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Registered: 11-2012
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Djo Van


Preferred User Nickname: Thes.
Mature Role-player? [Yes/No] Yeah why not

[Image, optional]

Villain Name: Djo Van(Jack Callen)
Age:18
Gender: Male
Physical Description: In the armor, he has a large amount of armor plating on his limbs, with spiked back prongs. A distinct yellow seems to emit from his eyes, as though backlit; a large, long row of teeth pull across his face underneath those eyes, sharp but unlikely to be used. A deep grey and black color the outfit, with small designs of blue overrunning it, at certain points.
Out of the armor, he's a relatively muscular 18 year old, having just turned 18 a few days before meeting the scarab. Black hair is cut to just above his perfectly blue eyes, dipping underneath his eyebrows. Pale skin betrays a lack of any interest in tanning, and his face is mesomorphically set, with a large, sloping, iron-cut jawline; his youth is betrayed by the rest of his face, however, being distinctly young-looking.

Weapon of Choice:Everything.
Powers:Reach Enforcer Scarab
Movement Type: Flight

History
Arthur Callen was a rough looking man, features hard but well-shaped in mesomorphic cast, body torn to perfection by physical use. Born poor and having joined the Army shortly after turning eighteen, he used the money acquired from his stint in the Armed Forces to go to college and study at what he loved; writing. Slipping quietly into the library of the college and removing a book from a shelf, he took a seat at a table across from a girl, Janet Gainston; her features were delicate, beautiful, untinged with any sort of damage and unstained with the signs of physical labor. Her eyes darted up periodically at the man, shifting over his features, before being stunned at a glance of his own eyes; unmatching to his rugged form, they were perfectly warm, filled with a happiness that tore her heart from its set beat. A few words neither would really be able to remember were exchanged; a question, perhaps, followed by the awkward agreement of a date that set both faces smiling.

Love called them, as love tends to do, relatively quickly. They married shortly after graduation, and through some odd sort of luck, Arthur managed to get several books published; through another sort of luck, he was an extremely apt author, and so his books were wildly successful. Shortly after their marriage and the revelation of the success, Arthur used his new-found wealth to purchase a house in rural northern Maine, set idly in a forest on the outskirts of a small town. They had a child, whom they named Jack, and everything was amazing; Arthur's books were selling extremely well, they had a beautiful house, and their life was assured to be wonderful.

Janet fell ill shortly after Jack turned five, with a disease he never knew very much about. Her delicate body was wracked with illness, slowly tearing at her life, ripping time away bit by bit, as though a slowly moving saw-blade. Disallowed from seeing her while she was sick due to his father's worries that her sick form would frighten him, he never knew much about what she looked like, while ill; his memories of her shift, running away as though afraid to be caught, recalled. Some things seem distinct, sharply focusing into recollection.

Kneeling down next to him, the shortly trimmed blonde hair of his father stop above his eyebrows, those warm eyes staring right into his. He's...somewhere cold, and white. A hospital. "Hey, buddy. You don't seem too good. Are you okay?" The strong, confident voice of Arthur Callen, coupled with a perfect smile that tries at quelling a growing fear in Jack's heart that he finds difficult to understand. Nodding before looking away, Jack does not speak, too afraid to ask any questions. "You seem scared. Are you worried about mom?" Looking back to him, Jack slowly nods his head up and down, exaggerating the action as children sometimes tend to. A hand moves down to his chin, bringing him to look up into the eyes of his father, perfectly warm, sincere, despite being tinged with tired lines. "Don't be. She'll be alright. I know she will. She can pull through this, no problem at all. She will pull through this. Everything will be alright, promise. Okay?" Confidence sits purely in the voice, eyes tinging with not a thought, but the knowledge that his wife would live; that she had to live, that nothing could ever bring them apart. There is not a trace of worry, or even a thought that she might be harmed, in those confident eyes; they are warm, perfectly blue, and force the knowledge that she would be fine into Jack's young mind.
Janet Callen died three days later of an inoperable brain tumor.

There comes the loud, rousing thump of shoes down the hall, for some reason so clear as to block out any other sound; Arthur walks as though in a daze, grabbing Jack gently by the hand and pulling him along, away from the nurse he'd been left with while Arthur spoke to the doctor, pulling him out of the hospital and into the parking lot. Moving Jack into the car and buckling his seatbelt, Arthur gets into the driver's seat and places his hands on the wheel, simply sitting there and staring out the front windshield for a small, dragging instant, slowly turning his head to look down at Jack; his mouth opens as if to speak, but simply hangs there, empty. All warmth has left his eyes, no sparkling happiness left within the now dulled blue orbs, no perfect smile set upon his face, no rugged strength left to push against the world. Closing his mouth and turning back to the front of the car, Arthur puts the key into the ignition and starts the car, driving off.

Jack grew older, as children are wont to do, and his father grew more disconnected, slowly forcing Jack to take on more and more responsibilities of taking care of himself. Turning to alcohol in order to forget what Janet looked like every moment Jack didn't need him, Arthur ceased writing altogether; it mattered relatively little for their funds, as he had long since been writing for little more than personal pleasure, having accrued more than enough money to remain considerably wealthy without working another day in his life. As his father made every attempt to kill himself with alcohol and self-hate, Jack grew up strong, and intelligent. Filled with the same warmth as his father used to be, he would never allow the divide his father forced between them to make him hate. The ice that now spread through Arthur's veins would snip at Jack as he grew, but his warmth would overtake it, driving out the hate with physical exercise, or intellectual pursuits.

His shoes tap gently against the wood of the floorboards as he makes his way up the stairs to his father's room, placing a gentle knock on the door before bringing his hand to the knob and opening it; within the darkened, dusted room sits Arthur, shoulders hunched over a desk, writing instruments long thrown off and replaced by a bottle of scotch which he pours into a glass and takes a short drag from. "Dad?" The question is short, apprehensive; filled with a gentle sort of hope. "What?" The reply is dragged out and filled with such venom as to tear at Jack's heart; but it can make no gainful progress, there. "I was, uh-...well, it's my 18th birthday in a couple of weeks, and I was thinking maybe we could-" "Buy yourself whatever you want. Get out." The reply slams into Jack as though a brick, bringing his hand up to the doorframe and forcing his head to tilt to the side; he bites the inside of his cheek for a moment before attempting to continue. "Dad..." Looking down at the floor and failing in his attempt, Jack steps back and closes the door. Arthur's hardened face softens for just a moment, and he turns to look at the closed door, eyes tinging with a profound regret; bringing himself around and beginning to get up from his chair, his eyes center themselves on a picture at the side of the room, him and Janet together in college. It was the first picture they'd ever taken together. Slowly looking back down to the already poured scotch, his hand shakily returns to it, and he brings it to his lips.

A few days later, Jack releases a small sigh as he enters the house, moving his backpack over to the side and placing it by the door. Moving into the kitchen, he grabs an apple from a bowl on the table and moves over to the sink, washing it off before moving over to the fridge door to close it; his father always leaves it open, and...it's closed, already. Nothing too surprising, and he shrugs before bringing himself to the stairs and ascending them, eyes narrowing with confusion as he looks down the hall. The door to his father's room was open. The door to his father's room was never open. Moving down the hall, "Dad?" he calls out shortly, confusedly; overall, a look of disinterest splays itself across his face as he moves to the open door and looks into his father's room, finding the bloodied corpse of Arthur Callen next to his pistol. He'd shot himself. The look of disinterest in no way reflects how Jack feels, but it freezes itself on his face, and he simply stares for several seconds, before his hands begin to shake. The apple slams unceremoniously into the ground, and Jack's eyes widen as he jumps back, throwing himself against the wall opposite his father's room. A scream tears from his lips as he turns, running at a breakneck speed down the stairs and out of the house; he's unsure why, but he just...he has no idea what to do. Running out into the forest for no reason but to have something to do, he goes on for quite a while into it before stopping, falling to his knees and panting heavily; his eyes are wide, and he brings his hands up to his head at his temples; he attempts to scream again, but no sound comes out, and he faints.


Last edited by Thesmothete, Jan/15/2013, 5:01 am
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Re: Djo Van



There is the rousing sound of a slam nearby, as though a meteor crashing to Earth; Jack does not notice it, laying on the ground unconscious. Twisting itself around, the scarab's sensors scan for any nearby sentient life forms...and find Jack. Darting over to him, the fusing process wakes him up, eyes widening as he hears a short, difficult to understand voice slip into his head. Words are...hard, difficult to comprehend, but...concepts can be understood well enough. The concept of sentience, working with the host taken over rather than simply taking their memories and overwriting their mind...it was an interesting one, to The Reach, as a possibility for more aptly conquering planets. It would be essential, for Djo Van's current mission, and thus it was programmed to leave the host intact at least partially, if possible. Of course, it was equipped with a killswitch and could over-ride the human side, but...still. So, the offer was made, through conceptualized messages; the promise of power rejected, along with the promise of ruling the planet, images of him conjuring energy fit to level buildings, lording himself over all the human race...ignored, rejected. The warmth, the goodness inside of him fought against every last bit of the scarab's efforts, rejecting every promise made. A quick scan of Jack's psyche revealed quite a bit, however, and a final promise was given; images of The Reach slip into his mind, of their hivemind; being accepted, having a purpose. Such a silly, pathetic thing to want, when compared to infinite power, but...his head drops, and he clenches his teeth uncomfortably. The scarab has won; he will do all he is told. Armor plates unfold across his skin, and he raises himself up to stand. All warmth within him is gone, replaced with the will of The Reach.
He is Djo Van.


Last edited by Thesmothete, Jan/15/2013, 5:04 am
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Thesmothete Profile
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Re: Djo Van


Small edits.
Jan/15/2013, 5:04 am Link to this post Email Thesmothete   PM Thesmothete Blog
 
Supergirly Profile
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Registered: 04-2012
Posts: 3299
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Re: Djo Van


Wow, his life is so sad and then an alien takes him. I could really feel the love drain from his father I read it and I felt the innocent Jack look up at his father as he was put in the car.

I am looking forward to RPing more of this event, but wow, this guy. I almost don't want to beat him and instead hold him and tell him, "I am sorry for your loss."

- Kara

---

Jan/26/2013, 7:54 am Link to this post Email Supergirly   PM Supergirly Blog
 


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