CoR App
Player
Name - Kirk
AIM Name - assbanditkirk
E-Mail - thief_girl_sylvia@yahoo.com
Character
Name - Elizabeth Vickers, Liz
Fandom - "Lift" by Poets of the Fall
Canon Point - Post-Video
Age - 32
Gender - Female
Appearance -
When business is business, Liz is a very professional woman, favoring skirt-suits in simple cuts and dark colors. She carries herself with a stern sophistication, a grace unhindered even by the tall heels she favors wearing. She is a a slender woman, though not without her curves, and of average height. Her hair is long, dark brown in color, and usually pulled in a tight bun when she is working. Her complexion is very fair and porcelain, complimented by the smoky make-up and red lips she wears to add to her professional image. Her eyes are hazel, the kind that's more green with small traces of brown around the pupil.
Outside her professional bubble, Liz is just like any other woman. Some days she's particularly more classy than others, favoring slacks and blouses, and on more casual ones, light camisoles and clean-cut jeans. She still maintains her grace, but with less sophistication and a lighter step. She wears her hair down when she isn't working, and light makeup, if any.
Personality - Liz is a woman who tends to favor keeping her professional and her personal life separate. Considering her psychoanalytical field of study, it's understandable really. You have to be able to look at a person, to figure them out, know every angle and then know how to work it. She's kind to the patients who lack confidence or courage and a snarky bitch to the standoffish ones. With her specific career field being criminal psychology however, she has to be quick on her toes, able to change tactics--or stick heavily to them--as the situation demands.
When she isn't psychoanalyzing or being an uptight bitch, Liz is actually a very nice woman. She's sweet, enjoys life, the small, simple pleasures. Never been one for bugs, but she tolerates them--moths more than anything because of Mark and his condition. Bare feet in wet grass is a stress reliever for her. For someone who writes off people as crazy for being dreamers, she loves stories, mostly in literary format, but also in visual and performing arts. One could consider Liz cultured, in a sense, without being a high-brow noble or rich bitch. Just subtract the rich and you're usually on par.
Liz, despite being a psychiatrist which means she can and does prescribe pills, thinks unfavorably of people who consume drugs as an escape method for their problems. Weakness exists, and she's more than happy to help those who ask. Some people prefer and are better off taking pills, she knows, but those who can cope, but chose not to, or people who smoke and consume hardcore illegal drugs to escape? She finds that to be an unforgivable weakness.
Elizabeth isn't religious. She doesn't believe in dieties or demons, just science and fact. She believes in people, not unknowns and mysticism. Believing in some mysterious man in the sky won't fix your life's problems, especially when voices in your head are one of life's problems. God speaking to a person? Pure delusion.
Being a relatively well-mannered, rounded, and attractive woman, you would think that she would be fond of the company of others. In all actuality, Liz has found that people are often disappointing and though she doesn't necessarily mind the company of others, she prefers to live alone with her pet cat, Dorothy.
History -
Elizabeth grew up with a pretty standard childhood. Nice, middle-class family, church every sunday, a mother and father; Normal. Picture perfect really. She took ballet classes from a very young age, something she continued into college, even though her career field of interest became apparent to her in high school, and it was something less artistic.
Liz had never known, when she was much younger, what the cause of her father's occasional strange behavior was. When she had been particularly young and imaginative, she simply thought it was a game and would play along. As she got older, she stopped so much, thought his behavior was a little weird, but otherwise shrugged it off. No big deal, he was her father.
Then he went missing one night. He'd gone out for something and had never come back. Elizabeth prayed, her mother prayed, everyone they knew at the church prayed for her father, that he was safe and he'd find his way home alright. But no amount of praying brought him home, and 16 months later, he was found dead. He'd been living two states away in some grubby motel. No one told Liz about how or why, until she was in high school. The room had been filled with bibles in all sorts of disarray. Scribblings everywhere, on books, papers, the walls, about the voices of angels, demons, God; pure utter lunacy. And he eventually hung himself from the cieling fan in the room, overwhelmed, they assumed, by the chaos of the man's mind. Was this God? His will? His price for your faith?
No. That was cruel madness. There was no God.
She only felt more reaffirmed in this belief as her mother was consumed by overwhelming sorrow. Empty sentiments were received from the members of the church until her and her mother stopped going. She stopped going because she no longer believed, but her mother stopped because she simply had no will to do anything beyond work, and even then somedays Liz had the chore of making sure her mother left the house.
Liz, who began to study psychology at her high school, didn't like the looks of the path her mother was taking. She urged her to seek help. See a doctor, therapist, anyone to talk about it, get through it. Overcome it. Her mother resisted at first, but when she went, she responded so positively in Elizabeth's eyes. "How wonderful!" she thought, until more and more, she saw her mother taking pills. At first it wasn't so bad, just one a day. Standard dosage. Some people recover better on medication than just therapy alone.
But then her dosages increased and if there was any chance that her mother would be without medication, if she ran out, or even misplaced her bottle for five minutes, she would go ballistic. Liz tried to tell her mother that she shouldn't be taking so much medication, that it wasn't right how dependent she was on it. Her mother responded by slapping her in the face and calling her a disrespectful child.
It hurt. To see her mother so lost, so weak. Because of a lie, because of false dieties and so much more. Part or her blamed herself for not seeing sooner that her father's behavior wasn't normal. For not telling someone. For not helping him.
But blaming yourself isn't healthy. It wasn't her fault that things had ended up this way.
By college she knew what she wanted to do, and so she pursued and completed a degree in Psychology all the way to her Doctorate, including Psychiatry, giving her not only the ability to diagnose conditions, but also prescribe medication, something she would use wiser than her mother's psychiatrist. She doubled her major in Criminal Psychology as well, so that her career field would be more expansive and promising, not to mention she wouldn't have to care near as much for criminals as she would for ordinary people.
Fresh out of her Bachelor's though, she had to start work and then work her way up to her Doctorate. So that involved a lot of low ranking jobs of helping ordinary people, much to her chagrin. It was stressful, but also fulfilling in a way, for the cases that were a success. The ones that kept coming back or getting worse made her wonder if there was hope for those people at all, or if they would end up like her mother and father.
She strived, so hard, over her twenties, to work her way up. Gain prestige, merit-- to show the Psychiatric field that she was more than just some woman in heels and a skirt passing pills to the boys and girls. And once she had that final degree in her hand and years of in-the-field experience, she was hired on at a prison. Relatively high security, for the particularly bad, twisted, off the rocker types. Just her alley.
She'd been working there for a good year or so when some new meat came in. Another killer, another victim. But as she went through his file, she realized that wasn't quite all of it. There was more-- the moths for one. Two being the man that Mark Mathis had been prior to his crime. Three being the personality he had manifested to cope. It was different. Some alternates were similar facets but different people from the sole person themselves. Some were age regressions, some were progressions, and some were mental manifestations of fantastical beings. There were also the personalities that manifest and act upon repressed desires. The most well known kind, but also usually most rare, simply because of just how opposing it was of the original person, were the personalities that were the black to a person's white. Jekyll and Hyde syndrome pretty much, simply put.
And that's what Mark and his personality Morpho appeared to be. How often would anyone ever get to work on a Jekyll and Hyde style case?
It was hard. Morpho had resisted against her with a stubborn quality she'd never dealt with before. If that was sheer willpower, she would have been impressed, but his crudeness dampened that. Still, she persisted, and when she finally broke through to Mark, she, who didn't really care much for people, almost felt heartbroken at the sight. She hadn't expected someone so terrified and so guilty, someone that without a doubt just couldn't be a killer. Yet here he was, in the worst place imaginable with a crime on his head that would stay with him forever.
She could almost understand where Morpho had come from, and yet that didn't make him dislike him any less.
More sessions, more months. Sometimes she wondered, with Morpho, why she kept doing these sessions. It was the same-old-same-old, but she wouldn't give up on Mark. He was just so lost in that fear and the pain, and there was no way he'd be able to overcome it alone. Alone, Morpho would become the dominant personality for life. But, for anyone who had eyes, it was also relatively easy to tell that she was growing more attached to Mark. Beyond being a fascinating case and a challenge-- as a person, someone that she began to care for.
And the other doctors there were ambitious, corrupt possibly. Hard to tell in high positions of power who is genuine and not. But they were all older, been in the field longer, and felt that her position in the system was too high. Noting the connection developing between her and her patient, they worked together and arranged that she be called away to another prison in the system for a while. They assigned one of their men to Mark's case in the mean time.
Liz hadn't even been given the opportunity to say goodbye, or say that she would be back, for sure, before she was shipped off to the other prison. When she came back from the other case, she asked how Mark had been doing. When asked why she answered, "He's my patient," with the best pokerface she could muster. She was informed that the substitute psychiatrist had been found dead, a moth or two on his corpse when found; that they were conducting a group re-analysis of his condition, to see if it had worsened since his initial review, and she was more than welcome to lead it.
That session had hurt her in more ways than she had expected. She hadn't left a room trying to hide tears since the day she found out her father was dead. She had not meant to abandon him, it wasn't even her fault that she had left. She had been forced. But it was her fault that Morpho was without a doubt the dominant personality now. After all her hard work trying to help Mark, and she had failed.
Why hadn't she fought to see him before she left? To assure him that she would be back? Because she herself was broken in a way. She had detached herself from people too much.
When he broke out of prison, it was the final slap to the face. That she had failed and this was her fault.
Skills/Abilities/Powers - Liz is a relatively skilled dancer, as she has taken ballet classes since a very young age. She doesn't perform at all these days but still stretches and practices to keep in shape. She is also a quick thinker and very well at looking at body language, behavioral patterns, speech, and pretty much everything you do to break you down and psychoanalyze you. It's kind of her job. So she's good at figuring people out, unless they are relatively hard to read, like the Carnie. She probably wouldn't be able to read him very well.
Power Restrictions - N/A
Job - Psychiatrist. Why deny a girl her lifelong pursuit and dream? (Of course, if there's ever a point in game where someone says "Hey, Liz, do THIS!" I would be game.)
Mark Location - On her right shoulder, over her collarbone.
Samples
First Person Sample (Communicator, Bulletin, or Mirror) - [Private Comm to Morpho]
You. [There's something low in her voice. A vehement growl, or something akin to it.] We need to talk.
[She can be heard sighing, probably collecting herself from an emotional tangent.] I'm not particularly pleased with your recent progress, and as your doctor, I would like to speak with you. If you'll indulge me. And I expect you to answer for breaking out of Poet County as well.
[In a smaller voice:] I'd like to speak with Mark as well, even if I have to provoke him out of you.
Third Person Sample (Log) -
Her dreams brought her back to his death, a horrible nagging restlessness brought on by it, causing her to awaken. His death itself wasn't particularly a topic that bothered her; it was the circumstances surrounding it that did. The eerie chaos and state of affairs that the place of his death had been, at his hand, in his last moments of insanity was the real cause behind her unrest. In particular, some of the warped images of demons he practically scratched into the walls with pen... or whatever it was he used. She didn't believe in such ridiculous things, but those images made her wonder sometimes.
Dorothy was curled up at her feet on the bed with her. She had been the only long-lasting companion Liz had. The only one she trusted, loved, understood. She was a psychologist, sure, but she was far from understanding people all the same. The feline stirred as Liz got up and went to her window. She could see in the distance, lights, a ferris wheel. She had never really been one for carnivals, but maybe it would be enough to take her mind off the nightmares. She dressed in some simple demin jeans, a blouse, and sneakers, then put on Dorothy's harness and leash.
Most cats were uncooperative and didn't like harnesses or going on walks, but she had started walking her baby at a young age and so now she had grown accustomed to it. It was nice because as long as she were allowed to have her cat with her (and she wouldn't see why not, some people take their pet dogs to carnivals), she knew she'd be in pleasant company. She wasn't alone with her around. So together, Liz and Dorothy made their way to the Carnival, unaware of what would await them there.
Any Other Details We Should Know - I'M FINALLY DONE WITH THIS. HOW LONG DID IT TAKE? Also, she will be bringing her cat Dorothy, as long as that's cool. I hearrrrd it is. :>
Name - Kirk
AIM Name - assbanditkirk
E-Mail - thief_girl_sylvia@yahoo.com
Character
Name - Elizabeth Vickers, Liz
Fandom - "Lift" by Poets of the Fall
Canon Point - Post-Video
Age - 32
Gender - Female
Appearance -
When business is business, Liz is a very professional woman, favoring skirt-suits in simple cuts and dark colors. She carries herself with a stern sophistication, a grace unhindered even by the tall heels she favors wearing. She is a a slender woman, though not without her curves, and of average height. Her hair is long, dark brown in color, and usually pulled in a tight bun when she is working. Her complexion is very fair and porcelain, complimented by the smoky make-up and red lips she wears to add to her professional image. Her eyes are hazel, the kind that's more green with small traces of brown around the pupil.
Outside her professional bubble, Liz is just like any other woman. Some days she's particularly more classy than others, favoring slacks and blouses, and on more casual ones, light camisoles and clean-cut jeans. She still maintains her grace, but with less sophistication and a lighter step. She wears her hair down when she isn't working, and light makeup, if any.
Personality - Liz is a woman who tends to favor keeping her professional and her personal life separate. Considering her psychoanalytical field of study, it's understandable really. You have to be able to look at a person, to figure them out, know every angle and then know how to work it. She's kind to the patients who lack confidence or courage and a snarky bitch to the standoffish ones. With her specific career field being criminal psychology however, she has to be quick on her toes, able to change tactics--or stick heavily to them--as the situation demands.
When she isn't psychoanalyzing or being an uptight bitch, Liz is actually a very nice woman. She's sweet, enjoys life, the small, simple pleasures. Never been one for bugs, but she tolerates them--moths more than anything because of Mark and his condition. Bare feet in wet grass is a stress reliever for her. For someone who writes off people as crazy for being dreamers, she loves stories, mostly in literary format, but also in visual and performing arts. One could consider Liz cultured, in a sense, without being a high-brow noble or rich bitch. Just subtract the rich and you're usually on par.
Liz, despite being a psychiatrist which means she can and does prescribe pills, thinks unfavorably of people who consume drugs as an escape method for their problems. Weakness exists, and she's more than happy to help those who ask. Some people prefer and are better off taking pills, she knows, but those who can cope, but chose not to, or people who smoke and consume hardcore illegal drugs to escape? She finds that to be an unforgivable weakness.
Elizabeth isn't religious. She doesn't believe in dieties or demons, just science and fact. She believes in people, not unknowns and mysticism. Believing in some mysterious man in the sky won't fix your life's problems, especially when voices in your head are one of life's problems. God speaking to a person? Pure delusion.
Being a relatively well-mannered, rounded, and attractive woman, you would think that she would be fond of the company of others. In all actuality, Liz has found that people are often disappointing and though she doesn't necessarily mind the company of others, she prefers to live alone with her pet cat, Dorothy.
History -
Elizabeth grew up with a pretty standard childhood. Nice, middle-class family, church every sunday, a mother and father; Normal. Picture perfect really. She took ballet classes from a very young age, something she continued into college, even though her career field of interest became apparent to her in high school, and it was something less artistic.
Liz had never known, when she was much younger, what the cause of her father's occasional strange behavior was. When she had been particularly young and imaginative, she simply thought it was a game and would play along. As she got older, she stopped so much, thought his behavior was a little weird, but otherwise shrugged it off. No big deal, he was her father.
Then he went missing one night. He'd gone out for something and had never come back. Elizabeth prayed, her mother prayed, everyone they knew at the church prayed for her father, that he was safe and he'd find his way home alright. But no amount of praying brought him home, and 16 months later, he was found dead. He'd been living two states away in some grubby motel. No one told Liz about how or why, until she was in high school. The room had been filled with bibles in all sorts of disarray. Scribblings everywhere, on books, papers, the walls, about the voices of angels, demons, God; pure utter lunacy. And he eventually hung himself from the cieling fan in the room, overwhelmed, they assumed, by the chaos of the man's mind. Was this God? His will? His price for your faith?
No. That was cruel madness. There was no God.
She only felt more reaffirmed in this belief as her mother was consumed by overwhelming sorrow. Empty sentiments were received from the members of the church until her and her mother stopped going. She stopped going because she no longer believed, but her mother stopped because she simply had no will to do anything beyond work, and even then somedays Liz had the chore of making sure her mother left the house.
Liz, who began to study psychology at her high school, didn't like the looks of the path her mother was taking. She urged her to seek help. See a doctor, therapist, anyone to talk about it, get through it. Overcome it. Her mother resisted at first, but when she went, she responded so positively in Elizabeth's eyes. "How wonderful!" she thought, until more and more, she saw her mother taking pills. At first it wasn't so bad, just one a day. Standard dosage. Some people recover better on medication than just therapy alone.
But then her dosages increased and if there was any chance that her mother would be without medication, if she ran out, or even misplaced her bottle for five minutes, she would go ballistic. Liz tried to tell her mother that she shouldn't be taking so much medication, that it wasn't right how dependent she was on it. Her mother responded by slapping her in the face and calling her a disrespectful child.
It hurt. To see her mother so lost, so weak. Because of a lie, because of false dieties and so much more. Part or her blamed herself for not seeing sooner that her father's behavior wasn't normal. For not telling someone. For not helping him.
But blaming yourself isn't healthy. It wasn't her fault that things had ended up this way.
By college she knew what she wanted to do, and so she pursued and completed a degree in Psychology all the way to her Doctorate, including Psychiatry, giving her not only the ability to diagnose conditions, but also prescribe medication, something she would use wiser than her mother's psychiatrist. She doubled her major in Criminal Psychology as well, so that her career field would be more expansive and promising, not to mention she wouldn't have to care near as much for criminals as she would for ordinary people.
Fresh out of her Bachelor's though, she had to start work and then work her way up to her Doctorate. So that involved a lot of low ranking jobs of helping ordinary people, much to her chagrin. It was stressful, but also fulfilling in a way, for the cases that were a success. The ones that kept coming back or getting worse made her wonder if there was hope for those people at all, or if they would end up like her mother and father.
She strived, so hard, over her twenties, to work her way up. Gain prestige, merit-- to show the Psychiatric field that she was more than just some woman in heels and a skirt passing pills to the boys and girls. And once she had that final degree in her hand and years of in-the-field experience, she was hired on at a prison. Relatively high security, for the particularly bad, twisted, off the rocker types. Just her alley.
She'd been working there for a good year or so when some new meat came in. Another killer, another victim. But as she went through his file, she realized that wasn't quite all of it. There was more-- the moths for one. Two being the man that Mark Mathis had been prior to his crime. Three being the personality he had manifested to cope. It was different. Some alternates were similar facets but different people from the sole person themselves. Some were age regressions, some were progressions, and some were mental manifestations of fantastical beings. There were also the personalities that manifest and act upon repressed desires. The most well known kind, but also usually most rare, simply because of just how opposing it was of the original person, were the personalities that were the black to a person's white. Jekyll and Hyde syndrome pretty much, simply put.
And that's what Mark and his personality Morpho appeared to be. How often would anyone ever get to work on a Jekyll and Hyde style case?
It was hard. Morpho had resisted against her with a stubborn quality she'd never dealt with before. If that was sheer willpower, she would have been impressed, but his crudeness dampened that. Still, she persisted, and when she finally broke through to Mark, she, who didn't really care much for people, almost felt heartbroken at the sight. She hadn't expected someone so terrified and so guilty, someone that without a doubt just couldn't be a killer. Yet here he was, in the worst place imaginable with a crime on his head that would stay with him forever.
She could almost understand where Morpho had come from, and yet that didn't make him dislike him any less.
More sessions, more months. Sometimes she wondered, with Morpho, why she kept doing these sessions. It was the same-old-same-old, but she wouldn't give up on Mark. He was just so lost in that fear and the pain, and there was no way he'd be able to overcome it alone. Alone, Morpho would become the dominant personality for life. But, for anyone who had eyes, it was also relatively easy to tell that she was growing more attached to Mark. Beyond being a fascinating case and a challenge-- as a person, someone that she began to care for.
And the other doctors there were ambitious, corrupt possibly. Hard to tell in high positions of power who is genuine and not. But they were all older, been in the field longer, and felt that her position in the system was too high. Noting the connection developing between her and her patient, they worked together and arranged that she be called away to another prison in the system for a while. They assigned one of their men to Mark's case in the mean time.
Liz hadn't even been given the opportunity to say goodbye, or say that she would be back, for sure, before she was shipped off to the other prison. When she came back from the other case, she asked how Mark had been doing. When asked why she answered, "He's my patient," with the best pokerface she could muster. She was informed that the substitute psychiatrist had been found dead, a moth or two on his corpse when found; that they were conducting a group re-analysis of his condition, to see if it had worsened since his initial review, and she was more than welcome to lead it.
That session had hurt her in more ways than she had expected. She hadn't left a room trying to hide tears since the day she found out her father was dead. She had not meant to abandon him, it wasn't even her fault that she had left. She had been forced. But it was her fault that Morpho was without a doubt the dominant personality now. After all her hard work trying to help Mark, and she had failed.
Why hadn't she fought to see him before she left? To assure him that she would be back? Because she herself was broken in a way. She had detached herself from people too much.
When he broke out of prison, it was the final slap to the face. That she had failed and this was her fault.
Skills/Abilities/Powers - Liz is a relatively skilled dancer, as she has taken ballet classes since a very young age. She doesn't perform at all these days but still stretches and practices to keep in shape. She is also a quick thinker and very well at looking at body language, behavioral patterns, speech, and pretty much everything you do to break you down and psychoanalyze you. It's kind of her job. So she's good at figuring people out, unless they are relatively hard to read, like the Carnie. She probably wouldn't be able to read him very well.
Power Restrictions - N/A
Job - Psychiatrist. Why deny a girl her lifelong pursuit and dream? (Of course, if there's ever a point in game where someone says "Hey, Liz, do THIS!" I would be game.)
Mark Location - On her right shoulder, over her collarbone.
Samples
First Person Sample (Communicator, Bulletin, or Mirror) - [Private Comm to Morpho]
You. [There's something low in her voice. A vehement growl, or something akin to it.] We need to talk.
[She can be heard sighing, probably collecting herself from an emotional tangent.] I'm not particularly pleased with your recent progress, and as your doctor, I would like to speak with you. If you'll indulge me. And I expect you to answer for breaking out of Poet County as well.
[In a smaller voice:] I'd like to speak with Mark as well, even if I have to provoke him out of you.
Third Person Sample (Log) -
Her dreams brought her back to his death, a horrible nagging restlessness brought on by it, causing her to awaken. His death itself wasn't particularly a topic that bothered her; it was the circumstances surrounding it that did. The eerie chaos and state of affairs that the place of his death had been, at his hand, in his last moments of insanity was the real cause behind her unrest. In particular, some of the warped images of demons he practically scratched into the walls with pen... or whatever it was he used. She didn't believe in such ridiculous things, but those images made her wonder sometimes.
Dorothy was curled up at her feet on the bed with her. She had been the only long-lasting companion Liz had. The only one she trusted, loved, understood. She was a psychologist, sure, but she was far from understanding people all the same. The feline stirred as Liz got up and went to her window. She could see in the distance, lights, a ferris wheel. She had never really been one for carnivals, but maybe it would be enough to take her mind off the nightmares. She dressed in some simple demin jeans, a blouse, and sneakers, then put on Dorothy's harness and leash.
Most cats were uncooperative and didn't like harnesses or going on walks, but she had started walking her baby at a young age and so now she had grown accustomed to it. It was nice because as long as she were allowed to have her cat with her (and she wouldn't see why not, some people take their pet dogs to carnivals), she knew she'd be in pleasant company. She wasn't alone with her around. So together, Liz and Dorothy made their way to the Carnival, unaware of what would await them there.
Any Other Details We Should Know - I'M FINALLY DONE WITH THIS. HOW LONG DID IT TAKE? Also, she will be bringing her cat Dorothy, as long as that's cool. I hearrrrd it is. :>