Post by Xerxes on Mar 1, 2013 21:51:29 GMT -5
CONFIDENTIAL
FILE OF:
Alerion, Xerxes
FILE OF:
Alerion, Xerxes
BASIC DETAILS:
PERSONAL INFORMATION:
FULL NAME: Xerxes Agamemnon Alerion.
GENDER: Male.
AGE: 19.
D.O.B.: May 13, 1992.
PHYSICAL PROFILE:
HEIGHT: 6’4.
WEIGHT: 210 lbs.
HAIR COLOR: Dark blonde with highlights.
EYE COLOR: Hazel.
DISTINCTIVE FEATURES: Xerxes has a strong jaw, a piercing gaze, and lips that rarely form a smile.
PSYCH. EVALUATION:
LIKES:
- People who are quiet, mind their own business, and actually think things through.
- Order.
- Solitude and being left alone.
- Books on nearly any subject.
- Knives.
- Verbally ripping someone apart.
- Low temperatures and rain.
- Observing his surroundings.
DISLIKES:
- Idiots.
- People who are driven by emotions rather than reason.
- Narrow-minded individuals.
- People who talk too much.
- Being filthy or touching grime.
- Actions without purpose, like a senseless murder or a random dance.
- Public displays of affection.
- Selfishness.
- Losing control of himself or anything around him.
FEARS:
- Haphephobia- the fear of being touched.
- Feeling helpless.
- Thunderstorms and lightning.
- Emotional pain.
- Relationships.
- Invasions of his privacy.
- Becoming infested again.
PERSONALITY:
Xerxes is a cold, distant individual. He is like a razor bound in ice: he’s frigid from a distance, but if you get too close, you will be cut. He strives to keep himself emotionally detached from his surroundings, a defense mechanism resulting from a childhood of abuses. He does not allow people to get close to him (physically or figuratively) and rarely shares personal information. His default expression is a dull gaze, as if you are so stupid as to not realize that you are clearly unworthy of being within sight of him. If fact, one would be pretty lucky to get much of anything from him, whether it by a slight smile of glee or a flash of anger in his eyes. He suppresses as much as he can handle, preferring to break down away from others.
However, Xerxes is not overly inhuman. He still looks out for others and doesn’t hesitate in giving aid (but only when he has deemed that his aid is actually required). He still possesses some remnants of sympathy (just as long as he never has to touch a person) and can be a loyal ally.
Xerxes is also unafraid of the truth. He tends to view the world in black and white, necessity and frivolousness. He doesn’t form attachments very easily and he finds it simple to just ignore something or do without. He rarely lies; why waste the effort? He almost always tells the truth when asked, never bothering to even sugar-coat it or soften the blow. He rarely speaks unless questioned though, but even then, the question had better be worth his time or he’ll blow it off.
He observes and judges everything around him, nearly constantly. Disgust is usually the only emotion one can ever see on his face. He tends to give off an air of slumming, as if he were an aristocrat being forced to live in squalid conditions at all times. He can be considered proud and arrogant, but mostly because Xerxes believes that everything should serve a purpose and be relevant, or else it (or the person) should not exist.
There is another emotion that can be associated with Xerxes, though, but it is rarely seen, only felt. Rage. The cold rage that springs forth from atrocious crimes committed on a personal level. And that rage is directed at the Yeerks, and any body they happen to be possessing. He figures that killing them all would be the best way to prevent them from ever taking control of a helpless adolescent ever again.
BACKGROUND:
HOMETOWN: Los Angeles, California.
HISTORY:
Xerxes had an abusive father, with whom things could never be perfect enough. Michael Alerion, a tough man’s man, was a top-notch attorney and close friend to many local politicians. Michael was a mover and shaker on the non-Hollywood side of L.A. Because of his father’s influence and money, Angel (Xerxes’ mother) was able to be a stay-home mother overseeing the house and the boys, Xerxes and his younger brother, Julius.
For most of his life, Xerxes lived under the shadow of his father. He worked his tail off to reach the top ten of his class, as well as becoming the best baseball player on his middle school’s team. He acquired impeccable manners and a strong work ethic, but no matter what he did, he never seemed to please his father. “A 94 on a test? You call that passing? I call that a failure. You need to step up the game, Xerxes. You will never become anything if you’re too lazy to put forth any effort.” It was the same thing every time, just with a few subject changes, depending on what part of Xerxes’ life Michael was disappointed in. But the beatings afterwards were always different.
Michael seemed to have a knack for finding new ways of trying to beat the laziness and stupidity out of Xerxes. Any back-talk, any slip-up in a game, any grade below a perfect score always ended up with Michael flying into a rage and smacking Xerxes around. But Michael was smart enough to never hurt Xerxes where it could be seen. In the locker rooms, the other students just attributed the bruises to be the results of intensive practice at home, or the various realistic tales Xerxes would concoct.
This was the story of his life, until the day Xerxes was called into the coach’s office after a particularly successful ballgame. But when Xerxes left again, he was no longer in control. Styglin 721 was in charge of the twelve-year old. Within a month, Yeerks had infested Michael as well, therefore gaining major influence in the L.A. area. But the beatings only continued. Everyone had to keep up appearances, right? And oh, how Styglin enjoyed collaborating ways with Michael’s Yeerk, coming up with malicious new ways to bring pain to the boy. After all, pain was only another sensation for the Yeerk to enjoy.
For a year this went on, Xerxes being left a prisoner in his own battered body, never gaining a moments rest. Styglin would only reply the memories back for him and fill him with lies and vicious thoughts. Nobody loved him. Nobody cared about him. He was worthless. Nobody even noticed anything when he became infested: an obvious sign that nobody paid attention to him.
When the Yeerks were defeated in their secret war for Earth, Xerxes withdrew into himself. He flinched every time his father came near, even when he tried to repent and make up for everything he’d done, before and after the infestation. In the years that followed, he drew away from everyone around him, still suffering from Styglin’s poisonous thoughts. His mother sent him to many psychiatrists, but Xerxes always refused to cooperate. But then again, the doctors had no idea how to help. How did one aid a child who’d been controlled by an alien parasite for over a year? It was a new field for the doctors entirely, and they weren’t ready to help Xerxes then.
But when word soon spread that the Yeerks had returned, a strange light seemed to glimmer in Xerxes’ eyes. With nary a word spoken, he left home and travelled far and wide until he could get the attention of the new Animorphs and join their cause for the destruction of all Yeerks everywhere. And to protect his little brother from ever undergoing a similar treatment at all costs.
OTHER NOTES:
PLAY-BY: Alex Pettyfer
STARTING MORPHS:
- Land Morph: Satanic Leaf-Tailed Gecko
- Water Morph: Giant Otter
- Air Morph: Ghost Bat
- Bug Morph: Death’s Head Hawkmoth
- Battle Morph: Gemsbok
Elizabeth Sundance sat on the edge of an unusually ornate bench beneath a tree by the hedge maze. It was the perfect place for her; isolated, quiet, still. It was a sanctuary for her, away from the masses of people in the mansion. It was not like she despised anyone or anything of the sort; no, it was just that....she wasn’t ready to deal with people yet. Not after her home school. Intellectually, Liz was aware that none of the past stigmas would ever affect her at the the Institute, but it was hard to convince her body that, the way her stomach would twist or skin would prickle with cold chills whenever around groups of loud, talking people.
It was just better to be alone.
She slowly smoothed an escaped strand of blonde hair behind an ear an unconsciously smoothed out a wrinkle on her long, orange skirt. A brown jacket covered her arms, bare from the lack of long sleeves of her white blouse. A chill wind had started to arise, even as the sky began fluorescing in a palette of colors, signaling the night soon to come.
Upon her upraised arm, supported by an elbow on her knee, a brilliantly-plumaged kestrel perched, gripping the leather wristbands (one of the various types she always wore) on that arm with a gentle ease. Soft brown human eyes met piercing black raptor eyes, physically representing a deeper connection passing between the two.
Elizabeth’s secondary mutation was in play, streaming feelings and attitudes between the two. She eroded her anxiety, her nervousness, her defensiveness. She filtered serenity and curiosity in their places. Likewise, she received the same emotions in return, her own fears and grief washing away with purpose and singular determination.
And so they sat, in simple rapport, the two of them alone, enjoying the simplicity of shared feelings and relishing the small fact of just being together.
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.