Ellison Eisenstein
Nov 9, 2011 16:17:14 GMT -5
Post by Ellison Eisenstein on Nov 9, 2011 16:17:14 GMT -5
The easy S T U F F . . .Name: Ellison Eisenstein
Nickname: N/A
Age: Fifteen
Member Group: Student
Power(s): Sensory Manipulation – Ellison’s ability is the manipulation of the sensory perception, deafening or altering sensory neurons to numb or transpose existing sensory information. An example would be that he may alter the victim's ability to visually encode his figure, replacing his visage with a reflection of the environment, thereby emulating invisibility.
His side-effects are night-terrors, a desire to be isolated, difficulty to discern reality from fantasy, semi-chronic lying, and uncontrolled temporary numbing and/or distortion of his sight, hearing, touch, smell, and or taste.
Play By: Jean-Pierre LéaudLet it F L O W . . .Oh my god, just leave me alone.
Mr. Eisenstein, I asked you a question.
Yeah, I know. I know. But, no. I mean no I don't know, because I don't get what you're asking me!
I asked you what you see. What do you see, Ellison?
Uh, I see a man and he's--
No, you don't, Ellison, please be honest.
You be honest with me, why the hell do you even care? Who the hell cares?
I care because you are lying to me, and this isn't the first time. I called you away from the class because when I asked you then, you just ignored me. Now you're lying to me.
You keep telling me I'm a liar, but you're wrong. You just don’t listen to me. So yeah I lied just then, but you pushed me Mrs. Keller. I don't even know why we are here, I mean what is this place?
You asked that before, and I answered it for you. It's an art gall--
Shut up, god, yeah I know what is it but...
But what, Ellison? I don't try to bully you, I don't want to bully you. But I want to like you, but more importantly I want to respect you. And I can't respect you when you don't respect me.
It's not that I don't respect you, but you just don't listen to me.
I'm listening to you now, aren’t I?
Yeah. Uh, yeah. So what? You know what I said, when we walked in here. When I saw that first painting.
No. I didn't, and I'm sorry. I was handling the rest of the class.
That really makes me feel better.
I am sorry. What were you trying to tell me? You can tell me now.
Ok. Ok, uh– ok.
Just relax, Ellison. I'm not going to judge you.
Alright, don't push me. Ok, so. I– I can't see the painting. Yeah. Well. Sorta, I mean yeah I can't. I mean, no I don't know what I mean. God, I can't even–
Ellison are you saying you can't see the paintings?
Yeah. That's it. That's all, I guess.
Can you see me?
What? Of course I can, that's a stupid question.
Ellison...
Alright, sorry. I mean I don't understand why you're asking me that.
Well, I don't exactly understand how you can't see the painting. You can see me. Is your vision blurry?
No.
Do you have trouble seeing far away?
No.
You might need glasses. Have you had your eyes checked recently?
Oh my god, for the last time no! Wait, I mean yeah but no I don't need glasses, alright? They said nothing was wrong with me.
What did they say?
That I have fine eyesight, nothing was wrong with them.
When was this?
Last week.
How often do you go to the optometrist?
The what?
The eye doctor.
Oh. Well I guess I've been there three times this month.
Three times? Is that normal for you?
Uh... I don't know. Is it?
I wouldn't say so.
Oh. Then... oh man. Maybe there IS something wrong with me. Mrs. Keller...
It's alright, Ellison. Take a deep breath. We can go outside for a minute?
No. No I'm fine. It's too bright out anyway.
Uh huh. What you're really saying is that you forgot to bring your jacket.
No I didn't. I thought that with the sun out the temperature would... uh...
Yeah.
Shut up.
Oh alright. Look, just because you have a few eye checks doesn't mean there's something wrong with you. Nothing wrong with you, and if you were blind, which you aren't... there would still be nothing wrong with you.
So I can't see any of these paintings like you do but there's nothing wrong me, yeah sure thanks Mrs. Motivational.
But you can see me, and you could see the other students. You went into the gift shop and looked at the miniatures of their paintings. I had to threaten you with a penalty to get you out.
Gift shoppes are the best part of a gallery or museum, everyone knows this.
Yeah, that's what you said, but you could see those.
Those weren't paintings. Those were pictures of some weird buildings and people. Like photographic art or something.
This is getting a little odd.
Again with the encouraging words, Mrs. Keller.
Alright, Ellison. I want to go back to that painting we saw... alright the painting I saw. This is the panting here. It's a Jackson Pollock. Now, be honest with me, just tell me anything you see.
A white canvas.
You can see behind the paint? I mean, if you look at the side of the canvas you can see –
No I mean I just see a canvas that's white. Well... I guess it's just covered in white.
Covered in white? I mean, the canvas itself is made of white material, but I wouldn't say it's covered in white.
I see that it's a white canvas, but... OK, here? Do you see this? It's a big streak that goes across the whole painting, turning here?
Yes, that's yellow.
No, it's white.
It's all white to you? Is it the same shade of white, because you know, there's white then eggshell white, there's uh...
Yeah, I mean it's all the same white. But... I don't know I see where he painted. And it's colored, but it's not. It's all white.
But... I mean, I am hearing you Ellison. I understand what you are saying, but in a way I don't. If you can't see the colors, but you can see the painting streaks, but it's all the same shade of white, then how can you tell the canvas white from the paint itself?
I really don't know, Mrs. Keller. I... I asked my mom for those check-ups. But every time, the eye doctor told me I was fine. And I... ah jeez, why am I even talking about this I mean what are you getting out of this painting? So what if I can't... like see it. I mean, in a way I can, but it doesn't even make sense to me.
“What are you getting out of this painting?” What are you trying to say, Ellison?
Yeah, I mean what's its point? It's just a bunch of lines that when I look at with my eyes I can't understand, and it frustrates me, and not just because they're all white either, it's because it isn't what I want to see and this never happens.
Well sometimes things aren't as they seem, or they're not what we want to see. I don't think that's your case, but everyone deals with things they don't want to see, or sometimes they can't see.
What does that even mean, Mrs. Keller?
Ellison, I'm just trying to help, but it's hard for me to understand what you're really feeling.
It's hard for me too! I mean I wanted to see colors, but when the sight entered my eye, something was keeping the color away.
Wait... I mean... so you can see that the colors are there, but you can't... see them?
Yeah. I guess.
Are they there because I told you they were?
No I could see them before, but I didn't say anything because it upset me.
Am I white to you?
Well of course... wait, no I mean I see your brown hair and your clothes, yellow and black. Like a bee.
Very funny, Mr. Eisenstein. But alright, you can see my colors and you know there's there because well, you can see them. But for the painting, you know the color is there, and you know that the color... enters your eye?
I mean the color information enters my eye.
Color information?
Yeah, Mrs. Keller, you don't need to echo me. When you see something, it enters your eye and travels up the optic nerve. I learned it in biology last week. Usually I can tell when the information will be colored or not, but all these... what did you call them? Jackson somethings? Whatever they are I can't figure out the color information. Maybe because I don't, like “get” it.
You can... tell your eyes to...
To see, Mrs. Keller! Seriously, no one seems to get it, but how else can you see something? You move your arms, your legs, your head, you even move your eyes! But I feel a lot more.
What do you mean, more?
More! Like... anything. No I'm not a psychic, there's no such thing. But when I touch something, I know how the surface will touch my fingertips and then how my fingertips will touch that surface. It's like a different chord of music for every surface. Hearing something is kind of hard, it's not like touching. Don't get me started on smelling or tasting. But seeing is easy, well usually it is.
Ellison, I think I'm beginning to understand. Hold on a moment, I'm going to find you a pen and some paper.
Why?
Because I want you to draw how the painting looks to you.
Why don't I just show you?
That's what I would like you to do, that's why I'm going to get--
No, Mrs. Keller. You don't need paper for me to show you.
Emmerich –
See, Mrs. Keller? There's your colors, there's mine, but then... Mrs. Keller?
Ellison, listen to me very carefully. Whatever you turned on, please. Are you listening?
Mrs. Keller you're shaking--
Listen to me Ellison! Please let go, turn off, pull back, whatever you have to do, just stop it.
Alright, Mrs. Keller.
Oh my...
Mrs. Keller, let me help you back up on your feet.
What's going on here?
Nothing offcer, we're fine. Ellison?
Y-yes Mrs. Keller?
Thank you for showing me. I think I understand now, but I'd like to ask you one more question, alright?
Uh, sure. What is it?
When was the last time you took a blood test?Behind the M A S K . . .Name: Dylan
Age: Twenty
RP Experience: About five years
How did you find us?: RPG DirectoryShow your S K I L L S . . .Mirror. The image enters the eye, and is flipped side ways, turned upside down, passed through the cells of the eye. Traveling through the optic nerve, the image is encoded to the brain, the brain itself realigning the image right side up and flipped back. But what does a mirror do? A self image, but in truth it is merely a disguise.
The first time Ellison Eisenstein saw a mirror, he was only an infant. He had no sense of the thing, except for curiosity and bewilderment. When the magic passed a mirror was only a mirror, a reflective surface, a piece of polished glass. It wasn't until he reached a certain age that the magic returned, a force that could be manipulated.
The mirror reflected his image, a stoic representation of his image, moving in perfect tune with him as a doppelganger of illusion. Then, a glance, a thought, and the image stopped, freezing in place like a poorly captured image on a camera. The lining of his figure grained and warped, like an old photo pressed against the weight of time. In the silence of his room it fizzled out of existence, his reflection evaporating before the will of his mind's eye.
Suddenly, like a hidden calamity released, a throng of colors crawled from the mirror, a perverted amalgam of his former visage. It darted and leaped across his room, obscuring the wall and objects into a thick white nothing. So terrible was its loathsomeness, devouring all color and sound in silent malevolence. As the room entered the final moments of its colorless death, the walls waxed and waned away, like ancient pages curling up, revealing an opaque blackness. At that moment, as the last moments of color entered his eyes, a silence deafened his ears, and he felt a crawling numbness envelop his body. The absolute threshold.
