Post by Archibald Edwin Slight on Mar 13, 2012 1:18:09 GMT -5
ARCHIBALD EDWIN SLIGHT
FULL NAME: Archibald Edwin Slight (careful, he's touchy about his name!)
NICK NAME: Slight, Sly, Slightly, Arch
AGE: 20
COMMUNITY SUPPORT: Quester (occasionally leads small raids)
ORIENTATION: Homosexual
SPIRIT AND MOVIE: Slightly from Peter Pan
FACE CLAIM: Robbie Wadge
EYE COLOR: Dark Blue
HAIR COLOR: Light Brown
HEIGHT AND WEIGHT: Tall, 6'2" and slight, a bit gangly
DESCRIPTION: Arch looks like any boy who grows too fast: tall, skinny, looks a bit under-fed and has knobby elbows and knees. His boundless energy makes him high strung and wiry; his slight physique makes it perfect for him to squeeze into tight spaces (he's rather a champion at hide-and-go-seek). His front teeth are maybe a bit too long and they poke out prominently when he smiles, and Arch smiles quire a lot. He isn't embarrassed about his flaws—in fact, he doesn't normally take the time to preen or consider his appearance, thus disregarding what others may find fault in: his messy hair, his ungainly way of moving, his high pitched and rapid-fire laugh.
Back at home, Arch had grown faster than the other boys but by no means matured at the same rate. He towered over them for the most part growing up, but around this age his peers finally caught up with him. Still, he has a couple inches on the majority, and that's enough to keep his ego swelled. With his height comes a curious way of moving, however. He grows more uncoordinated as his temper flares, his punches thrown wider, less likely to connect. And Arch can have quite a temper when it comes to personal injustices (not really so much general injustice). He can be selfish that way, and, really, that is an incredibly accurate word!
Arch has a plain sort of look about him: eyes so dark a blue as to look black in some lights, thin lips, straight jaw. His manner of dress is equally plain with his normal jeans/tee shirt combination in warm weather, a hoodie an jacket thrown over his tee in the winter. He prefers clothes that let him move freely, so "trendy" skinny jeans and canvas boat shoes are certainly out of the question. Arch wears sturdy boots to tromp around, and jeans that actually need a belt to stay put. He's not a "fashion victim" by any stretch of the imagination: he just doesn't care. There is, however, one article of clothing he steadfastly refuses to part with—his fox hoodie. It's not a style statement so much as a mark of distinction… and perhaps a bit of a security blanket. He has had this hoodie for years now, and really it's more patchwork than sweatshirt at this point. Still, he loves it and refuses to go anywhere without it, even on the muggiest of Maine days.
PERSONALITY: Arch is a primarily a selfish being, but he's not entirely aware of it. Well, it isn't that he's unaware, it's just that he's selfish about childish things. He always wants to be team captain, or first in line, or praised the most for a job well done. His childish disposition entertained his friends growing up, as back then, it was appropriate. But as he has, for the most part, not changed significantly from his elementary school mentality, Arch had to find people of the same mind or go it alone.
In a fight, Arch readily retaliates when provoked, and rarely thinks his actions through. He does not dwell on consequences even after the fact, and looks forward only to the next scuffle or adventure. Arch tends not to hold grudges unless he has been deeply wronged, and sparring is just another way to release his pent up energy. His stunted personality, arguably no purposeful fault of his own, comes out in noticeable, immature stints—from his selfishness, his short temper, and high energy. In a word, Arch is 19 year old little kid.
That's not to say, however, that Arch is completely emotionally blank. He doesn't really let things worry him and he focuses mainly on finding new and exciting ways to entertain himself (occasionally disregarding the thoughts and desires of others)—but he's not totally feeling-less. He does like making others laugh and having a good time in a group. He considers his closest friends those who wouldn't bail him out of jail—rather, they'd be sitting in the cell along side him, saying "That shit was crazy." Arch tends to make friends quickly with those with which he has things in common, but whether or not that friendship lasts depends on how much the other is willing to put up with him.
HAS BEEN IN MEMORY: 4 months
HOMETOWN: London, Ohio
FAMILY MEMBERS: Edwin Cornelius Slight, Father
Roberta Marianne Slight, Mother
HISTORY: The Slights were at the height of London society. Well. London, Ohio, anyway.
Mr. Edwin Slight made his fortune as the head of Ohio's dry cleaning empire, and Mrs. Roberta Slight grew up on the East Coast, a trust fund kid born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Together their wealth provided them a luxurious living in the historic town, affluent friends and neighbors always paying social visits with delicacy and promptness to rival the politeness of the 19th century. Though there manners and conduct may have stuck in the past, their newborn son, Archibald, certainly was not.
Archibald, as his parents made sure to always call him, grew up wearing stiff collars and dress shoes, and was told to always tread quietly in the large house and for heaven's sake not to stomp around like an elephant. His hair was always neatly combed, his slacks washed and pressed, and lord help him if there were grass stains on his designated play clothes. More often than not, when young Archibald went to play on his own, he would strip down to his boxers and undershirt before going outside, to prevent the stains that caused his mother so much grief. Because Archibald really couldn't help but be a little boy, rambunctious and energetic despite the hoops his parents made him jump through. There was something in Archibald that compelled him to adventure even when he knew, by the shrill call of his mother or the bellowing of his father, that he should behave.
He didn't mean to be bad, not really. And comparatively, Archibald wasn't as disobedient and willful as some of the other little boys his age due to his terribly strict and moneyed upbringing. Sometimes he couldn't help but seize the perfect opportunity for a prank, or play-fight with the other boys in the park. Sometimes his "bad behavior" upset his mother badly and they would leave the park early, only for Archibald to relive the day's fun in his head. Years of this continued, following him up through the private elementary school in which his parents enrolled him, then the private middle school, and finally the private high school. It was then, with so much pressure and injustice building up inside him, that Archibald Slight finally cracked.
Because, see, despite how old and distinguished-looking Archibald would get ("My," relatives would say gleefully, "how tall you are for your age, Archibald! That will help you look down on your future employees!"), his mind wouldn't keep up with his body. His relatives and parents alike were always talking about his future at his father's dry cleaning company, about how he would have a large office with a wide window, how proud he would look when he commanded his employees. They talked about his future as if Archibald were merely there to fulfill a future role--it really could have been anyone. They didn't care about Archibald himself, or his plans. They didn't even see that he was still longing for the childhood he never got, still thinking with the mentality of his child-self.
So come high school, Archibald had finally had enough. He wasn't trying to be selfish, honestly. He knew he had been fortunate his whole life, and he wasn't ungrateful... just totally incapable of behaving the way they all wanted, and saying the things they wanted him to say, and being the person they wanted him to be. Archibald simply could not live up to anyone's standards, and really, he didn't even want to.
Archibald, now going only by Arch, was not in the least ashamed of running away. In the second week of ninth grade, Arch stole away in the middle of the night, leaving no note of his reasons or where he would go. He packed only his school backpack, filling it with the few articles of clothing he owned that weren't "proper"--a couple pairs of jeans, a few tee shirts, and his most prized possession, a bright orange hoodie with fox ears on the hood. Arch didn't dare put on his boots until he was out of the house, stopping first in the kitchen to grab some food to last him until he knew where he was going, and as soon as he was out the door, he was gone.
Arch hadn't felt so free in his entire life. That night, he slept in a tree and woke up to the sunrise. He saw a family of foxes scurry out from a den not far into the woods where he stayed, and grinned when one paused and looking seemingly right into his eyes. He missed school that day, and the next, living in the small forest just outside the limits of London, and finding, to his bewilderment and delight, that he could make it just fine on his own, without ever having even camped before.
But all good things must come to an end. It wasn't long before Arch was discovered by police and returned to his fretful parents. Arch thoroughly expected to be locked in his room, grounded forever, or at least have to consult a therapist upon his return, but something worse happened. His parents ignored the situation entirely. Sure there was yelling and tears and a kiss on the cheek when he got home, but that was it. End of discussion. His parents wouldn't acknowledge the event, and made sure Arch--now again Archibald--didn't either.
Another year and another passed in the same calm, strict manner as before. Arch could feel the pressure building up worse than before, and without having a means to exercise his general immaturity, Arch was growing angrier by the minute--not to mention he kept getting these bizarre headaches out of nowhere, like something was pounding his brain, demanding to be let out. Even without this sudden and mysterious health problem, Arch was giving his parents enough to worry about with his poor grades and his poorer attitude. Arch was beginning to take less and less of his parents' controlling his future bullshit, and acting out was no longer a rare event.
Arch went rogue his senior year, barely having even passed his junior. He stopped coming to school altogether and fell in a crowd who delighted in their status as punk social outcasts. It was during this time Arch finally had a chance to discover his sexuality, which scandalized his prudish parents. But it was also during this time that Arch got into the best, most childish adventures of his life, finally fulfilling some of the anxieties he'd had over never been given a normal childhood. Even the headaches were beginning to go away.
Arch never graduated high school, which infuriated his parents. Instead, the day of what would have been his graduation, Arch received a strange letter that... Well, normal people would have been entirely skeptical of, or really shaken and disturbed by. But when Arch read the letter asking him to come to some town called Memory in Maine, he felt an odd sense of calm and a conviction to leave like he'd never felt before. That night, Arch again pulled his vanishing act--but now that he was 18, there was nothing his parents or any policeman could do to stop him.
It took Arch a little over a year to make it to Memory. He took buses, hitched rides, and when he couldn't get either, he'd walk his way to Maine. But he wasn't in any sort of hurry; Arch liked to spend a few days or weeks in the towns and woods and rivers he'd pass, having himself merry adventures and making all sorts of friends along the way. Arch never once missed leaving everything behind, and dropped even his real name. He began introducing himself only as Slight, and in this manner, Slight eventually found himself in Memory, Maine with only his backpack, a few trinkets he'd picked up over the course of his journey, and the mysterious letter that he'd read some many times now, was so worn and creased as to be nearly unreadable.
Slight has been in Memory for two months now, and has adapted to the community with an ease he didn't expect. It somehow felt like this was the sort of society he had always been meant for, and with the freedom to do as he pleases, Slight's noticed his headaches have gone away completely. He'll admit that the whole idea of hosting some Disney Spirit is more than a bit weird, but worrying's for grown-ups. And now Slight will never have to act grown-up again.
DISNEY CHARACTER: Slightly from Peter Pan
STATUS: Dormant
ABILITIES/ATTRIBUTES: Personality of Slightly becomes drastically more apparent. Can also turn into a fox (as depicted by Slightly's costume in the film) if Arch is wearing his fox hoodie.
DESCRIPTION: Slightly and Arch will not have a smooth transition when the spirit awakens--Arch, always ready to fight fight and ask questions later won't take his playing host to Slightly in stride. At first, anyway. Once the initial power struggle is over, however, the two will get along famously--what could be better than having a best friend and fellow adventure never leaving your side? The two see eye to eye on most things, except, perhaps, on the subject of human affection. Where Arch is homosexual, Slightly is repulsed by anything "grown up" and staunchly believes kisses have cooties. Slightly, however, gets little say in this matter (being that Arch is so graciously giving him a body to possess in the first place).
Slightly is the adventuring sort and when fully possessing Arch, makes his whims more kid-friendly... Well if kidnapping Princess Tigerlily, torturing pirates, and stealing anyone's "treasure" is kid-friendly. There is a devious, wicked little side to Slightly that shines brighter than when Arch takes the reigns. Still, Slightly's a good kid, if a bit cocky and a thrill-seeker by any means.
Because Slightly wears a fox costume and has a generally fox-like person in the film, this version of the Disney Spirit allows Arch to turn into a quick little fox. To do so, Arch must don his characteristic fox hoodie and slip the hood low over his eyes. This additional ability, though not originally part of Slightly's character, allows Arch/Slightly to take their adventures to a whole new level.
YOUR NAME: Rin
YOUR AGE: 20
YOUR RP EXPERIENCE: 10 years
YOUR SAMPLE: Simple today. Relaxed. George for once in what felt like too long a while had nothing on his plate - nothing immediate, pressing. After a busy summer and hectic settling back in, George finally felt like he had room to breathe. Take a moment to get a way from the day tripping head spin of it all and fill his lungs with thick city air. Peace and quiet and a chance at solitude, a chance to be away from his band mates, clear his head, and just -- oh sod it, like he was going to relax.
He found himself, before long, tramping his way towards the Kenwood door, guitar slung over his shoulder in a manner to which he was nearly no longer accustomed -- when was the last time he had to really carry his own instrument? He'd admit it was nice to have his guitar about his person again, evident in the slight quirk of one of the corners of his mouth, a sort of smile. "Hmph," he laughed to himself, smacking the body of the guitar with the flat of his hand just to hear the strings reverberate. Oh, naturally. Out of tune.
George resolved to tune the thing inside, though, as he stuck out his index knuckle to rap four times on the door. "John, you 'ome?" he sort of shouted, peering unabashedly into the windows for signs of movement. When there were none immediately, George took this as his rightful cue to go in anyway. "I'm comin' in," he announced halfway over the thresh hold, added "Still comin' in," as he wiped his feet on the inside mat, and, closing the door behind him, finished with "In."
Still nothing. Well, that was fine, too. As he'd ruminated before, it wasn't as if he had a million things to do today, though as he kicked off his shoes at the door and made a beeline for the tea kettle, he's hazard a guess that before long he'd miss the rush and excitement, the girls screaming so loud it didn't matter what they played. The gentle thud of his guitar against the wall as he propped it up only reminded him of how decidedly not hectic the last few weeks have been. George paused, looking at how small his guitar looked, leaning crookedly as it was against the wall, sad and out of tune. He reached for it slowly, fingers stretching towards the bridge...
"I'm makin' tea," he called abruptly, to anyone who might be listening. The moment had passed when his stomach rumbled, bringing him back to real life. "Fuck all, John," he muttered to himself as he peeked and peered into cupboards, looking for a hidden biscuit or two. "Prob'ly forgot I said I'd pop in today," George continued to mutter to himself, complicated now, however, by the shortbread in his mouth (found behind the coffee tin). Ah well. It was only midday and John'd be round eventually to mischiefize the brain-pressuring, mind-numbing, blasted peace. George may very well be a more subdued man himself, but that didn't mean he didn't crave the antics of the others. Especially since Pattie was away -- her muse possessed her, she'd said, and she'd be out of town for the weekend taking photographs and no she wouldn't be back any earlier and no he couldn't come with her.
His mind continued to drift down this path as he filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove, biscuit caught between his teeth, bare toes tapping to the beat of "I Need You," head shaking to get the fringe out of his eyes. He set the kettle on the burner and fished out a teabag from the array of blends Cynthia kept in the cupboard by the spoons. Incredibly handy, that. George turned his back then to lean against the counter top, hands on either side of him bracing the ledge, ankles crossed as he waited for the kettle and hummed the tune stuck in his head. "You don't realize how much I need you... Love you all the time and never leave you... Please come on back to me, I'm lonely as can be. I need- JOHN," he replaced with John's name, singing the syllable loudly instead humming. Though he was pretty sure at this point the house was empty.
