Application: Singularity
http://community.livejournal.com/singularityooc/1076.html?
Player Information ;
Your Nickname: Mica
Under 18? No
AIM: failmica
Character Information ;
Name: Majorie Elizabeth "Marjie" Pots
Name of Canon: Original
Canon/AU/Other Game CR: n/a
Reference: N/A
Canon Point: About a year after getting her own bakery.
Setting (Background): Coming from a world not terribly different from our own, Marjorie was born in New York City to a father who was not present and neglected to ever return, and a mother who was, frankly, not at all pleased about this whole 'bearing children' exercise in biology. She was raised in a series of dilapidated cars and trucks, more or less living out of them with her mother and brothers until she turned seven. Mom was arrested for reasons not known to Marjie and regardless of the woman's conviction, the custody of her children was not going to last. As a result, Marjorie and th' boys were given to her maternal grandparents to raise. Money was a little tight, but compared to the previous state of living, the cramped, shabby apartment was luxury itself. Grandpa had been a sailor in the Navy and told them mostly-fictional stories about his adventures on the high seas. Grandma had been the 'tattooed lady' at a carnival freak-show and told them terrible stories. Both of them smoked foul, cheap cigars every day after lunch, but argued over brand and bouquet as if debating the finest Cuban humidors. "Gra'mama" usually won.
Marjie went to school and got terrible grades, as expected. She ended up in detention more often than not, and Saturday school as well, but somehow managed to pass nearly all her classes, despite herself. The boys grew up and grew out into the world, rebellious and noisy to all appearances, but managed to at least get jobs and manners enough to keep themselves fed and clothed and to live in houses that didn't come with wheels attached, unless they wanted to. Grandma died one day, out on the streets- there was never a body. One night she went out to visit a friend, and she never came back. That was Marjorie's senior year of High School.
It was also the year she found out about her family legacy, the hard way.
Marjorie had had a little boyfriend, and while they got on well enough all things must come to an end. Of course, it ended in a fight- Marjie wouldn't put out, or perhaps there was another girl he'd been eyeing, or…or something. Nobody remembers what the fight was about, because when it finally broke from screaming argument into physical violence, she was the one who drew first and last blood. Enraged and unthinking, she landed a beautiful open-palmed slap right on his face. A more stunned boy you have never seen- and never will again. Marjie's hand swept clean through, momentum uninterrupted, and the boy vanished in a thunderclap of in-rushing air, accompanied by a stinging, burning pain along the girl's side. Terrified and confused, she lifted her shirt and found to her horror that a frighteningly accurate tattoo of the boy and his stunned expression were etched in ink across her ribs. And that's when Grandpa was forced to tell her why Gra’mama really had so many tattoos. Not a pleasant conversation, as you may imagine.
So, life goes on. None of them were so upright that they had trouble lying to the police, and with no evidence of anything untoward to do with Marjie, it was eventually presumed that he simply left, with no forwarding address. She never meant to kill him, but still she did, and though no one else might punish her for it, there would be no forgetting it. College was a wash, she wasted a year trying to learn things she had no heart for, but eventually ended up in a culinary program. Eventually that stage in life ended, and a 28-year-old Ms. Pots found herself in possession of a tolerance for alcohol, a host of artistic skills, and a singularly run-down little shop, crammed in the place between a moto-foto and a coffee shop that used to be a very fine alley for muggings. A coat of paint and a little work, and it was a bakery, making the most beautiful, edible things…
And yes, it's a shabby part of town, but somehow no one's very eager to break into the sky blue bakery, no matter the hour. She copes with her powers as best she can, and in the meantime enjoys her life most fully, while she has it.
Personality: Marjorie Pots is a woman who is all about the sublime beauty of the impermanent. She loves the beauty of the kind of things she might find in an art museum, but cannot fathom wanting to create art that sits on a shelf or a wall for longer than it would take for cake to get stale. She's bold and crass, and she peppers her speech with cuss words as if there were a limited supply and she intended to get all she could before they ran out. She likes her coffee black, but puts sugar in it anyway, to see the lumps melt. Marjie is far too lazy to fully pronounce all her words, and thus ends up leavin' out a letter or two from some words. She habitually people nicknames such as sweetie, hun', sugar, and the ever-popular "babe."
Marjie is excessively comfortable in her own skin, which is probably a result of not expecting to live particularly long, and having no real fear of physical retribution, both of which are side-effects of her superhuman ability. She drinks more than she should, and is unafraid to try new things. She woos women with her sensuous and godlike trombone playing, claims to be able to ride a bicycle, but can't, and cooks Thirty-Minute Brownies in twenty minutes. Marjie is an expert in stucco, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Mexico. On weekends, she unwinds by blasting Led Zepplin, during which she folds intricate origami insects that she later burns. She believes in God, but not in any particular religion, loves wearing skirts, hates wearing dresses and always wears her nice underwear, just in case. Prone to complaining and bitchiness about unimportant things, she calls people 'whores' when she's being fondly insulting, rather than honestly so. She favors spun sugar decorations on her cake, despite that they are difficult to create and impossible to maintain. She is a sugar-flower perfectionist, comparing artificial creations to the real thing in minute detail, a molding-chocolate freak, and a baking nazi. Her cupcakes occasionally inspire spontaneous orgasms.
Abilities and Weaknesses: Marj' is a ordinary human being in most important ways. She's not exceptionally strong, doesn't know more martial arts than she could learn from the odd Kung-Fu movie, and while she knows how to fire the kind of taser women sometimes keep in their purses, she'd probably injure herself if asked to hold a gun. She does, however, have one strange and supernatural ability...
Marjie's ability is to all but delete any object or living thing by touching it. Yes, anything. Fire hydrants, cups of coffee, clothing, money, even living people. But there's a catch; every time she uses her power, an image of what she “inked” appears somewhere on her body, as an indelible, unmovable tattoo. No surgical procedure or brutal use of knives will get rid of them, short of completely removing whatever limb they're on. Just cutting off bits of skin won't work- eventually that wound will heal. Eventually the ink will resurface. Eventually her skin will fill up, every inch an indelible image of something stolen forever from the world.
And, when that finally happens, Marjorie Pots will die.
Inventory: A neon pink hairnet, a 'mixtape' CD, a half-empty jar of marshmallow fluff (no lid), and a long blue apron with the words "A muffin is just an ugly cupcake." printed on it in white.
Appearance: Of mixed Irish and Italian descent, Margie carries a prominent roman nose from her father and a tendency for thick eyebrows. Her hair is naturally quite dark and curly, but she frequently dyes and styles it for shock factor, for variety, and 'for the hell of it.' The color it's most commonly dyed (when it is dyed) is a bright, fiery ‘Little Mermaid’ red. She’s a bit overweight, but carries it with no shame, and has very straight teeth, stained from smoking. She’s five-foot six, and has several piercings in each ear and one in her left nostril.
Age: 28
OC/AU Justification ;
If AU, How is Your Version Different From Canon, and How Will That Come Across?
If OC, Did You Run Your Character Through a Mary-Sue Litmus Test? This One
And What Did You Score? 10
Samples ;
Log Sample:
“Y’know what I discovered today?”
Marjie was stirring batter with a wooden spoon. She should have used the mixer, or at least a plastic spoon, but now the dishes were already dirty, and it seemed an admission of defeat to switch now. Cupcakes versus baker- she made a mental note not to forget the idea. She was also, or so it might seem, talking to the walls.
Carefully propping up his side of the conversation, Paul flipped the page of his book and mumbled something that was nearly wordless and certainly noncommittal.
“A hat rack,” she replied, cheerfully, and tapped the spoon loudly against the edge of the bowl, flicking the clinging yellow skin of batter mostly into the bowl, and just a little bit everywhere else. A drop landed on Paul’s glasses and he frowned.
“Why? You’ll just hang your coat on the chair, like always,” he grumbled, reaching for a rag. Marjie drew it out of his grasp and leaned on it, looking at him in the same way a parent examines paint puddles soaked into white carpeting.
“I own this place, I’ll hang my damn coat where ever I please. We fuckin’ need it.”
“Right.”
“For when it rains.”
“And the coats are wet?”
“That’s right,” she let him have to rag and he cleaned his glasses while she dripped the yellow-white goo into cupcake molds, “Besides, it’s a nice touch.”
“Kind of...uhh...classy?” Paul was unbending about it, she noted, and cast a grin over her shoulder.
“Damn straight. I’m thinking brass. Nice and heavy, kinda like the one that used to be in the barber shop down by the library.”
Paul seemed to think about this, and Marjorie turned her attention back to her work, still grinning on all cylinders, and waiting for him to realize. Paul was a cute one, but not so bright, for all his book learning. Not like the last one- but just as fun to tease. The oven was like the mouth of hell, orange-glowing, exhaling gassy vapours; the creaky hinge would do for a growl, in a pinch.
“You stole it?!”
Finally. Not so clever, that boy.
Network Sample:
[The audio feeds opens seemingly at random. A few odd tones sound as Marjie presses various buttons. After a moment, she seems to decide it's working.]
Alright. Alright, you got me. Real funny, you little shit. Now come out so I can kill you.
I am not joking, and I don't know how you did this, but that is the last fuckin' time I let your ass make the drinks. You're a psychotic asshole, and my vengeance will be swift.
...
[There is a low sigh, an a soft curse, 'Goddamn it']
...
Paul, you jackass ANSWER THE PHONE!
Player Information ;
Your Nickname: Mica
Under 18? No
AIM: failmica
Character Information ;
Name: Majorie Elizabeth "Marjie" Pots
Name of Canon: Original
Canon/AU/Other Game CR: n/a
Reference: N/A
Canon Point: About a year after getting her own bakery.
Setting (Background): Coming from a world not terribly different from our own, Marjorie was born in New York City to a father who was not present and neglected to ever return, and a mother who was, frankly, not at all pleased about this whole 'bearing children' exercise in biology. She was raised in a series of dilapidated cars and trucks, more or less living out of them with her mother and brothers until she turned seven. Mom was arrested for reasons not known to Marjie and regardless of the woman's conviction, the custody of her children was not going to last. As a result, Marjorie and th' boys were given to her maternal grandparents to raise. Money was a little tight, but compared to the previous state of living, the cramped, shabby apartment was luxury itself. Grandpa had been a sailor in the Navy and told them mostly-fictional stories about his adventures on the high seas. Grandma had been the 'tattooed lady' at a carnival freak-show and told them terrible stories. Both of them smoked foul, cheap cigars every day after lunch, but argued over brand and bouquet as if debating the finest Cuban humidors. "Gra'mama" usually won.
Marjie went to school and got terrible grades, as expected. She ended up in detention more often than not, and Saturday school as well, but somehow managed to pass nearly all her classes, despite herself. The boys grew up and grew out into the world, rebellious and noisy to all appearances, but managed to at least get jobs and manners enough to keep themselves fed and clothed and to live in houses that didn't come with wheels attached, unless they wanted to. Grandma died one day, out on the streets- there was never a body. One night she went out to visit a friend, and she never came back. That was Marjorie's senior year of High School.
It was also the year she found out about her family legacy, the hard way.
Marjorie had had a little boyfriend, and while they got on well enough all things must come to an end. Of course, it ended in a fight- Marjie wouldn't put out, or perhaps there was another girl he'd been eyeing, or…or something. Nobody remembers what the fight was about, because when it finally broke from screaming argument into physical violence, she was the one who drew first and last blood. Enraged and unthinking, she landed a beautiful open-palmed slap right on his face. A more stunned boy you have never seen- and never will again. Marjie's hand swept clean through, momentum uninterrupted, and the boy vanished in a thunderclap of in-rushing air, accompanied by a stinging, burning pain along the girl's side. Terrified and confused, she lifted her shirt and found to her horror that a frighteningly accurate tattoo of the boy and his stunned expression were etched in ink across her ribs. And that's when Grandpa was forced to tell her why Gra’mama really had so many tattoos. Not a pleasant conversation, as you may imagine.
So, life goes on. None of them were so upright that they had trouble lying to the police, and with no evidence of anything untoward to do with Marjie, it was eventually presumed that he simply left, with no forwarding address. She never meant to kill him, but still she did, and though no one else might punish her for it, there would be no forgetting it. College was a wash, she wasted a year trying to learn things she had no heart for, but eventually ended up in a culinary program. Eventually that stage in life ended, and a 28-year-old Ms. Pots found herself in possession of a tolerance for alcohol, a host of artistic skills, and a singularly run-down little shop, crammed in the place between a moto-foto and a coffee shop that used to be a very fine alley for muggings. A coat of paint and a little work, and it was a bakery, making the most beautiful, edible things…
And yes, it's a shabby part of town, but somehow no one's very eager to break into the sky blue bakery, no matter the hour. She copes with her powers as best she can, and in the meantime enjoys her life most fully, while she has it.
Personality: Marjorie Pots is a woman who is all about the sublime beauty of the impermanent. She loves the beauty of the kind of things she might find in an art museum, but cannot fathom wanting to create art that sits on a shelf or a wall for longer than it would take for cake to get stale. She's bold and crass, and she peppers her speech with cuss words as if there were a limited supply and she intended to get all she could before they ran out. She likes her coffee black, but puts sugar in it anyway, to see the lumps melt. Marjie is far too lazy to fully pronounce all her words, and thus ends up leavin' out a letter or two from some words. She habitually people nicknames such as sweetie, hun', sugar, and the ever-popular "babe."
Marjie is excessively comfortable in her own skin, which is probably a result of not expecting to live particularly long, and having no real fear of physical retribution, both of which are side-effects of her superhuman ability. She drinks more than she should, and is unafraid to try new things. She woos women with her sensuous and godlike trombone playing, claims to be able to ride a bicycle, but can't, and cooks Thirty-Minute Brownies in twenty minutes. Marjie is an expert in stucco, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Mexico. On weekends, she unwinds by blasting Led Zepplin, during which she folds intricate origami insects that she later burns. She believes in God, but not in any particular religion, loves wearing skirts, hates wearing dresses and always wears her nice underwear, just in case. Prone to complaining and bitchiness about unimportant things, she calls people 'whores' when she's being fondly insulting, rather than honestly so. She favors spun sugar decorations on her cake, despite that they are difficult to create and impossible to maintain. She is a sugar-flower perfectionist, comparing artificial creations to the real thing in minute detail, a molding-chocolate freak, and a baking nazi. Her cupcakes occasionally inspire spontaneous orgasms.
Abilities and Weaknesses: Marj' is a ordinary human being in most important ways. She's not exceptionally strong, doesn't know more martial arts than she could learn from the odd Kung-Fu movie, and while she knows how to fire the kind of taser women sometimes keep in their purses, she'd probably injure herself if asked to hold a gun. She does, however, have one strange and supernatural ability...
Marjie's ability is to all but delete any object or living thing by touching it. Yes, anything. Fire hydrants, cups of coffee, clothing, money, even living people. But there's a catch; every time she uses her power, an image of what she “inked” appears somewhere on her body, as an indelible, unmovable tattoo. No surgical procedure or brutal use of knives will get rid of them, short of completely removing whatever limb they're on. Just cutting off bits of skin won't work- eventually that wound will heal. Eventually the ink will resurface. Eventually her skin will fill up, every inch an indelible image of something stolen forever from the world.
And, when that finally happens, Marjorie Pots will die.
Inventory: A neon pink hairnet, a 'mixtape' CD, a half-empty jar of marshmallow fluff (no lid), and a long blue apron with the words "A muffin is just an ugly cupcake." printed on it in white.
Appearance: Of mixed Irish and Italian descent, Margie carries a prominent roman nose from her father and a tendency for thick eyebrows. Her hair is naturally quite dark and curly, but she frequently dyes and styles it for shock factor, for variety, and 'for the hell of it.' The color it's most commonly dyed (when it is dyed) is a bright, fiery ‘Little Mermaid’ red. She’s a bit overweight, but carries it with no shame, and has very straight teeth, stained from smoking. She’s five-foot six, and has several piercings in each ear and one in her left nostril.
Age: 28
OC/AU Justification ;
If AU, How is Your Version Different From Canon, and How Will That Come Across?
If OC, Did You Run Your Character Through a Mary-Sue Litmus Test? This One
And What Did You Score? 10
Samples ;
Log Sample:
“Y’know what I discovered today?”
Marjie was stirring batter with a wooden spoon. She should have used the mixer, or at least a plastic spoon, but now the dishes were already dirty, and it seemed an admission of defeat to switch now. Cupcakes versus baker- she made a mental note not to forget the idea. She was also, or so it might seem, talking to the walls.
Carefully propping up his side of the conversation, Paul flipped the page of his book and mumbled something that was nearly wordless and certainly noncommittal.
“A hat rack,” she replied, cheerfully, and tapped the spoon loudly against the edge of the bowl, flicking the clinging yellow skin of batter mostly into the bowl, and just a little bit everywhere else. A drop landed on Paul’s glasses and he frowned.
“Why? You’ll just hang your coat on the chair, like always,” he grumbled, reaching for a rag. Marjie drew it out of his grasp and leaned on it, looking at him in the same way a parent examines paint puddles soaked into white carpeting.
“I own this place, I’ll hang my damn coat where ever I please. We fuckin’ need it.”
“Right.”
“For when it rains.”
“And the coats are wet?”
“That’s right,” she let him have to rag and he cleaned his glasses while she dripped the yellow-white goo into cupcake molds, “Besides, it’s a nice touch.”
“Kind of...uhh...classy?” Paul was unbending about it, she noted, and cast a grin over her shoulder.
“Damn straight. I’m thinking brass. Nice and heavy, kinda like the one that used to be in the barber shop down by the library.”
Paul seemed to think about this, and Marjorie turned her attention back to her work, still grinning on all cylinders, and waiting for him to realize. Paul was a cute one, but not so bright, for all his book learning. Not like the last one- but just as fun to tease. The oven was like the mouth of hell, orange-glowing, exhaling gassy vapours; the creaky hinge would do for a growl, in a pinch.
“You stole it?!”
Finally. Not so clever, that boy.
Network Sample:
[The audio feeds opens seemingly at random. A few odd tones sound as Marjie presses various buttons. After a moment, she seems to decide it's working.]
Alright. Alright, you got me. Real funny, you little shit. Now come out so I can kill you.
I am not joking, and I don't know how you did this, but that is the last fuckin' time I let your ass make the drinks. You're a psychotic asshole, and my vengeance will be swift.
...
[There is a low sigh, an a soft curse, 'Goddamn it']
...
Paul, you jackass ANSWER THE PHONE!