Orpheus Lubomudrov
Sept 4, 2010 15:43:23 GMT -5
Post by Orpheus Lubomudrov on Sept 4, 2010 15:43:23 GMT -5
[/i][/size][/right]The Basics
Name: Orpheus Nikolayevich Lubomudrov
Nicknames: Good luck getting away with that.
Age: 34
Orientation: Asexual
Desired Rank/Job: Biology and Chemistry Professor
Powers: Shape-shifting exclusively.
Play By: Philipp Bierbaum
The Details
Hair Color: Light Brown.
Eye Color: Blue.
Any Piercings? Not ever.
Any Tattoos? A russian orthodox cross on his right middle finger, and a star on each shoulder.
Any Scars? Many.
General Appearance: At first glance he may seem very dignified and proper. He stands up straight and is a few inches more than six feet, but somehow seems much taller when he is angry. He has a sturdy frame, and over the years has added more and more muscle to his otherwise slim figure; mind you it was easy enough for him to beat some sense into people before he picked up weight-training and running as hobbies. His skin is relatively pale, he is definitely not a fan of tanning, for that matter, tans altogether, and prefers to stay out of the sun anyway. Because of his height he has long appendages, big hands and feet, with long toes and fingers. They could be called elegant, the bones and arches of his feet very prominent, added with the pale glow of light skin. Likewise, many bones in his body are clear under the thin sheet of skin they lie beneath. But even if he didn't work out, Orpheus would still maintain a fierce exterior, perhaps a bonus of his russian heritage.
His frosted blue eyes always have a calculating feel to them, an appetite for knowledge clearly fastened in those contrastingly dark pupils. His eyebrows only move to furrow, either in anger or confusion; he is tight-lipped, again seeming overly proper and collected, perhaps suspiciously so. For someone who will certainly not inherit millions, he dresses very well, and takes extremely good care of himself in general. He likes to keep his hair short and out of the way, though his fringe does grow down just below his brows. As a child he used to dye it blonde, but has since grown of such juvenile behaviour.
Personality: His sordid and dark sense of humour rarely comes out to play unless he is with people he has known for a long time. Otherwise he is not someone who laughs often, or even smiles for that matter. As far as his teaching style, if you don't want to pay attention, you might as well spend your time in your room clipping your fucking toenails and staying out of his way. He is matter-of-fact and hates excuses, gives little homework but expects focused students who know what they're doing when they come to class. Though he has never raised his voice, it might be better if he did, it'd be less frightening than the time he broke a desk with a textbook.
Orpheus is a man of many values and traditions, however americanised he has become, and holds fast to his beliefs. The star tattoos on his shoulders, though criminal, are a symbol of just that. He has a deep respect for his elders even if they are horrible people. He is almost always complaining about something, in true slavic fashion, and finds solace in crossword puzzles, vodka with his eggs and bacon, and most of all, his cats. Although he is easy to get along with, it is terribly difficult to get through to him on a more intimate level, in terms of friendship or otherwise. He is a moral person, and does have a heart, though it's not always apparent. It takes a lot for him to respect, even genuinely like someone, but once you get to that point he'll stick around for a long time. Don't expect a loyal, tail-wagging pal, however. He'll always have his own agenda, and he will always put his safety before anyone else's.
Your Vices
Likes:
• Cats
• Reading
• Writing
• Tea
• Biology
• Good cooking
• Winter/snow
• Old fashioned things
• Hand-made things
Dislikes:
• Laziness, lack of ambition
• Summer
• Clam chowder
• Flutes
• Anyone who wears shoes in their house
• Running out of vodka
• Driving
Strengths:
• Any science, though he prefers biology overall.
• Mathematics - but he really doesn't like maths at all.
• Fighting - because he makes a science out of it.
• His power - because he's had decades of practice, and focused on perfecting only a few full forms.
• Being bitter - for which his grandfather won many invisible medals and trophies.
• Eating - this is not particularly pretty or becoming.
Weaknesses:
• Being optimistic, seeing the good in people.
• Bad eyesight.
• Judgemental.
• Can only make tea, toast, eggs, bacon and spaghetti. Don't ask for anything else unless you plan on committing suicide.
• Quitting habits: he smokes, drinks, and has certain compulsions.
Fears: Being alone. Isn't it the same for everyone? That and fire. Which is why he hates stove tops and camping.
Secret: His mother didn't die in a car accident like he says, she actually shot herself in the head.
Family Ties
Father: Nikolai Sergeyevich Lubomudrov
Mother: Vera Vladimirovna Lubomudrov
Siblings: None
Any Other Important People:
Bolshenko, his maine coon. (photo)
Mishka, another cat, looks siamese but is white with light brown splotches that look like spilt coffee.
History
Orpheus was born in Nizhny Novgorod, Russia, as Oleg Nikolayevich Lubomudrov. His parents were benevolent people, with good intentions; his father was a widely respected engineer and part-time inventor. His mother was primarily a seamstress who dabbled in accounting and other financially oriented odd jobs. From both sides of his family came a thirst for learning and the competence to retain and build on everything he did learn. His grandfather was the one who taught him about global affairs, as he had traveled to every corner of the earth and had a library of research to share. As privileged as Orpheus may have sounded, he was also handed a particularly unfair ordeal, that being a schizophrenic mother. In a time long before his own, she had been the victim of a brutal rape, and had been forced to abort the child. It was years after she married that her bouts with schizophrenia became longer and worse, with the stress of motherhood, and slowly began to take over her. The family was jerked into years of constant fighting. A few times Vera denied she had a son, would ignore him, and if he tried to get her attention she would hurt him thinking he was a stranger in her house. More than once she had tried to kill her husband, convinced he was trying to kill her. After 5 years of madness, when Orpheus was 13 years old, his mother shot herself in the head, not before shrieking something about finally being free.
Needless to say his world was thrust into disarray. He occupied himself completely, and his once mediocre grades soared into the 100's. A few months after his mother's death, Orpheus became aware of his power, and in his spare time toyed with it. He had grown up around cats all his life, had a fondness for them, and since they were, like his dad, links to a happy past, he became obsessed with mimicking their form. As soon as he could shift into a perfectly believable cat, as well as understand and copy its various behaviours, he moved on, studying big cats. The only ones he could study up close were native cats; siberian tigers, snow leopards. Of course it was difficult practising this in the house, so it took much longer before he had mastered either. Once graduated from his russian meta-human school, he changed his name, changed himself, and moved on (attempted at least). He was picked up, along with his few friends, by the russian military, who saw little use for a man who could only change into domestic cats (as far as they knew), and didn't take his abilities seriously.
He went on to bigger and better things. With his father's help he got a small office job, in a few years he had climbed up many rungs on the corporate ladder and made a nice living for himself. Unfortunately, his career demanded his full attention - he was a business man, a successful one, at that, and to keep being successful meant abandoning a lot of things. For a long time he only shifted into small house-cats when he needed a break, and time to swim in his thoughts.
For more reasons than one, he ended up moving to America, set upon putting a teaching degree to use at Hammel Institute. He had picked this particular institute because it was full of persons like himself, with these strange powers, and for as long as Orpheus could remember, he was always afraid of being the odd one out, and being alone. In other words, this was the perfect opportunity to surround himself with familiarity. Despite past and recent troubles, he is just another man trying to survive the human condition.
(If there is anything wrong with this, please let me know, I am more than happy to revise it.)
Roleplay Example
(This is from a private, very loose/lulz based roleplay, I could type up more if there is a certain minimum, just wanted to show my not-so-srs side.)
The colour seemed to drain from the nineteen-year-old's face. He didn't know what to do in situations like this, but then again he wasn't certain it was THAT situation. Atcha was almost sure he was now staring, abashed, at the face of a man. A man who he'd just called ma'am. It was either that or he was seeing and hearing things. Despite his gullibility and general ignorance regarding places outside his residence, this teenager was smart. He had an eye for details, which never failed to lead him to a correct assumption, and so he usually knew what was going on; at least, we are speaking about 99% of the time. Unfortunately, this might have been that dastardly 1%. A long fingered hand came to his mouth, hiding the fact that he was lost for words, perhaps, or stalling as the word "cab" bounced around in his pretty little head.
Choosing to ignore this person's androgyny (although he really couldn't call it that, they looked so believably female), he instead let his fingers slide from his lips to his chin, looking thoughtful. Cab... (taxi?) What a discomforting thought. He'd never been in one. Weren't they... kind of sketchy? Driven by Albanians? Not that he had anything against Albanians. The facts were that he didn't have many options, maybe none at all. That's what the stranger made it seem like, anyway. Swallowing as if to finally speak, his empty brown eyes blinked two or three times before Atcha inhaled and exhaled deeply. As he spoke his cheeks reddened. He was still thinking of that whole "ma'am" thing.
"If it's an inconvenience you could just give me the number. I don't want to be a bother." Then, a flimsy smile. How he loathed feeling embarrassed.
What About You?
[/blockquote]
Name: Kiev, Keyv, Keyvski, whateva.
Age: 19.
Experience: 9 or 10 years.
How Did You Find Us? Through a friend c: Chezuu
Ready To Play? READYY.
