Post by TETRIS on Jun 25, 2010 14:05:47 GMT -5
MECHA
DEMOGRAPHIC
Name: Micah "Mecha" Dean (Mecha is sounded like 'Mecca')
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Shift: Nile crocodile
Nationality: Israeli
Sexuality: Straight
Religion: Atheist
Politics: Conservative; indifferent
Occupation: mechanic; programmer; computer nerd
Residence: Verge Apartments
AESTHETIC
Appearance: Mecha has coarse jet-black hair that is rarely looked after. It shows in the wild flicks and uneven jagged layers which curl away from his brow but splay out in the back. His eyes have heavy, lazy lids above coal-grey hues holding small circular pupils. The unyielding gaze pierces out of the hollows of his sockets, shadowed with a bruised, bluish-charcoal colour that blends into his sallow skin. He is built with a toned, lithe frame. Not half as muscular as the typical grease monkey, there is not an ounce of extra fat on his bones. His face is strong and youthful in spite of his tired eyes. On the under of his cheekbones, Mecha has two rectangular blue-black tattoos.
Attire: His right arm was claimed in an undocumented accident; it has since been replaced with an anachronistic full-arm gauntlet that suits his body perfectly. Layers of smooth fitting plates have gill-like folds to grant it as much mobility, if not more, than his original arm. Each finger finishes in a wickedly sharp claw, like steel talons. Because his work often involves getting dirty, he wears a black shirt and trousers to hide the oil smudges. Ersatz steel buttons run down his pant-legs. He wears hard leather boots, the heel, toe, and side reinforced with steel. He has a neck-chain and thick steel clips in his ears.
Headshot: younger Mecha pre-accident
PSYCHOLOGICAL
Personality: Possessing skills that would warrant him a mechanical genius, Mecha is an expert hacker, re-programmer, inventor and a superb engineer, among others. As obnoxious, insensitive, and controlling as he is, he seems to take little pride in what he does. He is unenthusiastic about his work, and retorts to compliments with a tired grunt or crude comment; he is worse at accepting criticism and rewards objections with some sort of unyielding violence. Not because he disagrees, necessarily, but he bristles at the challenge, making it a question of honour.
Mecha is socially maladroit. He might watch hysteric displays of passion with the same contemptuous interest he would afford a soap opera, but because he lacks emotional intelligence and sensitivity, he is unhelpful when it comes to offering advice. He connects much better with machines, acting as though feelings were beneath him.
Even though he does not act dignified, he is a suspicious, hostile, and proud person who will never yield to order but can be enticed to comply if petted and flattered. Stroke his ego the right way, and he might purr. He rarely offers help out of his good will - even when he does voice his advice, it is frustratingly late, or he is being directly affected by the problem at hand. Otherwise, he is independent and self-sufficient. Mecha adapts well, but is unreliable and solitary. He will gladly retreat to save himself, unbothered that he is leaving his comrades to die.
Like any animal, he becomes far more cooperative when fed and watered; his temperament is almost docile. Conversely, he becomes more irritable than usual if his basic needs are not met. His self-control wears thin under those conditions, and he tends to be troublesome, though he likes to think he is too refined to go berserk.
Likes: machines, grease, oil, technology, steel, nails, tools, beer, cigarettes, reptiles, cats
Dislikes: talking to people, being around people, nosy people, chatty people
Hobbies: fixing things, making changes to his prosthetic arm
SOCIETAL
HISTORY
Parental/Early: Micah's father was an Israeli freedom fighter serving a term in the US army. His mother was an actress who had the odd job voicing some commercial here and there. He is an illegitimate child; his parents never actually married since his father was deported shortly after his conception, shipped overseas and never seen again.
Childhood: With his mother struggling to make ends meet, Micah didn't have a lot of time to spend in school. As soon as he could walk down to the auto shop at the corner of the street, he would go there, sitting in the shade of the garage and listening to the mechanics talk. By the time he was ten, he was fixing cars and bicycles like one of the team. It was a good way to make some pocket money, but more than that, Micah loved the noises in the shop. Instead of his mother's cackling, giggling friends, conversation was reduced to a grunt here or there, warning shouts, and the clanging of steel on steel.
Adolescence: When he was twelve, he started to help tune cars. The process involved hoisting a bulky vehicle into the air via a pump, and scrambling underneath. His partner, the one levitating the car, had drank a little too much. Micah didn't notice the levers shifting until it was too late. He tried to roll out of the way but his arm was caught underneath, the bones crushed.
In excruciating pain, Micah shifted. His body changed, lengthened, his skin became scaled armour. His jaws were powerful, and by whipping his new tail back and forth, he wedged the car off of him, and then escaped minus an arm. Micah acted quickly, and broke the drunk's neck. He reported the whole incident as a malfunction due to his partner's incompetency, and the police bought the story.
Without an arm, Micah couldn't do anything. He remained in the hospital for a month, then left, sinking into a depression.
Adulthood: The genius mechanic spent his time in museums, park benches, wherever he could cop a squat. One day, wandering into a medieval display, he was intrigued by knight's armour. It could work, if he could replace his arm. It took him six months to find all the parts, rework them to fit together, but he had built himself a mechanized limb. For the first time since his initial shift, Micah shifted, starting from his right shoulder. The skin toughened into scales. Unable to force the shift to the rest of his body, he decided to connect the limb to the scaled skin as is.
Over the next five years, Micah has been refining and reworking the design, to perfection. The fact that he can shift has allowed him to create prosthetics unrivalled in any hospital. However, he recognizes that he can never shift into the full crocodile, at the risk of losing all his hard work. Which suits him just fine, really.
Current: Micah picked up the nickname "Mecha" (pronounced "mecca") somewhere along the way. He's currently residing at Verge Apartments. He has no actual job, since he wants to remain as undocumented as possible, but he's allowed to stay since he acts as the mechanic of the place, fixing the pipes, stealing wifi connections, getting free cable TV, and all that.
RELATIONSHIPS
Family:
* Willa Dean (mother) - Micah isn't particularly excited to see his mother. They never got along well and while he is grateful to her for raising him, he's not a fan of her lifestyle.
Acquaintances:
* none yet
OTHER
Trivia: The metal that replaces his right arm seems almost primitive from the outside. The inside, however, is so enhanced with technology that it works better than a normal arm. The metal is literally soldered to reptilian scales that he's decided to keep. It's not very noticeable, anyway, what with the tough burned skin and scars around the area. While the nerves are cut off, he has modified the machine to send sharp electrical shocks to his body, which increase as strain is added to the gauntlet. It works as a "pain sensor" which lets him know when to stop stressing the metal. He really cannot afford to recreate the gauntlet so he will do almost anything to avoid breaking it. Although he is totally dependent on the prosthetic limb, he bears it a horrible resentment and curses it frequently.
In medias res: Gladstone meets Torque for the first time, while she's still working as a Corporation call-girl.
DEMOGRAPHIC
Name: Micah "Mecha" Dean (Mecha is sounded like 'Mecca')
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Shift: Nile crocodile
Nationality: Israeli
Sexuality: Straight
Religion: Atheist
Politics: Conservative; indifferent
Occupation: mechanic; programmer; computer nerd
Residence: Verge Apartments
AESTHETIC
Appearance: Mecha has coarse jet-black hair that is rarely looked after. It shows in the wild flicks and uneven jagged layers which curl away from his brow but splay out in the back. His eyes have heavy, lazy lids above coal-grey hues holding small circular pupils. The unyielding gaze pierces out of the hollows of his sockets, shadowed with a bruised, bluish-charcoal colour that blends into his sallow skin. He is built with a toned, lithe frame. Not half as muscular as the typical grease monkey, there is not an ounce of extra fat on his bones. His face is strong and youthful in spite of his tired eyes. On the under of his cheekbones, Mecha has two rectangular blue-black tattoos.
Attire: His right arm was claimed in an undocumented accident; it has since been replaced with an anachronistic full-arm gauntlet that suits his body perfectly. Layers of smooth fitting plates have gill-like folds to grant it as much mobility, if not more, than his original arm. Each finger finishes in a wickedly sharp claw, like steel talons. Because his work often involves getting dirty, he wears a black shirt and trousers to hide the oil smudges. Ersatz steel buttons run down his pant-legs. He wears hard leather boots, the heel, toe, and side reinforced with steel. He has a neck-chain and thick steel clips in his ears.
Headshot: younger Mecha pre-accident
PSYCHOLOGICAL
Personality: Possessing skills that would warrant him a mechanical genius, Mecha is an expert hacker, re-programmer, inventor and a superb engineer, among others. As obnoxious, insensitive, and controlling as he is, he seems to take little pride in what he does. He is unenthusiastic about his work, and retorts to compliments with a tired grunt or crude comment; he is worse at accepting criticism and rewards objections with some sort of unyielding violence. Not because he disagrees, necessarily, but he bristles at the challenge, making it a question of honour.
Mecha is socially maladroit. He might watch hysteric displays of passion with the same contemptuous interest he would afford a soap opera, but because he lacks emotional intelligence and sensitivity, he is unhelpful when it comes to offering advice. He connects much better with machines, acting as though feelings were beneath him.
Even though he does not act dignified, he is a suspicious, hostile, and proud person who will never yield to order but can be enticed to comply if petted and flattered. Stroke his ego the right way, and he might purr. He rarely offers help out of his good will - even when he does voice his advice, it is frustratingly late, or he is being directly affected by the problem at hand. Otherwise, he is independent and self-sufficient. Mecha adapts well, but is unreliable and solitary. He will gladly retreat to save himself, unbothered that he is leaving his comrades to die.
Like any animal, he becomes far more cooperative when fed and watered; his temperament is almost docile. Conversely, he becomes more irritable than usual if his basic needs are not met. His self-control wears thin under those conditions, and he tends to be troublesome, though he likes to think he is too refined to go berserk.
Likes: machines, grease, oil, technology, steel, nails, tools, beer, cigarettes, reptiles, cats
Dislikes: talking to people, being around people, nosy people, chatty people
Hobbies: fixing things, making changes to his prosthetic arm
SOCIETAL
HISTORY
Parental/Early: Micah's father was an Israeli freedom fighter serving a term in the US army. His mother was an actress who had the odd job voicing some commercial here and there. He is an illegitimate child; his parents never actually married since his father was deported shortly after his conception, shipped overseas and never seen again.
Childhood: With his mother struggling to make ends meet, Micah didn't have a lot of time to spend in school. As soon as he could walk down to the auto shop at the corner of the street, he would go there, sitting in the shade of the garage and listening to the mechanics talk. By the time he was ten, he was fixing cars and bicycles like one of the team. It was a good way to make some pocket money, but more than that, Micah loved the noises in the shop. Instead of his mother's cackling, giggling friends, conversation was reduced to a grunt here or there, warning shouts, and the clanging of steel on steel.
Adolescence: When he was twelve, he started to help tune cars. The process involved hoisting a bulky vehicle into the air via a pump, and scrambling underneath. His partner, the one levitating the car, had drank a little too much. Micah didn't notice the levers shifting until it was too late. He tried to roll out of the way but his arm was caught underneath, the bones crushed.
In excruciating pain, Micah shifted. His body changed, lengthened, his skin became scaled armour. His jaws were powerful, and by whipping his new tail back and forth, he wedged the car off of him, and then escaped minus an arm. Micah acted quickly, and broke the drunk's neck. He reported the whole incident as a malfunction due to his partner's incompetency, and the police bought the story.
Without an arm, Micah couldn't do anything. He remained in the hospital for a month, then left, sinking into a depression.
Adulthood: The genius mechanic spent his time in museums, park benches, wherever he could cop a squat. One day, wandering into a medieval display, he was intrigued by knight's armour. It could work, if he could replace his arm. It took him six months to find all the parts, rework them to fit together, but he had built himself a mechanized limb. For the first time since his initial shift, Micah shifted, starting from his right shoulder. The skin toughened into scales. Unable to force the shift to the rest of his body, he decided to connect the limb to the scaled skin as is.
Over the next five years, Micah has been refining and reworking the design, to perfection. The fact that he can shift has allowed him to create prosthetics unrivalled in any hospital. However, he recognizes that he can never shift into the full crocodile, at the risk of losing all his hard work. Which suits him just fine, really.
Current: Micah picked up the nickname "Mecha" (pronounced "mecca") somewhere along the way. He's currently residing at Verge Apartments. He has no actual job, since he wants to remain as undocumented as possible, but he's allowed to stay since he acts as the mechanic of the place, fixing the pipes, stealing wifi connections, getting free cable TV, and all that.
RELATIONSHIPS
Family:
* Willa Dean (mother) - Micah isn't particularly excited to see his mother. They never got along well and while he is grateful to her for raising him, he's not a fan of her lifestyle.
Acquaintances:
* none yet
OTHER
Trivia: The metal that replaces his right arm seems almost primitive from the outside. The inside, however, is so enhanced with technology that it works better than a normal arm. The metal is literally soldered to reptilian scales that he's decided to keep. It's not very noticeable, anyway, what with the tough burned skin and scars around the area. While the nerves are cut off, he has modified the machine to send sharp electrical shocks to his body, which increase as strain is added to the gauntlet. It works as a "pain sensor" which lets him know when to stop stressing the metal. He really cannot afford to recreate the gauntlet so he will do almost anything to avoid breaking it. Although he is totally dependent on the prosthetic limb, he bears it a horrible resentment and curses it frequently.
In medias res: Gladstone meets Torque for the first time, while she's still working as a Corporation call-girl.
"fugging piece of crap!!"
The thick heel of a leather boot connected harshly with several slabs of solid steel and platinum piping, sending the pieces sprawling across the floor in a noisy array of shrill screams. He lifted his slender oil sodden fingers to his mouth, shifting a small cylinder in between his lips. Charcoal eyes half lidded into a childish scowl before he closed the pale ghastly silver hues away. A dark black coloured his eye sockets, its hue becoming more pronounced under his eyes before it faded out back into the maple colour of his skin.
Mecha let loose a groan, allowing a cloud of smoke to billow passed his lips before he sat down lazily, propping himself up on a single hand, watching a thick liquid spill dramatically out of the engine he’d maturely kicked across the room. A small hissing sound left his lips as the pool began to spread, ruining the messy floor even further... what a waste.
A small pupil fixed on the platinum Apple device near his depleted toolbox, it’s contents having been sprawled across the floor in his attempt to fix that particular infuriating contraption. Fixing Apple's faulty shit... they over complicated the inside of everything they built, Mecha could have built it himself with less then a quarter of the shit they’d stuffed inside its slick looking shell, it would probably have worked better then too... and this thing; He picked up the iPhone and flipped it in his palm, getting dark greasy finger prints all over its smooth surface.
He’d only just gotten one... out of curiosity, of course. He would have liked to know who came up with this junk, if they didn’t need it before why the hell would they need it now?
A scowl furrowed across his brow, dropping it carelessly as he stood up, filtering his fingers through his short messy black tresses, kicking the phone away. Forced to come here because of the lack of work...
Things weren’t going well. Mecha curled a couple of steel claws round his chin, layers of glossy steel plates set up like gills for better mobility. The steel took up the whole of his arm, which had been replaced a couple of years ago with his archaic looking gauntlet. A rare piece to be sure, after all everything that had ever been was either lost or stored in museums was hard to get at your local convenience store.
He clenched his teeth; just thinking about it made him mad. The steel that made up his right arm groaned as he clenched his fist, denting the surface of his own palm. Before a sharp shock to his shoulder warned him about the damage. He let loose a sigh, more smoke leaving his mouth after he took another blissful drag of his cigarette.
He stepped onto the lift, out into a loud and eerily conventional busy street.
"... I need a drink..."