Post by Antonio Fernandez Carriedo on Apr 13, 2010 17:46:54 GMT -5
OC Character Application
Character name: Tòmas Macbeatha Maxwell (addressing him with variations of his second name will not be tolerated)
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Height: 6'0
Weight: 150
Appearance: Tòm is of strong build, having been accustomed to work since he was a young lad. His workload used to consist of carrying heavy crates from large carts to the back of the small apothecary (turned pub) that his family owned, which meant, he didn't work outside (or up front) a lot, so his skin is fair --and a little on the lighter side because of the cold climate around his parts. Scar-laden, after he turned a certain age, he was often sent out into the backwoods or the forest to gather herbs for the shop, sometimes (often) finding himself in rather compromising situations that required him to use a little brute force to get in and get out alive and in tact.
His hair is in the red-orange shade (although a bit partial to the orange side) that he likes to keep short. It is long enough to keep tied, however not as appealing to look at because of how choppy and unruly it still looks despite how he likes to keep the bothersome parts pulled back. His eyes are blue-green (an almost sea-green color) but are by no means friendly and welcoming, though he is.
The top half of his body is relatively normal. The airy, cottony blouse and all. Then he steps out from behind the counter and you stare for awhile. Glaring, he'll compel you to look away and at least pretend that you don't care about the kilt he chooses to wear. He'll suit up for special occasions (pants, the like)
--but only with proper persuasion.
Personality: As mentioned, Tòm is a hospitable sort of guy that doesn't mind helping out, given that he is in a good mood. He doesn't have very apparent mood swings, as people often view him as the recluse sort of guy so he is mistaken for being gruff and not wanting any company. When in truth, he is accommodating in nature and though initially, he will hesitate to help (mostly due to cultural difference, he's just that scared).
He's the old-fashioned sort and is thought to be well past his thirties (if not, everybody likes to think he is in his mid-thirties, which he is not --yet anyway). He likes to collect antiques despite not having a lot of money and he refuses to move. His love for all things that are permanent, enduring are to blame for this and also, his immense loyalty to people who have gained his trust. Change is something he is very afraid of, but will never admit to being. Like any other person, he will not admit to a lot of things but will readily back-up his pride should he need to, because he was taught, as a young boy, that it should be one of the most important things to him. He knows how to keep this on a down-low though and prefers not to broadcast it for everybody to hear.
Tòm is ignorant to the world outside of his residence (where he works) and the places he frequents but he seems to know a lot, his basis, the knowledge gained throughout his eventful childhood.
Over all, it's what people make of him that attributes to his personality.
--he also likes to drink, and during this time, he will not hesitate to accept a challenge
(and win --although he tends to lose himself in these sort of situations, the rather loud drunk that he is).
...he will remind you of your dad or your older brother.
...and the book of 'Materia Medica' is his bible.
Class:
1. Alchemist - although not much for combat (actually, not at all) he doesn't know a lot of this and stays to healing potions that people procure for his now-pub/apothecary. He has extensive knowledge of alcoholic beverages as well. Tòm rarely ever leaves his tavern and has people come to him for medication should they need it. He relies heavily on books for his potions, some he memorizes by heart --and he never takes well to any of the 'new and improved' crap they have going on where the main road begins.
[2. uh...any other suggestions? ]
Likes:
- Scotch Whisky
- Working
- Cold weather
- The sun at dusk and dawn
- His kilt
- People who figure immediately that it's a custom, not him trying to be weird.
- Being able to help (though this isn't as prominent as it ought to be)
- Saving money (he can be quite stingy too)
- Being productive
- Complete ingredients
- A busy work-day (which means a lot of customers)
- Permanence (although he has yet to settle down)
- Collecting antiques, old mementos
- Tall tales, stories
- Telling stories
Dislikes:
- People who like to think he's being weird
- Also, those who assume he's a drunkard (not all the time, at least) with a beer belly when they don't see one.
- Cold weather --to the extremes
- Excessive spending (which is why he acquires ingredients himself and usually refuses to go out into the market to buy them at the ready)
- A busy work-day (which means a lot of customers, a tiring day)
- Anything erratic
- Surprises
- Seeing ferlies for himself, scares the hell out of him.
- Kelpies
- Smoking, smokers & tobacco
Strengths:
Mixing elixirs, liquid medicine, liquids - Trained as a child, he knows his drinks well and though he decided to do extensive research and experimentation on the alcoholic sort, he still retains (numerous) memories of his old lessons from his father. Other than drink mixing for the pub-goer and herbalism, he doesn't know much and probably won't bother doing something about it.
Pride - Not a lot of people can wear a plaid skirt and still look like a man.
Heavy workload - Accustomed to this sort of work, he doesn't have a hard time lifting heavy objects or going out on his own to procure ingredients from the forest.
Holding his alcohol - He can go for rounds on end when it comes to this.
Making do with circumstances - He can conform easily to any situation since he's used to living with simplicity. His house isn't very big, in fact, it's right above his little bar. Upon seeing houses that are significantly larger might startle him somewhat.
He can speak of tall tales and make them believable - Sometimes, he sees this as something passed down from generation to generation, as his dad was exceptionally good at doing so.
Weaknesses
Over-working - He's the type of person that can manage to go for days without sleep just to get a potion ready in time --usually for the special customers are the people he's close to/need his help immediately. He can't resist a cry for help.
Letting Loose - Once he's had his fair share (and beyond) of drinks, anybody under the age of thirteen should cover their ears in his presence, or tune him out --which isn't likely because he just gets that loud when he's drunk...so in turn, he tries not to get drunk very often.
Failure to resist - as said, a cry for help and a challenge.
Fear of change - he doesn't plan on moving any time soon, though parts of his house are beginning to fall apart (in a literal sense) --and even if the population in his area seem to wearing thin, despite enough money, he chooses to stay living in the deserted area by the slightly colder parts where the slums and the marketplace converge at some point. It's on a dirt (usually snow-laden) road, with no neighbors.
Loneliness - Not really. Okay, maybe a little. Or a little more than just a little? Right, a lot. He likes visits, but will not openly admit it until you have to leave.
Communication - He speaks a mix of English, Scottish Gaelic, an obscene mix of Scottish-English and Gaelic. The words in his sentences are often mixed up --and he does this consciously because he can't help it.
History: Tòm grew up in a small family of humble beginnings. Their residence is in the same place as it is at present and the sign outside spoke bluntly of what it was, an apothecary. Now, however, it holds a new name and an almost striking difference to its purpose (and size) before. After his favorite times of day, Tòm called it 'Dusk & Dawn' and made a new signboard to hang by above the door the year after his father died and left him to take care of things and himself.
They'd always been poor despite being thrifty, since his mother refused (for quite some time) to let him go out and get herbs in the backwoods or the forests. Plus, his parents weren't of very important lineage. So he grew up not so impoverished but by no means middle-class still.
He grew up with no brothers and sisters, which made living a whole lot easier but a tad lonely. His parents' deaths were the expected sort --when they're old, frail and beyond herbal medicine, you know it's about to happen.
His choice to study alcoholic beverages came from his slight fall into depression, though he had expected to be alone for quite some time once his parents passed. During that time, he closed the shop and literally absorbed all his knowledge through drinking whatever was left in the pantry he'd not been allowed to touch when he was younger. Through an old friend, he was able to get back up on his feet and re-opened for travelers that set foot around the colder, deserted parts. The apothecary became secondary and he only drank by himself during holidays alone and death anniversaries nobody knew he celebrated.
Although he has a love for permanence, a lot of the things that surround him change (a constant thing, he knows but refuses to acknowledge). The people that come and go into his little bar always never turn out the upon speculation on a day to day basis, but out of the crowd, he has one person he had (and can) rely on, an enigmatic force he often bickers with but welcomes nonetheless. Tòmas met Iain ó Gallchobhair when he was twenty-years old. The latter had stumbled into the then apothecary for reasons still unknown to Tòm (up till today --and it's been eight years already). Other than being the only person who knows how to push his buttons and loosen his strings, there isn't much to them and they constantly bicker over which methods are better when it comes to healing.
Sample Post:
"Hefty amount of gowd you got there. What can I do ye fer?" The tone in his voice doesn't take a nicer approach, because whisky is whisky and it doesn't matter what persona he's in, the taste of it will always be the same.
The man across him grunts (Tòm is taking to him already) and points at a specific bottle of beer on the shelf behind him. Turning on his heel, the Scotsman raises an eyebrow to himself and takes the bottle by the neck as he, with practiced ease, grabs a glass off the adjacent shelf by his side and pours the liquid contents in.
"'ere it is," He announces with a nod before sliding the glass to the man who takes it and grunts (Tòm is starting to really like him now) his thanks out. Or at least, that's what he interpreted it to be.
This is what an ordinary day is like for him. Tomorrow this man could be replaced by anybody, he probably won't bother naming or getting to know.
"What's yer name?" Tòmas blinks, hearing the voice of his patron, but he tries not to look as interested as he really is.
"What's it to ye?" The man barks out a laugh and Tòm is just standing there, perplexed.
"This place used to be were I got my med'cines and that other shi', you oughta know. Although they liked sendin' ye out as a wee lad."
"Wee lad?" Tòmas Macbeatha Maxwell squeaks out. He is well past his mid-twenties, nearing his early thirties and yet his voice hasn't become rich and baritone, at least not as much as should've. It's an even tone, however, not one that he rather likes, although he can manage loud and booming when he wants to.
"Aye. Sent ye out in the woods."
"Well, not really. They wouldn't let me but convincing them wasn't hard." He shrugs, leaning back against the empty lower shelves.
"I see, I see. Tell 'im thanks, if he's 'ere, will ya. I best head on me way to the larger parts of town."
Tòmas nodded, despite wanting to prolong this conversation about his father, his family, before but he manages to withhold the information about his father's death --and all the good stuff-- he just figures this man doesn't want to know.
"'ere's the gowd I showed ye--"
"Nay. Shouldn't have ta' if ye were a friend of dad's."
The man let out a scoff, that wasn't necessarily mocking --at least, he hadn't taken it that way.
"Aye, well. I'll be seeing ye."
The wooden door creeks open and slams back. He praises his family for having built the house with stone for walls before shaking his head and taking the glass to run it under water for washing. Before he could, however, he stared at the glass which still contained a bit of sloshing liquid. He downed it, earning a few stares from the people a few tables away.
He shoots them a glare and they turn back to their drinks.
As he towels the glass dry, he thinks, whisky is whisky, as past is the past and they'll always be the same, with a little variation, sometimes
--and though it won't always be bitter, he cracks a crooked smile at the thought
--the taste will always linger.
Note/s: OTL I couldn't figure out a way to make him have that 'running away from the past' trait that most Scots (living in their country) do (whilst foreigners chase after it, wanting to hear stories of them) --that didn't seem so depressing. I'm not too fond of sad histories like that so I just made him immensely lonely but not-so tragic. >w> A book I read describes how there's always this air of something that seems almost tangible when it comes to the country's atmosphere and I kind of went with that and tried to put it into his human-self ...mostly in the latter part of the sample post XD
Also, I've talked history out with Turtle already~ and I strayed from being too specific about everything.
ANYWHO.
~*~*~*~BRITTANIA BEAM~*~*~*~ -send in the unicorns-