Intelligent "Intel" Design
Mane: Short, messy, has not been kept well
Tail:Short, messy, even worse than mane
Eyes: Hazel, tired
Body: Thin through lack of decent food
Cutie Mark: A sphere with the smallest cylinder that can contain it.
Age (Baby, filly, adult): Adult
Personality: Eternally tired, easily irritated, not very social, but can put his mind to a task with great determination.
Likes: Functionality, design, logic, math, science, magic
Dislikes: Irrationality, close-mindedness, willful ignorance
History: Born into a family of designers and engineers, Intel wanted to transcend the past achievements of his family (of which there were many). After being inspired by an accident at the gifted school for unicorns, he scribbled down a design for a magic 'sponge' which could be used to absorb excess magic in case a unicorn loses control of his/her powers. This formed his cutie mark, and an interest in designs that manipulated magic.
Unfortunately for Intel, his desire to construct structures that interacted with the 'natural flow of magic' developed into an obsession. After many missed meals and sleepless nights, Intel finally devised the Ambient Magic engine, which was criticised by Intel's father as 'completely useless, quite impractical, and would probably explode, destroying all of Canterlot. Wait, let me just do some calculations...'
Calculations were made, and when they revealed that running the machine also ran the risk of causing instantaneous destruction in a fifty thousand mile radius (a one-in-fifty chance), it was unanimously decided that Intel needed a holiday, fast
, to get him onto something, anything
else. So he was unceremoniously booted out of Canterlot, so he could use his talents to do something other than create highly dangerous devices.
Despite this, messing about with magic hadn't completely left his mind...
RP Sample:The pegasi had certainly chosen the right weather. There was a breeze soft enough to be gentle, yet strong enough to be dramatic, flower petals caressing the air. As they were on extremely short acquaintance, she could have asked to set the perfect scene beforehoof for all Intel knew. But sadly, even the perfect stage couldn't make up for mediocre actors. It was obvious that she had tried her best, planned out every last word to their perfect detail. Through the right tongue, the confession may have melted even the heart of the coldest windigo. As it was, Intel could only smile in pity as she stumbled through her sentences, impededed terribly by her nervousness. Apprehension also choked the scholarly noble as well. There was no formula, no theorem to apply. No figures that could be put through equations to provide an adequate solution. There were only emotions, which were far, far more unkempt.
"Well..." he began, trying to form a sentence from the thoughts rushing through his head, "That was certainly a courageous attempt. Moreso than I could ever do at any rate. Um...it's just that you seem to have me at a disadvantage, miss. You appear to know far more about me than I do about you. Therefore, how can I make an accurate judgement? Did you expect me to devote as much time to you as you did to me? I don't think we've ever talked, aside from the most fleeting of glimpses and gestures."
He said all this in a perfectly matter of fact tone, only pausing at the confessor's downcast expression. "I am just stating that I have little to no foundation on which to base any feelings towards you. The problem with secretive admiration lies in the secrecy."
Any aura that the confessor had hoped to invoke had well and truly faded from the setting in the awkward silence that followed. After a hurried and mumbled apology, she had left, leaving Intel alone with the breeze. He contemplated the fact that if the confessor had chosen to actually meet him in a, well, normal
way, it would have gone more smoothly. He would have probably accepted a small date or something after the whole confession, so that he could have gotten to know her. It was unfortunate that her courage only went so far, really.
Oh, that was right. He was running late for a lecture. Confession soon forgotten, Intel raced towards his immediate future.