Post by shideh on Jan 1, 2010 14:33:19 GMT -7
† Dorothy - Oost - Trout †
†Nickname†
[/center]† General Information †
Full Name: dorothy oost trout
Nicknames: dorothy
Gender: female
Race: human
Age: twenty four
Age they appear: n/a
Occupation: she works within the Izan designing and selling immensely powered vehicles.
Orientation: heterosexual
Health Problems: n/a
† Personality †
Basic Personality: Not a particularly exciting woman, she has learned to tow her emotions just like cars. Her interest in vehicles may lead to a misinterpretation of her femininity which, on the contrary to assumption, is still very much alike. Like Cleopatra she is beautifully crafted inside and out. She is a classic not-so-innocent beauty that hides behind a soft exterior. She's also very clever and very organized, rather than go through the grueling job of digging through train timetables she'd design and create a vehicle far faster in the time it would take for a train to make a troubled journey.
She also has an incredible amount of stick-to-itiveness and is able to think outside the box. For example, she could find five uses for one type of fish that don't include cooking. She can be cruel, but she cannot sneer, she is not sarcastic and any cruelty she exhibits is a subtle dislike turned to deceit.
Likes:
† tubes of tuna
† TV
† art and design
† cars and other vehicles
† driving
+ computers
Hates:
† Traffic jams
† Her daughter
† Pizza
† Chemistry
† Sunshine, she believes it's motives slide throughout the day.
Talents:
† Vehicle Design
† Rocketry
† Engineering
† Organization
† Mechanics
+ Experimenting with hardrives
Habits:
† Letting rats crawl around her home
† Being the passenger in a car instead of the driver
† Reading non-fiction as opposed to "artificial" stories
† Persistent with a task
† exploding the hopes of people who think life is a paradise
+ keeps a handbook of chains in case a vehicle breaks
† Appearance †
Skin Color: White
Hair Color: Blonde
Eye Color: Brown
Build: Tall and lanky.
Piercings/Scars/Tattoos: only her ears
Choice of Clothing: Usually formal for business, she strays from the seductive or revealing clothes.
Wolf Appearance:n/a
Other: n/a
† History †
History: She was raised at Pan American Christian Academy which was a Protestant American school in São Paulo, Brazil. She spent her preschool, elementary school, middle school and high school there. It was during a Calculus lesson at this school that she obtained her first boyfriend, Ichabod Ephriam. They were the best of friends in the classroom, they both studied Jane Austen together in English and trigonometry, and when he finally used his nerve to ask Dorothy to be his girlfriend they were overjoyed. She interrogated people all the time in order to obtain information on whereabouts, and soon received a reputation for intimidation. People only started to approach her again once they discovered her impeccable self-taught talent with cars.
When she was eleven she made a go-kart for her neighbor's son which resulted in him suffering a hysterical panic attack. What surprised Dorothy, even as such a young age, was how little she cared. The same surprise she experienced when she was six years old and her grandfather passed away. She felt as if she had no heart at all, this bothered her. The next death in her life was five years later when her Siamese passed away and was cremated. Her father told her she simply had a strong heart, Dorothy tried to accept this explanation. She and her boyfriend Ichabod split following a horrible storm out of a restaurant, and so at fifteen years old she found herself without a boyfriend and pregnant. Until her stomach started to show she continued to go on blind dates, none of which ended successfully. Her parents weren't the most supportive, being only a farmer and a farmer's wife they couldn't support a child, her father was especially unhappy with her.
The only way she saw fit to make money for herself and her daughter was by selling her unique creations to the public and hoping that no one got hurt. Luckily her expertise grew and health hazards were minimal. She took a ferry out of the country when she could save enough money, for nights she slept on a wooden floor covered in rugs with her daughter, traveling the world with flyers and pictures of her designs before the Izan found her talents. before then she was a walking slave cycle who couldn't properly reward her for her talents. After several rants of closure she became flushed, hunger shooting her like an arrow. She had already taken some headlines from the newspaper about suspicions about vampire organizations and their opponents, the werewolves, but she simply shrugged and expected a diplomatic outcome eventually.
When the world is a cleaner place and the revolting culprits of it's demise - the werewolves - are destroyed, Dorothy would show gladness. Twice now she has dedicated an entire day of being on the computer trying any research she could to find ideas that she could experiment on a vehicle to repel werewolves. She loves her job, and she loves her daughter, shame though that work always beats the ladder.
Mother/Father: Waldo Owen Trout/Radigan Rodgerson-Trout
Siblings: she has twelve of them
Offspring: a daughter, nine years and four months old named Raleigh.
Other: n/a
† RP example †
Charles looked down at all the little cliques of friends at the elementary school rushing to class, he couldn't stand the sight of them but he'd told Emelda he would take the job. It was only Friday afternoons and it was only Maths, hardly extravagant work. He worked with three pleasant teachers called Mrs Skinner, Miss Sterling and Mrs Stiles. They were painfully aware of Charles's condition and therefore knew to keep three teachers on supervision rather than one. thanks bitches, he thought to himself sourly. In the meantime at home he'd been keeping himself busy, sometimes writing, sometimes reading, sometimes having sex, sometimes looking after Benjamin. His councilor had suggested a consistent activity to help him with his patience that would prove beneficial to raising his son and for the duration of the job. Charles's response at first hadn't been pleasant, but after some time he decided it was best to heed his advice. Whenever Emelda had Benjamin or they were both asleep Charles had begun to learn Icelandic.
The language itself was no more special than any other, only difference was that Charles already owned the book entitled 'Colloquial Icelandic: The Complete Course for Beginners' and an Icelandic - English dictionary that he'd had since he was seven and had never read. So far he was able to tell Emelda 'good evening' and 'i love you', he was making gradual progress which kept him occupied for minutes at a time.He'd left home quite early feeling unable to sleep, his foaming toothpaste had barely dried on his teeth before he was out the door. Emelda would know where he was, she knew he was gone on Fridays between 9am and 2:15pm. His breakfast had consisted of a big mac from mcdonalds and his entertainment of the day was battling some boys with light-up light sabers until the teacher walked in. The day felt like a concert of children yelling accompanied by annoying voices discussing how all their parents liked Facebook. For five year olds, they were very perceptive. After two minutes of using baby-talk to communicate, Charles decided to stop talking altogether until his class started.
His class was dreadful, he often got phonetically similar names such as 'Ryan' mixed with 'Bryan' and listened to all the snotty noses that winter had inevitably caused. Each matter that surfaced, Charles tried his best to give a reasonable perspective as the girls in the class looked vainly at their nails like teenagers. Breathing out some arrogant words of wisdom that the children couldn't hear he resolved all his problems by proceeding with the lesson.His advice to the children was to explore the poem 'Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally', a technique he used when he was younger to remember, but the children seemed unable to grasp the concept. His teaching pose began to decay as the children failed to understand anything he taught them, why didn't they know this stuff? There he was, royally building their skulls with rubbish it seemed. Eventually he resorted early to what would've been his final part of the class, a short documentary that started off zooming in on an alpha wolf where the number "one" glowed. The pattern repeated until it asked the children how many wolves there were.
It seemed like yesterday his father was accused of murder and thrown in jail, now he was teaching simple maths to elementary school children. Slightly agitated with his day he was out promptly at 2:16pm and spent just over ten minutes forgetting his worries at the bar before stumbling home at half past two. He stepped into the cabin and washed up for dinner, feeling the cold on his flesh he flipped on the light in the bedroom and asked where his clothes were. - Charles Westerholt (schizophrenic)
The language itself was no more special than any other, only difference was that Charles already owned the book entitled 'Colloquial Icelandic: The Complete Course for Beginners' and an Icelandic - English dictionary that he'd had since he was seven and had never read. So far he was able to tell Emelda 'good evening' and 'i love you', he was making gradual progress which kept him occupied for minutes at a time.He'd left home quite early feeling unable to sleep, his foaming toothpaste had barely dried on his teeth before he was out the door. Emelda would know where he was, she knew he was gone on Fridays between 9am and 2:15pm. His breakfast had consisted of a big mac from mcdonalds and his entertainment of the day was battling some boys with light-up light sabers until the teacher walked in. The day felt like a concert of children yelling accompanied by annoying voices discussing how all their parents liked Facebook. For five year olds, they were very perceptive. After two minutes of using baby-talk to communicate, Charles decided to stop talking altogether until his class started.
His class was dreadful, he often got phonetically similar names such as 'Ryan' mixed with 'Bryan' and listened to all the snotty noses that winter had inevitably caused. Each matter that surfaced, Charles tried his best to give a reasonable perspective as the girls in the class looked vainly at their nails like teenagers. Breathing out some arrogant words of wisdom that the children couldn't hear he resolved all his problems by proceeding with the lesson.His advice to the children was to explore the poem 'Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally', a technique he used when he was younger to remember, but the children seemed unable to grasp the concept. His teaching pose began to decay as the children failed to understand anything he taught them, why didn't they know this stuff? There he was, royally building their skulls with rubbish it seemed. Eventually he resorted early to what would've been his final part of the class, a short documentary that started off zooming in on an alpha wolf where the number "one" glowed. The pattern repeated until it asked the children how many wolves there were.
It seemed like yesterday his father was accused of murder and thrown in jail, now he was teaching simple maths to elementary school children. Slightly agitated with his day he was out promptly at 2:16pm and spent just over ten minutes forgetting his worries at the bar before stumbling home at half past two. He stepped into the cabin and washed up for dinner, feeling the cold on his flesh he flipped on the light in the bedroom and asked where his clothes were. - Charles Westerholt (schizophrenic)
† Let's talk about you †
Name: Shideh
Other Characters: N/A
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