Harvel Calais
May 28, 2014 16:59:03 GMT -5
Post by Harvel Calais on May 28, 2014 16:59:03 GMT -5
The Basics
Name: Harvel Alexander Calais
Nicknames: N/A
Age: 35
Orientation: Homosexual
Desired Rank/Job: Chemistry Teacher
Powers: Animal Communication. While Harvel seems to be quite adept at communicating with animals (most of them small and unassuming - birds, squirrels, and rabbits mostly), he doesn't have much of a knack for controlling them. The closest he's come is having a squirrel nearly bring in his mail. It was a test of his own abilities and, once he thought about it, he decided that he should have just asked. It would seem that his nature is one particularly unsuited for the domination of other creatures, and that suits him just fine. Occasionally he can look through an animal's eyes (provided they are willing and he has known them for long enough), but it disorients the hell out of him and he suffers dizzy spells for some time thereafter.
After talking with an animal for some time, Harvel tends to have some difficulty returning to what most people think of as normalcy, his speech is often slow or halting and he has to think carefully to find the proper words for things.
Play By: Arthur Darvill
The Details
Hair Color: Light brown
Eye Color: Green
Any Piercings? Nada
Any Tattoos? Nupe
Any Scars? A network of small, aged scars litter his hands and arms.
General Appearance: Harvel thinks of himself as all legs and elbows, which isn't terribly far from the truth, even if he doesn't have the ability to get a good look at himself in the mirror. He is a reasonably tall man, though not impressively so, and his limbs are long and slender. He's grown used to them over the years, in a way that he was positive would be an impossibility in adolescence, but he's still not what anyone would consider graceful, and he's too skinny by halves, so says his beloved grandmother, who often feels the need to fatten him up with savory pies and sweetmeats whenever he chances to visit her.
His hair is often a bit of a mess, hastily and inexpertly combed through and kept short enough for that to be considered passable in most circles. Of course, his hair tends to draw far less attention than his eyes. Lighter than they have any right to be, they often appear to be staring through a person rather than at them. Many people who have made Harvel's acquaintance find this disconcerting.
In terms of style, it can be said that he doesn't have much of one. Harvel enjoys soft fabrics and comfortable clothing, which often amounts to large sweaters that ought to have been put to death rather than sold. He often smiles a private little smile when someone chances to remark upon the hideousness of one of his beloved sweaters.
Personality: Harvel is, above all else, a believer in those around him. Mild-mannered and soft spoken, he is clever enough, but lacks the self confidence that leads most men of talent to arrogance. Unable to see himself in the light of the capable, he instead assures others of their hard won abilities. Over the years, he has poured much of himself into his art (for he thinks of chemistry as as much of an art as it is a science), and it is a combination of hard work and dedication, as much as knowledge, that has lead him to where he is today. It has taken much to overcome his natural handicap - the sightless eyes whose only function seems to be the unnerving of others.
Unsurprisingly, Harvel is more follower than leader, content to let others pave the way and do the heavy lifting, as he knows his own limits all too well. He is, however, more than willing to support those he sees as capable in any way that he can, often at the expense of his own well being. This kindness is not, however, limited to people. His apartment boasts a handful of animals both wild and domesticated, that have all but taken over many of the small rooms, as he believes that they have as much right to proper shelter as he does.
As far as his work goes, Harvel takes a peculiar sort of comfort in the mixing of compounds, at odds with the habitual nervousness that plagues him when interacting with others. He handles vials with the care of a lover, and guides his work with a keen sense of smell.
Your Vices
Likes: Tea, reading, large sweaters, chemistry, chocolate, alchemy, gardening, animals, The Clash, guitar, really awful puns
Dislikes: Public speaking, conflict, being put on the spot, limericks, wearing tight fitting clothing, raised voices, things that are slimy
Strengths: Chemistry, empathy, memorization, doesn't fear spiders, can't judge people based on their appearances
Weaknesses: Avoids conflict like the plague, soft-spoken, lacks self-confidence, frequently nervous
Fears: Falling
Secret: Whelp, that whole being blind thing is a bit obvious, so no, not so much. Secrets take time and effort, and if he's go any, well, he's not exactly sharing.
Family Ties
Father: Edward Calais
Mother: Anastasie Calais nee Fournier
Siblings: None
Any Other Important People:
Odette Fournier - maternal grandmother
Skitter - a squirrel
Anais & Jack - a pair of uppity sparrows
Cairn -a ravena crow
History
Harvel could tell tales of the accident that deprived him of his sight, a horrific ordeal, related to his love of chemistry, something to serve as a warning to his students, but without the satisfaction of seeing the horror flickering across their faces, there is little point in the telling of such tales, and he's not the sort of man to take pleasure in the discomfort of others (or in lying), besides. And the truth of the matter is, the how of things isn't all that interesting:Two people fell in love. They had a child. That child was blind. End of story. It's the what came afterward that was interesting: His love of chemistry, his decision to pursue it despite all odds and counsel. Oh, and the bit where he started talking to animals around the time he hit the 'awkward and gangly stage, of his life. Because, you know, puberty wasn't weird enough by itself.
A handful of weeks later, an odd, twitchy little man with a surprisingly soothing voice paid his family a visit, and he soon found himself enrolled at the Hammel Institute. The place where he learned that, maybe it was okay to talk to animals and 'oh they can see things and maybe he could as well on occasion.' He was a fair student: smart, quiet, determined, but seemingly more interested in the local wildlife than the majority of his fellow students, though a few managed to drag him around just the same (for which he was undoubtedly thankful more often than he wasn't). It was at Hammel that he discovered his love for chemistry.
His parents fell in the camp of supportive but worried. Naturally, they wished to encourage their son in all of his endeavors, to reinforce the notion that he could thrive in whatever he chose to do, despite his natural disadvantage and the strangeness of his gifts, though his mother would sometimes say look to sway him in another direction, wondering aloud of perhaps he couldn't do something safer, maybe something involving his gifts. But as much as Harvel loved the little creatures that seemed to flock to him with wild abandon thanks to his powers, when college rolled around, it was still chemistry that stole away his heart, and chemistry that he pursued. There was something about the business of mixing and measuring that appealed to him, about the way the weight of the stares aimed in his direction seem to vanish as he worked. Of course, life for a blind would-be chemist is riddled with problems and pitfalls, the least of which are sliced fingers and the occasional burn, and it's a wonder that he's made it as far as he has. Of course, it isn't just his own hard work and perseverance that has led to his relative success.
Harvel spent a long while down on his luck, surviving thanks to odd jobs here and there (he absolutely refused to tell his parents about the whole affair, for fear of worrying them). As it turned out, nobody wanted to hire a blind chemist. A bit of a specialty niche, and an alarming one at that. One would think that a blind chemistry teacher would be equally worrying. Unless, of course, the place hiring was a bit on the unusual side itself and had reason to trust in his abilities in ways that he, himself, could not.
In short, it never occurred to Harvel that he might teach (and at his old school, no less!). The offer startled him something fierce, but the promise of much needed funds was well worth the trepidation that came with the thought of giving a lecture in front of an audience, however young that audience might be, and so now he sits as one of the newest members of the Hammel staff, and he's not entirely sure how he feels bout the whole ordeal.
Roleplay Example
Domestic – it's an odd word to associate with a cave, but the cave has become a sort of home, so that must be what this is: domesticity. The two boys share a quiet life. Touching on the world without touching on the pain of it, both knowing that there are some things that are best left unsaid. They do not speak of fire again, do not ask what the nightmares mean. They don't need to.
N finds that he isn't very good at cooking. He prefers nuts and berries to charred meats and steamed vegetables, but he's learning, and Ruby doesn't seem to mind.
Ruby, on the other hand, seems to be able to make soup out of nothing at all, like a wizard drawing upon unknowable magicks. N never ceases to be astounded by his ingenuity, though he never mentions it. He merely stares intently at the pot, as though trying to figure out all the subtle secrets of flavors, and how celery, and meat, and spice go together.
There's an odd sort of camaraderie between them, a comfortable silence sometimes filled with chatter about the day, or the weather, or one of their pokemon, or a hundred of the other things that don't actually to matter. It's better that way. Safe.
It's been almost three weeks now, and they've have come to understand each other...sometimes. It's more than N dared hope for, but he knows that it cannot last. You can't stay here forever. It's time to move on.
He doesn't have much to carry with him, just his friends and the clothes on his back. It hasn't occurred to him to find food of his own since he started sharing with Ruby. Anything that he brings back is split down the middle, and sometimes it seems better that way - having someone to provide for. But now he realizes that he should have stored some of it away for the journey ahead, that he should have known that this was inevitable. The tug of fate wants to draw him away from this place. And, if he's being honest with himself, he's worried. Has been for almost a week now. He knows that if he stays here much longer, Ruby will learn who he is, if he hasn't already... They must be looking for me by now.
Indecision gnaws at him, turning his stomach to knots. It has grown late. Every time he starts to move, he thinks better of it, worries that he'll wake Ruby and find himself in need of an explanation, something that isn't “I can't,” or “I don't belong here,” or “I'm sorry,” because those aren't really explanations in the end. When he does finally drum up the courage to move, he signals to Ember, and the chimchar climbs up his back without hesitation, hooking her arms around his neck. Once she settles in, she nuzzles the back of his neck fondly. She knows. Of course she does. His pokemon have grown close to Ruby's over the past few weeks. They're friends in earnest now, and this parting will be a sad one for them as well, even without the pain of having to say goodbye.
He should say goodbye, but he's never been any good at goodbyes. It never occurs to him that nobody is good at goodbyes. He just thinks of it as one more thing that separates him from everyone else.
His movements are slow, uncertain at first, until he reaches the mouth of the cave. It is time. He glances back at the other boy's sleeping form, little more than a dim silhouette now. I'm sorry. You deserve better. There's no note, no final farewell, no moment of revelation, just a sad half smile, half grimace, and tears that never fall.
What About You?
Name: Rel
Age: 23
Experience: Several years.
How Did You Find Us? Something, something, something pixie dust...and a bit of help from RPG-D.
Ready To Play? Perhaps...care to find out? o.o
