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Lawrence B. Ellison
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Nineteen.
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5'8", 172cm
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150lb, 68kg
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A weird mix of professional and casual, Lawrence carries the look of someone who
should care more about his appearance than he actually does. While he carries an
air of being professional upon first meeting him, this illusion is quickly shattered upon closer inspection. His hair is messy almost to the point of not being tolerable, and his clothing, while suitably "proper" is usually in a state of disarray, whether it be a flipped collar or uneven wrist cuffs. Beneath which glimpses of tattoos can be occasionally seen.
Besides this, he's fairly average in most respects. A bit on the short side for height, and in no way a chiseled example of athleticism. Almost always on his person, tucked under an arm or in a pocket, is a book entitled "Meditations". This, however, is not always the only book he carries with him. The library is like his personal home, and he often likes to bring pieces of it with him when he's out and about. It's a habit forged from constant interruptions of his studying over the past year.
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Lawrence carries an aura of serenity about him, almost to the extent that it could be considered apathy. This is no accident. Upon learning the effect his power has upon others, he took it upon himself to embrace an almost fanatical devotion to the philosophy of Stoicism. This isn't to say he's an emotionless shell, but rather he uses reason and logic to ward off what negative thoughts that he can. In a nutshell, he tries to take "A stoic is immune to misfortune" as seriously as possible. Particularly considering the volatile Abberations he finds himself interacting with every day.
As far as positive emotions go, he has no problem expressing them, although his methods can sometimes leave something to be desired. Behind the serenity lies pool of wit and venom that he unleashes upon those he feels comfortable with. Friends are showered with insults while strangers are showered with advice, perhaps an outlet for keeping his calm facade. It's all in good fun though, and he takes the occasional singed eyebrow from a moody Abberation in stride.
Ultimately though, what drives him day to day is a desire to be helpful. Good and bad mean little to him compared to helpful and helpless. His powers have yet to manifest in a way that's useful to the Institution as a whole (Much to his relief), so in the meantime he does what he can for his peers. As such, he rarely leaves the school grounds, instead preferring to set up and read in the corner of the library until a student bothers him.An almost inevitable occurrence these days.
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Lawrence was... what one might call a volunteer at the institution. That is to say the dreams he experienced, and their implications, shook him to the core. Enough so that he practically threw himself at the chance to join USARILN East. This would probably surprise most of his current acquaintances, considering his almost unhealthy indifference to misfortune. Needless to say, he usually keeps that particular detail to himself. Regardless, it was one year ago that he first stepped foot in the Institution, and since then his life has been relatively normal, all things considered. Especially compared to many in his same position.
His initials fears could be called an absurd overreaction when compared to how underwhelming his power is. That isn't to say he has found himself entirely useless though. Abberations in particular began to seek him out when word of his power started to spread. Sometimes all they needed was a "fix", a quick chat when he was in a good mood to ease their minds during a struggle with their stigma. Still, this was not always a... good idea. Before he had learned to control his power, and his emotions, there was more than one occasion when he was caught in a bad mood. Sometimes adding a little fire to an Abberation who's having a bad day ends in violence. Sometimes meaning usually.
In the months since gaining a measure of control over his ability he has seen a steady rise in his "popularity". In truth, most people just use him, but he has long since resigned himself to that fate. On most days he sets up shop in the library during his free time, with a sarcastic plaque that reads "Dr. Ellison" facing outwards from his little reading nook. Arbiters, as a whole, tend to leave him alone. Unlike Abberations they couldn't get much practical use out of his ability, and having your mind potentially manipulated is something most people would rather avoid. As such, he's made a lot of acquaintances over the past year, but next to no friends. Whether this bothers him or not is anybody's guess.
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Mental Influence: Lawrence has an "aura" about him that has a subtle, yet noticeable affect on the minds around him. Others will find themselves drawn towards his mental state, relaxing if he is relaxed, becoming anxious if he is afraid. While this used to be constant, he has managed to exert a certain amount of control over it in the past year. He can flick it on or off at will, and only reasonably for 3 people at a time. While "active" this aura becomes visible, and engulfs both him and the recipient in a faint white light.
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"Thank you..." The woman sobbed, finally finding the peace she had sought for so long. He lived a quiet existence, secluded in the wilderness, but that did not seem to stop folks from hunting him down. Bookshelves seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions, and behind the woman lay an equally endless line of others waiting to find their peace. He did not mind though. The work was... rewarding. A quick glance out the window confirmed it: All the friends he had made thoughout his lifetime were there. Some had been seekers much like the woman in front of him, others never needed his power to begin with.
With a wave of his hand he motioned the woman to join the group outside, and turned to greet the next man in line. His body was bathed in flames and hatred was plastered across his aging face. In moments though, the flames were extinguished by tears, and he knelt before Lawrence sobbing.
"Thank you..."
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Shadows dance across the walls, illuminated by flickering torchlight. In the center of the room sits a single chair, a throne, occupied by none other than Lawrence. Who else, after all, would be a fitting candidate to lord over this domain? This institution? The decor was no accident, the archaic designs were such because he desired them to be. As if to toast those men and women who held ultimate power in a day long past.
In front of him knelt a man who looked to be much older, much more prestigious at first glance. In a different world, it would be fitting that their positions were reversed. They both knew, however, the absurdity of that situation in present times. No, in present times this was the only arrangement that made sense. Still, in spite of the totality of his servitude, the kneeling man argued:
"But Sir surely you can forgive his insult just once. He is both a child and a fool, we don't need to-"
A wave of Lawrence's hand silenced the man. Almost as if enjoying the challenge to his authority, his eyes sparkled with delight and a hint of amusement spread across his lips. Still, those that knew him were aware that a smile was never a good reaction. Lawrence was... creative when it came to his talents, and it was this creativity that he delighted in.
"How is your wife doing?"
The kneeling man's outburst was completely ignored, but rather grow angry his face drained of all color.
"P-please, I-"
"Healthy? As healthy as that fool is anyway. See, we're running a little low on money these days, and I just can't imagine that we can fit feeding the both of them in this week's budget. So, you can either slip a knife through his ribs or slip a blade through hers. It's your choice."
With painful emphasis on that final word, the walls of the room fell away, revealing an endless multitude of featureless people, stretching past the horizon. As one they reached out him, their voices rising in a beautiful chant.
"Our choice."
"Our choice."
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Arbiter
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xxx
I have none yet! Yada yada not important enough, yada yada plot device.
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Damycles
BayRat
Member
