Post by sunnycooper on Dec 30, 2009 14:02:16 GMT -7
† Sunny - Mae - Cooper †
†Babe†
[/center]† General Information †
Full Name: Sunny Mae Cooper.
Nicknames: With a name "Sunny" and "Mae" is there any need for anything else? Not that it changes anything. ‘Babe’ seems what so many people call her.
Gender: Female.
Race: Human.
Age: Twenty.
Occupation: College Student and Hostess.
Orientation: Heterosexual. Mostly.
Health Problems: None severe.
† Personality †
Basic Personality:
SHARP | One thing a person notices, before or after spending time with Sunny is that… she’s sharp. The little lady his a sliver of intellect and isn’t as naïve or blind as her kind, friendly personality promotes. To many Sunny is soft and sweet, but even to those closest to her she has spouts of maliciousness, of prickliness, of edginess that puts an ache in the heart. If only for a moment. Though she is occasionally fierce, her moments of devilish malevolence are greatly overcome by her long periods of smooth, passionate and affectionate moods.
INDECISIVE | Despite everything Ms. Cooper is, what she lacks is a clear direction. In a situation where she must make a snap decision, either to plow forward or to turn back… she seems to freeze like a deer in the headlights. She loathes making choices, and finds them both unsettling and stressful… and will avoid and play coy rather than man up and ‘choose’.
PASSIONATE | Sunny believes wholeheartedly, and it isn’t rare for her to put everything she has into ‘one thing’. Sweetie is a passionate individual, one of those with fire in their eyes and a desire in their hearts. They believe what they believe, almost to a tragic flaw… But it seems to only make her endearing to some. Or an ‘easy mark’ to others.
MELLOW | Despite being enthusiastic about what she holds close and dear, Sunny comes across as a remarkably mellow person. Someone who seems calm and concentrated and focused… despite every reason not to. Her passion is smoldering, not chaotic; her sharpness is pointed, not random. There’s something almost methodic about her, reasonable, steady.
PERSONABLE | Kill with kindness? Sort of. Despite her flaws she remains one of those types who are just easy to talk to. The sort that isn’t judging, or intimidating. On the contrary they seem to radiate an old kind of charm. Not sensual, exactly, simply kind. Sunny is an easy friend to make and keep. She comes off that way, and actually is exactly what she seems in that regard.
OPEN | Cooper is patient, with herself and other people… which goes hands in hand with her being open. Naturally curious and fascinated about certain things, she‘s eager in her own way to… discuss topics that intrigue her. Sexuality, religion, politics, beliefs, reasons… anything and everything is fair game in her eyes… and to those who are bold enough to ask, Sunny is willing to be as honest as she can.
Likes:
† Halloween. Dresses.
† Painting nails. News.
† Chalk. Dresses. School.
† Chalk. School. Showers.
† Waterworld. Large family.
Hates:
† Silence.
† Roses. Gum.
† Cooking. Lying.
† Libraries. Studying.
† Being alone. Pencils.
† Disappointing (herself or others).
Talents (or Strengths):
† down to earth "The fact of the matter is…" Sunny is a sweet girl. But she isn't blind or silly. She realizes the world she lives in, and knows all about the deep, dark secrets very few mortal beings want to admit. About themselves, or about others.
† optomism Despite knowing full well that awful things happen to good people, and life has a tendency to be fucked beyond repair, Sunny looks to the "Sunny Side" of things. Hilarious, yeah?
† relaxing Even if she has problems of her own, Cooper is utterly relaxed. A very nonchalant person, nothing appears to bother them to any extreme. They take things in stride. Or appear to.
† sympathetic Remarkably capable to ‘feel’ for people. She’s quite apathetic. Even if she doesn’t agree with a point of view, an attitude, or a reason… she can understand and acknowledge it for what it is. It makes her plenty easy to get along with.
† Trusting You’ll always hear about those who can’t trust. Sunny’s not that kinda gal. She has the ability to trust, even if it hasn’t really proven to be a useful talent.
Habits:
† Sunny has a tendency to… obscure the truth. She doesn't lie, but she doesn't really tell the truth either.
† It isn't rare for Sunny to change her appearance for whoever she's dating. In such a way she's susceptible to the opinion and views of her close ones.
† Babe has a habit of trying. She tries, and she tries, and she tries. She isn’t a type who gives up, or marks anyone as a lost cause.
† Ms. Cooper takes her cereal without milk.
† And... surprisingly or not, Sunny doesn't really... drink. She has no tolerance for booze and knows it. Thus, she avoids it. Which is amusing since she works in a class "club" (she prefers to call it a restaurant. It sounds better, dunnit?).
† Appearance †
Skin Color: Light tan.
Hair Color: Brunette.
Eye Color: Pale blue.
Build: Standing at five ten she’s a tall gal, but doesn’t quite mind it. She wears her height finely, and remains nothing quite of note. A small waist, fine hips, and perhaps a moderate bust… she’s slim and slender, but not particularly skinny. She has flesh to her, as well as muscle, but in well-dosed, feminine amounts.
Piercings/Scars/Tattoos: ‘let’s forget she ever lived’ curving around the base of her neck in small script and… a pair of cherries on her right hip and a red balloon floating it's way up her left shoulder. And a tattoo on her right shoulder with the name "Daniel". Three times in the lobe of both ears. A few years ago she use to have her tummy peirced, but has since removed it to suit the boy she had been dating.
Choice of Clothing: There isn't much to say here, really. Sunny can put together a decent outfit, one that looks fair on her and suits her needs just fine. A good balance of beauty and practicality she's... just another city gal, making her way around, really.
Other: None.
† History †
History: Sunny was an only child… and her parents were in fields that didn’t exactly give her much room and… attention. Her mother was gone often, and her father was very involved in his studies. She was left to a large house and fostered quite an imagination from it. She grew close to her nanny, and when she came of an age where her own schooling began, she immediately fell in love with it. Sunny thirsted for interaction, other people, communication, relationships and… she found it there. Not that she wasn’t shy or awkward at first, but she quickly found her niche. She had a way to her, a friendliness and a kindness that attracted her to people, both for better and for worse. During her teen years she fell into the trademark rebellion many parents are faced with. Or would have if her parents had ever been present. She had no one to fight against, to argue with, to rebel against truly… and so her life remained rather balanced and steady. She did as she liked, but she never liked what would destroy her. She avoided alcohol, drugs, and pregnancy… While dabbing in piercing, tattoos, love, and boys. At eighteen she graduated her American high school and struck out on her own. Per se. A college offer from a university in London brought her across the sea to the foreign country. There she set up tent and… began. Sunny has developed from her time in London, from the life on her own. Relying on herself has been a change, but one that she hasn’t taken in stride.
Mother/Father: Sarah A. Cooper, fourty six, researcher, Germany, alive. / Hati J. Cooper, fourty nine, professor, Maine, alive.
Siblings: Only child.
Offspring: None.
Other: None.
† RP example †
[/blockquote][/blockquote]He was a military leader… one who pressed his clan to be the best they could be, to be fierce and hardy… to be as good and as lethal as any immortal being. He pushed them in the way any leader would, forcing them to fulfill their potential and to perform at only their best. Because of this his group was small… but because of this his group was simply just so mighty. Power was at their fingertips, capability and experience laid out across their hide. His kin were all he could ask for, they were ready in every respect and he had confidence in that. If their Emperor every called, they would be ready, willing, and able. They could pass their lessons onto the other Lords, whip the other herds into shape weeks before whatever Campaign they’d be entering commenced. Creed allowed his mind to entertain the fact that he and his made Falvior a mighty titan to be trifled with. Mortal, perhaps, but just as deadly as any of the others he rest assured that he was doing his part in things… and that he would, one day, be remembered for it. Though he would die one day, his story would live on. They would recall their Creed, one of the Falviorian “Champions” who hailed from Calydon. They would remember… and they would learn. He liked to think that at least, even if he knew in the pit of his stomach that though he had fought and won countless battles, and though he had killed so many… had torn families apart and ripped to shreds fibers of living creatures… Though he had done all that and more, he had done nothing worth note. He was but one warlord among many. But one killer with contract among thousands. He had yet to swell into his own potential, yet to be all he could. He desired mightiness, respect, reputation, and dignity… not just for himself but for his family. He wanted all to quiver when they heard of the Falvior, wanted them to tremble when they spoke of the Calydon. If he lay forgotten in the pages of time, so be it, but his life’s work would live on. He had to make certain of that, had to make it true. He moved forward, heading the troops as he had done so often these days. Wise they were, staying one step behind him. Acknowledging both his rank and power, for he was not their leader simply because of his (we say this with sarcasm) dashing good looks or his smart, seething tongue. No, no, no. Creed was not handsome like Sirius had been, not was he as charming as Valentine had become. He was not good at what they were crafted in… But he had his talents rest assured. He knew the taste of blood and could relish it, he knew the feeling of pain and could bathe in it. He was a beast. “A monster”, as Kestrel had came to call him. Kestrel.
She cut into his mind and tortured him… even on these joyous of days. But was it really her that haunted him, or what she said? And the truth there? Frowning to himself he thought of his wife… recalled the fear she had grown to have of him. What could he say? Truly? His wife had feared him… had come to resent him and in her resent and fearfulness, she had cultivated an affair with an officer of lower rank in his herd. Creed was aware of the snickers they had for him. The rumors, the talk, the gossip. It was amusing to many to think of the warlord and muse about how he hadn’t a grip on his own wife. Yet, muse and think as they did not one… not one ever spoke a word audible to his ears. Smart men he had in his line. Smart men. Nonetheless he deliberated night and day of whether or not he handled the matter correctly. He allowed Kestrel to leave… He loved her too much to actually kill her, even in his cold heart he imagined the feeling of her bones crushing beneath his feet, the taste of her sweet, honeydew blood on his lips. She betrayed him, his mind reasoned, she deserved a death painful and slow. Yet, his heart. His aching heart. He still had one, even as black, cold, battered, and torn as it was. He loved her. Genuinely. And for that reason he let her go. Murdered her lover, perhaps, but she was who he spared. ‘If you wish to leave, dream never to come back’, was his last parting words. He had only been four then. The next year, in fall, she came back. Begging for her return. She was pregnant, battered, abused. She wanted his affection, his protection. She forgot how cruel the world without him was. After all… clever it was to keep the monster close… if only to scare away the other big, bad monstrosities.
Pulled from these sobering thoughts he was called out by the words of one of his companions, “Creed,” the lad had said. Earning his attention, the Lord turned to him as his long, muscled legs kept and set the pace. ‘Yes?’ was the expression on the articulate face of the Cleveland Bay, his honey eyes settling on the slightly smaller thoroughbred. “Echiole’s.” Was the only word the mahogany gentlemen said, throwing his head in the direction of the valley. Far this convoy had come, traveling out of their own striking lands into the neutral zone… if only to take the time to… mess around. Nodding his head, Creed gave his understanding in the motion before looking over the four lads he had brought with him. Smiling slightly, the grin he had one that gently touched his chilly eyes. He couldn‘t help but be ever so tenderly amused. It pleased him to see the eagerness in these soldiers, even if it was completely predictable. “Three days, gentlemen.” He said simply before giving a little bow of his head and dismissing the caravan so ever gingerly. The boys returned their Keeper’s smile before trotting off, wasting no time. Dispersing among the meeting grounds, becoming infused in the crowd they sought out the little damsel(s) of paradise they‘d hold up with for a few days. They deserved a break from the monotony and ritual of life in Calydon. They needed to relax, enjoy life… and he… He did too. Or so he had been told. Though doubtful it was Creed would ever give into earthly, carnal pleasures… Not that he hadn’t so long ago… but… Hmm… Women were dangerous beings. Vile and heartless, true masters of devastation and calamity. He knew better than to toy with a woman he hadn’t the heart or sense to kill. And killing, though it was his talent, was not his complete and total life. Outside war he did not murder senselessly. Nor did he participate actively in the abuse and mistreatment of the fairer sex. He owed his mother’s kind more respect and kindness than that… and he had too much affection for the Nymh to be too overtly hostile to those who shared her shape and form.
… Besides. As deadly as they were… he could not help but have some love for them. If only minutely, if only shadowed. Looking upon the creatures on display, the dames who pranced and frolicked, who showed their colors and beauty readily to all and any… Examining them with moot interest as he walked along, alone… Hmm… As he did so, he appreciated them. In every sense of the word, he recognized their power and their sway and… did not denounce he was ever and always captivated. They were beautiful. They were better and more valuable than he. Their worth could not be measured, their spirit could not be tamed, simply broken. But who would want a woman whose spirit was broken and docile? He grinned to himself sadly, the smile on his lips ever so tainted and impure. Nay, a lady, and by this we mean truly a lady (he had met intimately plenty of women… but he had come across few, few, far too few ladies…) without a spirit was like love without passion, or doing without cause. It was senseless, pointless, undirected. Finding himself deep within his thoughts he wandered the winter day without clear-cut direction. His legs moved, his stride remained even and he, ever so simply, walked. Walking, walking, walking still his scarred hide (for it bore testimony to the countless ways he ‘failed‘) went a long distance without interaction. He was not eye catching, but he was who he was and earned passing glances to those who were about and bored. In his mind he entertained himself. Musing on the idea of women, before being engrossed in a self-involving discussion over the course of his kingdom and the way he ought to proceed. Calydon was small, a bit too small for his liking these days. They needed a greater population. They needed more willing and able bodied men. Yet… it seemed as if peacetime was reigning, as if all was good and calm. No wars. No bloodshed. No calls to duty and arms. It had been that way for a year now… and it would last a little longer. Wouldn’t it?
Lasting, longer. Longer, lasting. He shook his head of those thoughts, noting how he was falling into the repetitious pattern of turning inwardly for conversation and thought. It was not good to be a reclusive, not wise to be a solitary man. Silence could only do so much. Solitude could only bring so much wisdom. And so with that in mind he opened his eyes (truly opened them) to see what was to be seen. Looking out across the valley he noted the abundance of succulent flesh and body. Of women with desires, with men who lusted to sate them. And yet, all alone he noted just a pretty little jezebel, nibbling away in utter boredom. Wallowing in idleness, she was, the poor dear was just drowning… wasn’t she? Curiosity struck him then, alongside a shred of interest. She wasn’t ugly or malformed. From his view he noted a nicely rounded tush and lovely dipping thighs. Darling legs the sweetie was perched upon, and a fair neck upon which sat an unmarred head. Indeed, she was a pretty little spitfire… and he named her exactly that - a spitfire. Why else would she be alone? Unbothered? He chuckled to himself, unable to contain his peculiar sense of humor. It was amusing, wasn’t it? Very!
“Aww, you look lonely, you know,” was how Creed began. Coming into speaking distance, but never breaking the boundary of personal space he eyed the mare with a curious look. His eyes a mixture of this and that, but of yet unreadable. What was his agenda? Oh, it was doubtful even he knew.
† Let's talk about you †
Name: Clue.
Other Characters: Mark Daniels.
