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// A forenote: I have not included "possible Positions or jobs you'd like your Empyrean to someday hold... " because I do not wish to decide the fate of my Empyrean in this respect before she has had placed upon her the influences brought about by her education in the white district.
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CONTENTS:
1.1 Thimble, a Choleric Kinesthetic. - - -
1.2 Getting to know Thimble - - -
1.3 A curious thing of note - - -
1.4 A look into the scrying glass - - -
1.5 Thimble wakes - - -
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1.1 Thimble, a Choleric Kinesthetic. - - -
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// I know it was requested specifically that no art be drawn beforehand of the quested Empyrean, but when it comes to physical descriptions. I find words agitatingly lacking: how would I describe the shade of green that is her hair, for example? Like the inner flesh of a cucumber? But with a bit more yellow? I feel much a lame duck. In a roleplay, I can forsake accuracy in the knowledge that I have an image as backup, but in the construction of the desired image to serve as said backup, it calls for a little more care. Thus, I have drawn an incredibly rough picture (
incredibly rough, focusing most-only on colours, and placement of the Choleric sign. I've overlooked a lot of other things *like her freckles*), and humbly request that even if such facets as clothes and hairstyle are ignored (indeed, I would probably beg for my crude clothing design to be ignored, pales as it does in comparison against the impressive wardrobe clothing other Empyreans) that colours be noted. They have been carefully picked from the Choleric colour wheel, and I have attempted to avoid replicating the colour scheme of other already established Cholerics. Of course, I understand if I'm completely ignored on this point :3 Feel free to thrash me for my impudence
scream For some people, appearance is as straightforward as a photograph; a simple outer husk; a mere question of visibility; of rendering form with the eye and analysing it forthright. For Thimble, there is something more dynamic about her, a vibrancy of life that cannot be adequately captured in any
one moment in time. A fluid entity that is more recognisable for its change and movement than its fundamental nature. It is the gifted photographer that can catch time, it is the gifted photographer that can catch Thimble.
And so, to describe Thimble, rather than churn out a list of colours and lengths, as though critiquing different styles of cloth at a store, there must instead be construed a chance meeting, a few fabricated moments in time, in which can be carved a moving image, the essence of Thimble's physical self. It is only this way that Thimble could be considered real, something more than a stuffed doll in her likeness. It is only this way that Thimble can be known, even though she has not so much uttered a word.
She stood. Still as stone, her right hand limp at her side and her left crossed against her chest and clutching at her shoulder. Her head was cast back slightly, so that her hair, normally possessive of the curves of her face, felt stronger the call of gravity and hung awkwardly in the direction of its beckoning, like bungee jumpers who've lost their bounce and are forced to wait, suspended in the air, until the natural way of things are restored. Her eyes were similarly adrift, the kind of eyes that, though open, did not truly see anything. They betrayed something deeper about her stonely standing self, in that they seemed lost; she seemed lost to the world around her, immersed so deeply in her environment that the small portion of herself, that concentrated lump of being pressed on all sides by its surroundings, had not the power to shift the vastness. And so she stood without so much as a twitching muscle, strangely intense and yet... contradictorarily... strangely dispersed, with her head cast slightly back and her eyes far-seeing yet vacant.
It was difficult to tell that she was a she. There was something androgenous about her, something that refused to conform to the general notion of what being a 'she' entails. Something that seemed to stretch beyond sheer physical pointers; her flat chest, her cropped hair, her broad shoulders, for there was something decidedly feminine in the sleekness of her face, and the slight curve to her hips. She seemed almost a chimera of genders, both he and she and neither, a strange beast at odds with the rest of the race of beasts. And still she stood.
There was something reptilian about her skin, perhaps it was the colour; green as a turtle, riding through currents in deep-ocean, perhaps it was the dryness of it, the kind that is normally righted with a plethora of products, that threatened to break out in scale-like patterns, although never quite carrying through with its malicious promise. Perhaps too there was something reptilian in the light dusting of freckles across the mid-portion of her face, darker coloured blemishes that rode across her nose and cheeks, although it would stretch the mind to rationalise how they reminisced of lizard-kin. And still, she stood.
Let it be said that you moved, unable to parallel her strange stillness. Perhaps it was the sight of movement, caught in the corner of her eyes, or perhaps ithe sound of it; of rustling fabrics, of shifting weight pressing into earth and bracken, that caught her attention, pulled it from whatever distant (or immediate) lands she was visiting. With slow deliberation, like bending a bough threatening to break at any sudden stress, she nestled her chin down into her shoulder, and then in one fluid motion, like releasing said bough and watching it whip out in a shower of loosely-secured leaves, she swung her head to face you, head on, both eyes sharply focused, piercing in a gaze far removed from the one that prior trawled the heavans.
Before you can flinch, start at the intensity of her attention, she swung, first her shoulders, then her hips, to follow the turnings of her head. As she did so she dropped her upraised arm, revealing on her shoulder the Choleric symbol, tattooed boldly with the darkest of inks. In each of her actions was a fluidity, as though regardless of the destination of each of the parts, it was vital they did not transcend space to arrive there. She rocked slightly in the momentum of her turn, and then took a step forward, her face breaking into an amiable grin that softened immensely the ferocity of her focus. Bringing her right forearm up to serve as a mid-air rest for the elbow of her left arm, the entire set up looking from the front like a box-like 'U', she splayed her fingers in greeting, before swinging in energetic step to turn in her her heel, addressing you now with her back, rocking again to the echoes of momentum, losing herself once more to the enormity of her surroundings..
In her dressage, it seemed she treasured practicality above fashion. Indeed, to question her as such would prompt another easy grin, you were sure, one that would be shared shyly over her shoulder.
"I don't like having my movements suffocated." She would begin chattily, you can almost hear it, even though she had offered no voiced greeting. "Dresses and skirts seem only to tangle my legs" she would illustrate her words with an odd sway, as though mimicking the swish of loose fabric, for all she didn't wear any. "But just because I like to wear smart, doesn't mean I can't wear pretty, hey?" She would finish, throwing her arms out and making a satisfied slow twirl, as though to expose every facet of her chosen garb, ending it with a small flourish and another good-humoured grin. It seemed so clear, so obvious, that she would respond this way. She seemed to inspire familiarity, as though you have already shared a lifetime, when, in reality, you had only shared a few, fleeting moments.
Strange, strange creature as she is.
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1.2 Getting to know Thimble - - -
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"A whole is always made from parts"
If such a statement could be considered a life philosophy, then it is the governing policy of Thimble's life. 'Loneliness' is thus an illusion, for nothing is ever alone, being ever part of something bigger, or containing within it something smaller. Like single threads interweaving to form a tapestry, Thimble believes that every Empyrean contributes to the 'bigger picture' of the world around them, has something to offer that is unique to them as beings consisting of a lifetime of experiences that are replicated in no other instance. As with the threads in the tapestry, Thimble believes it is only through co operation that we can build something truly beautiful, that in a team an individual's strength can cover another's shortfalling, and by working together, like fibres in a rope, we can harvest a collective strength that far surpasses the singular power of any one of its contributing individuals. Thimble takes a fierce pride in her Choleric background, seeing it as an embodiment of her ideals, and no matter what she is wearing, she will expose the Sampi Ouroboros tattoo on her right shoulder, and can often be seen touching it when she is thinking carefully over some decision or other, or in a moment of doubt or anxiety.
Thimble is inherently an optimist, believing that every aspect of a thing has purpose or worth (even if it may be a bit trying at times to recognise or find), and it annoys her beyond all else when people lie or cover up things about themselves in the fear that it is somehow not acceptable, or a form of weakness, believing that it is something that exists regardless of how you pretend otherwise, and may cause injury if not accounted for, injury that could have easily been avoided if it had been factored into the group dynamics; covered by another. While she understands and respects the reluctance to confide, it frustrates her, believing it to be many baseless worries: "We are all flawed creatures, there is no shame in that. If you feel vulnerable for hux, then let me be your shield"
As Thimble despises secrecy and deception, so she holds none (and sees no reason for otherwise) herself. She has brazen self assertion, holding no modesty or hesitancy to matters regarding her capabilities or nature. That is not to say she is arrogant, ever mindful of her limits and aware of what others may offer (she knows she can only do so much, and she tries to embrace this, rather than turn bitter for it), but her blunt intensity can be a bit difficult for some to cope with, especially when questioning principles, (like the reasoning behind certain forms of etiquette, or other things taken 'as is') and her attitude, whilst well-meaning, has made her enemies enough. But as Thimble thinks it; "We cannot please everyone, no matter who we pretend to be, hey? If I'm to take a hit, better that be for something genuine, hey?"
Thimble is a keen learner, but sometimes her attention can't keep up with her enthusiasm. She has no problem 'learning with her hands', and has a knack to picking things up quickly, but when it comes to long stretches of pure text, or the tiresome drone of constant voice, her focus can lapse and the words can become almost meaningless. She gives jealous regard to the bookworms of the world, who can get absorbed in hefty volume after hefty volume without breaking pace, but doesn't see herself ever holding such a skill. Regardless, most classes hold the opportunity to, or encourage, note taking, and this is something Thimble can do--with great relish at that. She is an avid notetaker, and far from being dull dotpoint jottings, there is something lively and animated about her notes, and it isn't unusual to see doodles illustrating or emphasisng key points. These doodles, however, are not anything that turns heads: Thimble isn't much of an artist in that respect. She does, however, love crafts that work with her hands, and has a particular fondness for moulding clay. She has a small collection of clay animals she has sculpted, which she periodically adds to, and detracts from; taking away the older pieces and leaving them somewhere outdoors (a so-called retirement to the wild, after their dedicated services as showpieces) for the elements to toy with or any interested third party to pick up. It is not unusual to see small clay faces peeking out at you from wedges of a branch, or in the darkness of a small alcove.
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1.3 A curious thing of note - - -
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Thimble holds many quirks, but perhaps the oddest of these is her incomprehension regarding genders. She knows that it is a difference, yes, but she doesn't understand why it is such a critically
defining one; that, in the understanding of the person whom it describes, it somehow offers more insight or information than describing some other feature, such as hair colour, or appendages such as horns. She can understand it as a breeder's concept, as it applies to animal husbandry, but, naturally, she doesn't link this with Empyreans, since they do not have an equivalent.
Thimble often has trouble distinguishing between the genders, particularly when it comes to faces, or young persons. Perhaps as a result of this, and her general apathy regarding gender significance (not feeling the need or urge to separate Empyreans in such a way), she has developed and uses, unthinkingly, a set of gender-neutral pronouns, whereby 'hep' replaces he/she/it, 'hux' replaces him/her/it and 'han' replaces his/her/its.
So the statement
"She gave him back his books because he asked her to"
Would be said by Thimble as:
"Hep gave hux back han books because hep asked hux to"
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1.4 A look into the scrying glass - - -
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Some of the following additions (or combination of) may require the Dreaming Pool. or may not be achievable. At this point the list is simply a stage of reference. Subject to change or the crushing blow of can’t-do. :3
Stage 1 Caprian Eyes - 400g. Horizontal rectangular pupils with a full iris and no whites, like a goat
Caprian Ears - 200g. Goat-like ears, slightly elongated and fuzzy.
Felis Stud Horns - 200g. A small pair of studs on either the temples or the left and right side of the brow.
Canine Tail - 800g. A curly husky, fox-like or retriever-like tail. ((Husky tail, so curly and waggable!))
Felis Claws - 200g. Adds small dog-like claws to te tips of each finger.
Total: 1800g
Stage 2 Demonic Eyes - 400g. Change the colour of one eye to a different colour. Specify which eye and which colour. ((right eye, a kind of amber or red-honey colour ?? If possibble to addition with Caprian Eyes, which I guess would make her eyes otherwise yellow.))
Draconic Muzzle Western - 800g. A western style dragon muzzle with raised scales and small spikes.
Caprian Crown - 1000g. a pair of goat horns that sweep back over the temples and curl inward slightly. If upgrading from Felis Stud Horns, price 800g ((would upgrade from stud horns. Since would make more sense placement wise. *notthatitmakesadifferencepricewise* ... if double horn sets are possible.))
Caprian Ram Horns - 1200g. Curved Ram-like textured horns on the sides of the Empyrean's head. Can be upgraded from Felis Stud Horns (that were placed on the temple) for 1000g.
Aqueous Shoulders - 1000g. A set of soft or spined fins sprouts from the shoulders. ((Soft. If possible doubled, ie two on each shoulder, set one under the other))
Draconic Arms Eastern - 600g. The arms are smoothly scaled with furred tufts coming off the elbows.
Caprian Legs - 800g. The legs become those of a satyr.
Total: 5600g
Stage 3Caprian Face - 400g/800g. 400 for a short, well trimmed beard, including goatees, short beards, soul patches and other stylish facial hair. 800 for long, shaggy or spikey beards. ((Like a Unicorn beard. That's right, a girl with a beard, to all you prejudiced, I say baah!))
Felis Tribal Markings - 4000g. Either jagged or swirling facial markings on the locations of the face as specified, select colour. ((Swirled))
Total: 4400/4800 (?)
Unlisted additions to be quested for …Felis Tribal Markings => Arms only
Echidna back quills
Inverted tails ((Hopefully to be implemented at same stage as quills... to have the husky curl going the other way... aka away from the spines))
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1.5 Thimble wakes - - -
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For a moment, Thimble didn't know where she was.
Drawing her knees together and locking her arms under them tersely, her frame hunched over them in a partially-seated semi-foetal coil, Thimble stared at the room about her. Her bedsheets lay crumpled around her waist, disturbed through dreams and the escape from them. They were the most chaotic sight in the room which, far from being the unnervingly hotel-primped Room of Cleanliness, at least satisfied most of the conditions to being 'neat'. A mild feeling of panic bumped around her rib cage as her gaze flicked over furniture and furnishings, all seeming so foreign.
Gradually though, like eyes adjusting to a darkened room, her vision began to pick out the feeling of familiarity, and the comfort it brought soothed her. Reassured by her recognition, Thimble relaxed, and fell back onto her bed. Regarding the ceiling with the absent mindedness prominent in post-doze mentality, she idly wondered if there was something she should be doing. Rolling her head to the side, she caught sight of a half open notebook on her bedside table, full of lines and scribbles and highlights in colour---her schedule. s**t! She had class!
Thimble lurched out of bed, but her sheets had wrapped themselves around her ankles during the turnings of sleep and she fell heavily to the ground. Cussing through the manner of nonsensical phrases, Thimble scrabbled at her sheets lamely then slithered from their entangling embrace. Breathing a little more heavily than normal, she kicked her way around the room, grabbing clothes and books and toiletries, half-tripping as she attempted to multitask such things as dressing up and combing her hair.
It didn't occur to her to check the time until after she had prepared herself for the day, and the consensus of so doing so was that she needn't have rushed at all. Oh well. Thimble patted herself down in a final press of grooming vanity, then left the room, closing the door behind her with a smart click.
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