Character Quote: "You taught me language, and all I can do is curse. Thanks a lot, asshole."
Name: Caliban "Cal" Castro
Age: 25
Birthday: January 23rd
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Birth Place: Melbourne, Australia
Gender: Female
Languages: English
Height: 5'7
Weight: 150 lbs.
Body Type: Chubby
Eye Color: Brown
Hair Color: Brown with Blonde Tips
Skin Tone: Pale
Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: A number of holes from piercings, including one in her nose, two in each ear, and one in her belly button. She also has a tattoo on her upper arm with an empty, tipped over pill bottle, under which is written "Never Forget," but she doesn't remember what it means.
Personal Style: Cal's preferred style of clothing is exactly what one would find if they raided a stoner's closet. She likes loose clothing, and clothing that covers up as much of her body as it can. Oversized t-shirts, jackets that are a few sizes too big, leggings, beanies, and combat boots are all things she'd likely wear.
Clever * Rude * Mellow * Dishonest * Empathetic * Self-Loathing
Self Assessment: Cal isn't completely sure what to make of her knowledge of drugs, nor the empty pill bottle she found in her room. At first, she took these as a sign that she'd been some sort of pharmacist or other medical professional. But other aspects of her personality made her rethink this. She's noticed that, even with no one around, her mind is quick to spin up lies and half-truths as a reaction to scenarios that haven't even happened, and that lying appears to be her first instinct. This, paired with her more punk aesthetic has lead her to consider that maybe her past is in the more illegal side of medicine. But the fact that she hasn't felt any need or desire to take any sort of drugs (except a hankering for a cigarette) keeps her on the fence. She's also found that, when she tries to figure out why she is where she is, all of her theories are over complicated and don't make much logical sense.
Sexuality: Bisexual
Relationship Status: Single
Personality: Caliban isn't exactly what one would call mature for her age. Her sense of humor is immature to say the least, and she's quick to name-call in place of an argument. But, while she might be immature, it'd be a mistake to think her unintelligent. Her wit is sharp, one of her primary positive traits amid her numerous character flaws. She's also quite relaxed, ready to roll with whatever punches might come her way. She is quick to lie; in fact, it's often the first thing she thinks to do. And lastly, as much as she might hate to admit it, Caliban does have a heart, an empathetic one at that. As much as she might bite and tear and act hostile towards those around her, if she sees any hint of her actions having hurt someone she doesn't actively dislike, she'll begrudgingly whimper an apology.
Habits: Often goes into extreme detail when she's lying, bites down on her finger when she's embarrassed or angry.
Hobbies: Laying in bed thinking about how disappointed her mother must be, binge-watching shows, messing with kids on Roblox and Club Penguin.
Fears: Likes: - Fast-Food Restaurants
- Conspiracy Theories
- Cheap Liquor
- Animals (has a pet iguana at home named Todd, King of Lizards)
- People Whose Noses Scrunch Up For Any Particular Reason
- Sleep
- Theater
- Doing Nothing
Dislikes: - Privileged People
- Being Around Decent People (they make her feel like shit)
- Hangovers
- Parking Meters
- Pizza Guys Who Arrive Late and Still Expect a Tip
- Sports
- Working an Actual Job
- Having to Rely on Others
General Skills:- Drug Knowledge
- Deception
- Good at Party Games
- Improvisation
- Making the Best of a Bad Situation
- Empathy
Combat Skills: (Must fit what your character knows)
Possessions In-Room: There appears to be an empty orange pill bottle, labeled as OxyContin. The name on it indicates that it’s been prescribed to someone who is not her.
Biography: Caliban never new her dad. Her mom never talked about him, so she always assumed he was some one-night-stand or a boyfriend who didn't want a kid. It never really mattered to her. You can't miss someone who you never knew. Caliban's mother, an art-student-turned-receptionist-and-waitress, did her best to raise the girl, but having to work two jobs in order get by, she was gone a lot. Which left Caliban to teach herself how to be. Television was her primary teacher. It taught her morals, though they were often oversimplified, black and white morals, things like 'help people,' and 'people are facing things you'll never know.' But she also learned how to be a lot of things from it. An astronaut, a scientist, an adventurer digging up ancient tombs, she learned how to do it all. Not actually, of course. If you placed her in any of those situations, success would be the last thing she got. But she learned how to pretend. Yes, pretending was always her forte. Of course, as a child, it was hard to tell where the line was between pretending and lying, something that got her in trouble with her mother quite a bit.
When she got into primary school, it didn't take her long to latch onto theater. She excelled in it. It was pretending, like she always did at home, but instead of being scolded for it, she was
applauded for it. She loved it. She was so sure it was what she was going to do with her life. Her mother was against that dream. She'd wanted to be an artist too. She'd gone to school for it, put her life into it, and it hadn't gotten her anything. And so, she began pushing Cal in the direction of more stable subjects, science, math, technology. She was rubbish at all of them. Until, that is, Cal's mother signed her up for a class on the basics of business. That she was good at. She didn't enjoy it, but she was good at it. So the time she'd been spending in theater was quickly replaced with youth business workshops, and projects to simulate economics.
It wasn't long after that that Cal hit her angsty rebellious teenage phase. She was fourteen, finishing up primary school, when she decided that she wanted to leave as soon as she turned eighteen, run away to London and be in plays at West End theatre, or maybe go to New York, try Broadway. But in order to do that, she needed money. And she had no idea how she'd get it.
That is, not until the next year, her first year of secondary school. It was that year that her mother told Cal that she'd met someone, someone she'd been seeing for a year or so: a physician, ten or so years older than Cal's mother. The physician was a kind woman, kind enough that Cal felt like an asshole for being an asshole to her, which made her act like more of an asshole. After a while of fighting against the physician, she came to a realization: her money making solution was right there. Or at least, the beginning of it was. She managed to con the poor woman into caring for her, and once she had, getting the prescription forms and forging what she needed to forge wasn't a problem. Thus began her business. It started out small. Selling Adderall before big exams, selling Oxy to kids she knew were already taking drugs. It didn't take long for the business to grow, and soon, she was making bank off the kids in school. She was the one to go to when you needed to get high. And it stayed like that until the end of high school.
When she turned eighteen, she kept to her promise. She moved out the day that the physician moved in. She took the money she'd made, and she left Melbourne. She left Melbourne, her setting a course for somewhere, anywhere she could act. But why, she thought, why should she go right there? Why not travel? So she did. She traveled herself right out of money. She didn't realize it until she was in Dublin, looking down at an ATM. She wasn't broke, but she didn't have the money to catch any sort of plane. So she started again. It wasn't easy; she didn't have the same resources she'd had back home. But she had experience. It didn't take long for her to get the money she needed to leave, but from that moment on, she conducted her business differently. She set up shop everywhere she went, staying around for a few months, before leaving. She became the traveling saleswoman of small-time narcotics.
As the years went on, she found herself thinking about acting less and less, and lying more and more. Her mood worsened. Though she was never happy doing what she was doing, there was a time when she was passionate about it. A passion that stemmed from a desire to rebel against her mother. If she could use the education her mother shoved into her to do something horrible, something she'd never approve of, it felt like she was slapping the woman in the face. But as time passed, she found herself losing momentum. There was no one to rebel against. It was just her making bad decisions because it was the only trade she had any experience in. It was the only thing she knew how to do. So she kept doing it. But amount of time between moves extended, until eventually she settled down in Birmingham. She's happier now, but that's not saying much. There are still days she doesn't get out of bed, and she still doesn't particularly like what she does.
A memory: She remembers watching the news, and seeing a teenage boy being carried out on a stretcher. She doesn't remember why, but she remembers feeling immense guilt. She also remembers what happened after: she took some Oxy. She remembers the high that followed. It was the only time she ever took from her own supply.
Realtionship: (CS's can be accepted without this, but before the game starts ALL characters must have at least one connection to another character, again they will not be aware of this right away. Please talk with the other players and see if you have a friend or foe or family (Dating relationship is not allowed))
Theme Song: All the Same to Me by Anya MarinaExtra Information: Call me basic, but the Doctor is the first to come to my head.
PostI agree to follow the rules for this RP and understand that if I do not follow the rules, the GM or Co-GM may kick me out of this roleplay.
Member
Chrys
BurningCold
ScreenAcne
Sky Blue
Kronshi
mattmanganon
AlteredTundra
Dyelli Beybi
