[livejournal.com profile] xi_rpg application

Sep. 12th, 2009 09:31 pm
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[personal profile] frostily


NAME: Lindsey

AGE: 18


EMAIL ADDRESS: xXsophisticat3d@aim.com

AIM SCREENNAME & MAIN PERSONAL LJ ACCOUNT: [livejournal.com profile] xlineartx



NAME: Emma Frost

CODENAME: The White Queen


AGE: 29 and holding

GENDER: Female

ROLE: Staff: English literature, English as a Second Language, AP English, Applied Telepathy, Advanced Telepathy, secretly gunning for Vice Principal

BACKGROUND: Born to a wealthy family in London Boston, Emma lead a relatively normal life until a spot of unpleasantness led to her leaving home her senior year of high school. Though her powers manifested early on, she found them easy enough to control and manipulate. Thanks to a mysterious windfall, she was able to attend Empire State University, where she graduated top of her class and went on to receive her master‘s degree in education. Following a brief stint in the business world, she founded the now-defunct Massachusetts Academy, a college preparatory school designed much in the vein of Xavier’s to be a safe space and training facility for young mutants. Sadly, that school was forced to close due to insufficient funding, and she now seeks employment elsewhere.

PERSONALITY: Has a very dry wit and a very dry wit. Is not ashamed of her body. Fiercely protective of the students. Does not know what this “privacy” is you speak of. Likes diamonds and long walks on the beach. Takes her job very seriously. Is smart enough to read the minds of smarter people. Has long-term plans that may or may not involve running this bitch.

APPEARANCE: Long blonde hair and the best body money can buy. Blue eyes. Immaculately groomed. Rocks the white lipstick and also white everything else. Not afraid to show a little skin on occasion. Alternately: however you want her to look, baby.

POWERS: Telepathy in all its forms, including illusions and mind control. Can turn into a diamond-like form (it’s really an incredibly durable psionic shield that makes her look all sparkly).

ANYTHING ELSE?: The Stepford Cuckoos are biologically her daughters, as part of a Hellfire Club program designed in infiltrate fertility clinics and replace ordinary human parent's genetic material with that of various mutants. Neither Emma nor Celeste (or any of the Cuckoos) are currently aware of this, as Emma has probably not thought of this program in years, and the Cuckoo's obviously never knew.

As for the Hellfire Club proper, it dissolved several years ago. Shortly into her second year running the Massachusetts Academy, she and Sebastian had a falling out. She believed him to be far too concerned with material gains, favoring wealth and power over the advancement of mutant rights, which was actually what the Hellfire Club was designed to do.

In fact, tts goal was, rather than world domination, was the covert promotion of mutantkind to a position equal, if not superior, to that of ordinary humans. It would do so by elevating mutants to high-profile positions and increasing the mutant population through various means. Its chief weapons were trickery and subterfuge. Very few people even know it existed, and even fewer know what it was. If you question Emma about it, she will pretend she has no idea what you are talking about and may possibly mindwipe you later.


First-person sample: Well, my lovelies, today was entirely uneventful, although we did run into some unforeseen difficulties vis-à-vis the Outfit. It seems my interviewer was possessed of some sort of anti-telepathy helmet and the nice white pantsuit I had intended him to see was not quite visible. Yes, my prospective employer was treated to the undoubtedly lovely sight of my in my old ESU sweats. That’ll teach me, I suppose. Fortunately I have another interview lined up tomorrow, and I’ll make sure to go shopping beforehand. It’s been such a long time since I’ve gone shopping for anything other than jewelry or furniture that it’s bound to be exciting.

Anyways, I don’t think I can give you any details about where I’m applying but suffice to say it could be quite the dream job. Well, as near as it can get since the Academy went under, but I refuse to dwell on that particular catastrophe.

Needless to say, I’m quite looking forward to it. I may even get my hair done! It can’t hurt to make a good impression. Which reminds me, when was the last time I had a manicure? I think I’m going to have to do a full grooming session tomorrow. Perhaps I will do that shopping today, as I seem to be booking myself right up.

In that case, I’d best be going. Don’t worry, my dears, I’ll do a full update tomorrow. Until then!

Third-person sample:

They meet up for lunch every week, and have been since Emma moved back to Manhattan. This week they have, as per usual, chosen one of her favorite little Soho restaurants. By the time she gets there, Christian is waiting outside.

“Christian!” She calls, hand on her hip. He turns around and smiles.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite little sister,” he leans in to kiss her cheek. “Fabulous as always. I swear to god you get a better ass each time I see you.”

“Why, thank you, Christian,” she says, flashing him a smile. “Let’s get us a table, shall we?”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” says Christian as they walk. “How on Earth am I supposed to fuss over you if you insist on projecting all the time?”

“I had no idea you were such a mother hen,” says Emma. She drums her nails against the counter and smiles at the hostess. “Table for two, please? And would you seat us outside, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

“That was awfully polite,” Christian muttered under his breath. “Next I suppose you’ll actually pay for your food?”

“What are you suggesting, Christian?” She smirks. They follow the hostess outside and she stops at the nearest table. “Right here would be perfect, thanks.”

“That’s more like it,” he says, and sits down. “So, have a seat. What’ve you been up to?”

“Not terribly much, I’m afraid,” says Emma. She sighs, sitting down. “This and that, this and that.”

“Any interviews?” he asks.

“Xavier’s,” says Emma. She does not tell him about the other one.

“Fraternizing with the enemy, huh?” he teases. Emma scowls. “Too soon?”

“What do you think, my dear?” she sniffs. “Anyways, I’m terribly excited about it.”

The waiter comes by with the menus. He tries to tell them the specials, but Emma cuts him off with a wave of her hand and sends him away. Christian gives her a look, but doesn’t comment.

“What?” she asks, crossing her arms.

“I didn’t say anything,” says Christian, laughing. Then he softens. “I’m proud of you, Em,” he smiles. “Although if you had just dipped into your trust fund…”

“I would think you, of all people, would know why I couldn’t do that,” she says, arching an eyebrow. “First of all, it would involve actually talking to the man.”

“It was rehab, Emma,” he rolls his eyes. “You need to get over it.”

“Oh, please. He didn’t even try outpatient,” says Emma. “He never wrote you, never called you, didn’t even show up to that family program,” she took a sip of water. “I had to fly out by myself! They had to call him to discuss your aftercare. I nearly died.”

“I remember, believe me,” he laughs. "Look, I’m not too fond of him either, but if it comes down to sucking it up and giving him a call or letting your school go under—”

He is cut off by the waiter, who has mysteriously chosen this precise moment to return.

“Are you guys ready to order?” he asks.

Emma smiles sweetly.

“Why yes, I think we are.”


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Emma Frost

May 2014

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