May. 16th, 2017


May. 16th, 2017 12:34 am
respectorcist: (mulder)
blah blah dumping some character profiles here


Consider the case of Felix Thistlethwaite, scientist's apprentice. One must explain Felix early, to prepare the audience, and avoid any misconceptions.

Felix, as the name would imply, was not a happy or lucky lad, but a morose thing of age twenty-one, with little to no interest in marrying, or indeed, much in making friends either. This was not to the liking of his parents. There were many things not to the liking of Felix' parents.

He was overly tall, and overly thin, and overly pale. Freckles dusted muddy constellations across his nose and cheeks. His eyes were a foxy brown, and his hair, an even foxier red. Felix looked good in green and had a finely full mouth, an impression that was often ruined by a sullen exterior and a nose just a bit too long.

Felix was not devoid of a personality, nor was the one that he had entirely without merit. He had many interests. Felix liked to read literature and non-fiction alike, and he liked to write. But he did not like art, nor philosophy, because he was rather terrible at both. He wasn't stupid; he was bright, but in a way that was like a mountain stream. Cold, quick and shallow.

He had not been born the way that he was, mildly disagreeable. He'd once been a kind child -- he was still kind, beneath it all -- but had suffered a wound in war, and had lived through it. For his efforts in the name of the Empire, Felix had received a shot wound to his upper left leg, which had never healed back correctly near the hip, and which left him with a slight limp and an ache in his bones whenever the weather was damp.

Living in Worcestershire, it was always damp. So, it always ached.

It was that wound that had left Felix with a problem with opium, and it was that problem which brought him to where he was; sent off by his parents, ostensibly to work for a man, ostensibly to learn that man's field. But mostly as an alternative to being hustled off to rehabilitation on Osea Island.

He was, at least, cursorily interested in the sciences.


Being a man of science, Archibald Cross was as intelligent and fastidious a fellow as one could wish for, which was expected.

Exceeding expectation, he was both charming and managed to avoid being a bore. Perhaps it was the excitement with which he viewed his own work, or perhaps it was simply that he possessed a musical voice that fell on the ears as smoothly as a silk handkerchief (of which he owned many.)

Of slightly less than moderate height, and moderate build, Archibald made up for the offense by wearing quite a tall and well-made hat, and a particularly aggressive moustache, which curled up at the ends with cheek.

Archibald was a brownish man, with ancestors from one Tamil kingdom or another. His hair was thick and glossy black, as were his eyebrows and moustache, and his heavy-lidded eyes which ought to look sleepy, but did not.

His name did not suggest his background, and he seldom spoke of why to anyone. He preferred to allow the reason to be mysterious. Archibald often preferred to be mysterious. The man's age was much the same, difficult to pin down. He could have been twenty-five; he could have been forty. One would have to ask to be certain.

Archibald had been educated as a scientist, in some university or another, of multiple disciplines, but chiefly paleontology and biology.

Which did not explain many of the objects in his trunks.


respectorcist: (Default)
if anyone asks this is educational

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