PLAYER INFORMATION

Name: Manda
Journal: daintily
Contact information: [AIM] sandshrews [plurk] daintily
Other characters: N/A
Do you need an invite code? Nope!

CHARACTER INFORMATION

Name: Dirk Strider
Age: unknown, most likely 15
Subject taught: N/A
Canon: Homestuck
Canon point: Post-Scratch/Alpha timeline, before the start of the alpha session

Personality:

Dirk Strider is, more than likely, unlike anyone you’ve ever had the pleasure (or displeasure) of meeting. He’s just so fuckin’ rad, and nobody else can quite grasp the different layers of irony like he does. Of course, that makes it a bit hard to distinguish sincere gestures from an ironic gesture from a sincere gesture laced with irony, and so on and so forth. Not that he really minds confusing the recipients of these gestures, it’s not really his fault they don’t know the intricacies of Strider irony. He goes all out in his irony and other gestures, perhaps taking things a bit too far but it's the best way to get his point across, especially when he's trying to prove that he's being unironic.

He’s a rather reserved 15 year old, remaining aloof when any other kid would flip out. Dirk’s not really the kind of guy to make a fuss over small shit, and he doesn’t really care about what people say about him. He has better things to do with his time than worry about what such and such person says, and he’s not really the kind of person to hold grudges. He has a hold time holding his guardian’s failures against him, because he supposes that his bro did the best he could, being dead and all.

He has become rather self-sufficient over time, due to the fact his guardian has been dead for quite a long time. (Not that many people really know that, but hey, they don’t ask and they don’t need to know.) He’s also spent a lot of time learning and crafting, creating robots and programs that, while based off a template, were able to grow and think over the years since their creation. While he does take a risk every time he fights with a robot set on kill mode, it’s a calculated risk. He analyzes and observes, and not much really escapes his keen eyes. And if something did escape from his observations, than it wasn’t very important. He likes to be informed of what’s going on, both in the waking reality, and in the worlds of Prospit and Derse. He’s a bit nosy, really.

When it comes to his friends, they might not really understand him or his gifts or his motives, but like he’s told Jane, true irony is rooted in sincerity. He does care about them, even acting a bit like a caregiver, often chasing down a sleepwalking Roxy. He tries to offer his friends advice, and he tries to keep them from being too skeptical or too gullible.

Weapon:

Name: Golden Ratio

Form: A long, thin, single edged sword. It is similar in style to a katana, but without the curvature typical to that style of sword.

Upgrades:

• Sleight of Hand
  
• Stealth
  
• Confusion
  
• Dual-Wielding
  
• Decoy

Lost memories:

• His older brother’s existence (and lack thereof)
  
• The proper way to use a screwdriver.
  
• how to program cognitive algorithms
  
• the names and chumhandles of Roxy, Jane, and Jake
  
• the definition of irony
  
• how to operate a camera
  
• that he has created many, many robots, even one that looked like him
  
• how to sew
  
• that Lil Cal is his puppet, and not a real person
  
• His conversations with his auto-responder

Sample:

There was probably a better way he could be spending his time. Something better than spending his afternoons leaning over a table, screwdriver in hand and a pile of oil stained towels to his right. He could do something else, he could do things that wouldn’t earn him odd stares, but fuck that noise. He enjoyed making robots. He enjoyed crafting them from; they were like his children. Children that he fought with and ended up destroying, so maybe that was a weird analogy.

He leaned back, placing the screw driver on the table gently and reaching to wipe his hands on one of the lesser stained towels. He rolled his shoulders, adjusting his glasses with his wrist. (No matter how much he wiped his hands, he couldn’t get rid of all the oil on his hands, and stained shades were a terrible thing. Especially when said shades contained a cognitive being and a computer he used.)
Resting his chin in his palm, he stared at the insides of the robot’s head. He needed to craft a face for the robot, and he was at a total loss. Should he fashion the robot after one of his friends? He had made a robot that looked like Jake before, but it had been so strange to fight so that idea was ruled out. He chewed the inside of his lip, thinking.

He reached for a sheet of thin metal, and he began to shape it into the face of the guardian he had never met. The game was going to reunite them, but not quite. It would be his bro but not his bro, and he was trying to imagine how he would be. Would he be serious and poker-faced like the bro Dirk had seen in interviews? It was hard to envision how the other Strider would act, and he quite frankly didn’t know if there was even a point in wondering. There was no guarantee that the game, whenever Dirk and his friends were ever to play it, would reunite them with their not-really family.

But it was okay. Dirk was used to being on his own. Not alone, because he had his Auto Responder and his robots and his friends, even if they were miles away. It was fine if they didn’t meet with their guardians, and it would be fine if they did. For now, all he would concern himself with was the bridge of the Davebot’s nose.