Post by John Andrews on Aug 4, 2017 12:39:47 GMT -5
Fullbringer
Basic Information
Name: John Andrews
Age: 28
Born: November 12th 1988
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Nationality: American (Tennesse)
Languages: English, some Japanese and Spanish, not fluent.
Current Position: Homeless
Occupation: Mugger, Petty Crook, Drunk
Alignment: Chaotic Nasty
Appearance
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Weight: 180lb
Height: 6'4”
Face & Hair: An overgrown, full set of matted facial hair conceal most of John's features. His natural colour is chestnut with a reddish tint, however the amount of muck and dirt makes it all, quite simply, 'dark', for the most part. As it stands at the moment, the red of his hair is only visible in brighter places, when the light hits it just right and, given his current circumstances, you're unlikely to see him hanging around any 'bright places'. The hair on top of his head is, as it is with his beard and the like, grown out of control, a mess of long hair with a slight natural curl to it, going down as far as his shoulders.
A black grime covers, in patches, what skin is visible, which is highly tanned given his almost entirely outdoor lifestyle. He isn't exactly handsome under it all, but not exactly ugly either, somewhat plain, with a slightly larger than average nose being the only natural let down for him. There's a thin pale white scar, about an inch or so long, travelling vertical between the top and bottom lip of the far left of his mouth, it's small, barely noticeable. John typically goes about with only his left eye open, wanting to hide the distinguishing feature of his right, the colour of which has been lost, leaving only the pupil and a surrounding circle of mostly white, save for the slightest jaundice yellow tint, which barely sets apart from the white of the eye.
Build: In terms of flesh and body mass, John is rather skinny and malnourished, as one might expect from his circumstances. However, it is over a rather broad structure that this thinness is stretched. Had his life gone another way, he might have ended up as quite the hulk of a man, and indeed before he was to be abducted, later finding himself on the streets, he could have been described as having an impressive gargantuan physique. Now however, he is surprisingly light for someone of his size, and it is only due to many layers of now oversized clothing, that he has maintained at least some sense of size intimidation, which he at times can bring to bare.
Skin: Despite the discoloured eye and the small scar threading through the left side of his mouth, it could easily be said that John's face is the least scarred part of his body. On both the inside and outer side of his right thigh is a mess of nasty indented scarring, covering a good fist sized area, indicative of some sort of large act of tearing. This stands out from the rest of the scars on his body, which appear to be surgical in nature, and are present in multitude across his body. Most notably is the 'Y' shaped or 'autopsy' scar on the front of his chest, about twenty centimetres or eight inches in length, as well as scars from other incisions on the torso, both on the front and the back where surgical access was cut to the kidneys, spine, lower lungs and liver. While there are a number of smaller scars elsewhere, the only other of noteworthy size is a long indented scar along the length of the left shin. As it is on his face, John's skin is mostly grime covered with a thick tan, though this is slightly paler on his torso/thigh regions that see little sunlight.
Reiatsu Colour: A dark sickly brown, like oil, with a light bluish green outline
Reiatsu Feel: When John is relatively calm his Reiatsu has a sleek greasy feel to it, like oil rubbed onto the skin. It's warm, but kind of sickly, leaving you feeling as if you need a wash. Something about it feels unnatural however, artificial, tainted, as if it doesn't really belong to him, or as if his Reiatsu itself has somehow become dirtied. On those fairly frequent occasions when he becomes enraged or riled up for a fight, his energy becomes tingly and kind of scratchy, making hairs stand on edge and leaving your skin feeling as if it's just been crawled all over by tiny sharp claws. The air becomes static, like just before a thunderstorm, with the occasional crack and snap of little sparks of electricity discharging.
Clothing: Due to the fragility of such garments, the ease with which they stain, the difficulty with which he'd have cleaning any item of clothing, there is no underwear in the mix here... Just saying up front, straight away. For his everyday clothing John does not tend to change his wardrobe with much regularity, sleeping, living and whatevering in what he has from one day to the next until those clothes fall apart. He'll tend to wear what most homeless wear, namely whatever can be found out disposed by others. For someone of his size, clothing can be difficult to find, but for the most part he manages. More often than not, he'll have found a pair of baggy shorts, with loose joggers or trousers to go on top. A t-shirt, and a shirt, normally left unbuttoned, either because of warm weather or because they lacked buttons, and any number of coats of different kinds worn in layers, tend to don the top half. Socks are an occasional thing, but highly prized, again worn in layers, the thicker the better. Boots, whenever he can find some that fit, will be snatched up, with cardboard used to replace the soles when fresh footwear is scarce. The colour of his clothing is often random, not picked and matched, but due to how they are worn, they invariably end up blackened and dirtied with grit anyway. A worn black, but more of a dark blue now, knitted cap is possibly the only consistent item of clothing John has.
Possessions: For the most part, when on the move, John will have smuggled away, in a selection of bags, as much as he can take with him. On settling somewhere, he will do the usual for most homeless folk and will improvise some form of shelter, sprawling his possessions out about the structures/ cardboard boxes. He has happened to come across a large travelling backpack, which required only a little work, to get it serviceable again, though the use of a couple of long sleeved T-shirts, a belt and some clever knot work, is probably not the most reliable patch for the big hole on the pack's under side. Spare clothing and bedding, mostly in the form of scrunched up newspapers, tend to make the cut when it comes to his luggage for travelling abroad, as well as, of course, any yet to be finished bottles of drink or wrapped up foodstuffs. He will normally have upon his person some form of alcoholic drink, spending most of his days drowned in the stuff, when he can. To this effect he has managed to procure an old steel hip flask, kept topped up with some unidentifiable mixture of whatever he's been able to get in the past few days. In addition to the alcohol, John will invariably have hidden upon his person a vast collection of knives. The edict of 'one for them to find, one for you to keep' has been greatly expanded to encompass a large collection of weapons hidden about his person, each having its own place on a varied scale of concealment. Finally, John has a medical, single ended, walking stick, presumably taken from some sort of hospital. The titanium has held up over the years, but the grip is starting to look rather worn, fixed up in places by newspaper and tape.
Posture: John, due to the injury on his leg, frequently walks with a limp on his right leg, though he can, if need be, grit his teeth to maintain a more normal gait. The stick that he owns is a little too short for him to use, causing him to often walk hunched over, making most overlook his full height. Partially out of habit brought about by his reliance on a walking aid, but also unintentionally betraying his own closed off and reclusive approach to others, John standing, walking or even resting, sat down or lying, is normally huddled up, making himself seem as small and as unnoticeable as possible. When on those rare occasions he does unfurl, to bring about his full height and size, it's most often so that he can intimidate or empathise his firmness. In situations where he needs to conceal his features however, he'll usually waive the use of such a powerful display of size, preferring to remain coiled, intimidately threatening with a rough growl and impressing heavily on his victims the suggestion of imminent onslaught, and barely contained rage, ready to be let loose from his shadowy folds any moment.
Description: The overall impression of John is typically a thoroughly unpleasant one. His odour, filthy body and clothing are typically repulsive, and for those spiritually aware this effect is only magnified by the feel of his spiritual pressure, should they chance upon it. For the most part he appears a rugged, dirty hobo, the sort that most wish to stay and look the other way from. His face is not one to be remembered, mostly defined by an impenetrable mane. Younger than most would think, many might wrongly place him in his mid-forties. A jack in the box huddled up small and evasive, but with a great presence of size when uncoiled, John can normally be seen lurching and limping along the streets with walking stick in hand and bottle of 'something to melt your nose hairs with' in the other.
History
Family
John was born an only child to Hannah and Richard Andrews, in Franklin, Tennessee 1988.
Mother: His mother, Hannah Andrews was born Hannah Louise in Oakland, Tennessee 1963. While pregnant with John, Hannah was injured in a bizarre 'traffic accident' (despite it being an empty street) that left her in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. Despite her youth and injuries, she, along with her Husband, married for two years, were able to raise a healthy son who would later graduate from High School and go on to College.
Father: John's father, Richard Andrews was born in Queens, New York 1964. Moved down to Tennesse in '85, met Hannah when she was working there in a Diner. Married in the Autumn of '86. Both he and his wife are alive and still living in Tennessee, but with neither of them having seen their son for almost ten years now, the two of them are among the many whose loved ones have vanished without a trace.
Relations
John does not have that many people he knows, being mostly a loner. Nonetheless, it might be worth giving a brief description of his two most recent affiliates.
College Roommate: Though they only knew each other for a few months before John's disappearance, he was the last person to see John before he was abducted. Hari Gavde was John's roommate in College, studying Engineering and Economics. His family from India, he had a strong accent, despite having been born in the United States. He and John got on well, with only a small amount of the friction that one might expect from two people sharing a living space.
Fellow Prisoner: Something about them, a name would be nice as well...
Normal Life
The sun blazes hot overhead. Beneath his brand new, white sneakers, the loose grains of sand on third base crunch and grind, working their way between the unworn grooves of his treads. He could feel that they were watching him, his parents in the stands. He wanted to look to the crowd to see them. Nonetheless, despite the urge to do so, he knew he had to focus on the game. It wouldn't take much, the briefest of glances. They'd waved to him and he'd spotted them when he'd first come out to bat, so he knew exactly where they were. Still, his teammate was there ready to hit and strike it home, hopefully, and John could hardly be caught out looking the other way when the pitch was made.
He fidgets impatiently on the base, until finally the ball is thrown and the batter hits. The crowd erupts and John spends but a moment trying to see where the ball went. It's hard to discern any individual voices, let alone any instructions from the couch. Still, John sees the batter running and decides to take off to home plate himself. The child's run is clumsy and heavy footed, but he's giving it his all. Arms pumping and punching the air, each step lands and sends a shudder up the length of his body, the impact poorly absorbed. The ground is hard, baked to a solid finish with no give. When finally he gets to the home plate, his foot spends but a moment on the white before launching into the next step, his run carrying him forward with momentum now. Eventually he comes to a stop, breathing heavily and turning to see how his teammate was faring. They'd just made it around second base, heading towards Third. John could see now where the ball was, where the catchers in the field were scrambling to retrieve it. C'mon, you can make it to Third. He did it, he made it to Third, but...
"Wait! Stop!"
His young voice joins the rest of the crowds, unable to hold back his own outburst. They'd gone past Third now but there was no way they'd make it to home base. The ball was in the air, thrown by a catcher towards base. His teammate couldn't stop. He was going to be out. They only had the one 'out' left, John had this fact strongly imbedded at this point. No. The scores were so close, but this was it, they were going to lose. They were so close.
There's a unified groan from the audience as the last batter is tagged out and, in the midst of it, John could swear he heard the use of a couple of words he was sure they weren't supposed to hear. It's a little league game, who does that? Though it sounded like a slightly younger voice, so the answer might have been one of his peers who'd picked up a bad habit. There's an announcement of the final scores, as if people hadn't been closely eyeing them throughout, a halfhearted round of applause, some shouts of encouragement for the losers and home team. John, having removed his helmet and thrown it down, not in a genuine act of frustration, but in an imitation of such action he recognised had place in the circumstances, picks up his gear and jogs over to join his team grouping together to consolidate the final batter.
"Hey."
It wasn't an angry or demanding 'hey', just a 'hey, I'm here'. The huddled mass part slightly, allowing him to press through, getting a few pats from his teammates, he'd reach out to touch the shoulder of the final batter. There was general comforts all around. Couch came over gave his cap to their final 'out'. They'd lost, but it'd been a good game. The other team would come over shortly, good sportsmanship all around, shaking hands and all that. John couldn't help but feel a little guilty. He'd stopped short of the home plate when, had he tried, he probably could've made it. If he had, there team would've won. Still, there wasn't any blame assigned to anyone, it'd been a friendly game.
After a little bit, John turns to spot his parents out in the stands, they were at the front, his mum had to be. Making his way out of the crowd, he runs over to them. Standing on tiptoes to reach over the wall, his hands run over his Mum's arms as her hands run over his. His dad can step over and give his son a proper arm wrap around.
"Did you see me?"
"You did great. I can't believe you didn't get in. It was so close."
His dad gives similar sentiments and John chatters excitedly with them. 'Did you see when I? Or when the ball did that thing?' The young child, obviously still buzzing, converses with them briefly, before running back to his team. A few words with the rest of his team, after the game, and excusing himself from the celebrations afterwards, speaking very maturely to the couch in his little pre-pubescent, squeaky toddler voice, John returns to his parents.
"Hey Joe, do you want to give me a hand with Mum?"
Dropping his gear over the wall, onto the ground on the audience side, John, holding onto the top of the wall with both hands, gives an emphatic nod, his slightly too long hair bouncing. Taking off, he starts to run around, making his way to the exit and then all the way around to his parents again. He was given little trouble from the rest of the audience beginning to filter out. It was surprising how much energy he still had after playing such a game. Stomping up the few steps, John comes over, running to his mum's arms for a proper hug. His father was just finishing putting John's gear back into a bag.
"Careful..."
The child calms slightly now, knowing this was a bit he had to take kind of seriously, even though he enjoyed it. John, having done this a hundred times now, comes around to the left of his mum, getting the breaks on her wheelchair that side first. She could reach them herself, but John liked to do them sometimes. Gripping with both hands, he pushed the lever over till there was a satisfying click, which was the best part for John. Coming around to the right hand side, he'd get the breaks there too, before coming around behind his mum. His dad took the actual handles on the back, probably doing most of the work, but the little one walked underneath his arms and chest, pushing his little hands on the back of his mum's chair. It was becoming slightly harder for his father to do this in this way, John was quickly becoming too big for it. In general he was proving to be rather large for his age. Head poking up between his dad's arms, John would begin to chatter away again about the game. They'd have to slow down on the couple of steps or so that came up into the stands, but there'd be someone to give a hand. They were in a small community, everyone knew about this charming mum on wheels and people were more than happy to help out. Instinctively John stepped carefully out of the way as the wheelchair was traversed down the steps
"So? Where do you want to go for dinner?"
-----
John was never entirely certain what he wanted to be when he grew up, in those early years. Arguably, for most children, the seer number of possible careers one can choose from, often makes deciding upon just the one thing a daunting task. However, while exciting prospects such as 'Astronaut' or 'Rally Car Driver' were not far from consideration, John knew that whatever he decided to be, he wanted to be someone who helped others, a hero of sorts. Whether he was inspired by his Mother, who was always eager to help those around her, despite requiring so much help herself on a daily basis, or the nurses they had in from time to time to assist her, John was always more inclined to put others needs and ambitions before his own.
The first thirteen years of John's life were pretty normal. He went to school, had birthday parties, enjoyed hot dog twizzlers and ice cream, hopefully not together in one dish. It wasn't until the first year of high school that he began to perceive the spirit world. Not growing up near any dense spiritual centres, John was fortunate. For many years he would not encounter any of the more violent, darker spirits, Hollows and the like. Like many who find themselves with a spiritual inclination, John's ability to perceive the otherworld developed over time. At first, he would only hear whispers of speech, and sounds as if they were in the distance. Already in high school by then, John was old enough to understand that sharing the fact he could hear voices, might not to the wisest thing to do. Though aware mental health problems were something one had to take very seriously, having spent a fair amount of time in and around Hospitals, and having seen a few cases, John would still be hesitant to share his secret.
Fortunately John would soon encounter and become a part of a group of friends enameled with the 'occult'. While not the central part of the high school's hierarchy, this small coven had its place in the order of things, albeit on the lower, joyless end of the pecking order. As a group they'd discuss fondly among themselves the 'supernatural', watch far too many ghost and horror films, dabble with ouija boards and gently compete among themselves to see who among them was the most 'psychically' inclined. In their darkest hours they would turn to 'voodoo' and 'curses' to lay waste to those they despised, being on one of the low rungs of the social ladder, this often, of course, referred to the school's football team Captain and/or the head cheerleader.
Since this was to become John's place in high school, far from finding himself concerned for his mental health, this impressionable youth would come to actively pursue the 'otherworld' as his ability to perceive it grew. Indeed, when it came the case that, in displaying to his friend his 'connection to the other side', he'd unveil knowledge he couldn't have possibly known any other way, 'Yes, there was a girl who died here called Lawrence. Yes, she had run away from her home because of a fight with her parents that they told nobody ever about.' He would far from think himself insane. Instead he'd come to more or less 'correctly' perceive the nature of his 'gifts', though it'd be through the eyes and light of a somewhat ill-informed, fantastical view point.
-----
A clump of cream escapes beneath his bottom lip as John sneaks another mouthful, front teeth carefully trying to bite off a new chunk of cream and pastry. Before the thick goop can drip from his chin, he manages to catch the offending choux bun excretion. The handles of a plastic bag twisting around his left wrist, catching the would be escaping cream with his right hand, John shyly and apologetically looks around at the other two riding this elevator with him while slurping up the mess now on his fingers. It was quiet, the hospital usually was at this time of night, indicated by there being only two others in the compartment with him, though they would soon step off, each to their respective floors, leaving John alone.
In his bag were two more pastries, like the one John himself was chowing down on, each meant for his mother and father. Bought from the cafe area down stairs, he was bringing them up, sneaking a bite or two of his own on route. It was after the doors closed, the last person besides John in the elevator having stepped off, that he'd try for one large final mouthful to finish his pastry of in one go. Barely able to stuff the whole thing in, it's a messy affair, with cream trying to escape from all angles. For a second or two he'd cup both hands around his mouth to try and avoid making too much of a mess.
The elevator wasn't moving and, with John distracted somewhat, he fails to realise that he'd neglected to select his floor. By the time John notices, the elevator had begun to lurch, going down. He needed to be going up and while he'd reach over to the panel on the wall now, he was going down. John's ride continues for quite some time and he's annoyed to realise that he's going all the way back down to the ground floor. Picking the last of the cream off his hands, John would wait patiently. 'Cleaned up', he glances at the floor indicated, looks like he'd gone below ground floor, the basement level? He finally swallows.
When the compartment finally came to a stop and the doors opened, John quickly stepped up to the threshold. A nonsensical stream of 'archaic' words, a 'protection' spell, is muttered under his breath. He was, for a moment, nervous. What did the basement level of a Hospital mean? Morgue? That particular prospect worried John, but at the same time gave a little peek to his curiosity. There was nobody there, at least for the first second or so. He finds himself staring out into an empty, darkened corridor until; a young woman, a teenager, about John's ages appears out of the air in front of him. She was pretty, but clearly terrified. He didn't really get much of a chance to see her properly, or even react to her suddenly phasing into John's visual range as she runs straight into him.
"Move!"
John's rather sizeable bulk filling up most of the elevator's doorway, the young girl, eager to escape whatever it is she is fleeing from, collides with him, her sudden and unexpected appearance catching him off balance, allowing her to throw him off his feet. She had a metallic chest plate and some sort of chain... Wait, was this a ghost? He'd never seen one, at least not this close or this clearly. He could feel her weight on top of him. Was that normal? He'd have thought spirits weren't so... real. Of course, as a young, teenage man, his mind turns quickly to the obvious hormonal pickled brain response of having a pretty girl, of roughly his age, now lying on top of him. However, her obvious fear does deter things very slightly and the moment is too brief for him to really think anything at all along those lines. It was more of a passing instinctual feeling than any thought. Almost as soon as she's upon him, he feels her suddenly being pulled away. He feels her quickly sliding along his body, hands trying to grasp something. Instinctively he reaches out, managing to grab hold of her arm, but whatever has a grip on her is stronger. Holding on until she is yanked from his grip, John spins sideways on the floor and ends up, now, lying on his front, head towards the open door of the elevator, feet flayed out in the corners of the compartment. His bag of pastries have been flung, crumpled into the corner in the struggle. Just before the young woman is dragged back, disappearing and fading from John's limited sight, he sees something, like a large black hand closed around her lower half.
As quickly as he can, shrugging off the remnant of his plastic bag, leaving it discarded in the Elevator, John is up running in the direction the young woman disappeared screaming.
...
-----
After the events in the Hospital, John was deterred from any further involvement in the 'occult'. The traumatic experience had him begin to deny the whole aspect of himself and gradually alienate his friends in high school. By the time he'd graduated John had pretty much isolated himself from his peers. He'd come to a startling realisation. Though the friends he'd had around him were enthralled by the prospects of 'otherworldly' activities, it wasn't really 'real' to them. It was a game for them. While he'd known that he was the only one among them with any actual 'gift', it was only now that he would comprehend what that actually meant.
Once more, he was faced with the possibility that he was losing his mind. This fantasy suddenly turned dark, it seemed a horrific insanity. He knew that his extreme, but in actuality, more realistic reaction to the situation he'd come across might even seem 'mentally unbalanced', even to his friends, some of which, at various times had claimed, boasted to have had brush in with 'dark spirits'. Though the doubt as to the genuine nature of his abilities had reemerged, evidence he'd already experienced kept him in the certain knowledge that what power he had was real.
It would soon become clear to the people around him, specifically his parents, that something was bothering John. He would, however, refuse to share with anyone what it was. For weeks he'd be restless, getting little sleep for the nightmares haunting him, there'd be violent outbursts and he'd become difficult in general. In time though, he'd mellow out. Eventually, with time to self-reflect, he'd come around to a new resolve, coming to terms with what he'd seen and redoubling his efforts to help other people. Since his experiences had left him inclined to evade any paranormal activity, John would find other ways to help out.
In the senior two years of high school, during the summer and spring breaks, John would seek out all kinds of volunteer work to help people in need. He'd further explain to his friends that, since they were always going on about helping spirits on to the other side, they were already devoted to such good works like he was doing. Afterall, it was all just helping people, right? With this he'd get out of them some minimal reluctant aid, but ultimately they weren't really all that inclined, at least, they weren't willing to give up their entire summers to it. So, with John asking to help at soup kitchens, clean up, animal shelters and whatever other charitable course he could get his hands into, he'd find himself falling to the outer edges of his social group circle, all of the others having their term breaks to spend time with one another and bond. He would at least find himself spending more time with family though, some of the work he volunteered for requiring parental supervision.
Still somewhat directionless, without a certain knowledge of what it was he wanted to do with his life, John nonetheless had a college education to go on to. Once high school was over, having studied hard, John got himself a place at Belmont in Nashville. Moving away from home, a difficult thing for anyone, he would be homesick for a while, John set himself up in student dorms. He'd choose the sciences mostly, for his majors, biology, chemistry, hoping to move on to something in medicine some time, despite the memories that Hospitals now had for him. Unfortunately though, while making it most of the way through, John would not see the end of his first year.
-----
Being Snatched...
He fidgets impatiently on the base, until finally the ball is thrown and the batter hits. The crowd erupts and John spends but a moment trying to see where the ball went. It's hard to discern any individual voices, let alone any instructions from the couch. Still, John sees the batter running and decides to take off to home plate himself. The child's run is clumsy and heavy footed, but he's giving it his all. Arms pumping and punching the air, each step lands and sends a shudder up the length of his body, the impact poorly absorbed. The ground is hard, baked to a solid finish with no give. When finally he gets to the home plate, his foot spends but a moment on the white before launching into the next step, his run carrying him forward with momentum now. Eventually he comes to a stop, breathing heavily and turning to see how his teammate was faring. They'd just made it around second base, heading towards Third. John could see now where the ball was, where the catchers in the field were scrambling to retrieve it. C'mon, you can make it to Third. He did it, he made it to Third, but...
"Wait! Stop!"
His young voice joins the rest of the crowds, unable to hold back his own outburst. They'd gone past Third now but there was no way they'd make it to home base. The ball was in the air, thrown by a catcher towards base. His teammate couldn't stop. He was going to be out. They only had the one 'out' left, John had this fact strongly imbedded at this point. No. The scores were so close, but this was it, they were going to lose. They were so close.
There's a unified groan from the audience as the last batter is tagged out and, in the midst of it, John could swear he heard the use of a couple of words he was sure they weren't supposed to hear. It's a little league game, who does that? Though it sounded like a slightly younger voice, so the answer might have been one of his peers who'd picked up a bad habit. There's an announcement of the final scores, as if people hadn't been closely eyeing them throughout, a halfhearted round of applause, some shouts of encouragement for the losers and home team. John, having removed his helmet and thrown it down, not in a genuine act of frustration, but in an imitation of such action he recognised had place in the circumstances, picks up his gear and jogs over to join his team grouping together to consolidate the final batter.
"Hey."
It wasn't an angry or demanding 'hey', just a 'hey, I'm here'. The huddled mass part slightly, allowing him to press through, getting a few pats from his teammates, he'd reach out to touch the shoulder of the final batter. There was general comforts all around. Couch came over gave his cap to their final 'out'. They'd lost, but it'd been a good game. The other team would come over shortly, good sportsmanship all around, shaking hands and all that. John couldn't help but feel a little guilty. He'd stopped short of the home plate when, had he tried, he probably could've made it. If he had, there team would've won. Still, there wasn't any blame assigned to anyone, it'd been a friendly game.
After a little bit, John turns to spot his parents out in the stands, they were at the front, his mum had to be. Making his way out of the crowd, he runs over to them. Standing on tiptoes to reach over the wall, his hands run over his Mum's arms as her hands run over his. His dad can step over and give his son a proper arm wrap around.
"Did you see me?"
"You did great. I can't believe you didn't get in. It was so close."
His dad gives similar sentiments and John chatters excitedly with them. 'Did you see when I? Or when the ball did that thing?' The young child, obviously still buzzing, converses with them briefly, before running back to his team. A few words with the rest of his team, after the game, and excusing himself from the celebrations afterwards, speaking very maturely to the couch in his little pre-pubescent, squeaky toddler voice, John returns to his parents.
"Hey Joe, do you want to give me a hand with Mum?"
Dropping his gear over the wall, onto the ground on the audience side, John, holding onto the top of the wall with both hands, gives an emphatic nod, his slightly too long hair bouncing. Taking off, he starts to run around, making his way to the exit and then all the way around to his parents again. He was given little trouble from the rest of the audience beginning to filter out. It was surprising how much energy he still had after playing such a game. Stomping up the few steps, John comes over, running to his mum's arms for a proper hug. His father was just finishing putting John's gear back into a bag.
"Careful..."
The child calms slightly now, knowing this was a bit he had to take kind of seriously, even though he enjoyed it. John, having done this a hundred times now, comes around to the left of his mum, getting the breaks on her wheelchair that side first. She could reach them herself, but John liked to do them sometimes. Gripping with both hands, he pushed the lever over till there was a satisfying click, which was the best part for John. Coming around to the right hand side, he'd get the breaks there too, before coming around behind his mum. His dad took the actual handles on the back, probably doing most of the work, but the little one walked underneath his arms and chest, pushing his little hands on the back of his mum's chair. It was becoming slightly harder for his father to do this in this way, John was quickly becoming too big for it. In general he was proving to be rather large for his age. Head poking up between his dad's arms, John would begin to chatter away again about the game. They'd have to slow down on the couple of steps or so that came up into the stands, but there'd be someone to give a hand. They were in a small community, everyone knew about this charming mum on wheels and people were more than happy to help out. Instinctively John stepped carefully out of the way as the wheelchair was traversed down the steps
"So? Where do you want to go for dinner?"
-----
John was never entirely certain what he wanted to be when he grew up, in those early years. Arguably, for most children, the seer number of possible careers one can choose from, often makes deciding upon just the one thing a daunting task. However, while exciting prospects such as 'Astronaut' or 'Rally Car Driver' were not far from consideration, John knew that whatever he decided to be, he wanted to be someone who helped others, a hero of sorts. Whether he was inspired by his Mother, who was always eager to help those around her, despite requiring so much help herself on a daily basis, or the nurses they had in from time to time to assist her, John was always more inclined to put others needs and ambitions before his own.
The first thirteen years of John's life were pretty normal. He went to school, had birthday parties, enjoyed hot dog twizzlers and ice cream, hopefully not together in one dish. It wasn't until the first year of high school that he began to perceive the spirit world. Not growing up near any dense spiritual centres, John was fortunate. For many years he would not encounter any of the more violent, darker spirits, Hollows and the like. Like many who find themselves with a spiritual inclination, John's ability to perceive the otherworld developed over time. At first, he would only hear whispers of speech, and sounds as if they were in the distance. Already in high school by then, John was old enough to understand that sharing the fact he could hear voices, might not to the wisest thing to do. Though aware mental health problems were something one had to take very seriously, having spent a fair amount of time in and around Hospitals, and having seen a few cases, John would still be hesitant to share his secret.
Fortunately John would soon encounter and become a part of a group of friends enameled with the 'occult'. While not the central part of the high school's hierarchy, this small coven had its place in the order of things, albeit on the lower, joyless end of the pecking order. As a group they'd discuss fondly among themselves the 'supernatural', watch far too many ghost and horror films, dabble with ouija boards and gently compete among themselves to see who among them was the most 'psychically' inclined. In their darkest hours they would turn to 'voodoo' and 'curses' to lay waste to those they despised, being on one of the low rungs of the social ladder, this often, of course, referred to the school's football team Captain and/or the head cheerleader.
Since this was to become John's place in high school, far from finding himself concerned for his mental health, this impressionable youth would come to actively pursue the 'otherworld' as his ability to perceive it grew. Indeed, when it came the case that, in displaying to his friend his 'connection to the other side', he'd unveil knowledge he couldn't have possibly known any other way, 'Yes, there was a girl who died here called Lawrence. Yes, she had run away from her home because of a fight with her parents that they told nobody ever about.' He would far from think himself insane. Instead he'd come to more or less 'correctly' perceive the nature of his 'gifts', though it'd be through the eyes and light of a somewhat ill-informed, fantastical view point.
-----
A clump of cream escapes beneath his bottom lip as John sneaks another mouthful, front teeth carefully trying to bite off a new chunk of cream and pastry. Before the thick goop can drip from his chin, he manages to catch the offending choux bun excretion. The handles of a plastic bag twisting around his left wrist, catching the would be escaping cream with his right hand, John shyly and apologetically looks around at the other two riding this elevator with him while slurping up the mess now on his fingers. It was quiet, the hospital usually was at this time of night, indicated by there being only two others in the compartment with him, though they would soon step off, each to their respective floors, leaving John alone.
In his bag were two more pastries, like the one John himself was chowing down on, each meant for his mother and father. Bought from the cafe area down stairs, he was bringing them up, sneaking a bite or two of his own on route. It was after the doors closed, the last person besides John in the elevator having stepped off, that he'd try for one large final mouthful to finish his pastry of in one go. Barely able to stuff the whole thing in, it's a messy affair, with cream trying to escape from all angles. For a second or two he'd cup both hands around his mouth to try and avoid making too much of a mess.
The elevator wasn't moving and, with John distracted somewhat, he fails to realise that he'd neglected to select his floor. By the time John notices, the elevator had begun to lurch, going down. He needed to be going up and while he'd reach over to the panel on the wall now, he was going down. John's ride continues for quite some time and he's annoyed to realise that he's going all the way back down to the ground floor. Picking the last of the cream off his hands, John would wait patiently. 'Cleaned up', he glances at the floor indicated, looks like he'd gone below ground floor, the basement level? He finally swallows.
When the compartment finally came to a stop and the doors opened, John quickly stepped up to the threshold. A nonsensical stream of 'archaic' words, a 'protection' spell, is muttered under his breath. He was, for a moment, nervous. What did the basement level of a Hospital mean? Morgue? That particular prospect worried John, but at the same time gave a little peek to his curiosity. There was nobody there, at least for the first second or so. He finds himself staring out into an empty, darkened corridor until; a young woman, a teenager, about John's ages appears out of the air in front of him. She was pretty, but clearly terrified. He didn't really get much of a chance to see her properly, or even react to her suddenly phasing into John's visual range as she runs straight into him.
"Move!"
John's rather sizeable bulk filling up most of the elevator's doorway, the young girl, eager to escape whatever it is she is fleeing from, collides with him, her sudden and unexpected appearance catching him off balance, allowing her to throw him off his feet. She had a metallic chest plate and some sort of chain... Wait, was this a ghost? He'd never seen one, at least not this close or this clearly. He could feel her weight on top of him. Was that normal? He'd have thought spirits weren't so... real. Of course, as a young, teenage man, his mind turns quickly to the obvious hormonal pickled brain response of having a pretty girl, of roughly his age, now lying on top of him. However, her obvious fear does deter things very slightly and the moment is too brief for him to really think anything at all along those lines. It was more of a passing instinctual feeling than any thought. Almost as soon as she's upon him, he feels her suddenly being pulled away. He feels her quickly sliding along his body, hands trying to grasp something. Instinctively he reaches out, managing to grab hold of her arm, but whatever has a grip on her is stronger. Holding on until she is yanked from his grip, John spins sideways on the floor and ends up, now, lying on his front, head towards the open door of the elevator, feet flayed out in the corners of the compartment. His bag of pastries have been flung, crumpled into the corner in the struggle. Just before the young woman is dragged back, disappearing and fading from John's limited sight, he sees something, like a large black hand closed around her lower half.
As quickly as he can, shrugging off the remnant of his plastic bag, leaving it discarded in the Elevator, John is up running in the direction the young woman disappeared screaming.
...
-----
After the events in the Hospital, John was deterred from any further involvement in the 'occult'. The traumatic experience had him begin to deny the whole aspect of himself and gradually alienate his friends in high school. By the time he'd graduated John had pretty much isolated himself from his peers. He'd come to a startling realisation. Though the friends he'd had around him were enthralled by the prospects of 'otherworldly' activities, it wasn't really 'real' to them. It was a game for them. While he'd known that he was the only one among them with any actual 'gift', it was only now that he would comprehend what that actually meant.
Once more, he was faced with the possibility that he was losing his mind. This fantasy suddenly turned dark, it seemed a horrific insanity. He knew that his extreme, but in actuality, more realistic reaction to the situation he'd come across might even seem 'mentally unbalanced', even to his friends, some of which, at various times had claimed, boasted to have had brush in with 'dark spirits'. Though the doubt as to the genuine nature of his abilities had reemerged, evidence he'd already experienced kept him in the certain knowledge that what power he had was real.
It would soon become clear to the people around him, specifically his parents, that something was bothering John. He would, however, refuse to share with anyone what it was. For weeks he'd be restless, getting little sleep for the nightmares haunting him, there'd be violent outbursts and he'd become difficult in general. In time though, he'd mellow out. Eventually, with time to self-reflect, he'd come around to a new resolve, coming to terms with what he'd seen and redoubling his efforts to help other people. Since his experiences had left him inclined to evade any paranormal activity, John would find other ways to help out.
In the senior two years of high school, during the summer and spring breaks, John would seek out all kinds of volunteer work to help people in need. He'd further explain to his friends that, since they were always going on about helping spirits on to the other side, they were already devoted to such good works like he was doing. Afterall, it was all just helping people, right? With this he'd get out of them some minimal reluctant aid, but ultimately they weren't really all that inclined, at least, they weren't willing to give up their entire summers to it. So, with John asking to help at soup kitchens, clean up, animal shelters and whatever other charitable course he could get his hands into, he'd find himself falling to the outer edges of his social group circle, all of the others having their term breaks to spend time with one another and bond. He would at least find himself spending more time with family though, some of the work he volunteered for requiring parental supervision.
Still somewhat directionless, without a certain knowledge of what it was he wanted to do with his life, John nonetheless had a college education to go on to. Once high school was over, having studied hard, John got himself a place at Belmont in Nashville. Moving away from home, a difficult thing for anyone, he would be homesick for a while, John set himself up in student dorms. He'd choose the sciences mostly, for his majors, biology, chemistry, hoping to move on to something in medicine some time, despite the memories that Hospitals now had for him. Unfortunately though, while making it most of the way through, John would not see the end of his first year.
-----
Being Snatched...
Life in Captivity
First Night in Cage
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Initial Experiments
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Experience with Collaborator
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Escalation of Experimentation
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Killing of Collaborator, Struggle, Power Awakening
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Power Experimentation, Moval to Isolation
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Final Experimentation, First Prototype Run
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Initial Experiments
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Experience with Collaborator
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Escalation of Experimentation
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Killing of Collaborator, Struggle, Power Awakening
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Power Experimentation, Moval to Isolation
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Final Experimentation, First Prototype Run
Escape! Life on the Streets
The body of the creature moved in a series of jerks and twitches. It was obvious that it's original shape had been human, but by the looks of it there had been some mechanical enhancements. Over the stretches of the endless desert, it marches, sand building up and cascading from the little piles that form against its bare feet as they drag slightly. Over most of the right side of its face is some sort of mask or helmet, a black carapace construction, with a large red lens paired with a smaller green one around where the eye should be. It covers the right ear also, and comes with a mess of metallic parts, some of which look like exposed circuit board, and wires leading to the devices that cover the rest of this poor soul's body.
-----
Synopsis, where he went after escaping the hospital...
-----
Synopsis, where he went after escaping the hospital...
Personality
Voice: John speaks with a rough deep voice, that harks harshly from the back of the throat, sounding slightly sore. His accent is typically southern, as you'd expect from the region he's from. For the most part he speaks with a fairly smooth rhythm, doubt and hesitation in his words virtually non-existent. Even when he is speaking casually, calmly with a friend, those few that he has, there's a bit of a growl in the voice, a little bit of rage in the ending twangs of his sentences. When he comes to speak in anger the smoothness of his speech is only maintained by a parade of swears, permeating the gap between his barked words.
Likes: Rum, Vodka, Gin, Beer... erm... basically all alcohols. Large portions of good ol' greasy foods, cheap cooked breakfasts dripping with oil, bacon, sausages and eggs. Summer showers, but not winter showers. He likes the rain but not if it's cold. Sweet things, chocolates, sugary things, oranges, apples, etc. Calming or even meditative music. Gardens and beautiful scenery.
Dislikes: Hot, bitter drinks, coffee, tea, etc. Bright lights and loud noises. Healthy salad foods, carrots, lettuce, and so on. Snow, ice and hail, the tougher weather conditions for homeless people to struggle to survive in. Abrasive and rough music. Bare open desert landscapes.
Current Goals: Continuing to drink himself into oblivion. Warm and dry shelter for the nights. To get food in his stomach. Remaining hidden in obscurity so that he is never found again by those that could hurt him, those that might be looking for him.
Habits & Mannerisms: When growing increasingly impatient or agitated, John will tend to make such things apparent by his breathing and the gradual clenching and unclenching of his fists. An extremely heavy drinker, John tends to begin in the early afternoon, getting himself nice and out of it by nighttime, perhaps a necessity for the things that tend to haunt his dreams.
General Description: John is not the most pleasant of individuals. He has few redeeming qualities. However, it is true that there is more to him than an unpleasant drunk filled with rage. He has kindness within him, like that he had when he was younger, though it is buried deeply under layers of cruelty, rarely coming to the surface. He's not a coward, but hero he definitely is not. When he can, he takes the time to just be at peace, enjoy the calm, but these moments are rare and far between. The rest of the time he'll drown his sorrows, a bottle of Vodka or Gin in his hands.
Positive Traits
Empathetic
“Gammy leg, huh? Tell me about it... Here... Vodka, best shit for it.”
Description: The important thing to note is that this isn't sympathetic, the difference being that empathy is being able to understand someone else's suffering by having known something similar. Sympathy is 'putting yourself in the others shoes', imagining what they must have gone through, even if you haven't experienced anything similar yourself. John typically has a soft spot for anyone he knows, or feels, has gone through or is going through something similar to what he's experienced/is experiencing. It means that he's normally quite friendly towards the homeless and, though he'd probably try to walk past without doing anything, he'd probably, quite reliably, loose the internal debate and go back to help an old person struggling to get up a flight of stairs.
Loyal
“Yeah, I know I need to move on to the next state before the cops step up their search for me, but I'm not going till I take care of that shitty dealer who's been fucking with you.”
Description: Though John doesn't have many friends, he sticks absolutely by anyone who manages to get on his good side. While he does often have to leave the places he resides, to escape to new places, he will not leave the people he knows in trouble. He won't betray other people, even if it's to save his own skin. Not after so resenting someone else who had done as such. In addition, when he is indebted to a person, he'll endeavour to repay that favour with that person before parting ways.
Mindful
“You keep looking at this stick. Thinking you could get away in a chase? Maybe you could, but God fucking help you if I can grab you first.”
Description: Once 'considerate', caring about other people's feelings and needs, now he's just good at observing such things, though in most situations he does little to nothing about it, except to benefit himself. When among enemies this is good for anticipating their actions and following their train of thought. With those few he considers friends, he is able to tell what is troubling them and what help they might need, but is now such that he would probably only take action for the important stuff, leaving them to their own devices for the minor matters.
Strong
“All these heavily armed people here are Nazis? FUCK THE LOT OF YOU! HITLER WAS A BALL SUCKING CUNT!!”
Description: John does not break even under strong duress, being used to and resilient against torture or threats. Regardless of what coercion is brought against him he remains integral to his ideals and to the truth. Integrity in the face of adversity, he would not fall in line with the crowd if he thought it wrong. While he is fine with lying, he wouldn't be forced to it by anyone, nor could they force him to surrender to their will.
Proud
“You think you're better than me? Huh?! Fuck You!”
Description: He bows to nobody and nobody is his master. If you try to look down on him and walk all over him, he won't take it lying down. This also means that he's not one to beg, which given his current circumstances is a bit of a problem... for his victims. This is the main reason he is a mugger, taking wads of cash from people, instead of sitting on the streets asking for spare change. He doesn't consider his current circumstances his fault and anyone looking down on him, because of his current homeless status, risks retaliation from him. This has made him a bit of an undesirable to have hanging around public places.
Indiscriminate
“Let's go punch some fucking Nazis!”
Description: A bit of a mixed one this. First time I think anyone has tried to use 'indiscriminate' as a positive trait when the context is 'indiscriminate killer'. John doesn't pick out his victims based on race, colour or gender. He considers himself pretty progressive, something of a feminist and severely disapproving of any form of racism. This means when attacking a woman in the dead of night, he might be inclined to take her wallet and valuables, but, despite the rather lonely existence of a homeless, he's not so inclined to take any other 'liberties'. This all seems positive, but on the other hand, he doesn't care about young or old going after either freely. A runaway pre-teen or a nattering old granny are both as much fair game to him as a prime adult man walking through the rougher parts at night.
Self-Reliant
"Been on my own for a while now in some pretty rough conditions. Still here."
Description: John is more than capable of looking after himself, without needing the help of other people to survive. While one might be rather sceptical, in regards to how well he takes care of himself, he does manage to keep himself fed and alive. Drowning himself in drink might not be the best way for him to be coping with his past, leaving him somewhat unstable, on the run for his various criminal acts, and generally having a more difficult life than he needs to have, but he is at least making his own way through it without having to rely on anyone else's help.
Negative Traits
Violent
“God, I need to punch someone.”
Description: John is pretty quick to anger and it can come out in some pretty violent ways. Often getting into fights, he does nonetheless seem to have, even in the height of his rage, the self control needed to not use his supernatural powers, unless he needs to. His explosive anger tends to be more about hurting other people, disregarding his own well being, then showing his power, so if he can do some damage without his powers, he will do the job with just his fists alone.
Callous
“Oh I'm sorry... your wife just died? My condolences. Give me your wallet.”
Description: Having been through so much himself, and having made it, what does he care about the suffering of other people? If they can't take it, then they're just not meant to be as strong as he is. While he can't help but feel a painful twinge for those like himself, recalling what he himself had been through, he's ultimately lost any sympathy for the types of suffering unlike his own. The world is a cruel and unkind place and if you want to survive you just need to suck it up.
Impatient
“C'mon. C'mon you Shithead. Wallet. Now.”
Description: Pretty anxious not to be left standing around waiting, John's barely contained rage bubbles away in the presence of slow and stumbling victims. Sometimes hungry or beginning to sober up, his impatience is often fuelled by more urgent needs. While he does like those moments of peace he can find, when he can enjoy his freedom and not having to do anything, when he is able to appreciate no longer being in pain, having to wait on others who are using up his time irritates him to no end.
Loner
"Hey! You! Fuck Off!"
Description: Preferring to be alone when he can, to calmly breathe out the anger and try to find some peace, John only seeks the company of others when he's feeling lonely, which does not often occur. Indeed, when he is trying to be by himself, one of the many things that can set him off is someone invading his privacy. When he becomes part of a group it is only by his choice and only for as long as he wants to be. If it is by invitation, he'll abruptly turn up at will. If he wants to approach a group and be with them, because he's been without company for a while, he'll normally come bearing gifts. On a couple of occasions this has been to approach a group of homeless people around a fire with a dead seagull he'd brought down himself. 'There's good eating on one of these and I'm willing to share.'
Indelicate
“What?! Fucking what?! You shitty faced little...”
Description: In the face of everything he's been through the idea of holding back and using 'courteous' language all seems a bit alien. With all that rage inside, even when in 'calm' conversation John will often let slip a few lines of vulgar swearing. In addition he's not much to think of things that might be indelicate or hurtful in certain circumstances, or rather he might consider such things, but doesn't waste the time skirting around issues unless they would be really damning to mention.
Merciless
“So... that's all the fingers on your right hand. Time for me to actually start asking the questions.”
Description: Though he tends not to kill, because it makes a mess and that can be more trouble than it's worth, if he needs to kill, he can do so without reservations or hesitation. Even begging for mercy, unless it's a really good beg worthy of his empathy, he'll slice your throat from ear to ear. Similarly he'll have no qualms with inflicting repeated and intense pain upon a person to get what he wants from them.
Distrusting
“Somewhere to stay, warm, with food? Fuck you! How do I know this isn't a trap?”
Description: Quite understandably, given what he's running from, and with no way of telling who is a friend or an enemy, John isn't all the ready to trust the people around him without proof that they're safe. Such is the fear of being tricked and returned to a laboratory, John will even pass up the opportunity to get off the streets and back on his feet, rather than put his trust in a stranger that could be anyone.
Ashamed
“I wasn't always like this, I know. I've become something I can barely recognise. I wish I could go back to how I was, but it's not that simple.”
Description: Although he seems like a proud individual, it's because of this that he doesn't like to speak of what he's done and what has been done to him. Though he hurts others without hesitation, he's not proud of it. Always running from his past, nothing would provoke his anger more if a person learning of his past tried to treat him with sympathy, like he was some sort of victim.
Arrogant
“YOU CAN'T TAKE ME! NOBODY CAN FUCKING TAKE ME!”
Description: His special ability having never let him down so far, and also being the way in which he escaped a living hell, John believes them to be the ultimate in power. If he isn't the strongest after being put through all he's been through, then what was the point of it? Surely the suffering had only made him stronger. While he has not, as yet, met anyone with similar ability to him, John easily has the advantage over everyday people. This certainty that no normal person can take him gives him the security and confidence required to do whatever the hell he wants. Stabbing a cop that gets in the way? Busting up the local pimp or crime boss? None of them can touch him. This solid belief in his own power is probably the only thing stopping him from living in constant fear of recapture and returning to a laboratory slab. One can only speculate as to the effect of meeting someone with power that overwhelms his own.
Fullbring
'Fullbring' - Mortal Power: John's power was unleashed amidst pain and suffering, brought to the surface artificially through mechanical means. Originally controlled by others through devices and manipulation of his body and brain, John has since learnt to call upon these powers by his own means. Having practiced well the art of suppressing and concealing his own spiritual pressure, John's power proved to be far more than what his would be masters had expected. Throwing off the shackles, John escaped out into the world.
Although he is afraid of being found again by the people who'd abducted him, he will at times dare to use his powers and stands out, proudly defying their oppression. As he'd always done during his captivity, he fights against his captors, and now, to some extent, the world. He'd survived without breaking, going through all that suffering, and that being the case, he thinks, how could he have earned anything but immense, supernatural power?
John in general manifests new powers from those tools he can find lying around, though he has learnt to perform more common place Fullbring techniques, hardening the body, stepping on air and water, reinforcing basic objects in his hands and so on. Typically he'll use his ability to get up off the ground level to 'nest' making use of those little nooks, normally inaccessible areas that are out of sight, hard to access by other means and have good natural shelter against rain and wind.
'Heaven Craft' - Personal Fullbring John's power is to bring forth the elements of the storm, drawing the spirits from basic tools and using them to craft and manipulate the very heavens. This power primarily manifests through the walking stick John now carries with him. It's a perfect representation of the freedom and independents he now has, despite his crippling and all he'd been through, as well as a constant reminder of what was done to him. A proud man, reduced to using such a walking aid to even function, there is intense rage and fury waiting to be unleashed within this cane. When actuated, it takes the form of a long staff with a single, large, roughly cut, obsidian setting at the head. This is the stormbringer. As an offensive weapon, it bombards enemies with hurricanes, bullet like hail or drenching, power suppressing torrential rain. On the defence it envelops its wielder in a powerful wind that grants him a swift and impressive floating mobility.
Despite what his captors would bring forth in through experimentation, when imprisoned John's powers were best brought forth in his shivs and improvised weapons, symbols of his defiance. To some extent he can still do this today, either transforming the blades entirely into handfuls of black lightning to be launched from the palms in devastating, single shot blasts, or by having them fire off smaller jumping arcs of lightning from the tips that, when they hit the enemy, will inflict the long lingering pain of having been stabbed or cut, without actually doing any real damage. The later ability, is a relatively recent development, one that he has been used many times, sadistically, in the relatively short amount of time since its discovery. Those knives of his were always a tool of survival, but it is only recently that they've become symbols of intimidation and coercion, leading to their new use.
OOC & Notes
Action text is in this format.
“Speech is in this format.”
{Thought is in this format.}
“Onomatopoeia is in this format.”
Colours:
Green: 77cc11
Red: cc1111
Blue: 11aacc
Lilac: a16fa9
Dark Blue: 4750ff
Player Alias: Fen
Desired Starting GP: As much as I can get, I don't know, 2,500, 2,800? I spent a lot of time on this and was actually aiming for 3,000, but I know that may be an unrealistic expectation.
Were You Referred by Anyone: Google
Other Characters: Alexander V. Terada, Shinigami. Eurynomos, Hollow