Hello. The following is a message from the Teufort Census Bureau.
How would you rate your current employment?
Thank you for your co-operation.
@tf2-data-collection-agency
The pen almost raptures the paper, leaving on its surface deep scars in forms of letters.
"Hello Teufort Census Bureau.
Not good. Do not contact me again.
Thank y͟o͟u for y͟o͟ur co-operation."
Crooked and careless, the letter is shoved into its envelope as he makes his way to the mail room in order to send it. The audacity. The gall. He catches himself grumbling Nordic vulgarisms under his breath.
Character sheet/Masterpost. Continuous.
Fun and not so fun facts about Frode. ⤵
Facts ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏
General
𖦹 Frode Havn, born 25th of August 1934 (34 yrs at time of employment with TFI) in Selbyen, Norway.
𖦹 Refused to take on the name "Ned" after signing with Team Fortress Industries.
𖦹 Support class, despite his defensiveness.
𖦹 Only child of Frida and Emil Team Fortress Industries.
𖦹 Brown eyes, black hair, 5'6.
𖦹 Ambidextrous.
𖦹 Trans man; voice went from this to this vocal range.
𖦹 Pansexual.
𖦹 Heavy smoker.
𖦹 No tattoos, only scars.
Language
𖦹 Heavy Norwegian accent. Will occasionally outright refuse to speak English. Doesn't care about being understood or proper grammar.
𖦹 Raises his voice frequently, to intimidate or to make a point. A shrill, intense laugh, though rare.
𖦹 Swears like a sailor, despite his inability to sail a boat.
Hobbies & Interests
𖦹 Brewing heimabrygg, a delectable ale made with local juniper branches and kveik, a brewer's yeast. What remains of it is sold to those who ask. May taste slightly soapy at times...
𖦹 With the ingredients right on his doorstep, Frode repurposes his brewing station to create soap bars of different fragrances. The slightly stinging smell of alcohol lies within each piece.
𖦹 Listening to classical music. The more dramatic, the better.
𖦹 Attempting to befriend the local fauna to no avail. He fears they can smell the guilt on him.
Traits
𖦹 Enjoys catastrophic weather and will purposefully leave the house during storms and hail, the electric air inexplicably irresistible to him.
𖦹 Thinks fishing is boring, but finds the spoils of a good catch thrilling. Consequently, he mostly uses a harpoon to complete the task as quickly as possible. However, he will never gut or debone a fish. Never again.
𖦹 Stand-offish, and not in an awkward or charming way. Will eerily observe from the sidelines and either shut down or crumble at any bit of kindness thrown his way.
History ﹏ ོ☼﹏𓆞
𖦹 In 1940, when Frode was 6 years old, Nazis invaded the country and occupied the village for their resources, such as fish and metal. Many villagers stayed behind and were forced to work for and host the scum. But because dark hair and eyes were traits that could, at that time, get someone killed, and the Havn family happened to possess those, they fled into a hidden nearby mountainside bunker for self-preservation.
𖦹 Having learned about the ongoings in the village, his young mind began being plagued by the terror of his friends' peril at the hands of the Germans. In an act of disquietude, he exited the bunker in the stillness of the night to convince himself of their safety.
𖦹 Alerted soldiers caught wind of the small intruder. With all the velocity his short legs could muster, Frode hurtled for the only shelter he knew – the bunker – oblivious to the dire repercussions. Scratched up from charging through the bushes concealing the bunker, and barely having opened the heavy steel door, a young Frode was apprehended, wailing warnings into the dimly lit concrete block. In horror, he had to watch his parents and grandparents get dragged out of hiding and into the village and onto a truck. A last look at petrified faces screaming hurried "I love you"'s, the thump of metal doors shutting, and the vehicle disappeared into the dusk.
𖦹 As the only serviceable family member – due to his youth, health and nimble hands – Frode was quickly put to work in the production of cod filets to nourish those who'd taken everything from him. Countless of spines plucked out of descaled, hollowed fish – five years of labor. Meanwhile, he resided – but never truly lived – with his aunt Lena.
𖦹 The end of the war and retreat of the Germans brought barely any relief, the shambles of the village and the knowledge of having doomed his family too heavy on Frode's conscious.
𖦹 All remnants of the feverishly joyous child he once was had dissipated, leaving merely a furious husk. A front of anger had risen to disguise a deeply damaged, frightened boy. All he's had to hold onto was the self-made illusion of superiority, of usefulness.
𖦹 Guilt tainting his mind and regret staining his soul had brought him to actively seek out solitude – verbally and physically disunifying himself from his peers – disbelieving in the capabilities of human relations soothing his apprehension. He'd lost family to friendship. He would not let that happen again.
𖦹 Frequent outbursts and the tension that loomed over the house afterwards put Frode at near constant risk of expulsion from Lena's residence – empty threats attempting to straighten out his attitude, unbeknownst to him. Exasperated by the tornado subsisting in the spare bedroom, she had to establish a reverse curfew, forcing him out of the house through most of the day.
𖦹 To busy his hands elsewise, to numb his mind somehow, Frode frantically delved into various hobbies, picking up quite a variety of different skills. Neighbors' toolsheds secretly served as facilities for his experiments, combining what he'd observed the village brewer concoct with the material available in the sheds to create truly atrocious beverages. When inevitably found out, the neighbor couldn't refuse to help a curious mind get further in life, and referred the 15 year old boy to the brewer, who initially reluctantly took him under his wing.
𖦹 Through being salaried and using his free time to help out various other shops for small allowances, saving up enough to eventually move into his own small apartment at 20 years of age. He took on many side jobs, never leaving himself enough time to think and therefore burst into wrath.
𖦹 A company, run by outsiders of the village community, called Dyr Her & Der Animal Relocation emerged out of nowhere to monitor and manage the rapidly increasing seal population. When they started offering guided tours of the seals nesting grounds as a marketing strategy, the number of international tourists in Selbyen rose exponentially. But a lack of infrastructure, as the village ironically lacked a proper fish shop, resulted in the quick dwindling of tourists. Frode made a pretty penny in those months as a plushie producer, although he had trouble selling his wares at the souvenir shop, partially due to his loose grasp on the English language, another part due to his brashness.
𖦹 ...
𖦹 ...
𖦹 Empty
𖦹 ...
𖦹 Frode stirs. Fluorescents shrink his pupils. The memory of a hauntingly vacant village pierces his mind like a rusty screw. He cannot place it, it must've been an odd dream. Purple blurs leaning over him analyze his predicament. Something about 'The cloning process…' and '…memories deviate from the blueprint's.'.
Screaming bloody murder in the tongue of the north, clawing himself free of the tubes in his arms, taking dazed swings at the people in their shining lab coats and violet dress shirts – all that proves sufficient for administration to deem him a fitting member of team Reliable Excavation Demolition. The declawed animal has fangs yet.
𖦹 After re-awakening from sedation handcuffed to a chair, the woman with the black hairdo and crooked glasses is able to explain to a snarling, fuming Frode both his options: Work for them or perish.
𖦹 Despite his life's mediocrity and self-inflicted solitude, it's dear enough to him to decide for the labor. After all, not much in life would ever be as taxing as digging his fingers around the freezing corpses of cods, near continually for half a decade.
He never could've suspected how much worse it'd be; having him work with weapons so similar to those they had pressed against his temples when his vision blurred and his knees buckled beneath him from exhaustion.
𖦹 Incapable of showing a hint of his immeasurable terror – be it due to pride or shame – he has no choice but to oblige, albeit unnecessarily nonchalantly.
𖦹 While gritting his teeth through the signing of his contract, he's filled in about his very existence being nothing but the misshapen copy of an existing man. That all memories of half a life lived are nothing but artificially firing neurons, fabrications, unreality. A premise so ridiculous it boils his blood, dizzies him, throws him for a loop. Yet when his lungs and eyes start burning from the volume of his defensiveness, and being met with a little red pointing light on his chest, he manages to chalk it up as some excuse for much worse events having transpired in his amnesic state. The last information he receives before being evicted from the administration building is the village's vacantness, that for this paid slaughter they needed to move out the residents.
Including Lena. Despite their differences, she sustained him until he was ready to live on his own, and beyond. He couldn't possibly let another family member come to harm at his hands.
𖦹 One of those very hands grasps the suitcase holding spare uniforms, the contract and the components of a handheld harpoon gun. When he reenters Selbyen, when he makes his way to where he thinks he resided, he finds an emptiness. But not a silence.
Sorrowful tunes waft through the air from the opposite side of the village. There is someone else. Someone with an uncannily similar visage that he'd face soon enough...
Their meeting here.
To be continued.
To accommodate for the higher temperatures in New Mexico, compared to the nordic ones, some adjustments have been made to Ned's uniform. Though not necessarily to his benefit, but that of TFI.
- His hat remains. As a constant, agonizing reminder of where he came from, as well as at least some protection from the sun.
- His thick yellow sweater has been replaced by a light cotton button up shirt. He still rolls the sleeves up, because the rigidness of the shirt prevents him from bending his elbows all too much.
- His cardigan, too, has been replaced by a lighter, short sleeved button up.
- For added mobility when crouching, as well as leg ventilation, Ned rolled up his pant legs and called it a day. TFI couldn't be bothered to get him a cropped pair either. It'd be a waste of resources to provide custom tailored clothing to their workers. For free at least.
- His rubber boots have been replaced with Converse Lake Stream wading boots. Just in case he should ever get near a body of water again.
- Additionally, he's been given a pair of chamois leather fishing gloves. It helps his now even sweatier hands to get a hold of his mostly metallic weaponry. Due to some motoric malfunctions when he wears full gloves, he's cut off the fingertips. This also helps with ventilation. Don't tell TFI...
'... Though, when I think about it, many people have corner teeth* that sharp.'
"Thank you. It was my father's. Now it is mine. How did YOU acquire your hat?" he attempts some small talk, immediately regretful of the plainness of the question.
(*canines translate to hjørnetenner in Norwegian, hjørne = corner, tenner = teeth)
"I would not say s͟c͟a͟r͟e͟d." he answers with a breathy chuckle, eyes scanning the intimidatingly empty surrounding area before returning to the stranger.
"A bit nervous, yes, but that has more to do with my own beliefs. Beliefs that I d͟e͟f͟i͟n͟i͟t͟e͟l͟y have to revalue, because right now, they just seem r͟i͟d͟i͟c͟u͟l͟o͟u͟s." he trails off, fidgety forefinger and thumb rolling up the very corner of the newspaper in his lap. Merely the rustle of the paper brings his attention to the perfunctory activity, which he immediately ceases.
To distract from, what he perceives as, his great rudeness, he picks up the scraps of information he'd received before. Before he'd scared himself into believing in the supernatural, that is. Although his environment – the respawn machine, the healing blue beam of his team's doctor, the weird green glow coming from the explosion man's eyepatch – would prove at the very least the existence of something beyond the natural.
"...Not as ridiculous as not knowing where you come from, and if the people who are also from there all dress so d͟a͟p͟p͟e͟r?" He pronounces the cognate like its Norwegian variant, removing all enunciation from the 'E'.
"People from this village usually only dress like that for special events, like weddings and funerals. I must say, I am a great fan of the vest. And the hat, but we already talked about the hat. A bit." he adds cautiously, a tense grin on his face.
„The only Jack...“ Ned repeats under his breath.
Without much hesitation, Ned lays the newspaper on the ground and rises from his chair as he was taught growing up, to shake Jack’s hand. Realizing he's taller than the RED stranger alleviates some of his misgivings, though the thought that Jack had officially confirmed himself to be a collegial enemy gives him a bit of a stomach ache.
“Fr– Ned. Ned, they call me Ned. All the way from Noreg. Oh wait, no. You would call it "Norway", I think. The way of the nor...–th. Hah. North way. I just got that." he smirks as he mutters his realization mostly to himself, his gaze at the empty ground next to them, his hand ceasing the shake and his arms crossing before his chest now. Just to give them a place to rest, as to stop fidgeting around too much.
"Happy to know your name, Jack. But…” His expression reflects his perplexity, albeit through a grin. A quite cheeky one at that. “...Would it not be a little difficult to find two people called Jack in a group of eleven people? The, uh, chances seem very low for there to be multiple Jack's. Is that... really a special thing to mention? "The one and only"? I do not mean to down-talk your uniqueness, I am just wondering if you have ever been in a group of eleven people, that was made of more than one person called Jack?" his smug grin momentarily increases into a chuckle before he rests his face into an overconfident sneer.
60 questions that can be made into an OC ask game, or you can just fill everything out yourself to get to know your character a little better :)
___
[1] What first impression do they typically make? Are they likeable from the get go, or take time to grow on people?
[2] How does their social personality differ from how they act when they’re alone?
[3] What emotion is the hardest for them to deal with?
[4] How physically and emotionally affectionate they are?
[5] Are they good at keeping secrets?
[6] How direct are they in conversations, do they speak in hints and riddles or bluntly say what they think?
[7] Are they a good liar, and what would they probably lie about?
[8] How open they are about their true feelings, both positive and negative?
[9] What is their love language?
[10] How quickly do they fall for someone?
[11] What are small things that make them happy?
[12] How high is their self-esteem?
[13] What kind of sense of humor do they have, if any?
[14] What does it take to make them laugh, and what does their laugh sound like?
[15] How do they act around people they don't like?
[16] Do they easily rely on others to help them out, or prefer doing everything themselves?
___
[17] What is their biggest struggle that no one around them is able to understand or believe?
[18] Do they ever have to hide their identity and for what reason?
[19] If they could change one thing about their past, what would they change?
[20] When they’re sad or upset, do they need company or some time alone?
[21] When they’re sick, would they want others to visit and take care of them, or they would rather prefer not to be seen at not their best?
[22] Do they have nightmares, and if yes, when did they start and what are they usually about?
[23] What was the worst, the darkest period of their life that they have been through?
[24] How hard it is for them to not allow their emotions to cloud their judgement?
[25] Do they have fears and phobias, and if they do, do they usually keep it to themselves or talk about it openly?
[26] Do they have any physical or mental ilness, how do they handle it and how open they are about it?
[27] Do they have any scars, how did they get them and how do they feel about them?
[28] What is something that they will never be able to forgive?
[29] How do they deal with loss, stress and anger?
[30] What are their most healthy and most unhealthy coping mechanisms?
[31] How hard it is for them to own up to their mistakes and wrongdoings?
[32] Is there something they've done in the past that they deeply regret till this day?
[33] What are one of their fondest and most treasured memories?
___
[34] Do they have vices they don't want others to know about?
[35] Do they like their own appearance, and what do they do, if anything, to alter it in any way?
[36] Do they own items that have sentimental value?
[37] How would they spend a lazy day when they have nothing specific to do?
[38] What do they usually do or where do they go when they need to feel comfortable and safe?
[39] What is their sleeping habits and favorite sleeping position, either alone and with someone?
[40] How picky they are with food, do they have specific dietary requirements based on their health or culture?
[41] What’s their usual morning routine?
[42] What is their idea of a perfect friendly hangout and/or romantic date?
[43] Do they enjoy flirting or being flirted with?
[44] On a party, where would you find them?
[45] For an event, would they dress like they typically do, or go all out?
[46] Would they rather dress to look attractive or to feel comfortable, and what would they never wear?
[47] Do they drink alcohol, and if they do, how much and how often?
[48] Are they, or were they at some point in their life, a part of any subculture?
___
[49] Do they possess any unexpected skill or knowledge that surprises others, and otherwise, what is something anyone would assume they know or can do, but in fact they don’t?
[50] What are they really good and really bad at?
[51] How good are they with money?
[52] Do they speak any other languages aside from their own?
[53] Do they like to sing and how confident they are with their singing?
[54] Do they like giving gifts, and how good are they at picking good gifts?
[55] How long does it take for them to make a new place feel like home, and what do they need for it?
[56] How would they react to hearing a dirty joke?
[57] What was the most stupid or dangerous thing they have ever done?
[58] In the situation where they had to choose, would they rather stay loyal to their morals or to people they love?
[59] What would they want to be remembered for?
[60] If they were to commit a crime, what kind of crime would it most likely be?
---
some of these question were written myself, some are the courtesy of my friend, and some were brought from my questionnaires in my old fandom. if you use them, please reblog or link back to this post
Hello Maya!!
I hope this letter finds you well!
I found this question in a magazine about speaking to people. Since you will never know who sent this letter, I will hereby admit that I am too scared to ask it in person. Not because I am scared of y͟o͟u͟, but because I am scared of the answer. I hope you understand.
Best wishes,
Secret :^)
(The magazine snippet just barely contains the text:)
Question 20: If they were to explain the difference between
romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?
(It seems to have been cropped right below the bottom row, cutting off the descender of the letter y and grazing the comma, snipping off its tail. Crammed above the word ‘platonic’ is a little drawing of a heart and a fish.
ᰔ ><>)
Maya: I don’t think I can say anything about familial love.
Bonus:
Maya: The fish drawing was a bit of a dead giveaway, dear, but thanks for writing to me.
Click. The tape containing Maya's response ejects from the player.
Click. Ned removes the cap from his pen and composes another letter. It reads
"Hello Maya!
Caught me! (←Haha.) I listened to your answer. Very insightful, I thank you for that. :^D
Actually, now that you mention it, my harpoon gun has been acting up lately. It has a little pull to the right. Big disturbenc disturbance when shooting people in front of me and not to my right.
So, when do you have free time in the future?
Best wishes,
Fro Ned :^)"
Click. A soft pop from his knees as he bends down to shove the paper underneath her door.
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