Post by kai peter vandereeyden on Jul 14, 2010 19:50:33 GMT -6
kai peter vandereeyden
a r e y o u u p f o r , a r e y o u u p f o r t h i s ?
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[/font] and i've been roleplaying for five(?)[/font] years. i'm older every year[/font] years old, and i found you through ...i don't remember[/font]. as you can see, i enjoy using owen pallett[/font] as a play-by. oh, and if you want to see what i can do, check out the role play sample. yeah, i'm awesome. i know ! [/blockquote][/blockquote]` I DARE SAY THAT I'VE HEARD OF YOU BEFORE. REMIND ME AGAIN, WHAT'S THE NAME YOUR PARENTS GAVE YOU, ANY SIGNIFICANCE ?- - - - - Well, Kai. It's easy to spell, three letters. Yeah, it has no hidden value- they just named me after the surgical intern who helped give my mother her c-section... because my parents either didn't care or couldn't decide. They had originally wanted to name me after the attending surgeon who had helped give my mother her c-section, but... his name was Cornelius. I went to school with Alexanders and Benjamins, proud in the notion that my name took three times less effort to write down. When Alexander and Benjamin grew up to be asshats and douchebags, my short name must have kept me pure. Or at least to my knowledge.
` REMIND ME AGAIN, WHEN WERE YOU BORN ? I CAN NEVER GET ENOUGH OF THE STORY SURROUNDING YOUR BIRTH.- - - - - I was born in Sacramento, California, sixteen years ago on October the tenth. I share my birth date with Neil Gaiman and Brittany Murphy. Deftones are from my town, and Arnold Schwartzenegger. I have nothing to do with these people. My dad is Dutch and my mother is Canadian, they weren't even citizens when I was born during a vacation in the US. It was complicated, or so I heard. I know for a fact that the first words ever said to me were 'I sure hope you grow out of your ugliness.' I understand. I was an ugly baby. I was a long baby, and my ears were, well, enormous. I mean they're still substantial, but it was like that scene in Dumbo when Dumbo sees his mum and then everyone sees his ears and they're like 'what the hell?' Except my mum didn't hit anybody, because she was shocked as well.
` YOU LOOK FAMILIAR, HAVE I SEEN YOU AROUND SCHOOL ?- - - - - I'm a sophomore. I've been in this school system since sixth grade. Before then, when we lived in Sacramento, I went to a crazy catholic elementary school where we wore uniforms and attended mass and stuff. My grandmother wanted my sister and I to go there, SHE'S the Catholic one... my dad's an Atheist and for five years my sister and I lived in total fear because I seriously thought they would kill us when they learned that my family believed in logic, I mean science and didn't go to church on Christmas. Lucky I got out of there before anyone found out. Now, it's a lot easier to maneuver. I don't live under the impression that the Catholic church is going to kill me, for one, and I'm finally allowed to kiss girls without my ass getting kicked.
` MAYBE IT WAS JUST AROUND. WHERE ARE YOU FROM ?- - - - - I'm from Sacramento. Unlike a lot of families, we spent our winters in a place that had a winter- in Rotterdam with my father's family. I spoke the Dutch I learned from kids on the street (I can speak it- can't spell it. Or read it, very well), and we had Christmas dinners and presents and stuff. I always called my grandma's house in the Netherlands home more than I did California. I'm a guy that loves winter, and constant warm weather like there is here is just.. boring.
` OKAY, BE HONEST HERE. WHICH ARE YOU IN TO MORE: GUYS OR DOLLS ? DON'T WORRY, MY LIPS ARE SEALED.- - - - - I'm straight. For a while I wished I was gay so I had an excuse for wanting to be in musical theatre and do artsy fartsy things, and care about the clothes I put on my back. But I'm simply not gay. Just 'a pussy' as jocks would call me. I played a tranny once in a play, but I don't think that's anywhere near the same thing.
` ALRIGHT, ON TO THE GOOD STUFF. WHAT DO YOU DO IN YOUR SPARE TIME ? ANY FAVORITE PASTIMES ?- - - - - Well, I love to act, sing and dance... I love to perform. Though my mum and dad would much rather see me get more into academics, I'd much rather be a Neil Patrick Harris than a Nikola Tesla. I like reading, running is alright too, and swimming. I have a video blog, I love making films and designing props and things and I won't deny I've logged a few hours on my mum's world of warcraft account. I love astronomy, hiking, but I think my favourite thing to do might be urban exploration- looking through abandoned buildings.
` TELL ME: WHAT ARE YOUR FAVORITE THINGS IN THE ENTIRE WORLD ? THINGS THAT JUST MAKE YOU WANT TO SMILE.- - - - - I like art films, celebrations, plastic animals, tiramiso, the fibonacci sequence, finding other people's notes and pictures, painting walls, chinese takeout, having a beer with my dad, opening night, 1950s nuclear war propaganda, and pet turtles.
` AND SADLY, WE ALL KNOW THERE ARE THINGS WE JUST CAN'T STAND. WHAT ARE YOUR'S ?- - - - - I HATE fedoras, boiled eggs, small loud dogs, 'emo kids', tribal tattoos, rap music, bad poetry, blowing up balloons, messy rooms, guys with 'bling', pineapple, and bad spelling.
` ANY SHORT OR LONG TERM GOALS ? WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN FIVE YEARS ? IN TEN ? HOW DO YOU PLAN TO GET THERE ?- - - - - I know it's ridiculous and it's never going to happen, but in the future I'd really like to see myself have a leading role in a major, long running stage production. But long-term I'd like to be a film director, maybe act, maybe produce. I don't know. I'd like to be in film, though. And I know being successful in the entertainment industry is tough to impossible but I'd like to make the impossible possible if at all possible. I like to see myself married in my mid-thirties, and I want to have a big condo or small house in the city somewhere cultural where there are lots of hippies and art freaks.
` WHAT MAKES YOU QUAKE IN YOUR BOOTS ? IF YOU HAD TO PICK ONE THING THAT HAS SCARED YOU THE MOST, WHAT WOULD IT BE ?- - - - - I'm very scared of ants. No one ever really understoof that, but like, have you ever seen one? They're hideous! Not to mention super strong. I'm also scared that I might be schizophrenic and reality to me isn't real to anyone else. Oh, and I'm scared of monkeys. Like, wouldn't go near one if it was my mother's dying wish. That I can't explain.
` IS THERE A SIGNIFICANT OTHER IN YOUR LIFE ? HOW DO YOU DO WITH RELATIONSHIPS ?- - - - - Nah, I'm not exactly girl-entrancing material. I'm not ripped, flirtatious, sexy or successful. Nor do I try to be, nor am I desperate to change. Relationships mean a lot to me when I'm in them, but I don't feel the need to be with someone all the time. In a girl I want the little bit of awkwardness I have, someone who likes kittens, maybe someone who doesn't think video blogging is weird, but overall I want a sense of adventure. A willingness to go out and do things. In a relationship I'll be honest and caring and whatever they want from me, and I'll mean it too. But I need time to myself.
` NOW, YOU KNOW THAT I ADORE YOU, BUT LET'S TALK ABOUT SOME OTHER PEOPLE FOR A BIT. A LITTLE BIRD TOLD ME THAT YOU HAVE SOME PRETTY EXTRAVAGANT PARENTS, TELL ME ABOUT THEM.- - - - - My mother, Sylvie, is forty nine and a cartographer from Quebec city, Canada. She's pretty amazing, the only mum I know who plays World of Warcraft and runs marathons. Most of the time, I don't mind having her with me. My dad, Luka, is forty seven and an architect from Rotterdam, Netherlands. He lets me drink with him and wears cool square architect glasses. He is quintessentially European how he trashes everything American, drinks imported beers and raves about how this country is calling the WRONG SPORT football. Their marriage has been intact for a very long time, despite all the disagreements they have with each other. We live in a household of strange bilinguality, my mother having been raised in Dutch as well. They both spend a lot of time yelling at my sister and I and each other and mixing English and Dutch words together.
` DANG. ANY OTHER IMPORTANT PEOPLE IN YOUR FAMILY ? DID YOUR PARENTS HAVE ANY OTHER CHILDREN ?- - - - - I have one sister Amelia (or Mia) who is quite literally the most badass girl I have ever met. We get along now, though we didn't used to. I still have scars. She's a fantastic cook and strangely talented at throwing ninja stars. her dream is to be a beekeeper-surgeon, which is just- well, amazing.
Oh, I don't mean a surgeon that only operates on beekeepers, I mean a beekeeper AND a surgeon, like at the same time.
I know!
` HOW ABOUT PETS, HAVE ANY OF THOSE ?- - - - - I have a pet painted turtle named Aldous Huxley, and some fish. He's not that cool: Eats sleeps and poops. But apparently just having him gives me some weird indie cred I didn't know I needed. I only have him because I found him in a puddle last summer and thought he might die when the puddle evaporated, being so far from his lake and all. So I took him home. He's named Aldous Huxley after Aldous Huxley, if that wasn't completely obvious. He lives in a big fishtank with some little black fish, a yellow fish and a snail named Mary-Anne.
` OKAY, YOU HAVE TO HAVE KNOWN THAT WE WERE GOING TO ASK. WHAT'S YOUR BEST KEPT SECRET ? I WON'T TELL !- - - - - In the past I have planned to kill someone- and almost followed through. I still want to kill her, as well.------------------------------------------------------------
oh hai there, CARSON HIGH ! my name is sarah scoot
With her rainbow of pens marking out certain letters and numbers in every formula, Poppy knew that she either looked like something from the Hello Kitty store or completely mad. But it made things she didn't understand maybe fifty times easier to understand. She could easily read simple black text, but when the words or letters all had their colours it brought on a whole different experience for her. When Poppy read black text, the information went straight to her brain and she understood it. When Poppy read text written with just the right colours, the information affected her vision and hearing and she lived through everything the word was instead of just knowing it. It was effortless for her to see meaning behind things and so writing in colour was the easiest way to go when she was learning something new and difficult.
Her mother was the only one who really understood how Poppy saw, and when one looked back at her old schoolwork and music it was very obvious that she was encouraged to learn her own way, with lots and lots of pretty colours. Her method brought on countless psyche evaluations where she'd sit on the floor and play with crayons and paper and a hospital doll that smelled weird- the one they used to ask children where the man touched them- while her mother talked in an important voice to a doctor who wasn't wearing a white coat and didn't stick her with needles and hit her knees. Then he'd bend down and ask her innocent sounding questions, and send her home with a new name- synesthete. She scratched out an X in blue ink and tapped her pen on the desk to the beat of some pretty intense medieval folk music. The music was beginning to distort her vision and cloud her reality, and Poppy tried to blink it away. Poppy's thought process amazed the doctors without white coats, but it did nothing more than royally piss Poppy off when it interfered with her life like this. It'd probably all be better if Poppy chose to take her medication, but she didn't want anybody to see her taking drugs at supper- they'd make assumptions.
Prior to his waking up, Poppy was really doing her best to not disturb the sleeping boy ahead of her. Seeing as how he was sleeping at school, he probably really needed it. She had absolutely no ability to sleep the way he was sleeping, under the eyes of everybody in the library. Hell, she couldn't even sleep if the pictures on the wall were looking at her. And her wall was covered in art. All the eyes in the portraits looked at the door on purpose. It was probably a bit eerie to other people. As soon as they walked in... lots and lots of eyes staring at them. Poppy didn't sleep much regardless of where her pictures' eyes were looking, proven by the dark circles under her eyes (more black). She flinched and waited fearfully for the end of her life as the boy groaned, stirred and woke up. She squeaked a half-intelligible apology and bright her knees to her chest, wrapping her forearms around them. Negative attention at school was the last thing she wanted.
She recognized the face across from her. It was a boy she had met some time ago at a party, or a school function or someplace where she had met a lot of people. They had talked for maybe forty seconds about something mundane and general like school or celebrities and then never saw each other again. She vaguely remembered his angular face, golden-spiral conventional hotness. Poppy couldn't help it- she smiled a tiny bit as he questioned the tits. She had been allowed to say 'dirty' words like shit and fuck in the house when she was younger- so that they would cease to be in her mind words of infinite power and just normal words, thus making it so that she wouldn't swear as much in the future, but she had found different words that pissed off her mum, usually improper words for the female anatomy. Tits, twat... she never really grew out of saying them, either.
'Yes, I said tits,' she said in her usual quiet voice. 'I was just thinking to myself that I'd like to haul these ones out. Interested?' Poppy snorted and pointed at her unsubstantial chest, a hint of acid in her voice as well as a playful tone. She wasn't one to talk much to people she wasn't close with, but when she did it came out like that. Well, that or serious verbal abuse. Namecalling was a normal occurrence, something fun for her to do. It didn't necessarily mean she disliked the victim of her sharp tongue, but it meant that they were approaching their final chance. Men on the street who threw blatant invitations to sexual intercourse her way, anyone who gave her grief for being different and wearing feathers in her hair and homemade clothes, and especially people who called her a beggar for playing music on the street who made her want to run them through with various sharp objects.
She continued with the little progress she was making on her studying, making a purple M to represent the slope of something or other, when she heard the boy's voice again. 'This,' she paused and put her pen down. 'This is rainbow math. Solve a question and you get a sparkly unicorn covered in frosting and sprinkles.' Poppy was always quick to poke fun at her own mental handicap. Plus, by now she felt she deserved a sparkly unicorn covered in frosting and sprinkles for questions this impossible. She wanted to murder her math teacher with a rusty pair of scissors.
((Yep, I just copied one of poppy's posts for this. Lazy girl, Scoot is.))
Her mother was the only one who really understood how Poppy saw, and when one looked back at her old schoolwork and music it was very obvious that she was encouraged to learn her own way, with lots and lots of pretty colours. Her method brought on countless psyche evaluations where she'd sit on the floor and play with crayons and paper and a hospital doll that smelled weird- the one they used to ask children where the man touched them- while her mother talked in an important voice to a doctor who wasn't wearing a white coat and didn't stick her with needles and hit her knees. Then he'd bend down and ask her innocent sounding questions, and send her home with a new name- synesthete. She scratched out an X in blue ink and tapped her pen on the desk to the beat of some pretty intense medieval folk music. The music was beginning to distort her vision and cloud her reality, and Poppy tried to blink it away. Poppy's thought process amazed the doctors without white coats, but it did nothing more than royally piss Poppy off when it interfered with her life like this. It'd probably all be better if Poppy chose to take her medication, but she didn't want anybody to see her taking drugs at supper- they'd make assumptions.
Prior to his waking up, Poppy was really doing her best to not disturb the sleeping boy ahead of her. Seeing as how he was sleeping at school, he probably really needed it. She had absolutely no ability to sleep the way he was sleeping, under the eyes of everybody in the library. Hell, she couldn't even sleep if the pictures on the wall were looking at her. And her wall was covered in art. All the eyes in the portraits looked at the door on purpose. It was probably a bit eerie to other people. As soon as they walked in... lots and lots of eyes staring at them. Poppy didn't sleep much regardless of where her pictures' eyes were looking, proven by the dark circles under her eyes (more black). She flinched and waited fearfully for the end of her life as the boy groaned, stirred and woke up. She squeaked a half-intelligible apology and bright her knees to her chest, wrapping her forearms around them. Negative attention at school was the last thing she wanted.
She recognized the face across from her. It was a boy she had met some time ago at a party, or a school function or someplace where she had met a lot of people. They had talked for maybe forty seconds about something mundane and general like school or celebrities and then never saw each other again. She vaguely remembered his angular face, golden-spiral conventional hotness. Poppy couldn't help it- she smiled a tiny bit as he questioned the tits. She had been allowed to say 'dirty' words like shit and fuck in the house when she was younger- so that they would cease to be in her mind words of infinite power and just normal words, thus making it so that she wouldn't swear as much in the future, but she had found different words that pissed off her mum, usually improper words for the female anatomy. Tits, twat... she never really grew out of saying them, either.
'Yes, I said tits,' she said in her usual quiet voice. 'I was just thinking to myself that I'd like to haul these ones out. Interested?' Poppy snorted and pointed at her unsubstantial chest, a hint of acid in her voice as well as a playful tone. She wasn't one to talk much to people she wasn't close with, but when she did it came out like that. Well, that or serious verbal abuse. Namecalling was a normal occurrence, something fun for her to do. It didn't necessarily mean she disliked the victim of her sharp tongue, but it meant that they were approaching their final chance. Men on the street who threw blatant invitations to sexual intercourse her way, anyone who gave her grief for being different and wearing feathers in her hair and homemade clothes, and especially people who called her a beggar for playing music on the street who made her want to run them through with various sharp objects.
She continued with the little progress she was making on her studying, making a purple M to represent the slope of something or other, when she heard the boy's voice again. 'This,' she paused and put her pen down. 'This is rainbow math. Solve a question and you get a sparkly unicorn covered in frosting and sprinkles.' Poppy was always quick to poke fun at her own mental handicap. Plus, by now she felt she deserved a sparkly unicorn covered in frosting and sprinkles for questions this impossible. She wanted to murder her math teacher with a rusty pair of scissors.
((Yep, I just copied one of poppy's posts for this. Lazy girl, Scoot is.))
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this application was created by
TAKE A CHANCE on me from
CAUTION 2.0.
this application was created by
TAKE A CHANCE on me from
CAUTION 2.0.
