http://doctorate.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
doctorate.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
lampshade2008-07-10 08:07 pm
doctorate.livejournal.com) wrote in lampshade2008-07-10 08:07 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
User Name/Nick: Noodle
User LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
opera_phantess
AIM/IM: NoodleKarin
E-mail: noodle.phantess@gmail.com or havetardis.willtravel@gmail.com
Other Characters: N-none so far!
Character Name: The Doctor (Tenth)
Series: Doctor Who
Age: He says "903," but his eyes say "Somewhere over 1000, but, well, things get a bit fuzzy after 500."
From When?: After the ending of season four, "Journey's End." Beware, there will be spoilers--!
Inmate/Warden: Warden; the Doctor has a bit of a God complex, and feels responsible for all of existence -- almost as if he has to play cosmic babysitter or occasional world-saver for the entire universe. That, and he feels the need to make up for the things he's done -- that being the destruction of several races, such as the Daleks (several times over, in fact, both directly and indirectly, before and after the Time War) and his own people, the Time Lords, as a result of the same war.
Item: His handy-dandynotebook Psychic Paper, which receives messages and also allows him to provide forms of identity at the drop of a hat.
How Long Have You Been Here?: Newly arrived, just starting work.
Abilities/Powers: The Doctor has some telepathic/psychic abilities, including mind reading, which can only be done when he places his hands at someone's temples. He can read about a million pages in a minute, can focus radiation from his body into one point, can figure out math equations faster than you can say "Wait, what?", and has an impossible knowledge of history and SCIENCE!!11! He has on hand his psychic paper, which is more or less a piece of paper that allows him to provide and show any sort of information he can think up -- so long as the viewer isn't psychic himself. He'll also have his trusty sonic screwdriver, which allows him to unlock doors, hack into practically any computer ever, and put up cabinets when he's bored. Essentially, he can do any number of things with his little toy, as long as it's not wood or deadlockedor blocked for the sake of plot.
Also, the Doctor is a Time Lord, which means he has two hearts and a looooong life span -- which is lengthened by his ability to regenerate himself twelve times, for a grand total of thirteen times. At the moment, he's regenerated nine times, and this version is his tenth incarnation. He also heals much faster than a human, and is able to withstand a great deal of physical stress that most humans cannot -- such as extreme temperatures and electrocutions. It's also been recently shown that he is able to use the energy from the regenerative process to heal mortal wounds and siphon off the energy to something that matches his biological make-up, though whether this counts as a regeneration hasn't been made clear. As a Time Lord, the Doctor has the ability to see all that is, all that was, all that could be, and all that shouldn't be. He's able to survive suffocation due to his respiratory bypass system, and his body temperature runs lower than your average human. He has two hearts, though he's able to survive with only one of them working -- which, well, he wouldn't like to do, as it's painful, but sometimes it can't be helped, like when he's unconscious.
Personality: The Doctor is, more or less, a huge fanboy of everything ever, so long as it's shiny or gorgeous or brilliant -- and this can generally apply to anything from the talents of a playwright, to the design of an android, to the aesthetic qualities of an alien, or to the bravery of one person standing on their own. He tends to be cheerful and amiable, and most people find him easily trustworthy after having known him for only an hour or so, if not a tad overbearing with his cheerfulness. He can be extremely flippant, sometimes during the most inappropriate times -- he has a habit of finding danger and life-threatening situations extremely amusing, and people often call him out for it. He can also be full of himself, and he won't hesitate to tell a room full of people just how much more clever he is than all of them. Combined. Multiplied by ten, and then taken to the second power.
Still, the Doctor has a serious side that comes out when the situation calls for it, and it's when situations are extremly dire that his darker, scarier, more screamy side comes out. He plays by his own rules, and while he tries to do the Right Thing, occasionally his means land in a sort of morally grey area. Moreover, his definition of the Right Thing can sometimes go against the opinions of others. He'll always choose life over death, and though if he tries to save everyone, including the bad guys, he won't hesitate to do what he must for the greater good, even if that means killing -- and no one gets second chances. He thinks more scientifically and empirically than emotionally, though there are occasions where his decisions do err more on the side of the latter.
History: U-um, Wiki entry--! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tenth_doctor
Sample Journal Entry:
One of my favorite things, I think, about exploring new places isn't visiting the tourist attractions, isn't the shopping, but the sampling of foods the place has to offer. Nothing tells you more about a person than what he/she/it/undecided might eat, yeah? For instance, let's say that a town's diet is made-up almost entirely of garlic -- or whatever their planetary equivalent might be. You'd certainly give them a bit of a wide berth while you're walking about, or else do your best to hold you breath if you've been caught up in a conversation with one of the locals, wouldn't you?
Well. Unless you happen to like the smell of garlic -- or, right, the planetary equivalent. In which case, well, you just might be in heaven -- or, again, the planetary equivalent -- or, at the very least, have found yourself a new home.
. . . And here I am, going on and on about garlic, of all things. Anyway, as I was saying. So! This new port? I'm not much of a fan, to tell you the truth. Now, I'm all about exploring new worlds, and I'm all about trying new things -- it's who I am, more or less, -- but (and now this is the dilemma) I can't say I'm much of a fan of the local cuisine. And I know one oughtn't judge a place based solely on its dining, fine or otherwise, but for this one particular instance, it really can't be helped. Not for me, anyway. Because this just goes and ticks all of the wrong buttons with me.
I mean, honestly. How is it possible for any place in the universe, known or unknown, to be such a huge fan of pears of all things? Enough so that everything -- and I mean everything -- is flavored like them? I'd like to meet whoever thought up pear-flavored chocolate and give him a bit of a smack for ruining a good thing.
Blech.
Sample RP:
It's strange, the Doctor thought, the things you can get into when you don't have proper back-up.
Not that he usually needed it, of course. Far from it -- the Doctor didn't need anyone. He was better off on his own, after all. But as he stood there, lengths of wire tangling around his legs and thrown over his shoulders, exposed bits of metal burning his fingers, and a red LCD display angrily counting down the seconds to what was sure to be a loud, messy, and extremely painful explosion that could take out a good portion of Wales, he couldn't help thinking how much easier this all would be if he had an extra set of hands.
And he'd probably brought it on himself, really. That woman man he'd run into a bit ago -- and he did, in fact, run into her quite literally in his rush to get here -- had asked what the Doctor was running from. When the Doctor told her "big, purple, polka-dotted blobs who were rather cross that he had sabotaged the flight systems of their ship," she only gave him a slight look of puzzlement, which was loads better than the usual looks he got, which tended to say rather succinctly, "You're in dire need of a straitjacket." And the Doctor had found that those who only looked confused were always the most helpful in times of need.
Instead, the Doctor had only given her a chipper little wave and continued on his merry, albeit a bit frantic, way, and he still couldn't quite pin down the reason as to why. But as he worked, crossing wires and flashing his sonic screwdriver at their exposed ends, trying to save the world (or Wales, at least), it dawned on him that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't quite ready to be helped just yet. The last time he'd been "helped," he'd gotten attached, and attachment was always, always, coupled with an inevitable loss. And he was never the only one getting hurt; he didn't care to count all of the lives he must've ruined. Life in the TARDIS was always a double-edged sword, and that time was no different, nor would any other instance be.
And he realized how stupid that was -- just because he asked someone to hold a few wires didn't guarantee them a trip in the TARDIS. The seconds ticked down (nineteen, eighteen, seventeen. . .) and he realized he was risking so many lives just because of his stupid ego. How ridiculous was he being, as though he were the most important person in the universe? If Donna were here, she'd--
Well, that was the thing, wasn't it -- Donna wasn't here (sixteen, fifteen, fourteen. . .), and she couldn't be. But if she was, she would've glared at him, told him to suck it up, and do what he had to to save Wales. The Doctor moved more quickly now, stripping and crossing more wires, plugging and unplugging cords--
Thirteen, twelve, eleven. . .
The Doctor threw the switch and smacked his palm against the big, yellow button.
Ten.
The clock froze there, and the Doctor couldn't help but let out a loud, "Ha!" in victory. He quickly untangled himself and ran out of the dank cellar. Emotional problems be damned: he had purple blobs to deal with.
Special Notes: I know there was previously a Ninth Doctor here, and that they've been dropped, so for simplicity's sake, and for the sake of leaving any plot lines open in case anyone should like to pick up Nine again, if I'm accepted, I'd like it if Ten had a clean slate while he's here.
User LJ:
opera_phantessAIM/IM: NoodleKarin
E-mail: noodle.phantess@gmail.com or havetardis.willtravel@gmail.com
Other Characters: N-none so far!
Character Name: The Doctor (Tenth)
Series: Doctor Who
Age: He says "903," but his eyes say "Somewhere over 1000, but, well, things get a bit fuzzy after 500."
From When?: After the ending of season four, "Journey's End." Beware, there will be spoilers--!
Inmate/Warden: Warden; the Doctor has a bit of a God complex, and feels responsible for all of existence -- almost as if he has to play cosmic babysitter or occasional world-saver for the entire universe. That, and he feels the need to make up for the things he's done -- that being the destruction of several races, such as the Daleks (several times over, in fact, both directly and indirectly, before and after the Time War) and his own people, the Time Lords, as a result of the same war.
Item: His handy-dandy
How Long Have You Been Here?: Newly arrived, just starting work.
Abilities/Powers: The Doctor has some telepathic/psychic abilities, including mind reading, which can only be done when he places his hands at someone's temples. He can read about a million pages in a minute, can focus radiation from his body into one point, can figure out math equations faster than you can say "Wait, what?", and has an impossible knowledge of history and SCIENCE!!11! He has on hand his psychic paper, which is more or less a piece of paper that allows him to provide and show any sort of information he can think up -- so long as the viewer isn't psychic himself. He'll also have his trusty sonic screwdriver, which allows him to unlock doors, hack into practically any computer ever, and put up cabinets when he's bored. Essentially, he can do any number of things with his little toy, as long as it's not wood or deadlocked
Also, the Doctor is a Time Lord, which means he has two hearts and a looooong life span -- which is lengthened by his ability to regenerate himself twelve times, for a grand total of thirteen times. At the moment, he's regenerated nine times, and this version is his tenth incarnation. He also heals much faster than a human, and is able to withstand a great deal of physical stress that most humans cannot -- such as extreme temperatures and electrocutions. It's also been recently shown that he is able to use the energy from the regenerative process to heal mortal wounds and siphon off the energy to something that matches his biological make-up, though whether this counts as a regeneration hasn't been made clear. As a Time Lord, the Doctor has the ability to see all that is, all that was, all that could be, and all that shouldn't be. He's able to survive suffocation due to his respiratory bypass system, and his body temperature runs lower than your average human. He has two hearts, though he's able to survive with only one of them working -- which, well, he wouldn't like to do, as it's painful, but sometimes it can't be helped, like when he's unconscious.
Personality: The Doctor is, more or less, a huge fanboy of everything ever, so long as it's shiny or gorgeous or brilliant -- and this can generally apply to anything from the talents of a playwright, to the design of an android, to the aesthetic qualities of an alien, or to the bravery of one person standing on their own. He tends to be cheerful and amiable, and most people find him easily trustworthy after having known him for only an hour or so, if not a tad overbearing with his cheerfulness. He can be extremely flippant, sometimes during the most inappropriate times -- he has a habit of finding danger and life-threatening situations extremely amusing, and people often call him out for it. He can also be full of himself, and he won't hesitate to tell a room full of people just how much more clever he is than all of them. Combined. Multiplied by ten, and then taken to the second power.
Still, the Doctor has a serious side that comes out when the situation calls for it, and it's when situations are extremly dire that his darker, scarier, more screamy side comes out. He plays by his own rules, and while he tries to do the Right Thing, occasionally his means land in a sort of morally grey area. Moreover, his definition of the Right Thing can sometimes go against the opinions of others. He'll always choose life over death, and though if he tries to save everyone, including the bad guys, he won't hesitate to do what he must for the greater good, even if that means killing -- and no one gets second chances. He thinks more scientifically and empirically than emotionally, though there are occasions where his decisions do err more on the side of the latter.
History: U-um, Wiki entry--! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tenth_doctor
Sample Journal Entry:
One of my favorite things, I think, about exploring new places isn't visiting the tourist attractions, isn't the shopping, but the sampling of foods the place has to offer. Nothing tells you more about a person than what he/she/it/undecided might eat, yeah? For instance, let's say that a town's diet is made-up almost entirely of garlic -- or whatever their planetary equivalent might be. You'd certainly give them a bit of a wide berth while you're walking about, or else do your best to hold you breath if you've been caught up in a conversation with one of the locals, wouldn't you?
Well. Unless you happen to like the smell of garlic -- or, right, the planetary equivalent. In which case, well, you just might be in heaven -- or, again, the planetary equivalent -- or, at the very least, have found yourself a new home.
. . . And here I am, going on and on about garlic, of all things. Anyway, as I was saying. So! This new port? I'm not much of a fan, to tell you the truth. Now, I'm all about exploring new worlds, and I'm all about trying new things -- it's who I am, more or less, -- but (and now this is the dilemma) I can't say I'm much of a fan of the local cuisine. And I know one oughtn't judge a place based solely on its dining, fine or otherwise, but for this one particular instance, it really can't be helped. Not for me, anyway. Because this just goes and ticks all of the wrong buttons with me.
I mean, honestly. How is it possible for any place in the universe, known or unknown, to be such a huge fan of pears of all things? Enough so that everything -- and I mean everything -- is flavored like them? I'd like to meet whoever thought up pear-flavored chocolate and give him a bit of a smack for ruining a good thing.
Blech.
Sample RP:
It's strange, the Doctor thought, the things you can get into when you don't have proper back-up.
Not that he usually needed it, of course. Far from it -- the Doctor didn't need anyone. He was better off on his own, after all. But as he stood there, lengths of wire tangling around his legs and thrown over his shoulders, exposed bits of metal burning his fingers, and a red LCD display angrily counting down the seconds to what was sure to be a loud, messy, and extremely painful explosion that could take out a good portion of Wales, he couldn't help thinking how much easier this all would be if he had an extra set of hands.
And he'd probably brought it on himself, really. That woman man he'd run into a bit ago -- and he did, in fact, run into her quite literally in his rush to get here -- had asked what the Doctor was running from. When the Doctor told her "big, purple, polka-dotted blobs who were rather cross that he had sabotaged the flight systems of their ship," she only gave him a slight look of puzzlement, which was loads better than the usual looks he got, which tended to say rather succinctly, "You're in dire need of a straitjacket." And the Doctor had found that those who only looked confused were always the most helpful in times of need.
Instead, the Doctor had only given her a chipper little wave and continued on his merry, albeit a bit frantic, way, and he still couldn't quite pin down the reason as to why. But as he worked, crossing wires and flashing his sonic screwdriver at their exposed ends, trying to save the world (or Wales, at least), it dawned on him that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't quite ready to be helped just yet. The last time he'd been "helped," he'd gotten attached, and attachment was always, always, coupled with an inevitable loss. And he was never the only one getting hurt; he didn't care to count all of the lives he must've ruined. Life in the TARDIS was always a double-edged sword, and that time was no different, nor would any other instance be.
And he realized how stupid that was -- just because he asked someone to hold a few wires didn't guarantee them a trip in the TARDIS. The seconds ticked down (nineteen, eighteen, seventeen. . .) and he realized he was risking so many lives just because of his stupid ego. How ridiculous was he being, as though he were the most important person in the universe? If Donna were here, she'd--
Well, that was the thing, wasn't it -- Donna wasn't here (sixteen, fifteen, fourteen. . .), and she couldn't be. But if she was, she would've glared at him, told him to suck it up, and do what he had to to save Wales. The Doctor moved more quickly now, stripping and crossing more wires, plugging and unplugging cords--
Thirteen, twelve, eleven. . .
The Doctor threw the switch and smacked his palm against the big, yellow button.
Ten.
The clock froze there, and the Doctor couldn't help but let out a loud, "Ha!" in victory. He quickly untangled himself and ran out of the dank cellar. Emotional problems be damned: he had purple blobs to deal with.
Special Notes: I know there was previously a Ninth Doctor here, and that they've been dropped, so for simplicity's sake, and for the sake of leaving any plot lines open in case anyone should like to pick up Nine again, if I'm accepted, I'd like it if Ten had a clean slate while he's here.