Application for guystodolls
PLAYER
[journal]: kgaleway / Freestyle_one? freestyle_one
[age]:19
[previous characters:None in game.
[character journal] :pi_sparrow
CHARACTER
[series]: Doctor Who
[full name]: Sally Sparrow
[age]: 23
[gender] : Female
[canon point]: Three years after the events of "Blink"
[reference]: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blink_(Doctor_Who)
[personality]: Sally is inquisitive, highly intelligent, and persistent to the end. She's easily frustrated or quick to lose her patience when backed into a corner, tired or in a pinch; she can sometimes take herself too seriously, and overestimates her own limits. Sally's actually rather socially awkward, is prone to Freudian slips and stammering if caught off guard or nervous. She's lonely, but will never admit it, and is slow to admit any weaknesses or damage when it comes to herself. She handles a crisis very well; always managing to save her mourning/emotional breakdown until after the danger has passed. She's extremely curious and inquisitive, will never leave anything unexplained if she can help it, and will never take silence as an answer. While rarely confrontational, she reacts with serious offense if it is in any way insinuated that she is mentally, or emotionally incapable of handling a situation. Sally has some morbid tendencies, and almost compulsively takes pictures and writes journals as a way of collecting her thoughts.
While never aggressive, she's very assertive, and isn't afraid to demand what she wants if needed. She comes off as very self-assured and collected, her own way with dealing with her insecurities, by not showing the chinks in her armour. Sally's a bit of a know it all, and she occasionally shows signs of intellectual elitism. She holds her own instincts, and judgment very highly, even though she has never been formerly trained as a doctor, investigator, etc, she'll still often trust her gut feeling over a professional opinion.
She is not a terribly good liar, especially under stress, while she can deliver a perfectly convincing fib once in a blue moon, most of the time she's infuriatingly cryptic and chooses to dodge questions. Even though she was, in the past, quite contented with her life, she never heard the end of her parent's silent disapproval. She has trouble forming solid relationships, is somewhat of a loner by nature and instead keeps a select few of her best and dearest around her. However, even these are kept somewhat at arms' length. She was raised by a silently judgmental and emotionally distant mother, and a submissive father. Her younger sister Anna died in an accident as a toddler, and Sally has always secretly believed that their parents blamed her for taking her eyes off Anna when it happened. A bright and effortless student, with limited social graces and interest in the games of her peers, Sally was never popular in school and was often ostracized for her 'weird' or eccentric interests. She only started to bloom once she left home for university, where she indulged her love of history and photography simultaneously and met Kathy Nightingale.
Sally is somewhat afraid of heights, and has an almost crippling case of claustrophobia, not bad enough to be set off by an empty elevator, but narrow spaces and crowds tend to spike her anxiety. Her greatest flaws are her pride and occasional inability to see past her own preconceptions. While openminded she's also highly opinionated.
[orientation]: Heterosexual (With some speculation possible due to her very close relationship with female friend Kathy)
[appearance]
[wish]: To get a chance to say goodbye to Kathy Nightingale.
[requested house]:Iki
[misc notes]:
SAMPLES
[sample 1#]Prose:
He never stops by when she's at home. Not in the average of twenty hours a day she spends in her flat, buried in printouts and photographs. Not in the early morning when the coffee is brewing and the sunlight streams through her kitchen window. He never leaves a trace of the visit, except for sometimes there will be a banana missing from the counter, and maybe some small thing will appear on the table. Post-it notes, trinkets, a pebble from this beach, a flower from that planet.
From anyone else it might seem like courtship, but Sally knows it's not. It's penance; he's apologizing the only way he knows how. Apologizing for what he's done to her, what he does to all of them in the end.
He stays away and she pretends she wants him to. He leaves her to live her life, the life she left him to start rebuilding brick by brick. But they both know it's a lie because she's not living as much as she is dying productively.
UFO sightings, strange occurrences, bumps in the night, she's never stopped chasing any of it. She just can't do it with him anymore. She's only one human girl with one human brain but a few obsessive tendencies go a long way. That and the help of one super powered search engine rigged up by Larry, and a certain slightly psychic paper that had been slipped into her coat pocket one day. She did alright, tracking witness reports, talking her way onto crimes scenes; she had binders of photos and notes but in the end that's all it was. Data. Some personal quest for understanding that in the end helped no one.
It's a Friday and Sally comes inside out of the pouring rain, dripping over the linoleum carelessly. Another day, another mysterious death, and it's striking her more than ever just how useless she is. All she does is observe the aftermath. She's not a hero, she's a cryptkeeper of secrets. Her coat gets thrown over the back of the chair, sodden wool pooling muddy rainwater on the floor like fetid tea.
She's too tired to even think about brewing a pot of the real stuff. Nothing left in her to do anything but sit down heavily in her kitchen chair and stare across the bare table to where one less banana sits nestled in the basket.
Somehow her eyes know just where to go, drifting to the front of the refrigerator. To the little lettered magnets that Larry had sent her as a housewarming gift, (it was supposed to be a birthday present but she'd spent her 24th in the library pouring over newspapers from 1935) In the centre of the refrigerator front, a space had been cleared, and a few select words had been placed letter by letter with a surprising patience.
Sally, you're still brilliant.
She laughs a little, and cries a little more but it's okay because no one but her walls can see.
[sample 2#] Smut:
Well this was a little undignified, Sally thought from some obscure disconnected part of her brain that was only processing the feeling of the shag rug under her shoulder blades. The part that was logical and organized and most of all, impersonal. The part that commented dryly on the cliché of sex beside a roaring fire while a storm raged outside. The part that didn't want to think too deeply about the feeling of lips running up the pale column of her neck and teasing the hollow beneath her ear. Because that would be fully processing the owner of the hands undoing the zip on her jeans. It would mean acknowledging the person who lived in the skin she was cautiously stroking with inquisitive but restrained fingertips. It would mean letting herself be someone, something she didn't know how to be.
[journal]: kgaleway / Freestyle_one? freestyle_one
[age]:19
[previous characters:None in game.
[character journal] :pi_sparrow
CHARACTER
[series]: Doctor Who
[full name]: Sally Sparrow
[age]: 23
[gender] : Female
[canon point]: Three years after the events of "Blink"
[reference]: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blink_(Doctor_Who)
[personality]: Sally is inquisitive, highly intelligent, and persistent to the end. She's easily frustrated or quick to lose her patience when backed into a corner, tired or in a pinch; she can sometimes take herself too seriously, and overestimates her own limits. Sally's actually rather socially awkward, is prone to Freudian slips and stammering if caught off guard or nervous. She's lonely, but will never admit it, and is slow to admit any weaknesses or damage when it comes to herself. She handles a crisis very well; always managing to save her mourning/emotional breakdown until after the danger has passed. She's extremely curious and inquisitive, will never leave anything unexplained if she can help it, and will never take silence as an answer. While rarely confrontational, she reacts with serious offense if it is in any way insinuated that she is mentally, or emotionally incapable of handling a situation. Sally has some morbid tendencies, and almost compulsively takes pictures and writes journals as a way of collecting her thoughts.
While never aggressive, she's very assertive, and isn't afraid to demand what she wants if needed. She comes off as very self-assured and collected, her own way with dealing with her insecurities, by not showing the chinks in her armour. Sally's a bit of a know it all, and she occasionally shows signs of intellectual elitism. She holds her own instincts, and judgment very highly, even though she has never been formerly trained as a doctor, investigator, etc, she'll still often trust her gut feeling over a professional opinion.
She is not a terribly good liar, especially under stress, while she can deliver a perfectly convincing fib once in a blue moon, most of the time she's infuriatingly cryptic and chooses to dodge questions. Even though she was, in the past, quite contented with her life, she never heard the end of her parent's silent disapproval. She has trouble forming solid relationships, is somewhat of a loner by nature and instead keeps a select few of her best and dearest around her. However, even these are kept somewhat at arms' length. She was raised by a silently judgmental and emotionally distant mother, and a submissive father. Her younger sister Anna died in an accident as a toddler, and Sally has always secretly believed that their parents blamed her for taking her eyes off Anna when it happened. A bright and effortless student, with limited social graces and interest in the games of her peers, Sally was never popular in school and was often ostracized for her 'weird' or eccentric interests. She only started to bloom once she left home for university, where she indulged her love of history and photography simultaneously and met Kathy Nightingale.
Sally is somewhat afraid of heights, and has an almost crippling case of claustrophobia, not bad enough to be set off by an empty elevator, but narrow spaces and crowds tend to spike her anxiety. Her greatest flaws are her pride and occasional inability to see past her own preconceptions. While openminded she's also highly opinionated.
[orientation]: Heterosexual (With some speculation possible due to her very close relationship with female friend Kathy)
[appearance]
[wish]: To get a chance to say goodbye to Kathy Nightingale.
[requested house]:Iki
[misc notes]:
SAMPLES
[sample 1#]Prose:
He never stops by when she's at home. Not in the average of twenty hours a day she spends in her flat, buried in printouts and photographs. Not in the early morning when the coffee is brewing and the sunlight streams through her kitchen window. He never leaves a trace of the visit, except for sometimes there will be a banana missing from the counter, and maybe some small thing will appear on the table. Post-it notes, trinkets, a pebble from this beach, a flower from that planet.
From anyone else it might seem like courtship, but Sally knows it's not. It's penance; he's apologizing the only way he knows how. Apologizing for what he's done to her, what he does to all of them in the end.
He stays away and she pretends she wants him to. He leaves her to live her life, the life she left him to start rebuilding brick by brick. But they both know it's a lie because she's not living as much as she is dying productively.
UFO sightings, strange occurrences, bumps in the night, she's never stopped chasing any of it. She just can't do it with him anymore. She's only one human girl with one human brain but a few obsessive tendencies go a long way. That and the help of one super powered search engine rigged up by Larry, and a certain slightly psychic paper that had been slipped into her coat pocket one day. She did alright, tracking witness reports, talking her way onto crimes scenes; she had binders of photos and notes but in the end that's all it was. Data. Some personal quest for understanding that in the end helped no one.
It's a Friday and Sally comes inside out of the pouring rain, dripping over the linoleum carelessly. Another day, another mysterious death, and it's striking her more than ever just how useless she is. All she does is observe the aftermath. She's not a hero, she's a cryptkeeper of secrets. Her coat gets thrown over the back of the chair, sodden wool pooling muddy rainwater on the floor like fetid tea.
She's too tired to even think about brewing a pot of the real stuff. Nothing left in her to do anything but sit down heavily in her kitchen chair and stare across the bare table to where one less banana sits nestled in the basket.
Somehow her eyes know just where to go, drifting to the front of the refrigerator. To the little lettered magnets that Larry had sent her as a housewarming gift, (it was supposed to be a birthday present but she'd spent her 24th in the library pouring over newspapers from 1935) In the centre of the refrigerator front, a space had been cleared, and a few select words had been placed letter by letter with a surprising patience.
Sally, you're still brilliant.
She laughs a little, and cries a little more but it's okay because no one but her walls can see.
[sample 2#] Smut:
Well this was a little undignified, Sally thought from some obscure disconnected part of her brain that was only processing the feeling of the shag rug under her shoulder blades. The part that was logical and organized and most of all, impersonal. The part that commented dryly on the cliché of sex beside a roaring fire while a storm raged outside. The part that didn't want to think too deeply about the feeling of lips running up the pale column of her neck and teasing the hollow beneath her ear. Because that would be fully processing the owner of the hands undoing the zip on her jeans. It would mean acknowledging the person who lived in the skin she was cautiously stroking with inquisitive but restrained fingertips. It would mean letting herself be someone, something she didn't know how to be.