Application to Altered States
Sep. 18th, 2013 12:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bad_reveriePlayer Information
Name/Alias: Saintduma
Personal Journal: haven’t got one, is it required?
Email: wanderinglady@gmail.com
I am 18+ years old
You may use my application as a sample, if you like.
Character Information
Character Name: Neirne Leith Camden
Canon: none; he comes out of my brainmeats. We can call it The Abyss Futurity?
Canon Point: yerp. brainmeats.
Character Journal: bad_reverie
Appearance: The single most identifiable feature Neirne has is his hair. It is waist-length, bright coppery red, and is often trying to escape whatever way he’s decided to try to tame it that day-- strands pulling free of braids and bands and out from under hats to crowd his face. He stands out in a crowd so strongly with it that he used to cut and dye it, but it has been many years since he’s done that. He’s rather loathe to think of doing it again.
Slender and only five foot eight inches tall, he is hardly imposing physically, and does not go to any great lengths to work out or keep form. His skin is pale and in the summer he will lightly freckle, over the bridge of his nose and on his shoulders, if he is out in the sun for any length of time. His slenderness extends to his fingers and hands, and to his toes and feet, giving him a slightly alien quality of longness that is noticeable with some study, similar to arachnodactyly, though it is unclear if it is the condition or if it is simply the evolutionary trend he is from.
Under blacklight and a few specific other wavelength ranges, pale blue tattoos are evident on and around his eyes that stand in stark contrast to the very dark blue of his irises. These tattoos are otherwise invisible. There is a very small silver metal rectangle at the nape of his neck, which he has referred to as a networking implant from his home reality.
While he is fastidious about personal hygiene, Neirne is permanently inattentive to his clothing, however well-selected his wardrobe is. He has been known to wander around in the same rumpled suit for several days at a time, or forget he has worn this t-shirt for two days straight, and is often far too lazy to match socks, and so will opt for inappropriate footwear like flip-flops to avoid having to find socks at all. He has a collection of dark hats that he wears, though it is likely that he chooses to wear hats because he hasn’t been bothered to comb out his hair if it’s in a long braid.
Age: 33
History: why would you drag me out of there
Personality: Neirne is scathing. It’s really the only description apt for him; he is severely misanthropic and uses a wide range of colorful language to make it clear. He has a natural paranoia that has served him well so far in life, such that he is more than happy to tell someone off with creative vehemence for asking too many questions. It is a survival tactic; it has been his experience and opinion, for some time, that the less is known about him, the higher his chances of getting through whatever is in front of him.
This is somewhat at odds with the fact that Neirne knows quite a bit about other people. His psychic abilities paired with his attentiveness to detail gives him an unfair advantage in conversation-- when his discourse is civil-- and he does not hesitate to use his knowledge to cut through others’ defenses, and he will often wound unnecessarily with his advantage. He does not cultivate allies. He prefers to reinforce his status as an outsider and make others wary enough of approach that avoidance bears him solitude.
If he favors someone, they will know. Trust is hard-won and easily lost for this man, but once established, is clear.
He will bring his specialties to the table for people, if he believes it will benefit him significantly in some fashion. He will collect favors, and hoard resources, and insist cashing those things in when he needs them regardless of its convenience for others. As he considers himself indispensable, if his skillset is courted, the price is high. He was the best in his world, which means he’s even better here.
A great boon to people around him is the fact that Neirne can easily sleep for eighteen hours a day. He sleeps heavily and is not easily disturbed from it, though if someone succeeds, they’ll be faced with a dragon of a man. He can, and will, sleep anywhere.
Finally, Neirne’s morose side will make itself evident on occasion; usually if he has not slept adequately, or when faced with specific triggers, the most notable of which being young children, the only demographic he appears to curb his colorful language and nasty disposition for.
Powers/Special Abilities: Neirne’s primary ability lies in dreams. He can shape, control, and move through dreams easier than walking in the waking world. He is able to make subjects fall asleep, and manipulate what state of sleep or drowsing they’re in. This allows him to, over time, implant very powerful changes in behavior or thought in subjects. It is his way of reprogramming people.
He is able to interact with the dead, seeing and speaking with them, and with significant exertion can help them be seen and heard by others.
With minimum effort, he can manipulate electric and magnetic forces, which is easier to do in humanoids, but also applicable to nonliving matter. This means that Neirne can create irregular electrical pulses in a brain-- sometimes very subtle, but usually a way to disable a person and turn them into a drooling idiot for a while. He can and has completely fried brains before.
As a defensive mechanism that exhausts him, he can exert physical force psychically, for up to half an hour dealing with weights and forces not unlike the weight and speed of a bullet train engine. This however takes significant amounts of energy, and can leave him unconscious for days, or with mild internal hemorrhaging.
River Power: Neirne has begun to be able to project an image of himself that can speak, see, and listen into the vicinity of a sleeper whose dreams he is passing through.
Reason for Character Choice: I wanted to torture Neirne with some serious misanthropic angst. He’s a difficult character and I wanted to see if I could bring him to bear effectively in a game scenario still.
Additional Information: I will have a permissions post on the journal, because Neirne’s abilities can deal with intimate information that may not have been disclosed to other characters, and can exert significant changes on other characters.
The writing samples I included are not intended to be Neirne’s actual arrival sequence. It was an imagining of a solo arrival.
Writing Samples
First-Person Transmission Sample:
[Recording start: 9:14pm]
Are you fucking kidding me.
Are you fucking kidding me.
[unintelligible voice]
You mean to tell me people drag themselves out of that thing all the time and you act like it’s fucking normal for people to come from other fucking worlds--
[unintelligible voice]
No, it is a much better idea if you walk the fuck away from me right now before I make your life less than worth living-- what the fuck is that? [shouting in the background] Is that a fucking gun? You people carry fucking guns? You fucking idiot. You can wave that little fucking stick of metal at me all you want and see what fucking good it does you, but if you fucking point it at me--
Oh, you dumb piece of shit.
[sound of a body hitting the floor]
I fucking told you--
[sound of device being manipulated; button pushing, tapping, being turned over in hand. A moment of quiet. Video is engaged. A redheaded man drenched to the bone, wearing a black turtleneck, fixes dark blue eyes on the camera.]
I can see this is broadcasting. Or uploading. Whatever you call it in your stone age bullshit. Brilliant. [an unnerving smile] My name is Neirne. Whoever’s seeing this-- take fucking note.
[camera swings around to display unconscious police officer, then back to Neirne’s face]
I don’t fucking like people. I do very fucking badly with intimidation. Badly enough that this dumb fuck is goinna have an unpleasant time when he wakes up.
[Camera swings around again. There is an arc of blue electricity that dances over the downed officer’s head for just a moment before a shot rings out, and the device hits the grass. In the corner, Neirne’s wet hair is visible. Footsteps on grass; the hair shifts, the sound of a taser buzzes, and the device is picked up. There is a brief glimpse of a face, and the feed ends at 9:16pm]
Third-Person Log Sample:
“So, your Honor, as my client’s origin clearly places him under the provisions of Drifter Law sections three through eight, including sub-statute five-six-eight-a, stating that a Drifter with no possible knowledge of authority structures of New York State or the United States cannot be charged with specialized crimes regarding said authority structures until after being informed--”
“We know the law, Counselor.”
“--I conclude that Mr. Camden cannot be charged with the charges set forth by the prosecutor, and therefore move that these proceedings be ceased immediately.”
Neirne was trying his very best not to smirk at the prosecutor, an overtly muscular man who was trying his very best to not make eye contact with the redhead on some superstition that it would magically keep him from being susceptible to the formidable ability Neirne had demonstrated on the night in question. The man had once served as a police officer at the precinct that the cop Neirne had put to sleep; whether they had served together, Neirne didn’t know. He just knew the prosecutor dreamed of the precinct a lot, and vividly enough that there was no doubt he spent highly charged, significant time there. From what he had learned about this world in the last four months, that meant he’d been a cop there before going down the law track.
Neirne had hated people a lot in his own world. He hated them much more here, and as soon as he was free-- and he would be free-- that fucking prosecutor would have nightmares until he died. And, if the judge didn’t make the right ruling, so would every fucking person in this courtroom.
He was already fantasizing about the sorts of nightmares he would cram into the man’s skull. It distracted him, delightfully, long enough that the next several minutes of nitpicking deliberation slid by easily, until his lawyer returned to their table.
“There’s no way they’re going to set you loose until you get sentenced,” the man said under his breath. “The Drifter laws are really careful about altercations with natives. But I think I can get us fast-tracked.”
“An admirable performance,” Neirne said, trying not to look at the man. He thrived too much on praise, in Neirne’s opinion, but it was a useful tool. His lawyer had not made the jump into the river himself, and probably never would, but if Neirne’s trips through his dreams told him anything, the man fetishized Drifters quite heavily. That was among the reasons Neirne trusted the native to get him through this... annoyance.
He just needed to be free. The sooner the better-- the sooner he could find a way away from this fucking planet.
Neirne had already stayed too long.
--------------
Six months later, Neirne gathered up his phone, wearing the clothing he had come out of the river in ten months beforehand. He got into the back of a cab with his lawyer, who was fidgeting. Since the end of his trial, Neirne had stopped visiting and manipulating the lawyer’s dreams, which had left him far less well-rested than he had been through the trial. He had done good work-- it was why Neirne was walking away a free man. Some loophole in New York law combined with his status as a new-arrival Drifter at the time of the incident, with a consideration made for what Neirne’s previous occupation had been, meant that he got to walk away.
“Listen,” the lawyer said, turning towards Neirne. “Listen. I just-- I gotta know. Are you--”
Neirne did not like where this was going. “No,” he said, firmly, and the cab driver looked at them quizzically. “No, I’m never going to be a problem for your regulations enforcement again,” Neirne continued, redirecting it from the answer he had given the lawyer for the sake of the cab driver, so he would be less likely to remember the conversation. “I may not like them, or your-- dirty, limited world. But I’m confined here, and so I’ll... behave. It’s inconvenient to navigate your fucking legal system when I don’t.”
Name/Alias: Saintduma
Personal Journal: haven’t got one, is it required?
Email: wanderinglady@gmail.com
I am 18+ years old
You may use my application as a sample, if you like.
Character Information
Character Name: Neirne Leith Camden
Canon: none; he comes out of my brainmeats. We can call it The Abyss Futurity?
Canon Point: yerp. brainmeats.
Character Journal: bad_reverie
Appearance: The single most identifiable feature Neirne has is his hair. It is waist-length, bright coppery red, and is often trying to escape whatever way he’s decided to try to tame it that day-- strands pulling free of braids and bands and out from under hats to crowd his face. He stands out in a crowd so strongly with it that he used to cut and dye it, but it has been many years since he’s done that. He’s rather loathe to think of doing it again.
Slender and only five foot eight inches tall, he is hardly imposing physically, and does not go to any great lengths to work out or keep form. His skin is pale and in the summer he will lightly freckle, over the bridge of his nose and on his shoulders, if he is out in the sun for any length of time. His slenderness extends to his fingers and hands, and to his toes and feet, giving him a slightly alien quality of longness that is noticeable with some study, similar to arachnodactyly, though it is unclear if it is the condition or if it is simply the evolutionary trend he is from.
Under blacklight and a few specific other wavelength ranges, pale blue tattoos are evident on and around his eyes that stand in stark contrast to the very dark blue of his irises. These tattoos are otherwise invisible. There is a very small silver metal rectangle at the nape of his neck, which he has referred to as a networking implant from his home reality.
While he is fastidious about personal hygiene, Neirne is permanently inattentive to his clothing, however well-selected his wardrobe is. He has been known to wander around in the same rumpled suit for several days at a time, or forget he has worn this t-shirt for two days straight, and is often far too lazy to match socks, and so will opt for inappropriate footwear like flip-flops to avoid having to find socks at all. He has a collection of dark hats that he wears, though it is likely that he chooses to wear hats because he hasn’t been bothered to comb out his hair if it’s in a long braid.
Age: 33
History: why would you drag me out of there
Personality: Neirne is scathing. It’s really the only description apt for him; he is severely misanthropic and uses a wide range of colorful language to make it clear. He has a natural paranoia that has served him well so far in life, such that he is more than happy to tell someone off with creative vehemence for asking too many questions. It is a survival tactic; it has been his experience and opinion, for some time, that the less is known about him, the higher his chances of getting through whatever is in front of him.
This is somewhat at odds with the fact that Neirne knows quite a bit about other people. His psychic abilities paired with his attentiveness to detail gives him an unfair advantage in conversation-- when his discourse is civil-- and he does not hesitate to use his knowledge to cut through others’ defenses, and he will often wound unnecessarily with his advantage. He does not cultivate allies. He prefers to reinforce his status as an outsider and make others wary enough of approach that avoidance bears him solitude.
If he favors someone, they will know. Trust is hard-won and easily lost for this man, but once established, is clear.
He will bring his specialties to the table for people, if he believes it will benefit him significantly in some fashion. He will collect favors, and hoard resources, and insist cashing those things in when he needs them regardless of its convenience for others. As he considers himself indispensable, if his skillset is courted, the price is high. He was the best in his world, which means he’s even better here.
A great boon to people around him is the fact that Neirne can easily sleep for eighteen hours a day. He sleeps heavily and is not easily disturbed from it, though if someone succeeds, they’ll be faced with a dragon of a man. He can, and will, sleep anywhere.
Finally, Neirne’s morose side will make itself evident on occasion; usually if he has not slept adequately, or when faced with specific triggers, the most notable of which being young children, the only demographic he appears to curb his colorful language and nasty disposition for.
Powers/Special Abilities: Neirne’s primary ability lies in dreams. He can shape, control, and move through dreams easier than walking in the waking world. He is able to make subjects fall asleep, and manipulate what state of sleep or drowsing they’re in. This allows him to, over time, implant very powerful changes in behavior or thought in subjects. It is his way of reprogramming people.
He is able to interact with the dead, seeing and speaking with them, and with significant exertion can help them be seen and heard by others.
With minimum effort, he can manipulate electric and magnetic forces, which is easier to do in humanoids, but also applicable to nonliving matter. This means that Neirne can create irregular electrical pulses in a brain-- sometimes very subtle, but usually a way to disable a person and turn them into a drooling idiot for a while. He can and has completely fried brains before.
As a defensive mechanism that exhausts him, he can exert physical force psychically, for up to half an hour dealing with weights and forces not unlike the weight and speed of a bullet train engine. This however takes significant amounts of energy, and can leave him unconscious for days, or with mild internal hemorrhaging.
River Power: Neirne has begun to be able to project an image of himself that can speak, see, and listen into the vicinity of a sleeper whose dreams he is passing through.
Reason for Character Choice: I wanted to torture Neirne with some serious misanthropic angst. He’s a difficult character and I wanted to see if I could bring him to bear effectively in a game scenario still.
Additional Information: I will have a permissions post on the journal, because Neirne’s abilities can deal with intimate information that may not have been disclosed to other characters, and can exert significant changes on other characters.
The writing samples I included are not intended to be Neirne’s actual arrival sequence. It was an imagining of a solo arrival.
Writing Samples
First-Person Transmission Sample:
[Recording start: 9:14pm]
Are you fucking kidding me.
Are you fucking kidding me.
[unintelligible voice]
You mean to tell me people drag themselves out of that thing all the time and you act like it’s fucking normal for people to come from other fucking worlds--
[unintelligible voice]
No, it is a much better idea if you walk the fuck away from me right now before I make your life less than worth living-- what the fuck is that? [shouting in the background] Is that a fucking gun? You people carry fucking guns? You fucking idiot. You can wave that little fucking stick of metal at me all you want and see what fucking good it does you, but if you fucking point it at me--
Oh, you dumb piece of shit.
[sound of a body hitting the floor]
I fucking told you--
[sound of device being manipulated; button pushing, tapping, being turned over in hand. A moment of quiet. Video is engaged. A redheaded man drenched to the bone, wearing a black turtleneck, fixes dark blue eyes on the camera.]
I can see this is broadcasting. Or uploading. Whatever you call it in your stone age bullshit. Brilliant. [an unnerving smile] My name is Neirne. Whoever’s seeing this-- take fucking note.
[camera swings around to display unconscious police officer, then back to Neirne’s face]
I don’t fucking like people. I do very fucking badly with intimidation. Badly enough that this dumb fuck is goinna have an unpleasant time when he wakes up.
[Camera swings around again. There is an arc of blue electricity that dances over the downed officer’s head for just a moment before a shot rings out, and the device hits the grass. In the corner, Neirne’s wet hair is visible. Footsteps on grass; the hair shifts, the sound of a taser buzzes, and the device is picked up. There is a brief glimpse of a face, and the feed ends at 9:16pm]
Third-Person Log Sample:
“So, your Honor, as my client’s origin clearly places him under the provisions of Drifter Law sections three through eight, including sub-statute five-six-eight-a, stating that a Drifter with no possible knowledge of authority structures of New York State or the United States cannot be charged with specialized crimes regarding said authority structures until after being informed--”
“We know the law, Counselor.”
“--I conclude that Mr. Camden cannot be charged with the charges set forth by the prosecutor, and therefore move that these proceedings be ceased immediately.”
Neirne was trying his very best not to smirk at the prosecutor, an overtly muscular man who was trying his very best to not make eye contact with the redhead on some superstition that it would magically keep him from being susceptible to the formidable ability Neirne had demonstrated on the night in question. The man had once served as a police officer at the precinct that the cop Neirne had put to sleep; whether they had served together, Neirne didn’t know. He just knew the prosecutor dreamed of the precinct a lot, and vividly enough that there was no doubt he spent highly charged, significant time there. From what he had learned about this world in the last four months, that meant he’d been a cop there before going down the law track.
Neirne had hated people a lot in his own world. He hated them much more here, and as soon as he was free-- and he would be free-- that fucking prosecutor would have nightmares until he died. And, if the judge didn’t make the right ruling, so would every fucking person in this courtroom.
He was already fantasizing about the sorts of nightmares he would cram into the man’s skull. It distracted him, delightfully, long enough that the next several minutes of nitpicking deliberation slid by easily, until his lawyer returned to their table.
“There’s no way they’re going to set you loose until you get sentenced,” the man said under his breath. “The Drifter laws are really careful about altercations with natives. But I think I can get us fast-tracked.”
“An admirable performance,” Neirne said, trying not to look at the man. He thrived too much on praise, in Neirne’s opinion, but it was a useful tool. His lawyer had not made the jump into the river himself, and probably never would, but if Neirne’s trips through his dreams told him anything, the man fetishized Drifters quite heavily. That was among the reasons Neirne trusted the native to get him through this... annoyance.
He just needed to be free. The sooner the better-- the sooner he could find a way away from this fucking planet.
Neirne had already stayed too long.
--------------
Six months later, Neirne gathered up his phone, wearing the clothing he had come out of the river in ten months beforehand. He got into the back of a cab with his lawyer, who was fidgeting. Since the end of his trial, Neirne had stopped visiting and manipulating the lawyer’s dreams, which had left him far less well-rested than he had been through the trial. He had done good work-- it was why Neirne was walking away a free man. Some loophole in New York law combined with his status as a new-arrival Drifter at the time of the incident, with a consideration made for what Neirne’s previous occupation had been, meant that he got to walk away.
“Listen,” the lawyer said, turning towards Neirne. “Listen. I just-- I gotta know. Are you--”
Neirne did not like where this was going. “No,” he said, firmly, and the cab driver looked at them quizzically. “No, I’m never going to be a problem for your regulations enforcement again,” Neirne continued, redirecting it from the answer he had given the lawyer for the sake of the cab driver, so he would be less likely to remember the conversation. “I may not like them, or your-- dirty, limited world. But I’m confined here, and so I’ll... behave. It’s inconvenient to navigate your fucking legal system when I don’t.”
