Post by Claire Hartell on Oct 2, 2010 16:03:44 GMT -8
Claire Lucia Hartell
[/center]( The Basics )
( Full Name)[/color] Claire Lucia Hartell
( Nickname )[/color] None
( Age )[/color] 14
( Birthdate )[/color] April 4
( Sex )[/color] Female
( Hometown )[/color] Inverness, Scotland
( Class )[/color] Freshman
( Sexuality )[/color] Undecided
( Played By )[/color] Karen Gillan
( Their Power)
( Ability )[/color] Shapeshifting/ Physical propulsion; Wings- Claire can sprout wings from her shoulder blades. She does not know that she is capable of transforming into a full bird.
Super Lungs- Claire can hold her breath for an extensive amount of time. With training, she would be able to not breathe indefinitely, but only while conscious. Right now, she can hold her breath for about an hour. She can also breathe in places with limited oxygen, including places with gasses (sulfur, for example) in the air.
( Type of Power )[/color] Physical
( Weakness )[/color] Water, both for shapeshifting and breathing. She can only hold her breath consciously (she can't be unconscious or sleeping), and she has to retain slight focus on not breathing, as it is a involuntary act.
( Good vs. Evil )[/color] Apathetic. She's not neutral, she just doesn't care.
( Personality )
Claire is a very apathetic person, not really caring for anything. Her biggest passion, outer space, causes her a lot of sadness. She would like to stay up there forever, but is forced to come down when she has to breathe. Claire enjoys the company of other people, especially when there's something very interesting about them, but she prefers to be alone when she has something on her mind, often flying at night, just thinking to herself. She has trouble staying focussed and making friends. She doesn't know how much she cares for her ability, and often thinks of it as being a bit lame.
( Little Details )
( Strengths)[/color] Because she's apathetic about everything, she can see things from an unbiased point of view.
( Weaknesses )[/b][/color] She has trouble sleeping.
( Dark Secrets)[/color] She wants to leave Earth forever.
( Reputation )[/color] She's a freshman, no one knows anything about her and she'd prefer to keep it that way.
( Family)
( Mother )[/color] Maria, 36, Headmistress at Oceanside. They have a good relationship, though a bit distant.
( Belongings )
( Car )[/color] Her wings
( Phone )[/b][/color] LG Encore
( Music )[/b][/color] 4th Generation iPod Nano
( Anything Else)[/b][/color] Nothing special
(Sample)
There are people who are simply aware that they are special. Many people of this sort have traits that make others want to follow them - Angelia Kates and Ashley Kerrington being the examples with whom Laria Hapsburg was most familiar. Others, however, neither attract nor seek followers, for all that they attract attention - if the Jessica Smiths and Angelia Kateses of the world are the symphony conductors, and the Madison Worths and the Cairine Taylors the musicians reading from the score, this third group was made up of the jazz soloists, seeing the rhythms of a successful life and creating their own music to meet them.
The day Laria Hapsburg drew this metaphor, she purchased a trumpet.
It is said that it takes a human ten thousand hours to master a skill. This is, of course, an average - the truly talented can take to a discipline like experienced practitioners in moments, while those less blessed can struggle for a lifetime before the basics of their chosen discipline comes to them. Laria wasn’t certain that she was more intelligent than those around her - certainly, she had been told that her mind was something special, but wasn’t that the sort of self-esteem-feeding tripe that was fed to everyone these days? What she knew was that she had an extraordinary degree of focus. That ten thousand hour period - four hundred sixteen and two-thirds days, if one spent every single moment working on the skill - assumed that the practitioner had the usual distractions of daily life assailing her at every moment. Laria lacked these distractions; when she practiced, she left her bedroom door unlocked, for she was unaware of the passage of time and would have to be physically jostled from her work to be reminded to eat, sleep, or engage in other activities.
In two months - approximately 500 hours of practice at eight hours a day, or one-twentieth the time one is expected to spend mastering a skill - Laria determined that her skills had advanced sufficiently to perform publicly. She had no references, knew no one in the local jazz scene, but she did have an Internet search engine, a car to take to San Francisco, and a weekend with no plans at all. Thus it was that the small, frightfully young-looking would-be musician found herself outside one of San Francisco’s small jazz clubs on a Friday evening, playing her heart out.
Saturday afternoon, she was on stage. At 11:18 PM Saturday night, the first fan site - created by someone who did not even know her name - was online. By the end of her second section Sunday, twelve hundred eighty-eight Facebook messages and Tweets had been sent about her.
She arrived home late Sunday night, and the house’s maid thought she looked oddly disappointed. Laria went to her bedroom and put her trumpet away. She would not touch it again for eight months. It was time, she knew, to find a new metaphor - she was not a jazz soloist.
The day Laria Hapsburg drew this metaphor, she purchased a trumpet.
It is said that it takes a human ten thousand hours to master a skill. This is, of course, an average - the truly talented can take to a discipline like experienced practitioners in moments, while those less blessed can struggle for a lifetime before the basics of their chosen discipline comes to them. Laria wasn’t certain that she was more intelligent than those around her - certainly, she had been told that her mind was something special, but wasn’t that the sort of self-esteem-feeding tripe that was fed to everyone these days? What she knew was that she had an extraordinary degree of focus. That ten thousand hour period - four hundred sixteen and two-thirds days, if one spent every single moment working on the skill - assumed that the practitioner had the usual distractions of daily life assailing her at every moment. Laria lacked these distractions; when she practiced, she left her bedroom door unlocked, for she was unaware of the passage of time and would have to be physically jostled from her work to be reminded to eat, sleep, or engage in other activities.
In two months - approximately 500 hours of practice at eight hours a day, or one-twentieth the time one is expected to spend mastering a skill - Laria determined that her skills had advanced sufficiently to perform publicly. She had no references, knew no one in the local jazz scene, but she did have an Internet search engine, a car to take to San Francisco, and a weekend with no plans at all. Thus it was that the small, frightfully young-looking would-be musician found herself outside one of San Francisco’s small jazz clubs on a Friday evening, playing her heart out.
Saturday afternoon, she was on stage. At 11:18 PM Saturday night, the first fan site - created by someone who did not even know her name - was online. By the end of her second section Sunday, twelve hundred eighty-eight Facebook messages and Tweets had been sent about her.
She arrived home late Sunday night, and the house’s maid thought she looked oddly disappointed. Laria went to her bedroom and put her trumpet away. She would not touch it again for eight months. It was time, she knew, to find a new metaphor - she was not a jazz soloist.
