Post by Frederick Zimmerman on Mar 5, 2008 11:00:27 GMT -5
Name: Frederick Zimmerman (Sorry it's soooooooooo bad, my mind isn't really working)
Gender: Male
Age:
Job Description:
Gender: Male
Age:
29Job: Teacher
Job Description:
Art teacherPhysical Discription:
Personality:
Frederick Zimmerman doesn't exactly have a typical teacher style. He's more "punk rock" than "frumpy guy who gave up his dreams and settled for a teaching job". AKA teacher style.
With his side-swept hair and skinny jeans he looks more like he just stepped off of a stage than just finished teaching a class (well, except for the thick rim glasses, but those are still more punk than teacher). He generally wears a dress shirt and black tie, matching it with a well fitted emo-scene jacket with upturned collar. Occasionally though, he'll mix it up with a hoodie.
As far as general hygiene goes, he's always, always clean. His clothes, skin, hair, everything. Even his shoes (Nike's, just to inform you) are shined each morning. Some would say this is compulsive behavior, and that's because it is. Frederick has been plagued with a mild case of OCD ever since his teen years.
Ever heard the saying "Mad as a hatter"? Well, that expression directly describes Mr. Zimmerman. He's had an artistic side ever since childhood, which explains the whole art teacher thing (kinda duh.).Character's History:
Due to the mild OCD he tends to talk like in a way that is reminiscent of Old English, even though he hails from Illinois. Oddly enough he escaped the common symptom of having to have everything clean and symmetrical that comes along with his disorder, but he does count things and have to touch stuff multiple times.
He isn't really a nice person, but he's not mean either. He has his moments of both.Generally he's as polite as the next guy, but with an extra layer of sarcasm.
As a teacher he's pretty laid back. It's his understanding that art isn't something you force out of someone. He doesn't give real strict assignments either, just a form of medium and then let's student get to it.
As far as his craziness goes, well, it goes pretty far. As artists generally are crazy.
- He will not touch yellow food
- Believes there is such thing as time travel, and there are aliens who do it all the time. Some are on earth
- You won't get cancer if you eat a ton of apples
- He is deathly afraid of cancer and other major diseases
- Have you guessed it? Yes he eats a crap load of apples
- Having the radio on in the car is weird
- Babies are downright gross
- Does not like being touched at all
The list goes on...
Born into a middle class life in Illinois, Frederick was weird from the start. As a baby his parents noticed he had a tendency to ignore the real uses of his toys, and only use them as building pieces. He would create piles of toys that to his infant eyes must have looked pretty advanced.Post Sample:
Then came his childhood years. In school he was always removed. Instead of paying attention in class he would often be drawing or making "statues" with his utensils. His teachers grew tired of it, and his parents grew tired of the phone calls, and Frederick didn't understand any of it. He didn't understand why his peers teased him, and his parents were so agitated with him, or why the teachers had such a problem with him. So he just ignored it. He ignored everything and everyone. He still talked casually, but he stayed distant throughout the rest of his school days. He was held back in second grade, then in fifth, but then finally found a way to maintain a C average. He kept it throughout high school, where he never dated and found an outlet in the school art department, and spent most of his time there.
After school he knew that he wanted to be an artist. No other job would've wanted him, just saying two words to him you would know he's a loony. So he worked as a freelance artist in Chicago. Needless to say he turned out like most other young artists do, going undiscovered and living in poverty. He had no money whatsoever. He lived in the Chicago Public Library. Now, as I know your thinking, it would be extremely unrealistic for him to be able to hide in such a guarded place. Well, not if you have help. The librarian, an extremely wise but nutty old man, by the name of Bertrand Clark helped him out, and eventually let him stay at his home. Which, if I for got mention, was a four-story mansion. Frederick and Bertrand became very, very close over the next few years. Frederick was like the son the Bertrand never had. His wife had died at a young age, leaving Bertrand to live in a sorrowful bubble that he made for himself, sheilding his thoughts and feeling toward others, only showing hatred for humans. That was until, Frederick, who he saw something special in. That's why when Bertrand died he left his 24.3 million dollar fortune to Frederick.
Even though he was severely depressed at losing the only friend he'd ever had, he knew he had to do something with his life. So he used his recently earned fortune to pay his way through college (he did art school then worked quickly to get his masters), and hid the rest of the money away safely, only using it for what he really needed.
About the time when he was considering opening up a studio, Frederick was on the interweb and discovered an opening for an art teacher at Talbot Academy of the Arts, and he knew it would be a more stable job opportunity than a studio, so he hopped on a plane and moved to Europe where he got the job. This where our story begins...
Humm, I really couldn't find any I really liked more than this. So even though I've used it before to apply for A Fortiori, I'm going to recycle it.Pop Quiz Question:Satan was finished. He'd had enough of CC's defiance and ignorance. How dare she call him immature, call him weak, think he had decency. He was going to show her her place in the world; at his feet ready to do his bidding. "You dare defy me? After all I've said you have the guts to stand up to me?" He let out a dry, cold, laugh that seemed to echo from far away.
He had enough, he was going to shut her up no matter what it took. He shifted his shape into the costumey depictions he so detested. He was a at least 7 feet tall. He had skin that radiated with fire that burned off of all the hate in the world, all the suffering, and all the pain. He had horns, large and black. They too seemed to only keep their shape while there was anguish in the universe. He would burn your hand to ash if touched, yet he gave off no heat. No warmth of any kind.
"You think I would not hesitate to kill my own kind?" his voice seemed to come from the far depths of darkness, "Do you really think I wouldn't take the universe into the darkness if it didn't kill me with it? I am all powerful. This is the Darkness. This is my domain. You little things that live in the light clinging to your feeble Suns. Which die in my hands. Only the Darkness remains. Nobody one knows me - but I know them. I am the killer of his own kind. I was before light and time and space and matter. Before the cataclysm. Before this universe was created. You know nothing. All of you. So small. Do you think I would not kill you if I did not need your life to use against others? People who are nothing, but still more than you ." He stood towering over this crying girl. He had no pity, not even any recognition of her sadness. To him she was just another pawn in his sick game.
"Your whole family. All your friends. Everyone you know, and those you don't, none of them are worth anything. I will kill every single one of them as soon as I can. You will die... and I will live. This whole planet- It all makes me sick. Nobody here is worth even killing, but I do anyway. Why? Because I can. And you will learn that." He quite liked this form for the time being, he decided to stay in it for a while. Maybe even after this go scare some young children with it.[Tch, totally]