Phloem Member
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- Phloem 11 yrs ago
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Bio
GEEETTTTTTT DUNKED ON
[ 19 - they/them - ISTP - GMT+8 ]
this is phloem and i'm literally the worst
...forreal tho hmu if you wanna rp
Most Recent Posts
Apologies for holding everyone back, but I'm afraid I'm gonna have to drop out of this one. You guys have fun now.
double post, ignore this
Here's my character! Might add a bit more to it in the morning when I'm less exhausted. x.x
Name: Silas Hope
Age: 29
Occupation: Biologist
Weapons: M1 Carbine, Mauser C96 Semi-Automatic Pistol
Abilities / Plasmids: None yet.
Brief Bio: Born in the Old Dominion state of Virginia, Silas was expected by his everyone to achieve great things in life. With his intelligence, and his family's bottomless wealth, he might've turned out to be a success story similar to Brigid Tenenbaum herself. But Silas, even at a young age, was never much of a team player, much to his parents' exasperation.
Silas progressed through school too fast, driven to boredom and frustration by the lack of challenge that it presented. Graduating at age 14 and enrolling into university the same year, Silas soon earned a degree in molecular biology a little under a decade later. While he'd always thought that he'd cure cancer, or invent free energy, or do something worthwhile by his twenties, that wasn't the case. Years flew by with little to no opportunities; mostly due to his disdain for social norms and ethics. Silas found himself yearning for a change of pace, he needed something to carve his own way in the world. So, when he heard about the expedition to an underwater city, he knew he'd hit the metaphorical jackpot.
Other: -
Oh, and for the posting rule thing, I'm all up for it. It's probably good to have something to keep track of where everyone is. :D
Name: Silas Hope
Age: 29
Occupation: Biologist
Weapons: M1 Carbine, Mauser C96 Semi-Automatic Pistol
Abilities / Plasmids: None yet.
Brief Bio: Born in the Old Dominion state of Virginia, Silas was expected by his everyone to achieve great things in life. With his intelligence, and his family's bottomless wealth, he might've turned out to be a success story similar to Brigid Tenenbaum herself. But Silas, even at a young age, was never much of a team player, much to his parents' exasperation.
Silas progressed through school too fast, driven to boredom and frustration by the lack of challenge that it presented. Graduating at age 14 and enrolling into university the same year, Silas soon earned a degree in molecular biology a little under a decade later. While he'd always thought that he'd cure cancer, or invent free energy, or do something worthwhile by his twenties, that wasn't the case. Years flew by with little to no opportunities; mostly due to his disdain for social norms and ethics. Silas found himself yearning for a change of pace, he needed something to carve his own way in the world. So, when he heard about the expedition to an underwater city, he knew he'd hit the metaphorical jackpot.
Other: -
Oh, and for the posting rule thing, I'm all up for it. It's probably good to have something to keep track of where everyone is. :D
I'm interested. :D
Finally posted! It might be a little wonky though, I'm tired as heckie. Sorry for taking so long. :P
It was like static, a swirl of grey-blue smoke centered on the tips of his fingers. The air hummed around him, his skin glowed, and for a split second, he could see the outlines of the veins and muscles in his fingers. Then the mist faded and died, taking with it the blue glow and the thin bubble he had conjured around himself. Gaspard tried to ignore the smell of brimstone hanging in the air, as he scrawled his findings down in near-unintelligible writing.
'Mana Field sustained for 5 minutes, 16 seconds.'
Carelessly tossing the ballpoint pen aside, Gaspard gave his fingers an experimental flex. He'd had no idea just how much work went into learning magic. He had been expecting something Harry Potter-esque, a swish-and-flick, and voila, a fireball up your ass! Instead, it had taken him almost a whole week to sustain the spell a for solid five minutes and a bit. He was making decent progress though, better than he'd be doing on his own, at least. Camp Half-Blood was certainly an improvement over that dusty, old orphanage.
Scanning over the Ancient Greek inscriptions one last time, he made an elaborate hand gesture over the leather-bound grimoire. Barely a second later, the book slammed shut with a resounding thump, iron clasps locking into place. Runes etched on the surface of the book glowed a faint violet, assuring that no one apart from Gaspard would be able to open it. Stowing the tome back underneath his bed, he suddenly remembered something. The camp was getting some new arrivals today, wasn't it? Hopefully, this was going to be interesting.
When he exited the stone cabin, Gaspard felt a fresh breeze flow through the air. He wasn’t some crazy, agoraphobic recluse, but as soon as the wind whipped his hair into an unruly mess, he immediately regretted leaving the cabin in the first place. Thankfully, he was always prepared for such a situation. Fishing a rubber hair-tie out of his pants pocket, Gaspard quickly pulled his dark locks into a ponytail before it got even more out of hand. As he gave himself a quick once-over, he realised that his outfit was a tad ridiculous. With his blinding, psychedelic-printed muscle tee, washed-out jeans, ratty sneakers, and jangly, beaded accessories; Gaspard wagered he look like a cross between a hippie and a circa 2007 scene kid. He had half a mind of going back inside and changing, but the thought was pushed to the back of his mind when he saw something out of the corner of his eye.
Following the movement, the son of Hecate noticed a sizeable crowd huddled near the Hades cabin. For a split second, Gaspard was unsure as to who these people were, but then it clicked. Ah, must be the fresh meat. He took his first step towards them, crooking an eyebrow in amusement when he heard a voice resonating above all the rest. Gaspard wasn’t quite close enough to clearly make out what the voice was saying, but it sure as hell didn’t sound pleased. At that very moment, he began plotting. Not anything sinister, of course, just some mostly harmless pranks. Messing with people was one of the great joys in his life, and he wasn’t going to pass up a chance to give the newcomers a proper welcome.
Gaspard slowed to a stop just a few feet away from where the group was, leaning against a wooden post as he surveyed the gaggle of teenagers. He had to suppress a scoff when he saw who the “tour guide” was. Erin Chase; the infamous Skeleta, Justice, daughter of Hades, etcetera, etcetera… How they got her to agree to show the new kids around was beyond him. Instead of silently judging everyone like he always did, the demigod decided to change it up for once, just to keep things interesting.
“Having fun?” Gaspard asked the Counseler. It was a rhetorical question, but mostly good-willed with just the barest hint of mockery. The look on her face was already answer enough.
'Mana Field sustained for 5 minutes, 16 seconds.'
Carelessly tossing the ballpoint pen aside, Gaspard gave his fingers an experimental flex. He'd had no idea just how much work went into learning magic. He had been expecting something Harry Potter-esque, a swish-and-flick, and voila, a fireball up your ass! Instead, it had taken him almost a whole week to sustain the spell a for solid five minutes and a bit. He was making decent progress though, better than he'd be doing on his own, at least. Camp Half-Blood was certainly an improvement over that dusty, old orphanage.
Scanning over the Ancient Greek inscriptions one last time, he made an elaborate hand gesture over the leather-bound grimoire. Barely a second later, the book slammed shut with a resounding thump, iron clasps locking into place. Runes etched on the surface of the book glowed a faint violet, assuring that no one apart from Gaspard would be able to open it. Stowing the tome back underneath his bed, he suddenly remembered something. The camp was getting some new arrivals today, wasn't it? Hopefully, this was going to be interesting.
When he exited the stone cabin, Gaspard felt a fresh breeze flow through the air. He wasn’t some crazy, agoraphobic recluse, but as soon as the wind whipped his hair into an unruly mess, he immediately regretted leaving the cabin in the first place. Thankfully, he was always prepared for such a situation. Fishing a rubber hair-tie out of his pants pocket, Gaspard quickly pulled his dark locks into a ponytail before it got even more out of hand. As he gave himself a quick once-over, he realised that his outfit was a tad ridiculous. With his blinding, psychedelic-printed muscle tee, washed-out jeans, ratty sneakers, and jangly, beaded accessories; Gaspard wagered he look like a cross between a hippie and a circa 2007 scene kid. He had half a mind of going back inside and changing, but the thought was pushed to the back of his mind when he saw something out of the corner of his eye.
Following the movement, the son of Hecate noticed a sizeable crowd huddled near the Hades cabin. For a split second, Gaspard was unsure as to who these people were, but then it clicked. Ah, must be the fresh meat. He took his first step towards them, crooking an eyebrow in amusement when he heard a voice resonating above all the rest. Gaspard wasn’t quite close enough to clearly make out what the voice was saying, but it sure as hell didn’t sound pleased. At that very moment, he began plotting. Not anything sinister, of course, just some mostly harmless pranks. Messing with people was one of the great joys in his life, and he wasn’t going to pass up a chance to give the newcomers a proper welcome.
Gaspard slowed to a stop just a few feet away from where the group was, leaning against a wooden post as he surveyed the gaggle of teenagers. He had to suppress a scoff when he saw who the “tour guide” was. Erin Chase; the infamous Skeleta, Justice, daughter of Hades, etcetera, etcetera… How they got her to agree to show the new kids around was beyond him. Instead of silently judging everyone like he always did, the demigod decided to change it up for once, just to keep things interesting.
“Having fun?” Gaspard asked the Counseler. It was a rhetorical question, but mostly good-willed with just the barest hint of mockery. The look on her face was already answer enough.
Here's my character and stuff, if there's anything I need to change, just let me know. :D
Personal Information
Name: Gaspard Aucoin
Alias/ Nickname (If Any): -
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Cabin: Cabin Twenty
Appearance:
Family
Godly Parent: Εκάτη / Hecate / Goddess of magic, sorcery, witchcraft, crossroads, trivial knowledge, and necromancy.
Human Parent: Reynaud Aucoin
Legacy: Ἔρις / Eris / Spirit of strife, discord, contention, and rivalry.
General Information
Personality: Gaspard is an observer by nature, whether he’s in the middle of a conversation or sitting in the corner. He has a calculating eye and an ear for details, and he can pick out what makes people interesting, attractive, or irritating as hell. He keeps a mental tally of the good and bad things people have done, in case he ever needs them for blackmail (not that he, a quiet wallflower, would ever need to… or at least, not that anyone would ever suspect him of doing it). People think he’s not listening, but really, he’s catching everything they say, secretly finding amusement in it.
Gaspard judges everyone equally - whether they’re all equally dumb or equally boring. He doesn’t like doing things unless the other party can supply him some sort of benefit in return, whether it’s grabbing a book for someone, holding their things for them, or finding them a joint to smoke. Friends or not, his time and energy are valuable, and he must have something to compensate for his loss; only rarely will he ever say “personal satisfaction is enough.”
That, however doesn’t mean he has no soft spot to speak of, it merely is particularly difficult to find. Naturally venomous, stoic, and even distant, he is used to putting on a variety of faces so as to achieve any means to an end. Gaspard is a bleeding heart for others, who like himself, have gone through some form of adversity.
Likes: Stephen King, people-watching, tattoos, drama, cats.
Dislikes: Babies, people who can't take a joke, excessively bright colours, waking up before 11, confrontation
Talents: Surprisingly, cooking.
Biography: Born and raised in New Orleans, childhood for Gaspard wasn't quite as picturesque as some others'. Burdened with a father and step-mother who used their child as something to take their anger out on, Gaspard often dreamed of the day he'd be free of them. His days as a child were a constant game of hide and seek, dodging both of his parents who were a mess of screaming matches and alcohol. He became used to hiding under desks, beds, and in closets, all in order to avoid their stinging hits. Unfortunately, he wasn’t always quick enough, and the abuse he would suffer was only more severe after he was dragged out kicking and screaming from under the bed.
Being caught trying to run away, a twelve year old Gaspard was shoved into his freezing garage, locked inside for the night without a second thought. Trying to find something to keep himself warm, Gaspard instead found a box filled with dusty, old books. Covered in symbols, he opened up the grimoire to take a look inside. Reading about magic that included curses, hexes, and enchantments… there was nothing more that he wished to be true. And when they proved to be just that years later when practiced for the hell of it, payback was more than warranted for.
Cursing his parents with such awful visions that it put them into permanent psychiatric care, Gaspard was finally free of them when he was fifteen years old. He didn’t even mind being sent off to live in an orphanage - it beat his own home any day of the week. Only packing a bag of clothes, and the grimoire that had so heavily paid off, that was all he felt he needed. Power like that at his fingertips? He could get used to that.
When Gaspard learned about his demigod heritage a month later, he believed it immediately. Unlike most half-bloods who try to deny it, Gaspard was ready for Camp Half-Blood the second he heard about it. Training with a weapon everyday? Learning to better manipulate the Mist? Playing capture the flag with possible bloodshed? He was all over it. What can he say, he likes that sort of thing.
Theme Song:
Weapon Information
Weapon Name: αγκάθι / Thorn, φάντασμα / Phantasm
Weapon Type: Silver Dagger, Grimoire
Weapon Appearance:
Attributes: A silver dagger with a decorated handle, useful both for performing blood rituals or simply for stabbing. Because of the material, it is particularly effective at dispatching werewolves. Meanwhile, the grimoire contains an impressive catalogue of spells and rituals, most of them focusing on using the Mist to create illusions.
Other
Other: -
Personal Information
Name: Gaspard Aucoin
Alias/ Nickname (If Any): -
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Cabin: Cabin Twenty
Appearance:
Family
Godly Parent: Εκάτη / Hecate / Goddess of magic, sorcery, witchcraft, crossroads, trivial knowledge, and necromancy.
Human Parent: Reynaud Aucoin
Legacy: Ἔρις / Eris / Spirit of strife, discord, contention, and rivalry.
General Information
Personality: Gaspard is an observer by nature, whether he’s in the middle of a conversation or sitting in the corner. He has a calculating eye and an ear for details, and he can pick out what makes people interesting, attractive, or irritating as hell. He keeps a mental tally of the good and bad things people have done, in case he ever needs them for blackmail (not that he, a quiet wallflower, would ever need to… or at least, not that anyone would ever suspect him of doing it). People think he’s not listening, but really, he’s catching everything they say, secretly finding amusement in it.
Gaspard judges everyone equally - whether they’re all equally dumb or equally boring. He doesn’t like doing things unless the other party can supply him some sort of benefit in return, whether it’s grabbing a book for someone, holding their things for them, or finding them a joint to smoke. Friends or not, his time and energy are valuable, and he must have something to compensate for his loss; only rarely will he ever say “personal satisfaction is enough.”
That, however doesn’t mean he has no soft spot to speak of, it merely is particularly difficult to find. Naturally venomous, stoic, and even distant, he is used to putting on a variety of faces so as to achieve any means to an end. Gaspard is a bleeding heart for others, who like himself, have gone through some form of adversity.
Likes: Stephen King, people-watching, tattoos, drama, cats.
Dislikes: Babies, people who can't take a joke, excessively bright colours, waking up before 11, confrontation
Talents: Surprisingly, cooking.
Biography: Born and raised in New Orleans, childhood for Gaspard wasn't quite as picturesque as some others'. Burdened with a father and step-mother who used their child as something to take their anger out on, Gaspard often dreamed of the day he'd be free of them. His days as a child were a constant game of hide and seek, dodging both of his parents who were a mess of screaming matches and alcohol. He became used to hiding under desks, beds, and in closets, all in order to avoid their stinging hits. Unfortunately, he wasn’t always quick enough, and the abuse he would suffer was only more severe after he was dragged out kicking and screaming from under the bed.
Being caught trying to run away, a twelve year old Gaspard was shoved into his freezing garage, locked inside for the night without a second thought. Trying to find something to keep himself warm, Gaspard instead found a box filled with dusty, old books. Covered in symbols, he opened up the grimoire to take a look inside. Reading about magic that included curses, hexes, and enchantments… there was nothing more that he wished to be true. And when they proved to be just that years later when practiced for the hell of it, payback was more than warranted for.
Cursing his parents with such awful visions that it put them into permanent psychiatric care, Gaspard was finally free of them when he was fifteen years old. He didn’t even mind being sent off to live in an orphanage - it beat his own home any day of the week. Only packing a bag of clothes, and the grimoire that had so heavily paid off, that was all he felt he needed. Power like that at his fingertips? He could get used to that.
When Gaspard learned about his demigod heritage a month later, he believed it immediately. Unlike most half-bloods who try to deny it, Gaspard was ready for Camp Half-Blood the second he heard about it. Training with a weapon everyday? Learning to better manipulate the Mist? Playing capture the flag with possible bloodshed? He was all over it. What can he say, he likes that sort of thing.
Theme Song:
Weapon Information
Weapon Name: αγκάθι / Thorn, φάντασμα / Phantasm
Weapon Type: Silver Dagger, Grimoire
Weapon Appearance:
Attributes: A silver dagger with a decorated handle, useful both for performing blood rituals or simply for stabbing. Because of the material, it is particularly effective at dispatching werewolves. Meanwhile, the grimoire contains an impressive catalogue of spells and rituals, most of them focusing on using the Mist to create illusions.
Other
Other: -
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