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splicedtomatoes's Journal

Created on 2009-02-12 02:54:12 (#18559767), last updated 2009-07-07

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28 Journal Entries, 31 Tags, 0 Memories, 0 Virtual Gifts, 2 Userpics

Basic Info

Name:	splicedtomatoes
Birthdate:	02-28
Location:	Canada

Bio

Characters Name: Devien Gaunt
LJ Screen Name: SplicedTomatoes
AIM Screen Name: Spliced Tomatoes
Age

Nineteen in appearance, around 79 years old in age, being young for his kind that manage to survive and hopefully going to live longer.

Species

A male variant of the nymph species which feeds on and gives food in turn for plants instead of sex like their female cousins. He carries the seedlings of the plants he's connected to in graveyard soil, because he was originally a flower in a grave.

Powers/Advantages

Strong enough that his shovel is... a weapon for him, but weak enough that he has to carry around forty seedlings or keep them nearby to stay alive. He keeps them in small soil filled parcels in a backpack that is much to big for him. As long as they are well, he is in his strength to do as he always does, which really isn't much.

Weaknesses

His plants are harmed, and he will hurt, if they all fall, then he dies. As his plants age, if he doesn't plant new plants in the soil of his first growth, then he will slowly beggining to age. If he goes away from them for a long while, then he will begin to weaken, until he's unable to stand.

Side

Good, in his demented way

Occupation

Grave Digger

Room Mate

None, if ever.

Brief History

Born as most of his kind are in the strangest of circumstances, when a Male Dryad and a Nymph have sex over a grave; this act alone is scarcely imaginable by some; the plants which are growing there will grow with a spirit beside it because of the seed of life spilt there. The birth itself is common, but usually the plant is cut off of the graveyard soil before it can grow. But this rose continued growing, and the form began to solidify. On instinct, it gathered seeds and planted them over the grave, thus strengthening him. By the time twenty years had passed, he'd found a few ways to move around.

But humans were beggining to make the place where he lived more habitual for their dead, and he had to adapt. At the age of thirty, he dug out a human body, apologized, then put on the bloody blouse and black pants. Then, he put it back into the earth. They just assumed he was a grave digger, the workers did.

That made getting a human life easy. Digging out his plants, he placed them into bundles, and used a dead hiker who he'd found by the edge of the wood's backpack for his seeds. He didn't mind death when it was natural. But he detested it when it came in a way such as enchantment or curse. THe plants could tell, and thus he could. And he did not like that at all.

This was happening more and more, and now...
Odd things. And even odder people lurking in the graveyard.
One even tried around forty years ago to take a corpse. He whacked them in the head with his shovel.
They died.
Untroubled; dying is a natural part of life; he buried the corpse, and returned to work. Thirty years ago, after having mastered the English human language, he went to the owner of the grave yard, and asked to get a job. To explain away his reasons, he said he was living in a hotel next door. Then he had to find a hotel to live in because the human wanted to check. He found one. It was a mile away, and weakened him, but he needed water, and the water that he could get at the graveyard wasn't the best after all these coffins and corpses underground.
He was later kicked out for talking loud to his plants, which even seedy hotel owners are wary of in this day and age. So he trekked farther into the city,ignoring the pain of being far from the grave he grew in, and purchased an apartment with rent.

Even after all this time, his job has not changed.

It's where he belongs; the GraveYard Soil.

Appearance

Dark red, almost black hair, and pale white skin with a distantly red tint that doesn't show up in the light of day; his pigments derived of the rose which he grew from.

It might also have to do with the fact he only eats seedless diced tomatoes.

He doesn't grow hair on his face aside from eyebrows; he's related to nymphs, not fauns, and grew from a rose- probably the most vain of plants.

He's five foot seven and a half, and he always seems to walk in a swinging motion of both his arms and legs, whether his shovels in his hands or not. This tends to make it look like those close to him are in mortal danger; but he's never tripped.

Yet.

His eyes are a bright pale green, and dirt is so caked apon his skin that he can easily blend into the trees.

Very helpful, for someone who spends his time and can only fully relax near the soil of the dead. He always carries a heavy stainless steel shovel, which he bought using his first bit of pay; one sharp end for pitching into hard rocks in soil, one dull for patting down the earth.