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theposthumans
[ringtone]
TEXT | EMAIL | VOICEMAIL | PICTURE MESSAGE
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[ringtone]
TEXT | EMAIL | VOICEMAIL | PICTURE MESSAGE
Player Name: Kris
Personal DW:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
twbasketcase
E-mail: You've got it
AIM: You've got that, too!
Other characters currently in-game: Archangel, Sunspot, Elixir
Who referred you to the game?: You know who
Character Name: Chamber aka Jonothon Evan Starsmore
Canon source: Marvel 616. I'll be pulling him from the end of Marvel Icons: Chamber #4.
Preferred drop-in point: Manhattan.
Third Person Sample:
New York City was a place that Jono had a love/hate relationship with. On one hand, he never had to worry about walking around with his bandages all tied up around his face and getting funny looks for it. There were all sorts of eccentric folk mucking around the place with similar looks and fashion senses for the hell of it. Not to mention, people just didn't really care about anyone else's business there. Someone could be screaming bloody murder down the street and not everyone would even bother looking up to see what was going on.
He got his privacy, and he liked that.
On the other hand, it was loud and it was dirty and there were too many people. Jono liked being alone; he was an introvert by nature (had been ever since his power accident), and having all sorts of folks running you over while they rushed to work and everywhere else? Not fun. Not fun or preferred. That was New York City in a nutshell for him, and that was why he'd promised himself that he'd never shack up there again--not even if it killed him!
Yet there he was, standing at the dirty window in a run-down apartment appointed to him by a bunch of bad mood blokes. The Bins, they'd called it, the heart of a so-called Import ghetto-type neighbourhood. It wasn't like it was the worst flat Jono had ever stayed in, really, and the sixth floor window did give him a somewhat decent view of his new Manhattan 'hood. When he was alone and had his bandages off, anyway. The gaping hole in his chest lit up the room and bounced off the window like the reflection of a fiery inferno. Up there, in the dark, the image made it look as if Manhattan was burning below him. Staring through the flames of his own very body, just in that moment, Jono pretended the rest of the world could feel his inner hell. Every night he'd do it and it was almost therapeutic, in a way.
But then the image would eventually catch his attention again in a negative way, and he'd be reminded that it was all just a head game. He was alone and they didn't know his pain. Jono bent over to collect the black bandages from the floor and around his feet, and tied them back up and around himself until the room was dark once again. Body hidden now, he turned from the window to sit on the dingy old mattress that had been provided for him.
The sounds of the city outside informed him that it was very much still alive and moving on without him, and Jono laid back to listen in silence for the rest of the evening--not quite sure if he was glad for that livelihood or still bitter.
Personal DW:
twbasketcaseE-mail: You've got it
AIM: You've got that, too!
Other characters currently in-game: Archangel, Sunspot, Elixir
Who referred you to the game?: You know who
Character Name: Chamber aka Jonothon Evan Starsmore
Canon source: Marvel 616. I'll be pulling him from the end of Marvel Icons: Chamber #4.
Preferred drop-in point: Manhattan.
Third Person Sample:
New York City was a place that Jono had a love/hate relationship with. On one hand, he never had to worry about walking around with his bandages all tied up around his face and getting funny looks for it. There were all sorts of eccentric folk mucking around the place with similar looks and fashion senses for the hell of it. Not to mention, people just didn't really care about anyone else's business there. Someone could be screaming bloody murder down the street and not everyone would even bother looking up to see what was going on.
He got his privacy, and he liked that.
On the other hand, it was loud and it was dirty and there were too many people. Jono liked being alone; he was an introvert by nature (had been ever since his power accident), and having all sorts of folks running you over while they rushed to work and everywhere else? Not fun. Not fun or preferred. That was New York City in a nutshell for him, and that was why he'd promised himself that he'd never shack up there again--not even if it killed him!
Yet there he was, standing at the dirty window in a run-down apartment appointed to him by a bunch of bad mood blokes. The Bins, they'd called it, the heart of a so-called Import ghetto-type neighbourhood. It wasn't like it was the worst flat Jono had ever stayed in, really, and the sixth floor window did give him a somewhat decent view of his new Manhattan 'hood. When he was alone and had his bandages off, anyway. The gaping hole in his chest lit up the room and bounced off the window like the reflection of a fiery inferno. Up there, in the dark, the image made it look as if Manhattan was burning below him. Staring through the flames of his own very body, just in that moment, Jono pretended the rest of the world could feel his inner hell. Every night he'd do it and it was almost therapeutic, in a way.
But then the image would eventually catch his attention again in a negative way, and he'd be reminded that it was all just a head game. He was alone and they didn't know his pain. Jono bent over to collect the black bandages from the floor and around his feet, and tied them back up and around himself until the room was dark once again. Body hidden now, he turned from the window to sit on the dingy old mattress that had been provided for him.
The sounds of the city outside informed him that it was very much still alive and moving on without him, and Jono laid back to listen in silence for the rest of the evening--not quite sure if he was glad for that livelihood or still bitter.
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