Post by Itadog on Jul 8, 2010 12:51:23 GMT -5
[/s] Honesty[/ul]Weaknesses:Canon Character Application
My name is Itadog (LONG STORY) and I am NINETEEN years old. I want to join this site because PRUSSIA MADE ME DO IT. I have been roleplaying for EIGHT YEARS and I normally post between the DEPENDS A LOT ON THE PERSON I AM ROLE PLAYING WITH, BUT TYPICALLY AROUND 1,000 WORDS EACH POST mark. Here is my application:
Character name: Feliciano [Veneciano] Vargas
Age: 20
Appearance:
Feliciano is someone who is easily pointed out. His fairly short, copper hair reaches just below his ears, a stray curl winding up on the left side of his head. It is similar in appearance to his brother Romano's, mirroring the other boy's curl which is on the right side of his head. His appearance can be said to be like his older brother's, but if one would put them together then they could be easily pointed out. Feliciano is much less tan, as well as the fact that his eyes are brown as opposed to green. Feli has a thin build, yet it wouldn't be wrong to say he had his chub here and there, making him easier to hold and possibly much more lovable.
Feliciano stands at around 172 centimeters, or roughly 5'7" for all you Americans out there. He weighs in at around 70.31 kilograms, or 155 pounds. He doesn't have a very intimidating appearance at all, and is mostly just smiles or tears. He at least has some fine legs from all the running he does, even if it is unintentional except to get away from somebody frightening. He is also much more calm than his brother, and possibly a little more tolerable considering the other's fiery personality.
Feliciano can often be seen in his blue uniform, complete with the black shirt and tie beneath the jacket and nifty little black boots. When he is not in uniform, it is often a sailor suit-style top with blue pants. A very childish pick, but then again it fits his personality fairly well. He once also had a similar cross necklace as Germany, but his brother had thrown that out the window.
Personality:
Feliciano isn't a very complex character to understand, but he isn't simple, either. He is very creative, loving the days of the Renaissance. Feli can be found painting, sculpting, or admiring scenery when he isn't sleeping or cooking. He does have a rather colorful view of the world, though doesn't look past the horrors of it either. It is just more nice to focus on the better things in the world as his Grandfather Rome had taught him, which may have contributed to Feli's laid-back personality. He was taught the arts, but never to fight. He may be capable as Rome's son when he truly desires to be, but overall he is a very disappointing descendent of one of the greatest empires in history.
One possibility as to why he was never taught to fight back could be Grandfather Rome's own personal experiences with all his battles. Feliciano has seen Grandpa Rome's scars and could only imagine what he has been through. Feli's best weapon against attack has become the opposite direction, or whatever ally he could find. He is very good at making friends, though somehow equally excellent at making enemies. This boy is the sort that you either love or you hate. While a lover by nature, this doesn't mean it will be a piece of cake to win over the hearts of others. All he has are his art, his land, and his own friendliness.
Also when not napping, Feli is a rather energetic young boy. He has trouble listening to others, as most often seen with Ludwig, but he does have some use from time to time. His skills in cooking at least leave the taste buds jumping for joy. He is no disappointment here, as long as you can accept gourmet food and aren't used to, well... Arthur's food.
As for some more negative points, Feli is indeed lazy. He takes naps during the day at 3PM, undressing completely when he does so. After the nap he even tends to forget to put his clothes back on, mostly remembering only his shirt. He is forgetful with more than his clothing, though, and can seem a bit shameless at times, as according to Kiku. He is also a coward, always running from frightening people and even his own allies when they yell at him or order him to do something frightening. Feli is horrible at preparing for wars, and even his grenades are full of surprise seeing as you never know when they'll explode, if they even will.
A few more noticeable things about this boy are the fact that he flirts quite a lot with cute girls. Though he is bisexual, he does tend to lean more toward women, also getting this part of his personality from Grandfather Rome. He is extremely irresponsible, too. This is yet another trait that may cause him to lose allies, but he still has his cute little quirks. One of those quirks is the verbal tic he has of saying "Ve~" unexpectedly.
On a final note, do not touch his curl. It is an erogenous zone, and it would be preferred if nobody would stroke or pull on it. He has been known to get it tangled with his brother's, and when it's been tampered with it leaves Feli feeling under the weather. So please refrain from torturing the poor boy. It would be greatly appreciated.
Now, you will be granted a warning. As of right now, our dear Feliciano Vargas seems unaware of a potential danger within himself.* There seems to be another personality within him which goes be the name of Veneciano. This other side of him is known to be cruel, calculating, and surprisingly intelligent in many areas. This other person has been noted to state that he "hates Feliciano". The reasoning is still unclear, but this Veneciano is most certainly a threat to both the host and the people around him.
Occupation:ChoirboyTraveling Priest
Strengths:
Backstory:
To say that this one's past was interesting would be... Only half correct. Why half? Because only half of it is worth mentioning. The other half was spent lazing about and taking naps, dreaming of things that have no real meaning... Or just dreaming of pretty girls.
When Feliciano was born, both he and his brother were left without parents. As to the reason, it is unknown. The only memorable thing is that he and his brother were separated at very young, and while Romano was taken in under Austria's rule and then given to Spain, Feliciano spent much of his youngest years with their grandfather; Rome. He was a very powerful man, or at least he was in the "good ol' days". By that time he was very worn out and weak. He made it a point to teach Feliciano the good things that he knew, all of them being peaceful things not meant for war. It is because of this that Feli has gained a personality in which he does his best to avoid conflict, making him a friendly sort.
After his grandfather finally passed away, he was given to Austria. He worked for many years there as a maid, most everyone in the house unaware that he was a male. He met other good people such as Hungary and the Holy Roman Empire... Well, maybe HRE wasn't entirely good. He was good when he wasn't trying to get Feliciano to join him in becoming a great nation. This wasn't because Feli didn't like HRE, though. On the contrary, he would rather not have seen HRE grow into a powerful nation only to fall as his grandfather had...
However, HRE did, indeed, disappear. Things became very troublesome at Austria's home, leaving them no choice but to disperse.
Feliciano then met with his brother once more, seeing that the other had changed quite a bit. He still held a love for the other, but their personalities were bipolar to one another. Even so, they would eventually work things out and join once again in a nation.
Also, what better job for a slightly pacifist nation that a traveling priest?... Or something like that...
Sample Post:
[Antarctica post from another rp.]
To answer a question most recent asked: yes, and not much. How to tarnish a soul is written in many languages, many religions, and dealt with among many of those who take the time to sit and think of how this world truly is. This world, based on the idealist view, is so close to obtaining peace. Only a few more meetings, a pinch more faith, and a dash of dreams. Oh, how wonderful a world as such would be. If only there truly were a recipe for such, rather than those created for disaster. It seemed so simple, but perhaps the complexity of the human mind is incapable of something as such? To gather the countries, states and continents together in order to fulfill this idealism seemed farfetched and only another stew of war, pain, and hunger. So many faces familiar to one another, and yet somehow fate saw fit, as fickle as she is, to invite the one place who didn't belong.
It would be rude not to accept such an offer. To finally be recognized, was this such a bad thing? To say that his opinion counted despite not being a true country all his own? No, he did not accept for this reason, anyway. He didn't care to be heard, for who would listen? He had no language to speak in of his own, people to speak for him, and no currency to even pay someone to sit down and listen to his woes, for he was Antarctica. He was a large landmass of ice, uselessly frozen and incapable of anything fantastic save for knowledge of a history long gone. Like with every ring in a tree, he held many a millennium within him.
However, you see, he does not remember. Who is he to recall something so deeply embedded in himself when he had only recently become conscious of his own existence? So, instead, others have taken it upon themselves to both mentally and physically tear him apart out of their own curiosity of this world. They didn't care enough for him, why would they care about the entire world? It just seemed silly. A goal that isn't allowed to be reached. Had anyone thought of that? Surely he wasn't the only sour one here.
When he looked up again, the scenery had changed. The ground below had gone from a concrete footing to soft dirt. He had been watching the weight in his feet push apart the dirt as it made a footprint in the ground. Of course now he could look back. Now he realized he had footprints to look back on. How was it that everyone expected to find so much in him when he couldn't do it himself? And so forcefully, too!
The air smelled of something entirely unfamiliar... No, that was this entire island. The warm weather had shocked him. He hadn't realized there was such a thing as warmth, really. It had always been cold and colder. He had never even seen his breath before; he had always been that cold.
These things sprouting from the ground, too... What on earth were they? The only thing he has seen sprout up are icebergs or polar bears as they stuck their heads out from their paw-made caves. Perhaps even Russia, Britain and America's rise over the horizon as they came upon him that same year?
He sniffed, the strange smell burning his nose welcomingly. It wasn't that he hated nature. Actually, he had a very curious personality, himself. Nearly all of what was on the island was something he had never seen before. Naturally, he didn't travel much. It wasn't his thing to do. No one ever invited him or anything, either. He was a landmass, who cared? It was the nations he didn't like. No, not just them. Everyone. Everyone and their idealism. And, if they should happen to need only him to finish the deal, then he would decline. World peace would never happen as long as he was still alive. He would make everyone hate him, as long as it made them miserable, themselves.
"Misery loves company, after all." He finally piped up, pausing to look around at the scenery. He was in a field, a large area without buildings and simply covered in all sorts of strange colors. He felt out of place, and yet somehow warm. Was that supposed to be some cruel way of irony?
He blinked, catching the faint whisper caught by the wind. "How despicable..." spat the wind. He had never thought wind was capable of such a clear voice, but he quickly matched it to someone he knew. Someone he knew very well. A snarl then graced his lips momentarily as he looked onward toward the tall, yellow grasses. These were the ones he believed gave off a more distinct smell than anything else.
Sure enough, there he was. His hair seemed to match his surroundings, much more so than this other fellow's. No, this other fellow's didn't match at all. His white hair stood out, and against his pale skin his brilliantly red eyes were like fireballs in the snow. Snow that couldn't exist somewhere so warm. Snow that shouldn't exist, at least not at this time or place.
"I should be taking tea around this hour...not lounging around in the dirt." He sniffed again.
Antarctica approached England, as he figured the character standing around for no apparent reason was. The boy seemed to be snarling, but Antarctica just barely kept his anger hidden behind a disgusted frown.
Among all the countries, England was one of the three he hated most of all.
"You say that, and yet here you've sat on the filthy ground with visibly no intention of getting up," he paused, raising a brow before taking a seat nearby. "Normally I'd greet someone by telling them that they'll catch a cold with how less they're wearing, but now I'm the one who's actually overdressed." He let out a long sigh as if the idea really did bother him.
On the contrary, the thing that bothered him most was this feeling of displacement. He shouldn't be here. What did his opinion matter at this school? He wasn't his own country, anyway. Just a landmass.
It would be rude not to accept such an offer. To finally be recognized, was this such a bad thing? To say that his opinion counted despite not being a true country all his own? No, he did not accept for this reason, anyway. He didn't care to be heard, for who would listen? He had no language to speak in of his own, people to speak for him, and no currency to even pay someone to sit down and listen to his woes, for he was Antarctica. He was a large landmass of ice, uselessly frozen and incapable of anything fantastic save for knowledge of a history long gone. Like with every ring in a tree, he held many a millennium within him.
However, you see, he does not remember. Who is he to recall something so deeply embedded in himself when he had only recently become conscious of his own existence? So, instead, others have taken it upon themselves to both mentally and physically tear him apart out of their own curiosity of this world. They didn't care enough for him, why would they care about the entire world? It just seemed silly. A goal that isn't allowed to be reached. Had anyone thought of that? Surely he wasn't the only sour one here.
When he looked up again, the scenery had changed. The ground below had gone from a concrete footing to soft dirt. He had been watching the weight in his feet push apart the dirt as it made a footprint in the ground. Of course now he could look back. Now he realized he had footprints to look back on. How was it that everyone expected to find so much in him when he couldn't do it himself? And so forcefully, too!
The air smelled of something entirely unfamiliar... No, that was this entire island. The warm weather had shocked him. He hadn't realized there was such a thing as warmth, really. It had always been cold and colder. He had never even seen his breath before; he had always been that cold.
These things sprouting from the ground, too... What on earth were they? The only thing he has seen sprout up are icebergs or polar bears as they stuck their heads out from their paw-made caves. Perhaps even Russia, Britain and America's rise over the horizon as they came upon him that same year?
He sniffed, the strange smell burning his nose welcomingly. It wasn't that he hated nature. Actually, he had a very curious personality, himself. Nearly all of what was on the island was something he had never seen before. Naturally, he didn't travel much. It wasn't his thing to do. No one ever invited him or anything, either. He was a landmass, who cared? It was the nations he didn't like. No, not just them. Everyone. Everyone and their idealism. And, if they should happen to need only him to finish the deal, then he would decline. World peace would never happen as long as he was still alive. He would make everyone hate him, as long as it made them miserable, themselves.
"Misery loves company, after all." He finally piped up, pausing to look around at the scenery. He was in a field, a large area without buildings and simply covered in all sorts of strange colors. He felt out of place, and yet somehow warm. Was that supposed to be some cruel way of irony?
He blinked, catching the faint whisper caught by the wind. "How despicable..." spat the wind. He had never thought wind was capable of such a clear voice, but he quickly matched it to someone he knew. Someone he knew very well. A snarl then graced his lips momentarily as he looked onward toward the tall, yellow grasses. These were the ones he believed gave off a more distinct smell than anything else.
Sure enough, there he was. His hair seemed to match his surroundings, much more so than this other fellow's. No, this other fellow's didn't match at all. His white hair stood out, and against his pale skin his brilliantly red eyes were like fireballs in the snow. Snow that couldn't exist somewhere so warm. Snow that shouldn't exist, at least not at this time or place.
"I should be taking tea around this hour...not lounging around in the dirt." He sniffed again.
Antarctica approached England, as he figured the character standing around for no apparent reason was. The boy seemed to be snarling, but Antarctica just barely kept his anger hidden behind a disgusted frown.
Among all the countries, England was one of the three he hated most of all.
"You say that, and yet here you've sat on the filthy ground with visibly no intention of getting up," he paused, raising a brow before taking a seat nearby. "Normally I'd greet someone by telling them that they'll catch a cold with how less they're wearing, but now I'm the one who's actually overdressed." He let out a long sigh as if the idea really did bother him.
On the contrary, the thing that bothered him most was this feeling of displacement. He shouldn't be here. What did his opinion matter at this school? He wasn't his own country, anyway. Just a landmass.
NOTE:
The alternate personality comes from the fact that the Mafia has a fairly strong hold on things in Italy, including judges and politicians (choices and how they are carried out). Veneciano represents the Mafia, which cannot be controlled by Feliciano, or Italy, himself. I just wanted to let you know exactly what was going on. I am rping this Feli as post-WWII. He is not entirely powerful, but will appear from time to time when large decisions might be made.[/size][/blockquote]
