Application
54 yes, 5 no, woo!
Character: Doctor Leonard H McCoy.
Series: Star Trek 2009 movie (Trek
Reboot).
Age: 36 (actor's age when movie was filming)
Job: Doctor, dammit, not a bricklayer.
Canon: Star Trek's set in the 23rd century, with lots of
spaceships, shooting, time travel, good aliens, bad aliens, and kinky
humans. Lots of boldly going where no man one has gone before.
The 2009 movie reboots the original series canon. Planet Vulcan is
under attack. The Enterprise responds to the distress signal.
McCoy's assigned to the Enterprise, and he hauls his best friend
along, cadet and convicted simulation-tinkerer James T Kirk.
McCoy's technophobic, fiercely protective, and smart. He's bitter as
an angry lemon thanks to his divorce, where his ex-wife Jocelyn took
everything from him except for his bones (and his sense of hyperbole).
He's an innately good person, a brilliant doctor, and a
pacifist, but he's not always gentle. He has a core of solid
stubbornness, and gives people what they need. If that's a kick
in the pants, he has no trouble administering it no matter whose
posterior is on the receiving end.
He may not be a fighter, but he could snark you to death with both
hands tied behind his back.
Sample post:
Now, where the hell am I?
I always knew this'd happen. Goddamn transporters. Take you apart, put
you back together again, but you never quite know if you're still you,
right? They reduce you down to the molecular level, and even
further than that, till you're nothing but electrons, protons, quarks,
and a vague sense of ennui, then they build you back up again in the
twinkling of an eye.
How would you know if the you that's checking you over
anxiously to check that all your parts in the right place is still
you? Maybe you're looking at yourself going yes, yes, what a relief, I
still have my sparkly butterfly wings and my unicorn horn is exactly
right.
This is one hell of a strange place. I'm not a huge fan of horror as a
general rule. I'm only too aware about all the regular things that can
kill a man. Or a woman. Or a twelve-tongued Venusian sloth. I don't
need to thrill myself with the thought of supernatural creatures or
axe murderers, when I've already had my fair share of salt vampires
and Kevin Riley butchering music.
Except there's some crazy-ass sounds coming from up in those trees,
and I don't think it's just the wind. If I had my tricorder I could
figure it out, and yes, this is one of those times where the skills of
an old country doctor don't come into play, because I'm not going
anywhere near those trees to use my eyes and ears and brain. Unless
there's someone hurt or something, in which case, yeah, I'll do what I
have to do.
Speak of the devil. Hey, you doing all right? You don't look well. Sit
down here on this stump and let me help you out, son. No need to snarl
at me like that. You have blood all over yourself, and you're peaky.
Must be in shock. Let me check your temperature --
And there's blood in your teeth. It's not your blood, is it, son.
...
If you're gonna try to kill someone with your teeth, may I
suggest the femoral artery, or even the jugular. Attempting to gnaw
vaguely on my throat just shows you have a general lack of education
in the biology of the adult human, and I'm sure your parents would be
ashamed.
You're in need of brains? Say, you wouldn't happen to be a starship
captain, would you?
Character: Doctor Leonard H McCoy.
Series: Star Trek 2009 movie (Trek
Reboot).
Age: 36 (actor's age when movie was filming)
Job: Doctor, dammit, not a bricklayer.
Canon: Star Trek's set in the 23rd century, with lots of
spaceships, shooting, time travel, good aliens, bad aliens, and kinky
humans. Lots of boldly going where no man one has gone before.
The 2009 movie reboots the original series canon. Planet Vulcan is
under attack. The Enterprise responds to the distress signal.
McCoy's assigned to the Enterprise, and he hauls his best friend
along, cadet and convicted simulation-tinkerer James T Kirk.
McCoy's technophobic, fiercely protective, and smart. He's bitter as
an angry lemon thanks to his divorce, where his ex-wife Jocelyn took
everything from him except for his bones (and his sense of hyperbole).
He's an innately good person, a brilliant doctor, and a
pacifist, but he's not always gentle. He has a core of solid
stubbornness, and gives people what they need. If that's a kick
in the pants, he has no trouble administering it no matter whose
posterior is on the receiving end.
He may not be a fighter, but he could snark you to death with both
hands tied behind his back.
Sample post:
Now, where the hell am I?
I always knew this'd happen. Goddamn transporters. Take you apart, put
you back together again, but you never quite know if you're still you,
right? They reduce you down to the molecular level, and even
further than that, till you're nothing but electrons, protons, quarks,
and a vague sense of ennui, then they build you back up again in the
twinkling of an eye.
How would you know if the you that's checking you over
anxiously to check that all your parts in the right place is still
you? Maybe you're looking at yourself going yes, yes, what a relief, I
still have my sparkly butterfly wings and my unicorn horn is exactly
right.
This is one hell of a strange place. I'm not a huge fan of horror as a
general rule. I'm only too aware about all the regular things that can
kill a man. Or a woman. Or a twelve-tongued Venusian sloth. I don't
need to thrill myself with the thought of supernatural creatures or
axe murderers, when I've already had my fair share of salt vampires
and Kevin Riley butchering music.
Except there's some crazy-ass sounds coming from up in those trees,
and I don't think it's just the wind. If I had my tricorder I could
figure it out, and yes, this is one of those times where the skills of
an old country doctor don't come into play, because I'm not going
anywhere near those trees to use my eyes and ears and brain. Unless
there's someone hurt or something, in which case, yeah, I'll do what I
have to do.
Speak of the devil. Hey, you doing all right? You don't look well. Sit
down here on this stump and let me help you out, son. No need to snarl
at me like that. You have blood all over yourself, and you're peaky.
Must be in shock. Let me check your temperature --
And there's blood in your teeth. It's not your blood, is it, son.
...
If you're gonna try to kill someone with your teeth, may I
suggest the femoral artery, or even the jugular. Attempting to gnaw
vaguely on my throat just shows you have a general lack of education
in the biology of the adult human, and I'm sure your parents would be
ashamed.
You're in need of brains? Say, you wouldn't happen to be a starship
captain, would you?