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Description

I'm still getting faves for this asshole. Would you like to know he has moved?

Atticus has joined Folkhaven in lieu of CdR's hiatus. Find more of him there.

♥ N a m e :
Atticus
♥ A g e :
Approximately 550
♥ B i r t h d a y :
Forgotten
♥ S p e c i e s :
Dullahan
(Note: Atticus is not an Unseelie Court fairy; rather, he is an actual undead human turned into a dullahan.)
♥ F a c t i o n :
White
♥ J o b :
Jongleur (Juggler)

♥ P e r s o n a l i t y :
[ Polite | Old-Fashioned | Realistic | Tries to be friendly | Distant | Closet show-off | Desperate for company, socially awkward | Likes to be on people's good side | Atoner (See Why Juggling?) ]

I dislike lying. That should be all I need to say...well, except that to prevent myself from lying I sometimes hold information back. Is that all?

No? Fine, I will speak more then.

I place the past behind me. Being dead for more than five hundred years teaches you that the past is not something you live in for the rest of your life, as long as you have learned something from your mistakes. I am still remorseful, and I do not talk about my past. Please do not engage me in this topic.

I am well aware that I can often intimidate people, in no small part thanks to my appearance. It seems everyone takes to good manners, however, so I prefer to behave as such in order to socialise.

However, I can be distant to people. I am afraid of becoming attached to the living, because I will then watch their time pass while I remain. Immortality is not a pleasant experience. I tell myself often that I must make the most of my time, then, but I appear to have forgotten how to...live.

I do like to show off once in a while, but not very often as I feel that it would make me look arrogant. I already have the most disapproving look on my face as my usual expression, which does not deem me a good person at first glance.

I usually feel alone. Being a herald of death is not a social profession, and those of the mundane world fear me too much to get close to me. Not that I want them to; my hideous appearance in my true form fills me with shame. So I stick around where there is life, because after five hundred years of solitude any company is good company. I suppose there are exceptions, but I will find out what they are when I cross those bridges.
♥  H i s t o r y :
My name is Atticus. I am a dullahan - a cursed spirit forced to wander the earth for eternity, an omen of death to those whose names I call out. My intentions now, however, are to spend my time with others like me, and not be alone as I have been for five hundred years.

I was the thirdborn in a family of merchants in what the living now calls Gaelic Ireland. Thirdborn sons do not get a lot of inheritance of land, even if they are part of a wealthy family. This is important, because after I discovered how little there was to be granted under my name, I did a bit of rebelling.

...all right, a lot of rebelling.

I was not aware of it at the time, but I was an incredible wastrel, a flippant spender, a nasty piece of work in general. I grew up as a spectacularly spoilt brat who was known for his tantrums when he didn't get his way. And when my father decided that I was not mature enough yet for my inheritance, I tried to spite him out of ingratitude by running away from home and joining the armies as a mercenary.

I met my untimely end when my fellow mercenaries betrayed me and left me behind to be captured. I paid for my crimes. One swift, clean stroke with an axe. At least the executioner was neat about his duty.

When I came to, my face was already rotting. And to hammer home that I had committed many a crime, I realised that fate had assigned me to an eternity of being a herald of death, never to find peace in the afterlife or join the earth.

While my job is one of a lonely persuasion, I did happen upon a púca who, noticing my agony of loneliness, directed me to a small festival wherein I could watch performers and savour life a little, even if at a distance and out of sight. That was the first time I saw juggling, and after watching a bit I tried it for myself. It was not enough as companionship, but in what little free time I had it kept my mind distracted from my remorse. And perhaps in those years I spent practising I gained it as a skill. I had long enough time to try, after all.

I came upon the circus one fine eve. Most people, when they see my shadow, would hide their faces - and rightly so, because I, ashamed of my own visage and angry that these people would stare so insolently as I went about my work, would hurl cold blood into their faces. The circus people did not. In fact, they did not stare, which was what I would have expected. They invited me to rest and entertain myself. I had seen circuses from afar, but never one as mysterious, compelling and, above all, accepting as this one.

I felt a desire to stay. I could perform, with my one performing skill. I can juggle different objects without fear – well, what is there to fear after death? Apart from losing my humanity, perhaps.

Call me Atticus. I have forgotten my real name, or perhaps I do not want to remember my real name. Either way, I am here for respite. I am uncertain as to how long my rest would be, but I would make sure that it would be worth another five hundred years of heralding death to the living.

♥ V o i c e :
Sounds like he's in his 30s but speaks in a very antiquated manner and doesn't use contractions. There's a slight echo when he talks, more or less because of the passage of time, but otherwise his speech is very clear and smooth. He hasn't spoken to people in 500 years so more or less he can also sound somewhat awkward in his speech because everything is super formal.

♥ L i k e s :
- I was good with horses when I was alive.
- Children. Their innocence and laughter was what I missed in my death. Even a herald of death would need some light in their life.
- Experimenting with objects to juggle. Keeping up my skill is important.
- Bawdy songs, but I will not sing them for you.
- Blood. Should not be surprising, for a herald of death.
- Brandy, rum, whiskey, wine. I can drink it as long as my head stays where it should be.

♥ D i s l i k e s :
- Gold. I have a strong aversion to it, I know not why, but perhaps it is a reminder that it was one of the main temptations that led me to spiral downwards in life.
- No stealing my head or my penannular brooch. The brooch stays in a box for a reason.
- I have been alone for goodness' knows how long. As it is, I seek people out. I do not wish to be left alone.
- Strong, hot sunlight hurts my eyes and deteriorates my body. In addition, I cannot use my dullahan powers in the day. I dislike going out in the day, although I am fine in it, I just do not enjoy sunlight much.
- Do not compare or associate me with the Headless Horseman. We are not the same. I have nothing to do with those, and I want it to stay that way.
- Clocks and watches. The ticking of timepieces reminds me of the minutes and seconds of people’s lives passing by. I may have seen enough death to distance myself enough from it, but I do not like to be reminded of how short people's lives can be.

♥ F a m i l y :
What use is this to me now? The family I would have would be here, in the circus.

♥ R e l a t i o n s h i p s :
Kes: Protective over the boy due to his soft spot for children. Generally sees him as a sort of friend/charge when he feels that he would like some innocence and life around him.

♥ M I S C/O t h e r  I n f o r m a t i o n:
- He can never rest. So if you think he's asleep, he isn't - he's just closing his eyes.

- Maintains a very human, non-decaying appearance so as not to scare people. He has to be conscious for this to work, so obviously the not-sleeping thing works in his favour, but sometimes in anger he'll forget about maintaining his normal appearance.

- Only carries his head underarm after work. When he puts his head back he can move it like normal, but it's also very easy to knock off. He also can't drink unless his oesophagus is correctly aligned.

- He can set his head on fire and use it as a lamp. He can also hold it up to see far, far ahead. It's the only part of his body that is immune to fire. He is very careful with his body since his head can't do much without it. The colour of the fire he uses is green. For obvious reasons this isn't part of his performance, but it comes in handy when finding his way around in the dark.

- As a dullahan he is capable of everything that a dullahan can do, but for obvious reasons he needs nearly none of it at the circus and therefore doesn't do it.

- He prefers night, tolerates day. Sunlight will slowly disintegrate his skin, so he tends to cover up his body at all times, gloves and all. Gates, doors and other locks to entrance areas open in his presence, though - he can't switch this off.Because his head is immune to fire, it's the only part of his body that can handle sunlight.

- Against all laws of biology, he can talk while holding his head underarm. He's dead. It's excusable. Probably.

- Because he's dead, he is quite tough and does not get injured easily (and doesn't get drunk). But because he's dead, 1. healing magic won't work on him and 2. he doesn't feel pain, heat or cold. He can still taste and smell, oddly, but he can only drink, not eat. So more or less he can sometimes feel left out because most of the people in the circus are alive and can do things that he'd love to do (or misses doing) but can't. Sometimes he wishes he could get drunk, too.

- In the imperial system, Atticus is 6'1" and 158.7 lbs.

- Atticus does not know who or what made him into a dullahan. It doesn't concern him because over the course of 500 years he's surmised that if he was supposed to know, someone would have told him by now. He will not engage in speculation because, as far as he's involved, it's none of his business.

- Animals think Atticus is a danger. Except for horses. They get startled in his presence, but then seem to realise he means them no harm and he can make friends with them really well. He's not sure as to why this happens, but he's not the type to question it - or a lot of things, actually.

- Highly protective of his head, will keep it very close to him at all times when not on his shoulders. You can make jokes and poke fun about his detachable head, but bear in mind he tolerates that up to a certain extent. Full-on stealing/using his head to do whatever you want is out of the question.

The Penannular Brooch
The penannular brooch Atticus keeps in his possession is his only possession (apart from his clothes). In his true dullahan form it can be seen fastening his cloak. When not in use, it lies in a small wooden box with insular artwork, mostly of Celtic knots.

In general no one is allowed to touch this box, or the brooch that lies within. It has an important significance to his identity. He is okay with showing it to people, but touching it is a big no-no as he has some superstition with keeping it "clean". This penannular brooch is just as old as he is, hailing from his life before death.
Why Juggling?
As stated, Atticus learned to juggle in his free time (wherein whatever free time he had as a dullahan) by watching human performers. Prior to his learning he heralded death with nary a care in the world for the people whose souls he collected. After he picked up this decidedly mundane skill, however, he started regaining empathy for the living - which indicates that juggling is one of his last links to his humanity.

Ever since then he's maintain this juggling in order to understand how people do it as a mundane skill, and retain that connection. He uses no magic (not that he has any to help him most of the time) to do it, but 500 years is a long time to practise and he's really very good at it as a result. He intends to keep himself grounded and human as much as possible, because in his life, he wasn't like that and he feels that he should make up for it now that he has the chance to.

To fit with his rather straightforward militaristic style, he juggles weaponry. He can juggle many things, but he mostly prefers weaponry because most of his life he spent wielding weapons, and desolate battlefields had the most human items (apart from bodies - nope, even he has some respect for the dead, if he doesn't want people to play with his head then he'd better not do the same to others) which happened to be weapons. Knives, one-handed swords and axes are his favourite.

♥ R P  m e t h o d s :
PREFERABLY Google Docs, email or notes. I live in the rather inconvenient timezone of GMT+8, meaning that I am at least 12 hours from the US East Coast. I also prefer para-RP. However, I am totally okay with script and entirely flexible apart from Skype group chats, as Skype group chats drink bandwidth faster than I realise.

But for Skype I am okay with 1-on-1 script and general crackery :D
Some character design notes here, if you need references on his construction and general facial structure.

Atticus (or whatever his real name is, which I know and I won't say here) and art is mine.
Cirque-des-Reves and all belongs to melloskitten and co.

Description

I'm still getting faves for this asshole. Would you like to know he has moved?

Atticus has joined Folkhaven in lieu of CdR's hiatus. Find more of him there.

♥ N a m e :
Atticus
♥ A g e :
Approximately 550
♥ B i r t h d a y :
Forgotten
♥ S p e c i e s :
Dullahan
(Note: Atticus is not an Unseelie Court fairy; rather, he is an actual undead human turned into a dullahan.)
♥ F a c t i o n :
White
♥ J o b :
Jongleur (Juggler)

♥ P e r s o n a l i t y :
[ Polite | Old-Fashioned | Realistic | Tries to be friendly | Distant | Closet show-off | Desperate for company, socially awkward | Likes to be on people's good side | Atoner (See Why Juggling?) ]

I dislike lying. That should be all I need to say...well, except that to prevent myself from lying I sometimes hold information back. Is that all?

No? Fine, I will speak more then.

I place the past behind me. Being dead for more than five hundred years teaches you that the past is not something you live in for the rest of your life, as long as you have learned something from your mistakes. I am still remorseful, and I do not talk about my past. Please do not engage me in this topic.

I am well aware that I can often intimidate people, in no small part thanks to my appearance. It seems everyone takes to good manners, however, so I prefer to behave as such in order to socialise.

However, I can be distant to people. I am afraid of becoming attached to the living, because I will then watch their time pass while I remain. Immortality is not a pleasant experience. I tell myself often that I must make the most of my time, then, but I appear to have forgotten how to...live.

I do like to show off once in a while, but not very often as I feel that it would make me look arrogant. I already have the most disapproving look on my face as my usual expression, which does not deem me a good person at first glance.

I usually feel alone. Being a herald of death is not a social profession, and those of the mundane world fear me too much to get close to me. Not that I want them to; my hideous appearance in my true form fills me with shame. So I stick around where there is life, because after five hundred years of solitude any company is good company. I suppose there are exceptions, but I will find out what they are when I cross those bridges.
♥  H i s t o r y :
My name is Atticus. I am a dullahan - a cursed spirit forced to wander the earth for eternity, an omen of death to those whose names I call out. My intentions now, however, are to spend my time with others like me, and not be alone as I have been for five hundred years.

I was the thirdborn in a family of merchants in what the living now calls Gaelic Ireland. Thirdborn sons do not get a lot of inheritance of land, even if they are part of a wealthy family. This is important, because after I discovered how little there was to be granted under my name, I did a bit of rebelling.

...all right, a lot of rebelling.

I was not aware of it at the time, but I was an incredible wastrel, a flippant spender, a nasty piece of work in general. I grew up as a spectacularly spoilt brat who was known for his tantrums when he didn't get his way. And when my father decided that I was not mature enough yet for my inheritance, I tried to spite him out of ingratitude by running away from home and joining the armies as a mercenary.

I met my untimely end when my fellow mercenaries betrayed me and left me behind to be captured. I paid for my crimes. One swift, clean stroke with an axe. At least the executioner was neat about his duty.

When I came to, my face was already rotting. And to hammer home that I had committed many a crime, I realised that fate had assigned me to an eternity of being a herald of death, never to find peace in the afterlife or join the earth.

While my job is one of a lonely persuasion, I did happen upon a púca who, noticing my agony of loneliness, directed me to a small festival wherein I could watch performers and savour life a little, even if at a distance and out of sight. That was the first time I saw juggling, and after watching a bit I tried it for myself. It was not enough as companionship, but in what little free time I had it kept my mind distracted from my remorse. And perhaps in those years I spent practising I gained it as a skill. I had long enough time to try, after all.

I came upon the circus one fine eve. Most people, when they see my shadow, would hide their faces - and rightly so, because I, ashamed of my own visage and angry that these people would stare so insolently as I went about my work, would hurl cold blood into their faces. The circus people did not. In fact, they did not stare, which was what I would have expected. They invited me to rest and entertain myself. I had seen circuses from afar, but never one as mysterious, compelling and, above all, accepting as this one.

I felt a desire to stay. I could perform, with my one performing skill. I can juggle different objects without fear – well, what is there to fear after death? Apart from losing my humanity, perhaps.

Call me Atticus. I have forgotten my real name, or perhaps I do not want to remember my real name. Either way, I am here for respite. I am uncertain as to how long my rest would be, but I would make sure that it would be worth another five hundred years of heralding death to the living.

♥ V o i c e :
Sounds like he's in his 30s but speaks in a very antiquated manner and doesn't use contractions. There's a slight echo when he talks, more or less because of the passage of time, but otherwise his speech is very clear and smooth. He hasn't spoken to people in 500 years so more or less he can also sound somewhat awkward in his speech because everything is super formal.

♥ L i k e s :
- I was good with horses when I was alive.
- Children. Their innocence and laughter was what I missed in my death. Even a herald of death would need some light in their life.
- Experimenting with objects to juggle. Keeping up my skill is important.
- Bawdy songs, but I will not sing them for you.
- Blood. Should not be surprising, for a herald of death.
- Brandy, rum, whiskey, wine. I can drink it as long as my head stays where it should be.

♥ D i s l i k e s :
- Gold. I have a strong aversion to it, I know not why, but perhaps it is a reminder that it was one of the main temptations that led me to spiral downwards in life.
- No stealing my head or my penannular brooch. The brooch stays in a box for a reason.
- I have been alone for goodness' knows how long. As it is, I seek people out. I do not wish to be left alone.
- Strong, hot sunlight hurts my eyes and deteriorates my body. In addition, I cannot use my dullahan powers in the day. I dislike going out in the day, although I am fine in it, I just do not enjoy sunlight much.
- Do not compare or associate me with the Headless Horseman. We are not the same. I have nothing to do with those, and I want it to stay that way.
- Clocks and watches. The ticking of timepieces reminds me of the minutes and seconds of people’s lives passing by. I may have seen enough death to distance myself enough from it, but I do not like to be reminded of how short people's lives can be.

♥ F a m i l y :
What use is this to me now? The family I would have would be here, in the circus.

♥ R e l a t i o n s h i p s :
Kes: Protective over the boy due to his soft spot for children. Generally sees him as a sort of friend/charge when he feels that he would like some innocence and life around him.

♥ M I S C/O t h e r  I n f o r m a t i o n:
- He can never rest. So if you think he's asleep, he isn't - he's just closing his eyes.

- Maintains a very human, non-decaying appearance so as not to scare people. He has to be conscious for this to work, so obviously the not-sleeping thing works in his favour, but sometimes in anger he'll forget about maintaining his normal appearance.

- Only carries his head underarm after work. When he puts his head back he can move it like normal, but it's also very easy to knock off. He also can't drink unless his oesophagus is correctly aligned.

- He can set his head on fire and use it as a lamp. He can also hold it up to see far, far ahead. It's the only part of his body that is immune to fire. He is very careful with his body since his head can't do much without it. The colour of the fire he uses is green. For obvious reasons this isn't part of his performance, but it comes in handy when finding his way around in the dark.

- As a dullahan he is capable of everything that a dullahan can do, but for obvious reasons he needs nearly none of it at the circus and therefore doesn't do it.

- He prefers night, tolerates day. Sunlight will slowly disintegrate his skin, so he tends to cover up his body at all times, gloves and all. Gates, doors and other locks to entrance areas open in his presence, though - he can't switch this off.Because his head is immune to fire, it's the only part of his body that can handle sunlight.

- Against all laws of biology, he can talk while holding his head underarm. He's dead. It's excusable. Probably.

- Because he's dead, he is quite tough and does not get injured easily (and doesn't get drunk). But because he's dead, 1. healing magic won't work on him and 2. he doesn't feel pain, heat or cold. He can still taste and smell, oddly, but he can only drink, not eat. So more or less he can sometimes feel left out because most of the people in the circus are alive and can do things that he'd love to do (or misses doing) but can't. Sometimes he wishes he could get drunk, too.

- In the imperial system, Atticus is 6'1" and 158.7 lbs.

- Atticus does not know who or what made him into a dullahan. It doesn't concern him because over the course of 500 years he's surmised that if he was supposed to know, someone would have told him by now. He will not engage in speculation because, as far as he's involved, it's none of his business.

- Animals think Atticus is a danger. Except for horses. They get startled in his presence, but then seem to realise he means them no harm and he can make friends with them really well. He's not sure as to why this happens, but he's not the type to question it - or a lot of things, actually.

- Highly protective of his head, will keep it very close to him at all times when not on his shoulders. You can make jokes and poke fun about his detachable head, but bear in mind he tolerates that up to a certain extent. Full-on stealing/using his head to do whatever you want is out of the question.

The Penannular Brooch
The penannular brooch Atticus keeps in his possession is his only possession (apart from his clothes). In his true dullahan form it can be seen fastening his cloak. When not in use, it lies in a small wooden box with insular artwork, mostly of Celtic knots.

In general no one is allowed to touch this box, or the brooch that lies within. It has an important significance to his identity. He is okay with showing it to people, but touching it is a big no-no as he has some superstition with keeping it "clean". This penannular brooch is just as old as he is, hailing from his life before death.
Why Juggling?
As stated, Atticus learned to juggle in his free time (wherein whatever free time he had as a dullahan) by watching human performers. Prior to his learning he heralded death with nary a care in the world for the people whose souls he collected. After he picked up this decidedly mundane skill, however, he started regaining empathy for the living - which indicates that juggling is one of his last links to his humanity.

Ever since then he's maintain this juggling in order to understand how people do it as a mundane skill, and retain that connection. He uses no magic (not that he has any to help him most of the time) to do it, but 500 years is a long time to practise and he's really very good at it as a result. He intends to keep himself grounded and human as much as possible, because in his life, he wasn't like that and he feels that he should make up for it now that he has the chance to.

To fit with his rather straightforward militaristic style, he juggles weaponry. He can juggle many things, but he mostly prefers weaponry because most of his life he spent wielding weapons, and desolate battlefields had the most human items (apart from bodies - nope, even he has some respect for the dead, if he doesn't want people to play with his head then he'd better not do the same to others) which happened to be weapons. Knives, one-handed swords and axes are his favourite.

♥ R P  m e t h o d s :
PREFERABLY Google Docs, email or notes. I live in the rather inconvenient timezone of GMT+8, meaning that I am at least 12 hours from the US East Coast. I also prefer para-RP. However, I am totally okay with script and entirely flexible apart from Skype group chats, as Skype group chats drink bandwidth faster than I realise.

But for Skype I am okay with 1-on-1 script and general crackery :D
Some character design notes here, if you need references on his construction and general facial structure.

Atticus (or whatever his real name is, which I know and I won't say here) and art is mine.
Cirque-des-Reves and all belongs to melloskitten and co.