Strawberry Fields Forever: An Experimental RP (I SEE YOU)

[Constaniana]

Name: Pam Bennet
Age (14-17): 17
D.O.B. April 7th
Gender: Trogdor
Background: Optimistic Prefect
Bio: Pam is another military brat at the orphanage, though she has no certain proof of this. Conceived by a drunken tumble between a young lieutenant from Wisconsin attached to the 53rd Weather Reconnaissance Squadron stationed at RAF Burtonwood and a girl working at a chippy, her mother died in birth and her father promptly dropped her off at the nearest orphanage in a panic. Not wanting rumours to get out and hamper his rise in the ranks, Pam's father took care to conceal his identity, although he neglected to hide his accent, leaving his daughter only with the suspicion that her dad was a Yank. With no surname to claim, Pam would later take the family name of the protagonist of her favourite book, Pride and Prejudice.

Curiously, as the girl grew she took on a few traits from her absent father without realising it, first developing a fondness for cheese instead of sweets like the other children. Pam also began acting a bit like a military officer, settling fights between the other orphans and the like. She saw her election as a prefect as natural, and strives to fulfil her obligations the best she can. One of the few things to break her orderly temperament is people breaking promises and shirking their duties; something that may be caused by subconscious resentment of her father running out on her.
Likes: Fulfilling one's duties, Jane Austen, cheddar, gouda, tidy quarters
Dislikes: Dishonesty, parmesan cheese (it smells like unclean feet), abandoning people
Appearance: Ahoy.
Defining Quote: "Spit spot". (This isn't a placeholder for until I find a good quote, no ma'am)
RP Sample: Kroie felt his suit getting hotter, tighter against his chiselled frame. The fireflies danced overhead in the night skies, but his eyes were only on Charlie, and the way her uncharacteristically sultry red dress hugged her fine Southemen derrière and hinted at the sweet swell of her bosom. The detective pressed herself against Kroie like she had back before that first Inferno, but she didn't pull away this time, no. No embarrassed blush came across the maiden's cheeks this time, as her heart began to race in excitement. The wall of restraint held for only a moment more, before collapsing under pressure like a thatch cottage against a man-of-war's broadside, and the two Elementals began to kiss with a wild fury, hands roaming every which way across one another. Tumbling down onto the warm tropical sand of Yuelkelu, their eager fingers began to tug clothes off...

Or, they would have, if Agri ever posted in Elementals.

[Agritum]

Name: Pam Bennet
Age (14-17): 17
D.O.B. April 7th
Gender: Trogdor
Background: Optimistic Prefect
Bio: Pam is another military brat at the orphanage, though she has no certain proof of this. Conceived by a drunken tumble between a young lieutenant from Wisconsin attached to the 53rd Weather Reconnaissance Squadron stationed at RAF Burtonwood and a girl working at a chippy, her mother died in birth and her father promptly dropped her off at the nearest orphanage in a panic. Not wanting rumours to get out and hamper his rise in the ranks, Pam's father took care to conceal his identity, although he neglected to hide his accent, leaving his daughter only with the suspicion that her dad was a Yank. With no surname to claim, Pam would later take the family name of the protagonist of her favourite book, Pride and Prejudice.

Curiously, as the girl grew she took on a few traits from her absent father without realising it, first developing a fondness for cheese instead of sweets like the other children. Pam also began acting a bit like a military officer, settling fights between the other orphans and the like. She saw her election as a prefect as natural, and strives to fulfil her obligations the best she can. One of the few things to break her orderly temperament is people breaking promises and shirking their duties; something that may be caused by subconscious resentment of her father running out on her.
Likes: Fulfilling one's duties, Jane Austen, cheddar, gouda, tidy quarters
Dislikes: Dishonesty, parmesan cheese (it smells like unclean feet), abandoning people
Appearance: Ahoy.
Defining Quote: "Spit spot". (This isn't a placeholder for until I find a good quote, no ma'am)
RP Sample: Kroie felt his suit getting hotter, tighter against his chiselled frame. The fireflies danced overhead in the night skies, but his eyes were only on Charlie, and the way her uncharacteristically sultry red dress hugged her fine Southemen derrière and hinted at the sweet swell of her bosom. The detective pressed herself against Kroie like she had back before that first Inferno, but she didn't pull away this time, no. No embarrassed blush came across the maiden's cheeks this time, as her heart began to race in excitement. The wall of restraint held for only a moment more, before collapsing under pressure like a thatch cottage against a man-of-war's broadside, and the two Elementals began to kiss with a wild fury, hands roaming every which way across one another. Tumbling down onto the warm tropical sand of Yuelkelu, their eager fingers began to tug clothes off...

Or, they would have, if Agri ever posted in Elementals.

Accepted.

But that RP Sample is creepy, and I'll make you suffer from it.

[Constaniana]

Name: Pam Bennet
Age (14-17): 17
D.O.B. April 7th
Gender: Trogdor
Background: Optimistic Prefect
Bio: Pam is another military brat at the orphanage, though she has no certain proof of this. Conceived by a drunken tumble between a young lieutenant from Wisconsin attached to the 53rd Weather Reconnaissance Squadron stationed at RAF Burtonwood and a girl working at a chippy, her mother died in birth and her father promptly dropped her off at the nearest orphanage in a panic. Not wanting rumours to get out and hamper his rise in the ranks, Pam's father took care to conceal his identity, although he neglected to hide his accent, leaving his daughter only with the suspicion that her dad was a Yank. With no surname to claim, Pam would later take the family name of the protagonist of her favourite book, Pride and Prejudice.

Curiously, as the girl grew she took on a few traits from her absent father without realising it, first developing a fondness for cheese instead of sweets like the other children. Pam also began acting a bit like a military officer, settling fights between the other orphans and the like. She saw her election as a prefect as natural, and strives to fulfil her obligations the best she can. One of the few things to break her orderly temperament is people breaking promises and shirking their duties; something that may be caused by subconscious resentment of her father running out on her.
Likes: Fulfilling one's duties, Jane Austen, cheddar, gouda, tidy quarters
Dislikes: Dishonesty, parmesan cheese (it smells like unclean feet), abandoning people
Appearance: Ahoy.
Defining Quote: "Spit spot". (This isn't a placeholder for until I find a good quote, no ma'am)
RP Sample: Kroie felt his suit getting hotter, tighter against his chiselled frame. The fireflies danced overhead in the night skies, but his eyes were only on Charlie, and the way her uncharacteristically sultry red dress hugged her fine Southemen derrière and hinted at the sweet swell of her bosom. The detective pressed herself against Kroie like she had back before that first Inferno, but she didn't pull away this time, no. No embarrassed blush came across the maiden's cheeks this time, as her heart began to race in excitement. The wall of restraint held for only a moment more, before collapsing under pressure like a thatch cottage against a man-of-war's broadside, and the two Elementals began to kiss with a wild fury, hands roaming every which way across one another. Tumbling down onto the warm tropical sand of Yuelkelu, their eager fingers began to tug clothes off...

Or, they would have, if Agri ever posted in Elementals.

Accepted.

But that RP Sample is creepy, and I'll make you suffer from it.

Says the guy who ordered the female PC'S to all get in a hot tub together.

[Republic of Hasgriu]

How would the Blitzborne background work? Assuming the father left at the very latest in 1945, and the mother gave birth in 1946, the current year would have to be latest 1963 in order for the background to make sense. Have I misread it?

[Anollasia]

Are signups still open? I'd like to try this out, but I'm afraid I may eventually become inactive.

[Rupudska]

Are signups still open? I'd like to try this out, but I'm afraid I may eventually become inactive.

This hasn't been up for two days yet, so obviously it's still open.

[Republic of Hasgriu]

Name: Julia Arling
Age: 14
D.O.B: 1 June
Gender: F
Background: Blitzborne (I'm going to assume the father left after the war.)
Bio: Julia had a very troubled childhood. Like many other children in Europe, she was fatherless, as her father, George Bell, who conceived her outside of wedlock, departed Liverpool to serve with the British Army. He never came back. Whether George was killed in action, or just up and deserted, is up for debate. Julia's mother, Rebecca Arling, a nurse at Mill Road Hospital, was very paranoid by then, always grabbing Julia and ducking under the tables whenever she heard the faintest sound of an aircraft engine.

Before long, she broke, and tearfully sent Julia to Strawberry Field when she was four. It was not unexpected, considering how she had been heavily traumatised during the Blitz, including having her workplace bombed and having to take care of her illegitimate child, alone.

Julia took her mother's surname as she felt closer to her than her father. Her years in Strawberry Fields were devoid of any particularly close friendships. However, she did develop a circle of people whose names she could actually be bothered to remember. Most of her free time was spent listening to Pachelbel's Canon in D while enjoying the sunset with a cup of tea in hand.

Her grades are unexceptional, though she is remarkably talented in German, and has taken up Japanese as a third language that she learns in her spare time. She has been slacking in terms of Geography, however, being barely able to remember that the capitol of Austria is Vienna.

Likes:

• Tea
• The sunset sky
• Canon in D

Dislikes:

• Noise
• Disturbances
• People who talk too much

Appearance: Here.
Defining Quote: Nope.
RP Sample: viewtopic.php?f=31&t=323944

[Wolfenium]

Name: Eleanor Arling
Age: 14
D.O.B: 1 June
Gender: F
Background: Blitzborne (I'm going to assume the father left after the war.)
Bio: Eleanor had a very troubled childhood. Like many other children in Europe, she was fatherless, as her father, George Bell, who conceived her outside of wedlock, departed Liverpool to serve with the British Army. He never came back. Whether George was killed in action, or just up and deserted, is up for debate. Eleanor's mother, Rebecca Arling, a nurse at Mill Road Hospital, was very paranoid by then, always grabbing Eleanor and ducking under the tables whenever she heard the faintest sound of an aircraft engine.

Before long, she broke, and tearfully sent Eleanor to Strawberry Field when she was four. It was not unexpected, considering how she had been heavily traumatised during the Blitz, including having her workplace bombed and having to take care of her illegitimate child, alone.

Eleanor took her mother's surname as she felt closer to her than her father. Her years in Strawberry Fields were devoid of any particularly close friendships. However, she did develop a circle of people whose names she could actually be bothered to remember. Most of her free time was spent listening to Pachelbel's Canon in D while enjoying the sunset with a cup of tea in hand.

Her grades are unexceptional, though she is remarkably talented in German, and has taken up Japanese as a third language that she learns in her spare time. She has been slacking in terms of Geography, however, being barely able to remember that the capitol of Austria is Vienna.

Likes:

• Tea
• The sunset sky
• Canon in D

Dislikes:

• Noise
• Disturbances
• People who talk too much

Appearance: Here.
Defining Quote: Nope.
RP Sample: viewtopic.php?f=31&t=323944

Damn, you beat me to it. :<

[Reverend Norv]

Name: Julian Fisher

Age: 17

D.O.B.: 15 October

Gender: Male

Background: Jude

Bio:

There is only so much I can tell you.

I remember my mother a little. She was...large. And soft. And I remember a city on fire. I don't know which city it was. I don't think it was Liverpool. But really, how would I know? From what I hear, this place looked completely different before the Blitz.

Well, my mother died when I was young. That, or she ran off. Hard to know. Gran always said she died, but toward the end when she didn't know herself anymore, Gran would shout in her sleep, and I thought she might be talking to my mum. Whoever she was talking to, Gran was always screaming about how the - ah - the person in question - had left "us" alone. Whoever "us" was. I suppose I'll never know now.

I wonder if it's because I think like this that all my friends are girls. I mean, I don't think I'm soft. I play bloody rugby. I get knocked flat every day or two. But I do - think like this. I remember. And it's not like I think anyone in this house has had it easy. And it's not like I spend all my time feeling sorry for myself. But when you ask me to tell you about my life, what in God's name do you expect?

Well, my mother died when I was young. Or she ran off. And I went to live with my Gran, up on the Isle of Arran. Her husband, my grandfather, had been a colonel in North Africa, so I'm told. Never came back. So maybe it was to him that Gran was crying out from her deathbed. Hard to know. Impossible to know.

The Isle wasn't a bad place to grow up. It was lonesome. And Gran was fading, even when first I stepped off the ferry. So I didn't go to school much. I learned skills, though. I looked after the cottage. I patched leaks in the roof. I trapped rabbits. I cooked. When Gran couldn't move around much anymore, I helped her. And there was time, too, away from the cottage and the schoolhouse both, to run over the moors and mountains till my breath was like steel wool in my throat, and my heart was scoured clean of doubt and fear and bitterness, and I was not a child and not a man but just an animal in the wild, young and full of life and free.

Those are my happiest memories. Maybe that's sad, but I don't think so. Maybe that's just because I don't want to believe that I'm self-pitying. But I genuinely believe that a lot of people can go their whole lives without feeling the liberty that I experienced in those moments on the Isle of Arran. So.

Gran died. I was with her at the end. I was twelve or so. Held her hand, mopped her brow. Buried her in the vegetable patch. I was a big lad, and she was light as a feather by then, and so it wasn't hard to move her. I went for a long run over the highlands. Then I lived by catching rabbits for a month until some men from the government arrived and took me away.

They took me north, at first, to Glasgow. That - was difficult. The city was filthy, violent, brutal. They put me in an orphanage. They barely let us outside. It was a place for hopeless cases: children too old to have much chance at adoption, who just needed a place to stay until they could be turned out onto the street. Glasgow taught me two things. It taught me to read, and it taught me to fight. I read because it was the only way I could be free again, the only way I could stay alive and strong within myself. I fought for the same reason.

The government men closed that place down when I was fifteen. They scattered the rest of us all over the country, from Aberdeen to Lincoln. I ended up here. God knows why. I found it hard to settle in initially. Got in a few scraps. Eventually I straightened out: more reading, less fighting. I played rugby instead. I made a few friends. Then a few more. Most of them girls. Which, yes, I know, is strange. But I'm not some kind of bleeding Casanova. And I'm not a bleeding queen, either, if that's what you were thinking. I'm not in it for the damn gossip. I suppose I just like spending time with girls because, at least when you're not a girl yourself, it's so much less...performative. There's no struggle for dominance, no need to clench your jaw or flex your arms. And so you can take a deep breath, and let it out, and just live your life.

I miss being alone, you see. You are only really yourself when you are alone. You are only really free when you are yourself. I can't be alone anymore, not here, not really. And so being with the ladies - Christ, that sounds wrong, I'm sorry - it's the next best thing. I'll be out of this place in less than a year. For now, this is good enough.

Likes:

• A good book.
• A good rugby match. Even better if I'm playing in it.
• The countryside. I miss it. Stillness. To be alone, but not lonely.
• Food. I have an appetite. I don't hate a good cuppa, either.
• Clarity. I don't like long arguments, or abstract debates, or agonizing over unknowables. Make a decision, carry it through. That's clarity.

Dislikes:

• Fools. You know who you are. Life is too short to suffer you.
• Bullies. Bloody hell, I hate bullies.
• People who won't stop talking.
• Crowds. I don't have a fear of them, but they make me - well - sad, somehow. Is that strange?
• Long arguments. Abstract debates. Agonizing over unknowables. Bit repetitive, this, innit?

Appearance:

I - pardon? You mean like a photograph? I don't just carry about my photograph, I'm afraid. Well, look: I'm a big lad, tall and broad, strong but not fat, nothing elegant about it but built like a ploughman's ox and with the stamina of one too. Short dark hair, pale skin; I burn in summer. Eyes look blue or green depending on the weather. Even I can't say for certain which they are. Scar on my forehead from when I was small. Big hands. Er...what else do you want?

Defining Quote:

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's abon his might,
Gude faith, he maunna fa' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their dignities an' a' that;
The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.

I was raised north of the Tweed, man. What do you expect?

RP Sample: Beg pardon?

[Nature-Spirits]

@Hasgriu: I already took the name Eleanor....

[Agritum]

Name: Eleanor Arling
Age: 14
D.O.B: 1 June
Gender: F
Background: Blitzborne (I'm going to assume the father left after the war.)
Bio: Eleanor had a very troubled childhood. Like many other children in Europe, she was fatherless, as her father, George Bell, who conceived her outside of wedlock, departed Liverpool to serve with the British Army. He never came back. Whether George was killed in action, or just up and deserted, is up for debate. Eleanor's mother, Rebecca Arling, a nurse at Mill Road Hospital, was very paranoid by then, always grabbing Eleanor and ducking under the tables whenever she heard the faintest sound of an aircraft engine.

Before long, she broke, and tearfully sent Eleanor to Strawberry Field when she was four. It was not unexpected, considering how she had been heavily traumatised during the Blitz, including having her workplace bombed and having to take care of her illegitimate child, alone.

Eleanor took her mother's surname as she felt closer to her than her father. Her years in Strawberry Fields were devoid of any particularly close friendships. However, she did develop a circle of people whose names she could actually be bothered to remember. Most of her free time was spent listening to Pachelbel's Canon in D while enjoying the sunset with a cup of tea in hand.

Her grades are unexceptional, though she is remarkably talented in German, and has taken up Japanese as a third language that she learns in her spare time. She has been slacking in terms of Geography, however, being barely able to remember that the capitol of Austria is Vienna.

Likes:

• Tea
• The sunset sky
• Canon in D

Dislikes:

• Noise
• Disturbances
• People who talk too much

Appearance: Here.
Defining Quote: Nope.
RP Sample: http://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic ... 1&t=323944

I think you should fix the name thing.

Name: Julian Fisher

Age: 17

D.O.B.: 15 October

Gender: Male

Background: Jude

Bio:

There is only so much I can tell you.

I remember my mother a little. She was...large. And soft. And I remember a city on fire. I don't know which city it was. I don't think it was Liverpool. But really, how would I know? From what I hear, this place looked completely different before the Blitz.

Well, my mother died when I was young. That, or she ran off. Hard to know. Gran always said she died, but toward the end when she didn't know herself anymore, Gran would shout in her sleep, and I thought she might be talking to my mum. Whoever she was talking to, Gran was always screaming about how the - ah - the person in question - had left "us" alone. Whoever "us" was. I suppose I'll never know now.

I wonder if its because I think like this that all my friends are girls. I mean, I don't think I'm soft. I play bloody rugby. I get knocked flat every day or two. But I do - think like this. I remember. And it's not like I think anyone in this house has had it easy. And it's not like I spend all my time feeling sorry for myself. But when you ask me to tell you about my life, what in God's name do you expect?

Well, my mother died when I was young. Or she ran off. And I went to live with my Gran, up on the Isle of Arran. Her husband, my grandfather, had been a colonel in North Africa, so I'm told. Never came back. So maybe it was to him that Gran was crying out from her deathbed. Hard to know. Impossible to know.

The Isle wasn't a bad place to grow up. It was lonesome. And Gran was fading, even when first I stepped off the ferry. So I didn't go to school much. I learned skills, though. I looked after the cottage. I patched leaks in the roof. I trapped rabbits. I cooked. When Gran couldn't move around much anymore, I helped her. And there was time, too, away from the cottage and the schoolhouse both, to run over the moors and mountains till my breath was like steel wool in my throat, and my heart was scoured clean of doubt and fear and bitterness, and I was not a child and not a man but just an animal in the wild, young and full of life and free.

Those are my happiest memories. Maybe that's sad, but I don't think so. Maybe that's just because I don't want to believe that I'm self-pitying. But I genuinely believe that a lot of people can go their whole lives without feeling the liberty that I experienced in those moments on the Isle of Arran. So.

Gran died. I was with her at the end. I was twelve or so. Held her hand, mopped her brow. Buried her in the vegetable patch. I was a big lad, and she was light as a feather by then, and so it wasn't hard to move her. I went for a long run over the highlands. Then I lived by catching rabbits for a month until some men from the government arrived and took me away.

They took me north, at first, to Glasgow. That - was difficult. The city was filthy, violent, brutal. They put me in an orphanage. They barely let us outside. It was a place for hopeless cases: children too old to have much chance at adoption, who just needed a place to stay until they could be turned out onto the street. Glasgow taught me two things. It taught me to read, and it taught me to fight. I read because it was the only way I could be free again, the only way I could stay alive and strong within myself. I fought for the same reason.

The government men closed that place down when I was fifteen. They scattered the rest of us all over the country, from Aberdeen to Lincoln. I ended up here. God knows why. I found it hard to settle in initially. Got in a few scraps. Eventually I straightened out: more reading, less fighting. I played rugby instead. I made a few friends. Then a few more. Most of them girls. Which, yes, I know, is strange. But I'm not some kind of bleeding Casanova. And I'm not a bleeding queen, either, if that's what you were thinking. I'm not in it for the damn gossip. I suppose I just like spending time with girls because, at least when you're not a girl yourself, it's so much less...performative. There's no struggle for dominance, no need to clench your jaw or flex your arms. And so you can take a deep breath, and let it out, and just live your life.

I miss being alone, you see. You are only really yourself when you are alone. You are only really free when you are yourself. I can't be alone anymore, not here, not really. And so being with the ladies - Christ, that sounds wrong, I'm sorry - it's the next best thing. I'll be out of this place in less than a year. For now, this is good enough.

Likes:

• A good book.
• A good rugby match. Even better if I'm playing in it.
• The countryside. I miss it. Stillness. To be alone, but not lonely.
• Food. I have an appetite. I don't hate a good cuppa, either.
• Clarity. I don't like long arguments, or abstract debates, or agonizing over unknowables. Make a decision, carry it through. That's clarity.

Dislikes:

• Fools. You know who you are. Life is too short to suffer you.
• Bullies. Bloody hell, I hate bullies.
• People who won't stop talking.
• Crowds. I don't have a fear of them, but they make me - well - sad, somehow. Is that strange?
• Long arguments. Abstract debates. Agonizing over unknowables. Bit repetitive, this, innit?

Appearance:

I - pardon? You mean like a photograph? I don't just carry about my photograph, I'm afraid. Well, look: I'm a big lad, tall and broad, strong but not fat, nothing elegant about it but built like a ploughman's ox and with the stamina of one too. Short dark hair, pale skin; I burn in summer. Eyes look blue or green depending on the weather. Even I can't say for certain which they are. Scar on my forehead from when I was small. Big hands. Er...what else do you want?

Defining Quote:

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's abon his might,
Gude faith, he maunna fa' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their dignities an' a' that;
The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.

I was raised north of the Tweed, man. What do you expect?

RP Sample: Beg pardon?

You'll soon discover that your close relationship with women will lead to some very warped things.

No, nothing sexual. Worse.

[Constaniana]

Name: Eleanor Arling
Age: 14
D.O.B: 1 June
Gender: F
Background: Blitzborne (I'm going to assume the father left after the war.)
Bio: Eleanor had a very troubled childhood. Like many other children in Europe, she was fatherless, as her father, George Bell, who conceived her outside of wedlock, departed Liverpool to serve with the British Army. He never came back. Whether George was killed in action, or just up and deserted, is up for debate. Eleanor's mother, Rebecca Arling, a nurse at Mill Road Hospital, was very paranoid by then, always grabbing Eleanor and ducking under the tables whenever she heard the faintest sound of an aircraft engine.

Before long, she broke, and tearfully sent Eleanor to Strawberry Field when she was four. It was not unexpected, considering how she had been heavily traumatised during the Blitz, including having her workplace bombed and having to take care of her illegitimate child, alone.

Eleanor took her mother's surname as she felt closer to her than her father. Her years in Strawberry Fields were devoid of any particularly close friendships. However, she did develop a circle of people whose names she could actually be bothered to remember. Most of her free time was spent listening to Pachelbel's Canon in D while enjoying the sunset with a cup of tea in hand.

Her grades are unexceptional, though she is remarkably talented in German, and has taken up Japanese as a third language that she learns in her spare time. She has been slacking in terms of Geography, however, being barely able to remember that the capitol of Austria is Vienna.

Likes:

• Tea
• The sunset sky
• Canon in D

Dislikes:

• Noise
• Disturbances
• People who talk too much

Appearance: Here.
Defining Quote: Nope.
RP Sample: viewtopic.php?f=31&t=323944

I think you should fix the name thing.

Name: Julian Fisher

Age: 17

D.O.B.: 15 October

Gender: Male

Background: Jude

Bio:

There is only so much I can tell you.

I remember my mother a little. She was...large. And soft. And I remember a city on fire. I don't know which city it was. I don't think it was Liverpool. But really, how would I know? From what I hear, this place looked completely different before the Blitz.

Well, my mother died when I was young. That, or she ran off. Hard to know. Gran always said she died, but toward the end when she didn't know herself anymore, Gran would shout in her sleep, and I thought she might be talking to my mum. Whoever she was talking to, Gran was always screaming about how the - ah - the person in question - had left "us" alone. Whoever "us" was. I suppose I'll never know now.

I wonder if its because I think like this that all my friends are girls. I mean, I don't think I'm soft. I play bloody rugby. I get knocked flat every day or two. But I do - think like this. I remember. And it's not like I think anyone in this house has had it easy. And it's not like I spend all my time feeling sorry for myself. But when you ask me to tell you about my life, what in God's name do you expect?

Well, my mother died when I was young. Or she ran off. And I went to live with my Gran, up on the Isle of Arran. Her husband, my grandfather, had been a colonel in North Africa, so I'm told. Never came back. So maybe it was to him that Gran was crying out from her deathbed. Hard to know. Impossible to know.

The Isle wasn't a bad place to grow up. It was lonesome. And Gran was fading, even when first I stepped off the ferry. So I didn't go to school much. I learned skills, though. I looked after the cottage. I patched leaks in the roof. I trapped rabbits. I cooked. When Gran couldn't move around much anymore, I helped her. And there was time, too, away from the cottage and the schoolhouse both, to run over the moors and mountains till my breath was like steel wool in my throat, and my heart was scoured clean of doubt and fear and bitterness, and I was not a child and not a man but just an animal in the wild, young and full of life and free.

Those are my happiest memories. Maybe that's sad, but I don't think so. Maybe that's just because I don't want to believe that I'm self-pitying. But I genuinely believe that a lot of people can go their whole lives without feeling the liberty that I experienced in those moments on the Isle of Arran. So.

Gran died. I was with her at the end. I was twelve or so. Held her hand, mopped her brow. Buried her in the vegetable patch. I was a big lad, and she was light as a feather by then, and so it wasn't hard to move her. I went for a long run over the highlands. Then I lived by catching rabbits for a month until some men from the government arrived and took me away.

They took me north, at first, to Glasgow. That - was difficult. The city was filthy, violent, brutal. They put me in an orphanage. They barely let us outside. It was a place for hopeless cases: children too old to have much chance at adoption, who just needed a place to stay until they could be turned out onto the street. Glasgow taught me two things. It taught me to read, and it taught me to fight. I read because it was the only way I could be free again, the only way I could stay alive and strong within myself. I fought for the same reason.

The government men closed that place down when I was fifteen. They scattered the rest of us all over the country, from Aberdeen to Lincoln. I ended up here. God knows why. I found it hard to settle in initially. Got in a few scraps. Eventually I straightened out: more reading, less fighting. I played rugby instead. I made a few friends. Then a few more. Most of them girls. Which, yes, I know, is strange. But I'm not some kind of bleeding Casanova. And I'm not a bleeding queen, either, if that's what you were thinking. I'm not in it for the damn gossip. I suppose I just like spending time with girls because, at least when you're not a girl yourself, it's so much less...performative. There's no struggle for dominance, no need to clench your jaw or flex your arms. And so you can take a deep breath, and let it out, and just live your life.

I miss being alone, you see. You are only really yourself when you are alone. You are only really free when you are yourself. I can't be alone anymore, not here, not really. And so being with the ladies - Christ, that sounds wrong, I'm sorry - it's the next best thing. I'll be out of this place in less than a year. For now, this is good enough.

Likes:

• A good book.
• A good rugby match. Even better if I'm playing in it.
• The countryside. I miss it. Stillness. To be alone, but not lonely.
• Food. I have an appetite. I don't hate a good cuppa, either.
• Clarity. I don't like long arguments, or abstract debates, or agonizing over unknowables. Make a decision, carry it through. That's clarity.

Dislikes:

• Fools. You know who you are. Life is too short to suffer you.
• Bullies. Bloody hell, I hate bullies.
• People who won't stop talking.
• Crowds. I don't have a fear of them, but they make me - well - sad, somehow. Is that strange?
• Long arguments. Abstract debates. Agonizing over unknowables. Bit repetitive, this, innit?

Appearance:

I - pardon? You mean like a photograph? I don't just carry about my photograph, I'm afraid. Well, look: I'm a big lad, tall and broad, strong but not fat, nothing elegant about it but built like a ploughman's ox and with the stamina of one too. Short dark hair, pale skin; I burn in summer. Eyes look blue or green depending on the weather. Even I can't say for certain which they are. Scar on my forehead from when I was small. Big hands. Er...what else do you want?

Defining Quote:

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's abon his might,
Gude faith, he maunna fa' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their dignities an' a' that;
The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.

I was raised north of the Tweed, man. What do you expect?

RP Sample: Beg pardon?

You'll soon discover that your close relationship with women will lead to some very warped things.

No, nothing sexual. Worse.

He's referring to cooties.

[Republic of Hasgriu]

Fixed the name.

[Agritum]

Name: Julia Arling
Age: 14
D.O.B: 1 June
Gender: F
Background: Blitzborne (I'm going to assume the father left after the war.)
Bio: Julia had a very troubled childhood. Like many other children in Europe, she was fatherless, as her father, George Bell, who conceived her outside of wedlock, departed Liverpool to serve with the British Army. He never came back. Whether George was killed in action, or just up and deserted, is up for debate. Julia's mother, Rebecca Arling, a nurse at Mill Road Hospital, was very paranoid by then, always grabbing Julia and ducking under the tables whenever she heard the faintest sound of an aircraft engine.

Before long, she broke, and tearfully sent Julia to Strawberry Field when she was four. It was not unexpected, considering how she had been heavily traumatised during the Blitz, including having her workplace bombed and having to take care of her illegitimate child, alone.

Julia took her mother's surname as she felt closer to her than her father. Her years in Strawberry Fields were devoid of any particularly close friendships. However, she did develop a circle of people whose names she could actually be bothered to remember. Most of her free time was spent listening to Pachelbel's Canon in D while enjoying the sunset with a cup of tea in hand.

Her grades are unexceptional, though she is remarkably talented in German, and has taken up Japanese as a third language that she learns in her spare time. She has been slacking in terms of Geography, however, being barely able to remember that the capitol of Austria is Vienna.

Likes:

• Tea
• The sunset sky
• Canon in D

Dislikes:

• Noise
• Disturbances
• People who talk too much

Appearance: Here.
Defining Quote: Nope.
RP Sample: http://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic ... 1&t=323944

I guess it is accepted then.

[Agritum]

The OOC is currently closed for everyone except for those wo've got to finish their apps (namely Astro and NatSpi), and for secret apps (yes, they exist).

[Nightkill the Emperor]

This is bloody mad, by the way.

It has my blessing.

[Agritum]

This is bloody mad, by the way.

It has my blessing.

Sometimes you just want to fuck things over.

[Agritum]

viewtopic.php?p=24081281#p24081281

IC is ready.

Yes, this is the actual start.

[Rupudska]

https://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic.php?p=24081281#p24081281

IC is ready.

Yes, this is the actual start.

Agri I think this is the fastest you've ever set up an RP.

Are you sure you didn't make this on drugs?

[Agritum]

https://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic.php?p=24081281#p24081281

IC is ready.

Yes, this is the actual start.

Agri I think this is the fastest you've ever set up an RP.

Are you sure you didn't make this on drugs?

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news ... mans-mice/

[Agritum]

If any of you are disoriented on what to post,

It's good.

[Reverend Norv]

Agri I think this is the fastest you've ever set up an RP.

Are you sure you didn't make this on drugs?

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news ... mans-mice/

"Morphine shots can carry many side effects, [the doctor] said—especially constipation."

And a life-destroying addiction to opiates, of course. But compared to the horror that is constipation, really, who cares?

[Rupudska]

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news ... mans-mice/

"Morphine shots can carry many side effects, [the doctor] said—especially constipation."

And a life-destroying addiction to opiates, of course. But compared to the horror that is constipation, really, who cares?

Well, the article probably assumes that the reader knows that. I mean, it's not like morphine is readily available as a prescription drug.

[Agritum]

I still can't believe that addiction/assuefaction to opioids can be absurd enough to convince people that taking speedball is going to end well.

[Constaniana]

Does everyone have camera vision now, or is that just Lucy being strange?