Eric Penrith
Nov 3, 2011 15:34:06 GMT -5
Post by Eric Penrith on Nov 3, 2011 15:34:06 GMT -5
[/i][/size][/right]The Basics
Name: Eric Ragnar Penrith
Nicknames: 'Penny', 'Raggy'
Age: 19
Orientation: Heterosexual
Desired Rank/Job: Student
Powers: Electrokinesis - Eric can amplify the voltage and amps exponentially from any source, from a transformer to the rubbing of wool against skin, and turn it very quickly into up to a hundred times it's original statistics, before shooting this charge out of his hands. He can also tone down voltage, but only to a twentieth of it's original voltage. The downside is that, firstly, Eric burns his hands whenever he uses this power; anything up to 100 volts is a first degree, 500 is second degree, 2000 is third degree - anything above 1000 volts WILL kill him. This is the voltage he initially touches; if he tries to tone down (or 'ground') 1000 volts, he will die. The maximum amount he can amplify to is 5000 volts. Secondly, he has a tendency to become charged for several hours after using his ability, making him spark off erratically. Right now, Eric is skilled in controlling it, but not brilliant; he HAS lost control, and only the timely intervention of his tutors has kept him alive. If Eric, while 'charged' from recent energy usage, goes near an electrical appliance's conductor (a computer's circuitry, for example) he will overload it, depending on exactly how 'charged' he is.
Play By: Jamie Bell
The Details
Hair Color: Blonde, just about.
Eye Color: Blue
Any Piercings? None.
Any Tattoos? None.
Any Scars? Not many; a long one down his right knee, and a set of two parallel on his right wrist. On each of his fingertips, there's a single spot, about a milimetre in diameter, that is completely blackened skin. On the palms of his hands, there are lots of little patches of scar tissue.
General Appearance:
Eric's a reasonably tall and regal chap, with a certain power to him. He stands tall, six feet one inch in all, with bulk to his shoulders but not too much. Everywhere he walks, his eyes seem to challenge, making eye-contact from the start and not stopping until the other person backs down. His hair is ragged and tussled, with (most often) bits of burned hair and sparks floating from it. Alongside this, Eric usually wears a subtle but very consistens smile, that never seems to fly away or even change all that much. His skin is bright and pale, almost glowing, and usually quite hot to the touch (more due to static charge rather than steaminess). Of course, the chap usually has short hair, NEVER any longer than in the picture, and shaves meticulously. Every detail of his personal grroming is done at pretty much the same time every day, without fail,
In terms of dress, Eric likes to call himself practical, but he always ends up wearing a waistcoat and drainpipe trousers, as if he's living in the 18th century, and finds comfort in his pocketwatch - a tarnished, silver thing that is older than his grandfather. His footwear consists of elegant, leather shoes, personally cleaned to a mirror sheen everyday, and every inch of his clothing is ironed and pressed, once again by himself. Every now and then, you might see him out and about in dark blue jeans and a white t-shirt with only a jacket for warmth, with great big, black leather boots to prevent his feet from conducting.
When using his power, Eric changes. He usually rolls up his sleeves and removes his jacket, but rarely his waistcoat. His pupils dilate and his hair stands on edge from the top of his head to his feet, and sparks start to flare off him.
Personality:
One of the most noticeable traits of Eric is that he has high-functioning Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. The 'high-functioning' bit means that he can live without his routines for short periods, a few days, without breaking down. The main trait of his condition is routine; he needs it and loves it, and strictly orders his day. Everything has it's place with him, and Eric frowns upon dirt, mess and clutter. Shaking hands is something he hates aswell. If his routine is broken, he is covered in mess, or someone forces a hug or an embrace on him, Eric will have a minor panic attack; but through breathing and removal of the irritation, he can regain composure in a few seconds.
Other than this, Eric is reasonably 'sparky'. With a love of electronics, naturally, and physics, the young man has found a safe and confident outlet for his mind in high-end electronics. His OCD actually aids him in this, as he is known to stay up all night building a computer, a scanner or even a digital clock because 'the parts were taking up far too much space'. Naturally, he has a pretty good understanding of computer science aswell. However, as his physique shows, he is not some shut-in. Eric loves hunting and jogging aswell; it was the former that allowed him to overcome his crippling anxiety towards dirt. He is constantly buzzing and full of energy, but tends to become abit sullen and withdrawn around new people. His passion for monologues annoys people, and Eric himself does not have a good history with new adults, especially older women. His intelligence, coupled with his energy, mean that he's always doing something, and hates to be idle. However, this sparkiness translates into a rather savage temper that can jump around and be very detrimental to everyone; this is summoned by deliberately playing on his OCD, or even refering to it often, and it's more a tranquil rage than anything else - his demeanour doesn't actually in itself change, he just becomes very quiet and starts to say things he knows will hurt, he knows are rude, and horrible to say, and will then lash out rather sharply with his fists.
Additionally, Eric is rather spoiled; he's used to luxury in terms of food, clothing, appliances, and so forth, and can be quite arrogant around people who he deems are less intelligent than himself. Furthermore, he's not really up for a fight; his anger sparks quickly, and then the young man finds himself cowed and obedient. When not anxious or angry, he's a pushover, and will generally agree to pretty much anything if he's bored - he hates being bored.
Towards women, he's abit like a dog with a bone; if that dog had an immense fear of the skeletal structure. Any girl he finds himself attracted to he immediately begins to avoid, and the only girls he's ever actually been with, both sexually and socially, are ones he's not had an attraction to. Because he is confident, he is strong, and rather hard to rattle as long as you keep him away from physical contact, dirt or bad timing. It's just that he hasn't had a very nice life, and accepts that imposing all his emotional baggage on someone else is NOT advisable.
Your Vices
Likes:
-Routine (oh, so very much.)
-Cleanliness and hygiene.
-Electricals of all shapes and sizes.
-Computers
-Long distance running
-The buzzing feel after he uses his power.
-The colour 'yellow'.
-Strong people
-Wordplay
-Pineapples
-Hunting
-Guns
-Lemons
-Very fast-paced music
Dislikes:
-The colour red.
-Farts
-Dirt
-Clutter
-Interrupting his routine
-Constantly refering or agitating his OCD
-Psychology
-Older women
-Being tired
-Strawberries
-Classical Literature
-Most people, actually.
Strengths:
-Academic work
-Electronics
-Thinking
-Getting stuff done
Weaknesses:
-Socialising
-Adapting
-Getting hit
-Staying still
Fears:
-Shouting. Don't shout at Eric. He'll freeze up and a few memories will crop up that will ruin his day and your's. Loud noises he can handle, but shouting makes him erratic and dangerous.
-The Dark. Eric can't stomach the dark. He keeps a little nightlight on in his room all the time.
Secret: Eric was physically and mentally abused by his mother from the age of three to seven.
Family Ties
Father: Lieutenant Colonel John Penrith, deceased.
Mother: Isabella Penrith nee Montiescue, deceased,
Siblings: None.
Any Other Important People:His Uncle, Earl Thomas Penrith,
His Aunt Alice Penrith nee Harrow.
His Cousins Jack, Eleanor and Matthew Penrith.
History
Written to the Principal of the Kocher in 2006, from his Uncle Thomas Penrith.
"I think it prompt you get a brief and proper history of my elder brother's only son, so as to prepare you for that which lies ahead. My brother, and heir to the Earldom of Chatham, died of multiple sclerosis on the 6th of April 1994, less than a year after Eric's birth. John was a stout, no-nonsense man who loved his child with his heart, and his first wife. Only when my first sister-in-law, Regina Bondsley, died did John marry again, this time to a younger Frenchwoman. Isabelle was not a kind lady, but her breeding was impeccable and her charms on display for all to see. She seemed undistressed by John's death, however, and segregated herself away and Eric away from myself and my family. She was mysteriously maimed and ultimately expired on the 6th of April 1998, and Eric was delivered to our care, as had been stipulated in John's will.
He was different. He carried scars I'd never seen before, and had an incredible and intense fear of loud-noises and the dark. I can only insist that the young infant that I held in my arms on the 22nd of September 1993 would never have possessed such fears, had they not been forced upon him. My Wife, darling Alice, tried to comfort and become a mother to him, but he possesed an intense fear of her, and, indeed, any woman older than himself. It was I, and our Butler, Mister James Carson, that helped to rehabilitate the tortured young man delivered to our care. We found that he disliked physical contact, but greatly enjoyed mental stimulation, so Mister Carson began to take apart old electrical appliances with him. This has become his passion, and is not to be underestimated. I, meanwhile, found that my darling nephew was developing an obsession with cleanliness and routine. We did not send him back to school until the 5th of September 2002, through fear and love, I think, because of this.
Either way, my young sons watched over their elder cousin, and helped him through Years 5 and 6 of Primary School. By then, myself and Mister Carson had managed to instill control methods for his anxiety attacks. I fear our declamations of standard psychology have leeched into him, as he firmly believes the field to be utter tosh. This banter, meant in jest, is incorrect, as Mister Carson has a Psychology degree from Reading, and I myself was greatly helped by a Psychiatrist after I narrowly escaped the London July 7th Bombings.
At Secondary School, Eric is extensively bullied, ever since Year 7. The mean rapscallions have thrown filth on his uniform, deliberately made a lesson run late, and berated him. My darling Alice famously turned Eton's Headmaster into mincemeat, endearing herself to Eric. To this day, she is the only woman with whom Eric can bear to be in the same room with, and has even shown some warmth towards her on occasion. Nonetheless, bullying continued, until the incident that brought him to your attention - Eric overloaded a computer circuit. Doubtless it took your investigators quite some time to realise he was a meta-human.
That is my nephew's history. He is an erratic, sparky young man who could go so far if treated well.
Do so. That is not some feudal command from a Lord to a Peasant. That is the sincere request of a man who desires his tormented, unfortunate young kinsman to go far in life. The sincere request of a Queen's Counsel Barrister, who could very well make your life hell should he wish to.
Do right by Eric Penrith."
The following is a letter written by Eric Penrith in July 2011, to his Uncle.
"Uncle.
I am getting on adequately. I graduated from the Kocher's protocol for High School, and am looking forward to studying Advanced Electronics, at the University of Vermont, and further examining my power, beginning in September, at the Hammel Institute. Doctor Kronen says I would do well there, and believes travelling to a new school to do my degree would greatly aid my social skills - and a new perspective on my power would also be beneficial. I would like to come home as soon as possible, if that's alright, as I haven't seen Alice, Eleanor, Jack or Matthew since Christmas, and I do miss them...
You know, it's strange to think I only had five years here. Five years of actually being accepted. Five years of running, making friends, electronics, perfecting my power. It's been fun. It's been great.
But it's time I confess to you why I was so...haunted, when I first came to you, so long ago.
Mother was cruel. I will detail these things as abruptly and simply as I can, so I do not stop this letter and commit it to the furnace. Mother shouted at me over the smallest of things, and hit me severely. Whenever I cried, she would lock me in the cellar, with rats and no light, over night. I was poorly fed. I often fought at school, as you no doubt noticed from my record, and Mother would hit me for this too.
I am sorry I have kept this from you so long. Please do not hate me.
Your loving nephew, Eric Penrith."
Roleplay Example
(AP) ENGLISH / CREATIVE WRITING
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Rain. Was it bad that Arthur liked the rain? He never could tell. Some people spouted great treatises about how liking rain was akin to murdering puppies, while other disposed of that theorem in the belief that not liking rain was said equivalent. Personally, Arthur liked it, and didn't really mind walking through it, so long as it was a gentle patter, as it was this humid Monday morning. He pulled himself from his car, a small BMW, with a certain lack of grace that illustrated exactly why Mr. Michaels always arrived early, and left rather late. His cane came out, found purchase on the tarmac, then his left hand gripped the roof of his car, and the two points of contact wrenched the man into a standing position. As ever, his leg, whom Arthur termed 'Gregory', screamed it's protest, but quickly settled down once it's owner had gotten to a comfortable standing position and taken a few breaths.
"Alright. Come on." The man ordered. An instant later, a compact bundle of brown fur dropped from the car seat and began to pad towards the school. Wallace wouldn't be able to get in yet, so he'd probably mark a tree or two. As it was, Arthur closed the door, opened the boot, retrieved his briefcase, closed the boot, locked the car, and made his way inside.
Wallace was at his heels.
"First thing's first, Double Advanced English. Joy of joys." The teacher muttered as he limped through the corridors, his cane making a steady and firm rhythm against the floor of the school. Every room he passed, he peered inside, more a reflex than a conscious action. Occasionally there might be a cleaner, but generally few people were in at this time. That was how Arthur prefered it. Less people to wave and say 'Hello'. Less people to invite him for drinks after work. Less students to 'accidentally' knock his cane as they passed him. Less people meant less noise.
Eventually, after a trek that seemed to last a lifetime, Arthur came to his classroom, and it was this place that he felt a semblance of homely warmth. The chairs were in neat rows, with their tables cleaned well. At the front was his own desk; made of hickory wood, with three draws on each side with shining brass handles, with two books in the top left corner (Niccolo Machiavelli's 'Prince' and the lesser known 'Handbook of a Christian Knight' by Desiderius Erasmus). Beyond that, essays were pinned to the walls, in neat rows. All were what Arthur regarded as the best. Something for all students to aspire to.
Good. But not flawless.
"...Best go find some tea." Arthur muttered, as he gently slipped his brief case atop the desk. His chair loomed at him, invititing, but the urge for PG was greater. If only he'd had chance to answer it, as a knock at his open door came.
What About You?
[/blockquote]
Name: Dag.
Age: Late teens.
Experience: How long have you been playing?
How Did You Find Us? RPGD.
Ready To Play? I do love a good innings of Cricket, old boy.
