Post by tyler on Jul 7, 2011 18:30:38 GMT
[/B] Tyler Dex FaekaTyler Dex FaekaThe Basics
Some people genuinely want to find out about you
Nickname(s) Dex ;; Ty-Dye
Age 15
Gender male
Sexuality straight
Occupation n/a
Relationship Status single
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Are you Human?
[/size]The one question that could mean the difference between living free and death.
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Powers & Special Skills Transmutation - can change skin, hair, and eye color
Alliance no one at all; prefers to be alone.
Weaknesses Isolophobia (fear of being abandoned), lack of sensitivity / female influence, lack of social skills (from captivity & abuse), occasional pain from color-shifting, very prone to nightmares, insomnia, and cold-blooded (easily chilled).
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What do you look like?
[/size]An innocent question, unless its being asked by a scientist, in which case run, always.
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Tyler is approximately four feet eight inches tall - he's a lanky little thing, with almost awkwardly long limbs; his skin, most commonly, is a rather pale color. His eyes, as well, are a very pale, light gray. For the most part, he seems to lack color in any part of his features besides his hair, which is a dark golden-brown color with natural dirty blonde and black streaks. His hair is very layered and straight, down to mid-neck, with spiked ends; his bangs are usually parted to the right, slightly covering his right eye, though he tends to brush it out of his face.Play By a kid named "Monge"
Tyler has very peculiar looks; his spine is very slightly protruding from his back - only very slightly. He is rarely seen wearing a shirt; though he can change the color of his skin and hair to help hide himself in desperate situations, his clothing doesn't change with him, so he tends to wear just regular cargo pants that he can shed to boxers at will, as well as some regular cheap but high quality tennis shoes.
He has several scars of a large variety all about his body, as a result of being the child of abusive parents. The most prominent scars are the ones along his spine and shoulders which were caused by repeated lashing from a thin leather strip. He has a sadness about him that's always present, even when there's a smile on his face. He's well-trained in the use of weaponry of all sorts - explosives included - from his time with the assassin who raised him.
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What makes you tick?
[/size]When asked by a normal person its asking about likes and dislikes. I don't want to know what it means when its asked by a scientist
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Dislikes waking up early, himself, over-excessive swearing, abuse
Fears being alone {isolophobia}, being hated, being abused, being judged, never being able to love himself, being found by his parents
Overall Personality
Tyler is a very quiet kid. Were this like normal, everyday life, he would be the one odd kid who never spoke to anyone and sat in the corner. He was always taught never to speak unless spoken to, and out of fear and, now, habit, he keeps true to that command. When he approaches someone, he waits for them to address him in some manner before he says a word. He is very kind and respectful, for the most part, but as he gets more comfortable with someone his conversations become more deep and relaxed. Being raised by an assassin, Tyler has learned to be very patient, for many different reasons, as well as having very little female influence and thus he lacks several important emotions / skills / traits that a girl could teach him.
Deep down, Tyler is an angry young man; he hates the world, for allowing everything - his abuse, all the violence, the outbreak - to happen, and he hates himself entirely. He's ashamed of himself. However, these feelings are very, very thoroughly oppressed. When the anger does show, however, it shows itself in a blood-red tint to Tyler's eyes, as well as a little more jerky and forceful movements. He trusts very deeply in the other men in the caravan, seeing them very much so as a father figure. Tyler has learned the value of silence, which he figures everyone would likely appreciate more than any sort of affection that Tyler could show him. Tyler tends not to say any worse words than "damn" when he's impressed or frustrated.
Tyler is known as "chameleon" or "the chameleon kid" because of his silence and his ability to blend into pretty much any environment or simply to stay unnoticed. He's good at appearing out of nowhere, and when it comes to sneak attacks, stealth is his dojo. Most people don't even know that he has chameleon powers; when he's called chameleon, he tends to get a bit jumpy.
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What you got?
Show us your skills
Show us your skills
Yep. The ceiling looked the same no matter which way you turned. Flickering gold and blue eyes twitched this way and that. Head hung over the side of the bed, hair extended towards the floor, arms limply hung over his head, fingers gently tugging at spiked tufts of shaded golden-brown hair, feet pressed against the wall, Tyler watched and watched as the ceiling did... nothing. Nothing at all. Every little dimple and dent, every slight raise in the roof, looked identical to the dimple or dent next to it.[/blockquote]
Occasionally, he would spot a patch of ceiling that was slightly more eggshell colored than white, as the rest of his ceiling, and he'd let his eyes stop and that area and he'd lay and ponder how such change in color could have occurred, but his six year old mind couldn't focus on such a simple idea as that for much more than two minutes. At that point he would let his gaze search again for something of interest, and ten minutes later he'd see... nothing. Nothing at all. He'd been doing this, doing it the same way for nearly three hours now.
He had tossed and turned in his bed. The sheets now lay in a tangle on the floor at the foot of his bed. His parents would likely beat him for that later. Tyler suddenly grimaced as a slight, fiery pain began to spread, beginning at his eyes and then taking over all of his skin cells, making him squirm. He sat up slowly, turning to press his bare back against the cold wall, sighing silently as it relieved the burning sensation. If the light were on, Tyler could see what color he'd changed to this time. He found that, if he stayed still for long enough, and he just relaxed enough, his skin would just stop trying to fight the abnormal colorations and just go to something relaxed.
Tyler's eyes focused on the thin blade of light making its way through his cracked door; the light came from the little bulb above the oven, and occasionally it flickered, but Tyler never understood why. He was never allowed to leave his room, except to go to the bathroom, so he never had a chance to investigate. He wanted to see why it flickered the way it did. He wanted to know. But he would never get a chance, because he was prisoner to the white ceiling and his own peculiar skin; he was a prisoner to his own mother and father, the people who, in fairy tales, loved their child more than anything. But Tyler wasn't a child. He was a freak.
When he started to think about it, his mother and father had been gone for a long time. They'd been gone for so long... Tyler felt a shiver go up his slightly protruding spine. No matter how he feared them, no matter how they treated him so hatefully for being a freak, he still feared the days when they would leave and never return, leave and never come back for him, come back to look at him, even with those scornful eyes that bore into his skull. But his thoughts were interrupted, suddenly, as his stomach let out a low growl that vibrated all throughout his body. His skin suddenly cooled, and he knew that, at his sudden realization, his skin had returned to normal.
Slowly, he extended his legs, letting his feet hang just over the edge of his bed. His heart began to race. Would he really consider this option? Would he truly consider it? Would he consider... consider...
He inched forward on the bed, and he bent his knees, stiffening as his feet touched the cold floor; he shivered, and his breath caught in his throat. He instantly began to question his choice, but there was no turning back. The muscles of his legs ached from staying in one position for so long; they ached to carry the weight of his thin body, and his hands ached to feel the door against his palm, and his feet ached to feel hardwood floor freezing his toes. It was a peculiar desire, and yet it was what he desired above all else.
This was what he desired, and slowly he erected himself on his feet; for a moment he swayed, but he felt his long tail slither up the length of his calf and out over the top of his loose jeans. Its tip settled against the floor and worked as a third leg for Tyler, merely to steady him. As his legs adjusted once more to standing, he gazed at the crack in the door with wide eyes. He took a step. His heart skipped a beat. And then he took another step. And again he lost a beat. But then his heart steadied, and he bit his lip softly, and he lurched towards the door, feeling the cold metal against his palm and sticking to his nervously sweating fingers.
He pulled slowly, and the door creaked open. The light blinded him, even though it was little more than a dull glow above the oven. And, like a moth, he was drawn towards that flickering light. A part of him knew this light, knew that, like fire, it bore consequences, should he choose to proceed, to step through the doorway between him, the hall, and, then, the kitchen and that flickering fire bulb. But he continued to move, leaving the door ajar as he stepped closer and closer to that light. His tail, now not needed as a steady, dragged along the ground behind him.
Tyler folded his arms tightly over his chest, shivering with cold and, also, with excitement derived from fear. He crossed the hall, glancing down into the darkness to where a big black door stopped the passageway in its tracks; this room struck fear into Tyler's heart, for this was where his mother and father would lay each night after washing their terrified, bleeding child off in the shower and then tossing him into the cold floor of his dark room to suffer alone. That room was where, he was certain, his parents would lay and plot the next night's beating, should he cough and remind them that their freak was still alive.
Tyler returned his gaze to the light in the kitchen; for a moment, it flickered off, and then the light returned to blind and attract him. The room at the end of the hall was not what mattered now. Only the light mattered. Only the light... the light... He swallowed, and now a wall stood between him and that hall. He approached the counter, and his eyes faded to a pale rose pink, a color of curiosity, and he put his fingers over the edge of the counter, grasping it and staring with a gaping jaw up at the light. Then his stomach growled again, distracting him. And then, a shining box of metal attracted his eyes; his eyes turned golden as he recognized it, associated it. It contained food.
He glanced at the front door. Nothing moved. He returned his gaze, glistening amber, to the bread box, and he saw a little corner of plastic, the corner of a bag of bagels, and he stared at his hand in amazement as it moved towards the bagels. Never before had he allowed his hands to so blatantly disobey his parents, but now here they were, sliding open the box and grasping the edge of the bag, tearing open the plastic - for the concept of a twist tie was not one to be grasped by a child so young - and taking out a moist bagel.
He brought it to his lips and tore off a bite, and feeling his stomach's snarling begin to ebb, he continued to eat. He reached vainly up at a cabinet to the right; it was too high above him, so he pressed his palms against the edge of the counter and pulled himself up, straining slightly. Instead of choosing to continue rising and stand on the counter, he slowly willed his tail to reach up over his head, swing open the cabinet, and grab a glass.
As he let himself drop, he felt his heart rise into his throat as, suddenly, two things happened: one, the glass slipped from the ring his tail had made to grasp the glass, crashing to the hardwood floor and shooting out in every which direction. The second was the one which Tyler feared the most, for there was suddenly a hissing gasp outside the front door, followed by a muffled, "What is going on in there? Carlisle, open the door!" Tyler felt his entire body begin to quiver and shake, and he longed to just be back in his room, be back in time of a sudden so they wouldn't know what he'd just done.
He made a move for his room, but a shard of glass automatically stopped him. He bit his lip, silencing his short-lived cry of pain, and he fixed his eyes on the door like a frightened deer would fix its eyes on the headlights of a car as the distance between them fell victim to oblivion. The door suddenly shot open, and a breeze of freezing air hit Tyler, paralyzing him even more than his fear had already done to him. Blazing eyes that, in the dim light, seemed black like the night, instantly locked on him, and he fell to his knees.
He didn't even have time to squint his eyes, to hide from the nightmare, before one long stride brought his father's heavy hand down upon his skull; the man grabbed a fistful of the child's hair and yanked him off the ground. Face to face they now were, and Tyler knew better than to avoid his father's gaze. He opened his eyes that were now a frozen lime green and black, fearful. The man snarled, "What were were you doing, you little freak?" He threw his son to the hard wood ground, against the floor littered with glass, and Tyler let out a short gasp of pain.
Lesson number two of being this wretched man's son: never scream. The man towered over the small boy who trembled, his right side and elbows cut by the glass. Tyler looked up, lip quivering, tears already streaming down his thin face. The man cried out as he kicked at the exposed ribs of his son, "What did you think you were doing out of your room, freak? Huh? You think you can just waltz around like you own the place?" He looked over his shoulder at the cold, fragile witch standing by the door.
"Get the belt," he ordered her. She shut the door softly and glided like a shadow down the hall, casting a scornful look at her son before she disappeared around the corner. Carlisle looked upon the shaking body of his son, and he barked, "Answer my question!" Tyler sobbed once and the man reached down again, yanking Tyler up by his arm and then throwing him at the oven; his head slammed against the metal handle, but his father did not yield to the whimper the child let out.
He proceeded to kick the child repeatedly, and then Tyler could no longer hold in his cries; he let out a wail of pain and fear, and this only further encouraged the wrath of his father. "You wretched little freak!" he screamed, kicking his child in the jaw and almost instantly silencing the sound. The witch appeared around the corner once more, and she handed a thin belt with metal studs placed evenly across its length to her husband; he grasped it firmly and turned, lifting his arm and then snapping it down fiercely. It caught Tyler beside his eye, and the child could barely breathe from the pain of the blow.
Carlisle reached down again, grabbing Tyler by the hair and lifting him up, shoving him against the door and snarling venomously, "Take it like a man, you little freak." All that Tyler could do was shield his face from the thin metal and leather belt that his father had proclaimed the whipping belt and try not to cry out and scream at each stinging blow that made his entire body swell; his tail had slipped back into his pants and now tightly wrapped around Tyler's thigh, tightening and releasing with each blow to try to ease the pain.
There was no easing that pain that came with this abuse, none of the pain that Tyler felt when the people who were supposed to love him more than anything in the world could be made better... The whip hit him hard in the side, and he attempted foolishly to block what had already occurred, but as he did so the whip came up abruptly and hit his face; the stinging metal hit his eye, and he shrieked in pain as he felt a warm gush of blood pour out over his eyelid and saw his vision go entirely red.
He swore, sometimes, that his father was a vampire or sorts; at first blood, when the minuscule droplet touched the floor, his father would go berserk, and then Tyler stood no chance and there was no hope of him being spared for that night. He fell to his knees and again his father's foot connected with his jaw, sending Tyler's head slamming back into the door. What little cries he could now manage were little more than whimpers. He felt, then, as if he were in a dream, and every blow tried to strike him awake, but he was trapped between consciousness and unconsciousness and he knew there was no way out.
Then, suddenly, his dream halted. There was silence. Cold, deadly silence. He lay on his belly like a pathetic little snake on the floor, blood and shards of glass all about his body, bruises already beginning to form and making the small frail sore and stiff. Tyler tried to remember what had happened. When had his parents stopped beating him? How much of what he'd thought was a dream had really been real, and how much of what he thought had been real was really a dream? His head was swimming with pain and exhaustion, but he was certain that soon he'd recover to be beaten again.
The only thing that Tyler wanted now was to get up and crawl into his bed that was stained with blood from endless beatings, but he could not find the strength to move, and the effort brought forth agonizing pain in his chest; he had broken ribs, no doubt. Instead of fighting the exhaustion, he let it take him over; his entire body fell limp, save for his tail, which lay out in the open now. It twitched with pain, as if the beat of Tyler's heart was causing it to move, but no other part of him stirred. He felt the world go entirely dark again, and then, suddenly, something cold and hard and silent made contact with his side and made him groan very softly in pain.
He was awakened again, though only partially, and he could feel a presence looming high above him. A part of him brought true, honest to God fear to the child, for he feared that this thing above him was his father. But... no. Tyler could always feel, truly feel, the malevolence and the hate and the prejudice coming out of his father, pouring directly out of every tiny pore and every cell of skin in his wretched body. He did not feel this from this man... He did not feel anything from this man.
Slowly Tyler turned his head, feeling a mouthful of blood gush from between his lips to collect in a pool on the floor. He let his head flop down in the pool, and he turned his aching eyes up to the figure that stood in the darkness. The boy's eyes turned to a pale mint green that seemed to ripple and blaze like foamy fire, and his lips parted, as though he desired to speak, but could not gather the strength nor form the words.
He couldn't rid himself of a dreadful feeling in his soul. This man... this man had done something. Something... what had he done? Tyler spoke his thoughts unknowingly, slowly beginning to drift back to consciousness as he whispered in a gurgling choke, "What has... he..." Tyler suddenly became aware of his fingers as they twitched, as an attempt to grab the floor, for he felt as though he were literally falling to sleep, and his eyes shot wide, and he finished in little more than a sigh, "done..."
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Family Network
Who are those in your family like parents?
Who are those in your family like parents?
Mother Amelia Faeka
Sibling(s) n/a
Children n/a
Other Carlos (assassin / father figure)
History
Tyler was born a "freak". His eyes appeared blank when they first opened, consisting only of pupils. As he grew, his irises began to show simply as silvery-gray rings. Then his eyes seemed to shift and change as his moods began to change, though it's not very noticeable. His mother and father were high class members of society, and having such an atrocity for a son was embarrassing to them. They kept him out of school and, for the most part, out of public view. They abused him, physically and emotionally, for being the way he was.
Tyler had never fought his parents and their abuse. He had believed that what they were saying truly made sense - it was all his fault, and it was a horrible thing to be what he was, but he didn't know what he could possibly do to make them love him. At around five years old, he began to go through terrible growing pains. Whenever he was condemned to his bedroom, he would cry to himself and contemplate ways that he could make his mother and father love him.
A few weeks after Tyler's sixth birthday, his mother and father both became furious with him after learning that he had been sneaking out of his bedroom at night to get a bit more food to survive. They beat him mercilessly, and after five minutes there was suddenly a terrible, fiery pain under his skin. He went unconscious, but they continued to kick and beat him until they grew tired and he stopped struggling, and then they left to sleep that night.
Unbeknownst to the young child who lay half-conscious on the floor, a man, an assassin, was hired to kill Tyler's parents, and he had chosen that night to do as he was hired to. In the darkest part of that night, the man slipped into the door that had been left unlocked in his parents' haste to hide their freak of a child. His orders were to make the death appear natural, so he dosed both parents with a tranquilizer and then injected a large amount of air into their veins. Naturally, the result was death. As he made his way out of the house once more, he spotted the young child's beaten and bloody body on the floor; Tyler lay on his belly, staring up at the man with a dazed expression. The man needed an assistant, and this boy who was undoubtedly very miserable and, now, alone, in this home, would be a great apprentice for the fairly new mercenary man.
Tyler lived for five years under the assassin's watchful eye and protection and guidance. When the assassin himself was killed in an epic battle with the city's second most dangerous assassin, Tyler left the safehouse and began to look for a new home like a stray dog. Skillfully trained in battle of all sorts, he wasn't an easy target for the few enemies he met along the way. He survived easily. He didn't open up to anyone in the first two years of traveling, despite various peoples' efforts to get to know him, so they eventually gave up. He wanted to open up; however, he wasn't ready to talk. He wishes they would approach him again now. Still, now he knows he's more of a freak than he used to be.
He was infected with the BLISS virus four years ago, shortly after leaving the assassin's place, in another town far away and tried to run from some Enforcers; he ended up in this town and is trying to hide from Enforcers among them, slowly learning to control his peculiar powers.
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Who's the person behind the mask?
Who are you really, its time to drop the disguise
Who are you really, its time to drop the disguise
Experience 6-7 years
Abit About You
I'm 16 years old (birthday June 29) and I'm a girl. I can do pretty much every kind of roleplay. My posts are generally 800+ words. I like school; I'm a Junior who mentors the Freshmen and tutors in math. I can sing, write, and draw. I love children and animals. I'm generally an optimist.Other Character(s) n/a
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