App repost \o/
Character: Horus
Series: American Gods
Character age: N/A (appears mid- to late teens)
Canon: In Horus' canon, every god that is imagined and believed in, exists. And every god that has ever been imagined and believed in, and then abandoned... still exists. They may be sitting next to you in an airplane, or washing your car, or soliciting you on street corners.
Or, they could be cavorting around buck naked and eating roadkill, like Horus.
Horus was once the ancient Egyptian god of the sun. Now, after spending some three-and-a-half thousand years stuck in hostile Middle America, Horus is--in the words of a contemporary--bugfuck crazy. Horus spends almost all his time as a hawk, and when he isn't a hawk, he's a naked young man who speaks in an oddly stilted manner, seems to have memory and/or attention span issues, and still eats roadkill.
On the other hand, Horus, as alien as he seems at a glance, does have some significant depths to him, and is able to interact with others on more levels than just okay-yeah-this-guy's-a-headcase. There were some concerns over sustainability the last time I tried apping Horus, and there was a mini-essay on the topic, but here I'll just summarize its contents thusly: He has emotions and motivations. He has a sense of right and wrong. Canon has portrayed him with all the psychological complexities and all the banal and exotic components of humanity that are needed to form lasting interpersonal relationships; whether or not this is enough, I'll leave for you to judge.
Sample Post:
Brother, sun-brother who is not my brother, where have you gone? I am not where he has been, I think, and I cannot sense him any more. Am I still in America? I must be. It is an unholy place. This place is very unholy. I can feel it pressing against me, like darkness or a plague.
It itches.
Or perhaps it is simply the brambles upon which I sit that itch. Unholiness and poisoned oak. That is America. Unholy poisoned oak and hunger. I am hungry still. They gave me a gun, they did, though who it was that did, I cannot say. A gun. Guns are useless to me. I can banish the clouds from the sky; I can coax the dawn into day; I can call the sun from down the heavens, if I so wish. I can, still, even now. My mother taught me. But she did not teach me to use a gun, so I do not know how to do that. Elsewhere, the Americans lay down offerings on their roads, with their big noisy motor chariots. Offerings to no one, and free for the taking.
There are no offerings here, and the small things are difficult to kill. I have tried to take a squirrel or two, but they have banded against me and are now staging a communist uprising.
I do not know much about communists, except that they are from Russia, where parties can always find you, and that they are red and they scream about "THE JULY REVOLUTION!!!11ONEDYELEVEN" and all rush in to hurt you when you try to eat them. The toucans are aiding them, also. The gorillas have offered to help me quell the uprising, but I confess I do not know much about gorilla warfare. I simply wish for a meal. I do not care if dominoes fall and infect the zombies with communists. They will not feel the teeth and claws and beaks anyway, seeing as they are zombies.
I am going to go find something else to eat.
VOATINS
Series: American Gods
Character age: N/A (appears mid- to late teens)
Canon: In Horus' canon, every god that is imagined and believed in, exists. And every god that has ever been imagined and believed in, and then abandoned... still exists. They may be sitting next to you in an airplane, or washing your car, or soliciting you on street corners.
Or, they could be cavorting around buck naked and eating roadkill, like Horus.
Horus was once the ancient Egyptian god of the sun. Now, after spending some three-and-a-half thousand years stuck in hostile Middle America, Horus is--in the words of a contemporary--bugfuck crazy. Horus spends almost all his time as a hawk, and when he isn't a hawk, he's a naked young man who speaks in an oddly stilted manner, seems to have memory and/or attention span issues, and still eats roadkill.
On the other hand, Horus, as alien as he seems at a glance, does have some significant depths to him, and is able to interact with others on more levels than just okay-yeah-this-guy's-a-headcase. There were some concerns over sustainability the last time I tried apping Horus, and there was a mini-essay on the topic, but here I'll just summarize its contents thusly: He has emotions and motivations. He has a sense of right and wrong. Canon has portrayed him with all the psychological complexities and all the banal and exotic components of humanity that are needed to form lasting interpersonal relationships; whether or not this is enough, I'll leave for you to judge.
Sample Post:
Brother, sun-brother who is not my brother, where have you gone? I am not where he has been, I think, and I cannot sense him any more. Am I still in America? I must be. It is an unholy place. This place is very unholy. I can feel it pressing against me, like darkness or a plague.
It itches.
Or perhaps it is simply the brambles upon which I sit that itch. Unholiness and poisoned oak. That is America. Unholy poisoned oak and hunger. I am hungry still. They gave me a gun, they did, though who it was that did, I cannot say. A gun. Guns are useless to me. I can banish the clouds from the sky; I can coax the dawn into day; I can call the sun from down the heavens, if I so wish. I can, still, even now. My mother taught me. But she did not teach me to use a gun, so I do not know how to do that. Elsewhere, the Americans lay down offerings on their roads, with their big noisy motor chariots. Offerings to no one, and free for the taking.
There are no offerings here, and the small things are difficult to kill. I have tried to take a squirrel or two, but they have banded against me and are now staging a communist uprising.
I do not know much about communists, except that they are from Russia, where parties can always find you, and that they are red and they scream about "THE JULY REVOLUTION!!!11ONEDYELEVEN" and all rush in to hurt you when you try to eat them. The toucans are aiding them, also. The gorillas have offered to help me quell the uprising, but I confess I do not know much about gorilla warfare. I simply wish for a meal. I do not care if dominoes fall and infect the zombies with communists. They will not feel the teeth and claws and beaks anyway, seeing as they are zombies.
I am going to go find something else to eat.
VOATINS