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Description

--tiny edits applied---

|Name| Peder R. Thorsten
|Gender| Male
|Age| Twenty-five
|Sexuality| Bisexual
|Species| Satyr: fallow-deer,*Luden sub breed
|Job| Grave digger, groundskeeper, and all around odd jobsman

|Weight| 210 Ibs.
|Height| 6’4”

|Body-type| Athletic with a touch of chub around the mid section

|Personality| Headstrong, Amiable, Wary, Pragmatic, Passive

Like most things destined to be too big or too wide for civil sensibilities, Peder has tried to make an art out of being unobtrusive; he slouches, he stands in corners, he tries to avoid crowds and small spaces. It’s unfortunate that he’s a wretched artist. No matter how passive, he always manages to knock something off a table with his tail, or jostle into a barmaid carrying far too many mugs of ale. To make up for the sheer power of his physical presence, Peder has adopted the smile in its many forms: sheepish, awkward, and disarming.

He’s not inclined to fighting of any sort, his passive nature making him something of a punching bag; however, any animal can be pushed to its limits. And being literally half an animal, Peder’s limits can be oceanic in depth or as brittle as a dry twig on a bad day. He’s not prone to trusting people either- not that he’ll prove unfriendly in any situation, but he takes his own doddering time to truly warm up to new faces. Alcohol helps.

Finally, his mum always used to say he should’ve been born a bull for his stubbornness outdistances oceans and looms above every mountain range. It’s practically a force of nature in its own right, an undiscovered element on the periodic table of tenacity. Any inventor would be mad not to try and harness it as a source of unlimited energy. Naturally, this quality is best not evoked alongside his wrath. Gods help you if it is.

|Likes]

☑ Landscaping

☑ Nature

☑ Alcoholic Beverages

☑ Labors of love, especially scarves with dumb prints on them

☑ Music (soothe the beast, amiright?)

[Dislikes]

☒ Being hunted/ hunting traps

☒ Going to the Tailor for new clothes (It’s such an uncomfortable hassle for a proper tail hole)

☒ Small spaces

☒ Meat

☒ Unreasonably large bodies of water (where he can’t touch the bottom)

☒ Having his fur or tail tugged (gentle petting motions only please)

☒ Super bright lights flashed in his face at night ( it's mean and disorienting)

[Fears]

☒ Children and other inexcusably small people. They get underfoot and can stab and poke and run away and stuff.

|History| His mum was such a tiny little doe and his father a slender six foot nothing; there was no real warning that their son was going to be a behemoth with cute ears. And everyone likes a warning, even the city kids who would pick on Peder with their childish games; you know, rocks, pretend pitch forks, and candle torches, the usual. He was always taller than kids his age, so you see, he absolutely had to play the monster. No way he’d pass for a pitch fork wielding villager, nope. He didn’t complain often. At least they agreed to play with him. Even though the rocks were a bit hard and the pitch forks sharper than they needed to be in a city.

He matured to adulthood like this, shrugging aside petty cruelty and jokes that weren’t funny the first time. A lot of roman ones too. With his hands too massive to join his mother in the subtle art of alchemy and negative interest in his father’s novel writing, Peder settled into the cliché grunt work of a part time bodyguard / bouncer. City life really wasn’t made for anything with hooves, and eventually he broached the idea of moving with his parents. They fully supported his wanderlust, donated some of their savings in fact, and on the appointed day they were there to wave their massive son off into the wider world, which just so happened to have taller ceilings and fewer children with rocks.

|Other|
✏ *a Luden sub-breed is literally a breed that is a bit hairier than average. He’s got a pair industrial hedge trimmers for his chest hair. It’s not a fun time. The Luden tend to fluctuate in hairiness according to the phase of the moon, and sometimes Peder’s face elongates into something kind of like a deer. You have to physically drag him out of his house on these days, as he prefers to spend them pretending he can’t see his nose and the teeth around it; and totally doesn’t have the urge to munch grass.

✏ Peder is nothing if not a devoted son. He writes letters home weekly.

✏ He’s super amazing at landscaping and adores shaping bushes into animals doing silly things. The graveyard could easily be an ornamental garden if it weren’t for, well, the dead people.

✏ He enjoys lending his skills to all the needy lawns of Rumpleton for a very reasonable price.

✏ His mum is English and his father Swedish, hence the d in Peder. Not that he minds if people call him Peter.

✏Watch out for his legs. Sometimes when he gets startled, scared, or otherwise panicked he defaults to instinct and just kinda...spazzes out like a dumb baby. He is not responsible for what is legs may or may not accidentally kick in those moments....although he will feel really guilty about it later.
|RP Preferences|
Notes.
Skype: dear.porcupine
keep in mind im super bad at replying quickly on skype
I also like paragraphs and long walks on the beach.
I'm pretty open to themes and mature plotlines, so share your limits and pet peeves~

______________________

this profile is for

Description

--tiny edits applied---

|Name| Peder R. Thorsten
|Gender| Male
|Age| Twenty-five
|Sexuality| Bisexual
|Species| Satyr: fallow-deer,*Luden sub breed
|Job| Grave digger, groundskeeper, and all around odd jobsman

|Weight| 210 Ibs.
|Height| 6’4”

|Body-type| Athletic with a touch of chub around the mid section

|Personality| Headstrong, Amiable, Wary, Pragmatic, Passive

Like most things destined to be too big or too wide for civil sensibilities, Peder has tried to make an art out of being unobtrusive; he slouches, he stands in corners, he tries to avoid crowds and small spaces. It’s unfortunate that he’s a wretched artist. No matter how passive, he always manages to knock something off a table with his tail, or jostle into a barmaid carrying far too many mugs of ale. To make up for the sheer power of his physical presence, Peder has adopted the smile in its many forms: sheepish, awkward, and disarming.

He’s not inclined to fighting of any sort, his passive nature making him something of a punching bag; however, any animal can be pushed to its limits. And being literally half an animal, Peder’s limits can be oceanic in depth or as brittle as a dry twig on a bad day. He’s not prone to trusting people either- not that he’ll prove unfriendly in any situation, but he takes his own doddering time to truly warm up to new faces. Alcohol helps.

Finally, his mum always used to say he should’ve been born a bull for his stubbornness outdistances oceans and looms above every mountain range. It’s practically a force of nature in its own right, an undiscovered element on the periodic table of tenacity. Any inventor would be mad not to try and harness it as a source of unlimited energy. Naturally, this quality is best not evoked alongside his wrath. Gods help you if it is.

|Likes]

☑ Landscaping

☑ Nature

☑ Alcoholic Beverages

☑ Labors of love, especially scarves with dumb prints on them

☑ Music (soothe the beast, amiright?)

[Dislikes]

☒ Being hunted/ hunting traps

☒ Going to the Tailor for new clothes (It’s such an uncomfortable hassle for a proper tail hole)

☒ Small spaces

☒ Meat

☒ Unreasonably large bodies of water (where he can’t touch the bottom)

☒ Having his fur or tail tugged (gentle petting motions only please)

☒ Super bright lights flashed in his face at night ( it's mean and disorienting)

[Fears]

☒ Children and other inexcusably small people. They get underfoot and can stab and poke and run away and stuff.

|History| His mum was such a tiny little doe and his father a slender six foot nothing; there was no real warning that their son was going to be a behemoth with cute ears. And everyone likes a warning, even the city kids who would pick on Peder with their childish games; you know, rocks, pretend pitch forks, and candle torches, the usual. He was always taller than kids his age, so you see, he absolutely had to play the monster. No way he’d pass for a pitch fork wielding villager, nope. He didn’t complain often. At least they agreed to play with him. Even though the rocks were a bit hard and the pitch forks sharper than they needed to be in a city.

He matured to adulthood like this, shrugging aside petty cruelty and jokes that weren’t funny the first time. A lot of roman ones too. With his hands too massive to join his mother in the subtle art of alchemy and negative interest in his father’s novel writing, Peder settled into the cliché grunt work of a part time bodyguard / bouncer. City life really wasn’t made for anything with hooves, and eventually he broached the idea of moving with his parents. They fully supported his wanderlust, donated some of their savings in fact, and on the appointed day they were there to wave their massive son off into the wider world, which just so happened to have taller ceilings and fewer children with rocks.

|Other|
✏ *a Luden sub-breed is literally a breed that is a bit hairier than average. He’s got a pair industrial hedge trimmers for his chest hair. It’s not a fun time. The Luden tend to fluctuate in hairiness according to the phase of the moon, and sometimes Peder’s face elongates into something kind of like a deer. You have to physically drag him out of his house on these days, as he prefers to spend them pretending he can’t see his nose and the teeth around it; and totally doesn’t have the urge to munch grass.

✏ Peder is nothing if not a devoted son. He writes letters home weekly.

✏ He’s super amazing at landscaping and adores shaping bushes into animals doing silly things. The graveyard could easily be an ornamental garden if it weren’t for, well, the dead people.

✏ He enjoys lending his skills to all the needy lawns of Rumpleton for a very reasonable price.

✏ His mum is English and his father Swedish, hence the d in Peder. Not that he minds if people call him Peter.

✏Watch out for his legs. Sometimes when he gets startled, scared, or otherwise panicked he defaults to instinct and just kinda...spazzes out like a dumb baby. He is not responsible for what is legs may or may not accidentally kick in those moments....although he will feel really guilty about it later.
|RP Preferences|
Notes.
Skype: dear.porcupine
keep in mind im super bad at replying quickly on skype
I also like paragraphs and long walks on the beach.
I'm pretty open to themes and mature plotlines, so share your limits and pet peeves~

______________________

this profile is for