Maxwell Jameson Aquarius
Feb 4, 2011 18:00:16 GMT -5
Post by Maxwell Aquarius on Feb 4, 2011 18:00:16 GMT -5
[/i][/size][/right]The Basics
Name: Maxwell Jameson Aquarius
Nicknames: Max, Maxy
Age: 17
Orientation: Heterosexual
Desired Rank/Job: Student
Powers: Manifestation of the written word. When he writes nouns, they will periodically manifest, such as oranges and horses. However, he is dyslexic and this power will attempt to spell-check his words, so orangutans and hearses may appear in their stead. The energy of these materializations causes sporadic migraines which can be as debilitating as to temporarily blind him in the right eye. However, he tries not to let people know when he’s having a migraine.
Play By: Joseph Gordon-Levitt
The Details
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Brown
Any Piercings? None
Any Tattoos? On his left shoulder is his name in Arabic characters. It is also misspelled.
Any Scars? None
General Appearance: There is very little about Maxwell that is attractive when he looks into his mirror. He does not catch how his deep, walnut hair waves lightly over a pearly complexion. Or how his bright, velvety eyes are honeyed like a fine cognac. Instead, he only sees how his teeth don’t shine quite as bright as his peers and comic book heroes, and how dirty his short nails always seem to be. At one time, his long, wiry hands were regularly covered in ink of various colors, but that is rarely the case now. His lips are thin, and very nearly the same shade as his skin. As he stumbles from the bathroom to his closet, his rail thin frame is held high, awkwardly below his male peers at 5’10”. He tries to dress well, and is particularly fond of blazers. A tie may even find its way to his collar if the mood so strikes him. His favorite shoes are a pair of black boots that are beginning to lose their shine.
Personality:Maxwell actually does like to learn, despite his terrible spelling and near phobia to writing essays. He loves music, and used to sing with his choir. He only auditioned for jazzy solos, because he loved the dissonant chords the most. It felt like the music could explain and soothe his inability to fit in when words couldn’t touch the emotions. Ever distrustful, he is always on the lookout for bullies or people trying to make fun of him. Eventually, he learned how to banter back with these people, and many of the malicious ones left him, tails tucked between their legs at the onset of middle school. People who work past the defensive exterior find a reliable friend, counselor, and source of laughs.
Having the “nice guy” role fit to a t, he attempts to have a good sense of humor about it, and finds that people talk to him when he smiles more. Especially girls, who he can’t seem to converse with effectively. He always thinks of John Mayer’s My Stupid Mouth, even though he doesn’t see how girls keep talking to him because of his awkwardness. Many times, he shoots himself in the foot by retracting into a shell of silence and shy smiles if he doesn’t feel he fits in.
Your Vices
Likes: Homemade peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, abstract artwork, long car rides.
Dislikes: Sushi from the supermarket, movies made past the 1980s, words not spelled phonetically.
Strengths: Singing tenor, cooking steak, composing poetry
Weaknesses: Technology, painting, spelling bees
Fears: Being made a fool of, true love.
Secret: Although there are things about him no one knows, it’s more due to their lack of asking than his lack of telling.
Family Ties
Father: Mr. Jameson Aquarius
Mother: Mrs. Lilian Aquarius
Siblings: None
Any Other Important People:His choir teacher, Victoria Sanchak.
History
Maxwell was the child who snuggled between his parents in their bed until he was 5, who kept his binky for far too long, causing an overbite he would later need braces to correct. He was the child who could stay up all night reading and still have enough energy to play baseball with neighborhood kids. Unfortunately, his parents moved so often, he was always the awkward new kid and still isn’t sure how to move from that to a regular in a group of friends. His mother and father were never the fighting kind, but there were many times when he would walk into their room for a question and hushed voices would get cut off abruptly. It wasn’t until he was 9 that he realized they were no longer in love, and would sing as many love songs as he could learn to remind them what it was like.
It didn’t help. His mom didn’t come home one night when he was ten. He never asked his old man why.
And it wasn’t that he was too terribly strange, really. But Cedar Rapids, Iowa was not a town that tolerated much tomfoolery. Especially the private Catholic school his parents were told he should attend for a more comprehensive education. But somehow, the students, staff, and even janitors seemed unable to understand his flavor of eccentricity. Less concerned with appropriate manners as with reading comics and science fiction novels as a young student, he was often used as the “don’t be this” example in class. “Don’t pull a Maxwell!” rings through his ears even today as a nightmarish taunt.
His power started to appear when he was at home writing stories at 12 – he was particularly fond of calligraphy, and would write poetry on yellowed paper. But when roses and perfume bottles began to appear beside his paper accompanied by intense, sometimes blinding migraines, he stopped writing as much, and will now avoid it at almost any cost, although he never lost his love of words.
The day a life-sized komodo dragon was pulled from his essay on the Galapagos Islands, Mrs. Sullivan called his father in a panic. None of the other kids would talk to him after that, and anytime he wrote anything down, even homework assignments, kids would get up and move to another corner of the classroom. He was not sad when he was told he would no longer be attending St. Pius X, but instead the Hammel Institute in Vermont.
Still floundering for a group of regular friends, even after five years at Hammel, he is a bit of a loner. However, his New Year’s resolution was to meet new people, even if it feels like a hard thing to do.
Roleplay Example
Ruse had dreams of thunder. Much less like a storm than the sounds of his own erratic heartbeat. Each morning for far too long now he had woken with the distinct feeling that he was late for something rather important. A word was tattooed across his lips—just one. Escape.
College was supposed to make him feel better. If he was studying all day with his head buried in some Shakespearean comedy or math problems, how could his obsession with this dream continue?
Obsession was his parents’ word for it. High school dropouts don’t know anything. Thank Christ he found a way out of Hellhole, No-Freaking-Where, USA. He liked to think to himself that North Carolina was on the other end of the world, but his whole family knew it wasn’t far enough to keep them from calling him about what Mom said, who Dad did… although he may have envied those who had a good home life at one time, he was now convinced they were all lying. After all, hadn’t he lied to all the yuppie scum out here? He was amazed at how they flocked to him like flies even when he was clearly carrion to their world.
He found this morning was worse than the others. Grey, cumulus clouds filled with memories cleared for a moment, and a single figure appeared in his head. Strangely familiar, black hair and somber brown eyes stared at him. Face thinning from mourning. He knew what she wanted. And by God, he wanted it too! Could it really be true?
Come here, The voice had come from deep in a dream. But where was over there?
Lend me of your magic and I will instruct it and bring you here
And then the packages began arriving. A black-feathered quill and golden ink had appeared in his shoebox one day. In dreams, he learned it all. The theory was that the quill would take care of the whole thing. Make it happen, and let them go on their merry way. That was the theory, anyway.
He was flushed and sweaty. His hands were shaking in the morning light through his useless dorm blinds. He threw the blankets off his bed with a start so violent his heart began racing. His roommate may have stirred, but the thunder still clouded Ruse's mind and he paid no heed. In his desk. The set was there. Black-feathered quill, golden ink. Both determined, excitable. He hardly noticed the ink blots that caked his hand, the hurried swash of his strokes.
She had told him in one dream that people might die. But they do that all the time, he told himself. So what if a few more go six feet under for that opportunity to leave?
Some people called him callous. He called them the guinea pigs.
He was surprised by the sound of his voice as it played through his larynx, a welcome to the people he would soon meet. "Call me Ruse. Pleased and all that. Till you decide to dream, we'll remain strangers. Until the Quill Theory takes effect...”
What About You?
[/blockquote]
Name: StuckInARhyme (or just Rhyme)
Age: 21
Experience: Six months, but writing for three years
How Did You Find Us? Kaitlyn & Kayla
Ready To Play? When you are.
