Post by Dean Archer on Feb 29, 2012 15:02:24 GMT -5
CONFIDENTIAL
FILE OF:
ARCHER, DEAN
FILE OF:
ARCHER, DEAN
BASIC DETAILS:
PERSONAL INFORMATION:
FULL NAME: Dean Ulysses Archer
GENDER: Male
AGE: Twenty Four
D.O.B.: April 14, 1987
PHYSICAL PROFILE:
HEIGHT: 6"
WEIGHT: 175
HAIR COLOR: Brown
EYE COLOR: Brown
DISTINCTIVE FEATURES: n/a
PSYCH. EVALUATION:
LIKES:
- Summer
- Night
- Apples
- Fire
- Being warm
- Cats
- Books
- Machines
- Physics
- Churches
- Large Crowds
- Cauliflower
- Spiders
- Being Cold
- Getting Cold
- Snow
- Mornings
- Mornings without coffee
- Dying Alone
- Losing who he is in the war.
Witty and quick, his mouth tends to get him into all kinds of trouble. Dean is a self-made loner, cutting himself off from most people by plain instinct. Dean has had trust issues all of his life and holds most people at arm’s-length. It takes a lot for him to let someone into his life, despite the fact that Dean had a well enough childhood. Despite his solo mindset though, he does feel the need to help people, especially women. He is extremely chivalrous, almost to the point of chauvinism. He tends to get in over his head when a girl gets in trouble. Dean is a smart-ass to a great many people. He never really knows when to turn it off, and it always comes back to bite him in the ass. Not that he can't handle trouble when it comes around.
To say that Dean is quiet is an understatement though. He generally keeps to himself despite his mouth, only piping up when he feels the need to or when he's spoken to. He travels alone when not on the job, a choice he doesn't think about too often. He keeps himself busy when he isn't working, keeping his body in shape and tinkering away at his rusty, ramshackle motorcycle. He has dabbled in a little of everything martial arts-wise, but he has a knack for Akido. Dean never excelled all too much at school, but he still has a healthy thirst for knowledge and he has the attitude that if there is something he needs to know and doesn't know it, he will find it out.
Dean, at heart, is a gentleman. He hates it when anybody gets hurt or is in trouble, but when it's a woman, watch out. His chivalry makes him vulnerable to be manipulated by the opposite sex. Which is to say that he can be a little blindsided by a pretty face, but hey, he's only human.
BACKGROUND:
HOMETOWN: Dallas, Texas
HISTORY:
Dean never knew his parents. His earliest memories are from the old catholic orphanage where he spent most of his childhood. He never felt the need to ask about his birth parents. The way he saw it, one way or another, they where gone. Nothing he could do could change that fact. Though Dean developed that mindset too early in his life, he still has to remind himself every now and again. A child's pain is a child's pain. No amount of thick skin can get rid of it.
Dean was raised in Dallas, in one of the many state-run orphanages. The one young Dean was put in was run by Father Ortiz. Ortiz was a good enough man, keeping Dean (mostly) in line and teaching the boy enough that he could find his own answers when he wanted them. Though if you asked him he would would say that he never expected Dean to go towards firefighting in his studies. It was a perfect fit for the young boy, really. It spoke to his rambunctious nature and his need to help others. Those qualities plus his knack for learning made him a perfect would-be-firefighter.
He spent most of the free-time of his childhood on the streets, learning all of the wrong trades from people with all of the wrong traits. Dean never picked up any of the latter, but the former stuck to him like glue. Despite what his teachers said, Dean was smart and picked up new things easy. The difference was that he saw picking locks and how to navigate a city from rooftops much more fun (and applicable) than long division and fractions. His street Savoir-Faire came in handy in his chosen profession. He never got caught at anything too serious, but he was trouble enough so that when Dean's 18th birthday rolled around the state couldn't wait to shove their ward off into society and out of their jurisdiction. By some miracle he even passed finishing school. Dean was even surprised by that one.
Dean had just finished his EMT training and was applying for internships at fire houses when the first Yeerk Conflict hit the news. At first he thought it was just a hoax like everyone else, maybe some kind of movie, who knew with those weirdos in California. However, also just like everyone else, Dean so was made aware to the presence of extraterrestrials on Earth. Though to be honest, he didn't let it faze him all that much. After all, the worst of it was over, what with L.A. practically totaled and the Yeerks dealt with by super-powered teenagers. Frankly, Dean felt that he had bigger fish to fry with his own work, and kept his focus on it.
That is, until things got worse.
Dean had been a full-fledged Dallas firefighter for all of two years when "The One" showed up. He did his best to remain out of the fight, sticking to saving lives rather than trying to end them, but that all changed when the small, contained resistance movements became a full and organized global war. Dean could no longer not be involved, his skills and experience where too valuable to keeping people alive. So, he picked up a gun and joined the Dallas resistance. Within the first two years of the war Dean had been tasked with leading small platoons, gaining the "rank" of Lieutenant, though, if you asked him he thought it was all kind of empty. After all, there really was no formal military left.
These days Dean just keeps on fighting the good fight, whether it be fires, enlisted men, or aliens.
(I'm thinking that Dean would be recruited right out of the Resistance, so he isn't an Animorph yet. There would have to be some sort of recruitment thread, or I can just write that he had just been recruited. Up to the staff.)
OTHER NOTES:
PLAY-BY: Joseph Gordon-Levitt
STARTING MORPHS: Coquerel's sifaka Lemur, Red-Tailed Hawk, Common House Fly, Orca Whale & Snow Leopard
For a Pyrokinetic, Dean sure disdained being out during the day. As a source of fire, he should have felt all bubbly and warm inside being out with the sun. He did not. In fact, he would rather be doing his grocery shopping in the early AM, not the busy afternoon. And speaking of grocery shopping, Dean felt it very annoying that he was required to stay in his allotted house when not on duty at the station, but when it came to stocking said house with little things like-oh I don't know, food-they where on their own. Those irritation's coupled with the fact that nearly everyone and their mother where out had the fire-starter in a sour mood.
Then a piece of paper up and smacked him in the face.
He let out some choice words that would have been bleeped out on Jerry Springer and gripped the sheet from his field of vision. The paper was rough, and covered with graphite. He could tell right away because he could see some of the mineral's residue on the tip of his nose. He quickly brushed it off with the hand not occupied with a would-be-piece-of-art, bringing the other up to look at the thing that had assaulted him:
It actually wasn't half bad. Dean couldn't really make much out of it, but there where a lot of deep shadows and looping circles. It somehow conveyed loneliness and longing-two things that the man knew too much about, but then again he could have just been projecting.
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Dean spotted what he guessed was the source of the existential-thought-inspiring work, a young girl who was desperately trying to capture another piece. She chased the paper along the street, seemingly unaware of just how many times she almost got struck by a vehicle. Dean started to run towards her, ever the Galahad, but before he could reach her she regained her prize, jutting out of sight quicker than you could say "Post-Impressionist". He let out a sound that was somewhere between "Hey" and "Stop", but it was too late, she was off.
After a little roaming and a lot of following odd looks on people's faces, he found the girl sobbing at a table on the porch of one of the street-side cafe's.
Oh hell...
What else could he do? After all, she was female, and she was crying. Dean couldn't of walked away if he tried.
He walked to the table, leaned down, and said, his voice as delicate as he could muster, "Um...Miss? Are you alright?"
Then a piece of paper up and smacked him in the face.
He let out some choice words that would have been bleeped out on Jerry Springer and gripped the sheet from his field of vision. The paper was rough, and covered with graphite. He could tell right away because he could see some of the mineral's residue on the tip of his nose. He quickly brushed it off with the hand not occupied with a would-be-piece-of-art, bringing the other up to look at the thing that had assaulted him:
It actually wasn't half bad. Dean couldn't really make much out of it, but there where a lot of deep shadows and looping circles. It somehow conveyed loneliness and longing-two things that the man knew too much about, but then again he could have just been projecting.
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Dean spotted what he guessed was the source of the existential-thought-inspiring work, a young girl who was desperately trying to capture another piece. She chased the paper along the street, seemingly unaware of just how many times she almost got struck by a vehicle. Dean started to run towards her, ever the Galahad, but before he could reach her she regained her prize, jutting out of sight quicker than you could say "Post-Impressionist". He let out a sound that was somewhere between "Hey" and "Stop", but it was too late, she was off.
After a little roaming and a lot of following odd looks on people's faces, he found the girl sobbing at a table on the porch of one of the street-side cafe's.
Oh hell...
What else could he do? After all, she was female, and she was crying. Dean couldn't of walked away if he tried.
He walked to the table, leaned down, and said, his voice as delicate as he could muster, "Um...Miss? Are you alright?"
This app was created by MASQUERADE RACCOON of Caution 2.0.
Please do not steal it. I'm fine if you use it, just credit me.
Please do not steal it. I'm fine if you use it, just credit me.