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Aug. 19th, 2012 12:54 amPLAYER INFORMATION
NAME: gogol
AGE: 17
PREFERRED PRONOUN: she/her
EMAIL ADDRESS: erzuligogol@yahoo.com
AIM USERNAME: thremedon
PLURK: gigl
OTHER CHARACTERS: none
DID YOU RESERVE? nope!
CHARACTER INFORMATION
NAME: Rose Lalonde
ALIAS: Oglogoth
CANON: Homestuck
AGE: 15
GENDER: Female
OCCUPATION: Student
AU BACKGROUND: Raised by an enigmatic but totally human astrophysicist in the wilds of rural New York, Rose's childhood was, by and large, uneventful, at least from the standpoint of an external observer. Rose herself might have described it in Homeric terms, but Rose, in her misspent youth, also applied epic similes to sugary cereal.
An only child who was privately and haphazardly tutored through grade school, her scientist mother was far and away the most important person in Rose's life. Their relationship tended to the fraught; Rose fundamentally misinterpreted the motivation behind many of her mother's lavish attempts at expressing affection, and spent more than an entire decade on the profound filial suspicion that most people partake of for two weeks in middle school. Only after the worst of puberty was past-- when her mother took to working out of the house more often-- did she begin to understand that her mother was a person, not a blindly antagonistic force, and that Ms. Lalonde had met irony once in a bar and promptly walked out of the bar again; that she cared for Rose without any trace of sarcasm.
This slow revelation was rudely interrupted by her mother's aneurysm.
Rose Lalonde, fifteen, unremarkable to that day but for a remarkable ability to use "coriaceous" three times in a paragraph without experiencing a twinge of shame, blew the house apart. Her mutation manifested over the course of three painful hours: by the end of it, all the skin on her body had turned a translucent grey, she was giving off a black miasma of telekinetic fervor, and the wizard statues would never be the same.
Surrounding turtle populations reacted badly to the sight of chocolate syrup for months after. As for Rose, she was packed hastily off to Genosha by her mother's more sympathetic colleagues. Rose, miserable and hardly in control of herself, was in no position to be the first Ridley Scott export to take American high schools by storm; but other mutants would know what to do with her viscous black angst. Definitely.
PERSONALITY: Mildly disastrous. Rose is a smart, snotty kid, inclined to overanalyze and emotionally incompetent in a pinch. She cares deeply for people when at all: she thinks this is less transparent than it actually is. In Homestuck itself she serves as an occasional straight man, serene even when faced with the task of committing knitting needle slaughter, although her sense of humor is active and unrestrained. She is deadpan, matter-of-fact, and verbose; she takes herself too seriously, but she also likes to break through the cloud layer of melodrama into the clear upper strata of self-awareness at the least likely possible moment.
Probably her greatest weakness is her inability to trust. It would be inaccurate to say that she treasures her independence-- rather, she takes it for granted, and never thinks to question whether she really enjoys relying primarily on herself. Her intellect, her isolation, and her fear of loss all work to make her eager to control her circumstances-- even the circumstances of people around her, to protect them and herself.
She also writes a lot of wizard fanfiction.
APPEARANCE: A short blonde kid with burning white eyes, dark grey skin, and an entourage of black smog-- the murk can extend anywhere from six inches to several feet from her body, although it has never to date reached the kind of range it had in the immediate aftermath of her mother's death. It reads as total darkness, but she herself is nevertheless visible through it, for no very apparent reason except, perhaps, that she was once native to a two-dimensional medium.
POWERS: Telekinesis, in the form of picking things up with gooey nonphysical extensions of herself. She's really bad at it. The miasma also tends to fuck with if not downright render useless any form of visual surveillance in a three-yard radius, because of Science. Eventually she may learn to control the miasma to the point where she can retract it totally into her skin, but that's a long way off.
RP SAMPLE: In death her mother was not pristine; the abandoned glass of champagne remained upright as any celebrated citizen, but her mouth was smudged with lipstick and liquor, and she lay with one hand across her forehead, hair covering her eyes.
Poison, Rose thought, illogically. Conspiracy. When her cat drowned in the river she had hurled such accusations at her mother, who, she remembered, had looked at her with bewildered eyes. Her mother had always been puzzled by people who could not accept the truth staring them in the face. Which was silly, because she had watched all three Lord of the Rings movies and cried when Gandalf died, and furthermore when Gandalf returned and took up Saruman's mantle, because, quote, "a shipper's heart can only take so much, Rosie".
But that was fiction.
Rose took a step back, and then another. She was aware of a queer feeling in her limbs, as if a thrashing presence were in them barely contained; some subcutaneous monster, like to burst. She cupped her hands over her mouth and breathed hard on the lacing of her fingers.
The air poured ebon from between her teeth.
"Wait, what?" she said, but that came out wrong too: a liquid sound, and the expanding haze, dark as a mourning sky. It was late afternoon, so late the shadows ran miles down the hills, but to the best of her knowledge there was no time of day at which they peeled freely off your face to invade the surrounding room.
Her knees buckled. So did the walls.
NAME: gogol
AGE: 17
PREFERRED PRONOUN: she/her
EMAIL ADDRESS: erzuligogol@yahoo.com
AIM USERNAME: thremedon
PLURK: gigl
OTHER CHARACTERS: none
DID YOU RESERVE? nope!
CHARACTER INFORMATION
NAME: Rose Lalonde
ALIAS: Oglogoth
CANON: Homestuck
AGE: 15
GENDER: Female
OCCUPATION: Student
AU BACKGROUND: Raised by an enigmatic but totally human astrophysicist in the wilds of rural New York, Rose's childhood was, by and large, uneventful, at least from the standpoint of an external observer. Rose herself might have described it in Homeric terms, but Rose, in her misspent youth, also applied epic similes to sugary cereal.
An only child who was privately and haphazardly tutored through grade school, her scientist mother was far and away the most important person in Rose's life. Their relationship tended to the fraught; Rose fundamentally misinterpreted the motivation behind many of her mother's lavish attempts at expressing affection, and spent more than an entire decade on the profound filial suspicion that most people partake of for two weeks in middle school. Only after the worst of puberty was past-- when her mother took to working out of the house more often-- did she begin to understand that her mother was a person, not a blindly antagonistic force, and that Ms. Lalonde had met irony once in a bar and promptly walked out of the bar again; that she cared for Rose without any trace of sarcasm.
This slow revelation was rudely interrupted by her mother's aneurysm.
Rose Lalonde, fifteen, unremarkable to that day but for a remarkable ability to use "coriaceous" three times in a paragraph without experiencing a twinge of shame, blew the house apart. Her mutation manifested over the course of three painful hours: by the end of it, all the skin on her body had turned a translucent grey, she was giving off a black miasma of telekinetic fervor, and the wizard statues would never be the same.
Surrounding turtle populations reacted badly to the sight of chocolate syrup for months after. As for Rose, she was packed hastily off to Genosha by her mother's more sympathetic colleagues. Rose, miserable and hardly in control of herself, was in no position to be the first Ridley Scott export to take American high schools by storm; but other mutants would know what to do with her viscous black angst. Definitely.
PERSONALITY: Mildly disastrous. Rose is a smart, snotty kid, inclined to overanalyze and emotionally incompetent in a pinch. She cares deeply for people when at all: she thinks this is less transparent than it actually is. In Homestuck itself she serves as an occasional straight man, serene even when faced with the task of committing knitting needle slaughter, although her sense of humor is active and unrestrained. She is deadpan, matter-of-fact, and verbose; she takes herself too seriously, but she also likes to break through the cloud layer of melodrama into the clear upper strata of self-awareness at the least likely possible moment.
Probably her greatest weakness is her inability to trust. It would be inaccurate to say that she treasures her independence-- rather, she takes it for granted, and never thinks to question whether she really enjoys relying primarily on herself. Her intellect, her isolation, and her fear of loss all work to make her eager to control her circumstances-- even the circumstances of people around her, to protect them and herself.
She also writes a lot of wizard fanfiction.
APPEARANCE: A short blonde kid with burning white eyes, dark grey skin, and an entourage of black smog-- the murk can extend anywhere from six inches to several feet from her body, although it has never to date reached the kind of range it had in the immediate aftermath of her mother's death. It reads as total darkness, but she herself is nevertheless visible through it, for no very apparent reason except, perhaps, that she was once native to a two-dimensional medium.
POWERS: Telekinesis, in the form of picking things up with gooey nonphysical extensions of herself. She's really bad at it. The miasma also tends to fuck with if not downright render useless any form of visual surveillance in a three-yard radius, because of Science. Eventually she may learn to control the miasma to the point where she can retract it totally into her skin, but that's a long way off.
RP SAMPLE: In death her mother was not pristine; the abandoned glass of champagne remained upright as any celebrated citizen, but her mouth was smudged with lipstick and liquor, and she lay with one hand across her forehead, hair covering her eyes.
Poison, Rose thought, illogically. Conspiracy. When her cat drowned in the river she had hurled such accusations at her mother, who, she remembered, had looked at her with bewildered eyes. Her mother had always been puzzled by people who could not accept the truth staring them in the face. Which was silly, because she had watched all three Lord of the Rings movies and cried when Gandalf died, and furthermore when Gandalf returned and took up Saruman's mantle, because, quote, "a shipper's heart can only take so much, Rosie".
But that was fiction.
Rose took a step back, and then another. She was aware of a queer feeling in her limbs, as if a thrashing presence were in them barely contained; some subcutaneous monster, like to burst. She cupped her hands over her mouth and breathed hard on the lacing of her fingers.
The air poured ebon from between her teeth.
"Wait, what?" she said, but that came out wrong too: a liquid sound, and the expanding haze, dark as a mourning sky. It was late afternoon, so late the shadows ran miles down the hills, but to the best of her knowledge there was no time of day at which they peeled freely off your face to invade the surrounding room.
Her knees buckled. So did the walls.
