The Selection: Semi-Advanced Roleplay discussion
4th Selection Characters
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alex
(last edited Jun 27, 2016 08:12AM)
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Jun 23, 2016 09:07AM
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⁅⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
Too young — he's inexperienced. Too pretty — he'll just be a workplace distraction. Too lucky — he needs how to learn to work harder. Everyone in Jefferson's life has told him that he's too this, too that, that the only reason that he's where he is is Daddy and Mommy's money. And it's true that he probably wouldn't have gotten this far if he weren't from one of Illea's wealthiest families — but he's worked damn hard to get here, thank you very much. He got into one of the top business schools in the nation on his own merit. He secured his jobs on his own. And now he's managing PR for the Selection for a reason — because he's good at his job, no matter what his subordinates twice his age have to say.
Jefferson — don't you dare try a nickname on him — has always been good with damage control. He's a nice guy, but he's also an observant guy. He's always been able to talk his way — and his friends' ways — out of trouble with a smile and some carefully chosen words. So really, it's only natural that he would end up in PR.
And he has his work cut out for him, because as much as he'd like them to be, God knows that the girls from the lower castes won't be as conscious about their public images as those from Two and Three. But then again, if they were, he wouldn't have a job, now, would he?
They say that the American Revolution — in years long past, ages gone by — could not have happened without the combined work of the General, the armed forces, with the work of the scholars, the writers, the lawyers, the great thinkers of the land. This is something that Christopher Paine believes to be true. No — he knows it is. There is no way that weak colonies could usurp their government without the effort on both sides.
He also knows that for revolution in Illea, they will need both again.
Chris is a student, a scholar, an actor; he is many things, but for Illea, he wants to be but one — the spark that ignites a new revolution. You see, he's spent his life studying history — empires, revolutions, the rises and falls, the successes and failures. And he knows Illean history. He knows what it is built upon, and he knows what this land once was — a land that didn't want a king, and a man who could have taken it all for himself, but refused to. A society built on differences and independence. Progress made by finding the best solution between differing perspectives. It was never meant to become this shitshow, where a king and queen reign and force girls into competing to win their heir's marriage.
This is not how it was supposed to be. This is not how it should be.
And Chris, he — he can change that. He's smart. He's read all the books, studied all the revolutions. And he knows that it all goes back to a spark. And sure, he's not some secret military genius. But he's a leader nonetheless: an idealist, who sees all that could be. All that should be.
He's blended in for this long. To the public, he's no more than just another brainiac who sped through the track to a doctorate. A smart guy. A good enough professor. A great writer — and that's the power of the written word. It takes you far. With just the right presence, the right articles, the right academic journal entries — it gets you places. It plants the seed of an idea in people's mind... makes them doubt what they do have... makes them want what they should have...
And that's how it all begins...
Mod
(view spoiler)Thirteen minutes into May, a little boy was born, a baby born into flowers. Matthew Wild was made of nature, golden stardust along with ancient sticks and stones holding phrophecies all coming together to create a boy of milky skin and oceanic eyes. He was the last child of his family, one that was respected with their silvery tongues and hearts of determination, he was born to be great for them and in return was branded with the name Wild.B I O G R A P H Y ━ i'm on my worst behavior
matthew jace wild ;; call me matt
( nineteen & male & a reporter )
Thirteen years later, Matt wasn't just beginning to follow his dreams, he was chasing them; just like a Wild would do. Photography was his main interest, he adored the way you could capture the beauty in the smallest atom, or how perhaps you could change the mood of a scene depending on where you put the perspective and just the sheer shutter sound of the camera click was enough to make him swoon. But he wasn't of caste five, and could you imagine what disgrace and shame he would cast upon the name Wild, especially with his older sisters being models. So instead, he took up the skill alongside his sisters, modeling with them for magazine covers and selling products. Matt Wild became a name on the tip of your tongue, his face plastered on the walls of your daughters and his wink replaying in your dreams. It was phase one, the beginning of him doing exactly what a Wild should be; remembered.
Thirteen covers, dozens of interviews and thousands of dollars later, the Wild Treble became no more when Matt decided to go behind the camera. He began with taking photos of his sisters, their pale skin cloaking in a blue silk that matched their eyes, flower petals glittering on the floor while the sweet sound of a rather calm electronic song rang through the facility. And yet, their beauty shrieked, the photographs that were taken made headlines, for how did someone manage to capture such beauty and not be named? Why, it was, well, Wild. He was a photographer like no other, taking captivating photographs of the simplest things but they rang with meaning, and he interviewed his muses with that silvery tongue, his soothing voice dripping in charisma that allowed him to hear things no one has ever truly heard. That was something different about Matt, something that ended up getting him more attention. And so came the job opportunity, and why wouldn't he take it, he was a Wild after all, and they only did the best.
Thirteen days ago he was reminded of the selection, a competition that was going to be his main idea for a very long time. From this point on, his life would revolve around it, and every action he did would have something to do with it, even if he didn't think so. And that was a true statement, he realized it when he snuck a girl into his room one night and ushered her away once he was finished with her because he didn't need distractions in the morning, he needed to be ready to take shots of the prince's siblings and question them on their opinions of the selection. But here he is, a photographer whose favored number is thirteen and who speaks in a tone that beckons your secrets and is deserving of his name; Wild.
Name: Rebecca SmithAge: 21
Caste: 2
Occupation: Reporter
Appearance: Brown hair, brown eyes, white skin, wears red a lot, always has red matte lipstain on. (Face claim Mila Kunis? Go to my profile for pics)
Description:
Bold. Curious. Beautiful. These are all words people use to describe Rebecca. Growing up as a 2, Rebecca has had an easy life. Her parents were the best she could ever ask for, her mother a model, her father a politician. She always got what she wanted, but she was raised to respect her elders, and her father was always talking about the unrest in the country. Rebecca became very curious about all of it, so she decided to do some research.
At the young age of 9, Rebecca already knew what she wanted in life. She wanted to make a difference in the country, and she wanted to exploit the truth.
However, money and fame got a hold of her. As she got older, she realized how important money was to becoming successful. At first, Rebecca only wanted to be heard and known of so she could inform people about the real problems in Illèa, but then, she let her fame take her over.
Although she's climbed up a long way from where she was when she was that little 9 year old, Rebecca still wants more. She's always aspired to be the head reporter, but she's never had the chance. Now that The Selection is coming up, Rebecca knows this is her chance.
All she needs is one story. One story to put all the others to shame... And now, she's gonna get it.
Mod
(view spoiler)
━V A L E N T I N A
( ♛ ) 21 ( xii/xx ) × female × two × royal planner / northern rebelValentina Tsoi doesn't seem very human when you listen to the way people talk about her. It's a certain something about her, a quality you can't put to words, lying somewhere in the same hemisphere as her doe-eyes, her white skin, her tiny frame. Before, you were told that the only angels on earth were the ones who had fallen, but looking at Val, you're not too sure.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Valentina Tsoi might very well be an angel, but only because that's how Lyuda Mizusawa wants it to be.
Perhaps now, Valentina is a person. But before, she was merely a mask. Before, she was Lyuda, a young girl who was told that she was born to destroy the world's demons. A girl born not in the spotlight, as Val was, but in a delapidated mansion built ages before in some god-forsaken clearing in the forest. Valentina Tsoi can waltz around in seven inch heels in ethereal grace because she's perfect━ but Lyuda could do the same because she was trained, and trained, and then trained some more. Valentina Tsoi would never run away━ Lyuda Mizusawa did just that, six years ago on a June day much like this.
According to Val, Lyuda burned the moment she stepped foot onto that train platform, headed towards a freedom she didn't quite understand. And yet━ she lingers, in the eagle-eyes, which will never fail to notice all the things people don't want you to see, the feline grace, footsteps always quiet, even when said feet are clad in shockingly high stilettos, and of course, the lion-hearted courage, dastardly and bold and sometimes a little petty.
You're right. Valentina Tsoi might really be an angel, and now that she's decided who the devils are, she's got a lot work to do.
━ ━━━━━━━━━ ɪ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ʙᴏʟᴅ, ɪ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ʙᴏʟᴅ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ʟᴏɢɪᴄ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀsᴏɴɪɴɢ ━
✧ ╾───────────────────────── D E C L A N M A R K S I E G E R
▬ [ caste iii ; reporter ; xxii ; ace / bi ] ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
most people have at least a vague idea of where they're going in life, what they're doing, what their goal is. Up until, what, a year and a half ago? Declan had none of that. All he knew was that he loved to write, that he could spin words from his mouth and from his fingertips as easily as breathing or walking. So he just, kind of, set off, with no goal in sight, no plan, no nothing. His mother cried, his father yelled at him, called him stupid — in the end, it didn't really matter. He was gone by night, with a backpack full of clothes, pens, and his journal, his back pocket stuffed with the entirety of his meager life savings.
What emerged from those two years of wandering — two years where Declan did anything and everything, where he worked odd jobs and camped in mountains that hadn't seen people in decades, where he met the sort of people you only read about in books — was a book. The sort of debut most writers only dream of; the sort of book everyone wishes they could have a part in, no matter how dark pieces of it grew. That novel is really the only reason Declan was even considered, let alone hired, by the Daily Illea. But thank god, because after rising in importance within the paper's hierarchy of reporters with startling speed, he's now been assigned to cover the Selection, and it's probably going to be the most fun he's had since he was hired. Thirty-five girls vying for the prince's hand in marriage? Yes, please, Declan most definitely wants to be on scene for the cat fights, gossip, and betrayals.
It's freeing to be able to throw around a little shade, create some whispers, stir things up from the outside, after working in serious journalism a few years, after the wandering and the writing and the publishing. Declan is well-suited for this, too — not only can he write just about anything and do graphic design, but he's a smooth talker. He can charm just about anyone with his honey words; he flirts as easily as most people walk. It's rarely ever serious though. Declan's minuscule attentions and flirtations are simply how he functions — in reality, he keeps himself pulled away, part of the dynamic but somehow never fully... there. For all that he's been everywhere, that he quickly makes friends, that he gains entrance to the places and thoughts usually kept private, Declan has always felt a little bit alone in this vast world, so full of people and yet so empty.
ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ғʟʏɪɴɢ sᴏ ʜɪɢʜ, ᴀᴠᴏɪᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴅ, ᴘʀᴇᴛᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ғᴇᴇʟ ᴀʟᴏɴᴇ ╾────── ◆
Mod
