|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Fri Nov 10, 2006 8:37 pm
Username: Flynn_MacCallister Who recruited you?: The Almighty ThreadName: Amadeus Gualterro Age: 19 Gender: Male Height: 5'10" Weight: ~130 lbs Race: Southern European Social Class: Middle. Appearance: Amadeus stands on the taller side of average, and is of very slim build, tending almost toward the underweight end of the spectrum. This shows especially in his face, making his naturally well-defined cheekbones and jaw stand out with an almost harsh starkness. Softening the effect, however, are his deep brown eyes. His skin is a very dark tan, although many, many degrees short of being black. His hair is very nearly true black -- or, what you can see of it is, at least. Mostly it is obscured by the leather-copper-and-steel hair falls of which he is rather fond. Although these can be occasionally seen for purchase commercially, he made his set himself. Usually he ties these back with twine, but the way they sit when he doesn't has earned him the nickname of "Pharoah". Otherwise, his dress is nothing unusual: a white shirt; trousers, waistcoat and coat in muted tones -- although he prefers to forgo the jacket whenever even moderately acceptable. He wears a plae grey silk or pleated white linen ascot tied plastron style over a high stock collar, and held in place with a plain pin. When forced to wear one, his hat of choice is a cloth cap, even though he is, really, too old now to still get away with it. If really pressed, he will take out the hair-falls and don a toppie. Personality: Amadeus is generally quiet and soft-spoken, but not to the point of seeming shy. He is exceptionally studious, with his main interests lying in the fields of natural philosophy (i.e. chemistry and physics) and engineering. He doesn't expect much from his friends, and, although he is generally reliable, expects them not to ask much of him. He is very level and balanced most of the time, not particularly prone to emotional outbursts of any kind. He is also an obsessive tinkerer, collecting up mechanical bits and pieced from wherever possible, and trying very hard -- and often failing utterly -- to put them together in a working manner. Character flaws: Although reliable, he does not generally go out of his way for his friends. He is something of a know-it-all, and will not accpet that he is incorrect until it can be conclusively proven so. He forgets that not everyone is interested in the same things as he, and of those who are, many are not quite so obsessed as he is. As a result, he can sometimes be rather boring to people. And in particular, to young women. Background: Amadeus' father is an accountant for the Muskovy company, so his background is one of modest wealth, though certainly not of great riches. Certainly not of great enough riches to have been able to be tutored privately, but indeed enough so that his entire education prior to entering the university has been at public schools. He has chosen to attend the state-funded University over other private colleges because it allows him independence in his choice of his course of study, rather than having to follow his fee-paying father's will -- which does not involve science and engineering. Skills: Logical thinking, scientific reasoning Belongings: A small collection of well-thumbed scientific journals; great stacks of books and pocketbooks for his own use; a mismatched set of tools; a few bits and pieces; a half-finished Crawler; Hero's humble steam engine -- a homemade desktop version thereof; some clothes. A little-used comb; a much-used razor, and associated shaving kit. Character secrets: Although he claims that his intention is to become a pure scientist, he actually aspires to the somewhat less gentlemanly position of engineer. Anything else? Nothing, really. The only thing I may have neglected under any other category is the personalities of and conflict between Amadeus' parents, which is not even remotely important, really. You have been very thorough.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Nov 10, 2006 9:35 pm
Amadeus had stationed himself at the writing-desk, and already it was covered with all of his mechanical bits and pieces: a great jumble of brass and steel, and in the centre, a spider-like explosion of gears, his precious half-finished Crawler. His signature mass of hair-falls, caught up with twine at the back of his head, bobbed as he measured, inspected, assembled and dismantled various sets of objects on the desk, stopping frequently to note something down in the notebook by his elbow, in a most unrefined hand.
The maid would be up soon enough with a costume for him, for the night's ball -- oh tedium, thy name is ballroom! He was sorely tempted not to go, as it was not described as compulsory, but that would simply be impolite, even if no-body did miss him. His bony fingers stopped in their flickering to re-tie the twine around his elaborate hair-pieces. He had added to them recently, and they were beginning to become too heavy for just a piece of string. He would have to do something about that. A buckled strap, perhaps? He made a note of this in the margin of his current page, then, pushing his sleeves up his skinny wrists as far as they would go, got back to work.
He needed some new parts for the Crawler. More frustrating still, he knew precisely what he needed, but not from whence he would be able to get it. Well, that wasn't strictly true: he'd start with the gypsy Wrobelka during her next visit to campus; but that wasn't a terribly certain way of procuring parts.
Ten minutes passed, and in spite of much activity, he made no progress whatsoever. He stretched, got up, and paced the room, and his hairfalls came untied, again.
Spurred to action by this irritation, he returned to the table, leather straps falling about his face, and set to work.
By the time the maid arrived, he had produced a thin leather belt or garter, the buckle made of a loop of heavy wire, which he had bound up the artificial locks in, and was shakking his head like a dog to tests its stability as the poor lass opened the door.
He stopped abruptly, growing bright red under his dark tan, and thanked her, trying to pretend nothing had happened as she placed the cotume garments on the bed, and hastily left the room. he felt a right royal a** -- perhaps appropriate, as the ball's theme was A Midsummer Night's Dream.
*
Oh, God...
Amadeus was standing staring at the clothing laid out on his bed, his hands on his head, in a state of something like shock. What was that? Stockings? What sort of dandy was he meant to be?
He stared in dismay at soft brown leather... what were they, slippers? Foot-coverings, at least; the ungodly spectacle of russet hose; a- a what, a doublet of the same hue -- clearly worn, its fabric worn shiny up the indised of the arms and down the side-seams, but that was alright -- with complex patterns picked out on it in pale gold and forest green, the embroidery radiating out from collar and cuffs, to cover a large proportion of the garment. On top of it all, a fresh circlet of ivy-leaves was placed. Who on earth wore ivy leaves? Well, a fairy, but this was not regal enough to be Oberon... Some unnamed attendant fairy? Who-- oh. Oh.
How now spirit, wither wander you?
Wonderful. Just wonderful. Not only was he to be wearing hose, but he was to be perhaps the most inappropriate character in the play. He wouldn't go.
But how could he not? He'd already performed one unacceptable act today, when he had chosen to keep the money he had been given for a cab! How could he possibly be so rude as to fail to appear without a fair excuse and warning on top of that?
He swallowed hard, and placed the ivy crown on his head.
No, no, no! That wouldn't do. He must have some pins or some tacks or somesuch amongst his assortment of miscellaneous metallic objects -- ah, there! He immediately set about dismantling the wreath.
After a good twenty minutes, Amadeus emerged, feeling like a right and proper fop, and made his way to the ballroom.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jan 11, 2007 3:04 am
Amadeus unlocked his room with the key hanging from a thread around his neck, under his clothing, as had become his custom very quickly in the first year. Upon opening the door, he immediately lit one of the candles he had left just inside for that purpose, with a match-book secreted inside his doublet.
He wondered how he should be feeling, as he crossed to his bed and stripped off these offensive garments, being at this moment perhaps the most disliked student in the school. Honestly, he couldn't give a damn. Perhaps he was even relieved. Yes, he was. He had fulfilled his social duty, and it was not his fault that the pig-boy had taken exception to his associating with that empty-headed young canary.
He pulled on a night-shirt, and finished detatching the ivy leaves from his hairfalls as he meandered over to his desk. He flipped open his journal, affixed his hair back from his face, found a pencil, and picked up from his daydreams on the train-ride earlier that day, with his imaginary portable coffee-pot. The materials he would need would be easy enough to attain, now he considered it: Wrobelka would not be worth her salt -- which he knew she unquestionably was -- if she did not have them.
Worth her salt, he mused, amused. Salt, meaning salary. The gypsy had none, as far as he knew or could imagine, thus rendering that description worthless...
He put the pencil down. With his mind drifting like that, he must be tired. Salt. Hm.
Bedtime.
*
Stealthily, the golden knife-edge of sunlight stalked across the floor, like a tiger slipping throught he c***k in the curtains. Slowly, inevitably, it clawed its way across the carpet, up the edge of the bedspread, across the sheets, silent in its heartless approach. It insinuated its way uop the sleeper's cheek, moving with the viscous inertia of treacle, until it found its target, slicing across the sleeping figure's eyelid with surgical precision.
Amadeus snorted and shook his head as the shaft of light fell across his face. Scrubbing at his cheeks with his hands, he opened one sleepy eye to balefully regard the morning. Yes, it was time to get up.
Stretching and yawning, he stumbled out of bed, to the cupboard and into his clothes. Being a school day, he plucked out his school tie -- which he did not mind -- and tie it, as required, four-in-hand -- which he did not like. It felt bulky and untidy, possessing none of the grace of the plastron. He tied and tidied it regardless. He would become used to it again in a few days.
He added pocket-watch and fob, checking the time in the process, and decided to forgo breakfast, and head directly to the library in the hope that he should be able to sign up for his classes -- assuming the set-up was ready this early -- before his appointment with the headmistress at nine.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
