Post by MARLOWE SALTFISHER on Sept 27, 2012 20:22:28 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true,][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=style,width:583px;height:570px;background-image: url(http://i50.tinypic.com/2lxfcy1.jpg); border-radius:15px;border: solid 1px #000000;Btable] [atrb=Valign,top] [style=width: 100px;height:100px;border-radius:50px;background-image: url(PICTUREOFSYMPHONYRACEOPTIONAL);margin-left:420;margin-top:-61;letter-spacing:2px;line-height:10px;color:#000000;text-align:justify;overflow:y;text-transform:uppercase;font-family:arial;] [atrb=Valign,top] alias Marlowe play by Andrej Pejicdisorder Suicide symphony race Djinn [/style]alias Marlowe play by Andrej Pejicdisorder Suicide symphony race Djinn [style=width: 290px; height: 85px; opacity: 0.5; background-color: #ffffff; margin-top: -10px; border-radius: 15px;letter-spacing:0px;line-height:9px;color:#000000;text-align:center;overflow:auto;font-family:arial;font-size:11] ♚ | ♛ patients full name: Marlowe Saltfisher date of birth: 22 years old, June 13th sex: Male sexuality: Pansexual; in a nutshell 'anythang-with-a-pulse-greedy' [/style] |
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♚ | ♛
personality: Like most here, this one has a bizarre way of handling the world, much less people!
Everything Marlowe processes is subject to his feelings and everything Marlowe feels is intense. World = INTENSE. Like someone's flicked a switch, he can snap from absolute manic highs to rock bottom lows, there is no between ground, no happy medium where his emotions are concerned.
A sense of the dramatic and bizarre has rubbed off on this boy, mix that in with his inherited eccentricity and you get a Molotov cocktail of reactions.
At his cheeriest there's enough passion for ten men! Marlowe can become abrasively loud and up front, loses almost all inhibitions, sings and screeches and teases at the top of his lungs, dances minus the music, pulls things apart, causes trouble, mimics other 'inmates', dresses up, makes sound effects and puts on voices, pervs outrageously on anything with a pulse, draws on the walls, climbs precarious things for giggles, kisses nurses, carves things into his skin, smokes like a chimney, paints (if you think he sticks to a canvas, you have another thing a-coming; many a time he's decided he wants a living muse and had one of his fellow patients strip, painting bare skin) and exists purely for the sake of enjoyment. When at a high, this one LIVES for the moment.
At his lowest points the world bears in on him. Inanimate objects seem to develop a glaring, calculating personality, everything becomes a mirror in which he can clearly see and relive his every sin. Suddenly he's little more than an air thief, a space waster. People are impossible to comprehend, their voices are refrigerator humming, their presence makes his skin crawl—no, SCREAM-- with anxiety. Marlowe's throat sticks, he can no longer manage sentences, everything collapses in on itself, a sudden understanding of all the horror and cruelty in the world grows under his skull like a tumor until he could burst for pressure, escape is imperative. At these moments he refuses to eat, he feels like it's spoiling over, rotting in his mouth, wasted on him, sometimes the hangover of these emotions can last for months leaving him little more than a bag of bones on a drip.
((NURSES NOTE: he's ALWAYS funny about food. Will only eat certain things at the best of times. Make sure to ask, will hide food he doesn't want and lie about eating it.))
Self harm becomes a coping mechanism, a distraction. Marlowe cuts. Strangles. Drowns. Swallows bleach. Overdoses. Death is never the intention, but a welcome side product.
But before we take his dramatic ramblings at face value, let's make an incision into heart of his personality, let's open him up, squish asides all the gooey, rubbery defense mechanisms he's built up over the years and peer at the raw nerves.
What makes him him?
Naturally, if we choose to ignore his context, family and surroundings, if we took JUST Marlowes mind and examined it closely; we'd find him an anxious, cautious and eager to please boy.
He feels deeply for other people, he's highly sensitive to their needs, quick to trust, even quicker to ADORE and has a natural ability to see the best in people. That doesn't mean to say he can't see the bad in them, far from it, he just strives to understand WHY the bad in them exists, tries to piece together what tragedy created it before letting it effect his judgment of them.
Everything said to him is taken to heart and examined numerous times, pulled apart for all possible meaning. He's not good at understanding people, often he feels like he's a slightly off-tune radio, working on a different frequency to everyone else, so, in order to interpret them, he needs to study their possible reasons (very, very inventive and silly creative at times!). It means he sees different lights of people to most, but he often misses immediate hints and social queues. Prone to embarrassing himself and not understanding why, experiencing the humiliation nonetheless.
ALWAYS feels like he's let people down... never feels like he's good enough. Now, there are two ways past this; overcompensation and ignorance. Overcompensation = grovelling, being over polite, becoming a bit of a doormat and going out of his way to please everyone but himself, he's only relieved when suffering. Ignorance = trying to give those feeling the cold shoulder altogether, stop thinking of them as people and instead as stimulus, something to react to and make each retaliating move entirely his own! This act is more than a little unstable, but it makes a nice change for when he gets sick of not living for himself. He's mostly like it when sulking with people.
Mostly he sits between the extreme highs and lows as a little bit polite and cautious, arty and sensitive, but will swing into either one, and both are destructive as hell, at the drop of a hat.
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♚ | ♛
history: Hailing from a family crippled by mental illness and old fashioned morality vs growing up in a thrifty, honky-tonky town elbow deep in paganism, art and inbreeding is a difficult background for anyone to make sense of. Give it to Marlowes twisted logic to chew on and there's BOUND to be tears...
Marlowe started off the eldest in a small, uptight, Christian family who, after his birth, shortly moved away from the City to a backwater seaside resort.
It was a strange town full of all kinds of characters, arcades, doughnuts, drugs and drift trade, the kind of place with a five mile radius cloud of cheap tobacco, cheaper intense and the cheapest booze smell. In the streets, Marlowe grew up surrounded by palm-reading pagans, street preachers, eccentric artists, cross-dressers, punks, potheads and tourists of all creeds and colours, he frequented back alley jazz clubs-- poetry nights and all-- Irish run pubs, junk stores with a menagerie of queer goods, from taxidermy goldfish light-switches to prints of late-Victorian *stuff*.
It was the kind of place whose local church organized fund raising bric-a-brac sales table would have a jet black, fifteen inch *toy* hidden amongst the teacups, copies of Agatha Christie and gross cute animal shaped pots.
A modern day Sodom and Gomorrah. Worst mistake he ever made was to leave!
MEANWHILE AT HOME; his mother was a stern, uptight old girl, she loved him and his baby sisters, but ruled them all with an iron fist and stoney morality born right from the dark ages. She also suffered life-shattering depression.
Dad left them shortly into her illness, she became housebound leaving eight year old Marlowe to look after her and bring up his baby siblings. At home he blamed himself, hearing numerous times that it was her pregnancy with him that had plunged her into madness (“don't you blame yourself baby, I love you!”) and bottled up all the frustration of losing his life to watch over his family under the premise that he'd caused it, he DESERVED it. He was good, he was Christian and he ignored all 'unnatural' urges in order to provide.
On top of that guilt he was flunking school, somewhere between a short attention span and difficulty understanding the system he struggled and failed to comprehend the lessons.
A crack has to appear under that pressure somewhere and in Marlowe that crack took the form of falling into a bad crowd and taking drugs. By fifteen the second eldest, his sister, had graduated into being mature enough to watch the family at weekends, leaving Marlowe free to get heinously twisted on all kinds of chemicals and do whatever popped into his head.
He started leading a double life.
By day he was Marlowe Saltfisher, Mama's good, God-fearing baby boy, working for a living and never so much as cussing. By night he was the towns baby, going by a dozen alternate identities and crawling back at 3 AM full of glittery body paint and blood, clutching a kidnapped garden gnome to his chest, a fat joint (shoite! Are you even sure this is the stuff!? Stinks of fucking oregano! Ahaha!) hanging from the dry of his lips, crashing over the kitchen counter and stinking of seven flavours of sin.
All was not hunky dory.
Strange behavior began to creep into his repertoire, tell tale signs of mental illness, things that were entirely unremarkable to him, things that his housebound mother couldn't tell a soul about. These things went unchecked.
There are a variety of scars on him that, in five years time, the councilor on his hearing took as proof of his mothers teary, sobbing recounts.
Gashes across his thighs and arms.
(“He'd disappear to his room... I went up there once and... and... there he is... and h-h-he's brokenhismirrorand-- sorry-- and he's got this broken piece a-a-and...”)
Gnarly bumps in the middle of his palms, (“then he screamed at me, 'You want an... a... FREAKING martyr, you'll get one!').
The slight tiger bread texture across his hips and thighs of stretch marks, (“no... I remember him not... not just NOT eating... but... he … he'd HIDE food, pretend he'd eaten. Oh god. He got so sick. My poor baby! He got so so thin and sick!”)
And there was more.
The world finally collapsed in on itself when he hit 20. Marlowe had vanished in the night like a tom cat for a few days now and life was getting back to normal. His baby sister took the wheel! Normal meal times. Normal television. No weird company in the house at the witching hours. No upsetting Ma, no, not any more whilst she was in charge! In truth she privately dreamed the nasty bastard had gotten drunk and high fived a moving truck with his face.
She blitzed the house of all of his black influence and started to impose her own peaceful rule-- one problem-- the cupboard door was jammed and that meant clothes still had to STINK of that slimy git! Never mind. She'd call a guy for that in the morning...
You'll never guess where they found Marlowe.
After forcing the door (“Whelp there's your problem, looks like she's stuck on something..”) they found what they thought was the body of Marlowe, curled foetal-like in a pool of vomit, empty bottle of meds jammed into the gap between folded clothes.
Somehow he'd not only avoided OD-ing coroner style and choking, but still hung on to a bare thread of consciousness (“coffin-dodging bastard!”) long enough to land himself back in his nearby birth City all over again.
This time in the house with the puffy wallpaper and plastic cups.
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♚ | ♛
alias: Jawbone
gender: Genderqueer
other characters: None as of yet! ^^'
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(And I figured this was necessary! >.> Gah! As if I haven't made you read enough as it is!
)SYMPHONY RACE:
Djinn - Often referred to as a 'genie', a djinn is bound to certain places or objects. Mostly humanoid in appearance, each djinns form is individual to their personality, often taking on 'colours' or common deviations such as additional limbs, horns, a second skin of smoke, third eyes or abnormally long fingers etc.
They are chock full of magical potential, but cannot use it for their own means and purposes. A djinn can only leave their prison when binding themselves to another creature wherein they enter a contract of 'wish granting'. This isn't always cut and dry as Djinn are known to be trick some and will twist peoples words against them if they aren't precise enough. They are NOT all powerful. Certain wishes cannot be granted.
((I'm also working on a sketch of him in Symphony form >.> Not entirely certain what to do with it, but the more information the merrier, eh?
))
