Recent Posts

Individual

Character's full name: Dorian Stewart
Alias/ Nickname/ Code name:
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Date of Birth: June 13, 1984
Nationality/ Ethnicity: Caucasian
Birthplace/ Home/ Place of origin: Connecticut

Appearance

Hair color and style: Black, curly, a bit long, and generally unkempt, unless he can come up with a reason to start caring about it.
Eyes: Dark brown
Height: 6'1"
Build: Tall, slim, slightly toned.
Visible mutation: (Not applicable)
Scars/ Tattoos/ Piercings: On his left arm, in small, fanciful lettering, he has a tattoo of the words "I will regret getting this tattoo later, but it seemed like such a good idea at the time." Whenever he starts to regret getting it, he starts liking it again.
Other features:

Everyday clothing style: Generally simple, worn clothing. He's especially fond of shirts or hoodies with amusing sayings on them, as well as windpants.
Uniform: An appropriate mime outfit for any season – each outfit being almost exclusively black and white, with matching makeup.
Sleepwear: Generally just underwear. He prefers boxers.
Miscellaneous clothing: Always has a notepad and pen/pencil on his person, to the point where they may as well be a part of his wardrobe.

Character

Personality: Dorian has a great capacity for light-hearted humor, and he often indulges this aspect of himself, be it acting out like the street performer he is, or in the form of practical jokes, sometimes even on perfect strangers, just for his own amusement. But don't be fooled by Dorian's tendency to play the fool – when he isn't joking around, he's a serious man with strongly held, if unusual, social and political views on issues which he would gladly beat you in a debate over. Though few people would take the time to debate anything with him, a clown who can't speak, when they do, he savors it.
When Dorian is mad, he doesn't hold back. He is one vindictive man. If you ever find yourself on his bad side, and he doesn't have a good reason to stay on your good side, you'd better prepare for a bad day.
Hobbies/ Interests: Practical jokes. Arguing with people. Reading about politics, history, and current events.
Job or part time job and description: Starving author and performer.
Fears/ phobias/ concerns: Any government action concerning mutants. His abysmal book sales, and the worry that he'll never get "discovered," or that he's just not talented enough to meet any literary success. The possibility of his having to eat Ramen for the rest of his life.
Special talents: Charades. Sign language. Writing legible print quickly. Whistling beautifully. Applying makeup. Rusty, half-decent fencing.

Morality

Other: Dorian is, at heart, a nice guy. He helps old ladies across streets and does all of those other random acts of kindness you'd expect of an extremely upright citizen. Even when strapped for cash and living on ramen in a run-down apartment, he can't resist dropping spare cash for the Salvation Army and their ilk. He also feels an extreme hatred towards all those responsible for the Mutant Registration Act, and he once murdered one of the act's authors in cold blood.

Mutations

Mutation description: Mime powers. Specifically, by pretending to interact with things that aren't there, Dorian can make those imaginary objects into physically present, if invisible ones. For example, if he pretended to run his hands along an imaginary wall, an invisible barrier would come into existence on that spot. If he pretended to twirl a lasso above his head, he could use it to rope something in. He might blow an invisible balloon and use it to make himself, or somebody else, float away. While whatever Dorian creates is invisible to everyone else, Dorian himself is constantly aware of what he's made and where it is.

Strengths: Need to reach something high up? No problem. Invisible ladder! Need to get somewhere really fast? Invisible bicycle! Wha -- did that guy just park diagonally across -two- parking spots? What a jerk! But did you know that those security cameras can't catch you lobbing an invisible brick through a car's windshield if you're standing far enough away? The guy who owned that Ferrari didn't.

Weaknesses, limitations, and other details: If you ever meet Dorian, you'll quickly realize that he cannot talk. In fact, he can't even scream, or grunt, or hum. His X-gene completely took away his vocal chords. There are a few sounds that he can still make with his mouth without their help, however; for example, he can still whistle.

To create something, Dorian must somehow act out interacting with it before it actually begins to exist. He might lean down to pick up an invisible rock, tug on an invisible rope, or make a show of drawing an invisible sword, for example. In order to maintain its physical presence, he must interact with it or concentrate on it, or other people must continue to be aware of it; an invisible object that is no longer in use will completely fade out of existence within thirty seconds.

With the sole exception of invisible balloons, anything that Dorian makes is just as heavy as the non-mime-power-created version of it. A sword he made would be just as heavy as a real sword, and an invisible anvil is just as hard to carry as a visible one. Furthermore, anything that he makes will behave as if it were made of whatever material he would imagine it being made of. For example, he could conjure an invisible wooden pole, which would be much lighter and more breakable than an invisible steel pole. The sturdiest thing he can make is an invisible concrete wall.

Over time, Dorian has realized that, should the total mass or volume of everything he's willing into existence exceed a certain limit, his mind swings into a dreamlike haze. At first, he begins to think he can see the invisible things that he's created. Before he knows it, he'll become completely mentally detached from whatever he's doing, and his mind will supply him with really good reasons to, for instance, steal that woman's exotic hat, or avoid touching the floor at all costs. Women shouldn't be allowed to wear endangered birds of prey; that's highly unethical and possibly illegal. He had to protect it. And of course it's a bird, you're just lying because you're really a mermaid, and you're trying to get him to get back in the water so you can eat him. But he and Yancy aren't going to be fooled. Yancy is the bird's name, obviously. To think, you wore him like an article of clothing for all these years and never once asked him his name. You, madame, are cruel to animals, and a shame to the human race.

Dorian isn't entirely sure how much he can make before turning himself into that, but the last time it happened, he was making something roughly the same size as a bus. It took him almost an hour to start thinking normally again.
In addition, he cannot create invisible fluid, nor can he create invisible fire, or set his invisible objects on fire. Invisible machinery that he creates is very limited; he cannot, for example, make anything that has a motor, or relies on electricity in any way. The most complex thing he has ever created, mechanically speaking, is a single-action revolver; more sophisticated weapons are out of the question.


Fighting Style

Explanation: Dorian makes heavy use of invisible weaponry and invisible barriers whenever a fight arises.
Pros for fighting style: It's hard to dodge what you can't see.
Cons for fighting style: Occasionally stumbling into invisible walls. Looking like a total idiot until people realize that he isn't "just joking around" with that invisible golf club.

Faction Allegiance
Order member. After years of searching for them, he finally found them. They weren't what he expected.

History Of Your Character
Dorian's entire nuclear family, from his parents to his older brother and sister, were mutants.

When he was seven years old, he decided that he wanted to be a mime when he grew up. His parents thought that this was odd, to say the least, but they supported him. They sent him to several youth acting classes. Soon he decided that wanting to become a mime was an extremely silly goal to have in life.

Fast forward another nine years, and he had become interested in putting on a completely different kind of show. Street performance was a bad way to make money, and besides, he wanted do do something that would let him actually make a difference in the world. He had a higher calling. Dorian wanted to be a politician. He was one of the better members of his high school debate team, he had the advantages of a tall, imposing figure, a firm, solid handshake, and a deep, brilliant voice. On top of this, he was extremely good at lying to people, though he was clever enough to avoid the reputation of a habitual liar. Yes, he had a bright future in politics.

Until, that is, his sophomore year of high school. He was on the road with the debate team, and he and his friends were upset about something. To express their anguish, one of them pantomimed hanging himself from an invisible noose. Another pretended to shoot himself in the head with an invisible pistol. Dorian stabbed himself in the stomach with an invisible sword, getting some of his not-so-invisible blood all over the bus in the process.

If he had known that these were going to be the last words he would ever speak, perhaps he would have dropped the F-bomb a bit less frequently. By the time he reached the hospital, his vocal chords had completely disappeared.

It was a difficult loss to handle, but he adapted to it. His notepad became his best friend, and he went everywhere with it; it was his only way to really communicate with people. As the time he spent without a voice wore on, he became better and better at expressing himself through print, and developed a strong interest in writing.

After an obligatory period of moping and feeling sorry for himself, he also decided to put his powers to use. After reviving his old dreams of being a mime, he got back into acting and put together some routines that took advantage of his mutation, winning a few talent shows in the process.

Tired of the Northeast, he went to college on the west coast, where he worked on a degree that encompassed theater arts and philosophy. There wasn't much he could do without a voice except write or perform, he thought. But he didn't really want to do either of these things. He just felt like they were his only options. Job interviews generally don't go very well when the interviewee can't speak.

The Mutant Registration Act was passed during his fourth year of college, turning his world upside down for the second time. He read the law before it was passed, so he knew that his mutation qualified as "dangerous," and he knew enough about concentration camps from stories to know that he didn't want to be in one. To avoid that fate, he dropped out of college, and joined the local Mutant Resistance, which waged a campaign of guerrilla warfare against stalker robots and military forces alike.

For the first time in his life, he really and truly felt like his life had a purpose. He became closer to his "dangerous" mutant comrades than he ever could be with his real family. He began to hate the normal humans who built those robots, and who made up the strike teams that came in to capture or kill him and his comrades. With the Resistance, he learned how to kill men with his powers, and how to do it without remorse.

The repeal of the Registration Act was one of the worst things that ever happened to him. His former comrades made well with the human establishment who had been killing and torturing their kind for the last few months, and, relieved, largely went back to their former lives. He doesn't know if he can ever forgive them.

To some extent, he had become addicted to the life of the Resistance rebel. Going back to his university and finishing his degree was difficult. All he was doing was paving the way for a life that he no longer wanted, a life that seemed hollow and pointless when held next to the life that he had just gotten a taste of.

He went through with it anyway, and he later went on to write several books about his experience with the Resistance (which didn't sell very well), got away with murdering one of the former senators who drafted the Registration Act, and paid the bills with the handful of gigs he could get as a mute mutant mime around the west coast, often involving street performance. When that didn't work, he mooched off some of his former resistance buddies.

One day in 2009, he woke up with ten years' worth of future memories. He had played a key role in an Australian revolution for a group called the "Order," and later fought with them in a third World War. It took him almost a year to realize that this massive, shared dream was so much more than just that. Since then, he's been trying to figure out where all of this began, so he can get involved in it earlier than he did "last time."

When the Romanian situation popped up, Dorian dipped into his meager life savings for some language lessons, a Romanian dictionary, and a one-way-plane ticket to Romania, where he tried, and failed, to learn about the forces at work there. He hoped he would be able to contact the "Order," or perhaps some kind of "proto-Order" here. Instead, he got to have good times in a Romanian mutant concentration camp.

After that, he used the rest of his dwindling money supply to move into New York City, where he took up writing unsuccessfully and street performing again. This couldn't pay the bills for very long.

Roleplay
Where did you learn about this site?: MRO came to me in a vision, and spake unto me that it is my divine Duty to inscribe Posts upon its most sacred and holy Boards. Ever since that fateful day, my life has been irrevocably changed.
Do you have any other characters on MRO, if so who: Kaitlyn McCarthy Faust
Sample RP:

Caroline was in his apartment mere minutes after Dorian sent the email. Whenever his sister teleported, it sounded like lightning was striking in the middle of the room. Dorian practically jumped out of his chair; a few folding chairs and a small round table were the only furniture in his meager apartment, aside from his bed.

She was still in her scrubs. She probably read the email at work, and decided not to waste a minute in telling him how bad of an idea this was.

"The Sanctuary!?"

Dorian was almost expecting a reaction like this. His big sister sometimes tried to act like his mom almost as much as their mom did. In hindsight, he really shouldn't have told anyone he was moving until after it already happened. Especially not Caroline. She could get pretty obnoxious.

"You can't be serious. I mean, I thought you paid attention to the news! Do you know the kinds of people who live there? I get to see their handiwork in the ER every day, and let me tell you something: it isn't pretty."

He leaned on an invisible wall, and scribbled on his notepad: The wall I'm leaning on stops bullets. I can take care of myself.

Big sister was unimpressed. "Heard of Rena Wilver? Isabel Duskmoor? I don't think you can do anything to stop... that."

A smirk accompanied his scribbling this time. I could stop those ladies in their tracks with my overwhelming charm. As if the mute mutant jokester thing ever gave him any luck with the ladies. Caroline contained a chuckle.

"This is serious," she said. "I don't want to go to work one day and see you with a bone jammed through your chest." Something occurred to Dorian. He grinned and started writing more. "I mean, seriously. Someone like you would get killed in under a week there. The police are afraid of that part of town. And there's some kind of mafia thi--."

Dorian showed her what he'd been writing.

She snorted. "Nice. Bone puns. I walked into that one. But, really... why don't you stay with me and Cody?"

Dorian frowned and violently shook his head. He hated his sister's boyfriend, and her boyfriend hated him right back. Living with Cody would bring Dorian more agony than living in the Romanian camps, he was sure.

"Come on, we wouldn't mind too much." Yes, they would. Those two had trouble keeping off each other in public. Sharing a roof with them would be awful.

He turned his notebook back a few pages and circled the words I can take care of myself.

Caroline stared at him really hard for a while. Before she could come up with something to say, her beeper went off. She sighed.

"I have to go. But you're doing something really stupid."

He waved at his sister as she disappeared, the loud thunderclap of her exit doing wonders for his headache. Her patients must really appreciate that.