Post by Gilberta Beilschmidt on Jun 15, 2010 23:33:25 GMT -5
Gilberta Maria Beilschmidt
" Precious Prussia "
" Precious Prussia "
Country's real name: Gilberta Maria Beilschmidt
Country: Prussia
Age: 17
History:
The harsh reality is: everything was awesome.
..... Well, that might be a smidgen of a lie. Gilberta was a bit reckless as a child, causing her to get into a lot of trouble. She was often scolded, but still held her rebellious attitude. Though admired for her strength and sheer will power, she was certainly not the ideal child. Better an unnoticed child than one known mostly for her wild behavior.
In a last ditch effort, she was sent here. At least she would be on her own and they wouldn't have to deal with her. She would also be with her siblings, so perhaps she would be more calm.... The end.
Occupation: Student, and too awesome for part time.
Origin Language: German
Personality:
One cannot simply describe something of such awesomeness. It must be experienced first hand.
However, due to the fact that some may be found unworthy of such an honor, we will give you what we can.
Gilberta is known for being extremely narcissistic. She finds herself to be the most awesome thing since the word itself, and quite frankly there is just nothing in this world that can compare. She is lively, outgoing, and tends to pick plenty of fights. She is just as wild as Gilbert, even going as far as to create her own version of the Bad Touch Trio. She and her brother are... too much alike. If you want to know one, get to know the other. It is this simple.
... The end.
Example of your RP Structure:
[ANTARCTICA ON ANOTHER SITE]
To answer a question most recent asked: yes, and not much. How to tarnish a soul is written in many languages, many religions, and dealt with among many of those who take the time to sit and think of how this world truly is. This world, based on the idealist view, is so close to obtaining peace. Only a few more meetings, a pinch more faith, and a dash of dreams. Oh, how wonderful a world as such would be. If only there truly were a recipe for such, rather than those created for disaster. It seemed so simple, but perhaps the complexity of the human mind is incapable of something as such? To gather the countries, states and continents together in order to fulfill this idealism seemed farfetched and only another stew of war, pain, and hunger. So many faces familiar to one another, and yet somehow fate saw fit, as fickle as she is, to invite the one place who didn't belong.
It would be rude not to accept such an offer. To finally be recognized, was this such a bad thing? To say that his opinion counted despite not being a true country all his own? No, he did not accept for this reason, anyway. He didn't care to be heard, for who would listen? He had no language to speak in of his own, people to speak for him, and no currency to even pay someone to sit down and listen to his woes, for he was Antarctica. He was a large landmass of ice, uselessly frozen and incapable of anything fantastic save for knowledge of a history long gone. Like with every ring in a tree, he held many a millennium within him.
However, you see, he does not remember. Who is he to recall something so deeply embedded in himself when he had only recently become conscious of his own existence? So, instead, others have taken it upon themselves to both mentally and physically tear him apart out of their own curiosity of this world. They didn't care enough for him, why would they care about the entire world? It just seemed silly. A goal that isn't allowed to be reached. Had anyone thought of that? Surely he wasn't the only sour one here.
When he looked up again, the scenery had changed. The ground below had gone from a concrete footing to soft dirt. He had been watching the weight in his feet push apart the dirt as it made a footprint in the ground. Of course now he could look back. Now he realized he had footprints to look back on. How was it that everyone expected to find so much in him when he couldn't do it himself? And so forcefully, too!
The air smelled of something entirely unfamiliar... No, that was this entire island. The warm weather had shocked him. He hadn't realized there was such a thing as warmth, really. It had always been cold and colder. He had never even seen his breath before; he had always been that cold.
These things sprouting from the ground, too... What on earth were they? The only thing he has seen sprout up are icebergs or polar bears as they stuck their heads out from their paw-made caves. Perhaps even Russia, Britain and America's rise over the horizon as they came upon him that same year?
He sniffed, the strange smell burning his nose welcomingly. It wasn't that he hated nature. Actually, he had a very curious personality, himself. Nearly all of what was on the island was something he had never seen before. Naturally, he didn't travel much. It wasn't his thing to do. No one ever invited him or anything, either. He was a landmass, who cared? It was the nations he didn't like. No, not just them. Everyone. Everyone and their idealism. And, if they should happen to need only him to finish the deal, then he would decline. World peace would never happen as long as he was still alive. He would make everyone hate him, as long as it made them miserable, themselves.
"Misery loves company, after all." He finally piped up, pausing to look around at the scenery. He was in a field, a large area without buildings and simply covered in all sorts of strange colors. He felt out of place, and yet somehow warm. Was that supposed to be some cruel way of irony?
He blinked, catching the faint whisper caught by the wind. "How despicable..." spat the wind. He had never thought wind was capable of such a clear voice, but he quickly matched it to someone he knew. Someone he knew very well. A snarl then graced his lips momentarily as he looked onward toward the tall, yellow grasses. These were the ones he believed gave off a more distinct smell than anything else.
Sure enough, there he was. His hair seemed to match his surroundings, much more so than this other fellow's. No, this other fellow's didn't match at all. His white hair stood out, and against his pale skin his brilliantly red eyes were like fireballs in the snow. Snow that couldn't exist somewhere so warm. Snow that shouldn't exist, at least not at this time or place.
"I should be taking tea around this hour...not lounging around in the dirt." He sniffed again.
Antarctica approached England, as he figured the character standing around for no apparent reason was. The boy seemed to be snarling, but Antarctica just barely kept his anger hidden behind a disgusted frown.
Among all the countries, England was one of the three he hated most of all.
"You say that, and yet here you've sat on the filthy ground with visibly no intention of getting up," he paused, raising a brow before taking a seat nearby. "Normally I'd greet someone by telling them that they'll catch a cold with how less they're wearing, but now I'm the one who's actually overdressed." He let out a long sigh as if the idea really did bother him.
On the contrary, the thing that bothered him most was this feeling of displacement. He shouldn't be here. What did his opinion matter at this school? He wasn't his own country, anyway. Just a landmass.
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