Evan Coleman
Jul 5, 2013 4:24:35 GMT -5
Post by Evan Coleman on Jul 5, 2013 4:24:35 GMT -5
[/i][/size][/right]The Basics
Name: Evan Coleman
Nicknames: None
Age: 22
Orientation: Doesn't categorize himself.
Desired Rank/Job: Counselor/Therapist, but also willing to work in Housing or Recruitment
Powers: Empathic: Evan can read and experience the emotions of others, as well as get a feel for the roots of their surface and (given time of analysis) deeper emotions. He cannot read individual thoughts or collect knowledge from another person. An example: He might be able to sense a student's sexual arousal intertwined with apprehension, but would not be able to tell that they were planning on asking their crush out for prom. He will occasionally lose control over his ability to observe emotions without experiencing them, leading him to become susceptible to feeling the emotional experiences of anyone nearby at great intensity. If he observes or experiences intense emotions for a prolonged period of time, it can overload his power, resulting in a few hours of hangover-esque headaches and an inability to feel or empathize with anything feelings-related.
Play By: Ashton Kucher
The Details
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Brown
Any Piercings? None
Any Tattoos? None
Any Scars? None
General Appearance: Evan is a tall (6'1'') lanky individual of lightly tanned skin, hovering at the border between slender and just plain skinny. He has dabbled with multiple hair colors and lengths over the years, but has lately resumed being a slightly long-haired brunette, with eyes to match. The predominant impression one receives from his face is his nose, which might look distinguished were it a tad smaller, but instead only manages to be slightly too big for the rest of his face. Evan shaves on a strict "When I remember to" schedule, and as such tends to range from being clean-shaven to having a slightly obtrusive stubble.
When in a casual environment, Evan tends to wear loose-fitting gray or black jeans and single-colored t-shirts. His greatest fashion efforts tend to go into his jackets: Despite a learned hatred of all things shopping-related, Evan will go out of his way to shop for a really stylish jacket or hoodie. He tends to rotate through these frequently, but his default tends to be a black light sports jacket with a gray geometric design on one sleeve. Under formal circumstances (barring a set dress code) he will seek refuge in black slacks, a white collared shirt, and (if the situation warrants) a pink tie with flamenco dancers that he borrowed from an old roommate and never got around to returning.
Evan's default expression appears dour to those that don't know him, but most days will find him with a mild grin or a full-blown smile over some event or another that has put him in a good mood. His smiles are goofy, all-too-toothy, and fully display the gap in his two front teeth left by his youthful contempt for his post-orthodontia retainer.
Personality: Evan is a roiling bundle of snark, timidity, and melancholy. In general conversation he is garrulous (perhaps too much so), usually because he is either excited about the topic in question or compensating for nervousness from speaking to strangers. He is a good listener, but can be very opinionated about certain subjects and will often jump into them at a moment's notice. When socially anxious or excited, he will often take refuge in vocal impressions, pun-filled humor, or speaking song lyrics in a deadpan tone. He is one that will let loose a hundred jokes if only ten of them hit the mark (although his ratio is usually better than that).
As a default, Evan is quiet: he is a glutton for aesthetic experience, be that a picturesque vista or the taste of a powerful emotion. His power has only enhanced that quality in him, but emotions are hardly his only fare: contemplative music, meat cooked bloody, dark beer, black box theater . . . there is no medium he does not have an appetite for. He is a compulsive worker when on the clock, but can lapse into extreme sloth and frivolity when work is done.
Evan believes strongly in the human experience, and the reckless pursuit of happiness. He believes it is the mandate of all of humanity to be as happy as possible, and thus strives to assist himself and others on their path by word or deed. This can manifest in an inordinate and often overly intrusive concern with the well-being of others: it's nice to be asked if you're all right, but most get annoyed by the fifth compulsive repetition of "are you SURE? Can I help with anything?"
Every now and again, Evan lapses into depression and extreme insecurity about his own self-worth. This can often lead to an isolationist and apathetic attitude for a few days, and he usually avoids going out, interacting with others, or doing anything at all during these times.
Your Vices
Likes:
Theater (preferentially Shakespearian, black box, and with an abashed love of musicals)
Poetry (writing and reading, prefers Wallace Stevens and Dylan Thomas)
Meat, preferably beef
Raw spinach and pineapple salad (NO DRESSING)
Literary works by passionate writers bent on telling the world what is wrong with it (i.e. George Orwell, Sinclair Lewis, etc). Avid Harry Potter fan.
Anything by Dostoevsky, Kazantzakis, Tolstoy, Flann O'Brien, Henry James, or Roddy Doyle
All things Sherlock Holmes
So-bad-its-good movies (i.e. The Room, Plan 9 From Outer Space, etc)
Game of Thrones (the show, and will gladly remind everyone that he HASN'T READ THE BOOKS SO NO SPOILERS*)
Battlestar Galactica (the more recent incarnation. Wasn't crazy about the wrap-up)
Most 90's music, purely for retrospective purposes
Ambient music (i.e. Sigur Ros, Isis, etc)
Classics from the 60's-90's
Hiking/Running
Most superhero movies
Emotions (experienced through others): Transcendental calm, goofy happiness, breakup melancholy, opinionated righteous fury, desperately repressed arousal
*OOC: I have read the books, so if you want to start to spoil something for comedic effect, go straight for it!
Dislikes:
Being idle while at work
Working during idle time
Most electronic music
Excessive "isms"
French art house movies
Any movie with Zooey Deschanel (minus 500 Days of Summer) or Charlton Heston (minus Planet of the Apes)
Lost (SIX YEARS OF HIS LIFE, WASTED)
Most competitive sports/games
Emotions (experienced through others): Jealousy, free-floating anxiety, vindictive happiness, stress, romantic love
Strengths:
Telling stories and jokes
Listening
Dancing like nobody's watching
Acting
Planning events
Analyzing and deconstructing the emotional content of others
Weaknesses: Getting through the day on less than 8 hours of sleep
Social cues/knowing when to shut up
Hand-eye coordination
Driving (walks whenever possible)
Confrontation
Analyzing and addressing any of his own emotional issues
Forming lasting relationships with others
Fears: His father discovering he's a meta, relapsing into self-destructive behavior, having the word get out that he at one point read the whole Twilight series.
Secret: Though he won't admit it even to himself, a good portion of his do-gooder attitude towards other people is the direct result of his ability to read and experience the emotions of others, rather than concern for his fellow man.
Family Ties
Father: Dr. Daniel Coleman (Slightly strained relationship, biologist, abashedly anti-meta, unaware that his son is a meta)
Mother: Ann Francesca-Coleman (She that keepeth the family running, middle school teacher, unaware that her son is a meta)
Siblings: Julia Coleman (Brilliant writer/filmmaker, currently in college, only member of the family to know that Evan is a meta)
Any Other Important People:Pets count Toni (Antonia) Ludstadt (childhood friend, teacher in training, knows that he's a meta), Eliza Hirano (childhood friend, musician, knows that he's a meta), Abel (doggie!)
History
Evan Coleman was brought into the world in a taxi by the combined ministrations of his father and an unfortunate cab driver, as David Bowie's "Changes" gave background to his mother's screams. His parents had just moved to San Francisco in 1991, and were still filling in several of their life's necessary details when Evan was brought bouncing into the world. It was in part due to this that Evan lacked a television set throughout most of his childhood, and therefore was essentially forced to become a voracious reader for lack of any other substantial entertainment.
As he progressed through childhood, Evan made relatively few friends and showed a great deal of timidity towards strangers. He was not an expressive boy to anyone outside of his father and mother (and, 4 years after his birth, his younger sister). One of his teachers noted that, during recess, he would tend to pace the periphery of the schoolyard rather than join in the games of other children. This would change only in fits and starts over the course of his youth. He would gradually make some friends (including Toni and Eliza, who he would basically consider sisters by the end of elementary school), but his family remained the only ones to see his chatterbox garrulous side with any frequency.
So it likely would have gone on had he not had the (mis?)fortune of manifesting his powers in the first few weeks of the seventh grade, a sensation akin to having a bomb with a payload of concentrated schizophrenia dropped in his head. Evan would spend the day in a haze of conflicting emotions, alternately laughing, crying, roaring, and quietly looking out of the window. School counseling sessions (mandated by the well-meaning but alas! underfunded SF public school system) helped not in the slightest. He tried a panoply of preventatives in secret to ground his feelings, including skipping class, self-harm, and (in one memorably embarrassing episode) stealing from his dad's stash of beers, which merely resulted in a vomit-stained carpet hastily cleaned with an excess of 409. Amidst all of this, he found himself stuck in a feedback loop of disappointment and anxiety from his parents, which in turn made him disappointed and anxious, which exacerbated his parents' worry, etc. Only with his sisters (by blood or friendship) did he feel at all comfortable revealing his ability, and even then it took some proving and convincing to keep them calm and quiet.
Luckily, it was only a few weeks of angst before a teleporting woman with a guidance counselor's mien appeared at his doorstep one day and invited him to attend the Hammel Institute. At Evan's tearful request, the woman managed to convince his parents that Hammel was an excellent school for children with unbalanced emotions. Thus, after a few night's worth of stressed deliberation, it was decided that Evan was to be sent off to Pilot Ridge at the end of winter break.
Hammel Institute ended up being just what Evan had needed. Between being surrounded by other adolescents going through the tribulations of puberty while simultaneously coping with their new status as metahumans paired exquisitely with the rigors of Hammel's power training. He soon became expansive and social where once he would have hidden himself in his room. He discovered a love of theater, english class, and history, served a few thankless terms as class representative during his fourth year, and with gusto sang the final stanzas of the school's production of Twelfth Night. His social circle, though not huge, was a wonderful prop to lean upon, and was comprised mostly of the telepathically and theatrically inclined (greatly facilitating their unofficial position as storehouses of class gossip). With the exception of his family, Eliza, and Toni, his social ties to San Francisco were largely cut off. Graduation came all too soon in 2009, and Evan whooped as loud as the rest when they were declared graduates of the Hammel Institute.
At the insistent advice of his English teacher and unofficial college counselor, Evan went on to study at the University of Chicago, where fevered all-nighters and a delighted mishmash of awkward sociality, self-important theater, and classes filled to the brim with fascinating (albeit often ultimately impractical) theoretical discussion provided the perfect proving ground for the lessons of Hammel. For the first time ever, Evan had the opportunity to feel like a real person, complete with triumphs and trials of his own making within a world defined by himself, for himself. One BA (with honors, thanks to a psych-based thesis produced with blood, sweat, and enough Red Bull to cancel out the two) in Comparative Human Development later, Evan has begun his job search in PR firms, lab internships . . . and a certain school in Pilot Ridge, Vermont, where he hopes to be of service to any other young metas coming into their own.
Roleplay Example
Evan leaned upon the red iron railing and watched the world go by, backpack slung over his shoulder and Cliff Bar in hand (and, increasingly, in mouth).
It was a cold morning in San Francisco, lacking in the fog that had prompted George Sterling to grace it with the title of "the cool, grey city of love". What little rain there was fell gracelessly, with a harshness little looked for from such a meteorological marvel as the Bay Area. The sky was a scowling shade of concrete, setting the scene for the hurried rumblings of the assortment of automobiles that snarled their way among the red arches of the Golden Gate Bridge.
Cool and grey, perhaps. Hardly, as Evan could right now attest, a city of love.
The cars going by were a rapid-fire slideshow of all the variants of impatience, worry, and agitation that Evan had ever experienced. Viewed individually, they were doubtless possessed of their own contours and gracious sweeping plains, but taken as a flickering collective as they passed in and out of range of his senses they resembled nothing so much as a snake, or the more sinister class of Chinese dragon snaking its way across the bridge.
Evan watched these idly, but it was to the pedestrians that he lent his full attention. They were, after all, what he was here for.
A middle-aged jogger squeezed by him, and Evan saw a rocky plain of dissatisfaction and stress briefly covered with a golden barley of endorphins. Work-related, Evan guessed. The negative feelings beneath that yellow sheen didn't quite have the savor of bitterness and curdled fury that most home troubles seemed to produce. Evan took another bite of his bar, but the peanut-butter taste clashed somewhat with the grainy earthiness of the jogger's on-the-job stresses.
He had been coming to the bridge every day of his winter break thus far, usually arriving at 8 am and staying until about 4 every day. Fueled on a packed lunch and a liberal supply of dried fruit and energy bars, he would pace along the bridge and watch the bay unfurl itself in the form of wind, water, and people. Sometimes he would bring a notebook and try to write something poetic, but nothing he ever set down ever struck him as quite doing the whole scene justice.
This had all started when he'd heard about a man (he could never remember the man's name) who had gotten permission from the city to put up cameras along the Golden Gate Bridge, ostensibly for bird watching purposes.
(A grey-haired woman brushed by him, and Evan briefly drank in her peaceful satisfaction with her morning commute, the cocktail of her loneliness and self-satisfaction, and the quiet concerto of her eagerness to get to work. His mind flashed back to the hard salami he'd stashed in the glove compartment of his car. That would have complimented the woman's mindset nicely, he thought ruefully).
The man's real purpose had been to film the number and habits of those people who made the walk onto the bridge only to take a flying jump off of it. The results had been horrifying: the sheer quantity of footage of people walking midway across the bridge, pausing for a moment, and then jumping to their deaths had shocked the city government. Hotlines were installed along both sides of the bridge with placards informing passerby that the consequences of jumping off the bridge were tragic and irreversible, and steel nets were hung beneath, all in the effort of preventing (or at least, lessening) the sheer number of impulse suicides that had been going on silently along the bridge on a weekly basis.
All of these were good measures; two solid barriers to deter any impulsive shufflings off this mortal coil. But, Evan had reflected, why settle for two when he could provide a third?
Evan perked up suddenly, looking around for a few seconds before he spotted her. She was young, probably at the tail end of middle school or beginning high school. Her eyes were watery and downcast, and her stride was less of a walk and more of the lurch of the inwardly-absorbed. Sadness radiated from her, a glass flower of Hamlet's melancholy interspersed with highlights of Othello's jealousy. Boy troubles would have been Evan's first guess, but closer examination revealed an aluminum siding of exhausted stress welded to an iron base of pure pressure. Sibling rivalry, then, and she's the less impressive of the two.
Fixing his best joie de vivre smile on his face, Evan began walking purposefully towards the girl, reaching into his bag to pull out a slightly crinkled plastic box of chocolate chip cookies. The world was perhaps a place awash with cruelty, misery, and manipulation, but Evan could not yet bring himself to believe that the sudden onset of chocolate chip cookies couldn't immeasurably improve a person's day.
What About You?
[/blockquote]
Name: Ted
Age: 22
Experience: Literally just started
How Did You Find Us? The power of love! But actually, idle Google search coupled with a friend's general recommendation.
Ready To Play? Player Whatever-Number-I-Am is Ready!