Post by Dean on Aug 24, 2009 23:46:53 GMT -5
Name: Dean Ulysses Archer
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Hometown: Tanic, Texas
Nationality: American
Languages Spoken: English, Sudanese
Description: 6 foot 2, gangly, but with strong features. Caucasian, but tanned to a dirt color from time in Africa. Dean has dark blue eyes. His hair is a messy mop of rust colored shag that’s just as much red as it is brown. His hands- like the rest of him- are scared and calloused. He wears worn comfortable ranch boots, tan canvas pants with suspenders, an old leather long-coat, and always around his hips is his Bandoleer/gun belt.
Skills: A great detective. Can play the Harmonica. Exceptional shot with a rifle and pistol.
Personality: Very smart, for his age, and with collage level detection skills. Witty and quick, his mouth tends to get him into just as much trouble as the rest of him. Dean is a self-made loner, cutting himself off from most people by plain instinct. It takes a lot for him to trust someone, but when he does, he’s the most loyal, stubborn person you can have on your side. Loyal to a T, and extremely chivalrous. he tends to get in over his head when a girl gets in trouble.
"As a rule, I try not to get involved with things that don’t directly concern me. To put it simply, I’m an observer. Someone that watches in the scenery unless I believe that I can help. Needless to say, I don’t have that many friends. I’m okay with that. I’ve become pretty accustomed to the idea of one shadow accompanying me through life. I’m not a good guy, so my own sins are more than enough to deal with."
"So, I stay out of things, seeing things as they are, stepping in only when it becomes absolutely necessary. It sounds cold, I know, but it’s usually better for all parties involved that I refrain from putting my hand in things as much as possible."
Bio/History: Even back before the invasion, Dean wasn’t your average high school student. He had been the unofficial student detective for the local high school for his tenure at Tanic. It had introduced him to all kinds of bad juju that the world had to offer, and it- in turn- had calloused Dean beyond what he already was. Which is really saying something.
One of his clients turned out to be a controller, and Archer got pulled into the conspiracy that was the Yeerks, That was a day before he invasion started. The Yeerks must have figured to randomly hit small towns to cause fear and discourage insurrection because the struck without warning or mercy.He barely got out of Tanic alive, nearly getting cut to ribbons by a squad of blue-band Hork-Bajir. He didn’t escape unscathed though. The aliens had sliced and diced there way across Dean’s body, and it made it so he couldn’t run far. All Dean could do was sit and watch as everything he knew was set aflame. He decided right then and there that he wasn't going to let himself die until he had made this right. He had always seen the world as an equation that was always balanced, or in the process of becoming so. After the atack, Dean dissapeared- knowing that the yeerks would be looking for him. That said, he also knew that they would write him off because he was just one guy. He stayed on the move, training his body and mind as he ran. Dean traveled all over the world- from aisa all the way to the ice caps- looking for an awnser on how to beat the yeerks. he picked up some new handy skills on his travels: assorted weapons training, pain meditation rituals, and *ahem* theifing being some of them. He eventually ending up in Africa with a small group of refugees/ Freedom fighters.
Starting Morphs:
Land: Black Fox
Bug: Firefly (just to be Ironic)
Other: Little Owl
Scene with Parent:
(Here’s an excerpt from Dean’s back-story I was writing for AA. I’m going to finish it and move it here.)
I broke back into the school after the EMT’s took away the body. I needed to get away from the bulls and the press before they were able to get their greasy hands on me. The last thing I needed was to be detained for hours being asked the same set of questions over and over.
At least that’s what I told myself that was what the reason was.
I got to one of the soggy bathrooms just in time to puke into a stall. I guess my adrenaline had finally run out, and all that smoke that I had inhaled probably didn’t help me much. I stood up a couple minuets after that, wiping my mouth on my hand. On shaky legs I walked over to the sink, leaning over the old porcelain. With a splash of cold tap water and a couple of pounds of paper towels I managed to get turn my face back into something resembling one.
I took a breath and glanced up at the mirror, but not into it. I didn’t want to look at my reflection, a useless feeling overwhelming me. I had been through a lot in my tenure at Tanic High School, more than the majority of teenagers I had met. Robberies, Violence, Drugs, you name it and I had probably confronted it. But nothing like this. This was just…Different. No one had ever died because of my failure to act.
I was just so damned tired.
I stood like that for a while, wondering what I was going to do next. I was just one guy. What did it matter if I kept pursuing this? Why should I have to always be the one to put me and mine in harms way to figure out what’s going on? Why was it my responsibility?
I looked at my half melted converse. Because, I told myself, It's the right thing to do.
I smiled at my shoes. "Put those words on my grave. There probaly going to kill me some day."
I pushed that useless feeling away me. A rock formed at the base of my spine, and it mirrored in my features.
I wasn’t going to stop until I found out why that poor soul had died.
I looked up into my eyes, and the same thick eyes that had gotten me into so much trouble gazed back into mine. One more time, I told myself, one more time.
I left the tiled room and the self pity behind me, renewed vigor pulsing though my steps. I needed to get somewhere to figure out my next move. I need to get information.
I needed to go to church.
(OCC: I am a transfer. My post count is 30)
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Hometown: Tanic, Texas
Nationality: American
Languages Spoken: English, Sudanese
Description: 6 foot 2, gangly, but with strong features. Caucasian, but tanned to a dirt color from time in Africa. Dean has dark blue eyes. His hair is a messy mop of rust colored shag that’s just as much red as it is brown. His hands- like the rest of him- are scared and calloused. He wears worn comfortable ranch boots, tan canvas pants with suspenders, an old leather long-coat, and always around his hips is his Bandoleer/gun belt.
Skills: A great detective. Can play the Harmonica. Exceptional shot with a rifle and pistol.
Personality: Very smart, for his age, and with collage level detection skills. Witty and quick, his mouth tends to get him into just as much trouble as the rest of him. Dean is a self-made loner, cutting himself off from most people by plain instinct. It takes a lot for him to trust someone, but when he does, he’s the most loyal, stubborn person you can have on your side. Loyal to a T, and extremely chivalrous. he tends to get in over his head when a girl gets in trouble.
"As a rule, I try not to get involved with things that don’t directly concern me. To put it simply, I’m an observer. Someone that watches in the scenery unless I believe that I can help. Needless to say, I don’t have that many friends. I’m okay with that. I’ve become pretty accustomed to the idea of one shadow accompanying me through life. I’m not a good guy, so my own sins are more than enough to deal with."
"So, I stay out of things, seeing things as they are, stepping in only when it becomes absolutely necessary. It sounds cold, I know, but it’s usually better for all parties involved that I refrain from putting my hand in things as much as possible."
Bio/History: Even back before the invasion, Dean wasn’t your average high school student. He had been the unofficial student detective for the local high school for his tenure at Tanic. It had introduced him to all kinds of bad juju that the world had to offer, and it- in turn- had calloused Dean beyond what he already was. Which is really saying something.
One of his clients turned out to be a controller, and Archer got pulled into the conspiracy that was the Yeerks, That was a day before he invasion started. The Yeerks must have figured to randomly hit small towns to cause fear and discourage insurrection because the struck without warning or mercy.He barely got out of Tanic alive, nearly getting cut to ribbons by a squad of blue-band Hork-Bajir. He didn’t escape unscathed though. The aliens had sliced and diced there way across Dean’s body, and it made it so he couldn’t run far. All Dean could do was sit and watch as everything he knew was set aflame. He decided right then and there that he wasn't going to let himself die until he had made this right. He had always seen the world as an equation that was always balanced, or in the process of becoming so. After the atack, Dean dissapeared- knowing that the yeerks would be looking for him. That said, he also knew that they would write him off because he was just one guy. He stayed on the move, training his body and mind as he ran. Dean traveled all over the world- from aisa all the way to the ice caps- looking for an awnser on how to beat the yeerks. he picked up some new handy skills on his travels: assorted weapons training, pain meditation rituals, and *ahem* theifing being some of them. He eventually ending up in Africa with a small group of refugees/ Freedom fighters.
Starting Morphs:
Land: Black Fox
Bug: Firefly (just to be Ironic)
Other: Little Owl
Scene with Parent:
(Here’s an excerpt from Dean’s back-story I was writing for AA. I’m going to finish it and move it here.)
I broke back into the school after the EMT’s took away the body. I needed to get away from the bulls and the press before they were able to get their greasy hands on me. The last thing I needed was to be detained for hours being asked the same set of questions over and over.
At least that’s what I told myself that was what the reason was.
I got to one of the soggy bathrooms just in time to puke into a stall. I guess my adrenaline had finally run out, and all that smoke that I had inhaled probably didn’t help me much. I stood up a couple minuets after that, wiping my mouth on my hand. On shaky legs I walked over to the sink, leaning over the old porcelain. With a splash of cold tap water and a couple of pounds of paper towels I managed to get turn my face back into something resembling one.
I took a breath and glanced up at the mirror, but not into it. I didn’t want to look at my reflection, a useless feeling overwhelming me. I had been through a lot in my tenure at Tanic High School, more than the majority of teenagers I had met. Robberies, Violence, Drugs, you name it and I had probably confronted it. But nothing like this. This was just…Different. No one had ever died because of my failure to act.
I was just so damned tired.
I stood like that for a while, wondering what I was going to do next. I was just one guy. What did it matter if I kept pursuing this? Why should I have to always be the one to put me and mine in harms way to figure out what’s going on? Why was it my responsibility?
I looked at my half melted converse. Because, I told myself, It's the right thing to do.
I smiled at my shoes. "Put those words on my grave. There probaly going to kill me some day."
I pushed that useless feeling away me. A rock formed at the base of my spine, and it mirrored in my features.
I wasn’t going to stop until I found out why that poor soul had died.
I looked up into my eyes, and the same thick eyes that had gotten me into so much trouble gazed back into mine. One more time, I told myself, one more time.
I left the tiled room and the self pity behind me, renewed vigor pulsing though my steps. I needed to get somewhere to figure out my next move. I need to get information.
I needed to go to church.
(OCC: I am a transfer. My post count is 30)
