slipshod sailor

Dear, I'm not quite sure if you know this, but there's already a One Piece character who's eaten a fire-type Devil Fruit. Just in case you haven't gotten that far, I won't spoiler the character or anything, but I just thought I'd inform you. Just in case. (Oh, and by the way, Zoro's real name is, er, Zoro. Not Zolo. But whatever floats your boat.) I won't be joining it, but good luck with the RP. :3

The Frog. Name: Jean-Marc Lautrec Teacher: French Powers: He is gifted with eyes in the back of his head. Unfortunately, as a child, these eyes were always covered with his hair to discourage attention and are thus slightly near-sighted and require glasses at all times. His front eyes need glasses only for reading, so when he is examining his textbooks or grading tests, he makes for an odd sight indeed. His haircut , shorn in front of his back eyes, does not improve this strange look. History: Jean-Marc lived in France for two years before his family immigrated to America in hopes of a better future, better opportunities, better education for their children, better etc etc. Growing up, his father taught him French whilst his mother instructed him in English?he was to speak French only to his parents and English only when talking to his three siblings. Thus, he became fluent in both languages simultaneously. His eyes were present since his birth, overlooked when he was born as strange moles and then covered by his hair. Not wanting to worry his parents, Jean-Marc kept his eyes secret until a fateful trip to the barber?s at the age of ten. His parents, wanting their son to have the best education possible and not cause troubles at his ?normal? school, enrolled him in Madam Davis? Home for Gifted Children at the age of twelve. He resented this move quite a bit, having been very comfortable with his current school and friends. Once at Madam Davis?, Jean-Paul felt very out of place, not understanding why he was there as his power was not all that impressive nor a handicap to him like so many of the other students?. His main comfort were the letters that he constantly sent (in both English and French) to his family and old school friends. Eventually, he becomes used to the strange new school and manages to make a few very good friends with whom he can talk to without waiting a week for a reply. Personality: Very sharp and attentive (very little escapes his eyes or his mind), Jean-Paul is devoted to his studies, just as his parents taught him, and expects the same of his students. He is a very literal person (and will take things as such) and prefers to be tactfully frank as opposed to getting his point across using sarcasm or evasive wit. He also despises gross exaggerations and understatements. He is very precise and direct in his teaching, moving at a relatively quick pace but going over everything carefully enough to accommodate the slower learners. Jean-Paul?s teaching style imitates that of his mother and father, who were not teachers, but whom he considers as the best role models that he has ever had. He offers help after class and during lunch breaks, but few take him up on the offer.

He was having a wonderful time. The children were having a wonderful time. This was not good. Barely fifteen minutes into the class period, Sheaves found himself seated upon the edge of his worn-out desk facing a sea of young faces, papers and pens rolling about the glossy table-top willy-nilly as he waved his arms empathically to make some sort of very important point in the class? current topic of choice-- the marvels of modern bed slippers. So useful, so soft, so cozy? In his defense, it wasn?t that he hadn?t [i]tried[/i] to keep the lesson in some sort of order, the small, childish, petulant part of his mind protested. He did start off according to plan: first he had taken roll (two children missing; perhaps they had gotten lost in the long corridors somewhere) and introduced himself and then he had the children stand up introduce their own selves and their powers and their favorite hobbies and then he had started outlining their study course on the board and then before he knew it, they were debating the advantages of fleece to linen in relation to the soles of one?s feet. A couple of the students too shy to join the conversation sat awkwardly at their desks, unwilling to speak, averting their eyes and fiddling with their books and papers. Sheaves quickly remedied this problem with a direct question regarding whether the key purpose of slippers was insulation or comfort, and soon, nearly the entirety of the class was involved (Participation equals extra points, children!). A very few of the serious, more studious pupils were, god forbid, actually on task, busily completing the writing assignment he had vaguely remembered issuing, the scratching of their metal-tipped pens on paper stopping every now and then as the student paused to glare pointedly at Sheaves when the enthused discussion rose too loudly. At least the students were getting a bit of exercise in public speaking, he sheepishly thought as his mouth babbled excitedly on to a nice fair-haired young girl about the pros and cons of training canines to retrieve bedtime footwear. It was still only the first day of school, anyways.

Cool, a new character. And good luck with those papers, school does come before RP. :3 Unfortunately, I'll be gone for about a week heading up to Canada for a trip, just thought that I should inform you... Hopefully more people will post in the meantime...! [Edit:] Am back now and shall get cracking on a new post soon.

I...sort of made up the French teacher in my post, so I guess it'll be my responsibility to finish him. :3 *goes to do so*

??Oh, I don?t know?it?s blue, for heaven?s sakes! I--Well, all right, you?ve got a point there, blueberries are blue too, but see, that?s different?? Having been deeply engaged in a quietly intense discussion on the very serious matter of foreign cheeses with the French instructor, Sheaves was admittedly rather slow to notice the arrival of their very esteemed Headmistress at the entrance of the Assembly Hall, where teachers and students alike were gathered for the beginning of the school year. A quick elbow in his ribs by Mr. Lautrec (who was obviously paying much more attention that he was) swiftly remedied this and after he flushed and nearly dropped the top joint of his pinky in embarrassment, he belatedly redirected his attention from creamy bleu and fontinella to the regal figure making her way across the stage and behind the podium. He listened alertly to Madam Davis? speech, or at least, he tried his best; he always loved to hear what others had to say but unfortunately also had always been quite poor at paying attention in school...gossiping about the latest scandal happening in the girl?s dorm or how that frog managed to find its way into poor Jimmy Croft?s knickers during lunch (however, due to little Jimmy?s nervous habit of spectacularly combusting when provoked, most of the students? sympathy was for the frog) had always been much more interesting that listening to old Houghton drone on about the staggering importance of crossing t?s and dotting i?s and how to measure exact margins and all that rubbish which Sheaves had never managed to find particularly useful in his adult life. Luckily, Madam Davis had always been a figure that always commanded his interest, and because he was rather nervous about starting his first year teaching and was determined to do things right, his attention managed not to wander too far during the speech; he clapped at her ending words on time along with the rest, as opposed to after a few beats with a jab in the side as his cue. Gathering his book-bag, Sheaves weaved his way through the masses of students and teachers exiting the Assembly Hall, waving and smiling and voicing the odd ?how do you do?? at familiar faces as he went. Swept along with the crowd, he continued until he had reached his appointed classroom near the end of the hall, the noise of bustling activity quieting as he closed the door behind him. Setting his bag on the study-worn wooden desk at the side of the classroom, he walked over to pull open the Venetian blinds, bathing himself in a shaft of golden autumn sunlight. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and promptly dissolved into a coughing fit, having just inhaled a lungful of flying dust dislodged from the slats of the blinds when he had yanked them open, which, needless to say, did nothing for his nerves whatsoever.

Excellent. This RP is looking like it's going to be loads of fun.

[Quote]I always seem to find favourite cheracters in those that get killed. It's rather frustrating.[/Quote] Agh, I know what you mean. I think it's safe to say that every dead character in Fullmetal Alchemist is a favorite of mine. And just so this post can remain vaguely on-topic: Does a bishounen always have to be physically "good-looking?" Do unattractive characters [with really sweet, charming, suave, etc. personalities] count?

I'm not a big fan of anime/manga, unfortunately, but I hope I still apply. My favorite manga being One Piece, it's rather difficult to say and I'm not sure if it even counts... I really don't consider anyone in OP even remotely "bishie" (I don't care what anyone says, Sanji is NOT effeminate!hawt-- the guy has leg hair, for chrissakes!), except for, uhm, young!Iceburg, but there are a number of guys very dead sexy in their own strange wacky One Piece way. Even Usopp, yes. [I]Have you seen him without his bandanna?

I apologize for the rushed shoddiness of this, I hope it?s not too late and that this application is adequate... [B][U]Enrollment[/U][/B] [B]Name: [/B]Lawrence P. Sheaves (though prefers being referred to by his last name) [B]Age: [/B]30 [B]Gender:[/B] male [B]Origin:[/B] American, born in Brooklyn [B]Teacher or student:[/B] Teacher [B]Appearance: [/B]Standing a little taller than average, Sheaves is well built and healthy, his face is expressive and animated. While not exceptionally attractive, he has a certain charm that draws people to him, aided by his theatrically dramatic voice and exaggerated gesticulations. His eyes are a rather boring shade of blue and his hair a light brown, often tousled and messily combed, the highlight of his face generally being his trademark heartfelt smile. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, clean black slacks and a tattered, well-worn tie, he is not much of an impressive sight but is extremely crafty when it comes time to fight, as his power does not physically or mentally enhance his strength. [B]Powers:[/B] His limbs have a nasty tendency of dropping off (usually unexpectedly, but it has been known to occur when he gets excited or wound up or particularly emotional). His appendages are easily reattached, but it is indeed mortifying to have one?s hand fall off whilst shaking that of another. Over the years he?s learned how to deliberately disengage his limbs with a thought (though this action is easiest at the joints, he can?t easily separate through the middle of solid bone). [B]Biography:[/B] Despite his talkative personality, no one really knows (or admittedly, cares) about Sheaves? past. Born very normally to a loving family living in Brooklyn, he was a cheerful, outgoing child who grew up to be a cheerful, outgoing adult. His ?power (as he mockingly refers to it)? was discovered by his parents when he was fourteen?he was engaged in an intense discussion with his older sister and was waving his hands rather violently for emphasis when one of them flew off and promptly poked his father in the eye?and was then sent to Madam Davis? Home for Gifted Children. [B] Personality:[/B] A social person by nature, he loves talking with and listening to people and can always find time to hear what you have to say. He does his best not to be judgmental and biased and treats gossip as it is?just gossip. Sheaves? social success stems mainly from the fact that he simply /accepts/ people and their views and doesn?t try to force himself to understand the whys. Sheaves can be somewhat idealistic and almost naïve in his thinking-- he will generally assume the best of anyone he meets (that is not to say that he is blind to the wrong-doings of people; he will acknowledge people?s crimes and be duly disappointed in them). Usually carefree and laidback in actions and speech, he is often viewed as shallow or air-headed by those not familiar with him and is thus rather nonplussed as to why people can?t understand that he simply prefers being happy to miserable. While he can make conversation about almost anything, from the weather to the origins of mankind and the process of human evolution (he?s not too keen on politics or advanced sciences, though, mind you) and to almost anyone (he?ll mumble to himself or inanimate objects if there?s no one around) , he seems to have trouble talking about his feelings and will probably accidentally drop a finger in nervousness if you ask. Admittedly, Sheaves is not much of a teacher, academic-wise. Having been a bit of a poor student, he?s almost just as poor an educator, being rather absent-minded when it comes to planning lessons and homework and (despite his social nature) being extremely disinterested in politics and economic affairs. Though his solo lectures often disintegrate into an all-class group debate and he has difficulties keeping himself from digressing wildly, he recognizes that he has a responsibility as a teacher and does his best not to offend anyone or let any individuals get out of hand. He genuinely wants to help his students, just as his own teachers have helped him in the past. Likes: company, walks in the park, coffee, not having to do homework, parties, intimate discussions, staying up late, helping people Dislikes: foreign cheeses, being alone, having to lie and people lying to him, people who get mad at the drop of a hat [B]Character snippet:[/B] The sun was bright and warm overhead and the cracked leather of his suitcase weighing comfortably in his hand, swinging slightly in time with his step. His parents had dropped him off at the end of the road, his mother giving him his suitcase and a letter to the headmistress and a kiss, while his father smiled quietly behind his dark bristling mustache and nodded. He had resisted hugging his parents goodbye?fourteen was much too old for a boy to do that sort of fussy girly thing? and settled for convincing his mother that he would be fine and that he?d write every week and that he would see them over the holidays and that he wouldn?t get into a fight and break things and cost them lots of medical bills. Sheaves had then departed with a hopefully nonchalant wave, strolling down the street as casually as he could while ignoring the flurry of butterflies gleefully rattling about in his stomach. He hoped it wasn?t too obvious that he was scared out of his teenage wits and forced a smile onto his face. ?...Lawrence, dear?? his mother called hesitantly and Sheaves looked back to his father?s chuckles. His arm was lying on the sidewalk. Years and years later, Sheaves was still walking down this now-familiar street again, though things were much shorter now and he knew he wouldn?t get lost this time. Still, it was his first time back in quite a while, and the old butterflies buried deep in his intestines decided to get fluttering in anticipation again as he neared the school grounds. He had gone a few paces before realizing with a good-natured curse that he had left his suitcase on the ground a couple of feet back, along with three fingers, which were now rolling cheerily about on the stained cement. He laughed and picked up his suitcase.