Mason "Tripp" Norwell

[Mason "Tripp" Norwell]

MASON "TRIPP" THEODORE NORWELL
FACE CLAIM: Andy Biersack
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AGE: 23
GENDER: Male
ORIENTATION: Heterosexual
POSITION: Hired Performer/Musician.

POWER: Audiokinesis

Tripp has the ability to manipulate, create, and mute audio waves and frequencies. With this he can do things such as mimic others' voices by manipulating his own voice's sound waves to directly match those of others (or vice versa). He can easily fool a voice activated alarm and anybody he's speaking over the phone with. His capabilities have been aided by what is known as his perfect Echoic or Audiographic memory; The ability to remember anything he's ever heard.

He can create harsh frequencies simply by raising the decibels of his voice and that formulates into a sonic attack that has the capabilities of damaging (or destroying) hearing, breaking glass, or rendering the receiver temporarily deaf depending on the pitch. The amount of destruction caused is based upon how low the frequencies are. Essentially, the higher the frequency, the less damage it will do. There is one particular attack that he calls the Banshee's Wail and it is when he unleashes a widespread scream that targets the eardrums of all within hearing distance and renders them deaf for a certain amount of time (this depends upon how long they were exposed). It can be rather frightening to see or experience.

LIMITATIONS:

- He can mimic any voice so long as he's heard it before.

- Four voices simultaneously is the most he can do at once (this would be if he was trying to mimic a crowd). After four it becomes too draining to keep up

- The highest (or loudest, rather) his voice can go is 140 Decibels

- Five minutes is the longest he can keep up talking/yelling at the maximum Decibel level. Using the full five minutes will usually leave him with little to no voice for one to three days (depends on how hard he's pushed it)

- He doesn't have the ability to cancel any noises louder than 90 decibels and the maximum amount of time he can do this is twenty minutes.

- He can only continually keep up a mimicked voice ideally for an hour or two at most before his voice becomes strained. If he's yelling or talking louder than a normal conversation would allow for (roughly 50 decibels), then that time frame lessens significantly.

- He is not immune to his own audio attacks. He can hear them just as well as those around him and they can cause just as much damage.

- The farthest his audio attacks can reach is 60 feet. The higher the decibels the lesser this number becomes.

- His abilities take a LOT of concentration and if it is broken (he becomes distracted or is whacked across the head, ext.) the sonic attacks will either weaken or drop all together and the mimicked voice is automatically dropped.

SIDE-EFFECTS:

- Manipulating and muting sounds are generally accompanied by headaches, the louder the sound that is being manipulated or muted, the worse the headache is. If absolutely pushed too far he can black out from the pain.

- Sonic screams can affect his hearing, so he always has to have his modified noise cancelling headphones on, or earplugs in when using it lest he wants to lose his own hearing or damage his eardrums.

- His voice WILL get tired/strained if he starts to push his comfort levels. The closer he gets to his maximum, the more likely it is that he'll lose his voice all together for awhile.

- Occasionally his mimic voice will start cracking randomly for no apparent reason (or when it starts to strain). His real voice will fill in the cracks and it is WEIRD to hear. Usually he has to give it a day or two to rest when this happens otherwise It'll progress to losing the mimic voice entirely for awhile.

HEIGHT: 6'4"
HAIR COLOR: Black
EYE COLOR: Grey

MISC:

To put it simply, I have a TON of tattoos. Do I really care what other people think? NAHH, I just like the way the ink looks on my skin. I've got a full sleeve on my left arm and the start of one on my right, though you'll probably notice the batman one on my right forearm before anything else. Let's face it, out of the many black, white, and red tattoos littering my body, the yellow one is gonna be the one most pay attention to. Well, that or the feather on my neck (It is NOT girly). Anyway, yeah, ink, that's what I like and that's what most people remember me by.

I've also got two silver piercings, one in my lip and one in my nose, that I got one night when I was drunk. I'd always wanted them, of course, but it was drunk me who had the balls to get them (thank you stumbling idiot). They really contribute to my punk look don't you think? Well, it's not totally punk. Let's put it this way, if Metallica and Sleeping with Sirens had a fashion baby it would look like me. Badass and rockin' if I do say so myself and the cross I usually wear in my ear definitely drives the point home. We all good here?

PERSONALITY:

How do I describe myself? Well damn, THAT'S a tough one. I'm many things. I can be an asshole, for one, especially to those who feel they're better than I am just because I look a little less than normal, but that's not all of me. I've got a good heart, I really do. I'll cry at all the sad bits in the movie (especially when the dog dies, why is it always Fido that bites the dust? Can't it be the annoying blonde who doesn't shut up about her hair?) and I'll help a kid out when he's down, tell him how to stick it to the man or whatever I gotta say to make him feel better. Hell, I'll even protect the kid if he needs it, but that doesn't make me any less of a loser.

I'm that punk you find at parties, hitting on the pretty ladies and puffing on a cigarette like I'm the coolest sonovahamster there. The confident prick that doesn't roll over for other egocentrically biased posers because he knows that if he does, he'll get a boot to the belly. I'm a survivor. I always have been and it's kinda hard to 100% look out for others when you were raised to look out for number one first. I do try, though, don't get me wrong. I'll always try to put others first, it's just the fact that I have to make myself do it that I don't like.

My mouth also gets the best of me most times (that sarcasm will really kill ya, let me tell you) and it can lead into my getting into a few tricky spots. Of course, stubborn ass me won't let it go and it'll usually end up in an ass kicking (be it mine or theirs, it depends). I'm not lookin' to fight, it just kinda happens, but that's not really the answer most people are lookin' for when my behavior comes into question. I swear I'm mostly laid back though, chilling with friends and just doing my own thing at the club. I'm not against the world, I swear, but people tell me I am and I gotta fight that image, though it doesn't really go well.

So let's recap shall we? I'm a nice asshole. I'll pick a kid up and straight up fight the guy who put him down even though I'm not looking for a fight most times. I'm stubborn, a bit of a ladies man, and cocky with a sarcastic mouth to boot. I can get emotional at emotional times, but tough guy me has to play it off like there's somethin' in my eye. I'm tryin' to look out for everyone else, but I gotta fight looking out for myself first and I don't like having that fight, I wish I was just selfless. What else? Oh yeah! Once you earn my trust, I've got your back 100%, no questions asked. Also, I like to joke around and just chill out like a normal dude. I'm not Mr. Angst who always has a chip on his shoulder. I'm Mr. Confident who doesn't like anybody stepping on his coat tail.

SECRET(S):

Secrets? None really. I don't like people knowing about the situations I was in with my old man, but it's not like it's an uncommon thing anymore, right? Well, I guess the fact that I was the one who took my dad's buddy's car out for a joyride and trashed it at 14 and not Timothy Carter counts, but I paid him back! He just doesn't know it was me that slipped him the two hundred bucks I'd been saving up for a new guitar.

FATHER: James Lesley Norwell
MOTHER: Penelope Isabel Norwell
SIBLINGS: Only child, thank God.
WORTHY MENTIONS: He currently owns one German Shepherd named Simon and a Doxon named Winnie

CHILDHOOD: TRIGGER WARNING: Abuse

I was born on the morning of April 16th, 1997. Just a normal birth, I guess, but I really wouldn't know because, well, I was a freakin' newborn. Anyway my family was fine for the first (maybe six?) years of my life. We'd go to the park and mom would sometimes read me bedtime stories, dad would take me out for ice cream and tell me what a big boy I was becoming. Then, like any average family with a drunken father in disguise and a mother who was growing more distant by the day, it all went to hell. (Insert mock cheery voice here.) Mom would have just loved to forget about the family she had made for herself because, well, who would be proud of us? A whiny brat and a father who would try to beat the pathetic out of his son and then get drunk to dull the pain of having emotionally lost his wife years ago.

Screw that. I had to learn to hide and look out for myself, to not let anyone talk down to me otherwise I'd have a pissed off 6'2" man looking over my shoulder with a bottle at the ready because he didn't want a pansy son. I wasn't even weak, he was just a monster that frightened me, bullied me into being meaner and tougher. Little did I know then that I'd have to battle my urge to be mean to people now. It's amazing what impressions an abusive father can leave.

ADOLESCENCE:

Ah! Here's the good stuff. Since I grew up a bit rough around the edges, it took me awhile to realize that I had to act a bit differently around other people than I did my dad otherwise I'd be ostracized and cast out by my peers to be lonely and pathetic, blah blah blah. I did the exact OPPOSITE of what most psychologists assume boys with bad daddies do: I became outgoing. I learned how to act all tough and crap around he-who-must-not-be-named, but at school I was boy wonder. I flirted with all the girls (even if I was only 14 at the time, kid's gotta practice for the big leagues, right?), went to all the parties, did the craziest shit just to get on everyone's good side. I think that stuck, though, because now I can't stop acting like that. I'm still Mr. Popular and Confident, but I kinda wish I could be Mr. In Touch With His Inner Self instead.

At 15 was when my abilities first manifested. It was small, really, I sneezed and accidentally shattered the beer bottle that was sitting on the coffee table. Thank God my pops hadn't been around, I'd have been beaten good and proper for being weird. I hid my abilities from him and tried to master them in secret over the next two weeks, but I was collected by people from some gifted school or whatever after those two weeks were up and then I didn't HAVE to hide. Oh, sure, my old man gave 'em hell, told 'em I wasn't a creepizoid like they were, but I proved I was and then he had no qualms with kicking me to the curb with them.

School was fun! I didn't have to act any more (though occasionally that learned hatred came out and I'd get into trouble) and I got to harness my abilities without fear of being discovered. It was a sense of freedom that I never thought I'd ever get to experience. I'll admit, though, it was during these years that I realized my mask had become my true self. I was the party kid. Mr. Popular, Mr. Good-looking, Mr. whatever the hell they wanted me to be. Instead of fight it and find myself, I just drew it up around me like a blanket, let it be my comfort zone. That probably wasn't a good move on my part.

Late into my schooling the group known as SPECTRE came around and started causing problems. Not for me, per say, but for a lot of the mutants out there. They really riled up the media and such. I didn't care much, just because I don't like watching the news. Too much death and destruction, ya know?

ADULTHOOD:

Upon graduating I hit the town. I had no interest in college (and quite frankly, they had absolutely NO interest in me, either) and so I set off to find me a band to work with. Music was what got me through most of the hardship in my life, shoot it's still my go to remedy for all things evil, and so I tried to make it the center of the rest of my life. I got a band together (called us Rebels United) and tried to carve our place in the music society through YouTube and bought talent scouts. It wasn't until I was 21 that we landed a solid gig working a dodgy night club on 54th street. We started making money then, as people would hire us off and on. We'd go to one place every Tuesday and another on Wednesdays, fill in a spot here and there. It was around this time that the town really started growing and that helped my cause greatly.

I have listened to the news intently once or twice in my life. These times being during the epidemic outbreak known as SPRITE. I don't know what caused it and I don't know what ended it, but somewhere in the middle a lot of mutants' abilities were messed up badly. I don't know how I managed to avoid it, but that seemed to be the start of my life actually not sucking as bad as I thought it did.

I soon after could finally afford a nicer apartment, which was a relief after spending years shuffling through one crappy pig stall after another because the part time job I worked couldn't buy me much better. The jobs I was working then helped get me back on track. I acquired two shelter dogs (they needed loving, what could I do?) and I finally started working on turning my life around completely.

SAMPLE:

His Voice

Tripp looked at the crumpled piece of paper currently clutched in his slightly sweaty hand. It read $150 dollars in fine black print. To anyone else that might have been just fine, a nice thing to come by after a hard day's work, but he wasn't anyone. He also wasn't working a simple nine-to-five like most people to get by. Instead, this check was measly and represented a broken promise made to the four members of the band that had just come off the stage after thoroughly rocking the scene crowd. This was supposed to be their paycheck. All of them. 37 bucks between us all, what the hell are they thinking?! The black haired man fumed and glanced at the rest of them, their faces reflecting the anger in his own. This kind of payday would barely cover gas and a few items at the grocery store let alone rent and the goddamned bills he had to pay. They were promised 75 bucks a pop and the manager had so not delivered. "You know what? I'll be back." He spat and turned to follow the pudgy man to his office.

Slamming the door open, Tripp scowled and quickly crossed the small, rather dinky room to grab the front of the man's shirt aggressively. He wasn't worried about the police or the fact that his reputation could be ruined over one selfish bastard who didn't want to cough up what he owed the band. He was worried about how it would look if he rolled over and let the man take advantage of them. First it was this one, but who else would follow suit? They'd all start thinking "Oh, Tripp and his crew'll take a quarter of what you promise, no problem!" and then what? Well, then he'd freakin' starve. "Joke's over, fat fry, where's the rest?" Tripp snarled and drew the man's petrified face up closer to his own. It took far too long for the man to cough up the stuttered, pathetic answer. "I d-don't have it!" The black haired man's face turned, if possible, even more livid as he slammed the man into the wall behind him. "Wrong answer. Why promise the money if you weren't gonna pay up?" The man, Jeffrey as Tripp could now make out the name tag, turned pale. "W-we're struggling! We w-w-were hoping you guys would b-bring in a bigger crowd and we could pay you back later with the revenues!"

Jeffrey whimpered as Tripp tightened his grip on his greasy, striped shirt. It almost looked like the stingy sonovadrunk was going to burst into tears at any minute, but he wouldn't let up. He needed the money and this was the only way to scare it out of the man. His voice deepened with savage finality. "We'll be back tomorrow." Tripp dropped the man and turned to storm out of the room, slamming the door loudly as he went. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. It never made him feel any better to act like that, but what choice did he have? He had bills to pay! They all did and they couldn't afford to give handouts, especially to guy who thought he could take one without consequence. I mean, damn. If he'd have just said that before we started the gig we'd have been cool with it. The rest of his boys stood anxiously where he'd left them, eager to hear what the fat man had had to say. "I didn' want to do it, but I roughed him up a bit, told him we'd be back tomorrow. He said he'd planned on payin' us back later, but I ain't giving him the chance to procrastinate on it." Tripp shook his head and motioned for the door. "C'mon, let's get lost. I've got dogs to feed."

USERNAME: Rebel

AGE GROUP: I am almost 18 years of age.

EXPERIENCE: TOO LONG, HAHAHAHA. Seriously, I started at 11.

WHERE DID YOU FIND US? Topsites fo sho.

[Mel *]

You know what to do!