Title: FLYNN, Arthur
Arthur Flynn - November 6, 2007 11:40 PM (GMT)
Alias: Henry
Age: 15
How Did You Find Us? RPG-Directory
Other Characters: None at the moment
Full Name: Arthur Nathan Flynn
Nicknames: N/A
Age: 15
Gender: Male
Birthday: 19 May
Astrological Sign: Taurus
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Grade: Freshman
Clique: Nobodies
School Activities: Band Vice-President [Classical Guitar], Debate [Member], Newspaper [Co-Editor]
Power: Arthur has the ability to manipulate his own bones [see history for reasons]. He can rearrange them within his body. This includes hardening them, growing them quickly and then dissolving them with a special acid his body produces, regrowing them quickly, etc. He can do all of these skillfully, for he has spent a lot of time practicing. However, penetrating his own skin with bone is still a major challenge, as it hurts him to a great degree and leaves him weakened afterward. He is trying to train this skill, and he has made progress, but it is not coming easily.
Personality Traits:
Amicable
Arthur is usually pretty friendly to other Nobodies.
Timid
One of the reason’s he’s a Nobody. He tends to be pretty quiet.
Indecisive
Always back and forth in his mind, not very good at on-the-spot decisions.
Trustworthy
Tell him a secret. His lips are sealed.
Loyal
Arthur’s not the type to betray a friend.
Humorous
Arthur likes to laugh. Arthur likes to make others laugh.
Distant
Maybe contemplative would be a better word.
General Personality: Arthur is a Taurus according to typical Western astrology, and he follows many of the typical personality traits. He is resourceful, because he never had many friends to help him. He is persistent and patient. Because he never really showed off to anybody outside of his family, he is modest. Arthur is very honest and has a good sense of criticism. He is humorous with his friends, though he is quiet with other people. However, he is also incredibly stubborn, lazy, and can be very self-centered a lot of the time. He does not have any interest in expanding his social circle, which is the main reason he remains a Nobody. He has a large sense of jealousy, much of which sprouts from the success of his brother (though he does not show this jealousy around Simon).
Arthur, as he puts it, “draws his power from his friends;” that is, he can only really be himself around them. His humor is prevalent in everything he says and does, but only if a friend is around. (It doesn’t ever matter if it’s directed at the friend.) His friends allow him to be bold and confident, and without them, he is just quiet and in the background, a typical nobody. He is close to his brother, though when his brother is around his clique, Arthur tends to shy away.
He likes to know where everything is, though he usually doesn’t end up having the motivation to make this happen. He showers every day with he gets up, but fairly often doesn’t use shampoo and soap. He’s not one to care too much about hygiene (except his teeth, which he is almost obsessive about), and he will wear the same clothes for days at a time. The only thing he cares about when it comes to cleanliness is feeling physical dirt and grit; in that situation, he will do whatever is necessary to get clean.
He does not expect to get far in life. He has never fit in, and he never expects to. He has low standards. However, Arthur’s a happy person. After all, what else does he know?
Likes:
Friends (the other Nobodies)
His brother
Sleeping
Guitar
Pizza
Music (listening to, playing, etc.)
Reading
Writing
Rain
Snow
Cold, overcast weather
Dislikes:
Smokers
Rich, snobby people (usually Royals)
Idiots
Jerks
Discrimination (racial, sexual, etc.)
Bears (Yes, bears.)
Habits:
Pretending he is a conductor and waving his arms conducting an invisible band, playing air guitar along with his music, running his hands through his hair
Pet Peeves:
Smokers, improper grammar usage, people who flinch
Height & Weight: 5’10”, 159 lbs.
Piercings/Tattoos: None (tattoos disgust him, as do piercings anywhere besides the ears)
Picture:
Appearance: Arthur is a fairly average-sized person, standing at close to six feet tall. He does not weigh particularly much. He has a very childish face with high cheekbones. He has a mop of hair on his head which is usually pretty unkempt-looking, no matter how hard he tries to keep it together. His eyes are a deep green. His teeth, as mentioned earlier, are essentially perfect, because he obsesses over them constantly. (He spends about a total of half an hour every night taking care of his teeth.)
Arthur is very modest about his appearance. He has been told that he is cute, and again and again he says that he is not (“but thanks anyway”). He is not very imposing, nor does he try to be, which contributes to the fact that he’s a Nobody. Very often he will walk into a room and not be noticed at all until he speaks, but he’s okay with that, because it’s just how he is.
Family Members:
- mother . angelina boyle flynn . 45 . lawyer
father . jeremy flynn . 50 . doctor
brother . simon flynn . 18 . student (majestic)
maternal grandmother . marsha boyle . 87 . retired
maternal grandfather . lyle boyle . deceased
fraternal grandmother . ashley flynn . deceased
fraternal grandfather . martin flynn . deceased
Financial Status: High upper class
History: Nothing distinguished Angelina and Jeremy Flynn from the average new couple. Both came from wealthy families that were itching to continue their family lines. The two were nary a year married when their first child was announced. The couple went through the highs and lows of expecting. They bought a whole lot of those corny books about babies. They went to prenatal yoga classes together. They chose to not find out the gender in advanced, only to break down and ask the doctor five months in. Angelina also experienced the worst of being pregnant. She was sick and spent a lot of time in bed. Nine months of this led to their first baby boy, Simon. Money was not an object, and the family lived in relative happiness and ease. Cut to three years later, when their second baby came.
Simon was two when Angelina came back positive a second time. Gone was the alluring sense of being pregnant. She knew this experience and was not looking forward to it. (Do not get me wrong; she was overjoyed to be having another child. It was just the pregnancy that she didn’t like.) The new little boy was born a month early, on 19 May 1992. He was a little small, but otherwise fully physically and mentally developed. The family was able to cope, although two small children were fairly hard to manage. Arthur’s life did not start well. He began to come out of the womb feet-first, so the doctors were forced to perform a Cesarean section on Angelina. The surgery left her recovering in the hospital with Arthur for a month. When they returned home, a boy (he later discovered this boy to be his brother) began to cry. This got Arthur crying, too, though he didn’t know why.
Things got better. Arthur began to idolize his big brother, Simon. He would crawl around the house after him day after day. However, the routine happiness could not last. At age two, Arthur was brought to the hospital. His arms had been aching down to the bone, and the toddler was in pain. As the doctor examined him, the pain spread to his legs. The doctors kept him overnight, anxious for the child’s safety but unable to diagnose the unfitting symptoms. They were reluctant to give him medicine, because his small body would not be able to handle much. However, by morning, he felt better, so he was sent home without the need for medicine.
And life went on. His brother began going to pre-kindergarten every day. Arthur did not understand why he had to leave every day, and could not adjust easily to the change. Soon enough he, too, was sent to pre-k. He did not make many friends, choosing to sit in the corner and play on the little musical instruments alone. His parents noticed this change in his personality, and worrying about their little Arthur, set up a meeting with his pre-k teacher. When the teacher asked him why he was isolating himself, he answered, “I don’t like people.” The teacher decided that Arthur was just going through a phase, and chose not to send him to a psychiatrist.
He continued to isolate himself for a while. Then, suddenly, one day, as his mother was taking him Christmas shopping, he brightened up and started pointing gleefully to a shop window. In the window was a small calico kitten, mewing softly. Angelina noticed how happy the cat made him, and so she inquired about the cat. The calico had lost its mother in a freak carnival accident, so it was being given away. Arthur ran up to the kitten in the window and picked it up. It purred and rubbed its head against his arm. They took the kitten home and named her Tokay. (For some reason, they chose to name it after a wine. Do not ask me why.)
Arthur spent the majority of his time at home with Tokay. His parents were pleased to see their bright little boy again, but a little disconcerted at the fact that he was not making any human friends. He would talk to people at school, but never did he have anybody over for a play-date or anything. The teacher said that this was perfectly normal, so they did not inquire any further. He went into elementary school. He began to make some friends, but for some reason, he always lost them. This brought his self-esteem to a very low level, though he tried his best to not reveal this to his parents. All they could see was that their child was becoming more social, so they were happy.
His life was relatively uneventful for a while. At age nine, as he was going into the fourth grade, some thing happened. His bones began to ache as they had at age two. He kept it a secret, hoping it would disappear on its own. (Besides, it wasn’t really that bad.) One day, he was wandering around the playground, wondering about his strange pain, when he realized that he had wandered outside the school grounds. He looked around fearfully. He started to run through the streets. He ended up at a busy intersection. Arthur was pushed around and jostled by a large crowd moving around him and he ran through it, trying to escape the crowd.
And he did.
There was a sickening crunch, piercing the absolute blackness around him. Soon, other noises came: screams, shouts and crying. This died down. There was a steady beeping. After some time, the darkness was sucked away, as if siphoned by a vacuum. White blared at his eyes. His whole body ached, and he found that he could not move it. The beeping continued.
As Arthur was wheeled from the hospital several months later, his mother explained to him what had happened in detail. He had broken free from the crowd, only to stumble into the street. A speeding car coming down the road did not have the time to properly react to the child suddenly stumbling on to the street, and tried to swerve. The bumper smacked the child at a good seventy miles per hour, flinging him to the median. Attention was diverted to the broken boy, and he was rushed to the hospital. Many of the bystanders followed, just to see if he was going to make it out alive.
In the ambulance, they were able to detect that at least three-quarters of his bones were broken. In the ER, it was determined that, incredibly, only half of his bones were broken, mainly in his legs. By the time he was fully anesthetized, his right leg was almost fully healed. At this point, the doctors stood back. His body seemed to have movement under the skin. Periodic checks over the next hour revealed that the cracks in his bones were filling and the shattered bones were coming together. This prompted them to move him to the ICU for observation.
After a few days, Arthur awoke. His bones at this point were fully healed, though they were weaker and flimsier than usual. The doctors were perplexed, as this fit nothing that anybody had ever seen medically. He had his tenth birthday party in his ICU room. He was released from the hospital exactly five months after the accident. He was told to report back once a month for the next year. He was put in a wheelchair until further notice, because the doctors were worried that his bones were too weak to support his body.
His mother told him on the way home that she had felt that this day would come for one of her two sons. The Boyles had both had a history of strange recoveries, she told him. It was thought within their family that there was a certain gene that would skip from generation to generation. (Arthur’s maternal great-grandmother had this gene.) Most bone-related maladies would clear up in a matter of days, sometimes even hours, when it would normally take months, years. She told him how one of her ancestors had been examined in a postmortem. The medical staff had discovered that the bones of the human had been rearranged in an unnatural formation. Occurrences like this were not uncommon in the Boyle family.
Arthur, endowed with this knowledge, decided to see what he could do. Over weeks and months, he experimented with making a knob of bone on his upper arm. He discovered that some kind of chemical process within his body could destroy this annexed bone. His middle school years were spent training this amazing skill. Arthur also picked up a taste for music. His likes mainly based themselves around classic and psychadelic rock. He began to play the guitar, and has two of his guitars at AA with him.
At age fourteen, Arthur received a letter of acceptance to the prestigious Aura Academy. The letter noted that much was expected of Arthur because of Simon’s success. This has definitely put the pressure on him to be as great as his brother. Arthur is beginning his freshman year at AA now and enjoying all of it.
[SIZE=5]
Magic Words: Glittery, soap, bubbles
RP Sample:
| QUOTE |
| Humble Beginnings Pseudolus Sieg Forben was born into a large Aven "community" that was really more like a cult. The community was called Soaring Heaven, and was a group based on devout religious ceremonies. His parents, Hotro and Senema, were forced into marriage by the councilors of the community, just so they could produce a child. Lo and behold, three years after their forced marriage, they bore a small Aven boy, who they named Pseudolus. Despite both the parents’ disliking of each other, they found common ground in their child, who they loved like any normal son in a normal family. The boy was not destined for anything great. That was clear from the beginning. He was a very intelligent child, though, and had controversial ideas all the time. At the age of five, he contemplated why apples had to be green and not, for example, blue. He actually gave a speech to his parents about the physics of apple coloring and the benefits of blue apples. They gave him false admiration, and they truly were impressed, but they knew that such controversial ideas were not thought well of in Soaring Heaven. Hoping that this would be the last display of his clashing controversies, they did not tell the councilors. Unfortunately for Pseudolus, his mind brought yet more unsanctioned arguments to his attention. For the next eleven years, he often gave his parents, teachers and councilors a lot to think and, subsequently, worry about. For example, “Why must we wear these sanctioned clothes?” “Why not live in homes underground?” “Why do Aven have wings if we barely use them?” None of these sparked anything but remorse from his parents, for they knew that controversy in a colony as Soaring Heaven could be a tender subject. Everybody in the colony followed strict religious policies, and everyone knew that there was no room for extra ideas. However, the young Aven boy just didn’t understand that. So when Pseudolus Sieg Forben woke up the day after his sixteenth birthday, he couldn’t have known how much his life would change. Controversial Ideas Pseudolus had just had a very interesting sixteenth birthday. In Soaring Heaven, eleven was the age where you could finally be considered an Aven adult. The day before, his parents had prepared a cake. Secretly, half of it was poisoned (with a potent mixture of special poison herbs, arsenic and lye) and half was not. They did not tell their son this. This test was a normal test of manhood in Soaring Heaven. Hotro and Senema were worried that young Pseudolus would choose the wrong half. Luckily for everyone, the boy chose the good half and enjoyed it very much. Unfortunately, a few crumbs of the poisoned half had managed to get on the normal half, so Pseudolus had moderate stomach cramps all day long. Then came the sacred ceremony of the Avenuli, the ancient tribe that eventually formed Soaring Heaven. Normally it involved the new Aven adult getting his (or her, I suppose) first shirt with holes cut out for wings. Before that, a child would have to wear his small wings uncomfortably crushed into the back of his shirt. That was considered a test of faith. Some children, despite the warnings of parents, tried to cut holes in the shirt to relieve themselves of the discomfort. These children would normally be taken away by the councilors. It was rumored, ironically, that they were sent to go make shirts with wing-holes in them. Anyway, the problem with Pseudolus was a rather common one nowadays; he had no wings. Many Aven children were not born with wings now. At first it was considered a curse, but it cropped up so much that the councilors finally accepted it. The wingless child was still considered a bad omen, though not as bad an omen as black wings, which was considered a sign of evil. So Pseudolus, despite his lack of wings, got his new shirt with holes. An Aven Wise One then gave a ceremonial blessing and whisked him away. It was late once the family returned from the ceremony, so Pseudolus was excused from his chores and allowed to have an hour’s free time before bed. Perhaps they might not have given him this time if they knew what was to come. The new man sat in his room, writing up some proof for a new idea, when something struck him. “God,” he whispered. “Why must there be a god? Who’s to say that there really is a greater being watching over us? Does there need to be?” And hurriedly he started writing up an argument. He hastily finished a rough draft and ran downstairs to present it to his parents, but before he got a word out, they told him to put on his bedclothes and get to sleep. Reluctantly, he went to his room, got undressed, put down his essay and went to sleep. The next day he had to go to classes. His teacher, the rhetor, started talking about religion in other cultures, and how they were all wrong. This sparked a memory in his mind, and Pseudolus grabbed his argument out of his pack and put his hand in the air. The teacher called, “Yes, Pseudolus?” He shuffled his papers and begun. “I was thinking about something last night, rhetor, and I came up with an idea.” Pseudolus exclaimed brightly. The teacher groaned. He was well acquainted with Pseudolus’ pointless opinions. “Why,” he said slowly, “must there be a god? Well, I think-” He was silenced by a shrieking gasp from the teacher. “What? I only-“ That’s where the memory stopped and the pain began. Two Kinds of Torture Pseudolus woke up groggily in his cell. He felt ghastly pain all over. In the dark, he realized he was naked from the waist up. A lot of the pain seemed to be emanating from his back, so he put his hand there. He felt large raised welts all over his skin. His eyes widened as a bit of a memory came back to him. A candle-lit circle… Hooded men… A whip… A bit about heresy… Pleading, begging… But alas… He shook his head, as if to clear his mind. He tried to put events in order. So he gave his idea to his teacher. Then the protectors came and took him to a room with five men wearing hoods and cloaks. They put Pseudolus in a perfect chalk circle made up of strange symbols and questioned him. He must’ve given bad answers, because they whipped him. Hard, too. His parents came in tears and pleaded for his release. The councilors probably refused and ordered them out. Then they whipped him some more and he passed out. In the time he was unconscious they must’ve brought him to this cell. So here he was. He sat thinking in the dirty, smelly cell. He hoped he wouldn’t become a leper from living in the dirt. When he looked back, though, he realized that it wasn’t so bad in comparison. Pseudolus sat in his cell for probably four hours before he heard footsteps. He tried to look pathetic. He saw that the approaching people were two of the five hooded men. They skipped the false kindness of trying to coax him and instead whipped him again. They asked for answers. Pseudolus didn’t have an idea of what they wanted of him. After his beating, they threw in some stale, moldy bread and a vial of old, stagnant water. The vial broke on the floor. Pseudolus saw the bread and vomited. It could hardly be considered bread with mold, more like mold with a bit of bread. He was dead thirsty, though, and he could feel himself getting light-headed from lack of food. Pseudolus had to resort to licking the filthy water from the even filthier floor. Then he tried to scrape the mold off of the bread, though it turned out that there was actually more mold than bread, so he was forced to eat the mold to get even a bit of food. Then, because he knew it would happen sometime, he went in the corner and cried his eyes out. After an hour of bawling, he finally wiped his eyes with his sleeve and curled up in a ball to go to sleep. This pattern repeated for about two months, though Pseudolus couldn’t keep time well in his position. Wake up, sit, get beaten, eat rotten food, sleep, repeat. He grew very thin and sickly. Oh, and every few days they knocked him out and brought him to a muddy plain to run for a few minutes. This was not a luxury. This was a strict regimen of exercise so they could keep him alive. He hated these trips, and as these trips were always in the daytime, he started to associate hatred with sunlight. This hatred of the sun was where the pain took a steep turn for the worse. His hatred of light gave him a sort of feral feeling. This feral side of his mind seemed to separate from his intellectual side. Subconsciously, these sides clashed without Pseudolus knowing. These clashing sides gave him mental pain. Pseudolus, who was half-insane from his torture already, interpreted this pain as God punishing him for his heresy. This turned his grief into anger. He knew that he couldn’t withstand this kind of brutal beating from all sides. Not even his mind was safe anymore. He willed his mind to do something, so now it had the pressure of regular beatings (mental and physical), a schizophrenic complex and the conscious being it inhabited. This was too much for it, so, rather like a metamorphic rock, it developed a system of defense, which, under many circumstances, would be considered Psychic abilities. This, though, was not helping his current situation much. He pondered this for a long while, until a clear voice spoke in his head, Run away. Escape. You can. Pseudolus did not care where this command came from; he could think about that later. He had thought about escape before of course, but before he developed his peculiar Psychic abilities he hadn’t been able to come up with a plan. Now, it seemed clearer. An idea formulated in his mind. His whipping came on schedule the next day. However, when the two men were unlocking the door after the beating, Pseudolus sent a message through their minds. He realized as he did it that it wasn’t his voice, but the voice that had spoken to him earlier. It was now talking through him, saying, Prepare yourself. Shocked, the two men turned around to receive kicks to the jaw. Pseudolus grabbed a wooden staff from one of the men that fell and bolted straight out. He passed a supply room and decided to dress in the hooded garb, for two reasons. One, he needed clothing. Two, the cloak would serve well as a disguise. He dressed quickly and ran. He soon found the exit and, luckily, found it to be dark outside. He had been running and he’d been noticing that he seemed heavier to carry. He looked over his shoulder to see if he was being followed through the door, and, shockingly, he saw a black wall. With further examination, he saw that they seemed feathered… He gasped. “Wings!” he exclaimed before he could stop himself. He wondered what was going to happen to him in the strange, new world he was in. A Learning Experience Rather soon after Pseudolus escaped, he found himself at an odd place. It was called the Academy, and was a rather unorganized arena for new fighters. Despite Pseudolus' high standards of himself, he knew that he was a little rusty on his technique. So Pseudolus applied for a fight there. Pseudolus really had never been without a plan. Only one time had he been without a plan, and that had been in his imprisonment. But still, he had always been prepared and organized. He kept this in mind during his fight, at least at the beginning. Soon, though, he realized that he hadn't exactly done much fighting in his lifetime, and that his theory was seriously flawed. Pseudolus was up against another, slightly more experienced Psychic named Lucian. He tried to formulate a meager plan consisting of a headbutt and a snowdrift, but that ended up in extreme failure. So Pseudolus was forced to go with impulse. This hurt him a bit, but it ended up working out. The judges were still evaluating the battle when Pseudolus mysteriously disappeared. Rather Weak At this point, Pseudolus couldn't deny it. His Psychic abilities were rather weak. He could now tell that his powers had been geared toward the defensive fighter. Pseudolus was a more offensive fighter, as a few weeks in the real world had taught him. He needed something slightly more offensive. But what? Pseudolus traveled around and eventually found a library. He took some books out on fighting styles and sat down at a table. One book was about being born a Psychic and controlling Psychic abilities. Pseudolus opened up the book and looked through it. Nothing in it hinted that Psychicism was offensive at all. Sighing, he put the book down and picked up the next. Alchemy in the Basics was the title of the book. He flipped through the first few pages only. He saw that the only alchemies learnable by beginners were Earth, Fire and Water, and that the use of advanced alchemies without a permit was prosecutable by law. Pseudolus had a brief moment of uncertainty deciding on whether or not to use Earth Alchemy as his style, but he thought against it. He closed the book and put it on top of the Psychic book. The Sword is Far Mightier than any Pen, Pseudolus read. He opened the book and learned a wee bit about fighting. He was appalled. Fighting had never even looked good to him, but now it seemed even more stupid. How anybody could degrade themselves to such a barbarian-like status by grabbing a pointed stick and throwing themselves into battle, Pseudolus didn't know. He put the book down in disgust and picked up the next. It was one he could burn. I want to pause this history here to point something out about Pseudolus. He blamed everything on God and religion, and he felt like he was being punished for that. But however much he hated the whole concept, it had been forced into him through months of torture. Often he had heard his captors talk while they beat him. They would often talk of witches burned for heresy and grand larceny involving evil magicks. As being whipped was a rather vulnerable state, and because he had been brought up religiously, this left an impression on him. He knew everything magical to be evil. So when Pseudolus saw the book A Guide to the Magicks of the World, he did it with regret. He only looked at it in the first place because he knew magic to be an advantageous skill to know. He opened the book with disgust and read through it. The three okayed magicks, Offensive, Defensive and Rounded all bored Pseudolus. He was going to close the book when he saw an addendum in the back of the book. He knew it was a bad venture to choose, but it was far too interesting to not use. The addendum was maybe three or four pages long, yet it told Pseudolus so much. Dark Magic seemed incredible to him. It had a large evil side, of course, but this was no deterrent. He read the whole section and then put down the book, heading to a less popular section of the library. He left the books on the table. As he walked away, he heard a voice from behind him, which he presumed was the librarian’s. ”Hey, young man, those books must be returned to the shelves from which…” The elderly woman’s voice trailed off as Pseudolus turned and gave a tacit glare at her. Without another word, the librarian picked up the stack of books and shuffled off. Pseudolus then set off for the section most would consider “forbidden.” It was very dark and dusty, and it smelled of musk. The book had told him that Dark Magic had only been recently legalized as a defensive practice. So that means that official books on the subject would be fairly new. He looked through the section with the least dust covering it, and, lo and behold, he found a book entitled The Legal Practice of Dark Magicks and all Matters Concerning It. Pseudolus flipped the book open and looked through. He was delighted. It would not be easy. But for a high-shooter like Pseudolus, it wouldn’t be hard, either. He saw that it required intense concentration and stamina. Pseudolus knew he could achieve both. With a chuckle he closed the book and slipped it under his arm. Nobody noticed the tall boy walk from the library, a book concealed beneath his sleeve. |
Arthur Flynn - November 20, 2007 02:52 AM (GMT)
Finally, it is complete!
Alice Black - November 20, 2007 09:19 PM (GMT)
Accepted!
Congratulations, you've been placed as a nobody.
You have been placed in the physical abilities class.
You have been placed in the morning cycle.
(PS. Your picture is seriously messed up.)