Species: Earth Pony
Mane: Tied back, blue with highlights
Tail: Loose, same as mane.
Eyes: A light blue saphire
Body: Blizzard Blue
Cutie Mark: Roll of parchment
Age (Baby,adult): Young adult
Personality: Typer is a straightforward sort of pony whose answers can be blunt to the point of being harsh. She makes a point of rarely apologising for what she's done, believing that nopony should do things they regret, and if that situation comes up then time is better spent putting it right than saying your sorry. Despite her bold outlook on life, Typer is actually very shy and struggles in groups and often panics in social situations.
Likes: She enjoys listening to the rain tapping on her window, watching marshmallows melt in her hot cocoa in winter, writing alternate history stories, wandering around the stalls and pony watching.
Dislikes: She finds the idea of walking through crowds daunting, dislikes ponies who apologise for no reason, eating tea and biscuits and finding biscuit crumbs at the bottom of the cup when she's finished, the sound of birds waking her up in the morning and gets irritable when something upsets her routine.
History:Typer is the daughter of two pegasi, and her three brothers are all also pegasi. Though her family never directly said anything cruel or blamed her, she has always felt a little guilty that her family had to pack up and leave Cloudsdale after she was born, and views any pegasus she comes across with a mix of jealousy and awe.
As a filly she took to creative writing quickly, and with encouragement from her teacher found her passion in writing alternate history stories which allowed her to blend much love historical figures with elements of fantasy.
Although Typer found her special talent in writing, she was never able to turn it into a career, partly due to a lack of demand for alternate history novels and her own inability to stay motivated. Her only book to be published titled “Hearth's Warming Mix Up”, in which the famous Chancellor Puddinghead, Commander Hurricane and Princess Platinum find peace after a body-switching incident, found very little success and actually lost money after covering the cost of printing.
Typer's main income comes through the various odd jobs she does, usually working at a register or doing inventory on store stock, though she once worked quite well as a private courier. She also gets a small amount off money from previous small investments in start up businesses that have since flourished, but this no where near covers her monthly expenses.
Example RP segment: #3
Though Typer usually enjoyed strolls in the rain, she most definitely made this an exception. She was no longer taking a leisurely stroll and hadn't been for hours, she was indeed lost and this was no gentle rain to pitter-patter on her back and she trotted by, it was nearly a storm. Typer's light cloak had been soaked completely through and weight twice what it did in the morning, and it's hood had to be removed or else it would swamp her face and prevent Typer from seeing anything infront of her. Not that she could see much at all, the rain was so thick through.
At first Typer was sure she was beginning to imagining things but after the small flickering lights refused disappear completely she let out a happy squeak at her fortune, she had stumbled across an inn of some sorts, a haven from this terrible storm.
After reaching the inn's doors Typer realised her mistake, it wasn't an inn, it was in fact a tavern which meant no room to rent for a bit of privacy. She sighed and pushed on the wooden door and was shocked to find that it was surprisingly light when it swung open and slammed loudly against the wall. After taking a step inside Typer realised three things. First, that the inn was already very full, second that everypony in there was bigger than she was and finally that every pair of eyes had been drawn to look at her.
“The door was lighter than it looked,” Typer quietly made her excuse and doubted that many past the first row of ponies and stallions had heard her over the sound of wind and rain. After closing the door with her back hoof, she hung her soaking cloak up on a hook near the entrance and retrieved her purse from the pocket. As she walked to the bar Typer kept her head hanging low, though she needn't any more, the only pony left looking at her was the barkeep she was slowly approaching.
“I'd suggest something hot to warm yerself up, yer pelt is soaked through there, darling,” the barkeep was an elderly unicorn stallion, at least old enough to be a grandfather by now. As he spoke he was cleaning a single just hovering just inches in front of him with a cloth that should really have been cleaned out a while ago. “We do cocoa, but if yer from the town it'll nothing as fancy as the stuff yer used to.” Typer only nodded in response, her voice failing to form. “Three bits, love.” She retrieved four damp bits from her purse, which was now hanging from around her neck from a cord, and placed them on the bar for the barkeep to take, which he did almost instantly. “Thank ye kindly. Duster!” the unicorn turned his head to shout to an unseen pony. “Make up a hot cocoa for our lil' filly here.” As Typer was about to raise objection to being called a filly, she realised that to a stallion of his age, everpony in here was either a filly or a colt.
Looking around at the other patrons, Typer could see no one she recognised from town and wondered where all these strangers could be from, she hadn't wondered that far surely. Many of the ponies in the tavern were either talking or laughing loudly and the combination of new ponies, loud noises and the incessant storm outside had her on edge and it would only take one small provocation to make her leave as fast as her legs would carry her, storm be damned.
Typer turned back to face the bar when she heard the sound of a mug being placed in front on the surface, and she smiled at a brown stallion about her age who she assumed to be duster who had made her drink for her. To her delight, she could see small marshmallows floating in the drink and she hung her snout over the brim of the mug to watch them melt. Maybe she could wait out this storm after all.