Post by Lottie Crittenden on Jan 31, 2009 15:15:59 GMT -4
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CHARLOTTEDANAE, CRITTENDEN
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“in a sense she still smiles very sweetly.
charged with insults and flattery
her body moves with malice
do you have to be so cruel to be callous?”
;;_back to BASICS
name;; Charlotte Danae Crittenden
nickname;; Lottie
age;; 17
birthday;; 28 October 2003
place of birth;; New York, New York
gender;; xx
sexuality;; bi-curious
canon;; no
year;; senior
occupation;; none; gambles for extra money
;;_craving for POWER
power clique;;] naturalist
sub-skill;;] toxikinesis
ability stats;; the stat points will be given by the admins upon approval of application. The better the app, the more the stat points given, so make it impressive. For more help please go here.power;; signifies your characters power level
control;; signifies your characters control level
sub-skill;; signifies your characters mastery of his/her sub-skill
known limits;; Not only do her powers take a toll on her energy, but using toxikinesis also drains her body fluids (most of the plant poisons she makes are secreted through her skin). Thus using it too much can dehydrate her, a potentially fatal problem if gone too long without being rectified. She has an increased control over pheromones and the ability to emit them, so she can draw animals and other people to her more easily; however, this trades off with the ability to communicate with said animals, something that comes easy to other naturalists. For whatever reason, it's just hard for her to have two-way communication--usually she can understand htem, but so much of the time they cannot understand her. She doesn’t know why. With animals that are closer to her, that she's shared a bond with (like pets) it is much easier to sustain two-way communication. Perhaps her personality affects which types of animals have a natural pull to her, because skittish herbivores are much harder to keep in her presence than other animals, even with increased doses of pheromones.
power history;;Ever since she was a young girl, Lottie always felt a certain affinity to nature. None of that was very odd, except her parents were about the farthest from granola-heads one can get. They thought it was normal for little boys and girls to want to play outside. And maybe it was, but Lottie didn’t entirely fit the mold for “normal.”
Her powers didn’t become powerful enough to recognize until she was nearly eight. Sure, strange things had happened before that time; reptiles had followed her into the house (causing mass hysteria on her mother’s part), budding flowers liked to bloom when she came into the room, and she always smelled like hyacinth no matter how often she washed, even though the only plant of that type belonged to a neighbor down the street. No—none of that was all that strange, but once her toxikinesis began to develop, the fact that she was “special” could not be denied.
At first she couldn’t control it. She sweated toxins. They weren’t extremely strong in the beginning—they weren’t strong enough to cause any real damage—but touching her skin after she’d been outside would cause a rash the kind one gets from horrible poison ivy almost immediately. Her mother, being the type of mother she was, raced her to the doctor though nothing seemed outwardly wrong. To doctors, Lottie was a puzzling case. To her mother, she was a nightmare. That didn’t mean that she didn’t love her daughter, but she was afraid that her beautiful little girl had something horribly wrong with her. She was transferred from hospital to hospital around the New York area until finally referred to a doctor in St. Louis by someone who thought he knew what was going on. He recommended that the family move to St. Louis to administer further study, but her Lottie’s mother refused until a few years later because her job precluded a change in location.
Her power increased with her age. The toxins became stronger, but she still couldn’t prevent them from oozing out of her skin involuntarily. After a while she just tried not to sweat, and stayed inside miserably, drawing pictures of flowers and snakes.
When she was ten, her mother brought her with her to the restaurant after her sous chef had an emergency and couldn’t come in. Her mother couldn’t leave Lottie at home and didn’t have time to hire a babysitter, so she just told her to sit in the kitchen and do her math homework. After that night a big scandal in the papers occurred when almost everyone who had eaten at the restaurant had horrible vomiting and diarrhea; an inspection found that they had all suffered from ricin poisoning, and discovered trace amounts on the counters that Lottie had frequented. Her mother had to close down the restaurant due to negative press, and they finally made the move to St. Louis. Something had to be done about this.
Over the next four years she worked on controlling her powers, something that was greatly helped when she entered Sententia High. She discovered aspects of her powers she didn’t even know she could do, like pheromone manipulation, and continued fine-tuning her control through meditation and concentration practices. It was hard work, but Lottie was starting to become a real force to be reckoned with, and she wanted to make sure that everyone knew it.
;;_mirrors reveal real APPEARANCE
celeb claim;; Milla Jovovich
height;; 183 cm
weight;; 68 kg
eye color;; Light blue-green
hair color;; Black
assets;; Lottie considers her height her best asset. It’s the only thing that can’t be changed on the body, and the one thing that makes her stand out from (or rather above) the crowd. It’s the one thing about her body that distinguishes herself from the other girls around her.
flaw;; Okay, so she hates her breasts. Actually, she doesn’t really like the unfeminine nature of her entire body. She doesn’t have those “lovely lady lumps” in the back or the front, and she’s pretty much rail-thin. The only curves she has are her muscles. But if you like skin and bones, then she’s definitely your star. Perhaps if she didn’t hate eating so much (one does inevitably have to kill something in order to glean energy from it) then she could get a little bit of a figure. Until she gets over that aversion, no one’s going to cat-call at her body.
distinguishing mark;; She has a tattoo of a blooming fuchsia orchid across her back, the stem of which starts on her lower back and extends to her left shoulderLottie’s face is drawn and sharp, with high, prominent cheekbones, light-colored eyes, and mouth with long lips usually curled in a mocking smile. Her skin, characteristic of those who live in areas without much sunlight, is a pale, translucent color. She has short, naturally wavy dark hair that falls messily about her head. She is extremely tall for a woman, standing a little over 180 cm, and has a lean, very wiry build. She has broad shoulders, a small waist, long, skinny legs, and very small breasts.
As for clothing, Lottie’s style differs almost every day, depending on her mood. She sees her body as a canvas with which she can express herself, and her choices reflect that. She thinks it is important to look professional when she is expected to be, and has a vast array of nice dresses in her arsenal. On a normal day she can be seen wearing long, flimsy, flowing dresses with a pair of black converse, and she absolutely loves big hats. Sometimes she wears clothing that would look more risqué on other girls, but due to her fairly unfeminine figure it’s not too much of a problem. Most of her clothing is colored with bright tones and patterns, and she really likes to incorporate nature into her accessories. Not often is she seen without some bright flower in her hair or pinned to her dress.WILD // JUDGMENTAL // ALOOF
;;_we have our own INDIVIDUALITY
likes;;
[/li][li][/color] biking/racing
[/li][li][/color] horror movies
[/li][li][/color] psychology
[/li][li][/color] observing people
[/li][li][/color] dancing
[/li][li][/color] jazz music
[/li][li][/color] writing
[/li][li][/color] reptiles
[/li][li][/color] fresh vegetables
[/li][li][/color] gardening
[/li][li][/color] hiking/the outdoors
[/li][li][/color] skinny dipping
[/li][li][/color] few people[/li][/ul]
dislikes;;
[/li][li][/color] doctors
[/li][li][/color] altruists
[/li][li][/color] bureaucrats
[/li][li][/color] being defeated
[/li][li][/color] inevitability
[/li][li][/color] constricting clothes
[/li][li][/color] simplicity--it's deceiving
[/li][li][/color] pollution
[/li][li][/color] dead things
[/li][li][/color] sunscreen
[/li][li][/color] strong perfume
[/li][li][/color] little old ladies
[/li][li][/color] mainstream society
[/li][li][/color] most people[/li][/ul]
dreams;;
[/li][li][/color] To live in the forest for two years, like Thoreau, minus the sister doing her laundry and bringing it to her regularly
[/li][li][/color] Dye her hair bright red and dress up like Poison Ivy from Batman
[/li][li][/color] Win the World Series of Poker—four times, to beat out Stu Ungar.
[/li][li][/color] Help create an anarchist state… of course, that’s rather long-term[/li][/ul]
fears;;
[/li][li][/color] commitment
[/li][li][/color] losing a limb or sense
[/li][li][/color] sickness
[/li][li][/color] being indecisive
[/li][li][/color] bleeding to death
[/li][li][/color] killing someone by accident
[/li][li][/color] being imprisoned
[/li][li][/color] getting lost--mentally or physically[/li][/ul]
eccentricities;; She hates having to eat and wishes that she could just photosynthesize. The scent of hyacinth, her favorite flower, follows her everywhere.
Lottie has a… strange way about people. Generally around strangers she is stiflingly polite, with etiquette too perfect to be comfortable around. Half of the time she just seems like she’s bored, but not trying to show it. She has the same attitude when other people get angry at her. Though most arguments with Lottie degenerate into scream fests, she isn’t the one screaming; she’s the one staring into the eyes of the other person with a mocking smile, impressive sangfroid, and lighthearted insult.
So obviously Lottie isn't exactly a warm person. Once a true idealist, she has given up on the possibility of a better world and has become extremely cynical and hardened. She doesn't make friends very easily and prefers to keep to herself, because she sees everyone as being superficial and unchangeably, evil on the inside. She despises self-righteousness and people who think their actions are for the good of mankind, because she feels that selflessness is impossible, and the person exhibiting it always has some kind of ulterior motive for self-benefit. She stresses the eye blink that is the human life, and how no matter how much one does in their life they will always end in the same place: death. The fact that she is so connected with nature ingrains again and again the inevitability and finality of death, and the circle of life’s ongoing nature.
Still, Lottie isn’t some kind of a recluse. In fact, she can be almost talkative once she gets to know someone—and only partially because she likes to hear herself talk. Now, she never really becomes “friendly,” per se—at least, in the conventional definition of friendliness. She doesn’t chat much, nor does she express affection often, and her conversations don’t include the normal topics. She isn’t afraid to be frank and brutal with others no matter what their relationship to her; nature doesn’t make little white lies, and neither does she. Lottie despises meaningless conversation like the weather; besides being hopelessly droll, she thinks that mindless chatter degrades the importance of human communication.
So usually she likes to observe—to “people-watch,” as though they were specimen in her own personal experiment. And sometimes she can get so caught up in it that the obsession stands on the verge of stalking. All her observations have made her become even more jaded about humanity. When one thinks no one is looking, the worst, most secret sins of man’s heart come rising to the surface. Unnecessary violence, cruelty, and death disgust her, and she sees it run rampant every day. The natural purity that she finds in the animal world, however cruel it can be, is lacking in the human world, and she resents it.
The only time Lottie ever shows her temper is when someone really penetrates her skin. Though it takes a lot to get through her outer layer, when someone really gets her angry, she gets angry. She kicks, she screams, she punches, she hurts. And she can’t hold it in. Usually she gets angry when her philosophy on life is questioned, or when she is truly and relentlessly criticized. She finds creative expression as an unfiltered, unedited output of inner emotions. If it is altered and thus corrupted by surrounding society, it is no longer an expression of the self. And Lottie finds the self the most important aspect of life, the only thing that one can own and keep constant through the short life he is entitled to. To suppress life is the worst of all sins.
Despite an intense devotion to her work, and determination to achieve all of her goals, Lottie cannot get rid of her intense desire to be reckless, to throw caution to the wind, and not think about what the next day may bring. Though she realizes that one can never live in denial, Lottie doesn’t usually follow her own advice. She likes to party and drink with people she doesn’t know so that she doesn’t have to face her problems immediately; a tendency for procrastination in every way is one of her biggest flaws, whether it comes to her work life or her personal life. She can’t resist the urge to gamble with her money or her life—playing poker and racing motorcycles are the apex of her existence. She refuses to recognize fear.
Honestly, Lottie doesn’t know why she’s a naturalist in the first place. She doesn’t exactly fit in with the stereotype, though does have a soft spot for animals she refuses to commit, as well as a compassionate tendency for everything on the Earth (though she won’t usually act on it). She does share a disgust for death, the one thing she admits to that is in common with the other naturalists; she thinks nature is cruel and fatal enough—she doesn’t need to contribute to it—so she does not eat any meat. In fact, she even has a hard time just eating vegetables. They were once alive too, and she can feel the connection and the life force in them that non-naturalists can’t. And even though she does share some characteristics with the other naturalists, she often feels alienated within her own sub-group; admittedly part of it is self-inflicted because she gets tired of the sappy Snow White types around her all the time, but she does try to get along if it pleases her at the time.
;;_we owe it all to HISTORY
father's name;; Serge Crittenden
mother's name;; Elisabeth Tremaine
siblings name;; Isaiah and Dennis Crittenden (stillborns)
significant other;; N/A
children's name;; N/A
others;; She has a ball python named Britney, and she treats her garden better than some people treat their pets.
A long time ago, the adult daughter of a man who owned a chain of successful, five-star restaurants across the globe ran into her mailbox when she was backing out of her driveway in a hurry. Later that day she dropped her car off at the repair shop and called her grandfather of a husband to take her home. The following weekend, when she arrived at the shop to pick up the vehicle, she met a handsome young mechanic. He was blond, with a sharp wit, soft blue eyes, and strong arms; an eighteen-year-old named Serge Crittenden. He worked underneath his father, the owner of the auto shop. She didn’t think that the fulfillment of the thoughts that ran wild through her head would have been punishable by law had they happened the year before. All she could think about was that beautiful face, and the smile of a man who had seen the world and laughed in its face.
The next day she backed into a pole in a parking deck, but this time it wasn’t an accident. She dropped her car off, and this time she introduced herself to the young mechanic that greeted her. Elisabeth Tremaine was nearly ten years his senior, and married. She barely even knew the man. But that didn’t stop her from seducing him after hours.
Elisabeth left her husband two weeks later and ran away with Serge to America, where they eventually married and restarted their lives. She sent her husband the divorce papers in the mail. She had two miscarriages over the span of three years, and it took her a long time before she tried to have a child again. During the meantime she threw herself into her work; her father died, and she inherited his restaurants to add to her own growing chain. Finally, when she was nearly forty, a pregnancy came full-term, and Charlotte Crittenden saw the world for the first time.
Little Lottie, so named by her grandmother, was a child whose parents could not dote upon more if they tried. They loved her every move, recorded her every word, waited upon her every order, and fulfilled every whimsical fantasy she had. She recognized her identity as perfection incarnate early on, and neither she nor her parents would let anyone tell her otherwise. Her parents followed all the books; they stimulated her brain and her body; they spoke and read to her regularly; they loved her endlessly; and they even taught her their trades throughout her life. They sowed the seeds for little Lottie to develop a mind truly her own. She began to develop her own opinions; as soon as she could read she would read about events and concepts she had heard others voice their ideas on. She would research words she didn’t know that other used. She would listen in on adult conversations and try to understand that mystic right of passage: politics. She wondered often about the mind, the body, and the spirit, and the connection between the three. But as a young child, the answers weren’t exactly evident. What she didn’t realize was that as she grew up, they would slip even farther away, as the connections between people became more and more tenuous. Her cynicism and disgust with humanity increased directly with both her age and the rise of her powers, but it didn’t kill her nonviolent nature. The moment she found out what the ramifications of her abilities were, of what she could do, the displays of anger became less and less frequent. She had to get a control over herself, because she didn’t want to hurt anyone with her “gifts,” even if any harm done was unintentional. So she kept mostly to herself.
Since Lottie didn’t have many friends, her parents tried to compensate. They each had their own ways of bonding. Her father taught her everything he knew about automobiles; her mother, everything she knew about cooking. She and her mother often talked and cooked dinner together in the evenings, while she and her father fixed up a few junky cars here and there. He also taught her (much to her mother’s horror) how to motorcycle.
This was all fine to Lotie, but her parents couldn’t occupy all of her time. She grew older and became more independent. She chose what she wanted to do and when she wanted to do it. She listened to her parents, but didn’t allow them to ingratiate themselves into her life. She basically became the typical teenager. She had a few chosen friends, though she still spent a lot of time away from people. But she couldn’t deny the hold that people had on her curiosity. Often, when alone, like the almost-blooming flowers in her childhood, Lottie would watch people—in malls or on the subway or on the streets—and she saw many things. She saw a woman get mugged in a sketchy alley. She saw a man cheat on his wife and lie about it to her. She saw a woman using a condom to keep her cigarette dry in the rain. Once she even saw a man get hit by a car; the car kept going, because it was deliberate.
The human psyche both fascinated and disgusted her. She started really delving into the realm of psychology, and read everything on the subject she could get her hands on. Freud’s theories spoke to her and explained what she saw in humanity when she watched closely. Maybe she didn’t want to believe it, but the proof was there in front of her eyes. And she became even more disillusioned when the injustice of humanity was turned on her personally.
When her mother’s restaurant in New York went belly-up after some health-code violations, the family moved to St. Louis, where Elisabeth had plans to start another high-class dining establishment. Lottie didn’t know how exactly she was found, but somehow word came through the grapevine that Sententia was the school for her. And that actually meant the only school for her. She thought she was rounded up like cattle to be branded and broken and sent to the slaughterhouse. A special school, huh? Did they have to give it a name like that? Like they were somehow fundamentally different than everyone else, like they couldn’t coexist peacefully in society, like they needed to be taken away and have the very fibers of their beings destroyed and rearranged according to what the community thinks is right? Yeah, sure. Keep the diseased quarantined—away from the humans and their susceptible bodies. Let’s cure the members of the breed. Needless to say, she wasn’t happy to enter high school at Sententia, and made one hell of a deal about it. It took a while, but she finally became resigned to the fact she was here to stay, at least for another three years. Now in her last year she can’t wait to leave this place and get out into the world—if it will let an abomination in.
;;_totally out of CHARACTER
real name;; Dionne
age;; 16
rp skill;; Advanced
rping length;; A long time
read the power guideline;; fruitcake
where did you find us;; support proboards ad
rp sample;; “Heeeeeeeeeeyyy, good-a-lookin’! Whaaaaaatcha got a-cookin’? How’s about coookin’ somethin’ up for meeeeeeeeeee?”
Antonio’s chesty voice resounded throughout the small, pill-shaped kitchen, echoing easily off of the rounded walls as he sang songs from the old age. Liquid nitrogen sizzled at a rolling boil as percussion in the background while a forgotten timer continued to beep in one-second intervals, keeping the beat. At this point Antonio had grabbed a mop and was demonstrating on it his fierce tango dance moves on it while it squeaked angrily, unable to get a digital focus to vaporize the dirt particles.
“Sweetie, don’t anger the mop,” a young woman drawled as she entered the kitchen. Antonio started, and the mop fell to the floor with a rattle.
“Geez, El. You can at least… knock,” he suggested weakly with a sheepish grin on his face. “You scared the pants off of me!” He kicked halfheartedly at the fizzling mop on the floor and shoved his hands into his pockets. “You know I get embarrassed when people catch me demonstrating my sexy Latin heritage.” A shy smile as he looked up from underneath his long eyelashes.
“Oh, please. Don’t pull that look on me,” his roommate muttered with a hand on her slim hip. With a swift look towards his outfit, she rolled her eyes and added: “It’s better I did scare the pants off of you. Those threaded fiber-optics are so last season. You would get laughed out of any club in town.”
Antonio stuck out his lower lip and frowned. “You bought me these pants,” he blubbered, trying to do his best to muster a fake tear. He wasn’t very successful, and ended up looking like he was sucking on something that tasted god-awful. Of course, El wasn’t fooled in the slightest; she knew what really pushed his buttons and what didn’t. He’d cried on her shoulder over too many things in the past for her not to know every inadequacy that he’d ever felt in his life.
“That time of the month again, ‘Tanya’?” El asked sarcastically.
“You wouldn’t know, ‘Elfanso’, seeing as you’re way too manly to experience it,” he retorted quickly with a laugh, immediately followed by raised arms to shield his face from the wrath of her purse. It sailed over his head; he ducked just in time.
“Don’t make fun of my anatomy!” she yelled.
“I would be too afraid you’d rip your shirt off and wrestle me with your oversized muscles!” he screamed even louder.
“Shut up!”
No, you shut up!”
“No, you!”
“No, you!”
“AUGH!”
She ran at him and slammed into his stomach, throwing him backwards into the wall. He screamed and laughed at the same time, and the worried wall asked if there had been an accident. “No, no, no!” he sputtered in response, barely able to get the words out between choking and giggling. El got up off of him and lifted him up.
“We’re way too old for this.”
“We’re way too old for everything fun,” Antonio countered. He leaned back against the wall and pressed the security code into the panels. “Besides, I’m still a two-year-old on the inside, as you say.”
“Yeah, you child. Thank god I’m a couple years younger than you. If I were thirty I don’t know what I’d do.”
Antonio looked at her with a coy smile. “I guess you don’t want the birthday present I got you.” El stopped.
“You got me a present?” she asked suspiciously.
“Yeaaaaaaaahhh…” he answered slowly, relishing the amount of anticipation he was causing.
Given over to curiosity, she continued her inquiry. “Is it a good present?”
Antonio smiled secretly, as though listening to a joke he wasn’t supposed to laugh at. “I don’t know. You have a week to reconsider before it’s your birthday and I scan it into returns. Before you’re thirty.”
“God, don’t remind me,” she moaned, rubbing her eyes tiredly. “It better be a really good present.”
Antonio laughed in his usual way, as though the world were just one big joke.
“Well, it’ll be good if it can fit over your manly figure,” he blurted out, but his roommate didn’t have time to react—even as the words were leaving his lips, he was dashing out the door and the sidewalk was rising to greet his fast-moving feet.
character adoption;; no
;;_chapter one: SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST
here are some questions we will be asking for this first chapter of the plot.
willing to get your character murdered;; not at the moment, but I might be willing to have her get incapacitated for a while.
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