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New Character: Rebecca
Jul. 29th, 2010 08:46 amSetting: Various points in history in the Borderlands between England and Scotland; starts in modern times
Game system: Dr. Who, the new one
Players: Alex, Patrick, Kendra, and Me
GM: Piet
Character Background
I was born in Cambridge proper, in 1984, to two academics. My father was at that time a lecturer at King's College, Cambridge, where he was awarded a fellowship while I was still a small child; my mother, who had been a graduate student of his, had given up her academic pursuits in order to raise a family. This endeavour began with my brother, born eleven months and eight days before me. I believe my amiable nature was completely overshadowed by his boisterous egocentrism, which situation did not change for many years.
My early years were dominated by a strange hybrid of religious and academic fervour. My maternal grandmother was, I now believe, quite mad. She insisted on taking my brother and me to her church, an evangelical denomination brought to the UK by American ex-pats and extreme even for Americans, who in my experience tend to prefer extremism as a mode of living. My mother rarely attended, partly because her faith had dried up and partly because it gave her a few hours on Sunday morning to do exactly as she pleased. Nana took us to Sunday School and church, reinforced the fire-and-brimstone message, and succeeded in scaring me thoroughly out of my wits. After her death when I was eight, I ceased attending any church at all, and must steel myself to enter any establishment designated an evangelical denomination; I've pushed myself in recent years to enter other churches when there were no services happening, and I can generally manage to be there without my company noticing my discomfort, but I leave as quickly as I might without giving offense. I'm sure it says something profound about my relationship with my parents that they are completely unaware of this. It likely says something profound about me, too.
My father is the epitome of the absent-minded professor archetype. I believe he barely noticed my mother's attempts to ensure our family's position in the social life of the university; indeed she could often be heard to complain that she could not be certain he knew there were guests for dinner when she never saw him during the day and he refused to carry a phone or answer his desk phone while he was working. I believe he never heard them ring, and was saving face with my mother. In any case, his lack of attention was a factor in their divorce when I was sixteen. Only two people of our acquaintance were at all surprised by this: my father because he was oblivious to all but his work, and my brother, oblivious to all but himself.
My father's work was in history, where he focused on the Etruscans, forerunners of the Roman civilization and endlessly fascinating to him. He speaks, reads, and writes ancient Latin and Greek fluently, to the point where he can switch dialects between them and tell you precisely which century those dialects belong to; given half a chance he will expound upon the difficulty of ascertaining when certain words and phrases became most common. He insisted that my brother and I learn Latin and Greek, though my brother threw off all attempts to make him proficient at either. He has begun to read mathematics, somewhat late to the game, but I believe my father is simply content that he is studying anything at all. I am reasonably proficient in Latin and Greek, which skill has certainly helped in my chosen field; rather than pursuing antiquities and setting up a contest with my father, I chose Newnham College, there to read Scottish and Welsh history. The transition from a Gaelic culture to an English-speaking one is quite fascinating to me, in particular its connection to religion and by extension, to politics - the two cannot be disassociated during the medieval era. My Scots Gaelic is not as proficient as I would like it to be, but my Welsh is passable.
After my Master's degree, I decided not to pursue a doctorate immediately. Truthfully, I was desperate to remove myself from my father's house, and as my mother's flat in London was an even worse choice, it became obvious that I needed a job. The British Museum hired me as a junior curator on the strength of the recommendation of two of my professors, both of whom have interests in Father's more recent work. In the world of museum employment, education comes second only to connection as the deciding factor. I enjoy the job; I work primarily with the Welsh collection, though I'm involved in the Scottish collection peripherally and, due to my facility with dead languages, occasionally find myself aidng with Roman or Greek antiquities as well. I expect I'll return to Cambridge for a doctorate in a few years' time, and I'm hoping my credit with the Museum will be such that they will sponsor me in that endeavour.
Game system: Dr. Who, the new one
Players: Alex, Patrick, Kendra, and Me
GM: Piet
Character Background
I was born in Cambridge proper, in 1984, to two academics. My father was at that time a lecturer at King's College, Cambridge, where he was awarded a fellowship while I was still a small child; my mother, who had been a graduate student of his, had given up her academic pursuits in order to raise a family. This endeavour began with my brother, born eleven months and eight days before me. I believe my amiable nature was completely overshadowed by his boisterous egocentrism, which situation did not change for many years.
My early years were dominated by a strange hybrid of religious and academic fervour. My maternal grandmother was, I now believe, quite mad. She insisted on taking my brother and me to her church, an evangelical denomination brought to the UK by American ex-pats and extreme even for Americans, who in my experience tend to prefer extremism as a mode of living. My mother rarely attended, partly because her faith had dried up and partly because it gave her a few hours on Sunday morning to do exactly as she pleased. Nana took us to Sunday School and church, reinforced the fire-and-brimstone message, and succeeded in scaring me thoroughly out of my wits. After her death when I was eight, I ceased attending any church at all, and must steel myself to enter any establishment designated an evangelical denomination; I've pushed myself in recent years to enter other churches when there were no services happening, and I can generally manage to be there without my company noticing my discomfort, but I leave as quickly as I might without giving offense. I'm sure it says something profound about my relationship with my parents that they are completely unaware of this. It likely says something profound about me, too.
My father is the epitome of the absent-minded professor archetype. I believe he barely noticed my mother's attempts to ensure our family's position in the social life of the university; indeed she could often be heard to complain that she could not be certain he knew there were guests for dinner when she never saw him during the day and he refused to carry a phone or answer his desk phone while he was working. I believe he never heard them ring, and was saving face with my mother. In any case, his lack of attention was a factor in their divorce when I was sixteen. Only two people of our acquaintance were at all surprised by this: my father because he was oblivious to all but his work, and my brother, oblivious to all but himself.
My father's work was in history, where he focused on the Etruscans, forerunners of the Roman civilization and endlessly fascinating to him. He speaks, reads, and writes ancient Latin and Greek fluently, to the point where he can switch dialects between them and tell you precisely which century those dialects belong to; given half a chance he will expound upon the difficulty of ascertaining when certain words and phrases became most common. He insisted that my brother and I learn Latin and Greek, though my brother threw off all attempts to make him proficient at either. He has begun to read mathematics, somewhat late to the game, but I believe my father is simply content that he is studying anything at all. I am reasonably proficient in Latin and Greek, which skill has certainly helped in my chosen field; rather than pursuing antiquities and setting up a contest with my father, I chose Newnham College, there to read Scottish and Welsh history. The transition from a Gaelic culture to an English-speaking one is quite fascinating to me, in particular its connection to religion and by extension, to politics - the two cannot be disassociated during the medieval era. My Scots Gaelic is not as proficient as I would like it to be, but my Welsh is passable.
After my Master's degree, I decided not to pursue a doctorate immediately. Truthfully, I was desperate to remove myself from my father's house, and as my mother's flat in London was an even worse choice, it became obvious that I needed a job. The British Museum hired me as a junior curator on the strength of the recommendation of two of my professors, both of whom have interests in Father's more recent work. In the world of museum employment, education comes second only to connection as the deciding factor. I enjoy the job; I work primarily with the Welsh collection, though I'm involved in the Scottish collection peripherally and, due to my facility with dead languages, occasionally find myself aidng with Roman or Greek antiquities as well. I expect I'll return to Cambridge for a doctorate in a few years' time, and I'm hoping my credit with the Museum will be such that they will sponsor me in that endeavour.
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