Post by joseph posen on Jan 19, 2008 15:35:27 GMT -5
Application
{ you know you could've been a wonder
character’s name Joseph “Joe” Posen
gender Male
discipline Sculpture
age seventeen
sexuality straight
{ comes home on call, isn't that peace,
history
Not the most interesting story ever told, but one that marks out one persons life. And that’s all a life history is, even if it’s only following seventeen years. Although if Joe’s story was ever made into a book, it wouldn’t be nominated for any awards that have been invented yet. You may’ve guessed, it’s not very interesting, or eventful. Or at least, his younger life wasn’t.
With a home city of Mount Isa, Australia he lived most of his early childhood there.
FOUR: He was playing with the mud in the garden, creating just about anything he brought to his mind. And not just mud. Sand, grit, bits of wood, old bike parts. Anything he could get his hands on. He wasn’t just a sculptor. He was a expertimentist. He’d put anything together just because it looked good. He liked havoc and mess in his work. He’s build towering piles of junk just for the joy of it. He was a sculptor in the making. Living up high, it wasn’t as hot as in other places and rained more. He lived just by a lake and showed his natural water sports skills. He wasn’t a bad swimmer, not by any means. But he had a great love of jet skiing. He was like a fish with water and refused to come out most of the time.
SIX: His father left. He was British and moved back because of a job offer. His mother’s job was still in Mount Isa, so he stayed. His older brother went with his father. His mother was a Open Water Diving Instructor. Otherwise known as a PADI. She worked mainly in the lake, where Joe mostly learnt his watering skills. His mother had wanting to teach him to dive, but he’d never shown the slightest interest in the sport. He much preferred to speed along on a jet-ski, racing his friends. Just down by the docks, you could hire out whatever you wanted. The Posen family even had a discount with the number of times a week Joe took out a ski.
EIGHT: He took a holiday with his mother to visit his father and older brother in Oxford, England. Quite a big city in the very centre of England. His father was an officer of the police. Well more of a Detective Chief Inspector, DCI. DCI Jack Posen. His big brother, Eddie , had just started university. A ten year age gap between the brothers, but that had never stopped them being close. Eddie had been accepted to the Oxbridge, Oxford or Cambridge. He decided, because it was closer, to attend Oxford. He’d always been the brains of the family, not to say Joe wasn’t intelligent, he’d just never strived as Ed had. He’d rather stay in with his sport.
TEN: At the age of forty-seven, whilst out on a shout about a rape-case, DCI Jack Posen was shot by the criminals running away. His team took him to hospital, but the bullet had lodged its way into his spine and was not coming out. He died of blood loss in hospital the following morning. Joe was back in Mount Isa by then and only heard the news eight days later. It was a sad time. Joe was sent to live with Eddie in a flat rented from Oxbridge. He went to school, boarding, in London. There he met the boy who would be his best friend. Or in large “s “best friend”. Gabriel “Gabe” Mosley. Gabriel was a good friend, for a time. The boys got along well and, even if they were very different. Gabe was a painter, whilst Joe was a sculptor. Still, they got along.
TWELVE and FOURTEEN: Joe had to grow up fast, with Eddie’s help. Ed was his father figure. His mother was still away in Mount Isa and didn’t seem likely to come back. Not for now anyway. But just then, Gabe began to show his true colours. Not the cheerful boy that Joe had known just two years ago. But awash with unthinkable anger. A temper that went off the scale. It was hard to tell when he might erupt into a tantrum. There didn’t seem to be any patten. It just wasn’t fun.
SIXTEEN: He received a scholarship when his boarding school presented the art students GCSE work in a gallery. He packed his bags, only to find Gabe was moving there as well. Coincidence or not? He still packed his bags and left. Leaving Ed behind in Oxford and his mother in Mount Isa.
SEVENTEEN: Nothing’s changed. Yet.
history
Not the most interesting story ever told, but one that marks out one persons life. And that’s all a life history is, even if it’s only following seventeen years. Although if Joe’s story was ever made into a book, it wouldn’t be nominated for any awards that have been invented yet. You may’ve guessed, it’s not very interesting, or eventful. Or at least, his younger life wasn’t.
With a home city of Mount Isa, Australia he lived most of his early childhood there.
FOUR: He was playing with the mud in the garden, creating just about anything he brought to his mind. And not just mud. Sand, grit, bits of wood, old bike parts. Anything he could get his hands on. He wasn’t just a sculptor. He was a expertimentist. He’d put anything together just because it looked good. He liked havoc and mess in his work. He’s build towering piles of junk just for the joy of it. He was a sculptor in the making. Living up high, it wasn’t as hot as in other places and rained more. He lived just by a lake and showed his natural water sports skills. He wasn’t a bad swimmer, not by any means. But he had a great love of jet skiing. He was like a fish with water and refused to come out most of the time.
SIX: His father left. He was British and moved back because of a job offer. His mother’s job was still in Mount Isa, so he stayed. His older brother went with his father. His mother was a Open Water Diving Instructor. Otherwise known as a PADI. She worked mainly in the lake, where Joe mostly learnt his watering skills. His mother had wanting to teach him to dive, but he’d never shown the slightest interest in the sport. He much preferred to speed along on a jet-ski, racing his friends. Just down by the docks, you could hire out whatever you wanted. The Posen family even had a discount with the number of times a week Joe took out a ski.
EIGHT: He took a holiday with his mother to visit his father and older brother in Oxford, England. Quite a big city in the very centre of England. His father was an officer of the police. Well more of a Detective Chief Inspector, DCI. DCI Jack Posen. His big brother, Eddie , had just started university. A ten year age gap between the brothers, but that had never stopped them being close. Eddie had been accepted to the Oxbridge, Oxford or Cambridge. He decided, because it was closer, to attend Oxford. He’d always been the brains of the family, not to say Joe wasn’t intelligent, he’d just never strived as Ed had. He’d rather stay in with his sport.
TEN: At the age of forty-seven, whilst out on a shout about a rape-case, DCI Jack Posen was shot by the criminals running away. His team took him to hospital, but the bullet had lodged its way into his spine and was not coming out. He died of blood loss in hospital the following morning. Joe was back in Mount Isa by then and only heard the news eight days later. It was a sad time. Joe was sent to live with Eddie in a flat rented from Oxbridge. He went to school, boarding, in London. There he met the boy who would be his best friend. Or in large “s “best friend”. Gabriel “Gabe” Mosley. Gabriel was a good friend, for a time. The boys got along well and, even if they were very different. Gabe was a painter, whilst Joe was a sculptor. Still, they got along.
TWELVE and FOURTEEN: Joe had to grow up fast, with Eddie’s help. Ed was his father figure. His mother was still away in Mount Isa and didn’t seem likely to come back. Not for now anyway. But just then, Gabe began to show his true colours. Not the cheerful boy that Joe had known just two years ago. But awash with unthinkable anger. A temper that went off the scale. It was hard to tell when he might erupt into a tantrum. There didn’t seem to be any patten. It just wasn’t fun.
SIXTEEN: He received a scholarship when his boarding school presented the art students GCSE work in a gallery. He packed his bags, only to find Gabe was moving there as well. Coincidence or not? He still packed his bags and left. Leaving Ed behind in Oxford and his mother in Mount Isa.
SEVENTEEN: Nothing’s changed. Yet.
parents
DCI Jack Posen: deceased
Lily Posen: living
siblings
Edmund Posen
{ am I losin' way too much
personality
In general, Joe’s not a hard guy to like. He might be a bit less than forthcoming, but he’s not a bad boy at heart.
CHEERFUL
He always tries to keep on a cheerful face. There’s nothing like a smile to help you through the day. He may not mean it, but at least he’s still trying. He’s no actor, so you can see right through him. He doesn’t mean for you to be able to, but poor Joseph’s like an open book. He’s always got a calm exterior, or at least tries to have one. His numerous “bar fights” generally leave him looking rather the worse for wear. In other words. He looks bedraggled, but tries to hide it, and usually fails.
HIS OWN WORKER
Joe knows his place, and it is not at the helm. He’s more of the backstage crew rather than the cast. He will strive to do his work to the best of his ability, but he won’t push himself past what he knows. He’s a man who knows his own boundaries, and won’t push himself over, even if he has to. He’s contented to live his own life as he wants to live it, even if it doesn’t exactly benefit others.
LEVEL
He’s not one to rush into things. He’s a sculptor for Pete sake. You can’t rush artwork, can you? He’s not good at split judgments or quick judgments, but he’s good to have in a crisis. He’ll keep his head and think about options rather than pick the easiest one. He likes to be thorough rather than sorry.
QUIET
He rarely, rarely raises his voice. Or talks often at all. He can talk, and he can talk to Australia when he has to, but mostly he keeps to himself. He known what’ll happen if he speaks up. And not just to him. He worries about people, and rarely himself. He can look after himself if worse comes to worse, he thinks he can, anyway. He also keeps quiet about his talent. He’s not one to boast. He just prefers to keep quiet
HUMOR
Suprisingly enough he likes a good laugh, and can’t help going for one whenever he can. He’s got a big sense of humor, and likes to make other people laugh with him. He hates seeing people depressed and is very rarely depressed himself, if he is; he gets over it very quickly. Anything that involves depression is easily swept aside, he just keeps himself to himself and really keeps himself away from depression. Or at least stops himself falling into a pit of depression.
likes
Random sculptures, Christmas, The Times, Laughter, Not being around Gabe, Scukpting, Art, getting up early, keeping in control of himself, working, paperwork.
dislikes
Making decisions, Gabe, Airplanes, typing, dictation, sitting at a desk, not doing anything, being organized.
ambitions
Graduating with his life, To be alive in ten years, to be alive in twenty years, to live to a grand old age.
fears
Gabriel, violence.
personality
In general, Joe’s not a hard guy to like. He might be a bit less than forthcoming, but he’s not a bad boy at heart.
CHEERFUL
He always tries to keep on a cheerful face. There’s nothing like a smile to help you through the day. He may not mean it, but at least he’s still trying. He’s no actor, so you can see right through him. He doesn’t mean for you to be able to, but poor Joseph’s like an open book. He’s always got a calm exterior, or at least tries to have one. His numerous “bar fights” generally leave him looking rather the worse for wear. In other words. He looks bedraggled, but tries to hide it, and usually fails.
HIS OWN WORKER
Joe knows his place, and it is not at the helm. He’s more of the backstage crew rather than the cast. He will strive to do his work to the best of his ability, but he won’t push himself past what he knows. He’s a man who knows his own boundaries, and won’t push himself over, even if he has to. He’s contented to live his own life as he wants to live it, even if it doesn’t exactly benefit others.
LEVEL
He’s not one to rush into things. He’s a sculptor for Pete sake. You can’t rush artwork, can you? He’s not good at split judgments or quick judgments, but he’s good to have in a crisis. He’ll keep his head and think about options rather than pick the easiest one. He likes to be thorough rather than sorry.
QUIET
He rarely, rarely raises his voice. Or talks often at all. He can talk, and he can talk to Australia when he has to, but mostly he keeps to himself. He known what’ll happen if he speaks up. And not just to him. He worries about people, and rarely himself. He can look after himself if worse comes to worse, he thinks he can, anyway. He also keeps quiet about his talent. He’s not one to boast. He just prefers to keep quiet
HUMOR
Suprisingly enough he likes a good laugh, and can’t help going for one whenever he can. He’s got a big sense of humor, and likes to make other people laugh with him. He hates seeing people depressed and is very rarely depressed himself, if he is; he gets over it very quickly. Anything that involves depression is easily swept aside, he just keeps himself to himself and really keeps himself away from depression. Or at least stops himself falling into a pit of depression.
likes
Random sculptures, Christmas, The Times, Laughter, Not being around Gabe, Scukpting, Art, getting up early, keeping in control of himself, working, paperwork.
dislikes
Making decisions, Gabe, Airplanes, typing, dictation, sitting at a desk, not doing anything, being organized.
ambitions
Graduating with his life, To be alive in ten years, to be alive in twenty years, to live to a grand old age.
fears
Gabriel, violence.
{ my darling you look lovely
portrayed by? Hayden Christensen
eyes
grey
hair
depending on what he’s dyed it: brown/blond
height
6 1
style
His styles one of causality. He doesn’t really mind what he wears. He does have an affinity for jackets of any kind, except tux jackets. He likes plain wear. More along the lines of jeans and a t-shirt than all the time grooming. He does, however, care about his hair. He doesn’t spend hours but he may spend a good five minutes fiddling with the strands of hair in a mirror. Not more than that. He lives to appear crisp and clean. So white shirts or tees are usually seen but really he doesn’t mind. Trouser wise, its just jeans all the way. If he has to he’ll wear tux pants but otherwise he’s sticking to jeans. In more ways than one. He’s just Joe. An average Joe. He is used to hot climates, so jumpers aren’t usually on his list. One reason he just doesn’t like them much. You can see him in the rain in a tee and jeans on a regular basis. Otherwise. He’s an average Joe.
{ and I'm telling you why
your name the immortal maddie (maddison)
age
years of roleplay I have no idea
code sentence
if you like pina coldas and getting caught in the rain.
other no
sample post
Bright clouds rolled over the horizon. They were puffy and white, shining and every now and then covering the sun. The shadows below were lengthening as the day grew on. It wasn’t much passed mid-day, but it didn’t need to be. The sun’s golden rays still shone out and lit up the stable blocks below.
The stables below were painted a pale shade of beige. Not white, that would reflect the light and be painful to look at, but a calming shade of beige that you never needed to look at twice. The stable doors were painted either red or blue, depending on the gender of the horse. Each had a bed of shavings neatly brushed so that they covered the floor except for a foot and a half or so of bare ground underneath the water buckets and the hay-nets. The floors were grey, yet not painted. They were left bare to the stone floor.
The yard was also not painted, as it didn’t need to be. It was swept clean and was a darker shade of beige, more brown than beige. The yard led out onto a metre and a half wide track that led up to the fields. And the other side had a lane leading to the second stable-block and arenas. The fields led onto the small road that led to a wider and more used road and finally into the towns. It wasn’t that secluded, just out of the way. Just what the owner had wished when she’d found the derelict barns and abandoned fields.
Sharp footfalls clicked on the cobbles that led down from the fields. They boots didn’t have a very big heel, they were only yard boots. They just echoed around the stables. Hoof beats followed the footfalls. They were light and broke rhythm regally. Arianne’s light auburn hair flicked in the light breeze that played around the leader and pony. The pony wasn’t more than 12 hands high. He had a wide, light blaze across his features and his ears were permanently pricked forward. Each of his legs had a sock except for one hind leg that had a stocking. His white patches were slightly muddy from being in the field all night. Arianne always took the working horses in for a groom each morning. The foals, the elder ones, came in every two days, and the youngest stayed with her retired mare, Elder. Her youngest member of the stable, not yet 7 months, still had no name. She had been orphaned earlier in her life and had been born under difficult circumstances. She was a full bred Arabian filly with piebald markings. She’d taken to Elder very well and visa versa. Elder had been a brood mare and looked after many foals in her time.
Arianne led the Welsh Pony into his stable and took off his head collar. Being the greedy horse he was, he headed strait for his hay net and starting pulling it hungrily. Arianne smiled and closed the door, pushing the bolt across and kicking the kick bolt over. Joey had a nack for escaping under any circumstances. She hung up his halter and rope beside his stall and walked passed two other blue painted doors. One had a Friesian gelding called ArchAngel. He was generally known as Archie. Arianne walked passed his stall, holding out a handful of something she knew he’d like. His ears pricked up at once and he turned around in his stall and put his head over the door. He sniffed her hand and munched up what had been in it. Arianne gave him an affectionate pat and moved on to the stallion next to him. This was her pride and glory. Her champion. He was a tall, black stallion. The Hanoverian had his head over the door, his neck arched in a traditional dressage pose. Arianne smiled and slipped his a handful of something nice. He nickered softly as shook his head, his newly brushed mane going strait to the wrong side of his neck. Arianne gave him a pat on the muzzle before moving on.
The second stable block she visited had just two horses in. She looked like an exact replica of ArchAngel, except smaller. She was a fell foal. Her mane stuck up everywhere and in with her was another foal. These were her two eldest foals, Sammie and Poppy. Poppy was the fell, her coat shiny, if slightly scruffy. The other was a skewbald warmblood called Sammie. Poppy whinnied and swished her short tail. Sammie, who was already bigger and taller than Poppy, put his head over the door. He could over just reach and he looked like a disembodied head if you just glanced at him. Poppy, on the other hand, all you could see of her were her ears. Arianne lent over the door to give each of the foals a treat. They both munched it down with enthusiasm. Poppy shook her head and lay down in the soft bedding at the back of the stall. Sammie followed her and lay down beside her. Arianne smiled and walked out of the barn.
A bi-coloured blur whizzed passed her feet, almost tripping her up. The collie cross puppy bounded up to her and jumped up, planting two muddy paws on her thighs. Carrie was a boarder collie cross husky and made her extremely hyper. Arianne smiled and walked on, the collie cross bounding in front of her. She was going to bring in her youngest foal with Elder. She still hadn’t decided on a name for the poor filly, but something would come to her.
Carrie bounced into the field as Arianne stopped at the gate. Elder was standing about ten feet away, her head lowered to the ground. Beside her, her head raised to look around at Arianne, was the little piebald figure of her Arabian filly. She smiled and whistled. Elder’s head was raised up. She whinnied and turned, walking over to Arianne. The little filly pranced behind, she had a surefooted thing. She hadn’t tripped or stumbled once over the slightly uneven ground. Arianne opened the gate and started walking back. She called to Carrie, who bounced over, looking excited. The collie cross darted up to Arianne before moving on to the stables. Elder walked beside Arianne, her head moving in motion to her steps. With a swish of her little tail. The Arabian filly pattered up beside Elder, dancing in front of the mare who snorted softly, her long mane fluttering down.
Once in the yard, Arianne knelt down beside the filly, who whinnied and nudged her hand. So she was a brave lass, she didn’t seem nervous of Arianne at all, or of the new surroundings. Arianne stroked her muzzle as Elder moved over to the feed bucket Arianne had placed out for her. Joey and Seven stuck their heads over the door to see what was going on. The filly nickered softly before nudging Arianne’s hand.
[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size][/center]portrayed by? Hayden Christensen
eyes
grey
hair
depending on what he’s dyed it: brown/blond
height
6 1
style
His styles one of causality. He doesn’t really mind what he wears. He does have an affinity for jackets of any kind, except tux jackets. He likes plain wear. More along the lines of jeans and a t-shirt than all the time grooming. He does, however, care about his hair. He doesn’t spend hours but he may spend a good five minutes fiddling with the strands of hair in a mirror. Not more than that. He lives to appear crisp and clean. So white shirts or tees are usually seen but really he doesn’t mind. Trouser wise, its just jeans all the way. If he has to he’ll wear tux pants but otherwise he’s sticking to jeans. In more ways than one. He’s just Joe. An average Joe. He is used to hot climates, so jumpers aren’t usually on his list. One reason he just doesn’t like them much. You can see him in the rain in a tee and jeans on a regular basis. Otherwise. He’s an average Joe.
{ and I'm telling you why
your name the immortal maddie (maddison)
age
years of roleplay I have no idea
code sentence
if you like pina coldas and getting caught in the rain.
other no
sample post
Bright clouds rolled over the horizon. They were puffy and white, shining and every now and then covering the sun. The shadows below were lengthening as the day grew on. It wasn’t much passed mid-day, but it didn’t need to be. The sun’s golden rays still shone out and lit up the stable blocks below.
The stables below were painted a pale shade of beige. Not white, that would reflect the light and be painful to look at, but a calming shade of beige that you never needed to look at twice. The stable doors were painted either red or blue, depending on the gender of the horse. Each had a bed of shavings neatly brushed so that they covered the floor except for a foot and a half or so of bare ground underneath the water buckets and the hay-nets. The floors were grey, yet not painted. They were left bare to the stone floor.
The yard was also not painted, as it didn’t need to be. It was swept clean and was a darker shade of beige, more brown than beige. The yard led out onto a metre and a half wide track that led up to the fields. And the other side had a lane leading to the second stable-block and arenas. The fields led onto the small road that led to a wider and more used road and finally into the towns. It wasn’t that secluded, just out of the way. Just what the owner had wished when she’d found the derelict barns and abandoned fields.
Sharp footfalls clicked on the cobbles that led down from the fields. They boots didn’t have a very big heel, they were only yard boots. They just echoed around the stables. Hoof beats followed the footfalls. They were light and broke rhythm regally. Arianne’s light auburn hair flicked in the light breeze that played around the leader and pony. The pony wasn’t more than 12 hands high. He had a wide, light blaze across his features and his ears were permanently pricked forward. Each of his legs had a sock except for one hind leg that had a stocking. His white patches were slightly muddy from being in the field all night. Arianne always took the working horses in for a groom each morning. The foals, the elder ones, came in every two days, and the youngest stayed with her retired mare, Elder. Her youngest member of the stable, not yet 7 months, still had no name. She had been orphaned earlier in her life and had been born under difficult circumstances. She was a full bred Arabian filly with piebald markings. She’d taken to Elder very well and visa versa. Elder had been a brood mare and looked after many foals in her time.
Arianne led the Welsh Pony into his stable and took off his head collar. Being the greedy horse he was, he headed strait for his hay net and starting pulling it hungrily. Arianne smiled and closed the door, pushing the bolt across and kicking the kick bolt over. Joey had a nack for escaping under any circumstances. She hung up his halter and rope beside his stall and walked passed two other blue painted doors. One had a Friesian gelding called ArchAngel. He was generally known as Archie. Arianne walked passed his stall, holding out a handful of something she knew he’d like. His ears pricked up at once and he turned around in his stall and put his head over the door. He sniffed her hand and munched up what had been in it. Arianne gave him an affectionate pat and moved on to the stallion next to him. This was her pride and glory. Her champion. He was a tall, black stallion. The Hanoverian had his head over the door, his neck arched in a traditional dressage pose. Arianne smiled and slipped his a handful of something nice. He nickered softly as shook his head, his newly brushed mane going strait to the wrong side of his neck. Arianne gave him a pat on the muzzle before moving on.
The second stable block she visited had just two horses in. She looked like an exact replica of ArchAngel, except smaller. She was a fell foal. Her mane stuck up everywhere and in with her was another foal. These were her two eldest foals, Sammie and Poppy. Poppy was the fell, her coat shiny, if slightly scruffy. The other was a skewbald warmblood called Sammie. Poppy whinnied and swished her short tail. Sammie, who was already bigger and taller than Poppy, put his head over the door. He could over just reach and he looked like a disembodied head if you just glanced at him. Poppy, on the other hand, all you could see of her were her ears. Arianne lent over the door to give each of the foals a treat. They both munched it down with enthusiasm. Poppy shook her head and lay down in the soft bedding at the back of the stall. Sammie followed her and lay down beside her. Arianne smiled and walked out of the barn.
A bi-coloured blur whizzed passed her feet, almost tripping her up. The collie cross puppy bounded up to her and jumped up, planting two muddy paws on her thighs. Carrie was a boarder collie cross husky and made her extremely hyper. Arianne smiled and walked on, the collie cross bounding in front of her. She was going to bring in her youngest foal with Elder. She still hadn’t decided on a name for the poor filly, but something would come to her.
Carrie bounced into the field as Arianne stopped at the gate. Elder was standing about ten feet away, her head lowered to the ground. Beside her, her head raised to look around at Arianne, was the little piebald figure of her Arabian filly. She smiled and whistled. Elder’s head was raised up. She whinnied and turned, walking over to Arianne. The little filly pranced behind, she had a surefooted thing. She hadn’t tripped or stumbled once over the slightly uneven ground. Arianne opened the gate and started walking back. She called to Carrie, who bounced over, looking excited. The collie cross darted up to Arianne before moving on to the stables. Elder walked beside Arianne, her head moving in motion to her steps. With a swish of her little tail. The Arabian filly pattered up beside Elder, dancing in front of the mare who snorted softly, her long mane fluttering down.
Once in the yard, Arianne knelt down beside the filly, who whinnied and nudged her hand. So she was a brave lass, she didn’t seem nervous of Arianne at all, or of the new surroundings. Arianne stroked her muzzle as Elder moved over to the feed bucket Arianne had placed out for her. Joey and Seven stuck their heads over the door to see what was going on. The filly nickered softly before nudging Arianne’s hand.
