RyanCharacter's full name: Ryan Doyle
Alias/ Nickname/ Code name: That Cynical, Chain-Smoking, Excessive-Drinking, Cranky yet Good-Looking B******
Gender: Male
Age: 29
Date of Birth: July 10th 1981
Nationality/ Ethnicity: Irish American
Birthplace/ Home/ Place of origin: Boston, MA / New York City, NY
Appearance 
Hair color and style: Dark brown, usually swooped back or to the side
Eyes: Pale Gray, with flecks of blue and green
Height: 6’
Build: Average
Visible mutation: None
Scars/ Tattoos/ Piercings: None
Other features: Wears a full beard, neatly kept
Everyday clothing style: Ryan has a surprisingly tasteful sense of fashion, for a cop. Coats, good shirts, designer ties, even a scarf when the weather calls for it.
Uniform: None
Sleepwear: Nude, mostly.
Miscellaneous clothing: Carries a detective badge, standard issue 9mm pistol, several cheap lighters, and a pack of Camel Originals
CharacterPersonality: Ryan is a cynic. He isn’t very trusting, for in his mind each and every person is always looking out for themselves. Ever action a person takes is somehow for their own benefit, not for another, even if they refuse to admit it. This, along with his somewhat occasionally vulgar attitude, heavy smoking, and drinking habits, don’t make him the most likable man on the planet.
That being said, there lies a noble heart underneath the tough exterior, the smoke filled lungs, and damped soul. Ryan isn’t evil by nature, and will usually do what’s right, albeit grudgingly. Consider him an antihero: his methods are crude, his outlook bleak, but he gets the job done and sometimes, just sometimes, gets the girl.
Also, Ryan is extremely reliable. For all his b****ing and moaning, Ryan always gets the job done, and can be trusted with a secret. He may insult you after you tell him your dirty hidden affairs, but he won’t utter them to another soul. Plus, when he does set his mind to a task, he sees to it that he does it right. Why bother taking the time to do a half-ass job anyway?
Ryan smokes quite a lot, usually going through a pack a day, if not just a bit under. People have told him time and again that it’s unhealthy, but Ryan just responds that out of all the unhealthy things in the world, smoking is the least of his concern. Drinking is another vice, usually going out to a “pub” on a daily basis. His tolerance for booze is strong, so he rarely gets too drunk, but the occasion has arisen from time to time.
One of the few “soft spots” Ryan has is for animals. Recently Ryan was practically forced to take on a dog (See Sample RP) who to his despair gave birth to 5 new puppies. These puppies are only a few weeks old, but Ryan is surprisingly taking very good care of them.
Hobbies/ Interests: Punk rock music, taking care of his dogs.
Job or part time job and description: Detective for the Mutant Related Crime division of the NYPD
Fears/ phobias/ concerns: Doesn’t want to become too attached to someone, only to lose them.
Special talents: Running (despite his heavy smoking), card playing, marksmanship, detective skills, interrogation.
MoralityGood/ bad/ neutral/ other: Good, surprisingly. Although this could easily change, Ryan’s natural nature leans towards the “good side,” although his personality heavily suggests otherwise.
MutationsGravity Field Generation
Mutation description: Ryan can create fields in which the strength of gravity within them is his to command. These fields are 3-Dimensional and Cubical, with sizes ranging from 5’ per side to 20’ per side. These fields are nearly invisible, much like a heat wave. Ryan subconsciously knows the exact dimension of his fields at all times however. Momentum is transferred while both entering and exiting the fields. Example: a car is driving into a field with -1 G. The car will continue to move forward at the same speed, but the will float upwards until it leaves the field. Normal gravity will kick in and make it fall normally.
Strengths: Ryan can make the gravity within his fields range from 1 G (normal) to -1 G (reverse gravity). The effects of the gravity being between 1 G and 0 G are obvious, but if the gravity is decreased past 0 G, things move upwards; they act exactly similar to normal gravity but as if the world was flipped over. Things on the upper limit of a negative G field are shot upwards through the field; if they happen to fall back down, the cycle will continue until equilibrium is reached and the object floats on the upper surface of the field.
Weaknesses: Ryan can only create one field at a time. Once a field is created, Ryan cannot change its properties. Fields with gravities from 1-0 G have a maximum time limit of 30 minutes, and require very little concentration. As the fields strengths decrease below 0 G, they become increasingly harder to maintain and last far shorter amounts of time; at his limits, Ryan can maintain a field for 10 minutes, with almost full concentration required. The farther away Ryan is from a field, the shorter it lasts and the more concentration it takes to maintain. The larger the field, the harder it is to maintain. If Ryan is rendered unconscious, his field is instantly switched off. Ryan is not immune to his own powers whatsoever, and all objects within the entire field are affected equally. Finally, as Ryan uses his powers more and more (creates field after field) he begins to head headaches, starting from a simple pain to an agonizing migraine. Therefore,
he cannot spam his fields effectively; these headaches make it hard to concentrate on maintaining his fields.
Fighting StyleExplanation: Ryan prefers to use his powers as a last resort. When he does, Ryan usually uses his fields to control the area: move objects out of his way, trap whoever he is chasing or running from temporarily, or allow him to fall slowly/jump higher
Pros for fighting style: Good “crowd control.”
Cons for fighting style: Not much actual fighting, must rely on decent hand-to-hand combat otherwise.
Faction AllegianceUnaffiliated
History Of Your CharacterRyan Doyle was born in Boston, MA, to Rory and Caitlyn Doyle, two Irish immigrants. Rory had managed to become a cop, while Caitlyn did odd jobs around the family home. Ryan’s older sister, Fiona, always kept on good terms with her brother but not with her parents. When she was 18 and Ryan was 16, she moved out and joined an occult society. Although she seems to be doing fine to this day, Ryan is always iffy about her intentions and beliefs.
Ryan’s childhood was extremely stressful with his father always on duty and his mother always off on some odd job or another. He learned to take care of himself, picking up fighting habits and eventually smoking at an early age. Ryan never got into any serious trouble, but was known as a hooligan in his neighborhood.
His mutation manifested at 16, when a speeding car almost ran him over. As Ryan flinched, a negative gravity field was formed in front of him. The car was lifted into the air and soared over him as it left the field’s effects. Ryan bolted from the scene, scared out of his mind of what had just happened. Oddly, Ryan chose not to exploit his new found gifts, keeping his mutation to himself for the most part. It wasn’t until later in life that he’d “come out” and reveal his powers publicly.
Ryan moved out when he was 18 to New York City, separating himself from his parents as they suffered through a rough divorce. Years later, in his mid 20s, he got into an argument with his mother over the phone. She wanted him to come visit her, but she’d only brought back old sour memories. Ryan hung up on her, so his mother simply waited at the window all day for her son to arrive. He never did, and as she was sitting in the window chair, a local serial killer by the name of Matthew Greens broke in and killed her. To this day, Ryan blames himself for his mother’s death.
This tragedy inspired Ryan to do something no one ever expected him to do. He followed in his father’s footsteps, and became a detective. Because of his powers, Ryan was assigned to the Mutant Related Crime division of the NYPD. Matthew Green was caught much earlier, but Ryan didn’t care. Despite his bitter exterior, he knew he had to do well in the world. Someone had to, after all. It was his form of redemption for what happened to his mother.
RoleplayWhere did you learn about this site?: Google
Do you have any other characters on MRO, if so who: None
Sample RP:Ryan Doyle staggered out of the Black Horse Pub and headed for his flat. It appeared to be nearly dawn, with streaks of light flashing through the brightly lit New York sky. At least, it felt like he'd been drinking all night. What with first Allens, and then Pittman and then Derrick buying him round after round for making the latest arrest of the week. He began to stagger slightly, but it wasn’t an issue. Ryan only had one more block to go, anyway. All smart (and slightly alcoholic) detectives had flats close to the Black Horse. With another chorus, he aimed for the front door of his building, and was sent sprawling as he tripped over something in thedoorway.
"Wauugh!"
A whimper answered him from the pile of rags at his feet. He peered blearily at the pile and cursed. A dog lay there, liquid brown eyes shining sadly in the light at him. "No." He barked, clambering to his feet and opening the front door. "No, you f*** off and find some other lazy bastard to take care o' ya."
With a finality to it, he slammed the door and stalked up the stairs to his apartment. He listened the whole way for more whimpers and cries from his erstwhile companion. There were none.
Slamming open his apartment door, he staggered in and collapsed onto his couch. Still no sound from the dog on the stoop.
Doyle let out a curse and rolled off the couch. Damn. Something was beginning to assert itself in his memory. Something about being kind to animals and keeping them warm, and frolicking with puppies. When the f*** had he ever frolicked with puppies?
He staggered back out his still-open door and down the stairs, cursing enough to peel what was left of the blue paint on the walls. The little dog was still huddled under a pile of rags on his front step. He glared at it. It whimpered softly at him. "Fine then," he snarled, "but this is only for the f***ing night. I'm taking you to a shelter in the morning."
Re-entering his apartment, ragged dog behind him, he realized something. "One of us smells 'orrible. And it ain't me." He glared at the dog and dragged it--her, he realized later on--towards the tiny room that was his bath. A problem presented itself immediately. He had no bath tub, only a small tile box that housed his mold-grown shower.
"Damn."
Making a quick decision, he shed his clothes, leaving them strewn on the bathroom floor, and started the shower up. He needed it anyway. Turning back to shove the dog under the spray, he swore. She'd scarpered.
"You little b****! Get back 'ere!"
A search of his apartment finally produced her in his closet, curled on his one good shirt. He growled at her. She sort of whimpered back, and then he picked her up and stalked back to the shower, where he proceeded to mercilessly cleanse both of them, though he accidentally used toothpaste on his hair due to his drunken stupor. Oh well.
There weren't any clean towels, he discovered as he stepped out of the shower. Another oath escaped him and he reached down to pick up the shirt he'd been wearing. With a grimace at the shivering dog, he bundled her into it, then stalked towards his bedroom. He thought he remembered there being a towel in there, somewhere.
He had. But it was filthy, so he just used the sheet off his bed, wrapping it around himself in a sort of toga fashion. Ryan set the dog on the bed and sighed. Sleep was seeping through him, dragging at him, triumphing over the adrenaline. Even the booze he'd ingested was conspiring against him.
With a mumbled comment on females everywhere, he collapsed onto the bed
and fell asleep, half-covered by the sheet.
--
Ryan woke with a jerk, and rolled out of the bed, taking the sheet with him. There was someone there, in the room with him. Without even opening his sleep-glazed eyes, he reached under the pillow and grabbed the pistol hidden there. Carefully, he looked around the room, searching it, scanning for an enemy.
There was nothing and no one there. Except an odd little mewling sound coming from his closet. He frowned and slowly straightened, yelping as cold air hit certain portions of his suddenly exposed anatomy. The sheet pooled on the floor at his feet.
He rewrapped the sheet and headed for the closet, carefully pulling the door open the rest of the way. "Oh, f***."
Ryan sank to his knees and stared in horror, "My shirt. You b****, that was my best shirt." He moaned, staring at the shirt the dog was currently curled upon. She was surrounded by five squirming little replicas of herself. And she looked so proud of herself as he looked at them.
"My shirt..."
One of the puppies chose that moment to whimper and Ryan found himself gathering the tiny thing up. It was no bigger than the palm of one of his hands, and shivered in the air. He quickly set the little thing next to its mother and began warming up the air around them.
"Ssshhh... It's okay."
Ryan signed, and looked at the newly crafted family at his feet. He was angry. He was annoyed. He was aggravated. Yet oddly, he was… happy? What the f***? Something inside Ryan’s chest felt warm and cuddly, clashing with the smoke in his lungs and booze in his veins. Huh. Those puppies WERE adorable. Maybe he wouldn’t take them to the shelter just yet. Maybe…
