Meet ATTICUS. They are TWO THOUSAND, FIVE HUNDRED AND ONE years old and hail from ATHENS, GREECE. Atticus embodies the constellation, APUS. They use HE/HIM pronouns and work as a CURATOR AT CELATHERS. Their faceclaim is JEFF GOLDBLUM.
Monoceros reminds me of floral button-ups, an oddly intense sexual energy, tossing aside an ancient artifact worth millions of dollars to try and find his vape pen, eavesdropping, a confused look, outlandish stories that can’t possibly be true (or can they?), lego sets, shaggy rugs, a freezer full of pizza rolls, weekend trips to Ireland, a Nintendo Wii set up in every room in his enormous house, eavesdropping, having an excuse for literally everything, a concerning amount of novelty coffee mugs. Really concerning. Honestly, should we call someone?, that vaguely familiar face in old photographs spanning centuries.
Atticus is the Tommy Wiseau of the magic world. If he has a last name, he doesn’t know it. No one really knows where he came from, or where he got his wealth, or why he’s based in Polaris Village, or why he’s working at all when he doesn’t really have to. Frankly, his ridiculous rich ass just showed up one day, dropped a couple of thought-to-be long lost magical artifacts from Ancient Greece off at Celathers, told them he wanted a job, and has been here ever since. That was five damn years ago.
Frankly, he doesn’t remember much of his history, either. First of all, he’s old. Second, he’s pumped so many mind altering substances into his body over the years that it’s a miracle he’s made it this far, and honestly, at this point, he’s pretty sure he made some kind of deal with a death that he can’t recall. That would explain a great deal, actually.
He remembers losing his virginity to Plato back in Ancient Greece and vowing never to bottom again, no matter how far the lube technology has come in subsequent years. We’re not sure he’s read more than five (5) books in his lifetime, but he can speak 23 languages fluently enough to get himself laid almost anywhere in the world. He was considered a “Star” in the Roman Empire. Atticus also claims that every statue that exists that is depicted with a large penis is modeled after him, but we can safely assume that’s not actually true. He was a mobster in the 1920s. He’s been a farmer, a clock maker, an accidental architect, a Congressman (… we don’t talk about that), a professional scuba diver… and a lot more. Again, he’s old.
Anyway, here’s the basic takeaway: Atticus was born sometime in Ancient Greece and grew up to be a vibe. Apus, the Bird of Paradise, sponsored him in his 400th year, and it’s a title he’s worn with pride ever since, although all the magic he knows is just stuff he’s picked up over the years. (He knows a lot, but it’s disjointed and messy and primarily just shit that benefits him.) He’s spent most of his life traveling around the world, and through sheer dumb luck, he’s made it over two thousand years without (knowingly) procreating, which I think we can all be thankful for. He has the tendency to just show up where he wants, make a weird splash in the community, and then one day, just… disappear. Honestly, he just gets bored.
He’s had a great deal of experiences in his life. Some good, some bad, but his personality–loud, confident, oddly charming–always ensures those experiences are always stories, at the very least. Atticus has tried almost everything, can get along with almost everyone, and while he’s a fucking idiot, it’s so buried underneath a cloud of charisma that he almost gets away with it. Most of the time.
Apus, the Bird of Paradise, often sponsors someone with a colorful personality who specializes in air magic. Although not a constellation with spectacular benefits by any means, those sponsored by this constellation are particularly gifted at flying.
Ghost Writer: This is likely probably not even someone who likes to write, but Atticus is paying them such an obscene amount of money that they’d be stupid to turn it down. He wants to write an autobiography without actually writing anything, so he’s paying this person to show up whenever he texts them, listen to him prattle on for three hours, and then try to stitch it into some kind of cohesive book. They’ve made no progress and it’s been years.
Historical Figure: Someone else who’s old as hell (1000+) who Atticus has been hanging out with off and on for years. Maybe they travel together, maybe Atticus just shows up on their doorstep every decade or so and stays on their couch for six months, maybe they’re a romantic thing or strictly platonic or maybe they had some kind of massive falling out. Either way, they’ve known each other for so long that they’re probably stuck with each other until one of them dies, for whatever reason.
Fuck Buddies: That’s it, that’s the connect. Atticus is old, but he can get it.
