Post by Milo Marsh on Jul 31, 2014 13:03:34 GMT -6
Template made by MEL, inspired by NU
NAME: Milo Julius Marsh
NICKNAME: MJ (He absolutely loathes being called 'Milo')
AGE: 17, January 1.
GENDER: Male
ORIENTATION: Unsure
POSITION: Bellefonte Student
FACE CLAIM: Cole Mohr
POWER: Ink Manipulation
Milo has the ability to shape and manipulate ink. This includes being able to move it, like for example move his tattoos from one arm to another, or move paint around on a canvas. As long as something contains ink, he can use it. He can also change the color of the ink, though this has proven to be quite difficult, and often ends up either being too straining, or getting messed up. He can change the consistency of the ink, which basically means that he can change it from being solid to liquid, or the other way around.
Ink is a liquid or paste that contains pigments or dyes, and is used to color a surface to produce an image, text, or design.
Limitations:
* He can move paint, tattoos, etc, as long as it contains ink, but is also only limited to things that actually contain ink, and nothing besides it. Tattoos being moved leaves a painful itch, that can last up to several hours, almost as if the skin was being tattooed all over again.
* The larger the area with ink is (a large tattoo, or a canvas, etc), the harder it is for him to move it, and the more focus it'll take. And the more focus, the harder the consequences are, which means that he'll experience the side-effects a lot more often and they will rough him up a lot more than if he did something simple.
* Since he cannot actually create or generate ink himself, he needs to have it available at all times in order for his power to work. If there's no ink around, he wouldn't be able to use his ability. He can however draw the ink from his tattoos out of his skin, but this have proven to be extremely painful, so he very rarely even attempts at doing so. This works with him drawing the ink out from his skin (one of the reasons as to why it's painful), very much like one would draw out blood. He'll have to change it into a liquid form and draw it out of his skin, drop by drop. He can however reverse the process (he very rarely manages to make it look just the way it did before, mind you), but again, very painful.
* Can only manipulate ink within a radius of maximum 15 feet when fully rested, and generally around 8-9 on a regular day. The more often he does this, the more exhausted he'll get, and he needs to sleep.
* He doesn't need to use his hands or touch the object which ink he wants to manipulate, though it has proven to be a lot easier when he does. The ability is mental, and works through him thinking about it, rather than moving any body parts.
Side-Effects:
* Skin itches and is dry (Lack of hydration) from being in contact with the ink + whenever the tattoos are moved or altered in any way, it will be extremely painful, almost as if the skin was being tattooed all over again. How much it hurts depends on the area.
* Needs a lot of sleep; Because of the focus and concentration his ability needs, he's often tired and suffers from insomnia. This can also lead to headaches that can develop into migraines when pushed too far, and then into nosebleeds and nausea.
* Mental and physical strain is very common, especially muscle and joint pains. He often suffers from a stiff neck and shoulders and is often seen either rubbing them or complaining about them hurting."From your parents you learn love and laughter-""Congratulations, Mr and Mrs. Marsh! It's a healthy baby boy!""Oh, look at him, Skye... He's beautiful.""He really is, Star. He's such a...""He really, really is.""Milo.""What?""His name will be Milo."Diary Entry, Session 15 - Milo Marsh
I was born in St. Paul, Minnesota, to Astrid and Henry Marsh (also known as Skye and Starlight). They were artists. Really fucking good at it too, and yeah, I inherited their skills. I'm a damn good artist. I can draw and paint like some damn god, and I'd probably do really good too, had I spent my talents on something else than painting the fucking town, but eh, more about that later.
My parents were hippies. Not that kind you often see in movies, where they have long hair, never shower and just eat organic food and shit, no, no. I'm not even sure if 'hippie' is the correct term or anything, it's just.. Gah. Well, they believe in peace and all that stuff, so I guess there's at least some resemblance, ya know? Anyways, this isn't really about them, it's about me. That's why you're here, right? Right.
Okay, so... My childhood was pretty chill. I didn't really have any rules or shit; My parents pretty fucking much let me do whatever the hell I wanted, and there was never really any consequences either. I never got in trouble. I never got yelled at. There was some stupid ass 'if you yell at him, his soul will get upset, and he won't get good karma' or whatever. I never really paid attention. But yeah, even from an early age, I did whatever the hell I wanted, and obviously, I didn't take well to being ordered around. I hated being told what to do, and when I was, I acted out. Simple.A dark haired boy sits with his hands cuffed together. His blue eyes staring absentmindedly ahead of him. There's no visible expression showing on his face. Two men stands outside the door, looking down at the boy's file. "He's seventeen, right?" one of the officers asks, the one with the name tag 'Wilson' and looks up from the file. "Yeah, he's a student of the academy," the other officer says, his name tag stating that his name is 'Lewis'. Officer Wilson nods and scratches the back of his neck before opening the door. "Mr. Marsh," he greets him and offers the boy a polite smile. The dark haired boy doesn't look up. He remains perfectly still, though there appears to be a mischievous gleam in his eyes. He knows what's coming. It's obvious."-and how to put one foot before the other."Diary Entry, Session 43 - Milo MarshI think the only thing I really enjoy from my life living and learning with my parents, is the fact that the only thing they really gave me, was their artistic talents. Don't take me wrong, even though I did a horrible job at school, with grades and such, I'm actually really smart. I guess I haven't quite figured out how to use it yet, and I sort of... Push myself down a lot. Like, I never really think I'm good enough, but I mask it with this false sense of confidence that kind of make me really aggressive and cocky. I'm an asshole. I really am, and I deserve the nickname. I don't treat other people well. Especially not when I don't like them, or they've angered me.I toss women around like yesterday's news. I never take anything seriously. I just laugh in people's faces and get my ass into trouble and fights all the time. I fucking hate rules. I fucking hate authority. I have a short temper. Can you tell? I bet you can. I have knack for getting into the wrong kinds of crowds, and trouble. I'm the kind of kid parents warn their children about. I'm a rotten egg.Drinking, doing drugs and smoking weed (and cigarettes) became a daily habit of mine. I think I probably started testing shit out when I was... 12, maybe? I hung out with these older kids, and one thing lead to another..."State your name and age--" Officer Wilson begins but stops as the blue eyed boy looks up. "You already know my name and age," he says casually and cocks his head to the side. His gaze is steely, but there's a passionate flame lit behind those cold eyes. He's proud of what he's done. "Please say it to the camera," Officer Lewis says. The boy is unresponsive and both the officers look at each other, then sighs."But when books are opened, you discover that you have wings.""State your name and age, son.""MJ--""Your actual name.""Age thirteen. Milo Julius Marsh.""Milo Julius Marsh, what?""...Milo Juliu-- fuck this shit.""Come again?""You fucking heard me!""Language, boy!""Cut him some slack, officer.""What? Why? He's been vandalizing--""He's only thirteen.""But-""Milo Julius Marsh, sir.""Do you hear the sarcastic tone he's giving me?""Calm dow--""Hey! Someone stop him! He's trying to run away!"Diary Entry, Session 6 - Milo MarshAround the age of thirteen, I got tired of my parents' 'hippie' bullshit and started acting out. Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking. I'm just another fucking teenager that does what teenagers do, but come on. I bet your fucking parents weren't named Skye and Starlight. They weren't born with those names, mind you, but that was what they called themselves.But yeah, around the age of thirteen things got worse. I acted out before, but this was different. This wasn't just fighting and talking back at school. No, I started hanging around the wrong kinds of crowds, and I started doing a lot of illegal shit. Vandalizing, usually with paint and spray cans. I also messed up a police car with a set of keys once. Needless to say, I have quite the record and is deemed to be some kind of trouble child. If it wasn't for Bellefonte, I'd probably be thrown into foster care or something a long, long time ago."I don't have to say anything without my law--" the young boy suddenly says, but stops as he sees his trainer standing in the door. He narrows his eyes and bares his teeth, almost as if he's snarling. "Why the fuck is he here?" the boy asks, looking at both the officers. They remain silent. "I asked you a fucking question!" he slams his fists against the table, the chains on the cuffs rattle slightly. The silence is deafening."Milo," the voice of the trainer says, his eyes locked upon the young boy. "Calm yourself," he adds. The boy, clearly named Milo looks up and shakes his head, almost as if in disbelief, "My name is not--" He's interrupted. "I called your parents.""Your future depends on many things, but mostly on you.""The fuck are you--""Are your parents home?""Yeah, but why-- Hey! You can't just walk righ--""Honey, who is it? Oh, hello there.""Mom, they just--""Mrs. Marsh. We're from the Bellefonte Academy, a school for gifted children, teenagers and adults. We're here to talk about your son, Milo.""MJ!""MJ."Diary Entry, Session 2 - Milo MarshMy ability manifested when I was fourteen, which means that I've had my ability for two years. I was drawing in my room, and before I knew it, I didn't need a pen to like, move the paint around. I didn't tell my parents. I was so sure I was going crazy, you know? Or that I just needed more sleep. But nope. A few days later, some men showed up at the door and told me and my parents about this school for freaks (just like me, lol), and didn't really give any of us any choice. We got the option of being sent to the Canadian school, but fuck that shit.Counselors, detention, blah, blah, blah. I assume you already figured out that I didn't get any better once I got to the school. Why the fuck would I?One good thing about this place is that I met PJ. She has quickly grown to become one of my best and closest friends. We do a lot of stupid shit together and I love her to death. I'm very loyal once I start caring about someone, and I'm also very petty and jealous. I don't like people talking to or messing with my friends, and I don't give a fuck about who's standing in my way. Don't fucking hurt my friends. I will kill you.I met PJ when I was around fourteen. It was around the time when I first came to this fucking hellhole. We've been friends for the past three years or so now, and she has become my one and only bro.The boy presses his lips into a thin line. Then he laughs. Long and hard. "They got a phone?" he asks and shakes his head. "Fucking hippies.." he mutters to himself. The trainer turns towards the officers and whispers something. They both nod before they walk over to the table to sit down."Milo Julius Marsh, age seventeen; Arrested for tagging the local supermarket. I can see on your file that you have quite the record. Even from before your manifestation, back in St. Paul, Minnesota." He nods a little at this. "You manifested at thirteen? No-- My bad, fourteen." A long silence follows as Officer Lewis reads over the file again. The young boy shrugs. He stares intently at the table now, his eyes half closed. "Your parents are artists--" he stops as the boy looks up, clearly angered. "They're fuckin' hippies. It's okay; You can say it. It's not a bad word or anythin'," he says, slurring a little as he speaks. A sign that he's getting madder. Officer Lewis looks at Officer Wilson. "You're an artist too? Those tags you did on the brick wall; They were really good." Milo snorts. "You have a bright future ahead of you son, you just gotta take shit more seriously." He snorts again.
"Always remember that the future comes one day at a time."Diary Entry, Session 26 - Milo MarshMy plans for the future? I don't fucking know. I mean, come on, I don't have the grades to get into a decent college or anything like that. I barely have the grades to graduate from here and knowing this shithole, I'll probably stay until they can't keep me anymore. That's like, when I'm 25, right? Whatever.What do I want to do? Nothing. I wanna be rich, and be fucking lazy. Seriously. I don't have any real life talents besides drawing and painting, and there's no fucking chance I'm gonna end up like my fucking parents and you know, become an artist. People keep telling me that I should, but meh. Good thing I don't listen to anyone.Seriously, I live in the moment. Why stress about something that's years ahead of me? I don't fucking need that shit. I'm here to have fun and do whatever the hell I want without having to worry about growing up and getting a job. Nah, that's for those idiots that was raised properly and those that want something more from their life. I'm perfectly happy with my life as it is. I have my friends and myself. The fuck more do I need? Exactly.Peace out.The boy stands up, standing a tall 6'1 above ground, barely reaching his trainer's shoulder. He doesn't look mad anymore. He looks enraged. "He's had issues with his temper ever since he was thirteen, according to his record." They all look at the teenager. "ADHD?" one of them asks. "No, it doesn't say in his medical journal." They all nod slowly."Bitch, I will punch you by accident on purpose.""Dude.""What?""The fuck was that for?""I don't fucking like his face!""So you hit him with a fucking chair?""I wanted to use the desk, but I'm not strong enough to lift it.""...You're sick.""Heh, you only know half of it, babe.""I'm not sure if I really... I don't know. I'm speechless.""Whatever.""Whatever?""Yeah?""...""Screw you.""Dude...""No, seriously. Screw you. I don't fucking need this fucking bullshit. Fuck you, fuck all of you. I fucking hate this place.""I will deal with you later," the trainer says with a sigh and turns towards the officers once more. They whisper among themselves and the young boy clearly doesn't pay much attention. He seems used to this kind of thing. He is used to it. It's just another usual day for the young boy. Both of the officers nod, turn to look at the boy and then they shrug before they head towards the door. "We're going home, Milo." The boy looks up, his brows furrowed into a glare. The trainer sighs. "MJ."The camera shuts off.SAMPLE: You all know how I bark by now.
USERNAME: Mel.
AGE GROUP: 22.
EXPERIENCE: 7 years or so.
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