-=- General Information -=- First name: Switch Surname: Carpenter Age: Two weeks. Date of birth: 07-01-3287 Race: It’s a trashcan. Gender: It’s a trashcan. Sexuality: It’s a trashcan, it can’t love. It’s capable only of hate. Current residence: Amnesty Relationship status: It’s a trashcan, but it’s single. Social status: It’s a trashcan. Financial standing: It’s a trashcan. -=- Traits of Voice -=- Language spoken: Common Other languages known: None. Style of speaking: Furious. Severely depressed. Volume of voice: Loud. -=- Physical Appearance -=- Height: 30⅛ inches Weight: 10 pounds. Eye color: It’s a trashcan. Skin color: It’s a trashcan. Shape of face: It’s a trashcan. Distinguishing features: It’s a trashcan with legs, and two arms. Build of body: It’s a trashcan. Hair color: It’s a trashcan. Hair style: It’s a trashcan. Complexion: It’s a trashcan. Posture: It’s a trashcan. Tattoos: It’s a trashcan. Piercings: It’s a trashcan. Typical clothing: Plastic trash bag. Is seen by others as: As a trashcan. -=- Personality -=- Likes: Trash. Flexing. Dislikes: Caleb Carpenter. Education: It’s a trashcan. Fears: None. It fears nothing. Personal goals: Kill Caleb Carpenter. Die themselves. General attitude: Suicidal. Religious values: There is no God. General intelligence: Average. General sociability: Very shut-in. -=- Health -=- Illnesses (if any): It’s a trashcan. Allergies (if any): It’s a trashcan. Sleeping habits: Evil doesn’t sleep. Energy level: Huge. Eating habits: It eats trash. Memory: Very good. Any unhealthy habits: It’s a trashcan. -=- History -=- [Birth of Switch Carpenter; act 1, scene 1] "I am tired-" Caleb says, throwing the empty bowl from his legs. It crashes against the floor, letting out a dull rumble of empty ceramic container, one that was waiting to be filled. He would wipe the sweat off his brow with his pistacchio-dusted fingers, ones that were so haphazardly digging around a plastic bag of the sweet and salty treat in hard shell that rested just next to him. His gaze, shaken, unwavering, would trail from the trashcan- the rusted bucket of metal wire, one with a messily put in plastic bag with handles, a mean of collecting trash. Suddenly, he would feel anger. Anger he has never felt before. "I am tired, of this miserable life of mine. I have tried to enjoy my life; as a man, as a father, as a head of this family alone, and the husband of this ship. I have been struggling with my own problems, my inner demons for too long, but in the end, I have conquered my fears and my setbacks. But I could not defeat one thing, not one thing that is related to this issue." He brings his index finger to his soft, albeit dry and withered lips, only to put it onto the gums of his teeth, digging out a sizy shell of the nuts he just consumed. He would use his broken fingernail as a hook, as a dental floss, to rid himself of that terrible annoyance. His expression would soften as the foreign object left his body. "My knees- albeit not as old as it could be thought, are much too weak than my previous, metal and plastic replacements. Perhaps I haven't grown accustomed to my new predicaments, or perhaps I am much too lazy, as it is with organic beings such as myself, but I cannot stand this one second more. Each and every time I have tried to enjoy my between-meal snack, each and every time I attempted to kill off my small, but growing hunger, the issue of me having to flex my legs and standing up to walk to the damned can of trash, the only place where I can morally throw out my junk like a proper, civilized man, has been tormenting ever since. Oh, the pain! The suffering of my weak tendons and joints, the mental duress of me being forced to do this each and every time I swallow those delicious green things!" He raises his hand up, clenched in a fist. He is holding an empty bag of pistacchios. Robin watches in shock. He doesn't mind her being an audience. "But this shall end- and it shall end now. No longer will I be a slave to this putrid situation, to this terrific event that I have to relive everyday. For today, I will do history! Today, I will change the world itself!" Silence. Unnatural quiet echoed throughout the room, as if all the voices were suddenly squelched. Caleb would throw the package into the trash can, and it would land perfectly in the center, it's noise suppresed by it gently scraping against the plastic bag. He would approach the house suppliance, and grasp it in his mighty, work-marked hands. His heels would gently clatter on the carpet as he changed his direction, soon to be one of the workshop. Without a farewell to his beloved, he would leave. [End of act 1.] -=- Relationships -=- Parents: Caleb Carpenter Siblings: None Any enemies (and why): Caleb Carpenter. Children: None Friends: None Best friend(s): None Love interest (if there is one): None -=- Combat -=- Peaceful or violent: Incredibly violent. Weapon (if applicable): Legs. Style of fighting: It kicks. -=- Others -=- Occupation: It serves it’s function as a trashcan. Current home: Amnesty. Favorite types of food: Trash. Favorite types of drink: Trash water. Hobbies/past times: Eating trash. Guilty pleasures: Trash. Pet peeves: Mere mentions of Caleb Carpenter. Pets: None. Talents: It’s a trashcan. Favorite colors: Black. Favorite type of music: Silence. (This is an actual character.)
