App Post
Character: Riffael Raffit
Series: Cain Saga/Godchild
Character Age: 28
Job: Head of Rent-A-Butler's Camp Fuck You Die Branch
Canon: Cain's a young earl with a passion for poisons and dying women. Riff's a medical student who became a butler when his family died in a fire. Together, they fight crime! (Read as: solve horrific mysteries often involving incest, underage sex, and evisceration.)
Despite his youth and lack of formal training, Riffael Raffit (called Riff) became head butler in no time at all due to being the only servant to befriend young Cain. Riff is kind to a fault; before Cain gave him a reason to live again (cue d'awwwws), he attempted to commit suicide because he blamed himself for his family's death. He is mild, professional, and helpful; he will offer his assistance to anyone in need, and he's quite good with children--after all, he put himself through medical school by teaching children how to box! Despite this kindly persona, though, Riff is just as capable of displaying a much darker side, one that is disturbingly emotionless about killing. After all, anyone who endangers his lord is a threat. . . even his own fiancee.
Note: Riff is being apped post-Volume 8.
Sample Post:
Good evening, lords, ladies, and sirs of dubious gender identity. My name is Riffael Raffit, and I am here to fulfill all your buttling needs. I hasten to assure you, as there was some misunderstanding earlier with a lady who had quite grabby fingers that stayed even when the rest of her hand did not, that to buttle is to serve and not to offer one's posterior for inappropriate touching. Nor, I might add, do we serve in the nude, no matter how much of a tip is offered. While it is correct that a butler's motto is to not be heard, we are not to be seen. . . quite that much of. In fact, it would be better if we were neither heard nor seen.
As for my own specialties, I have some experience in valet work, such as assisting with my lord's clothing. In fact, the first thing I did upon my arrival here was to familiarize myself with the laundry machines. I understand they are some sort of new technology, but I am rather curious as to what sort of madman would create such a device to have teeth. Not only do they have teeth, but their bite is just as bad as their bark. Luckily, I was able to subdue the savage machine and rescue the towels from the gaping maw of death, fresh-smelling and well bleached. Thank goodness that the Lady Director's detergent is as good at bloodstain removal as ours back home, despite the rather ominous label on the front. And the green hue the towels now have is rather. . . pretty. In a sickly, rotting way.
I also have some catering experience; although my lord is not fond of hosting large dinner parties, some of the local zombies are. I was honored to oversee their annual Head, Shoulders, Knees, then Toes feast. Despite the perversity of such cannibalism, a butler does have his duties. I am no master of such rituals; what order do the utensils go in if the meal is to be consumed without use of them? Nonetheless, I will be doing my best. It may be a recommendation to my services that I was offered a taste of the eyes, though I did decline. I am just a butler; it is not my place to take part in something like that. And I certainly have no desire to.
Needless to say, I do hope that you, human and demon and undead campers all, will be less tactless in the use of my services. Rent-a-Butler is here to service you, but a man does have his limits, after all. Upon fulfilling my duties, the zombies decided that I, too, would make a delicious meal, and I was forced to defend myself. A butler, after all, must not be helpless, and I do carry around a handkerchief for emergencies such as these. It simply would not do to serve drinks with bloody hands, no matter how varied the diet here.
Voting!
Series: Cain Saga/Godchild
Character Age: 28
Job: Head of Rent-A-Butler's Camp Fuck You Die Branch
Canon: Cain's a young earl with a passion for poisons and dying women. Riff's a medical student who became a butler when his family died in a fire. Together, they fight crime! (Read as: solve horrific mysteries often involving incest, underage sex, and evisceration.)
Despite his youth and lack of formal training, Riffael Raffit (called Riff) became head butler in no time at all due to being the only servant to befriend young Cain. Riff is kind to a fault; before Cain gave him a reason to live again (cue d'awwwws), he attempted to commit suicide because he blamed himself for his family's death. He is mild, professional, and helpful; he will offer his assistance to anyone in need, and he's quite good with children--after all, he put himself through medical school by teaching children how to box! Despite this kindly persona, though, Riff is just as capable of displaying a much darker side, one that is disturbingly emotionless about killing. After all, anyone who endangers his lord is a threat. . . even his own fiancee.
Note: Riff is being apped post-Volume 8.
Sample Post:
Good evening, lords, ladies, and sirs of dubious gender identity. My name is Riffael Raffit, and I am here to fulfill all your buttling needs. I hasten to assure you, as there was some misunderstanding earlier with a lady who had quite grabby fingers that stayed even when the rest of her hand did not, that to buttle is to serve and not to offer one's posterior for inappropriate touching. Nor, I might add, do we serve in the nude, no matter how much of a tip is offered. While it is correct that a butler's motto is to not be heard, we are not to be seen. . . quite that much of. In fact, it would be better if we were neither heard nor seen.
As for my own specialties, I have some experience in valet work, such as assisting with my lord's clothing. In fact, the first thing I did upon my arrival here was to familiarize myself with the laundry machines. I understand they are some sort of new technology, but I am rather curious as to what sort of madman would create such a device to have teeth. Not only do they have teeth, but their bite is just as bad as their bark. Luckily, I was able to subdue the savage machine and rescue the towels from the gaping maw of death, fresh-smelling and well bleached. Thank goodness that the Lady Director's detergent is as good at bloodstain removal as ours back home, despite the rather ominous label on the front. And the green hue the towels now have is rather. . . pretty. In a sickly, rotting way.
I also have some catering experience; although my lord is not fond of hosting large dinner parties, some of the local zombies are. I was honored to oversee their annual Head, Shoulders, Knees, then Toes feast. Despite the perversity of such cannibalism, a butler does have his duties. I am no master of such rituals; what order do the utensils go in if the meal is to be consumed without use of them? Nonetheless, I will be doing my best. It may be a recommendation to my services that I was offered a taste of the eyes, though I did decline. I am just a butler; it is not my place to take part in something like that. And I certainly have no desire to.
Needless to say, I do hope that you, human and demon and undead campers all, will be less tactless in the use of my services. Rent-a-Butler is here to service you, but a man does have his limits, after all. Upon fulfilling my duties, the zombies decided that I, too, would make a delicious meal, and I was forced to defend myself. A butler, after all, must not be helpless, and I do carry around a handkerchief for emergencies such as these. It simply would not do to serve drinks with bloody hands, no matter how varied the diet here.
Voting!