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Topics - Captain Price
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« on: 17/08/2013 at 12:43 »
Merlin's Order of Defense CHARACTER INFORMATIONCharacter Name: Captain H. A. PriceAge: 35Gender: MaleEducation: Hogwarts - Gryffindor, 1921.Residence: Parolles Road, Whitehall Park, London N19Division:33rd Infantry Division, 54th Brigade: the Captain is a fighting man. If you asked him to make spells or fix a bridge, he'd sing 'We Wish You A Merry Christmas' and refuse to do anything else. In all three wars he's been involved in, he's been an infantry man. He knows how to handle people the best; he understands this sort of fighting technique. Granted, it'll be different in a wizarding war, but how much more different can pitting men against other men get?Rank:Captain: the easiest reason is that he won't have to change his name. That aside, the Captain has experience commanding these relatively small units, and it'd be good for him to put himself to use somewhere. He's far too mad for anything higher than a Major, and he'll probably spend most of his time sending people to their doom. He's also much older, much cleverer and much less valuable than your standard uppity Lieutenant or younger. The thing he knows best is commanding the respect and attention of a small group and instilling loyalty and taking over the world with them.Specialty:Requested Magical Levels: (see here on how to do this)His current levels:- Charms: 10
- Divination: 7
- Transfiguration: 12
- Summoning: 7
Please list any other characters you already have at the site:Scotty, Mavvy, Nigey (?), Cookie, Eggy.Biography: (300 words minimum.) "Hey. Hey Cappie."
Thomas Aquinas's last words were all is straw. He doesn't even know what's supposed to mean. The fire's burning bright and he puts his hands next to it, his fingers slowly defrosting against the heat.
"Cappie," the insistent voice whines again, and something like a freight train (most used track gauge - the standard gauge, also known as the Stephenson Gauge, four feet eight and a half inches) barrels into his side, sending him sprawling into the dry dust and caked mud.
"Reb," he groans, "you know you're a lot bigger than I am."
Reb grins at him and sticks his own hands over the fire. "A lot smarter too, I'll bet."
Cordite, dozing on his poncho, opens one eye to show that he isn't dozing at all. "You couldn't spell banana."
Reb throws a canteen at Cordite, who quickly ducks. The canteen rolls down the hill and into the night. Tourniquet looks up from stitching Buckshot together and scowls at him. "Water is important for a reason, wise guy."
Cordite sits up now, fully awake. "I thought we just established that he wasn't a wise guy."
"You're lucky we don't have any more canteens," Reb sniffs, turning his hulking mass back to the fire.
"So we've run out of water, then - and this is lucky how?"
Water had been Ulysses Grant's last word. He would have shared it with the rest but it probably isn't the greatest of things to say at a time like this.
***
It's him and Buckshot on watch tonight and they sit on the hill looking at the stars. (There's the Big Dipper, made out of seven stars - Alkaid, Mizar, Alioth, Megrez, Dubhe, Merak and Phecda - Mizar is a double star with Alcor, known as Horse and Rider.)
"Cappie," Buckshot says quietly, a Harvard Law grad and God knows what he's doing out here fighting in Spain when it isn't his fight.
"Why did you volunteer?"
Come to think of it, it isn't his fight either.
"I missed the Great War," he says, reclining against the hard dead grass, as if that's all the explanation in the world.
***
He's back on furlough and some idiot friends have decided to set him up on a date.
“So - what’s your name?”
“Captain Price,” he says, squinting at her suspiciously. Something’s off about this whole set up, but then again something always is. She's too eager to know his name. She’s dressed too well, almost as if she’s going for seduction. She could be wearing a wire, because the dress allows for such things.
“No first name?” she asks, smiling at him shyly – but he bets that it’s all a trick to force him to let down his guard.
“You can call me The Captain,” he offers, raising the glass to his mouth and quickly tipping the gin down his throat, though his eyes never leave hers. He lost his first name during the war, and he’s not going back. She looks at him, uncertain how to respond, and for a moment he thinks that perhaps this is actually just a date and she isn’t an assassin sent by the Republicans to kill him.
Just for a moment.
"My name's Sarah," she tells him.
"Am I supposed to react to that?" he gives her a stare. "Is that some sort of secret code? Are you telling the man behind me with the bowler hat and the sunglasses to slit my throat?"
She flushes.
"Nothing of the sort. Whatever would have made you say that?"
He realizes that he's holding the knife in his hand and puts it back on the table.
"If you're working for them, you can tell them that they'll never take me alive. I know how they operate - I'll blend in and disappear - they'll never see me again!" By this point his voice has risen to slight hysteria and only her frightened expression calms him down.
"Captain - " she shakes her head. "Cappie - I'm not working for anyone. I'm here on a date."
Too late. He knows that he's made a mistake. He grabs his coat and straightens his tie, keeping another eye on the man at table eight. "I'm sorry, Sarah, but I really can't trust anyone. That is, if Sarah is your real name."
Then he's out of the restaurant and out of her life.
***
He's back on the front. He knows what he's doing out here, here where he's just as sane as anyone else. It's not the most comforting of thoughts, but it's a damn sight better than having to skulk around in civilian life trying to figure out who's innocent and who's trying to kill you.
Here everyone's trying to kill you so you don't have to worry about it so much.
The Captain looks at his boys proudly, standing rigid in front of the sandbags waiting for the Republican rush. They've been together for two years now; big loud Reb with the brain of a peanut; long, lanky Cordite who always got away; hard hitting Tourniquet who put frogs in your bed; young philosophical Buckshot who used a shotgun like no one else.
These are his boys. This is his family.
They're coming. Hordes of them, screaming down the pathways, and here they are low on ammo and water and morale and manpower, but they will fight, because they volunteered and because losing just isn't an option.
And then it's blood and sand and bullets scattered around, screaming, twenty for every one of them, knives and swords and so here it is! cried Cleopatra before she died, and here it is indeed -
***Roleplay:The Captain was home at last. Others would have decried his attitude, expressed horror that he would have wanted such a terrible thing to happen, but the Captain was the Captain and he really didn't care what people thought of him. There wasn't any more time for caring, or shaving cream, or talking to plants. In this world of insanity, the chaos of war, the havoc of whipping spells and dying men, he was at his sanest. (It was probably because he didn't have to be paranoid during a war. You knew that everyone was out to kill you, anyway.) His boys were with him and they were just as exuberant, except a little less so, because this time they were dead and they couldn't really do any fighting. Still, it made a welcome change from those long, arduous hours spent sitting at his desk in the Ministry bickering amongst themselves about whether they could still taste coffee or whether they were just imagining it again. They were losing men up front, but the Captain wasn't going to throw a fit. He frowned and looked back, trying to spot another way forward without hitting the determined blockade that was throwing back their advances. What he wouldn't give for a bottle of shaving cream right now; but like everything else it was in short supply, and he'd have to survive on rice. Rice, imagine. Then someone chucked the map out of his hands - not only that, but covered it with tea. Horrified, the Captain glanced at the perpetrator accusingly. "I say," he said indignantly. "And here we have the most redundant phrase in English Language," Tourniquet sniped. He had, however, more pertinent problems than uppity imaginary friends who were too smart for their own good, and so Tourniquet was ignored. The Captain waved his wand to dry out the map and then proceeded to pin the soldier with his stare. "And what exactly do you think you're doing?" he sniffed.
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« on: 29/03/2013 at 09:42 »
E L S E W H E R E A D U L T CHARACTER INFORMATIONCharacter Name: Captain H. A. Price.Gender: Male.Age: 34.Education: Hogwarts - Gryffindor, 1921.Residence: Parolles Road, Whitehall Park, London N19Occupation:**If you are planning to work at St. Mungo's, please fill out the St. Mungo's application here instead.AurorDo you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?The Ministry.Requested Magic Levels: (see here on how to do this)If you want levels above the usual 32 total, please read the roleplay instructions carefully upon scrolling down.- Charms: 9.
- Transfiguration: 11.
- Divination: 6.
- Summoning: 6.
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason? Nope.Please list any other characters you already have at the site:Whiny half of Scarlette, emo half of Maviper, patient half of St. Cook, clean half of Phissa, idiot half of Niphie, etc.Biography: (300 words minimum.) "Hey. Hey Cappie."
Thomas Aquinas's last words were all is straw. He doesn't even know what's supposed to mean. The fire's burning bright and he puts his hands next to it, his fingers slowly defrosting against the heat.
"Cappie," the insistent voice whines again, and something like a freight train (most used track gauge - the standard gauge, also known as the Stephenson Gauge, four feet eight and a half inches) barrels into his side, sending him sprawling into the dry dust and caked mud.
"Reb," he groans, "you know you're a lot bigger than I am."
Reb grins at him and sticks his own hands over the fire. "A lot smarter too, I'll bet."
Cordite, dozing on his poncho, opens one eye to show that he isn't dozing at all. "You couldn't spell banana."
Reb throws a canteen at Cordite, who quickly ducks. The canteen rolls down the hill and into the night. Tourniquet looks up from stitching Buckshot together and scowls at him. "Water is important for a reason, wise guy."
Cordite sits up now, fully awake. "I thought we just established that he wasn't a wise guy."
"You're lucky we don't have any more canteens," Reb sniffs, turning his hulking mass back to the fire.
"So we've run out of water, then - and this is lucky how?"
Water had been Ulysses Grant's last word. He would have shared it with the rest but it probably isn't the greatest of things to say at a time like this.
***
It's him and Buckshot on watch tonight and they sit on the hill looking at the stars. (There's the Big Dipper, made out of seven stars - Alkaid, Mizar, Alioth, Megrez, Dubhe, Merak and Phecda - Mizar is a double star with Alcor, known as Horse and Rider.)
"Cappie," Buckshot says quietly, a Harvard Law grad and God knows what he's doing out here fighting in Spain when it isn't his fight.
"Why did you volunteer?"
Come to think of it, it isn't his fight either.
"I missed the Great War," he says, reclining against the hard dead grass, as if that's all the explanation in the world.
***
He's back on furlough and some idiot friends have decided to set him up on a date.
“So - what’s your name?”
“Captain Price,” he says, squinting at her suspiciously. Something’s off about this whole set up, but then again something always is. She's too eager to know his name. She’s dressed too well, almost as if she’s going for seduction. She could be wearing a wire, because the dress allows for such things.
“No first name?” she asks, smiling at him shyly – but he bets that it’s all a trick to force him to let down his guard.
“You can call me The Captain,” he offers, raising the glass to his mouth and quickly tipping the gin down his throat, though his eyes never leave hers. He lost his first name during the war, and he’s not going back. She looks at him, uncertain how to respond, and for a moment he thinks that perhaps this is actually just a date and she isn’t an assassin sent by the Republicans to kill him.
Just for a moment.
"My name's Sarah," she tells him.
"Am I supposed to react to that?" he gives her a stare. "Is that some sort of secret code? Are you telling the man behind me with the bowler hat and the sunglasses to slit my throat?"
She flushes.
"Nothing of the sort. Whatever would have made you say that?"
He realizes that he's holding the knife in his hand and puts it back on the table.
"If you're working for them, you can tell them that they'll never take me alive. I know how they operate - I'll blend in and disappear - they'll never see me again!" By this point his voice has risen to slight hysteria and only her frightened expression calms him down.
"Captain - " she shakes her head. "Cappie - I'm not working for anyone. I'm here on a date."
Too late. He knows that he's made a mistake. He grabs his coat and straightens his tie, keeping another eye on the man at table eight. "I'm sorry, Sarah, but I really can't trust anyone. That is, if Sarah is your real name."
Then he's out of the restaurant and out of her life.
***
He's back on the front. He knows what he's doing out here, here where he's just as sane as anyone else. It's not the most comforting of thoughts, but it's a damn sight better than having to skulk around in civilian life trying to figure out who's innocent and who's trying to kill you.
Here everyone's trying to kill you so you don't have to worry about it so much.
The Captain looks at his boys proudly, standing rigid in front of the sandbags waiting for the Republican rush. They've been together for two years now; big loud Reb with the brain of a peanut; long, lanky Cordite who always got away; hard hitting Tourniquet who put frogs in your bed; young philosophical Buckshot who used a shotgun like no one else.
These are his boys. This is his family.
They're coming. Hordes of them, screaming down the pathways, and here they are low on ammo and water and morale and manpower, but they will fight, because they volunteered and because losing just isn't an option.
And then it's blood and sand and bullets scattered around, screaming, twenty for every one of them, knives and swords and so here it is! cried Cleopatra before she died, and here it is indeed -
***Roleplay: (If you are requesting Exceptional levels - above 32 total - please respond to the roleplay and questions here instead) Reply as your character to the following:It was impossible for Dianne to stay out of trouble. It wasn't that she was looking for trouble, it's just that trouble always managed to find her. Today she wished she could find something equally familiar but more comforting. The five-year old girl hugged her puffskein closer to her and brushed her face in its soft fur for comfort. She had named him herself and he was always her special pet. No she was certain she had never gone down this side street before. Her anxiety increased every second as darkness fell as she walked down the road. A loud noise came to her left and she buried her face in her pet's fur completely. The scared girl bolted the opposite way slamming the both of them into the wall of the nearest building. Tottering back a few steps she found a door a few feet to her right and ran to open it. What light there was inside spilled out into the darkness and she spilled into the room. Once in, she was caught between the impulse to curl her cloak up more tightly around her and loosen her grip on it. She wasn't alone anymore but she was now among strangers instead, which was nearly as terrifying. Her puffskein had recovered from the shock of the wall and now was purring contentedly as the girl hugged it, causing a mildly calming effect on the girl. Gathering her courage, she marched up to the nearest person, pulled on the nearest clothing hem and blurted out in a loud voice: "I'm lost and it's dark and I wanted to know where I am but I'm not scared but I am worried that Sambundeakin is scared because he's little and needs something to eat and wants to go home." She paused to draw a breath in her nearly never-ending sentence, "He misses my and his mommy." To explain the scared girl held up the custard-colored puffskein. Sambundeakin the puffskein, however simply purred as if nothing on earth was wrong in the world. Roleplay Response:The Captain took Tennyson out for a walk most evenings, because dogs were just made to be walked and if he hadn't Tennyson would be whining throughout his entire dinner. That wouldn't have been very much fun at all. He'd left Buckshot and Tourniquet home today, but was starting to wish he'd brought either one of them along because Reb and Cordite were going at each other like two drunks on Saturday night.
"Will y' guys gimme a break already?" he groaned, pulling at his overcoat because it was a bloody freezing night and a good deal colder than the sunny climate of Spain. "I could've left you at home, you know." "But that wouldn't have been half as fun as this, now would it? " Cordite pointed out, taking a break from proving why Reb's mother must have drunk some sort of cleaning liquid while she was pregnant with him.
Tennyson barked excitedly and the Captain pulled on the leash. "Whoa, boy." The golden retriever only barked at two things - Spaniards and cats.
Something was pulling on his coat. The Captain shied away almost instinctively, whipping his wand out and leveling it at the person, before realizing it was a little girl and adjusting his aim accordingly.
"I'm lost and it's dark and I wanted to know where I am but I'm not scared but I am worried that Sambundeakin is scared because he's little and needs something to eat and wants to go home."
The Captain frowned. Was this some kinda trick? Tennyson was still barking at the ball of fur, whatever that was. His enemy must've known that he had a weakness for children, who seemed to be as mad as he was and therefore ought to have been considered friends. But if the enemy was now making use of kids -
"Hey now," he said, glancing her at suspiciously, the questions falling out of his mouth like how Cordite would fall with one punch from Reb. " What's your name? What's that thing's name? Where're you from? What're you doing? You don't happen to know any Spaniards, do you?"
OTHER
How did you find us? gooooooogle
If it's not too much trouble could you change his name to just plain old Captain Price? Thank you 
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