Post by Deleted on Jul 16, 2015 14:19:06 GMT -6
||| SYNTH POP |||
Image made under commission by the lovely and talented Coffee
Basic Information
Name: Synth Pop
Age Group: Adult
Orientation: Homosexual
Gender: Female
Species: Earth Pony
Cutie Mark: A flipped treble clef mated to a bass clef, forming a heart shape
Occupation: Club DJ / Recording Artist
Talents, Skills, and Abilities: Piano, Electronic music and malt shop equipment operation
Physique: Average and Slightly Long-Legged
Mane and Fur Color and Style: Mane and tail are both colored black, styled straight with a tapered cut that goes from a short to medium length going forward. Coat is a sooty gray.
Eye Color: Icy Blue
Other Appearance Details: Favorite accessories are a black necktie on a white collar and a pair of heavy, black frame/black lens DJ-style sunglasses.
Additional Description: Natural facial expression appears to be a look of aggressive disinterest. With a similar quality, her voice is quiet and low with a hint of a well-enunciated Canterlot accent when in conversation. Her singing voice has only a slightly broader range, but she can sing clearly and precisely.
PersonalityAs a filly, Synth was a strong example of a perceiving introvert: quiet, usually more comfortable by herself, and yet easily absorbed in the world around her. Still, she was a friendly filly, but increasingly, she ran into social problems. Somepony once said, “It is not what you say, but how you say it that matters.” With her somber appearance and voice, she tends to come off as glum, even when she is feeling bright and affable. After a youth characterized by teasing, she has developed a bit of a dour streak and can be especially cold to others if her feelings are hurt.
It would be a mistake to assume that she is a 24/7 loner, however. She enjoys a fun time with friends, even if she does not show it very well, as long as the size of the party does not get so large that she gets lost in the crowd. The rules of her personality shift when she gets to be a performer in a dimly lit club, amplifiers at her command. The intense, moody atmosphere and music put her in her proper element, and she has no problem raising her voice in front of the mic to a shadowy room of strangers.
Then, of course, there are the simple things she enjoys. She enjoys board games, the more strategic the better, though she is not especially skilled at them beyond the edge her poker face gives her. In her spare time, she tends to poke around arts and crafts, resulting in a house with a weird ink drawing here, a lopsided clay mug over there, a stained glass window that seems to depict a sandwich under attack by lightning bolts in the bathroom, and other distracted, if earnest attempts at hobbies.
Synth’s weak point, or perhaps mild obsession, is for tea. Her cabinet is stocked with no less than twenty different varieties of loose tea, with her rare compressed teas being her most valued possessions after her music equipment. In fact, she can be outright snobby when presented with cheap tea or with corporate, cynically-made music for the lowest common denominator (or as other Ponies may casually and nonjudgmentally call it, Pop).
She has other things she does not like, though her attitude towards them is more mature. She will not go for ice cream deserts or even a simple cup of soda, denying them with a practiced coolness, though on the other hoof, she might have carried her hatred for mornings far enough that it might be physically impossible to wake her up before noon. If she has extreme distaste of anything, perhaps it is suggested by the way she turns positively icy at the mention of the Royalty, the Palace, or Hightown for that matter.
HistorySynth Pop was raised by a Unicorn family that still runs a soda and malt shop in Oldtown Canterlot. In a seeming case of genetics skipping generations and coming together unexpectedly, Synth would grow up in contrast to her environment with her flying-fox plushie companion, Skwee. While growing up, everypony would assume that her parents, two Unicorns with vibrant sherbet palettes, where just foalsitters for the Earth Pony with a massively monochrome colors. As a foal, Synth was very quiet, her attention easily occupied with objects and the bright surroundings of the shop.
When she started talking a year later than when other ponies typically do, she still remained mostly quiet, leading her parents, jovial by nature, to always question if she was sad or otherwise unhappy, to which she would always reply that she was happy, if in a detached tone. It was as Synth was into her filly years that she got a sister, Peppermint Pop. Peppermint was no victim of recessive genes or a reserved nature, instead having the dessert-themed colors of her parents to say little of a high capacity for noise and mischief that made her fit in more and Synth less. As usual, Synth seemed to internalize and turn away from the uncomfortable situation.
During a family appreciation day at school, however, her luck would change. One of the colts in the class had an eccentric father that played on a piano laced with Unicorn magic and wiring, which he called a Multiponymonica. Few ponies in the class found the weird instrument interesting. Synth, however, soaked up every detail, and despite herself, managed to get the courage to ask the colt’s father if she could try playing it. Having well remembered the details of the various knobs and switches, she managed to cobble together appealing, if otherworldly sounds, and a simple melody to apply them to, and she walked home with a Cutie Mark that day.
Overjoyed (if mostly to herself) at not finding a soda float or piece of candy on her flank, Synth wasted no time in pursuing music, and her parents, quite vividly overjoyed to see their daughter openly enthusiastic about something, helped her, getting her a small piano to practice on. Much of the rest of Synth’s fillyhood was spent at the keys, often distracted from her concerns as the years rolled by. Just a couple of years away from being old enough to strike out on her own, she spotted an ad in a shop window for one of the instruments she played the day she got her cutie mark, which by then had been reinvented as the synthesizer.
Since she saved and got her first set of synths, she has been in a wave of new and electronic music. She has found a niche for what she makes in the afternoon and then spins at night in the DJ booth, though that niche is usually Tuesday night at a grungy club, the Rivet Horn. Still, she and similar artists have a small but dedicated crowd of ponies that are willing to show and dance in morose costumes and makeup. Currently, she lives alone and is focused on proving her music equal to the popular music played at the clubs during the weekend. However, that climb has been slow, her talents not the same after the recent royal wedding and invasion of a Changeling Hive.
Roleplayer Information
Nickname: Ink "Inky" Script (♓)
Age: Extremely Young, Astrologically Speaking
Gender/Preferred Pronouns: Female, She/Her
How did you find us?: Equestria Daily
Sample RoleplayThe moon filtered through the salted, foggy hoofmade windows as if dispersed by a misty rain or the blur of a dream, only making silhouettes of what little it touched. In the dim, a few tiny lightbulbs were on, showing her that she had powered on everything before blowing out the lantern. For a moment, she only listened to the faint hiss in her headphones, the muffled tapping of swinging signs along the streets outside her house, the familiar rattle of a loose slat in her chair out on the porch in the icy Canterlot wind, and the second-by-second ticking of her heart.
And then she reached out and pushed an unmarked white square switch, one of many on the board of her sequencer. The button lit and her headphones filled with beeping telegraph ticks. She pushed another button, and an oscillating static joined the mix, as those a legible noise or word was only on the precipice of hearing. And then she put hooves to one of the decks of keys in front of her, long electronic notes joining on the foreground, as if to prelude some great scientific discovery. She started on the lower deck with slightly muted piano samples.
Though measures passed and were counted in her head, she lost track of time, listening to the creation on a loop, eyes closed. Her ears tried to fidget under the cushioning of the headphones, and she tongued the black of a tooth. She felt like she was waiting, that in all those sounds sampled from the "Telegraph Machine" she saw at the Canterlot Fair, it was not a message to Manehattan that she cared about. The was another message, perhaps, and her breath held as she lingered on the thought that she was contacting somepony out in the dark of the sky, but who?
She shook her head. It was a creation she would record, of course, but it was not going to make her any money. It would not be suitable for opening a set at the Rivet Horn. It would not extract enough sweat and hooves swinging from the dancefloor to get her a more profitable night to perform, and it certainly would not attract a label. Her brow furrowed and she took off her headphones and turned off the master switch to her equipment on her way to sit at her couch, where her tea had long gone tepid at the table. She sipped and breathed out.
She looked towards the cold fireplace, motes of dust floating like tiny aimless spirits in the dim, cold blue. Where was that place under the stars? Was it a grassy hill, the flowers grown by wild chance and swaying in the breeze? Was it a mountain summit, the snow drifting over forgotten trails, consuming all by the sound of its own dancing? Was it on the water so still it reflected even the faintest shimmer? She took another sip of her tea and looked to the window, and wondered: Where will I search for it this weekend?
Home Floorplan
