Post by Jacob Harper on Jan 24, 2009 22:20:58 GMT -5
Jacob Harper
A song from somewhere below
Deadly and slow begins
Both sickly and sweet
Now picking up speed
Ushering in the world's end
And the ghost of Descartes screams again in the dark
"Oh, how could I have been so wrong?"
But above the screams the sirens sing their song.
A song from somewhere below
Deadly and slow begins
Both sickly and sweet
Now picking up speed
Ushering in the world's end
And the ghost of Descartes screams again in the dark
"Oh, how could I have been so wrong?"
But above the screams the sirens sing their song.
We are the thing of shapes to come
name; HARPER, Jacob
age; 23
orientation; Straight
gender; Male
Your freedom's not free and dumb
build; Average
height; 5' 11"
weight; 157 lbs
eye color; Brown
hair color; Black
appearance; Jake is average in height and build, though excessive jogging and other exercise has pushed him toward the stocky side. He keeps his curly black hair as neat as he can, even though it sometimes has a mind of its own. He has glasses, but prefers contacts. His wardrobe usually consists of a plain t-shirt and jeans, although he’ll wear a suit if the occasion calls for it. His clothes aren’t very colorful; as his older brother says, his charming personality makes up for it. Though, judging from Jake's personality, his brother was being sarcastic.
face claim; Penn Badgley
This Depression is Great
personality; Jake is mildly insecure. His family has a history of mental illness, and he has always been a bit of a hypochondriac when it comes to that. However, if he gets his mind off of it, he is really quite intelligent and can be a joy to be around. You just have to hit him on a good day. He’s often called a dreamer, and his mind seems to work constantly, the energy caused by which he has to take out with some form of manual labor; this can lead to him being fidgety. Of course, he’s fiercely loyal to his family and anyone that he calls a friend. But ever since he saw the circus, his life has taken a downward spiral, and he’s sunken into depression and deeper paranoia.
likes;
-His family and friends
-Fixing things
-Exercise, particularly jogging
-Thinking
-Day-dreaming
dislikes;
-Standing still
-Going crazy
-Medications
-Large crowds
-Enclosed spaces
fun facts;
history; Jake was born and raised in a small town in England. When he was 13, his father lost his mind and hanged himself, claiming that he saw strange things in the sewers. So Jake’s older brother took care of the family for a while.
And then, when Jake was 20, his brother went insane. He said the same things that his father did; that there were strange things going on in the sewers. He was committed to a local mental institution, and Jake stepped in to take care of his sick mother.
Jake’s father had run a repair shop, and first Jake’s brother, then Jake took over the business. He loves working there, and often spends hours of his leisure time puttering away, wrench in one hand and faulty product in the other.
And then Jake saw the circus in the sewers. Ever since then, he’s been convinced that he’s going insane like his brother and his father before him. He hasn’t told anyone about what he saw; but he still makes it part of his routine to stop by the sewers and watch his world crumble around him in the form of a grotesque carnival.
The Deformation Age, they know my name
name; Ash
age; 18
experience; A whole 2 weeks. Plus ten years of story-writing.
password; circus
sample;
The Devil's Playground post:
Uriel grimaced as another wave of thought washed over him. Normally, he could block it out. He’d give anything to do that now. But he couldn’t. Not this time. This time, he needed the reassurance that there were still uncorrupt souls out there; that not everyone was capable of the murders he was investigating.
Still, he was on the job. He couldn’t afford to just ignore what had happened. Besides, he’d seen worse atrocities before. He was, after all, the judge of sinners and demons. It was just this human body and its weak stomach. He had only been on this world for a couple of days, and had yet to get used to it.
With a sigh, he flipped open the folder once more and braced it against the dashboard of his car, studying its contents in the dim glow of the streetlight outside his apartment. The crime scene photos were foremost; images of three bodies, two of them bearing signs of torture on top of the obvious causes of death. They had been a family. Just a regular family that had somehow pissed off the wrong people. The first few pictures were different angles of the woman; her forehead bore a slight burn from the place where she had been shot, her face bruised, her left arm and each of her fingers broken and sticking out at odd angles. Then came several shots of the man, his face even more severely bruised than the woman’s had been, though he didn’t have as many broken appendages. He also had been shot in the head, his blood and brain tissue splattering the couch that he’d been left on.
Knowing what was coming, feeling bile rise in his throat at the knowledge, Uriel slowly flipped over the last image of the man. The little girl was sprawled near the door, facing away from her parents. She’d been shot in the back as she had attempted to flee, and then twice in the head. Uriel was only vaguely aware of the tremor in his hands as he studied each shot of the girl, searing the image into his memory. He knew that whoever had done this wasn’t repentant. Probably never would be. So he took this punishment for them, just for a little while. Just until he found them and made them pay for what they had done.
He stared at the back of the last photograph for a long time before he turned his attention to the known information on the case. The family was well-liked around their neighborhood. They were middle-class, hard-working people that never caused any problems. The mother and father, aged 34 and 36 respectively, had been eating dinner alone that night when their house had been broken into. The man had been forced to watch the woman be tortured and killed before he had been killed himself.
The daughter, aged 9, had been staying with a friend; the father of that friend had dropped her off at approximately seven o’ clock PM so that she could grab a few things. He had then gone around the block to pick up some groceries before he would go and get the girl once more. She had never come out of the building, so he had poked his head in and found the bodies. He’d called for an ambulance immediately.
Circumstances were such that there were at least two people involved. They’d probably just finished with the father when the daughter waltzed in and they’d had to take her out to prevent her from talking. No witnesses. The only lead was suspected mafia involvement. It wasn’t much to work on.
Uriel shut the folder and stuffed it into the glove box, unable to deal with the brutality of mankind any longer. After a quick glance at his watch that now read 8:03, he realized that his shift had been over for an hour and he hadn’t realized it. Leaning his head back against the driver’s seat, he shut his eyes and let the occasional stray thought drill into his skull. Most of them weren’t comforting in the least. The people of this city were a volatile mix of anger, jealousy, and passion. But every once in a while, hope or joy or love broke the surface of the skein.
After a while, Uriel began to lose feeling in his fingers. He shook them impatiently and, finally blocking out the thoughts of the others, took his keys out of the ignition. He shouldered the door open and stepped onto the pavement, dropping his keys into his left pants pocket. Staring up at the building, he made up his mind. He didn’t want to spend his time sitting alone tonight.
Uriel set out for Valtiel’s bar, his heart set on being around others like him. Even if most of them were with the other side. Valtiel’s place was neutral, and nothing would erupt there. The man wouldn’t allow it. If he ever got angry, he had even the higher-ups shaking in their boots. It was what the Flame of God needed; he could be in solitude, yet surrounded at the same time.
Uriel pushed the door open and headed straight for the bar, ignoring the others around him for the time being. He plunked down on a stool and waited for the bar tender to ask him what he wanted. His mind flickering back to the little girl’s image, he decided that what he needed was scotch on the rocks. He buried his head in his hands, grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes in an attempt to suppress the ache that always accompanied his letting others’ thoughts run rampant in his head. It would go away in a few minutes. Until then, he welcomed the pain.