want to give me up, so she could spare me. I don’t see how, unless she was going to kill me. Which is…not fun to think about. Anyway, I’d never recognize her, which is supposed to be really sad or something, but she mostly wanted me dead. 4. Do you have any siblings? What are/were they like?
There are other clones of Peter, I guess they might count. Every five to ten years, they make another, or at least that was the plan when I was there. That way there would always be enough…sources. And most of the clone population…well, brains don’t work out so well. So there isn’t much sibling closeness there.
5. Where do you live now, and with whom? Describe the place and the person/people.
I live at a sort of hideout for escaped experiments, the House. It’s this gigantic Victorian. There are a lot of people here, psychic and animal and things, but I haven’t met another clone yet.
6. What is your occupation?
I bus tables at the clubhouse at a golf course. It’s not much, but I wanted to do something. It’s a little hard when you don’t exist.
7. Write a full physical description of yourself. You might want to consider factors such as: height, weight, race, hair and eye color, style of dress, and any tattoos, scars, or distinguishing marks.
Well, I’m about average height, slightly taller. Average weight, definitely not on the pudgy side. My hair is brown, sort of dark and chocolaty. And my eye’s a really bright blue. Yes, just eye, I only have one. The other was given to Peter. I wear a patch over the missing eye, just a costume one, because they were only careful about the eye, not me. There’s some nasty scarring around there. Uhm, what else? I have a runner’s build, mostly because I made it that way—lean, long and thin body. And style of dress…mostly whatever I have, but I like earthier colors. Browns and dark greens.
8. To which social class do you belong?
I don’t exist.
9. Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses?
Like I said, I’m missing an eye. It makes depth perception hard. And I haven’t been as exposed to thing as other people, it was a huge issue when I got out, and there’s still a few things that hit me hard.
10. Are you right- or left-handed?
Right.
11. What does your voice sound like?
Just a voice. A bit on the low side, but not super dramatically.
12. What words and/or phrases do you use very frequently?
I don’t know. It seems like I’m always introducing myself. There are always new people at the House.
13. What do you have in your pockets?
An extra eye patch, in case the string on the one snaps or someone grabs it. Some loose change.
14. Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics?
I make weird food. I just grab whatever and turn it into something that I think might be good.
Part 2: Growing Up
15. How would you describe your childhood in general?
Abnormal. Not a lot of kids that were created just to be killed. And there are even less that know it. Mostly my time was divided between tests and maintaining my health.
16. What is your earliest memory?
Screaming. Whimpering. Just all these…awful sounds.
17. How much schooling have you had?
Through middle school. They were going to provide schooling until my brain couldn’t handle it.
18. Did you enjoy school?
It was okay. It wasn’t like what other kids think about school being. Just a few personal tutors. Not all of them were nice or even good people, but a few were good.
19. Where did you learn most of your skills and other abilities?
In the lab. Some stuff, at least. Most of my basic life skills came after my escape, though. They never prepped me for living when I was in the lab.
20. While growing up, did you have any role models? If so, describe them.
Not really.
21. While growing up, how did you get along with the other members of your family?
I don’t have a family. The closest I could get would be the other clones or the scientists. I was one of the only intelligent clones and, well, you know how it is with scientists.
22. As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?
Alive. Sometimes I daydreamed about switching places with Peter.
23. As a child, what were your favorite activities?
Running. History ‘class’—my tutor was really nice until she got fired.
24. As a child, what kinds of personality traits did you display?
Quiet, polite, obedient. I was a serious people pleaser. It was kind of how they wanted me to be…it made me easier to control.
25. As a child, were you popular? Who were your friends, and what were they like?
I didn’t really have any friends. The other experiments housed in the same place…thought I was pampered. And didn’t like it.
26. When and with whom was your first kiss?
I haven’t had it yet.
27. Are you a virgin? If not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity?
Virgin.
28. If you are a supernatural being (i.e. mage, werewolf, vampire), tell the story of how you became what you are or first learned of your own abilities. If you are just a normal human, describe any influences in your past that led you to do the things you do today.
I’m a clone. I found out as soon as someone explained it to me.
Part 3: Past Influences
29. What do you consider the most important event of your life so far?
Finally getting fed up with Peter and the lab and everything and just taking off.
30. Who has had the most influence on you?
Peter. He was such an annoying jerk and always had the better everything that I wanted to at least be a better person.
31. What do you consider your greatest achievement?
Running away. And surviving.
32. What is your greatest regret?
I couldn’t take anyone with me when I left. I could have, and it was terribly selfish of me not to. I could have saved lives and I didn’t.
33. What is the most evil thing you have ever done?
See above.
34. Do you have a criminal record of any kind?
Just that I ran away from the lab.
35. When was the time you were the most frightened?
When they took me in for surgery. I didn’t know what for, I thought they were going to take something vital and just leave me to die on the table.
36. What is the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you?
I was a little oblivious to the way things worked on the outside. A…well, a girl hit on me and some awkwardness happened. I fixed it fast, though.
37. If you could change one thing from your past, what would it be, and why?
I would succeed in taking people with me when I escaped. Then I could do the good I was supposed to.
38. What is your best memory?
The first time in my life in real air. Real grass. Real…everything. It was amazing. The world is so big and I’d never understood that before.
39. What is your worst memory?
Losing my eye. Like I’ve already explained, I had no idea what was going to happen to me, so I was terrified. Then they asked me which eyes I liked best, and I picked the right, so they got to work. Eyelids held open. And…it was hard to…comprehend what was going on, but I think they injected me with something that basically paralyzed me so I couldn’t move and mess the whole thing up. I thought it’d numb me, too, because that’s just…what’s supposed to happen and what’s decent. So when they got to work and it hurt so bad, I was startled and confused and so, so terrified. And I wanted to scream or fight, but I couldn’t. It’s the most horrible thing you could imagine, having absolutely no control over anything at all. Just watching them take what’s mine. Then they cut the optic nerve and half of my sight went black and it was just—gone. All business. They cleaned me up a little, and then they left to give my eye to Peter. They just…left me there. Where I was, until it was convenient for them to move me.
Part 4: Beliefs And Opinions
40. Are you basically optimistic or pessimistic?
Optimistic. Always look on the bright side of life.
41. What is your greatest fear?
Recapture. I’m a dead man.
42. What are your religious views?
I…really don’t know. Religion is a painful subject when you’re not even sure if you have a soul.
43. What are your political views?
I’ve never really bothered with politics. I’m not even of age yet, and I don’t exist in any records. But…whatever’s best, I guess. I’m a bleeding heart pacifist.
44. What are your views on sex?
Well, uhm. I’ll get back to you on that as soon as I’ve had some experience.
45. Are you able to kill? Under what circumstances do you find killing to be acceptable or unacceptable?
I guess I could kill someone, if I had a weapon or something. But I really don’t agree with it—at all. Everyone deserves the right to live their life. It’s not right for people to take that away.
46. In your opinion, what is the most evil thing any human being could do?
Destroy someone for no reason at all or for personal gain. ‘Personal gain’ doesn’t include self-defense or the defense of a loved one, because…those are special circumstances.
47. Do you believe in the existence of soul mates and/or true love?
Not really. It’s a nice thought, but I don’t think it’s actually really possible. Love, yes. But not Twue Wuv.
48. What do you believe makes a successful life?
Oh, I don’t know. My life would be a success if I lived to a decent age, maybe found some people that are closer than acquaintances to keep me company. Could live…somewhat comfortably.
49. How honest are you about your thoughts and feelings (i.e. do you hide your true self from others, and in what way)?
I’m pretty honest. Lying isn’t a good thing, but I have…told white lies and bent the truth before, about something in my head. There are some things I’d like to keep to myself and other times it’s to avoid insulting someone.
50. Do you have any biases or prejudices?
I’ve…caught myself thinking of the animal experiments as…somehow less sometimes. Mostly when their instincts act up and they act like, well, animals.
51. Is there anything you absolutely refuse to do under any circumstances? Why do you refuse to do it?
My most evil answer. Otherwise I’ll do just about anything, for the right reason.
52. Who or what, if anything, would you die for (or otherwise go to extremes for)?
People. Loved ones, especially. The House.
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Post by Souleh on Feb 10, 2007 17:19:53 GMT -5
Part 5: Relationships With Others
53. In general, how do you treat others (politely, rudely, by keeping them at a distance, etc.)? Does your treatment of them change depending on how well you know them, and if so, how?
I’m as polite and friendly as I can be, no matter how long I’ve known someone. I want people to like me, and this is the best way I know how. If I don’t like you, that’ll probably stop, but other than that, I’m a nice guy. I hope.
54. Who is the most important person in your life, and why?
I hate to admit this, but it’s Peter. I’m his genetic copy, and I used him to escape. I wouldn’t exist if he didn’t.
55. Who is the person you respect the most, and why?
I don’t know. I don’t really put people on pedestals.
56. Who are your friends? Do you have a best friend? Describe these people.
I…only have a bunch of acquaintances.
57. Do you have a spouse or significant other? If so, describe this person.
No. Unfortunately.
58. Have you ever been in love? If so, describe what happened.
Nope.
59. What do you look for in a potential lover?
Someone who’s nice, funny, going to add something my life that I don’t already have. And it really helps if they’re pretty.
60. How close are you to your family?
I don’t really have one. The people who are close to being family…I’m not close to at all. 61. Have you started your own family? If so, describe them. If not, do you want to? Why or why not?
No. And…I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if the lab left me alone or…addressed that at all in my creation. I don’t even know if I want to, though.
62. Who would you turn to if you were in desperate need of help?
My Housemates. I would help them, at least one of them would probably help me.
63. Do you trust anyone to protect you? Who, and why?
Uhm, see above?
64. If you died or went missing, who would miss you?
Well, if I went missing, people wouldn’t really worry. People are always just leaving without telling anyone.
65. Who is the person you despise the most, and why?
I don’t do the despising thing. No one, really. Even the people who hurt me—they brought me into existence, too.
66. Do you tend to argue with people, or avoid conflict?
I try to avoid conflict as much as is humanly possible. I don’t like it. It’s uncomfortable and someone always winds up getting upset. But…I’ll argue with someone if I have to.
67. Do you tend to take on leadership roles in social situations?
Not really, but I will if no one else will. Or if the person who is taking leadership is probably not good for the rest.
68. Do you like interacting with large groups of people? Why or why not?
Sure, why not? I like people, they’re fun to hang out with. And a large group means you’re bound to meet someone you like, if you try hard enough.
69. Do you care what others think of you?
Yeah, I really, really want people to like me.
Part 6: Likes And Dislikes
70. What is/are your favorite hobbies and pastimes?
I still like to run. A lot. I watch TV, too. I like to eat, that counts as a hobby, because half the fun is making the food.
71. What is your most treasured possession?
Me. I’m finally mine and I won’t let that change.
72. What is your favorite color?
Brown. It’s warm and rich and deep. And everywhere.
73. What is your favorite food?
Salsa. It’s delicious on…almost everything.
74. What, if anything, do you like to read?
I don’t read that much, but I like a good ‘hero’s journey’ story. Adventure, coming of age, etc.
75. What is your idea of good entertainment (consider music, movies, art, etc.)?
I like action movies, or comedies. Most else usually winds up being boring or depressing. Or scary. As for music, I don’t really care all that much, as long as it’s pretty upbeat. I like the songs that make you smile.
76. Do you smoke, drink, or use drugs? If so, why? Do you want to quit?
No, no, and no.
77. How do you spend a typical Saturday night?
Lounging around the House, just veging out. Watch a movie or something, stay up later than usual.
78. What makes you laugh?
Funny things. Silliness. Really outrageous stuff.
79. What, if anything, shocks or offends you?
When cloning ‘advances’ are announced. People who are just—rude, in a mean sense. Cruelty. Jokes about my eye.
80. What would you do if you had insomnia and had to find something to do to amuse yourself?
There are probably nocturnal residents. At least one other person has to be up, in a place with this many people. Hang out with them, if they don’t mind. Or go running, tire myself out so I can sleep.
81. How do you deal with stress?
I run. Take a few deep breaths and try to calmly assess the situation.
82. Are you spontaneous, or do you always need to have a plan?
Spontaneous, mostly. I hate a structure day—most of my life has been routine, and I hate it.
83. What are your pet peeves?
There’s this ‘joke.’ “Pete and Repete are sitting on a boat. Pete falls off, who’s left?” “Repete.” And then they repeat. I hate that. So much. If you want me to dislike you, tell it and don’t apologize when I get mad. And I hate eye jokes, or people stealing my patch. And, at the risk of sounding inconsiderate, angst really annoys me. Occasional angst is fine, especially in our situation, but I hate it when people just wallow. Be happy you’re alive! Free!
Part 7: Self Images And Etc.
84. Describe the routine of a normal day for you. How do you feel when this routine is disrupted?
Like I said, I hate routine. But I usually wake up around eight, shower, get dressed, all that jazz. Eat breakfast and watch TV. Lunch is around noon, or whenever other people are eating. Usually I take a run sometime after that, if I have work in the evening. Shower when I get back, work. On off days, I just goof off. Dinner at whatever time I feel like. Run at night if I haven’t before, shower, bed when I’m sleepy.
85. What is your greatest strength as a person?
I’m…nice and optimistic. I don’t get all angsty and grouchy often.
86. What is your greatest weakness?
I trust people too easily.
87. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
I want my other eye back. (Sorry, Peter.)
88. Are you generally introverted or extroverted?
Extroverted, sorta. I love people.
89. Are you generally organized or messy?
Mostly organized, but I can be messy when I’m feeling lazy.
90. Name three things you consider yourself to be very good at, and three things you consider yourself to be very bad at.
Playing nice. Running. Making good food.
Depth perception. Not confining myself to Mr. Polite Nice Guy all the time. Lingering on an uncomfortable topic.
91. Do you like yourself?
Yep.
92. What are your reasons for being an adventurer (or doing the strange and heroic things that RPG characters do)? Are your real reasons for doing this different than the ones you tell people in public? (If so, detail both sets of reasons...)
My only adventure was running away, and that was pretty obvious. Self-preservation.
93. What goal do you most want to accomplish in your lifetime?
I want to fall in love. I hear it’s great.
94. Where do you see yourself in 5 years?
Here, at the House. Older.
95. If you could choose, how would you want to die?
In my sleep, old and happy. I don’t want to hurt.
96. If you knew you were going to die in 24 hours, name three things you would do in the time you had left.
If I was…interested in someone, fix my answers to 26 and 27. If they wanted. Do something daring and unexpected. Find some place hidden to die, so the lab can’t have my body. Or set arrangements for that.
97. What is the one thing for which you would most like to be remembered after your death?
I was a good person. And I want them to believe it, too.
98. What three words best describe your personality?
Optimistic people pleaser.
99. What three words would others probably use to describe you?
Polite nice guy.
100. If you could, what advice would you, the player, give to your character? (You might even want to speak as if he or she were sitting right here in front of you, and use proper tone so he or she might heed your advice...)
You don’t have to always be nice and polite, but I think you’re figuring that out. And don’t worry about your eye so much, no one would freak if they saw it.
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