Joscelin Edelstein || Kugelmugel

[Deleted]

Joscelin Johann Edelstein A young violet-eyed twelve year old who has more business painting than otherwise causing retaliation fires. Joscelin and Art are now one being, if you hurt his mentor Art, you deserve some retribution, like maybe, you will find your car painted a calming forest green instead of that roaring fire red you liked so much. But really, this green is quite pretty, it's a work of art of you have ever seen one, but you haven't, and it is time to call the cops, if only you could figure out who did it . . .

CODE NAME: the Artist

Male

Twelve

Unknown

Austrian

Artist

Independent

Physical

121cm

25.4kg

Platinum Blond

Violet

Fair

Slender;Slight

Personal

Joscelin is the eccentric type, which is usually overruled by being the quiet kid. He's that one student in class who talks back to the teachers and corrects them if they make a mistake or fail to grasp the knowledge that he knows what he knows and what he knows is correct, because it is. All the time. He will only ever speak up if he thinks that they are teaching badly. Which happens, even when one doesn't know it. Because Joscelin knows. And he will tell. Otherwise, he won't say a word. He'll play at being the silent-moody kid who sticks to his studies (those studies being art related) and never speak a word until prompted. Despite some of his concerning nature, and although one might assume otherwise, he is not antisocial; rather just tends to stay out of other people's way. He will plow through them to get to his own destination, with no regard or second glance. If anything can be said about him, he is honest. He speaks his mind when prompted; always truthful. This is not always a good thing as his mind to mouth function has no filter, if he thinks that something is stupid or idiotic, he will say it. Unfortunately, or perhaps maybe fortunately, he tends to mutter his ideas out loud to himself often, so no one can really place if he is talking about them or about something he just thought up himself. Joscelin has many habits, yet not one could be described as common. He tends to get very excitable over what may seem to others as the smallest thing. To this young boy, however, it might mean the world. Sometimes he is intense. He had never really found a way to lessen his emotions or cover them. It comes off of him in waves; large waves, waves that will cower a tsunami and dump a sea load of jellyfish and whales and other marine life at one's feet. So that he might raise his voice then. Just might, it's a four out of five chance, he just might get angry, or panicked, or confused, or doleful, or enraptured. A person may just be taking a nice walk, when all of the sudden, a wail will come from the next house over and maybe the not-so-soft sound of the pitter patter of tiny feed on cold marble floors, sliding excitedly to the work room because he has found Art! And thus, he has to freak the heck out and put his abilities to use. Preceding [WARNING] do not in any way make contact with one speeding Joscelin Johann Edelstein during this time. That is another thing, he runs everywhere. Everywhere. Down a hall, around the house, at the swimming pool. It's not even a 'running is fun' thing. No, it's just 'Run'. Something he has to do. One can tell him all the time to stop, five times even, and he won't. Not even when his grandmother would ask please-and-thank-you, dear, but-really-this-is-the-seventh-time and-yes, please-could-you-not-touch-that-it-is-very-delicate-oh-wait-we-didn't-need-that-pot-anyway. And the less forgiving reply of, "it wasn't art, but it thought it was so I showed it where it should be." followed by a few shrieks of absolute horror and the backseat of a car. It's a bit sad really when a child thinks he or she needs to deal out retribution to his or her current foster parents for doing something terrible to them. Some people could argue the fact that kids do not yet have knowledgeable insight to what is good for them. Others will also slap these people in the face to argue that maybe lighting a room afire when that child's precious tools and papers were strewn across the hall, makes to be a very difficult charge to drop. However, also when that child returns the next day with a certain car on fire, things will be looked at much more closely. That was Joscelin's way. The passive-aggressive way. Despite what one may think of him, he spends a lot of time thinking about others, what do they like, what do they do, spending their free time. He will wonder, after all that time they have for themselves, how much would be set aside for him. Even strangers, he fantasized what would happen if they met him, or that girl, in the park, would she take time out of her day to talk to him. Will she laugh with him or at him? It was always the defining factor saga to why these were just fantasies and not thoroughly tested out. What if they say that simple heartbreaking word: "No". He will stand on the sidelines, because this one thing, this one thing he knows, true as it gets, that he is not an easy companion, not an easy friend, not an easy son, or person to be around at all. He feels never understood, while people don't give him the time to explain and show them that he cares, he's not all selfish, but maybe, sometimes he's lonely. Lonely. For someone who was carried off from house to house his entire life, one would think that he made many connections and was with others all the time. But it wasn't quite like that. To make a connection, both subjects must be willing to do it and have the time to do it with. While he's more often then not shot down, he hides these uncomfortable, insecure feelings simply by clamping together his two hands behind his back, to give himself an illusion that there is always someone there for him. Recently in his newest home, he had found nights to be long. His room was not quite broken into and out seems as if he is alone. Maybe one night he could scour up the courage to slip in bed with another occupant of the house. It is no secret that Joscelin loves to listen to music as well. Sometimes he'll go crazy at the sound and sight. He is synesthetic which means he associated voices, people, and sound to color and often sees those colors in everyday life: like the sound of jogging or an intake of breath, or even the sound of someone's voice. He uses the colors of the sound of music around him to judge the atmosphere. He likes noise in his life because that is what gives him color. Piano and violin music are his favorite, especially classical, but the new sound on the radio are not so bad, they just shift color more rapidly. He makes sure to always have his iPod with him, just in case. Has this habit where he likes to touch faces. This mostly applies to older people. He likes to feel the skin texture and likes to stretch and mush them together. It’s one of his more little kid habits. You could say it’s one of his ways he studies the human face, but that’s very rarely the case. He mostly just likes to touch people’s faces. As he is quite dedicated to the person or people he loves, betrayal in any way or form is not an option that coincides with anything he may think. If he loves someone or thing with all his heart, he is most definitely going to stick to them to the end. Along with the fact that he is possessive, if anything would happen to someone he loved, he would be devastated (before first going crazy). /div]

Likes

Dislikes

001. Art | more than the average citizen or child, Joscelin has a wondrous infatuation with anything of what he deems 'considerable art'. He is an astute artist and focuses imminently on this one hobby. 002. Baumkuchen | the log cake. 003. Literature | for someone who spends so much time contemplating on the ways of art (if not actually putting this ability to use), Joscelin feels quite content to curl up in a library with a book on his lap. Of course, his main genre centers around types of art. 004. Colors | they are quite pleasant to work with and experiment with, along with the fact that he sees them in every word or phrase, he has taken the road to likening rather than dismissive. 005. Eyes | or specifically, the color of a person's eyes. He finds them strangely fascinating and throws every thought aside to capture the 'greatest' ones, proclaiming them as a significant piece of Art. When he is in a particularly quiet mood, he will settle to ask kindly to simply just paint. The colors he prefer tend to be the more outrageous and vibrant colors, such as: Gold, Silver, Red, and possibly, various greens and very light Blues. His absolute favorite, however, are people with Heterochromia iridum, just to paint of course. 006. Hands | Joscelin has a great love in the sport of hand-holding. Whenever he is in the presence of another person, he gives it no thought on how uncomfortable the other might feel, but rather, will latch on to his or her hand immediately. It is not that he is rude or does not care for their feelings, but it makes him feel a lot safer and happier. When there is no one, he likes to clasp his hands behind his back, giving an illusion that someone is there with him. 007. the New | things basically that appear to him as different also double as 'positively interesting.' It is not that he does not like tradition but as a natural childish curiosity, he loves to evaluate and examine new objects of interest. 008. Climbing | he is short, to any person, that much is apparent. Interfering with that of his height subconsciousness, Joscelin is found in places higher than normal. Places like trees, roofs of houses, and even on the arm of a seat rather than the seat itself. He never notices this and if someone where to point it out, he would be very surprised, it is an act he does unconsciously.

001. Fuzzy articles | be aware fuzzy is quite different from furry. He pays no extra mind to a friendly stray animal. 002. Inartistic objects | there are so many possible ways to be artistic, so when an effort is wasted when an opportunity is quite clear, his opinion of the person or thing is lowered. It is good to at least attempt; artistic or not. One without an imagination is one to be pitied. 003. Glasses | these irritating objects obstruct the view of a person's eyes. He thinks only really nice ones can be fitting to one's face. Only really nice ones. 004. Ignorance | for himself and from others. And not only in the ways of Art. He likes to know things, what someone likes, what someone can do, how someone views an object or matter of opinion. He is naturally curious though easily frustrated if he cannot find the answers he seeks. 005. Loud Noises | it makes the colors shoot up into his eyes and burst which may at times be a good thing, but loud noises tend not to be at the greater end of the spectrum. 006. Scary Stories | or anything scary really. When told something like so, he will latch onto the nearest person he feels safe with (if he already has not done so) and clings to them with an iron grip. After, however, he will let go and continue on as if nothing happened. 007. Rules | he thinks of them more as 'guidelines', if in fact, he pays them any attention at all. He is a headstrong fellow who likes to do what he wants, for 'what are these rules to hold me back'.

Dreams

Fears

001. the Age of Joscelin | Italy in general was the start of the European Renaissance, a time period that this little artist reveled in and would wish to repeat as one of the contributing factor. To see what kind of art that he made make other people marvel and shiver in eerie delight, meant so much to him. To finally feel at place and wanted for those strange extremities that he uses. Now that would be a delight. 002. Acknowledged | as an artist of great value, he would be quite happy being praised or at least taken seriously. 003. Contentment | to finally be content. He has always searched for that of the greatest art, but although a fleeting thought, he really would like to find something that could show up all things he had ever seen before and present that to someone that he would hope to find precious that was not object but person. 004. To be Loved | anybody wants to be loved, but especially Joscelin whom had been tossed around like a ragdoll most of his life. For someone to cherish him and all the bad behavior he comes with, that would be the greatest wish ever to come true.

001. Lack of Artistic relevance | all he knows revolves around art; what he grew up with, what he studied, what he admired. Unlike those who admire a parent figure or a famous celebrity, Joscelin grew up with Art as his main source of support and role-model. He found wonder and excitement in it, more than just a hobby. It could be argued, that Art raised him. If its relevance started to dwindle in the eyes of other people, Joscelin would be lost. 002. Disregarded, Abandoned | Joscelin knows that he is not the easiest kid or even person to get along with, he has his strange quirks and bipolar attitude. Which is why he cherishes those that become close to him, becomes possessive of them. He fears that one day, those he loves will leave him alone. 003. Heights | for one who loves to climb, if he looked down, he would have a horrible fear of falling. Technically it is not the heights that scare him, but the possibility of loosing balancing and crashing back towards the ground. 004. Harm to a Loved One | as stated, the child, like many his age, is very possessive. He does not outwardly show it, be he cares very much for the people who give him the time of day and attention. He understands that because of his odd quirks he is not the easiest to get along with, thus those who he does he treasures immensely. If people who he cares about are injured or hurt, it is perhaps the greatest fear he could have feel.

Background

Born in Vienna, Austria to two wealthy parents by the names of Edwin and Franziska (his father and mother, respectively) it came to no apparent thought or notice that there was any abnormality with their new child dubbed, Joscelin Johann Pallenstein. The new child's parents were so ordinary, they were almost strange; none would think any less of the child. Edwin Pallenstein was a government official. His job had always been well-paying with hours that were accountable and just. His personality was not cold necessarily, but it was neither warm either; a presence among others that demanded attention. The mother, Franziska Maulburrow, was the definition of the perfect lady. She was neat, prim, and proper, but cold and strict to those who offered offense. It was not known that she had an official job per se, but she was well known around her neighborhood and a constant presence with her husband. It came to a shock to all those who knew the two when Franziska fell pregnant. She had never payed any interest to children and it seemed as if the two were better off without any to hinder their carefully constructed lives, nevertheless the two prepared as ordinary parents would, however, not happily nor sullen, but with no excitement, accompanied by a dull tone. When the day came for Franziska to give birth, the hospital was in a frenzy. Every room was filled with people, every person from the most experienced to the newest of all were put to work doing anything that might lessen the work load. The doctors nor the nurses were not to blame; they really were not. But on a day like that certain day, tensions were high and the right amount of attention was focused in all of the wrong places. Franziska died bearing her child. It could have been that the doctor had done something wrong or just that even with the right amount of attention it would have gone array. But whatever may have happened, Edwin Pallenstein lost his wife that day. Some might say that Edwin was not affected by this tragedy (as so proclaimed in the news) but others with a keener sense of mind, knew how deeply the loss cut into him. His wife was, to put it simply, his second half. If there was such a thing as a soulmate or 'perfect second half', Edwin and Franziska would have completed each other as a whole. If it was not love they shared, it was a stronger bond than even that. After the loss of his wife, Edwin spiraled slowly down into depression. He could not work without his other half and gradually after time, he died alone with his last memory of his wife in a cradle beside him: his son. Then begun the story of the son, pawned down to relatives; one after another. The first was his mother's sister. A single lady with a warm and kind heart, twenty-two years into her life. She was the first to accept him. However, unlike his parents, she was not quite as wealthy nor was she willing enough to give up her career as a doctor to parent him. It was a temporary fix, short and sweet; seeing him off with her sympathies, but not particularly heart wrenching. The next were people of whom carried their own child. Around the same age as himself. To say that the two did not get along was an understatement. Joscelin had his paints, pencils, and braids; she had her dolls, tea set, legos, horse, dog. Neither saw eye to eye as Joscelin was quite fine keeping to himself and she was dying for a playmate. It all ended when she decided to step on his latest drawing: one of a what he claimed to be a ball-shaped prison, and he dumped paint all into her neat, bow-tied hair. The next were older, doting grandparents who had it in their heads that they could deal with anything a child could come up with; any messes they were prepared to clean. It never occurred to them that Joscelin knew a bit more than knocking over a few lamps and paint-splattering the walls. In fact, he did just that: with more. By the time the two elders awoke from their slumber, paint covered every inch of the house, and not just the walls either. To say that the two were furious is an understatement at its best. As kind hearted elders as they were, however, they forgave his mishap under the pretense that he would never do it again. And he never did --do just that, as it is. Instead, he understood their disapproval as a disliking to that certain art he made, so the next idea he came up with he made sure was more elaborate and detailed to fit their fancy. They had no query about sending him off after that. This pattern continued as it was for the better age of three years, sent off from one home to the next without a tearful goodbye. And to be honest, Joscelin was not unhappy to leave either. He found no one to his liking and no one who seemed to appreciate him or his art. It was just as well that his many designated guardians disliked him, for who ever said that he found them likeable either? The pattern continued as such until a small mishap landed him in court. That particular excitement of his led him out scott free under the assumption he would find a place to live, and stay there. Permanently. Joscelin, seeing as this wasn't one of his best areas of expertise, remained apathetic as his social worker searched around. A month and a few blood tests later landed him in front of a studious looking man with glasses --presumably, his real father.

Role-Play Sample

"Holding hands may seem like an innocent gesture, but they show more than a simple interlocking of fingers. Your hands are one of the most essential parts of your body: you build with them, feed with them, hold with them, touch with them, fight with them; they are the tools of the human body. To take hold of another's hand is to break from living individually. It is to link yourself to another being, to momentarily entwine your life with another's, to promise, for a moment, that you need not face the world alone." -----Hekateras Joscelin blinked and then blinked again slowly as he awoke to the smell of burning leather, his hands fisted tightly to the front of his shirt. He curled up close, not minding as the buckle of the seat was biting into his side and the ache of his knees and thighs that screamed he had been in this position too long. Too long now, he thought as he rolled his head backwards from its stiff position. Too long now without a home. A home he could call his own. He stretched then, cat-like, and rose to a sitting position in the back seat of an unknown car. He wasn't surprised, this wasn't the first time --far from it. It should have scared him a bit, being alone in an unknown area, but he was far too accumulated to the experience now that he thought it a bit more as his own place to belong in, this 'unknown', than a place he should actively fear his whole life, because this was his whole life now, right? And forever would be? He blinked and looked down as his hands spread over the smooth leather upholstery of the car, it was an old car, he figured, as his hands danced along the burning edge, an old car on its last breath. He stared into the flames licking up the front passenger seat on the left, his violet eyes unnaturally bright. He has never before lit a fire deliberately, he was no pyromancer, but then again, no one had been cruel enough to set aflame his precious creations. Oh, of course, it has been an accident, but that was no accident if the participant willing knew what he or she were like drunk. And smoked too. He looked at his hands, not just red in the warm light, but from the burns he had captured on his little retaliation dish. He knew enough to register that they would scar, but it wouldn't make much of a difference to his already cut and bruised skin, callused fingers. Such was the amount of art he chose to dedicate demanded a sacrifice, if only it was the ruination of a child's smooth baby skin. It was alright then. When he did climb out of the door of the car, he was met with flashing blue and red lights, followed by a queer sort of ringing noise. Oh, he thought as he suddenly pitched sideways, I forgot, it's only Wednesday. He had been there all of three days. It was all a blur after that, a hazy grey; something about a court case and a permanent residence. When he next awoke, he was in back of another car, this one much newer, and, he noted after a minute, not on fire. "Joscelin, what am I going to do with you?" a voice swam wearily to his ears, "You hardly even try anymore, your passive-aggressive personality is getting out of hand here and by now, no one will take you. I looked in your records and every family member is either dead or has rejected you, I don't know what to do anymore." That was Miss Taera, always so blunt, "I don't understand, your father was so sweet and charming and selfless, what went wrong?" She was mostly talking to herself, he knew that, he knew from the so many questions she posed at him, how they had gone ignored, how she learned to talk out loud to herself, but it still hurt a little. He knew how many families he had gone through and just how many of those had rejected him. He knew and would not forget; he knew. But he also knew another thing, "I am not like my father." He wasn't, he had heard many things about his father, and none of them he liked. His mother as well, he was nothing like her. Taera hummed on agreement, and then froze, "I knew both Pallensteins for years and they were not like you, no. In fact, I could incline that you are the furthest from that family, almost, yes like almost from another family," her eyes gleamed, "Yes, almost," and with that, he didn't hear from her for the next three weeks. It was rather sudden when Taera thought up this notion. There really was not much to go by other than he was very different than his relatives. It seemed just a strange case of genetics on his part. Not exactly knowing what that meant, but nothing seemed different to him. It was too late to hope for --for someone maybe like him who would stay by him until the end. A real family. And low and behold, as it turned out, Joscelin was not a Pellenstein but a Von Edelstein. Apparently some baby switching went down at the hospital. So here he was now, on the carrot ride to one Austrian by the name of Roderick Von Edelstein. As the car drove up, Joscelin steadied his nerves and put on the blankest face he could, and climbed out of the car. He was met with a man, not too tall with brilliant purple eyes with small round-rimmed glasses. He hated them, those glasses, he already knew. Because the eyes underneath were beautiful. All nervousness forgotten, he starred with wide eyes at this man. And as the man cleared his throat, the colors that sprang to his eyes clinched it. He held his hands out trustingly.

OOC Information

Ooc: Kugel; Lurker; Evening

Contact Information: thatloiteringlurker; aCertainKindofArt

Visiting the modern art museum, a lady turned to an attendant standing nearby. "This", she said, "I suppose, is one of those hideous representations you call modern art?" "No, madam," replied the attendant. "That one's called a mirror."

Favorite number is twelve. I found this site via MoF.

made by CAPTAIN of BACK TO NEVERLAND

[Worldie]

APPROVED

Welcome to TND. Your application has been accepted. Sorry for the wait! At least, welcome, welcome to London. First things first: under "fears," you list him as having a "bipolar attitude." Unless you actually mean bipolar, we recommend substituting with a synonym. ("Moody," perhaps? Or "temperamental"?) Apart from that, the rest of your application looks perfectly in order! Looks like TND has a thing for problem children, and Joscelin is no exception. It seems like his difficult past of being passed around has really affected the poor thing, so understandably he has developed a series of complexes related to that. I like the way you were able to lay out the connections between his background and his personality, as well as the way it's carried over into his fears and such. Of course, focusing on the artistic aspect of his personality is a must, but you've incorporated it really well in making it an aspect of his identity and not just a tacked-on obsession. The complexities of his character are nicely illustrated here indeed; he might be difficult, but underlying that is a whole host of insecurities. Hopefully those are some things he can begin to reconcile with. Thanks for apping, and may Joscelin paint the dreary London skies just a little bit brighter. The name is Edelstein. Joscelin Edelstein.

made by CAPTAIN of BACK TO NEVERLAND