Post by Netreemic on Jan 29, 2009 23:29:32 GMT -6
Name: His First Name was Abandon (demons, not all of them get flashy names~) …but he was called Absalon once, and it stuck.
Age: Centuries. Pulls off 25-32 year old most times.
Gender: Male
Species: He’s a low-level demon, personification of an idea…much like the Sins. He both spreads and lives off his namesake as he wanders the centuries, feeding from those affected by all aspects of abandonment. However, he himself is held in greatest sway…thus certain ailments.
Appearance: He generally wears an expression of mystification. He’s got close trimmed black hair, with the lightest cowlick in the front. His charcoal skin is tinged blue, though not to be taken as a sign of cold: it’s just his blood color. Just wears simple t-shirts and jeans. He’s gotten a smattering of scars over the years (from learning how to bike he says), a light limp, and constantly abraded skin on the back of his neck from a thin chain necklace. He’s 5’8’’ ish…big hands…looks like he needs sleep…
Personality: He can be absent minded to the nth degree most centuries, but ever so often he throws himself entirely into something for years. However, he will just as suddenly drop it. He is generally amused by life and only too happy to help, but the next second he might just ignore you. Unless you fit into his requirements…then he’ll probably hang around, skimming off the top. Slurp slurp~<3
Likes: Emotional people, empty buildings, puppies, kittens, the occasional lizard, junkyards, munchies…
Dislikes: …chickens? And goats apparently.
Strengths: Gets over stuff pretty easy, has a hellfire core so he gets to play with fire~, has a big smile.
Weaknesses:Short attention span (gets lost, loses things, etc), not the best listener either, very infrequent fits of rage or other extreme emotion sometimes work against him…oh, and some serious memory loss.
History: He’s been around since the beginning when the sorrows of humanity filled the world. He has written most of it down in some shape or form to combat his poor retention in journals (entrusted to certain individuals, hidden, or kept on his person)…though he often has no idea what they mean later as they are encrypted or written in a language he forgets. So, even if you asked, he’d really have nothing to say. But he can be reminded of certain things and it can come all rushing back to him…may or may not be a good thing.
RP Sample:
“All those moments will be lost…like tears…in the rain.” Absalon glanced up from his notes that were scrawled in the air around him, hellfire simmering bright. He brushed his hand through the lines in front of his face, waving them out of sight and rewound the tape. The white haired replicant’s face filled the screen. His finger hovered over the play button. That means something…doesn’t it? He chewed on his lip, scratched lightly at the stubble on his chin, and then flicked to a different channel on the tv. He threw his head back, laughing as the mortals greedily scrabbled for the numbers in the cases. They were all so excitable, disregarding any self-respect they might have had. He licked his lips and glanced through the hole in the wall into the next three rooms. The derelict building had provided dry shelter and a swift recharge, but he was running low. Running his fingers over the sagging wooden floor he rose to his feet, flicking the tv off. Some kid would probably find it later and sell it back to the pawnshop he’d borrowed it from. Gathering up his bag (it had a hellhound on it…he thought that was hilarious) he checked the small notebooks. Not really thinking about it, he reached down to yank the VHS out of the player and stuffed it in the bag as well. Jumping over the broken sofa he slid through the door and bounced his way down the stairs, discordantly humming “Ride of the Valkyries”
[and I blame him on hawk…telling me I was abandoning her for bed *shakes head* give people funny dreams I tell yah. So if he seems kinda weirdly fleshed out...creature of a dream...they are frequently odd and he just needed to get out of mah head]
Age: Centuries. Pulls off 25-32 year old most times.
Gender: Male
Species: He’s a low-level demon, personification of an idea…much like the Sins. He both spreads and lives off his namesake as he wanders the centuries, feeding from those affected by all aspects of abandonment. However, he himself is held in greatest sway…thus certain ailments.
Appearance: He generally wears an expression of mystification. He’s got close trimmed black hair, with the lightest cowlick in the front. His charcoal skin is tinged blue, though not to be taken as a sign of cold: it’s just his blood color. Just wears simple t-shirts and jeans. He’s gotten a smattering of scars over the years (from learning how to bike he says), a light limp, and constantly abraded skin on the back of his neck from a thin chain necklace. He’s 5’8’’ ish…big hands…looks like he needs sleep…
Personality: He can be absent minded to the nth degree most centuries, but ever so often he throws himself entirely into something for years. However, he will just as suddenly drop it. He is generally amused by life and only too happy to help, but the next second he might just ignore you. Unless you fit into his requirements…then he’ll probably hang around, skimming off the top. Slurp slurp~<3
Likes: Emotional people, empty buildings, puppies, kittens, the occasional lizard, junkyards, munchies…
Dislikes: …chickens? And goats apparently.
Strengths: Gets over stuff pretty easy, has a hellfire core so he gets to play with fire~, has a big smile.
Weaknesses:Short attention span (gets lost, loses things, etc), not the best listener either, very infrequent fits of rage or other extreme emotion sometimes work against him…oh, and some serious memory loss.
History: He’s been around since the beginning when the sorrows of humanity filled the world. He has written most of it down in some shape or form to combat his poor retention in journals (entrusted to certain individuals, hidden, or kept on his person)…though he often has no idea what they mean later as they are encrypted or written in a language he forgets. So, even if you asked, he’d really have nothing to say. But he can be reminded of certain things and it can come all rushing back to him…may or may not be a good thing.
RP Sample:
“All those moments will be lost…like tears…in the rain.” Absalon glanced up from his notes that were scrawled in the air around him, hellfire simmering bright. He brushed his hand through the lines in front of his face, waving them out of sight and rewound the tape. The white haired replicant’s face filled the screen. His finger hovered over the play button. That means something…doesn’t it? He chewed on his lip, scratched lightly at the stubble on his chin, and then flicked to a different channel on the tv. He threw his head back, laughing as the mortals greedily scrabbled for the numbers in the cases. They were all so excitable, disregarding any self-respect they might have had. He licked his lips and glanced through the hole in the wall into the next three rooms. The derelict building had provided dry shelter and a swift recharge, but he was running low. Running his fingers over the sagging wooden floor he rose to his feet, flicking the tv off. Some kid would probably find it later and sell it back to the pawnshop he’d borrowed it from. Gathering up his bag (it had a hellhound on it…he thought that was hilarious) he checked the small notebooks. Not really thinking about it, he reached down to yank the VHS out of the player and stuffed it in the bag as well. Jumping over the broken sofa he slid through the door and bounced his way down the stairs, discordantly humming “Ride of the Valkyries”
[and I blame him on hawk…telling me I was abandoning her for bed *shakes head* give people funny dreams I tell yah. So if he seems kinda weirdly fleshed out...creature of a dream...they are frequently odd and he just needed to get out of mah head]