The Player
Name: Ellis
Age: 28
Pronouns: he/him, she/her
Contact: woodironbone on AIM & at gmail
Currently Played Characters: Johnny Truant, Iman Asadi, Cole
The Character
DW Account:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
boneshaker
Name: Castor el-Saeid
Age/Birthdate: 27, March 1st of some year
Species: Human
Canon: Original
Canon Point: before the start of the novel I am hopefully going to write
Played By: terrible beautiful puppy Rami Malek
Icon:
Abilities: Continuing my trend of OCs with hopelessly abstract and highly conceptual powers...
Castor is a magic handler specializing in what he calls "trash magic." In his universe magic can be learned by anyone, though some have a better aptitude than others, and a lot of it is determined by class. Upper class pop-magic users deal in more conventional exciting things like fire and lightning, but resources for that cost money and it's very destructive and burns out quickly etc. Castor has spent much of his life on the streets, and he has to be more resourceful and practical.
He started out working predominantly with rust, since it was all around him. The way magic works in his universe is very abstract - he thinks of it like learning a language. Once he understood the syntax of corrosion, he was able to tap into the related conceptual energies of waste and decay. He defines "trash" broadly, as anything that is no longer used or cared for. Since this is incredibly subjective, he has to be very creative and exert a lot of his own will to make it work. In his world, a magic-user is only worth what they can put into it, so the most creative and cunning go the furthest no matter how much money they throw into it.
So it's a very ill-defined and weird way of doing things, sort of breaking every rule, totally unglamorous. But he's made it work for himself. Garbage is everywhere, so he has a very expansive pool of energy to work with, which gives him a pretty big advantage in exchange for impressive aesthetics and real tactical power.
Here is a list of things he can do:
Appearance: Smol. 5'9, skinny and angular. Big haunted eyes, thick hair in an undercut. He wears a long dirty coat over ratty street clothes. Skinny jeans, dirty chucks, a weathered hoodie. He sometimes paints his nails. His style would be punk if he gave a shit about style. He has several tattoos: eight little sigils on his knuckles, a pair of artfully drawn orange autumn leaves on his left shoulder blade, "see you after the heat death" scrawled on his right forearm.
Personality: Whip-smart, curious, fidgety. Gets into places he shouldn't, is quick to blame himself when things go awry. He can be a fighter and he can be submissive as hell depending on how fucked he is.
Castor is a pretty charismatic guy, but he's also a sarcastic little shit. He can be laid-back and affable, but if someone is playing hard to get or being an outright dick he'll work really hard to get under their skin. He modulates this tendency according to each person - he'll be more likely to leave a really shy person alone, for example, and he is pretty respectful of people's wishes. If he steps too far and someone gets in his face about it, he'll immediately step back. He has no desire to cause anyone pain; generally he picks fights to get attention or because he has a crush. Getting sassed back is a GREAT way to get him to love you. Most of his humor is rooted in self-deprecation, and he has a lot of respect for people who pick up on his weaknesses.
The personality he has on display is lit by cynicism, attitude, and nonchalance. He smokes heavily and cultivates a disaffected air, but he's pretty half-assed about it, and if you get to know him at all it becomes pretty clear he has a Heart Of Gold and genuinely, seriously cares about others. Get down real deep and you'll find a hotbed of anxiety and poor self-image. He believes he is a coward, that he could be a revolutionary and a hero if he weren't so selfish/lazy/scared. But the truth is he's not interested in changing the world so much as finding ways to work with the shit hand it dealt him and the shittier hand it dealt others.
History: The world Castor lives in is kind of an alternate version of our present - slightly more dystopian because of exaggerated class differences, plus magic. Technology is at about the same point but it's less accessible to average people (so Castor will know how to use a smartphone but it'll be really weird and luxurious to HAVE one). The novel doesn't trouble itself too much over worldbuilding details. Aesthetically it's sort of like the world of Looper, I guess.
There is not much to tell about Castor himself, either. He started poor and never grew out of it. He considers his childhood the most dull of sob stories and will tell it in a dismissive sentence or two: his father was an absent deadbeat and his mother worked herself to death, passing when he was fourteen. He's been on his own ever since. He educated himself and spent a lot of time squatting in libraries. He started getting odd jobs as a "finder" (locating missing or stolen items) and saw some success as a petty thief. He got into magic around the age of nineteen and found that he really had an aptitude for it. He applies his special brand of magic to just about everything he can, from street art to fighting to scandalizing elitist magic snobs. He has a network of associates and contacts, but not too many close friends. His story doesn't really kick into gear until after he gets caught unwittingly trespassing on the territory of a shadowy government organization - but he's coming through the rift before any of that shit happens to him. So basically he's just some street rat who invented his own form of magic, and nobody cares, and then one day he falls through a hole in the sky.
Writing Sample: A young man stands by the fountain at Bethesda Terrace and smokes a cigarette. He has only just arrived, appearing several feet off the ground and falling flat on his back with a pronounced yelp. Apparently, one harried passerby tells him, this kind of thing happens all the time. Apparently there's a whole community of 'people like you'. He refuses to stick around and provide any more salient details.
Castor blows smoke into the crisp autumnal air. He's not entirely certain what to make of his predicament, except that it has saved him the trouble of the backalley scrap he'd just gotten himself into, so that's something.
Whatever city this is--New York? Chicago?--it's clean. Well, cleaner. Well, this bit is. And on top of that it's a park. Parks are the sort of luxury not afforded to his kind back home. That might be a good thing. It might also be a problem. Well, probably not a big problem. He's never far from garbage. Not really.
He finishes his cigarette and flicks it to the ground, crushing it gently under his shoe and absorbing the energy back from it. Cigarette butts are everywhere. There's not much life in them but he can make do. Every bit counts. He stuffs his hands deep into his coat pockets and pivots on his heel, studying his surroundings. What's he supposed to do here, wait around until someone comes to pick him up? Wander and hope he runs into somebody he can talk to? It's not a great plan, but he doesn't have another one. It occurs to him he might be in shock.
Whatever. Be like a shark. Keep moving.
As he wanders through the startling greenery, he casts his awareness about idly, trying to feel... something he can relate to. This is not an exact science. It's linguistics, and the vowels shift every damn day. He adjusts the parameters in his head. A weak excuse for a thought experiment: let's say this new place is a dumpster, and you've been discarded from your previous dumpster and tossed into this one. And let's say there are others like you. So find them.
Ridiculously, it works. As he moves through the park, there is some vague sensation of familiarity tugging him in an increasingly focused direction. It says 'this thing is in the same language group as you'. This thing is a person. He walks up to it. Them. "Hi," he says with a friendly grin. "This, uh, this might be a weird question, but did you get to this city by appearing out of thin air?"
The Game
How did you find out about Big Applesauce?
well Carrie convinced me to join but that was ages ago now
What interests you about the game, and your character's place in it?
Look. What does this game need okay. It needs more garbage children. I know that it is almost 90% garbage children. Greta, The Balladeer, Steven Universe, and garbage children. But we need more. My garbage needs will not be sated. I tried playing well-adjusted people. Like eight times. I can't do it. I need garbage children. Including this literal garbage child. New York has so much garbage the garbage collectors are always going on strike. This is a match made in heaven. He is Little King Trashmouth. Let him reign.
Name: Ellis
Age: 28
Pronouns: he/him, she/her
Contact: woodironbone on AIM & at gmail
Currently Played Characters: Johnny Truant, Iman Asadi, Cole
The Character
DW Account:
boneshakerName: Castor el-Saeid
Age/Birthdate: 27, March 1st of some year
Species: Human
Canon: Original
Canon Point: before the start of the novel I am hopefully going to write
Played By: terrible beautiful puppy Rami Malek
Icon:
Castor is a magic handler specializing in what he calls "trash magic." In his universe magic can be learned by anyone, though some have a better aptitude than others, and a lot of it is determined by class. Upper class pop-magic users deal in more conventional exciting things like fire and lightning, but resources for that cost money and it's very destructive and burns out quickly etc. Castor has spent much of his life on the streets, and he has to be more resourceful and practical.
He started out working predominantly with rust, since it was all around him. The way magic works in his universe is very abstract - he thinks of it like learning a language. Once he understood the syntax of corrosion, he was able to tap into the related conceptual energies of waste and decay. He defines "trash" broadly, as anything that is no longer used or cared for. Since this is incredibly subjective, he has to be very creative and exert a lot of his own will to make it work. In his world, a magic-user is only worth what they can put into it, so the most creative and cunning go the furthest no matter how much money they throw into it.
So it's a very ill-defined and weird way of doing things, sort of breaking every rule, totally unglamorous. But he's made it work for himself. Garbage is everywhere, so he has a very expansive pool of energy to work with, which gives him a pretty big advantage in exchange for impressive aesthetics and real tactical power.
Here is a list of things he can do:
- absorb corrosive energy from rusted material and store it in his body indefinitely, to be used later
- use stored rust energy to cause things to rust instantly, which is a great way to fuck someone over if they come at you with a sword I guess??
- manipulate matter only in specific instances. wood, stone, and metals from crumbling edifices is a good example, he can whip that stuff up and throw it at someone or make something out of it. this is a slippery slope because once something is rebuilt its garbage status becomes increasingly questionable
- draw on air pollution to heal himself (also limited, too much of that and it starts to backfire)
- make himself unnoticeable for short periods of time (because garbage is neglected/forgotten)
- remake scraps into things - blunt instruments, art, etc
- hurl trash at people (this is very embarrassing and its utility is entirely dependent on the garbage available)
- channel energy drawn from surrounding trash into very basic force-spells that can be used to knock someone down or punch them at a distance. tactical utility and elegance equivalent to a bar-room brawl.
- all of these points also apply to bones. They have to follow his rules - the bones have to be lost to time, unidentifiable, not a source of mystery to anyone and not being used for anything. this is kinda creepy to him so he tends to avoid it, but there's a lot of inherent power in bones so it can be very useful.
Castor is a pretty charismatic guy, but he's also a sarcastic little shit. He can be laid-back and affable, but if someone is playing hard to get or being an outright dick he'll work really hard to get under their skin. He modulates this tendency according to each person - he'll be more likely to leave a really shy person alone, for example, and he is pretty respectful of people's wishes. If he steps too far and someone gets in his face about it, he'll immediately step back. He has no desire to cause anyone pain; generally he picks fights to get attention or because he has a crush. Getting sassed back is a GREAT way to get him to love you. Most of his humor is rooted in self-deprecation, and he has a lot of respect for people who pick up on his weaknesses.
The personality he has on display is lit by cynicism, attitude, and nonchalance. He smokes heavily and cultivates a disaffected air, but he's pretty half-assed about it, and if you get to know him at all it becomes pretty clear he has a Heart Of Gold and genuinely, seriously cares about others. Get down real deep and you'll find a hotbed of anxiety and poor self-image. He believes he is a coward, that he could be a revolutionary and a hero if he weren't so selfish/lazy/scared. But the truth is he's not interested in changing the world so much as finding ways to work with the shit hand it dealt him and the shittier hand it dealt others.
There is not much to tell about Castor himself, either. He started poor and never grew out of it. He considers his childhood the most dull of sob stories and will tell it in a dismissive sentence or two: his father was an absent deadbeat and his mother worked herself to death, passing when he was fourteen. He's been on his own ever since. He educated himself and spent a lot of time squatting in libraries. He started getting odd jobs as a "finder" (locating missing or stolen items) and saw some success as a petty thief. He got into magic around the age of nineteen and found that he really had an aptitude for it. He applies his special brand of magic to just about everything he can, from street art to fighting to scandalizing elitist magic snobs. He has a network of associates and contacts, but not too many close friends. His story doesn't really kick into gear until after he gets caught unwittingly trespassing on the territory of a shadowy government organization - but he's coming through the rift before any of that shit happens to him. So basically he's just some street rat who invented his own form of magic, and nobody cares, and then one day he falls through a hole in the sky.
Castor blows smoke into the crisp autumnal air. He's not entirely certain what to make of his predicament, except that it has saved him the trouble of the backalley scrap he'd just gotten himself into, so that's something.
Whatever city this is--New York? Chicago?--it's clean. Well, cleaner. Well, this bit is. And on top of that it's a park. Parks are the sort of luxury not afforded to his kind back home. That might be a good thing. It might also be a problem. Well, probably not a big problem. He's never far from garbage. Not really.
He finishes his cigarette and flicks it to the ground, crushing it gently under his shoe and absorbing the energy back from it. Cigarette butts are everywhere. There's not much life in them but he can make do. Every bit counts. He stuffs his hands deep into his coat pockets and pivots on his heel, studying his surroundings. What's he supposed to do here, wait around until someone comes to pick him up? Wander and hope he runs into somebody he can talk to? It's not a great plan, but he doesn't have another one. It occurs to him he might be in shock.
Whatever. Be like a shark. Keep moving.
As he wanders through the startling greenery, he casts his awareness about idly, trying to feel... something he can relate to. This is not an exact science. It's linguistics, and the vowels shift every damn day. He adjusts the parameters in his head. A weak excuse for a thought experiment: let's say this new place is a dumpster, and you've been discarded from your previous dumpster and tossed into this one. And let's say there are others like you. So find them.
Ridiculously, it works. As he moves through the park, there is some vague sensation of familiarity tugging him in an increasingly focused direction. It says 'this thing is in the same language group as you'. This thing is a person. He walks up to it. Them. "Hi," he says with a friendly grin. "This, uh, this might be a weird question, but did you get to this city by appearing out of thin air?"
The Game
How did you find out about Big Applesauce?
well Carrie convinced me to join but that was ages ago now
What interests you about the game, and your character's place in it?
Look. What does this game need okay. It needs more garbage children. I know that it is almost 90% garbage children. Greta, The Balladeer, Steven Universe, and garbage children. But we need more. My garbage needs will not be sated. I tried playing well-adjusted people. Like eight times. I can't do it. I need garbage children. Including this literal garbage child. New York has so much garbage the garbage collectors are always going on strike. This is a match made in heaven. He is Little King Trashmouth. Let him reign.
(also just in case it wasn't clear)
