Dat Plot Doe (Robin)
Jan 16, 2014 18:25:02 GMT -5
Post by Joseph Ashley on Jan 16, 2014 18:25:02 GMT -5
Joseph Ashley, 47
Non-Powered Local
Off-The-Grid Shack, Pilot Ridge,
History:
Joseph lives alone, and has lived alone for quite a long time now. One might venture to say he's been so for the largest part of his life. He has, after all, been all he ever needed. From a young age, his daddy taught him how to hunt and shoot a gun, how to survive. When he wasn't teaching his son however, he was busy contemplating taking off. One day the bastard up and did it, leaving his wife with a job, bills to pay and a sad, confused 11 year old Joseph to take care of.
So he had to take what he'd learned in that short time and grow up fast, and be the man of the house. His mama had been through many boyfriends after that, being the beautiful woman she was, not to mention how insecure and lonely she had been left. Each one of them was somehow more of a scumbag than the last, so he felt responsible to be the only reliable person she knew; somebody she could count on to take care of her.
Around 17, though, ovarian cancer finally beat her. They'd moved pretty rural, and lacked both the funds and resources to really treat her. That wasn't to say Joseph didn't try like hell. After that, a friend took him in and he made the road trip from Louisiana to Vermont, wherein the two of them moved from odd job to stable job, and all around the state until they eventually split ways, and Joseph found his way to Pilot Ridge.
Currently:
Joseph's got a small, forested plot of land a winding dirt-road away from the main town. He lives there in his shack, which he largely constructed himself. It isn't pretty, but it's functional shelter. A wire fence wraps around it, marking his territory off, and his faded old Jeep sits parked in the driveway.
Occasionally, his backyard will be traversed by his Basset, Waylon, but he doesn't do much more than walk, sleep and howl when he's not out with Joseph. Fortunately, no neighbors exist around him to complain.
He hunts in the woods and sells what he finds, rarely having to move into the town for the sake of other groceries. He can't farm, after all, or produce his own clean water. Or booze.
The only hesitation he has in going out there is having to spend that much more time where there are almost certainly metas running about.
There are few things in this world that Joseph truly hates, and metas are among them. Well actually, there are lots of things he hates. And he spends every day preparing for those things, knowing that eventually the metas will turn on the rest of them. He's quite the man about preparedness; physically, mentally and in supply.
So he had to take what he'd learned in that short time and grow up fast, and be the man of the house. His mama had been through many boyfriends after that, being the beautiful woman she was, not to mention how insecure and lonely she had been left. Each one of them was somehow more of a scumbag than the last, so he felt responsible to be the only reliable person she knew; somebody she could count on to take care of her.
Around 17, though, ovarian cancer finally beat her. They'd moved pretty rural, and lacked both the funds and resources to really treat her. That wasn't to say Joseph didn't try like hell. After that, a friend took him in and he made the road trip from Louisiana to Vermont, wherein the two of them moved from odd job to stable job, and all around the state until they eventually split ways, and Joseph found his way to Pilot Ridge.
Currently:
Joseph's got a small, forested plot of land a winding dirt-road away from the main town. He lives there in his shack, which he largely constructed himself. It isn't pretty, but it's functional shelter. A wire fence wraps around it, marking his territory off, and his faded old Jeep sits parked in the driveway.
Occasionally, his backyard will be traversed by his Basset, Waylon, but he doesn't do much more than walk, sleep and howl when he's not out with Joseph. Fortunately, no neighbors exist around him to complain.
He hunts in the woods and sells what he finds, rarely having to move into the town for the sake of other groceries. He can't farm, after all, or produce his own clean water. Or booze.
The only hesitation he has in going out there is having to spend that much more time where there are almost certainly metas running about.
There are few things in this world that Joseph truly hates, and metas are among them. Well actually, there are lots of things he hates. And he spends every day preparing for those things, knowing that eventually the metas will turn on the rest of them. He's quite the man about preparedness; physically, mentally and in supply.
Acquaintances:
Barbara Robinson - Works at the ice cream place in the main town. They didn't talk much but she was actually pretty pleasant and - if Joseph did say so himself - a pretty gorgeous woman.
Walther Ebersbacher - A student at the local elementary school, or so he figures. German kid. They didn't talk much, but he gave him a ride where he needed to go. Poor kid too, wandering around alone in a world with all these meta freaks running about.
Friends:
Carson Flatwood - Chief of the local police. Joseph would actually call this man his best friend; though he did not take that title lightly in the least. These two go way back, and hang out sometimes, when the occasion suits them.
Waylon - Joseph's hound, whom he adopted from a neighbor's litter sometime around his puppyhood. Named after one of his favorite, earliest musicians, Waylon lives with Joseph full time, and really goes with him everywhere. To the city, to the woods. He's an agreeable dog, but loud. Some days he'll go out front and sound off just because he's got an itch for it.
Enemies:
Anyone who proposes a threat is, as far as Joseph is concerned, an enemy. That means metas, meta sympathizers and meta rights activists. The media is also Joseph's enemy and also as far as he is concerned, an enemy of the human race.
Love:
Doesn't happen a whole lot for him. As far as sex and flings are concerned, he'll sleep around without a whole lot of discretion. Gender doesn't actually seem to matter to him, as long as it feels good. He'd rejected societal taboo a long time ago, anyhow. His attractions tend to lean towards the older sort, however. Mature women and mature men, none of those little 19 year old twigs. They might as well be half a person.
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Darian Barker, 13
Mer-Form Shapeshifter
Hammel Institute, Pilot Ridge
Pansexual
Hammel Institute, Pilot Ridge
Pansexual
History:
Darian was always inclined towards the water. It was an obsession of his. He went on a field trip to the local Aquarium on a field trip, once, and he never wanted to leave. He went on to convince his mom to take him on a pretty regular basis after that. Being that she was usually busy working, she chose to take him every Sunday when the entrance was free. It was the part of the week he most often looked forward to.
When he was a little older, he moved into Middle School, which was nerve-racking for him. He was nervous inside, though to his mother's concern, he didn't seem to show it. Nothing motivated him, really. It wasn't until he joined the junior swim team that his motivation came back, and he was eager for every other day, 2 days a week. He was among the most naturally gifted, but it was refining that gift that was his problem. While he was supposed to be in formation, or swim a certain way, he wanted to swim everywhere, he wanted the pool to be larger and he constantly complained about how the chemicals hurt his eyes.
Though, this little bit of desired normalcy was short lived. Soon, he preferred the water over the land so greatly that he was clumsy overwater. It all came to a climax when his powers came into full manifestation, and suddenly while he was swimming his laps, he could breathe. It was the most painful experience he'd ever had. It didn't even occur to him that his mouth was closed, and his nose; there was an acute burning in his lungs, the chlorine was trying to filter inside of him and he was desperate to pull himself up to the surface. He was over the pool now, in the open air and gasping.
Everything was tinted differently, yellow. People were talking and he found himself actually changing the way his ear was positioned to hear them. Most of all, he couldn't feel his legs. He could only feel one... He was cold now, pale, staring down at the long, fleshy tail that was his legs. His hands were sharp, webbed. His teeth cut his tongue.
There wasn't much he remembered immediately after that. People staring, both students and instructors. He'd gone into shock, so he was told.
The next thing he remembered was his mom, sitting over him as he lie in a hospital bed. She had been crying, though she was happy to see him awake. As she covered his head in kisses, he looked down at the white blanket covering his body. He lifted one leg before the other, watching them rise in the blanket, and poked a foot out from the edge. Toes, to be sure. He wiggled them, and let his head fall back against he pillow, infinitely relived that it must have been a dream.
The relief only lasted so long, however. When the official from Hammel came to visit his hospital room, he was told he was a Metahuman. He was also told about the Institute, and assured that he was going to be entirely alright. While his mother seemed doubtful, she was still quite scared. She took some time in private to talk with her boy about it, and he appeared just as passive towards the idea as he appeared to everything else. Inside, he wanted to scream, cry like a baby. But they could both tell that he had no choice.
Currently:
He's, for the most part, managed to adjust to the new school and the new people. He isn't a social butterfly, however. He never was and he probably won't ever be. He does have a couple of friends he can count on, a few people he'll talk to, but his general demeanor doesn't lend itself to be outgoing. He talks a bit slowly, takes a little while to think about things, and generally puts off the image of someone who is quite simple. He's friendly, however, and once you've got something to talk with him about he'll find a smile and gladly talk with you for hours.
Acquaintances:
Molly Kingsley - She's an instructor, as far as he can tell. She seems to be plenty kind, and really pretty, if not a lot awkward. But the awkwardness is pretty charming to him, and he gets a kick out of it every time it pokes its head out of the water.
Duncan Valentine - Probably an instructor too. His demeanor makes Darian a little nervous; how generally happy he is. Darian still doesn't know what his power is but if he ventured to guess, some thing to do with positivity.
Friends:
Walther Ebersbacher - His relationship with this boy has gone through a lot of changes lately. Acquaintance, friend, apparent crush, apparent boyfriend. They're on the last one now, and Darian's still working it out. He really likes Walther, however, and can not remember ever feeling this way before.
Aryana Darcy - She really got Darian out of a bind. While her personality is a little... well, off-putting, she seems like deep down she has a sincerely compassionate heart, whether or not she wants to admit it. Even someone as dull as Darian can pick up on that.
Enemies:
Not really anyone at the moment.
Love:
Darian isn't really sure if he'd call it love, but he's definitely garnered an affection for someone.
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Blaise Stafford, 17
Venomancer
Hammel Institute, Pilot Ridge
Heterosexual
Hammel Institute, Pilot Ridge
Heterosexual
History:
Blaise was born in the town of Beaconsfield, in Buckinghamshire, England. It was a nice place to grow up and where he was located, pleasant and fairly quiet. By the time of his 6th birthday, he knew exactly what he was supposed to do with his life. He was the heir to the Stafford name, the one who was supposed to eventually do what his father did when he died. But knowing what a strong man Edward Stafford was, it seemed an impossible thought throughout Blaise's childhood that he could actually die. Still, he treated his eventual position as an inevitability, taking full advantage of every resource his parents threw at him. Studies weren't always fun, and when he didn't take them seriously, father's cane and a sore rear-end was enough to get his mind back on track immediately, until his mind wasn't wandering at all.
That cane and some harsh talking-to did develop him as a child, but it tended to train-out his kindness. His brother, when they were both quite young, were inseparably close. They'd run and play and explore their estates, wherever they may be. But on the day of his 10th birthday, when the tutors started cracking down on him and his father, especially, he had less and less time to spend with Chandler, until he couldn't even spare a moment out of the day. By the time he was 11, he had no interest whatsoever in playing with Chandler, or in most any childish pursuit. Because that was exactly what Chandler was: A child.
He was 12 when he manifested. Suddenly, he was getting sick more often, vomiting or passing out. He saw the hospital quite regularly for a little while there, as the sickness seemed to be entirely random. The doctors weren't sure about what to do, or whether to release him. The most confusing part of it all was the discharge he was almost constantly putting out. He was naturally developing a toxin that was threatening his life.
It was strange, this time he spent in bed. Two full week, as he was informed. He was oddly appreciative of it, in a way. For once, his father was coming to see him and showing a very personal concern over his wellbeing -- not as an investment, but as a child. It made him uncomfortable and grateful all at the same time. But unfortunately, it was short-lived.
Someone from Kocher came to pick him up, but not without a very heated conversation with his father, who was understandably not in the green about some metahuman just coming by and picking up his son. But Blaise's situation was desperate and soon without any say, in the same fashion as every other life decision had been made for him, he was dressed, packed up and taken to Kocher.
The first thing he learned there was how to refuse the toxin. It was actually a very miserable year or so, his first year at Kocher. He couldn't spend it socializing, because he spent most of it either sick in bed or training with the instructors there. A lot of the practice involved sitting in the toxin, letting it poison him and proceeding to have an awful night of building up a resistance to it, as (or so it was theorized) his body was attempting to do on its own. Simultaneously, he worked on his control, day and night.
Around 14 years old, he was able to channel the toxin through particular glands or parts of his body on command, which particularly means his hands, though he has little use for it. His practice was spent on plants, wild animals, and even (regrettably) pets he encountered in town.
He had to leave Kocher at 16 years old, when he'd finally adjusted to the school dynamic, academically and socially. As it turned out, his family was relocating on behalf of some business venture or another, and in light of his location, and the school he was attending, father wanted to keep his heir closeby. As such, he was relocated to another meta school in Vermont, within the US.
Most recently, it has been to some alarm to the entire family that not only has he, himself, manifested; but his younger brother was receiving visit from a Hammel employee. He could only hope that didn't ruin a potential chance he had for any real social life.
Currently:
Blaise is still learning about how things work at this school, and simultaneously confident that he already owns the place. He spends most of his time studying, however, and very selectively socializing.
Acquaintances:
None, so far.
Friends:
None, so far.
Enemies:
" "
Love:
Love isn't on Blaise's radar. He's more of a promiscuous man, who would sooner enjoy the more carnal side of a relationship with a woman than the emotional side.
