Post by peridotwinkler on Nov 3, 2011 0:24:55 GMT -5
Name: Melchisedek
Gender: Male
Species: Raven
Age: 43
Occupation or class group: Hoping to discuss with admissions, see history
Physical Description: Permanent disheveled appearance that little masks the mark of a true gentleman. A body sleek, plump, and covered in black feathers, his spine curves back to give him a slight bird's behind which he keeps covered in slacks and suspenders. A frock overcoat is always worn over this, as well as his trademark porkpie hat, slightly worn with age and adventurous use, but ultimately classy in display.
History: Never bothered with an education, but found himself exceptionally street smart. Successful in self-managed businesses, accumulating a small measure of wealth and taste for luxury over time, while never much developing any talent. During the previous couple of years, a string of ill-fortune involving the death of close partners, change in market demand, and legal issues resulted in business failure and financial ruin. A single "lucky" coin in his pocket, and the determination to start from scratch, he made his way to Golden Oaks Academy to enroll and plea and deal for admission, and obtain the education he never had, hoping to develop the necessary talents to work his way back up in the world.
Personality: On top, never looking down or back. Comes off as having his head in the clouds and ignorant of the lives of those around him. Yet he has a heart of 24 K gold and fully appreciates the feelings and thoughts of others. Will oft speak of his opinions like he is trying to teach a child, speaking in a smooth and hard voice that draws people in and sells them his will. Never seems to be without a plan, especially when he doesn't have one. Never seems to be without cheer, especially when he's fatalistic. Smooth on the ladies, but has no interest in children. A bit of a traditionalist, or even anachronism, he holds ideas far ahead of his time. His dearest friends call him 'Mel'. His acquaintances call him 'sir'.
RP sample: Swing. The crap, the poor, unfortunate lass could hardly carry in a tune than in a whole genre. Her style was cramping the aesthetic of the evening and Mel was in rather a foul mood to offer more than polite patience. He threw his agenda up at the bar, making use of a tall stool to do so, his feet dangling far from the ground as would a child's. The tender eyed this character with a look that conveyed respect for a presence worth two glances.
"Wuht?" The tender sniffed, the nose of a pig seemed like it was doing the looking. Mel couldn't help his good nature. Putting his pinions up on the larch, and his hat too, he casually drummed to the tune, albeit in better time. "Good sir, Good day. I couldn't help but notice a slight... a need for magnetism in your establishment. Your crowd appears thin!" The nose glared a hole through his beak. Mel swallowed and continued. "Perhaps, I could, if i may, have a go at that o' beaut over in the corner? Just a couple of song perchance, and you can judge the results for yourself?"
What felt like a quarter of a minute, and the tender tilted his head to the side closer to the piano. Following his thick build, he was placed upon a raised stool after the completion of the current "song". Taking his sweet time, and whistling unnamed and unknown bars the way only a bird can, he adjusted his wings and recalled the rhythm of his childhood sorrows which so outweighed his current ones. The tune started slow and sad, no lyrics, not a word, like an anchor dropping in the stormy sea. A hopeless gesture to an audience fundamentally doomed by their own lives. But then the sun came out as he broke into a low growl of accompaniment, and the tune became lighter, eventually erupting into full panoramic scene of the birds flying on a fresh ocean canvas. The crowd seemed pleased enough, or more than the bit or ten placed in a conveniently offered stein. So much in fact, barely a beat went by and he found himself in the middle of a second song, painting the image of a dirty tramp hitting up the city streets for his evening meal, trapped under society's thumb, but free as the day he was to die. After eight full songs, (the tender forgot to even pause him after two), he felt he had done his part, and his gullet getting parched he bid his gratitude to his fans amidst the casual but enthusiastic applause, then stole away with his earnings to the bar for a pick-me-up.
"Something mean but empathetic, if you please?" The bartender sniffed at him for the required ten seconds, then curling a corner of his mouth uttered out "'S ones on me, tally. Your desire, my service."
-----
Classes wanted: Physical Science, Creative Writing, World History, Algebra, Jazz
Gender: Male
Species: Raven
Age: 43
Occupation or class group: Hoping to discuss with admissions, see history
Physical Description: Permanent disheveled appearance that little masks the mark of a true gentleman. A body sleek, plump, and covered in black feathers, his spine curves back to give him a slight bird's behind which he keeps covered in slacks and suspenders. A frock overcoat is always worn over this, as well as his trademark porkpie hat, slightly worn with age and adventurous use, but ultimately classy in display.
History: Never bothered with an education, but found himself exceptionally street smart. Successful in self-managed businesses, accumulating a small measure of wealth and taste for luxury over time, while never much developing any talent. During the previous couple of years, a string of ill-fortune involving the death of close partners, change in market demand, and legal issues resulted in business failure and financial ruin. A single "lucky" coin in his pocket, and the determination to start from scratch, he made his way to Golden Oaks Academy to enroll and plea and deal for admission, and obtain the education he never had, hoping to develop the necessary talents to work his way back up in the world.
Personality: On top, never looking down or back. Comes off as having his head in the clouds and ignorant of the lives of those around him. Yet he has a heart of 24 K gold and fully appreciates the feelings and thoughts of others. Will oft speak of his opinions like he is trying to teach a child, speaking in a smooth and hard voice that draws people in and sells them his will. Never seems to be without a plan, especially when he doesn't have one. Never seems to be without cheer, especially when he's fatalistic. Smooth on the ladies, but has no interest in children. A bit of a traditionalist, or even anachronism, he holds ideas far ahead of his time. His dearest friends call him 'Mel'. His acquaintances call him 'sir'.
RP sample: Swing. The crap, the poor, unfortunate lass could hardly carry in a tune than in a whole genre. Her style was cramping the aesthetic of the evening and Mel was in rather a foul mood to offer more than polite patience. He threw his agenda up at the bar, making use of a tall stool to do so, his feet dangling far from the ground as would a child's. The tender eyed this character with a look that conveyed respect for a presence worth two glances.
"Wuht?" The tender sniffed, the nose of a pig seemed like it was doing the looking. Mel couldn't help his good nature. Putting his pinions up on the larch, and his hat too, he casually drummed to the tune, albeit in better time. "Good sir, Good day. I couldn't help but notice a slight... a need for magnetism in your establishment. Your crowd appears thin!" The nose glared a hole through his beak. Mel swallowed and continued. "Perhaps, I could, if i may, have a go at that o' beaut over in the corner? Just a couple of song perchance, and you can judge the results for yourself?"
What felt like a quarter of a minute, and the tender tilted his head to the side closer to the piano. Following his thick build, he was placed upon a raised stool after the completion of the current "song". Taking his sweet time, and whistling unnamed and unknown bars the way only a bird can, he adjusted his wings and recalled the rhythm of his childhood sorrows which so outweighed his current ones. The tune started slow and sad, no lyrics, not a word, like an anchor dropping in the stormy sea. A hopeless gesture to an audience fundamentally doomed by their own lives. But then the sun came out as he broke into a low growl of accompaniment, and the tune became lighter, eventually erupting into full panoramic scene of the birds flying on a fresh ocean canvas. The crowd seemed pleased enough, or more than the bit or ten placed in a conveniently offered stein. So much in fact, barely a beat went by and he found himself in the middle of a second song, painting the image of a dirty tramp hitting up the city streets for his evening meal, trapped under society's thumb, but free as the day he was to die. After eight full songs, (the tender forgot to even pause him after two), he felt he had done his part, and his gullet getting parched he bid his gratitude to his fans amidst the casual but enthusiastic applause, then stole away with his earnings to the bar for a pick-me-up.
"Something mean but empathetic, if you please?" The bartender sniffed at him for the required ten seconds, then curling a corner of his mouth uttered out "'S ones on me, tally. Your desire, my service."
-----
Classes wanted: Physical Science, Creative Writing, World History, Algebra, Jazz
Click Here to Affiliate!