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childeric: (helsinki 08)

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Created on 2009-05-03 14:55:35 (#244816), last updated 2009-05-03 (416 weeks ago)

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Name:childeric
Birthdate:Jan 31
Location:United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland
Most of the time, Simon is a gently-spoken, diffident young academic, spending his time in the harmless, if slightly tweedy, study of early medieval social and economic history. He is quiet, respectable, self-effacing and rather shy.

Very few people know about the terrible secret that he carries, a mystery which only the strongest of mind could stand to hear without the gravest peril to their very sanity. Are you sitting comfortably? Then we'll begin...

In his irresponsible youth, Simon had fallen in with a bad crowd (well, actually, they were quite a nice bunch of really enormously well brought-up young people who knew which knife and fork to use and who wouldn't dream of calling a napkin a 'serviette' or calling the mid-day meal 'dinner'. They'd be terribly disappointed to think of themselves like that, though, so let's just say, for politeness's sake, and to make sure that no-one gets upset, that they were a low-down nest of hell-raisers and ne'er-do-wells, sunk in DEBAUCHERY, SIN, and every kind of VICE).

One dark and ill-famed night, Simon and his cronies were looking for yet another cheap but salacious thrill to satiate their dangerously sensual appetites and titillate their already over-stimulated minds. They followed (and let their terrible experience be a lesson to us all never to emulate their awful example) the instructions contained in a backwards Satanic message on one of those 'heavy metal' records, and summoned a hornèd rock'n'roll-loving demon lord straight from HELL!.

Nobody really knows what happened next, but when he awoke the next day, Simon, though physically unharmed, was Different. Changed. Warped.

From that day forward, as he grew up, those around Simon gradually realised that there was something faintly disturbing about him, a certain indefinable something that made them shudder nervously and turn away when he spoke to them for too long. There were those who said that this was nothing which a little more attention to basic personal hygiene wouldn't solve and he'd be fine once his skin cleared up and he got himself a nice girlfriend, poor lad. Others, though, those who had heard the muttered rumours and thought they knew about his dark past, had an inkling that this was something far greater and more horrifying. Still, even they never realised the full fell truth...

For in fact Simon had acquired the EVIL REPTILIAN ROCK POWERS of the DARK ONE! He can pose about in leather trousers, he can swig Jack and coke in the full belief that this is cool and not a rather hackneyed cliché, he can wave his hair around in a reasonably impressive, if somewhat alarming, sort of way. Now, whenever the need arises, all Simon has to do is find a quiet place with lots of mirrors and preferably some reasonably flattering lighting and make a hasty 3-hour change ('Yes, yes, I'm hurrying, but it's vital to get my make-up just right, don't you see? We'll be there soon, anyway!') into his special rock star outfit, and then he can use his amazing abilities to battle dullness, dowdiness and false metal wherever they may be found.

The terrible story of his desperate double life is something that Simon has always concealed, a secret shame which he knows would drive him from decent society if ever it became known. And that'd be awful, really, wouldn't it? So now that you have heard just a little of his sorry tale, read his journal with the tolerance and understanding it really needs...

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