Post by Chantrice Ramsey on Sept 3, 2012 2:57:30 GMT 1
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Playby: Candice Accola[/center]
Name: Chantrice Lane Ramsey
Age: 25
Sex: Female
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Species: Mutant (Morphin, Reader)
Physical Description: Chantrice stands at a proud 5’ 7” and doesn’t look very threatening at all, what with messy blonde hair and an average build. Behind her blue-gray eyes lurks a tiger ready to fight and defend her friends should someone insult them—now if she could only break out of that shell she’s built around herself… Chantrice has a good complexion and somewhat pale skin due to her healthy eating habits (no VSF for her, thank you!) and her night gig as a musician. She has pale pink lips and long eyelashes and she frequently uses make-up to bring attention to these as she hides her mutation with her long hair. Chantrice’s mutation is a Morphin classification and it has given her ears double points. One just wasn’t enough.
Chantrice Ramsey dresses in whatever she wants but her clothing is usually conservative and/or something she finds cute, whether or not it matches her outfit. She usually wears dresses or skirts for her performances, with a few accessories. Her casual clothing consists of her hair put up sloppily and a simple shirt and pants. Shoes optional.
Attitude:
As mentioned before, Chantrice’s primary reaction to any situation is to be polite to everyone because, really, what’s the point of pissing off someone who could end up saving your life later? Then you’d be an ass. She was raised to be very polite and, because she was very curious as a child and her parents disliked this about her, she is very shy as well. She prefers to find out information on her own as opposed to bothering someone or annoying them, etc.
The only time Chantrice really seems to have a spine is when she’s performing, when she’s with people she knows very well, or when she’s arguing with someone/mad at them—interchangeable really. She’s very protective of her friends and, oddly enough, knows her way around several types of guns though she goes to pains to hide this from just about everyone as well as her sarcastic remarks and her Reader abilities. She’d rather not be locked up and experimented on. Or banished and eaten by zombies.
Chantrice likes making friends with just about everyone even though her shyness is a bit of a barrier to that. She’s the type of person to be quiet and let someone dump all their troubles on her because she knows how therapeutic that can be. When she’s scared or she knows others are as well, she forces herself to either talk to distract the others or try to let them muster up some courage from her silence, depending on who she’s with.
Abilities:
• Reader – she can read the thoughts of others
• Sharpshooter—Chantrice has remarkable aim from years of practice and she finds target practice relaxing after one of her Reader-induced headaches
• Chantrice can remember most of the rhythms and tempos of songs she’s heard (or “heard”)
• Can play the cello, piano, and guitar
Weaknesses:
• Headaches that vary in intensity depending on how long she “reads” and the memory(ies) she encounters
• Nosebleeds from prolonged use of Reader abilities
• Lingering trauma from particularly intense memories
• If she gets mad, really mad, she may start lashing out, verbally or non
• If her headaches becomes too intense, Chantrice will go somewhere private and attempt to soothe her tense muscles (be it jumping off stage in the middle of a song or speed-walking to the bathroom, she will get away)
• May become lost in her thoughts when it is least opportune for her, effectively zoning out
• Unable to stay still for extended periods of time (often ends up tapping her feet and tapping on tables, just to move)
• Blushes easily and subsequently has a horrible poker face
• She can still die, just like any other human…
History:
Chantrice is, as far as she knows, an orphan. She was placed with a fairly well-to-do couple who taught her and loved her as if she were their own. They gave her her name, her education above and beyond what she would ever need (she admits to forgetting most of her geography and science lessons). When she showed satisfactory talent for music, her “mother” began to teach her personally and Chantrice discovered her love for the cello and guitar at the age of seven. She practiced religiously, to the point she was forced to stop by her tutors so they could bandage her fingers. She wasn’t ever certain if her parents were reprimanded for that or not but she never asked. She learned early on that her parents wanted her to be as self-sufficient as she could possibly be.
When Chantrice was ten, she was taken to the outskirts of New Vegas by her father. Her confusion rapidly shifted to fear when she saw the zombies lumbering toward them and though she wished dearly to scream, she didn’t want to draw any more of their attention. Her father told her that this was where they were going to test her shooting skills. She initially looked at him like he was insane but after a zombie was summarily shot down, she took the gun she’d been training with and began to shoot them as well—unsure if he was going to let her die if she didn’t and not wanting them any closer than they already were. And thus, Chantrice became a very proficient gunwoman.
When she turned twelve, she finally admitted to her parents that she could Read their thoughts and had been able to do reliably since she was eight. The reaction was… Unexpected. They just laughed at her, ignoring her claims, telling her she was just a silly girl and didn’t she have her lessons to attend to?
Chantrice left them confused and hurt, mostly angry though. Depending on their reaction, she had planned to show them her ears as well as she’d been hiding them with her hair, but now… Wasn't there some sort of underground agency that helped mutants hide their abilities? She'd have to discretely look into that--though, really, it wouldn't be hard. All her parents cared about was their standing with the higher echelons.
Eventually, she decided to make her living as a musician and, though her parents protested, she began looking for ways to slowly but surely seperate herself from them. A few months later, she got in contact with the MPS (through her friend Kevin, who knew?) and they helped to register her as a Morphin--the more inconspicuous she was, the better. She got her own place with little fuss and always makes sure its locked up and secure, keeping her possessions safe as she walks down to her friend’s place and they walk together to work. Strength in numbers and all that…
Codes: CORRECT
RP Sample:
“Do dododo doo,” a soft voice hummed through the night as a young lady walked down the sidewalk of the Burrow. Her blonde hair was like a beacon and though messy, framed her face well. The tune she was humming came from…somewhere she was certain but couldn’t really be bothered to remember where. A few people walking by sent her strange looks and she smiled politely at them, scanning their surface thoughts. Normally she wouldn't bother but she didn't want to invite something she really didn't need.
“Huh,” she murmured, taking a bite of the apple she’d been carrying for the last three blocks without really knowing why. Idly, she wondered who ‘Jerry’ was and why he was so intent on going to the Haven. Too many zombies for her taste. And who was Pudding Crisp and why was that man so worried he wouldn’t have enough money? … Oh! Wow.
A bright red blush promptly erupted across her cheeks as her pace picked up, suddenly looking forward to meeting Kevin and getting their happy asses to the Pit Stop. She didn’t know how Kevin had managed to convince her to switch shifts with Sherry in order to get tonight off but she didn’t really want to think on it too long. It might increase her headache. She bit into the apple again and shifted her clothes to better conceal her handgun. Never left home without it.
She shifted again and messed with her hair self-consciously, quadruple-checking her hair to make sure it sufficiently covered the tips of her ears and taking another bite. A small happy sound escaped and she smiled. “Love apples,” she declared to no one in particular and skipped the rest of the way to Kevin’s place. In the end, she ended up kicking lightly on his door because her hands were sticky from apple juice.
“Chantrice!”
That was how she was found when the door opened, stubbornly trying to get the rest of the juice off and caught between staring like a deer-in-the-headlight (she still didn’t know what that expression meant) and greeting him. Shrieking loudly when he picked her up and proceeded to carry her down the sidewalk, she kicked furiously and demanded to put down. He just laughed and explained that they were going to the Pit to inquire about maybe performing there.
“Then put me down, you giant ass!”
“My ass is not giant, Missy C!” He gasped.
“… You sure? ‘Cause from this angle—OOMPH!”
[/font][/size]
Playby: Candice Accola[/center]
Name: Chantrice Lane Ramsey
Age: 25
Sex: Female
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Species: Mutant (Morphin, Reader)
Physical Description: Chantrice stands at a proud 5’ 7” and doesn’t look very threatening at all, what with messy blonde hair and an average build. Behind her blue-gray eyes lurks a tiger ready to fight and defend her friends should someone insult them—now if she could only break out of that shell she’s built around herself… Chantrice has a good complexion and somewhat pale skin due to her healthy eating habits (no VSF for her, thank you!) and her night gig as a musician. She has pale pink lips and long eyelashes and she frequently uses make-up to bring attention to these as she hides her mutation with her long hair. Chantrice’s mutation is a Morphin classification and it has given her ears double points. One just wasn’t enough.
Chantrice Ramsey dresses in whatever she wants but her clothing is usually conservative and/or something she finds cute, whether or not it matches her outfit. She usually wears dresses or skirts for her performances, with a few accessories. Her casual clothing consists of her hair put up sloppily and a simple shirt and pants. Shoes optional.
Attitude:
As mentioned before, Chantrice’s primary reaction to any situation is to be polite to everyone because, really, what’s the point of pissing off someone who could end up saving your life later? Then you’d be an ass. She was raised to be very polite and, because she was very curious as a child and her parents disliked this about her, she is very shy as well. She prefers to find out information on her own as opposed to bothering someone or annoying them, etc.
The only time Chantrice really seems to have a spine is when she’s performing, when she’s with people she knows very well, or when she’s arguing with someone/mad at them—interchangeable really. She’s very protective of her friends and, oddly enough, knows her way around several types of guns though she goes to pains to hide this from just about everyone as well as her sarcastic remarks and her Reader abilities. She’d rather not be locked up and experimented on. Or banished and eaten by zombies.
Chantrice likes making friends with just about everyone even though her shyness is a bit of a barrier to that. She’s the type of person to be quiet and let someone dump all their troubles on her because she knows how therapeutic that can be. When she’s scared or she knows others are as well, she forces herself to either talk to distract the others or try to let them muster up some courage from her silence, depending on who she’s with.
Abilities:
• Reader – she can read the thoughts of others
• Sharpshooter—Chantrice has remarkable aim from years of practice and she finds target practice relaxing after one of her Reader-induced headaches
• Chantrice can remember most of the rhythms and tempos of songs she’s heard (or “heard”)
• Can play the cello, piano, and guitar
Weaknesses:
• Headaches that vary in intensity depending on how long she “reads” and the memory(ies) she encounters
• Nosebleeds from prolonged use of Reader abilities
• Lingering trauma from particularly intense memories
• If she gets mad, really mad, she may start lashing out, verbally or non
• If her headaches becomes too intense, Chantrice will go somewhere private and attempt to soothe her tense muscles (be it jumping off stage in the middle of a song or speed-walking to the bathroom, she will get away)
• May become lost in her thoughts when it is least opportune for her, effectively zoning out
• Unable to stay still for extended periods of time (often ends up tapping her feet and tapping on tables, just to move)
• Blushes easily and subsequently has a horrible poker face
• She can still die, just like any other human…
History:
Chantrice is, as far as she knows, an orphan. She was placed with a fairly well-to-do couple who taught her and loved her as if she were their own. They gave her her name, her education above and beyond what she would ever need (she admits to forgetting most of her geography and science lessons). When she showed satisfactory talent for music, her “mother” began to teach her personally and Chantrice discovered her love for the cello and guitar at the age of seven. She practiced religiously, to the point she was forced to stop by her tutors so they could bandage her fingers. She wasn’t ever certain if her parents were reprimanded for that or not but she never asked. She learned early on that her parents wanted her to be as self-sufficient as she could possibly be.
When Chantrice was ten, she was taken to the outskirts of New Vegas by her father. Her confusion rapidly shifted to fear when she saw the zombies lumbering toward them and though she wished dearly to scream, she didn’t want to draw any more of their attention. Her father told her that this was where they were going to test her shooting skills. She initially looked at him like he was insane but after a zombie was summarily shot down, she took the gun she’d been training with and began to shoot them as well—unsure if he was going to let her die if she didn’t and not wanting them any closer than they already were. And thus, Chantrice became a very proficient gunwoman.
When she turned twelve, she finally admitted to her parents that she could Read their thoughts and had been able to do reliably since she was eight. The reaction was… Unexpected. They just laughed at her, ignoring her claims, telling her she was just a silly girl and didn’t she have her lessons to attend to?
Chantrice left them confused and hurt, mostly angry though. Depending on their reaction, she had planned to show them her ears as well as she’d been hiding them with her hair, but now… Wasn't there some sort of underground agency that helped mutants hide their abilities? She'd have to discretely look into that--though, really, it wouldn't be hard. All her parents cared about was their standing with the higher echelons.
Eventually, she decided to make her living as a musician and, though her parents protested, she began looking for ways to slowly but surely seperate herself from them. A few months later, she got in contact with the MPS (through her friend Kevin, who knew?) and they helped to register her as a Morphin--the more inconspicuous she was, the better. She got her own place with little fuss and always makes sure its locked up and secure, keeping her possessions safe as she walks down to her friend’s place and they walk together to work. Strength in numbers and all that…
Codes: CORRECT
RP Sample:
“Do dododo doo,” a soft voice hummed through the night as a young lady walked down the sidewalk of the Burrow. Her blonde hair was like a beacon and though messy, framed her face well. The tune she was humming came from…somewhere she was certain but couldn’t really be bothered to remember where. A few people walking by sent her strange looks and she smiled politely at them, scanning their surface thoughts. Normally she wouldn't bother but she didn't want to invite something she really didn't need.
“Huh,” she murmured, taking a bite of the apple she’d been carrying for the last three blocks without really knowing why. Idly, she wondered who ‘Jerry’ was and why he was so intent on going to the Haven. Too many zombies for her taste. And who was Pudding Crisp and why was that man so worried he wouldn’t have enough money? … Oh! Wow.
A bright red blush promptly erupted across her cheeks as her pace picked up, suddenly looking forward to meeting Kevin and getting their happy asses to the Pit Stop. She didn’t know how Kevin had managed to convince her to switch shifts with Sherry in order to get tonight off but she didn’t really want to think on it too long. It might increase her headache. She bit into the apple again and shifted her clothes to better conceal her handgun. Never left home without it.
She shifted again and messed with her hair self-consciously, quadruple-checking her hair to make sure it sufficiently covered the tips of her ears and taking another bite. A small happy sound escaped and she smiled. “Love apples,” she declared to no one in particular and skipped the rest of the way to Kevin’s place. In the end, she ended up kicking lightly on his door because her hands were sticky from apple juice.
“Chantrice!”
That was how she was found when the door opened, stubbornly trying to get the rest of the juice off and caught between staring like a deer-in-the-headlight (she still didn’t know what that expression meant) and greeting him. Shrieking loudly when he picked her up and proceeded to carry her down the sidewalk, she kicked furiously and demanded to put down. He just laughed and explained that they were going to the Pit to inquire about maybe performing there.
“Then put me down, you giant ass!”
“My ass is not giant, Missy C!” He gasped.
“… You sure? ‘Cause from this angle—OOMPH!”
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