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Author Topic: The Supressed Despondent Telepath  (Read 351 times)

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Offline KeithTopic starter

The Supressed Despondent Telepath
« on: April 25, 2015, 06:55:03 PM »

βrandon was born under very unique circumstances. Imagine a child within it's mothers belly able to understand that she regretted her pregnancy, that she cursed him every time he caused her morning sickness, or when his fathers eyes lingered overly long on women they passed on walks. Tone and emotion were something he understood the moment he became aware of his existence, attaching words to those things had taken him weeks, and he felt terrible knowing the pain he was causing to the woman he instinctively loved as his birth giver.

When he was born he cried only once. Even drugged and nearly passing out from a long miserable birthing she still had enough bitterness to hate the sound of his cry. Gurgled whimpers and a slight cringe was the first sight either of his parents saw on his freshly cleaned face. Gradually he was aware that the nurses that cared for him, not a lot just two in fact, were the only ones with positive emotions toward him. His parents, the doctor, and support staff were all just exhausted, but the two nurses that looked over the first hours after worrying births looked after him carefully, one of them even did something he would later understand as praying for him.

Going home with his parents was not a happy time, but his personality was still forming, along with his vocal cords, so he spent much of his time drifting in and out of awareness for the first three years of his life. He would cry only as much as necessary to make his parents aware, worried he would anger his mother who preferred to spend as much time as possible behaving as though she hadn't given birth, drinking wine, talking on the phone, forgetting that he was in the house.

At age three he had developed enough that he started talking, but the sounds he made never sounded right, too bubbly and gurgled, and his voice grated on his mothers ears. So he spoke alone, practiced in his room to try and make a more pleasant sound. For a very short period of time that made his family happy, they were amazed and proud of him speaking so well, not questioning how he had learned to speak so well so abruptly. That lasted for a week before he asked why his father kept touching his secretary between her legs, his voice innocent and confused.

That incident had ended with his mother slapping him, calling him a liar, dragging him off to his room, and locking him in it for a week. That scene, and punishment, kept repeating itself like his little family was trapped in the belly of an Oroboros. Each time it occurred he spoke less, reacted less each time he heard their thoughts, but it was far too late. His mother was convinced he was an evil existence, used his strangeness to further convince herself that she had never given birth to him after all, and saw each attempt he made at getting closer to her or trying as a lead up to some sort of attack. His father kept as far away from him as reasonably possible to hide his secrets. It was no surprise when one day he simply never returned home.

There was a strange darkness about his mother at that time. His mere presence caused her considerable stress and he couldn't bring himself to make so much as the smallest noises in her presence. It only took a week of his father being gone for her to finally snap. It was nothing a normal child would have been able to defend against, because no child would think to question his mother's home cooked food. Knowing it was poisoned, and feeling the glee she felt as her "freedom" loomed only a few bites away, he quickly realized that he had to leave.

That night he had got up from the dinner table, dressed in his warmest clothes, walked out the door, and never saw his mother again. Knowing no where to go he swiftly found himself pulled into the lifestyle of the homeless. Begging was not effective, the first time he tried at the urging of a very confused old man he had been reported to the police. Normally that would be for the best, but the one who called the police was only interested in a reward, and he was convinced both he and his mother would be better off if he stayed "lost".

Travel became normal as staying in one place always invited more danger. The streets weren't safe for the aged homeless who had lost their jobs or were mentally ill and had fallen through the cracks, and for a child it was worse. He could go to no one for help, and he could help no one. It was then that he truly began to know the concept of death.

The first time he felt it was deep in the night, the sensation of fear so palpable that it lingered in the alley he slept like a oily fog. His mind sought out that fear out of desperation, if for no other reasons than to know which direction to run from. He slipped into the mind of a young woman as she lay dying, felt her confusion and fear so strongly that he stopped breathing. As she neared death a black void seemed to open in her mind and swallow her, the sensation of nothingness that swallowed her felt like the gaping maw of a monster. It so terrifying that he thought he had passed out on the spot. The next day he went to a pay phone. He called the police, reported her death in a shaking voice, dropped the receiver, and walked onto bus heading out of town.

As he grew learning to defend himself became his top priority. He was no longer able to rely on looking defenseless or slipping unnoticed where he needed to find food or shelter. Teenagers running away from home, young gang members, the more unruly homeless, they were starting to compete with him for resources. After several beatings he started to learn how to defend himself. The first thing he learned was how not to be swallowed up by the desperation or hate of those attacking him and stay calm so he could read what they would do. Next he learned where to hit to make it stop, able to sense how much pain he inflicted, and which strikes cut off a persons conscious mind. However the most important thing he learned was how long he could stay in one place before the grudges became quests for bloody vengeance.

Frequently he would have to fight people bigger then him as they sought what petty cash and small stashes of food he managed to gather. Each time he did rumors would start, and then the low level gangsters always wound up taking interest. You can only lay that kind of guy once or twice before they go to their big brothers, say they got jumped by some punk, and the whole crew decides it's a matter of saving face before rival gangs got wind of it. The first time he sensed the mind of a gang banger carry a gun to his hide away he knew that he couldn't stay in any place long.

That darkness inevitably seemed to chase after him again and again. No matter where he went he couldn't seem to escape from the oroboros.

Despite how much trouble and darkness he slogged through growing up he reached what society considered adulthood, or near enough as he hadn't been keeping track of his age for some time. Against all odds he had reached the point where he could start taking actual jobs, and had suppressed himself to the point that he no longer showed any outward signs that he could hear peoples thoughts, no longer faltered when he felt death swallow someone whole, but in the process of that he had lost a lot. In suppressing outward signs of what he heard he also crushed all natural expressions.

Trouble still arouse frequently so he jumped jobs often, always before people started asking too many questions about him. All the same being old enough to hold a job meant it was getting significantly easier to live. The darker element he lived near troubled him occasionally, but he had gotten good at avoiding, capitulating, or putting down any trouble he stumbled into. He had finally reached a lifestyle he would classify as comfortable. He managed to scrape together enough money for a tiny dingy apartment, ate twice a day, and started reading as much as he could between his random and widely assorted jobs after picking up a library card off the curb. It was in that comfort he became aware of how alone and empty his life felt, and that realization threatened to crush him.


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βrandon is a character I was inspired to create today and while I have a good grasp of who he is, how he acts, I'm not entirely decided on how I want to play with him. The options are infinite. So I decided to place this character here and ask for those interested in him PM me with their propositions.
« Last Edit: October 29, 2016, 01:01:41 PM by Keith »

Offline KeithTopic starter

Re: The Supressed Despondent Telepath
« Reply #1 on: September 07, 2016, 08:25:36 AM »
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Been a while and I never did play this character as much as I would have liked. If you find yourself interested in this character I invite you to read through the following post, which unfortunately faded off.

Moonlit Telepath

The basics of the story are simple. A sort-of-wolf is compelled to find βrandon, only he is continually on the run, always on the outskirts of the bad side of cities. When she finally finds him he has to run soon after experiencing a snapshot of his life.

From all the angles I've looked at the one that I'm most interested in trying again is something like the above. A soulmate that seeks him out and somehow tracks him down. There are other paths I've toyed with, but unless someone has that kind of compulsion to stick with him I don't see him sticking in one place long enough to form a romance.

If this, or a better idea you come up with, tickles your fancy please send me a PM.
« Last Edit: September 07, 2016, 08:27:57 AM by Keith »