re/aligned application
Aug. 17th, 2012 03:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lightupthenightPlayer Information
*Name/Alias: TealDeer
*Your Journal:teal_deer
*Age: 25
*Contact Information: plurk: lucid_seraph; AIM: failscream; email: ryuutenshi [at] gmail [dot] com
*Characters already in the game: Luxord
Character Information
*Character Name: Joe. ... Joe is the only name we have. If you insist on him having a last name, "Joseph Weller" will suffice.
*Character Canon: The Protomen
*Age: Somewhere in his very early 20s (probably 21)
*Race: Human
*Timeline/Pull Point: At the end of The Fall, just after he's suffered a horrific concussion from being blown off a building by a huge explosion. he will probably arrive unconscious.
*History: Joe's history is recounted mostly over the course of six songs, and their liner notes:
How the World Fell Under Darkness: Lyrics + Liner Notes | Audio
Breaking Out: Lyrics + Liner Notes | audio
Keep Quiet: Lyrics + liner notes | audio
Light Up the Night : Lyrics + Liner Notes | Audio
The Fall: lyrics + liner notes | audio
Here Comes the Arm: lyrics + liner notes | audio
(For reference, the main singer in all these is what Joe sounds like! YAY)
*Personality: "I will not be told where to stand! I will not be told what to say! Not by man or machine, not by you, not by anyone tonight!"
Joe is a spectacularly hotblooded motorcycle rebel punk. Think of every 1950s through 1980s movie stereotype where you've got a motorcycle riding protagonist; that's him, right there. Joe is the entirety of the Jets from West Side Story, he's James Dean, he's got a fire in his soul and a rebellion to start.
The problem is, like most rebels, Joe's rage lacks concrete direction. He wants to change his city, but has no idea how to start going about that. It's not until Light shows up after Joe destroys the Sniper that Joe is given the opportunity to do something about all his pent up fury, and without Light, it's unlikely Joe would have been able to do much.
Though Joe can appear selfish on the surface, in his heart he wants to change the city not just for himself, but for everyone. He wants to see a place where people can be free, he just doesn't know what that place might be like, or how to get there.
*Powers/Abilities: Joe is a perfectly ordinary human. That said, he has a few skills...
Technical aptitude: Joe knows as much about machines as anyone in Wily's society would, and Light taught him a few more tricks. Most of his knowledge is intuitive and practical. He can fix a motorcycle or a car, and weld things together, but don't expect him to be able to repair a transformer or build a robot.
Iron Liver: There's significant headcanon and actually not insignificant evidence that Joe was pretty drunk through most of Act II. He has ridiculous alcohol tolerance.
*Inventory: Sniper Joe Helmet: A crude motorcycle helmet constructed from the discarded head of a Sniper Joe robot.
Knife: It's a big knife
Motorcycle (?): Near him in the junkpile should be the twisted remains of what used to be a pretty nice 1970s Harley.
*Starting Polarity: ... yeah it's Megatronus.
Writing Samples
*First Person Sample: [text] (Note: typos are intentional on my part)
so theres no bars here that cater to humans yet
i mean humans specifically
the goddamn metalheads have a watering hole but i dont trust a single one of you as far as i can throw you
which given that youre giant horrible monster things isnt all that far
i mean im a pretty strong dude but damn
the point is hello humans i heard you enjoy........ booze
i just so happen to have a moonshine still and man oh man is it cooking up uh
well
okay it tastes like gasoline but it hasnt killed me yet and sometimes you just want to be cmompltlty wasted
ow that was teh first typeo i made to far i must no bet hat drunk yet???
so this bar okay yeah its in casa de hobo in the junpile but that hsas is own charm and like wayyyy homeir than that scaryass temple shit the trobots got
(i swear they have like brainwashing things in tehw alls)
(they can do that right)
okays o
rules
1. no robots
2. no seriously you cant fit here and even if you could
3. no fucking robots
4. i will kill you if you show up and are a robot
6. even you fifty foot tall ones i will do it with just a crowbary and my fists
7. dont be an asshole
9. rock on
yeah thats about it uh open mic nite is thursdays hwenneever thursday is (does night even happen here???) if you play pop music i will pujnch your face in and nickelback is punishable by death
Third Person Sample: Joe perched his bike on top of a mountain of junk. Before him stretched a long path, seemingly welded together from bits of scrap metal and supported by wood. This culminated in a jump over a much larger pile of junk.
The wind rustled his hair. He took in a deep breath: the stench of garbage, of metal, of dust. To him, it smelled like being alive.
He swung a leg over the bike. While this place was desolate and full of machines whose intentions he still didn't trust, there was one advantage to it: despite being told that he "belonged" to someone, nobody had given him orders. No one told him what to do. Despite the robots, there didn't seem to be patrols, and apart from the odd monster attack, nobody seemed to live in fear of anything. He could do what he wanted. Say what he wanted.
He was free.
He put on his helmet, then kicked the engine and it roared to life. Someone had helped him convert it to run on that weird shit the giant machines ran on, but he'd insisted that it still rumble and growl. Otherwise, what was the point? He felt the roar beneath him, felt the air around him, and he took a deep breath.
His city was still sleeping and that was upsetting, but he was free. He could think. He could feel. He could be.
He shifted gears and hit the throttle, roaring down the path. Faster. Faster still. And there: the end of the path. Closer... closer... the bike hit the edge of the ramp and for a few fleeting seconds he was flying. He gave a whoop of joy... then promptly lost control as he hit the far side, throwing himself from the bike as it skidded out of control and crashed into a junkpile.
But he was alive. And no one was going to stop him, or tell him what he'd done was wrong. He let out a whoop of joy, then marched after the ruined bike to pull it from the wreckage again.
*Name/Alias: TealDeer
*Your Journal:
teal_deer*Age: 25
*Contact Information: plurk: lucid_seraph; AIM: failscream; email: ryuutenshi [at] gmail [dot] com
*Characters already in the game: Luxord
Character Information
*Character Name: Joe. ... Joe is the only name we have. If you insist on him having a last name, "Joseph Weller" will suffice.
*Character Canon: The Protomen
*Age: Somewhere in his very early 20s (probably 21)
*Race: Human
*Timeline/Pull Point: At the end of The Fall, just after he's suffered a horrific concussion from being blown off a building by a huge explosion. he will probably arrive unconscious.
*History: Joe's history is recounted mostly over the course of six songs, and their liner notes:
How the World Fell Under Darkness: Lyrics + Liner Notes | Audio
Breaking Out: Lyrics + Liner Notes | audio
Keep Quiet: Lyrics + liner notes | audio
Light Up the Night : Lyrics + Liner Notes | Audio
The Fall: lyrics + liner notes | audio
Here Comes the Arm: lyrics + liner notes | audio
(For reference, the main singer in all these is what Joe sounds like! YAY)
*Personality: "I will not be told where to stand! I will not be told what to say! Not by man or machine, not by you, not by anyone tonight!"
Joe is a spectacularly hotblooded motorcycle rebel punk. Think of every 1950s through 1980s movie stereotype where you've got a motorcycle riding protagonist; that's him, right there. Joe is the entirety of the Jets from West Side Story, he's James Dean, he's got a fire in his soul and a rebellion to start.
The problem is, like most rebels, Joe's rage lacks concrete direction. He wants to change his city, but has no idea how to start going about that. It's not until Light shows up after Joe destroys the Sniper that Joe is given the opportunity to do something about all his pent up fury, and without Light, it's unlikely Joe would have been able to do much.
Though Joe can appear selfish on the surface, in his heart he wants to change the city not just for himself, but for everyone. He wants to see a place where people can be free, he just doesn't know what that place might be like, or how to get there.
*Powers/Abilities: Joe is a perfectly ordinary human. That said, he has a few skills...
Technical aptitude: Joe knows as much about machines as anyone in Wily's society would, and Light taught him a few more tricks. Most of his knowledge is intuitive and practical. He can fix a motorcycle or a car, and weld things together, but don't expect him to be able to repair a transformer or build a robot.
Iron Liver: There's significant headcanon and actually not insignificant evidence that Joe was pretty drunk through most of Act II. He has ridiculous alcohol tolerance.
*Inventory: Sniper Joe Helmet: A crude motorcycle helmet constructed from the discarded head of a Sniper Joe robot.
Knife: It's a big knife
Motorcycle (?): Near him in the junkpile should be the twisted remains of what used to be a pretty nice 1970s Harley.
*Starting Polarity: ... yeah it's Megatronus.
Writing Samples
*First Person Sample: [text] (Note: typos are intentional on my part)
so theres no bars here that cater to humans yet
i mean humans specifically
the goddamn metalheads have a watering hole but i dont trust a single one of you as far as i can throw you
which given that youre giant horrible monster things isnt all that far
i mean im a pretty strong dude but damn
the point is hello humans i heard you enjoy........ booze
i just so happen to have a moonshine still and man oh man is it cooking up uh
well
okay it tastes like gasoline but it hasnt killed me yet and sometimes you just want to be cmompltlty wasted
ow that was teh first typeo i made to far i must no bet hat drunk yet???
so this bar okay yeah its in casa de hobo in the junpile but that hsas is own charm and like wayyyy homeir than that scaryass temple shit the trobots got
(i swear they have like brainwashing things in tehw alls)
(they can do that right)
okays o
rules
1. no robots
2. no seriously you cant fit here and even if you could
3. no fucking robots
4. i will kill you if you show up and are a robot
6. even you fifty foot tall ones i will do it with just a crowbary and my fists
7. dont be an asshole
9. rock on
yeah thats about it uh open mic nite is thursdays hwenneever thursday is (does night even happen here???) if you play pop music i will pujnch your face in and nickelback is punishable by death
Third Person Sample: Joe perched his bike on top of a mountain of junk. Before him stretched a long path, seemingly welded together from bits of scrap metal and supported by wood. This culminated in a jump over a much larger pile of junk.
The wind rustled his hair. He took in a deep breath: the stench of garbage, of metal, of dust. To him, it smelled like being alive.
He swung a leg over the bike. While this place was desolate and full of machines whose intentions he still didn't trust, there was one advantage to it: despite being told that he "belonged" to someone, nobody had given him orders. No one told him what to do. Despite the robots, there didn't seem to be patrols, and apart from the odd monster attack, nobody seemed to live in fear of anything. He could do what he wanted. Say what he wanted.
He was free.
He put on his helmet, then kicked the engine and it roared to life. Someone had helped him convert it to run on that weird shit the giant machines ran on, but he'd insisted that it still rumble and growl. Otherwise, what was the point? He felt the roar beneath him, felt the air around him, and he took a deep breath.
His city was still sleeping and that was upsetting, but he was free. He could think. He could feel. He could be.
He shifted gears and hit the throttle, roaring down the path. Faster. Faster still. And there: the end of the path. Closer... closer... the bike hit the edge of the ramp and for a few fleeting seconds he was flying. He gave a whoop of joy... then promptly lost control as he hit the far side, throwing himself from the bike as it skidded out of control and crashed into a junkpile.
But he was alive. And no one was going to stop him, or tell him what he'd done was wrong. He let out a whoop of joy, then marched after the ruined bike to pull it from the wreckage again.
