toon town - Printable Version

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toon town - kaythebold - 09-12-2016

gettin all the folks in one, place, eventually?




Name: Cassiopeia Curran
AKA: Cass
Gender: Female
Orientation: Bisexual, difficult to impress
Species: Human
Age: 23
Occupation: Waitress, Craigslist reseller, Oracle

Hair: Dark brown, buzzed to about half an inch. Tendency towards ringlets when long.
Eyes: Warm brown in color, large, naturally long lashes. Typically deep undereye bags.
Height: 5'5"
Weight: 120lbs
Appearance: Skinny, not slender. Fair-skinned, easily (and frequently) bruised knees and knuckles. Heart-shaped face, small hands, small feet. Her left hand- or rather, the fingers on her left hand- have a long scar just below the first knuckle.
Style: Cass dresses like the punk drop-out she very much is. A lot of jeans, most of which have holes that weren't inspired by designers; shirts with faded logos and esoteric slogans. Whatever she's wearing on her top half is probably a few sizes too big, whether that's a chunky sweater or sweatshirt or the leather jacket that used to be her grandfather's. Can't walk in heels at all, pretends she doesn't want to. No dresses, any skirt she owns is probably long enough to be considered a kilt.
Facecast: Brianna Hildebrand

Personality: Cass was a teenage shithead, and now she's a young adult trashcan fire. She's trying to do better.
Plain-spoken, not a natural optimist, but a person who intends to be kind. She has to try hard to be kind. A tendency to be an observer rather than a participant, with a gift of discovering what's important to people. Sarcastic, dry sense of humor. Not a fan of puns, but does have a weakness for absurdity. Cass has a tendency towards smart-ass remarks that she's never quite managed to fix, despite getting into more than a little trouble over it. The fact that she excels at a verbal battle doesn't do anything to change the fact that she gets her ass handed to her in physical ones.
Holds grudges, tries to convince herself she's not the kind of person who holds grudges, holds grudges on other peoples' behalf. Doesn't appreciate being handed responsibility or being told what to do; will follow a leader if she respects them, but would never volunteer for leadership.

To put it frankly: Cass was a teenager when she was told she had the power to change the world, or save it. She responded to that revelation by running away from home, pawning her dead mother's valuables, and effectively trying to drop off the face of the earth. Most days now she regrets that.

Powers: Cassiopeia sees the future. The true future: not branching paths, not possibilities, but the ultimate outcome. Unfortunately, this ability isn't usually very helpful, because she sees visions not of the future as it will happen but as symbols which represent the most significant people, places and events. Frequently these can only be interpreted after the vision has come to pass.
While deep sleep brings on visions which can't be avoided, Cass can also summon a lighter kind of scrying (with a shorter range and more vague message) while awake. Active scrying requires a canvas and a sacrifice. She's found that cigarettes will serve- they are killing her a little bit at a time, after all, and scrying with smoke is so terribly dramatic.

She suspects she might also be able to manage simple witchcraft, given the materials and instruction, but honestly that's more weird shit than she needs right now.

History:
Madeline Curran was sixteen when she met the man of her dreams, seventeen when she had his child and left the world in doing it.

Cass has never met her father, and she has no desire to do so. All she knows is that he was older than her mother-- an adult, by any means-- and he ditched town when her mom started showing. She was raised by her mother's parents, who did their best despite the whirlwind of change and tragedy that had brought her into the world. It was good, in some ways, that Cass was everything her mother was not: independent, adventurous, pragmatic and sullen where her mother had been prone to skirt-clutching and lighthearted fancy. At age six, Cass wanted to grow up to be a mechanic or a lumberjack. At age twelve, it became hard for her grandfather to look her in the eye.

The girl and her grandfather (Gramps) had always shared a tight bond, but as Cassiopeia grew into her adult features, as she shot up in height and began to tilt her head just so-- it was no longer possible to forget why Cass was in their life, and why her mother was missing. Gramps couldn't put it into words, and slowly but surely a gulf began to grow between them. Even her grandmother, a woman with a heart of gold but very little emotional awareness, was aware of the increasing distance in their relationship. At fourteen Cass started coming home with black eyes, a cut lip, a pierced eyebrow-- anything to get her grandfather to see her again. To just fucking look her in the face.

At fifteen, Cass dreamed for the first time.

tbc

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RE: toon town - kaythebold - 09-16-2016



Name: Johnathan Michael Rook
AKA: John, Johnny, Johnny-boy, Boy-o, Rookie
Gender: Male
Orientation: Pansexual
Species: Bitten werewolf
Age: 22
Occupation: College student, volunteer at local urban farming co-op

Hair: Dirty blond, gets a crew cut every few months when his hair starts getting floppy
Eyes: Hazel
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 220lbs
Appearance: John looks like somebody pulled right out of the starting line of some corn-fed football team, and he also looks very apologetic about it. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, unrepentant farmer's tan. He thinks he looks slightly less imposing without a beard, so it's a constant struggle to stay clean-shaven, especially around the full moon. His face is pleasant, if not overly pretty; he has slightly crooked front teeth and a contagious smile. Whatever shoes he's wearing, they're probably covered in dirt.
Style: Jeans, t-shirts, flannel, work boots. Comfortable stuff he's not afraid to get dirty or shredded. His sister is desperately trying to instill some sort of fashion sense into him, so some of those t-shirts are baby pink or fitted. He owns exactly one suit because he got it tailored and the fitting was a traumatizing experience.

Personality: John didn't grow up big-- he got that way pretty late. The heart of him is still a shy, kind kid with a stammer that shows up when he gets excited or nervous. He just also happens to now be capable of manslaughter.
Unswervingly loyal and understanding. It takes some doing to earn John's trust but once you're in there you're there for life, through fire and flame. Need him to bring you donuts after your breakup at 3am? No problem. He's getting the gourmet stuff from that place you like. Need him to help you bury the bodies of the vampires you took down last night? He's already there, and he brought kerosene. He loves easily, but true love makes him stupid.
John can't lie to save his life, and has no poker face to speak of. Goofy. Likes it when everyone's in on the joke, even if that means having to explain it. Loves animals, which are now terrified of him, so he has to content himself with youtube videos and Animal Planet. Dude loves Animal Planet.

Powers: The full-time benefits of being a werewolf include: enhanced strength, enhanced senses, accelerated healing, and a super-fast metabolism (good for processing poisons or drugs, bad for trying to get drunk). Most of the month, Johnny has the ability to take on a kind of half-form, which comes with a set of claws on his hands and feet, increased musculature and hair, and a face only a mother could love. On the night of the full moon, he cannot resist the change into the full form: a towering beast that looks less like a wolf and more like a nightmare.
Contact with silver gives him a kind of allergic reaction; wounds inflicted by silver heal at a human rate. He's not sure if wolfsbane has an effect on him or not, but he's not about to stick a plant up his nose to find out.

History:
tbc

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RE: toon town - kaythebold - 09-25-2016


Name: Teller
AKA: Teller is all there is.
Gender: n/a. The answer to the question, "are you a man or a woman?" is usually, "No."
Orientation: Attracted to all genders, still a little bit hung up on the Queen of Elfland.
Species: Human
Age: Somewhere between twenty-one and twenty-eight; this is something of a complicated question.
Occupation: Travelling bard, entertainer, and recorder of stories.

Hair: Auburn, curly, not cut with any particular skill; a mop that hangs slightly past their jaw
Eyes: Green
Height: 5'2"
Weight: 110 lbs
Appearance: Teller has red-brown hair, light brown skin, and is fairly covered in freckles. They have a strong jawline and a smile that is always higher on one side than the other. Hair never manages to look tidy, particularly after being brushed. Generally possesses an expression of knowing something you don't. Short, but wiry; the build of a climber or a dancer. Calloused fingertips, long fingers.
Style: Clothes of middling status, being neither threadbare nor extravagant; Teller prefers lush fabrics to intricate designs. Terribly fond of green, perhaps to excess, with a bottle-green cloak they are rarely seen without (it has so very many hidden pockets). Typical outfit is a belted tunic, trousers, and leather boots folded over at the knee. For special occasions may add a tabard, on which is embroidered a horse at the join of three rivers, and a broad-brimmed hat. If they've encountered any chickens lately, the hat may even have a feather in it. Never seen without harp in hand or harp-case over their shoulder.

Personality: Teller is a performer, first and foremost. Charming, erudite, witty; they make their living telling stories, and so even the most mundane recounting of an event becomes an epic. An optimist, or at the very least good at pretending to be an optimist. Something of a chameleon, in that they are very good at reading a crowd and presenting the right face. Slow to anger, but they are very proud; nothing can raise their ire like humiliation, especially if it's public. Energetic, yet a very good listener. They do genuinely care about what other people have to say, even if sometimes they seem to pay more attention to how something is said than the actual content. A hedonist, given the chance. Enjoys the attention that comes with leadership, but they know they're not cut out for much responsibility.
Teller doesn't want the kind of fame that comes from being installed in a castle and lauded with gifts. They want a different kind of renown: they want people all over to know their name, to tell their stories, to speak with admiration of the incredible bard and their hypnotizing music. It's for this reason that Teller is still traveling, despite the fact that they could likely win over most nobles and be granted a place in court.

Powers: When Teller tells a tale, you can't help but listen. It's less compulsion, and more fascination; listeners are lightly enchanted, and those closest to Teller can often see the events they recount taking place, even smell, taste, or hear them. There is also some projective empathy which occurs, though this has a much stronger hold on those who are likely to be sympathetic to the tale's protagonist. This ability can come from a purely verbal tale, but is much more powerful when accompanied by Teller's harp. They can control the spread and strength of this power to some degree.

In payment for this gift-- for it was a gift, and not a birthright-- Teller must truthfully answer any question asked directly to them. They are compelled to answer, but they can choose which words to use; if they can weasel out with clever wordplay they absolutely will. But when ultimately confronted with a question they cannot avoid, Teller cannot tell a lie.

History: Sometimes, when the people of a village you've never been to before tell you to avoid the green hill just beyond the town, you should listen. Sometimes, when people you consider to be uneducated hicks tell you that the elves will steal you away, you should do more than just pretend to believe.

Teller lost seven years under the hill. In that time, though it felt ever so brief, they saw wonders to shake mortal minds. Things beautiful and terrible, creatures of nightmare and legend. When they left, they were offered a choice, and a gift.

Teller was a good bard, before. They were a bard of legend, after.


Say surrender. Say alabaster. Switchblade.
    Honeysuckle. Goldenrod. Say autumn.
Say autumn despite the green
    in your eyes. Beauty despite
daylight. Say you’d kill for it. Unbreakable dawn
    mounting in your throat.
My thrashing beneath you
    like a sparrow stunned
with falling.
— Ocean Vuong, from “On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous,” Poetry (December 2014)

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