My name is Jade. I have just woken from a restful nap, and as usual, I have no recollection of having fallen asleep. I have quite a number of interests. So many in fact, I have trouble keeping track of them all, even with an assortment of colorful reminders on my fingers to help my sort out everything on my mind. Nevertheless, when I spend time in my Garden Atrium, the only thing on my mind is my deep passion for horticulture.
I tend to have a lot of things on my mind at once, and I can be a little forgetful. So I keep a variety of colored strings on my fingers as reminders. Each one means there is something different to remember at a certain time.
I am an avid follower of cartoon shows of considerable nostalgic appeal. I have a profound zeal for marvelous and fantastical fauna of an anthropological persuasion. I have an uncanny knack for nuclear physics, and not infrequently can be found dabbling in rather advanced gadgetry. I enjoy sporadic fits of narcolepsy; my love of gardening transcends the glass confines of my atrium; and I am at times prone to patterns of precognitive prognostication.
Additional telltale signs of my enthusiasm for nostalgic television mingle with my assortment of game hunting firearms. I am a skilled markswoman, though my cross-hairs would never settle on an innocent creature, anthropomorphically persuaded or otherwise.
My worktable is littered with equipment to facilitate my tinkering. For me, experimentation is not a particularly exact science, and I lean heavily on sharp intuition for consistently and eerily optimal results. Nevertheless, I have still not been able to get that broad, flat gizmo there to work, which is a design you have borrowed from one of my Grandpa's more mysterious inventions.
I are a great admirer of his, and I am not alone. My grandfather is a world renowned explorer-naturalist-treasure hunter-archeologist-scientist-adventurer-big game hunter-billionare extraordinaire. He has taught me everything I know.
But in spite of all his lessons, it is still difficult to escape his stern lectures when I am on the way out of the house to run my errands. He spends most of his time in the Grand Foyer, stewing in his own intensity and charisma.
My pet and best friend is named Becquerel. This animal must be fed and he will not be happy if he is not. And if he is not happy then I will not be happy.
A rather imposing volcano looms over my house, which has been inactive for centuries.
Though dormant on the surface, the volcanic activity deep underground provides my house with a source of geothermal power. I am not sure why my grandfather decided to draw from this source of energy when he had the unlimited power of the atom at his disposal. But it has been this way for as long as I can remember.
I have chalked it up to my family's longstanding propensity for eclectic fursuits wait I mean pursuits.