RE: The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 23: INVERT!
05-19-2017, 11:28 AM
Username: Agensqueeze
Name: Tro Sertin
Species: Human
Gender: they/them
Color: bland
Descriptron: Oddly enough, they turn up where they are least expected. Unobtrusive, unnoticed. They are nondescript, almost to a fault. But they are always interested in what you are saying; they are always kind and a good listener. They're just not very sociable. Forever an acquaintance, never a friend. Grey eyes, grey hair, too young to be so lined, but quiet, certain eyes. Somehow, they seem folded intro themselves, a little. Distant in a way that makes you know, deep down, they belong in the quiet places, away from this, away from people, away from all of you. Yet they are there.
Items/Abilities: Never the volunteer for an idea, they turn others' words around. It is only tro survive, they say, pocketing the money from the bank, a "charitable donation" diverted from a rich man's slush fund; no one will miss it. The words turn and turn in their hands, and the world makes their way straight for them. They do not care for others' feelings on their introference much. They can always make you feel how they want. It is a kindness, in a way.
Biography: They had just come from the boneyards, where the interred came away as blocks of calcium. They had convinced the overseer to give them a cadaver, one he would never miss; the corpse would be a handy source of words like "dead", for a start, which they could leverage intro all sorts of handy situatrons.
Carrying the corpse, they came across a conversation, between two enigmatic bystanders. Strangely enough to an outsider but not to the Sertin, the corpse drew no notice, nor did Tro themself, not until they came between the two:
"So I said to the commissioner,"
"I know exactly what you mean."
"Oh, good morning, stranger-" A friendly wave.
"Is that a dead person?!" End of conversation.
Then, the turning. They grasped the sentences, rewording each turn of phrase around the vertices of where they wanted things to fo.
"Oh, good."
"That is a dead-"
"Mourning. Strange."
"You know that person."
"That is the commissioner!"
"I mean exactly that."
"Dead?"
"Dead."
Name: Tro Sertin
Species: Human
Gender: they/them
Color: bland
Descriptron: Oddly enough, they turn up where they are least expected. Unobtrusive, unnoticed. They are nondescript, almost to a fault. But they are always interested in what you are saying; they are always kind and a good listener. They're just not very sociable. Forever an acquaintance, never a friend. Grey eyes, grey hair, too young to be so lined, but quiet, certain eyes. Somehow, they seem folded intro themselves, a little. Distant in a way that makes you know, deep down, they belong in the quiet places, away from this, away from people, away from all of you. Yet they are there.
Items/Abilities: Never the volunteer for an idea, they turn others' words around. It is only tro survive, they say, pocketing the money from the bank, a "charitable donation" diverted from a rich man's slush fund; no one will miss it. The words turn and turn in their hands, and the world makes their way straight for them. They do not care for others' feelings on their introference much. They can always make you feel how they want. It is a kindness, in a way.
Biography: They had just come from the boneyards, where the interred came away as blocks of calcium. They had convinced the overseer to give them a cadaver, one he would never miss; the corpse would be a handy source of words like "dead", for a start, which they could leverage intro all sorts of handy situatrons.
Carrying the corpse, they came across a conversation, between two enigmatic bystanders. Strangely enough to an outsider but not to the Sertin, the corpse drew no notice, nor did Tro themself, not until they came between the two:
"So I said to the commissioner,"
"I know exactly what you mean."
"Oh, good morning, stranger-" A friendly wave.
"Is that a dead person?!" End of conversation.
Then, the turning. They grasped the sentences, rewording each turn of phrase around the vertices of where they wanted things to fo.
"Oh, good."
"That is a dead-"
"Mourning. Strange."
"You know that person."
"That is the commissioner!"
"I mean exactly that."
"Dead?"
"Dead."
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So very British / But then again | People are machines Machines are people | Oh hai there | There's no time
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Superhero 1920s noir | Multigenre Half-Life | Changing the future | Command line interface
Tu ventire felix? | Clockwork for eternity | Explosions in spacetime