Post by Feliks Lukasiewicz on Aug 29, 2010 10:20:11 GMT -5
Name: Feliks Lukasiewicz
Country of Origin: Poland
Gender He’s definitely a guy. Albeit a gender confused one.
Age: 19
Height: 5’4 and like, totally proud of it.
Weight: ...129, and like you better not laugh. Cause I’m totally like, not fat or anything.
Appearance: At first glance, many people mistake Feliks for a female, and who can blame them? He's got wheat colored, shoulder length hair, that's always hanging loose, even when he's working, a set of wide green eyes, and a totally trim figure. He's also rather short. It doesn't help that he's a bit queer, speaking like an American schoolgirl with very heavy empathise on the 'likes' and 'totally's, and oh - didn't I like, mention it before?
He like, totally dresses fabulously in lady's clothing. Unlike the stereotypical pirate, Feliks prefers lace, ruffles and wide skirts to the trench coats, britches, and peg legs. However he doesn't mind too much if his clothes get ripped or torn, that's why Feliks often carries a sewing kit, although he will give people hell if they disturb him when he's sewing.
Personality: Feliks Lukasiewicz is one of those people you can't simply sum up and put into a little box. When you first meet him, he's often found hiding behind somebody else, sulking and slightly pouting, although it doesn't take a long time, particularly if you smile a lot, for him to decide that you're his new best friend, and that he's going to be latching onto you.
He cross dresses as a hobby, buying full length dresses with ruffles sleeves, silk gloves, and high heeled boots without batting an eyelash. Feliks is a sucker for smiles, compliments, but he totally will hold a grudge if you don't compliment his latest dress, that's like, totally bought in Bombay. Even if he seems like an unpleasant person at first - a bit impulsive, slightly silly - he's fiercely loyal to the point of picking fights with anybody who insulted his friends, and has no problems with pretending to be weak, and then lashing out.
On the high seas...or air, however, he's not one for fighting - getting airsick pretty easily - preferring to stay behind to steer the ships, to try to find upgrades on weaponry...and to serve as a medic if there's not another one available. He's the type that pays attention to the little details, an engineer at heart. However he works with a devil may care attitude, and is careless of deadlines.
History: Feliks grew up in a small seaside village in Warsaw, his father a merchant trading between the his native country and the Floating City, and would often bring back stories and little presents for Feliks. Feliks would listen rapt eyed at the stories that his father would tell him, and dream that one day, he would be able to go above to one of the Cities.
When he turned sixteen, his father decided to take him along for a visit to the Floating City...for good, since his father, a kind, stern man named Josef had broken his leg and was unable to travel between the two worlds. Getting a job hadn't been easy, but Feliks needed some way to earn money since his father couldn't work anymore, and on a cold, December's night he finally found a job as a bell boy in one of the inns. That was where he met his best friend, Toris...otherwise nicknamed as 'Liet'.
Feliks first met the other boy when he was exploring the place during one of his rare breaks. Soon Feliks made his first friend, and would often drift into his best friend's room during a break, petitioning the other to take a break from studying the loads of heavy books Toris was always carrying. However the friendship was tested when Toris left for university, the only and largest argument the two had. Feliks begged his friend to stay, even though Feliks knew that he was selfish, he couldn't bear to be parted from his best friend. However all his arguments were futile, and so Feliks prepared himself for the other's departure, and the sense of betrayal, by ignoring the other's friendly waves, and skipping out or claiming that he was too busy when the other wanted to talk.
After Toris left however, Feliks began to feel remorse, and wanted to apologize. So he quit working at the inn, and decided to go back to Warsaw to catch a train to Vilnius. However during the first five or so times, he found himself shaking, tongue tied, and would often times go back to the small room that he rents. Currently he’s working on a few odd jobs to pay for food, rent, and the extravagant dresses that he totally just has to have.
Allegiance: (He’s like, totally fine for anything. Although it’d be nice for him to be able to see his BFF again.
Roleplay Sample: It’s not easy being a partisan. It involves hard rides through the night, little sleep in humid places crawling with bugs, and other creatures that Feliks would rather ignore. However, it was a necessary sacrifice he had to make, and so after packing up twenty years of Independence, along with that brilliantly green dress that he wore the first day of freedom, locking them tightly inside a storeroom in Warsaw, he had resolved to fight for freedom. However, freedom was not a tangible thing. It was one of those dreams, where if he dreamt hard enough, killed enough Nazi facist-pigs, then maybe someday it would appear. It was one of those bright, warm things that he would only remember when dawn hits the roofs of bombed buildings, a dream that was as real to him as rye fields, the sweet scent of oranges, the bright dinners in the home of a Pan Radziwill, a kind man who had given up his life for his country in the first War.
But now the dreams were crushed yet again, and Feliks found himself awaiting execution, his hair hastily pinned up with tarnished silver, half sitting, half kneeling in the dirty room that the Gestapo reserved for spies, traitors, and revolutionaries. His lips were shaking in anger, pain, indignation, silent for he had worn out his voice hoarse yesterday after shouting a manner of curses, everything that he remembered since the Napoleonic Wars - high and mighty sermons about not being crushed that he had recited word for word from memory since the January Uprising, coarse, simple ‘Fuck Yous’ that he learned while mucking out the stables in Prussia’s...or was it Russia’s house. - to the unmoved men, with their glassy stares, full of contempt for him, whom they refereed to as Lebensunwertes Leben. He had fought against them too, the mission where he had been caught was to infiltrate a party in a dress , but there had been simply too many, his arm had been broken, snapped cruelly, and was now hanging uselessly.
To further add to the mockery, there was a thin line of lipstick on his lips, clumsily applied. His eyes were feverish, glazed over, his pulse was completely off, as he remained staring out towards the small window, waiting for dawn, a simple puppet after the strings had been snipped off. And when dawn finally came, there was small relief that the soldiers had at least brought in an uniform, it was a comfort that he wasn’t going to die in a dress, tearing off the last straggling pieces of silk and linen, and forcing his arms roughly into the uniform, the broken arm dangling at an awkward angle. He used the other arm to wipe off the lipstick.
“Er...like, thanks?” he asked monotonously, it still didn’t hurt to be polite.
He heard the click of guns, the voice of a harsh barking German, and felt the whoosh of air, the impact of the bullet as it hit his chest, the rushing of blood, and closed his eyes.
Did you read the rules? Who is a Beastie?: Like...er, Jack Sparrow?
((Note: If there's something I did wrong/forgot please don't hesitate to tell me. I'm a little rusty with applications. /will drown self now. ))
Country of Origin: Poland
Gender He’s definitely a guy. Albeit a gender confused one.
Age: 19
Height: 5’4 and like, totally proud of it.
Weight: ...129, and like you better not laugh. Cause I’m totally like, not fat or anything.
Appearance: At first glance, many people mistake Feliks for a female, and who can blame them? He's got wheat colored, shoulder length hair, that's always hanging loose, even when he's working, a set of wide green eyes, and a totally trim figure. He's also rather short. It doesn't help that he's a bit queer, speaking like an American schoolgirl with very heavy empathise on the 'likes' and 'totally's, and oh - didn't I like, mention it before?
He like, totally dresses fabulously in lady's clothing. Unlike the stereotypical pirate, Feliks prefers lace, ruffles and wide skirts to the trench coats, britches, and peg legs. However he doesn't mind too much if his clothes get ripped or torn, that's why Feliks often carries a sewing kit, although he will give people hell if they disturb him when he's sewing.
Personality: Feliks Lukasiewicz is one of those people you can't simply sum up and put into a little box. When you first meet him, he's often found hiding behind somebody else, sulking and slightly pouting, although it doesn't take a long time, particularly if you smile a lot, for him to decide that you're his new best friend, and that he's going to be latching onto you.
He cross dresses as a hobby, buying full length dresses with ruffles sleeves, silk gloves, and high heeled boots without batting an eyelash. Feliks is a sucker for smiles, compliments, but he totally will hold a grudge if you don't compliment his latest dress, that's like, totally bought in Bombay. Even if he seems like an unpleasant person at first - a bit impulsive, slightly silly - he's fiercely loyal to the point of picking fights with anybody who insulted his friends, and has no problems with pretending to be weak, and then lashing out.
On the high seas...or air, however, he's not one for fighting - getting airsick pretty easily - preferring to stay behind to steer the ships, to try to find upgrades on weaponry...and to serve as a medic if there's not another one available. He's the type that pays attention to the little details, an engineer at heart. However he works with a devil may care attitude, and is careless of deadlines.
History: Feliks grew up in a small seaside village in Warsaw, his father a merchant trading between the his native country and the Floating City, and would often bring back stories and little presents for Feliks. Feliks would listen rapt eyed at the stories that his father would tell him, and dream that one day, he would be able to go above to one of the Cities.
When he turned sixteen, his father decided to take him along for a visit to the Floating City...for good, since his father, a kind, stern man named Josef had broken his leg and was unable to travel between the two worlds. Getting a job hadn't been easy, but Feliks needed some way to earn money since his father couldn't work anymore, and on a cold, December's night he finally found a job as a bell boy in one of the inns. That was where he met his best friend, Toris...otherwise nicknamed as 'Liet'.
Feliks first met the other boy when he was exploring the place during one of his rare breaks. Soon Feliks made his first friend, and would often drift into his best friend's room during a break, petitioning the other to take a break from studying the loads of heavy books Toris was always carrying. However the friendship was tested when Toris left for university, the only and largest argument the two had. Feliks begged his friend to stay, even though Feliks knew that he was selfish, he couldn't bear to be parted from his best friend. However all his arguments were futile, and so Feliks prepared himself for the other's departure, and the sense of betrayal, by ignoring the other's friendly waves, and skipping out or claiming that he was too busy when the other wanted to talk.
After Toris left however, Feliks began to feel remorse, and wanted to apologize. So he quit working at the inn, and decided to go back to Warsaw to catch a train to Vilnius. However during the first five or so times, he found himself shaking, tongue tied, and would often times go back to the small room that he rents. Currently he’s working on a few odd jobs to pay for food, rent, and the extravagant dresses that he totally just has to have.
Allegiance: (He’s like, totally fine for anything. Although it’d be nice for him to be able to see his BFF again.
Roleplay Sample: It’s not easy being a partisan. It involves hard rides through the night, little sleep in humid places crawling with bugs, and other creatures that Feliks would rather ignore. However, it was a necessary sacrifice he had to make, and so after packing up twenty years of Independence, along with that brilliantly green dress that he wore the first day of freedom, locking them tightly inside a storeroom in Warsaw, he had resolved to fight for freedom. However, freedom was not a tangible thing. It was one of those dreams, where if he dreamt hard enough, killed enough Nazi facist-pigs, then maybe someday it would appear. It was one of those bright, warm things that he would only remember when dawn hits the roofs of bombed buildings, a dream that was as real to him as rye fields, the sweet scent of oranges, the bright dinners in the home of a Pan Radziwill, a kind man who had given up his life for his country in the first War.
But now the dreams were crushed yet again, and Feliks found himself awaiting execution, his hair hastily pinned up with tarnished silver, half sitting, half kneeling in the dirty room that the Gestapo reserved for spies, traitors, and revolutionaries. His lips were shaking in anger, pain, indignation, silent for he had worn out his voice hoarse yesterday after shouting a manner of curses, everything that he remembered since the Napoleonic Wars - high and mighty sermons about not being crushed that he had recited word for word from memory since the January Uprising, coarse, simple ‘Fuck Yous’ that he learned while mucking out the stables in Prussia’s...or was it Russia’s house. - to the unmoved men, with their glassy stares, full of contempt for him, whom they refereed to as Lebensunwertes Leben. He had fought against them too, the mission where he had been caught was to infiltrate a party in a dress , but there had been simply too many, his arm had been broken, snapped cruelly, and was now hanging uselessly.
To further add to the mockery, there was a thin line of lipstick on his lips, clumsily applied. His eyes were feverish, glazed over, his pulse was completely off, as he remained staring out towards the small window, waiting for dawn, a simple puppet after the strings had been snipped off. And when dawn finally came, there was small relief that the soldiers had at least brought in an uniform, it was a comfort that he wasn’t going to die in a dress, tearing off the last straggling pieces of silk and linen, and forcing his arms roughly into the uniform, the broken arm dangling at an awkward angle. He used the other arm to wipe off the lipstick.
“Er...like, thanks?” he asked monotonously, it still didn’t hurt to be polite.
He heard the click of guns, the voice of a harsh barking German, and felt the whoosh of air, the impact of the bullet as it hit his chest, the rushing of blood, and closed his eyes.
Did you read the rules? Who is a Beastie?: Like...er, Jack Sparrow?
((Note: If there's something I did wrong/forgot please don't hesitate to tell me. I'm a little rusty with applications. /will drown self now. ))
