CHARACTER Name: Caliborn Canon: Homestuck Timeline: The last sleep shift from Calliope to Caliborn before Calliope was murdered.
If playing another character from the same canon, how will you deal with this?: I am apping as both Calliope and Caliborn, since they are sharing a body. Splitting it up with another player would provide continuity errors like Calliope walking around while Caliborn is awake, or bodily states not carrying through from earlier actions. Since neither can both be awake at the same point in time, there is never a chance for them stumbling into one another, or holding extensive. As it stands I have no reason to play out them interacting with one another since they’d be having to slip into this sleeping and waking cycle with short comments in between until it became ridiculous.
Personality: Calliope and Caliborn are two halves of a coin. While his sister is a caring and affectionate creature, he is her polarized self. Hostile and malicious, he takes a great deal of pleasure in being the aggressor to his sister’s collaborator. He is both antagonistic and demanding in his communication, and does not so much make friends, as gather those with high tolerance into his company. Calliope regards him as little more than a mild annoyance, but he views his sister as an endless source of contempt and an object to be conquered. A dose of antagonism between the personalities of growing Cherubs is entirely natural; however, Caliborn is impatient and like any fool without a full grasp of the consequences of their actions, fully intends to speed up the process of his sister’s inevitable death. It’s with this same blind fervor that he approaches much of anything, acting before fully thinking anything through.
Throughout his growth, he was given everything he could want or need. Their rearing, while neglectful to most species, was damn near spoiling rotten to a Cherub. Calliope managed to escape the coddling with little feelings of entitlement, but Caliborn was severely affected. He runs on the belief that whatever he likes, be it his odd taste in “pornography” or the compliance of others, should be handed to him. On times when he isn’t provided with what he wants, he will react with tantrums that can range from rude to violent. Even when given everything he could possibly want, it doesn’t protect others from his petulant outbursts.
Unlike his sister, he isn’t capable of seeing others as friends or even equals. The idea of friendship is entirely awful to him, as he has stated many times that the idea alone is disgusting, and that there are none that he sees in such a light. In his eyes, a person’s worth is measured first by gender, and second in how well they can serve his needs. The highest he could see another beyond a useful servant, would be someone he wants to dub his “bro”, a strong, intelligent male figure that he wrongly believes is his equal, or at least close to such. As of yet, Dirk Strider is the only person to fit this requirement. All others, especially women, are seen to be useless until they prove to be useful enough for him to manipulate him to his needs. His views on women as a whole are entirely misogynistic, seeing them both as sexual objects to fetishize, and “useless bitches” who by virtue of gender, are incapable of accomplishing anything of real worth. This view may have been born out of his contempt for his sister, coupled with his own ignorant and cruel nature.
While he is the “evil half” of the two, there are a plethora of standards which he abides by. Caliborn has a near obsession with games, and by proxy, their rules. Rules are things that he abides by, to an almost zealous degree, preferring to work his way around them rather than outright break them as his sister would. Lies are rare, and used sparingly. Even when he makes an attempt to manipulate Jake later in his storyline, he has no issues in being blunt and bold faced calling Jake an idiot in the midst of trying to make nice. Though, when confronting Jane, he tried to pass off his antagonism as a bid for friendship, while skewing the terms he was using to keep his lies to a minimum. Even when playing chess with his sister, he kept within the outlined rules of the game, and refrained from lying during a dubious play of disguising his king as his queen and vice versa. His bluntness forms a parallel to his sister’s secretive nature.
Jigsaw-like games and twists may be the only things he loves, but they are far from his only hobbies. Both he and his sister hold a fascination for human romance, though his interest is more fetishistic than wanting to participate. Since love, and gentle gestures of affection are a so far separated from the Cherub’s own form of attraction, he views it as something wrong, and erotic. Caliborn Fetishizes affection due to its exoticness. As of recent he has also tried his hand at art, a jab at his sister’s talent. For the moment, he’s still generally awful at the practice.
Caliborn as a whole is cruel, stupid, and spoiled, but the power and luck behind him make him a dangerous enemy.
First Person: [A monstrous green creature tumbles from the door of the train, red dripping from the deep cuts of his knuckles and chunks of upholstery still clamped tightly between his teeth. Once he has left the car, the train starts to back out of the station, chunks of glass falling out of the window he’d broken as it wobbles back and away.
Caliborn spits out the chunk of what was his train seat.]
LIMP HOME!
[He’d have riddled the whole place with holes were his beloved gun in his possession. It’s truly safer for the general populace that it isn’t.
He dusts his clothes off, and picks the glass from his hand, more an afterthought than anything else.
It takes some time (and one squirrel that he is now picking from his teeth) for him to come to terms with his surroundings, as they are neither blinding red and covered in gaudy jpeg. artifact statures, nor the dull grey metal of his home. There isn’t even purple, so that counts out this as a dream. Considering those are the only places he has ever known, he is pretty much at a loss here. No way of knowing where he is, and no gun to murder things with make Cal a dull boy. No, angry boy. That makes Caliborn a very angry boy.
It’s as he bends over to remove one of his manacles that he notices a gold pocket watch at his feet. A classy item, for a classy man. Since there are no classy men present, Caliborn will be taking it. When he finds that he has utterly no idea just how the miserable thing even works, he smashes it on a street lamp several times. And then throws it against a wall. Just for good measure. The video feed starts up, broadcasting a toothy green skullbeast with an awful fashion sense as he goes to pick up his watch for yet another round of abuse.]
Third Person: TT: Anyway. Got to go. TT: Your drawing blows. TT: Later.
Caliborn stared at the screen long after he had gone idle, staring at the orange text that had so callously berated his personal art style. Anyone with functioning eyeballs could see that the two of them were sharing a rather steamy look of mutual respect, the scene alone made him a little hot under the collar. Beneath the two of them were the titled ‘bitches’, wrapped in the tender embrace that humans called ‘a tickle fight’. Natural indignation called for shit to be wrecked, but perhaps not quite as wrecked as he was entirely capable of. He and Dirk shared the bond of bros after all, a ‘bromance’ if he was allowed to get particularly raunchy about it all. Strider was the least repulsive of all his little group and he did have quite a bit of artistic experience, perhaps he would need to improve before he was finally recognized as the human’s rightful superior.
After he was able to finally kill Strider—a quick and almost painless procedure compared to what Caliborn has planned for his friends—he would have to pin a completed work to the bloodsoaked corpse. An image of them, ahem, holding hands seemed perfect for the occasion. So vulgar.
However, it was difficult to garner approval from a bloated cadaver. Perhaps he would keep the most capable of the humans alive, long enough at least to admire his pure talent when it came to erotic art. He could even paint his final piece in the blood of the witless bitches and bumbling ape that Dirk called friends. If he begged nearly enough, Caliborn may even let him live. A strong and capable human would make an excellent crony for his needs.
Boys could dream.
Dreams that were burst with one glance at his current skill. Like any aspiring artist, he would have to practice to hone his ability. Murder plans would have to wait for until such a time that Dirk’s dead or possibly living body could gape vacantly at his prowess with a pen. His bitch sister—who would preferably also be dead at this juncture in time—would have to give up her title of an artist in utter shame at being bested in yet another aspect. It’s that image that he used as fuel for his ‘art’. For once, Calliope might just hold up her duties as a muse for once.
Each new depiction of his sister’s demise and his own pleasure was stuffed away into his sylladex for her to retrieve upon waking. For good measure, he whipped slabs of meat off toward his sister’s half of the room, knocking over her books in a splatter of lukewarm blood and meat hunks.
[CANON] Caliborn || Homestuck || Reserve || 2 of 3
Name: Caliborn
Canon: Homestuck
Timeline: The last sleep shift from Calliope to Caliborn before Calliope was murdered.
If playing another character from the same canon, how will you deal with this?: I am apping as both Calliope and Caliborn, since they are sharing a body. Splitting it up with another player would provide continuity errors like Calliope walking around while Caliborn is awake, or bodily states not carrying through from earlier actions. Since neither can both be awake at the same point in time, there is never a chance for them stumbling into one another, or holding extensive. As it stands I have no reason to play out them interacting with one another since they’d be having to slip into this sleeping and waking cycle with short comments in between until it became ridiculous.
Personality: Calliope and Caliborn are two halves of a coin. While his sister is a caring and affectionate creature, he is her polarized self. Hostile and malicious, he takes a great deal of pleasure in being the aggressor to his sister’s collaborator. He is both antagonistic and demanding in his communication, and does not so much make friends, as gather those with high tolerance into his company. Calliope regards him as little more than a mild annoyance, but he views his sister as an endless source of contempt and an object to be conquered. A dose of antagonism between the personalities of growing Cherubs is entirely natural; however, Caliborn is impatient and like any fool without a full grasp of the consequences of their actions, fully intends to speed up the process of his sister’s inevitable death. It’s with this same blind fervor that he approaches much of anything, acting before fully thinking anything through.
Throughout his growth, he was given everything he could want or need. Their rearing, while neglectful to most species, was damn near spoiling rotten to a Cherub. Calliope managed to escape the coddling with little feelings of entitlement, but Caliborn was severely affected. He runs on the belief that whatever he likes, be it his odd taste in “pornography” or the compliance of others, should be handed to him. On times when he isn’t provided with what he wants, he will react with tantrums that can range from rude to violent. Even when given everything he could possibly want, it doesn’t protect others from his petulant outbursts.
Unlike his sister, he isn’t capable of seeing others as friends or even equals. The idea of friendship is entirely awful to him, as he has stated many times that the idea alone is disgusting, and that there are none that he sees in such a light. In his eyes, a person’s worth is measured first by gender, and second in how well they can serve his needs. The highest he could see another beyond a useful servant, would be someone he wants to dub his “bro”, a strong, intelligent male figure that he wrongly believes is his equal, or at least close to such. As of yet, Dirk Strider is the only person to fit this requirement. All others, especially women, are seen to be useless until they prove to be useful enough for him to manipulate him to his needs. His views on women as a whole are entirely misogynistic, seeing them both as sexual objects to fetishize, and “useless bitches” who by virtue of gender, are incapable of accomplishing anything of real worth. This view may have been born out of his contempt for his sister, coupled with his own ignorant and cruel nature.
While he is the “evil half” of the two, there are a plethora of standards which he abides by. Caliborn has a near obsession with games, and by proxy, their rules. Rules are things that he abides by, to an almost zealous degree, preferring to work his way around them rather than outright break them as his sister would. Lies are rare, and used sparingly. Even when he makes an attempt to manipulate Jake later in his storyline, he has no issues in being blunt and bold faced calling Jake an idiot in the midst of trying to make nice. Though, when confronting Jane, he tried to pass off his antagonism as a bid for friendship, while skewing the terms he was using to keep his lies to a minimum. Even when playing chess with his sister, he kept within the outlined rules of the game, and refrained from lying during a dubious play of disguising his king as his queen and vice versa. His bluntness forms a parallel to his sister’s secretive nature.
Jigsaw-like games and twists may be the only things he loves, but they are far from his only hobbies. Both he and his sister hold a fascination for human romance, though his interest is more fetishistic than wanting to participate. Since love, and gentle gestures of affection are a so far separated from the Cherub’s own form of attraction, he views it as something wrong, and erotic. Caliborn Fetishizes affection due to its exoticness. As of recent he has also tried his hand at art, a jab at his sister’s talent. For the moment, he’s still generally awful at the practice.
Caliborn as a whole is cruel, stupid, and spoiled, but the power and luck behind him make him a dangerous enemy.
First Person: [A monstrous green creature tumbles from the door of the train, red dripping from the deep cuts of his knuckles and chunks of upholstery still clamped tightly between his teeth. Once he has left the car, the train starts to back out of the station, chunks of glass falling out of the window he’d broken as it wobbles back and away.
Caliborn spits out the chunk of what was his train seat.]
LIMP HOME!
[He’d have riddled the whole place with holes were his beloved gun in his possession. It’s truly safer for the general populace that it isn’t.
He dusts his clothes off, and picks the glass from his hand, more an afterthought than anything else.
It takes some time (and one squirrel that he is now picking from his teeth) for him to come to terms with his surroundings, as they are neither blinding red and covered in gaudy jpeg. artifact statures, nor the dull grey metal of his home. There isn’t even purple, so that counts out this as a dream. Considering those are the only places he has ever known, he is pretty much at a loss here. No way of knowing where he is, and no gun to murder things with make Cal a dull boy. No, angry boy. That makes Caliborn a very angry boy.
It’s as he bends over to remove one of his manacles that he notices a gold pocket watch at his feet. A classy item, for a classy man. Since there are no classy men present, Caliborn will be taking it.
When he finds that he has utterly no idea just how the miserable thing even works, he smashes it on a street lamp several times. And then throws it against a wall. Just for good measure. The video feed starts up, broadcasting a toothy green skullbeast with an awful fashion sense as he goes to pick up his watch for yet another round of abuse.]
Third Person:
TT: Anyway. Got to go.
TT: Your drawing blows.
TT: Later.
Caliborn stared at the screen long after he had gone idle, staring at the orange text that had so callously berated his personal art style. Anyone with functioning eyeballs could see that the two of them were sharing a rather steamy look of mutual respect, the scene alone made him a little hot under the collar. Beneath the two of them were the titled ‘bitches’, wrapped in the tender embrace that humans called ‘a tickle fight’. Natural indignation called for shit to be wrecked, but perhaps not quite as wrecked as he was entirely capable of. He and Dirk shared the bond of bros after all, a ‘bromance’ if he was allowed to get particularly raunchy about it all. Strider was the least repulsive of all his little group and he did have quite a bit of artistic experience, perhaps he would need to improve before he was finally recognized as the human’s rightful superior.
After he was able to finally kill Strider—a quick and almost painless procedure compared to what Caliborn has planned for his friends—he would have to pin a completed work to the bloodsoaked corpse. An image of them, ahem, holding hands seemed perfect for the occasion. So vulgar.
However, it was difficult to garner approval from a bloated cadaver. Perhaps he would keep the most capable of the humans alive, long enough at least to admire his pure talent when it came to erotic art. He could even paint his final piece in the blood of the witless bitches and bumbling ape that Dirk called friends. If he begged nearly enough, Caliborn may even let him live. A strong and capable human would make an excellent crony for his needs.
Boys could dream.
Dreams that were burst with one glance at his current skill. Like any aspiring artist, he would have to practice to hone his ability. Murder plans would have to wait for until such a time that Dirk’s dead or possibly living body could gape vacantly at his prowess with a pen. His bitch sister—who would preferably also be dead at this juncture in time—would have to give up her title of an artist in utter shame at being bested in yet another aspect. It’s that image that he used as fuel for his ‘art’. For once, Calliope might just hold up her duties as a muse for once.
Each new depiction of his sister’s demise and his own pleasure was stuffed away into his sylladex for her to retrieve upon waking. For good measure, he whipped slabs of meat off toward his sister’s half of the room, knocking over her books in a splatter of lukewarm blood and meat hunks.