_____________________________________________________ _____________________________________________________ " Y I E L D Y E R N A M E ? " " Y I E L D Y E R N A M E ? " GUILLERMO "GUILLE" PEREZ-ROJAS _____________________________________________________ " S O W H E R E Y E F R O M ? " " S O W H E R E Y E F R O M ? " SAN DIEGO, ALTA CALIFORNIA, REPUBLIC OF MEXICO _____________________________________________________ " Y E C A N F I L L O U T T H E R E S T " " Y E C A N F I L L O U T T H E R E S T " ★ Age? 47 years ★ Birthdate? June 2nd, 1841 ★ Height? 6'1 ft ★ Weight? 195 lbs ★ Ethnicity? ★ Gender? Male _____________________________________________________ _____________________________________________________ | ______________________________________________________________________________________________ " T E L L M E ' B O U T Y E R S E L F " " T E L L M E ' B O U T Y E R S E L F " "..." "Yer acting like ya don' even know me." Guillermo is often silent, a man of few words outwardly as to not reveal who is to the town folk. The demeanor he wears is often cold, closing most out but the rare few who are able to crack out a bit of his personality. Although to most, he is closed off. Keeping a wall around his mightier than Hadrian's. However as cold as a man he presents, he shows kindness to those deserving, with a soft spot for the animals of the frontier whose nature was free of the supernatural energy. Guillermo is a changed man than he was over a decade prior, he has mellowed. The spitful nature he held as a young man had almost faded from his being in times other than rage. Out on the frontier, nature is the devil and its creations are its demons. Despite having been raised as a child religiously, he was faithless. To him, there were no gods of this land. His morals stood gray and his philosophy asunder, changing his ways to fit the situation at hand. He is a man who yearns for a normal life, but has yet to atone for his sins of the past. There is silt is on his hands, but to Guillermo? It was a necessary evil for his survival. ______________________________________________________________________________________________ " D E S C R I B E Y E R S E L F F O R M E , Y E A H ? " " D E S C R I B E Y E R S E L F F O R M E , Y E A H ? " "Describe myself? Ya got eyes, don'tcha?" Years of running brings naught but fatigue to the face. Guillermo is a man whose age rears it and dares not to hide, he bears a face riddled with a full beard of dirt-colored hair, ragged and jagged in spots he had cut down with his knife whilst on the road. The top of his head was overrun by a full mane of short-length hair which curled as it lay in place. The face of Guillermo continued to sport the same look throughout his adult life, a stern-looking (by most accounts), straight-faced stare. His eyes were low, the bags under his eyes stood still in time like the scars that lay scattered around his body. The body of which stood with a tall stature, with the muscles from his younger days persisting til the present; life on the frontier wasn't easy. The garb of a survivalist is one of practicality. Upon his shoulders Guillermo sported a dusty brown leather jacket, one stressed with the years of travel and utility. Atop the jacket, slung across one of his shoulders lay a bandolier strapped tight to his chest, and around the other lay loosely his saving grace; his rifle. And the sombrero he first found (stole) when he came to America sat on top of his dome. His old dusty and dirty white shirt peaking from beneath his jacket as it floats around the denim on his legs, which stretch all the way down to his black pair of boots. ______________________________________________________________________________________________ " S O W H E R E Y E B E E N , W H A T S Y E R P A S T ? " " S O W H E R E Y E B E E N , W H A T S Y E R P A S T ? " "Que? Oh, I was born in Mexico, survived the war, and been out here ever since." Under the blanketing light of a candle that burned ever so dimly against the clouded Californian sky, and the unlockable screams of a woman who yearned for the trials of motherhood, a long-awaited child was yielded to the couple who were surrounded by the graceful presence of close friends and family. Guillermo was nothing if not the child of abject wonder. Born from the barren womb many a doctor claimed would never bear the fruit that is children, the life force the boy was given to run this game we call life came with the loss of his mother; a handmaiden Isabella Rojas. Following the loss of his mother, an inkling of a picture-perfect life for Guillermo was ripped asunder. His father, Marco Perez, stood as a general within the Mexican army, and owner of many a rancho across the San Diego territory, and provided nothing but a void of the parental love assumed by many to be oh-so guaranteed to the boy with the incredible nature of his birth. A baby who sought the bosom of a loving mother and the gentle grasp of an adoring father was met with but the child surface of an iron chassis that held sustenance and the disregarding touch of the very same maidens who worked beside his mother. There was no heart, a life void of the assuring touch of love which allows one to see the world for the green it is rather than solely the gray. As the years passed in but merely a blur past his eyes, and for the first time in years, Guillermo had once again seen the man who had aided in giving him life, returned from the war with the Americans. In front of him stood a man whose life had been changed on a level irreversible by even the most skilled Native Shaman. Was he different? Could he be different? Guillermo held a staunch indifference, the man in military garb, wounded all over with bandages wrapped around several parts of his body had never been a father to him. As more years flew by with a pace unmatched the man who gave him life soon lost his own. Free of the master that held him in shackles to the grounds of the Perez home, Guillermo took off like the blowing wind. A man fresh of the master who held his shackles tight to the home, Guillermo took a sprint under the never-ending void of the night sky. A newfound vigor coursing through his bloodstream like a drug led Guillermo down to the estate's stable. Within the confines a horse lay in wait beyond the stable doors, a stallion bearing a mane of butterscotch brown, a tad shorter than the lot; the runt of the pack. "Ascuas" as he had come to call him, was the one thing who had stuck by his side for the long run, and Guillermo wasn't leaving without his prized mount. Both wearing that same spark within their eyes, they took off. Led by the dazzling light of the moon to far beyond the bounds of the place of his birth. Life upon the frontier lands had been a far cry from the rose-tinted view many on the coast had uttered. Coined as a land with unlimited opportunities the tales and odes seem to overshine the reality of the stories told under pit fire light in the wee hours of the night. Through his travels, there have been many a time his survival seemed near to zero, and yet he continued. Guillermo hunted, living off the land. He learned from the many native tribes who had added the young man in his desperate times, taking on traits and acquiring skills, he had learned more on the land than he did during his years with a teacher. Although the land was his mother during his numerous escapades, Guillermo was not shy to steal. A petty little thief, whose hands latched on to whatever lay unattended within his reach. A man of but twenty years of age, the day the news of a war between America and itself broke to Guillermo, it was the point of no return in his lifetime. In times of war, the only side that wins is the one that makes the most money. Like the conniving thief he was, Guillermo used the distress of all to take advantage of both sides. The fire, the brilliantly striking inferno of his hate was the only thing that marked the scene after his robberies. "Burner" was the moniker the infantry slapped upon his name. Like a flame snuffed out, he was in as quickly as he was out. The young man was now treated as an outlaw by both U.S.A. and C.S.A. lawmen. Guillermo stuck his reign of terror all across the South and Midwest; stealing and burning as cascade of national guardsmen followed close in his wake. With the end of the war on the horizon, Guillermo retreated back into the depths of the frontier. ______________________________________________________________________________________________ " L A S T , W H A T B R O U G H T Y E H E R E ? " " L A S T , W H A T B R O U G H T Y E H E R E ? " "Ya got good booze, some good folk too." With the year of his age creeping up ever so quickly, and his days as one of the most wanted criminals on the Gulf Coast a bygone era of regret, Guillermo sought an area void of the papers of his face, void of the bounty on his head, and far, fringe regions of western Texas, nestled into the Rio Grande was the perfect place. It was discreet, and had a high enough population to blend in with hoping his now-aged face would block recognition. After years in the grueling years in the prairies and plains of the midwest, tucked in the shadows hiding all trace of himself from bounty hunters and rangers seeking the prize for his head, the isolation had finally broken him. The town was his return to civilization, and while he didn't live in the town proper his little tent on the outskirts of the town limits kept him connected, and with his secret hidden for the time being, he will stay for as he can. |
Funny, I would have gone this way with it, @Festive
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y Immanuel "Manny" Blaylock _________________________________________________________ August 12th , 2004 | 24 | African-American _________________________________________________________ Single | Male | Heterosexual _________________________________________________________ St. Louis | Missouri | The United States _________________________________________________________ House Alces | Team 21 - Blackjack C H A R A C T E R S T A T S _________________________________________________________C H A R A C T E R S T A T S ◼ B U I L D || Muscular ◼ H A I R C O L O U R || Black ◼ E Y E C O L O U R || Dark brown ◼ H E I G H T || 6'3 (192 cm) ◼ W E I G H T || 214 lbs (97 kg) ◼ S C A R S || N/A ◼ T A T T O O S || N/A ◼ P I E R C I N G S || N/A ◼ O T H E R || N/A | C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T Immanuel was born into the system, as child of two parents who knew each other for but only a few weeks, he never knew those who held the title. A quaint little baby left alone within safe haven box on the side of a branch station of the St. Louis fire department, whose last sight of his mother was the backshot of her running away, although it's not like he had the cognitive ability to understand the situation. It was not soon after his abandonment that the little boy was found by the captain of the station, sitting solitary in the box with but light green blanket wrapped around him, and a note from his presumed mother dictating her grievance at the situation. His life was no easier from this point on, like many kids in the system, he had no structure. Even as a little baby, he bounced around from foster home to foster home. This cycle went on for years, they would take Immanuel in, host for a few weeks, hell, even months, and when he finally thought this was his forever home, the foster parents would decide he wasn't the right child for them. After a while, it got dull. Immanuel no longer cared, accepting the fact that he would never find a forever home like his caseworker so joyfully tried to preach to him. And after one nasty few-month stint in an abusive foster home ruined his hearing, this thought was cemented in his brain. The Blaylocks were like his saving grace, light in the long harrowing path that had led his life up until this point. A deaf family who had taken him in for the long haul, teaching Immanuel how to now navigate the world with his newfound disability. As the months past Immanuel grew warry of his imminent abandonment, like the rest of them had done. But that day never came. The last day he saw his caseworker was the day of his adoption, as a kid who kept to himself, he had never cried so hard until that day. That day was the start of many days of what he would consider normal. He lived a normal kid life, and for the first time ever he actually felt as if he had a family, as if there was a structure in his life. Good things never stay good, that was a lesson Immanuel learned on the eve of his 15th birthday. It was a normal day, just like any other, Immanuel had just returned home from school. The smell of his adopted mother baking him a cake for the next day was still fresh in the air as he entered the home. Before he could even drop of his bag, it was like a switch flipped in his head. It was immediate, the silence he had come to take comfort in disappeared in a single second. Everything. He heard everything. From the sound of his own heart pounding in his ear to the faintest whisper of schoolchildren in the Siberian tundra, he heard it all. It was overwhelming, Immanuel was drowned in the sound of everything, in the sound of the world. He collapsed to the floor, and even with his hands over his ears sounds continued their war effort against the ears he had though he would never use again. His power had manifested. Immanuel didn't know what to do, and neither did his adoptive parents. Hot tears rolled down his face as his family tried to help him but to no avail. Several trips to doctors led nowhere but to the dreary faces of his adoptive parents and the shaking heads of doctors, who had no clue why a hearing-impaired child now claimed he could hear it all. Eventually, the curious medical miracle of one Immanuel Blaylock caught the attention of agents at H.E.L.P., assisting Immanuel by fitting him with an inhibitor. Now knowing what he is, and being outed as a hype to his family, the fear of being dropped by the people he now called his parents reared its head once again. Thankfully to the worried soul of a child who has lost too many homes, the fear was a baseless whisper that floated through the mind that hears all. His family did not let him go, not leaving him because of what he was, to the advisement of the H.E.L.P. agents, they helped enroll Immanuel in P.R.C.U., and after that, the rest is history. M A N N E R I S M S & P E R S O N A L I T Y M A N N E R I S M S & P E R S O N A L I T Y Immanuel still stands as rather closed-off, quite. Despite learning how to love, and feel loved by Blaylocks, the everlasting fear of losing everything on a whim sticks with him to this day. He started this world with a bad hand, and he has continued to keep his poker face high. Immanuel finds it hard to truly trust a lot of people he meets. His early upbringing in tandem with his powers enforces this, unintentional eavesdropping can reveal things one would never want to hear. Disipline has been a core part of Immanuel's life ever since he started at P.R.C.U. To work with his power he needed to keep his mind sharp, to strive through the noise of the day with a steady focus. To those who Immanuel is able to place his often conservatively held trust into, he's talkative, a kind soul that rarely gets its chance to shine, and often helpful to his friends. He values his held friendships with the utmost reverence, and does his best to return back everything he has received from them plus even more. |
A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || Auto-Absolute Auditory Perception __PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || Esoteric __SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || Somatic __POWER SCALE || 2 __THREAT CLASSIFICATION || Σ Auto-Absolute Auditory Perception is a hyperhuman ability in which the parts of the ear and brain responsible for hearing are enhanced to experience an amplification of all sound waves to a magnitude where it can be heard at an inteliable level. Through current observations, there appears to be no range limit for sound that can picked up through this ability, no matter how low the sound is. As stated by the user of this ability, Immanuel, with a heavy stream of concentration his ability is able to pick up radio wavelengths, although currently at a volume lower than that of default sound waves in the air. However possible, this use of his power is the most mental straining on Immnanuel, with him only being able to hold the sound for a short period of time. L I M I T A T I O N S || D E A F E N I N G C A C O P H O N Y / F O C U S O F T H E M I N D As stated in the name, Auto-Absolute Auditory Perception is a continuous ability that is not able to be turned off by its user. This fact leaves Immanuel under near constant barge of unintelligible sounds and noises from every direction. This constant state of distraction when not equipped with an inhibitor comes at the cost of a harder time focusing on a give task or on the pursuit of controlling his power. In order to make effective use of his power, Immanuel needs to hold a level of complete focus/concentration on what he is attempting to hear. This focus is used to help tune out the rest of the background chatter flooding his eardrums. It is on the record that the further away a sound is from Immanuel the stronger his focus must be to achieve a clear, uninterrupted stream of sound into his ears. His focus also determines how long he can hold a steady sound in his ears, this is why he is able listen in on conversations surrounding him for longer and more clearly than a conversation happening miles away from his current location. Immanuel's ability is also confined by the knowledge he has for the sound he is looking out for. To listen and focus in on a sound Immanuel must know what exactly he is looking out for to able to pick it from the ocean of sounds he is hearing. Distance is also a factor in this process, as the further away a sound is the harder it is to solo it out from the rest of the chatter. W E A K N E S S E S || C L O S E P R O X I M I T Y N O I S E Although Immanuel has the ability to tune out other noise through the means of focus, this stream can be interrupted. Noises within a close radius of Immanuel are amplified far beyond the normal extent of his power, if one were able to set off loud sound around him it would have the power to completely knock his focus and even disorient him for a while. | S K I L L S & T A L E N T S S K I L L S & T A L E N T S S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ M E D I T A I O N || Meditation has been one of Immanuel's only form of escape from the overwhelmingness of the sounds of the world. A time where he sits with the sound, he doesn't resist it. He allows it to pervade his mind focusing on keeping a steady head instead of blocking it out. ◼ P E O P L E R E A D I N G || Picking up on people's body ques comes with the trade of having hyper hearing. Immanuel can hear the beat of one heart, the slight raise in one's tone, the increase in their breathing. If it can be heard, Immanuel can pick it up. ◼ S T R E N G T H T R A I N I N G || Much like meditation, training his body aids Immanuel in dealing with the noises in his head. With the main effect of improving his body and capabilities, it also enforces his disipline. T A L E N T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ W R I T I N G || Through out his life the one thing that has been a constant in his life was writing. He always wrote, it was like he was drawn to this archaic form of expression, and from what people who read his writing has said, he has a talent for it. C H A R A C T E R A R S E N A L C H A R A C T E R A R S E N A L A T T I R E ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ W A T C H || Immanuel still wears the watch his adoptive father gifted him before he left for P.R.C.U., apparently the watch had been in the Blaylock family for a long bit, and he trusted it in the hands of his adoptive son. It is a classic wristwatch, apparent age, and another special but the love held in its history. I T E M ( S ) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ A H I S T O R I C N O T E || The same old note left with him when he was a baby in the safe haven box, tucked away in his wallet. T O O L ( S ) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ P O C K E T K N I F E || Nothing really special. A small little pocket knife he bought a while back. A D D I T I O N A L N O T E S A D D I T I O N A L N O T E S |
☮ Boyd, Cleo ♫ "Cleo's a kind soul. Truly, a joy to be around after all these years." ______________________________________ | ☮ Blay, Lucas ♫ "ASL Buddy, pretty blunt but wouldn't have him any other way. Lucas is a great guy, for sure." ______________________________________ ______________________________________ |