| NAME: |
| NICKNAME(S): |
| ALIAS(ES): |
| ABILITIES: |
| SAMPLE POST: |
| NOTES: |
Booker Clayton Rhodes.
| NICKNAME(S): |
Book.
| ALIAS(ES): |
Janus.
| ABILITIES: |
PSYCHOKINESIS
FIRST STEP (Tactile Psychokinesis): Booker is able to project and manipulate a field of telekinetic energy to his immediate area and objects that he touches. Projecting a weapon requires that a physical 'base' be used, and be in his grasp at all times (eg. using a piece of rebar as a basis for a PK bat). At this stage, the field barely extends beyond being a thin skin-like layer. Able to be shattered with moderate or elongated bouts of force. Can lift as much as your average hard-labor worker at maximal effort.
SECOND STEP (Extended Psychokinetic Projection): At this step in progression, Booker is able to project his abilities in the form of simple constructs. Usually extensions of his body-parts, such as fists and feet. Barriers and shield-walls become possible. His range of influence increases up to 5m and lifting ability increases to around a competitive strongman at maximal effort.
THIRD STEP (Ego Boost): The range and potency of Booker's psychokinesis increases significantly, lending to enhanced physical attributes and stronger constructs. Complexity is still limited, so simple constructs must be utilised but he no longer requires an object to be the 'base'. His barriers become able to withstand much harsher treatment before being shattered and range increases to 10m. Booker gains the potential to lift beyond human capabilities at maximal effort, around a ton above his head before risking damage.
FOURTH STEP (Manifest Ego): Booker's ability peaks at being able to manifest a projection of his own psyche, literally his ego. The projection possesses a personality somewhat, but mostly its there to lend extra sets of fists to the combat equation. Complexity is still limited, but potency accelerates phenomenally, turning Booker into a psychokinetic powerhouse. Strength beyond strength as he becomes able to lift 2.5 tons and throw it about with some effort. Construct range remains unchanged, instead trading in for being able to manifest his 'ego'.
LIMITATIONS: In addition to those already listed, Booker's abilities are limited by the effort needed to multi-task both a personal barrier and supercharging his physical actions. When he is throwing a punch or jumping in for a mighty kick, he is more open to retaliation or a counter than ever. To be caught off guard is a potential end to his combat. Likewise for holding up a barrier, he can either strike or he can guard. He cannot do both at once. Additionally, both his constructs and his barriers, personal or otherwise, are subject to being shattered or completely bypassed if battered hard enough or for long enough. Shattering or throwing out too much PK energy can lead to exhaustion and other side-effects such as reduced strength, slowed reflexes, drowsiness and if pushed hard enough, a complete inability to use his powers for an indeterminate time.
WEAKNESSES:Booker's constructs and concentration both can be disrupted by outside factors. One of the major contributors is loud, grating or otherwise distracting/harmful noises. High-pitched whining and feedback from speakers are his personal worst nightmares, able to disrupt or dismiss his power entirely if loud enough. A lot of Booker's power comes from movement and extending from his own body, and as such, being bound, trapped or having his movement otherwise debilitated severely limits his options as to how he can utilize his abilities. Heat and electrical activity also weaken his powers due to the effects they have on molecules and their local atmosphere. Vibration caused by heat can cause his constructs to destabilize, whereas there seems to be a strange nullifying effect when they come into contact with electricity.
SECOND STEP (Extended Psychokinetic Projection): At this step in progression, Booker is able to project his abilities in the form of simple constructs. Usually extensions of his body-parts, such as fists and feet. Barriers and shield-walls become possible. His range of influence increases up to 5m and lifting ability increases to around a competitive strongman at maximal effort.
THIRD STEP (Ego Boost): The range and potency of Booker's psychokinesis increases significantly, lending to enhanced physical attributes and stronger constructs. Complexity is still limited, so simple constructs must be utilised but he no longer requires an object to be the 'base'. His barriers become able to withstand much harsher treatment before being shattered and range increases to 10m. Booker gains the potential to lift beyond human capabilities at maximal effort, around a ton above his head before risking damage.
FOURTH STEP (Manifest Ego): Booker's ability peaks at being able to manifest a projection of his own psyche, literally his ego. The projection possesses a personality somewhat, but mostly its there to lend extra sets of fists to the combat equation. Complexity is still limited, but potency accelerates phenomenally, turning Booker into a psychokinetic powerhouse. Strength beyond strength as he becomes able to lift 2.5 tons and throw it about with some effort. Construct range remains unchanged, instead trading in for being able to manifest his 'ego'.
LIMITATIONS: In addition to those already listed, Booker's abilities are limited by the effort needed to multi-task both a personal barrier and supercharging his physical actions. When he is throwing a punch or jumping in for a mighty kick, he is more open to retaliation or a counter than ever. To be caught off guard is a potential end to his combat. Likewise for holding up a barrier, he can either strike or he can guard. He cannot do both at once. Additionally, both his constructs and his barriers, personal or otherwise, are subject to being shattered or completely bypassed if battered hard enough or for long enough. Shattering or throwing out too much PK energy can lead to exhaustion and other side-effects such as reduced strength, slowed reflexes, drowsiness and if pushed hard enough, a complete inability to use his powers for an indeterminate time.
WEAKNESSES:Booker's constructs and concentration both can be disrupted by outside factors. One of the major contributors is loud, grating or otherwise distracting/harmful noises. High-pitched whining and feedback from speakers are his personal worst nightmares, able to disrupt or dismiss his power entirely if loud enough. A lot of Booker's power comes from movement and extending from his own body, and as such, being bound, trapped or having his movement otherwise debilitated severely limits his options as to how he can utilize his abilities. Heat and electrical activity also weaken his powers due to the effects they have on molecules and their local atmosphere. Vibration caused by heat can cause his constructs to destabilize, whereas there seems to be a strange nullifying effect when they come into contact with electricity.
| SAMPLE POST: |
Booker looked up at the moon, shining over the lake sprawling out before him. The hood of his car was cold beneath him, gathering condensation and icicles as the wind bit at his nose and cheeks. His father had said it was too cold to go out at this time of night, but he was already halfway out the door as he spoke up. Book couldn't help but look down at his car, standing up to his full 6' height as he surveyed the damage. His Mini had seen much better days, that was for sure. Dented bumper, door keyed, one wiper broken clean off. He could even see the burger wrapper stuffed between the center console and the driver's seat, white and yellow design glaring up at him. Booker's sigh reached no one but the torn leather interior as he walked around to the side of the car and gripped the handle. His reflection looked back at him from the window, and he stopped dead.
He looked terrible. He was pudgier than he'd ever been. Sure, HE knew he wasn't fat, but it sure didn't look that way from the outside. His outfit could have been much better, but when you have to get gone there isn't really any time for a costume check. His stretched-out varsity jacket with no letter over his XL Decepticon logo t-shirt. Cargo shorts, mustard stained, over his 2012 Air Jordans. His pride and joy, and it was a pair of shoes. The influence of hanging out with a bunch of sneaker-heads, he guessed. He shook his head as he tugged on the handle and sat back in the car. The driver's seat was molded to his impression by now, cushion deformed and warped by his weight. His thick fingers went to the dashboard and ran across it slowly, dipping as they traveled over the indentation he made with his fist just a few weeks prior. He had got into a fight whilst out with his friends and got tangled up with the police. When his father came from walking the beat to bail him out, he fought with his father too.
"Book, I'm worried about you. No job, no prospects, but you still go out every night and come back with a new mark on your record. You could be so much if you just applied yourself. Mom always dreamed big things of you, but now that I'm turning 60 and she's... gone, I'm having more and more trouble thinking like she did. You're my kid, my son. My blood. But you need to get your act together. I can't keep bailing you out." Book tried not to grind his teeth, but remembering the old man's words made it difficult. Right as he was trying to leave for a night out with his friends. Adjusting the rear-view mirror, he saw his tired eyes staring back. The felonious son of a police officer. It would have made him chuckle if he wasn't so sick in his stomach about it. Not sick because of how he acted, sick because he'd have to go and face him again.
Booker sniffed and cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over his bald head before reaching to start the car up again. He gave the clutch a few good pumps as he turned the key. It started with a sputter and a cough, but it started all the same as his phone vibrated in the coin-compartment. A text message, from his friend Joseph.
Jojo: ay big-b, squad tryna roll and we need a drivr, u in??
A few taps on the cracked screen later and he sent off a reply.
Big-B: rollin out
He threw his phone back into the coin-compartment and smiled. As good a reason as any to avoid another argument. Maybe even have some fun.
He looked terrible. He was pudgier than he'd ever been. Sure, HE knew he wasn't fat, but it sure didn't look that way from the outside. His outfit could have been much better, but when you have to get gone there isn't really any time for a costume check. His stretched-out varsity jacket with no letter over his XL Decepticon logo t-shirt. Cargo shorts, mustard stained, over his 2012 Air Jordans. His pride and joy, and it was a pair of shoes. The influence of hanging out with a bunch of sneaker-heads, he guessed. He shook his head as he tugged on the handle and sat back in the car. The driver's seat was molded to his impression by now, cushion deformed and warped by his weight. His thick fingers went to the dashboard and ran across it slowly, dipping as they traveled over the indentation he made with his fist just a few weeks prior. He had got into a fight whilst out with his friends and got tangled up with the police. When his father came from walking the beat to bail him out, he fought with his father too.
"Book, I'm worried about you. No job, no prospects, but you still go out every night and come back with a new mark on your record. You could be so much if you just applied yourself. Mom always dreamed big things of you, but now that I'm turning 60 and she's... gone, I'm having more and more trouble thinking like she did. You're my kid, my son. My blood. But you need to get your act together. I can't keep bailing you out." Book tried not to grind his teeth, but remembering the old man's words made it difficult. Right as he was trying to leave for a night out with his friends. Adjusting the rear-view mirror, he saw his tired eyes staring back. The felonious son of a police officer. It would have made him chuckle if he wasn't so sick in his stomach about it. Not sick because of how he acted, sick because he'd have to go and face him again.
Booker sniffed and cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over his bald head before reaching to start the car up again. He gave the clutch a few good pumps as he turned the key. It started with a sputter and a cough, but it started all the same as his phone vibrated in the coin-compartment. A text message, from his friend Joseph.
Jojo: ay big-b, squad tryna roll and we need a drivr, u in??
A few taps on the cracked screen later and he sent off a reply.
Big-B: rollin out
He threw his phone back into the coin-compartment and smiled. As good a reason as any to avoid another argument. Maybe even have some fun.
| NOTES: |
His father is a cop. His mother is deceased.
Just water for me.
Just water for me.
