- Applicants, respond anonymously.
- If you're going to do the whole "ask me if I voted you out!" thing, please state who you voted out.
- No speculating about the identity of the applicants!
Series: Hellsing .
Character Age: Has the mannerisms and physical appearance of a young, possibly 12-16 year old boy. Picture here.
Canon: Ah, Hellsing: the story of an androgynous woman, her pet vampires and butler, and the wacky adventures they have. They fight vampires! And Nazis! And sometimes Vampire Nazis!
A catboy created by the resident mad scientist of an enigmatic Nazi organization hellbent on total destruction and warfare, Millennium, Schrödinger is the Junior Warrant Officer of the organization's special forces, The Werewolves. His eerie, disconcerting ability to teleport and be in two places at once ("I'm everyvhere and novhere.") makes him the ideal envoy for Millennium; as such, the group mostly uses him as a personal messenger for allies and foes alike, without having to worry about potential injury or death. Kill Schrödinger? Good and dandy, go ahead. Just be prepared to see him alive and well, cheerfully smiling away during your next unexpected meeting. The extent of his powers are not known, but rest assured, he's certainly full of surprises.
As far as initial impressions and personality goes, Schrödinger is energetic and affirmative. He is childish in both appearance and ethics, and tends to see the world around him as one great, big game, especially intensely negative aspects such as war and brutality; interestingly enough, he prefers not to personally get involved with conflict, and is very comfortable with lazily observing on the sidelines. Whilst not outright sadistic, Schrödinger is cruel, uncaring, and very fond of taunting. He can also be disrespectful and blunt at times, though he often attempts to cover this up with more of his signature juvenile behavior and comments.
I vas a veeeery good boy all day. I helped clean the Schwalbes, I carried out the routine barrick inspection, und I even polished Captain's Mauser! Major vas most pleased, und guess vhat? He said I could take the day off und do vhateeeeeever my heart desired. He seemed particularly thrilled vith the prospect of this camp, so off I vent! I have to admit, I never expected such a varm velcome; the moment I arrived, a whole group of pretty young girls seemed to...vell, jump on me. They were shouting in a most foreign language about "nekos". Vhat's a neko, I vonder? Perhaps it has something to do vith my ears, vhich they haven't stopped touching. It's getting quite annoying, and I do vish they'd stop.
Aside from the girls, the other campers are a little on the dull side. Herr Director, you should do something about this! Improving the mess hall vould be a vonderful start, I think. Less mess und more food, ja? I can understand using malnourishment as a means of control, but this is just shameful! Even the plants are hungry out there; I just saw one vrap its vines around someone und...vell, you know. Eat him. Und he didn't go quietly either. He vas thrashing und screaming und making such a fuss! It vas all so very funny!
Ahahaha...I should tell those solemn purple apes about it. I'm sure they would find it funny, too! Of course...they didn't really like it vhen I borrowed their banana bushel. Now don't look at me like that! I vas going to give it back after I had one. Just a little one! Maybe I vouldn't have thrown it into the lake if they hadn't chased me up that tree. Serves them right, nasty old monkeys. The fishy is sure to be enjoying them now~
All this talk of food is making me hungry. I don't think Major vould like this place very much. He's aaaaaaallvays eating, you see. He'd rather be shot than miss a meal, especially vhen--
Ack, please stop poking them, Fräulein. I need them to hear, und they're very sensitive. Could you please go over there vith the other campers? The smelly ones? They sound so sad vhat vith all the moaning and groaning; perhaps you could cheer them up? Give them a hug? Ah, there you go! Danke!
...Oooh, they like her.
In or out?
Character Age: Looks young enough to pass for a teenager, but
actually quite old
Canon: Angel Sanctuary is the magical and homoerotic story about an
angel who’s in love with her brother being punk’d by God and reincarnated as
a boy who’s in love with his sister. Though that isn’t exactly what
happened, under no uncertain terms is God a giant douche. In any case,
that’s not the point.
The point is that Heaven and Hell were in a massive war against one another.
Shock, awe, originality. The royal family of the top layers of Hell raised
this boy Who Has No Name to believe he was the heir apparent to protect the
real heir, his baby sister Kurai. Unfortunately, by the time he found this
out, the rest of his family, with the exception of Kurai, had been
slaughtered by Heaven. With anyone else, this would incite a moral dilemma
and existential crisis over the true nature of good and evil, but Boy
Without Name was used to Heaven’s dickery and so focused on his own angst of
not being the real queen of Gehenna.
So he made a pact with the devil, or one of his harem, and started posing as
Arachne, Kurai’s drag queen and/or transsexual cousin in order to sacrifice
her to Satan. But eventually (s)he starts loving Kurai and so (s)he decided
to sacrifice hirself to Satan and become his (wo)man-bride. I hope that was
as confusing to read as it was to type.
It would just be too ironic to say ‘where the hell am I?’, wouldn’t it?
Well, if nothing else, I know for sure I’m not in Hell anymore. I mean, in
Hell, I didn’t ever fall out of the sky, get twigs in my gorgeous hair, get
RUNS IN MY STOCKINGS, and I certainly didn’t smell something uncomfortably
close to poo. All you had to worry about in Hell were the demon lords, the
occasional invading forces of Heaven, and the pure poisonous gas of the
The only good part about this is I’m not dead anymore and that only makes me
worry that I wasn’t delicate enough to be a pure bride. That stings like a
slap to the face. And if I wasn’t an acceptable bride, does this mean that…
Could all of Hell be destroyed? Could Kurai be dead?
It doesn’t seem like so long ago I would have cheered for that. It seems I
really have grown to care for her, my dear cousin. I only hope that she was
able to use my wisdom to become the beautiful lady I knew she could be. But
isn’t that every older sister’s dream?
Oh, fabulous, the poo-smell has been overcome by a new decaying flesh-smell!
I never thought the time would come when I’d long for poo-smell.
And now I’m surrounded by zombies. Oh, it’s so wonderful that I was returned
to life. Otherwise, I might have lived without the thrill of being devoured
like an animal.
No, you DO NOT touch those! Bad zombie! Very bad! These breasts were quite
hard to come by, you know, and I don’t need you man…or, rather,
zombie-handling them into nothing but plastic and gel.
Treating a lady like this, they’re as bad as the Messiah!
Oh, he’s probably dead too. Oh well. If I survive this little horror film
experience, I’ll light a candle or something for him.
Now I’m sure I told you to STOP TOUCHING! I’m not that sort of girl, you
know! You’re much too decayed for me, first off, and secondly I don’t even
know your name. Though, if you had some looks under that rotting skin, I
wouldn’t mind the second as much…
Ugh, it’s a curse being this irresistible. Stop that or I’ll punch your head
THAT WAS MY ASS. You didn’t even buy me a drink first! You, sir, have
crossed a line!
In or out?
Character Name: Seregil í Korit Solun Meringil Bôkthersa
Age: 60, but not of legal age according to his people, and appears to be "a man of twenty" and "hardly older than" Alec.
Series: Lynn Flewelling's Nightrunner series
Canon: The only thing better than a swashbuckling tale about attractive, intelligent spies immersed in a world of magic and intrigue is the same story, except the spies are also having hot sex with each other. Lynn Flewelling's Nightrunner series follows the life, love, and deadly antics of an exile-turned-thief and his hilariously underaged protégé-turned-lover, Alec. Having started his new life in the nearby human country of Skala after being exiled from his home, Seregil becomes a spy and con artist after his stint as a wizard's apprentice is what we like to call EPIC FAIL: he is quite allergic to magic, causing it to have completely random results and make him violently ill, with the sole exception to this being the "intrinsic nature" spell, which turns Seregil into his inner animal, an otter.
Seregil is a man with a hundred names and faces, and very few people are privileged enough to know which are the truth. However, underneath the careful protective layers is a wickedly intelligent man who is immensely talented, witty, fiercely loyal to his friends, and a tad too fond of baths. A little bit of a dick under his careful polite posturing, Seregil won't hesitate to knife those standing in his way, though he prefers to turn situations to his advantage with as little bloodshed as possible. He can pick any lock, fight with sword and bow, dine with the rich, slum with the poor, speak multiple languages, and charm the moon from the sky with his pretty face and crooked grin. Of course, he also screws a boy who looks like he's fourteen, and accidentally turned himself into a brick once. But hey, nobody's perfect.
Note: Seregil is being taken from after Stalking Darkness but before Traitor's Moon.
My most humble greetings, citizens of Camp Fuck You Die. I am Lord Seregil í Korit, lately of Rhíminee, and this is my young ward, Sir Alec í Gareth of Ivywall. We beg pardon for our intrusion, but we seem to have gotten lost along our way and require a place to stay for the night—not to mention a hot bath. We had something of a run-in with a slightly offended goat just up the mountain trail, you see. My cloak got the worst of it, but really, I've no idea what "illegal activities" the goat's owner felt I was guilty of—who are "Batman and Robin," if I may ask?—but I assure you, both my intentions and my relationship with my ward are completely honorable.
That said, I must admit to some . . . concern at this village's priorities, what with its apparent undue interest in the bedroom activities of strangers while such a vast number of undead are roaming free. My companion is, shall we say, less than fond of them?—Alec, talí, put the knife down—but more to the point,but more to the point, their sense of hygiene is terrible. I can't imagine you letting them near the place where you bathe, for instance. Have you considered erecting a barricade around this onsen of yours? The barrier around your lands themselves seems to be rather effective for keeping them in, at least. If I might examine it-Bilairy's Balls, it's a magic barrier? No, I don't need to look any closer-!
. . . u-urgh. M-Maker's Mercy, I . . . a-ah, my most sincere condolences if that was anyone's . . . white owl that just. Exploded. That was gruesome and unnecessary, I—magic does not agree with me, I'm afraid, and right now neither does my stomach, so . . . ugh, if somebody would please hand me a b-basin, I'll—
That's. Actually, that walrus seems very distressed that we be taking his—ah, I mean, that his bucket is being taken away. So please, disregard that. I think I'll be fine, I'd just like to lie down, perhaps, or have a soak in your hot springs if the walrus does not mind sharing. I'm fine with it, really. I have quite an affinity for marine animals, myself. Particularly fond of the otter, actually. It—
You may explain why you're laughing at any moment now. Really.
In or out?
Character Name: Alec í Amasa of Kerry
Age: Physically 14-15 (actually 17)
Series: Lynn Flewelling's Nightrunner series
Canon: The Nightrunner series is a story of intrigue, of warfare, of love and loss, and of hot gay elven sex. In it, Alec of Kerry had been a humble and poor country boy until he was mistaken for a spy and rescued by the dashing thief and actual spy, Seregil. Alec soon follows in Seregil's footsteps as a 'nightrunner', though he never quite loses his honest face or tendency to blush at everything.
Alec has learned to wear many masks and to have many identities, with his most common role being that of an (imaginary) nobleman's son who is ward to Seregil. But no matter how many roles he plays, the one thing he can't get away from by pretending to be someone or something else is his tendency to be rape-bait. Everyone wants to badtouch Alec. Considering he's trying to save the world from an evil necromancer's army of undead, you'd think it wouldn't come up that often. But no, whether it's a scullery maid hiking up her skirt, soldiers looking for some sport, or a hideous undead witch straddling him, none of them can keep their hands, mouths, or dessicated tongues off the pretty underage half-aurënfaie boy. (Did I mention he's half-fairy? He's half-fairy.) Still, Alec copes fairly well, since saving the world is srs bizness, and he's a pretty trusty shot with a bow when anything gets too insistent.
Though he may have lingering undead issues. Maybe.
Note: Alec is apped from after Stalking Darkness but before Traitor's Moon.
Ah... Good evening! I am Sir Alec í Gareth of Ivywall. I, alongside my lord Seregil, have been traveling, and we stumbled upon this place quite by accident. You see, we had not come across an inn in quite some time, and I saw a sign that seemed to point the way to food. Being hungry as we were, I suggested we follow it. Unfortunately, it seems we were led astray, as I haven't seen any chicken this way at all. In fact, the only animals I've seen so far are large purple apes, and they certainly don't look edible, however much they seem to be hand-signing that they'd like me to put them in my mouth. I'd rather have some normal food, not their... meat. If any is available, I mean.
But while I'm sure we very much appreciate your animals' generosity, and I truly don't want to criticize, I do wonder if you know you've got a bit of a ... problem? In this place. I mean, the living dead aren't exactly a... a tourist feature. Certainly, they've been seeming very hospitable -- I think they're inviting us for dinner, but I don't think I'd want what they're serving. And they're offering us a change of clothing, but to do so by taking the clothes off our backs is just a little... uncomfortable. And yes, it's been a very long trip so far, but no, I don't want to come up to bed. Stop that! Don't touch that! I'll kill you!
--O-oh, please excuse my vehemence. The point I'm trying to make, though, is that necromancy is very bad. I know that these don't seem to be terribly dangerous creatures; I've already seen that they're easy to out-walk, and you can stab them and shoot them over and over, and they can barely do a thing to stop it! But they're still abominations, and not all undead are this simple to deal with. There are some much, much worse. Er-- that is to say, there's so many around that I have to wonder if people realize just how terrible the undead can be. Please, just say no to necromancy.
Unless 'no' isn't right for the local language; that might explain some of the issues with the gorillas -- um, let's see here, if this is right... Well, it's worth a try:
Please, if you value your life and your chastity, just say iyaan, dame to necromancy.
In or out?
Series: Azumanga Daioh
Character Age: Eighteen, taken from near the end of the series.
Canon: Azumanga Daioh is a story about average high school life in Japan, featuring six not-quite-normal students, three teachers of varying levels of sanity, and (on occasion) a bullet-proof, government-sponsored Santa/Dad/Cat-thing.
Osaka (nee Ayumu Kasuga), the most... distinctive... of the students, takes her nickname from her place of origin. Unlike most Osakans, however, she's slow, soft-spoken, and scatter-brained, often failing spectacularly at both academics and sports. While it's easy to assume that Osaka is just dumber than a sack of bricks, the truth is that her mind works differently. Not many people derive enjoyment from repeatedly faceplanting into a bin of flour, chasing after the dancing spots in the corners of their eyes, or wondering if pigtails allow little girls to take flight.
Osaka doesn't just march to the beat of a different drummer, she marches to the beat of a weather report playing on the radio.
Ever had those days where you gotta remind yourself what you were just doing? It's like when I step out of the house, and then after thinking about a whole lot of nothing I'm suddenly at school and I can't remember walkin' there. I wonder why that happens. Maybe there's an autopilot in my brain, but with too much Auto and not enough Pilot. Is Auto on overtime? Or it could be Pilot's fault. But if the autopilot runs by itself, who's watching the autopilot?
There's probably a miniature version of myself sitting in my brain, and she's making sure that the autopilot stays on target. That'd make sense, because she fell asleep like I always do and let my brain's autopilot walk me into this swamp. Though... I don't remember there being this much water and this many trees on the road between my house and school. Hey, how'd I end up holding a laptop, too...?
Maybe I'm dreaming... hey, maybe I just dreamt that I woke up and started walking to school! If that's the case, then this dream's awfully well-done. I've never even been to a swamp before, but my brain seems really good at making one up. There's even a lot of water, and that big splash that my laptop just made sounded very realistic- AH! My laptop! I accidentally dropped my laptop! And... it's floating away. Aaaah... c'mon, I gotta get it together. Get it together. Get it... together...
... oh. These birds- they're toucans, right? They're staring at me awfully intensely. I heard somewhere that dogs can read your mind, and dial 911, so maybe these toucans can too? Come to think of it... I wonder why they're called toucans. Are we even SURE if toucan? We don't even know if threecan or fourcan. But a onecan't. You can't make half a toucan, so you definitely can't have a onecan't. Or is it "you can't have a onecan"? But then, how many toucans would make a fourcan? Is it four toucans, or is it two toucans? Maybe that's two too many toucan, so it'd be a fourcan't, and-
Ah! The toucans left... they were in a real hurry to get away. I wonder wh- oh, an alligator! Or is it a crocodile? I forgot how to tell. I guess that's why the toucans ran away; they didn't want to get eaten by their native predator. But... I thought toucans were from South America. How do they know what an African alligator is? Wait- maybe toucans come from Africa, too. I can't ever remember which of the two continents these guys are from, 'cause the continents are in the same shape. Aren't pecans from Africa, too? They're a type of bird too, right? Or are they from South Americ-
Huh? You're trying to get to the 'big game'? I'm in your way? Ah, I'm sorry, I didn't notice at all. See you later! Wow... what a polite talking crocogator. I wonder, though, why did it need so many vibrating rubber bananas? Maybe I should follow it and try to borrow one so that I can fish out my laptop. Ah, hello? Excuse me...
In or out?
Character: Yakko Warner
Character Age: Oldest of indeterminate.
Canon: Animaniacs is a series set up in a variety show
format, featuring various characters -- among them, the Warner brothers
and the Warner sister: Yakko, Wakko, and Dot. The backstory is that they
were film stars during Hollywood's Golden Age of animation, but their
unique brand of mischief and mayhem proved to be too much for the
studio, and they were locked in the WB water tower for fifty years, at
which point they escaped.
Yakko is the oldest, recognizable by his brown pants and lack of shirt.
While Dot deals with situations by being cute and Wakko resorts to the
judicious application of a mallet, Yakko talks. And talks. And talks.
Though he prefers to reduce strong men to tears by the sheer verbal
weight of a non-stop comic monologue on cheese, he, too, knows the value
of a well-timed anvil.
Like this one. CLANG.
Wait, wait, wait. This isn't Mexico. This isn't even a Chili's. Let’s
see... what does that sign say over there? "Camp Fu--" Hey, I can't say
that. The WB has standards! Surely the noble and good executives of my
fair network will never let such epithets cross the lips of an innocent
child such as myself!
What's that you say, Mr. Zombie? There is no WB anymore? It
joined with UPN to form an unholy alliance that sucked all that was good
and pure out of network television? I thought Rupert Murdoch already
did that. Who's running this place? I demand to speak to the person in
charge. "Braaaaains," you say? All I have is this genetically
engineered lab mouse.
So you're the loudspeaker behind the loudspeaker. Madam, I have worked
with the greatest director of our day, the shining North Star of our
cinematic firmament, our ever fixèd mark that worked on War of
the Worlds and was never shaken, although he could've used something
shaken after hearing about Thetans for hours every day. But I digress.
I have worked with this man, and I can safely say, that you, madam,
are no Steven Spielberg.
(Note to lawyers: see if contract with Spielberg is still in place.)
But woe, what shall I do? I’m lost and alone, trapped in a place where
only the thinnest veneer of civility protects us from the wild, where
the other inhabitants stagger from place to place, decaying skin
stretched taut over protruding bones, a place where the hand that helps
you one day may very well be the hand that stabs you in the back the next!
So actually it’s just like Hollywood. Hey, this place would make a
swell reha... day spa. It's got everything: mineral baths! Rugged,
purple personal trainers! Personal chefs! This one is named Mine...
Mina... Minnie! Plus shrubbery that creates an intimate setting -- and
I do mean intimate.
What does that sign on that bush say?
"Genuine wood guaranteed or your money back."
Mwah! Goodnight, everybody!
In or out?