mask or menace. application.
〈 PLAYER INFO 〉
NAME: Brooklyn
AGE: 29
JOURNAL:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
glaswen
IM / EMAIL: neverrryourmask @ gmail
PLURK:![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
withpanache
RETURNING: Daenerys Targaryen, Teddy Flood
〈 CHARACTER INFO 〉
CHARACTER NAME: Mad Sweeney
CHARACTER AGE: He appears to be in his 30s, and has existed since before 637 A.D., in one form or another.
SERIES: American Gods (TV show)
CHRONOLOGY: End of Season One.
CLASS: Anti-hero, at a generous stretch.
HOUSING: RNG me, and god bless.
BACKGROUND: American Gods is set in a contemporary America in which almost every mythological creature and god is real, from Czernobog to djinns. In our modern world, not many people believe in these entities anymore (although the Jesuses are all going strong) and the older gods are fading away or barely scraping by while the new gods bask in the attention and belief of the masses (think Media, Technology, Globalisation, etc).
In the scheme of things, Mad Sweeney is a pretty small fish. He's no god, but a leprechaun who was once a fairy, and before that, a king. Magic is real, and all it takes is a little belief, and the occasional sacrifice.
A season summary of his time on the show so far can be found here. Within the show, Mad Sweeney makes direct reference to the legend of Buile Suibhne (the old Irish version of his name) that goes something like this. Within the mechanics of the show, story and legend are one in the same with genuine historicity -- no doubt that Mad Sweeney experienced and did these things, but he is a larger entity than the actual King of Dál nAraidi, something that has an afterlife, forged of legend and belief, to eventually wash up on the shores of the Americas, where the old stories died with the ones who believed them. (And General Mills did the rest.)
PERSONALITY: Full of bitter bile and vinegar, Mad Sweeney is an amalgamation of every Irish stereotype, unflattering or otherwise. He drinks to excess, he fights with wrath and passion, he's flaming ginger, and he speaks with the occasional touch of lyricality between all the swearing as the final flourish. The only defiance of expectation is that he's like a foot taller than a person should be.
He is also aware of these things, as any creature of this world is; they are, in many ways, beholden to their own believers, and to survive, Mad Sweeney's had to adapt on a fundamental level. The idea of the leprechaun as we know it today is a younger concept than himself, but it's who he is now.
Setting aside all of this baggage as to what makes a god, Mad Sweeney is notorious for his quick temper and lack of critical thinking, solving problems with the finesse of a sledgehammer while also demonstrating some criminal slyness when it's required he get resourceful. He doesn't appear to really like anyone, quick to bite back even those who offer a friendly hand to him, but demonstrates a fondness (sometimes plain, sometimes hidden) for those who remind him of the people from old who would leave saucers of milk on the windowsill for him, whether in spirit or affiliation. In game, he'll probably have an unsubtle preference for the company of renfaires who don't know what green beer on St Patty's is supposed to signify.
Contrary to form, he is not himself entirely easy to manipulate, more the kind to pick fights and push buttons than to be the receiver of this treatment. His quick sparking anger is generally something he lights himself, separate to a mean streak that allows him to suss out someone's weakness and exploit it. He isn't subtle, usually going for the lowest hanging fruit, but he's observant, and loves a good one-liner if he can find it.
The chip on his shoulder is the size of Dublin, relating to being an old god in a new world, and something of a punchline to a 'walks into a bar' joke, but he also carries other baggage from the ancient past of the things he has done and failed to do, particularly moments of cowardice that he seems to be making up for now with an excess of destructive energy. Practically speaking, he makes a good errand runner and loyal dog, for the right price or influence, particularly if he can kind of fit it into his own narrative of atonement before he dies.
At his core, Mad Sweeney is an unpleasant creature, but not a bad man. Like any fair folk, he is fickle in nature, and his relationship with his mortal believers is predicated on gifts in return of good fortune. He is maddeningly susceptible towards doing the right thing at the most inconvenient moment, and being too much of a cunt the rest of the time for anyone to appreciate it.
POWER:
LUCK OF THE OIRISH: Or, rather, a lack of luck, at the moment. Used to be that Mad Sweeney was capable of manipulating the fortunes of others, his powers tied up within a single gold coin of significance. This coin has since gone missing, and so now his control over luck is temperamental at best, utterly beyond his scope of influence at worst. Bad luck tends to dog his footsteps, now, and may well dog the footsteps of those who try to aid him. Aiding others, however, seems to keep his misfortunes at bay.
Should he ever come back into possession of his coin, or some other mechanism that restores his powers, Mad Sweeney can influence the luck of people around him -- guns will misfire or car engines will stall, or conversely, someone wins a minor pull from the Lottery or gets the job they were hoping for. Lucky events are fairly direct and don't spread their chains of cause and effect too far, centred closely on the object of his focus.
For those who believe in him and offer gifts like milk in saucers, bread, or harvest bounties, he can use this to turn their fates for the better. The moment these offerings cease, the course will correct itself. He hasn't been able to do this for anyone for the last couple of centuries.
I'M A LEPRECHAUN: Physiologically speaking, it doesn't seem like Sweeney has many advantages over a human. He can get hurt, and does, often. He can die. He needs sleep and food like the next man. He is, however, remarkably resilient, apparently made of tougher stuff enough that he can endure more pain and injury than the typical person. If he breaks a bone, he can kind of crack it back into place and it'll be sort of in working order the next day.
He isn't immortal, exactly, as he as an individual can die, but he is ageless, and can possibly come back in some other incarnation with enough belief and prayer made in his name. The likelihood of this being relevant is a 0. As a mystical being, he also has a sixth sense for the likewise mystical, able to pick up on those whose powers or items of power stem from something more magical than comic book, all the more so if it's closer to his geographic understanding of magic. He can also call bullshit on everyone who lies about their allegedly Irish heritage.
He also has access to a seemingly infinite, otherworldly Hoarde of gold coins that he can pluck out of thin air.
ON WINGED FEET: This is a Porter given power, if based on past experiences. Sweeney has the ability to turn into any bird native or a frequent migrant to Ireland. In bird form, he retains his own intelligence and gamut of emotions, although some bird-like behaviours will strike him as acceptable or appealing that wouldn't otherwise, like shitting on statues or eating worms. There are two catches: his clothes don't come with, nor do any belongings on his person, and he doesn't get to pick what bird he wants to be. It's the RNG of birds.
〈 CHARACTER SAMPLES 〉
COMMUNITY POST (VOICE) SAMPLE:
I'm takin' a survey.
[ Mad Sweeney's voice comes over the line, an Irishman who's spent some time on this side of the Atlantic, ironing out some of the melody of his accent. He isn't visible, though, even as the video plays. A green park, a little out of focus. Maybe he got the camera direction mixed up.
It settles on a small dog, taking a shit in a sandpit. ]
First question. Why're you here? Did you do a bad thing, some evil thing that earned it? Anyone else who can see the iron bars is free to tell the tale. When you're in lock-up, all you got is stories.
Second question. We're in the most American America I ever saw. Some people wash up on its shores because they got to choose between death or this fuckin' gutter of a country. Second chance, a new life. How many of you are in holdin' patterns, and how many of you are in it for real? What's that look like?
[ The small dog finishes taking a shit, and bounds out of the sandpit in a bunny hop. ]
Third question, and don't be fucking coy. What are you? What are you really?
LOGS POST (PROSE) SAMPLE: MAKING FRIENDS AND INFLUENCING PEOPLE.
FINAL NOTES: His drink of choice is Southern Comfort and coke.
NAME: Brooklyn
AGE: 29
JOURNAL:
glaswenIM / EMAIL: neverrryourmask @ gmail
PLURK:
RETURNING: Daenerys Targaryen, Teddy Flood
〈 CHARACTER INFO 〉
CHARACTER NAME: Mad Sweeney
CHARACTER AGE: He appears to be in his 30s, and has existed since before 637 A.D., in one form or another.
SERIES: American Gods (TV show)
CHRONOLOGY: End of Season One.
CLASS: Anti-hero, at a generous stretch.
HOUSING: RNG me, and god bless.
BACKGROUND: American Gods is set in a contemporary America in which almost every mythological creature and god is real, from Czernobog to djinns. In our modern world, not many people believe in these entities anymore (although the Jesuses are all going strong) and the older gods are fading away or barely scraping by while the new gods bask in the attention and belief of the masses (think Media, Technology, Globalisation, etc).
In the scheme of things, Mad Sweeney is a pretty small fish. He's no god, but a leprechaun who was once a fairy, and before that, a king. Magic is real, and all it takes is a little belief, and the occasional sacrifice.
A season summary of his time on the show so far can be found here. Within the show, Mad Sweeney makes direct reference to the legend of Buile Suibhne (the old Irish version of his name) that goes something like this. Within the mechanics of the show, story and legend are one in the same with genuine historicity -- no doubt that Mad Sweeney experienced and did these things, but he is a larger entity than the actual King of Dál nAraidi, something that has an afterlife, forged of legend and belief, to eventually wash up on the shores of the Americas, where the old stories died with the ones who believed them. (And General Mills did the rest.)
PERSONALITY: Full of bitter bile and vinegar, Mad Sweeney is an amalgamation of every Irish stereotype, unflattering or otherwise. He drinks to excess, he fights with wrath and passion, he's flaming ginger, and he speaks with the occasional touch of lyricality between all the swearing as the final flourish. The only defiance of expectation is that he's like a foot taller than a person should be.
He is also aware of these things, as any creature of this world is; they are, in many ways, beholden to their own believers, and to survive, Mad Sweeney's had to adapt on a fundamental level. The idea of the leprechaun as we know it today is a younger concept than himself, but it's who he is now.
Setting aside all of this baggage as to what makes a god, Mad Sweeney is notorious for his quick temper and lack of critical thinking, solving problems with the finesse of a sledgehammer while also demonstrating some criminal slyness when it's required he get resourceful. He doesn't appear to really like anyone, quick to bite back even those who offer a friendly hand to him, but demonstrates a fondness (sometimes plain, sometimes hidden) for those who remind him of the people from old who would leave saucers of milk on the windowsill for him, whether in spirit or affiliation. In game, he'll probably have an unsubtle preference for the company of renfaires who don't know what green beer on St Patty's is supposed to signify.
Contrary to form, he is not himself entirely easy to manipulate, more the kind to pick fights and push buttons than to be the receiver of this treatment. His quick sparking anger is generally something he lights himself, separate to a mean streak that allows him to suss out someone's weakness and exploit it. He isn't subtle, usually going for the lowest hanging fruit, but he's observant, and loves a good one-liner if he can find it.
The chip on his shoulder is the size of Dublin, relating to being an old god in a new world, and something of a punchline to a 'walks into a bar' joke, but he also carries other baggage from the ancient past of the things he has done and failed to do, particularly moments of cowardice that he seems to be making up for now with an excess of destructive energy. Practically speaking, he makes a good errand runner and loyal dog, for the right price or influence, particularly if he can kind of fit it into his own narrative of atonement before he dies.
At his core, Mad Sweeney is an unpleasant creature, but not a bad man. Like any fair folk, he is fickle in nature, and his relationship with his mortal believers is predicated on gifts in return of good fortune. He is maddeningly susceptible towards doing the right thing at the most inconvenient moment, and being too much of a cunt the rest of the time for anyone to appreciate it.
POWER:
LUCK OF THE OIRISH: Or, rather, a lack of luck, at the moment. Used to be that Mad Sweeney was capable of manipulating the fortunes of others, his powers tied up within a single gold coin of significance. This coin has since gone missing, and so now his control over luck is temperamental at best, utterly beyond his scope of influence at worst. Bad luck tends to dog his footsteps, now, and may well dog the footsteps of those who try to aid him. Aiding others, however, seems to keep his misfortunes at bay.
Should he ever come back into possession of his coin, or some other mechanism that restores his powers, Mad Sweeney can influence the luck of people around him -- guns will misfire or car engines will stall, or conversely, someone wins a minor pull from the Lottery or gets the job they were hoping for. Lucky events are fairly direct and don't spread their chains of cause and effect too far, centred closely on the object of his focus.
For those who believe in him and offer gifts like milk in saucers, bread, or harvest bounties, he can use this to turn their fates for the better. The moment these offerings cease, the course will correct itself. He hasn't been able to do this for anyone for the last couple of centuries.
I'M A LEPRECHAUN: Physiologically speaking, it doesn't seem like Sweeney has many advantages over a human. He can get hurt, and does, often. He can die. He needs sleep and food like the next man. He is, however, remarkably resilient, apparently made of tougher stuff enough that he can endure more pain and injury than the typical person. If he breaks a bone, he can kind of crack it back into place and it'll be sort of in working order the next day.
He isn't immortal, exactly, as he as an individual can die, but he is ageless, and can possibly come back in some other incarnation with enough belief and prayer made in his name. The likelihood of this being relevant is a 0. As a mystical being, he also has a sixth sense for the likewise mystical, able to pick up on those whose powers or items of power stem from something more magical than comic book, all the more so if it's closer to his geographic understanding of magic. He can also call bullshit on everyone who lies about their allegedly Irish heritage.
He also has access to a seemingly infinite, otherworldly Hoarde of gold coins that he can pluck out of thin air.
ON WINGED FEET: This is a Porter given power, if based on past experiences. Sweeney has the ability to turn into any bird native or a frequent migrant to Ireland. In bird form, he retains his own intelligence and gamut of emotions, although some bird-like behaviours will strike him as acceptable or appealing that wouldn't otherwise, like shitting on statues or eating worms. There are two catches: his clothes don't come with, nor do any belongings on his person, and he doesn't get to pick what bird he wants to be. It's the RNG of birds.
〈 CHARACTER SAMPLES 〉
COMMUNITY POST (VOICE) SAMPLE:
I'm takin' a survey.
[ Mad Sweeney's voice comes over the line, an Irishman who's spent some time on this side of the Atlantic, ironing out some of the melody of his accent. He isn't visible, though, even as the video plays. A green park, a little out of focus. Maybe he got the camera direction mixed up.
It settles on a small dog, taking a shit in a sandpit. ]
First question. Why're you here? Did you do a bad thing, some evil thing that earned it? Anyone else who can see the iron bars is free to tell the tale. When you're in lock-up, all you got is stories.
Second question. We're in the most American America I ever saw. Some people wash up on its shores because they got to choose between death or this fuckin' gutter of a country. Second chance, a new life. How many of you are in holdin' patterns, and how many of you are in it for real? What's that look like?
[ The small dog finishes taking a shit, and bounds out of the sandpit in a bunny hop. ]
Third question, and don't be fucking coy. What are you? What are you really?
LOGS POST (PROSE) SAMPLE: MAKING FRIENDS AND INFLUENCING PEOPLE.
FINAL NOTES: His drink of choice is Southern Comfort and coke.