Sinclair Gabriel

[Sinclair Gabriel]

The easy S T U F F . . .

Name: Sinclair Judas Gabriel
Nickname: Sin, S.J., Gabriel, Gabe
Age: Seventeen
Member Group: Student
Power(s): Sonic Manipulation
Play By: Rasmus Ledin

Let it F L O W . . .

I am the most charming person ever. Seriously, if you ask me, that is what I will tell you. I win the hearts and minds of the masses with my charm and my voice. No, seriously, I do. My mom was always very passionate about music while my father was a business man through and through who enjoyed coming home to a loving, entertaining wife. I mean, who wouldn't love my mom? She's so high-spirited, so fun, she enjoys making everyone laugh, and it's always a nice place to be, our house I mean. So my mom had all the time in the world for me while my father, well, he worked. My father wasn't all bad- in fact, I have to confess, my dad spent more time with me than he did with my little sister. My father wanted me to follow in his footsteps, to be a big-time businessman who could be so important to his company that they would send him and his family away to the United States, to a very nice part of New York, in a house that it would take my father his entire life to afford. All because he could speak German and he was an intelligent man with a wide variety of knowledge and countless skills. My father spent his life working and learning. I'd say the man was a genius, what with how he memorizes things, and how his mind forms so many connections so quickly. He made sure I stayed on top of my school work, and that I was always on my way to being the best. For many, many years, I was. I would go to school, learn stuff that felt like it was way over my head, come home, study for what felt like ten hours, and then before I went to bed, my mother would sometimes, at random, come get me from my bed to do something fun. Sometimes my sister and I would be standing there in our pajamas cooking a cake with our mother at twelve or one in the morning, all while singing to each other. My mother was a stay at home mom when we were younger, but when we got older she started inviting kids to come take singing lessons. I guess she waited so long because she didn't know English well enough. When she first started out, my sister or I had to translate for her, some of the uncommon words at least. Then she got an idea of what they were interested in knowing and she knew what to expect, so she needed our assistance less and less.

When I was thirteen, I began to cringe at loud noises, I began to get very severe migraines, and I seemed to always be around when a simple sound- like a bell- suddenly seemed to boom through the building because of some crazy technological error. My mom would sigh when I came home, all stressed out. Her remedy? To teach me to sing. I had a hard time with it at first- I didn't want to sing, I could sing. She'd been teaching me all along. Why would I want to waste time I should be studying to sing with my mother? I love my mother very much, yes. But why would I suddenly take an interest in it? Apparently she knows me better than I know myself, because I did take an interest in it. Music, sound. . .It all seemed somehow different. I thought it was hormones and all that fun puberty stuff, but it was something almost magical, the way I suddenly heard sounds. I felt like a brilliant music composer or something. I can remember, I subconsciously effected the way the sound was coming, so it'd get louder at some parts, softer at others. At the time I thought it was in my head. My mom started hitting the stereo because of it, thinking it was defective or something, but I was off in my own little world. I do that sometimes- when I'm listening to something, I get lost in it. And when I'm not listening to something, I hear things in my head, like, music. Sometimes I'll make sounds, just to give myself something to think about. Sometimes I do it without thinking about it. But anyway, back to my life. It's about to get crazy, so let's try to return to the bit of normalcy I cling to when I think back. So my mom took the time to train my voice, to teach me all these things. She taught me how to fill my lungs, how to get really deep breaths that could sustain a note. She taught me how to relax enough to sing notes, and she seemed to 'fine tune' my natural sense of a note. Beyond that, she taught me the notes from the piano. It was an interesting experience because she moved quickly through everything. And odder still, I kept up. I don't know if she was moving quickly to find my pace, or if she somehow knew I was getting taken away. Whatever it was, we made serious progress. And over time, my voice changed. Again, leave it to me to think puberty. Suddenly my voice was inhuman, it was angelic, compelling, harmonious. People always wanted to hear me talk. That was especially a problem in school- I did more talking than quite a few of my teachers did during a class period. I seemed to captivate people. I loved the attention in a way, and I hated it. It didn't last. Six months into being thirteen a recruiter came for me. He explained it to my mother before he explained it to me. My sister translated, I was walking home from school. When I walked in, my mother threw a plate and it shattered against the wall to my left. She was yelling in German, telling me I wasn't human, that I was like my grandfather. The recruiter seemed so alarmed- apparently my mother had not acted with such anger in the time before I arrived. She had just went about her cleaning, putting dishes on the table for dinner. He was quick to subdue her with whatever power he had- I couldn't be sure. Then we talked alone. When I saw my mother again, she told me to get out, told me they said they'd take me. So I did. I left my mother, father, and sister. I have not talked to them in four years. Not that it's my doing- I want to. I send birthday cards, I call, I write letters, but none are ever returned. I don't think I changed much, honestly.

So, where does that leave how I behave? If you haven't already gathered this, I like attention. I like to be left alone, too, don't get me wrong. But I really enjoy getting people to pay attention to me. I am more comfortable in small groups opposed to crowds- crowds do have a way of scaring me. Speaking of scary, I will not touch peaches because they're fuzzy like spiders. I will insist that any spider I see is killed instantly, preferably not by me, but if I'm the only one there, that is what shoes are for. To throw. Very hard. Why, you may ask? They are smaller, but I got bit by a spider back when I was nine. The spider's venom didn't react well with my body, I guess. So I had a life-threatening reaction, and now I do not like spiders. At all. I do not like the idea of drowning, either, in case you were curious. And I get irritated by noise. I love music, yes, but I hate concerts and the like. I hated New York in the last six months I lived there, because of my power. My power is entertaining, but they tell me that it's the cause of the migraines I get. It's also the reason that I can't tolerate normal sounds very well. That kind of ticked me off, if you didn't guess. Irritated is a common emotion for me, and I do have an noticeable temper. I tend to be serious with a more 'hidden' sense of humor- like, I won't be the kid who's laughing at a stranger's joke most of the time, no matter how funny. Unless the situation is tense, I just keep my feelings to myself. Except when it comes to Isabelle. She's so amazing, and her personality . . . Life is never boring with Isabelle. So I am her official guardian- just don't try to confirm that with her. It's our secret. My world revolves around Isabelle, though. I won't admit that. Surely my peers have noticed the way I always seem to get kicked out of class right after Isabelle walks past the window or door. So, yeah, I’m a trouble maker. I use my ability to amplify and silence noises to my advantage. After Isabelle showed up, I got meaner to my peers, I began to want to see reactions from them and I began to want to impress Isabelle, too. Ohh, yeahh, I have an intense ego, and I want to make a name for myself in this big world. I am impatient, easily jealous- especially when it comes to Isabelle, so watch out. I'm physical, I don't mince words, and I'm quite funny when I chose. I have been told I'm harsh- I know I can be. But they deserve it. So, that's me, Sinclair Gabriel.

Behind the M A S K . . .

Name: Niko/Sin/Shea
Age: Sixteen
RP Experience: About as long as Anna- since eleven, on and off.
How did you find us?: Caution 2.0

Show your S K I L L S . . .

"Are you implying that I'm not?"Sinclair shot right back, his tone telling of the amusement he felt. Behind that, his mind told a different story. Surely she couldn't be serious! He was cute, wasn't he? Then again, why did he care what she thought? He shook his head, more to himself than anything else. He wouldn't have been able to tell you why he jumped to the assumption that she meant he wasn't cute, but maybe it was just because he was worried that it was what she thought. Like jumping to the worse case scenario, it just made sense in Sinclair's mind. And yet, even with that response, there was no anger, no offense taken. It was just like he'd misjudged her and was suddenly alarmed while still realizing that it wasn't the end of the world.

"Obviously,"he agreed when she said that she had a start on figuring him out. Ha, he'd just have to surprise her. That wouldn't be too hard, Sinclair was not an overly predictable person. Besides, half of the time he didn't even know what he was going to do, not until the second before he did it. Or, he liked to pretend that was so because the idea amused him and made him feel better in this particular situation.

"I guess you torture the ones you love. Making me step foot into Xaviers for your own selfish agenda- ah, the injustice of it."Sinclair replied. He wasn't one for theatrics. . .at all, but his voice took on a warm, rolling tone that was oddly no less natural in sound than his speaking voice. As it so happened, he had a lot of control over his voice. As he spoke he did so without really responding to what she just said, or in so much as he didn't seem to notice the sarcasm of her first statement or the kidding glint in her eyes for the second. He just chose to ignore it, because if he paid attention to it, he probably would have had nothing to say. As it was, he didn't have much to say that was very valid.

"Oh my god, you're serious."Sinclair's voice was one of alarm, his expression a picture of muted shock as if he could hardly believe his ears. He wasn't reacting to her shiver, but rather to the look of honesty that her eyes revealed to him. Imagine that! Someone afraid of a stapler. He had a teacher in the first grade named Mrs. Staples, and he rather liked her, but he doubted this girl would have developed properly had she been in his class. Ha, facing the torment of her fear every day by addressing 'Mrs. Staples'. If he hadn't been so serious, he probably would have laughed at the idea. The rest of what she said didn't seem that important, though he did appreciate it in many ways. Really, a girl that was scared of a stapler? He was finding it hard to process.

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