Post by wick on Dec 8, 2011 19:47:55 GMT -5
Rider Application
Name: F'nelf
previously Finelflen
Age: 24 turns
Gender: male
Sexuality: heterosexual
Rank: Rider
Location: South Run Weyr
Appearance:
One thing in particular about F'nelf is that he doesn't mean to consistently look tired or taxed of energy, but he does. He has the habit of looking like he's missing a few days of sleep even if he slumbered without fits the night before. It's caused by a multitude of things, but most particularly his sunken eyes. The brown things have deep hollows around them, almost permanently causing bags to develop beneath. Under expressive eyebrows, F'nelf's emotions are constantly on display, whether he'd like them to be or not. An equally expressive mouth neatly pairs off the whole look, his teeth, a bit crooked, a bit chipped here and there (especially that front right one); neatly flash in shark-like smiles all too often. His features are marked by a strong jaw line, a tall forehead, and ears which seem to be pinned back to his head (which he's highly thankful for, the things would look ungodly large if they stuck out). His hair is thick, unruly, and dark. When it's grown out at all it often adds to the volume side of things instead of weighing it down, and sticks out, twisting into messy curls that he has absolutely no control over.
He is, all in all, composed of harsh angles and identifiable lines. His body is built in such a way that it's packed tightly with sardine like muscles (flat thing things squished so tight they could pass for being the silvery, stinky fish crammed into tins) jammed into the crevices of his ribcage. The tendons of his neck cut to his collarbones, each line of his body is bold and precise. His dark skin stretches tightly over his rounded, protruding joints and expanses of flat planes. F'nelf notably looks like some sort of street urchin, which isn't too far, really. He effortlessly seems to constantly covered in a layer of dirt--not because he suffers from hygiene, but because of his constant activity outdoors. In fact, F'nelf is rather compulsive about his cleanliness, as can be seen from his meticulously kept nails and cuticles. They're always trimmed to the edge of his fingertips, and rarely is there any dirt trapped beneath (he spends long enough carefully digging them out with anything he can get his hands on if he manages to spot any filth).
As for clothing, F'nelf isn't picky. He prefers things he doesn't have to worry about keeping clean. Things already stained have survived some sort of work, and they'll do just fine. Clean clothes are a bother. You have to be careful in them, because once you put that first stain in that's all you can imagine, or so F'nelf thinks. He prefers things that he can move in, be it tight to keep the body from any unwanted shuffling of fabric, or loose for comfort and breathability. Anything extra is too much, he'd only loose rings or jewels, and keeping them bright and gleaming would serve as too much of a distraction.
Personality:
One term to sum up F'nelf adequately would be SNAFU; situation normal, all f'ed up. With all of his odd tendencies, people tend to think he has some sort of issue or some tragedy he's dealing with, but give it some time and they'll soon learn that F'nelf is just that way. He has a peculiar sense of humor that's seen sometimes as grim or inappropriate. Awkward situations tend to roll off of his shoulders as if they didn't even happen in the first place. His speech is almost (almost, he has a bit of a drawl to it) monotone, which again seems to give off the impression that he's cold, or uncaring, but again it's the exact opposite. The 'rider is friendly, exhibiting zero molecules of being intimidated by new people or strangers. He tends to dive headfirst into relations with other people, striking up a full-fledged conversation out of nowhere, which again, kind of awkward to someone who might go about meeting people in a different manner.
F'nelf isn't private about any aspect of his life, ask him a question and he'll answer as honest and as complete as he could. He has a habit of rambling when he speaks, interjecting random facts and bits of information that come out of left field. He is, above everything, strange--but it nearly is charming. His deliverance of things always seems to end on a sarcastic, subtly cynical note. He is, actually, quite cynical (he claims to be a realist over a cynic) when it comes to everything, everything except the beliefs of others. He wishes nothing more for the people around him to be optimistic, and to stay that way rather than falling into the cynicism he wades in. He's a bit of a puzzle, he's someone who extrudes all forms of being dark and dreary externally, but will do all he could to preserve the innocence of others, and still claims to be a cynic/realist.
Yes, he can seem a bit dry at times. He makes up for it with the offhand comments he manages to choke out that brighten the area around them. Aside from the strange portion of him, there is a hardworking and dedicated man. He puts everything into his work, including whatever bit of shriveled heart he might have left hanging by piano wires in that rattled ribcage of his. While F'nelf might not seem too interested in relationships, he is heavily dependent on camaraderie. True, his last almost-weyrmate had betweened, and since then he's been a bit more odd than usual, but the quirkiness looks to be like a step in the right directions. For once, F'nelf has been more open and friendly since the death, instead of being racked by grief. Here's the secret to it; he isn't bothered by deaths because he relishes in knowing that those close to him didn't die alone. He was always there, always near, never letting them slip away without a hand to hold. If he is aware that they went out knowing they were loved, well then, he has nothing to grieve over.
Again, yes, it's bizarre and off-color, much like all of F'nelf. His temper is something to behold, mainly because it doesn't seem to have a fuse at all. He doesn't become angry when people snap and bark and scream and yell, instead he reacts as calm and composed as ever, in his languid, lazy type of manner. The only thing that has bothered him in the past is the idea of people giving up. If someone breaks, giving in to hopelessness and all of that, F'nelf is the one who suddenly finds himself with ruffled feathers, bothered by the whole idea. It's centered on his notion that he really doesn't think anyone should cheat themselves, that they deserve more of life. However, don't take that as a sign that F'nelf is in any way miserable about his current condition, he finds himself perfectly fit and wouldn't have it any other way, he just doesn't want to see someone who starts off as shiny and bubbly fall to someone a bit off-kilter as he is.
F'nelf is composed, concentrated, and efficient in his work, he just seems to have a bit of a muddled cloud around him that puts people on edge--which he thinks is brilliant, by all means. Catching people in awkward moments shows their true colors, they can't really fake anything if they're too awkward to focus on doing so. Perhaps that is why F'nelf is the way he is, he isn't pretending to be the hero, dashing into action and talking of his battles won, he is someone who'll sit back, watch, and honestly answer things, even if that happens to be too gruesome for some people to handle. Another perk of his personality is that he can fabricate elaborate tales and spit them out as if they're true. He manages to have a different story on the spot each time, even if it's regarding the same question.
Family:
Farnellen; father, 48 turns
Syndenf; mother, 50 turns
Background:
There was nothing all too grand about F'nelf's childhood, aside from the fact that he was called Finelflen. It was a tragedy of a name, and really his parents must've spent a long time concocting something absolutely dreadful to have mismatched together that name. Fin was what he went by, or that's what he liked to have gone by outside of hearing distance from his parents. Both Farnellen and Syndenf were accustomed to being proper. They were no Lord Holders, but they had a good handful of extra marks to spend during the turn. Fin had no grueling childhood, he didn't scrap for food or hand-sew his garments together. He had the luxury of being in a family who knew how to handle their money. It's the Bitran blood. His mother had been from there, from Bitra, and grew up a Harper who was well with numbers. It seemed only fair that the man she married would be good with them too, granted he was located in Southern Boll. It wasn't so much a marriage of love rather than a business decision--all of this didn't bother Fin one bit.
He was a devilishly curious thing as a child, and experimented vastly in the sorts of crafts that his parents both pushed him in. He sparked some interest in each, toyed about with the idea of it, but soon enough, again and again, he would grow bored and that flame of intrigue would falter and diminish. It was a frustrating task for the parents, who sincerely just wanted the boy to succeed. Crafting, apparently, was never on Fin's agenda. Sure, he learned how to read and write, and it's been commented that his writing is neat enough for an Archivist, but Fin never took the bait. Writing records? How was that supposed to be stimulating? Perhaps it was due to the very business-like behavior of his family that he grew up a little too fast. At the ripe age of fifteen he already acted jaded enough to be double that, and seemed to constantly bicker with his family.
The next stage of his life posed itself as a very surprising question. 'Come to the Weyr?' He had wandered out into the open of the Hold, watching, amused, as the dragonrider answered as many questions as he could while the blue he was riding seemed to scan over the batch of hopeful Holdfolk. Dragonriding was never something he really put all that much thought into. His parents had mentioned the tales of dragonriders once or twice while he was a child, but 'Thread was gone.' They had assured him of it again and again. So, what use would it be to be a dragonrider with no purpose? He never had to face his own question until the bluerider had strode up to him and explained that the dragon (shards, it was looking right at him now) said he was suitable for the Weyr.
It was an impulsive decision that made him agree to it. That, and it would probably get a rise out of his parents.
Sure enough the two of them had sent furious messages to the boy, who only shrugged it off. Igen was interesting, Weyrlife was interesting, and it was all so new. His fascination and curiosity couldn't be as quenched as easily as it did for the various Crafts, there was always those dragons to think of. Fin didn't understand them, and he wanted to. Time as a candidate, for him, was long. He spent turns watching and waiting, and shards, he was almost nearing the age of being too old to remain a candidate when his time came. The clutch was small at Igen, but Fin found himself one of the lucky few. The green Eimheth found Fin easily enough, and without protest the boy found himself almost, ah, enraptured. Impression wasn't something he knew anything about, and it would be playing it down to say that it floored him. Eimheth was a demanding young thing, at least as demanding as all hatchlings are.
The time spent doing not much else besides feeding the green, oiling the green and watching the green sleep. Some of the other weyrlings spoke about the rumors involving Thread. So many had already assumed that it was gone, that nothing much could be said on the matter, but that bright red star in the skies spoke differently. It wasn't long before some rumors started cropping up about finding something else, something new, and it was compromised of those who did still believe in Thread. F'nelf didn't know if he wholeheartedly believed in it, maybe he did, and maybe that's what drove him to join them deep down. At the time he had blamed it on wanting adventure. It wasn't a hard thing to do, to join the coalition riders. He had learned from enough horror stories passed through riders that enough Weyrlings were lost during lessons due to miss-jumping. Coming up with the solution to miss-jump to join the coalition, named Hidden Weyr wasn't too difficult to do.
The difficult thing was surviving with the new Weyr. He had arrived during the hatching of the clutches, the stolen clutches, and dealt with the same strife that followed next. Unfortunately he found himself attached to another dragonrider, a female greenrider. Granted, it never got the chance to blossom into much more than something physical. The attack from the riders from the North against those of the coalition was enough to burn away the rest of the childhood that he had clung on to, and had killed the woman. The following establishment of the Weyr itself did well to distract his thoughts, as did Eimheth. Now? Well, now it's about surviving again.
Pets: [None]
Dragon
Name: Eimheth
Age: 2 turns
Color: Green [#ACD473]
Appearance:
The green is on the lighter side of the spectrum. Her hide is a light, tea-leaf green, dappling into a much lighter, de-saturated version coating her underbelly and the inside portion of her limbs and the underside of her claws. The markings blend up her arched neck and slender throat of the dragon, coating the bottom of her jaw (the jaw with a slight under bite) completely. Small flecks, no bigger than a thumb, are positioned on either side of her neck behind where her jawbone ends and continue down a few hand widths until disappearing completely. A small spray of lighter dots, this no larger than the side of a clipped pinky-nail, scatter over her nose and clutter around her nostrils where they further overlap and grow. They make a brief appearance again on both her eyeridges and her headknobs. She does have the familiar and tell-tale sign of the Igen breed, the dark blaze that marks down her spine in a deep olive color.
Her build is one that's hardy. The dragon does have some of the more dainty features that her dam was known for, the previously mentioned arched neck, the somewhat narrow build and slender head. Her eyeridges do protrude a bit, leaving her eyes with a bit of a sunken feeling to them. Eimheth is, aside from those graceful features, a little bulky when it comes to her chest. It almost appears to be barrel-like, and to compromise for the heavy front and lighter hip/back area her forelegs are stronger and thicker to act as support. Her claws are a dark black, stark against the lighter coloration that the hide takes around that area. She isn't the most graceful thing on the ground, and has a tendency to walk a little low to it, as if that could help from avoiding obstacles or other various distractions. In the air, though, she sprints. Stamina has never been something she was all too focused on, mainly because Eimheth had always concentrated on the fast parts of everything.
Personality:
Thorough • Persistent • Amiable • Decisive • Cheerful • Deliberate
While she may be fast in the air, it would be horrible to assume that she's just as mentally quick. Eimheth takes a while to process things. She is a jovial and kind dragon, there's no doubt about that, but she also manages to stop from being so impulsive and headstrong and likes to take moments to think things through. Granted, it's usually during the worst times possible that she decides to take these moments. She can take her time with things, and while she may not get everything right on the first try she's committed enough in whatever she does to keep on trying until it gets completed correctly. Giving up is rarely an option for Eimheth, and she's got enough spirit and vitality in her to keep an upbeat attitude through the worst of it. Being happy, to her, is a deliberate choice. Sure, she could take the time to wallow about things or whine, but that would cause problems, and there's enough of that with the way that things are. Making the decision to be a ray of sunshine might lead others on to believe she's the frivolous, happy-go-lucky stereotype that greens can fall in to, but that doesn't bother her all that much.
In fact, there are only a few things that really bother Eimheth. The dragon can't stand for blind ignorance. She can recognize the bad, and she can learn from it, and those who don't? They're impossible to deal with. For as cheerful as Eimheth is she can also be very cold. Take away that glint of mirth and you're left with a dragon that can be short and snappy, and rather dismissive. Usually when her fuse is lit the beast, instead of raging on in a fury, will drop the matter. All attention will be diverted elsewhere, and all of her energy will follow suit. Eimheth is a valiant worker of the cold shoulder, and if that isn't a hint enough for someone or something to back off, the bristly attitude that comes afterwards will help. She also doesn't care for those who use others in attempts to up their social graces. She doesn't play into politicking games, and when brought into that sort of scenario it's simpler for her to just excuse herself to other matters--again, this can play into the stereotype of greens being thought of as creatures who can't deal with the more political side of Pern, but truth is, Eimheth just doesn't care about the politick-game. Someone else can lose sleep over that.
Anything else?
Nope!~
