Post by Manslaughter on Nov 26, 2006 22:36:46 GMT
Name: Roger Loomis
Codename: Manslaughter
Age: 17
Mutation: Despite his outward appeal of a soft-spoken, innocent bystander, Roger’s abilities lie within pain, or aptly called, autonomic nerve stimulation. With a mere thought, he is able to perceive, analyze, and stimulate the present activity of a foe’s latent--or involuntary--nervous system. While from a juvenile perspective it does not sound dangerous, it is actually more of a nightmare than one could fathom.
By establishing a psychic link with someone else or basically any living being, he is able to not only second-guess what’s hurting, where it is, and where his attacker might move next, he can also tweak their nerves to elicit a ‘fake’ sense of pain, though it feels real enough. His several years in solitude allowed him to put this ability through strenuous practice, even in a therapy session where someone next to him could become gripped by an unseen agony if he didn’t particularly like them. And an insane asylum was the best place to do it, because everyone put the mental disorder of the victim at fault, and no questions were asked. And so, he expanded on these experiences, and has even learned to stimulate the smallest nerves such as the ones involving hearing and peripheral vision, with, the right concentration, can make him seem invisible if he is not looked at head-on. It is speculated with enough practice and rapt focus, he can drive a person to insanity by constantly stimulating their nerves to produce pain for a prolonged period, transfer his own pain to someone else, or even kill someone slowly and painfully. (Had he gone a more pious path, he might have learned to numb pain instead of give it.) Although he has never done so before, Roger most likely would be able to afflict several persons or beings at once. However, the intensity of said stimulation would decrease as more individuals are added, though if he were to stimulate pain in the right places it would not hinder the desired effect too much. He has a well-rounded grasp of his abilities, but if he is extremely angry, his mind may reach out to another’s unbeknownst to him and give them a mental stab of pain, whether he is on good terms with this person or not. Usually, however, someone with a superior psyche can block out his attempts to make a psychic link with them.
However, despite his powerful mental capabilities, Roger is physically weak. He can easily be overtaken by a bigger, stronger foe that avoids his mental probing or that has superior brainpower. And, obviously, with his psychosis, it can be rather simple to venture into his mind if he is going through an emotional episode or has been drugged. But apart from those two drawbacks, he should very well be approached with caution.
Physical Description: As before mentioned, Roger wholly has the appeal of an innocent person. He is slender and small, lithe, like a sleek cat that prefers to lurk instead of stride among others. With this slight figure, he seems to show a potential for being light-footed and limber. Standing at only five foot seven, and weighing only slightly over a hundred pounds however, he would never appear to be much of a threat. It is, perhaps, a very good disguise for him all considering, especially with his youthful appearance. His forehead is high, and his jawline is soft, but it is his eyes that can give him away. His fair skin only intensifies the subtle mix of blue and grey of his irises, and from certain angles they seem almost haunted--empty--as though he is not quite whole and violently lost a part of himself over the course of his life.
Aside from the fact that Roger is a red-head, he doesn’t exactly stand out much. He could quite easily blend into a crowd, what with his muted attire that doesn’t stray out your basic neutral colours.
He’ll never wear white again.
Personality: Disturbing is often a term used to encompass the complex expanse of Roger’s personality, as it seems so fitting. Before he fought for a freedom to know the world outside his sterile, white prison, Roger had all the allure of a lost child. And when he had his lapses into the world he had created for himself, he lost that allure in exchange for the frightening repugnance of a merciless sadist. The medication he had been taking was to strengthen the line between these opposite halves, to control him. Instead of disappearing beneath the weight of an iron fist, his darker half fought back, twining itself around the metaphorical, newborn white of his mind.
Without sedatives or drugs to establish a border between the child and the murderer, the two halves merged together and became one.
At heart, he is still a young boy. That neglected part of him hangs on somewhere by a hooked fingertip and refuses to let go. He is slightly tentative to disobey a protector, and most likely will succumb to any order he is given if he is not mistreated or under the impression that he is being controlled. But if he feels he has been betrayed by any means, he can turn on even the most trusted confidants. And if that should occur, things can turn ugly quite quickly. Even if such events should come to pass, it is unlikely that he would let any intimate associate disappear from his grasp, clingy for any affection or any semblance of love he might have received from said individual. This is almost a philosophy of ‘if i can’t love you, no one can.’
In his mind, however, therein lies something more sinister aside from his twisted imagination. He has an impeccable grasp of knowledge when it involves reading other people, and a well-rounded intelligence in general. He adjusts quickly to new situations by making means in any way he sees necessary, and seems to have a fondness for things that are sharp.. dangerous. Pain is something he is familiar with.. it.. excites him. Often when communicating his thoughts and beliefs they come out strange, like they’ve got mixed up on the way out, and this results in often morbid creations.
Background: Originally, Roger was born in New Castle, Delaware, born prematurely by a month and a half. Relatively, his parents cared for him, but were always worried that perhaps there was something... different about their son. He had a vivid imagination and exhibited very strange behavior even at a very young age. They at first took it as a sign of creativity, and let him play his little ‘games’.
It was not until he was ten years old that Joseph and Katherine Loomis began to take a more serious stance on his behavior. With a new child in the household--Roger’s younger sister Linda--and at an influential age, his parents took him to a psychiatrist to see if anything could be done. It was there he was diagnosed as with psychosis, a rather intense mental disorder. Almost immediately his parents ushered him into various therapy sessions, administered various medications to him, and overall ‘sheltering’ their son to ‘protect’ him.
When he was twelve, Roger’s parents discovered to their horror their youngest child convulsing and screaming on the floor one day, with Roger standing over her, thin-lipped and wide-eyed, but with utmost attention. Something in his eyes terrified his parents... And while a trip to the pediatrician showed absolutely no sign of physical assault, they weren’t taking any more chances. After some arrangements were made, Roger was taken to New York where he was registered into Laramie, one of the best mental institutions they could find. Over the years he was pushed underneath the watchful eyes of nurses and doctors, forced to endure long hours of intense therapy and monitoring, and given sedatives and other medications to keep him calm.
Despite these efforts, Roger showed even more peculiar behavior. Not only did his personal caretakers make claims that he had lashed out at them without leaving any marks, but he seemed to have also developed an uncanny ability of sneaking about without being seen or heard and turning up in the strangest of places. Once or twice he surprisingly managed to get beyond the gates of the institution, only to be returned by authorities. Assuming that this was his way of responding to the feeling of being abandoned by his family--whom had not visited him in some time--his dose of medication was increased.
For a while, he seemed calm, as though some part of him understood and had come to terms. Everything was normal for a few months. But one night long after the lights were supposed to be out and everyone in bed, he slipped out of his room, apparently with the intent of escaping for good. A friendly security guard attempted to stop him with a cautious understanding, but the situation did not end well. The guard was found unconscious the next morning, and Roger was gone.
He took to the streets almost immediately, living the only way he knew how by petty theft, which seemed to get him by very well. And while worldly affairs really didn’t interest him, he did scrounge the papers to find some pieces on the ‘mutant problem.’ Was that what he was...? A mutant? Roger kept himself up to date, listening in on whispers of the incident at Liberty Island, the mysterious disappearance of Senator Kelly, and the breaking of some dam at a lake called Alkali. However, his life seemed to take a more interesting turn after he was caught stealing one day. A police officer had happened by and caught him by surprise, and the boy used his powers on him to bring the man to his knees, then choking him in a fit of almost panic that he'd be taken back to 'the white building.' Unbeknownst to him, a certain metal manipulator was watching, and was witness to his display of power. The man approached Roger afterwards. He called himself Magneto... and apparently he had something in store for him. And while Roger had all the naivety of a child, there were few that would turn down an offer of a place to stay and a place among ‘his own kind.’
Current Affiliation: Brotherhood of Evil Mutants
Sample: (Sort of alternate dimension-ish if Roger were affiliated with the X-Men.)
Scritch. Scritch.
He grips the crayon clumsily like a young child, and yet he seems to be in such rapt focus on his creation that he certainly has to know what he is doing. Roger lets his eyes wander the course of the page as he tentatively presses the waxy substance onto the paper. The boy’s body is buried within the folds of his hooded sweatshirt, and his thin, narrow arms like spider legs are stretched out over the table. At his elbow are a pile of peeling, broken crayons. Some had already rolled across the table after he just dropped them after use. The redhead had searched high and low for a box and had promptly seized them for his personal use when he had located them in the dark recesses of a drawer in the kitchen.
Slowly, he was filling his paper with a menagerie of strange doodles, many twisting into vine-like bodies and long, ominous claws that were sprouting from every bony stump of a finger. Warped faces and white, blank eyes were staring up at him from the paper, one hand outstretching towards him as if it were attempting to pull him in to the morbid world he was creating. Roger hunches his body over the paper and turns his head in a most peculiar fashion over the drawing, blinking slowly and punctuating the silence with slow, even breaths. With the black crayon dwindling down to a chunk of rainbow flecked wax, he suddenly reaches across the table to get another without looking up.
Jerking his hand back as he finds another crayon, his hand snaps a little to one side and several of the other crayons are flung across the table, a stray red one even bouncing across the carpet and rolling towards the large bay window across the room. Straightening and stiffening his body, but not appearing to be alarmed, Roger sits back in his chair expectantly, staring at the crayon thoughtfully. Slowly he stands and begins to cross the library, his old, worn sneakers dragging across the rug and wearing two faint lines into them. Kneeling as he approaches the window, Roger picks up the crayon between two fingers, using the window frame to pull himself to his feet. He lets his eyes wander, roving over the scene laid out before him through the window, and he eyes a bird hopping across the yard. It was pecking at the ground, undoubtedly searching for any morsel of food.
The boy’s eyes lock upon the animal, watching it in an eerie manner while it hops about. Roger breathes in slowly, his pupils contracting slightly as his mind began to open. His psyche weaves in between other life presences and curls across the small animal’s mind. ”Birdie..,” he mumbles with a sigh, watching as the bird suddenly squawks and shivers as a lance of white-hot pain erupts across its small brain. Flashes of its response are sparking across the link. Hurt. Pain. Pain. Run. Fly. Fly. The bird is twitching, thrashing, squawking and screeching terribly.
The corners of Roger’s mouth only twitch.
(Character reference: www.marveldirectory.com/individuals/m/manslaughter.htm, and other various websites that had bits and pieces of information. Some information such as his history have been altered, which has been changed to accompany movie-verse. I worked with what information I had.)
Westchester!
Codename: Manslaughter
Age: 17
Mutation: Despite his outward appeal of a soft-spoken, innocent bystander, Roger’s abilities lie within pain, or aptly called, autonomic nerve stimulation. With a mere thought, he is able to perceive, analyze, and stimulate the present activity of a foe’s latent--or involuntary--nervous system. While from a juvenile perspective it does not sound dangerous, it is actually more of a nightmare than one could fathom.
By establishing a psychic link with someone else or basically any living being, he is able to not only second-guess what’s hurting, where it is, and where his attacker might move next, he can also tweak their nerves to elicit a ‘fake’ sense of pain, though it feels real enough. His several years in solitude allowed him to put this ability through strenuous practice, even in a therapy session where someone next to him could become gripped by an unseen agony if he didn’t particularly like them. And an insane asylum was the best place to do it, because everyone put the mental disorder of the victim at fault, and no questions were asked. And so, he expanded on these experiences, and has even learned to stimulate the smallest nerves such as the ones involving hearing and peripheral vision, with, the right concentration, can make him seem invisible if he is not looked at head-on. It is speculated with enough practice and rapt focus, he can drive a person to insanity by constantly stimulating their nerves to produce pain for a prolonged period, transfer his own pain to someone else, or even kill someone slowly and painfully. (Had he gone a more pious path, he might have learned to numb pain instead of give it.) Although he has never done so before, Roger most likely would be able to afflict several persons or beings at once. However, the intensity of said stimulation would decrease as more individuals are added, though if he were to stimulate pain in the right places it would not hinder the desired effect too much. He has a well-rounded grasp of his abilities, but if he is extremely angry, his mind may reach out to another’s unbeknownst to him and give them a mental stab of pain, whether he is on good terms with this person or not. Usually, however, someone with a superior psyche can block out his attempts to make a psychic link with them.
However, despite his powerful mental capabilities, Roger is physically weak. He can easily be overtaken by a bigger, stronger foe that avoids his mental probing or that has superior brainpower. And, obviously, with his psychosis, it can be rather simple to venture into his mind if he is going through an emotional episode or has been drugged. But apart from those two drawbacks, he should very well be approached with caution.
Physical Description: As before mentioned, Roger wholly has the appeal of an innocent person. He is slender and small, lithe, like a sleek cat that prefers to lurk instead of stride among others. With this slight figure, he seems to show a potential for being light-footed and limber. Standing at only five foot seven, and weighing only slightly over a hundred pounds however, he would never appear to be much of a threat. It is, perhaps, a very good disguise for him all considering, especially with his youthful appearance. His forehead is high, and his jawline is soft, but it is his eyes that can give him away. His fair skin only intensifies the subtle mix of blue and grey of his irises, and from certain angles they seem almost haunted--empty--as though he is not quite whole and violently lost a part of himself over the course of his life.
Aside from the fact that Roger is a red-head, he doesn’t exactly stand out much. He could quite easily blend into a crowd, what with his muted attire that doesn’t stray out your basic neutral colours.
He’ll never wear white again.
Personality: Disturbing is often a term used to encompass the complex expanse of Roger’s personality, as it seems so fitting. Before he fought for a freedom to know the world outside his sterile, white prison, Roger had all the allure of a lost child. And when he had his lapses into the world he had created for himself, he lost that allure in exchange for the frightening repugnance of a merciless sadist. The medication he had been taking was to strengthen the line between these opposite halves, to control him. Instead of disappearing beneath the weight of an iron fist, his darker half fought back, twining itself around the metaphorical, newborn white of his mind.
Without sedatives or drugs to establish a border between the child and the murderer, the two halves merged together and became one.
At heart, he is still a young boy. That neglected part of him hangs on somewhere by a hooked fingertip and refuses to let go. He is slightly tentative to disobey a protector, and most likely will succumb to any order he is given if he is not mistreated or under the impression that he is being controlled. But if he feels he has been betrayed by any means, he can turn on even the most trusted confidants. And if that should occur, things can turn ugly quite quickly. Even if such events should come to pass, it is unlikely that he would let any intimate associate disappear from his grasp, clingy for any affection or any semblance of love he might have received from said individual. This is almost a philosophy of ‘if i can’t love you, no one can.’
In his mind, however, therein lies something more sinister aside from his twisted imagination. He has an impeccable grasp of knowledge when it involves reading other people, and a well-rounded intelligence in general. He adjusts quickly to new situations by making means in any way he sees necessary, and seems to have a fondness for things that are sharp.. dangerous. Pain is something he is familiar with.. it.. excites him. Often when communicating his thoughts and beliefs they come out strange, like they’ve got mixed up on the way out, and this results in often morbid creations.
Background: Originally, Roger was born in New Castle, Delaware, born prematurely by a month and a half. Relatively, his parents cared for him, but were always worried that perhaps there was something... different about their son. He had a vivid imagination and exhibited very strange behavior even at a very young age. They at first took it as a sign of creativity, and let him play his little ‘games’.
It was not until he was ten years old that Joseph and Katherine Loomis began to take a more serious stance on his behavior. With a new child in the household--Roger’s younger sister Linda--and at an influential age, his parents took him to a psychiatrist to see if anything could be done. It was there he was diagnosed as with psychosis, a rather intense mental disorder. Almost immediately his parents ushered him into various therapy sessions, administered various medications to him, and overall ‘sheltering’ their son to ‘protect’ him.
When he was twelve, Roger’s parents discovered to their horror their youngest child convulsing and screaming on the floor one day, with Roger standing over her, thin-lipped and wide-eyed, but with utmost attention. Something in his eyes terrified his parents... And while a trip to the pediatrician showed absolutely no sign of physical assault, they weren’t taking any more chances. After some arrangements were made, Roger was taken to New York where he was registered into Laramie, one of the best mental institutions they could find. Over the years he was pushed underneath the watchful eyes of nurses and doctors, forced to endure long hours of intense therapy and monitoring, and given sedatives and other medications to keep him calm.
Despite these efforts, Roger showed even more peculiar behavior. Not only did his personal caretakers make claims that he had lashed out at them without leaving any marks, but he seemed to have also developed an uncanny ability of sneaking about without being seen or heard and turning up in the strangest of places. Once or twice he surprisingly managed to get beyond the gates of the institution, only to be returned by authorities. Assuming that this was his way of responding to the feeling of being abandoned by his family--whom had not visited him in some time--his dose of medication was increased.
For a while, he seemed calm, as though some part of him understood and had come to terms. Everything was normal for a few months. But one night long after the lights were supposed to be out and everyone in bed, he slipped out of his room, apparently with the intent of escaping for good. A friendly security guard attempted to stop him with a cautious understanding, but the situation did not end well. The guard was found unconscious the next morning, and Roger was gone.
He took to the streets almost immediately, living the only way he knew how by petty theft, which seemed to get him by very well. And while worldly affairs really didn’t interest him, he did scrounge the papers to find some pieces on the ‘mutant problem.’ Was that what he was...? A mutant? Roger kept himself up to date, listening in on whispers of the incident at Liberty Island, the mysterious disappearance of Senator Kelly, and the breaking of some dam at a lake called Alkali. However, his life seemed to take a more interesting turn after he was caught stealing one day. A police officer had happened by and caught him by surprise, and the boy used his powers on him to bring the man to his knees, then choking him in a fit of almost panic that he'd be taken back to 'the white building.' Unbeknownst to him, a certain metal manipulator was watching, and was witness to his display of power. The man approached Roger afterwards. He called himself Magneto... and apparently he had something in store for him. And while Roger had all the naivety of a child, there were few that would turn down an offer of a place to stay and a place among ‘his own kind.’
Current Affiliation: Brotherhood of Evil Mutants
Sample: (Sort of alternate dimension-ish if Roger were affiliated with the X-Men.)
Scritch. Scritch.
He grips the crayon clumsily like a young child, and yet he seems to be in such rapt focus on his creation that he certainly has to know what he is doing. Roger lets his eyes wander the course of the page as he tentatively presses the waxy substance onto the paper. The boy’s body is buried within the folds of his hooded sweatshirt, and his thin, narrow arms like spider legs are stretched out over the table. At his elbow are a pile of peeling, broken crayons. Some had already rolled across the table after he just dropped them after use. The redhead had searched high and low for a box and had promptly seized them for his personal use when he had located them in the dark recesses of a drawer in the kitchen.
Slowly, he was filling his paper with a menagerie of strange doodles, many twisting into vine-like bodies and long, ominous claws that were sprouting from every bony stump of a finger. Warped faces and white, blank eyes were staring up at him from the paper, one hand outstretching towards him as if it were attempting to pull him in to the morbid world he was creating. Roger hunches his body over the paper and turns his head in a most peculiar fashion over the drawing, blinking slowly and punctuating the silence with slow, even breaths. With the black crayon dwindling down to a chunk of rainbow flecked wax, he suddenly reaches across the table to get another without looking up.
Jerking his hand back as he finds another crayon, his hand snaps a little to one side and several of the other crayons are flung across the table, a stray red one even bouncing across the carpet and rolling towards the large bay window across the room. Straightening and stiffening his body, but not appearing to be alarmed, Roger sits back in his chair expectantly, staring at the crayon thoughtfully. Slowly he stands and begins to cross the library, his old, worn sneakers dragging across the rug and wearing two faint lines into them. Kneeling as he approaches the window, Roger picks up the crayon between two fingers, using the window frame to pull himself to his feet. He lets his eyes wander, roving over the scene laid out before him through the window, and he eyes a bird hopping across the yard. It was pecking at the ground, undoubtedly searching for any morsel of food.
The boy’s eyes lock upon the animal, watching it in an eerie manner while it hops about. Roger breathes in slowly, his pupils contracting slightly as his mind began to open. His psyche weaves in between other life presences and curls across the small animal’s mind. ”Birdie..,” he mumbles with a sigh, watching as the bird suddenly squawks and shivers as a lance of white-hot pain erupts across its small brain. Flashes of its response are sparking across the link. Hurt. Pain. Pain. Run. Fly. Fly. The bird is twitching, thrashing, squawking and screeching terribly.
The corners of Roger’s mouth only twitch.
(Character reference: www.marveldirectory.com/individuals/m/manslaughter.htm, and other various websites that had bits and pieces of information. Some information such as his history have been altered, which has been changed to accompany movie-verse. I worked with what information I had.)
Westchester!
and yay... we haven't had any BHood applics for a while, so I'm hyper (or would be if I hadn't just been kicked out 
... no, still hyper. Yay!)
