Post by I'm a Fluffy Freaking Sheep on Mar 22, 2016 13:15:55 GMT -5
“ Sheep lorde ”
Ellisif Nyström
FEMALE GENDER | 22 AGE | APRIL 12th BIRTHDATE | - S-IDENTITY |
5'8" HEIGHT | 121 lbs WEIGHT | N/A GROUP | None HENCHMEN |
personality
Sif isn't much of a social butterfly, she'd far rather be sitting alone in the lab or with her nose buried into the pages of a book. Her expressions usually seem dull, almost muted with how they come across her face. While it is hard for her to display it properly across her face, she does indeed feel emotions like any other. She can speak plainly about what weighs on her mind, but both offering and accepting complements comes with great discomfort.
Often she comes across as harsh, needless negative and obtuse to other people's feelings and opinions. Words get lodged in her chest and only sharp shards of ice come out instead It is easy to take such traits in a positive light, but the simple fact that she takes the time out of her day to even bother holding a proper conversation speaks volumes about how she feels. She at least cares a little to bother.
Often she comes across as harsh, needless negative and obtuse to other people's feelings and opinions. Words get lodged in her chest and only sharp shards of ice come out instead It is easy to take such traits in a positive light, but the simple fact that she takes the time out of her day to even bother holding a proper conversation speaks volumes about how she feels. She at least cares a little to bother.
Orgin story
Sif hardly had any impressive story of awakening to latent powers that ignited fevered ranting of justice nor visions of glory. As far as she could recall Sif had some understanding of her ability, even if merely a vague one. In fact, she thought it was ordinary for the longest time, a piece of reality there was no need to ever speak of. Adults had always spoken of people who had made them sick, it was an explanation that held the most sense to a young mind.
It wasn't until she reached early adolescence that Sif realized that other people did not take the phrase quite so literally. Luckily, or unluckily depending on how one views it, physical affection was not an experience that she enjoyed nor received regularly. Sif grew up as a ward of the state, drifting between group homes and foster families. Schooling, fragmented as her history was between sudden uproots, was the only constant in her life. Sif thrust herself into it wholeheartedly.
At the school she attended for the latter half of her ninth year, Sif wasn't the only loner. There was another boy, Terrance, a skinny and awkwardly stubbled noodle who claimed he could move objects with his mind. Like any person with a lick of sanity, she avoided his eccentricity, deeming him utterly insane.
It was an unfortunate twist of fate that she happened to brush past him in the hallway while he was attempting to demonstrate his so called, telekinesis. A simple brush of their hands, a cold chill down her spine, and a sharp bark of an exhale. She knew the feeling, it didn't come as much of a surprise that someone repulsive like Terrance made her stomach lurch.
The way that a ball shot across the room with a symphony of screams and gasps was certainly a new factor in her nausea. A piece of the puzzle that she was missing, one that only led to more questions. She didn't think that it was very possible that she had a hand in the display of power, but the timing was all too convenient, and an extensive history of reading various journals in the sciences pushed her to investigate every little question. No matter how insignificant it seemed.
Sif designated Terrance as her guinea pig, using him without his knowledge to test if her hypothesis was correct. She followed the rule of three, having three distinct incidents before declaring the matter closed and designating herself as the cause. She wished that she could consider herself insane, but with Terrance tossing chairs through windows with his mind and the growing number of caped crusaders in tights another possibility had to be considered, one that she refused to say aloud.
Now that she understood her little gift, Sif knew all the better to keep it hidden. With superhumans on the rise someone like herself held great value, and it was terrifying to see herself as a piece on that vast board.
As she grew closer and closer to University and becoming independent Sif had to face the reality that her situation was perilous. Money was far more of a problem than she liked to admit. She had no references, experience, nor any degree to get her a job that could pay for schooling, and loans were hardly an option she considered. There were scholarships, grants, and even government aid. But by the time she realized just how expensive Skyline University would be, it was far too late to apply with bills coming far too soon.
She had to make some serious money. A lot of it. Quickly.
At first her idea was silly, something only cape chasers would ever be stupid enough to believe in. A hash brownie for supers, with a boost instead of a high. So many people wanted to believe that they were special or different, they would easily trick themselves into believing that a baked good with a miracle drug would boost their nonexistent powers. Drugs sold, even nonexistent ones, and the potential profit margins were impressive.
Sif baked up a batch, spitting an impressive amount into the mixing bowl while she worked, simply for the novelty of it at first, and then for the distinct possibility that her newly formed hypothesis about her powers could be correct. It was a llong shot, but if she couldn't make up enough in time there was hardly a point in anything at all.
She spent hours wandering around through the city's alleyways mustering up the courage to sell the tacky plastic bag filled with the baked goods. Rather, she only ended up speaking when some henchman dressed in a terrifying neon jumpsuit accosted her about what she was doing there. Sif forced herself to be calm, composed, and rattled off the pitch she had been been running through in her head. She couldn't just say she made it, it would point too much at her own involvement in their effects. No. She worked for the 'Candyman', who provided her with the secret ingredient to give the baked good it's impressive effect.
iIf the henchman had not been wearing a mask she would have been sure his eyebrows would have been disappearing into his hairline. But somehow he accepted her proposal, a thick wad of cash changing over into her care.
The ten o'clock news had reports of 'Sewer Rat', the sewage manipulating henchman terrorizing the city to new heights, accompanied by a fleet of neon jumpsuit donning minions. Sif felt relieved, impressed even that her hypothesis seemed to be correct.
There was a second pan of brownies, a third, a fifth, and then she upgraded. There were mysterious power boosting cocktails and lollipops, popcorn balls and marshmallows, even truffles and jams. They tasted horrible, all of them, paranoia growing about her involvement being exposed through careful inspection and testing of her products. She added in beets and energy drinks, changing the formula about at her discretion.
It was a steady flow of income, word spreading about the Candyman and his miracle power boost. People flew in from all over the world to Skyline City, heroes and villains alike for a stock of the super treats. The 'Candyman' hired some more henchmen, and Sif expanded her business, the head of the henchman and financial problems a matter of the past. Supply was low, demand was high, and prices cheeped ever higher.
She freely dedicated herself to her studies of Biochemistry and genetics, coasting her way through University.
It wasn't until she reached early adolescence that Sif realized that other people did not take the phrase quite so literally. Luckily, or unluckily depending on how one views it, physical affection was not an experience that she enjoyed nor received regularly. Sif grew up as a ward of the state, drifting between group homes and foster families. Schooling, fragmented as her history was between sudden uproots, was the only constant in her life. Sif thrust herself into it wholeheartedly.
At the school she attended for the latter half of her ninth year, Sif wasn't the only loner. There was another boy, Terrance, a skinny and awkwardly stubbled noodle who claimed he could move objects with his mind. Like any person with a lick of sanity, she avoided his eccentricity, deeming him utterly insane.
It was an unfortunate twist of fate that she happened to brush past him in the hallway while he was attempting to demonstrate his so called, telekinesis. A simple brush of their hands, a cold chill down her spine, and a sharp bark of an exhale. She knew the feeling, it didn't come as much of a surprise that someone repulsive like Terrance made her stomach lurch.
The way that a ball shot across the room with a symphony of screams and gasps was certainly a new factor in her nausea. A piece of the puzzle that she was missing, one that only led to more questions. She didn't think that it was very possible that she had a hand in the display of power, but the timing was all too convenient, and an extensive history of reading various journals in the sciences pushed her to investigate every little question. No matter how insignificant it seemed.
Sif designated Terrance as her guinea pig, using him without his knowledge to test if her hypothesis was correct. She followed the rule of three, having three distinct incidents before declaring the matter closed and designating herself as the cause. She wished that she could consider herself insane, but with Terrance tossing chairs through windows with his mind and the growing number of caped crusaders in tights another possibility had to be considered, one that she refused to say aloud.
Now that she understood her little gift, Sif knew all the better to keep it hidden. With superhumans on the rise someone like herself held great value, and it was terrifying to see herself as a piece on that vast board.
As she grew closer and closer to University and becoming independent Sif had to face the reality that her situation was perilous. Money was far more of a problem than she liked to admit. She had no references, experience, nor any degree to get her a job that could pay for schooling, and loans were hardly an option she considered. There were scholarships, grants, and even government aid. But by the time she realized just how expensive Skyline University would be, it was far too late to apply with bills coming far too soon.
She had to make some serious money. A lot of it. Quickly.
At first her idea was silly, something only cape chasers would ever be stupid enough to believe in. A hash brownie for supers, with a boost instead of a high. So many people wanted to believe that they were special or different, they would easily trick themselves into believing that a baked good with a miracle drug would boost their nonexistent powers. Drugs sold, even nonexistent ones, and the potential profit margins were impressive.
Sif baked up a batch, spitting an impressive amount into the mixing bowl while she worked, simply for the novelty of it at first, and then for the distinct possibility that her newly formed hypothesis about her powers could be correct. It was a llong shot, but if she couldn't make up enough in time there was hardly a point in anything at all.
She spent hours wandering around through the city's alleyways mustering up the courage to sell the tacky plastic bag filled with the baked goods. Rather, she only ended up speaking when some henchman dressed in a terrifying neon jumpsuit accosted her about what she was doing there. Sif forced herself to be calm, composed, and rattled off the pitch she had been been running through in her head. She couldn't just say she made it, it would point too much at her own involvement in their effects. No. She worked for the 'Candyman', who provided her with the secret ingredient to give the baked good it's impressive effect.
iIf the henchman had not been wearing a mask she would have been sure his eyebrows would have been disappearing into his hairline. But somehow he accepted her proposal, a thick wad of cash changing over into her care.
The ten o'clock news had reports of 'Sewer Rat', the sewage manipulating henchman terrorizing the city to new heights, accompanied by a fleet of neon jumpsuit donning minions. Sif felt relieved, impressed even that her hypothesis seemed to be correct.
There was a second pan of brownies, a third, a fifth, and then she upgraded. There were mysterious power boosting cocktails and lollipops, popcorn balls and marshmallows, even truffles and jams. They tasted horrible, all of them, paranoia growing about her involvement being exposed through careful inspection and testing of her products. She added in beets and energy drinks, changing the formula about at her discretion.
It was a steady flow of income, word spreading about the Candyman and his miracle power boost. People flew in from all over the world to Skyline City, heroes and villains alike for a stock of the super treats. The 'Candyman' hired some more henchmen, and Sif expanded her business, the head of the henchman and financial problems a matter of the past. Supply was low, demand was high, and prices cheeped ever higher.
She freely dedicated herself to her studies of Biochemistry and genetics, coasting her way through University.
Powers
Sif carries the ever so complex power of augmentation within her cells, quite literally. While it would be convenient to simply award a super with a large boost of energy with nothing more than a snap of her fingers and simply willing it to be, reality is not nearly so forgiving.
The power overwhelms her. Raw, volatile, and utterly uncontrollable. Even the slightest touch from another super-human is more than enough to draw it out, as inconvenient as it might be at the time. Such contact takes a terrible toll upon her,, waves of nausea and fatigue as her own energy is drawn from her.
However, like a flame, a spark can be shared without taking any toll upon the source. While not as potent as direct contact, Sif can share her gift through consumption. Blood, saliva, and even mucus. Nearly every part save for her hair, nails, and a few other less desirable bodily functions.
The power overwhelms her. Raw, volatile, and utterly uncontrollable. Even the slightest touch from another super-human is more than enough to draw it out, as inconvenient as it might be at the time. Such contact takes a terrible toll upon her,, waves of nausea and fatigue as her own energy is drawn from her.
However, like a flame, a spark can be shared without taking any toll upon the source. While not as potent as direct contact, Sif can share her gift through consumption. Blood, saliva, and even mucus. Nearly every part save for her hair, nails, and a few other less desirable bodily functions.
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