PLAYER INFORMATION
NAME: Corey
CONTACT: AIM – Geekgunnar MSN – Geekgunnar@live.com yahoo - Nullophy
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OTHER CHARACTERS ON THE SITE None
RULES CODE: Xavier
CREDIT WHERE IT'S DUE:http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_super...ties_in_fictionCHARACTER INFORMATION
Joseph Gordon-Levitt
Original
AFFILIATION: Xavier School
FULL NAME: Wesley Carmichael
CODENAME: Calamity
NICKNAMES: Wes
CURRENT AGE: 21
DATE OF BIRTH: January 25, 1988
MARITAL STATUS: Single
SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Straight
BASE OF OPERATIONS: Mansion
TIME AT INSTITUTE: Two Months
HOMETOWN: Boston, Massachusetts
KNOWN RELATIVES:[living]
Jane Persevel [ Cousin]
Samuel Persevel [ Cousin]
David Carmichael [ Uncle ]
Samantha Carmichael [ Aunt ]
[deceased]
Ryan Carmichael [ Father ]
Elisha Carmichael [ Mother ]
PHYSICAL APPEARANCEWesley's youthful face was the mask of deception, a placid lake that one would mistake for naive; albeit actions showed him to be otherwise. However, that was all apart of the charm that carried with him. Chestnut brown eyes were there to pull you in, but they were aided by that brown hair that shaped his face when worn long. While it complemented his facial features impeccably, some were also hidden, such as the ears accenting others ( jaw, chin ), his brown eyes were the lure on the hook that seemed to draw the gaze. Those same eyes were often half lidded surprisingly nonchalant devoid of care, and tucked behind the few stray strands that veiled his vision. As you notice a few things like the stubble that came from puberty's struggling attempt to grant him facial hair, or the slight hint of the alluring musk of his smell. Wesley's face was always twisted in concentration on something be it video games, or cracking some obscene code of a woman's heart.
From the neck down it was supposed to be typical, simple muscles that outlined to build a simple shape but instead there was something more; Wesley was built very carefully with the proper attributes accumulated: A defined back, and slender form of compact muscles, loose fitted clothes illy represented the form they covered. Constantly each muscle is relaxed maybe out of sheer lazy habit, or that is just how they operate.
HEIGHT: 5'11
BUILD: Athletic; Lean
EYES: Brown
HAIR: Brown
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: CLOTHING STYLE: Wesley isn't really for flashy clothes, so he sticks to the essentials a hoody, some jeans, and a pair of well worn sneakers. Of course a black long sleeved shirt regardless of weather because of poor circulation. In a way he resembles a street urchin, those dastardly youths that are infamous for pickpocket schemes, or purse snatching.
UNIFORM:Adhering to the simple is best clothing style Wesley focuses on maneuverability, especially with the loose fitting jumpsuit, pair of worn work boots, and old fingerless gloves (for luck).
POWERSGENERAL DESCRIPTION:While energy manipulation is the main tier of power drawn from there are many deviations from that name, varying in the areas of how the energy is controlled, sustained, and used. Wesley in this case is Cursed with the ability over kinetic bursts, though his 'Power Tree' is limited at this stage in the game. Exactly what does that mean? Well, energy can be discharged in front of him in small explosions, or bigger explosions if the output is high enough. Note that this output and range is severely limited to a 10 foot blast radius, from that point the power of these bursts are diminished, lose accuracy, and overall effectiveness. The ability that stems from the build up of energy that has no proper outlet, usually causing his skin to burn red when discharge is needed. Of course the over abundance of energy is pulled directly from a genetic malfunction that causes triggers a chemical imbalance in the brain. If it gets too much it could kill him, internally exploding. That draw back puts him in a tight spot with his secondary ability to absorb energy from living matter.
With both abilities usage is confined to his ability to use his hands, absorbing energy requires direct physical contact. Automatically his body only takes what it needs, but due to his poor understanding of how to maintain it often runs haywire if it isn't monitored. Meaning that a small touch could infect the victim with drowsiness, or a larger grasp could knock someone out, which puts Wesley in a tight spot of trying to keep his hands to himself—when not doing so it requires constant observation. Part of the reason he can't go absorbing energy all willy nilly. If the energy absorbed puts him past his limit it could be hazardous; incapacitation level hazardous . On the plus side, absorbed energy can be converted to a medium level regenerative healing factor, as well as remaining energy that needs to be expelled. This allows him to heal others from gashes, gunshot wounds, but nothing fatal all this ability does is jump-start the healing process.
WEAKNESS:Wesley is weak against many things that normal people are, sickness, bullets, and extreme falls. Without proper care he could fall prey to mind reading, hypnosis as well as other effects from some mutant powers. Aside from the standard human weaknesses, Wesley's main foes when it comes to his abilities are:
The danger of not releasing excess amounts of energy, which could very well result in death. Wesley sustains damage on his hands depending on the amount of energy released, usually blowing off skin resulting in heavy bleeding.
PERSONALITYThe Anti-Hero, the Bad ass, Big Guns those titles say it all. Wesley harbors deep regrets that are coped for with a high level of testosterone, his go big or go home attitude is often seen as reckless but that is only because no one really knows what Wesley really is like behind closed doors. Cliché as it may seem, he is definitely a closet case, a basket of sorrows shouldering a large burden that haunts him and will haunt him probably for the rest of his days. It isn't something as fickle as a misplaced tooth brush in a girls apartment, or a wrong name mentioned in conversation that makes Wesley's shoulders slump forward. Nay, but such a dark secret prevents him from actively pulling people closer into his circle of trust wary that he possesses a reverse Midas touch.
Wesley is conflicted in short, while most times this results in his short-temper flaring up, or blatantly showing his ass when things go wrong that isn't to say he is a bad person. However, those are his ways of showing care, his taunts, teasing, and ridiculous notion to get the snot beat out of hi m are just ways of expressing regret. With the mental preparation to be called a lose cannon, and his fists clinched so tight that his palms bleed, Wesley's outlook on life is a dramatic and deciding factor in how he approaches situations.
The version most people see is the brash loud mouth with his head held high and a middle finger to the world, beware. His wrath rivals most, which causes him to lose control during fights relinquishing the part of self that enforces self control, diplomacy and charm. Surrendering to a less than human torrent of emotion and doubt, when the mask is dropped there is nothing to be seen in those hollow brown eyes except for a scattered shards of a man that could be seen as the epitome of cool.
HISTORY Wesley was born on the 25th of January 1987. Of course as birth's go, his was (in his opinion) one of the most spectacular. Early on, he found a niche in trouble making, setting neighborhood cats on fire, putting firecrackers under door mats, and his personal favorite - leaving bags of flaming poop on doorsteps. All of this was done while parents were out of town, but in their presence his actions were nothing less than angelic—falsifying any claims otherwise, and allowing his parents to straighten up matters such as that themselves. Maybe these actions were just a cry for attention that his parent's didn't quite give as they protested in the mutant rights act, to work towards giving those 'evil mutants' their fair way in the world. Probably on some level it felt like they cared more for the rights of mutants than the welfare of their child - a topic they would openly say the opposite of if confronted. The truth of the matter was that he spent countless hours under the watchful eye of some Spanish harlot of a babysitter that was more concerned with the events of her preteen life than the mischief Wesley deliberately caused.
While the shenanigans ensued for a few years, it was around this time that Wesley was plopped down in front of a new gateway for his extrovert mishaps—video games. A habit that would follow him all through adolescence, possibly to adulthood. With no one to stop him, many of his parents dollars went into affording the latest systems or some more ancient ones. These were good years: no chores, no worries. For the most part he had as much free time as he could possibly imagine, though it wouldn't last long.
August 17th, 1999
Wesley had come down with a fever, or what was assumed as a fever his parents for once stayed home to take care of him. However, the symptoms failed to match up with any sort of sickness they have experienced: melanoma of the skin flared red, functions proceeded as normal accept for an aching pain that radiated all over the body. If anything the parents were the ones that could be suspected as being sick, each brush of contact left them a bit more dazed, confused, and drowsy this continued until the naps became more frequent eventually resulting in comatose. As Wesley shook their bodies hoping they would wake up, silent pleas became shouts, and eventually the pain on his end became too much to bare—the results were the decomposition of the bodies by explosion. A consequence that at this point was out of Wesley's hands, their blood stained the walls, and his clothes as an interminable sadness was seasoned with a wail of grief. Panic overrode common sense, and the child fled from the rubble that was the houses upstairs. He watched the cop drama's frequently when the chance was available he saw what they did to kids that committed murder; he did not want that to happen to him.
Operatives of [ ??? ] stormed the house an hour or two later once the disturbance was called in, they were the experts, and this family in particular was under their careful watch. When the scene was viewed by those of weaker stomaches that reaction was obvious, this was rendered a malicious act of the mutant kind, and such a grotesque form of execution had been frightening. It was only a few weeks later Wesley had been picked up by the police, unaware that this child had involvement with the recent killing of Ryan and Elisha Carmichael, it was established he needed a home—which was when the house shuffle began.
Known relatives were phoned, informed of the situation, and prompted that the orphan would be soon in their care. Of course the news wasn't taken kindly as some were ill equipped to take on another mouth to feed, so he was eventually put into foster care after a year and a half of that same ol' dance.
From then the poor boy was shipped once again from interview to interview, house to house as an orphan. That didn't bode well, because his shenanigans didn't fly in the other homes, though they sympathized, it came to pass that he was too much hassle. During the constant shuffle Wesley really began to understand what it meant to be special. While there was no one outside of the scope, there were people that operated on a different level - as such they were given abilities that favored their situation. At least, that is how Wesley felt about it –I know, such a young kid hashing out concepts like this—but the sight was his specialty. However, Wesley had yet to try to even polish this ability let alone harness it until this point. Around the same time he wound up with the Mayberry family of scientists who paid even less attention to him than his mother and father, and that said something. It was with them that he found himself a bit more comfortable, able to keep to himself without the prying questions of exactly who he was, why he was so silent, or even what's on his mind. So he grew with this family, he learned what he could from his new 'father' Eric, and his adoptive mother Jen was more than helpful when he asked. They were nice,even if they weren't exactly normal. They had their own secrets; but wouldn't you if most of your work was for government contractors?
In this case, secrets were the ties that bound, and what helped this work out so well. Wesley's ability was maintained, and to some degree a normal life was lead while he learned how to interact with people. Firstly physical contact was limited, early on he realized that it was far harder to manage the absorption, and constantly fighting resulted in an ample distribution of energy that built up. Soon he was labeled as the trouble maker, school became a feeding ground for him to test the limitations of his dexterity, and personal will power.
This was the start of a calmer time, conversations with people regarded as friends became a bit more frequent, some knew what was wrong with him, others chose not to acknowledge. It was at this time that Wesley started to get a bit sloppy, leaving evidence of practice, or healing exponentially faster than normal unaware there were people looking. So of course it would have come up in the more private conversations between Eric and Jen - while they were amazed it also scared them. Wesley was in their care, and he was loved like a son, even if it wasn't shown all the time. After careful deliberation their plan was put into action, Xavier's School for the Gifted had been contacted, all that was left was to inform Wesley about it.
Around the same time Eric had orchestrated a plan to let Wesley know people would be watching, and if they were it wouldn't be a good thing. A call was made, a few guys in suits were to bring him to an undisclosed portion of the house that was rarely seen, during this scenario they drove around for a long while to confuses the senses, and made sure that Wesley's head was covered all the while. Granted this was mostly to scare to piss out of him it worked swimmingly, those few seconds, minutes, or hours spent in the van then in the long hallway were agonizing. It was under this assumption that his life was in danger that he was brought into the large office, it was there that once he saw his surrogate fathers face that he was relieved. Of course once the messaged was delivered of the school Wesley was far more excited than anticipated, and as the cliché stories go this was the beginning of a new chapter; more thrilling than the ones that preceded it, albeit filled with many more trials. That is how it should have gone if everything followed the planning, schedule or even some remote semblance of controlled destiny. Wesley was no where to be found, in the midst of worldly chaos the path he chose was that of his own accord, he definitely made sure of that.
It was the summer after his last year in high school, finishing early a job was quickly assumed in construction. What didn't come as a surprise was his quick level of the Mayberry home, at 18 there was nothing to keep him there. Under the pretense of moving up to become an expert, or at least some what familiar with the demolitions trade Wesley exhibited his power. Provided he wasn't under any sort of supervision this was a prime locale for him to blow off some steam. Most marveled at his ability to tear down the most complex of jobs within a matter of minutes, but the excuses of what kind of explosives he used were beginning to run dry. It was then that he did what everyone does when they reach a cross roads—they go back to the beginning. For years he contemplated what he foster parents would have done if they'd taken action about his ability so with a leave of absence from work he returned back to the calm Boston suburban home.
So there he was, back to that same house of the Mayberry's at a standstill with brown eyes that bore right through the front door. A black bag was thrown over his head a fist struck him in the stomach, systematically eyes closed then he was put back on schedule. At 22 Wesley Carmichael found his self staring at a fate that should have been welcomed a long time ago, eventually on this path everything would reach status quo.
DURING APOCALYPSE: It all happened so fast, one minute he was working with a team on a demolition project adding the finishing touches, you know the works, laying wire, prepping explosives and now there was the matter of triggering this master piece. In a matter of moments in the comfort of the mid-west spring the world would be shaken at its core. Head whipped around because in those few minutes he is thrown for a loop with crazed news reports of a growing famine. Now of course he knew what a famine was, but the familiarity of such a tragic incident was nonexistent. Wesley did know what the precautions would probably be. First they would try to ration out food, of course there would be a few greedy bastards, or those who tried to desperately ransack the storage facility early on—they would be the first ones to see how serious this was. Their carelessness washed away in a hail of military gun fire. With a good majority of the food on the outside taken due to this plague, that result no one was rightly prepared for. What was left in the shabby apartment they stayed in would probably be icky vegetables or the frozen TV dinners that everyone avoided eating. The liver and onions, broccoli stew, and the terrible lasagna.
By Wesley's rationale it didn't matter much, but the best they could do was wait it out while someone else took care of it. Definitely one of the best decisions he made that year by far, but there was no blind eye turned to the travesty, not on Wesley's watch who for the time being postponed his work, and glued both eyes to the TV set trying to get updates.
For that whole time everything was on a standstill, even as fingers whizzed across his keyboard grabbing Internet clips, leaked footage, and yes more information envy took root. No, he wasn't in the position to do great things in hopes to help those who were in that fight. At 22 Wesley sat while this momentary dark age became more of a reality shock of how pertinent the advancement of his power was, a greater blow to the pride and confidence; though in a way it renewed his defiant efforts to do something more.
As the storm passed the last few weeks were dedicated to finishing what was started, or to at least get the team set up so he could bow out. Of course such success would come quickly, but the Apocalypse was a milestone that dictated if he would make it or break while trying. Disparaged thoughts prompted a short leave of absence from the meager profession, but the events transpired couldn't be forgotten, serving to reaffirm his will to accomplish and achieve.
SAMPLE RP POST:“Send him in.”
Bruno had been waiting for that call for hours as his boss reviewed plans, and held personal counsel. Patience wasn't really this blokes strong point, nor was being gentle as could be seen from the disheveled appearance of his prisoner. If it hadn't been for those meddling agents, and their faulty calls when 'helping out', then Bruno wouldn't have had to abduct this worthless whelp that managed to become the undiscovered new terror.
A part of the brutes heart felt sorry for this sod, but he only followed the bosses orders; on another note it wasn't like there was much of a fight to resist.
“It's time, cowboy”
Now that phrase always sounded good in those cheesy westerns, right before the hero is about to face execution, and any fellow in their right mind would have hoped to be on the receiving end of that line – but when it comes you kind of want to deny that it is time. There was Wesley though, one part of him wanted to rage, and tumultuously take down the guard, while another part of him was scared s***less of not getting answers. It was the only reason why he would have even traveled from a comfortable room in Chicago, all the way to god knows where.
Many things were left unanswered, only to be filled by the void of despair that was sloppily covered up with a priceless smile, and a few good words to get people off his back. When he was younger the pain seemed a bit more life-threatening, as cells worked double time stocking energy away for later use, everything seemed just a bit more dangerous. However, after witnessing the events of Apocalypse his perception of danger was drastically altered. As dead eyes stared forward at the wall he wondered were exactly he slipped, at what point was it that he lost sight of becoming better, gaining control, and making up for the mistake he made ages ago. Maybe this is where his discipline would be tested, as some sweaty man in a hood tortured him until he gave his allegiance to some half-wit villain. Reality snapped him back to the hallway thumbs twiddled out of boredom, and his face contorted with a pensive stare.
So here he was, in the lavish lobby that was furnished with the amenities of a wealthy living, hell even a noobsauce could pick out the
English Oak that masked as Victorian Pine wood panels on the walls. The Whistler painting, and a neat row of expensive, and hard to come by statues and statuette; a possible prelude to an even more decorated office. Bruno and another suit grabbed him, or rather yanked him across the hallway to two double doors:
“He-hey now guys, no need in being so rough.” A nervous chuckle permeated from behind an even more nervous smile, already sweat pricked the forehead of a possibly panicked Wesley. Their strong fingers dug into the under-side of his bicep,and without a second thought they tossed him forward through the doors. Where he was expected to crash through, and cause some sort of commotion, possibly with a haphazard tumble. Instead there was a semi-graceful landing as the doors were opened previously. Slowly he should put down his arms that were tangled around his face and neck, purely for protection. Raised eyebrows, and wide eyes took in the estranged decorations of the inside of the room, it was slightly less decorated that he expected. A bout of embarrassment was washed away with the next idiot comment that tricked from prompted poised lips, maybe someone should have stopped him while he was ahead.
“You raaaaaang?” Instinctively Wesley almost slapped his hands over his mouth, in poor attempts to grab the words as they drifted out of his mouth. Tight sealed lips attempted to keep down a his own groan of disgust. Words hadn't been enough because he included the usual Lurch, 1980's drawl to accompany it. To make matters worse when he laid eyes on the fellow in the room with his mysterious summoner something in his head 'clicked'. Files swarmed through his head, documents, legal notes, stamps, and a profile for a one Eric Mayberry. It was hard to believe behind this abduction his 'father' was the one pulling the strings, even harder to believe that this was his office. Maybe this was what was behind one of the few double doors that were off limits.
It didn't take long for 'Father' to turn around, a bright smile beamed on his face as words come out with a cheery tone “Listen Wesley, I have taken a notice of your ability, and as you see this would be a typical situation you would be thrown into if I were an 'enemy'. Luckily enough, I wasn't, I would like to send you some where to...help, I think the word would be your ability.” a balled fist situated itself in front of Eric's mouth “You really should have been more careful.” A small laugh threatened to break free, of course this was humorous, Wesley was a nervous ball of panicked well shaken jelly who took his own sweet time to stand taking a seat in front of the desk.
“So where are you sending me?” That was the obvious question, it was already considered that the information he wanted wasn't here. If it was there wouldn't be the slightest hesitation for Eric to share it with him.
“Well there were a lot of places, but we settled on the Xavier Institute.” Interest was piqued, Eric could see that even as a smile lit up Wesley's face. Maybe there was hope yet, the interest for learning was one of the things at the forefront of Wesley's mind. The statement was almost welcomed with a look that said 'what are you waiting for? Send me already!' to which Eric had to respond verbally “There should be a representative coming shortly, maybe you should get to pa---” before the last word could make it out, Wesley already reached down for his bag.
“I'm ready to go, haha” his laugh wasn't bitter, nor did it carry with it any hint of resentment or bitterness “I've been ready for four years, sorry for being late, we know how you love to keep schedule.” Spoken like a true gentleman “I packed enough socks, and a tooth brush no need to worry.” It was on that note that he left, out of the double doors back through that fancy prelude to the unadorned office as they say:
Exit Stage Left.You are in the big leagues now Cowboy.
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