Post by nevermore9 on Oct 13, 2009 17:12:02 GMT -8
Name: James
Nickname: He will sometimes go on the alias of Eric Morgen. When that identity is revealed to be false (usually after quite a distance of time), the people that were subject to the deception will readily call him by 'Eric'.
Age: Nineteen going on being too poor to afford a twentieth candle.
Is this character a teacher?: Nope.
Power: James is proficient in psychokinesis - he has gotten to the point where he can readily focus on any one person and get a pool of thoughts from which to work with from a recent time period along with a direct stream of their consciousness. With this compendium of mental material, he can alter the way a person thinks and believes at the time, able to manipulate thought and emotion through subtraction, addition, or simple bending of the component in question.
Along with this, James is also a little more than clairvoyant - when he dreams, he usually ends up occupying the mind of another sleeper, his nightmarish contortions following along most of the time. The majority of occurrences leave him clueless as to whether he is actually dreaming or in some grave reality, but when he becomes aware of the situation he can move the dream along just as an artist would a painting.
James, however, has the invaluable power of restraint; he rarely ever dabbles in the minds of others unless he is absolutely sure he wont damage them. Either that, or he just stops caring.
History/family: James wasn't born into a quaint little village with jolly neighbors or frolicking children celebrating the coming of the first seasonal snow. He wasn't born into a family that would feed a child what every magazine said was the correct crap to force down their throat. He most definitely wasn't born into riches of any kind.
No - his first day of life, his first breath, even, was one of the pungent winter air laden with all manner of carcinogens coupled with a biting cold that a blanket wouldn't be able to warm. It was only about a hundred breaths of the same archetype later that this infant whose skin blended seamlessly with the coming whiteout was left to his own fate upon the steps of an orphanage whose sign had managed to lose next to all of its letters; his parents had to try pretty damn hard to be rid of the blighted youth.
It was out of the kindness of the founder's heart that he wasn't forsaken of life as well as all the other amenities that came along with it. It is never a simple matter, no matter which sinner or saint that you may have, to raise a child - James was living proof of this. He committed his first felony at the age of six when he burned a florist's shoppe to the ground. When he was confronted about this, he simply flashed his overly-large emerald eyes and said that he had no clue he had done wrong. Absorbed in the spectacle of the youth's innocence, all overlooked that little grin on his face that told the story of every little pleasure that the arson had afforded him - the same grin that would grow with him throughout his life.
James' life played out like this for a long while, his antics giving each orphanage a reason to turn him into the hands of the next without so much as a look back. 'What harm could come of it?' became the worst question to ask around him. It was when he turned twelve that he had his first experience with his mental powers. He was, at the time, passed out on his bed after making his way out of his temporary home on the west side of the metropolis and taking a bottle of what tasted to be rum and heavy cough-syrup from an unsuspecting vagabond and consuming it much too quickly for anyone at his weight-class. This drug-induced delirium paved the path for his conscience to drift elsewhere; elsewhere ended up being the dream of a jailer whom James was particularly familiar with; the poor sod didn't realize the harm that could come from an afternoon nap. The details aren't clear, even to James, but what came of it was a father of three who lead a pious life of servitude to the laws of man and God alike being placed in a permenant padded residence with an off-white jacket as his ever-present fashion accessory.
James' time at the orphanage became so frustratingly finite - time, of all things, was killing something inside of him. He knew that even though he developed the power read every mind behind every face and every mask in front of every mind, the only life he ever knew was within those faux-brick walls, yearning for a freedom that he really and truly didn't know that he wanted.
And then the invitation came, stamped and sealed - Mountain View Academy. The prospect of a dorm and cafeteria food sent an unsettling yet pleasurable tremor throughout his body, easily causing him to overlook the fact that he didn't even have a last name for these people to find him. He believed that he was to play with the cards he was dealt, and it would seem that he had just come upon his flush.
Appearance: James naturally has hair as black as month-old soot, the tips having been altered to send off a forge-heated steel red that caught the eyes of whosoever would be so unfortunate to have him in their peripheral vision. The reason this would be, as stated, 'unfortunate' is due to the undeniable veil that this hair creates between his handsome, almost princely marble features and the world. Many have gone years without actually seeing his shattered tourmaline eyes; what a great friend you are when you don't know your buddy's eye color.
James has the build of a malnourished brawler, his muscles taught over a frame that is quite obviously a few pounds under weight. He makes up for this lack of mass with an all-encompassing leather trench-coat that was hand-sewn by a particularly trusted 'friend' of his, the interior of the monolith to all that is large having been deliberately lined with seemingly infinite pockets that hold things James isn't even sure he put there. He has a pair of midnight-dyed boots, aptly named 'The Twins', which were also crafted in the same fashion as the coat.
Personality: James is not enigmatic because he doesn't choose to reveal details; quite the opposite, in fact. People are often confused as to whether he is speaking the truth or not because of just how readily his lies camouflage with validity. His view of life remains to live it before it outlives you, yet he still shows fear of independence. He is, at times, quite frustrated and easily agitated, which is usually brought on by external thought headaches most easily envisioned as red-hot nails driven by the unrelenting hammer of the mind. He tries to maintain the facade of being the mischievous trickster with selfish intent; with all actions there are a purpose, as he, being accustomed to constant transport from one home to another, fears to gain a strong relationship with anyone he doesn't want to have to abruptly break away from.
In-character Sample: " Time doesn't work on anyone's schedule - it expects everyone else's life to revolve around it, centered in on this cruel concept that is disprovable at best. No matter how much we try, we cannot avoid it, we cannot alter it, and we most certainly can't reason with it worth a damn. And sometimes, time is just plain cruel. James was trapped with time in one of its darker moods. Or lighter, depending on which perspective one is taking.
White. James saw utter whiteness, completely snow-blind within his own lids as the sun made its morning rounds and soon reached a pinnacle in the sky, attacking the jeweled gaze beneath the thin membrane with unrelenting force, the usual veil of two-toned hair swept aside by a stray breeze in the last night's gale. He wasn't going to give in so easy to the solar bombardment. In his delirium between consciousness and dreams, he tossed his head feebly while waving at the sun to go away and bother someone else, his coat wrapping the majority of his body in an utterly dark shield. He only wished it hadn't missed his eyes. He also wished that he had taken a simpler life and worked at a peanut factory - two impossible odds in one minute.
When worse came to worst, James found himself blinking out a few stray rays that managed to delve into the shadow of the awning of the house he found himself under, the fog-ridden town before him blurred by both the traveling vapor and his own tiredness. He let out an explicitly long and ridiculously loud yawn that traveled in the air ominously before dying out and becoming nothing more than a memory for a few passing mice. He used his left hand to smooth back his hair and then ruffle it about until it once again hid his statuesque features. He continued on to rub the sand from his eyes and roll his shoulders until his arms would work at full capacity.
Morning, sleeping beauty, Liala called from directly beside him...well, she was inside of him, but she was kind enough to make it sound like she was calling from beside him. He stared down to his right side at the black tube that held his friend, gift-wrapped in a silk of the finest quality, darker than night cared to go and day cared to see. He didn't respond, instead gathering her under his right arm and making a very hard-fought struggle to his feet, feeling as if he had rust within every bone of his body.
When he proceeded out from under the awning, the place proved to be a much different one from the dreary, hellish storm of the previous night. It was all fog and water-fat grass, the surrounding buildings barely visible in the white banks. It was also much different because his bike no longer was sitting in the same place it had been the night before. Where it should have been was only a few puddles and a little bit of run-off oil. He could care a little less - he knew this place was supposed to be occupied by both the scum of Hell and Earth. Besides, he had stolen it anyways.
His concentration on making excuses why not to care about a vehicle being weighted off from him was broken by the looming sound of voices down below. He headed down the east side of the hill that the manor he had slept under was supported by, the sloshing grass and mud being both a prominent smell and sound. When he reached the streets, the fog cleared enough for him to see two men engaged in what seemed to be a mock fight. Well, not men - one seemed to be able to manipulate the fog while the other was going on about how he was such a powerful person - one had to be a Demon. The other one was quite likely an asshole.
He watched this go on until the Demon decided to lay down and go off about how so many Demons in Hell were stuck up and rude. Finally, someone I can agree with! James immediately felt the disabling shock of Liala's energy run down his leg, forcing him onto one knee as his whole body began to jolt with searing pain. He dropped her onto the grass while resisting the urge to growl. When the pain ceased, a red sparked wrapped in whirling black clouds jumped from his foot to her tube and simply dispersed about it and sunk in. The onset of Demonic energy withdrawal hit James like a burdening cross, his body not refusing to move, but losing the will to. It faded after a few seconds, giving him the ability to move his head up while he swore under his breath about not taking back what he had said. That's when he noticed the girl.
Silver hair trailed down her back, her eyes as gray as the mist and fog surrounding this dreadfully miserable little town, her worn clothes not matching her pristine features quite so well. James snickered to himself. Five bucks that she's a virgin. Girls like that just didn't come along - she couldn't have looked better, her hand wrapped around a knife and her body ready for a fight even if her words said otherwise. He reached out and grabbed Liala once again, her aura haughty and uncaring for James' sudden fascination. He proceeded down the little hill, barely retaining use of his legs as he did so. He reached the bottom, about fifty yards from the three people. He sat down in the grass, his coat becoming a water-proof mat between his jeans and the soaked ground, extending his left leg out while his right bent into a comfortable position. He braced himself with his arms and stared out at the group, the fog slightly hiding him from view. He removed a rather bruised apple from one of the pockets in his coat and began to take his breakfast with a show. " - Excerpt from a whole other RP where James was a little 'different' of a person.
Code Words: Back to the future.
Nickname: He will sometimes go on the alias of Eric Morgen. When that identity is revealed to be false (usually after quite a distance of time), the people that were subject to the deception will readily call him by 'Eric'.
Age: Nineteen going on being too poor to afford a twentieth candle.
Is this character a teacher?: Nope.
Power: James is proficient in psychokinesis - he has gotten to the point where he can readily focus on any one person and get a pool of thoughts from which to work with from a recent time period along with a direct stream of their consciousness. With this compendium of mental material, he can alter the way a person thinks and believes at the time, able to manipulate thought and emotion through subtraction, addition, or simple bending of the component in question.
Along with this, James is also a little more than clairvoyant - when he dreams, he usually ends up occupying the mind of another sleeper, his nightmarish contortions following along most of the time. The majority of occurrences leave him clueless as to whether he is actually dreaming or in some grave reality, but when he becomes aware of the situation he can move the dream along just as an artist would a painting.
James, however, has the invaluable power of restraint; he rarely ever dabbles in the minds of others unless he is absolutely sure he wont damage them. Either that, or he just stops caring.
History/family: James wasn't born into a quaint little village with jolly neighbors or frolicking children celebrating the coming of the first seasonal snow. He wasn't born into a family that would feed a child what every magazine said was the correct crap to force down their throat. He most definitely wasn't born into riches of any kind.
No - his first day of life, his first breath, even, was one of the pungent winter air laden with all manner of carcinogens coupled with a biting cold that a blanket wouldn't be able to warm. It was only about a hundred breaths of the same archetype later that this infant whose skin blended seamlessly with the coming whiteout was left to his own fate upon the steps of an orphanage whose sign had managed to lose next to all of its letters; his parents had to try pretty damn hard to be rid of the blighted youth.
It was out of the kindness of the founder's heart that he wasn't forsaken of life as well as all the other amenities that came along with it. It is never a simple matter, no matter which sinner or saint that you may have, to raise a child - James was living proof of this. He committed his first felony at the age of six when he burned a florist's shoppe to the ground. When he was confronted about this, he simply flashed his overly-large emerald eyes and said that he had no clue he had done wrong. Absorbed in the spectacle of the youth's innocence, all overlooked that little grin on his face that told the story of every little pleasure that the arson had afforded him - the same grin that would grow with him throughout his life.
James' life played out like this for a long while, his antics giving each orphanage a reason to turn him into the hands of the next without so much as a look back. 'What harm could come of it?' became the worst question to ask around him. It was when he turned twelve that he had his first experience with his mental powers. He was, at the time, passed out on his bed after making his way out of his temporary home on the west side of the metropolis and taking a bottle of what tasted to be rum and heavy cough-syrup from an unsuspecting vagabond and consuming it much too quickly for anyone at his weight-class. This drug-induced delirium paved the path for his conscience to drift elsewhere; elsewhere ended up being the dream of a jailer whom James was particularly familiar with; the poor sod didn't realize the harm that could come from an afternoon nap. The details aren't clear, even to James, but what came of it was a father of three who lead a pious life of servitude to the laws of man and God alike being placed in a permenant padded residence with an off-white jacket as his ever-present fashion accessory.
James' time at the orphanage became so frustratingly finite - time, of all things, was killing something inside of him. He knew that even though he developed the power read every mind behind every face and every mask in front of every mind, the only life he ever knew was within those faux-brick walls, yearning for a freedom that he really and truly didn't know that he wanted.
And then the invitation came, stamped and sealed - Mountain View Academy. The prospect of a dorm and cafeteria food sent an unsettling yet pleasurable tremor throughout his body, easily causing him to overlook the fact that he didn't even have a last name for these people to find him. He believed that he was to play with the cards he was dealt, and it would seem that he had just come upon his flush.
Appearance: James naturally has hair as black as month-old soot, the tips having been altered to send off a forge-heated steel red that caught the eyes of whosoever would be so unfortunate to have him in their peripheral vision. The reason this would be, as stated, 'unfortunate' is due to the undeniable veil that this hair creates between his handsome, almost princely marble features and the world. Many have gone years without actually seeing his shattered tourmaline eyes; what a great friend you are when you don't know your buddy's eye color.
James has the build of a malnourished brawler, his muscles taught over a frame that is quite obviously a few pounds under weight. He makes up for this lack of mass with an all-encompassing leather trench-coat that was hand-sewn by a particularly trusted 'friend' of his, the interior of the monolith to all that is large having been deliberately lined with seemingly infinite pockets that hold things James isn't even sure he put there. He has a pair of midnight-dyed boots, aptly named 'The Twins', which were also crafted in the same fashion as the coat.
Personality: James is not enigmatic because he doesn't choose to reveal details; quite the opposite, in fact. People are often confused as to whether he is speaking the truth or not because of just how readily his lies camouflage with validity. His view of life remains to live it before it outlives you, yet he still shows fear of independence. He is, at times, quite frustrated and easily agitated, which is usually brought on by external thought headaches most easily envisioned as red-hot nails driven by the unrelenting hammer of the mind. He tries to maintain the facade of being the mischievous trickster with selfish intent; with all actions there are a purpose, as he, being accustomed to constant transport from one home to another, fears to gain a strong relationship with anyone he doesn't want to have to abruptly break away from.
In-character Sample: " Time doesn't work on anyone's schedule - it expects everyone else's life to revolve around it, centered in on this cruel concept that is disprovable at best. No matter how much we try, we cannot avoid it, we cannot alter it, and we most certainly can't reason with it worth a damn. And sometimes, time is just plain cruel. James was trapped with time in one of its darker moods. Or lighter, depending on which perspective one is taking.
White. James saw utter whiteness, completely snow-blind within his own lids as the sun made its morning rounds and soon reached a pinnacle in the sky, attacking the jeweled gaze beneath the thin membrane with unrelenting force, the usual veil of two-toned hair swept aside by a stray breeze in the last night's gale. He wasn't going to give in so easy to the solar bombardment. In his delirium between consciousness and dreams, he tossed his head feebly while waving at the sun to go away and bother someone else, his coat wrapping the majority of his body in an utterly dark shield. He only wished it hadn't missed his eyes. He also wished that he had taken a simpler life and worked at a peanut factory - two impossible odds in one minute.
When worse came to worst, James found himself blinking out a few stray rays that managed to delve into the shadow of the awning of the house he found himself under, the fog-ridden town before him blurred by both the traveling vapor and his own tiredness. He let out an explicitly long and ridiculously loud yawn that traveled in the air ominously before dying out and becoming nothing more than a memory for a few passing mice. He used his left hand to smooth back his hair and then ruffle it about until it once again hid his statuesque features. He continued on to rub the sand from his eyes and roll his shoulders until his arms would work at full capacity.
Morning, sleeping beauty, Liala called from directly beside him...well, she was inside of him, but she was kind enough to make it sound like she was calling from beside him. He stared down to his right side at the black tube that held his friend, gift-wrapped in a silk of the finest quality, darker than night cared to go and day cared to see. He didn't respond, instead gathering her under his right arm and making a very hard-fought struggle to his feet, feeling as if he had rust within every bone of his body.
When he proceeded out from under the awning, the place proved to be a much different one from the dreary, hellish storm of the previous night. It was all fog and water-fat grass, the surrounding buildings barely visible in the white banks. It was also much different because his bike no longer was sitting in the same place it had been the night before. Where it should have been was only a few puddles and a little bit of run-off oil. He could care a little less - he knew this place was supposed to be occupied by both the scum of Hell and Earth. Besides, he had stolen it anyways.
His concentration on making excuses why not to care about a vehicle being weighted off from him was broken by the looming sound of voices down below. He headed down the east side of the hill that the manor he had slept under was supported by, the sloshing grass and mud being both a prominent smell and sound. When he reached the streets, the fog cleared enough for him to see two men engaged in what seemed to be a mock fight. Well, not men - one seemed to be able to manipulate the fog while the other was going on about how he was such a powerful person - one had to be a Demon. The other one was quite likely an asshole.
He watched this go on until the Demon decided to lay down and go off about how so many Demons in Hell were stuck up and rude. Finally, someone I can agree with! James immediately felt the disabling shock of Liala's energy run down his leg, forcing him onto one knee as his whole body began to jolt with searing pain. He dropped her onto the grass while resisting the urge to growl. When the pain ceased, a red sparked wrapped in whirling black clouds jumped from his foot to her tube and simply dispersed about it and sunk in. The onset of Demonic energy withdrawal hit James like a burdening cross, his body not refusing to move, but losing the will to. It faded after a few seconds, giving him the ability to move his head up while he swore under his breath about not taking back what he had said. That's when he noticed the girl.
Silver hair trailed down her back, her eyes as gray as the mist and fog surrounding this dreadfully miserable little town, her worn clothes not matching her pristine features quite so well. James snickered to himself. Five bucks that she's a virgin. Girls like that just didn't come along - she couldn't have looked better, her hand wrapped around a knife and her body ready for a fight even if her words said otherwise. He reached out and grabbed Liala once again, her aura haughty and uncaring for James' sudden fascination. He proceeded down the little hill, barely retaining use of his legs as he did so. He reached the bottom, about fifty yards from the three people. He sat down in the grass, his coat becoming a water-proof mat between his jeans and the soaked ground, extending his left leg out while his right bent into a comfortable position. He braced himself with his arms and stared out at the group, the fog slightly hiding him from view. He removed a rather bruised apple from one of the pockets in his coat and began to take his breakfast with a show. " - Excerpt from a whole other RP where James was a little 'different' of a person.
Code Words: Back to the future.