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Re: going for pup #2bloodybritvaDecember 20 2008, 22:35:57 UTC
Personality: She’s a little girl, at heart, who just happens to be old as eternity and fractured beyond repair. Delirium, before she was Delirium, was a purer sort of child, but whatever it was that happened that changed her… it wasn’t pretty, suffice to say. And the resulting Endless is now Odd, to say the least. She’s a big bundle of contradictions, which is her one consistency, which is itself contradicting. She’s playful and bubbly, innocent and care-free. She’s also ruthless and world-wary, because having been witness to the birth and death of worlds upon worlds upon worlds can do that to you. She is neither good nor evil, and certainly has no truck with any sort of morals. Neither her nor her siblings do, really, whatever they may thing. Delirium has always believed in neutrality (if one could say she believed in anything), which is especially funny, given her penitent toward extremes.
So she’s a mad little girl, and very loyal toward her family. She has to be. All of them have to be. In the end, all the Endless really have is each other, however much they may fight and bicker and occasionally actively try to kill each other. Delirium especially loves one of her brothers, Destruction, who left a long time ago and has been wandering ever since, which made Delirium a very sad Endless indeed. But that’s alright. No doubt they’ll run into each other again. They always do. And she adores Destruction, bothers Dream, fights with Desire (because everyone tends to fight with Desire), is very little-sister-like to Death, is sort of scared of Despair, and is wary of Destiny. And she loves them all, obviously, because that’s what you do with your siblings.
But cosmic vastness that makes up her being aside, Delirium usually just comes off like a rather absent-minded child. Because she is. She can be very determined when she’s after something, unless she gets distracted by a shiny thing and decides to chase that instead. She has a doggie, that she likes a lot, but who tends to misplace himself often. >>>
Re: going for pup #2bloodybritvaDecember 20 2008, 22:38:31 UTC
Background: How can one fit a forever of existence into a few lines of writing? But here we’ll try: before she was Delirium, she was delight, and her eyes matched and everything was good because she was whole and happy. But Delight turned to Delirium after a time, for reasons she’s never fully explained. Because maybe she doesn’t know. Or maybe it’s just so awful and terrible she can’t remember, or would never talk about ever ever. In any case, Delirium was a new girl, after her transformation.
During the events of the Sandman, she accomplished this: she found and lost again her prodigal brother. She acquired a dog. She managed a strain of remarkable lucidity when she argued with her oldest brother. She cheered up her other brother (the moody, easily-depressed one). A lot of things happen, you know. Mostly involving her rather large family, as she has no qualms about pestering the lot of them and, really, is sort of the darling - most of the Endless find her endearing. And also the eternal irritant. Because that’s how little sisters are.
One issue has this to say about her:
Delirium is the youngest of the Endless. She smells of sweat, sour wines, late nights, and leather. Her realm is close, and can be visited; however, human minds were not made to comprehend her domain, and those few who have made the journey have been incapable of reporting more than the tiniest fragments. The poet Coleridge claimed to have known her intimately, but the man was an inveterate liar, and in this, as in so much, we must doubt his word. Her appearance is the most variable of all the Endless, who at best, are ideas cloaked in the semblance of flesh. Her shadow's shape and outline has no relationship to that of anybody she wears, and it is tangible, like old velvet. Some say the tragedy of Delirium is her knowledge that , despite being older than the suns, older than the gods, she is forever the youngest of the Endless, who do not measure time as we measure time, or see the worlds through mortal eyes. Others deny this, and say that Delirium has no tragedy, but there they speak without reflection. For Delirium was once Delight. And although that was long ago now, even today her eyes are badly matched: one eye is a vivid emerald green, spattered with silver flecks that move; her other eye is vein blue.
Re: going for pup #2bloodybritvaDecember 20 2008, 22:40:50 UTC
Likes/Dislikes: Hm. She likes fish balloons and doggies and ginger bread people and chocolate and mango juice, even when sometimes she pretends she doesn’t like it she’s actually lying. She likes cherry pits and fishnet stockings and her family and loud music and ecstasy (the pills and the feeling, sometimes, although either one can make you sick if you have too much). She doesn’t really not like anything. Except when she does. Her tastes are fluid and varied and, really, don’t ask her. Because she has no idea what she’s saying, poor girl.
samples. Journal (first person): Headlines. Head lines.
Head lines like a line of heads, ‘cause I’ve seen those. Although a ‘head’ is kind of difficult, because what’s a head and how do you know what isn’t a head? Because outside of earth, although I know that might be all you care about, there are loads and loads and loads of creatures that have evolved without heads. Without brains, even. Without even any physical form, but they’re still able to think. Or at least to act on calculated impulses from the intelligence in them. Like there are sentient wavelengths and conscious gas clouds or animate planets, and they don’t really have heads. Or maybe they’re all head. They don’t have heads at least not regular heads, let alone lines for them.
But besides that, there’s head lines like a line of heads set out to dry by the Iban to get all shrively and little until they look like raisins or dried plums. I’ve seen that. Only maybe it wasn’t the Iban. It might’ve been the Dayak. Somewhere with jungles, so it could be either. Or both. Or neither. Or maybe there weren’t any jungles at all and I just think there were jungles. Because I think that a lot. I thought there were mountains once, but they got up and walked away before I could show anyone. It might’ve been Maori (with the lines of heads, not the mountains) only I think… maybe they were the ones who smoked them. Like jerky smoking, though, not like tobacco smoking is what I mean.
Or if you want a line of heads still attached to necks, there are those too. Like lines and lines and lines of heads waiting hours for something to eat, or lines of heads waiting to be counted, or there are nice lines of heads too, like waiting for the theater or a ride where you go all the way up to the top and than fwoosh down to the bottom. I went on one of those with my sister once. I can think more of head groups, though.
Or do you mean head lines like the line of a head? Because I think it depends on how you look at it, like if you look at it from straight down or straight behind it’s straight but kind of curvy. But if you look at it in profile, it’s all woobly, because things get in the way like the nose and hair and brow and chin and things.
So. Um. Yes. One of those. I know about head lines a lot.
Re: going for pup #2bloodybritvaDecember 20 2008, 22:42:48 UTC
Formal (third person): Anyone looking, assuming they’d been able to see what was in front of them properly, would have been greeted by the prettiest sight one could hope to see.
There was a brook; small and narrow but nevertheless deeper than one might imagine, as these things often are. And beside it a willow tree was growing slantways over it in that peculiar way willow trees are sometimes wont to do, nearly horizontal, its sweeping boughs just long enough to touch the brook and disturb the lily pads that floated on it. It served as a perfect seat for two girls - one tall and fair with skirts of some delicate silk that fluttered in the breeze like butterfly wings. Her hair was the brown-red of leaves in late autumn, or roses that had only just begun to wither. She was sitting in a position of repose, legs crossed daintily beneath her, toes brushing the brook. She was singing.
The other wasn’t nearly so easy to define. The only thing absolutely certain was the color of her eyes; one the brilliant green of the sun through the grass and the other of the calm sky above them. She too hummed along, off-key and slightly discordant when paired with the other’s melody, but not unpleasantly so. She was twining blossoms in the hair of the other. For months now, they two had been companions constant.
There was a scattering of flowers between them, in the folds of their skirts and on their laps, stuffed in pockets or gathered in hands.
“Baby’s breath,” said the taller girl, holding up a stalk of bunched tiny white blossoms to show her friend, “For festivity. And here’s a daffodil for chivalry and zinnia for friends who aren’t here any more.” She wove these into a chain.
“I gave you daisies and dahlias and eglantine, because they’re pretty.” Sing-songed the other, who had a voice like the mad trill of a startled nightingale. She gestured to the flowers she’d twisted in the auburn tresses of the girl in front of her. “And I don’t know what they’re for. So we’ll just say they’re for joy and fishies and the happy feeling you get in your stomach when you suddenly remember the name of someone you thought you’d forgotten a long time ago.”
They laughed. And then, as if suddenly remembering something, the shorter girl leaned back on the branch, until she was clinging to it just with her knees, with her hands free to do as she pleased. She snatched up a few of the lilies beneath them that had been floating serenely beneath them before resuming her former attitude.
“And here are lilies. For you,” she gave one to her friend and kept one in her hand, “for death.”
“I don’t think that’s what lilies mean. They’re for - ” A cracking sound that she didn’t seem to hear. “Truth.” >>>
Re: going for pup #2bloodybritvaDecember 20 2008, 22:43:00 UTC
The last word escaped from her lips in one frightened breath. The branch had broken, and she’d been sent tumbling into the water below, sending ripples through the brook. Her damp skirts billowed about beneath her, and she looked startled, but not afraid. She giggled and began to sing again.
The girl above her, whose legs had been tucked beneath her neatly, looked fascinated, making no move to help her. “When I said for death, I didn’t mean it like that.”
A sudden dawning of realization seemed to hit the other and she nodded once, before sinking down, down, with a sort of contented sigh and a stream of bubbles.
Delirium merely watched. She looked to one side and saw what she expected to see. There was a slender woman clad in all black looking back at her. She was standing up to her waist in the waters of the brook; standing in a place deep enough that she ought to have been up to her neck. She smiled.
“Long time no see, sis.”
“Yeah,” said Delirium distantly. She was looking deep into the depths of the brook, watching the last struggles of the pale figure at the bottom. “Oh! Here.” She held the lily between thumb and forefinger, hand outstretched, offering it. “This is for you.”
“Thanks,” said Death, “I’d better go and get her, huh?” She tucked the lily behind her ear.
“You probably should. Too bad. I liked her. She was… nice.”
“Well, nice people go. And mean people too. Everybody goes.” Delirium’s elder waved a hand dismissively. “See you around, anyway.”
Her younger sister nodded.
In barely the time it takes for one’s heart to beat twice, neither of them was there. Nor, indeed, was there much evidence at all to suggest that anyone had been there at all.
Eventually, a breeze gathered up, and the last handful of violets was scattered onto the surface of the water. Soon they to would disappear, and there wouldn’t even be that.
Re: going for pup #2montwick_modsDecember 21 2008, 00:58:38 UTC
Accepted! Please join montwick_rp and montwick_ooc with your character journal, and after being approved, leave a comment on the player contact post, and friend everyone using the friending codes. After that, feel free to start posting!
So she’s a mad little girl, and very loyal toward her family. She has to be. All of them have to be. In the end, all the Endless really have is each other, however much they may fight and bicker and occasionally actively try to kill each other. Delirium especially loves one of her brothers, Destruction, who left a long time ago and has been wandering ever since, which made Delirium a very sad Endless indeed. But that’s alright. No doubt they’ll run into each other again. They always do. And she adores Destruction, bothers Dream, fights with Desire (because everyone tends to fight with Desire), is very little-sister-like to Death, is sort of scared of Despair, and is wary of Destiny. And she loves them all, obviously, because that’s what you do with your siblings.
But cosmic vastness that makes up her being aside, Delirium usually just comes off like a rather absent-minded child. Because she is. She can be very determined when she’s after something, unless she gets distracted by a shiny thing and decides to chase that instead. She has a doggie, that she likes a lot, but who tends to misplace himself often. >>>
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During the events of the Sandman, she accomplished this: she found and lost again her prodigal brother. She acquired a dog. She managed a strain of remarkable lucidity when she argued with her oldest brother. She cheered up her other brother (the moody, easily-depressed one). A lot of things happen, you know. Mostly involving her rather large family, as she has no qualms about pestering the lot of them and, really, is sort of the darling - most of the Endless find her endearing. And also the eternal irritant. Because that’s how little sisters are.
One issue has this to say about her:
Delirium is the youngest of the Endless. She smells of sweat, sour wines, late nights, and leather. Her realm is close, and can be visited; however, human minds were not made to comprehend her domain, and those few who have made the journey have been incapable of reporting more than the tiniest fragments. The poet Coleridge claimed to have known her intimately, but the man was an inveterate liar, and in this, as in so much, we must doubt his word. Her appearance is the most variable of all the Endless, who at best, are ideas cloaked in the semblance of flesh. Her shadow's shape and outline has no relationship to that of anybody she wears, and it is tangible, like old velvet. Some say the tragedy of Delirium is her knowledge that , despite being older than the suns, older than the gods, she is forever the youngest of the Endless, who do not measure time as we measure time, or see the worlds through mortal eyes. Others deny this, and say that Delirium has no tragedy, but there they speak without reflection. For Delirium was once Delight. And although that was long ago now, even today her eyes are badly matched: one eye is a vivid emerald green, spattered with silver flecks that move; her other eye is vein blue.
Reply
samples.
Journal (first person): Headlines. Head lines.
Head lines like a line of heads, ‘cause I’ve seen those. Although a ‘head’ is kind of difficult, because what’s a head and how do you know what isn’t a head? Because outside of earth, although I know that might be all you care about, there are loads and loads and loads of creatures that have evolved without heads. Without brains, even. Without even any physical form, but they’re still able to think. Or at least to act on calculated impulses from the intelligence in them. Like there are sentient wavelengths and conscious gas clouds or animate planets, and they don’t really have heads. Or maybe they’re all head. They don’t have heads at least not regular heads, let alone lines for them.
But besides that, there’s head lines like a line of heads set out to dry by the Iban to get all shrively and little until they look like raisins or dried plums. I’ve seen that. Only maybe it wasn’t the Iban. It might’ve been the Dayak. Somewhere with jungles, so it could be either. Or both. Or neither. Or maybe there weren’t any jungles at all and I just think there were jungles. Because I think that a lot. I thought there were mountains once, but they got up and walked away before I could show anyone. It might’ve been Maori (with the lines of heads, not the mountains) only I think… maybe they were the ones who smoked them. Like jerky smoking, though, not like tobacco smoking is what I mean.
Or if you want a line of heads still attached to necks, there are those too. Like lines and lines and lines of heads waiting hours for something to eat, or lines of heads waiting to be counted, or there are nice lines of heads too, like waiting for the theater or a ride where you go all the way up to the top and than fwoosh down to the bottom. I went on one of those with my sister once. I can think more of head groups, though.
Or do you mean head lines like the line of a head? Because I think it depends on how you look at it, like if you look at it from straight down or straight behind it’s straight but kind of curvy. But if you look at it in profile, it’s all woobly, because things get in the way like the nose and hair and brow and chin and things.
So. Um. Yes. One of those. I know about head lines a lot.
[Written for a prompt comm.]
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There was a brook; small and narrow but nevertheless deeper than one might imagine, as these things often are. And beside it a willow tree was growing slantways over it in that peculiar way willow trees are sometimes wont to do, nearly horizontal, its sweeping boughs just long enough to touch the brook and disturb the lily pads that floated on it. It served as a perfect seat for two girls - one tall and fair with skirts of some delicate silk that fluttered in the breeze like butterfly wings. Her hair was the brown-red of leaves in late autumn, or roses that had only just begun to wither. She was sitting in a position of repose, legs crossed daintily beneath her, toes brushing the brook. She was singing.
The other wasn’t nearly so easy to define. The only thing absolutely certain was the color of her eyes; one the brilliant green of the sun through the grass and the other of the calm sky above them. She too hummed along, off-key and slightly discordant when paired with the other’s melody, but not unpleasantly so. She was twining blossoms in the hair of the other. For months now, they two had been companions constant.
There was a scattering of flowers between them, in the folds of their skirts and on their laps, stuffed in pockets or gathered in hands.
“Baby’s breath,” said the taller girl, holding up a stalk of bunched tiny white blossoms to show her friend, “For festivity. And here’s a daffodil for chivalry and zinnia for friends who aren’t here any more.” She wove these into a chain.
“I gave you daisies and dahlias and eglantine, because they’re pretty.” Sing-songed the other, who had a voice like the mad trill of a startled nightingale. She gestured to the flowers she’d twisted in the auburn tresses of the girl in front of her. “And I don’t know what they’re for. So we’ll just say they’re for joy and fishies and the happy feeling you get in your stomach when you suddenly remember the name of someone you thought you’d forgotten a long time ago.”
They laughed. And then, as if suddenly remembering something, the shorter girl leaned back on the branch, until she was clinging to it just with her knees, with her hands free to do as she pleased. She snatched up a few of the lilies beneath them that had been floating serenely beneath them before resuming her former attitude.
“And here are lilies. For you,” she gave one to her friend and kept one in her hand, “for death.”
“I don’t think that’s what lilies mean. They’re for - ” A cracking sound that she didn’t seem to hear. “Truth.” >>>
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The girl above her, whose legs had been tucked beneath her neatly, looked fascinated, making no move to help her. “When I said for death, I didn’t mean it like that.”
A sudden dawning of realization seemed to hit the other and she nodded once, before sinking down, down, with a sort of contented sigh and a stream of bubbles.
Delirium merely watched. She looked to one side and saw what she expected to see. There was a slender woman clad in all black looking back at her. She was standing up to her waist in the waters of the brook; standing in a place deep enough that she ought to have been up to her neck. She smiled.
“Long time no see, sis.”
“Yeah,” said Delirium distantly. She was looking deep into the depths of the brook, watching the last struggles of the pale figure at the bottom. “Oh! Here.” She held the lily between thumb and forefinger, hand outstretched, offering it. “This is for you.”
“Thanks,” said Death, “I’d better go and get her, huh?” She tucked the lily behind her ear.
“You probably should. Too bad. I liked her. She was… nice.”
“Well, nice people go. And mean people too. Everybody goes.” Delirium’s elder waved a hand dismissively. “See you around, anyway.”
Her younger sister nodded.
In barely the time it takes for one’s heart to beat twice, neither of them was there. Nor, indeed, was there much evidence at all to suggest that anyone had been there at all.
Eventually, a breeze gathered up, and the last handful of violets was scattered onto the surface of the water. Soon they to would disappear, and there wouldn’t even be that.
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