full name / nickname(s)
Alexis Lawrence Crocker
ϟ Alex; Rule #1: only call Alexis by her nickname. Don't even think about opening your stupid mouth to call out "Hey, Alexis!". It's Alex.
gender / sexuality
Female / Homosexual
age / grade level
Seventeen / 11th Grade
occupation
Barista at The Café
physical appearance
When you first meet Alex, you'll have already seen her coming towards you several blocks down the street in a densely populated area. No matter what extravagant dye she decides to put on her hair, there's always one feature about it that stays consistent — it's bright. While having not yet achieved full glowing capacity, even under a dim light it's easy to see whatever shockingly vibrant colour of the rainbow flows through her chest-length locks. Sometimes, there are even multiple colours that swirl together in a seamless transition, her favourite combination being pink, blue and teal. Currently, she has her hair adorned with swirling shades of green. Mint green, light green, forest green; whatever green dye she can get her hands on, it's on her hair.
Some would say that it's hard to put a label on Alex's overall appearance. Others would disagree, herself included. Despite her clothing being as unpredictable as her hair colour, there is always an overtly 'punk' style to her appearance, depending on your definition of punk. If there were awards based on appearance, Alex would consistently win 'Most Likely to Be Seen at a Paramore Concert', because that's exactly the aura she exudes. A fun-loving, half-punk half-hipster chick with a penchant for snark and smirks, with just enough balance of edge and wholesome to not be mistaken for an emo.
Even with the stereotype she openly makes an effort to display, Alex's clothing and vanity are certainly subdued compared to her hair. She barely wears makeup, if at all, she has a single piercing on her entire body and she never really shops for any outlandish brand. Sure, maybe covering every square inch of your expensive-looking olive jacket with childish pin badges and iron-on patches is a questionable fashion choice, but at least the jacket's normal enough, right? Just don't ask how many other badges and iron-on patches she has lying around for her next burst of pseudo-bedazzlement. Some questions are most definitely best left unanswered.
personality
Thanks to a good few years of practice, Alex successfully portrays herself as carefree and indifferent — a far cry from the hatred and anger that exists within her. Not a single quip is snapped or spat out of her mouth, instead spoken with a perfect level of snark and a dash of ice cold coolness. If she's ever frustrated by something, it certainly doesn't bleed through the cracks of her poker face. Alex makes it a priority to remain collected within her own persona of giving 0 fucks and flaunting it, making her personality not out of place in a P!nk song. This childish demeanour carries through no matter what situation she finds herself in — someone could point a gun at her head, and her voice would remain steady and her childish nature would stand strong. That's not to say she never typically displays any other form of mindset. People will often be able to tell if she's getting up to something devious, because her mouth will always be curled into a sly smirk. She also carries herself with a cocky arrogance, displaying mild egotism as she turns her nose up at anyone she considers less than her — which is, to say, everyone. superpower
Electricity Generation; the virus bestowed Alex with the ability to, as it says on the tin, generate electricity. She acts as a conductor for the electricity that she generates, storing it until she can expel it out of her body. When generating electricity, it will form an aura of electrostatic energy around her presence. However, this aura is nowhere near as strong as the electricity contained within her — at most, the energy will cause your hairs to stand on end and mild electric shocks when touching Alex's skin, especially her hands.
ϟ Limits & Weaknesses
∞ Simply put, Alex has no real control over her power. She can decide when to generate electricity — and, to some extent, roughly how much to
generate — but she cannot decide when not to generate electricity. It latches onto extreme emotions, so if in extreme states of her dominant emotions
(anger becomes fury, bitterness becomes resentment, fear becomes terror), it will generate plentiful amounts of electricity for as long as she's in these
states. If rendered unconscious during this time, it's possible that her power and her body would go into overload.
∞ Continuing on from the last point, it takes the bright-haired girl a lot of concentration to control how much electricity she transfers into an object. What
was intended to be a jump-start of a broken appliance's power could turn into short-circuiting it, given a lack of proper care and focus. Same goes for
electrocuting living beings — if she does it when she's tired or careless, it can turn from a small zap to a nasty lethal shock in seconds.
∞ In order to transfer electricity to an object, Alex has to maintain contact with it for as long as she needs to transfer for. If the connection is severed,
the electricity will remain at the tips of her fingers until she can process it back into dormant/passive energy.
∞ Alex has electricity generation, not manipulation. She can't make lightning shoot out of her hands (or her ass), she can't form any sort of 'energy
shield' or defense, and she can't control electricity that's already running through wires and powering appliances. She also can't take the electricity out
of an object; only send electricity in.
backstory
If there truly does exist an almighty God beyond our world, the ultimate power that controls this Earth and everyone in it, he must not have been feeling very benevolent when he wrote the story of Alexis Crocker. Maybe he was just looking to make a sick joke.
For as long as she can remember, the whole damned planet has given Alex plenty of reasons to be resentful. Even if she hasn't told a single soul about the ever-growing list of 'Reasons Why The World Sucks', it exists like a constant ache at the back of her mind; a cancer that reminds her of its presence whenever it thinks she might actually be happy. It wasn't always like this.
For the most part, childhood was a fluke — a fantastical cocktail of smiles and love, designed to lull the Crocker girl into a false sense of drunken security. But goddamn was it a good cocktail. Her life wouldn't have been out of place in an advertisement for life insurance, cheery golden filter and all. 'Give the ones you love peace of mind', would be the slogan. A happy-looking family all holding hands as an omniscient narrator sold you a product designed to exploit the paranoid. Joyful enough, but secretly there to say 'you're going to die and leave these people stuck on this damned planet'. Constantly reminding you that life is in short supply and you've got to spend it sticking to a binary moral compass, in a world where the good get jack shit and the bad get off scot-free.
Eight years into her life of cheesy smiles, straight As and Christian values, Alexis found she wasn't going to be the only Crocker child anymore. Her mother — a one Marianne Crocker — had explained to the girl what the strange bump in her tummy meant, and the young girl had understood it, for the most part. However, it would be a lie to say it hadn't surprised her when her mother had to be rushed to hospital one day. Even worse was the tension building up as she was asked to stay out of the important-looking room, as she heard her mother's screams resonating from within its walls. In hindsight, her idea of what might have been happening was a tad dramatic. Unfortunately, the result was exactly as imagined.
If you were to ask Alex to recount that moment, that one moment her life changed, she'd be able to perfectly describe every last detail. How her nose was overwhelmed with the sickening scent of disinfectant as her father — David Crossen — walked out of the room and into hers, a solemn look on his face set in stone. How he'd slowly, lowly, explained to her that her mother was gone; that she'd never see her again. How it felt like her tears were drowning her, obstructing her throat and inhibiting speech. How the moment that the doctor walked out, a crying and screaming child in his arms, everything felt clearer to Alex than it had ever been before. Her mother had died for this child, and the Lord could damn Alex to Hell if she wasn't going to be the best older sister she ever could be. Each tear that dropped on that linoleum floor was another promise she made to her little sister in her mind. Another promise to her late mother that she'd keep going; for her, and for the child she'd died for. For Parker.
The next 3 years of Alex's life were a bizarre mixture of sadness and happiness, all in one big gulp. One second she could miss her mother, and the next she'd be overjoyed that she actually got to know her. It was like living life's representation of a haze of nostalgia: both sad that it's gone yet happy you experienced it. There was a beauty in the melancholy, and that beauty was Parker Crocker. An unconventional name, yes, but Alex had recalled the countless times Marianne told her about her other potential baby names. Out of the long list of wildly outlandish names — Tinkerbelle, Emerald, probably even Velma — Parker had always stood out to the girl. It seemed only right to bestow the name upon her younger sister, especially since her dad was more than willing to let her choose the name. Parker would grow to mean more to Alex than any potential future child in any potential alternate timeline, so it only seemed like fate that she should get to name her.
However, Alex got cocky. She actually let her guard down and thought the rest of her life could be somewhat decent. Clearly, the universe didn't like this — it seemed it wasn't finished with making a joke out of the girl's happiness.
June 19th, 2013. The day the world truly abandoned Alex Crocker. It was just supposed to be another regular day in the average life of the average Crockers. Alex and Parker were walking home with their dad, hand in hand and giggling to themselves. Parker's fifth birthday was coming up in a week and her older sister just couldn't wait to celebrate, so she'd bought her an ice cream while they were out shopping. Chocolate and vanilla with blueberry sauce — Parker's favourite. The three of them had gotten to a crossing, and David had stepped out without even thinking. The road looked clear but the light was on red, something Alex had no chance to object to. Parker being Parker, she broke free from her older sister's hand and followed after her dad.
A car came zooming around the corner.
David was already onto the next lane, but the tiny legs of a four-year-old weren't that fast. Everything happened so quick, yet at the same time, Alex saw everything. The screams were caught in the back of her throat, burning like a sickness, as she looked on helplessly. Nobody would ever know how badly she wanted to do something; for the car to hit her or anybody else. What actually happened made her want to throw up her insides all onto the sidewalk. She was paralysed, unable to tear her eyes away as she watched her one hope in the world get torn away from her. It broke her to her very core.
The nightmares wouldn't stop until months later. Each and every night, she'd wake up screaming and sweating, begging for it to stop. Over time, her hatred grew — for the monster of a driver who came screeching around that corner, for the 'benevolent' and 'forgiving' God who thought that death was necessary, and for her father. Her father was the one she hated more than any, most nights. He just had to wait for that damn green light, and he couldn't even do that. Instead, he got his daughter killed; his four-year-old daughter. Alex would be a liar if she said she tried to forgive him. She didn't want faith anymore, didn't need it, she wanted just Parker back. She just wanted to see that dumb little grin again, the grin that the toddler flashed whenever she'd done a new drawing. Parker loved drawing. Almost every day she'd brought one to Alex, her smile wider than the Earth as she pointed out all the little things in the picture. Alex could spend hours on end just talking about those drawings.
Some more months after the nightmares finally stopped, David decided he and his daughter needed a fresh start, somewhere away from all the poisoned memories that swarmed Albany like a smog. The two of them moved to New York City — more specifically, Brooklyn. Life seemed to give up on torturing Alex, instead just annoying her. Schoolboy assholes were little more than a small nuisance, thinking they could break the 14-year-old when she'd been through far too much for them to bother her. However, her indifference didn't mean she wouldn't take action against them. In fact, her father found out the way people treated her on the day she got a week-long detention for beating on the students, a year into her time at the school. Up until that point, their interactions had been limited to Alex reminding him how much she blamed him for what happened to Parker. David became a punching bag for all the bitterness and spite that the girl had in her soul. She didn't want him to be her father; she didn't want anything to do with him, yet he kept trying to get through to her. To beg for forgiveness. Even if she vowed never to give him what he wanted, he wasn't going to neglect her because of it. Therefore, he was incredibly concerned that his daughter had gone to such lengths against these people. To her, it was just another way of venting all the darkness that consumed her, just in a physical form rather than emotional. They deserved it, that much she'd convinced herself. No amount of physical pain could match the tear in her heart; the emotional strain that she had to deal with alone.
Her father saw differently. He saw his daughter regressing further and further into the thing she hated because she couldn't understand that he was there for her. That he felt the pain she felt. She just wanted to lash out at anything and everything because she believed no-one in the universe was capable of good; sometimes, not even herself. Every sideways glance was a look of scorn and judgement, a conspiracy to make everyone in the world know what the world had done to Alex Crocker. She would tell anyone and everyone just how much she hated them, even if she'd never met them before.
Naturally, David started trying to talk to Alex more — to help with her anger issues, misdemeanour and whatever else was going on in her head. Most days he didn't even understand it himself, though it's not like Alex was exactly the type to pour her thoughts and feelings out to somebody. Especially not the man she'd turned into the reason for everything bad in the world. That didn't stop him from trying to help. He would never stop trying to help. Naturally, the bitter 15-year-old hated it. She didn't want to sit on that sofa every night, talking about her day at school and how it made her feel. Over the course of her pseudo therapy, she developed a natural poker face, a mask for her to hide her hurt and her rage behind. She'd humour her dad, answer all his questions about her mood and the past and what she saw for the future, sure, but she wasn't going to compromise her emotional security for it. Surprisingly, she unknowingly dealt with her own anger issues, oblivious to the fact as she strived to be calm and collected — an icy layer of protecting over her bleeding heart. It seemed to fool David enough, and he backed off a month before her sixteenth birthday.
Life was largely uneventful during the months leading up to the outbreak, as it had been for the past three years. But when the outbreak hit, it hit. Alex couldn't have prepared herself for it even if she'd spent her entire life doing so. She was weak, sickly, pale; vomiting every four hours or so. Her spirit alternated between fighting for her life with what little strength she had left, and begging the virus to kill her quicker. Maybe, once she finally died, she'd see her sister again — maybe God truly would forgive his pet joke and allow her to pass through the gates of Heaven. To be with Parker. Even after having abandoned her religion and denouncing everything it stood for, Alex found it to be on her mind a lot during her sick days. She wondered what would become of her if she died, because if Heaven and Hell truly did exist she knew she'd get a one-trip ticket straight to the latter. Needless to say, she found herself begrudgingly relying on her father more, amidst the contemplative evenings about religion and what fate she received for abandoning it. Some days she almost felt like she liked him. The feeling would quickly subside as she'd remember about Parker. She missed Parker. She couldn't wait to see Parker. That's when the universe decided to get another kick out of its dead horse of a joke.
Alex would be lying if she said she wasn't disappointed to hear the virus was gone and it hadn't taken her with it. She should've been dead. Why wasn't she dead? Everything was back to normal, with her alive to witness it all. She hated it.
She'd always hate it.