![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
User Name/Nick: vil
E-mail/Plurk/Discord/PM to a character journal/alternate method of contact: justghosts @ plurk
Other Characters Currently In-Game: Lark Tennant, Jesus Rovia
Character Name: The Motorcycle Boy
Series: Rumble Fish
Age: 19
From When?: The end of the book, when he's attempting to free the animals in the pet store
Inmate Justification: Rumble Fish is a story of how poverty can crush aptitude, and it's seen reflected in Motorcycle Boy who is brilliant and talented and utterly disaffected. He suffers from a mental illness he will never get treatment for, has had a TBI he will never get help for, and he's aware of all of this. He is an inmate because he, like many, has to turn to crime and has grown up with so much violence he is numb to it. He resents his environment so profoundly he targets people who escape it with drugs, and generally feels nothing. The Barge is the only chance he has to reach his actual potential.
Arrival: The Motorcycle Boy is brought against his will but will adjust pretty quickly.
Abilities/Powers: The Motorcycle Boy is a former gang leader, he's used knives, chains, and makeshift weapons as well as his own fists to fight for years. But he's also just human, no superpowers.
Inmate Information: He was abandoned by his mother at age 6 and left with his alcoholic father to raise. He ran his first gang at age 14, beating 18 year old boys into listening to him and following him into 'rumbles' (street fights with neighboring gangs). He spent that time perfecting ways to steal, especially motorcycles, but he's expert at lock picking as well. He has no concept of ownership, and is casual about using violence to get what he wants.
He disbanded his gang at age 17 when he grew bored with the relentless violence; there were no noble reasons beyond his boredom that led to him stopping endless gang warfare. He was expelled from school that same year when he turned in perfect test scores (the school assumed he cheated). In another life he could have been a great king or a knight, but the poverty he was born into has served to crush him.
He also hates junkies, and perhaps has killed someone just for being high on heroin. At the very least he has promised to severely injure his little brother if he ever catches him on drugs.
Path to Redemption: The Motorcycle Boy needs to view himself as a person. He needs to find a place to belong, or to find a route in life that lets him do good even if it doesn't put him in a community. He is brilliant, he only needs to find a place to channel it. He also needs to learn to respect life. He would respond well to someone who has atypical views on people and life as a whole, and someone who can be patient with him. He will forget you exist. He will walk away from discussions when he stops hearing them. Hearing tales from other worlds, and hearing the things his warden has overcome, could serve as inspiration for him.
History: Once, The Motorcycle Boy had a name of his own. That was back when he was a child, and he hasn't been a child since he was five years old.
When he was six, his little brother Rusty-James was only two, and their mother left. She took the Motorcycle Boy with her, preferring his long silences and absent stares to Rusty-James's more demanding, infant needs. When she tired of motherhood altogether, she abandoned the Motorcycle Boy and Child Protective Services took him back home to his father.
Very quickly, their father developed alcoholism and failed out of law school. This left the boys to fend for themselves for the rest of their formative years. As they grew, the Motorcycle Boy and his young brother learned the necessary skills for life in the slums: knife fighting, fist fighting, lock picking, car jacking. All the while, the Motorcycle Boy would slip off into his own world, sometimes through the novels their father had at home, or text books and classrooms. Other times, he'd just stand on the bridge over the river and stare for hours....
At the age of fourteen, the Motorcycle Boy took over a local gang. By the time Rusty-James was old enough to be allowed in on the gang fights, the Motorcycle Boy had conquered their neighborhood and most of the surrounding areas. He was known to street punks, unaffiliated thugs, and authority figures alike.
The only people who hated him more than gang rivals were cops, and the only people more enamored with him than his brother were his few, temporary girlfriends (typically teachers or substitute teachers--anyone intelligent enough to hold his interest).
By the time the Motorcycle Boy turned seventeen, he had ended the gang wars altogether, disbanded any form of organized crime in the area, and done what he could to keep drugs away from his younger brother. And then one day without a word, he disappeared.
In his absence, Rusty-James made the mistake of gathering friends for a 'rumble' or gang war. The Motorcycle Boy returned and ended the fight with a simple, amused remark: "Hey, what's this? I thought we signed a treaty."
Sample Network Entry: [cw: fire mention] [He has never had a phone. Not a mobile device, not even a landline, and he spends a moment just turning the little device over and over in his hands. He watches someone else use it and then spends time surveilling the network, so he has some idea what to say when he figures he might as well give it a try.]
It's a shame we don't play games like the Victorians used to around the holidays. You know, Snap Dragon cost lives, cost whole houses even, but the memories... you don't forget a thing like your friend going up in flames if they lost.
[He lights a cigarette]
All you need are some raisins, some alcohol, a bowl and some courage. Who's in?
Sample RP: When the ringing in his ears subsides he can't hear a thing at all, and he never knows how long that will last, so he turns off his device and just wanders. The stars here are both closer and farther away than he can ever remember seeing them. One trip to Montana he'd been able to reach up and touch them almost; here they drift by and if he watches too long it makes him homesick.
He goes below decks, touching doors he can't open--or can't open yet--and lingering around Zero. If a warden walks by, or someone who might be a warden does, he'll nod at them. "Hey. Let me in?"
And then he goes to the library where he smokes and he reads and he reads and- he stares at the workers, studying them, laughing to himself every now and then though nothing is said and nothing much is done. "How do you get anything done in here?"
Special Notes: He is deaf about 60% of the time. He’s color-blind. He has undiagnosed mental illness as well as a Traumatic Brain Injury from his many many many motorcycle accidents, so he may or may not perceive your character as real.
E-mail/Plurk/Discord/PM to a character journal/alternate method of contact: justghosts @ plurk
Other Characters Currently In-Game: Lark Tennant, Jesus Rovia
Character Name: The Motorcycle Boy
Series: Rumble Fish
Age: 19
From When?: The end of the book, when he's attempting to free the animals in the pet store
Inmate Justification: Rumble Fish is a story of how poverty can crush aptitude, and it's seen reflected in Motorcycle Boy who is brilliant and talented and utterly disaffected. He suffers from a mental illness he will never get treatment for, has had a TBI he will never get help for, and he's aware of all of this. He is an inmate because he, like many, has to turn to crime and has grown up with so much violence he is numb to it. He resents his environment so profoundly he targets people who escape it with drugs, and generally feels nothing. The Barge is the only chance he has to reach his actual potential.
Arrival: The Motorcycle Boy is brought against his will but will adjust pretty quickly.
Abilities/Powers: The Motorcycle Boy is a former gang leader, he's used knives, chains, and makeshift weapons as well as his own fists to fight for years. But he's also just human, no superpowers.
Inmate Information: He was abandoned by his mother at age 6 and left with his alcoholic father to raise. He ran his first gang at age 14, beating 18 year old boys into listening to him and following him into 'rumbles' (street fights with neighboring gangs). He spent that time perfecting ways to steal, especially motorcycles, but he's expert at lock picking as well. He has no concept of ownership, and is casual about using violence to get what he wants.
He disbanded his gang at age 17 when he grew bored with the relentless violence; there were no noble reasons beyond his boredom that led to him stopping endless gang warfare. He was expelled from school that same year when he turned in perfect test scores (the school assumed he cheated). In another life he could have been a great king or a knight, but the poverty he was born into has served to crush him.
He also hates junkies, and perhaps has killed someone just for being high on heroin. At the very least he has promised to severely injure his little brother if he ever catches him on drugs.
Path to Redemption: The Motorcycle Boy needs to view himself as a person. He needs to find a place to belong, or to find a route in life that lets him do good even if it doesn't put him in a community. He is brilliant, he only needs to find a place to channel it. He also needs to learn to respect life. He would respond well to someone who has atypical views on people and life as a whole, and someone who can be patient with him. He will forget you exist. He will walk away from discussions when he stops hearing them. Hearing tales from other worlds, and hearing the things his warden has overcome, could serve as inspiration for him.
History: Once, The Motorcycle Boy had a name of his own. That was back when he was a child, and he hasn't been a child since he was five years old.
When he was six, his little brother Rusty-James was only two, and their mother left. She took the Motorcycle Boy with her, preferring his long silences and absent stares to Rusty-James's more demanding, infant needs. When she tired of motherhood altogether, she abandoned the Motorcycle Boy and Child Protective Services took him back home to his father.
Very quickly, their father developed alcoholism and failed out of law school. This left the boys to fend for themselves for the rest of their formative years. As they grew, the Motorcycle Boy and his young brother learned the necessary skills for life in the slums: knife fighting, fist fighting, lock picking, car jacking. All the while, the Motorcycle Boy would slip off into his own world, sometimes through the novels their father had at home, or text books and classrooms. Other times, he'd just stand on the bridge over the river and stare for hours....
At the age of fourteen, the Motorcycle Boy took over a local gang. By the time Rusty-James was old enough to be allowed in on the gang fights, the Motorcycle Boy had conquered their neighborhood and most of the surrounding areas. He was known to street punks, unaffiliated thugs, and authority figures alike.
The only people who hated him more than gang rivals were cops, and the only people more enamored with him than his brother were his few, temporary girlfriends (typically teachers or substitute teachers--anyone intelligent enough to hold his interest).
By the time the Motorcycle Boy turned seventeen, he had ended the gang wars altogether, disbanded any form of organized crime in the area, and done what he could to keep drugs away from his younger brother. And then one day without a word, he disappeared.
In his absence, Rusty-James made the mistake of gathering friends for a 'rumble' or gang war. The Motorcycle Boy returned and ended the fight with a simple, amused remark: "Hey, what's this? I thought we signed a treaty."
Sample Network Entry: [cw: fire mention] [He has never had a phone. Not a mobile device, not even a landline, and he spends a moment just turning the little device over and over in his hands. He watches someone else use it and then spends time surveilling the network, so he has some idea what to say when he figures he might as well give it a try.]
It's a shame we don't play games like the Victorians used to around the holidays. You know, Snap Dragon cost lives, cost whole houses even, but the memories... you don't forget a thing like your friend going up in flames if they lost.
[He lights a cigarette]
All you need are some raisins, some alcohol, a bowl and some courage. Who's in?
Sample RP: When the ringing in his ears subsides he can't hear a thing at all, and he never knows how long that will last, so he turns off his device and just wanders. The stars here are both closer and farther away than he can ever remember seeing them. One trip to Montana he'd been able to reach up and touch them almost; here they drift by and if he watches too long it makes him homesick.
He goes below decks, touching doors he can't open--or can't open yet--and lingering around Zero. If a warden walks by, or someone who might be a warden does, he'll nod at them. "Hey. Let me in?"
And then he goes to the library where he smokes and he reads and he reads and- he stares at the workers, studying them, laughing to himself every now and then though nothing is said and nothing much is done. "How do you get anything done in here?"
Special Notes: He is deaf about 60% of the time. He’s color-blind. He has undiagnosed mental illness as well as a Traumatic Brain Injury from his many many many motorcycle accidents, so he may or may not perceive your character as real.
[Spam, OTA, in the art room]
[Piper is working on various projects, flitting from one to another, all through the night. Some are sculptures; some are paintings. Some, well, it's hard to tell what he's using as a medium.
If you enter the art room you might be used as a new addition to his collection of subjects. Or feel free to peek at what he's working on.
ooc: some of his new/finished art projects will be included in the comments, soon as I'm home from work.]
[Private to ARTHAS]
I have a feeling you've heard the Warden talk before.
[Piper is working on various projects, flitting from one to another, all through the night. Some are sculptures; some are paintings. Some, well, it's hard to tell what he's using as a medium.
If you enter the art room you might be used as a new addition to his collection of subjects. Or feel free to peek at what he's working on.
ooc: some of his new/finished art projects will be included in the comments, soon as I'm home from work.]
[Private to ARTHAS]
I have a feeling you've heard the Warden talk before.
The Zero Gravity Art Gallery
Mar. 15th, 2015 10:27 pm[VIDEO:]
[Actually, no gravity isn't so bad. The Motorcycle Boy is drifting through the hallways, blowing smoke rings to fly through, and chasing food that refuses to stay on his plate.]
It's almost like swimming, in a way. You could pay thousands of dollars back home--enough money to feed two families for months--just to ride a jet in a parabola and get a few seconds' worth of this experience.
[ACTION:]
[As you drift around the Barge, you might notice a few images stuck to the ceilings and walls of the hallways. There's no indication who made them but if you've seen Piper around with his camera well, you might guess although you've probably never spoken.]
( Several Images Under here! )
[ooc: More coming soon! There were way more people signing up than I thought I'd get, so instead of one big art post I'm going to be splitting it up.]
[Actually, no gravity isn't so bad. The Motorcycle Boy is drifting through the hallways, blowing smoke rings to fly through, and chasing food that refuses to stay on his plate.]
It's almost like swimming, in a way. You could pay thousands of dollars back home--enough money to feed two families for months--just to ride a jet in a parabola and get a few seconds' worth of this experience.
[ACTION:]
[As you drift around the Barge, you might notice a few images stuck to the ceilings and walls of the hallways. There's no indication who made them but if you've seen Piper around with his camera well, you might guess although you've probably never spoken.]
( Several Images Under here! )
[ooc: More coming soon! There were way more people signing up than I thought I'd get, so instead of one big art post I'm going to be splitting it up.]
(no subject)
Jan. 12th, 2015 06:45 pm[As usual, he's smoking. And it's not unusual that he's staring at the smoke like he's been hypnotized, but he's smiling more than he has in the years he's been on board.]
You know, I've been so fixated on these things for so many years. On cigarettes, I mean, Kools if I could get them--and it's funny that these are the greyest thing in my life. The single thing that lacks color now. I sort of expected the smoke to be blue...or pink.
I actually stopped seeing color when I was four. I think that was when I stopped believing in God, Santa, and the American Dream. I assumed for a long time that everyone went colorblind (literally, figuratively, whichever) when they got old enough to be cynical. But I came here and I met a real muse, and I've realized that I was mostly wrong.
I wonder what the rest of you lost when you stopped being kids? I don't expect many of you will answer, since most of you are understandably very sensitive about your pasts, but it's a real question. What did you lose when you grew up?
You know, I've been so fixated on these things for so many years. On cigarettes, I mean, Kools if I could get them--and it's funny that these are the greyest thing in my life. The single thing that lacks color now. I sort of expected the smoke to be blue...or pink.
I actually stopped seeing color when I was four. I think that was when I stopped believing in God, Santa, and the American Dream. I assumed for a long time that everyone went colorblind (literally, figuratively, whichever) when they got old enough to be cynical. But I came here and I met a real muse, and I've realized that I was mostly wrong.
I wonder what the rest of you lost when you stopped being kids? I don't expect many of you will answer, since most of you are understandably very sensitive about your pasts, but it's a real question. What did you lose when you grew up?
(no subject)
Dec. 23rd, 2014 11:50 pm[Sometime Through the 24th, Christmas Presents are delivered.
For Bleu of course, an unusual gown. It may be meant as an invitation to go out dancing some port; or it might just be an expression of how he feels inspired. Hard to say with him.
For Steve Rogers, a Willem de Kooning painting.
For Iris, an obscure Maxwell Bates painting.
For Opie, cigarettes. Which Opie undoubtedly already has, but there's a weird sense of solidarity in sharing cigarettes in prison--even if you're a warden.
He'll also be wandering and probably laughing a little (or a lot) at the sweaters.]
For Bleu of course, an unusual gown. It may be meant as an invitation to go out dancing some port; or it might just be an expression of how he feels inspired. Hard to say with him.
For Steve Rogers, a Willem de Kooning painting.
For Iris, an obscure Maxwell Bates painting.
For Opie, cigarettes. Which Opie undoubtedly already has, but there's a weird sense of solidarity in sharing cigarettes in prison--even if you're a warden.
He'll also be wandering and probably laughing a little (or a lot) at the sweaters.]
[There's very little light, of course; but the faint light from his cigarette and a lighter are just enough to show the two fish bowls he has on his desk, and the silky tails of the two bettas inside them.]
I wonder if this place, being a safer place for some of us than our own homes, doesn't create stagnation. I wonder if, without the Admiral's piloting skills, some of us would just lie down one day and never get back up.
I think that's what was happening with Harvey. It wasn't safe at home, and at least here he knew it would go on and on no matter what he did.
If I ever get another inmate, I'll have to figure something else out to stir up some motivation in them. There's something to be said for the carrot and the stick, I guess.
...Is it dark, or is it just me? [He has to ask that seriously okay]
I wonder if this place, being a safer place for some of us than our own homes, doesn't create stagnation. I wonder if, without the Admiral's piloting skills, some of us would just lie down one day and never get back up.
I think that's what was happening with Harvey. It wasn't safe at home, and at least here he knew it would go on and on no matter what he did.
If I ever get another inmate, I'll have to figure something else out to stir up some motivation in them. There's something to be said for the carrot and the stick, I guess.
...Is it dark, or is it just me? [He has to ask that seriously okay]
[Not much bothers him, and he doesn't seem distraught now either...but some of the "amused behind the glass" aspect has vanished.]
Bleu is in a coma. I don't know if she has any friends. Or enemies, or anyone else who'd care, on board--but if she does, you have a right to know.
If she does have enemies, well, she's not being left unguarded, so no one do anything heroic or stupid.
[Private to Harvey]
Where are you?
Bleu is in a coma. I don't know if she has any friends. Or enemies, or anyone else who'd care, on board--but if she does, you have a right to know.
If she does have enemies, well, she's not being left unguarded, so no one do anything heroic or stupid.
[Private to Harvey]
Where are you?
(no subject)
Jul. 7th, 2014 07:01 pmThe first dyes the royals used, indigo and purple dyes, came from mollusks. But since a mollusk is [he holds up two fingers, barely apart] tiny, they had to fish millions of them to put out anything to sell. The whole city reeked of rotting sea food...that's on historical record. I mean every city then--well hygiene wasn't like it is now, every city was coated in waste. Worse than now. So for them to point out Tyre and say that city reeked...?
[He has a point. He's getting to it. Slowly.] We don't have a chance to fish much here, so I'll have to get creative. [He has a pile of objects in one corner, which is sometimes visible , especially when he pauses to light a cigarette]
Harvey, I've got the fish. They seem happier.
I need deeply colored objects--scraps, trash, whatever--but I can't... [a wan smile] It's not something I can figure out. Can't tell which of these is blue. [Which is a hint at a certain someone.]
[He has a point. He's getting to it. Slowly.] We don't have a chance to fish much here, so I'll have to get creative. [He has a pile of objects in one corner, which is sometimes visible , especially when he pauses to light a cigarette]
Harvey, I've got the fish. They seem happier.
I need deeply colored objects--scraps, trash, whatever--but I can't... [a wan smile] It's not something I can figure out. Can't tell which of these is blue. [Which is a hint at a certain someone.]
The reason zombies can't work--can't work in world without magic--is all down to micro-tears. Say you could keep away the decay, say you could eradicate the little parasites we all have in our skin just waiting for us to keel over. You'd still last maybe a few weeks as a walking corpse.
If you're dead, there's nothing in your head and nothing pumped through your heart to mend and adapt, and you'd just fall apart, little by little.
This death tolling, maybe it's the Admiral failing to patch back up the parts of your brains that know how to adapt to the wear and tear of being alive.
If you're dead, there's nothing in your head and nothing pumped through your heart to mend and adapt, and you'd just fall apart, little by little.
This death tolling, maybe it's the Admiral failing to patch back up the parts of your brains that know how to adapt to the wear and tear of being alive.
[He's been mulling this over since he met Hannibal, really.]
What was the first turning point in your life? Do you even remember who your real heroes were, when you were a kid? Or maybe some people do actually idolize their parents. For me, the only idols are the ones who can't become real, but it's been pointed out to me before that it's possible to worship someone in spite of their faults.
What was the first turning point in your life? Do you even remember who your real heroes were, when you were a kid? Or maybe some people do actually idolize their parents. For me, the only idols are the ones who can't become real, but it's been pointed out to me before that it's possible to worship someone in spite of their faults.
(no subject)
Oct. 13th, 2013 09:38 pm[He's outside the pub, smoking, and if he was a laugher (he's not) he'd be laughing.]
Well that's a mysterious, private party. Who's in the pub?
Well that's a mysterious, private party. Who's in the pub?
(no subject)
Aug. 13th, 2013 06:45 pm[Today, the Motorcycle Boy is signing with his hands, and translating after.]
I'd forgotten who I was back then. I wonder if we were supposed to be nostalgic after? That or very guilty, for who we were, or who we became.
What purpose does guilt serve, outside of societal control?
[That last part he had to finger spell, which was exhausting, so excuse him he's taking a smoke break.]
I'd forgotten who I was back then. I wonder if we were supposed to be nostalgic after? That or very guilty, for who we were, or who we became.
What purpose does guilt serve, outside of societal control?
[That last part he had to finger spell, which was exhausting, so excuse him he's taking a smoke break.]
Spam for Harvey
Jul. 30th, 2013 12:11 am[It had been an okay weekend, overall. He's not a fan of the ocean, and LA had changed dramatically from the last time he'd been there. But the bikes handled the same. He hadn't heard a thing in over a day, which wasn't unusual, but some sounds trickled back in by the time he got back to the Barge.
It wasn't until he got to his cabin and found Plato's Republic sitting open that he remembered Harvey. He grabbed a notebook and a pencil, a pack of cigarettes and his lighter, and headed over to his inmate's cabin.]
It wasn't until he got to his cabin and found Plato's Republic sitting open that he remembered Harvey. He grabbed a notebook and a pencil, a pack of cigarettes and his lighter, and headed over to his inmate's cabin.]
[He has Harvey in the Infirmary, and he's sitting by the bed. Not smoking because apparently that's bad for the lungs, or something, and he's in an infirmary with injured people...]
Harvey and Two-Face are in custody. He's going on cabin arrest soon as he's patched up.
Tell you the truth, I think he'd like a little eye for an eye, so if you have a grudge and you don't mind spinning on the merry-go-round with him, I'm not going to step in if you decide to get some 'justice'.
But don't do it anywhere near his cabin.
If anyone knows what the hell happened, fill me in.
[OOC: For those who do respond with wanting to kill Harvey, the Motorcycle Boy will explain what's really going on and that he's actually doing this as a way to build some stability for Harvey to be out instead of Two-Face...but without Two-Face knowing it.
Also, if you try to come to the cabin, Motorcycle Boy is there and watching you and you will also get that explanation in private.]
Harvey and Two-Face are in custody. He's going on cabin arrest soon as he's patched up.
Tell you the truth, I think he'd like a little eye for an eye, so if you have a grudge and you don't mind spinning on the merry-go-round with him, I'm not going to step in if you decide to get some 'justice'.
But don't do it anywhere near his cabin.
If anyone knows what the hell happened, fill me in.
[OOC: For those who do respond with wanting to kill Harvey, the Motorcycle Boy will explain what's really going on and that he's actually doing this as a way to build some stability for Harvey to be out instead of Two-Face...but without Two-Face knowing it.
Also, if you try to come to the cabin, Motorcycle Boy is there and watching you and you will also get that explanation in private.]
002. Hildebrand & Wolfmüller
Jul. 7th, 2013 08:45 pmIt's a real big pond we live in. All of us. We're not really from different worlds, not here. Just different inlets, different shallows... What's the biggest... [he pauses, grappling with an idea. All ideas come easier with nicotine, so he pauses, lights a cigarette, and starts again.]
What's the biggest impact you've ever made?
What's the biggest impact you've ever made?
Well, what do you know, they updated the Pearly Gates. I always thought, you know, if we got to an afterlife it wouldn't be brimstone. Probably wouldn't be a crocodile and a set of scales either.
[The Motorcycle Boy has to pause to light a cigarette]
I didn't figure the Gatekeeper would be so much more fair than the Man in the Book. You can never get a square deal in life, maybe it’s about time we got one in death.
[There’s another pause, this one more lengthy. His eyes don’t focus on the camera anymore, but on something just above it.]
How many souls are we ferrying?
[The Motorcycle Boy has to pause to light a cigarette]
I didn't figure the Gatekeeper would be so much more fair than the Man in the Book. You can never get a square deal in life, maybe it’s about time we got one in death.
[There’s another pause, this one more lengthy. His eyes don’t focus on the camera anymore, but on something just above it.]
How many souls are we ferrying?
