Name: Devon Grimm
Age: Sixteen. (16)
Gender: Male
Appearance: 5'11, with a slim look about him, Devon isn't necessarily intimidating at first glance. He has a slightly muscular structure due to rough nights in his original home-town, but, other than that, there isn't anything specifically amazing about him. He has dark purple eyes that tends to glow whenever his powers are activated, which is almost constantly, along with feathery black that flits gently over his left eye, leaving his right eye the only one visible. Devon's 'style' is mostly dark-colored hoodies, slim jeans, and dark-colored converse; he doesn't like showing much skin. He tends to wear awkward smirks or smiles, to 'soften his personality', but they are obviously forced and fake.
Personality: Devon is certainly an interesting individual once you first meet him. Sharp witted, with the brain and social attitude of a lashing whip, or a steel sword, Devon isn't someone you would want to get into an argument with. While he is a relatively soft-spoken, easy going boy who enjoys the solitary life rather than testing his lack-luster social skills with others, Devon also has a crimson tongue - no, not a silver tongue, but a crimson one. He will slice you down with pure spat fire if necessary, which, when dealing with annoyances, it most definitely is. He has a sort of mature air around him. Quiet, with a slight frown tugging at his mouth. Years of solitary life has also made him rather calloused on the inside, despite his cold exterior, and he secretly yearns for friends and company. Recently, he has been trying to be...nicer and socialize more, but so far he hasn't had any luck. Devon also has a very bad...anger-issue. Whenever he does get angry, which he obviously tries hard not to do, the boy's powers tends to get a bit...wonky. He loses control, and is a danger to both him, and anyone around him. The best thing to do for when he's in this state, is to either knock him out, or subdue him - or you can tell him to calm down, which usually works as well.
Biography: Life threw Devon a gigantic middle finger, even at birth. The child was seemingly abandoned on the darkened urban streets of New York, when the criminal underbelly squandered the streets, and where the scum of the earth festered in their own crap. He was lying there, in an alley, for a whole day...right behind that familiar old trashcan that stunk of rotten fish and molded bread. His health was deteriorating from the brisk coldness, and any hobo who found the baby did nothing but laugh psychotically at it with a pointed finger. The baby's emotions were haywire; it was hungry, cold, tired...that's when the genetic powers came to surface. Devon's mother, or father...or even both were probably psychics, and powerful ones at that. Whilst laying in the gutters, the 2-day old baby was sobbing it's little heart out. There was absolutely no hope for it to survive. That is, until something happened. A hobo actually examined the noise, and to his drunken surprise, it was a hairless little snot! Wrapped in an extremely fluffy, and only slightly dirty quilt that would do a heavenly job of keeping the coldness away.
The hobo had reached for the blanket, pulling at the seams and growling as he forced it away from the screaming baby. It was night time again; anyone who saw the dastardly, execution-worthy deed kept to themselves, selling drugs, prostituting, or doing whatever they were doing previously. But little Devon...he wasn't having it. A scream; an abnormally loud roar escaped the baby's throat, and the man was suddenly blasted back into the wall, actually
breaking through the solid concrete. He didn't even have time to grunt in pain. All of his bones had been completely disintegrated, and the hobo was dead before he even hit the wall - a heart attack, or cardiac arrest. Regardless, the scum was dead...and that's all that mattered. But not really. The baby lied there, gone of all energy, and unconscious. But...a mysterious figure exited from the hole in the wall, revealing himself to be the same hobo that supposedly died. Rusty brown hair, straggly beard, ragged clothing...Vincent Leone tore off the wig, revealing a shiny bald head, and brushed off the extra shavings, showing a sharp, neatly trimmed goatee. The owner of one of the shadiest orphanages got his new freak...
Growing up in the orphanage was, to be blunt, completely shitty. Devon didn't have any memories of his telekinetic blast as a baby, and so he took to the grueling, horrible life of an orphan rather crappily. He was often beat by the matrons, fellow 'freak haters' themselves, and generally tried to make himself as small as possible, keeping to his small room unless he had chores to do - which he often did, which was only rewarded by more beatings and starvation. However, at the age of fourteen, whilst cleaning the gutters of the orphanage, Devon suddenly fell, having been pushed off of his ladder by an older boy. The boy was Butch, and let me tell you, Butch was a complete asshole. The boy was 17 years old, with a fat, yet arguably bulky build, a bald head, and the growings of facial hair. May I also say that he's the son of the orphanage's enigmatic owner, Vincent Leone. Long story short? A small fight insued, which ended with Devon having a snapped rib, two black eyes, and four missing teeth. The fourteen-year old fought back valiantly - that is, curling into a fetal position and attempting to endure the punches, but in the end, he was beaten. However, Butch wasn't finished. The boy withdrew a pocketknife from his pocket, and slowly walked towards Devon with evil intent.
That's when the boy completely snapped.
He leaped to his feet, tackling the bigger boy with the force of a bull dozer. Bony fists were brought back, and then slammed brutally into the larger boy's face...one...two...three times, all with the same telekinetic force from before. Butch, by this time, was absolutely shitting himself in fear. Literally. He was sobbing, slobbering, and screaming. The orphanage was empty - everyone out on a field trip other than the two boys and the owner of the orphanage, Vincent. Long story short, again? Devon, not in-control of himself, basically clenched his hand, an invisible force pressing Butch into a small ball until bones after bones snapped. The pocket knife was laid out somewhere, discarded. However, Devon was suddenly thrown back due to a boot to the face, and Vincent stood there, chuckling, while Butch slowly stood, more ...wolfish than man.
"You did well, Devon." The man smiled, revealing fangs. Everything went black.
'Shortly' after, Devon woke up in a hospital, hooked up to an IV machine. A nurse told him that he was found lying outside of the hospital, with critical injuries. Torn throat, major rib damage...the boy had made a full recovery in the time of his coma. He was told that it had been months since he had been awoken...but the boy wasn't listening. Overcome by anger, he pushed the woman away and ran out of the hospital. No one could stop him, as it seemed as if the wind was forcefully moving out of his way as the boy ran; he didn't even know he was doing it. He stopped in front of the orphanage...and everything went black, once more. He awoke on top of a rooftop right near the ruins of the orphanage. There was fire everywhere, and police officials arresting Vincent, who was staring up at Devon with that same damned grin.
The boy lived on the streets after that, never staying in one spot. Life was absolute shit...he only had rudimentary knowledge on his powers, and he often used the brute force and power of it to crush/throw/kill any hobo or criminal/mugger who bothered him...until he was notified about the training facility.
Powers: Devon has a unique case of raw Telekinesis. He can control, move, shift, crush, and generally affect, in a variety of ways, different objects and beings in the universe. This was first discovered by him when he, as a child, accidently pushed away a bully - throwing the other child backwards quite a few feet, with the accompanying shockwave exploding the television and ceiling lights. So far, he has seen that he can throw around objects and items at varying speeds, push extremely heavy items, crush objects and items (IE a car), and a variety of other different methods one would see in a
Telekinetic. However, he does have his limitations. So far, he can only 'pick up' items that weigh approximately 10 ton or less, and constant, 24/7 use can give him killer migraines and headaches, even going as far as to have him faint. Furthermore, he's still learning about the variety of applications he can use with his power.
Finished my character~
And yes, Psych-Out sounds awesome. ^^
