Individual
Character's full name: Simon Beir
Alias/ Nickname/ Code name: Wavelength/Anansi
Gender: Male
Age: 23, formerly 97
Date of Birth: 5/1/1927
Birthplace/ Home/ Place of origin: Washington D.C
Nationality: U.S.A
Ethnicity/ Cultural Heritage: English/Italian
Appearance
Hair color and style: Brown and often well kept and neatly short, but not so much so that it looks militaristic.
Skin Tone: Toward the more pale side.
Eye Color: Green
Height: 5'11
Build: Bookish. He is not in terrible shape, but he is certainly not in fighting shape.
Visible mutation: None.
Scars/ Tattoos/ Piercings: None.
Other features: He wears glasses.
Everyday clothing style: He dresses like a 70's college professor, often in a brown suit, or a sweater vest. Think the type of accoutrements that would make a librarian look exciting.
Uniform: Black on black with a mask that only reveals his eyes, which are covered by stylized color contacts in a spiral formation.
Sleepwear: An undershirt and pyjama pants.
Miscellaneous clothing: Glasses, glasses, glasses. He is somewhat of a collector; the only part of his wardrobe that ever stands out is his choice of glasses.
Character
Personality: Simon values knowledge and intelligence above most other things. He isn't shy about using his ability to form opinions about people quickly and dismiss or engage with them based on this. He loves a good conversation, and adores mental competition.
In most cases, Simon views others as less than himself. Because of this, earning his acknowledgement as a peer is very difficult to earn. At times he can be difficult to navigate if you are trying to work with him as an equal.
He has no qualms lying his way through a conversation to get what he wants out of it. Most of the time he comes off as pleasant enough, even moderately funny in a dry way. Sarcasm bordering on imperceptible is his bread and butter when it comes to finding enjoyment in conversation with most people.
Given that he feels superior to others, he is not at all above toying with people for amusement.
Hobbies/ Interests: Reading. Using his powers on people. Winning. String instruments. Philosophy. Argument.
Job or part time job and description: None currently.
Fears/ phobias/ concerns: Brain injury. Living life a second time and failing to do anything of any real consequence, just like last time.
Special talents: He can argue in circles. Looking and carrying himself in a particularly unnasuming manner.
Morality
Good/ bad/ neutral/ other: Neutral, leaning toward bad. He is important. What he wants is important. He will do good, or bad things in order to get what he wants. He will not do good for the sake of doing good, and he will not do bad for the sake of doing bad. He does not mind people getting hurt while he gets what he wants, and thus he edges toward bad.
Mutations
Mutation description:
Simon, or the appropriately named wavelength is a telepathic mutant with the ability to patch into the wavelength of people's thoughts. At a basic level, this allows him to listen to their surface thoughts. Digging deeper, he is able to extend this to manipulating said thoughts.
His power can currently be used in the following ways:
Surface Thought Reading: Looking at a person, he is able to immediately pick up what they are actively thinking. This can be heard as one often hears their own inner dialogue. He uses this to gather information, and to anticipate the actions of others.
Thought Implantation: Once he is within 10 feet of someone he is able to work in quick little suggestions onto their surface thoughts. This can be as innocent as 'scratch your nose' to as unfortunate as 'speak your ATM pin.' These implantations are not foolproof. If someone has the presence of mind to stop themselves after having the thought they will likely not follow through with it. Because of this, he often saves this for when people are not paying attention, or are particularly weak minded individuals. The added plus of this is the ability to speak into people's minds, allowing for private conversations at relatively close range.
Wavelength Scream: If he is able to make physical contact with a person, be it through clothing or armor, he is able to scream into their mind at a deafening volume. Needless to say, when someone is screaming directly into your mind, you aren't having a good time. The symptoms of such an attack can include disorientation, momentary hallucination(he does not choose what you see, your mind is just temporarily unable to make perfect sense of the information coming to it), mental distress, perceived physical pain, headaches, nosebleeds, and temporary incapacitation.
Strengths: Telepathy has its obvious advantages. It gives him information that would otherwise be impossible to attain. It gives him offensive abilities his otherwise very much not combat ready experience and workout routines would not afford.
Weaknesses and Limitations:
He is only able to focus his abilities on one person at a time, be it through touch or visuals. He is unable to use his powers to see the thoughts of someone he is looking at a recording of; it has to be in real time.
Those with psychic mutations work on their own wavelengths. He had a difficult time finding their frequencies. This means that he will have to spend time trying to search for their thoughts, and his abilities may take a while to work on the same level against them. This includes people who had psychic links with living animals/people.
When he uses his wavelength scream he is slightly disoriented for a moment, though not as badly as the person he has attacked.
Physical Abilities
General Physical Capabilities: Not spectacular. He runs a slower than average mile, is slightly asthmatic(activity induced), and isn't particularly strong physically.
Fighting Style: "Must we really debase ourselves with such barbaric pursuits? I know, let's shake hands and settle this like civilized people."
Fighting Style Pros/Cons: Pros: Use your ability, out think them using their own thoughts, run. Cons: Otherwise, get your face pounded in because you never learned how to box.
History Of Your Character
Born to intellectual parents in the early 40's he grew up during the civil rights movement, witnessed segregation, took part in college protests while finishing his philosophical degree and helped raised a new generation of critical thinkers as a college professor, dean of students, and eventual president of Highland Vale college, a relatively well renowned college in upstate New York, and held the position until his health started to fail him.
As he entered the twilight of his life in hospice care, he fell into a deep depression; he had spent his whole life trying to be a good person, a compassionate person... and looking back, he honestly couldn't say he had anything to show for it. Family that used him and never visited, ungrateful students who went on to do nothing with their lives, or worse, were part of the leadership in society that was failing the world today.
He had failed as a human being, and now he was going to die.
That was... until a crazy person with a needle barged in and stuck him with a needle. Moments later, he reawoke as a young man, though with those memories of self reflection still keen in his mind. He was given a chance to do it all again. This time, he wouldn't have any regrets.
Roleplay
What’s your OOC alias?: Puck!
Where did you learn about this site?: Long ago, I was summoned by googlmancy.
Do you have any other characters on MRO, if so who: Saph, Doc, L, Tash, Ash, Xavier!
Sample RP:
It was strange, looking at his hands and not seeing frail, arthritic claws marked my liver spots. Instead, he looked down at the perfectly trimmed nails attached to straight fingers and soft, yet supple skin. He could look at his own hands for hours, these days. A text from his new phone pulled his attention away from his admiration. They were in place. Good.
Youthful hands raised a pair of boniculars to contact covered eyes, spying an older gentleman as he walked up to an ATM. <oh, damnit, what was that pin again... 1-4... 1-4-6, no 1-4-5-6, there! Now... 20 ought to do... two, zero, zero, zero? No, too many zeroes, damni-> He smacked his lips as he lost interest in the mental ramblings of the old fool. In a relaxed manner, he leaned back in the seat of his old station wagon and picked up his phone, texting four numbers in response to the latest summon. Setting down the binoculars with his other hand, he opened up a small lunch bag to reveal a mayo and cheese sandwitch he'd made. Slowly he unwrapped it and took a bite as a black car pulled up to the old gentlemen walking away from the ATM. Two young men with ski-masks jumped out and started thrashing him, pulling his wallet away and heading to the ATM.
With a stretch of his once again youthful arms, he set his sandwich aside, and started the car. It protested for a moment, and then came to life. His eyes lingered on the man on the street, shaking his head at the pain he felt. Did he feel a pang of guilt? Sure, but did it matter? No. He needed the funds from cleaning this man's account out to make up for his faltering retirement fund. Money didn't grow on trees, so this little plan was a sad necessity in order to get his new life on track. He sent another text, this time the address of the next bank.
They had a lot of work to do today, after all. He needed to buy a new car... perhaps a nice new suit, he'd grown fat in his old age, so his current vestments were ill fitting.
After a good day's work it was time to collect. As he pulled into the pre-arranged meeting place, and tossed the burner phone he'd been using to the side of the alley. A quick glance told him that his hired goons were, predictably, planning to double-cross him. He let out a long sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Now, he was going to have to deal with this on top of his already busy day.
As he walked on up to the meeting place, an almost imperceptible smile crept onto his face. These men were morons. He'd chosen them because they were morons. Idiots were easy to work with when it came to his ability, and they so rarely caught on to what was actually happening when he plied his talents.
Imagine the surprise when one of them pulled a gun on him only to shoot their friend instead. A quick step forward allowed him to scream into the mind of the shooter. Moments later he was shutting the door to his old station wagon, tucking the little black bag of money beneath the car seat as he back out of the alley, and drove off. He glanced in his rear-view as a couple of police cars pulled into the old lot way behind him. gunshots often did summon the police. Still, all they would find be the unfortunate results of a gunfight between two individuals. As he counted the money he'd earned in his head, he flicked his turn signal, and grabbed his cheese sandwich, taking bite, and turning to head toward home.
