Stephen Gage

[Stephen Gage]

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The Basics

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Name: Stephen Anthony Gage
Nicknames:Stevie, StAG (derived from his initials and tends to make him blush a tad), Gage.
Age: 32 (born 22nd Jan, 1978)
Orientation: Homosexual
Desired Rank/Job: Recruiter
Powers: Puppet Mastery/Body Control - Stephen has the ability to override the motor functions of other individuals, giving him control over their movements. Their minds remain their own, free from influence, but the bodies of the targets fall under Stephen's control. They become, simply, his puppets. A well-trained individual, Stephen can force his subjects to engage in all sorts of actions from simple walking to dancing a waltz. While he cannot cause people to speak or to turn their eyes in a direction, Stephen can force the mouth and eyelids shut, effectively preventing those methods of communication.

Establishing control requires little more from Stephen than that they be within a 50-foot distance, that he can see them, and a gesture with his hands. His hands are the conduits of his ability, and if they are disabled, his power suffers. Forcing a motion upon a target requires a gesture with his hands, the more intricate motions requiring ever more intricate hand motions. Keeping a subject motionless, however, is rather simple, requiring Stephen to only establish control and then simply do nothing. Maintaining control can last up to an hour, if the subject is compliant and motionless, or as little as ten minutes, in the event of extremely resistant subjects forced into complex motions. Stephen's ability has no bearing upon the powers of others unless the subject's abilities require a physical gesture, in which case it may be able to stop the motion, and thus the power. Stephen can force movement upon no more than two people at a time, as he only has two hands. However, he can immobilize up to five people at once, so long as he can see each subject and perform a gesture.
Play By: Gerard Butler

The Details

Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Green
Any Piercings?: Stephen has two piercings, one in each of his earlobes. They are both thin, silver rings. He usually removes them while on the job.
Any Tattoos?: None
Any Scars?: None
General Appearance: Despite his relative height of 6' 1", Stephen Gage is not a very imposing man. Fit, though certainly not muscular, he walks with a shade of a slouch when not on the job, his head typically bobbing ever so slightly to the tune of whatever song is in his mind. His heritage, with his family hailing from the British Isles, prevents Stephen from tanning much at all, and so he has a rather fair complexion. Green eyes peer warmly out from beneath his short brown hair, and his eyebrows are usually raised in welcome while one side of his mouth seems to remain stuck in some vestige of a smile. Whether he bears facial hair is more a function of the day of the week than it is any preference for style. Indeed, it is because of his indecision regarding style, mixed with a shade of laziness (Shaving is such work), that he'll often grow a beard, shave it off, then regrow it again.

Stephen's choice of attire varies depending upon what is required of him. While recruiting, he will wear whatever outfit the Hammell Institute deems appropriate, usually some fashion of suit. Black button-up shirts are usually his shirt of choice in such occasions, and he would appear to have a thing for vests regardless of whether he's working. When winter comes along, he'll don a proper, thick coat, driven to do so by a love of comfort and a strong hatred of being cold. Off the job, it would be difficult to spot the man in anything other than jeans or, if he's just gotten out of bed, some fashion of flannel attire. The button-ups remain, though one can just as easily find Stephen wearing a t-shirt, depending upon the weather. In all of these outfits, however, be they formal or sleepwear, Stephen never removes his necklace. A gift from his first recruit, since graduated, it is nothing more than a simple black cord, from which hangs a pewter dog tag. Though certainly not worth much on the market, the necklace means more than enough to Stephen.


Personality: Perhaps as an attempt to endear himself to those he recruits, and as an act of penance for having a rather disturbing ability, Stephen portrays himself as a rather amiable fellow. Always far more than ready for a laugh, and often beset with a wee case of the giggles, the man actively attempts to be as personable and approachable as he can. He considers himself a bit of a conversationalist, though in truth his successes at engaging other people owe themselves more to his own persistence than they do to any perceived eloquence. He jokes freely and openly, as often about himself as about others, and for this reason is a fairly difficult man to insult.

Though he would scarcely admit it, Stephen has the propensity to be a tad flirtatious. They often masquerade as friendly jibes or quips, but his sometimes unabashedly evident come-ons are hard to deny. While in a relationship, he is a full believer in the standard monogamous structure, but outside of such a partnership, Stephen has been known to be a... free spirit, shall we say. He does, however, have an extreme concern for consent. He will rarely make any moves in a relationship without the full permission of the other person. This trait carries over into his daily life. He will joke and jibe freely, but Stephen takes careful steps to ensure he does not outright offend or overpower anyone. His power does that enough, and he works hard to ensure that such an ability does not come to define him.

All of that said, one of Stephen's largest weaknesses and fears is his own ability. Powerful in its own right, Stephen both abhors and guiltily enjoys the control it grants him over other people. Far too often does it seem easy to simply avoid talking and arguing and force his will upon the bodies of others. Neglecting that temptation is difficult indeed and there have been many times when, in instances in which Stephen's patience has faltered and anger has prevailed, he's simply resorted to using his power with reckless abandon. These memories are not often welcome in his mind, and serve as the justification for the personality he presents.

Your Vices

Likes:Warm summer days
Bringing troubled people to the Hammel Institute and seeing them improve.
Talking and meeting new people.
Easy Listening.
Dogs, preferably of a large variety, though he bears a soft spot for Welsh Corgis.
Singing, just about anywhere, with varying levels of success.
Rugby, either playing it or watching. He quite likes the Sale Sharks of Manchester. It's terribly hard to find a good rugby team in the USA.
Men with glasses. He has no idea why, nor does he care, but he does indeed like them.
Movies, of almost any sort, though with a particular love of the ones that are so horrible that they've gone full-circle and are wonderful.
Dislikes: American football. For a variety of reasons, all of which he is too happy to share.
Cats. They're terribly impersonal.
Giving into the ease of using his power.
Failing to recruit a student.
Loud or abrasive music.
Disobeying orders.
Wet, cold weather. Perhaps not a wonderful quality for his place of residence.
Physical confrontation outside of sports. They usually result in him using his ability, far from an enjoyable outcome.
Strengths: Talking, though this stems more from his friendly nature than it does any talent with words.
Stephen is a devoted worker for the Institute, and carries the persistence attached to such a zeal.
Though of average intelligence, Stephen is a rather clever individual. His ability to think of unusual patterns has delivered him from sticky situations many times in the past.
Weaknesses: Stephen has absolutely no propensity, or indeed affection, for any of the sciences. They are incomprehensible monoliths to him, and his skills in the fields are certainly not noteworthy.
Stephen's ability remains his biggest weakness, or perhaps more accurately, the temptation to utilize it. While there are those who demonstrate powers more controlling than his own, Stephen is aware how disturbing his powers are. After all, mind controllers can make their subjects forget they've ever been controlled. His subjects are completely aware. Every instance in which he fails to control himself serves as a source of guilt. While there are times when he uses the power without negative connotations, in practice, defense, or with consent, Stephen usually attempts to avoid utilizing it.
Fears: Losing control is a fairly constant fear.
Stephen also fears that anyone will discover his most embarassing and shameful secret, despite how long ago it occurred. He still feels the guilt, and his paranoia about it becomes slightly evident when he discusses his reservations with those to whom he's very close.
Secret:Stephen, around the age of fourteen, when his ability manifested, used it to nearly force a young woman to kill herself. He stopped before she could take the leap, but the incident remains one for which he feels guilt to this day.

Family Ties

Father: Derek Gage, 64, retired police officer.
Mother: Amelia Gage neé Brodie, 62, dentist.
Siblings: Sister - Amelia Guerrero neé Gage, 38, social worker.
Any Other Important People:Pets count

History

"I meet people, students, recruits, whatever, that can just sit back and tell me all the stories of their childhood. Like it was this big harrowing thing, adventures, and mystery, and intrigue! And all that. But I suppose that when you learn at age six that you can fire forth laser beams from your left nostril, life'll get interesting. But yeah, all those people who lived entire lives in those first ten years or so? I'm not one of them.

My earliest memory from when I was young: can't have been more than four or so. I was in the nursery, and I had this wee truck, an ambulance I think it was. My mum says I had a thing for ambulances when I was a laddie. Couldn't tell you why. Anyway, point being, there was this girl named Jenny Redcliffe. As vile a witch as any four-year old can be! She'd punch and kick at me, try to take me things. And this one day she up and absconded with my ambulance! Well, I'll tell you I had had just about enough of that shit, thank you very much, so I cold-cocked her. Took my ambulance back and sat down. She didn't take to that very well. Rivalry lasted for years.

I grew up in Edinburgh, lived there for my first twelve years I could see the Castle, all the Royal Mile, really, from my window. It's pretty, yeah, but living literally in its shadow wears away at the grandeur of it. My mates and I would pay the fee to get in, and spend the day following around the Americans who'd come to visit. Only in the springs or summers, though. Dad says that, when I was born, the cold air hit me and turned me off the stuff for good. It's still true. Hate the cold, so you can expect me to be near a fire if there's so much as a flake of the white stuff on the ground. Back to the Americans: there were times we'd try to mimic their accents. They sounded so damn strange. "Hahhhhvahhhhd?" Took me ages to find out what the hell that was. Wouldn't have guessed it was a university.

Jenny Redcliffe never forgave the black eye. When we'd go up to the Mile, we could fucking predict where she'd be standing, gossiping her heart out. She gave up stealing things, probably after I made her a cyclops for a day, and moved on to the business of secrets. True or false, she knew every secret and was more than happy to tell just about anybody. Which means she knew my secret, and she was damn talented at holding that one over my head.

What? No, not the power. That didn't come until later, and there's... well, a bit of a tale to it. She'd eventually learn that secret too. No, the first one she knew was that my romantic tastes were not for, em, standard fare. If you catch my meaning. If not: I'm a poof. Had a vague notion of it since I was ten or so. Don't know how I could've thought about it so early. My damn bollocks hadn't even dropped by ten. But it was there; I knew, and somehow, she did too.

School was an adventure, that's for damn sure. I don't know if you've ever been, but even Edinburgh, city as it is, has got schools that are less-than-welcoming. And I was in one of them. I was a normal laddie, you know. Loved rugby. Still do, actually, and I didn't spend my time dressing up as a girl and running around town in a skirt. But somehow, Jenny knew. And that meant everybody knew. And most people were not pleased. Adults thought it was just the kids fucking around, but the kids took that bit of knowledge and ran with it. More than just name-calling. You learn to fight if you're a poof. Even if you don't even know you're one.

This went on for years. My friends didn't care either way, and bless them for that, but even with them, it got annoying fast. Reached it's peak around 14, if I remember right. It'd been going on for four years now, the names, the fights. I was more sure of it, pretty certain the rumours about me were right, but I didn't take kindly to being called Stephanie. And through it all, there was Jenny Redcliffe, just laughing till she was hoarse. I hated her. Wished she'd die, in truth.

There was so much that was out of my control in those years that getting this power seemed like a godsend. Imagine. One day, you wake up, and after years of having to fight other people just to get some fucking chips, you make them fight themselves. And Jenny Redcliffe, I decided back them, was going to get hers. I went up to the castle and, true to form, there she was. Her friend went off to the bathroom, and she was alone. Grabbed her right then and there, and I never even touched her. Walked her right up along the ramparts, and kept that mouth of hers shut. I had her stand right up against the wall, put... put her hands up on it. I was going to make her jump. Going to make her jump and fall all the way down and then I'd never have to hear her spread rumours again. I'd be done with her.

Then I saw her eyes. I'd never such... fear. Such absolute terror. I wasn't angry any more, felt guilty that I ever had been, and I let go immediately. She ran, crying and screaming and yelling. And I just... stood there. Walked home in a haze and it wasn't long before the polis were at the door, asking after me. Rape charges, they said. I suppose that's as accurate as anyone will ever guess. There was no evidence, of course. I'd never touched her. But the story spread, that 'crazy' tale she spun about how she couldn't control her own body.

The Institute must have heard, somehow. I'm a recruiter, and even I'll admit I'm still impressed by how far and wide their feelers reach. Within a day, they were at the headquarters, arguing my case with fancy lawyers and wielding laws I don't think the polis had ever even heard of. A deal was brokered, and I was given a choice. Jail time, possibly conviction, or leave the country for a while and go to a new school. Fucking easy to guess which one I took, yeah?

I was older than most newcomers to the school, but it was easier here. I had no history, no bullies around calling me poof or trying to fight me. I had a funny accent to the rest of them, but that was just about it. I could be somebody new here, and so I was. And these people were not just accepting, they were like me. They could do things, had powers that set them apart. My recruiter, Jacob was his name, remained fair friends with me until the day he retired. He's who inspired me to become one.

I graduated years ago, but what can I say? I love it here. I love finding kids, ones who were having trouble like I was, and bringing them home. It's... what's the word... cathartic? Jenny won't forgive me, I'm damn sure of that. Wouldn't be surprised if she's still shaken up about it. But every kid I bring back makes it feel like there's one less Jenny Redcliffe. That's good enough for me."

Roleplay Example

The apartment was warm and bright, a welcome departure from the dark and blustery outdoors. It was almost strangely quiet, near silent except for the ticking of a small clock hung up on the wall above the sink. Veal. Was that veal he smelled? Whatever it was, it smelled delicious and Derek suddenly regretted not arriving perhaps a bit earlier. A few dirty dishes were piled in the sink. Had he not arrived, they'd probably be getting cleaned just about now. But instead, they remained soiled and a woman stood before them with a towel in her hands and worry in her eyes. She seemed so small to Derek, this woman who was apparently his mother.

The two of them shared a gaze for a moment, and Derek was the first to look away. His father's hand pressed against the small of the Sergeant's back, gently guiding him to a seat on the sofa. There he sat, though he sunk into the cushions a bit. They must have been fairly old, giving way like that. Derek wondered if his father or mother had ever slept on a couch, maybe this one, during an argument. He'd seen it on the television, heard stories of other soldiers whose wives forced them to do it. Was it common? What did they fight about? Bills? Probably not the sort of things Derek fought against, or even for.

Alan muttered to Shannon. They spoke quietly for a brief moment before he touched her shoulder gently. "Please, put the kettle on for us." She nodded and turned back into the kitchen. Derek heard rushing water, likely her filling up the pot. Alan shuffled towards the Sergeant, taking a seat in a plush and comfy chair across from his guest. Ah, so that's where Derek got his eyes from. His father's were more inviting than his own. They likely hadn't seen combat, at least not much of it. Beneath the patient gaze of his father, Derek felt uncomfortable. The Sergeant nodded, not entirely sure why, and directed his gaze to the coffee table between them.

"Sae, whit's it ye'r called?"

Derek looked up, missing his father's words. "Sorry?"

"Yer name, I mean."

Ah, that. In the short time between hearing the question and giving an answer, Derek was faced with one of the most difficult decisions of his life. Was he to tell them who he was, who he really was? That he was their son, removed 16 years, who had decided to stop by and see them for reasons of which even he wasn't entirely sure? Or did he lie? He'd done it before, to countless people and for countless reasons. He was a well-practiced liar. He could say whatever he wanted to these people, and they'd be able to keep whatever memories of their son they chose.

"Always good tae ken th' name o' a guest."

Derek's shoulders slumped slightly, for just a moment before he forced them back up from depression into civility.

"Michael, sir. Michael Riordan." He offered his hand to his father, and received a firm shake.

"Good tae meet ye, Mìchael. Ye must ken me 'n' my wife, comin' all this wey."

"Yes, yes sir, I do. It's... good to finally meet you both."

Alan nodded, his gaze never leaving his son. The older man reclined in his chair, resting in it. Derek could hear Shannon waiting in the kitchen, her foot tapping in a beat opposing the ticking of the clock. Derek pressed his fingertips together, leaning forward.

"Mr. Brodie, I nee-"

"Please. Call me Alan. Na' need fur niceties here."

"...Alan... I'm here about your son."

"Derek?"

Derek felt an extreme and sudden urge to respond to his father as if he had just been called. He could say "Yeah da?" and maybe his father would have him go help his mother in the kitchen, or they'd talk about whatever it is fathers and sons discuss in the everyday. Derek opened his mouth, those words almost passing his lips before fear crowded them out and let the lie continue.

"Yes, Derek. He and I used to be mates. Em, met a few years back, the two of us, an-"

The kettle whistled loudly, piercing the quiet in the room. It was sharp, shrill, and Derek jumped at the sound. It faded quickly, however, and Shannon emerged from the kitchen, holding a tray with the kettle of water and a few cups. She placed it on the table before Derek, and took a seat on the couch beside her son. He could feel the eyes of both his parents on him, and Derek shrunk further into himself. Shannon placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Tea?"

Her son turned to face her. She had a look of understanding about her. Worry filled her eyes, understandably so. He might well have come to tell her that her son was dead. In a fashion, perhaps he was.

"No, thank you."

What About You?

Name: Sean, but since there's already a Sean, you can call me Cole.
Age:20
Experience: Few years at this juncture. 2 straight years, 8 on and off.
How Did You Find Us? RPG Directory, I believe?
Ready To Play?I'mma be on this shit like ugly on a mule.

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[Stephen Gage]

This application has since been finished.

[Admin!]

Accepted

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