I wish I had seen this thread earlier oOName:
Tate Peters Age:
Bisexual with a leaning towards gay.Illness(s):
Anti-Socialist, sort of violently Manic-Depressive, maybe even split personalities, it's not entirely sure, he is one troubled young man. Appearance: How did you end up here?:
(I'm guessing this is where I put my backstory)
He was such a sweet child, with his curly sun-touched golden locks and his clear sky blue eyes, always so kind and gentle with a very healthy thirst for knowledge. His mother adored him, especially for all the little sparks of talents he was showing at a young age; he loved coloring his books and he would even make observations about other pictures and drawings, which were pretty mature for his age, on the barge of artistic genius. His father could recall his wife calling him one day at work, while Tate was still only three years old, announcing that he "used almost every last shade of his crayons to draw grass, and it looked frigging real!"
That was then, before he turned nine. Three weeks after his ninth birthday, Tate was taken.
His parents were mortified. Everyone joined the searches: his friends' parents, his neighbors, his teachers and practically the entire town started looking for him, for an entire two weeks, long after the statistics started discouraging them.
Eventually, he walked back home on his own. He seemed ok, he seemed untouched, he seemed calm. He wasn't even crying. His parents tried to get him to talk about what happened to him, they tried to make him tell them who took him, but all he said was 'a smiley man' and 'I don't remember'.
Smiley man, don't remember. How did he look like? Smiley man. Where did he take you? Don't remember. Did he tell you his name? Smiley man. Did he touch you in a funny way? Don't remember.
They've sent him to a couple of psychologists and doctors; none could get any better results. It took his mother almost seven weeks to realize why he looked so different: his once beautifully blue hues were now pitch black, and no one could tell her why. For the most part of his day he was completely calm, but he wasn't laughing anymore, and he wasn't asking any more questions. He did spend time drawing as before, but his drawings have changed. All he ever drawn was meaningless shapes and formless scribbles of color, and his strokes turned very sudden and violent, as if he was possessed. If his parents tried to take his pencils or his drawing blocks for him, he would give them hell.
As the years passed by, things started happening around Tate. First time he was left alone, the house nearly caught fire. Therefore, his parents decided to leave him with Mrs. Peterson, their elderly neighbor, two weeks after that- she decided to move away, leaving behind a back yard patched with shallow cat-size graves. He couldn't keep any of his former friends, nobody liked him- but nobody bullied him as well, the known school bully crossed the street every time he saw him coming. There were many complaints about random acts of violence, against property and schoolmates, and his parents grew hopeless.
What finally broke them was waking up one night, to find Tate at the feet of their bed with a kitchen knife in his hand; he was about 5 inches short of sticking it into his father's thigh. When he was asked about it by his panicking mother, he said he did not appreciate the new sugar-free cereals his dad bought on his recent grocery shopping.
That was when Tate was sent away to the medical facility for the mentally ill, no older than 16. His parents stopped visiting when he was 17. As he turned 18, give or take three weeks, he was transferred into the asylum in question due to legalities (the former one was basically for underaged patients. However, the administration just used that to be rid of him). Personality:
Oh, no easy way with this one. You can't just push him into a psychological frame and keep him all nicely defined. If you do that, he'd probably rip it to shreds and use the frame to beat the closest person next to him into a bloody pulp. He's unpredictable at best, when he's calm- he would keep to himself, talk real quietly and wouldn't hurt a fly. That's the normal stage, when he is in his cocoon stage, he would pick a corner (or walk back and forth like a mad man), mutter things that only have meaning to him, and jump violently at any attempt to interact with him. The final stage is what I'd like to call "The Bat-shit Butterfly Stage", he would go apeshit. Not just unstable, but violently volatile, should he have a knife in his hand, he would probably stab and slash anything in his way, unarmed- he would tear, punch, kick, bite and head-butt anything in his way, even a solid wall. This would be a good stage to count your losses and RUN.
I don't like what you call bathroom play, but I guess that's more or less a given. Everything else goes.
Hope that's good enough, and that are any suitable doctor-"partners" currently ingame :p