Arthur Dent (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} bunny_slippers) wrote,@ 2009-02-18 17:21:00 |
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Cheshire App, fur realz this time
you.
name: Bekah Liston
age: 24
contact: ringwraithess@hotmail.com
rp experience: D&D, majored in acting...
how did you hear about us?: Liz
character.
name: Arthur Philip Dent
nickname(s): None really. Just Arthur, or sometimes “Dent”
pb: Jim Sturgess
fairy tale & character: Arthur Philip Dent from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy novels by Douglas Adams
age: 24
room: B114. Yes, he would probably benefit from having a roommate.
doctor: Dagmar
diagnosis: Paranoid Schizophrenia characterized by extensive delusions, hallucinations, anxiety and social isolation, irrational attachment to odd objects (tea, a jar of olive oil, bunny slippers, etc.)
personality: Arthur is very introverted and prefers to be left alone or to be in the company of people he feels are safe. He is a very polite and generally nice; he wishes he could like people more, but he feels very intimidated by almost everyone. This, of course, makes him rather socially awkward, and if left to his own devices he would spend the vast majority of his time in complete isolation. Since his parents died he has lived almost as a hermit, so when he is in public he always looks and feels a bit disheveled and awkward; which sometimes makes him endearing and sometimes just annoying. Most people find him somewhat difficult to be around because of his awkwardness, which only increases his isolation. He has a terrible time with girls. His good-looks and puppy-dog-shy demeanor can usually get a girl interested, but then he stumbles over his words or talks about something strange and the girl quickly disappears. He loves a cup of tea and a good book, read during a quiet night spent at home.
history:Arthur grew up in the English suburbs. He had a pretty normal childhood with parents that loved him, though not exuberantly, always maintaining a sort of British reserve on their affection. Arthur was an introverted kid, he never had many real friends, and like most kids who are introverted and slightly odd, he lived often in the world of his imagination, creating new worlds and creatures, friends and foes, and re-creating himself into the hero of all he stories, rather than the awkward kid that he was in reality.
When he was a senior in High School, his parents were killed in a car crash. They were, ironically, hit by a car that shared a name with Arthur’s childhood imaginary friend; Ford Prefect. Since Arthur had very few emotional connections other than with his parents, their sudden demise hit him pretty hard. He started talking to his imaginary friend again for support. At first it was only a half-joking mourning-recovery exercise. Arthur had no ideas that Ford was actually there, he just had no one else to talk to. But as years of college went by with still no real friendships in Arthur’s life, Ford became more and more real to him.
Arthur graduated college with a BA in Philosophy and went home with the intention of taking a year off to gather himself. Six months later the bulldozers came. You see, Arthur was the tragic victim of a bureaucratic accident involving a team of bulldozers that came to tear his house down on one otherwise ordinary morning. His house had been slated for demolition as the town was putting up a bypass. He had probably received a few notices in the mail, but as he didn’t open most of his mail, he was completely oblivious to the city’s plans and utterly startled to see the bulldozers outside his house one morning. He proceeded to stomp outside to have a word with a foreman who was equally shocked to find someone still living in the house he had been sent to demolish. When Arthur could not persuade the man that it was impossible for him to have orders to tear the house down, he proceeded to lie down in front of one of the bulldozers in defiance. He remained there for quite some time, until he was rescued by Ford, who talked down the foreman and took Arthur off for a couple of pints and a jaunt around the galaxy that lasted about two years.
Of course, Ford existing only in Arthur’s head, what happened to the observer’s eye is that Arthur began talking to the air, (arguing with it, and then conceding) got up of his own accord, walked to the pub by himself, still in his robe and bunny slippers, and ordered four pints, all the while talking to someone who wasn’t there. He was committed rather quickly after that, and after escaping from two asylums in England his rich American uncle Bartholomew Artifust, (but who the cousins always called “Slartibartfast”) moved him to Cheshire in the hopes that things would turn out better for him there.
examples:
Third Person
Arthur grumbled into his small, cold house after another monotonous day at work, dropping his things wherever they fell before stooping to retrieve the mail scattered on the floor beneath the slot in the door. The mail seemed to grumble itself as he picked it up. It had rather liked having a nice lie-about on the floor and didn’t like being disturbed. The mail continued it’s grumbling as he thumbed through it. “Bill,” it said. “Another bill. Yes, this one’s a bill as well…” Arthur threw the mail on the table by the door and shuffled into the kitchen to make a cup of tea and nearly dropped his favorite teacup as Ford burst into the room behind him.
“Dent!” Ford exclaimed, arms spread wide in a gesture of acute enthusiasm that was about to turn into a rather forceful hug of some kind.
Arthur braced himself so as not to allow any damage to his teacup. It took him few seconds to realize that Ford wasn‘t going to hug him. “Evening, Ford,” he said setting down the cup and beginning to examine the tea in his cupboard.
Ford took three sauntering steps and spun around to lounge against the sink, well aware that his best features were illuminated by the angle of the light coming in the window, however pale and dreary and British that light might be. “Well, Arthur Old man, what are we up to tonight, eh?”
Arthur, pulling down a couple of tea boxes to get at one in the back, was a little irritated at the question “We’re not ‘up to” anything.” Ah, there it was, his favorite oolong. Arthur inhaled it’s scent with satisfaction and reached for the teapot.
“Come on! We never go anywhere! Where’s the excitement. Where’s The adventure? Where are the girls, eh? I’ll bet there’ll be some girls at that party that Ferris invited you to… We used to see girls, Mate!” Ford had slapped on an annoyingly bright smile throughout his short speech, and he punctuated the last pair of statements with a scathingly-arched eyebrow and a couple of incredibly friendly jabs to Arthur’s ribs.
Arthur retreated peevishly and gave Ford a wide berth on his way to the sink to fill the teapot with water. “I don’t want to see any girls.”
“What?!” retorted Ford. “Are you out of your mind? We’ve been holed up in this smelly, old house for six months since you got home from school and haven’t seen a decent pair of legs on anyone except Ms. Windmeyer’s dog!”
“I don’t want to go to that bloody party, alright. I won’t know anyone besides Ferris, and if there are any girls there they won’t be interested in talking to me anyway.” A bit of water splashed over the stove as Arthur slammed it down; he grumbled under his breath as he wiped up the mess with a dishtowel and set the water to boil.
Ford waited for him to finish with the water before responding. “You know, the trouble with you, mate, is that you’re far too negative. You assume the party’s going to be bad before you even go and that the girls will ignore you. I bet you anything there’ll be a girl at that party who’d love to talk to you; some dark, beautiful, interesting girl who’s just waiting to dote on your adorable, puppy dog face. And you’re going to miss the girl of your dreams to sit at home and watch ‘Doctor Who‘!”
“I! I, ah… ‘Doctor Who’ is quality programming! It’s one of the longest-running shows on television, I’ll have you know, and there’s a double-episode on tonight! And I am not going to meet the girl of my dreams at a party at Ferris’s!”
“Of course you’re not,” parried Ford, “because you won’t go to the party.”
“No, Ford, I’m not going to meet the girl of my dreams at Ferris’s party, because the girl of my dreams will not be at Ferris’s party!”
“Prove it.”
“Prove it how?”
A broad, victorious smile spread across Ford’s features accented by an infuriating twinkle in his brown eyes.
“Damn!” said Arthur.
And that is how Arthur Dent found himself sitting at a table across from Tricia McMillan at Mark Ferris’s party.
First Person
I’ve run out of tea today… this wasn’t hard to do, considering I’ve been stuck on this bloody spaceship for the past four weeks… and I only had one tea bag. It was mostly water by the end, bu much better than the miserable dregs of fluid that the ship produces. It’s truly interesting how many cups of tea one can get out of a single withering teabag… and then out of the tea that spills out of the disintegrated teabag, but each time it seemed I would lose a few leaves, and, well, today I am down to one… it is floating at the top of my miserable cup of now lukewarm water that I can’t quite bring myself to drink… I was hoping this little writing exercise would pull up enough courage to et me to finish this final cup of lonely tea… but I think it’s actually doing the rever- (the word is cut off, sloppily, the end of the “r” trailing across the page)
Damn it! Damn it, damn it, damn it! OH, bloody hell! That scathing bastard Beeblebrox just swaggered in and stole my cup of tea! And not only that, he took one drink and SPAT IT OUT! THE BASTARD SPAT IT OUT! My last cup of tea in what could be a million years and he just spat it on the floor! As if it was nothing! As if it was trash! My last tea leaf… I couldn’t even find it in the puddle he spat on the floor… It was probably the only thing he did swallow… my last tea leaf… there’ll never be anymore. We’re a GAZILLION miles out in the middle of the blasted Zarquon quadrant of the galaxy or whatnot and… oh, Trillian’s just walked in. I’ve got to go.
picture:
you.
name: Bekah Liston
age: 24
contact: ringwraithess@hotmail.com
rp experience: D&D, majored in acting...
how did you hear about us?: Liz
character.
name: Arthur Philip Dent
nickname(s): None really. Just Arthur, or sometimes “Dent”
pb: Jim Sturgess
fairy tale & character: Arthur Philip Dent from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy novels by Douglas Adams
age: 24
room: B114. Yes, he would probably benefit from having a roommate.
doctor: Dagmar
diagnosis: Paranoid Schizophrenia characterized by extensive delusions, hallucinations, anxiety and social isolation, irrational attachment to odd objects (tea, a jar of olive oil, bunny slippers, etc.)
personality: Arthur is very introverted and prefers to be left alone or to be in the company of people he feels are safe. He is a very polite and generally nice; he wishes he could like people more, but he feels very intimidated by almost everyone. This, of course, makes him rather socially awkward, and if left to his own devices he would spend the vast majority of his time in complete isolation. Since his parents died he has lived almost as a hermit, so when he is in public he always looks and feels a bit disheveled and awkward; which sometimes makes him endearing and sometimes just annoying. Most people find him somewhat difficult to be around because of his awkwardness, which only increases his isolation. He has a terrible time with girls. His good-looks and puppy-dog-shy demeanor can usually get a girl interested, but then he stumbles over his words or talks about something strange and the girl quickly disappears. He loves a cup of tea and a good book, read during a quiet night spent at home.
history:Arthur grew up in the English suburbs. He had a pretty normal childhood with parents that loved him, though not exuberantly, always maintaining a sort of British reserve on their affection. Arthur was an introverted kid, he never had many real friends, and like most kids who are introverted and slightly odd, he lived often in the world of his imagination, creating new worlds and creatures, friends and foes, and re-creating himself into the hero of all he stories, rather than the awkward kid that he was in reality.
When he was a senior in High School, his parents were killed in a car crash. They were, ironically, hit by a car that shared a name with Arthur’s childhood imaginary friend; Ford Prefect. Since Arthur had very few emotional connections other than with his parents, their sudden demise hit him pretty hard. He started talking to his imaginary friend again for support. At first it was only a half-joking mourning-recovery exercise. Arthur had no ideas that Ford was actually there, he just had no one else to talk to. But as years of college went by with still no real friendships in Arthur’s life, Ford became more and more real to him.
Arthur graduated college with a BA in Philosophy and went home with the intention of taking a year off to gather himself. Six months later the bulldozers came. You see, Arthur was the tragic victim of a bureaucratic accident involving a team of bulldozers that came to tear his house down on one otherwise ordinary morning. His house had been slated for demolition as the town was putting up a bypass. He had probably received a few notices in the mail, but as he didn’t open most of his mail, he was completely oblivious to the city’s plans and utterly startled to see the bulldozers outside his house one morning. He proceeded to stomp outside to have a word with a foreman who was equally shocked to find someone still living in the house he had been sent to demolish. When Arthur could not persuade the man that it was impossible for him to have orders to tear the house down, he proceeded to lie down in front of one of the bulldozers in defiance. He remained there for quite some time, until he was rescued by Ford, who talked down the foreman and took Arthur off for a couple of pints and a jaunt around the galaxy that lasted about two years.
Of course, Ford existing only in Arthur’s head, what happened to the observer’s eye is that Arthur began talking to the air, (arguing with it, and then conceding) got up of his own accord, walked to the pub by himself, still in his robe and bunny slippers, and ordered four pints, all the while talking to someone who wasn’t there. He was committed rather quickly after that, and after escaping from two asylums in England his rich American uncle Bartholomew Artifust, (but who the cousins always called “Slartibartfast”) moved him to Cheshire in the hopes that things would turn out better for him there.
examples:
Third Person
Arthur grumbled into his small, cold house after another monotonous day at work, dropping his things wherever they fell before stooping to retrieve the mail scattered on the floor beneath the slot in the door. The mail seemed to grumble itself as he picked it up. It had rather liked having a nice lie-about on the floor and didn’t like being disturbed. The mail continued it’s grumbling as he thumbed through it. “Bill,” it said. “Another bill. Yes, this one’s a bill as well…” Arthur threw the mail on the table by the door and shuffled into the kitchen to make a cup of tea and nearly dropped his favorite teacup as Ford burst into the room behind him.
“Dent!” Ford exclaimed, arms spread wide in a gesture of acute enthusiasm that was about to turn into a rather forceful hug of some kind.
Arthur braced himself so as not to allow any damage to his teacup. It took him few seconds to realize that Ford wasn‘t going to hug him. “Evening, Ford,” he said setting down the cup and beginning to examine the tea in his cupboard.
Ford took three sauntering steps and spun around to lounge against the sink, well aware that his best features were illuminated by the angle of the light coming in the window, however pale and dreary and British that light might be. “Well, Arthur Old man, what are we up to tonight, eh?”
Arthur, pulling down a couple of tea boxes to get at one in the back, was a little irritated at the question “We’re not ‘up to” anything.” Ah, there it was, his favorite oolong. Arthur inhaled it’s scent with satisfaction and reached for the teapot.
“Come on! We never go anywhere! Where’s the excitement. Where’s The adventure? Where are the girls, eh? I’ll bet there’ll be some girls at that party that Ferris invited you to… We used to see girls, Mate!” Ford had slapped on an annoyingly bright smile throughout his short speech, and he punctuated the last pair of statements with a scathingly-arched eyebrow and a couple of incredibly friendly jabs to Arthur’s ribs.
Arthur retreated peevishly and gave Ford a wide berth on his way to the sink to fill the teapot with water. “I don’t want to see any girls.”
“What?!” retorted Ford. “Are you out of your mind? We’ve been holed up in this smelly, old house for six months since you got home from school and haven’t seen a decent pair of legs on anyone except Ms. Windmeyer’s dog!”
“I don’t want to go to that bloody party, alright. I won’t know anyone besides Ferris, and if there are any girls there they won’t be interested in talking to me anyway.” A bit of water splashed over the stove as Arthur slammed it down; he grumbled under his breath as he wiped up the mess with a dishtowel and set the water to boil.
Ford waited for him to finish with the water before responding. “You know, the trouble with you, mate, is that you’re far too negative. You assume the party’s going to be bad before you even go and that the girls will ignore you. I bet you anything there’ll be a girl at that party who’d love to talk to you; some dark, beautiful, interesting girl who’s just waiting to dote on your adorable, puppy dog face. And you’re going to miss the girl of your dreams to sit at home and watch ‘Doctor Who‘!”
“I! I, ah… ‘Doctor Who’ is quality programming! It’s one of the longest-running shows on television, I’ll have you know, and there’s a double-episode on tonight! And I am not going to meet the girl of my dreams at a party at Ferris’s!”
“Of course you’re not,” parried Ford, “because you won’t go to the party.”
“No, Ford, I’m not going to meet the girl of my dreams at Ferris’s party, because the girl of my dreams will not be at Ferris’s party!”
“Prove it.”
“Prove it how?”
A broad, victorious smile spread across Ford’s features accented by an infuriating twinkle in his brown eyes.
“Damn!” said Arthur.
And that is how Arthur Dent found himself sitting at a table across from Tricia McMillan at Mark Ferris’s party.
First Person
I’ve run out of tea today… this wasn’t hard to do, considering I’ve been stuck on this bloody spaceship for the past four weeks… and I only had one tea bag. It was mostly water by the end, bu much better than the miserable dregs of fluid that the ship produces. It’s truly interesting how many cups of tea one can get out of a single withering teabag… and then out of the tea that spills out of the disintegrated teabag, but each time it seemed I would lose a few leaves, and, well, today I am down to one… it is floating at the top of my miserable cup of now lukewarm water that I can’t quite bring myself to drink… I was hoping this little writing exercise would pull up enough courage to et me to finish this final cup of lonely tea… but I think it’s actually doing the rever- (the word is cut off, sloppily, the end of the “r” trailing across the page)
Damn it! Damn it, damn it, damn it! OH, bloody hell! That scathing bastard Beeblebrox just swaggered in and stole my cup of tea! And not only that, he took one drink and SPAT IT OUT! THE BASTARD SPAT IT OUT! My last cup of tea in what could be a million years and he just spat it on the floor! As if it was nothing! As if it was trash! My last tea leaf… I couldn’t even find it in the puddle he spat on the floor… It was probably the only thing he did swallow… my last tea leaf… there’ll never be anymore. We’re a GAZILLION miles out in the middle of the blasted Zarquon quadrant of the galaxy or whatnot and… oh, Trillian’s just walked in. I’ve got to go.
picture:
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