Post by Deleted on Dec 1, 2013 21:15:35 GMT -6
||| Synth Pop |||
#Name; Synth Pop
#Age Group; Young Adult
#Gender; Female
#Species; Earth Pony
#Cutie Mark; A flipped treble clef mated to a bass clef, forming a heart shape
#Occupation; Club DJ / Musician
#Powers, Skills, and Abilities; Electronic music equipment and composition, malt shop operation
#Physique; Average
#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 (optional); Favorite accessory is a black necktie on a white collar.
#A more thorough description (optional); Synth’s natural facial expression appears to be a look of aggressive disinterest. With a similar quality, her voice is quiet and low, nearing monotony when in conversation. Her singing voice has only a slightly broader range, but she can sing clearly and precisely.
#Personality; As 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 strained down by the dissonance brought on by all this, 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 loves board games, the more strategic the better, though she is not very talented at them beyond the edge her chronic 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 so on. Synth’s weak point, however, is for tea. Her cabinet is stocked with no less than 20 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, though this snooty behavior is not a common behavior from her…unless somepony makes the mistake of bringing up certain genres of electronic music that make up for a lack of depth by having overwhelming, blunt appeal (see: Dubstep).
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.
#History; Synth Pop was born into the Pop family, which runs a soda and malt shop in Canterlot. In a case of genetics skipping generations and coming together unexpectedly, Synth would grow up in contrast to her environment. 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 muted palette. 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 and let her attentions wander, but being young, she could not help but wonder and worry.
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. The moment did not lack for significance. Synth felt a wide smile strain the muscles on her face as everything seemed to align with the moment. The experience distracted her so much that she failed to notice the appearance of her cutie mark until her parents pointed it out to her later that night.
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, though apparently the instrument (at that point called a synthesizer) had gotten much more complex and unfortunately for her, expensive. In an impulsive moment, she emptied out her savings and purchased the synthesizer and a set of related equipment (amplifier, sequencer, drum machine, etc.), and soon drove her family to the brink of comical madness as she fell into making the music she knew she was meant to play.
Since then, Synth has been one pony amongst many in a wave of new and electronic music. Slowly, 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. 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. Occasionally, she has even been able to perform the music directly as opposed to playing recordings, though she has not had much luck in forming a permanent band. Currently, she lives alone and is focused on proving her music equal to the popular music played at the clubs during the weekend.The Roleplayer's Corner
#Nickname; Ink Script
#Age; Arguably Young
#Gender; Female
#How did you find us?; Equestria Daily
#Sample RP; Canterlot. As Joe wiped the lip of a plain white coffee mug, the word inflated in his head and bounced around like a beach ball. He had made it in the fanciest city in Equestria, all without selling a single crepe or mixing up one of those mocha honka whichachinos. The formula, even there, was simple. Sell a mean donut, and sell it long into the night. As he put the clean mug next to other ones waiting for an order of coffee, he smirked at his own pride as his eyes looked to the clock on the wall. Nine-thirty PM. Being a Tueday night, the business would be thin compared to the weekend, though he had a few regulars to count on. Not a minute after he thought that, the door opened, all whitewashed wood tapping on a little brass bell hanging from the door frame, casting a chipper ringing across the shop, and by the sight of the dark mane swept to the side, he knew which one of his regulars had arrived.
“Right on time, Synth!” The young mare did not immediately answer as the door was pulled shut behind her by a spring, smacking the bell on the way back. In silence, she walked across the clean tiles towards the counter. There was no suspense in this, however. Joe knew her to be the type to hate shouting across the room, so he turned to the donut shelf behind him. “Welp, just got your usual, warm from the fryer, plain cake with powdered sugar.” Joe levitated the donut onto a square-cut piece of wax paper on a white plate and turned. Sure enough, Synth was waiting at the counter. “Is it gonna be coffee or tea tonight?”
“Tea, please.” As usual, she had a sort of blank expression. Over time, he’d gotten used to it, and as far as he thought, even learned the subtle details that’d let him gauge this unusual customer’s mood.
“Sure thing.” Joe’s horn lit up again and floated the freshly cleaned cup from earlier under a spout on his coffee machine, where it was filled with hot water, and then he brought it over next to the donut. By then, the grey mare had dropped the last of three bits on the counter from her teeth and shut her small, black saddlebag. Joe levitated the money into the register. “Thank ya very much for your business.”
“Thank you.” She moved the plate to a spot down the counter that acted as a bar and then brought back her mug of water. As usual, she drew a container of metal mesh the shape of a small egg, attached to a chain, and put a pinch of tea leaves inside from her bag before dunking it into the water. Joe was not one to criticize, but how anypony could pass on the divine combination of donuts and coffee was beyond him. As far as he knew, tea was just funny tasting water. He made that joke with her once, and he got an angry stare for the trouble.
For almost half an hour, the shop was silent again, only interrupted once by another customer, a walnut-colored stallion craving an evening snack. A few minutes after that, Synth got up to leave, but this time, she did not simply walk out the door, instead heading back to the counter.
“Hey there, is there anything else I can get ya?”
“I was working on music, and before I knew it, I wrote a poem about your shop. Would you like to hear it?” Joe caught himself blinking in silence. She never said that many words to him over the course of a whole week. Maybe she was not so mad about the tea joke after all.
“Sure, go on ahead.” The mare drew a small scratch of parchment from her bag and after putting it on the counter, took a breath.
“At the confluence of sugar and oil, at the conference of dough and cutter, sweetness swells out from the soil a bud then blooms a half-sprinkled flower. In this dream (is it a dream?) a breeze brandishing burnt coffee blowing blasts the flower, snapping the stem and now the flower is all but fallen, but from foundering frailty flies the donut pollen, catharsis carrying from cobblestone road to the caps of the castle soon, to the alcoves of royalty both upon a balcony and the craters of the moon.” Synth looked up him. Was she looking to him for a sign of his reaction? Joe tried to think quickly, the whole of the poem flying completely over his horn. Just what in the name of Celestia was donut pollen anyways?
“Uh, thank you, for the poem.” She continued to look at him, and he looked away, especially when his darting mind suggested to him the idea that poetry was the sort of thing that ponies did as a sort of romantic gesture. Was that what it was? He searched for tactful moves, a way to be subtle and bring up that he was happily married.
“It’s no problem. It isn’t edited well, but I figured it would be amusing to share it. I’m going to work now. Goodbye.” With that, she turned and walked out of the store, leaving the poem on the counter and Joe behind it, sighing in his relief.